Black Cross
Page 1
Black Cross
First book from the tales of the
Black Powder Wars
J P Ashman
Black Cross
First book from the tales of the
Black Powder Wars
J P Ashman
copyright © 2014 J P Ashman
All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the expressed written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The selections in this book are works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead; events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Cover art & series map by Charles Richardson
2015 edit by Jeff Gardiner
This, my first book, is dedicated to my wife, Cassandra, for encouraging me to chase my dreams and take up writing.
To Martyn, my brother and second pair of eyes, thank you for proof reading my work again and again since the very beginning. Your critique has been and will always be welcome and appreciated.
I have received support from many friends and family members, all of which have encouraged me every step of the way. I must give special thanks, however, to Robert Jeffries for his enthusiastic proof reading towards the final stages of the book, which, along with my brother, helped me clean up this lengthy project.
My editor, Jeff Gardiner, for coming into this late in the game, but making all the difference with your professional insight, enthusiasm and support. Thank you.
Any mistakes still remaining are my own.
A final thanks to my mother, Jan, for her support and for introducing me to fantasy, all those years ago. Without you, this would never have happened.
Table of Contents
Map of Brisance
Prologue
Chapter 1: Cursed Wind
Chapter 2: Dock Street
Chapter 3: The Report
Chapter 4: Symptoms
Chapter 5: Visitors
Chapter 6: The first deaths
Chapter 7: The one that got away
Chapter 8: No more beds
Chapter 9: Trust
Chapter 10: Answers
Chapter 11: Break In
Chapter 12: Outbreak
Chapter 13: Let them burn
Chapter 14: Kings Avenue
Chapter 15: Marble and Gold
Chapter 16: Condemned
Chapter 17: Quarantine
Chapter 18: Civil Disorder
Chapter 19: High Stakes
Chapter 20: In The Dark
Chapter 21: Knockers
Chapter 22: Pursued
Chapter 23: Reconnaissance
Chapter 24: The Pathfinders Cave
Chapter 25: Coincidences
Chapter 26: On With The Mission
Chapter 27: Bookworms
Chapter 28: Sea Of Gold
Chapter 29: Smoke
Chapter 30: Confrontation
Chapter 31: Beresford
Chapter 32: Wesson’s Bowels
Chapter 33: Fire & Ice
Chapter 34: Hold The Bridge
Chapter 35: Vulnerable
Chapter 36: Deals
Chapter 37: History Lesson
Chapter 38: Negotiation
Chapter 39: Can’t See The Wood For The Trees
Chapter 40: Broadleaf Forest
Chapter 41: Keep to the Path
Chapter 42: Middle Wood
Chapter 43: The Elven Council
Chapter 44: Threats and Promises
Chapter 45: Return To Wesson
Chapter 46: Distribution
Epilogue
Map of Brisance
Prologue
Brisance
492nd year of the Alliance
With a cold wind at her back and the sun illuminating her solid frame, Sessio crashed through a large wave, the resulting spray raining down on a well-dressed merchant's agent.
'Sail astern,' came a call from above.
The large vessel creaked as she changed tack, her sails bloating in the strong wind.
Joinson turned and watched the ship’s crew scramble about the rigging as they followed orders, whilst the first mate, a grisly fellow, looked up to the fortified crow’s nest high above their heads.
‘Ye see a flag, boy?’ he shouted.
‘Can’t see none,’ the boy in the crow’s nest shouted back. ‘They must’ve seen us, yet they’re making no move our way.’
‘Not pirates then,’ the first mate said, to no one in particular.
Joinson sighed with obvious relief as he caught the first mate’s comment. He’d been granted a great deal of trust by his employer with this trip, and had struck gold with his last find whilst in the south; a scroll he was sure his employer, Peneur Ineson, would agree made the trip worthwhile.
The agent jumped as the first mate roughly slapped him on the back. ‘Don’t worry none Master Joinson, we’ll have ye home to Wesson ʼfore ye can say ʼmorl’s balls.’
Frowning at the blasphemous remark, Joinson glanced up at the captain, who, standing on the aft-castle above the two men, merely shrugged and indicated he hadn’t heard the remark.
The boy in the crow’s nest leaned precariously over the side. ‘Sail’s turned; now head’n away to the south.’
Joinson closed his eyes and released the breath he'd held, and the first mate gave a fresh order, which the crew attended to swiftly.
Looking to the sky, Joinson thanked Sir Samorl for their safe passage, and politely excused himself, moving to the aft-castle and his mundane quarters.
Before he could close the door, Joinson heard the boy from the crow’s nest call out again.
‘New sail on horizon! North this time… they’re head’n straight for us!’
Swallowing hard, Joinson stepped back through the portal and looked up to Captain Mannino, who hadn’t moved from the front rail of the aft-castle above.
The crew busied themselves around the rigging as Joinson watched on. The heavily tanned men and women scurried up and down ropes and across spars, up into the tall masts of the large, square rigged ship. This all made Joinson rather dizzy as he peered up at the swaying mizzen-mast which stood directly in front of him, his plump face a sour shade of green. He looked out towards the horizon, wishing for land to focus his sights on to settle his stomach.
‘What’s her heading, nest?’ Although calm, Mannino’s voice projected easily up to the top of the main-mast. It was the most Joinson had heard the captain say in hours.
‘Still head’n for us cap’n.’
‘Very well, keep your eye on the sail behind us as well. I don’t want any surprises, boy.’
The boy pointed south. ‘Aye cap’n, that one’s still head’n away from us. Almost gone.’
‘Ye heard the lad,’ the first mate shouted, ‘now bring her about. I want her side on wi’ that ship up ahead.’ The first mate approached Joinson, a wry grin spreading across his pock-marked face as he stopped next to the nervous agent. He slapped the man on the back in what could only be taken as a reassuring manner, before shouting up to the aft-castle above. ‘Master Spendley, yer move lad.’
A young officer descended the aft-castle’s steps quickly, making his way to the centre of the ship. ‘Archers on deck,’ he said to one sailor, who opened a hatch and passed the order on.
The helmsman started to bring Sessio around to her new heading, upwind of the target, a much safer, calmer position, allowing the archers a greater range and an easier platform from which to aim and loose their arrows.
A commotion erupted from below as over two dozen men with un-strung war bows climbed
up ladders and piled out of trapdoors, followed by two men with large windlass crossbows. The latter hauled their weapons on ropes up the main-mast to the fortified crow’s nest above. The archers swiftly climbed the steps of the fore- and aft-castles, forming rough ranks at the centre of each, and within seconds, had taken their wax coated hemp strings and strung their powerful war bows. They wore white linen bags full of arrows at their sides, and a variety of close combat weapons hung from their belts.
Sessio rode a particularly large wave before she finally came about to her new heading. Joinson stumbled, catching himself at the last minute by taking hold of the first mate’s shoulder. The agent’s cheeks turned from green to red as he noticed how not only the sailors, but the archers too, had hardly moved as the ship rolled over the large wave before settling down in her new position.
‘Ye might be best in yer cabin, Master Joinson. Things might get nasty ye see,’ the first mate said.
Joinson’s eyes widened with fear at the possibility. He felt even worse as the churning in his stomach increased with the thought of a violent clash with pirates.
‘Yes, I think you’re right, Master Hitchmogh. I’ll leave you gentlemen to your area of expertise. I don’t want to get in your way, but… should you need me… just—’
‘We’s know where to find ye, aye.’
The blushing man gave a shallow bow to Master Hitchmogh and hurried back into his cabin, closing the door behind him and sliding the bolt across as more yelling erupted on deck.
Not good, not good at all.
He played with the key around his neck whilst pacing up and down. As the shouting increased outside his cabin, he removed the now warm key, placed it into the hole of an iron padlock hanging from an ornate oak chest at the foot of his bunk, and turned it. He opened the chest and checked, for the hundredth time, the expensive, magical item inside, and stroked the ancient wrapping that held the magnificent scroll in the centre of the chest, before closing the lid and fixing the padlock once more.
The ship lurched suddenly and Joinson dropped onto the small bunk. He placed the key chain back around his neck and prayed that the sail coming towards them didn’t belong to a pirate ship.
Then he heard the order he’d dreaded.
‘Loose!’
Joinson closed his eyes and pushed away the sickly feeling as much as he could. He wringed his hands together as he tried to block out the noises coming from outside; the shouts of orders, the faint flutter of dozens of arrows leaving their strings, the creak of Sessio as she shifted in the water, and suddenly, the loud concussive crump of magic as the ship lurched violently.
Lord above. Theirs or ours? I didn’t even know we had a mage on board… I pray we do?
A loud, stabbing crack to the ears then screams, distant, but far too close for Joinson’s liking. He mumbled a prayer to ward off the magic as the fighting reached a crescendo outside.
On the deck? Please, no…
The clash of metal on metal sounded close, but he couldn’t be sure if it was on Sessio or an adjoining vessel.
More screaming and one final thump of magic before all went quiet.
***
Joinson frowned as no one answered the door of the large house. He'd been assured by the Merchant Guild’s clerk that Master Ineson was home.
He’s probably out celebrating, and that’s what I should be doing now, after that trip, with my share of the shipment’s profits.
The streets were quiet, and yet, although a much safer district than his own, when Joinson heard, or rather felt, someone move out onto the street behind him, he couldn’t help feeling more vulnerable than he had whilst aboard the pirate hounded Sessio. He quickened his pace, wheezing as he did so. Fumbling in the belt pouch which held his smoking pipe, the merchant's agent wished he carried more than the small eating knife on his belt, which he now fingered with his other hand. This was Park District though, no muggings happened around here, and the City Guard patrolled regularly, perhaps it was one of those that was now approaching at a quickened pace.
Can I hear, or feel it? I can’t hear a damned thing over this wind.
Joinson’s breathing increased and the first beads of sweat appeared around his head and neck.
Up ahead a park opened out, just three house lengths away.
Am I better near an open, dark park, or around inhabited buildings? The question was all he could think about. Unable to come to a conclusion, Joinson decided he would turn and look upon whoever was following behind. He quietly laughed to himself, quite sure all of a sudden that he was being paranoid.
A feeling I’ve had ever since buying that damned scroll for Master Ineson's client.
He slowed his pace and turned to look upon who he was sure would be a patrolling guardsman.
Joinson’s body dropped to the floor, his lifeless eyes wide and his mouth open in a failed attempt to release the scream he had intended. The shadowy figure that had been following him disappeared into the park ahead, at a speed the large man could never have escaped.
Joinson’s white silk shirt began turning crimson from a single spot on the left hand side of his chest, as his thick woollen cloak blew open in a gust of wind. Rain fell in sheets suddenly and washed the warm liquid down onto the cobbles, which quickly became slick with a mix of rain water and blood. Joinson’s open mouth filled with water before overflowing and pouring down his fleshy left cheek, to add to the swirling mix of blood and water, whilst his foreign, light green pantaloons darkened with a mix of rain and piss.
Chapter 1: Cursed Wind
An uncharacteristically strong west wind for the time of year howled through the city streets as the day’s light faded and distant thunder quietly rumbled out to sea.
‘This is perfect,’ remarked a tall, hooded figure. He stood in a window overlooking the distant harbour.
His silhouette seemed ominous to his attentive listener, who'd just entered the chamber at the request of the man standing before him.
‘With these unusual gales, folk will fear curses and bad omens. We couldn’t have asked for a more suitable cover for our experiment.’
‘Lord Severun, I merely assist you in your work. The whole idea has been yours from the start and is yours still. It is your skill with magic that has brought this experiment so far. It is your experiment, not ours.’
Severun turned and looked down to the small gnome, who was playing with his unkempt, grey beard.
‘Not at all, Orix,’ Severun said, whilst removing his rain-soaked hood. ‘I could not have worked through all the problems I encountered without such a dedicated cleric at my side.’ Severun smiled at his partner, although Orix wouldn’t have called it a partnership.
‘You give me far more credit than I deserve, Lord Severun. If it is agreeable with you, I would like to oversee the enactment of the spell that will set this experiment in motion?’
‘I’m afraid not, Orix, the spell will need my full concentration and I cannot have any distractions, no matter how small.’ Orix frowned at the unintended pun whilst the wizard continued. ‘I will perform the spell here in my chamber. Once enacted, you can deliver the vial and we can merge the two together and pass it to the courier for delivery.’
‘As you wish, Lord Severun. Is there anything else you called me for?’
‘Anything else?’ The wizard looked aghast. ‘I called you here to tell you that I've finally prepared everything needed to proceed, and you ask if there is anything else, Master Orix?’
The small gnome resisted the urge to roll his eyes and just shrugged. ‘I thought you might have told me where you've been? What was so important to warrant holding up this experiment while you gallivant around the city in a blasted storm?’ Severun attempted to respond, but the old gnome continued regardless. ‘You told me recently that everything was set in place to carry out the experiment, that you finally had the magical item you'd been waiting for. The one that is apparently so important we could not proceed without. The one which also,’ the gn
ome went on, flinging his arms up into the air, ‘you don’t seem to trust in me enough to see!’ Severun again went to speak, but was dramatically cut off by Orix. ‘But no, don’t mind me, my lord Severun. I’ll be on my way to await your next summons.’
Severun sighed heavily. ‘Master Orix, please, you know how important you are to all of this, but I don’t ask you every detail included in your potion, so I'll not bore you with every detail included in my spell and its preparation.’
‘Very well,’ the gnome said, unconvincingly. He turned to leave before hesitating to add, ‘Please do be careful. You know the risks if you… or I, are not!’
‘Don't worry, my little friend, I will be most careful indeed.’ Severun turned then to gaze out over the ancient harbour once more, as Orix reached up and turned the cold, iron door handle, letting himself out.
Severun admitted to himself silently how he'd grown fond of the fussy old gnome during their work together. For that reason if no other, the wizard hoped the experiment would go exactly as planned. After all, if it went wrong and they both somehow managed to escape the king’s punishment, they may themselves bear witness to the spell and potion’s powers first hand, and that wasn’t something Severun liked the thought of at all.
I'm doing the right thing aren’t I? Someone needs to do something… As long as there are no more mishaps like tonight… but that was unavoidable, wasn’t it? Yes, unavoidable. This experiment will save far more lives than it will destroy, and all thanks to the scroll.
The wizard stepped down from the window, removed his soaked woollen cloak and hung it and his hood over the back of a chair, before moving across his chamber to begin the enacting of the experiment’s lengthy spell.
***
Easing himself out of bed, Orix pulled on his nightgown and cap, before padding across his room. He unlocked the chest below his window and stared down with mixed emotions at the contents; a simple vial. A strange magenta glow emanated from the glass bottle, and Orix frowned as he reached slowly for it. Although the liquid had been magenta on creation, Orix had never seen it glow before. It was as if it knew its time had come.