by E J Gilmour
THE SWORD OF LIGHT
BOOK ONE OF THE VEREDOR CHRONICLES
E J GILMOUR
The Sword of Light: Book One of the Veredor Chronicles
Copyright 2013 E J Gilmour
ISBN: 978-0-9923750-0-3
www.ejgilmour.com
The Sword of Light: Book One of the Veredor Chronicles by E J Gilmour is subject to copyright. All rights reserved. This publication must not be altered, printed, resold, shared, copied or redistributed without the written permission of the author. This publication is a work of fiction. All characters and situations in this novel are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real people or situations is coincidental. Cover image: © depositphotos.com/Piolka
MAP OF THE EASTERN LANDS
CHAPTER ONE
Deep in the southern hills of the Kingdom of Ortaria, perched precariously on a mountainside, was a lonely and simply built hut. There was nothing particularly unusual about the hut, apart from its rather perilous location. A steep track led down to a little village far below, and anybody passing through the village would have thought it was a very strange place to build a home, if they noticed it at all.
A young man stood by the only window and looked out across the valley. He was tall with wavy brown hair and dark eyes. The small window presented a view of the entire village. The people of Clemensdale were scurrying about and making preparations for the approaching storm. Dark clouds were rolling across the hills to the east. Thunder rumbled from above and echoed throughout the valley. He reached out and fastened the shutters as lightning lit up the sky above.
The hut was made up of a single room with a central wooden table and two single beds against each wall. An oil lantern filled the little hut with warm light. On top of the table was a small metal box. The young man sat down and gently lifted the lid off the box. Inside was a piece of folded parchment paper. He took it out and unfolded the letter. He then began to read.
Brother Erako,
I send to you this child. His name is Eben. Lady Kaloren has requested that he be hidden from our enemies. She has assigned me the task to protect the child. I must ensure he is placed somewhere where he will not be found. She has also requested for the Ecorian Sword to remain with Eben. I know I can trust you to take care of him. It is truly important that you accept. We are living in a dangerous time. Our numbers are few in these lands. The rumours are true; the hand of evil reaches south. I will only say a few words in this letter of our troubles. We have encountered our old enemies in Ortaria. There is word they have entered Vastoria. We can only hope the Cosmic Gate holds true. We fear the time grows near. One of us will come to take Eben from you soon.
Sincerely,
Carlin.
Eben had read the letter at least a dozen times, and with each reading more questions entered his mind. The metal box had been hidden beneath Erako’s bed. The contents of the letter had shocked him deeply.
For most of his life Eben had lived in the southern hills of Ortaria. He had been taught the craft of surviving in the wild rocky land by Erako, the Huntsman of Clemensdale. Erako was already an old man when Eben was entrusted to his care, and he singlehandedly raised Eben from when he was only two years old. Few memories remained of the time before his arrival, only vague recollections and faces of people who he could not clearly remember. Eben had always been told that a stranger left him and had promised to return one day to take him away, but the stranger never returned. The months turned into years without a word or message.
Over sixteen years had passed since he arrived at the small remote village. In the depths of winter a fever had overcome Erako. The old huntsman passed away peacefully in his sleep. Life in the village had not been the same since Erako’s death.
Erako always said someone would eventually come to Clemensdale to explain Eben’s origins, but after reading the letter he felt a deep desire to search for the answers himself. There was so much he wanted to know: who Carlin and Lady Kaloren were, and where had he come from, but mostly he hoped to find his parents.
**
After several hours the storm had passed. Questions continued to circle around in Eben’s mind. He knew that he would have to leave his home and begin a dangerous journey if he was ever going to have a chance at discovering any of the answers. Clemensdale was a humble village and very far from anything evil or treacherous. The people were shy folk and went about their business without much care for the happenings of the wider world. The village was tucked away in the hills and mostly forgotten by outsiders.
Many dreadful stories had been brought to Clemensdale by peddlers, drifters, and nomads. The Kingdom of Ortaria had once been a peaceful and beautiful land. Rumours continued to surface that something menacing was growing in the north and east of the country. The summers had grown cold and the winters long and icy. Crops had mostly failed, rivers were depleted of fish, and few animals remained in the forests. However, even with all these happenings, the village of Clemensdale continued to be largely untroubled. The farmers had little to complain about, the bakers still baked, the shepherds still tended their sheep, and the village folk were as happy as they had ever been.
Eben pondered the stories as he packed his bag. He knew the roads that led north would be dangerous. His thoughts were interrupted by a gentle tapping at the door. He opened the door and looked out to see Vera, the baker’s wife, standing just outside. Vera was a very old woman with grey hair and blue eyes that were full of cheer. She looked up at him with a warm smile.
‘Hello there my dear boy,’ she said as she stepped inside and out of the cold.
‘Vera, I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘I’ve come to bring you some bread. We baked it this morning especially for you,’ she said, setting the basket down on the table. She turned to face him. ‘How are you my boy? We’ve been worried about you living all alone up here on the hill. Is everything all right?’ she asked as her eyes glanced across at his half packed bag on the floor.
‘I’m fine.’
‘It looks to me you are planning to go somewhere,’ she said, a look of worry crossing her face.
There was a short silence as Eben thought of how best to tell Vera about his planned journey to Ancora. He knew Vera cared for him like an aunt would for a nephew, and he also knew she would probably be opposed to any suggestion of an adventure beyond the boundaries of Clemensdale.
‘I am, Vera. I’m going on a journey.’
She nervously scratched her chin and shook her head. ‘Eben, you should reconsider. There are many terrible things out on the roads of Ortaria. Erako would have wanted you to stay safely here in Clemensdale. You have an important place in our village. We care about you; you know we do.’
‘I know, Vera, but please understand I have to go to Ancora. If my parents are out there somewhere I still may be able to find them. I know the road will be dangerous, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take.’
She took his hand and warmly smiled. ‘I realise what it is like to have so many questions and no answers. If you really must go then you also must stay safe. You don’t know much about the outside world, none of us here in Clemensdale do. Don’t trust anyone. It’s not like Clemensdale out there; the people beyond the hills are only interested in what they can take from you. They say it’s about take, take, take in the north. Keep your eyes wide open. Always remember your home and your people. Once you find what you seek hurry home to us. We will be waiting for you.’
‘Thank you, Vera.’
**
Eben had been walking for three days. He set out from Clemensdale taking only
his leather cloak, a hand axe, his hunting bow, enough food for several weeks on the road, and the Ecorian Sword that was mentioned in the letter. He had decided to take the back road from Clemensdale to the main highway.
It had rained heavily overnight and dark clouds filled the sky above the hilly terrain. Not a single bird could be heard singing that morning, and a deep gloominess had settled over the land. The road ahead looked rugged and unpleasant. He expected a long day of tough trekking along the rocky and rarely trodden way.
The back road led northeast toward the main highway, which he planned to follow all the way to the port city of Ancora. Stories of bandits and other unspeakable terrors on the northern road had convinced him the back way to the highway would be his best option. The road had already proven to be challenging; it traversed many deep valleys and unstable ridges, and often he found it difficult to know whether he was actually following the road or had strayed off onto a goat track.
The brightness of Clemensdale faded away the further he moved north. It seemed that the trees were struggling against a silent and invisible force. The leaves were withered and their branches drooped. The light of the sun struggled to make it all the way to the ground, and a murky feeling permeated the landscape. His hope pushed him to persevere, and he wasn’t going to let the road or the gloominess force him to turn back. He had his sights firmly set on the great capital of Ortaria.
**
Eben’s dark eyes surveyed his surroundings. He had arrived at the place where the old back road intersected the main highway that led from Ancora to the Iron Gate Pass. The landscape around was dotted with large oak trees rising up over moss covered rocky ground. Directly ahead of him were the ruins of an ancient village. Most of the stone houses were completely derelict, and all the inhabitants had long since moved on. A stream flowed through the village, pouring down out of the hill country to the south. Eben approached with caution. Erako had taught him how to pass by unnoticed. He had been educated in all that was necessary to become a huntsman; walking silently was one skill he was quite adept at.
He passed through the ruins and came to the edge of the stream where an old rock bridge spanned the fast flowing water below. For a moment he had a feeling he was being watched. Without moving his eyes darted to the left and the right.
‘You there!’ shouted a voice to his right. He quickly turned around as his hand went for his hunting dagger. In the centre of the ruined village was an old and very large oak tree. Hanging upside down by a rope tied around his ankles was a bedraggled young man with an unkempt red beard and long greasy dark hair. He was perhaps a year or two older than Eben. It was instantly clear his hands were tied behind his back. The rope around his ankles was attached to a chain that was wrapped around a branch high above, and his head hung about four feet from the ground. He looked at Eben with bright blue eyes and a wide smile.
Eben slowly walked toward him. ‘How can I help you?’
‘I think the answer to your question is obvious,’ replied the young man, glancing upward toward the chain that was holding him in place. ‘I’ve been waiting for someone like you to come by and free me.’
Eben looked up at the chain and wasn’t sure if he should trust the stranger. ‘I expect someone tied you up for a reason.’
‘Not for a good reason,’ replied the man defensively. ‘I was travelling with a small group of traders. The sly backstabbing thieves robbed me and then left me here to die. Now really, why don’t you just go ahead and free me? Surely that can’t be too much trouble for you?’
‘How can I trust you? You could be a threat to me.’
The young man released a sigh and shook his head in disbelief. ‘True, I could be a threat, but when you think about it, you have a sword, an axe, and a bow, and I have nothing. By anyone’s guess you are much more of a danger to me than I am to you. I won’t trouble you if you just help me escape. Surely you won’t leave me here to die? No one deserves to be treated in such a way. It’s really quite simple; just use your axe to cut the rope, and I won’t bother you ever again.’
Eben considered the situation and knew what the young man said was true; he simply couldn’t leave him and walk on. He took his axe from over his shoulder and walked over to where the rope had been fixed to a lower branch.
‘Hey, wait, be careful with that axe,’ said the stranger, not knowing for sure what Eben was going to do. A second later Eben cut the rope just below where it was connected to the chain. The man toppled downward and was stunned for a moment. He slowly got to his feet and stumbled around as he gained his balance. Eben helped to untie his hands.
‘Thanks. You have done a good deed,’ he said as he brushed the dust off his dirty clothes.
‘I hope so,’ replied Eben as he turned to leave.
‘Where are you heading?’ asked the stranger as he followed.
‘I thought you said you wouldn’t bother me again.’
‘I’m just trying to be friendly. You hill folk sure are odd. You simply don’t trust anyone.’
Eben crossed the rock bridge and walked east out of the ruined village. He was hoping the stranger would take the hint and leave him alone.
‘I see; you’re heading for Ancora,’ said the man, continuing to follow.
‘Perhaps,’ replied Eben, not wanting to share his plans. Eben was beginning to think he had made a mistake releasing the young man. A few moments went by in silence.
‘Are you taking the highway? You won’t make it. Walking the highway alone is a sure way to meet a sorry end.’
Eben stopped and looked back. ‘So what would you suggest?’ The stranger smiled widely.
‘I would suggest not going to Ancora in the first place. Ancora is dangerous. If I were you I would return to the hills along the road you came, but if you insist on going forward to Ancora you would probably need someone to show you a different way.’
‘I don’t need your help if that’s what you’re suggesting,’ said Eben, turning back around.
‘But I need your help,’ said the man, rushing his words and continuing to follow.
Eben looked back over his shoulder and was beginning to feel a little impatient with the stranger.
‘I already helped you.’
‘Yes, I agree, you did, but you must realise I’m alone with nothing to eat in a barren land. The truth is that if you leave me here I’ll probably die. Yes, you freed me, but really what was the point if you were going to leave me alone with no food. If I don’t starve I will be killed by bandits or something much worse,’ he said, scanning Eben’s face for a reaction.
Eben realised it was going to be difficult to be rid of the stranger. He remembered back to something Erako had said to him many times as a child: ‘There is a purpose to everything in life. Every meeting, every action, and every outcome has a meaning. In time everything becomes clear.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Redding is my name, but I am known as Red.’
‘I’m Eben of Clemensdale. You can come with me until we arrive somewhere safe.’
Red nodded and smiled.
**
Deep in the dark and gloomy forest, far beneath the canopy of towering oak trees, the two young men trekked slowly eastward. As they walked through the woods they were only seen by an occasional bird or squirrel, and mostly their presence went unnoticed.
Eben moved up beside Red who was crouching down and looking over a slight ridge to a shallow gully beyond. A moment earlier they had heard the sound of crunching and breaking branches ahead. It had sounded like something large was moving through the woods in their direction.
Red peered through the trees. ‘It’s safe,’ he whispered, glancing back at Eben. Eben listened for the sound again. All was silent. ‘We can continue,’ whispered Red as he slowly began to get up. Eben grabbed his shoulder and dragged him back down.
Suddenly a creature came into view. It was not like any creature that Eben had seen before in all his years of hunting. It was
similar to the shape of a man, but it was covered in a hide of thick dark fur. The monster snorted with each breath and walked with a menacing hunchback. Its hands were large with sharp claws, and its head was like that of a wild boar with tusks protruding from beneath a hog’s snout. The monster stopped and looked about with fierce bloodshot eyes. The beast snarled and sniffed the air.
‘It’s a muckron,’ whispered Red, his eyes wide with panic.
Eben felt a sense of disbelief, and his heart began to race. He had heard about muckrons, although he had always believed they were mythical creatures. Muckrons were frequently the adversaries of men in many old folk stories. Seeing the reality of the beast before his eyes was a shock. Eben reached for his bow and drew an arrow as quietly as he could manage. The beast leapt in their direction. The muckron was moving as fast as a hunting dog and made its way up the slope toward them.
‘Run,’ cried Red, leaping up and turning on his heel. Red sped off in the opposite direction. Eben focused his attention on the fast approaching monster and drew back his bowstring. He released the arrow and watched as it flew wide of its mark. The muckron howled furiously, continuing toward Eben and gaining speed. Eben quickly turned and started running, knowing he wouldn’t have time to shoot again; his heart was beating like a drum. Red was almost out of sight. Eben looked back over his shoulder and saw the furious beast leap over the ridge and run after him.
He turned and drew his hunting dagger. A moment later the beast was upon him. Eben, holding his breath, stabbed forward with the dagger and felt the impact of the monster. He was knocked off his feet and crashed into the ground. The muckron was above him and had pinned him down. With both hands he reached up, grabbing beneath its foul mouth and used all his might to keep the muckron’s fangs from biting into his neck. A menacing howl was followed by a dreadful hiss. Eben cried in pain, using the last of his strength to hold off the monster’s yellow fangs.
Suddenly there was a heavy thud. The monster leapt back and turned around. Red stood a few feet away with a large stick. He swung the stick wildly as he stepped away, drawing the muckron’s attention from Eben.
