Forge of Men
(Spineward Sectors: A Tracto Tale)
by
Caleb Wachter
Copyright © 2015 by Caleb Wachter
All rights reserved.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. All resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental. Respect my electronic rights because the money you save today will be the book I can't afford to write for you tomorrow.
Other Books by Caleb Wachter
As of 04-14-2015
SPINEWARD SECTORS: MIDDLETON’S PRIDE TRILOGY
No Middle Ground
Up The Middle
Against The Middle
SPHEREWORLD NOVEL SERIES
Joined at the Hilt: Union
SPHEREWORLD NOVELLAS
Between White and Grey
SEEDS OF HUMANITY: THE COBALT HERESY SERIES
Revelation
Reunion
COLLABORATIVE WORKS BY LUKE SKY WACHTER & CALEB WACHTER
SPINEWARD SECTORS NOVELLAS
Admiral’s Lady: Eyes of Ice, Heart of Fire
Admiral’s Lady: Ashes for Ashes, Blood for Blood
Books by my Brother: Luke Sky Wachter
SPINEWARD SECTORS NOVEL SERIES
Admiral Who?
Admiral’s Gambit
Admiral’s Tribulation
Admiral’s Trial
Admiral’s Revenge
Admiral’s Spine
Admiral Invincible
RISE OF THE WITCH GUARD NOVEL SERIES
The Blooding
The Painting
RISE OF THE WITCH GUARD NOVELLAS
The Boar Knife
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Table of Contents
Prologue: Trial of the Deep
Chapter I: A Matter of Honor
Chapter II: Blood for Blood
Chapter III: An Eye for an Eye
Chapter IV: A New Home
Chapter V: The Hunt
Chapter VI: A Gilded Cage
Chapter VII: The Siege
Chapter VIII: One More Kill…
Chapter IX: An Unexpected Offer
Chapter X: Freedom
Chapter XI: Familiar Sights
Chapter XII: Homecoming
Chapter XIII: Feeling Out
Chapter XIV: Rescuing the Lost Lady
Chapter XV: Honored Acclaim vs. Icy Disdain
Chapter XVI: The Baited Trap
Chapter XVII: Playing Along
Chapter XVIII: Covert Meetings
Chapter XIX: The Chasm
Chapter XX: The Forge of Men
Chapter XXI: The First Cut
Chapter XXII: The Return Home
Chapter XXIII: A Hero’s Welcome?
Chapter XXIV: Destiny
Chapter XXV: The Duel of Duels
Chapter XXVI: The Pain of Loss
Chapter XXVII: The Reward for Failure
Chapter XXVIII: A New Directive
Chapter XXIX: Rejoining Society
Chapter XXX: Swallowing Pride
Epilogue: The Longest Step
Prologue: Trial of the Deep
The air was bitterly cold, just as the coastal region was known to be except during the very height of summer. The waves crashed violently into the jagged rocks which comprised the stretch of coastline where the witnesses had gathered—but the razor-sharp rocks were the least of the dangers lurking in the dark, frigid waters of the sea.
Among the witnesses present were Hold Mistress Eukaria Quistus, dressed in a simply woven, wool overcoat which covered her traveling clothes. Beside her was Felix Krastus, her sworn Protector these past nine years. Their relationship had been less tumultuous than most of their peers would claim, but that was not to say they were without cause for regular conflict. Still, they respected each other and, perhaps more importantly, they complemented each other perfectly. Her mind for politics had allowed her to maintain her Hold’s integrity for two decades, and Felix ensured that physical threats to her holdings did not survive long enough to disturb the peace.
“I do not believe this to be the will of Men, Felix,” the Hold Mistress said in her unusually deep voice. “A man’s life is precious, and must be dedicated to the service of his people. To discard it in this fashion is wasteful to the point of heresy.”
Felix shook his head as his eyes swept across the coastline. He had heard the same argument for the last two days while they had made their way to this place, and he was through trying to convince his Hold Mistress. “A man cannot live with such a stain of dishonor,” he said in a low, nearly growling voice. “There is no future for him in this world when all know of the shame which he now bears. Besides,” he added, stamping his feet to stave off the cold which threatened to freeze the marrow in his bones, “these are the old ways.”
“But there are other ways,” she retorted harshly before casting an annoyed look at the dozen others who had gathered for the spectacle. She lowered her voice and continued, “After receiving the mark he may still serve in a free company, or perhaps even earn honors on the field as a bond-soldier to mitigate his status and eventually regain a measure of freedom.”
Felix turned to her and fixed her with his steely, grey eyes. “And what of his children?” he asked coldly.
Eukaria’s eyes narrowed. “You know he may never sire children,” she hissed. “His father’s failure as a Guardian was too grave; no woman would risk joining her blood with one who might secretly harbor such weakness!”
Felix held her in his cold stare for a long moment before turning to once again face the roaring sea. “His blood is not weak,” he growled. “I have known his kin for my entire life; they are among the finest warriors of these lands—his eldest brother died under my command during the Red Dawn, after taking the western gatehouse of Blue Fang Pass singlehanded!”
“His brother brought honor to his line, and to the Hold,” Eukaria admitted before shaking her head. “But there is a great difference between a warrior and a Guardian—let alone a Protector! A warrior needs only a strong body and the ability to follow orders, but one who would pledge himself to defend a woman and all that is hers must prove worthy of the trust she places in him. This boy’s father failed to prove worthy of that trust, and it is my solemn duty to our people to ensure that his son now carries the mark of that failure.”
“He will not accept the mark!” Felix snapped, his face flushing with anger as he thrust an accusatory finger in her direction. “You would rob him of his family name, his honor, and any hope he may have of building a legacy of his own. He would rather die than take the mark—and he is right to make such a choice!”
Eukaria’s eyes locked with her Protector’s and for a moment he thought she would escalate the conflict to the next level, but then she relaxed and shook her head slowly. “The tide has nearly turned,” she said with a tilt of her chin toward the roaring waves. “We have been here for two days already, and my patience is exhausted. If the beast does not emerge before the basin is dry at dusk, the boy will submit himself to accept the mark.”
Felix felt himself flare with anger, but he knew that she had already shown a great measure of lenience in this matter. That she had taken two days to travel to this place, and waited another two days for the leviathan of the sea to appear was a testament to how highly she valued him—but he also knew that he was far from irreplaceable, and he would be wise not to test his Hold Mistress further.
He grudgingly nodded. “I will carry out your will in this matter, Hold Mist
ress.” His eyes crept out to the point of the long, protruding cliff of rock on which stood the boy who had chosen this heroic, yet utterly foolish death. Felix respected the boy’s courage, as well as his family’s honor—regardless of his father’s fate—and that was the main reason he had agreed to take the lad’s case to the Hold Mistress.
Now, however, all that Felix or anyone else could do was pray to Men for the boy to find a quick death in the belly of the foul monstrosity which lurked beneath the violently churning waves.
The boy stood on the furthest edge of the rocky cliff, which towered twenty meters above the ocean’s below. The cliff-line thrust nearly a hundred meters out from the rest of the coastline into the ocean, and the waves crashing against the jagged rock at the base of the cliff sprayed upward with unimaginable force, the sound of each impact nearly deafening to his ears.
His fire had died an hour earlier, and in doing so it had taken what little measure of comfort which had remained to him during the Trial. He knew that this was the last tide of the week which could bring the beast close enough to shore for the Trial of the Deep, so there was little point in maintaining a fire—one way or another, the life he had lived was about to end.
His body was covered in the green, slimy ichor of the kelp buds which grew in the bay, and while it did little to keep him warm he did not care—he believed it would serve its purpose when the beast finally arrived.
He waited patiently near the freezing spray, keeping his mind clear of distractions as he awaited the monster’s call. He had heard it three months earlier when sitting on this same cliff in contemplative solitude, and he had taken its call as a sign from Men of what he must do. No man had ever slain one of these sea beasts in recorded history, but his resolve was firm—this was a matter of life and death, it was a matter of honor…and it was a matter of destiny.
Then, amid the cacophony of crashing waves, he heard its call. It was unmistakably familiar to him now: a low, crooning sound which quickly rose in pitch and volume until it was no longer audible by human ears, but a strange echo resonated in his hearing even after it had ceased for several seconds. He looked down to the origin of the sound and saw a dark, menacing shape lurking beneath the frothy, frigid waters of the tidal basin.
The time had come to do what he was there to do. He gripped his crude harpoon tightly in his hands, took a deep breath, and leapt from the cliff to test himself against the foulest monster known to the world of Men.
Felix saw the boy leap from the cliff with his three meter long harpoon in his hands, and the Protector quickly made his way to their overlooking ledge’s nearest point so he could see the affair as clearly as possible. He knew with grim certainty that their wait would soon be over.
The crowd of spectators quickly followed him to the nearest clear vantage points, but at first they saw nothing. Then Felix did see a hint of motion beneath the waves, and his heart leapt into his throat at the sight of the legendary beast.
He had seen a kraken once when he was a boy, but his people kept far from the coast for fear of the monstrous creatures, and his memory had understandably faded. But even through the haze of time, he knew that this specimen was at least double the size of the one he had seen—and that one had itself been as large as a bull Stone Rhino, the largest creature to walk on land.
He noticed some movement from the corner of his eye, but he would not let his attention be drawn from the massive beast. He would likely never again see such a colossal, foul creature in his life.
The kraken lurched upward from the water, exposing the majority of its body momentarily. It was shaped roughly like a squid, but its tentacles ended in sharp, jagged spines like a crab’s legs. Its body was armored in a striped, beige and green carapace which was probably as tough as Stone Rhino hide, and was covered in razor-sharp, poisonous spines.
For a terrible moment as the beast breeched the surface of the water, Felix saw the boy near the monster’s mouth, which was situated in the center of the tentacles’ bases. The look in the kraken’s trio of equidistantly placed eyes was alien and malevolent as it turned its body sharply in mid-air, smashing its mouth—and the boy—into the water with incredible force.
It was only after they had disappeared below the surface that Felix was once again distracted by some sort of movement near the top of the cliff from where the boy had jumped.
When he recognized what he had seen dangling from the top of the cliff, he felt a faint sliver of something he had not expected to experience during this ritual:
Hope.
The weight of the kraken crashing down on top of him was unlike anything the boy had ever experienced, and had it not been for the deep water he knew he would have been instantly crushed to death. But he was not dead, and that realization filled him with a renewed sense of purpose as the icy water threatened to snuff the life out of him even before the beast could do so.
He dragged himself toward the relatively soft, sphincter-like mouth of the kraken, knowing he had mere seconds before the beast’s spear-like tentacles skewered him. With a silent scream that was drowned by the ocean’s icy water, he hauled his body toward the mouth and, with his hardwood harpoon gripped tightly in his hands, he felt a great pressure surround his body as the beast swallowed him whole.
The surge of foam subsided a few seconds after the kraken had crashed down into the boy, and then no movement could be seen beneath the dark waves. Felix felt his brief glimmer of hope die after a few seconds as he accepted that the boy had died, which was the fate he had chosen for himself. The way he dies is perhaps the only real choice which any man could make, but even that thought did little to quell the bitter sensation which filled his entire being in that moment. His Hold Mistress had been right; it was wasteful for a boy, born from such fine stock, to have been given to the sea before he could do great deeds with his Men-given gifts.
Eukaria made her way to his side and nodded resolutely. “It is done. The boy has met his fate in accordance with his wishes, and his line’s dishonor shall die with him.”
Felix felt his stomach knot in anger at his Hold Mistress’s cold words, but he had not expected anything less. He turned his back on the ocean and mentally prepared himself for the long journey home.
A series of gasps came from the crowd behind him and he stopped in his tracks. Impossible, he thought to himself as he slowly turned, fearful that if he moved too quickly he would snuff out the glimmer of hope he found himself desperately clinging to.
What he saw when he did turn caused every hair on his body to stand: the kraken was thrashing in the water mere meters from the boy, who was swimming as fast as he could toward the base of the cliff from which he had leapt. The terrible sea creature issued a piercing, ululating call filled with the rage of an implacable killer—a killer denied, likely for the very first time, from doing what it had been bred to do.
“Yes…” Felix whispered as he pushed past the crowd. “Yes,” he repeated, his voice climbing to a roar as he knew that regardless of the outcome, he was witnessing something out of legend, “yes!”
He watched as the rope, which had been responsible for the earlier movement along the cliff which had distracted him, pulled taut against the kraken’s titanic effort to free itself, and in doing so trapped the colossal beast near the shoreline.
“Do it, boy!” he shouted, his voice turning to a guttural, animalistic growl as he felt his hands clench into fists.
The boy swam with every scrap of energy he had in his burning, aching muscles. He had been without breath for longer than he had thought he could survive, and his body was covered with cuts and acid burns from his brief time inside the kraken’s gullet. But his theory had been correct: the kelp buds were poisonous to the kraken, and the beast had ejected him as soon as his kelp-covered body had entered the creature’s equivalent of a belly—but not before he had firmly lodged his hardwood harpoon in the monster’s throat.
His work was far from over, however, and he knew that if he was to hav
e a chance at victory he needed to reach his second harpoon quickly. The first harpoon had his largest, strongest rope attached to it, but he doubted that any single line—no matter how meticulously crafted—could hold the monster for long. He had anchored it to the top of the cliff with a series of narrow, green logs wedged between large, jagged outcroppings of rock to provide some measure of shock absorption—but those logs, even freshly cut and dragged there by the boy weeks earlier, would only take so much abuse.
He finally reached the ledge on which he had placed his second harpoon. This one was smaller, and better balanced than the first, with a metal barb a foot back from the fire-hardened wooden tip. Despite his trembling muscles—which threatened to seize up from the combination of fatigue, numbing cold, and hypoxia—he lined up for his cast at the gargantuan terror of the deep.
The boy had watched the kraken a handful of times over the previous weeks, and he had observed that the area surrounding its three eyes was less armored than the rest, as were the bases of the tentacles. He believed that a well-cast harpoon could pierce those areas, so he drew measured breaths as he waited for his opportunity, constantly fighting against his body’s reflexive need to shiver against the cold—a cold which had already numbed most of his skin.
When his opening finally came, he did not hesitate. He hurled the metal-tipped harpoon toward the beast’s eye using the same technique he had drilled for several hours each and every day for several months leading up to this moment. His diligence—both in crafting and then practicing with the weapon—was rewarded when the harpoon buried to the barb in the soft, fleshy capsule surrounding the creature’s eye.
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