Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prolog
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilog
The Law of Swords, Book I:
In Treachery Forged
by David A. Tatum
In Treachery Forged
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
© 2013 David A. Tatum
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, Fennec Fox Press, except for fair use.
First Printing, 2014
ISBN-13 978-0-9912844-0-5
Fennec Fox Press
www.FennecFoxPress.com
Cover art by Alex Kolesar (www.nn4b.com)
Dedication and Acknowledgements
To Andrew "Mageohki" Norris, whose chats regarding fantasy tropes influenced my magic system and my dwarven culture, and without whom those elements would have been a lot more generic.
To Sarah Myer, whose concept art helped me flesh out Euleilla's character greatly. I wish we hadn't lost touch.
To Alex Kolesar, for providing some wonderful cover art.
To my brother, Jonathan Ken Tatum, without whom this would never have been possible.
To my mother, Betty Jo Tatum, without whose financial and logistic support I wouldn't have had the time to write.
And finally to my late father, librarian extraordinaire and book expert George Marvin Tatum, who instilled a great love for writing throughout our whole family before he passed away.
I miss you, dad.
Prologue
The young girl concentrated with all her might, using all of the meditation techniques her father had taught her. Today she would control the boundless magic inside of her and not allow herself to be distracted by her long, messy hair or the drafts let in by her threadbare cotton frock.
At first, only one grain of the magic powder made from fine iron sand moved, but moving that one grain told her just what to do. It wasn’t long before the magic powder flew to attention around her. “Look, papa, look!” she cried, gesturing with her hands. She always loved spirals and swirls, and by twirling around she managed to make it dance in those patterns. She only wished she had the more expensive nickel bead “powder” to make it all sparkle. “I’m doing it!”
Her father had often told her that he couldn’t always watch her practice when he was working. Until the formula he had been working on could be sold, they would never have the money to replace her worn clothing or to let her use fancy magic powder.
As busy as he was, though, he always had some time for her. Even as a failed mage, he always knew when she was practicing even when he couldn’t watch her. “I’m proud of you, honey,” he said, glancing up at her but not breaking his own concentration. She was a gifted student, and it showed. “But I’ve got to work.”
“You might as well stop and watch your daughter’s little show,” a gravelly voice said from behind the counter of their shop. “Because if you keep working we’ll be forced to stop you.”
Her father glanced up at the person he had assumed was a normal, everyday customer and stiffened. “Daughter, maybe you should go out and play.”
The girl glanced up at her father curiously. She recognized that tone, and she hated it. Every other time she’d heard him speak like that, they had to move in a hurry and she would have to start her life all over again. She missed the lessons in magic that her father’s friend, Cawnpore, had provided, and the mountain snows of her native Sycanth. Every time she was getting used to a place, it seemed, they had to move again.
“No, stay,” the stranger sneered, unleashing a wave of magical force that shattered many of the glass jars full of metallic powders that stocked the store’s shelves. “Until your father and I complete our business, I want you here.”
The girl covered her face to avoid the flying glass. This stranger was confusing and scaring her, but she had been through this sort of thing before. She looked up to her father for answers once the glass shards had settled. He looked down at her, first, then up at the stranger. “I guess, if they’re sending a real mage this time, they’re getting serious. What do I need to do for you to let her go?” he asked.
“Your notes are ours,” the stranger demanded. “And you will need to be... silenced.”
“Your predecessor gave me better terms,” her father snorted. Moving quickly, he lifted a cudgel hidden behind his counter and swung as quickly as he could.
The stranger ducked, and with a flash of magic threw some sort of blunt object at her father. It was an iron candle-holder, the candle in it still lit. The girl’s father ducked and the candle flew into the broken vials of chemicals. A thick senbon needle with an oily sheen – an assassin’s tool – flew in its wake, stabbing into her father, as the candle started a fire amidst the chemicals of their alchemist shop.
There was a brief spark, and then a large flash as the chemicals exploded. Half the room was taken with them. The stranger was consumed by the fire and parts of the store collapsed around the girl and her father. As she tried to run out of the house, a large, burning splinter went flying at her head. She screamed, and then was consumed by darkness.
Chapter 1
Sword Prince Maelgyn was in trouble again, returning late from a ride to visit his mother’s grave on the anniversary of her death. He wasn’t exactly in the best of moods, and he wasn’t looking forward to the tongue-lashing Troubuxet was sure to dish out if he was late to his lessons again. Turning his chestnut roan over to the grooming hand at the stables, he hurried on without stopping for his customary pleasantries with the horse-master. Nor did he even stop to change out of the dragonhide armor he wore whenever he left the castle.
For the past three years, Maelgyn had attended lessons on history, etiquette, and protocol at the insistence of his father, Sword Prince Nattiel, Duke of Rubick, brother to the King, and third in line of succession to the throne of Svieda.
Maelgyn – who was the presumptive Duke of Sopan Province and fourth in the line of succession, himself – had turned eighteen two months before. Normally, that birthday would have been the end of his sessions with the tutor, but Nattiel had insisted they continue until he made the trip to Sopan and formally took up the title of Duke. The winds were such that it was too perilous to travel by sea until the season changed, and there was no land route that didn’t require crossing into one of the neighboring kingdoms, so it would still be some months until he could make the journey. He’d been anticipating the trip hungrily, frustrated with the demands of an increasingly strict father, a tutor who played favorites, and the whims of a spoiled ambassador’s child.
In his earlier years, Maelgyn’s training had concentra
ted on swordplay and magic, and he missed the physical and mental exercise they offered. He knew that a Duke needed to know history and protocol, but he still argued with his father over his previous instructors’ dismissals. Fortunately, he also enjoyed the scholarly lessons his father did permit, if not the tutor.
Or rather, he had enjoyed them until Prince Mussack of Sho’Curlas, nephew of High King Fitz IV and son of the High King’s Ambassador to Svieda, arrived at the castle with his father.
For months, the High King of Sho’Curlas had been pressuring Sword King Gilbereth to renegotiate the terms of their tenuous alliance. Tense negotiations still ongoing, King Gilbereth couldn’t afford to argue when the Ambassador, Prince Hussack, made a simple request for his ill-mannered son to share the same tutor as Maelgyn and his two cousins: Sword Prince Brode, the Duke of Glorest, and Sword Prince Arnach, the Duke of Happaso.
Maelgyn knew it was the right decision for the Kingdom, but it still grated on him. Mussack had never gotten along with the people of Svieda, particularly Maelgyn and his cousins. Mussack looked down on them, and demanded more rights than his station was supposed to allow. He had even been known to give the tutor bribes, most recently an iron-chained necklace with a golden medallion, to secure preferential treatment during instruction. Troubuxet now focused his lectures only on things of interest to Mussack, to the exclusion of subjects the Sviedan princes desired to hear about.
Maelgyn sighed as he reached the entrance to Svieda castle. The guards’ smart salute did little to improve his mood as he hurried through past the walls and through courtyard, seeking the West tower. He wouldn’t have time to change out of his armor before the lesson without making himself late. He just hoped that wouldn’t cause him more problems.
Fortunately, Troubuxet was the last to arrive at the tutoring session, much to Maelgyn’s relief. A moment later Maelgyn realized why; he could vaguely hear Troubuxet and Prince Hussack chatting quietly as they walked toward the chamber.
Mussack, of course, used the delay to throw jibes at Maelgyn.
“Fancy suit of armor, Maelgyn,” he sneered. “I thought only the nobles of real kingdoms could afford dragonhide, but I suppose it matches those pretty swords all of you ‘sword princesses’ always wear. Afraid to leave your quarters without them? Do the cooks and chambermaids really hate you that much?”
“That sword is the symbol of the royal family of Svieda,” Troubuxet noted from the doorway, walking in.
Mussack’s father, Hussack, followed Troubuxet into the room as if to speak, but only nodded curtly to his son before departing. Maelgyn raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. Mussack had seemed to stiffen at his father’s gesture, biting his lip in an expression Maelgyn could only interpret as... fear?
For once, at least, Mussack’s sarcasm seemed to have offended Troubuxet, who launched into a lecture with his sternest voice, “The royal swords are katana, which can only be forged by a properly trained master blacksmith. By patiently folding and hammering different types of steel together, the smith creates layers and layers of laminated steel that can hold a keen edge without becoming brittle. If Master Maelgyn were to draw the sword – not that I advise it, mind you – you would see the pattern of those layers in the blade. The forging requires both skill and experience; slight errors in heating, cooling, or handling the steel will make a blade inferior, which might cause it to break in battle.
“Centuries ago, around the time Svieda was founded, a powerful mage named Tasai took up the blacksmith’s craft. He was a master among masters, refining his steel to a degree no normal blacksmith could manage, using his magic and his exceptional skill to forge blades the likes of which no-one since has achieved. King Greyholden I, founder of our kingdom, commissioned ten blades from Tasai at the peak of his skill. These would become the royal heirlooms of our nation and symbols to be worn only by the highest of our royalty, the Swords.
“The king is always to hold the best of them, which is why the kings of Svieda are known as Sword Kings, Master Mussack. One of the royal swords was lost during the Borden Island Rebellions over a hundred years ago, but the remaining eight are still divided among the eight members of the royal family closest in line to succession. Each Sword is a symbol of leadership over a particular duchy or province of the kingdom, attested to by the design on the hilt. When the king dies, the Swords change hands as the line of succession demands.
“The Law of the Swords is complex, however. If, for example, the king were to die through war, misadventure, or assassination, and his Sword then lost, any of the eight remaining Swords may restore the throne to the kingdom of Svieda, regardless of his normal place in succession.”
“Fascinating,” Mussack said, staring at Maelgyn’s sword. “Is the sword magic?
“Magic?” Maelgyn scoffed. “Of course not. Magic is simply the ability some people have to control forces that affect certain metals such as iron and nickel. There are quite a few stories you’ll hear about magic spells which turn people into frogs or some silly thing like that, but it doesn’t really work that way.”
“What do you know about magic, anyway?” said Mussack. “Magic affects people, not just metal.”
Sword Prince Brode stared at Mussack. “You do realize Maelgyn spent the first fifteen years of his life training as a mage, don’t you?”
“Master Maelgyn is correct,” Troubuxet interrupted, taking a step toward the students to intervene. “Have you ever bit your lip and tasted your own blood? There’s metal in all kinds of things you wouldn’t think of – sea water, dirt, rocks, some fruits and vegetables. When you’re talking about how slight the trace of iron is in human blood, though, it takes quite a bit of power and concentration to affect people. This is why even the weak magical field of a lodestone can offer protection against your average mage. But know this – a truly skilled mage is more powerful than a whole array of lodestones, and can force his magic through the protection they provide with little effort. The only real defense against magic is dragonhide.”
“Forget this jabbering about magic,” Mussack grumbled in frustration. “We were talking about the Swords of Svieda.” He paused, biting his lip again.
There was an awkward silence. Once more, Maelgyn felt that Mussack seemed unusually tense and hesitant.
“Well then,” Mussack finally went on, clearing his throat. “It’s clear I’ll have to have one of my own.”
“Well, that’s not likely unless you were to marry into the royal line,” Troubuxet replied.
“Oh, that’s no problem,” Mussack said crisply, turning to Maelgyn. He stepped forward and stood straight up, his eyes narrowing maliciously as he found his resolve. “This runt will just have to give me his.”
Maelgyn couldn’t believe his ears for a moment, but then stood up in anger. “Excuse me, but did you just tell me to give you my Sword?”
“Yes,” Mussack agreed. “It’s much too valuable of a bauble to be wasted on a whelp like yourself.”
Maelgyn stared at Mussack, his expression calm but deadly. Childish pranks were one thing; hostile demands by a foreign royal were quite another. “Such demands are not those of an ally, Prince Mussack. My Sword leaves me only if I die or leave the line of succession, and not before.”
“Exactly. I will take your place in the line of succession, and you will relinquish it,” Mussack explained, reaching out his hand. “So, give it here!”
Everyone was still for a few moments before Mussack impatiently jumped for Maelgyn’s sword. Without a second’s thought, all three Sword Princes had their weapons drawn and pointed at the Sho’Curlas prince.
“W-wait,” Troubuxet stuttered. “I don’t think we should all be so hasty. Master Mussack is just playing with you all, I’m sure...”
“Of course,” said Maelgyn, his tone dangerously quiet and obliging. “If Mussack backs down, I will be glad to assume that he wasn’t aware that the penalty for intentionally touching a Sword without permission or right is the death of the offender. Or that
it is occasionally among my functions as Sword Prince to dispense justice in all capital crimes in the name of the King.”
“Oh, but I have the right,” Mussack said, now not even hiding his arrogance, even to Troubuxet. “I am a royal of the Sho’Curlas line. I supersede all other authorities wherever I go, save my father’s or uncle’s. By my authority and right as a Prince of Sho’Curlas, I demand that sword.”
Troubuxet, shaking visibly, stepped in to defuse the situation and reassert his control of the class. “Now see here, Master Mussack. This is enough – if you do not desist, I will not only have you thrown out of my class, I’ll have the king throw you out of Svieda as well!”
“Hmm,” came a slick voice from behind him. Prince Hussack of Sho’Curlas had returned, and was now approaching his son. “We will see about that. Why don’t we head over to King Gilbereth’s throne room and ask him who is in the right? And get that stupid Maelgyn boy’s father, too, will you? He should be there when his son is so rightly punished for his defiance.”
Troubuxet swallowed hard. Hussack was known as the most powerful man in the world aside from the High King of Sho’Curlas himself, and defying him was likely to cost him more than just his job as the Royal Tutor of Svieda.
“Yes, perhaps that would be wise.”
The throne room of the Sword King of Svieda in Castle Svieda was not constructed like the typical royal court. Ten tapestries lined the walls, representing the ten duchies and provinces over which the Swords ruled. Behind each tapestry was a small chamber holding a glass covered pedestal to display the main contribution of that province or duchy to the nation.
The case of the Royal Province of Svieda, the kingdom’s namesake, was situated behind the throne, and displayed a model of the crown. The Sopan province’s case displayed foreign coins from the various bordering kingdoms, representing the tolls they levied on passage out of the mouth of the Orful River. Sycanth’s chamber held a translucent, gold-flecked piece of quartz to represent their many gold mines. Rubick’s held a woodblock print of a wheat field in honor of their large farmlands. In Happaso’s chamber lay a single log of mahogany to represent the timber industry. Glorest was represented by a sword to honor the manufacturing sector, Leyland a chunk of polished granite for its stone mines, Stanget a large leather bound book for its world renowned library, and Largo a scale model of a trireme for its naval construction.
In Treachery Forged (The Law of Swords) Page 1