Mercenary (Blade Asunder Book 1)

by Jon Kiln

“To conquer Vandemland and subjugate it to the rule of Palara,” said Harald firmly. “Imagine what message that would send to our neighbors. Not only would we take control of Vandemland’s mines but we would also show our strength and determination to the world around us.”

  “If we launch an attack against Vandemland, do we not leave ourselves exposed?”

  “It is a point well made,” concurred Harald. “We will need to secure our borders, but we have no existing quarrels with anyone. They will not be expecting us to move against Vandemland. But we cannot move until Myriam has been captured and executed along with my brother.”

  “We could send spies into Vandemland to try and assess their strength and assist our planning?”

  “Yes, excellent Henrickson,” agreed Harald. “Better yet, why don’t you go?”

  “Me, sir?” asked Henrickson in surprise.

  “Yes. It is a mission too sensitive to entrust to anyone else. You will be the one leading our forces in the attack, so it makes sense for you to see how the territory lies in these lands to the north-west. Take a few men with you and leave tomorrow. I will take care of disposing of my brother and his daughter while you continue our plans for war.”

  “Of course sir, as you wish. When would you like me to report back?”

  “As soon as possible. Our soldiers are ready. Our fleet of ships is ready. Our nation is ready for war. We just need to dispose of my brother. Once I am King of Palara, our nation marches!”

  11

  Back in the logging town of Athaca, on the River Walsall, Artas and Hendon were on their way to buy a horse that Hendon could ride on their journey to Castle Locke. Artas had asked the innkeeper for directions to where the best place to buy a horse would be, and the innkeeper had suggested that they try the farrier near the western gate. As they approached, Artas could see that the farrier was busy at work, preparing a new pair of shoes for a horse that was tethered nearby.

  “Good day!” greeted Artas politely. The farrier barely acknowledged their presence. “We were told that you might have horses for sale?”

  “Who wants to know?” growled the farrier.

  “We are traveling to the west, returning to our farm there. One of our party needs a horse for the journey.”

  “Those three are for sale over there,” grumbled the farrier, pointing to the stables at the back of the farrier’s premises. Artas and Hendon went to look at the three horses. They didn’t seem to be particularly well-cared for and none of them were in great condition. “Well these aren’t particularly inspiring,” said Artas quietly to Hendon. “What do you think, should we look elsewhere in town?”

  “Shhh, don’t be so hasty,” smiled Hendon, stepping forward and running his fingers through the mane of the closest horse. “You’ll hurt their feelings. These are all fine horses. They just need a bit of love and affection.”

  “Okay…” Artas said skeptically. “I’m sorry if I hurt their feelings. So which one of these fine animals would you like to carry you to the Berghein Valley?”

  “I would like to take them all. They’re not happy here.”

  “You can only have one, Hendon.” Artas crossed his arms. “Come on now, which will it be?”

  Hendon placed his arm around the neck of the middle horse. “This one. He has been to the west before, he knows the way.”

  Artas rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Hendon.” Artas quickly negotiated the sale with the farrier and they were soon leading their new purchase back to the inn where Ganry and Myriam were waiting. “Oh, we forgot to ask the farrier what the horse’s name is!” said Artas, stopping suddenly, thinking that they would have to turn around and go back to get this information.

  “Don’t worry, it’s okay, I know it,” said Hendon cryptically.

  “What do you mean? How do you know it?”

  “Well, it’s just a hunch I have,” shrugged Hendon.

  “So, what does your hunch tell you? What’s the horse’s name?”

  “Bartok,” replied Hendon confidently.

  “If you say so,” said Artas, raising an eyebrow.

  They were soon back at the inn and Hendon was making Bartok at home in the stables, ensuring that he had plenty of feed and water, brushing his coat thoroughly and adjusting the saddle that they had purchased from the farrier.

  “This was the best that you could find?” quizzed Ganry, emerging from the inn to see how they had fared.

  “Shhh… you’ll hurt the horse’s feelings,” quipped Artas.

  “Eh?”

  “Looks can be deceiving,” said Hendon. “But this is Bartok. He is a clever horse, lots of stamina, nothing will startle him.”

  “Come on, I’m getting hungry. Let’s have some dinner.“

  Artas and Hendon finished up in the stables and joined Ganry and Myriam at a small table in the corner of the bar. The innkeeper came over and took their meal order. There wasn’t a lot of choice. A meat stew or some pork sausages. Ganry noticed that Hendon was pushing his food around his plate, looking quiet and thoughtful.

  “You must be missing the fish from your creek?”

  “I am,” nodded Hendon. “And my goats and my chickens. I miss the forest.”

  “I’m sorry, Hendon,” said Myriam gently, placing her hand lightly on his arm. “I know it must feel like we dragged you away from your home. I guess we did in a way, but I don’t think it was safe for you there any more, because of us more than anything. I’m sorry that we made you come with us, but I’m really glad that you did. I’m really glad that you’re here.”

  “It’s okay. My father always said that I would have to leave the forest at some stage.”

  “Why did he say that?” asked Ganry.

  “I’m not really sure. He never explained it. Sometimes he would say that there were forces beyond the forest that were greater than all of us, and that at some stage our past would catch up with us.”

  “I wonder what he meant by that?” pondered Myriam.

  Ganry finished up the last of his sausage. “And how did your father die?”

  “He was old…” replied Hendon, looking down at the table. “His body was weak, he had injuries, scars. One cold winter’s day he just didn’t wake up, the cold night had taken him. I shook his body, tried to stir him, tried to call him back, but it was too late. He was gone and I was on my own.”

  “Well, you’re not on your own now,” said Myriam, trying to comfort him. “We may not be family, but we are your friends. Who knows what we’ll find on our journey to the west? Maybe you’ll discover something about yourself that will surprise you.”

  12

  “Right! Let’s get moving!” said Ganry loudly, rousing his traveling companions out of their beds. “Let’s make an early start and get on the road!” Myriam, Artas, and Hendon all soon pulled themselves out of their small narrow beds and prepared for departure. The horses were saddled and their rucksacks packed with supplies. “Remember, when we get to the main gate they will want to check us off their list. We entered Athaca as the Johansson family, we’re heading west back to our farm. Okay?”

  “What happens if they challenge us?” asked Artas.

  “We’ll just have to play that by ear if it happens. We know that the gate will be heavily guarded. We know that they’re checking everyone in and out. If we run into any trouble we’re not going to be able to fight our way out of it, we just need to stick to our story. We’re the Johansson family, we’re farmers. Nothing more.” They mounted their horses and Ganry led the way on Bluebell.

  When they reached the main gate of Athaca, there seemed to be a lot of activity and commotion.

  “This doesn’t look good,” said Artas quietly. They pulled their horses to a standstill to try and get a handle on what was happening. “Do we push on and try and get through?”

  “What’s going on?” shouted Ganry to a merchant who seemed to be returning from the direction of the gate.

  “They’ve shut the gate!” replied the merchant. “They�
�ve arrested someone.”

  “Damn,” cursed Ganry under his breath. “Hold my horse,” he said, handing Bluebell’s reins to Artas. “I’ll go and see what I can find out.” Ganry pushed through the crowd so that he could get a view of what was happening at the gate. There were a lot of soldiers everywhere and a growing crowd of people wanting to use the gate to exit the city. Craning his neck, Ganry could see that a group of soldiers were holding a man, his hands tied behind his back. The crowd were jeering, jostling for position as the soldiers seemed to be waiting for instructions on what to do. “Why have they arrested him?” asked Ganry, turning to one of the onlookers.

  “He’s been accused of practicing the dark arts,” replied the onlooker. Ganry looked again—the man looked familiar. Suddenly it hit him. The man that had been arrested was Barnaby of Bravewood.

  Ganry quickly returned to his traveling companions and relayed the news of his discovery.

  “We have to save him,” said Myriam firmly.

  “We can’t save everyone,” hissed Ganry, concerned that they were becoming more vulnerable with every minute they remained in Athaca.

  “I’m not leaving while Barnaby is being held captive here,” added Hendon flatly.

  “Ganry, it’s obvious that he’s been arrested because they suspect him of helping us,” added Myriam. “The hunters would have been able to follow our trail right to his door.”

  “All the more reason for us not to interfere,” insisted Ganry. “They’re probably using him as a decoy to get us to reveal ourselves in some sort of foolish rescue attempt! You have no idea how many soldiers are manning that gate. They clearly know that we’re here. The next thing will be a door-to-door search. We have to get out of here!”

  “Well, as the gates are closed there’s not much prospect of that at the moment though, is there?” added Artas. “Hypothetically, if we were to try and rescue Barnaby, how might we go about it?”

  “I’m not even entering into this discussion,” replied Ganry. “If we make any attempt to rescue Barnaby, it will get us all killed. It is highly likely that we will all be killed anyway. We never should have entered Athaca.”

  “We had no choice, Ganry,” reminded Myriam. “And if we are all going to die anyway, then we may as well die trying to rescue Barnaby.”

  “So that’s settled then? You’re making all the decisions now?” said Ganry, raising an eyebrow.

  “What if we caused some sort of distraction,” suggested Artas. “Like setting one of their boats on fire?”

  “No, it has to be bigger than that,” replied Ganry. “We have to set the wall on fire, draw the soldiers away from the gate.”

  “So you do have a plan!” smiled Myriam. “I knew you wouldn’t let us down.”

  “I need my head examined,” grumbled Ganry. “Artas, take Hendon, find a secluded part of the wall where you can work without drawing too much attention to yourself. The walls are made from forest timbers but they won’t burn easily—they’ve treated the beams to make them as tough as possible. You’re going to have to create some sort of fire trap, build it with straw and wood but you’ll also need some sort of fuel like oil if the fire is to catch hold and threaten the wall. It needs to look like a big fire, even if it’s not doing that much actual damage.

  “Princess, you and I will focus on Barnaby. Once we see the flames taking hold, you need to try and distract the crowd, draw their attention to the flames, whip up some panic. I’ll move in and kill anyone that stands between me and Barnaby. We meet back here, grab our horses and then push through the main gate, dispatching anyone or anything that stands in our way. Is everyone clear?”

  They all nodded.

  Ganry was not feeling nearly as confident as he was sounding. “Right, let’s go. Artas and Hendon, you have fifteen minutes to get that blaze going. Once it is burning, get back to the horses. Princess, don’t draw too much attention to yourself, just generate a bit of panic and make sure everyone sees that there is a fire threatening the wall. This is our only chance to get out of Athaca. Let’s do our best to avoid the dungeons of Castle Villeroy.”

  13

  “Fire! Fire!” screamed Myriam, as soon as she saw the flames and smoke emerging above the roofs of the buildings near the town’s walls. Myriam had pushed herself into the middle of the frustrated crowd that was waiting for the gates of Athaca to open. Her screaming quickly drew attention and concern as everyone craned their necks to see the fire. The smoke was now billowing in dark clouds.

  The soldiers manning the gate tried to keep order, dispatching several men to investigate. Myriam was growing concerned that she wasn’t getting much movement from the crowd, despite her loud hysterical screaming. If she couldn’t create some panic then they wouldn’t be able to get past the guards that were holding the gate closed.

  “Dragon!” screamed Myriam hysterically. “Oh my god, I think I saw a dragon! We’re under attack from a dragon!” Fortuitously, just at that point, the fire seemed to catch on to some straw and light timber and burst up the wall, high above the rooftops of the buildings. The crowd of people tried to move, looking to get further away from the fire, away from the screaming girl. The more the soldiers tried to keep everyone contained in the area near the gate, the more restless the crowd became. They were pushing and shoving, demanding that the gate be opened. More soldiers were dispatched to deal with the fire. There was a lot of screaming and shouting. Not just Myriam now, a general air of panic and fear was building. Myriam quickly pushed back through the crowd to where their horses had been secured. Artas and Hendon were already waiting for her there.

  “Do you think it’s worked?” asked Artas.

  “I don’t know,” replied Myriam. “I haven’t seen Ganry yet.”

  Just then Ganry sprinted back and jumped on his horse.

  “Where’s Barnaby?” demanded Myriam.

  “Follow me, now!” shouted Ganry, pushing his horse, Bluebell, into the crowd, adding to the confusion and chaos that had broken out in front of the gate, drawing screams, curses, and shouting as Bluebell shouldered past anyone that stood in his way. Myriam, Artas, and Hendon were riding close behind.

  As they approached the gate, the remaining soldiers shouted at them to stop. Ganry drew his sword, WindStorm, and without preamble began slashing and swiping at the soldiers seeking to protect the gate. Artas drew his bow and began to assist by picking off any soldiers beyond the reach of Ganry’s sword.

  Myriam could see that Barnaby had been tied to a post not far from the gate, but in the confusion he had been left unattended. So she spurred her horse, Oaken, across to him. She jumped down to the ground to cut his ropes, and then helped him clamber up behind her back onto Oaken just as the gates of Athaca swung open and Ganry forced his way through.

  Ganry paused to make sure that Myriam, Artas and Hendon had all safely made it past the gate, before spurring Bluebell on to canter away from Athaca as quickly as possible.

  At the first crossing that they came to, Ganry turned off the road and took one of the trails that led into the Cefinon Forest, finally bringing Bluebell to a halt while they all quickly caught their breath.

  “Everyone okay?” asked Ganry, looking over his traveling companions who nodded. “Barnaby?”

  “I’m okay, thank you, Ganry. I must say that that was the most excitement that I’ve had in a long time!”

  “A dragon?” said Ganry, raising his eyebrow at Myriam. “We’re being attacked by a dragon?”

  “I was running out of things to say!” protested Myriam. “No one was really panicking enough!”

  “Have you ever seen a dragon?” asked Ganry. Myriam shook her head. “Have you ever heard of anyone seeing a dragon?” Myriam shook her head again. “Dragons belong in fairytales for children, but you did well,” smiled Ganry. “You all did very well. We got out of there, just. But we need to keep moving and we need to keep moving quickly. We know that they’ll come after us as soon as they can and we don’t know what else lies ahead.
Does anyone know this part of the forest?” They all shook their heads. “Great, then who knows what we’ll find. Come on, let’s move.” Ganry turned Bluebell around and headed off down the forest path, followed by Artas riding Orton, Hendon riding Bartok, and Myriam riding Oaken with Barnaby sitting behind her.

  “I’ve seen a dragon,” whispered Barnaby to Myriam.

  “Really? Are you just saying that to make me feel better or have you really seen a dragon?”

  “Oh they’re real,” smiled Barnaby mysteriously. “Dragons used to rule these lands, but over time their power weakened. Now they live only in the places that are beyond the reach of man. They are shy, but still capable of great things.”

  “I never know whether to believe you Barnaby, but I do hope that you’re right, and that you really did see a dragon. How did you see one if they live only in the places beyond the reach of man?”

  “It was purely by accident,” explained Barnaby. “I was traveling high in the Basalt mountains when a storm suddenly struck. I quickly looked for shelter and I came across a small cave. I made a fire to try and keep warm and by the light of the fire I could see that the cave continued further into the mountain. I’m quite a curious fellow, so I made myself a torch and explored a bit. It was like a tunnel, leading deeper and deeper into the mountain. I walked along the tunnel, following it down. The further I went the bigger the tunnel became, and after what felt like several miles I suddenly came upon this enormous cavern within the mountain. I couldn’t see much, the light from my torch would only shine so far, but as I looked down into the depths of that cavern I could feel the heat. I could smell the acrid smoke of burning. I could see the hot red of fire. I knew that I had entered the lair of a dragon!”

  “Is he telling you the dragon story?” asked Hendon, falling back to ride with them.

  “Do you believe in dragons, Hendon?” asked Myriam.

  “If Barnaby says that there are dragons, then I believe in dragons.”

  “Good,” said Myriam firmly. “Then I believe in dragons too.”