The Clovel Destroyer

by Thorn Bishop Press

  The Clovel Destroyer

  A Clovel Sword Novella

  GORDON BREWER

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, people, or real places are used fictitiously. All characters in this book are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Revised Edition

  Smashwords

  Text Copyright © 2016 Shannon G Brewer

  Cover Illustration Art © Dusan Kostic | Dreamstime.com

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Visit the series website at

  www.clovelsword.com

  Also By gordon brewer

  Clovel Sword Chronicles

  Shield of skool (BOOK 1)

  BATTLE FOR THREE REALMS (BOOK 2)

  the clovel destroyer (novella)

  trail to omcuUr (novella)

  Beowulf: Curse of the dreygurs

  Introduction

  The Clovel Sword Chronicles is an epic dark fantasy, set on the terra world of Kamin. The highest aspiration of the warrior culture, which dominates the human world, is to die honorably in battle, allowing the warrior's soul to reach Haligulf. It is an ancient pact, brought about when the gods came into the world from the Great Void. While the agreement continues the cycle of life and death, between the realms of the gods and humans, it is an unbalanced world of entities and the souls they control. The gods do not stop the ravages of continuous warfare and praying in the temples only gives a fleeting hope to the populace. While some prophets speak of a great hope about the changes are coming into the world, the rest of humanity struggle through their lives.

  One such person among the lands is a warrior named Urith of Esterblud. He remains blissfully unaware of the prophecy and his destiny within the realms which awaits him so many seasons in the future. For the moment, his youthful ambitions fall apart, and he must survive as his personal world collapses in disaster and heartbreak. In this back story to the Clovel Sword Chronicles, a tribal hero starts the long struggle of rebuilding after suffering his deepest wounds and darkest despair.

  Chapter 1

  Death Sneer

  All the wounds we bear to leave us like worms on a fishing hook; a spirit fighting against what the Fates give us.

  Ancient Esterblud Proverb

  The young warrior stood alone on the trail, watching as low clouds swept over the forest of dry lellowtere trees in the distance. A black helmet with long, pointed cheek and nose plates covered the warrior’s head, which gave the fitting impression of a metal death’s head. Adorned with an elaborately decorated, golden image of an Estercetus, on the helmet’s crest, it was the sea serpent symbol of the Esterblud people. The warrior’s tunic was green with red edging, revealing his membership within his king’s personal guard. Spun from the finest Vulthnal wool, it covered most of his chain mail armor. The uniform, worn proudly, provided protection from the cold lands he patrolled.

  Standing motionless, the man waited for the riders he had seen earlier as he walked from the village. He rested his large left hand comfortably on the pommel of his longsword, which hung from his waist, nearly extending to the ground. Encased in the leather scabbard, his newly forged sword blade carried finely detailed engravings of the beasts and humans in battle. The Esterblud warrior slid his right hand down the leather baudrik belt, his fingers absently feeling the knots of the belt which looped over his shoulder. Each knot representing a great battle completed, either by killing an enemy or beast. The warrior felt the six knots of his previous victories, each reminding him of his superior skills and training, for the Esterbluds were proud and fearless. To his tribe, death in battle meant joining the greatest of warrior spirits who had gone before to the sky realm, an honor higher than any other.

  Echoes of hoof beats had reached the man’s ears before he saw the ossanes riding at full gallop toward him. Appearing over the forest ridge, the animals long, muscular necks and elongated heads, obscured the riders. The warrior quickly recalled the smell of the ugly beasts which provided the primary transportation on Kamin. But his eyes focused upon the riders. Even at the great distance, the Esterblud readily identified the golden helmets and blue tunics of his enemy. The farmers of the area were correct in their rumors about the nearby Aberffraw raiders. A quick count revealed six of the enemy approaching the village. Unlike the warriors who rode them, their mounts had no armor. While not good odds, the vulnerability left the young giant confident. A quick consideration of the situation revealed he had little choice but to stand his ground since only he stood between these raiders and the small village of Iffwer. The rest of the Esterblud warriors of his tribe were far to the south, riding against the main force of Aberffraw along the coast, not far from the large city of Gramcan. Tasked to act as a scout by his father, the young warrior now forgot his resentment to such unworthy duties, like searching for the enemy in an obscure village. Now, he faced this enemy.

  He thought about retreating back to the village for his ossane to ride to his father, reporting this enemy band. The man shook his head. While logic might dictate such action at times, it was unworthy of a real warrior. Decided, he slid the shield and two spears from behind his back, unhooking them from the baudrik belt. He pushed the iron spear tips into the hard soil, then slid his arm through the straps on the back of the round wood and metal shield. Standing like a statue, the giant man held steady, watching the oncoming riders as the echoes of their hoofbeats grew louder. The rhythm of the sound reminded him of the chants of his tribe when sang in homage to the Estercetus, their sea serpent protector. He softly sang the song to the sound of the oncoming hoof beats.

  The party of Aberffraw raiders slowed their mounts when they spotted the lone figure standing in the middle of the trail. The Esterblud saw the men, suspicious of an ambush, looking closely at the forest which lined both sides of the trail. Two of the riders pulled a spear from behind their back while the rest satisfied themselves by pulling their short swords. They came to a stop several paces in front of the Esterblud, their ossanes snorting and rearing their heads high above the riders. The group knew the colors of the warrior in their way, and it gave them a slight pause.

  A short man with thick arms, speaking in broken Esterblud with a jeering tone spoke, “Move aside and we might let you live.” There was a laugh from the group which quickly faded as the young warrior remained quiet, his eyes carefully looking for the most dangerous of his enemy. The man with the thick arms stood out as the leader. However, the Esterblud spotted another warrior showing long gray hair flowing beneath his helmet. That man concerned him first.

  “Fighters who become old through skill and cunning. To survive long, you must watch out for them.”

  The words of his father filled his head as he kept careful watch of the old warrior. But his attention quickly shifted to the spear holders in the back of the group. They spoke in whispers, and the Esterblud could make out parts of the Aberffraw tongue. He felt their eagerness, wanting to prove themselves. The warrior slowly gripped his Clovel Sword.

  “I’m Urith of the Penhda clan. I give you fair warning. You can leave, or you can die,” the giant suddenly spoke to the group. “It’s your choice on this day.”

  As he expected from his deliberate provocation, the Esterblud saw one of the men holding a spear grow dark with rage. The spear flew toward the warrior who dodged the projectile. There was a fleeting instant before the Aberffraw with the thick arms suddenly attacked.

  Urith could hear himself yelling the battle cry as he pulled one of the spears from the ground, swiftly embedding it into the chest of the oncoming ossane. The dying animal pitched forwar
d, sending its rider into the dirt of the trail as the Clovel Destroyer finished off the rider by driving his sword into the man’s back. His instinct and training since childhood guided the Esterblud giant as he stood next to the body, ready for battle. The expected onslaught came as the remaining warriors came at him. A spear struck his shield, glancing off as he ducked away from a sword blow swung at him by one of the passing riders. Urith felt the blow on his exposed back as another raider hacked at him. The impact of the blade sent him staggering, but fortunately, it failed to cut through the chain mail. Catching a glance at another rider coming in close, the Esterblud crouched low to avoid the short sword. He swung the Clovel Sword into the legs of the ocean, which fell to the ground. Both animal and rider screamed as the helpless creature panicked, rolling over onto the man, crushing him in the saddle.

  The giant warrior used the melee to his advantage, sprinting over a few paces to his spear still stuck in the soil. He turned just in time to launch his weapon at one of the Aberffraw’s bearing down on him. The Esterblud spear entered the man’s abdomen, pushing through his back. The man lost control of his ossane and the animal suddenly ran toward the Esterblud. Urith barely dodged the cloven hoofs which left him vulnerable to an enemy who waited for the right moment. Before the young Esterblud realized what happened, a sword tip passed between the face guard on his helmet. He tasted the blood and felt the impact of the iron blade striking into his teeth and bone. Blood splattered inside his helmet, blinding him. Dazed from the blow, Urith spun away from the brunt of the attack, sending his longsword slicing high through the air. He felt the sword strike something hard, and he heard the groan, although he was not certain of the source. Unable to stop himself, he fell to one knee, unable to see his enemy. The blood poured from his face wound as he shook his head, trying to wipe his eyes while blood fell down his chest. Spitting out several teeth, he blindly lifted his shield to a desperate attempt to defend himself. While he expected another attack to finish him, he instead heard the familiar sound of grunts, sword strokes and death groans of a battle around him.

  As Urith finally cleared his vision, he heard ossanes galloping away. The Esterblud carefully lifted his helmet to get a better view and saw two riderless mounts speeding away. He sensed the last attacker must be next to him before he peered up at the man who still sat tall on his mount. Urith slowly rose to his feet, unsure what to expect.

  “You fight as one of the demigods, Urith of the Penhda clan.” The man sheathed his sword. The gray hair hanging on the enemy warrior’s shoulders whipped in the wind. His action and the Vulthnal accent surprised Urith. “I see no need to continue this fight. Let us stop now since we have both suffered ugly wounds.”

  Momentarily stunned at the gesture, Urith saw the bloodstain spreading across the leather breeches of his enemy. The man held his hand tightly on his hip, and the Esterblud decided his sword must have struck the warrior during the fight.

  The Esterblud spit more blood and saliva on the ground as he tried to speak, one side of his face numb. “My father was right, always watch out for the old warriors. You had the advantage, why did you stop?” Urith kept his hand on his face, putting pressure to stop the bleeding.

  “Because I’m old and you have greater mettle. Besides, I have no love of the Aberffraw,” said the warrior quietly as he looked at the bodies near his mount’s feet. Urith realized it was the old fighter who killed the remaining Aberffraw warriors. Wounded, the man still killed two younger men.

  “Seems strange but that is your affair. What is your name and why does a Vulthnal ride with this trash raiding our lands?” Intrigued and impressed by the warrior, Urith had trouble getting the words out.

  “I’m called Kirowan. I’m an outcast, and the Aberffraw gave me koinons to scout this land. We were to report whether any warriors were in the area as part of the main body traveling north. You forced these Aberffraw into a fight, so I was obligated to earn my koinon.” He reached down behind him to pull a cloth from his bag. The Vulthnal warrior ripped off part of the material with his bloody fingers, stuffing the piece into the wound in his side. The Esterblud instantly recognized the name. Kirowan was known as one of the greatest Vulthnal leaders before he was forced to flee his land when the sea bandits took over.

  “I thought you foolish,” the enemy warrior continued, “but, I admit that I would have done the same in my youth. When my sword tip missed your eye socket, and I made the mistake of letting you strike me in my hip, I knew.”

  Urith waited for him to finish his words, but the man turned his ossane away. “What did you know?” Urith asked, his face now burning with a fiery intensity.

  “I realized you have the Fates behind you.” The older warrior saw the look of disbelief on Urith’s injured face. “No, I’m in earnest. You blindly lash out, and your sword is able to penetrate the finest Vulthnal chain. In my past, I would have struck true, and you would be dead. Afterward, I would have feasted in the village with the remaining Aberffraw, holding your sword as my trophy. But today, I bleed like you.” He looked at his wound. “I’m too old to be a mercenary any longer. I see evidence that my heart no longer matches the mettle of my sword.”

  “You surprise me with your words. The songs of Kirowan I’ve heard say nothing of mercy,” countered Urith wondering if he was being lied to by the stranger. “Why did you save me from the other warriors?”

  Kirowan stared hard at him. “If you grow old, you will learn differently. There are times when a fighter must know which side has honor. A man cannot go along with other, blinded by a few pieces of gold metal. Now, I must tend my wound which will remain to remind me of our struggle to my final days.” He began to ride away. “Take care of your injury, my friend. I hope to meet you in Haligulf.”

  “Stop,” the Esterblud suddenly shouted as an idea came to him. “Remove that enemy helmet, turn your mount back to the village and follow the trail to the harbor. Use my name to find a cuggle that will take you home to Vulthnal. I must repay your fairness with something.”

  The man stopped for a long moment before turning his ossane to the village. He pulled off the helmet, revealing a younger looking face than Urith anticipated. The man’s gray hair and a few old battle scars on his face showed the man’s actual age. Kirowan looked at the helmet, before tossing it to the ground. He gave the young Urith a tired smile, his brown eyes gleaming.

  “I regret our unnecessary fight as I would value you as a great ally and friend. Hopefully, I will see my daughter when I return. If you come to Vulthnal, remember my name. We will drink heathmead in remembrance to Heptarc.”

  Urith nodded, unable to speak from the pain that enveloped his head. As Kirowan rode along the trail toward the village, the Esterblud noticed the man slowed his mount near one of the ossanes grazing by the side of the trail. The Vulthnal retrieved the reins, turning the animal back to Urith. When he rode up, he handed the reins to the Esterblud.”

  “Go to your army and find a healer, my noble friend. There is no need to stay. The Aberffraw will not come this way now. They will understand the trail to this village is blocked by your tribe. No need to tell them we were stopped by one great warrior. That will be learned when you tell the skalds about your adventure.” Kirowan gave him a wink before he rode off toward the village, leaving Urith to marvel at the man who could have so easily killed him. He slid his sword into the scabbard hooked to his belt, then he pulled himself on the saddle. Slowly he followed the Vulthnal warrior until the man faded out of sight. He was truly happy to have met such a noble warrior.

  It had taken two sunrises before Urith reached the camp of his father and the warriors of his tribe. During his journey, the Esterblud spent much of the time tending the long laceration he received while pondering his insignificant fight. While his battle with Kirowan could be considered a draw, in the young warrior’s mind, he lost. It was the first time Urith failed in combat, let alone having been wounded severely. Throughout his life, the giant warrior always knew luck was with
him. Even when he hunted down the feared Clovel only a few seasons before, he came away with only scratches and bruises. Killing one of the nearly indestructible monsters of the underworld made him a legend among the Esterblud lands. As he thought about things, he suddenly wondered if the Fates may have abandoned him.

  His thoughts quickly shifted to the present when he came upon the stench and decay of many dead who lay scattered on the forest floor. At first, the Esterblud wondered who left the field victorious until he noticed only the Aberffraw dead could be seen. As he pushed the ossane deeper into the leaf-covered ground, he saw many of the bodies were naked, stripped by the peasants or foresters for the clothes and armor. It was the final disgrace to the warriors, but it supplied the locals with the means to survive the aftermath of the bloody raids in the area. The warrior guided his mount through the destruction until he reached a group of Esterblud, piling their remaining dead on carts. Urith spotted Guthlaf helping in the effort.

  “Urith, by the gods, is that you?” Guthlaf cried out, and Urith nodded as he rode up.

  “I’ve come from Iffwer, and I’m looking for Uolven. I have news of the Aberffraw,” Urith whispered. The wounded warrior noticed the dark cloud that crossed Guthlaf’s face at the mention of Urith’s father.

  “Your father helped send the Aberffraw back to the sea. I saw Aberffraw ships leaving myself.” His friend told Urith proudly. “We lost many good warriors, and some of the worst of the Aberffraw stayed in the area, becoming outlaws as they prey upon the locals. King Penhda will soon come to wipe out these bandits.”

  “But where is my father?” Urith grew impatient.

  Guthlaf looked down, “I heard your father was injured, and they have sent him to a healer in the city.” He looked closer at Urith. “Come, we need to find a healer for you.”