The Ambersham: Book One of The Lords Of Lynnwood

by Greg Ricker

  Nolin was very young when he had found a mastok pup while hunting with his father, and if not for his persistent pleading, his father would have left it alone, to die. Many Dwarves had tried to raise lost mastok puppies, and most gave up after the first bite.

  None, however, had managed to breed them, as Nolin had. In time, he even proved them to very useful for both personal, and military use. They were a great help for controlling farm animals, or acting as security guards in the town shops. Being a soldier had helped him to introduce them to the Bowenn army, and soon, they were accepted throughout the kingdom.

  Four heavily muscled mastoks sat motionless, as a Dwarf entered the fence through a back door in the stable. He was wearing shabby clothes, and a large metal tray on his belly for armor. He carried a heavy mace in one hand, and an old beaten shield in the other.

  He purposely resembled an Orc.

  "We're just in time for a sample of their skills, my Lord." Informed Nolin, excitedly.

  "Vorn!" At the disguised Dwarf's command, the mastok stepped forward. He did not hesitate to swing the mace at the dog, and Vorn was quick to duck under the passing weapon and jump, but the Dwarf's shield met his flight, knocking the dog back.

  Vorn landed gracefully, and when the mace passed again, he went for the man's ankles, and was successful at tripping him. Then he landed on the Dwarf's chest, teeth in a snarl.

  "Goda!" The Dwarf shouted, and the mastok quickly returned to his place in line.

  "Nice try Baldor!" Nolin laughed.

  The Dwarf in the fence turned to see former-Commander Muldayr standing beside the King, and he saluted instantly, mostly because of Nerol.

  "Please, continue." Said Nerol, anxious to see the others in action.

  "Damar!" Called Baldor.

  The next mastok walked out from the line slowly, stepping left to right, awaiting the first move. Then he decided to attack before his opponent. Although Baldor did not have time to swing his mace, he did have time to crouch behind his shield. Damar landed on top of the Dwarf, trying desperately to claw and bite through the shield.

  Moments later, the dog stepped back, as if to start over, and before Baldor could get more than one leg up off of the ground, the mastok was on top of him again. The mace flew free from his hand, and he was left helpless behind his shield. Merely delaying certain death.

  "Goda!" Baldor shouted, and Damar jumped back in line. He took a minute to adjust his disguise, retrieve his weapon, and prepare for the next battle. Then he called the next name.

  ¨Tharr!¨

  "Ah, Tharr!" Nolin repeated. "He is very good."

  Nerol was quite amused already. He watched eagerly.

  Tharr was the tallest of the four mastoks, and he stepped on heavy paws until he was in front of the Dwarf, then it took on a floating graciousness. Instead of watching his opponent for a sign of attack, he made Baldor watch him, and wonder. The mastok lightly walked in circles around his opponent. Growing impatient - as an Orc would - Baldor swung the mace, and Tharr jumped over it, taking the Dwarf's arm in his jaws. Then with great power he smashed his opponent to the ground.

  "Goda! Goda!"

  Tharr released his grip, and slowly returned to the line.

  "Very well done!" Nerol was applauding, and Nolin joined him. "Most impressive."

  "They're the best." Nolin was obviously proud, and had the right to be so.

  Baldor picked up his mace, and wiped off some of the dust on his disguise. He then wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of the same hand, and wished he had reversed his actions. His face was now filthy. After a moment of rest, and a long series of deep breaths, he called for the last in line.

  ¨Bayn!¨

  Bayn was Nolin's favorite, and needed no introduction to the King. The mastok was not only obviously larger muscled, but was also well known throughout the kingdom for his intelligence. Bayn was the oldest, and the best. The other dogs watched with respect, as their leader approached the Dwarf in the Orc disguise. His short, coarse fur was grizzled with gray hair, but his eyes were still young, and fiery.

  He could still create fear, wherever he wished.

  Baldor faced the mastok for a moment, his mace in front of him. He would never win a staring match with Bayn. He did not believe he would beat him, either, but he had to think like an Orc during these practices.

  Like a fool, who did not know the deadly animal he faced.

  Baldor swung the mace, aiming it right for the mastok's skull.

  Bayn caught the mace in his jaws, and ripped the weapon free. Baldor's eyes bulged, as Bayn jumped suddenly, and caught the Dwarf's throat in his teeth.

  "Goda! Bayn! Goda!" Baldor could hardly say the words as he was thrown into the fence at the King's feet.

  Bayn returned to the line.

  "Are you alright, soldier?" Nerol asked.

  The fallen Dwarf pulled himself up, and saluted the King. "Fine, my Lord."

  "I like what I see, Nolin." Nerol shook the former-Commander's hand.

  "Thank you, sire." The performance went just as Nolin had expected.

  The castle gardens were far more beautiful than Kaylel had ever imagined. When she had seen them yesterday, she promised herself that she would see more of them this morning. She wore her Herbearer's uniform, and had tied her hair into a tight bun. She felt like a student again, walking the castle grounds.

  Flowers and blooming shrubs lined both sides of the cobblestone path. In various places throughout, stood statues, fountains, and painted benches.

  It was a small piece of paradise, she believed.

  The path Kaylel walked, merged into another going left and right. She chose right, because of the first statue that she saw in that direction. It was of a half man, half horse creature, carved from white marble, with green and brown veins bleeding through it. It had the upper body of a very human-like man, and the lower body of a stout horse, which she found quite odd, but equally as fascinating. She then noticed the inscription on its square base.

  For The Mighty King Skerrit, of the Centaurs. May his deeds inspire, and may the brave souls of his people run beside us, forever.

  Kaylel could not help but assume that this was a race of being that no longer existed, for some reason.

  After more flowers and shrubs, she stopped to look at a lovely fountain. Two large stone fish, standing on their tails, spit water a dozen feet into the air, then down into the pool below, where live fish swam about. The Lily pads resting on the water were covered with magnificent blooms.

  Kaylel smiled, as the mottled fish approached her feet. They expected her to drop some bits of food for them, but her pockets were empty.

  Turning from the fountain, she then noticed something most surprising, a large patch of thorned morning flowers. Their red and white blooms were open now, but would close within the hour, to wait for another sunrise. One petal from those blooms, in a cup of hot water with honey, was the best of all morning beverages for waking up, and feeling ready for the day. She had tasted thorned morning flower several times, but had only seen the flower itself, in pictures.

  She had to have one.

  Kaylel walked over to them, and bent over to touch the leaves. They were thick leaves, with sharp, jagged edges. The thorns on its stem were short, but would draw blood if handled too roughly. Looking to both her left and right, she decided to take some. From a collection of so many, no one would miss a petal or two.

  Or three...

  "Kaylel."

  She jerked the whole bloom from the flower she held, at the mention of her name, as the feeling of getting caught with the evidence in her hand made her jump. She hid the flower behind her back, and turned to see Danuel, approaching her. How she had missed seeing him, she did not know.

  She could have popped him between the eyes, the way he had frightened her.

  "Good morning, Lord Talbarond." She saw the look in his eyes, but he did give the order to properly address each other while in Mynnorah.

  Kaylel k
new it was okay to be less formal, in private.

  She dared not say, how less formal Wade Levin could be.

  "It's so beautiful here, Danuel." She said with a smile. A smile the prince thought was more beautiful than any garden. "I was told that Dwarves could make great things with stone, but I had no idea that they created treasures like these. Have you ever been here before?"

  Staring at her, Danuel almost missed the question.

  "No." He replied. "My father had promised to bring me here, on my twentieth birthday, but Lord Blanford sent a message before then, instructing his friends, to stay away from here. Temporarily. Until now, I did not know why."

  He paused, and Kaylel saw the sadness in his eyes then. "Now I'm here, and..."

  Danuel did not finish. He quickly walked to a nearby bench and sat down. There were many wooden benches about, but this one was stone, with a wooden arch overhead that held flowered vines along its length.

  He did not sit in the middle, though, and Kaylel saw that as an invitation to join him. She did so, very slowly, and looking at him, so sad, and so angry, she found it hard to say anything. Instead, she bit her bottom lip, and waited for him to speak.

  Danuel looked at her then, and started to laugh.

  Kaylel's eyes nearly popped out of her head. What was he laughing about?

  "All my life I remember you doing that." He said, and his eyes went to her mouth.

  Turning red, Kaylel released her lip. "I'm not about to sit here and be laughed at."

  She huffed, and began to stand.

  Danuel, however, grabbed her shoulder, and held her to the bench seat. Gently.

  "I'm sorry, Kaylel." His soft tone was convincing enough. "I guess I'm not being myself, lately."

  "I think you're as pestering as ever, Danuel Talbarond." Was her response. When she smiled, he could not help but do the same. Then she was staring at him. She pulled her eyes away to look at the gardens. Somehow, her feelings for him did not bother her so much anymore. It was just that anyone else, with the same good looks, and high opinion of self-importance, would have received a punch in the nose from her, long ago.

  It was different, with Danuel. She could forgive him of anything. Even when he, and his friends, would play practical jokes on the young girls in the castle, she could not stay angry at him for long. It always seemed, that when she needed a shoulder to lean on, Danuel was there for her.

  Every time.

  That did not make it less fun to pester him, fortunately.

  Danuel rather enjoyed her not treating him like a prince all the time. Most girls just wanted to serve him something, or maybe find him drunk enough to fall into a wedding trap. He had managed to keep himself far from the vows of marriage, despite a few nights away from his own bed.

  They heard a guard's heavy boots walking towards them on the cobblestones. They shied from each other then, the same way they always did, when someone walked by them in the castle back home. They felt like teenagers again. It was a good feeling, even if it only lasted for a short moment.

  The guard bowed, and bid them good morning as he passed.

  "I must be going." Said Danuel, suddenly. Was that a bit of disappointment he saw on her face? "I have a lot to do today."

  He stood, and Kaylel followed.

  "I had better go too." The only event on her schedule for the day would be later, when she would have tea with the Queen. That could hardly fill her day, though.

  She hoped not.

  "Be careful, Kaylel." He kissed her cheek, for the first time ever, and Kaylel even leaned forward to accept it. "I hope to run into you this evening, perhaps."

  "I would like that, Danuel." She replied.

  She would like that, very much.

  He walked away, without looking back.

  The prince was right. He was not being himself, at all.

  No.

  Now, Kaylel thought, he was a much better man.

  Lanum Cree finished his breakfast of ham, eggs, bread, and beer, and left the One-Eyed Archer. He preferred the food prepared in the castle kitchen, over the slop in town, but who knew what affairs were taking place inside those stone walls this morning? With the Bowenn army about, and all. He was not stepping one foot inside of the castle until the armies departed, tomorrow. Then no one would question his presence so thoroughly.

  He could not take that again.

  He had simply left Traft's letter on one of the kitchen counters and left, without so much as a hot roll to eat.

  Hands in the pockets of his red coat, he made his way along the sidewalk, passing a few Dwarves also just starting their day. Some met his studying glances, and some did not.

  He knew all of their names.

  He knew which ones were members of the Advancement, and those who were not.

  Lanum´s passion for their cause, had grown into an obsession. Having spent his entire life as a close friend of Traft's, he felt equally as concerned about what Mynnorah was becoming. His ability to go in and out of the castle at will, was also a very useful tool for the Advancement. He knew that was not the bond of their friendship. For Lanum, it was because he would never forget what Traft had done, that had changed his life, forever.

  Traft Lilsyn, had saved it.

  The accident, itself, could not have been avoided, and the long scar on his head, was something else Lanum would never forget. He was just a small lad, when he ran out in front of an oncoming horse and wagon. The horse had kicked him square on the head, but luckily, Traft had pulled him away before the wagon ran him over. The driver, however, had been less fortunate. The sudden halt, sent him rolling from his seat. Cracking his ribs on the road below, and puncturing a lung, had been the cause of his death.

  Lanum had accepted the blame, and lived with it.

  Shamefully.

  Turning around the corner of a local smithy, and whistling for all to hear, he spotted Traft, making his way hastily across the street, carrying something under his arm.

  "Traft!" He shouted, and he decided to lower his voice, when he saw his friend look around.

  Traft had been trying to hurry home, without attracting attention to himself. Lanum, unfortunately, had a bad habit of ruining that for him. He would forgive him, though, as always, and be his polite self. He had been playing with Lanum, at the time of the accident. He had thrown the ball that Lanum had chased after into the street.

  He would never forget that day, either.

  He hid his sigh well, but Traft really had no intention of talking in the street this morning. He had his day well planned, and could not allow any interruptions. The King was departing tomorrow, and his work had to be completed, before then.

  "Good morning, Lanum." His greeting even sounded heartfelt.

  "How is the Lady?" Lanum asked, being more polite, than concerned.

  "Jesmane is fine." Traft replied. He had to shift the items he held, or something would have fallen for sure.

  Lanum had already examined the contents of his friend's hands and arms. He appeared, to have just purchased a new quill pen and ink jar, as well as a large white candle, and a long scroll of blank paper. It was the items needed, to write his next letter. Only this was to be much greater than any letter he had ever written. Nothing to be found folded up in some cook´s pocket.

  He would help, as usual, with Traft´s attempts at a peaceful compromise, if there could ever be one. His hopes, at a point, had started to vanish also, but the Advancement was larger than ever, and some of the streets in town had been improved. Perhaps it was easier, when fellow members owned many of the businesses in town. They could not rush things, and still be careful, but they could not hesitate either, and let Mynnorah sink neck deep in filth.

  "Can I help you with something, Lanum?" Asked Traft, shifting the items once again.

  With a start, Lanum removed his eyes from the writing supplies, and removed his hat, as well.

  Traft was always reminded of the accident when he saw the scar parting Lanum's hair, but he had be
come quite used to the man removing his hat before speaking.

  Twisting it, however, was a newly acquired, nervous habit.

  "I delivered the letter," Lanum was looking around, wary of who was listening, for once, "but I fear to enter the castle again, for a day or two. The guards are getting touchy, as of late. I had to leave it in the kitchen, this time."

  "There are, other ways." Traft did not yet know one, but he trusted Lanum could figure it out.

  ¨Then you do your thing,¨ started Lanum, smiling, ¨and I'll do mine.¨

  "Good." Traft returned the smile. Again, he had to shift the load. "I am sorry, Lanum, but I must get these things home. I have a great deal of work to do."

  Bowing his head, Lanum slapped his hat back on. "No. I am sorry. Please, do not let me keep you."

  "Good day, Lanum." Traft quickly walked away. He hated unnecessary interruptions.

  Especially with members in public.

  Lanum would be busy also.

  He had a murder to solve.

  XVI

  Games

  Taking a deep breath, Danuel waited for one of the castle guards to open the tall, ancient door to the Council Room. He straightened himself a bit before entering, and prayed for his father's aid. If only Nall could be standing next to him right then…

  That would not happen.

  He wondered if Nall would approve of his actions. What would his father have done?

  He knew the answer immediately.

  The Bowenn Generals would never have betrayed Nall.

  Upon entering, everyone inside stood from their chairs, their hands flat on the table, which was some kind of traditional greeting to the council members. All were present, and waiting for his arrival. It was a small, but mighty, loyal, and unbroken coalition.

  Danuel could not help but believe he was tardy, though he was there minutes earlier than the King's appointed time. An empty, cushioned, and gilded redwood chair across the table from King Blanford would be his. General Curic Montclaire was seated next to it. The left side, belonged to Lord General Carmon Blayke, and Loren Gabol, and the right, to former-General Haln VanDoole, and former-Commander Nolin Muldayr. They all smiled, but only Nerol's appeared genuine.