by Ronald Long
Wayward
The Sword Chronicles
Volume One
By Ronald Long
Copyright 2014 by Ronald Long
All rights reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used factiously.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, with the express permission of the author.
Cover art by Frank Hong and used by permission.
For more visit frank-hong.blogspot.com
Table of Contents
Map of Ruyn
Foreword
Chapter 1:The Silver Wolf
Chapter 2:Ealrin Bealouve
Chapter 3:Stinkrunt
Chapter 4:The Rusty Hook
Chapter 5:The Stolen Locket
Chapter 6:General Rayg
Chapter 7:Old Soltack
Chapter 8:Thief Tracking
Chapter 9:Everstand
Chapter 10:Justice
Chapter 11:The White Wind
Chapter 12:Ceolmaer the Elder
Chapter 13:The Night Shift
Chapter 14:The Goblin Pusher
Chapter 15:Roland’s Fight
Chapter 16:Wisym of Talgel
Chapter 17:Weyfield’s Plight
Chapter 18:Dwarven Stubbornness
Chapter 19:A Time to Flee
Chapter 20:Holve’s Surprises
Chapter 21:Information
Chapter 22:A Quick Getaway
Chapter 23:The Speaker
Chapter 24:Androlion Fellgate
Chapter 25:Purpose
Chapter 26:The King’s Swords
Chapter 27:Dwarven Aid
Chapter 28:Supper with a King
Chapter 29:The City Crusher
Chapter 30:Strategy
Chapter 31:The Long March South
Chapter 32:Surrender and Betrayal
Chapter 33:Fate
Chapter 34:The Use of Lesser Races
Chapter 35:King Thoran
Chapter 36:War
Chapter 37:Negotiations
Chapter 38:Routed
Chapter 39:Verde
Chapter 40:Beaton’s Govenor
Chapter 41:The Northern Wastes
Afterword
Acknowledgements
Map of Ruyn
Foreword
You’re holding in your hands something that I think is pretty cool.
It’s the first journey into the world of Gilia, a place of powerful magic, proud elves, sneaky goblins, stubborn dwarves, changing landscapes, dark forces, and new adventures.
If you’re interested in finding out more about the world you’ve wandered into, check out retrovertbooks.com/gilia
There you can listen to songs by Aaron Krogh that are a backdrop to the world of Gilia, see a beautifully painted map of the continent of Ruyn, learn more about the other places you’ll visit in the future and the many organizations you’ll encounter.
Plus, sign-up to receive updates about future releases and follow @retrovertbooks on Twitter.
I hope to hear from you along your journey.
Ronald
Chapter 1:
The Silver Wolf
Snow fell heavily amongst the trees. The ancient oaks and pines would typically shield the forest floor from the powder of white.
A testament to how great the winter storm was.
The far mountains were no longer visible through the dense blizzard. On a clear day in the northern wastes, one could make out the east and west mountain ranges that formed the borders of this hard and cold land.
On this day it was a challenge to see the trees of the forest from twenty yards away.
Which, of course, was exactly why she had chosen this spot.
Normally, to be able to see the woman now standing at the edge of the mighty forest if she didn't want to be seen was quite the feat. She had a talent for disappearing, even in a crowded tavern. But today, between the hard snowfall, the trees of the Saliderian Woods and the whitened cloak of wolf skin she wore, to see her would mean she was less than an arm lengths away.
The wind was cold and bitter. It was these types of winds that first bothered her so when she first arrived here. No longer. Now she was accustomed to the wind and snow. So much so that she considered them her partner. Always aiding her and allowing her to use them to her advantage.
What little of her face that was exposed stung in the fierce gale. Her silver hair was braided into a single braid that ran the length of her back, trailing from the heavy fur hood she wore. The hood was fashioned from the same skull of the beast whose fur she wore on her back. His face still striking terror into those who see it now, though the life of him was bled out five years ago.
She was a slender build and medium height. Underneath the furs and skins and double blades she had strapped to her back was a beauty that was unparalleled to even most in fairer lands. To see her without her hunting gear would cause most men to crane their necks to get a second glance.
If, indeed, their necks had been broken before they could try to catch those enchanting blue eyes.
The wind was slowing now but the snow was falling harder than ever. A new layer of snow would add another arm's length to the depth of what was already blanketing the ground. No fears of being followed and no worries of anything being found this far out in the wastes until spring.
Perfect conditions to claim a bounty.
She had been stalking her prey for three days, waiting on the right conditions. He seemed to be headed east for awhile, which most travelers to these parts do after trekking through the southern pass. That direction leads to the first relief from the cold winter in a three days walk in any direction.
Those who traveled west without first stopping to rest and resupply were either foolish or determined, or perhaps a combination of the two.
This man seemed the latter.
He now approached in his slow and steady pace. The same he had kept for a fortnight. His heavy jacket and pack was covered in snow and to any other man, the two arm lengths of powder he was blazing through would be enough excuse to turn back.
But not for a foolish and determined man headed west in the northern wastes.
Her eyes narrowed to ensure this was the same man she had been tracking for the last few days. Only once had she ended the life of someone whom she had incorrectly thought her bounty. Not this time.
Yes, this was the man. The military coat still showed some of the navy color through the white powder. His stature was certainly that of a warrior: he was taller than the average male and certainly had a chest more broad. His arms seemed to be the size of tree limbs. The wind gusted unexpectedly, knocking off the soldier’s hat. His auburn hair flashed as he made to grab for the soaked and worn head covering. After tugging it back onto his head, he resumed his trek west.
Though she cared less for the reason and more for the gold she would soon claim, it unnerved her to think of someone headed west after the rumors of the growing unrest down south.
She needn't lose much sleep tonight, however.
Her first knife found his chest before he had even comprehended the whirl of the steel through the air. Clutching the handle now protruding from his heart, he staggered. It was only a breath before she was behind him, blade drawn and brought to his neck.
"You're the most expensive bounty I've had in a year. It's been a pleasure.”
For a moment he struggled to reach around himself and grab this assailant. For a moment she feared he may have been able to draw his sword and do damage to her. But only for a moment. Her second blade made it�
�s cut: deeply and effectively.
His lifeless body sunk to the ground.
She cleaned her blade and returned it to its sheath. Her knife she retrieved and also cleaned with care before fastening it to her calf. The number of blades she wore, both concealed and in plain sight outnumbered her own fingers.
Her instructions were simple. Return the book and the necklace and she'd have her reward. Both of which he had kept in a satchel hung around his shoulder for the entirety of his time spent in the wastes. Anything else of value found on her kill was hers for the taking.
So when she eyed the beautifully crafted spear with its azure gem set into the base of the tip, she hungrily relieved it from its former owner and took hold of it. A weapon so fine had not been seen in the wastes for many years.
Quickly, she looked up from her business of looting.
This smell was new. Not one she had encountered while tracking the man who was now nearly covered in snow. She sniffed the air deeply then spun around on her heel.
He was only a stones throw away. How he had avoided her for so long made her wonder if he had come from the forest as she had. She dropped the spear and drew her blade, swearing under her breath for letting him see her.
He would not have the gift of sight for long.
Chapter 2:
Ealrin Bealouve
There was nothing but fog. It was all he could see.
He could still hear the screams. He could still taste the salt water in his mouth. But all he could see, all he could remember, was fog.
Sensations played in his head.
Falling. Darkness. Ear splitting screams. Water. Fog.
Suddenly a new sensation reached his senses.
He was on fire.
No. Not on fire. But burning. At a moment he realized his eyes could open. In raising his eyelids a hair's breadth he immediately regretted it. The sun was burning down on him. He closed his eyes. The light was blinding compared to the darkness and fog.
His arms were only sluggishly responding to his desires to move them. His feet were soaked, along with most of his legs. He realized that half of him lay in water. Not still water, but a tide. It was at this same moment he realized his terrible pain in his abdomen. He slowly brought his fingers to his ribs, felt the torn cloth that was his jacket and his shirt, felt the warmth of his own blood as it contrasted the cool sea water.
As he felt the bare ribs exposed, he felt the familiar darkness coming back to him, threatening to engulf him again.
More screams.
And yet, these voices were different. These were not the ones in his head.
These were running down the beach.
***
“I see you’ve decided not to die after all.”
The throbbing in his head was immense. The pain in his chest was still quite real. The screams and fog vanished a bit as he began to become aware of his surroundings.
Instead of a sandy beach, he lay on a bed. Instead of a burning sun, there was a ceiling above him. Instead of water at his feet, there was a blanket.
He lay in a room, dimly lit. The light was easier on his eyes than the burning sun he last recalled seeing.
But not much better.
It took him several moments of blinking to understand that, in the corner of the room sat a man. The one who had apparently just confirmed what he had been wondering during his dreams of fogs and voices: he was alive.
Finally, his eyes seemed usable and he leaned forward to glance about the room.
It was sparsely furnished. He lay in one of two beds that were separated by a small table at the head of each. The wall to his left was barely an arm breadth away. At the foot of the two beds was a space slightly larger. Two chairs framed the small fireplace that provided to low light for the room. To the right of the fireplace was the door. A few pegs on the wall beside held his shirt and coat.
An inn.
The idea came to him as he lay his head back on the pillow. His ribs still burned even with the small effort of looking at his surroundings.
“No. I’m alive,” he finally said.
His voice seemed harsh, unused. There were suddenly several questions he had to ask, but the fog seemed to linger in his mind, preventing him from forming any.
“You’ve been laying on that bed now for half a moon,” said the man in the corner chair.
Instead of trying to ask, he instead looked at the questioning chair sitter to investigate who he was.
Straining his neck a little, without moving his chest, he could see the man who was dimly lit by the fire.
The first thing he noticed was a grimace on the man’s face.
The man sat comfortably in the chair, as if he was accustomed to spending time in it. As if it were made for him. He was pleasant in appearance, save for the look on his face. His brown hair was not long enough to hide his green and narrowed eyes, but instead stopped above his eyebrows. His expression didn’t seem to be narrow out of menace or strife. His eyes seemed to speak about the life he had seen lived out before him.
He wore a simple green shirt with a leather vest and pants. His black boots looked well worn and traveled on. Even from across the bed his stubble was visible. Some gray hairs betrayed him as older than 30, yet there was something in his eyes that Ealrin couldn’t quite place. Like a father examining his son after seeing him fall from a tree.
“My name is Holve, in case you were curious."
He was curious.
“And yours is?” asked Holve.
But now his first coherent question came to mind:
“What is my name?”
The words escaped his lips alongside his thoughts.
The wrinkles on Holve’s face appeared as his expression shifted into something different. Was it pity?
“Eh, that part I may be able to help with. Your coat had in it the name 'Ealrin Belouve.’ It’s sewed into the collar quite nicely actually. Someone with a skilled hand had done it.”
Ealrin.
The name floated in amongst the fog. It sounded like a name he had heard many times. Could it be his?
He wasn’t sure.
He didn’t have any better suggestions either.
“Ealrin Belouve.”
Again his voice was harsh. He was overcome with a thirst at the moment.
“Water. Please. A drink.” he managed.
Instead of a word, Holve gave him a wink and left the room. He soon returned with a wooden cup and pitcher full of water. He poured some into the cup and offered it.
At first, Ealrin tried to sit up to accept the drink, but was overcome with pain in his head and his ribs as he made the attempt.
A very real groan of pain escaped his lips.
“Now don’t work too hard Ealrin. You’ve had it pretty bad.”
Holve moved over to Ealrin and helped him drink the water. It was almost cool and certainly refreshing to his overly parched mouth. He gulped down every drop that was in the cup and wished there were more. But then it hit his stomach and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to throw it all back up or just lay still a moment.
“Thanks,” Ealrin managed as he licked his lips to spread the moisture on his chapped mouth.
Holve placed the cup and the pitcher next to Ealrin’s bed on the table and returned to his chair. Resuming the same look of comfort, he began to speak.
“Well, I’d say welcome to Good Harbor, but seeing as you’ve already been here for the better part of a month lying in that bed, I’d say you ought to be feeling pretty welcome already. You sure gave us all quite the intrigue in your coming. This is a fishing and trading community. Not many boats occupy these waters without the knowledge of the general public. Yours sure snuck up on us though. Seems there was a pretty terrible storm the night before we found you lying on the beach, about a days walk east of here. Your vessel was smashed to pieces, seems most of it went down to the depths.”
With this he paused.
“I’m sorry to say, you’re the only one we fou
nd alive amongst the wreckage.”
He seemed to be looking for a response from Ealrin, but Ealrin had none to give.
A ship wreck?
A storm?
Others?
None of these seemed to bring any memories to his mind.
Only fog.
Hearing no response, Holve continued.
“We thought for a time we’d lose you too. You had lost a lot of blood. Fortunately for you a healer of some talent was traveling through this harbor. He was able to patch you up nicely before sailing on. Then with Elazar’s cooking and a room to rest in, it seems you’ll pull through.”
Ealrin saw that Holve had allowed himself another moment to examine him. His expression was stony. It didn’t seem like the man smiled much. Ealrin felt odd as Holve continued starting at him, as if he had more to say or to ask but was pondering what he ought to speak.
Holve sighed.
"Though your fever certainly gave you some odd dreams it seems. You fought those blankets pretty hard the first few nights.”
For the next few moments, there was nothing but silence, broken only by the occasional crack of the logs in the fire as they turned to ember. The room had paint peeling off at certain spots on the wall and smelled of the sea. The hearth above the fireplace held a vase of long dead flowers that were stiff and brown.
Ealrin looked up at the ceiling to stare at the wood he saw there and to keep from feeling so uncomfortable as Holve glared at him.
Holve asked the question Ealrin was wondering as well.
“Can you recall anything Ealrin?"
Nothing Holve had said came with a picture in his mind. It was as if he were hearing a tale that he played no part in at all.
“I can’t,” replied Ealrin.
There, in Ealrin’s mind, was only fog.
For the second time, Holve’s gave a big sigh.
“Hmm. Well I was hoping to find out some things from you. Like I said, we don’t normally get surprised by boats here at Good Harbor. And the pieces of yours that washed ashore aren’t like any I’ve seen in many winters.”
“Good Harbor?” asked Ealrin.
“That’s right,” replied Holve. “Though the only truly good thing about this place is the bed you’re sleeping in. We’re the only human island in-between the civilized portion of Ruyn and goblin owned lands known as the Goblin Maw. They’ve sailed from time to time to the mainland, always landing here first to set the place to fire and stock their boats before turning on more populated areas. Though it’s been some time since they’ve set their ships to sea. I reckon they’ve been arguing amongst themselves. Better for us if they keep in-fighting.”