Restart Again: Volume 1 by Adam Scott (motivational books for women TXT) 📗

“I don’t CARE!” The anger finally boiled over, my words coming without second thought or restraint. “I don’t care what happens to you, or anybody else in the damn town! I only care about her!” If looks could kill, I would’ve glared a hole straight through his face. “I thought you cared about her too.”

I had crossed a line with that. Ashedown lumbered over me, clamping a huge hand down onto my shoulder and shoving me roughly back against the brick wall. “That’s enough out of you!” I struggled to move away, but he was leaning his weight into it now, and I was well and truly stuck. He lowered his head down, our faces only inches apart. Veins were bulging in his neck and his face was beet red. “Don’t you EVER question my loyalties again! I care about her more than a punk like you could ever imagine!” He was shouting now, his composure lost just like mine. “She’s my DAUGHTER!”

“AND SHE’S MY WIFE!” I smashed my forehead into his nose, bringing stars to my eyes. He grunted in pain as he recoiled, giving me enough space to slip out from beneath his hand. I spun quickly underneath the outstretched arm and kicked hard at the back of his knees, sending him toppling forward against the brick wall. With Ashedown momentarily disabled, I turned and ran to the rack next to the door, unsheathing my sword.

Turning, I held up the blade just in time. Ashedown had recovered and was charging me with a bulging fist held high. He stopped as I raised my weapon, the point dangerously close to his trunk-like neck. Although my body was coursing with adrenaline, my face was completely calm. “I’m going to get Amaya back. No discussion. End of story. If you don’t like that idea, you’ll have to kill me.” I turned the sword, pressing an edge to his cheek. We locked eyes for a long moment in silence. “While there’s life in me, she will not sit imprisoned. Not another second longer.”

All at once, Ashedown’s strength left him. He staggered back a step, paused for a moment, and then collapsed into his chair. Covering his face with his hands, his shoulders bounced weakly as he began to sob. Blood and tears leaked through his fingers, dripping down to the stone floor to splash too loudly in the silence. Slowly, I turned and retrieved my cloak, sheathed my sword on my belt, and opened the door. Rain was pouring down in the darkness outside, but I didn’t care. I had to go.

I stepped outside but stopped and turned to look back at Ashedown for a moment. “She’s going to be okay, Rastor. You both will.” With that, I pulled up my hood and walked out into the night. Wind was whipping the rain straight into the back of my head, instantly soaking through the thin woolen cloak and into my undergarments. With dark clouds covering the sky the night was an impenetrable black, but I still knew where I was going. Far in the distance, through the town past rolling hills, small orange lights flickered against the darkness atop what I knew were the stone walls of the keep.

As I trudged through the mud, I reflected on the events of the past few days. The guard had come alone at first, carrying a contract from Lord Eadric, the presiding lord protector of the surrounding townships. It implored Ashedown to forge twenty of the finest sets of plate armor, shields and longswords. More curiously, it specifically asked for me, by name, to come to the keep at once. The offered price on the contract was insultingly low, and Ashedown had refused out of hand.

The next day the guard returned with a new contract and five additional men. The new proposal stated that the work would be done for free as a favor to his Lordship, and that I would be escorted back to the keep upon acceptance. Ashedown refused again and told the guards that if he were to do any work at all for Lord Eadric, he would have to show up himself and offer a fair price. He also made it clear that I would not be accompanying the guards back to the keep, although I didn’t understand what role I had in any of this.

When they returned the following day, they were led by a man in flashy crimson plate armor. He rode atop a powerful black destrier and had an impressively ornate lance on his back. Without a word the men had kicked down the door, grabbed Amaya from where she sat sewing by the fire, and carried her out in chains. Ashedown had raged at the men, although when I moved to stop them, he placed a hard hand on my shoulder to hold me in place. When Amaya was in irons, roughly set atop a horse, the commander called down to us in a dismissive, arrogant voice. “If you ever want to see her again, fulfill the contract, and send the boy to us.”

I had fought with Ashedown for six days after that, each one escalating in intensity as I pleaded for him to at least send me to speak with Lord Eadric. He stubbornly refused but wouldn’t elaborate as to why I couldn’t leave other than repeating, “If we give them what they want now, they’ll do this to everyone in town to get what they want.” He had continued working on other smaller jobs, refusing to start a single blade for the contract.

I didn’t know why the Lord wanted to see me, but I didn’t care. Amaya was in trouble through no fault of her own, and I couldn’t leave her scared and alone in some holding cell within the keep. Though I was soaked to the bone and freezing I continued to trudge up the last hill on my way to the keep.