The Saboteur Chronicles: Book 3
Blood & Stone
J.V. Roberts
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
© 2018 J.V. Roberts
www.jvroberts.com
Also by J.V. Roberts
The Fall of Man: the Saboteur Chronicles
The Glass Mountains: the Saboteur Chronicles: Book 2
Table of Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
Acknowledgments
1
Roserine Shalewind stood on the wraparound balcony of the gutted lighthouse—with its rust-colored body and grime fogged windows—overlooking the Kingdom of Anthena. She wore a white blouse off her shoulders, a black underbust corset with a zipper front, and black leather pants with lace-up boots that stopped just below her knees. Over top of that, she wore boiled leather armor: black arm bracers and banded greaves. On her left hip, she wore a broadsword; the guard, grip, and pommel bore a brilliant, silver sheen.
She observed Anthena through a pair of old binoculars plagued with foggy lenses as a gray sea churned at her back. There was a marketplace below her, nestled against a series of docks crowded with large merchant ships. North of that, a small set of stairs led up to an inn, a tavern, a doctor’s office, and a schoolhouse that were backed up against a sloping cliff face that ran a mile in either direction. Carved into the cliff were hundreds of small dwellings housing the seven hundred and fifty-four people that called the Kingdom of Anthena home; the rows of houses were separated by a large central staircase that led up to the top of the cliff. Some homes were bigger than others and each one breathed a bit different than the last, brandishing their own quirks and imperfections: rugged windows and doors that never lost their creak due to the rust that floated in off the back of the saltwater breeze. Above the dwellings, perched proudly atop the cliff, was castle Volkheeri. It was comprised of two large turrets stabbing at the bruised sky, a courtyard, and an outer bailey; the towering double doors that granted entry to the throne room were under constant guard by the best soldiers Anthena had to offer. On either side of the castle there were open fields for cattle to graze and people to stroll; beyond that stood the north wall, marking the end of Anthena’s dominion.
She turned the binoculars toward the west. A pillar of black smoke rose from the mine, signaling yet another attack by the Eval Naturae.
Beaten back again and again, yet still, they come.
She’d never understood the natives and their savagery. As a child, she was told many stories about how her people had landed on the shores of Anthena after the great flash that blinded the world. How they’d come with open arms and open hearts and were greeted with malice in return. They’d been forced to defend themselves, forced to carve out their own space using brute force and ingenuity; they’d spent countless years slapping clubs and arrows away with one hand while laying down bricks with the other. They built the north wall—twelve-feet high and over a mile long—to keep the Eval out. And for a time, it did its job, allowing her a childhood free from conflict; her days had been spent sparring in the courtyard with her brother and sneaking aboard the trading vessels that anchored near the seaside market.
But when she was a teenager the Eval returned.
With their return came tragedy and an end to her innocence.
They streamed over the wall one night and managed to breach the outer bailey of the castle. During the ensuing chaos, her mother was killed. After that, everything changed. Anthena entered into a dark time. A time of conflict. The raids became more frequent. It wore on her father—the loss of a wife, the Kingdom under attack—it wore him down to his very marrow, chipped away at him until he was nothing more than splintered fragments, a frail shadow of the King he’d once been. It’d been responsible for confining him to his sick bed, she was sure of it. The doctor had disagreed with her assessment, deeming his condition a disease of the blood, but if such a disease were indeed present, tragedy had put it there.
She sighed and replaced the binoculars on the rusted hook by the door and held fast to the pommel of her sword as she circled down the narrow staircase, her footsteps echoing through the hollow space, her fiery hair bouncing long and loose about her freckled, sun-kissed shoulders. Once outside, she looked across the rocky shoreline, out over the endless ocean; waves were rising, crashing, and receding. Distant fishing vessels were bobbing and casting their nets as mist from the breaking waves cooled her face. She turned and began a short walk up a winding, dirt path, emerging on the south side of the market and inhaling deeply; a warmth flooded through her as the salt air mixed with the aroma of exotic spices. The market was backed up against the shore, built atop a large, elevated, brick and mortar platform. Towering above it were five, twenty-five-foot tall pillars, symbolizing the Five Tenets upon which Anthena was founded: Loyalty, Honor, Integrity, Courage, and Selflessness. Children started learning the Five Tenets in the crib and were expected to live out their days by them.
She moved deeper into the hum of the crowd, molding to its noise, allowing it to push and pull her. The chatter of different tongues filled the air as prices were raised and lowered and deals made and broken; a war of words as exciting as any swordfight. Merchants from every corner of the sea moved from stall-to-stall, trying to pawn off their goods with practiced enthusiasm: batches of fish, baskets of grain, and piles of fine linen that the shopkeepers would then turn around and sell to their fellow citizens in order to turn a profit and buy more. However, most merchants were there to do more than simply pawn off fish and linen. They came seeking iron ore. It was that knowledge that caused a knot to grow in Roserine’s stomach as she glanced around at all of the ships that were docked and waiting to be loaded. Anthena’s ore supply was already limited due to the numerous attacks on the mine over the previous months. Today’s attack wasn’t going to help matters. Many contracts would go unfulfilled and those merchants would go elsewhere to satisfy their needs. Anthena’s iron ore export was its lifeblood, without it the land would wither and die.
She felt a hand close around her elbow. “There you are, my lady. I’ve been searching for you.” It was her handmaid Emily. She was a stocky woman and easily given to hysterics, but she served Roserine well and without complaint. “My lady, I must say, this place is most unsuitable for you. We don’t know if there are still attackers within the walls. Too many people here, they could easily blend with the crowd.” Where Roserine saw a beautiful clash of culture and tradition, Emily just saw the clash.
“I appreciate your concern, now more than ever. But I assure you,
I’m perfectly safe.” She patted her sword. “Besides, Eval don’t blend so easily. We’ve got soldiers stationed at every corner of the market. I’m sure this was another raid. In-and-out. The Eval don’t possess the courage to stand against us in an honest fight.”
“Be that as it may, you gave me quite a fright.” Emily’s eyes passed over the crowd as her fingers grazed the dagger sheathed at her waist.
“You worry needlessly. I was in the lighthouse, surveying the damage. Any word back from the men I dispatched?”
“None that I’ve heard.”
“And Byron?”
She shook her head.
“Our father is not long for this world. If my brother intends to be King, he should start acting the part.” Roserine began moving through the crowd, ducking wooden crates and spinning around casks of spiced wine straight off the boat from Lokavia. “Anthena is under attack. The people need reassurance, not an empty throne.”
“I’ll send some men to find him.”
She shook her head. “We can’t spare them. Get more men over to the mine. I want a report on the situation within the hour.”
“Good afternoon, my lady.” The bassy voice belonged to Coen Callwen; a friend since childhood. His mother had worked in the castle kitchen; she’d passed a few years back and his father had followed shortly after. He spent his days unloading and loading merchant vessels.
“Afternoon, Coen. Looks like you’ve got quite the haul.”
He smiled through his thick beard and hoisted the swelling sack of fish higher up his back. “Aye, longfin from the Barrow Strait. Corvega and his crew were loaded down heavy today.”
“See to it that we don’t take it all. I don’t want our men pushed out of the market.”
“Yes, of course.”
“What about the spiced wine?”
Coen looked toward the Lokavian merchant ship where barrels were being unloaded by an assembly line of men. “They’re loaded down.”
“We accepted too much last time; I don’t want theirs to be the only beverage behind the bar. Only accept what’s needed to fulfill the contract on the ore; the rest they’ll have to take elsewhere.”
“No need to worry, my lady. Gaige has already set the limit.”
She nodded approval. “How is our own ship looking? By my estimates, they should have set sail two days ago.”
“Aye, my lady. It’s the ore. It’s short. Captain Slavock wants more on board before he departs; says he doesn’t want to waste a voyage.”
“Afraid that won’t be possible. Too many contracts here that need filling. See that he departs today; pass the message along to Gaige.”
“Consider it done.”
“Thank you, Coen.”
“Bad business up at the mine again, aye?” He pointed his chin toward the distant column of smoke.
“Indeed. But we’ll get it sorted. We always do.”
“People are talking, saying we’re going to have to shut the mine down because the men are planning to strike.”
“Those people might want to brush up on their Tenets, particularly the one that references courage.”
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me. If you ever need someone to pick up a sword, just say the word. I’ll show those Eval what Anthenians are capable of when you push us too far.”
“I appreciate your willingness to serve.”
He set his eyes on Emily, still smiling, but it was different. There was something else holding it in place besides mere cordiality; something boyish and coy, something that put color in his cheeks and a sparkle in his eyes. “And how are you on this gorgeous afternoon?”
“I’m fine, Coen,” she chirped back huffily.
“That’s good.” He was momentarily lost for words, expecting Emily to help him push the bulk of the conversation forward. “So…um, you coming out for a drink tonight? Fresh shipments came in. The good stuff.”
She gave a brief shake of the head, her ponytail barely moving with the motion. “No.”
“Oh, well, alright then. I’ll tell the boys you said hi. You ladies have a wonderful day.”
“Emily, you know he has feelings toward you.” Roserine took her arm and leaned in close as they walked.
“Those feelings are not exclusive to me, I’m afraid.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everyone knows that Coen is the biggest skirt chaser in Anthena.”
“Emily,” she gasped, “what an awful thing to say!”
“It’s true. Lilly caught him with Ina behind the smithy.”
“No, she didn’t!”
“On my honor, she did.”
“Oh my!” She couldn’t imagine the sandy-haired, little boy that she’d grown up with engaging in such behavior, nor did she want to. She shuddered and tried to push the images away. “But he’s a young, single man. They’re prone to such things, I suppose. It doesn’t mean you can’t go out and enjoy his company, just avoid going near the smithy.”
Emily resisted a smile. “It would just be me thinking about him with Ina and a dozen other girls, all while watching him and his mates get drunk. No, thank you.”
A boy skipped in front of them, stopped, and offered a ruby red apple to Roserine. “My lady.”
She crouched, kissed his head, and accepted the gift. “Thank you, little prince. Hop along now, find your mom.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Roserine lifted the apple to her lips and bit. It was cool and crisp. She dabbed the tart juice from her lips with the tip of her tongue and offered the apple to Emily.
“No, thank you.”
She shrugged and took another bite. “You should go tonight. Take Coen up on his offer. He won’t be the only guy there. You’re young. You spend too much time with me as it is. It’s not good for you.”
Emily slowed her steps and her shoulders fell as her eyes began studying the bricks at her feet.
“Emily, no, wait.” The last thing she meant to do was offend. “I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” She held Emily’s arm and tugged. “Come on, you know I enjoy having you around. Who else would tolerate me prattling on the way I do? I just feel guilty, is all. You deserve a life.”
Emily straightened her back and lifted her chin, eyes full up with conviction. “Serving you is my life. I swore an oath to your father.” And she’d kept her oath, following in the footsteps of her mother, who’d spent the bulk of her life serving Roserine’s father. But Roserine didn’t want that, she didn’t want to be someone’s purpose.
“I know all about your oath. But your mother had a life, she had you.” Roserine took Emily’s face in her hands.
“She had me and then it was back to the castle. I raised myself, with my father squeezing in some time between his shifts at the mine and his nightly visits to the tavern. Calling it a life is a stretch.”
“So stretch.” She smiled as she spoke. “I’m not my father. I don’t need you to tie my corsets and polish my blade. Make a life for yourself. Have some fun with Coen, or whomever. Tell me all about it tomorrow.”
Emily closed her eyes and sighed. “Fine, I’ll go have a drink with Coen. Happy?”
“Very.” She hugged her neck.
“One request, my lady.”
She stepped back, holding Emily by the shoulders; there was mischief pulling at the corners of her mouth. “And that would be?”
“I want to help find you a suitor.”
“No way! Not having this conversation.” She turned and started walking, Emily hot on her heels.
“But, my lady, you deserve a life.” Emily laughed.
“I didn’t know you had such a robust sense of humor.” Her cheeks began to burn.
“My lady, come back.” Emily caught up with her, taking her arm and slowing her gait. “I jest, but I’m also being serious.”
“And I’m being serious; we’re not having this conversation. I’ve had it one time too many with my father.”
“You opened this door
when you brought up Coen. It’s only fair that I am allowed to say my peace.”
Her silence served as permission.
“I’m not saying this because I think you should keep up appearances or continue the family line. This is about your happiness. Just like you see me, I see you, my lady. You work day and night to keep this land together.”
“What do you expect? My father is dying. My brother is off doing gods knows what. It falls on me. I don’t like it. Trust me, I wish I had more free time in the day; free time to meet someone or to come down here and just take a breath. But I don’t have that luxury. I will not let Anthena crumble because I’m too tired to hold her up.”
“It won’t be like this forever, my lady.”
She patted the hand resting on her elbow. “I know it won’t. But until things change, this is my life. Don’t worry, I still find the odd hour here and there to have a little fun.”
“Understood.”
“But that doesn’t get you off the hook with Coen.” She laughed as Emily rolled her eyes. “But first things first, I want a report on the mine attack.”
They’d reached the other end of the market and now stood at the bottom of the small flight of stone steps.
“Also, I forgot to mention, your uncle is here. He and his men have taken up in the tavern.”
Roserine turned and looked across the harbor. How’d she miss his ship? “Did he say what he wants?”
“No, my lady. He did not. Would you like me to go find out?” Emily asked as they climbed the steps.
“I’ll deal with my uncle. Go see if you can get a report on the attack.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?”
“I’m sure. I’ll see you back at the castle.”
Emily bowed at the waist and hurried toward the long, central staircase leading to the top of the cliff.
The tavern was a small, unassuming, one-story-tall building made of hardwood and dirty glass. There were two rocking chairs on the front porch, both empty, both gently seesawing with the breeze. She made the short walk to the front door and paused, one hand hovering over the handle, the other on her sword. She loved her uncle, but he was a difficult man: loud, demanding, and easily brought to anger if things didn’t fall in his favor. Roserine had never dealt with him on her own, she was often relegated to the sidelines to watch as her father hemmed and hawed and ultimately caved to his brother’s ridiculous requests.
Blood & Stone: The Saboteur Chronicles Book 3 Page 1