by Adam Collins
STOLEN
Bloodthorn Series
Book One
Adam Collins
Copyright © 2014 Adam Collins
All rights reserved.
Dedicated, with love, to my family.
Cover Art by: http://thepockyfox.deviantart.com/?rnrd=118588
Table of Contents
Prologue
Ch 1 Revenge
Ch 2 Stolen
Ch 3 Treason
Ch 4 From Bad to Worse
Ch 5 Old Friends
Ch 6 Dark Deeds
Ch 7 A High Cost
Ch 8 Order Restored
Ch 9 Dark Emissary
Ch 10 Hidden Dangers
Ch 11 Ruby Red Wine
Ch 12 Instruction
Ch 13 Sanctuary
Ch 14 Eastgate
Ch 15 Hard Lessons
Ch 16 Swamp Fever
Ch 17 Saved by the Devil
Ch 18 Briefing
Ch 19 Ash
Ch 20 Ransom
Ch 21 The Smell of Death
Ch 22 Bal-Karesh
Ch 23 Making a Stand
Ch 24 Password
Ch 25 Lost Memories
Ch 26 Divide and Conquer
Ch 27 A Delightful Diversion
Prologue
Amberlay stopped the horse and stared back at the mountains. Flashes of light flared and died in testament to the desperate fight taking place. Artatan her love and Grifwen the dwarf mage stood alone in the pass holding back the Karesh search party, giving her the time needed to escape.
Tears flowed down her cheeks. She would have been by his side at the end but for the babe kicking wildly in her womb. The Benteer Mountains of Northern Jarro were cold even in Summer. It was now mid-Winter. Snow covered the peaks and passes between, magnifying the moonlight, lending the dark a gentler twilight hue. She spurred the horse on. After an hour, the pass opened onto the lower reaches of the mountain from where she could see for many miles out into the flat grasslands of the Northern Plain. All was still and dark. A pinprick of light miles away, the only sign of habitation.
The muscles of her lower back and groin contracted. She gripped the horse's mane and gasped for breath. At length the pain passed and she continued. The flashes on the mountain top were growing dimmer. His strength was ebbing. She knew it would not be long. There was little hope of concealing her tracks in the deep snow, her only hope now lay in finding sanctuary. The Karesh were relentless. They had tracked them from Timberland North, and all the many miles between, to this lonely and desolate place. Untiring, ruthless, remorseless, killers in league with the enemy of all. They would show little mercy.
The horse was at the last of his strength. Leaning forward she placed her hands on the sides of his neck. A gentle light flowed refreshing and energising tired muscles, sore limbs. He leapt forward renewed his strength replenished. The light of the dwelling was closer though still far off. There was a last flash of light high up in the pass.
With head hung low, she urged the horse onward, away from the mountains, and away from Artatan. The pains returned with vigour, pulsing, squeezing, robbing her of breath. Sweat trickled down brow and back, she felt no cold. Away from the slopes, the snow dept lessened and she hurried the horse to a trot. The pains were regular and strong. She was running out of time.
The convent rested peacefully in the solitude of the northern hills. The sisters were self reliant, their lives dedicated to prayer and inner contemplation. Mother Superior Thronso was at her desk finishing a letter to the head of the order. It was very late. The rest of the nuns were fast asleep in their beds. Loud banging at the main door startled her. Picking up a candle, she rose from her seat and walked out into the dark cold hallway outside her office door. More urgent banging followed. She arrived at the door just as two other nuns appeared from their cells.
Sister Magilla looked frightened, 'Whoever could that be at this late hour, Mother?' She was wide eyed and her hands were up to her cheeks.
'There's only one way to find out, Sister. Open the door!' ordered the Mother Superior.
'But, Mother, what if it's a beast, or worse?'
'Beasts don't knock at doors, child. Now open it and let's have a look at this late night caller!'
Magilla pulled back the bolt and eased the door open. Amberlay fell onto the stone floor of the hall. She was curled into a ball, having strong contractions. The veins of her neck bulged and her face was a deep red. Magilla screamed as Amberlay suddenly appeared at her feet.
'Hush, Sister!' admonished the Mother Superior, 'Can't you see that it's a woman. And in the last stages of labour by the look of her. Quickly now help me bring her into your cell.'
The two nuns helped Amberlay into the warm bed that Magilla had only recently vacated.
The Mother Superior turned to the second nun, 'Sister Odetta! Go wake, Sister Freena, and tell her we need her expertise. Then bring hot water and towels. Go now, quickly!' She ushered the young nun out of the room and closed the door.
Magilla was standing awkwardly to one side fidgeting with her hands.
'Don't just stand there like a nincompoop, Sister. Get some drinking water!' ordered Mother Thronso.
Magilla jumped, then nodded, and opened the door to leave.
'And bring a big basin while you are at it! And bars of soap! she called after Magilla's retreating back.
Amberlay was grunting and gasping for air.
Mother Thronso knelt beside the bed and rubbed her forehead. 'Easy, child, you will be okay now. Everything will be just fine.'
Sister Freena burst through the door. She was a heavy nun of middling years and well used to tending the sick and delivering babies in the small villages of the district. 'I came as soon as I was told, Mother,' she blustered, 'how much time is there between contractions?'
'About two minutes, Sister.'
'Then she is almost ready,' Freena pulled back the blankets covering Amberlay.
Three hours later a baby's cry echoed through the halls of the old nunnery. The Mother Superior cleaned the child as Sister Freena tended to the patient. Amberlay smiled as the boy was placed in her arms. She kissed his head and her tears flowed.
'Congratulations, my dear, you have a healthy son. Have you chosen a name?' asked Mother Thronso.
'Yes…Brinn. After his grandfather,' Amberlay stroked his wispy black hair. Her tears dropped down onto the baby's face making him blink and turn away.
'And what of the father, my dear. Who is it we should contact?'
Amberlay looked up at the faces of the smiling nuns. Magilla was cooing at the baby and Freena was pouring a glass of water for her to drink. 'I can't thank you all enough for what you have done to help me.'
The nuns all smiled and nodded.
'Please don't be offended. I would like to speak to Mother Thronso alone.'
The two nuns simply straightened and inclined their heads in acceptance before leaving the two women alone.
Amberlay looked down at her son's face. His eyes were dark brown, almost black, just like Artatan, but his hair was like her's, raven black. 'I'm afraid that I have placed you all in great danger, Mother.'
The old nun's face became serious, 'How so, child?'
'Creatures of the dark, even now, track me here to this place. They will show little restraint if they arrive and find me here.
'Our walls and doors are strong and will not easily be breached.'
'Your doors will not be a hindrance to those that follow. They will smite them in a trice. I must leave your midst immediately.'
'You are in no condition to travel! And what of the newborn? He will not survive the cold.'
Amberlay hugged Brinn close to her and kissed his head again. Fresh tears dropped, 'Will you take him into your care, Mother? I wo
uldn't ask if I was not at my last. Whence I go he cannot travel.'
'Is there no other way, child? What of the baby's father?'
'Dead upon the mountain, his head, a trophy, hanging from a Karesh saddle.'
The old nun sat back on her haunches for a moment, 'I would argue, but I see the truth of your words in your eyes. I am sorry for your pain. I will protect your babe as if he were my very own.'
Amberlay's body shook as she sobbed, 'Thank you, Mother.'
Amberlay retrieved her saddlebags and gave the old nun two bags of gold coin of unknown mint. Then she donned her armour. Belted on her sword. Strapped a quiver of arrows to her back, and held a bow in her left hand. She was transformed. A warrior's steel shone in her eyes.
'I go now, Mother, but I will not return. Love him as I would have.'
The Mother Superior held Brinn in her arms.
Amberlay took a strange gold medallion of a crouching panther from her bags and placed it inside the baby's blanket. 'For when he comes of age.'
'I understand. He will be safe have no fear.'
'There's one thing more that you must do, Mother.'
'By all means, child, speak it.'
'They will smell my scent upon his skin and come here. You must bring him into your deepest cellar and surround him with herbs and strong smelling flowers. Thorn-Root would be best. They cannot abide its fragrance.'
'I will see to it.'
Amberlay bent down and kissed her son one last time. Then sprang up into her saddle, 'I will lead them a merry dance and extract a heavy price before I am done.'
'Go with the blessings of the gods, child. I hope we will meet again.'
'Not in this life, Mother.' She turned the horse and rode out of the courtyard and into the hills and never returned.
Over the following weeks farmers found grave-mounds all along the route, she had taken. Some were opened. They contained the bodies of foul looking wicked creatures never before seen in the lands of Jarro. But Amberlay was never seen again.
High up on the mountain a Karesh Chieftain lead what was left of his company back across the Benteer Pass. Tied to his saddle were three heads. One was a dwarf, the others were not. The young lovers were together again.
Chapter 1. Revenge
Lord Darrik's Fortress
Year 540 Mur-ro.
The walls of the Keep were a miserably cold and lonely place to be. Especially at night when every shadow and dark corner warned of hidden dangers. Drizzly rain swept up and down the walkway swirling and twisting in the wind until it seemed to come from every direction at once.
Gaf hated sentry duty. He hated it with every fibre of his sinewy old body. He had been in Lord Darrik's employ for ten years and before that an infantryman for the King. His many battle wounds had long healed leaving ragged scars. Little badges of honour each with its own story.
Stories that grew in magnitude and splendour depending, that is, on how much ale had been consumed and, of course, on who was listening at the time of telling. He would finally retire in six months. The master said he could have the little cottage down by the river rent free for his years of good service.
The master was a fair man. Gaf nodded. But harsh too when needed. Like the time he'd caught him asleep while on duty. He hadn't been with Darrik long. Just a year. Sweat moistened his brow at the memory. "Kicked me all the ways down the length o' the parapet an' down them steps to the dungeon, an' personally locked me in the cells."
'Bastard!' he mumbled, quickly followed by sheepish look over his shoulder in panic at his slip. Satisfied he was truly alone a long slow breath escaped his lips. "There really weren't a need for it. A simple, warnin' would have been enough. An' on top o' that accusin' me o' bein' drunk too!"
'Okay so I had a few nips, but only to ward off the cold,' he mumbled, then reddened as the real memory screamed a protest somewhere in the back of his mind.
A week in the cells peeling potatoes for the cook was the punishment, but once served no more was said about it. Darrik didn't brood on a once off mistake as long as the lesson was learnt. "No. When all were said an' done, his temper aside, the master's a good man to soldier for." Gaf nodded again in recognition.
"Though dark o' late for the loss o' his new young wife." She had been a pretty one. One of the prettiest old Gaf had ever seen. "The men was always talkin' about her. Such a tragedy though the way she went. Some say she slipped. Then again some say she jumped. Grimbal the blacksmith said he heard she were pushed. Shame really. Such a loss. An' so young. Much too young for the master I would have though. She weren't more 'an twenty. So how much older is he? Let me work it out. Let's see. He's somewheres atween fifty and sixty. So how much's 'at?"
'Ah damnation!' he shook his head in frustration. Gaf wasn't much good with numbers that went higher than twenty. "It's too much anyways! I knows 'at," he thought
It was time to walk the wall again. Every fifteen minutes up and down he would go. There really was no shelter from the rain tonight, but he couldn't get much wetter than he already was. So with a little grunt Gaf pushed himself upright and away from the tower wall that he had been leaning against for support.
'Oh me achin' bones!' he grumbled, hefting up his shield and spear. 'If I didn't know no better I'd swear these damn things is gettin' heavier.' he moaned, walking at a steady pace down the cruelly exposed walkway.
The gusts were stronger out away from the protection of the tower. Gaf squinted against the stinging droplets. "Bout 'nother hundred paces to the next tower I wager. Then a quick rest an' back again." He shook his head forlornly. No, he definitely was not going to miss tramping the walls on cold wet nights like tonight. His thoughts drifted to the cottage by the stream. Painting a wonderful scene his mind whisked him off on a fanciful flight while his feet stepped along in long practiced cadence without missing a beat.
Gaf didn't notice the first sign that danger was at hand. A slight scraping noise was followed by a heavy meaty thump against the outside of the Keep wall. To his credit he did hear the second meaty thump and stopped dead in his tracks. Years of military training snapped him into action. His shield raised and spear lowered in one fluid movement, 'Who goes there?'
No-one answered. The wind gusted past his ears momentarily impeding his hearing, 'Who goes there?' he said again, but louder this time and with more conviction.
'Show yourself now friend or face the consequence! Last chance!' Gaf's heart was pounding in his ears so loudly that he was sure it could be heard in the very bowels of the fortress. Again his order went unanswered.
Gaf glared at the creneling where the sound had come from. The wall of the Keep was over seventy feet high. His imagination saw a line of attackers scaling them on long spindly ladders. "But what if it be...just me imagination?" he wondered. He could shout an alarm to the Watch Sergeant below and the whole garrison would be on the walls in seconds.
"But what if it's your bloomin' imagination you old toad!" his hesitant mind warned.
Slowly Gaf edged towards the outside wall on the balls of his feet trying to see over the rim, but to no avail. 'Damn yer short arse!' he growled. It was no use he still couldn't see a thing beyond the rim of the wall.
Inching forward he finally reached the edge. With shield up and spear held aloft he quickly looked over the side. Half expecting to see a ladder full of enemy soldiers he gritted his teeth and put on his most fearsome snarl. But there was nothing. Rain-water ran freely down the outside of the wall, into the blackness of the night, and beyond his ability to see.
'Nothin' you blitherin' idiot,' he chided, 'there's nothin' there.' Just then Gaf noticed a movement to his left out of the corner of his eye. A dark mass seemed attached to the very stone of the wall. The mass moved and a head looked up. Gaf did not get a chance to scream as a fist cracked his jaw. He would dream for a few hours. The shadow slinked over the wall and dragged the guard's unconscious frame into a dark corner and tied him up.
'Sleep well, friend,' the shadow sm
iled and patted the old soldiers head.
Brinn Thronso was born with abilities. He could scale any building. Had incredible eye-sight even at night, unnatural strength, and the agility of a cat. The army found good use for those attributes. Brinn became a member of the most feared and respected group of soldiers in Jarro. The Pathfinders were legendary and he was their best. They changed his name. Now, he was simply called Panther. Assassinations, spying, or simply killing enemy soldiers the Pathfinders were the elite. They were sword masters and experts in hand to hand combat. They were fiercely loyal to the King and to each other. But tonight Panther was not acting on orders. Tonight...it was personal.
Brinn crept noiselessly along the upper wall of the Keep and down the winding stairs toward the guards sleeping area. Finding the room vacant he opened the door and carefully peered out. The corridor was empty and dark. Turning right he headed for the stairs to the lower level. Just as he was about to descend two heavily armed soldiers came tramping up towards him. In a flash he scampered up towards the ceiling and wedged himself in the darkened corner at the joining of two walls.
The guards saw nothing and passed by oblivious to his presence. As they disappeared from view he dropped down and descended the stairs towards Darrik's private chambers. Oil lamps lit the way. One every ten paces or so. Brinn eased his way along quenching the lamps as he went.
