Heirs of Legacy, Book 3:
The Ramshuk
Paul Lauritsen
Heirs of Legacy, Book 3: The Ramshuk
Copyright © 2020 Paul Lauritsen
All rights reserved
Cover art by Jacquelyn Novelli
Maps by Glen Lauritsen
Other Books by Paul Lauritsen
The Heirs of Legacy Series:
Book 1: The Prince
Book 2: The Keeper
Book 3: The Ramshuk
Book 4: The Captive
For the Creative Writers of Aggieland:
Thank you for your enthusiastic support, feedback, and expertise over the years
Acknowledgements
Some projects are more challenging than others. This extends to writing as well. Some chapters practically write themselves, others take hours upon hours of painstaking attention to detail and revision. Sometimes, the entire book has to be written multiple times over before reaching the final state. The Ramshuk was one such book.
Before this manuscript made it to my editors, it went through my test reader, Glen, three separate times. There are hundreds of pages from different versions of the Ramshuk that have been removed, redone, or thrown out completely, and Glen had the patience to read every single one of them. Without his feedback, this book would be nowhere near what it is today.
On the bright side of things, projects which are more challenging to undertake also tend to be that much more rewarding when they are completed – and The Ramshuk is no exception! As an author, this is my favorite book to date and I could not be happier with how it turned out. To those aspiring authors out there (especially my friends in the Creative Writers of Aggieland) I would say this: no matter how many obstacles you run into in your story, see it through to the end.
Some stories seem to resist being written, challenging you, frustrating you all the way from page one to five hundred. This is how we grow as authors, by meeting the challenge head on and refusing to back down. When you finish the last page, make the final edit, you will find that not only is the feeling of triumph all the greater, but your book is also more than you ever dreamed it could be when you first sat down to write. Whatever you do, don’t give up. In the end, all of the hard work you put in pays off.
That being said, writing the story is only the first piece. In the journey from manuscript to published book, I once again had an outstanding supporting cast. In addition to reading the many drafts of The Ramshuk, Glen once again contributed the maps which accompany this book. My stellar editing team, my parents, returned for round three and did another great job! Last but not least, an enormous thank you to Jackie Novelli, who has now done the cover art for the first three books in the Heirs of Legacy series.
To my new readers, welcome, and to those of you who have been here before, welcome back! I hope you enjoy the third book of the Heirs of Legacy series, The Ramshuk.
The Ramshuk
Chapter 1:
A New Beginning
Garnuk stumbled along the narrow game trail, gasping for breath, utterly exhausted, yet knowing he must keep moving. He tripped over a jagged rock, wincing at the impact, and fetched up against a towering pine, peering around the trunk, sagging against it for support.
There it was, his target! Still meandering along the road at the base of the mountain. The caravan seemed to have slowed somewhat, which was all to the good from Garnuk’s perspective. The more time he had to get into position the better.
He had sighted the caravan from one of his isolated camps high in the mountains. Even as he first set eyes upon the small group of men, wagons, and beasts, the vertag knew he must raid it. It had been two days since his last meal, and he could not go much longer without proper sustenance.
But a raid would be risky. Especially a raid along such a well-known route. Garnuk knew the passes were watched by his many enemies, both human and vertag. He sent up a quick prayer to the spirits that all interested eyes would be turned a different direction. Then he set off again at a shambling run.
All the way down the slope, Garnuk questioned his actions. Attacking the caravan would expose him to the Ramshuk’s hunters once more, and the chase would resume.
Garnuk had been on the run for almost ten years now, ever since his defeat at Ganned’s Gorge, at the hands of the cursed Sthan army. Back then, Garnuk had been in control. He had been the Ramshuk, the supreme leader of all vertaga tribes, and he had wielded ultimate power and authority.
Then he had lost the war. The floodwaters had come, filled the Gorge, decimated his army, and bought the Sthan time to gather reinforcements. None of this had been Garnuk’s fault, but he had still been blamed for the catastrophic defeat and the weeks of skirmishes which whittled the vertaga army down as it fled back to the Fells.
It had not taken long for his people to turn against him, led by the new Ramshuk, Norkuvad. Garnuk had been shamed and sentenced to death for his failure, and had barely escaped with his life. But driving Garnuk away was not enough for Norkuvad. No, he wanted Garnuk dead, so there would be no chance of a resurgence from the former Ramshuk. And so, the endless pursuit had begun. The finest vertaga warriors, scouring the mountains men called the Southern Fells for any trace of the ram who had once commanded them. They had hunted Garnuk relentlessly while the true enemies of the vertaga, the Sthan, enjoyed a decade of peace.
He had done well to escape them this long, Garnuk knew. Other traitors and exiles lasted days if they were lucky. Not Garnuk. He had lasted ten years, relying on his unnatural cunning, strength, and endurance. So far, it had served him well. But in the last two weeks, things had been getting worse. There were more vertaga out and about it seemed, and he had trouble finding food, or even staying hidden. He had been driven into more and more remote areas, until his decision to attack a caravan. Until this desperate, last-ditch effort to give himself one more shot at survival.
Garnuk continued running down the slope, gaining speed as he went. The caravan was directly ahead and a little to his left, some hundred meters away. He could make out individual figures through the trees and low bushes that grew thick on the mountain. There were four traders he could see, two on each wagon. Ranged around them were four guards, armed with heavy spears, short swords, and small bucklers.
The vertag bared his teeth in a feral grin as he continued his headlong plunge. They would be easy prey. The guards he would take down first, in a matter of moments. Then the traders. The trick would be to move fast enough that the wagons did not get away in the confusion.
He was close now. Thirty meters. Twenty. Garnuk drew his black iron sword and his round shield, centered by a protruding spike of metal. The weapons were worn from use, but functional and in good condition. Garnuk had carried them ever since he had achieved full growth, and they had never failed him.
Finally, the men of the caravan took note of his presence. The traders slowed their wagons hesitantly, looking around uncertainly. The guards slowed as well, dropping into crouches and readying their spears.
Garnuk noticed a rock outcrop which overhung the trail slightly and veered towards it. He needed every advantage he could get. He ran along the rough surface then vaulted up and out, soaring out over the road and landing in the back of the first wagon.
Pandemonium ensued. The traders cowered in fear, empty hands raised to shield themselves. It did them no good. Garnuk slew them with two savage slashes. Glancing down into the wagon, he saw that it contained smoked meats and spices among other things. He shrugged his shield around onto his back and snatched up two sacks, slinging them over his shoulder as well as he prepared to make his escape. He would have to deal with the soldiers of course, but
he expected to be able to retreat back the way he had come and lose them fairly quickly.
A scream of pain distracted Garnuk and he looked up sharply, trying to identify the source of the noise. His heart sank as he saw what was happening.
More vertaga had broken from cover behind the caravan and cut off the humans’ retreat. Two of the soldiers were down, another fighting for his life. The remaining two traders had jumped down from the wagon. One tried to mount a horse, while the other darted around the side of Garnuk’s wagon, seeking shelter.
As Garnuk turned his head this way and that, seeking an escape route, he noticed three more vertaga blocking the way forward. They had their weapons drawn, but held loosely, apparently satisfied that things were under control. That would change in a heartbeat if they recognized Garnuk.
Even as he had the thought, the vertag in the center of the group turned towards him. Garnuk froze as they locked eyes, staring at each other. The other vertag’s eyes widened in surprise and he raised his axe angrily.
“You!” he shouted. “What are you doing here, traitor?”
Garnuk backed up a step, standing on the edge of the wagon. “None of your concern,” he replied. “And I am no traitor.”
The vertag snarled and made a sharp gesture. Immediately, the rest of the band began to advance, slowly closing in on Garnuk in a semicircle. Garnuk bared his teeth and raised his sword, snarling defiantly.
Then, a small noise distracted him.
He glanced down the side of the wagon and saw the two remaining humans crouched there. One trader, one guard. The guard had lost his spear, but he still had his sword and he was sawing at the tracers that bound the two horses to the wagon. They froze when they realized Garnuk had spotted them, eyes wide and frightened. They did not understand what was happening. How could they? After all, they would know nothing of vertaga history or their language.
Garnuk did nothing to betray their presence, nodding to the guard ever so slightly, then turning away. He had no quarrel with them. He had enough problems with the advancing vertaga. Their leader was pacing behind the line, glaring at Garnuk.
“Wait,” Garnuk warned the two men in an undertone, his guttural accent mangling the human words. “You will soon have an opening.” The guard’s eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded back vigorously. Then, the leader of the vertag raiding party drew Garnuk’s attention again.
“You say you are no traitor, Garnuk, but I know better. I have seen the results of your work,” he spat. “I have seen the bodies of the warriors you have slain carried back to Dun Carryl. And I was there at the Gorge, when your foolish plan led us to slaughter.”
“No foolishness,” Garnuk replied. “Just bad luck.” Just like today, he added privately. Clearly, the spirits had not heard his earlier plea.
The vertaga leader snarled menacingly. “And now your luck has run out,” he said, urging his rams forwards. “The spirits have smiled on us today. What started out a simple mission has turned into a successful hunt. The Ramshuk will reward us well for your death.”
“Come and try me if you dare!” Garnuk bellowed, his voice echoing off the mountains.
As the band of vertaga rushed forward, the remaining humans made their move.
The guard slashed the remaining lines and boosted the trader onto the back of one of the horses, slapping it on the rump to get it moving. The horse reared, nearly throwing the man off, then galloped off down the road. The guard was not far behind, leaping onto the other horse’s back and winding his hands into its mane, urging it after the trader.
The vertaga hunters hesitated, torn between Garnuk and the escaping humans. That hesitation was all Garnuk needed. He jumped down from the wagon and took off up the slope of the mountain opposite the one he had come from. As he did, he heard the vertaga leader’s roar of frustration.
“Curse you, Exile! The Ramshuk will have your head yet! You have interfered with his plans, and now he will never stop hunting you!”
What? Garnuk thought, puzzled. You mean he had given up on hunting me before? Not hardly. He’d had barely a month without an encounter of some kind.
As he ran, Garnuk began planning his next move. He had to get somewhere where he could lay low for a couple of days, somewhere not in the exact direction he had escaped in. He knew of a number of hiding places among the mountains, well-concealed and safe, but which to make for?
He glanced back and saw that any vertaga who were pursuing him had already fallen out of sight. Thus assured, Garnuk changed his course, veering to the east and climbing higher into the mountains. There was a cave not far away which would suit his needs. Another two hours of traveling and the Exile would successfully slip away again.
Garnuk did not pause throughout that time, electing to continue running, heedless of the hazards. In the last half hour of the trek, he slowed and took the time to cover the signs of his passage. This reduced his pace considerably, but he knew from bitter experience that it was an important step in the process of disappearing into thin air.
Finally, a little over two hours after the disastrous raid, he came to the cave. From the outside, it didn’t look like much, just a crack in the face of the mountain. He glanced around quickly to make sure no one was there to witness his entrance, then turned sideways and slipped into the crack.
The passage was less than half a meter wide initially, and the stone scraped at Garnuk’s back and chest. It soon doubled in width though, then veered to the left. And, quite suddenly, he was in a large and spacious cave with a smooth stone floor.
Garnuk smiled to himself and moved to the far corner of the cave, setting down his pack and his two sacks of stolen goods. He sagged to the floor wearily, the excitement of the last few hours draining away and filling him with a bone-deep weariness that made him wonder if he would ever rise again.
Eventually, Garnuk mustered the strength to sit up. He began methodically sorting through his supplies, seeing what he had to work with. The first sack contained a large amount of dried meat and other traveling rations. The second contained more rations and some small containers of spices. There were also simple camp plates and utensils.
Garnuk realized then what had happened. He had grabbed the two sacks that were closest to the traders driving the wagon. Naturally, those sacks would contain their personal provisions for the journey. He chuckled quietly to himself and set about repacking everything into his own pack, keeping a large portion of dried meat, and a pair of hard rolls out for his dinner. The trader’s empty bags he folded as small as he could, tucking them into a side pocket.
The vertag ate slowly, savoring every mouthful. It had been a long time since he’d had a satisfactory meal, and had the time to enjoy it. The meat and bread, which would ordinarily be poor fair, seemed a magnificent feast.
As he ate, Garnuk’s mind began to wander. Naturally, he found himself picking over the events of the raid. Those thrilling moments of triumph when he had taken the first wagon, then the way everything had seemed to turn to ashes when the other vertaga arrived.
Garnuk frowned suddenly, and stopped chewing. Why had the other vertaga been there? To raid the trade caravan? Or were they hunting him?
The vertag set aside what was left of his dinner and leaned back against the wall of the cave, staring up at the rock above. Then he closed his eyes, trying to remember what the leader of the band had said.
“A simple mission has turned into a successful hunt,” Garnuk murmured to himself. That was what the vertag had said. A mission turned into a hunt. Not the other way around.
Then the caravan was the mission. But there had not been raids on the humans in ten years. Such actions would alert the kingdom of men to the fact the vertaga had not been completely destroyed in the war. And that could very well draw the enemy armies south once more after all these years.
In fact, Garnuk realized suddenly, the last time he had heard of an attack on men had been during the war.
The vertag got to his feet and paced around
the cave, thinking furiously. What did it all mean? Was it possible that the Ramshuk was preparing to march from the Fells once more? Was another offensive against the world of men underway? Why else would he order an attack on a trade caravan?
The leader of the raiding party had told Garnuk that he had interfered with the Ramshuk’s plans. Immediately after –
A grim smile spread across Garnuk’s face.
Of course. After the two humans had escaped. There weren’t supposed to be survivors. That was the way Garnuk had begun the first war. Attacks, disappearances, raids. Always with no survivors. Chaos and confusion. And, when the enemy had been weakened, a swift and terrible march to war.
It amused Garnuk that the new Ramshuk was using his old plans. Those plans had made Garnuk an exile, but it had been through no fault of strategy.
Garnuk paused, turned slightly, and rubbed his horns with one hand agitatedly. His plans could have succeeded, probably would have succeeded given the chance. Was this what was happening now? Had the new Ramshuk recognized Garnuk’s brilliance and claimed it for himself?
That would not do at all. The thought of another gaining from his master strategies rankled Garnuk. If the Usurper succeeded, he would rule the known world even as men did now. The vertaga would become the mighty conquerors as Garnuk had dreamt in the first war, but he would not be a part of it. He would still be what he was now: an exile, wrongfully cast out, surrounded by enemies, left with nothing.
Garnuk stopped. Sat down. Leaned forward eagerly. Surrounded by enemies.
It came to him all in a moment, a plan so simple, so blindingly obvious. And yet, it held the potential to succeed. He was surrounded by enemies. Vertaga, yes, but humans as well. And if he was right about the Ramshuk’s intentions, those two dominant forces were about to be pitted against each other. If things went well, they would batter each other to pieces, wear each other down until they were weak enough.
The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3) Page 1