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About The Book:
Title: THE
QUEEN’S REAPER
Author: Cole Hopkins
Pub. Date: January 7, 2025
Publisher: Cole Hopkins
Formats: Paperback, eBook
Pages: 628
Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/THE-QUEENS-REAPER
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book for FREE with a Kindle
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“In this debut fantasy, a
legendary assassin seemingly aligns himself with a young princess determined to
claim her throne… Remarkable characters headline this epic tale of duty,
treachery, and never ending battles.” –Kirkus Reviews
Are some men born evil, no chance of redemption from the moment they draw
breath? Perhaps, perhaps not. Grim doesn’t seem to think so, and yet, he knows
better than to believe that knowledge alone would curb a cruel man’s intent…
Even if that man is himself.
He’s made a life, no a legend, out of hunting and killing the conceited nobles
of Harth. His sword always answering to the highest bidder. This isn’t because
he desires to walk the bloodstained path laid out before him, at least not
usually. To him, he’s merely playing the hand he was dealt. Using the skills of
his dark and convoluted past as a means to provide for and protect the one
thing he holds most dear–the only thing he holds dear–in this world. The
shadow of the woman he loves…
But what will Grim do when that shadow is taken from him? Ripped from his grasp
and exploited against him. Will he answer the demands of those who have
betrayed him so completely, even if to do so means to perform the unthinkable,
throwing the Kingdom of Harth into a spiral of chaos it’s not likely to
survive?
Well, of course. It’s not like he gives a damn about the kingdom
anyway… right?
Grab the series now!
Chapter: 1
Greet the Reaper
Grim slid through the shadows like a
specter. The hour was late, and the moon sat high in the night sky. In spite of
that the streets of Everharth bustled still. This was the city that never
stopped after all—the capital of the Kingdom
of Harth. The crown jewel of the West…
Grim had spent most of his adult life
here, and here was where he had mastered his profession—killing. He was an assassin by trade and a damn good one, too.
Taking his time to remain completely undetected, he crept from one back alley
to another, always on the move. Sometimes a group of city denizens would walk
within inches of him and not notice his presence.
The assassin was so stealthy, obsessed
with perfecting his art, he would avoid alerting even the local drunks who
roamed the capital’s dark streets at night. And not just drunks, but horses and
livestock as well. Anything with a pulse was a challenge for the dangerous man
to overcome.
His target this night was a
nobleman—as was often the case—by the name of Orven Ogle. He was not a particularly rich man, though certainly
better off than most of the poor souls who roamed the streets alongside Grim
this night. What was this Orven guilty of?
The assassin had no idea. He rarely
asked those kinds of questions. Easier to let his imagination convict his
victim than hear the truth of why these pathetic noble’s peers might want him
dead. Grim almost chuckled out loud at that thought. The noble lords and ladies
of Harth were a petty bunch and hardly needed a good reason to want someone
dead. All that mattered to Grim was that they paid him sufficiently for the
deed.
Although, this particular contract had
managed to pique his curiosity. The man who wanted Orven dead was not another
noble, but a godly man—a rather revered Father of the Cathedral of Thondel. It wasn’t uncommon for the church to be
involved in nefarious business, Grim thought, but assassinations were a bit
extreme for them. No matter, he had been paid to do the job and that was
exactly what he was going to do.
Pushing the thoughts from his mind,
the assassin continued his silent trek through Everharth’s Water District,
until he came to the base of the wall surrounding Orven Ogle’s villa. The wall
stood twice Grim’s height and was made of strong, thick stone, likely mined
from the caverns that snaked through the mountains just south of Everharth.
The assassin wore no armor, other than
an iron gauntlet on his left hand, and sturdy, flexible leathers which were
complimented by a heavy black riding cloak. Grim briefly considered unfastening
the cloak and scaling the wall without it but decided against that course of
action when he saw a trio of torch-bearing guards round the corner of the
villa, some forty yards away. Their torchlight blinded them to his presence for
the time being, but Grim knew that would not be the case for long.
Not waiting to be discovered by the
guards, the assassin quickly and quietly took a step back, before launching
himself at the wall and half running half climbing, pulled himself atop the
thick stone barrier. He made almost no noise during his ascent and the trio
passed underneath him, completely unaware of his presence.
Grim quickly surveyed the interior of
the villa before him. Directly beneath him was a large courtyard, dimly lit by
scattered torches, which were all burning extremely low. On the far side of the
courtyard was the main building, a large two-story complex, surrounded entirely
by an elegant patio on the ground level, and a high-ceilinged deck atop that.
From where he crouched, Grim could
make out six guards: two in the courtyard, two more by the front door, and the
last two patrolled the balcony. Without a second thought, the assassin slipped
down the wall on the inside of the villa and disappeared into the shadows cast
by the dying torches. Within moments, he was pulling himself up one of the
elegantly designed pillars that supported the second-story deck. At the top of
the pillar the assassin waited, hanging from only his fingers, and bracing
himself with his toes.
After several seconds, the first of
the two guards on the deck passed above Grim. The guard was tired and likely
thinking of dawn, which was not far off, when he would be able to return to the
comfort of his bed and finally get some sleep. The man marched passed without
suspecting a thing.
With little effort, Grim pulled
himself up onto the deck and moved to open the window across from him. Locked. Knowing he had less than a
minute before the other guard turned the corner, the assassin pulled out a
small pouch containing his lockpicking tools and deftly went to work. After
only a few tense seconds, the lock clicked open and Grim slid through the window,
quietly closing it behind him.
Orven
Ogle sat alone behind his large oaken desk, playing a game of chess against
himself in the light cast by the many candles that dotted his personal study.
The room was covered with books, both old and new. They filled shelves all
along the walls and even sat in piles on the floor. He was filled with many
regrets that night, but perhaps the greatest of all was the fact he would never
have the chance to read all those books. To learn their secrets and envision
the glorious tales their storied authors had to tell.
Orven was moving the white queen’s
knight when he suddenly felt another presence in the room. He had heard
nothing, and when he looked out over his desk, he saw nothing, but he knew he
was no longer alone. Swallowing his rising dread, he called out into the
darkness, “Show yourself, assassin. I know you are there.”
As if Orven’s words had summoned him
out of thin air, the assassin confidently strode forward into the light. Grim
was a tall man, olive skinned and dark haired. He sported a full beard that
looked to be meticulously maintained and well-trimmed. His hair, although long,
was also well kept and hung down just past his jawline. The man’s eyes were
dark gray and intimidating, and his facial features were strong and angular,
reminding Orven very much of a predator’s.
All and all, the assassin struck quite
a handsome figure, and somehow it put the nobleman at ease, knowing he wouldn’t
be butchered by some leering thug
looking to make a copper. This man was no thug. No, this was a true assassin. One Orven knew well—or
rather, knew of. The nobles called him Grim. He was distinguishable by his
tall, lean figure, and his unique black gauntlet and intricate sword.
Orven eyeballed that sword now. This
was the weapon that would ultimately end his life unless the assassin had some
other method in mind. It was a long weapon, almost too long to be an assassin’s
blade, but the hand-and-a-half sword fit the tall man well. Hanging diagonally
from his waist, it cleared the ground with several inches left to spare. It was
the handle of that weapon that truly identified Orven’s soon-to-be killer.
The grip was long enough for the
assassin to hold with both hands and simple enough in design. The pommel at the
end of the hilt, however, was painstakingly carved into the figure of a wolf’s
head, and the crossguard was decorated with tiny reliefs telling the story of
one of Harth’s mightiest legions.
“My lord,” the assassin greeted. “The
hour is late. You should be in bed.”
“Hard to sleep knowing death courts
you.” Orven replied, almost chuckling at the hopelessness of it all.
“Death courts us all, my friend,” Grim
responded, in a tone dripping with disinterest. He stalked toward one of the
bookshelves in the chamber and began sifting through the spines of the many
novels housed there. “The key is to die of old age before it catches you.”
Orven released a shaky sigh. “I
suppose that is an opportunity I won’t be granted this night?”
“No,” Grim admitted, finding a book
that caught his interest. “I’m afraid not.”
Nodding in reservation, Orven asked,
“How much?”
Glancing up from his book, Grim
replied with mock surprise, “My lord, my loyalty cannot be bartered for. It
would ruin my reputation.”
“I don’t mean to buy you out. I
haven’t the money left for it,” Orven declared. “I mean how much is he paying
you, how much is my life worth?”
Grim chuckled. “Seventy gold coins, a
small fortune. Though, the church is
infamous for overspending their followers’ hard-earned gold.”
“Seventy gold coins,” Orven mused. “Is
that really all my life sums up to?”
“Yes,” Grim confirmed, placing the
book back on the shelf and presenting Orven with his undivided attention. “Or
at least, Father Bezind seems to think so.”
“Tell me,” the assassin continued.
“And I know this is a bit unprofessional, but what does someone have to do to
make a man so devout as Father Bezind want them dead?”
“I put out a hit on him first,” Orven
admitted. “I nearly emptied the family vault to pay for some mercenaries from
the Oval Islands to kill him.”
This drew a raised eyebrow from Grim.
“Hiring men to kill members of the clergy, that is an interesting way to spend your family’s fortune…”
Orven’s calm demeanor finally
diminished, and he stood up, outraged. “Members of the clergy?” the nobleman
scoffed. “What a jest! They’re liars and hypocrites, all of them. They take and
take, until there’s nothing left. Then they try to take more! And for what?
Hope? The chance of a better afterlife? Unlikely.”
Orven’s sudden outburst had Grim on
edge, and he glanced toward the door, wondering who else might have heard the
angry nobleman. “Lower your voice, my lord, I implore you.” The assassin
whispered rather dangerously.
“What does it matter?” Orven smirked.
“My fate will not change. It seems I am to die regardless.”
“There are many different ways to
die,” Grim warned. “Some much more painful than others. I get paid the same,
either way.”
Taking the hint, Orven lowered himself
back down into his chair, glaring daggers at the assassin.
“Obviously, the mercs failed,” Grim
continued. “Even a pompous fool like you should have anticipated that, so why
do it? Why forfeit your life so knowingly?”
“You want to know why I did it?” Orven
asked, his voice once again filling with rage. “I did it because I had to. I
did it, because that bastard had to
be made to pay for what he did to my little girl, Aleigh.”
“What did he do to your girl?” The
assassin asked, his demeanor suddenly darkening.
“He forced himself on her,” Orven
said, through gritted teeth and teary eyes. “He forced himself on my little
girl, five nights ago, when she was staying late at the cathedral for one of
her lessons. And this wasn’t the first time. He’s done… things to her before.
He said it would help her be closer to Thondel. That it would secure our family
a place in High Hathborn—in the afterlife.” He paused, holding back sobs. “So,
you see, assassin, I did what I did, because I had no other choice.”
Grim seemed very distant then, as if
he was reliving an old memory, or was simply lost in thought. “We do what we
must.” the assassin finally declared. Slowly, he began drawing his
hand-and-a-half sword.
Orven finally broke into sobs and
lowered his head, defeated. Grim walked around the large wooden desk. He stood
behind the nobleman and placed the tip of his blade on Orven’s collar, just
above the man’s heart. The noble was prepared for death then in that moment,
but the assassin hesitated and leaned down to whisper into Orven’s ear, “May it
comfort you, Orven Ogle, to know that Father Bezind is not long for this world
either.”
The nobleman sucked in a shaky breath
between sobs and even managed a triumphant little smirk before Grim’s sword
plunged down into his heart, killing him in an instant. The assassin stood
there for a moment before removing his sword and wiping it clean on Orven’s
fine pajamas. As he placed the sword back into its sheath, he heard a quiet
voice from the door to the study.
“Father? Father is that you?”
Grim felt his heart sink. In walked
Aleigh, Orven’s daughter.
“Who are you?” she asked, her panic
growing as she took in the scene before her. “What have you done to my daddy?”
Grim knew what he had to do, but for
some reason he could not force his body into action. The little girl before him
was young indeed. No more than twelve years old. Even though she was recovering
from what appeared to be the bruising of a black eye, he could tell she would
grow up to be a very beautiful woman.
What would that future look like now
that he had robbed her of her father, and that sick bastard, Bezind, had robbed
her of her innocence? The assassin knew he should kill her, if not to protect
his own vile skin, then for mercy’s sake alone, but he could not do it. He
related to this little girl, and he saw some of himself in her as he looked her
in the eyes and witnessed the hatred and fear that was rising within her.
“Why did you kill him?” she demanded,
her voice cracking as she choked down tears. “Why did you kill my father?”
“I’m sorry,” was all Grim could offer
as he rushed out of Orven’s study.
“Stop!” Aleigh yelled, grabbing the
assassin’s cloak as he passed her and attempting to hit him—to hurt him in some
way. “Stop! I hate you—I hate you!” she
screamed. “Guards, he killed my father! Guards, help!”
Her screams soon became incoherent and
Grim grabbed her hands, yanking them away from his cloak before shoving her to
the ground. He took one last look at the broken little girl, before charging
down the stairs and rushing toward the front door. Aleigh’s screams haunted him
the whole way and he knew his cover was already blown. It seemed he would be
fighting his way out.
The assassin drew his sword as he
approached the door and kicked it open with all his strength. The door flew
open, and the guard who had been attempting to open it was launched back down
the small set of stairs leading up to the patio of the villa.
“Intruder!” the second guard shouted.
“Intruder in the house!” He charged straight at Grim, kite shield leveled,
hoping to bowl the assassin over.
Grim was filled with anger and
unsettling emotions from his encounter in the house with Aleigh and her father,
and he channeled that now, into nothing but pure rage. Quick as a viper, the
assassin sidestepped the charging guard, and brought his sword down in a
powerful vertical slash that chopped the man’s shield arm off at the shoulder.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Grim
grabbed the now screaming guard by the face and slammed him into the wall of
the house, before shoving him into the first guard, who had recovered and was
moving to join the fray. Both men fell backwards, but before the assassin could
finish them, the guards from the upstairs balcony crashed through the front
door, and advanced toward the intruder.
Realizing the confined balcony favored
the guards with their overwhelming numbers, Grim leaped off the patio and into
the courtyard, where two more guards were waiting for him. Both the guards from
the balcony and the initial door guard followed him out into the courtyard. The
man whose arm he had severed remained on the patio, motionless and quiet.
Five on one Grim thought. It was a fair fight. But in the silence
before the ensuing clash of steel, the assassin could hear Aleigh’s incoherent
screams of grief coming from the inside of the house, and they wounded him more
than these doomed men’s blades ever could.
Unwilling to wait for his adversaries
to go on the offensive, Grim lunged toward the man on his right, launching a
storm of blows the guard couldn’t hope to defeat. Overwhelmed, the man tried to
fall back behind his fellows on either side of him, but the assassin was too
quick. Slashing him across the knee with a crooked swing that brought his
longsword above his head, Grim stepped to the side as the man fell. The
assassin brought the blade back down in a clean slash decapitating the helpless
guard.
Grim was being pressed from all sides
now, and he had to fall back into a defensive stance to defeat the remaining
four guards’ aggressive blows. Twirling his blade, the assassin picked off the
first three guards’ sword strokes with simple deflects. On the fourth guard’s
swing, he grabbed the end of his long blade with the iron gauntlet and caught
the guard’s blade just above the intricate crossguard of his legion sword.
The assassin slammed the wolf headed
pommel of his weapon directly into the guard’s forehead, before shoving the
man’s sword down low, and thrusting his own blade back up into the man’s gut.
Quickly disengaging from the dying man, Grim reset into a defensive stance
where he waited for the next attack.
Realizing they were outmatched, the
guards slowed the fight down and began to attack less aggressively. One man
started a slow chop for the assassin’s head, but Grim saw it for what it was—a
simple feint to distract him from the dangerous thrust of the man’s sword
behind him.
Without missing a beat, Grim stepped
forward and kicked the man squarely in the chest, before quickly rotating back
around to knock the true threat of the other guard’s thrust aside with his iron
gauntlet. The now unbalanced man was an easy target for the assassin, and he
made short work of him, stabbing the guard under his outstretched sword arm,
and viciously ripping the blade free to parry the slash of the third guard. The
man was hardly ready for the brutal counter and fell to the ground when Grim deftly
kicked the man’s legs out from under him, finishing him with a powerful
two-handed downwards thrust.
Now there was only one guard, and he
had recovered from Grim’s kick and was running for the main gate. Suddenly it
swung open and the three guards patrolling outside the villa came rushing in.
The fleeing man found renewed hope and quickly turned to meet Grim’s onslaught.
The sound of steel on steel rang out in the early morning air before three of
the guards fell dead.
The fourth was actually quite skilled
and was putting up a decent fight. Unfortunately for him, quite skilled was not nearly enough to keep him alive against Grim,
much less defeat the man in one-on-one combat. After a particularly fast
exchange of blows, the assassin disarmed the man with a wicked slash to the
fingers and finished him with a second slash across the throat.
As that last guard toppled to the
ground, Grim took a few steps back. His skin glistened with sweat in the early
dawn light. He threw his head back, inhaling deeply and catching his breath.
Feeling his breathing return to normal, the assassin glanced around the
courtyard, taking in his handiwork. The scene before him was gruesome indeed.
The nine men’s bodies lay torn and bloodied all about the entrance to the
villa.
These guards didn’t have to die, Grim
thought. They were soldiers—not so different from himself. But so be it. The assassin refused to let their deaths eat at his
conscience…
Grim could hear the birds beginning
their morning songs, and he knew it was time to move. He had already spent far
more time in Orven’s villa than he should have, and the sun peeking over
Everharth’s distant walls was another, not so subtle, reminder.
The assassin collected himself and
prepared to leave, when he heard a shout from behind him, shattering the
overwhelming silence of the crisp autumn morning.
“Murderer!”
Grim turned, knowing what he would
see, but still hoping, praying to whatever god might be listening, that he
would be wrong—that somehow, he would see someone else, something else, anything else, standing there. There was
no god, in High Hathborn or anywhere else who answered the assassin’s prayer.
There stood young Aleigh, still wearing her pajamas. They were covered with,
Grim could only assume, her father’s blood and she held one of the guard’s
arming swords. The girl pointed it directly at him.
“You killed my father and all of his
guard’s, but you won’t kill me!” Aleigh’s eyes were red, and her cheeks were
streaked with tears. Despite that she stood defiantly across the courtyard from
the assassin, unafraid. “Fight me, you
murderer,” the young girl shrieked. “Fight
me!”
Grim just shook his head and turned to
walk away. He had killed this little girl’s father for money, and he had killed
all his guards in self-defense. Men who had families of their own—little sons
and daughters who would grow up never knowing their fathers. He had killed
countless innocents to make it as far as he had in life, and he was content
being that monster. But to kill this little girl? For some reason, that was a
monster he could not be—denied being.
“I’ve seen your face,” Aleigh
desperately screamed. “You have to kill me, or I’ll turn you in to the
legions!”
Grim paused. She was right. She had
seen his face, and it was because he had been sloppy. Maybe he already killed
this girl when his arrogance allowed him to charge through this villa like a
foreign invader…
Suddenly, Aleigh rushed forward, her
eyes burning with hatred, as she leveled her sword for Grim’s gut. Hardly
thinking, the assassin caught the sword’s short blade with his gauntleted left
hand and knocked the weapon down and out of Aleigh’s grasp. Without slowing at
all, the young girl pulled out a kitchen knife she had been concealing in her
sleeve and stabbed it directly into the side of Grim’s leg.
Cursing in surprise and pain, the
assassin reflexively backhanded Aleigh away from him and grabbed the knife,
yanking it out of his leg and dropping it to the ground. Consumed by a fury he
could not suppress, Grim readied his sword to finish off the little girl and
end both of their suffering. The moment he raised his weapon, the assassin
instantly regretted it, and he hesitated as he looked upon Aleigh, lying on the
ground with a fresh nosebleed. She looked back up at him with such intense
loathing, that he thought he could almost feel the pain she wished so dearly to
inflict on him.
“I’ve seen your face,” she quietly
said, for a second time.
Grim wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t kill
her, even if that’s what she truly wanted now. He would not grant her that
wish. The assassin’s sword was still raised when he heard a horn sound out from
the gateway to the villa. That was a
legion horn!
“Fuck,” Grim muttered under his
breath.
“Fire!” came the cry from an officer
standing just outside the main gate.
Grim heard the clicks of crossbows and
he reflexively spun, grabbing his heavy riding cloak, and flaring it out behind
him as he turned. Three bolts were stopped, catching, and hanging in his cloak.
A fourth managed to punch through the thick leather and nail him in the
shoulder. A fifth flew past him, dangerously close to his wounded leg and hit
Aleigh square in the chest, drawing a pained shriek from the young girl. Grim
looked down at the child, likely mortally wounded, and then back up at the
advancing legion of men, marching into the villa five abreast, silver armor
adorned with embossed eagles.
The assassin fled. Sprinting to the
back of the complex before the crossbows could be reloaded and clambering up
the wall, to drop painfully to the other side. Grim knew his way around the
Water District well, and quickly lost any pursuit by taking back alleys,
rushing through people’s yards, and eventually taking to the rooftops, where he
finally slowed to evaluate his wounds.
The kitchen knife had been fairly dull
and not ideal for stabbing, and the crossbow bolt had barely managed to pierce
the hardened leather cuirass, probably thanks to his little cloak trick.
Grimacing, the assassin ripped the bolt out and smelled the tip. Not poisoned,
as he had suspected. Poison, for the most part, wasn’t really the legion’s
style after all. Which brought him to his second question—what was the legion
doing here? There was always at least one Harthian legion in the capital, but
very rarely did they patrol the Water District, and in such force!
Normally each district of the city,
five in total, was protected and laws were enforced by their own garrison of
soldiers. A much smaller and far less trained group of men than a legion, but
effective, nonetheless. The regalia worn by the soldiers at the Ogle’s villa
indicated that they were a part of the Legion of the Eagle. A legion that was
supposed to be camped out to the north of the city, defending from naval raids
led by the Oval Islands.
This turn of events disturbed the
assassin greatly, but even more so, he couldn’t shake the image of Aleigh,
pinned to the ground by a crossbow bolt. The missile hadn’t been slowed by his
cloak at all, and Aleigh wore no armor to deflect the shot. She was likely
dead. The thought should have comforted him. It was the fate she had wanted.
The fate he had been too weak to give her. Her death conveniently tied up his
only loose end…
Grim was far from comforted by the
thought. Instead, he felt guilty. A guilt he was all too familiar with. The
child’s death rested heavy on the assassin’s shoulders, and he dwelled on it
for many hours that morning. He waited for the bustling crowds of Everharth to
take to the streets, so he could slip away to collect his payment from Father
Bezind…
About Cole Hopkins:
Cole was
born in Tennessee in 1996. His love for fantasy started at a very young age,
fueled by the many movies, video games, and of course books he enjoyed all
throughout his youth and still to this day. He loves chess, cars, and soccer–
the latter of which is a passion he shares with his wife, Lindsey. Together the
two recently welcomed their daughter Cecilia into the world. The three now live
happily in Northern Kentucky, along with their two Black Labs, Ziggy and Eevee.
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