To Forge a King- the Chronicles of Ellorhim

by Thomas Adams

  She scrambled forward and devoured the slop on the plate. She wasn’t sure what it was and she was too hungry to care. Then she drank down the small cup of water. There was no fork or spoon. But, on the tin cup there was a small handle. It was cold welded to the cup. With a little luck she may be able to pry the handle off the cup and fashion a tool to pick the lock.

  Hours later she had managed to remove the cup handle and bend it out flat. She then began working the cheap piece of metal against the stone flagstones to devise the tool she thought she would need to open the door’s lock.

  The guards didn’t return that day. Apparently, in this hell hole, prisoners only received one meal a day. It was quiet at least. She didn’t hear a peep from the other prisoners.

  She slept fitfully due to the discomfort, the cold floor, the rats and her hunger. When she couldn’t sleep she worked on her lock pick. She also used her decades of experience as a Narasist to feel out the environment in the dungeon. It was a slow process in her current state but it helped keep her mind off her situation and focused her thoughts on escaping the prison. No common dungeon would hold her for long.

  Over the next two days, as she carefully crafted her lock pick, she figured out the guard shifts, the meal time and other pertinent facts about the daily schedule in the prison. It was a fairly simple arrangement that the dungeon ran under. This information would help her plan her escape.

  She was also healing but it was a slow process with the poor quality of the food, the limited water and the meal schedule. She conserved her energy and refined her plan. She carefully stretched and exercised her body to build up some stamina and strengthen her weakened muscles. Tonight, she would be ready.

  After the midnight shift change she waited forty five minutes. This would give the graveyard shift time to settle down into their normal routine, sleeping. They did nothing else on this shift that she knew of. Her heightened hearing, smell and situational awareness all helped her determine the right time for her to make her move.

  There were two guards per shift. The plan was to pick the lock to her door, silently come to grips with the dozing guards, kill or distract them and then gain her freedom. Hopefully she could acquire coins and clothing from the guards or after she left the prison. Then depending on where she was being held, she assumed she was still in the Emorie, she would travel to her safe house. Once she reached her safe house in Crestia she could gather her money and supplies and then make her way north to Osterider.

  She listened for fifteen minutes. Once she determined all was quiet, carefully, she slipped the lock pick she’d fashioned into the lock. She pulled it out and spit into the key hole, a little lubrication should help. She slipped it back in and worked it around. It felt good. Her biggest fear was that the cheap soft metal of her pick would bend without turning the lock’s tumblers. She took a deep breath and gave it a good hard turn. The lock clicked open with a little noise.

  She slowly pulled the door open a crack. It groaned in protest a bit but was not too loud. She slowly eased it far enough open that he could slip through. Then, she peered down the hallway in both directions. It was dark. There was a faint light from the right. That is where she knew the guards would likely be snoring away their shift. She checked herself out. She was dirty, shoeless and her face and hair were probably a real mess. Her gown was elegant although now dirty and ripped. She had lost considerable weight as well. If she could find a mirror and clean up a bit afore she reached the street above it would likely help her chances of going unnoticed.

  Any patrols she encountered in the city would assume she was just a poor woman about her normal business. They would pay her no mind. She stopped stalling and slipped quietly down the dark hall towards the light. She paused every ten steps, carefully listening and feeling ahead with all her senses. Nothing, everything was as quiet as a grave except for the faint scurrying of rats on their nightly rounds. As she neared the lighted chamber she could see one guard siting in a chair and sleeping. His upper body was leaning over onto a small table. Gentle snores came from the guard. He was sleeping pretty hard.

  On the table was a ring of keys and a club. She slowly crept forward, staying in the darkest shadows as much as possible. The other guard was not in sight. She could see more of the room now. There was another chair by a wall, empty now. A stairwell going up was to the right of where she was standing. And, opposite of her was another hallway, a wing containing more cells. There were some pegs on the wall by the table and they held a few cloaks and leather bags, a coiled whip, a couple short swords and other assorted dungeon jailer gear.

  So, she would get the keys, one of the cloaks, maybe a sword and see what was in the other pouches before she went topside. But first the sleeping guard. Should she kill him? Or leave him alone? She needed some coin so the safest bet would be to kill him and check his body for money. She looked around the room one more time and saw a thin knife in a sheath lying on a shelf. Perfect.

  She moved efficiently and silently towards the knife. She paused, listened then moved towards the sleeping guard and in seconds the knife was inserted carefully at the base of the guard’s skull and angled upward. A technique she preferred, a silent effective killing blow with little blood. She went through his pockets and pulled out his money purse. He’d a few silver and copper coins. It was better than nothing.

  Quickly she dropped a cloak around the guard as if he had gotten cold. Then she pulled down a bag and stuffed a sword, another knife and some coarse bread and a leather flask of cheap wine into it. She kept one knife palmed and ready and pulled on a cloak as well. She wondered where the other jailer was but she was not going to worry too hard. If there was only one guard tonight then so much the better.

  She gathered up the keys and turned and slipped silently up the stairs. A minute later she was hurrying down a side street in Crestia. She dropped the keys to the dungeon down a storm sewer and kept going. She knew the city like the back of her hand.

  Within an hour she would be in her secret safe house where there was a sizeable stash of coin, clothing and better weapons. By early morning she would find and purchase a fast horse, some trail provisions and supplies, and then she would strike north for Osterider. Her mother had been an Imperium slave captured from Osterider and Aelia thought she would go north and find her mother’s family. She owed the Emorie nothing and maybe it was time to start over in a new and hopefully better place, a place where she would not be a slave anymore.

  ***

  After having received his summons he’d ridden hard for almost a sennight to reach Perth. His younger brother had led the clan on towards their winter quarters at Esmhan. Thane Corvalsun knew his brother, Graf, would lead the clan well. The Nordhöm were experienced and there were many to help Graf, if he needed direction. Corvalsun rose from his chair and walked towards the open balcony of his room in the Vold. He closed the door. The weather was turning cold.

  The Vold was the emperor’s fortress, seat of power and home. It was a two hundred foot tall tower and the main fortification in Fortress Fanghoar. Fanghoar was situated in a bend of the Kȁlt River on a three hundred foot rise. The hill was virtually sheer on the river sides with only one approachable direction, from the city of Perth. Perth was the capital.

  Fanghoar and Perth were built from stone and Corvalsun to this day could not get used to the stone tower, the fortress itself or the walled stone city around the fortress. Stone was an anathema to a horseman of The Orange. For thousands of years The Orange, or Osterider as it was now called, was a land of warrior nomads and their herds. They freely roamed the steppes and did not build permanent dwellings.

  To the horsemen of The Orange their tents were as confining as most could stand. Many of the women and children of the clans would use tents and yurts year round. Some clans, like his own Nordhöm would winter in wooden halls. However, when the weather permitted, most preferred to sleep under the open skies and used their tents only as a last resort.

  For Corvalsun, l
iving in the stone city or in Fanghoar was an abomination and only done for as short a time as possible. A few other cities in Osterider were made of wood and were only seasonally used for trade, festivals or war logistics. Most clans were mobile and moved their tents with the hunting and grazing opportunities that were available on their clan lands.

  But, some clans actually liked the stone houses and halls and lived in Perth full time. Corvalsun could not understand why. He only came to Perth when summoned by the Emperor of Osterider and stayed for as short a period as possible.

  That was why he was here now, the old emperor was dying and the most powerful thanes were all summoned to choose the next leader. The old emperor was childless. The Conclave of thanes would choose the next emperor and hopefully it would be a fairly bloodless process. Well, thought Corvalsun, preferably not too bloodless. Where was the fun in that!

  He gazed out across the rolling plains. He avoided looking at the stone buildings below. The city was large but he could still see the grasslands and a few small herds of horses in the distance. He wished he was out there now. Snow covered most everything now but he did not mind the weather. He would rather be out there with a horse, his warriors and in a tent than in this stone city.

  The timing of this Conclave could not be worse he thought. He was not ready to make his bid for the throne. Another season or two and his position would be much stronger. And, to be stuck in this cold drafty stone monstrosity for the winter season was going to be unbearable. He would have to be cautious and reign in his infamous temper. He could ill afford a mistake now.

  A knock at the door to his small room interrupted his thoughts. He strode to the door and swung it open. His chief captain stood there grinning like a fool. Corvalsun laughed, grabbed the man and pulled him into a bear hug. He thumped his back and let him go. He stepped back, Hurt was a big man, as big as himself. He had missed Hurt this last season. Grinning he said, “My old friend, you look tired. Come in and have a drink. I have mead. You have news?”

  Chief Captain Hurt replied, “Aye, I found what you seek. There is one, the Princess of Radnja. She is young, unmarried and a direct descendant on the maternal side of Ancestor Amala Swifthoof. I was not able to see her in Radnja. She was moved about a lot for some reason that I was unable to determine. As such I don’t know her current location. She is said to be the most beautiful woman in Radnja. The people love her.”

  Corvalsun gave Hurt a big grin and poured him a huge tankard of mead. He poured himself one and raised his mug. Together they clacked the horse hoof tankards together and Corvalsun said, “This is excellent news. I will need to send an envoy to Radnja to petition for her hand in marriage. Such a marriage will solidify my position as the new emperor. No one will dare oppose me. You have done very well my friend. Let us drink and tell me everything you know about this princess and what other news you discovered on your journey.”

  ***

  After six days in Itra everyone was getting restless. The weather was holding but no one thought it would hold much longer. They had restocked and acquired new horses and gear. They had to go. Fall was fading fast. The snows could be hitting the mountains at any time and the pass would be blocked. The head healer said it would take another whole moon for Bax to fully heal and be able to ride and fight. She recommended Bax stay over the winter, convalesce with them and return to Tanic in the spring. Such grievous wounds would take time to heal properly.

  They broke the news to Bax and he was very upset but he was an experienced Warden and kriger and knew the lay of the land. There was nothing he or anyone else could do to change the situation. He made Brandt promise to be more careful and think before he acted. Brandt promised. He would miss the warden. Only Bax and Ivar were with him since his arrival in Tanic. They had been with him the longest and he relied on them the most.

  The band knew they needed Bax. They were two men short now. It would be a problem. It would make defense and watches much harder. There was nothing for it though. They let Jarl Karic know their plans and asked for a loan of some warriors. He offered to send three of his krigers to guide them out of the clan’s territory. But, that was as far as they could go. They readily accepted his offer. It was better than nothing.

  Leaving Bax was difficult but they had no choice. They said their goodbyes and promised to meet him in Tanic after their winter in Kimera. They rode out after the mid meal and made good time to the edge of the clan’s land. By early evening they reached a brook that signified the border. They stopped and set up camp. The three krigers stayed the night with them and helped with watches. After an uneventful night they broke their fast with a hot barley and sausage gruel. Their new friends quickly departed and headed back to Itra.

  Brandt watched them leave. He turned and saw his friends were all watching the krigers depart, no one was happy to see them go. They were alone again in the Wilds and short two capable swords. The Narasists were pretty depleted after their last fight but the Haugar was out there still. Brandt knew it. He knew it would come for him again. He hoped he would be ready. Then there was Brod and whatever awaited them there, Trolls and gods knew what else. He sighed and pulled his cloak tight and tied it. Carefully he secured his gear to his horse and climbed into the saddle.

  He looked around and everyone was watching him. Everyone expected so much from him. He knew it was a burden he would have to deal with. It was his for the foreseeable future. He was young and untried, leadership did not come easily. He nodded and Erika kicked her horse to a trot and led the band north.

  The End of Book I

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