After eight gentle days of late mornings and comfy beds, he arrived home feeling refreshed. He’d only been living in the village for about ten years, but despite not being born there everyone considered him a local. Vargus tied up his horse outside the Duck and Crown and immediately went inside in search of a cold drink.
As ever, Rigg was standing behind the bar. A former soldier, he had thick beefy arms but also a slightly rounded belly that sat on the edge of the bar. The quiet life, and his wife’s cooking, suited him more than marching in the King’s army. The touch of grey in his bushy moustache and lines at his eyes showed he’d lived through some tough times. For some reason, the normally jolly man had a sad look in his eyes.
It was the middle of the afternoon and the only patrons were two old-timers talking in a corner and the owner’s two children. They were racing after each other, squealing and whooping as they ducked under tables and leaped over chairs. Vargus admired how nimble they were but as he came through the door he and Rigg shared a brief knowing smile. It was only a matter of time before one of them slipped and fell. Rigg had told them not to play this game but the children thought they knew better. It seemed as if the only way for them to learn was by doing it the hard way.
“Been a while,” said Rigg, pulling a foamy pint and setting it down on the bar. Vargus smelled the citrus and spices before he even put it to his lips. It was deliciously cold and refreshing. He drained half the glass before sitting down at one of the high stools.
“You heard much of the news coming in?” asked Rigg.
“Only local news. Why, has something happened?”
Rigg avoided the question, his eyes sad and distant as he watched his children.
“Is Carla about?” asked Vargus. Rigg ran the tavern but it was his cousin, Carla, who ran the village.
“Working in the orchard.”
Vargus raised an eyebrow but said nothing. When he’d left the village a few months ago in pursuit of the mercenaries, Carla had been pregnant. By his guess, she would be due to give birth any day now and yet was still hard at work.
Despite being so young, she’d been the obvious choice to become the next Elder after Pelmore had died. She was a solid woman who didn’t tolerate nonsense from anyone and calling her handsome was being generous. With two little ones running around and another on the way, Vargus would have expected that and being Elder to slow most people down. He shouldn’t have been surprised that Carla was still at work.
As expected, one of the children slipped and fell. There was a brief moment of silence before the girl started to wail, her face red and tears streaming. Rigg was immediately at her side, soothing the hurt. A moment later, his wife emerged from the back, took in what had happened and also comforted the girl. Vargus noted how Rigg squeezed his wife’s shoulder as well as looking after his daughter.
After leaving his horse with Tibbs at the stables, he took a walk down to the orchards. He found Carla and a dozen others sorting the apples they must have just picked earlier in the day. The largest were being separated from the rest and would be used to make cider. The smallest and sweetest were being wrapped in old paper and sealed into barrels to be stored over the winter. A third pot held those bruised and damaged which would be cut up and baked into pies for the upcoming market in a few days.
Carla saw him coming and waddled over. She checked where her two children were and satisfied they were safe, gestured for him to follow her. They walked a short distance away from the others so their conversation remained private. Carla liked to keep Elder business to herself and only told people what was important.
As he matched her slow pace, he noticed a black scrap of cloth tied around her left wrist. Three other women who had been sorting the apples, mothers all, also wore similar on their arms.
“I heard you’d dealt with the mercenaries down in Elmsbrooke. I expected you back weeks ago.” Despite her expression, Vargus knew it was a statement not an accusation.
“Something else came up. No doubt you’ll hear about it soon enough.”
“No doubt,” said Carla, scraping mud out from under her fingernails.
“When she’s due?” he asked, gesturing at her round belly.
“Any day. I think it’s a boy this time.”
“Something on your mind?” he asked, sensing her unease.
Carla took a deep breath and for a moment her face was stricken with grief. She took another breath and her expression returned to normal. “I thought you should hear this from me, rather than someone else.”
Cold fingers danced their way up Vargus’s spine and he felt a chill despite the warm sun. “What’s happened?”
“The Queen is dead. Healers and apothecaries tried their best, but it wasn’t enough. She died a few days ago.”
King Matthias of Seveldrom was well liked by his people for being fair and generous, but it was his wife the people really loved. She could often be found walking through the poorest parts of the capital city with only a pair of royal guards for protection. Vargus had heard the story about her taking off her shoes so a beggar didn’t have to go barefoot. There were a hundred other stories like it which had endeared her to the people. She wasn’t just their Queen. She was family.
“How old is Princess Talandra? Eight? Nine?” asked Vargus.
“I think so,” said Carla. “It’s going to be toughest on her, being the youngest.”
Only a few days ago, Vargus had been enjoying a moment of peace and now this had happened. This event was a crossroads. Even though his old power was fading and would soon pass to another, he could almost feel the threads weaving together.
New pathways were being formed. New roads were opening up and others being torn apart for good with the queen’s death. There was no way to know which way King Matthias would turn in his grief. Would he continue down the road he and his wife had started together? Or would he be consumed and change the fate of the whole nation?
“Change is coming,” said Carla, echoing his thoughts. She knew a little about what he really was and hadn’t pressed him for more. But she had insight of her own that came from grounded wisdom. It was another reason she was the Elder.
“Then we’d best be ready for it,” said Vargus.
Meet the Author
Photo Credit: Hannah Webster
Stephen Aryan was born in 1977 and was raised by the sea in northeast England. A keen podcaster, lapsed gamer and budding archer, when not extolling the virtues of Babylon 5, he can be found drinking real ale and reading comics.
He lives in a village in Yorkshire with his partner and two cats.
By Stephen Aryan
AGE OF DARKNESS
Battlemage
Bloodmage
Chaosmage
THE AGE OF DREAD
Mageborn
Of Gods and Men (novella)
If you enjoyed
Of Gods and Men
look out for
BATTLEMAGE
by
Stephen Aryan
“I can command storms, summon fire and unmake stone,” Balfruss growled. “It’s dangerous to meddle with things you don’t understand.”
Balfruss is a battlemage, sworn to fight and die for a country that fears and despises his kind.
Vargus is a common soldier—while mages shoot lightning from the walls of the city, he’s down in the front lines getting blood on his blade.
Talandra is a princess and spymaster, but the war may force her to risk everything and make the greatest sacrifice of all.
Magic and mayhem collide in this explosive epic fantasy from a major new talent.
CHAPTER 1
Another light snow shower fell from the bleak grey sky. Winter should have been over, yet ice crunched underfoot and the mud was hard as stone. Frost clung to almost everything, and a thick, choking fog lay low on the ground. Only those desperate or greedy travelled in such conditions.
Two nights of sleeping outdoors had leached all the warmth from Vargus’s bones.
The tips of his fingers were numb and he couldn’t feel his toes any more. He hoped they were still attached when he took off his boots; he’d seen it happen to others in the cold. Whole toes had come off and turned black without them noticing, rolling around like marbles in the bottom of their boots.
Vargus led his horse by the reins. It would be suicide for them both to ride in this fog.
Up ahead something orange flickered amid the grey and white. The promise of a fire gave Vargus a boost of energy and he stamped his feet harder than necessary. Although the fog muffled the sound, it would carry to the sentry up ahead on his left.
The bowman must have been sitting in the same position for hours as the grey blanket over his head was almost completely white.
As Vargus drew closer his horse snorted, picking up the scent of other animals, men and cooking meat. Vargus pretended he hadn’t seen the man and tried very hard not to stare at his longbow. After stringing the bow with one quick flex the sentry readied an arrow, but in order to loose it he would have to stand up.
“That’s far enough.”
That came from another sentry on Vargus’s right who stepped out from between the skeletons of two shattered trees. He was a burly man dressed in dirty furs and mismatched leathers. Although chipped and worn the long sword he carried looked sharp.
“You a King’s man?”
Vargus snorted. “No, not me.”
“What do you want?”
He shrugged. “A spot by your fire is all I’m after.”
Despite the fog the sound of their voices must have carried as two others came towards them from the camp. The newcomers were much like the others, desperate men with scarred faces and mean eyes.
“You got any coin?” asked one of the newcomers, a bald and bearded man in old-fashioned leather armour.
Vargus shook his head. “Not much, but I got this.” Moving slowly he pulled two wine skins down from his saddle. “Shael rice wine.”
The first sentry approached. Vargus could still feel the other pointing an arrow at his back. With almost military precision the man went through his saddlebags, but his eyes nervously flicked towards Vargus from time to time. A deserter then, afraid someone had been sent after him.
“What we got, Lin?” called Baldy.
“A bit of food. Some silver. Not much else,” the sentry answered.
“Let him pass.”
Lin didn’t step back. “Are you sure, boss?”
The others were still on edge. They were right to be nervous if they were who Vargus suspected. The boss came forward and keenly looked Vargus up and down. He knew what the boss was seeing. A man past fifty summers, battle scarred and grizzled with liver spots on the back of his big hands. A man with plenty of grey mixed in with the black stubble on his face and head.
“You going to give us any trouble with that?” asked Baldy, pointing at the bastard sword jutting up from Vargus’s right shoulder.
“I don’t want no trouble. Just a spot by the fire and I’ll share the wine.”
“Good enough for me. I’m Korr. These are my boys.”
“Vargus.”
He gestured for Vargus to follow him and the others eased hands away from weapons. “Cold enough for you?”
“Reminds me of a winter, must be twenty years ago, up north. Can’t remember where.”
“Travelled much?”
Vargus grunted. “All over. Too much.”
“So, where’s home?” asked Korr. The questions were asked casually, but Vargus had no doubt about it being an interrogation.
“Right now, here.”
They passed through a line of trees where seven horses were tethered. Vargus tied his horse up with the others and walked into camp. It was a good sheltered spot, surrounded by trees on three sides and a hill with a wide cave mouth on the other. A large roaring fire crackled in the middle of camp and two men were busy cooking beside it. One was cutting up a hare and dropping pieces into a bubbling pot, while the other prodded some blackened potatoes next to the blaze. All of the men were armed and they carried an assortment of weapons that looked well used.
As Vargus approached the fire a massive figure stood up and came around from the other side. It was over six and a half feet tall, dressed in a bear skin and wide as two normal men. The man’s face was severely deformed with a protruding forehead, small brown eyes that were almost black, and a jutting bottom jaw with jagged teeth.
“Easy Rak,” said Korr. The giant relaxed the grip on his sword and Vargus let out a sigh of relief. “He brought us something to drink.”
Rak’s mouth widened, revealing a whole row of crooked yellow teeth. It took Vargus a few seconds to realise the big man was smiling. Rak moved back to the far side of the fire and sat down again. Only then did Vargus move his hand away from the dagger on his belt.
He settled close to the fire next to Korr and for a time no one spoke, which suited him fine. He closed his eyes and soaked up some of the warmth, wiggling his toes inside his boots. The heat began to take the chill from his hands and his fingers started to tingle.
“Bit dangerous to be travelling alone,” said Korr, trying to sound friendly.
“Suppose so. But I can take care of myself.”
“Where you headed?”
Vargus took a moment before answering. “Somewhere I’ll get paid and fed. Times are hard and I’ve only got what I’m carrying.”
Since he’d mentioned his belongings he opened the first skin and took a short pull. The rice wine burned the back of his throat, leaving a pleasant aftertaste. After a few seconds the warmth in his stomach began to spread.
Korr took the offered wineskin but passed it to the next man, who snatched it from his hand.
“Rak. It’s your turn on lookout,” said Lin. The giant ignored him and watched as the wine moved around the fire. When it reached him he took a long gulp and then another before walking into the trees. The archer came back and another took his place as sentry. Two men standing watch for a group of seven in such extreme weather was unusual. They weren’t just being careful, they were scared.
“You ever been in the King’s army?” asked Lin.
Vargus met his gaze then looked elsewhere. “Maybe.”
“I reckon that’s why you travelled all over, dragged from place to place. One bloody battlefield after another. Home was just a tent and a fire. Different sky, different enemy.”
“Sounds like you know the life. Are you a King’s man?”
“Not any more,” Lin said with a hint of bitterness.
It didn’t take them long to drain the first wineskin so Vargus opened the second and passed it around the fire. Everyone took a drink again except Korr.
“Bad gut,” he said when Vargus raised an eyebrow. “Even a drop would give me the shits.”
“More for us,” said one man with a gap-toothed grin.
When the stew was ready one of the men broke up the potatoes and added them to the pot. The first two portions went to the sentries and Vargus was served last. His bowl was smaller than the others, but he didn’t complain. He saw a few chunks of potato and even one bit of meat. Apart from a couple of wild onions and garlic the stew was pretty bland, but it was hot and filling. The food, combined with the wine and the fire, helped warm him all the way through. An itchy tingling starting to creep back into his toes. It felt as if they were all still attached.
When they’d all finished mopping up the stew with some flat bread, and the second wineskin was empty, a comfortable silence settled on the camp. It seemed a shame to spoil it.
“So why’re you out here?” asked Vargus.
“Just travelling. Looking for work, like you,” said Korr.
“You heard any news from the villages around here?”
One of the men shifted as if getting comfortable, but Vargus saw his hand move to the hilt of his axe. Their fear was palpable.
Korr shook his head. “Not been in any villages. We keep to ourselves.” The lie would have been obvious t
o a blind and deaf man.
“I heard about a group of bandits causing trouble in some of the villages around here. First it was just a bit of thieving and starting a couple of fights. Then it got worse when they saw a bit of gold.” Vargus shook his head sadly. “Last week one of them lost control. Killed four men, including the innkeeper.”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Korr. He was sweating now and it had nothing to do with the blaze. On the other side of the fire a snoozing man was elbowed awake and he sat up with a snort. The others were gripping their weapons with sweaty hands, waiting for the signal.
“One of them beat the innkeeper’s wife half to death when she wouldn’t give him the money.”
“What’s it matter to you?” someone asked.
Vargus shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. But the woman has two children and they saw who done it. Told the village Elder all about it.”
“We’re far from the cities out here. Something like that isn’t big enough to bring the King’s men. They only come around these parts to collect taxes twice a year,” said Lin with confidence.
“Then why do you all look like you’re about to shit yourselves?” asked Vargus.
An uncomfortable silence settled around the camp, broken only by the sound of Vargus scratching his stubbly cheek.
“Is the King sending men after us?” asked Korr, forgoing any pretence of their involvement.
“It isn’t the King you should worry about. I heard the village Elders banded together, decided to do something themselves. They hired the Gath.”
“Oh shit.”
“He ain’t real! He’s just a myth.”
“Lord of Light shelter me,” one of the men prayed. “Lady of Light protect me.”
“Those are just stories,” scoffed Lin. “My father told me about him when I was a boy, more than thirty years ago.”
“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Vargus grinned.
But it was clear they were still scared, more than before now that he’d stirred things up. Their belief in the Gath was so strong he could almost taste it in the air. For a while he said nothing and each man was lost in his own thoughts. Fear of dying gripped them all, tight as iron shackles.
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