A Land of Glass and Fire (Haymaker Adventures Book 4)

by Sam Ferguson

  A Land of Glass and Fire

  By

  Sam Ferguson

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Dragon Scale Publishing, 212 E Crossroads Blvd. #119, Saratoga Springs UT 84045

  A LAND OF GLASS AND FIRE

  Copyright © 2018 by Sam Ferguson

  Artwork Copyright © 2018 Dragon Scale Publishing

  Published by Dragon Scale Publishing

  Front Cover Art by Bob Kehl

  All Rights Reserved

  Other Books by Sam Ferguson

  The Sorceress of Aspenwood Series

  The Dragon’s Champion Series

  The Wealth of Kings

  The Netherworld Gate Series

  The Dragons of Kendualdern series

  The Fur Trader

  The Haymaker Adventures

  Flight of the Krilo

  Winter’s Ghost (Novella)

  The Moon Dragon

  The Beast of Blue Mountain

  The Dwarves of Roegudok Hall comic Episode 1

  Other Books by Sam Ferguson

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  PROLOGUE

  Tray used a torn tapestry to wipe the viscous blood from his left forearm. The coppery scent that had so many times before assaulted his senses flooded his nostrils. He looked up the wooden stairs and took in a steadying breath. The guard under his left boot struggled futilely against him, but Tray had already sapped his enemy’s strength with his blade. Two more seconds passed as the guard’s blood ran freely over the marble tiles, taking with it the last of his will. The guard’s fingers released Tray’s boot and let the man pass unhindered up the stairs.

  At the top of the steps, Tray glanced up and down the hallway. Master Brigmat’s room would be down the left. He turned and stepped softly along the red carpet running down the middle of the hallway.

  “Go away!” Brigmat shouted from behind a thick wooden door.

  Tray paced his steps just right so he could kick the door open with the heel of his right foot shattering the lock and splintering the bits of wood. The door swung out wide, revealing an older man with long, white hair holding a crossbow. The man fired the weapon, but the years Tray had spent fighting the trolls in the Murkle Quags had given him lightning-quick reflexes. He jumped to the side, avoiding the deadly bolt as it thudded into the wall behind him.

  Tray stepped in, one hand on his scimitar and the other reaching for a small chain in his pocket. He pulled the gold necklace out and tossed it onto the floor in front of Brigmat. “Do you know where I found this?”

  Brigmat glanced at the chain and then looked up at Tray. Recognition flashed over his gray eyes and his mouth fell open. “You?”

  Tray pointed to the gold chain on the floor as Brigmat dropped his crossbow. “You shouldn’t have been so careless.”

  “You can’t kill me,” Brigmat said. “You’ll never get away with it.”

  Tray quickstepped the last two paces to Brigmat and kicked the man in the chest. Brigmat hit the floor hard, rolling onto his side and groaning. Tray stepped on Brigmat’s left shoulder and then used his leg to pin the old man to the ground. “Your guards are dead,” Tray said. “This is the end for you.”

  “I can pay you,” Brigmat pleaded. “Spare me, and I will say it was a band of thieves that broke in. No one has to know.”

  Tray paused for half a second, considering his actions. Then he shook his head. It was already too late. There was no turning back now. He plunged his scimitar into Brigmat’s heart, watching the old man’s eyes shoot open wide as the white eyebrows raised and the man’s mouth fell open. Two ragged breaths later, Brigmat was dead.

  Tray left the scimitar in Brigmat’s body and turned his head, scanning the room for the small wooden box that had the item he sought. He found the box, closed, sitting atop a desk in the far corner and went to it. Rather than waste time looking for a key, Tray gripped the box in both hands and lifted it high above his head before turning and crashing it into the floor. The lid busted open and bits of wood sprayed across the floor as a single roll of parchment tumbled out from the broken container. He bent down and scooped it up, untying the silk ribbon that held it closed and unrolling it as he straightened himself up again.

  “And there it is,” he said to himself. He quickly retrieved his weapon and hurried from the manor, passing by several dead guards on his way out the back door and over the stone fence. The moonless night sky offered him ample protection as he darted in through winding alleyways and crooked streets flowing between disorderly rows of small houses and shops.

  The stench of cat urine hit his nose as he worked his way through back alleys leading into the less desirable parts of town. Stepping around a sizable puddle of what looked to be human vomit, he walked around the Green Piglet, a tavern the likes of which no respectable man would ever enter.

  Tray pushed through the swinging doors and tilted his nose downward in a futile attempt to get below the thick cloud of blue and gray smoke drifting along the ceiling. A few people looked up at him, but no one paid him any real attention. Off to his right was a stage with several scantily clad women dancing while drunken letches whistled and cheered from their tables. Throughout the hall there was a mix of all sorts of the wrong kind of people; gamblers, drunks, thieves, and others just itching for any excuse to start a fight. Mixed in were the lost souls just looking for a good time but too lowly of station to afford said entertainment in a more reputable establishment. Tray looked at the dancing women for a moment or two, and then he grunted and wormed his way through a crowd gathered around a table where a high-stakes game of cards was about to be decided. He was only a few steps away when a chorus of cheers clashed with dismayed groans.

  “You cheated!” someone shouted.

  Now it was all cheers as a fight broke out.

  Someone began calling out betting odds on the fighters, but a trio of large Kuscan men were already shoving their way through the room to get at the fight. Knowing it was far better to get out of the way, Tray stepped aside, leaning heavily on a poor fellow’s back and bending the man over his dinner plate, but the complaints ceased quickly as the Kuscans ran by.

  “Thanks mate,” Tray said with an apologetic pat on the man’s shoulders.

  The man shrugged Tray away and went back to his meal.

  The Kuscans made quick work of the two squabblers, and knocked out three other onlookers as well for good measure. A few moments later each of the unconscious men were stripped of their coin purses and tossed through the front door as if they had weighed no more than a sack of flour. Tray eyeballed the seven-foot tall Kuscans with their thick, strong arms and their massive torsos and legs. He had to wonder whether any problem in the Green Pig had ever been difficult enough to warrant using the wide-bladed swords hanging from their belts. If Kuscans were half as good with the sword as they were rumored to be, then Tray rather hoped the three bouncers never pulled their weapons.

  He continued along his path, toward a solid d
oor in the back of the main hall. Another pair of Kuscans stood there.

  “Boss is busy,” one of them said.

  “He’ll want to see what I have,” Tray answered.

  The Kuscans shared a look and then one of them held out his hand expectantly. Tray removed his scimitar and gave it to the large man, then the other Kuscan nodded and allowed him to pass. Tray slowly opened the door and stepped into a dimly lit room. He could hear a woman giggling.

  “Geno,” Tray called out. “Sorry to barge in on you like this…”

  Geno, a heavy-set man who was known for making a viper appear patient and kind, grunted and turned up a lamp on his desk. Tray caught sight of a blonde haired woman quickly adjusting her clothes and moving to stand behind Geno.

  “The interview went well, sweetheart, you can start tomorrow night,” Geno said before pointing to the door.

  “Thank you!” the young woman squealed, turning to kiss Geno on his cheek.

  Tray waited silently until the woman left the room, then he closed the door behind her and moved toward a high-backed chair next to Geno’s desk, making a point of pulling the seat back around to the front of the desk before sitting in it.

  “New dancer,” Geno explained.

  Tray nodded. “I gathered as much.”

  “She has wonderful…experience,” Geno said with a wink.

  Tray puffed air and smiled, but it wasn’t a sign of agreement or mirth. “I don’t care to hear about it,” he said.

  “Ah yes, Tray Maloy, too noble for the baser desires and pleasantries of life,” Geno chuckled. The large man smacked his bulbous belly and reached for a cigar. “I’d offer you one, but you probably frown on this too.”

  “I had a friend who liked cigars, but I never got into the habit,” Tray answered. For a moment, Tray was reminded of Moose, the mountain of a man who smoked like a chimney and slew more trolls than nearly anyone else in the Murkle Quags. Tray watched Geno pull a few drags on the cigar and then pushed the memory from his mind. He had to focus on the task at hand.

  “Speaking of friends, how is dear old Brigmat?” Geno asked.

  “I’m sorry to say he had a bit of trouble with his heart,” Tray said.

  “Oh?”

  Tray nodded. “It seems someone put a scimitar through it.”

  “What a shame, he had promise,” Geno replied with a shrug. “And what of the item I requested?”

  Tray pulled out the roll of parchment and placed it on the desk in front of Geno. “And what about your end of the deal?”

  Geno held up a stout finger and leaned forward. “First things first.” Geno reached out and took the paper in hand, unrolling it and shifting toward the oil lamp so he could examine it better. “So it is true then? Brigmat had it all this time. What a fool he was to try to hide it from me.” Geno smiled and looked to Tray. “Did anyone see you?”

  “Every guard who saw me is now counted among the dead at the gates of Hammenfein,” Tray replied evenly. “I did everything you asked, and I did it right.”

  “As you should have,” Geno said. “Guillin!” Geno shouted.

  The door swung open and in stepped one of the Kuscan guards. “Yes, boss?”

  “I had a deal with Tray, here. He fulfilled his end of the bargain. Can you get his payment for me?”

  Guillin nodded and bowed his head. “Yes boss, one moment.” Gullin exited and closed the door.

  “You know, I had doubts,” Geno explained as he stood from his desk and went to the window. “I wasn’t sure a man of your… tastes… could go through with it.”

  “I did what needed to be done,” Tray replied.

  “Don’t we all?” Geno asked, turning back to face Tray as he pulled a long drag from his cigar and then blew the smoke up to the ceiling.

  Tray felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He wasn’t sure if it was Geno’s tone, or the way the large man’s eyes were narrowing on him, but Tray knew something was amiss.

  The door opened and in walked Guillin as well as the three bouncers.

  “What’s this?” Tray asked. “Where is—”

  “I changed my mind,” Geno said.

  Tray jumped up and over the desk in the blink of an eye, slamming Geno into the wall. Tray grabbed Geno by the front of his shirt and spun the man around to the desk. The Kuscans were running across the room now, and Tray knew he only had moments left. Rather than wrestle for the parchment and waste those seconds, he grabbed Geno’s chair and destroyed the window, then he leapt out and into the alleyway behind the Green Pig. A crossbow bolt bit into the back of his left shoulder, but Tray pushed the burning pain from his mind and sprinted through the alley.

  Kuscans might be the greatest swordsmen around, but none of them would be able to catch up to Tray now that he had an open escape route. The few seconds it took for the large warriors to squeeze out of the shattered window gave Tray an even bigger lead. He smiled as he ran in the darkness. They weren’t going to catch him, not yet. He still had another plan up his sleeve that would fix everything.

  A form moved in the darkness ahead of him.

  Tray squinted, trying to scour the darkness, but by the time he realized what he saw it was too late. Three crossbow bolts slammed into his chest. His legs felt as though they had turned to stone as his lungs filled with blood. Tray crashed to his knees, and then collapsed forward after something sharp struck his spine at the base of his neck. The pain in his body was replaced by a cold heaviness. He couldn’t move his arms or legs. His voice couldn’t even muster the strength to call for help, not that anyone out here would have come to his rescue anyway.

  He expected his assailants to finish the job, but no one ever approached him as he lay helpless on the ground.

  His breaths became short and labored as his life ebbed out there in the blackened alley. Though he had once been a great hero hailed with parades, the only witnesses of his final moments were the scattered rats scurrying along the alley in the dark. A few of the animals ventured out to sniff at his flesh, and he was helpless to stop them once they decided it was safe to feed.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jonathan’s eyes shot open. He had fallen asleep in Pa’s favorite rocker again, leaving him with a terrible kink in his neck. He slowly turned and stretched his neck as he brought a hand up to knead the knots away. The lamp was still lit and sitting on the dining table where he had left it. The shutters were drawn over the windows, and the fire in the hearth had gone out. Griff, his loyal cavedog was lying nearly in the fireplace in an effort to keep his large reptilian body warm.

  Another knock came at the door.

  Jonathan lurched forward and moved toward the door. He reached for the lock, sliding the bolt out of the way, and then pulled the wooden door open. “This had better be extremely important,” he said. In the dim light cast from the lamp, Jonathan could make out the face of a man, perhaps a few years older than him, standing on the front porch. He wore a long overcloak with the hood pulled back, and the king’s seal stamped into the front of his leather jerkin.

  “Jonathan Haymaker?” the man asked. “I have a summons for you.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “I’m not in the army anymore,” Jonathan said. “I served two years officially, and more than that unofficially. I’m not to be called up anymore, I have papers signed by the king to that affect.”

  The man shook his head. “My summons is not from the king,” he said. “I have an urgent summons from Master Orin Ingbrethsen.”

  Jonathan frowned. “Sorry, I don’t know him,” he said. Jonathan started to close the door, but the courier stuck his foot in the way. Jonathan felt a swell of anger, but he tempered himself just enough to keep from shoving the man out. “Move along,” Jonathan said. “Or so help me I will throw you on your backside.”

  A growl came from behind as Griff padded over toward the doorway.

  “What in the name of the gods is that?” the courier cried.

  “It’s a cavedog. Long as a croc, harder
to kill, and much, much faster on land. If you don’t want to lose your leg, then I suggest you move it.”

  “Sir, please, if you would just—”

  Griff lunged for the door and the courier shrieked and fell backward. Jonathan slammed the door and threw the bolt into place.

  “You have five seconds to get out of here before I open the door and let Griff have a midnight snack!” Jonathan shouted through the door.

  The sound of scrambling feet thudding against the porch made Jonathan smile, but just to be sure he went to the window and pulled the shutters open just enough to see the courier running down the path that led back toward Holstead.

  “Good boy, Griff,” Jonathan said.

  The cavedog curled up against the door and snorted.

  “I’m going to bed.” Jonathan turned and walked toward the back of the house. He paused near the doorway leading to Pa and Memaw’s room, glancing in at the undisturbed bed inside and letting out a soft sigh. Despite how long they had already been gone, he still half-expected to see them in their room when he walked by.

  He shuffled toward his bed while Griff jumped up onto Jason’s old bed. Jonathan pulled the blanket up to his waist, but worked his feet out the bottom so they wouldn’t get too hot, then he closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

  The following morning he woke just as the first rays of sunlight entered through the windows. He rose and fried three eggs, setting aside another five raw eggs for Griff, and then ate them on crisp toast with a hearty helping of melted butter and a sprinkle of salt. He chased the food down with a bit of cold cider that he had left out on the porch overnight to chill, and then he put on fresh clothes for the day and exited the cabin, leaving the door open for when Griff would eventually wake.

  He went first to the southern fields to check on the sheep. He found Bruno, a stout man with wide shoulders and a heavy, purple scar on his left cheek, tending to the sheep and leading them along the side of a wide, shallow brook.