LAY: Pirate of The Icicle
LUD: District supervisor for The Outer Narrows
MADGE: Wife of Lud
MANARI: Mother of Neenahwi and Motega
MARETH: Son of Lord Bollingsmead, bard, former adventurer, former pirate.
MIDNIGHT: Squad member of the Ravens
MOLEY: Squad member of the Ravens
MORRIS: Sergeant of the Ravens
MOTEGA: Warrior and archer of renown from the wild continent, Brother to Neenahwi, mercenary for hire.
MYANK: Wizard, teacher of Jyuth
NAIL: Pirate of The Icicle
NANNY EARMA: Dyer’s great-aunt
NATHAN: Son of Lord Eden
NEENAHWI: Of the Wolfclaw clan, wizard, adopted daughter of Jyuth and older sister to Motega
NINI: Lud’s grandmother
ORMAN: Lud’s best friend
PAVAK: A purple worm
PETRA: Bar maid at the Royal Oak, sister to Alana
QETURAH: Student at the Hollow House
RANANON: An elf
SHAREF: Former chief of the Wolfclaw tribe, Motega and Neenahwi’s father
SHEILA: Undead
STEPPEN: Treasurer of the Hollow Syndicate
TALBOT: First mate of The Icicle
THALANDAR: An elf
TOM: Student at the Hollow House
TORKEL: Priest of Varcon and juggernaut pilot
TRYPP: Friend to Motega and Florian. Former thief with the Twilight Exiles
TUFT: Neenahwi’s cat
VIDIN: A purple worm
WENDA: Wife of Dyer
WREN: Guildmaster of the Money Changers guild
XATANIEL: Selkie sorceress
Call to Action
Thanks for reading the further adventures of Mareth, Alana, Neenahwi, Motega and a few new characters. I hope you enjoyed it. I would appreciate you leaving a few remarks or comments on Amazon or Goodreads, and of course, telling your friends the good old fashioned way. It’s this reader led communication that helps to spread the word and get others interested in trying this book.
You can sign up for my newsletter to be notified of future releases, opportunities to become a beta reader, and behind-the-scenes discussion of what went into the making of my books. Also, if you want to drop me a line, please do. My email address is [email protected].
About the Author
Born in Derby in England, on the day before midsummer’s day, David Peter Woolliscroft was very nearly magical. If only his dear old mum could have held on for another day. But magic called out to him over the intervening years, with many a book being devoured for its arcane properties. David studied Accounting at Cardiff University where numbers weaved their own kind of magic, and he has since been a successful business leader in the intervening twenty years.
Adventures have been had. More books have been devoured; and then one day, David had read enough where the ideas he had kept bottled up needed a release valve. And thus, rising out of the self-doubt like a phoenix at a clicky keyboard, a writer was born. You can keep up to date on all new releases, and get exclusive stories and excerpts of works in progress, at www.dpwoolliscroft.com.
He is married to his wife Haneen and has a daughter Liberty, who all live with their mini goldendoodle Rosie in Princeton NJ. David is one of the few crabs to escape the crab-pot.
Acknowledgments
It has been six months since I published Kingshold and it’s been an exciting time. I truly wasn’t sure how it would be received, as I know that it is a little different than the typical fantasy novel. But I am pleased to say that it has been well received and it has given me the much-needed boost to keep writing (if you haven’t noticed, authors are an insecure lot).
I’d like to take a moment to call out some of the bloggers who have supported Kingshold and encouraged me to carry on; Nick Borelli, Olivia Hofer, Patrick Kansa, Jordan Rose, Timy Takács, Esme Weatherwax, and any others that I may have apologetically neglected to call out.
One of the most wonderful things I’ve encountered is the support from fellow authors; thanks to Dave De Burgh, Phil Parker, William Ray, Travis Riddle and a special thanks to Mark Lawrence for organizing the Self-Published Fantasy Blog Off.
As ever, the book in your hands would not have been possible without the help and support of a number of people. Firstly, my wife Haneen and daughter Liberty, putting up with me getting up at five in the morning every day to write.
Bethan May is my new editor and she has been a joy to work with, challenging me where it is needed and making this a much better work than it would be otherwise.
I’d also like to thank Jaya Balasubramaniam, Erin Duncan-O’Neil, Ryan Ehrlich, James Polledri, Joe Smith, Mark Watkins and Bernie Zimmermann for their immense help as beta readers once again. I feel for them because they always get to read the unedited version.
And last, but not least, Jeff Brown my illustrator and cover designer who has once again produced the amazing cover to this book.
Thanks again to everyone.
D.P. Woolliscroft
October, 2018
Coming soon
Ioth, City of Lights
Uncorrected Preview
Chapter 1
The Drake
Thrum. Thrum. Thrum.
Bolts a yard long, topped with steel barbs, launched across the hundred feet of sea from The Drake to crash across the prow of the lone Pyrfew ship. Neenahwi watched with a mixture of regret and grim satisfaction as sailors were ripped apart by the flurry of missiles from the score of repeating ballistae. She clenched her teeth as the bolts passed through the soft obstacles until they smashed into the wood of the mast or the aft castle.
Admiral Crews had told her that this Pyrfew ship was bigger than what was typical; this beast of creaking wood and sail, five decks, three masts and towers fore and aft, must be a product of the Ioth shipyards. Easily the size of a first-class vessel of the Edland navy.
Neenahwi turned to watch a sheep-sized boulder splash into the water between The Drake and The Orca following neatly in line behind. The catapult positioned on the aft castle of their prey—it’s second shot spent without effect—begin to crank back the arm for a second salvo. But The Orca came into range and bolts from its rail-lined ballista tore the catapult to pieces under sustained fire. Dwarven armaments. Well worth the expense.
Men ran to the railing on the Pyrfew ship, as if to wave to a passing pleasure cruiser. A dark cloud, moving unnaturally, launched into the sky, a blemish on the brilliant blue sky.
“Take cover!” went the call from the barrelman of The Drake. Edland marines and sailors alike ducked under whatever cover was close at hand; shields, lids of barrels or crouching behind timber walls. But Neenahwi did not duck, or cover, or even move.
Arrows thudded all around her. She saw one arrow take a woman armored in hardened leather just below the ear, slicing through her neck and coming out the other side. The marine fell, gurgling, reaching uselessly to her throat as her lifeblood bubbled up from her mouth. Neenahwi instinctively reached out a hand to move to help but she knew she could do nothing. She knew this woman would be but the first of good men and women to die in this conflict; Neenahwi clenched her fists and knew it would be worse if they couldn’t prevail.
Above her purple robe, high on her chest, rested a red stone pendant. Blood trickled between her breasts, staining her clothes from the small wound it caused. And arrows that should have rightfully left her looking like a hedgehog stopped a few inches from her person, ricocheting uselessly to the floor. Hardened air surrounded her, one aspect of Neenahwi’s mind concentrating on the shield as she watched the attack of the Pyrfew vessel. She knew if she called on the full power of the demon stone that she could have stopped this barrage of arrows—by Marlth, she could have blown this ship out of the water—but she was still mindful of the advice of her father not to draw too deeply on its power. She could feel the rage nagging at the edge of her mind with even this modest use.
&nb
sp; “Clear!” went the call from above as The Drake passed out of bow range. But the Pyrfew vessel was not so safe. The Drake was just the first ship of the line, the flagship of Admiral Crews. Behind came two more first class vessels and another pair of smaller second-class ships. All armed with dwarven made repeating ballistae - the most feared weapon on the three seas. The crew of The Drake rushed to the railing or the stern to watch the carnage unfold behind them and Neenahwi found herself calmly drawn to follow.
She climbed the stairs up to the aft castle, noting Crews standing with an eyeglass to his face, calmly dictating orders to both the wheelman and a girl whirling a pair of flags in semaphore. From her vantage point, Neenahwi saw the second ship come under fire from a volley of arrows, but less so than the steel-tipped hail storm they’d just endured—no doubt the archers had been wounded by another broadside of missiles.
The third Edland ship neared within a hundred feet, with its smaller shadow of the next second-class ship close behind, and more destruction was unleashed. Neenahwi couldn’t see the bolts flying through the air—their speed was too great and the distance too far. But she could see explosions of wood and flesh as they ripped across the deck. Screams carried in the air over the noise of the sea. The second mast of the Pyrfew ship came under repeated fire and with an audible crack, the tall length holding three sails split like a tree struck from the heavens. The mast buckled, sliding into its tall neighbor before it slid slowly down, ripping down the sails, rigging and the seamen who had been climbing them. The sailors hit the deck of the ship, or the water around them, before the mast finished its journey to crash down.
“Well,” said Neenahwi more to herself than anyone in particular, “that should do it.”
“Not yet, my lady,” said Crews without turning from his lookout. “Let us be certain before we board her. Ensign, signal The Otter to engage.”
Three months had passed since the election. Since her father had disappeared in the night—though to be fair, he had warned her he was going to do that.
It had been two months since her Quana, the vision quest where she had to finally accept who she was and why she was still alive. She had to stop Llewdon, god emperor of Pyrfew and destroyer of his own race, before he unleashed who knew what cataclysm on the people of the Jeweled Continent. Or on the remnants of her own people, so very far away.
The visions had brought on a rage within her, seeing Llewdon up so close, even though the events she had witnessed had occurred more than a millennium ago. Seeing the man, or in this case the elf, responsible for the destruction of her family and friends, for her abduction and captivity—even though that seemed trifling given his other horrors—and gaining an understanding that this was all due to some petty jealousy, incensed her.
She wanted his head.
And if she had to go through the people of Pyrfew, the fools who followed and revered this monster, then so be it.
Now, as she walked across a gangplank to the stricken Pyrfew ship, following a few steps behind Admiral Crews, she saw Pyrfew blood bathing the wooden deck. The first blow. Something she had been impatient for. And though the scene disgusted her, she had to remind herself that acts like these would be necessary.
Once she had completed her visit with Kanaveen, she had gone back to Mareth, now Lord Protector of Edland, and assumed her father’s old role of adviser. She had strategized with him and his counsel; Lady Grey the new chancellor; Crews, the new admiral after that unfortunate incident with Ridgton and the burning brothel; and Lord Marshall Uthridge, another man she thought of as family. They had expected that the new Pyrfew fleet that had set sail from the shipyards of Ioth would mean an attack on Redpool would be forthcoming, but instead it had been quiet seas. Merchants who called Kingshold home had spied Pyrfew ships on the Sapphire Sea, but they had been surprisingly unmolested. And the Edland navy had been frustratingly unsuccessful in their hunt; the Pyrfew fleet proving elusive.
Her father had preached patience. But she needed to do something. Her visions had been for a purpose and she was not achieving anything sitting in Kingshold. So she had lobbied that they take the fight to Pyrfew. Shore up Redpool. Take to the Sapphire Sea in greater numbers and hunt down the fleet. That she could personally cover hundreds of miles a day with a fair wind to find these bastards had swayed the counsel to her side.
The fight that followed the boarding was not much more than a few minutes in length. Two hundred marines from The Orca and The Falcon had grappled the Pyrfew ship after coming alongside. Pyrfew resistance had been limited after being greatly softened up from the barrage of missiles. But any who had put up a fight had been put down with crossbow or axe. The scene before her was a madman’s abattoir; limbs ripped from their owners by the force of the siege engines lay scattered around. Heads caved in by axes or falling timbers presented a grisly welcome. Neenahwi couldn’t help but think of her own massacred tribe. Who had stepped through the carnage there once morning had come? She pushed aside a momentary reflection that she was no better than the man she was determined to bring to justice. No. This had to be done. And it will not be the last.
She had found this ship. It was Neenahwi who had soared the skies. Not as a goose, but as an albatross, a solitary bird known to be bad luck to sailors. And she had most definitely been the bearer of bad fortune for this vessel.
The Pyrfew crew looked much like that which escorted her; humans of light and dark skin, some old enough to be fathers and others young enough to be their children. Were they evil? Who knew what they may have done in the dark? What they might have done in the future? But she doubted it. This was chattel to Llewdon and she would add it to the list of his crimes.
A man wearing a coat of bright green decorated with brass buttons was pushed through a crowd of captives by a pair of burly marines.
“So, Edland attacks solitary ships at sea, now? Showing your true colors as the pirates you are?” The captain of the captured ship spat at their feet.
Crews ignored his phlegm and his barbs. “What is your name and what are you doing in these waters?”
“I am Captain Bhaga,” the man said proudly. “We were patrolling against pirates. We were no threat to you!”
“I find that difficult to believe,” snorted Crews. “Since when has Pyrfew had an interest in trade on these seas?”
“What will you do with my crew?” asked Captain Bhaga, ignoring the question. Neenahwi twirled the braid of her hair with her fingers. She didn’t believe his story either. But why was there a lone ship when there should be a fleet many times its size?
Crews’ voice increased in volume; he wanted the captives on deck to hear this. “Any who have surrendered will be taken to Redpool. From there you will be free. Free to choose to stay in Edland if you wish. Free from your tyrant!”
From the looks on the faces of the prisoners, it didn’t seem that most were too excited by this prospect. Real love for their ruler? Or a reluctance to leave their families behind and be branded a traitor?
“Now,” said Crews, his voice returning to a conversational tone, “Captain Bhaga. You will be well treated. My personal guest. Tell me, why are you alone? Why leave the safety of your other ships?”
“And spoil any surprise?” A dark smirk spread slowly across Bhaga’s face. “I don’t think so. I will speak no more.”
“Get him out of here,” snapped Crews impatiently. “Put him in a guest room on The Drake. Two guards at all times.” The marines nodded in acknowledgment and marched the captain away. Crews looked at Neenahwi and then guided her toward a quiet area of the deck with a light touch. They stepped over discarded butcher’s scraps; Neenahwi lifted her purple robes up around her ankles so as not to spoil the hem. The laundry facilities at sea were not the best.
“Do you know what he hints of? Did you see other ships?”
Neenahwi slowly shook her head. “There was nothing in sight when I came across this one. But you said it yourself, it’s pretty stupid for one ship to be alone.”
“Sails! Four o’clock!” came a cry from the lookout deck high up the mainmast of The Drake.
“Blast.” Crews brought his enameled looking-glass to his eye and peered at the horizon. He rested one foot on the ships railing, his profile statuesque with the blue skies as his backdrop; Neenahwi had to admit he did cut quite the dashing figure. What was it about sailors? “I can’t see a thing. How many?” he called in return to the lookout, while he scanned the seas.
“Maybe… ten sails!”
“Double blast!” Crews turned back to Neenahwi. “We must be back to the ship, my lady. There is more work to do.”
“What if we’re outnumbered?” she asked, wrapping her arms across her chest.
“You saw how easily we were victorious today. These crews do not know how to sail their ships yet. My fleet is skilled. Each worth at least three of their vessels. And I do not intend for them to capture our spoils.”
“Why not just set it on fire and let’s be gone?” said Neenahwi. Something nagged at her. This did not feel right. Why would Llewdon send these ships out to sea that he knew could be picked off by Edland? It might be better to draw these other vessels behind them and set a trap where they could be sure of superior numbers.
Crews, however, looked aghast at the suggestion. “My lady! We do not do that in the Edland navy. They have surrendered and they are under my protection.”
Neenahwi sighed. The same code of honor as her Uncle. She wondered how long it would last if war truly erupted.
“Can you conduct a reconnaissance and see what we are dealing with? So we might be prepared?” he asked.
She nodded. Now faced with another battle and the thought of more casualties—even her enemies—she found her blood lust receding. “I’ll find you when I am done.”
Tales of Kingshold Page 24