The Wildcat of Braeton
Page 1
Contents
Acknowledgments
Author Links
Dedication
PRONUNCIATION GUIDE & Maps
Opening Poem
Book One
Book 1 Chapter 1
Book 1 Chapter 2
Book 1 Chapter 3
Book 1 Chapter 4
Book 1 Chapter 5
Book 1 Chapter 6
Book 1 Chapter 7
Book 1 Chapter 8
Book 1 Chapter 9
Book 1 Chapter 10
Book 1 Chapter 11
Book 1 Chapter 12
Book 1 Chapter 13
Book 1 Chapter 14
Book 1 Chapter 15
Book 1 Chapter 16
Book 1 Chapter 17
Book 1 Chapter 18
Book 1 Chapter 19
Book 2
Book 2 Chapter 1
Book 2 Chapter 2
Book 2 Chapter 3
Book 2 Chapter 4
Book 2 Chapter 5
Book 2 Chapter 6
Book 2 Chapter 7
Book 3
Book 3 Chapter 1
Book 3 Chapter 2
Book 3 Chapter 3
Book 3 Chapter 4
Book 3 Chapter 5
Book 3 Chapter 6
Book 3 Chapter 7
Book 3 Chapter 8
Book 3 Chapter 9
Book 3 Chapter 10
Book 3 Chapter 11
Book 3 Chapter 12
Book 3 Chapter 13
Book 3 Chapter 14
Book 3 Chapter 15
Book 3 Chapter 16
Epilogue
MORE BOOKS BY CLAIRE M. BANSCHBACH
The Rise of Aredor (Book One)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The Wildcat of Braeton
Acknowledgments
Firstly, I would like to thank all my siblings for their support, encouragement, and general harassment when they find out I have a new story.
To my sister Sarah, who once again saved my life with her editing. You’ll probably always be my fist editor. I hope you’re ready for that burden.
To my sister Jocelyn, who demanded that Emeth have his own story and for condescending to illustrate again. You will never be paid except with my undying love.
To Catherine who assisted with the pronunciation guide and spent several late nights helping me go through the manuscript one last time. I hope I can convey adequate gratitude.
I want to thank Mary Kaylyn Miller for the fully awesome map and for agreeing to make another version. I can’t ever thank you enough for bringing my world to paper.
To the parental units who have always fostered a love of reading and who have shown unending support and encouragement through the publishing process. And for demanding to read my other stories now that they know I write. It’s like they love me or something.
I’d also like to thank my beta readers for agreeing to read this story and giving me some needed feedback.
You are about to read Book Two in the Rise of Aredor Series: The Wildcat of Braeton
Book one is also available: The Rise of Aredor
You can find out more about Claire and discover short stories, writing updates, and a fun newsletter on her blog:
www. clairembanschbach.wordpress.com
She loves to connect with readers on
Facebook @clairembanschbach
& Twitter @ClaireMB_Author
where you can find dorky life and writing updates.
To my parents,
who have always supported
and encouraged me not only
in writing but in life.
I wouldn’t have gotten
this far without you.
PRONUNCIATION GUIDE
c: hard as in cat–e.g. Corin, Celyn, Cimbria, Cyndor, etc. ae: long a–e.g. Braeton
Ll: l rolled on the side of the tongue–e.g. Llewellyn, Lleu
í: long e as in meet when used in Calorin names–e.g. Hamíd. (sometimes i is long in last syllable as in Karif, Hosni, etc.)
j: sounded like soft g as in gentle when used in Calorin names–e.g. Jaffa, Janzori
g: hard as in great–e.g. Gavin, Gelion
I: pronounced as e for Aredorian names only–e.g. Iwan (Ew- an) Ivor (Ee-vor)
y: sounded like short i when used as a vowel in Aredorian names–e.g. Colwyn, Celyn
Death in front of me
And death to the sides.
But I cannot go back.
They fall by tens of hundreds,
My brothers who trusted me.
Can I now lead them out?
Who can survive this reckless advance?
Will we yet all perish?
But faithful till the end
When death comes for all.
They follow by tens and tens of hundreds
My brothers who trusted me.
Light shines in their eyes,
They hope to follow me
And defy Death to the end.
Yes, by tens and tens of hundreds
We stop the advance.
By horses-our speed
And spears-our strength
The sword will guide us home.
Death comes not today.
A victory for me,
A victory for my brothers,
Yes, a hard-won victory.
But no rest-the enemy is powerful.
We can but fight-even to the end.
Book One
Return to Scodra
Chapter 1
The hot Calorin winds ruffled the grassy plains, kicking up grains of dirt and sand to skitter around the travelers’ boots as they trudged down the road. The men were dressed identically in black and red uniforms. A phoenix was emblazoned on the front of their tunics and mail coats glinted beneath the leather. Black belts held an array of weapons. One carried two swords across his back in addition to several knives. The other’s hand rested easily on the handle of a scimitar, and he also carried daggers within reach. But beyond the uniforms all resemblance ceased.
The second man was a Calorin—dark skinned, slender, muscular. His companion’s fair skin stood out in sharp contrast. Green eyes glinted dangerously beneath his dark hair. And if he slipped back into his native northern tongue, the strong accent of the Clans of Braeton would be heard.
Emeth stopped for a moment to take in his surroundings. The flat, grassy plains of Calorin stretched in all directions as far as the eye could see.
“You’re not going to miss the incredible scenery, are you?” his Calorin companion asked with a smile.
Emeth laughed. “Maybe for a day or so.” He glanced at the position of the sun as he adjusted his double swords. “Come on, Ahmed, pick up the pace! I want to get back to camp before dark.”
“Shut up, or I’ll make you carry the pack,” Ahmed threatened.
“You’re the one who didn’t want to take the horses!” Emeth shot back.
“We’ve been over this! It was only a short scouting trip.”
Still arguing, the two companions continued down the dusty road. Within an hour their camp came into view. They passed the sentries unchallenged and headed toward the tent of their commander, Lord Rishdah. They were met at the entrance by a Calorin dressed as they were in the uniform of the Phoenix Guard.
“Nicar,” Ahmed greeted him. “Where’s Lord Rishdah?”
“He went to meet Ismail on the west road,” Nicar replied. “Did you two find anything?”
“We found Khalid’s camp,” Emeth said.
For the last two years, there had been unrest on the Calorin borders. Lord Rishdah, one of the Sultaan’s most trusted generals, had been given the task of settling the uprisings. And so, once agai
n, they were encamped along the eastern border by the desert country of Argus.
Khalid, a renegade general, had been stirring up the Argusians against the Calorins despite the peace treaty that existed between the two countries. Khalid now commanded almost five hundred men, a mix of Calorins and Argusians. His camp lay only a day’s march from Lord Rishdah’s army. After giving their report, Emeth and Ahmed were dismissed to go rest.
The Phoenix Guard’s tent was pitched next to Lord Rishdah’s. Sleep, however, eluded Emeth. He lay on his cot and stared at the ceiling. He had come to Calorin nearly eight years ago after running away from his home in the North. He quickly came into the service of Lord Rishdah and swore seven years to his service in the elite Phoenix Guard. Those years were now complete.
But he had decided to stay until the trouble with Khalid was finished and then he would be free. He had avoided all mention of leaving for Ahmed’s sake. The two of them were as close as brothers, and it was for that reason Lord Rishdah had sent them with his only living son, Ismail, when the Sultaan had ordered him to Aredor.
That nightmarish year they had spent in the northern country, then under Calorin rule, was the closest Emeth had been to his home in years. They had been in Aredor when the Calorins were driven out by an army of rebels and Braeton Clans. Ismail had not told his father the part they had played in the events surrounding the deciding battle although Emeth had a strong suspicion that Ismail’s wife, Nadirah, knew what had happened.
Watching Corin, an Aredorian and former slave, leave the Phoenix Guard four years ago was harder on Emeth and Ahmed than they would admit. So was meeting Corin in the forests of Aredor as the leader of the outlaws. And now Ahmed was going to be left behind again.
Captain Azrahil was trying to find a replacement to take Emeth’s place. Lord Rishdah depended heavily on his Guard in missions and battles, allowing them a certain familiarity with him and his family. Only the best were allowed in the Phoenix Guard, and Emeth was determined that his replacement would ably fill the hole left by his departure.
* * *
Dawn came quickly and the camp bustled with activity as the army prepared to move out. Emeth helped Nicar pack the Guard’s few belongings and their tent and then he began to saddle his distinctive black and white spotted stallion. The horse nickered softly, butting Emeth’s chest and looking for treats. Emeth pushed him away.
“Sorry, Narak, I don’t have anything today.”
The captain of the Guards came to find him.
“Lord Rishdah wants you to accompany Ismail. Scouts brought word in that Khalid is on the move,” Captain Azrahil said.
“Yes, sir. Find out his position so we can head him off and finish this blasted campaign,” Emeth said.
Azrahil flashed a quick smile. “More or less. And, Emeth? Try not to get caught.”
Emeth saluted. “Yes, sir. I don’t really feel like having a chat with Khalid anyway.”
Any reply that Azrahil would have made was cut off when Ismail rode up.
“Ready?” he asked.
“As I’ll ever be, sir,” Emeth replied as he mounted. Gathering up the reins he cantered after Ismail.
They rode for an hour before finding the first signs of Khalid’s army. The plains of Calorin rolled into hills before reaching the sandy borders of Argus. With ease born of practice, they guided their horses through the hills, taking care to remain unseen.
“They’re a ways from their camp, sir,” Emeth said.
Ismail nodded as he watched the enemy force. “Khalid is taking them west and right toward us. If we hurry, we can meet them out on the open plain.”
Turning their horses, he and Emeth raced back to camp.
* * *
A few hours later, Emeth guided Narak to his familiar place by Ismail on the front battle line. The stallion moved nervously, sensing the upcoming conflict. Emeth stroked Narak’s neck gently. All along the line of Ismail’s cavalry, men were also performing the same familiar motions of soothing anxious animals.
“Not much longer, boy,” he said in his own language. “If only these Calorins didn’t love to take any chance to hack at each other, we’d be home by now.”
“Emeth, you forget I speak Rhyddan,” Ismail reprimanded, not taking his eyes from the advancing army.
“Sorry, sir,” Emeth said, not very contritely.
Ismail smiled faintly. “You are not the only one who wants to stop fighting and go home. I’ve barely been back in two and a half years.”
“Yes, sir. How are your boys doing, by the way?” Emeth reverted to the Calorin tongue.
“Castimir gives every indication of being exactly like his namesake. Sharif is crawling now and getting into everything.” Ismail laughed at a memory, and Emeth smiled.
A horn sounded, announcing that Lord Rishdah and the main army were in position. Ismail gave the signal, and the cavalry moved forward as one. Emeth and Ahmed settled in on either side of Ismail as the horses lengthened their stride, flying toward the enemy.
Emeth unsheathed a sword as he heard the pounding of hooves and the war cries around him. The warrior spirit of the northern Clans arose, and he plunged fearlessly into battle.
Once the cavalry successfully engaged the front lines, Lord Rishdah advanced. He divided his forces and brought them in from the sides in a pincer movement. Caught on three sides, Khalid’s forces fought to the death. When the sun sank, it was on a bloody plain.
* * *
Emeth awoke in darkness. Once his vision cleared, he realized he was looking at a night sky filled with stars. The next thing he realized was that his legs couldn’t move. Panicked, he sat up, his aching head protesting at the sudden movement. Gradually he became aware of his surroundings. He lay on the battlefield. Torches flickered as men searched for survivors. Groans of the wounded and the dying echoed in the night air. Finally, he turned attention to himself.
He was half trapped beneath a dead horse. He dimly remembered getting thrown from Narak while a mounted Argusian moved in to attack. The rim of the shield had clipped his forehead, creating a bloody gash. He had killed the Argusian, but a spear had pierced the horse, causing it to fall and pin him to the ground. Emeth carefully pulled himself out from under the horse. Apart from his head and the usual cuts and bruises, he was unharmed. Groping in the darkness, he found his swords and sheathed them. As of yet, he had no indication of how the battle had ended.
He stood on shaking legs, attempting to scrape at the blood that stained his face. Torchlight flared behind him, and a hand reached out to steady him.
“I thought for a minute we had lost you.”
“Ahmed!” Emeth said in relief. “I guess this means we won?”
“Barely. Khalid surrendered a little over an hour ago. Both sides lost almost half their men, and I still haven’t found Ismail,” Ahmed said worriedly.
Together they began the gruesome process of searching the battlefield. After a few minutes, Ahmed pointed. “There!” he cried.
Ismail lay draped across the body of his slain stallion. At first glance they thought him dead, but closer inspection showed him unconscious and wounded.
“Now what?” Emeth asked, noticing for the first time the bandage around Ahmed’s arm. “Between the two of us, I don’t think we’re taking him anywhere.”
Ahmed shouted and signaled with his torch. Within minutes stretcher bearers came and carried Ismail back to the camp. Ahmed lent his shoulder for Emeth to lean on as they followed, his legs still stiff after being trapped for so long. Azrahil met them and helped Emeth to a cot before he lost consciousness again.
Chapter 2
“Hold still, you big baby!” Nicar exclaimed.
“If you would stop trying to finish taking my head off, I would!” Emeth replied as Nicar washed the cut on his forehead. “Are you trying to drown me now?” he complained as water trickled down his face into his collar.
“Well, if you had let me take care of it when you came in, but no! Look at you now! Bloo
d all over!” Nicar retorted.
“You two ladies almost done over there?” Ahmed asked from across the tent.
“I would be if someone would stop moving,” Nicar said.
Emeth muttered vague threats as the healer washed away the dried blood caked around the wound.
“Once you’re done, Azrahil wants to see you both,” Ahmed said.
A few minutes later, Nicar finished tying a light bandage around Emeth’s head. Emeth stood, swaying a bit unsteadily.
“What did you do? Put a turban around my head?” He felt at the bandage. Nicar tossed him his swords. Emeth caught them deftly and buckled them on.
“Oh, stop moaning!” Nicar said. “You’re worse than anyone I’ve ever treated.”
Chatting companionably, the three Guards left the tent and went to meet the captain.
“Finally!” Azrahil said as they came up. “Emeth, I need you to do some tracking. Ahmed and Nicar, stay with Lord Rishdah.”
“Where are we going, sir?” Emeth asked.
“To find Khalid,” Azrahil said grimly. “One of his generals posed as him last night and surrendered. Khalid escaped.”
“Brilliant.” Emeth couldn’t help but be a little impressed.
A troop of thirty soldiers rode up leading two extra horses. Azrahil mounted his horse, and Emeth looked quizzically at the captain as he took the reins of the second.
“Ah, we couldn’t find Narak. He wasn’t on the battlefield or anywhere around here. I’m sure if anyone had found him we would have heard about it.” Azrahil smirked.
“It’s not my fault he bit that groom!” Emeth exclaimed as he mounted. Narak could be rather ill-tempered which was perhaps why he and Emeth got along so well together.
“You keep saying that,” Azrahil said.
“Which way are we going, sir?” Emeth asked.
“East. That’s where he was last seen.”
It was late in the day when Emeth raised the trail. Dismounting, he led the troop through the tall grass. The sun was setting when they came to a small river where Emeth found more tracks in the muddy bank.
“Looks like he has five men with him, all mounted, sir.” He broke off suddenly, studying a set of hoof prints. “Unbelievable! That man is riding my horse!”