Journey to Khodara
The Key of Creation Series
Book II
By
M. D. Bushnell & A. R. Voss
Copyright © 2011 by Michael D. Bushnell and Ali Vossoughi
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2013
ISBN -10: 1482584603
ISBN-13: 978-1482584608
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors’ imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Buffy Kaufman
www.buffykaufmanart.com
For more information about the Key of Creation series of books, starting with Rise of the Destroyer, please visit us at:
www.KeyOfCreation.com
This book I dedicate to my dad and my brother, for their nonstop support and love from a distant land.
A.R. Voss
I dedicate this book to my dad, Peter Bushnell. I imagine I was not the easiest kid to deal with, and there were many times we did not see eye to eye, but he hung in there and did his best for many years. I’ve never given him the thank you he deserves.
M.D. Bushnell
Table of Contents
Journey to Khodara
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Glossary
Acknowledgement
Books Recommended by the authors
Map of the Known World
Chapter 1
Dathan peered surreptitiously through a gap in the trees, mystified by what he saw before him. Stretching out to the far horizon was the largest group of men he had ever seen assembled in one place; not just any men either, but soldiers. From the disordered layout, it appeared that small clusters of camps had grown and merged until a sprawling bustling encampment inexplicably lay as far as the eye could see.
Everywhere Dathan looked was a bustle of activity. Small groups of soldiers marched in lines, while others cleaned and sharpened weapons, or worked at fletching arrows. Diminutive army tents dotted fallow fields in every direction and a plethora of Illyrian flags––with its iconic mountain peak on a field of crimson––snapped in the breeze. The acrid smoke of countless cook fires darkened the late afternoon sky, and the tempting smells of roasting meats wafted through the trees, making his stomach rumble.
It had been some time since Dathan had enjoyed a good meal. It was now nearly a full turn of the moon since his horse had inadvertently stepped into a hidden hole and broken its leg. Being too far from a village or farrier to save the animal, he found himself with no choice but to put the poor creature out of her misery.
His ongoing search for Warren and Prince Garrick nearly ground to a halt at that point. Carrying everything he owned and walking the entire way to the trade city of Karkerech had almost been more than he could manage. He would never have made it if it had not been summer season, allowing him to sleep outdoors at night. As it was, he found himself forced to leave supplies behind. Already he had spent nearly every last copper he possessed on food, and that was when he was fortunate enough to have come across a village. He hunted and foraged whenever he was able, but some days the results were better than others.
Since being forced to fend for himself, he had out of necessity become rather handy with his sling. On good days he feasted on rabbit, squirrel or small birds, roasted over a small fire with beans or a small piece of bread or fruit; whatever he had been able to bargain for in the last village. Without a bow, he was unable to bring down larger game; deer and the like unfortunately had the bad habit of not waiting around for him to finish them off by sword. Dathan had brought what little savings he possessed when he left Kishen, but with the unexpected loss of his horse, his journey had been lengthened well beyond his original expectations. Even with admirable frugality, his coin had been sorely depleted.
Under normal circumstances, Dathan might have marched directly down to the army encampment and received help with equipment, supplies and food; perhaps even a new horse. Circumstances were anything but normal, however. He was not wearing his army uniform because he had left his post without permission, which would undoubtedly cause problems for him were he to be recognized by anyone from Kishen.
At the very least, questions would be asked; uncomfortable questions he was not prepared to answer. Certainly he would be ordered to rejoin the army, leaving him unable to finish his quest. At the worst, he could be imprisoned for having left without orders.
Perhaps the more immediate concern now was why this massive army was gathered here at all. When he left Kishen, there were no orders he knew of to amass troops outside of Karkerech; not so much as a rumor. He had been incommunicado for some time now and clearly orders had changed, but why would so many soldiers be gathering in one place? While it was nearly inconceivable, he could think of only one reason for this many men to be gathered so near the border to Asturia. Invasion.
All of these questions were certainly important, but at the moment Dathan had more immediate concerns, not the least of which was getting into the city of Karkerech without being questioned by the army. He knew he had to find Prince Garrick, but he could go no further without obtaining supplies and replacing his horse. The trail, as faint as it was, had so far led straight to Karkerech.
Dathan had been fortunate enough to find an old Kishen noble in the last village, visiting his country estates. With rumors of upheaval and danger pouring out of the capital city, the old man had decided to stay on his estates until the strange storm of events blew over. The noble, who had spent enough time in the palace to recognize the prince on sight, spotted him sneaking through the village some time earlier, although he could not remember exactly when. Dathan was hesitant to trust the word of the old codger, whose eyesight was likely to be as shoddy as his recollection of time, but the ancient noble had been adamant. Unfortunately, it was the only lead he had managed to acquire so far.
Dathan had been traveling south towards Karkerech since it was the largest trade center in Illyria, and the logical starting point for travel to the southern countries. Prince Garrick could not have traveled north because of the impassible mountains, and as the old saying went, ‘all roads lead to Karkerech’. This was not, of course, absolutely true. Yet in Illyria, both land and river trade began and ended in the bustling city of Karkerech, so like many tidbits passed around by the gossiping wives of farmers, there was some basis in truth to the saying.
His stomach growled again, and now that he was this close to Karkerech, it was time to move on. He had a few coppers left, but if he was unable to find Prince Garrick quickly he was going to be forced to find work in the city. He could not afford lodging, and would be unable to continue his search on foot, especially if
the prince had continued south into Asturia. While the wayward prince may have sailed to distant Kemett, Ghandahar, or lands beyond, it seemed most likely he would wish to stay in civilized lands, and that meant Asturia.
If he was forced to find work, Dathan hoped he could find an employer who did not ask too many questions. It would be difficult enough avoiding the soldiers who wandered into town from the massive nearby encampment. With the army this close to Karkerech, it would be impossible for the city to remain free of their influence.
Dathan ambled into Karkerech, trying to look as commonplace and unassuming as possible. Unsurprisingly, he spotted many small groups of soldiers milling about the city. They did not seem to be patrolling or acting in any official capacity, but merely passing the time. Still, Dathan did his best to avoid them. Dressed in travel-stained and worn, nondescript clothing he might pass casual inspection, if he gave them no reason to look twice. Since it was possible someone from Kishen could recognize him, the safest assumption was that any one of them could cause trouble.
Aside from the presence of so many soldiers, it appeared to be business as usual in Karkerech as far as Dathan could see. He was unfamiliar with the layout of the city as he had not visited in many Summers, but he basically knew what he was looking for. For the information and type of employment he sought, he needed to find one of the less reputable areas of town.
Dathan was worldly enough to know that since he wished to deal with those who did not ask too many questions, the most likely part of Karkerech to fit his requirement would be the waterfront. If there was anything one could count on in life, it was that any waterfront district would be littered with disreputable characters.
Karkerech was not a true seaport; the city had grown at the furthest northern point of the Tianna River that small local trading ships could safely navigate. From there, land trade routes spread north throughout Illyria, all the way to the capital city of Kishen. To the north of Karkerech lay Magic Falls, which prevented further travel on the river to all but the smallest craft, and even those would need to be portaged around the falls.
The main trade of Karkerech came from Asturia to the south, primarily from its capital, Akkadia. Trade ships continued south past Asturia as well, all the way down through the fens to the desert lands of the nomadic people of Kemett, and beyond to the distant jungles of Ghandahar. Those voyages were long and dangerous, and trade goods brought back from those exotic lands, such as ivory and cocoa, were quite rare and valuable.
Arriving at the docks, Dathan marveled at the number of ships berthed there. The entire area swarmed with activity, and both dockworkers and sailors hustled to and fro, carrying boxes and hauling freight on small carts pulled both by hand and by pack mule. The cry of gulls migrated from the distant Calddean Sea added to the frenzy, swooping and diving for fish and fighting over scraps found along the wharves.
The last rays of the dying sun reached the crest of the river as he stood there taking in the sights, and the sudden bright reflection momentarily blinded him. Turning his back on the brilliant sunset, Dathan was confronted by a typical, shabby waterfront-style inn. It was neither upscale, nor overly disreputable looking, but prophetically it was named The Wayward Prince. A decrepit sign depicting a worn image of a foppish young man in a crown being chased by an older woman, swung listlessly over the faded red door.
Dathan chuckled over the irony of the name. “If that’s not a bloody omen, I don’t know what is!”
Entering, Dathan found the interior to be plain, dim and shabby, but cleaner than he would have guessed, for which he and his rumbling stomach were both quite thankful. He hated to relinquish any of his precious remaining money, but it was too late to gather anything in the wild and he had used the remainder of his supplies the night before. While it was not always a perfect indicator, a clean inn or tavern generally served better tasting and healthier fare, than the alternative.
The innkeeper was a heavyset, older woman drying her sweaty hands on a stained and voluminous apron. The scowl on her face appeared to be a permanent fixture. The sight of his copper coins only marginally tempered her attitude.
Dathan saw few other patrons in the dim interior. A trio of sailors relaxed at one table, chatting over mugs of ale, and a bald emaciated man sat in the far corner, blowing his nose loudly into a handkerchief. The man was in all black, but quite well dressed, appearing a bit out of place in a waterfront tavern. At the table next to him sat a pair of large fellows, both muscular and unshaven, relaxing back in the shadows and keeping a watch on the room. Dathan sat down at a small well-lit table near the door, away from the other patrons.
Dinner consisted of a watery lamb stew, with overcooked vegetables and a soon-to-be stale piece of bread. Dathan scoffed it down like it was the best meal he ever had. When he was done he pushed back the empty plate, leaned back and belched loudly, earning him an unpleasant look from the stern innkeeper. Dathan winked at her and flashed his best self-effacing grin, before taking a long pull from his ale. He was now almost broke, but patting his stomach, he considered it money well spent.
The front door of the inn swung open abruptly, followed by a strong breeze smelling of fish and seagull. The flame of the tallow candle on his table flickered violently. A woman strode in as if carried by the sudden gust, and when she stepped into the light Dathan saw she was easily one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. From the steely look in her eyes, he did not need to see the worn light leather armor, massive longbow, and full quiver of arrows she wore to know she was also likely to be the most dangerous.
Every eye in the room followed her lithe and graceful form as she sauntered across the room to confront the innkeeper. The obese woman furiously wiped her hands on her dirty apron and her scowl deepened, if such a thing were possible. The dark stranger, with skin like light coffee and cream, confronted her confidently with her hands on her hips.
“I seek two men,” she began, addressing the innkeeper but taking in the entire room with her eyes.
“You are looking for two men,” the innkeeper repeated in a surly voice.
“I said this, yes.” When the innkeeper shrugged noncommittally, she continued. “These two men seek for a thing.”
“That’s us baby,” one of the sailors called out while his companions laughed uproariously. “We’re seeking something over here!”
The warrior scowled at the drunken sailors, but ignored their lewd taunts until the fat woman asked in an impatient voice, “What of it?”
“These men seek object, is named Clavis.”
There was a sudden quiet from the back of the room, but Dathan only had eyes for the mystery woman. She was exotic looking, possibly from the southern desert lands of Kemett, based on her complexion and accent. She had her long dark hair pulled back in a tight Kemettan warrior style ponytail, and there was a fierce look of determination in her eyes.
“I’ve had nobody here like that,” the innkeeper snorted. Her eyes narrowed, and she asked in a doubtful voice, “Are you buyin’ sumthin’ or not?”
The woman gazed about the room with a lost look. “Ae’roya Jost spoke of lost prince. With name of inn…” She trailed off.
His ears perked up at what she said, although Dathan realized it was likely just coincidence. Still, he was certain that it was the duty of a gentleman to aid a damsel in distress; that she was beautiful had absolutely nothing to do with it.
“I might be of assistance,” Dathan said in his most polite voice. “Have a seat.”
The woman looked him up and down, making him feel like a horse being thoroughly checked over before purchase. After considering for a moment, she nodded. “You are cute. I will sit.”
He ordered two more ales from the scowling innkeeper, who made him pay first. After she waddled away, he sat back down. The warrior continued to stare at him speculatively, but said nothing more, so Dathan broke the silence.
He leaned in towards her and spoke in a soft voice. “Tell me about this lost prince you ar
e looking for.”
She waited to speak until the innkeeper had finished delivering the ale. “I am on Ae’roya Jost. You know of this?”
Dathan shook his head. “What’s a bloody Ae’roya Jost?”
The woman sighed. “They teach you nothing in north. In Kemett, where I from, shaman choose young ones for Ae’roya Jost. This mean ‘dream journey’ in your speech. Not all young, only special ones. Ae’roya Jost tell special ones where to go, what to do. Most is not difficult…things to help our people.”
Dathan took a sip of his ale. “I thought you looked like a bloody Kemettan, or from somewhere to the south.”
“Why you say I am ‘bloody’?” she asked in a confused voice.
“Uh, just a figure of speech,” Dathan replied, looking embarrassed. “Anyway, this bloody ‘dream journey’ must not be easy; you are a long bloody way from home.”
The Key of Creation: Book 02 - Journey to Khodara Page 1
