Accidental Hero Volume I

Chapter One

Jacob smiled at Sandra across the tavern, the small crowd or people comprising the entire village. He'd rushed over after the soldier had told him to, his grandfather tagging along, having only slowed him slightly. Sandra smiled back at him and gave a shy wave, and he did his best to not grin like an idiot back at her.

He was certain he'd failed at that, if the snickers from Travers and his friends were any sign. He turned back to his table and sipped from his mead, doing his best to keep his shaking hands from showing his nerves. His eyes darted around the room, roving over his neighbors, old and young, before they landed on the stranger in their midst.

The Fieflord had sent down the soldier from the capital, who'd brought with him news that they would investigate the spree of disappearances that had happened across the hill country the past summer. It had surprised Jacob when the soldier had met his Papa in their ancestral home.

The Silvers were the oldest family in the sleepy farming village of Stolskun, practically the noble family of the region they lived in. Not that the family was that large, as it was just Jacob, his grandfather, and his mother (who'd married into the family). His father had died during an outbreak of Sanguine Tears eleven years ago, when Jacob was only five.

He'd been raised by his mother and Papa all his life and... well, his mother hadn't taken his father's death well. She never remarried, and she inducted no one into the family to help repopulate.

Studying the soldier, it still surprised Jacob at what he saw, as he'd never met one before. A mutt of an elf and a Dormaer, they were tanned and lean, hair a jet black and straight, pulled back along the crown of their head into a long-braided cord. Jacob's mother had smacked him upside the head when he met the man, his eyes locking on the brand just below the soldier's left eye.

Marku'rea

Slave.

Blackheart, the shadowed forests of the elven people, was a dangerous place for any who didn't have the literal-blue blood of the resident near-immortals. Calculating and in tune with the mystical energies of the world, the elves of Blackheart served an immortal vampire queen, their nobles all similar undead. They viewed the shorter-lived races as chattel, either as servants or food.

Elves weren't supposed to breed with any servants, as doing such a thing was viewed as others would view a man coupling with a goat. It happened, of course, as the world was not a kind or fair place, but the elves liked to pretend they were above such things.

That half breeds occurred every so often made the long-eared folk upset and treat the resulting offspring as a more skilled servant, typically a combative one.

Those that found their way out of the wretched kingdom rarely told good stories of their time stuck there. Judging by the hard red eyes the soldier had leveled at Jacob, he will bet that the man had no happy tales to tell.

That had been five days ago, and the soldier had returned shortly before dawn. Jacob had been working the fields just south of the chestnut groves under the guidance of his Papa (he'd been sitting atop the plow as Jacob pulled it), when the soldier had stalked out of the underbrush, scowling.

"Gather your people, Mister Silver," the man had growled, walking by without sparing Jacob a glance as lifted the yoke off his shoulders. "I need to speak with you all at once."

A village the size of Stolskun, it was an easy feat to pass along to everyone with the need to meet. The town priest, Reverend Hawkins, had taken to using his weaker magics to send whispered reminders to those a few miles out in the other outlying farms, if what Barbara had been saying to William near the door was to be believed.