Annabeth's War Read online

  Table of Contents

  Annabeth's War

  By Jessica Greyson

  DEDICATION

  CONTENTS | Acknowledgements

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  CHAPTER 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  About the Author

  About the Artist

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  “Daring plans, thrilling escapes, marvelous fight scenes, hilarious disguises, sweet friendship, a hint of romance...this book has it all. READ IT!!! You won't regret it.”

  –Elizabeth Ender, author of Ransomed

  “Jessica writes a heroine who is both feminine and strong, a blend hard to find and gold when found.”

  –Anneliese Blakeney, author of The Princess and the Sage

  “Annabeth’s War is one of the best fictional books I've read! This talented author will hold your attention throughout the entire story! Her character development is superb—a necessity for good fiction. This is an epic first book by Jessica Greyson.

  –Kayla, writer

  “Jessica Greyson's debut novel, Annabeth's War, is a memorable tale of adventure, secrets, swords, dungeons, trust, distrust, love, and a ruthless villain. A must read!”

  –Melody, writer

  By Jessica Greyson

  Annabeth’s War

  Copyright © 2012 by Jessica Greyson

  All rights reserved.

  Published by: Ready Writer Press

  Cover Design by Louie Roybal III

  www.louieroybal.com

  Sword Graphic| Ranko Bojanovic

  All characters appearing in the work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9884614-0-6

  DEDICATION

  This book is lovingly dedicated to the One who has taught me that everything is beautiful in His time.

  To Lily, my twin in heart, best friend, and sister in spirit. Your friendship and encouragement made this possible.

  Thank you for helping me touch the stars.

  .

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter 1....................................................1

  Chapter 2....................................................13

  Chapter 3....................................................23

  Chapter 4....................................................33

  Chapter 5....................................................39

  Chapter 6....................................................45

  Chapter 7....................................................53

  Chapter 8....................................................61

  Chapter 9....................................................71

  Chapter 10..................................................75

  Chapter 11..................................................81

  Chapter 12..................................................93

  Chapter 13.................................................107

  Chapter 14.................................................117

  Chapter 15.................................................127

  Chapter 16.................................................131

  Chapter 17.................................................141

  Chapter 18.................................................143

  Chapter 19.................................................151

  Chapter 20.................................................161

  Chapter 21.................................................169

  Chapter 22.................................................173

  Chapter 23.................................................179

  Chapter 24.................................................187

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My heart goes out with such deep gratitude to...

  Mama, for all her love, help, long hours of dedication, and letting me grow into the writer I am.

  Mrs. A., for believing and supporting me, and for being my friend.

  Auntie L., for reading and loving my characters and me.

  My Brother, who made this possible in a way no one else could.

  My Blogging Dears:

  Anne-girl, for your love and belief.

  &

  Maria Elisabeth, for your editing and numerous comments.

  Thank you both for your encouragement and friendship.

  Prologue

  Annabeth took a deep breath looking up at the five tall boys before her. Curling her fingers, she rubbed them against her palms, wishing she held a sword in her hand. As the first boy stepped forward, Annabeth’s eyes fell to the ground. She was biting the inside of her cheek and wriggling her toes in her shoes. Her heart wished that she had begged her father to take her with him to see Lord Raburn, but she didn’t like Lord Raburn. He had a way of making her uncomfortable and getting her to say all kinds of things she never meant to say. He had, ever since she was little. She just couldn’t keep her mouth shut around that man.

  “What do you think you are doing here?” asked the tall boy, his body language saying he was ready for a fight.

  “Going for a walk. I want to pick some flowers.”

  “Going for a walk?”

  “Pick flowers!” interjected a second boy, stepping forward.

  “Yes,” she answered quietly. A soft answer turns away wrath; she heard her mother’s voice in the back of her mind. It had been a three years since her mother’s passing, and that voice seemed to come less to her mind. While most girls her age were learning how to mend clothes and bake bread, she was learning to...a blush crept up her neck. Swordfight. Her father’s ceaseless instruction and pointers were constantly running through her brain. Maybe that is why her mother’s words came less and less. At least her father hadn’t sent her away from him.

  “I didn’t think girls like you could pick flowers.”

  “I like to pick flowers,” she said quietly, hoping they would just leave her alone.

  The boy scoffed. “Yeah, right.” His hand flew across her face, spinning her dizzily to the ground.

  “Aren’t so good without a sword, are you?”

  Her head reeled. She didn’t answer as she placed her cold hand against her burning cheek.

  “What? Too stupid to answer?”

  The second boy jerked her braid. She winced. “Answer him, midget.”

  “What was that for?” she asked instead of answered.

  With swiftness she was jerked to her feet.

  “What was that for? You idiot! Don’t you dare beat me in a sword fight again,“ he said, throwing her bodily away. She crashed into another, who grabbed her hair to help her stand up and shook her as he hissed.

  “Or me, it’s plain embarrassing.” He shoved her away to another until each had whispered his hate for her and then tossed her to the ground between the five of them.

  “Promise that you won’t.”

  Her heart was racing. She couldn’t promise. If her father wanted
her to do it—if her father wanted her to train with the boys he was teaching, she’d get in more trouble for not beating them, and her already grueling training could become more so.

  There was a kick to her ribs.

  “Promise.”

  Annabeth set her lips together, blinking back the tears that came to her eyes.

  “I have do to what my father tells me.”

  “Well, it won’t mean beating us. Not if we can help it.”

  Annabeth pulled into a tight ball, her arms protecting her head and face as five of her father’s students seemed to pile on her all at once.

  There was a voice from above and the load lightened as various howls were given above her.

  “Off with all of you! You should be ashamed of yourself, you cowards!” shouted the voice as the last one scampered off.

  For a moment she wished that whoever was standing above her would simply walk away and let her get up and drag herself home as she tried not to cry. Only weak people cried. She couldn’t be weak. But no, whoever it was knelt beside her.

  “Are you okay?”

  Slowly Annabeth uncurled to look at the face above hers. Shock ripped through her.

  “Your highness,” she murmured dropping her gaze.

  “You’re the sword master’s daughter, aren’t you.” It was more a statement than a question.

  Annabeth nodded. It was beyond her why he, Prince Alfred, would wish to speak to her. She was a nobody, a commoner, the daughter of a soldier—a gifted soldier, a master of the sword.

  “Do you think you can stand up?“ he asked.

  “I am sure I can,“ she said, pushing herself from the ground.

  His eyes ran over her. “Are you sure you are okay?”

  Annabeth glanced at her dress. It was soiled and torn. “Nothing that time and little soap and water won’t mend.”

  “You have a scratch on your cheek.”

  Annabeth touched her face to find the cut, and winced. A sharp stone must have cut her in all the fighting despite her attempt to protect herself.

  “You should let your mother look at that,” said Prince Alfred softly.

  “I don’t have a mother, your highness.”

  Pain flashed through his eyes, “Neither do I,” the Prince murmured, and Annabeth wished she had held her tongue. The loss of the queen had been heavy on the king and the kingdom.

  “Is your father away?”

  Annabeth just nodded, not wishing to say anything that would cause the prince pain.

  “Then you should come up to the castle to have it tended.”

  Annabeth shook her head, “You are too kind, your highness. I am just a commoner; I can’t come in.”

  “You haven’t come into the castle?”

  “No, just the courtyard with my father for training.”

  Prince Alf’s eyes widened. “Well, you should come and get that tended to.”

  “But I am too dirty.”

  “Don’t you mind that; my grandmother can take care of you.”

  “Thank you, your highness, but no,” and dropping her best curtsy she stepped away from him and turned her homeward way

  .

  Chapter 1

  The small town was bursting at the seams; it was a country holiday, and everyone that could be there was in attendance. Traveling troupes, jugglers, tumblers, and puppeteers all drew large throngs of commoners, but the crowd was exceptionally large around a tall man with honest blue eyes and brown hair.

  He had a charming smile that disarmed any fear of the silvery blade in his hand as it whistled and sang, glittering skillfully with his every move. He was daring anyone to fight him for the chance to win a prize.

  The jingling bag of coins often caught men’s eyes more readily then the blade he wielded. For a few coppers or a piece of silver, they could try their chances with him—a duel of pure skill for a bag full of money.

  A small youth with a green cap pulled almost over his eyes pressed his way to the front of the group, breathing heavily. He caught the tail end of the fight, his eyes carefully flitting over the faces in the crowd.

  “Who will fight me? Surely there must be another man among you who is willing to try his mettle with me. Strong, brave, manly. Yes, you take a chance of losing that pretty piece of silver, but look at the bounty you could gain,” said the man, jingling the bag of coins as incentive.

  Almost reluctantly, a man stepped forward. “I’ll fight you,” he said, flipping his coin towards the man.

  The swordsman caught it with his free hand. His charming smile making another appearance, he dropped the coin into the bag, where it made a most satisfactory sound. “Very good, sir.”

  The fight was short, for though the man had strength enough to hew an elephant in half, he had little cunning compared to the swordsman.

  “Well done, sir. Should there ever be a battle, I would like to know you are on my side.”

  The man turned away, grumbling, and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Anyone else care to take a chance? Four men bested seems like a lot, but who knows—there might be someone better than I hiding in this crowd. We never know when we may meet our better. Are you hiding in the crowd ready to set my world upside down?”

  The crowd glanced around hesitatingly; people began to disperse.

  “Well, anyone?”

  The youth curled his sweating palms into fists and then released them, pulling a single silver coin from a seemingly empty pouch that hung limp at his belt. He glanced around again, swallowing a lump in his throat.

  The coin bag jingled fair with promises. “Come, you all can’t be tired of such entertainment. Think, sir, what would your fair lady say if you fought with me?”

  “Mine would say I was fool,” uttered the man from the depths of the crowd.

  “I am not so sure about that, sir. It is not every day you get such a chance as I am offering you,” he said, jingling the bag of coins again.

  The man turned and disappeared. The crowd was thinning quickly now; a few hopeful onlookers stayed, wishing for one more fight with the swordsman and his glorious blade that never seemed to fail.

  The youth turned the coin over in his hand again, glancing nervously around.

  “Last chance. If someone doesn’t speak up now, I shall leave. A perfect chance gone forever.” He passed the youth and continued around. He had nearly completed the full circle that would end his offer of wealth...when a voice suddenly spoke up.

  “I’ll fight you, since everyone else seems afraid to,” the youth said, stepping forward.

  The crowd laughed and the swordsman turned around. His eyebrows rose. “I am sorry, but I do believe that you are a little undercut.”

  “My coin is as good as anyone else’s,” he said, flashing the coin in his hand.

  “You are barely old enough to be wielding such a sword.”

  “I know, but I am willing to take the challenge.”

  “You are a lad. A mere sapling.”

  “Well, since you are such a tall tree, maybe a wind will come and blow you over.”

  The crowd laughed.

  “If you are certain you want to part with that silver coin, lad...”

  “How do you know you won’t be parting with yours?”

  “The day that happens due to such a youth as yourself, the world will have come to an end.”

  “Well, maybe it’s my lucky day. Then I won’t need your coin; I’ll be walking on streets of gold.”

  “You better watch your tongue, lad. You might be singing with the angels sooner than you think,” said the swordsman, swinging his blade back and forth, causing the air to whistle as he cut it.

  “It is a risk I am willing to take, but let’s stop sharpening our tongues on each other. Will you take my coin or no?”

  “If it is really as good as you say.”

  “Better,” he said with an awkward toss.

  The swordsman snatched it from the air and tossed it into his bag without looking. It made a pl
easant sound as it landed among the others.

  The youth wiped his sweaty hands on his doublet before withdrawing his sword.

  The swordsman’s eyes narrowed. What kind of lad would let the world know he is that nervous?

  The youth reacquainted himself with the feel of his sword with a few ready swings and took his stance.

  “Are you sure you are ready? We could wait until you grow up, you know,” said the swordsman, looking over his small opponent.

  “We could, but someone else might have bested you by then.”

  “Well, I always like to know whom I have the honor of fighting. What is your name?”

  The boy hesitated a moment before answering. “Bartholomew.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Bartholomew, and I am Ransom. Are you ready?”

  The youth nodded, his hat bobbing.

  “You get the first chance to strike then,” said Ransom with a nod as he opened himself up for the youth’s attack.

  THE FIRST BLOW AGAINST Ransom’s sword was hesitant, soft, almost afraid. He glanced it off and held ready for a second, his stance inviting another strike. It came stronger this time and he deflected, letting it sing against the length of his blade.

  Then the fight began in earnest. Ransom took his time mounting his hardened skills against the youth. The fight warmed up as Bartholomew’s skill showed. Their swords locked. Ransom looked into the boy’s eyes. They were earnest and intent on their swords. Desperation showed in the lad’s blue eyes. But was it really a he? Now so close, Ransom took a moment to study the youth intently. Smooth skin, clean hands and face, the hair so completely concealed beneath the hat, the soft pleasant scent seemed to hover about...was it a she?

  Suddenly, instead of bringing the lock to a crisis, Bartholomew spun away. The next blow caught neatly against his sword.

  All right; time to heat things up. You have had your fun, now for mine. Ransom’s blade flew through the air. It was matched blow for blow. Bartholomew’s skill surprised him, and in a momentary pause he looked again into the youth’s eyes. There was an intensity-desire-need-hunger—and desperation—lurking there.