DreamAI 2230: Stones and Blade: DreamAI 2230, #1

By Ansley Painter

Clara seeks revenge for her family that was murdered in cold blood, only to be to kidnapped by the men who did the act. Managing to escape from Magnus, she runs into some gentlemen that help her along the way. Facing extreme trails and challenges as their adventure continues Stumbling upon stones of great power and a blade that could change the fate of Warsorach forever. Falling in love for the man that has saved her time and time again. Unfortunately, it was all a dream...or was it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ansley Painter
• Release date: Oct 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223271642

Ansley Painter

First time writer and stay at home mom of two from South Carolina. 

Book preview

Chapter 1

Clara and her mother Sarah sat on the red velvet couch placed in front of their stone-walled fireplace. A warm peaceful fire glowed within, filling the room with a low-lit ambience. Together they read a book, relaxing, and settling in for the night. Clara’s dark green silked dress shined with beauty. A soft glow of a halo sat on the crown of Clara’s long brown wavey hair. Sarah lays down her book and awes at her.                   Clara glances at her mother from the corner of her eye, What is it mother? Clara asked with a smirk.          Sarah smiles, Nothing, darling. You look beautiful this evening.                Her mother reaches out, putting a hand on top of Clara’s that was resting on the cushion of the couch. Clara smiles in return and gazes into her mother’s eyes with comfort.          Her brothers James and Ian laid on the polished hard wood floor just in front of the fireplace, playing a game of chess. James, the older brother by five years, studies the board and moves a piece, putting Ian in check mate. James shows off a cheeky grin. Ian sits up with his legs crossed over each other, resting his face on his hands and lets out a grunt. He analyzes the board of what he could have done differently to beat his brother. Clara peeks over her book, giggling at Ian's misfortune.              Oh, hush up Clara. Ian demanded. Clara couldn’t help but chuckle and went back to reading her book.           I think that’s enough games for tonight. Time to get ready for bed. Sarah said softly.             James and Ian got up from the floor and raced each other up the stairs to the room they shared. Sarah watched the boys climb with a smile and a shake of the head.  She then turns her attention to Clara.    I need you to go to the market for me in the morning. I have a couple errands of my own and won’t be back till late afternoon. Clara nods to her mother and continues to read, flipping over a page.  Sarah gets up from the warm velvet couch and walks over to a wooden desk standing by the front door. She pulls out a small piece of paper from a drawer and writes a list of items with a quilled pen. Dipping the tip into the black ink between words. When Sarah finished writing the last word on the paper, she folds it in half and hands it over to Clara.                  Don't be too long, ok? She then kisses Clara on top of the head and goes up the stairs to her bedroom. Slightly holding her dress up above her ankles so not to trip up the steps.         Clara finishes the last few sentences of the chapter she was reading when she heard rustling at the window near the front door. She turns her head towards the sound, slowly closing her book and lays it on the end table next to the couch. She cautiously stands up and tips toes over to the desk, trying not to make the wooden floors squeak. She picks up the flaming candle that was sitting on the desk and goes to the window, the flame reflecting off the glass pane. All she could see was the pitch-black darkness of the night. A low fog had muffled the glow of a flaming lantern by the street of their house. Clara looked back and forth between the windowpanes and couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary.            Probably just a racoon. She thought to herself. She then goes up the stairs to her room, holding up her dress with one hand and the lit candle in the other. The heels of her shoes clanking against the wooden steps. At the top of the stairs, her mother and brothers’ bedrooms were on the left down the hall. Both doors slightly cracked open. She slightly leaned over to peek into her brothers’ rooms, the low glimmer of a candle still lighting their room. Hearing them chuckle and carrying on a conversation. Clara smirked and continued on to her room just to the right of the stairs. She opens the thick wooden door, the old hinges letting out a short cry as the door swung open. She then goes to the fireplace nestled in the center of the wall just before her bed and places the candle on the carved dark polished wooden mantle. She pulls a long wooden wick out from a small box sitting on the mantle and lights it from the flame of the candle.      Once it caught fire, she gently threw it on top of the logs in the fireplace, waiting for it to catch fire. She takes the sooty golden stoker that was leaned next to the fireplace by the handle and pokes at the logs to agitate the flames, making the flame catch bigger. Clara places it back against the brick wall of the fireplace and takes the candle off the mantle, shuffling over to her vanity. She places the candle down on the chipped wooden top of her vanity and sat on the flowered cushioned stool in front of it.                She looks to herself for a moment in the vintage circular mirror. Gazing at her round deep blue eyes, gradually running her fingers through her long thick waved curls. One by one, she takes the bobby pins out from the back of her head, holding her hair away from her elegant face. The long locks falling to her shoulders. She takes her soft bristled silver coated brush and grooms the strains of hair to a straight silky touch. With each stroke, she got lost in her thoughts of the past and future. Wondering what her life could be like, who she will meet or fall in love with. Could she be the next duchess of an arranged marriage to a highly respected family? Or maybe never fall in love at all.  She then started thinking of her father, how much she missed him. It had been twenty-three years since he passed away that month. Remembering a game of hide and seek in the courtyard when she was just four years old. Wildflowers grew in every corner of the yard. Butterflies fluttered by each flower, collecting the sweet nectar to fill its craving. Remembering how they laughed and played. Their bond so close and strong, followed his every step like a shadow.      When she finished brushing the ends of her hair, she lays down the brush on the vanity and takes off her gold dangled earrings from her earlobes. Placing them in a small round white porcelain jewelry box, delicately painted with pink roses. Clara then takes the flickering candle over to her night stand next to the bed. The glow now shining in that corner of the room, the hot wax running down it on all sides. She places the candle down and sits on the edge of her bed.      She starts to untie her black ankle high leathered heel shoes, loosening up the strings constricting each foot and kicks them off in front of her. Rubbing her feet from the aches it caused. She then pulls off her white cotton knee high socks and tosses them on top of her shoes. Small red blisters had rubbed on the back of her heels. She lets her bare feet touch the cold wooden floor, sending a shiver up her legs.  A green flowered wash basin stood by the window of her bed. She goes to fill the porcelain bowl with fresh water from the pitcher sitting inside it. Gently siting the pitcher down on the shelf under the basin and takes a cotton cloth hanging from the dowel on the side. She dips the cloth into the water and twists it above the bowl, letting the water drain out to a damp. Clara wipes her face with the cool cloth and around her neck. Wiping away the grimness of the day, droplets of water running down into her corset.             She dips the cloth back into the water again, wringing it dry and hangs it back on the dowel. She reaches behind her back, pulling the gold lined zipper down that was holding her green silk dress together. She slides the dress off her shoulders and lets it fall to the ground. Exposing her corset and silked bloomers. She then pulls the tied bow from the top of her corset loose. Loop by loop, pulling the string out holding the corset together around her breast. Making it easier and easier to breathe. When Clara finally got to the last loop, she drops the corset on the ground and takes a deep breath, letting out a sigh of relief.                  Finally. She exasperated.            She walks over to the white linen night gown hanging on the hook by her bed, slipping it on, adjusting it as it went down her soft curves. The gown dangled just below her knees, tying the two short strings by her collarbone into a small bow. Clara then went to sit on the edge of her bed again, staring at the blue flower-patterned wallpaper. Still feeling uneasy about the rustling noise by the window downstairs. She let out a short sigh and pulled the covers out from under her feathered pillows, getting in between the silked sheets and the mattress. She leans over to blow out the candle sitting on the nightstand. The ambience of the crackling fire and flames flickering on the walls of the room, drifting her to sleep.              Later that night, Clara was suddenly woken by the sound of stumbling and banging. She quickly sits straight up on her bed and listened for a moment of the sounds coming down the hall. Clara quietly slides out of her bed and takes the stoker by the fireplace. The flames of the logs had died down to a rolling glow of embers.     Clara slowly turns the old iron knob on her door and cracks it open. Peeking an eye between the crack, making out two dark figures down the hallway by her mothers’ door. Two other shadows were in her brother’s room. They looked to be men, with black cloaks and short round hats.                Suddenly, the two men slung her mother’s door open and grabbed her out of the bed. Stuffing a wad of cloth in her mouth to keep her from screaming. Sarah thrashes back and forth trying to break free, but the man holding her down was too strong. They dragged Sarah out of her room coming towards the stairs. Clara quickly retracts from the door and waits for the men to pass by.         The other two men came out of the brother’s room, each one wrestling with a boy. Dragging them by the collar of their shirts down the hall. Clara quickly draws back again from the door, praying that she was not seen.                  She waits for them to go down the stairs and takes a glimpse between the crack again. Slowly opening the door even more, hoping that it doesn’t creak. Holding the stoker in her hands, she slowly creeps over to the handrail of the staircase, peeking between the rods. She sees her mother being strangled by a large bald head man. He wore a rugged-torn black cloak, black pants, long black cotton collared shirt. Muddy black leather boots and a scarf covering his face. Two of the other men holding each brother had on the same torn cloaks but wore dirty white cotton shirts and black rounded hats. The last man that Clara could see was someone she familiar, a person she saw around a lot when her father was alive.              From what she could remember his name was Magnus Hansen. He and her father had been friends since they were kids. He had a sharp chiseled face, black scraggly beard that hung down from his chin. Hair black as night and beady brown eyes filled with emptiness and anger. He wore the same rounded black hat with a black torn cotton cloak that touched the floor, a long black cotton collared shirt and black leather boots.                 All her senses were now focused and sharp. She listened to every movement and whisper they made. Her mother was finally able to push the wad of cloth out of her mouth.          Please, spare my sons and take my life! We’ve done no harm! Take what you want! her mother pleaded. Tears running down her soft aged cheeks.                Silence! Magnus yells, slapping her across the face.     Are you holding secrets for Alice?! Magnus screamed.    No! She came to me years ago pleading for help! Sarah exclaimed.                Magnus raises his hand to the men holding back Ian and James. The men pull out their daggers from the sheath hanging onto their belts and places the cold steel against their innocent throats.      No! yelled Sarah.               Clara covered her mouth to keep her from making a sound. Holding the stoker tighter with the other hand. She began to wonder who Alice was, her mother wouldn’t keep secrets or take any part in being a spy or revolutionist.              I'll ask you one last time. Are you working for Alice?    Sarah pauses, gathering her thoughts and looks up at Magnus’s scouring face, tears streaming down from her eyes. She then slightly fixes her gaze to Clara, locking eyes with her daughter.     She builds her confidence and looks back to Magnus, Yes. She said quietly in between her sobbing breaths.        Magnus nods his head to the men holding back James and Ian. The men quickly pull their daggers across James and Ian’s throats, their bodies fall onto the cold wooden floor. The round red floral rug, soaking in the puddle of blood.            No! You bastard! Sarah cries out. The man holding back Sarah struggles to keep her in place. My babies! I told you the truth! she exclaims.                  Magnus nods to the man holding back Sarah. He pushes her to the floor, making Sarah fall to her knees. She looks up at the banister at the top of the stairs and locks eyes with Clara again. The man reaches over for his sword hanging from the leather belt and pulls it out from its sheath. He draws the sword back and impales it deep through Sarah's back. Sarah gasps for air and drops to the floor across from her two sons. Clara stares in shock, tears falling from her eyes.      Yes, you told the truth. But we can’t have... back stabbers. How, ironic. Said Magnus.              Clara grips the stoker tighter in her hand, the whites of her knuckles showing. She gathers up her courage and runs down the stairs, screaming as she goes down the steps, skipping every other step to get down faster. She raises the stoker above her head and swings it at Magnus’s body. Magnus quickly draws his sword and perries her swings. The other men held their ground around Magnus, standing ready to perry a swing. Clara takes one more hard swing at Magnus and comes down onto his face.              Magnus drops his sword in pain and covers his right eye, Argh! Get her! Yelled Magnus.            Clara made a deep gash going down his right eyebrow to his cheek, blood sliding down his face. The men charge at Clara, grabbing her by the arms, holding them behind her back. One of the men grabs a chunk of her hair, holding her head back. Clara drops the stoker and tries to break free.                Let me go! she yelled. Magnus gathers himself and stands in front her. He raises a hand, smacking her across the face. Clara grits her teeth from the shock pain.              Doesn't feel too good, now does it? Magnus said sarcastically.  I knew she dumped you off. Take her with us, cover her mouth. I will deal with her later. he demanded.        Clara grew confused by what he meant, wondering who he was talking about. She thrashes back and forth, trying to break free of the men’s grasp. One man ties a cloth around Clara’s neck and moves the wad into her mouth, muffling her voice. The men then drag Clara away, making their way into the dark streets of the town.      A battered wagon and two black horses had been waiting for them in the shadows. Nestled in the alley between two stoned buildings. The men lead Clara to the back of the wagon, taking a rope lying inside and tying her hands and legs.          Alright, lift her up. Said one of the men, grunting. They lifted Clara into the back of the wagon, pulling a heavy canvas sheet over her.  Not a sound. the man ordered to Clara.      The men and Magnus then quickly ride off into the darkness of the woods nearby. Keeping casual as if nothing had happened. 

Chapter 2

The air had turned to a crisp cold in Warsorach. Leaves had started to cover the ground, leaving the trees bare. The skies had darkened with a rolling fog across the wheat fields and muddy trails to the castle. Magnus and his family had occupied the castle just outside of the town of Shoals, the kingdom of Nashrdon. He had taken on the role as king. Promising the people in his kingdom riches and bountiful amounts of food.                 Just three years after Magnus had murdered Clara's family, Clara had been taken as a prisoner to be a servant. Using her for his every need. She had grown thin, bones more prominent than before. She wore a torn woven brown dress, a thin piece of braided roped tied around her boney waist to keep her dress tucked back. Her untamed hair pulled up loosely on her head. Her shoes shaped as slippers, made from deer skin. The thin soles helped shield her feet from the stony surface of the castle floor.              A long oak table with six chairs on each side stood noble in the dining hall. A red clothed runner with gold trim and tassels laid down the length of the table. Two sets of three arm metal candelabra in the middle of the table, the candles giving a romantic quite glow. Magnus sat at the end of the table across from his wife, Alice. His face scarred from the blow that Clara made with the stoker.         Alice was a tall fair woman. Always spoke quietly and was mindful of her husband but despised him. Her long straight and golden hair was always kept neat and braided around the side. A small, jeweled dragonfly brioche held the braids together on the back of head. Her dress a dark satin blue, rested on her shoulders. The collar low and wide just enough to catch a glimpse of her cleavage. Clara had always admired the looks of Alice; she would get lost in daydreaming of the days when she had cleaned silked dresses of her own and groomed hair.                    A large, stoned fireplace burned nearby in the dining hall, keeping the room warm from the chill that sneaked through the cracks of the stoned walls. Two large hounds laid on the floor next to Magnus, waiting for something to fall from the table. Clara had just finished filling a gold-plated platter of grapes and other fruits to set on the table while the other servant girls in the kitchen quickly rushed to prepare the king and queen’s meal. The smell of a roast sitting in the fire with sweet honey glazed carrots and seasoned boiled potatoes filled the air. A fresh loaf of bread sat covered in a cloth in a wicker basket on the table. A baked cherry pie placed by the fire to keep warm, waiting to be sliced.              Clara takes the platter of fruits and quickly walks out of the kitchen to serve. She places the platter by Magnus and slightly bows at the waist. Magnus picks a plump grape off one of the stems and puts it in his mouth.                Another glass of wine. He said with a smirk. Clara walks over to the table by the fireplace and grabs a gold pitcher filled with red wine, wishing she could poison it for Magnus to drink. Magnus holds out his dented gold mug, waiting for it to be filled. Clara slowly pours the wine into it, careful not to over fill it or drip.        Magnus takes a big gulp of the wine, You may retire to your room.                  Clara bows at the waist again, her stomach viciously growling from the aroma of smells in the kitchen. She left the dining room in a hurry, shuffling down the hall wishing she had snuck a piece of bread from the basket. The hall was filled with pictures of Magnus's old relatives, each one giving a stare that followed as you went by. Lit lanterns hung along the stone’s walls, filling the space of the void.    Clara finally gets to her room at the very end of the hallway and grabs hold of the black iron ring of the old wooden door. She pushes the heavy door open and shuts it behind her with a hard thud. Resting her back against the grainy splintered wood. She stares up at the cobbed webbed ceiling for a moment and closes her wary eyes. Visioning the house, her mother, brothers, and her father. She lets out a sigh and comes back to reality, walking over to a small tin bowl that sat on a table near the door. Clara washes her filthen hands in the murky water of the bowl and dry's them off with the end of her dress. She takes a double take into the water of the bowl and notices her reflection shining on the water. She leans against the wooded counter and stares into the dirty water.              I've got to get out of here. she said quietly to herself. For months, Clara had planned several scenarios of escape. But each one with a risk that could get her killed. At times, she thought her only solution was to end her misery by getting herself killed. But Clara always chose that she needed to get revenge for her family, not be a coward. She decided that night, she would give one of her plans a try.    Her bed sat in a dark corner of the room, only a thin burlap blanket covered the hay filled mattress and a chicken feathered filled pillow. She goes to a squared wooden chest that sat in front of her bed. Black iron bars decorated the sides with a large latch. Inside was a white cotton long sleeve shirt, brown linen pants, a long dark green cloak and dark brown knee-high leather boots. It was the only other clothing that Magnus would let her wear when out on hunts in the woods or in town.              The evening pastel colored sky had now turned to night; the crickets started to chirp and inside the castle was quieting down. Clara changes her attire, bringing the hood of her cloak over her head, hiding her face with its shadows. She slowly opens the door to her room and peeks her head out in the hallway. The crackling of the flame inside the lanterns echoed against the stone, no sight of any guards. She slowly closes the door behind her, careful to make the metal ring clank softly. She then sneaks down the hall at a steady pace, her back scaling