Contents
Title
Author Notes
Dedication
Map
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Thank You
The Warden
and the
Shadow Queen
By
Paul Summerhayes
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Paul Summerhayes
All rights reserved.
Books in the Warden Saga:
1. The King’s Warden
2. The Warden’s Sword
3. The Warden and the Shadow Queen
Subscribe to Paul’s no spam newsletter and download a free book:
http://www.paulsummerhayes.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/PWSummerhayes
This book is dedicated to all readers of fantasy stories.
You are awesome!
Chapter 1
Year 847
(15 years ago)
Several loud bangs on a solid door rang out across the still night. The thumping awakened a neighbourhood dog and it barked at the disturbance. The night was cold and none of the locals were keen to investigate, but who could blame them? The banging wasn’t on their doors and therefore it wasn’t their business. And it was cold, after all.
It was different for the old nuns at Saint Tabitha’s Orphanage. They were used to the occasional nightly interruption as many of their young wards arrived under the cover of darkness. Locals, poor and down on their luck, left their unwanted offspring on the orphanage’s stone steps, often wrapped in a thin blanket or a dirty rag. And it was always in the dead of night. The darkness made it easier for the parents to abandon their starving babies, and it also hid their shame.
The old nun’s bones creaked as she swung her legs out of bed and onto the cold floor. She bent down, feeling for her slippers. She didn’t need a light as she had lived in this room for the last thirty years, and everything was always where she put it. But not tonight. Her hand groped for her fur-lined shoes and after several moments of searching she found them, wondering why she had left them at the head of the bed instead of the foot. This had been her habit for as long as she could remember.
“You have finally lost your marbles,” she muttered to herself.
The old grey-haired nun pulled her slippers on her dry, cracked feet and with the aid of the bed’s frame, she stood. Several more knocks on the front door told of the visitor’s impatience. Most just knocked and ran. This parent wanted to make sure that their abandoned child was not left out in the cold. On a night like tonight, a baby would not survive long.
That’s nice for a change, thought the old nun.
She fumbled in the dark, lighting a candle on the small table beside her bed and then pulled a plain knitted shawl around her stooped shoulders. The old nun opened her bedroom door and it creaked in protest, almost as loud as her own bones. With the candle in hand, she headed toward the orphanage’s front door.
When she first arrived here thirty years ago, the large draughty building was a nunnery, but over the years the church had fallen on hard times and the nunnery closed. Donations from a rich patron kept their work going, and ten years ago it was converted to an orphanage. From that day on they had attended to Raknot’s unwanted children. It made her proud to be doing her god’s work.
Snores came from the bedroom next to hers as she padded down the long, dark corridor. She chuckled, that woman could sleep through anything. As was her habit, she looked in on her young wards. They slept soundly in the long dorm room, it had once been the nunnery’s meal hall. She closed the dorm room door and continued to the entrance.
At the sturdy front door, she reached for the lock and the visitor banged again, causing her to jump in fright. Don’t be silly, she thought nervously, it’s only one of god’s children in need of your love. Her wrinkled old hand touched the lock and slid back the bolt, her hand shaking. I’m getting too old for this.
Two dark shapes stood in the door, barely illuminated by her candle. The closest person threw back his hood and smiled at her. He was that nice young man, she thought. Now what was his name?
“Aren’t you going to invite us in, Grandma?” the man said with a knowing grin.
She stood aside and opened the door further. The pair strolled inside casually. The young man looked around. “I like what you are doing with the place,” he said with a hint of mischief. His bulking companion closed the door and remained hooded and silent.
“What do you boys want?” she asked, her voice quivered slightly and she hoped that they didn’t notice. Something frightened her, but she didn’t know what. “Do you have a child for me?”
“No, Grandma. No deposits tonight,” he replied. “But I need to make a withdrawal.”
“What?” She was confused. “This is not a bank...”
“Relax, Grandma. I know.” He took a few steps down the corridor. His silent friend remained stationary beside the door.
“You can’t go down there. My children are sleeping.” She placed an old wrinkled hand on his arm to stop him.
He looked down at her frail hand and smiled. “I don’t think so,” he said and the large man grabbed her from behind. In fright, she dropped the candle and it rolled a short distance but didn’t go out.
The old nun gave a little weak cry as the man’s grip was strong and painful. “You’re hurting me,” she pleaded.
“That’s a shame. Now, where are the children?” The young man took another step. “Down here?”
“No. You can’t take my babies!”
“My employer pays for all this and he can do what he wants.” His voice was now threatening. “And he wants a child, and not just any child. Bring her.”
The man walked to the dorm door, opened it and strolled into the room like he owned the place. She started to scream, but the large man clamped a rough hand over her mouth. In the candlelight, she could see that the hand was not human. His skin was rough, leathery, and the fingers ended in long, thick nails. In shear fright, the old nun fainted and went limp in her captor’s arms.
“I think she died,” said the hulking man.
“She’s just fainted, you imbecile. Drop her and help me find this child.”
The large man dropped the nun with no concern for her wellbeing. Her head whacked hard against the floor with a sickening crunch.
“Give me that candle,” said the man and the hulking man complied.
Inside the dorm, the two intruders could just make out the shapes of thirty beds in two neat rows. The beds contained the shapes of sleeping children. They didn’t stir.
“Which
one is she?” asked the man. “Cast your bones.”
The hulking man lowered his hood to reveal a large ugly face, dominated by a large jaw containing big yellow stained teeth. His face was painted bright blue, but the rest of his skin was a dirty brown colour. Metal rings pierced his nose and one ear. He was an orc, not a race normally seen in human settlements.
The orc produced a small hessian bag from under his cloak and poured its contents onto his palm. The man held the candle close as the orc shook the small contents in his cupped hands, like he was rolling dice. He crouched and lightly rolled the small bones and teeth across the floor. The orc shaman studied the bones, looking for familiar patterns.
After only a short time, the man became impatient. “Well?”
The orc didn’t respond.
“Anything?”
“She’s not here,” the orc said slowly.
“What?”
“She has gone.”
“I left her here one year ago. Where could she go?” said the man. “She’s only a baby.” The big orc shrugged. The man looked doubtfully at his big companion. “Cast the bones again. She must be here.”
The orc scooped up the bones, shook them and cast them onto the floor again. He studied them for a few long moments, turning his large head one way, then the other. All the while, the man looked on impatiently, hoping for the answer he wanted to hear.
“She’s still not here,” said the orc.
The man stiffened, he was quick to anger and he raised a hand to strike the orc, but thought better of it. “Let’s light the lamps. Lock the door. I want to check every child in this place. The master said she had a small birthmark on her left shoulder. Let’s check.”
The man lit several oil lamps that hung from wall hooks around the room. The orc closed the door and stood in front of it. No one would leave.
With the lamps now casting a yellow light across the room, several of the older children stirred. “What’s wrong?” said one child. “Nanny, is that you?” said another.
“Hush now, children, it’s just Uncle Wolfie,” said the man, trying to smile. “I am just looking for someone.”
The children had no idea what was happening, and the sight of the blue-faced orc was every child’s nightmare come true. They screamed. First one child, and then the rest joined in.
“Now see what you’ve done,” said Wolfgang, speaking louder to be heard over the terrified children.
“Sorry, boss.”
“You hold them, and I’ll check their shoulders.”
Chapter 2
Year 862
Anna’s head spun as she lifted it too fast from the straw mattress. She heard voices again, voices in the walls and the floor. But looking around, she was alone in a small stone cell.
Was her mind going? Or was it someone nearby?
It was late afternoon. The light shone weakly through a barred window high above and shadows had started to form in the room’s corners. The lightest of breezes drifted down to her and she caught the faint smell of salt. It wasn’t strong enough to improve the prison’s offensive smell. The room was only three yards square, filthy and it stunk of rodents. She couldn’t remember how long she had been there as every moment weighed heavily on her and ground her down.
Anna’s consciousness drifted in and out as her drugged stupor wore off. She saw no one except the jailer and only when she was awake. He was a thin old man with thick grey eyebrows and he never made any eye contact. Once a day, he would leave a bowl of gruel on the floor and always left without a word, regardless of how often she pleaded with him. Sometimes, she woke and the bowl was already on the floor and the local rats would be feasting on it! She almost hated them as much as she hated the master.
Anna glanced down and in a rare moment of clarity, she could see the cuts on the insides of both her arms. That was where the master stole her blood for his potions. The insane necromaster was creating an army of undead to overthrow his cousin, the king. And he was using her blood to do it.
Laying on the straw mattress, she reached for the wooden bowl near the cell’s door and the silver chains rattled on her wrists. Her hands were shackled with what looked like pure silver, giving her limited movement. A short rusty chain was also attached to one of her ankles and the other end was secured in the stone wall. Why the master went to this level of security was beyond her cloudy brain. Drugged, locked in a cell and chained. Why?
Anna’s blurry vision tried to make out what the jailer had left for her to eat. Whatever it was, it was a dark colour and smelt odd. As she brought the bowl to her face, something jumped out of it and ran over her shoulder and down her back. Its small claws dug into her flesh, leaving small scratches in the creature’s wake. She wanted to scream, but no sound came.
Anna collapsed back onto the dirty mattress and for once she was grateful that her mind was drifting back into unconsciousness. This was too much to bear. But before the darkness overwhelmed her, she swore that she heard someone calling her name. It was probably just the wind.
Chapter 3
The moon shone down on a small, sharp-featured creature. It was a goblin with pointed ears and a long thin nose. He muttered to himself as he tried to keep himself afloat in the dark water. Some goblins could swim, but not all of them. This one couldn’t swim, in fact he hated the water. This was the first time in his short life that he had gotten completely submerged and he didn’t like it one bit.
His small clawed hands clung tightly onto an old wooden beam which he found at the high tide mark along the shore line. It might have come from any one of the many ships that were anchored in Rulle’s vast harbour. Against his better judgment, he had dragged the waterlogged wood to the water’s edge and after arguing with himself, he pushed it into the water. After a moment’s hesitation, he jumped in and used it to keep himself afloat.
“Yeesss, lord,” he muttered in his high-pitched voice. His voice was never designed to speak. Goblins communicated with squeaks, clicks and cackling sounds, all except this one. He could speak. How? It was not through any natural means. His voice was given to him by magic and by someone he couldn’t easily refuse.
He clung to the wood and kicked his feet. Water splashed into his mouth and he swallowed several mouthfuls before he worked out that he needed to keep his mouth closed. Goblins were not the brightest. Even if the night was moonless, his large eyes would have assisted him in his journey across the harbour. Goblins could see in almost total darkness, making them an efficient predator.
After some time, the goblin’s legs felt heavy. He was not used to swimming and he found it tiresome and wet. The goblin longed to be back in his native forest, hunting young rabbits, but he had been given a task and he dared not refuse.
“Yeesss, lord,” he said to the night sky. “Flea will help the missstresss...”
Chapter 4
Three grim people sat at a table in a tavern not far from the wharf. In any other place in Rulle, two tall, thin eldons and an armoured dwarf would have stood out, but not here. The place was packed with rowdy patrons drinking away their money and pushing and shoving and casting insults. They were mainly sailors and labourers and it was a miracle that a fight hadn’t broken out.
The air was tense with the promise of drunken violence, but no one hassled or ventured near the three seated at a corner table. A casual glance at the bearded dwarf’s axe would convince anyone that they were not to be disturbed. They were in deep conversation and appeared oblivious to the noise around them.
“All we need is twenty good dwarves to storm the master’s castle,” said Karok. The dwarf placed his empty mug on the table.
“And where do we acquire twenty good dwarves?” said Severus, the oldest of the eldon. His thin, scarred face showed no emotions.
“If there are any in this city, we’ll find them in a tavern.”
“We don’t have time for tavern hopping. We need to rescue Anna,” said Finn, the youngest of the three and Severus’s son. He was a good eldon, alth
ough at times impatient.
“I have secured a small boat to take us across the harbour to the master’s island,” said Severus. “But it won’t be large enough to transport too many.”
“How many?” asked Finn.
“Six. Maybe eight at a squeeze.”
“That’s not enough men,” replied Finn.
“The rumour is the master has a hundred guards on that island,” said Severus. “And who knows how many zombies he has created...”
“If we don’t have the numbers to storm the castle, what about a more stealthy approach?” said Finn.
“We could hide aboard a supply boat and then sneak in and find Anna,” replied Severus.
“Hide, sneak? These are not terms that a dwarf is familiar with,” stated Karok seriously.
“Sneaking may be our only chance of rescuing Anna,” said Severus. “In my profession, I’ve found that the direct path is not always the easiest.”
“It’s worth a try.” Finn watched a group of drunken sailors getting a little too vocal. “But how will we know which ship is supplying the master?”
“We’ll wander the wharf and taverns and listen to people talk,” said Severus. “Someone will know something.”
“Taverns?” The dwarf’s interest piqued.
Severus shook his head, but Finn smiled. The dwarf was starting to grow on him.
The next morning, the three split up to cover the city quicker. Severus would ask his contacts in the underground and against their better judgment, Karok would enquire in the many taverns scattered throughout the wharf district. That left Finn to cover the docks themselves. He was suspicious that his father had given him the least hazardous task. He was happy to be doing something and keeping his mind from worrying about Anna just across the harbour.
The Warden and the Shadow Queen: The Warden Saga Book 3 Page 1
