The Guild of Warriors
The Song of Amhar, Volume 2
Martin Swinford
Published by Martin Swinford, 2017.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE GUILD OF WARRIORS
First edition. October 17, 2017.
Copyright © 2017 Martin Swinford.
ISBN: 978-1386717232
Written by Martin Swinford.
Also by Martin Swinford
The Song of Amhar
The Path of Swords
The Guild of Warriors
The Arena of Lost Souls
The First Song of Amhar Collection
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also By Martin Swinford
The Guild of Warriors (The Song of Amhar, #2)
One - Arrival
Two – A Scream in the Night
Three – A Shadow on the Wall
Four – The Boar
Five – In the Forge
Six – A Letter
Seven – The Dragon Inn
Eight – A Lesson Learned
Nine – The Broken Path
Ten – The Guild Father
Eleven – The Tournament
Twelve – Making Plans
Thirteen – Victory and Defeat
Fourteeen – Facing the Enemy
About the Author
And so Amhar the Strong breathed his last, on a day when both the sun and moon were high in the sky. His body was arrayed for battle and carried to the high peak of Gorval, in the very centre of his new forged kingdom. There he was laid to rest on a bier built of the weapons of every tribe he had defeated, his hands clasping Klaidan, the great iron sword he had brought back from the land of the Shibaan beyond the western sea. And in that place where the earth reaches out to touch the sky, his three sons and all his warriors laboured long to build a great mound over him so that all the Kingdom would know where its founder lay.
Then Threyseer, Lord of the Shibaan and Captain of the Galcohar, took the crown and placed it on the throne of the Kingdom and challenged each of the three brothers to make their claim or not. The eldest son, Abellios, stood forward.
"I am the eldest son. I was my father’s right hand. I have helped him rule. By this right I claim the crown."
Then the second son, Bedorix, stood forward.
"Though I am the second son, I am the mightiest in battle. I was my father’s spear and shield. I won the battles that kept the Kingdom. By this right I claim the crown!"
The third son, Lanios, made no claim, but he looked at his brothers with dismay.
The two elder brothers argued back and forth. Each tried to win over Threyseer, knowing that the horsemen of the Galcohar would tip the balance in any battle, but the Shibaan Lord refused both saying.
"The Galcohar watched over the birth of the Kingdom of the Young, we will not be party to its death."
Then they each tried to win their younger brother to their cause, for although his lands were smaller than theirs and his warriors fewer, he would still make a powerful ally. Lanios also refused to be drawn and instead counselled that both brothers should rule jointly, but neither would accept the others claim.
"I will be King, or nothing!" they both declared.
"Then you will be nothing," replied Lanios. "For if it comes to war there will be no Kingdom left to rule!" With that he and all his warriors and retainers departed for his lands in the West and with him went Threyseer and the whole of the Galcohar. The next day, their arguments exhausted, the two elder brothers also left: Abellios for his lands in the North, Bedorix for his lands in the South. Once there, they raised their standards and readied their armies.
FOR TEN LONG YEARS civil war raged. As the tide of fortune ebbed and flowed between North and South, Lanios held firm in the West, keeping his lands safe while the rest of the Kingdom descended into chaos. The East of the Kingdom was the first to revert to the tribal warring of the times before Amhar subdued the clans, and much of that land was overrun by the nomadic tribes that Amhar had kept at bay. For a while the North and South were almost as separate kingdoms, but constant fighting eroded order to the point that the only law was that of the sword. Noble Lords fell in battle to be replaced by lesser men, only interested in exploiting the people for their own gain. Fields burned and harvests failed, and the kingdom became a place of famine and fear. Eventually Lanios could stand aside no more. Falling to his knees before Threyseer he beseeched the Captain of the Galcohar for aid.
"I mean to restore my father’s kingdom," he said. "You would not fight for either of my brothers, will you now fight for me?"
"Will you make yourself king then?" asked the tall Lord of the Shibaan.
"I do not seek it," the young prince replied, "but I must restore peace and justice to my people."
"Then you are Amhar's true heir," Threyseer replied, "and the Galcohar shall ride. But know you this: for the Shibaan to fight against their allies is a terrible thing. It breaks our contract with the land and its people. On the day you win your final battle the Galcohar will return to their lands over the western seas." Lanios wept to hear this, but he accepted the terms and made ready for war.
AND SO LANIOS RODE out with his army swelled by the horsemen of the Galcohar and none could stand against them. First Abellios was defeated and when he saw his army break and run he took his own life rather than submit to his brother. Then Bedorix fell in battle trying to rally his men against the charge of the Galcohar. Finally, a year and a day after he had ridden to war, Lanios defeated the tribes of the East in a great battle and the chieftains laid their weapons at his feet. Lanios, seeing that he could not control all the eastern plains, gave the land to the tribes to hold on the Kingdoms behalf and made them swear to fight with the army of the Kingdom at times of need. It was then that the Galcohar took their leave.
"My victory now tastes like defeat," said Lanios, clasping hands with the Lord of the Shibaan. "Is there nothing that will make you stay?"
"Our path is clear, we must depart," replied Threyseer, "and not in your time nor in mine will the Galcohar again ride the Kingdom of the Young. But I foresee a time when the Kingdom is once again in desperate need, when a second son will sail to the Land of the Shi to summon the Galcohar to war once again." And with that he climbed on his horse and rode into the west with his grey cloaked host behind him. King Lanios stood in the midst of the battlefield and held his sword in salute until they were out of sight.
THE TASK OF REBUILDING the Kingdom took longer than the war but when it was done Lanios called all the noble families to a great council. There he announced that he would establish a brotherhood of warriors to take the place of the Galcohar and they would be called Klaideem which means 'men of the sword'. He then told them that there could never again be a dispute for the right to rule, and for that reason the second son of every landed house would give up his inheritance and join the Klaideem, saying "Lest the second son keep the Kingdom, the King rules in vain.". Then he called forward Bedios the prince, his own second son and in front of the whole council Bedios swore to give up his inheritance and follow the path of swords.
One - Arrival
There are four physical pre-requisites to being a swordsman: Strength, speed, flexibility and fitness. It follows that a disciplined training program is the foundation upon which the way of the sword is built.
IN ANY GROUP OF TEENAGE boys there is always one who looks far too old to be there. Drustan was big, he was impressively muscled and had an extraordinary amount of facial hair for a thirteen year old. He wasn't stupid as such, it was just that he had nev
er really had to think about anything very hard and so he tended not to bother. Right now he was complaining.
“I don't see why we have to do this unarmed nonsense, I mean, I'm going to be a swordsman, a warrior. I'm not going to turn up to battle without a weapon am I? So what's the point? Aaaaaaaagghhhhhh!”
Drustan’s final comment occurred as he gracefully sailed into the air, propelled by a diminutive woman who had walked quietly into the room while he was talking.
She rolled to her bare feet as Drustan hit the floor with a solid thump.
“I am Sargent Crow and that little demonstration shows you that fighting is not all about size or strength.”
She wore a soft leather tunic and leggings and her black hair was tied back and plaited. She may have been small but stood hands on hips as if she owned the room. Above her welcoming smile her eyes were hard.
Behind her Drustan climbed to his feet and looked round angrily for his attacker.
“The combination of surprise, agility and the techniques I teach will give you the advantage in any combat situation,” Sargent Crow continued.
Behind her Drustan clasped his hands together and raised them like a club above the slight woman's head.
“Although...” Crow suddenly spun on the spot, her left foot lashing out to land solidly between Drustan’s legs. “...a good hard kick in the privates is also extremely effective!”
With a noise that sounded a bit like “Arfuzle” Drustan turned cross-eyed and sank slowly to the floor. A few grins flashed around. Drustan wasn't the most popular boy in the group and some of the smaller boys cheered up noticeably.
LUAN HAD BEEN AT THE guild for just over two weeks. He had reached the outskirts of Sanlynn after a day’s hard walking, just as a fine mist of rain brought on an early dusk. Originally a walled town, the growing city had overflowed its confines and spilled out along the roads. Some of the houses outside the walls were sturdy and well built, but many were little more than wretched hovels. Rubbish and effluent filled the ditches at the side of the road and the smell at times was almost overpowering. Dogs rooted in the rubbish, snapping and growling as they contested the few edible morsels. Soon the street became lined with inns and shops giving the area a more prosperous feel but Luan could see that down the narrow side alleys the slums were never far away. Many of the shops were closing, a few of the proprietors called out to him as he passed but most concentrated on taking in their wares and pulling down the shutters. By contrast the inns seemed to be readying themselves for business and from one the sound of a fiddle being tuned reminded Luan of Mack and he smiled to himself. A girl called out from an open window, inviting him in. She looked young but her eyes betrayed a different story. His glance took in her lank hair and a dress that had seen better days; he blushed, mumbled a polite refusal and walked on. Her laugh followed him down the street like a malignant wasp.
THE WALL OF THE OLD town had once been imposing but now it seemed to sag like the belly of the solitary guard at the gate. Torches guttered above the rusted portcullis and reflected off the puddles below. The rain had thickened and the guard was clearly reluctant to leave what little shelter he had. Eyes squinting from under the brim of his over large helmet, he decided that Luan posed little threat, and waved him through. The street was not as wide but better made and the houses larger and well-constructed. Solid oak timbers, glass windows and here and there even some old stone work showed that the wall was clearly a social barrier if no longer a defensive one. After about ten minutes’ walk the street opened onto a large square. On three sides it was bordered by large houses, on the fourth by the tall wall of the guild-house of the Klaideem. In a stark contrast to the town gate, the guards here were alert and business like, uniforms smart and weapons sharp.
"State your business." The flat stare of the guard did nothing to calm Luan’s nerves.
"I've come to join," he said without thinking. The first guard managed to keep a straight face, but the second snorted convulsively as he tried to stifle a laugh.
"Join?" the first guard replied. "What do you think this is? Play time?"
Luan was stung by the words but before he could reply the second guard came to his defence.
"Leave the boy be Hwl." He smiled at Luan. "Come on lad, try again."
Luan drew himself up and paused and then answered.
"My name is Luan, second son of Garioch, Cunbran of the house of Artran and I follow the path of the sword!"
"Hail sword brother, may you bring honour to this your house," the guard called Hwl replied and this time he smiled warmly. "Well said lad!" added his companion. "Come on, I'll take you to the Captean."
He led Luan through the gate and into a small room that opened off the main passage. Behind a desk an older man sat, writing by the light of a lantern.
"New recruit Captean," called out the guard.
The man behind the desk looked up. He had a hard face, weathered and brown with lines deeply etched. On the left a vicious scar ran from jaw to hairline, covered in part by a black eye patch. It continued as a white streak into hair that was black and wiry with a touch of grey around the temples. The Captean's single eye glittered as his gaze swept over Luan. When he spoke his voice was unexpectedly soft.
"Your name boy?"
This time Luan was determined to get it right.
"Luan ap Garioch, second son of the house of Artran."
The Captean pulled a large book towards him, opened it and started to write. "Welcome to the Guildhouse," he said. "In a moment Cail here will show you to your quarters but first I must ask something of you." He held out his hands, palms up. "Your sword if you will."
Reluctantly Luan undid the buckle and held it out. The Captean took it, weighed it in his hands and then pulled the blade a short way from the scabbard.
"This is a fine weapon! Where do you get it?"
"It was my uncle's," Luan replied.
"I recognise this blade." The Captean's gaze examined Luan again. "And now I recognise you. You're Marius' nephew aren't you?"
"You knew him?" Luan suddenly felt a hunger to know more about his uncle.
"Knew him? I fought alongside him! He was a true Klaideem, and a good friend." He paused, lost for a moment in memory, and then shook his head. "A sad loss". The Captean stood and walked over to a bench. He picked up a rag and a small jar. "A sword such as this needs to be well looked after," he said, drawing the blade. He uncorked the jar, held the rag to it and upended it twice in quick succession. Then holding the rag folded double between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, he pulled the sword slowly through.
"A trace of blood here I think?" He said holding out the stained rag. "You've used this sword in anger haven't you boy?"
Luan nodded. "I had to."
"Who was he?"
"A slaver." Luan felt he should explain. "He was going to hurt my friends."
"Dead?"
"Yes." Luan still felt a tug of guilt.
"Good!" The Captean nodded in satisfaction. "Don't you worry about that scum." He held the sword up, twisted his wrist so he could see both sides and, satisfied, slid it back into the scabbard. He looked up at Luan. "Do you want to know the secret of being a great warrior, boy?"
"Yes please," replied Luan.
"Not dying!" The Captean snorted a laugh. "You survived your first fight, and you made it here. That's two victories Luan, make sure you count them all."
"I will." Luan noticed that the Captean no longer called him 'boy'.
"Cail will show you to your quarters," the Captean was all business now, "but I am afraid the sword stays here."
Luan felt like he had been punched "No!" He almost shouted. The Captean looked at him.
"Think about it Luan. We can't have young boys running round with swords. Someone would get hurt. No. The blade stays here; it will lie in the Chapel of Swords until you reclaim it."
"When will that be?" asked Luan.
"When you are a Klaideem," the Captean replied.
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