Mercenary (Blade Asunder Book 1)

by Jon Kiln

  As he sat, dejected, staring at the walls, he tried to recall those stories now. How the displaced tribes came down from the Basalt Mountains and claimed the forests as the floods receded. How the great chief Terrick had united the tribes, imposing control brutally and without mercy, bringing the people together and founding the Kingdom of Palara.

  Palara was an ancient word that meant “The beauty is in the skies”. After a seemingly endless period of rain that had submerged all of the low-lying land, the sun finally broke through and blue skies reappeared. Terrick declared that they would never forget the beauty of a clear blue sky. That was a long time ago, and much had changed since the days of the great chief Terrick.

  The Castle Villeroy had been built by Duke Harald’s great-grandfather, the grandfather of his father. His name was Lord Ironbark, or at least that’s what everyone referred to him as. He claimed the throne of Palara by killing everyone that stood in his way—a tactic that had always impressed the young, studious Harald. Before Ironbark had come to power, the kings of Palara had lived in long, wooden houses, but Ironbark felt that a king needed to have a seat of power that reflected his worth. He brought in stonemasons and master builders from the east to build a castle that could not only be defended against the most ferocious attack, but one which sent a signal to the world that this was the home of a king, this was the home of the King of Palara.

  In the history of the Kingdom, there had never been a Queen that had taken the throne. There was nothing in the laws of the kingdom that forbade it, but it was clear that sons took precedence over daughters, and throughout the history of the kingdom there had always been a son born who had been the rightful heir.

  As the only child of Ludwig, Princess Myriam was set to be the first Queen to rule the Kingdom of Palara. That was one of the reasons that had emboldened Harald to take control. There was a lot of disquiet amongst the noble families about having a woman rule them. As soon as he could capture Myriam, he would put this nonsense to an end and claim the throne as the only and rightful heir.

  20

  “Well done, Artas. That’s a good fire,” complimented Ganry, as Artas prepared a bed of fiery coals over which they could cook some food.

  “Look at these beauties!” exclaimed Hendon, returning from the river where he had quickly caught enough silvery trout to feed them all.

  “The horses are munching happily away!” announced Myriam, having safely secured the horses nearby. “They seemed pretty happy to be on solid ground. I didn’t have the heart to tell them it was only a temporary respite from their swimming.”

  Ganry sat down on a log near the fire. He was proud of his brave little crew of travelers. Against all odds, they were still safe, still moving along on their journey.

  “What do you think, Barnaby?” Ganry asked as the older man took a seat beside him on the sandbank where they had made camp. “Should we stay here for the night or should we push on and try and get a bit further down river?”

  “Well, that depends…”

  “Depends on what?”

  “Whether you are still trying to reach Castle Locke.”

  “Are you saying that in order to reach Castle Locke, we need to get back on the raft and keep moving along the river?”

  “This river doesn’t take us to Castle Locke. This river doesn’t flow to the Berghein Valley,” said Barnaby.

  “I thought you didn’t know this part of the forest? How do you know that this river won’t take us to the Berghein Valley?” demanded Ganry.

  “The fish told me.”

  “Great! Now we’re taking directions from fish!” exclaimed Ganry. “I prefer to eat fish, not take directions from them. Are they cooked yet, Hendon?”

  “Where do you think this river leads Barnaby?” asked Myriam quietly.

  “It doesn’t leave the forest.”

  “But it has to flow somewhere, doesn’t it?” asked Artas.

  “It does,” agreed Barnaby. “But it doesn’t leave the forest.”

  “Well, whether that’s the case or not, it is the only way we’ve got to travel at the moment, so my view is that we have to keep following this river to wherever it is taking us,” said Ganry firmly.

  “But what if it isn’t taking us West?” Myriam was concerned. “What if it is taking us further away from Castle Locke?”

  “I think that’s a risk that we’ll need to take. We’re so deep in this forest now that it is too late to try and turn around and find a road. Let’s camp here for the night. It’s a good sandbar, we’ve got a fire going, and it will give the horses a chance to rest. We can continue on our raft down the river tomorrow and see where it takes us.”

  Night soon fell and the travelers all found a place to sleep near the fire. Ganry took first watch, throwing a log on the fire to keep the coals glowing.

  “Can’t sleep?” asked Ganry, as Artas came to sit beside him.

  “No. I’m worried about my family. I set out to try and find a way to rescue them from the dungeons of Castle Villeroy, but now we just seem to be getting farther and farther away. And we’re not even sure where we are.”

  “I know, kid, I know. Things haven’t really turned out as we’d hoped. But right now I don’t think we’ve got too many options.”

  “I understand. I just feel a bit helpless, that’s all. We seem to have been traveling for a long time but we’re really not sure if we’re any closer to where we’re trying to get to.”

  They sat in a comfortable silence, watching the flames dance, creating flickering shadows around them.

  Ganry watched as Artas fiddled with his bow. “Why did you take up archery? Most boys from noble families are taught to use a sword.”

  “I was always pretty small for my age,” Artas said, now checking the fletching on his arrows. “I was never very strong. The other boys always beat me at wrestling. When it came to learning to wield a sword, I really wasn’t strong enough to lift a full-sized one, let alone be able to fend off an opponent with it. So my tutor suggested that instead of trying to compete with the stronger boys that I try a different tactic, so he taught me archery.”

  “You’ve done pretty well at it.”

  “Thanks,” chuckled Artas. “It made me look at things a bit differently. It made me feel strong and powerful which was something that I’d never felt before. To realize that I didn’t need to be tall or muscular in order to win a fight. I guess you wouldn’t understand that.”

  “I wasn’t always this size. I’m a lot older than you, remember.”

  “And who taught you how to use a sword?”

  Ganry hesitated for a beat. “My father.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “No, he died,” said Ganry, stirring the coals of the fire.

  “In battle?”

  “Surprisingly not. He was a warrior but he was poisoned by my step-mother. I guess that you could say that he was killed in the battle of love.”

  “I don’t have a lot of experience in that department,” said Artas, bashfully.

  “You’re only young kid, plenty of time for that. I wouldn’t worry about it.” Ganry put his arm in a brotherly way around Artas’s shoulders and punched him lightly.

  Artas shrugged him off with a laugh. “Have you ever been married?”

  “Yes, I had a wife and a daughter. They’re both dead now,” replied Ganry darkly.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” apologized Artas.

  “It’s okay, it seems a long time ago now. A different time, a different place, a different life.”

  The silence around them lengthened. Artas looked over at Myriam, sleeping peacefully. Her blond hair was untied and lay around her face like rays of the sun. “Why are you protecting Myriam?”

  “What do you mean?” Ganry raised an eyebrow. “I’m a mercenary, she is paying me to protect her.”

  “There’s more to it than that,” pushed Artas. “No gold is worth the danger that you have placed yourself in on this journey. Whatever she is pa
ying you, you could get double that from Duke Harald if you delivered her to him, I’m sure.”

  “Hmm, I guess you’re right. I never thought about that. I could always use more gold.” Ganry chuckled lightly at the shocked expression on Artas’s face. “Just kidding. You know, I’m really not sure. It just seems to be the right thing to do. A chance to do something good for once. A chance to be a hero.” He poked at the fire, causing the flames to dance higher.

  21

  “Let’s go slaves!” The whip cracked as the wagon pulled to a stop and Henrickson and the other men were pulled down on to the ground.

  Betrayed by the Narcs, the smugglers, Henrickson had been sold into slavery in Vandemland. He looked around the desolate landscape. They had arrived at some kind of mine. The dust and the heat were almost unbearable. Henrickson had heard about the mines of Vandemland, but this was beyond anything that he had ever imagined—a vast pit, a deep scar on the land. Henrickson could see thousands of men at work, down in the depths of the mine, hauling loads of rubble up small, narrow ladders, with vicious looking overseers cracking their whips to keep the men working.

  The secretive kingdom of Vandemland was known for producing some of the world’s most precious stones and gems, and now Henrickson could see how they did it. Duke Harald had sent Henrickson, the captain of his guard, to scope out Vandemland, to gather information, to prepare for an attack. This wasn’t quite what he had planned.

  “Get to work, slaves!” growled one of the foremen, thrusting a pick towards Henrickson. Henrickson reluctantly took hold of the tool and followed the overseer through the clouds of dust and down towards the ladders that would take them into the depths of the mine. “You dig the rock and carry it to the surface. Simple,” explained the overseer.

  The slaves working on the mine seemed to be from all sorts of different countries, all different sizes, shapes, colors, and languages. All of them had one thing in common: they were all slaves of Vandemland.

  The overseers looked liked grizzled old warriors, wearing leather chest-plates and armed with short, straight daggers. The whips they wielded, though, were their most threatening weapons. They didn’t hesitate to bring the stinging strip of leather down across the back of any slave that they felt wasn’t working hard enough, wasn’t working quick enough, or wasn’t being obedient enough.

  The rock that they were digging into was relatively soft, crumbling beneath the pick as Henrickson swung it, slamming the iron spike into the cliff face. The bucket, once filled, had to be carried all the way back up to the top of the mine. Henrickson wasn’t sure what they were even looking for. It was a combination of sandy soil and hard lumps of rock that he was loading into his bucket. He had been told to just take it all to the top.

  The unfamiliar motion of the pick soon blistered the skin on his hands, making each digging movement painful. Henrickson knew that he had to find a way to escape from the mine, escape from the captivity of Vandemland. So far, he hadn’t really learned anything that might help Duke Harald’s plan to invade the country, but it was clear that there was great wealth buried beneath the soil of these dry, arid mountains.

  “Dig faster!” growled an overseer standing behind Henrickson, and he soon felt the sharp stinging pain of the whip biting into his skin across his back, the force of the blow knocking him to the ground.

  “Come on, keep up,” said one of the slaves next to him, helping him back to his feet. “Don’t give them a reason to hurt you.”

  “You speak my language? Are you from Palara?” asked Henrickson, quickly getting to his feet and collecting his pick so that he could continue working.

  “Once I was…” replied the man. “But I doubt I will ever see my home again. I am Ragnald.”

  “I am Henrickson. How long have you been here?”

  “Several weeks now. They captured the ship that I was on, just off the coast here.”

  “You’re a sailor?”

  “A merchant. I was heading for the port of Brammanville. We must have strayed into waters that belonged to Vandemland. We were surrounded by their ships and boarded. They took everyone prisoner. Anyone that resisted was killed.”

  “What are our chances of escape?” Henrickson tried to talk discreetly while continuing to chip away at the rock in front of him, loading his bucket and preparing to lug it up the ladders to the top of the mine.

  “Of course I’ve thought about escape,” hissed Ragnald. “Everyone thinks of escape, but there is no way to escape. Where would you go? It is a day’s journey to the coast but they are just sheer cliffs down on to the rocks below. In the other direction is the Schonbaker Ravine which is totally impassable, and then everywhere else is desert. There’s not just the overseers to think about, there are guards surrounding the perimeter of the mine. Every day they execute the men that have tried to escape. They don’t just execute them, they draw and quarter them, tearing them apart while their screams echo around the mine.”

  “That does sound a bit of a challenge.” Henrickson remained undeterred. “But we’ve got to find a way out of here. I’m not ending my days in this hell-hole of a mine. I’d prefer to try and escape and be executed like a warrior than die at the end of a whip like a miserable slave. Will you come with me?”

  “You’re a fool,” said Ragnald, shaking his head. “You have no chance of escaping. I would prefer to take my chances here.”

  “Then you are a coward,” spat Henrickson. “You deserve to die a slave. I will fight for my freedom.”

  22

  “What news, Zander?” demanded Duchess D’Anjue impatiently as her chief counsel entered her throne room.

  “Duchess,” greeted Zander, bending down on one knee on the stone floor and bowing deeply in a formal greeting.

  “Enough with the bowing, Zander!” dismissed the Duchess impatiently. “What news have our messengers brought from the Kingdom of Palara?”

  “It is not good news, I’m afraid, Duchess,” began Zander. “Our agents have confirmed that Duke Harald has seized control.”

  “But what of King Ludwig and my daughter Alissia? What has become of them?” demanded the Duchess urgently.

  “Their fate remains unclear. They were certainly taken prisoner, but that is all the information we have at the moment.”

  “Has Duke Harald claimed the throne? Has he declared himself king?”

  “No, it does not appear so.”

  “That means that they’re still alive!” said the Duchess, thumping the arm of her wooden throne. “He can’t claim the throne while the rightful king is still alive. Tell me, Zander, what news of my granddaughter, Myriam? Was she also taken prisoner?”

  “We weren’t able to find out anything concrete regarding Myriam, I’m afraid,” replied Zander somberly. “There were some reports that she had been taken prisoner, but then also some rumors that she had, in fact, escaped.”

  “I wonder…” said the Duchess to herself, thoughtfully, looking into the distance. “It’s strange that we’ve had no word from Myriam’s tutor, Leonidavus. I wonder if they have perhaps managed to escape? I have had dreams about her recently… vivid dreams… that would make sense, that she is calling for me, searching for me, needing my assistance. If only we knew where she was, but all I see in my dreams is water…”

  Leonidavus had been one of the Duchess’s most trusted advisors. She had sent him to tutor her granddaughter Myriam so that she would know her history, that she would understand her family and their eternal rule of Castle Locke at the top of the Berghein Valley.

  The Duchess had been pleased with the match of her daughter Alissia to the future king of Palara. She had never thought that Ludwig was particularly bright or inspiring, but he was solid and dependable, and he was the heir to the throne. The Duchess didn’t know much about the brother, Duke Harald. She had met him only once or twice. It was in Leonidavus’s last report to her that he had first mentioned his concerns that Duke Harald had designs on the throne of Palara. The Duchess was angry with hers
elf for not taking that warning more seriously, for not having taken action sooner to ensure the protection of her family.

  “Duchess…” said Zander tentatively, cautious about interrupting the Duchess’s train of thought.

  “Yes, Zander, what is it?”

  “Would you like me to take a small detachment of men and go into the Kingdom of Palara to search for Myriam?”

  “That is tempting. But where would you look? My dreams aren’t particularly clear. I can’t give you a map reference. Besides, I’m cautious about antagonizing Harald too much. If I sent an armed party across the border, he could easily claim it as an act of aggression, giving him an excuse to crush us with his vastly superior army.”

  “We could disguise ourselves?” suggested Zander. “If we weren’t wearing the colors of Locke, then we could pass for mercenaries or traders just riding through.”

  “But would you even recognize Myriam? How would you know who you were looking for?”

  “I have served your family all my life. I believe will recognize her. My men are skilled hunters. If she is still alive, we will find her.”

  “She will be scared and unsure of whom she can trust,” replied the Duchess, clearly warming to the idea. “She wears the ring of Locke, the matching one to mine.” The Duchess held up her left hand to display the glowing ring. “Take my dagger with you, it carries the same stones. She will know it as being of this place. The stones glow brighter when they are brought together.” Zander held out both hands and carefully received the small precious dagger from the Duchess. “How many men will you take with you?”

  “Just four plus myself. The main road is heavily guarded by the soldiers of Palara. We will need to find an alternate path in order to try and avoid their attention.”

  “Then you will have to enter the forest. Do you know the forest of Cefinon?”

  “Does anyone know the forest of Cefinon?” said Zander with a smile.