The Reaper's Seed: The Sword and the Promise (Book 1)

by Jaffrey Clark

“I only know of a few members of the Véran left in that city. Most care for nothing but money.” Einar said sharply. “There will be far more from Shole and the Northern Villages,” he continued. “The very roots of the Véran come from Shole, reaching back to Homsoloc’s last days, and his call for his sons to remember their past. He chronicled his life and everything he could remember from Amilum and those records remain in Shole. Certainly such a city cannot become as comfortable as Renken. If their heritage is not enough to stir them, Mornoc’s lair lies before them to the west.”

  “I have not heard word from Shole in years of any movements of the enemy. Are there still patrols in the west? They would know for sure whether Mornoc is preparing for battle.” Corred tossed his thoroughly chewed grass aside and grabbed some more.

  Einar shrugged his shoulders. “There have been no attacks, so there have been no expeditions.” Einar said, shrugging his shoulders. “Why go looking for trouble?”

  Corred looked into the distance. “I understand that, but isn’t it the job of their militia to watch Mornoc’s movements?”

  Einar shook his head. “Yes, I agree. It is disturbing how much can be surrendered in the name of peace, but I do understand their thinking.”

  Once they were through the fields they picked up the same wagon trail as Corred had traveled that morning. It was now busy with all sorts of people coming and going to Renken’s market place. A pair of young men tended a herd of sheep and another followed with a set of yoked oxen, the sound of confused and stressed animals filling the air. Einar and Corred walked just off the road to avoid the tangle.

  At the top of the hill overlooking Renken, Einar and Corred met a well-adorned carriage. They slowed a little in anticipation of its arrival, watching the small escort of guards that accompanied it.

  “Lord Raven’s carriage?” Corred asked Einar under his breath.

  “It is,” Einar said, watching closely. Leaning Corred’s direction, he continued. “But I do not know the man on horseback that follows,” Einar responded, nodding toward a man dressed unlike the others in the escort. “I saw him last night speaking with a gentleman in the street when I passed Lord Raven’s estate.”

  A short man with sharp features, dark hair, and less distinguished dress than the others accompanied the carriage. He wore no hide cap as the others did, and his robe was dark green instead of the scarlet and black of Renken’s guard. He watched Einar and Corred with a disapproving eye as they stood aside and bowed, paying their respects to Renken’s lord. Once the carriage had passed, Einar stared at the man unabashed. But the man in green ignored Einar completely. Instead, he looked at Corred and smiled ever so slightly. Slowing his horse to a stop, he leaned over to address him.

  “Young man, what is your name?” He looked him up and down intently.

  “Why would a man of your importance inquire after someone like me?” Corred asked respectfully.

  Einar watched on, silently.

  “I recognize your face,” he answered. Lowering his voice, he asked, “Don’t you have a brother?” His inquiry was gentle, but something about it was sinister.

  Corred felt the heat of embarrassment and anger rise from his chest into his head. The inquiry was unexpected. “No, sir, you are mistaken,” he replied, trying to hide his emotion.

  The man sat up and nodded, knowingly. “I must be. My apologies,” he said. “I thought perhaps you were someone else.” He continued on without another word, casting a few glances over his shoulder with the same piercing gaze.

  “I knew I didn’t like him,” Einar muttered.

  Corred gripped his belt hard with both hands to conceal his anger. Unable to keep from scowling, he returned to walking at a faster pace than before. His thoughts swam with rage. I don’t have a brother! A deep wound, still unhealed had been perfectly prodded. I don’t have a father. I don’t have a mother . . . Corred let out a long sigh to relieve the pressure building in his chest.

  Einar kept at his side, casting sideways glances at his younger friend. “Anger is a foothold for bitterness, Corred. I don’t pretend to know your hurt, and I never have, but I must speak truth to you,” Einar said.

  Corred remained silent, knowing that his voice would betray his feelings, and he would no doubt say something he’d regret. He just kept gripping his belt instead, until his knuckles turned white. Bitterness already has a foothold.

  “What separates us from our enemy most is our hope. When we fight, it is for something, for peace, not out of hate, or a desire for revenge.” After a pause Einar added, “You are a son of the Promise, an heir to the Sword. Nothing can change that.”

  Corred knew Einar was right, but it was harder to believe these things when he was confronted with his past. Corred sighed again, trying to let go. A chill ran down his spine as he fought with his emotions, disgusted with his own vulnerability.

  Though there was evidence to support that Corred’s father had left his family and joined the forces of Mornoc as a traitor, Corred had refused to believe it. Ever since the day his father had disappeared, Corred had insisted that it was because he had been ambushed, and that he had died fighting, even though his father’s body was never found. Only Einar had chosen to believe the best with him; even Corred’s grandfather, Creedus, doubted that his son had somehow died honorably. When his younger brother, Androcles had disappeared in much the same way, Corred closed up; it had been more than he could handle.

  They walked on in silence for a while as Corred wrestled with himself, unaware of the beautiful countryside around him. There was a slight breeze moving over the hills and through the grass, which swayed according to its flow. A flock of starlings flew here and there, resting in one tree, then flying to the next with a burst of sound. Several times they flew just over the trail as if headed in the same direction as Einar and Corred. The intense flutter of their wings could be heard like a quickly passing wave.

  Einar broke the silence. “How is your grandfather? I haven’t spoken to him in a while.”

  “He is quite well,” Corred answered dryly. “I am sure you heard that he hunted and killed a bear armed only with the Sword last month. It would seem that sparring and sword play are not enough for him. Even though many men are stronger than him, he always beats whoever he faces, with any weapon.”

  Einar let out a laugh. “A lack of enemies has never stopped him from picking a fight, has it? A warrior whether there is peace or not.”

  “That is my grandfather.” Corred’s mood lightened. “I believe he looks to appoint another in his stead, and pass on the Sword before he is too weak to wield it well. I am sure my father would have been that man.” Corred fell silent again and returned to watching the path.

  Einar looked away into the hills, as if searching for something. “He truly would have been,” he agreed quietly. Einar again sought to change the subject. “When was the last time you were in Wellman?” he asked.

  “Maybe, two months. Galena and I went to the summer festival with my aunt and uncle, as we do every year.” This change of focus finally brought peace to Corred’s confused and pained thoughts.

  He knew exactly how long it had been: two months and four days exactly. That week he had become captivated by a certain young lady. It hadn’t been the first time he’d seen her, or even his first time speaking with her, but something had changed. He couldn’t quite explain the feeling, and he didn’t feel the need to understand it.

  “It feels like an age ago,” he added, staring into the distance. I wonder what she’s doing right now. The streets of Wellman replaced the road he walked, and a graceful figure walked beside him. He longed to talk to her again, but he knew it was not his place; she was a child of royalty. But the hope lived on in his imagination.

  For some time they continued on, running for a portion to shorten the journey. By mid afternoon they left the wagon trail behind and cut into the farm fields to the east of Oak Knoll.

  * * * * *

  On the eastern side of Renken, Lord Raven
stood on the balcony of his three story mansion. His closely trimmed beard and dark hair spotted with gray fit his dark complexion. Sharp green eyes and chiseled features added to his stately appearance. He wore no crown or adorning jewelry to mark his office, but rather a flowing scarlet robe attached to his shoulders and a gold signet ring, which he spun on his finger incessantly. Apart from these ornaments, he was dressed like any rich merchant in the Lowlands.

  Overlooking the estate, his study was the highest point of the mansion where the flag of Renken flew from its peak. With a careful eye he observed the courtyard below as a young boy walked a colt around the center. A second servant attended to the two men who had brought the horse to show Lord Raven. They all watched the animal, admiring its graceful gait and the rich color of its hide. Tossing his head playfully, the colt seemed to know quite well that he was being watched.

  Lord Raven’s mansion wrapped completely around the courtyard allowing only two exits for the traffic of supplies, visitors, and those who came to call on the lord for such an occasion as this. There were several stables, storage rooms, and a covered walkway around its circumference. The house itself was made of stone except for in a few sections, such as the stables, which were built from the largest trees in the region. Just one of these stables would have been an enviable house among the citizens in the western part of town.

  After a number of circles, the tradesmen below eagerly awaited Lord Raven’s response. Withholding his reaction a little while longer, if only to cause them discomfort and make them desperate for a sale, Lord Raven finally waved to an older servant attending them below. Immediately the servant spoke with the two men. Their reactions were favorable as they were then led to the door below the balcony.

  As Lord Raven retreated within his study, a short man with sharp features and a shrewd eye stood just inside the door. Though waiting on the lord as every other servant, he dressed as he pleased.

  “Lowell, what did you think of the field we looked at earlier today? You have been quiet on the subject, but I know you have thoughts to share. Please, speak up, that is why I have you in my council.” Lord Raven addressed him while taking a seat in his chair just inside the balcony. “Quickly, before the tradesmen come to argue.”

  “My lord, I have very little to say about the field, or the colt for that matter. They are very desirable in my eyes and you have the means to purchase them if it is your interest. I wish only to speak to you about something else, something that worries me.”

  Lord Raven gave him an inquiring look.

  “After you purchase the animal, sir,” Lowell said respectfully, backing away from the door. The sound of approaching steps could be heard on the wood floors.

  Upon entering, the servant who had been with the tradesmen in the courtyard showed them in. His old face wrinkled slightly as he smiled. “Gentlemen, Lord Raven.”

  “Thank you, Orlin,” Lord Raven said to his master servant, ignoring the introduction. “You may go.”

  With a bow Orlin left the room.

  Turning his attention to his guests, Lord Raven spoke plainly, “State your price.”

  The two tradesmen looked at each other to decide who would give the news. After a few seconds, the one spoke up to fill the silence, “200 coins, sir. Not a coin less for a colt like this.”

  Lord Raven scowled ever so slightly. “I rarely pay more than 175 coins,” he said dryly. “This horse is to be for a servant when he is fit for service. I will not be riding him.”

  The second tradesman grasped at the opportunity to press their case. “Sir, this animal was captured from the foothills in the north but three weeks ago, broken only enough to be controlled for travel. A horse like this can be well trained by someone in your house to do whatever you wish. He is a magnificent animal and quite capable of being fit even with my lord’s saddle in due time.”

  “I’ve seen many horses, sir, and I assure you he is not worth 200 coins.” Lord Raven put on the façade of losing interest and stood up to turn away and look out his balcony.

  The second tradesman continued, “My lord, if you would take a look at my own mount just outside your window here, you will see his dignified air.” Approaching the window as he spoke he pushed on to close the sale. “Do you approve of his stature?”

  Pleased with the man’s efforts to persuade him, Lord Raven entertained the question. “Yes, I do. I find him a magnificent creature. What is your point?” He remained with his back to the tradesman.

  “Well this colt was taken from the same herd that my mount was. He is an offspring of the dominant male with one of the largest herds of the north.” The man’s voice was growing animated, as it was apparent that he took great pride in his work.

  Lord Raven turned around and looked him in the eye. “I’ll buy him for 180 coins, if what you say is true.”

  “By the skin on my back, my lord, it is true,” the man said.

  “Done. Go and see my servant, Orlin. He will manage the money with you. Thank you, gentlemen.”

  The tradesmen nodded their heads with a smile and turned to go.

  “I will let you know if this colt disappoints me,” Lord Raven called after them. “Or if you are given to exaggerations.”

  The tradesman who had closed the sale turned and gave a prompt response. “I assure you, my lord, he will not disappoint you.” He nodded again and left.

  Lowell closed the door after them. “My lord made a wise purchase,” he said with a smile.

  “Yes, I know. That horse was worth at least 200 coins,” he replied, finally releasing a smile. “Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?” he added returning to their previous discussion.

  Lowell paused, gathered his thoughts, and then walked over toward the balcony to join in observing the activity below. “My lord, I have been wondering . . .” He paused slightly, changing his tone to one more serious. “Is it wise to ignore the stubborn ways of these men we refer to as the Véran?” There was a slight scorn in his voice. “They walk around the town armed, claiming to be vigilant guards of the people, yet they contribute very little to the welfare of the people with mere words. There is no war for them to fight. There has not been one in almost fifty years, and there will likely not be one in the foreseeable future.”

  “Lowell, the Véran are a stubborn kind, you are right, and I know there has been no war for quite some time, but they are at least true people. I have decided after our many conversations on the subject to pay them no mind at all. Traditionally, I have been patronizing, but as you say, they do contribute very little to the public good.” Lord Raven paused thinking it through for a moment.

  Lowell stared hard at him, searching him out.

  “On the other hand, Lowell, they contribute no less to the welfare than many in the western district.” Lord Raven’s emotions were clearly divided. “I would loathe doing such a thing as punish devotion. Regardless of whether they are understood, they are revered. What would you suggest?”

  “I do not suggest punishment or ill treatment. I only question the usefulness of what could be beneficial talent, my lord. They could become part of your guard, loyal to you, or to some other city guard. Has not their duty always been to the people, for their protection, and the keeping of peace?” Lowell said.

  Lord Raven listened carefully but did not respond.

  Lowell continued, “Even if they are truly devout, would it be wise to ignore them simply because they have not yet done any harm?” Lowell cast his doubt well, and the effect could be seen in the Lord Raven’s face.

  Lord Raven nodded. “I see what you are saying, Lowell. I will think about it, but no more talk of this for now.” Turning to Lowell he addressed him directly, “I am ready for supper. Go and inquire of the maidservants as to its progress.” With that he continued observing the courtyard below as the sale of the colt was finalized and the animal was placed in one of his stables.

  “Yes, my lord.” Lowell exited the room, leaving the door open behind him. With a glance
back at the lord he contorted his face with displeasure. Under his breath he muttered a few words of contempt as his eyes grew menacing. Saving face for the approach of a young maidservant he bid her “Good afternoon,” and continued on his way through the mansion.

  Chapter 5

  The Croic River was the largest river in all of the Lowlands. Cutting through the Altus Mountains in the north, it forked into the Beryl River, which led to Renken and the southern parts, and the Rundum River, which flowed all the way through the Northern Villages to the west. The Northern Villages were made up of as many as a hundred small towns and outposts that covered a vast expanse of the northern Lowlands.

  Like the rest of the Lowlands there were lines of royalty in the North, but they exercised their privilege more as servants of the people, as recognized men of councel, than as men of wealth or control. Most villages were self sustaining, relying little on trade from other regions. What one village lacked, the next one had. Farmers, hunters, and specialized tradesmen, they were a rugged people.

  It was in this region that wild horses were plentiful and, in turn, a breed of men that made a living of catching and taming them for use by men. They were an independent lot, even among the Northern Villages, traveling in groups of four or five, facing all kinds of danger, every moment of their lives spent for the purpose of rounding up these wild horses to tame and sell. Where the horses went, they followed. They were well known as the Horsemen.

  Despite their independence, the Horsemen, since the very beginnings of the Lowlands, had been faithful believers in the Promise. Some would say it was culture for a Horseman to believe in the Promise, but it was far more than that. Nights under the stars, days in the heat of the sun, and the hardships of their trade did not allow them to grow comfortable with living in the Lowlands. And so, they were also less apt to grow passive toward their enemies. If there was an enemy, then the Story was true, and so was the Promise. It was all the reasoning that they needed; they were simple men. They knew too much and saw too much to doubt.