The Burning Age (Fight For The Crown Book 1)

by L. J Nicholson

  Archibald Cleaver crouched in the midst of his spice gardens, surrounded by his three eldest daughters. They all wore light silken tunics, like him, and had their long hair pulled back in elegant twisted knots after the southern custom. It kept their long blonde manes off their necks. Archibald kept his own blond locks clipped short for the same reason, although most men of his age and stature chose to grow their hair long. Archibald, however, was ever the pragmatist.

  “When left to ripen properly,” the Cleaver family patriarch was explaining, “firesage becomes one of the finest, most expensive spices in the land. But when plucked early,” he pulled the young plant out by its roots, “it is one of the deadliest poisons in the land, killing swiftly and painlessly.” He tucked the herb into the leather pouch hanging ‘round his waist and smiled at his daughters. “Many of the elderly who live in pain and wish to pass choose it as a spice in their last supper.”

  “Papa!” The voice of his fourth and youngest daughter Rose, a girl of only twelve, echoed from the direction of the keep. Archibald stood up and wiped his hands on his trousers, watching his daughter run toward them. The wind fanned her golden, curly hair behind her like a banner.

  “What is it, my child?” He asked as she skidded to a halt, breathless in front of him.

  “Papa, a messenger just arrived from the capital. Mama told me to run and tell you. The queen’s been killed!”

  “Well, aren’t you the bearer of good news!” Archibald exclaimed. He swept the girl up in his arms and swung her around. “You all know what this means, don’t you?” He asked, eyeing his elder daughters.

  “It means that the time we have prepared for has finally come to pass.” Said his eldest, Koreen. She clutched the slender dagger on her belt. She was eighteen, just entering into adulthood.

  “It means that we will finally get to see the capital,” said the seventeen year old, Elena. She put a hand on her older sister’s shoulder. “Breathe easy, sister.” She said. “The time for bloodshed is still far distant.”

  “If bloodshed is necessary at all,” said sixteen-year old Maia. She removed the ivory clip and shook out her long golden hair. “It seems the primary obstacle between our family and the crown has already been removed.”

  “My daughters share such wisdom,” Archibald said proudly. He put down his youngest and spread his long arms to reach around all four of them. “I have taught you well, and you have all learned like old souls. But you still have much to learn. Maia, take your little sister and head back to the keep. Tell your mother to begin making preparations.” The two younger girls scampered off, and with his arms draped around the elder pair, Archibald followed. “You are ready for what is to come,” he said.

  “Whatever that may be,” the sisters said in symphony.

  They moved slowly along the beaten path back toward the keep, allowing the news of the queen’s demise to sink in. All three of them wore smiles. They passed beneath the shadows of trees which waved in the wind, their late summer leaves beginning to show some color. It was a bountiful time for the south; their market carts were laden heavy with produce and spices. But this particular summer would be remembered as one of great bounty indeed. Archibald could sense it.

  He nodded at the guards outside the keep’s door and ducked inside with his daughters in tow. Inside the keep was dark and dreary, but Archibald liked it that way. Shadows could be useful for hiding things, and only a child was afraid of a little darkness. He led his daughters into the main hall, where he found his wife and other daughters waiting for him.

  “Well?” His wife, Nezra demanded. “What will you do, Archibald Cleaver?”

  “We,” he smiled, gesturing at her and all of their daughters. “We will take the crown. In time. For now, we must send our condolences, and offer to perform an inquest into Annabelle’s death.”

  “An inquest? Whatever for?”

  “Father is the most knowledgeable man in the Kingdom of Clementia, when it comes to poisons and elixirs.” Their eldest daughter provided the answer. “It stands to reason that he would investigate such an assassination.”

  “Very good!” Cleaver clapped his hands and then patted his daughter affectionately on the shoulder. “Why else will this be important, Koreen?”

  “It will give you the power to shift blame away from our family, where it will surely fall.” Koreen’s grey eyes sparkled with mischief and pride. “The Cleavers are well known for their way with poisons, and their less than reputable tactics.”

  “Very good.” Archibald’s smile grew, and he kissed his daughter on both cheeks. “I have decided,” he said, “Koreen will accompany me to the capital. The rest of you will remain here, for now. We will need many hands to properly prepare this season’s harvest.” He closed his eyes and held up stiffened palms as his wife and younger daughters set about complaining in one mighty voice. They quieted almost immediately. “I have already decided.” He repeated gently. “There is no purpose in arguing over what is decided. Is that understood?”

  He looked from one woman to the next until he saw them all nodding. He smiled again.

  “Good. Nezra, see to our preparations. Elena, you write our condolences to the king, and to the Clemingtons in the North. Maia, you and Rose write a separate letter, also addressed to the king, offering our services and telling him we are already on the road. Your best handwriting please, children, and make sure the ink dries properly. Koreen, come with me… we will select the warriors to accompany us on our journey.”

  He led his eldest into the courtyard as the other women bustled into motion. Some off duty guardsmen were tousling and fencing in the sun, under the stern eye of the Cleavers’ Master of Arms. The grizzled grey veteran had seen more battles than he had hot breakfasts, and knew as many tricks of tactics and combat as anyone in Clementia. He called advice here and there in a brash voice that brooked no nonsense or back talk.

  “Leopold.” Cleaver greeted the old soldier by name. “I shall soon be leaving for the capital, and leaving my house in your care whilst I am away. Which of these brave men would you suggest I take along?”

  “Depends,” Leopold said in his gravelly voice. He shifted his weight subtly and cast his eyes across the men training in front of him. “How many are you stealing away, milord?”

  Archibald chuckled. Ordinarily he detested the tones of a commoner, but on Leopold the simplicity of speech was somehow charming.

  “I think a round score ought to see Koreen and I safely to the capital.”

  “Taking your daughter eh?” Leopold said, eyeing Koreen up and down. “Aye, I suppose she’s grown strong enough. And twenty of my guards.” He scanned the courtyard again, and the men seemed to struggle with renewed vigor, sensing their instructor’s gaze. “Well milord, since your daughter’s along I suppose I’d recommend taking the only two women I’ve got. After them, any other eighteen of these idiots should do. You there!” He hollered at a young man who had just been dumped on his rear. “Go and fetch Cartwright and Smithy from the East wall! And by our dearly departed queen’s eyes, keep your hips back when you’re wrestling!” The young man scrambled to his feet and took off running in an easterly direction.

  “Koreen, Leopold paid you quite the compliment just now,” Archibald smiled, “what have you to say?”

  “Thank you, sir.” Koreen curtsied daintily. A wicked smile crossed her lips. “Do you truly think I’m prepared for combat… as prepared as your guardsmen, for example?”

  “There is only one way to test such a question,” Archibald interrupted while Leopold considered. “Choose one of your men, and tell the others to form up in a circle.”

  Leopold raised a grey eyebrow, but did as he was told. The men seemed glad for a break, and formed up in a loose semi-circle facing the lord and their instructor. In the middle of the circle, Koreen squared off against another young man, this one with short dark hair. He seemed apprehensive.

  “Don’t make me fight one of the young ladies,” he called to Cleaver,
“if I injure her I’ll be forever in your debt my lord.”

  “If you injure her, I shall promote you,” Archibald chuckled. He nodded to Leopold.

  “Single combat,” the Master of Arms barked, “unarmed. Begin!”

  The lad took a tentative step forward, and Koreen kicked him full force in the groin. She kneed him in the face as he doubled over, and then slithered onto his back like a boa constrictor, arms laced around his neck. Within six seconds, the man was fast asleep on the ground, and Koreen was dusting her hands over him.

  “She’ll take two next,” Cleaver said quietly, and Leopold signaled to two of his men. They came at Koreen in swift co-ordination, giving no mercy after seeing what she’d done to their comrade. It made little difference. The girl caught the first man in a wristlock and kicked the other in the head, before tossing the first in a heap on top of him. A foolish fellow with a wooden practice dagger stepped out of the semi-circle and slipped up behind her. Koreen sensed him and turned suddenly, snatching the weapon away from him and pressing it to his throat, so forcefully he fell to his knees. Koreen tossed the wooden weapon away and gave the Master of Arms another curtsy.

  “You’ve done well with her, Leopold.” Archibald beamed, “she is ready indeed.”

  Although it is interesting that you introduce the 4 houses one by one, beside disregarding the important matter that the major Lords would be present at a royal wedding, it does create a problem. Your first 4 chapters don’t have strong story hooks. It may work either way, it’s not as if these chapters are boring or uninteresting. You do build a “bigger picture” and you are able to introduce the 4 houses in an interesting way. But hooking the readers, make them want to know what happens next no matter what is important, and these first chapters don’t do that with the hooking strength one would desire. Of course, you may choose this path either way.

  Chapter 5

  The wind swept across the capital city’s battlements and fanned Abraham Bradbury’s long dark hair behind him. The Lord of the West had come straight to the walltop after a short visit with his son the king, wanting to assess their defenses. He was a veteran of many battles, and found he got a tingling in his bones in the days leading up to an attack. His bones had been tingling ever since he arrived in the capital.

  The Captain of the City Watch marched at Abraham’s side, with two guardsmen trailing behind them.

  “We’ve archers who patrol every quarter hour,” the captain was saying, “and oil that can be heated and prepared in equal time, in the event of a sustained attack. Truly my lord, I believe we’re prepared for whatever is to come. Err, what is to come? The men will all be gossiping about your inspection by now.” He shot a look over his shoulder at the pair behind them, who failed to meet his gaze.

  “War, likely as not.” Abraham said coldly. “Annabelle was queen for a long time, and none of the other major houses have motivation to support Aron’s claim. We will be contested on all sides, I feel certain of it.”

  “I’ll double patrols,” the captain said with a sage nod. “We don’t want a bloody army slipping up on us because someone’s off taking a piss.”

  “A wise choice,” Abraham said, rubbing his hands together. “Oil is good. What about a stockpile of stone and sandbags, to throw down on amassed forces.”

  “Good idea, my lord.” The captain mused. “I’ll have men see to it as soon as we finish up here.”

  “These battlements are well designed for cover,” Abraham said, running a callused hand along the coarse stone. “There should be full quivers with extra arrows stocked every fifty paces. We don’t want our archers running out of arrows in the event of attack.”

  “Of course, my lord.” The captain said, adding it to his mental list.

  “And how are the city’s grain stores?” Abraham asked as he continued marching along the wall.

  “I… the grain stores, my lord? I do not know. I should have to ask our granary keepers.”

  “A city lives, fights, and dies on its stomach, captain. A fighting force even more so. Remember that.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  They meandered along until they reached the northeast corner of the wall, where a guard with a longbow stood scanning the distant treeline.

  “Anything to report, soldier?” Abraham asked.

  “Quiet as a bear in midwinter, my lord.” The guard replied. “I haven’t even spotted a deer or a hawk today, things have been so still. Only… hang on now, what’s that?” The man pulled a collapsed telescope from his pocket. Abraham held out a wide palm, and received the brass tube. He extended it to its full length and closed one eye, looking through it and aiming it northwards.

  “Where are you looking, lad?” He said.

  “Just inside the treeline on the North road, my lord. It looked like a dust train.”

  “Aye,” Abraham said grimly. “I see it. That’s an approaching army, or I’m the late queen.”

  “What shall we do, my lord?” The guard asked nervously. He was a young pup, probably too young to have seen a real battle.

  “Raise the alarm,” Abraham said, “but do so silently. We’ve still got an hour or more before they’ll arrive and form up to attack. By then, I want this walltop bristling with archers. Either that Clemington force will hear parley, or we’ll visit them with swift death.” The guard rushed down the nearest set of steps, his chainmail jangling.

  “What makes you so sure it’s the Clemingtons, my lord?” The captain asked, peering toward the horizon.

  “Have a look,” Abraham said, passing him the telescope. The experienced guardsman held the glass to his eye. “See how far back that dust train goes? That must be a fighting force of at least five hundred men, with wagons in tow likely. No one in the North but the Clemingtons could raise such an army in so little time.”

  “Shall I go and oversee the preparations?” The captain asked, handing the telescope back to Abraham.

  “That would probably be best. That boy looked a little skittish. Remember; no bells, and no crying through the streets. Get the message out quietly, but quickly.”

  “Aye lord,” The captain saluted and then hastened off in his underling’s wake.

  Lord Bradbury leaned on the parapet and gazed through the looking glass again. He stayed there as still as a statue while the army slowly began to trickle out of the forest, following the road toward the city’s gates. There was a Clemington in the lead, rightly enough. Abraham had not seen Jasper Clemington for years, but he had crossed swords with the firebug before. Before the late Queen Annabelle had claimed the gilded crown, the realm had been rife with skirmishes and raids. All of the major houses had fought one another. It seemed Jasper was ready to pick up where they had left off; it seemed he was ready to stake his claim for the crown.

  As the army pouring out of the forest amassed in the flatlands between the trees and the city walls, the ramparts became alive with archers. They milled about, some fresh-faced and confused, others stoically experienced. They all carried longbows with quivers of arrows on their hips. They kept their heads low, as they’d been ordered, and found places along the north wall in two ranks. The hum of quiet conversation rose from the amassed men like the buzzing of insects.

  Abraham placed his hands behind his back and walked briskly along the line of men, offering advice and encouragement wherever it was needed. He reached the western corner and took up a station there so the late afternoon sun would be on his back.

  The army on the ground finished filing out of the forest and amassed into large square ranks according to company. The wind made their banners ripple. They were about five hundred strong, and had a short train of wagons which stopped just inside the forest. Abraham felt no joy at having been correct in his assessment. Their city guard had only two hundred men, and he had brought another hundred of his own warriors. That still left them woefully short if the Clemingtons made it past the city gates… and Clemingtons had ways of dealing with gates.

  “Do not prepare
the oil,” Abraham told the guard captain, who had rejoined him in the northwest corner. “It is flammable and would only give that blaggard fuel. Busy every man who doesn’t know how to hold a bow with bringing up rubble and sandbags. Dig the rocks out of people’s cellars for all I care, but get me a pile of stone and sand above the North gates at the double!”

  Abraham tucked the telescope into a pocket as the captain rushed away. He no longer needed the looking glass; he could see Jasper Clemington forming up with a score of men who carried tower shields.

  The long-haired Clemington led his men away from the main army, approaching halfway to the gates. There he called a halt, well inside arrow range. He waved his arms above his head, turning first one way then the next. Making sure everyone could see him. And then he lifted both hands above his head and unleashed a massive fireball straight up into the sky. It rose with the speed of a crossbow bolt and then exploded in sparks and flame. A gasp ran through the men assembled on the wall, most of whom had never seen such magic before.

  “It’s a devil, come up to the surface world!” One man cried.

  “What is he doing?” A nearby guardsman wondered. “What can he possibly mean by that?”

  “He’s reminding us all that he’s a Clemington, and that his sister was last to wear the crown.” Abraham said. The bull of a man smacked a fist into a palm and cracked his knuckles. “Bring me the largest boulder from the pile above the gates. Let us show him that while there may be a Clemington in the field, there is a Bradbury in the capital.”

  It took two men struggling together to carry the large rock to Abraham at the corner of the wall. The stone was twice the size of his head, and quite dense. Abraham hefted it easy in one hand and threw it like a boy sending a pebble spinning into a lake. The boulder arced out from the wall. Seeing it, the score of men with tower shields closed ranks around their leader, forming a wooden wall. The boulder crashed through the corner of it, felling three men and sundering their shields. Jasper Clemington stepped back out of safety and waved to the western walltop. He had a massive, manic smile on his face. He raised both hands and performed an immaculate bow.