by J. P. Ashman
‘He was a fine king and a fine man,’ Severun said, offering a tight smile. ‘The likes of which I don’t think…’ He couldn’t finish the sentence.
Longoss gripped Severun’s shoulder in his big hand and squeezed. ‘Let’s hold onto some hope for the Black Prince, eh?’
Severun nodded, although from the times he’d met Edward, it left little in the way of hope for his coming reign. ‘Quite,’ Severun said, offering a smile to match Longoss’ gold. He was surprised how well Longoss had healed. Of course, there’d been a great deal of magic involved, from Morri and his staff, not to mention from Effrin at the tavern, by all accounts, but the mill the former assassin had been wrung through was enough to kill most men through trauma alone. Or at least kill or fray their minds.
‘Well,’ Longoss said, releasing Severun’s shoulder and looking back down the busy street they intended to tread together, ‘at least Egan has been sent home; south.’
Severun smiled and nodded. His heart thudded an irregular beat and a coldness washed through him at the loss of his friend. For that’s what Egan Dundaven had been. A man known a short while, but a friend forever. ‘Yes. I made sure his body would reach his home and have an appropriate Samorlian burial, as I’m sure he would have wanted.’
‘Oh, but he were a good fighter, eh?’ Longoss winked at Severun, in his own way of remembrance.
Severun smiled. ‘Yes he was. He likely saved more than one of us that night, in the tavern.’
‘Couldn’t agree more, Severun, and if it weren’t for needs must, we’d be travelling with him to lay him to rest, I promise ye that.’
‘I know,’ Severun said. ‘I know.
‘Right. Shall we move on?’ Severun asked, looking to his friend, who nodded his accord.
‘I think so. To find Coppin and to pay respects to Keep and his tavern.
‘Ye sure Lord Yewbuggerer Cunt-stubble is fine with ye accompanying me?’ Longoss set off up the street.
‘He didn’t have any choice, Longoss,’ Severun replied, easily keeping pace, what with his long legs and all. ‘I told him I’d serve him for as long as he needs once Coppin was safe. And without… without Barrison to back him in my employ, and what’s supposedly coming from Sirreta and The Marches, he was glad of my support.’
‘Right we are then,’ Longoss said, making a turn, Severun at his side; a turn towards Mother’s. ‘Because if the armoured prick had said no, I’d have stuck him with that bastard-sword he holds so dear, and dragged ye along anyway.’
Severun allowed himself a laugh and Longoss joined in. It was the first either had felt genuine about for some time, and with what Severun knew was coming for Wesson, it could very well be the last.
***
Stopping their weary mounts, the younger of the two Altolnan scouts looked across to his companion. ‘What’s wrong, Dram?’
‘Those bodies, in that tree.’ Dram nodded to the side of the road, opposite the inn they’d intended to use.
‘The gibbet tree? That’s what it’s for, ye old coot.’
‘I know, lad, but how long do ye think they’ve hung there?’
The young scout shrugged. ‘Several days at the least, by the looks of them.’
‘By the looks of their eyes?’
The youngster frowned and walked his horse a couple of steps towards the tree. ‘I can’t see their eyes, they’re shut.’
‘Exactly.’
He turned to Dram. ‘I don’t follow?’
‘What circles above us?’
The lad looked up, squinting. ‘Crows and rooks and the like. Buzzards even, although the crows don’t look happy about that.’ He grinned following his observation and looked back to his mentor.
Dram nodded, eyes locked on the gibbet tree. ‘Aye, and yet their eyes are intact. Closed, but intact. Carrion birds like those above always eat the eyes, and always first.’
The lad pursed his lips and leaned forward to stare at the closed eyes of the hanging bodies, one a boy. ‘What do you think it means, Dram? They spoilt?’
Shaking his head, Dram responded. ‘I don’t know, but—’ he rocked back in his saddle, causing his mount to snort and rear, throwing him to the ground before thundering off up the road. Dram grunted, cursed and pulled himself up on his gawking friend’s stirruped foot.
As the corvids and buzzards fled the scene, so too did the two scouts, on one horse. They rode up the road as fast as their exhausted mount would allow; seven pairs of eyes tracking their progress before closing as quickly as they’d opened, the bodies they belonged to swinging gently in the gibbet tree.
And Dignaaln witnessed it all.
So ends the second book from the tales of the Black Powder Wars.
Excerpt
Black Arrow
Third book from the tales of the
Black Powder Wars
Chapter 1 - Beginning of the end
Brisance
Summer - 492nd year of the Alliance
One skip, two, three and a wide grin between red bristles.
A loud splash was followed by a colourful curse.
‘Get low when ye throw,’ Sears said, demonstrating his technique. ‘Throw the stone, a flat stone, across like ye would bounce it from a table-top.’
Biviano grunted and scratched under his kettle-helm. ‘I’ve never bounced a stone, a flat stone…’ He dodged Sears’ meaty fist. ‘…across a table-top,’ he finished with glee.
‘Watch me, ye shit.’ The flat stone glided with little hops across the Park District pond. One of those hops was atop a lily pad.
Biviano’s breath was long and ragged. ‘I don’t want to come here anymore, Sears.’ Biviano walked away, or began to; frowning, he turned to Sears, who stared at nothing in particular. ‘Mate, ye alright?’ Biviano asked.
No response.
‘Sears, ye prick, what is it?’
Sears took a beat and turned to his friend, smiling as he did, albeit weakly.
‘I don’t like where this is going, big guy.’
‘I don’t suppose ye will. Nor where I’m going.’
Biviano closed his eyes for a moment, accompanying his heavy sigh. ‘Ye know what length we went to, getting ye out of there, and ye want to go back in?’ And for what, Sears? A former assassin and his—’
‘Don’t!’ Sears warned.
‘I was going to say lass, ye goon, not whore.’
Sears conceded and nodded. ‘Fair enough. Go on with yer mothering.’
‘It’s more than mothering, Sears. It’s—’
‘Shit!’
‘It is shit, aye, but it’s also—’
‘Not that, Biv.’ Sears reached out and grabbed a flinching Biviano by his maille-clad shoulders and turned him to the park gate. ‘That! Or should I say them.’
‘’Morl’s wrinkled scrotum, Sears. What’ve ye done now, eh?’
All Sears could do was frown and shake his red head. I have no idea, he thought, as a dozen burgundy clad magistrates’ guardsmen approached, hands on sheathed and belted weapons, not cudgels.
‘I take it yer here for more’n a chat and a skim of stones, eh lads?’ Sears said.
The sergeant stepped forward as the armed group fanned out before the two city guardsmen.
‘You can leave,’ the sergeant said to Biviano, before locking eyes once more on Sears.
‘Like dog shit I can, ye fat bastard. The man asked ye a question and ye’ll bloody well answer it.’
‘As you wish.’ The sergeant’s eyes remained on Sears, although one twitched at Biviano’s insult. Sears and Biviano noticed the battle mage at the back of the group, also wearing the burgundy of Wesson’s magistrates, and their badge of a vertical gold sword on a white field.
Sears filled his bearded cheeks before letting the breath out slowly. ‘I’m under arrest, aren’t I?’
The sergeant nodded.
Biviano half-drew his short-sword, but Sears stopped him with an iron grip. They looked to one another and Sears shook his head. ‘Don’t, Biv. T
hey’re just doing their duty, like we do.’
Biviano swallowed hard and slammed his sword back into its scabbard, turning to the sergeant as he did so.
Sears stepped forward, arms away from his sides. ‘Can I ask—?’
‘Do you know who this man is?’ Biviano interrupted Sears and took a step toward the sergeant. Several men half-drew their weapons.
‘Of course they bloody well know who I am, Biviano,’ Sears said. ‘That’s why they’re here. Can’t imagine it’s a case of mistaken identity with this.’ He ran fingers through his red beard.
‘Will you come along calmly and relinquish your sword, Master Sears?’
Sears nodded to the sergeant. ‘If I must, aye.’ He walked forward, but not before drawing and turning his sword so the well-worn hilt faced the magistrates’ men.
The sergeant nodded his thanks and took the offered blade. He raised a hand and placed it on Sears’ broad back as he guided him through the burgundy men and away from the pond; away from Biviano.
‘And what of me?’
‘I’ll see you in the magistrates’ court, ye prick,’ Sears shouted, without turning.
‘Aye, but for what, eh? For what? Ye bunch of shites!’
No one answered Biviano as Sears was led from the park…
Find out what happens to our beloved duo in Black Arrow, due for release 2018
Thank you for continuing to read the Black Powder Wars series, your support is what keeps me writing and the world of Brisance going.
J P Ashman
Thank you for reading:
Black Guild
Second book from the tales of the
Black Powder Wars
Reviews are more than welcome and incredibly helpful.
Please feel free to contact me on the following sites:
www.jpashman.com
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Twitter: @JP_Ashman
#BlackGuild
#BlackPowderWars
#FantasyHive
Also available:
Black Martlet
First short story from the tales of the
Black Powder Wars
Dragonship
A standalone short story
(Not of the Black Powder Wars)
J P Ashman is currently working on:
Black Arrow
Third book from the tales of the
Black Powder Wars
(Due for release 2018)
Black Prince
Fourth book from the tales of the
Black Powder Wars
(Currently being written)
Biography
Born Lancashire, England, J P Ashman is a Northern lad through and through. His parents love wildlife, history, fantasy and science fiction, and passed their passion on to him. They read to him from an early age and encouraged his imagination at every turn. His Career may be in optics, as a manager/technician, but he loves to make time for writing and reading every day. Now living in the Cotswolds with Wifey and their little Norse Goddess Freya, he is inspred daily by the views they have and the things they see, from the deer in the fields to the buzzards circling overhead.
Writing is a huge part of his life and the medieval re-enactment background and tabletop gaming lend to it; when he’s not writing the genre, he’s either reading or playing it. He plans to keep writing, both within his current series, and those to come, whether short stories or epic tomes.
Biography taken from the SPFBO Author Interview by,
Mihir Wanchoo.
www.fantasybookcritic.blogspot.co.uk
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