Banner Lord

by Jason L. McWhirter

  Welcome to…

  Banner Lord

  A storm of change has blown in from the South, ushering in the conquering army of the Saricon horde and their frightful war god Heln. Tall and powerful, their spirit and bodies born for war, the Saricon have swept all before them and have now conquered Dy’ain, a kingdom rich in Kul-brite steel. For whosoever controls the precious metal of the Lords shall possess the power and wealth to reign supreme over all the lands of Corvell.

  King Enden Dormath is dead; a victim of betrayal, and now the rightful heir to the throne is on the run. Prince Jarak and his companions seek the one thing, the only thing that can take back his land, an army more powerful and mighty than the Saricons. It’s a lofty task, but one born of desperation and fueled by courage, friendship, and tenacity. Can the skill of Brant, the deadly swordsman, along with old and new friends, defeat those who know only victory? Can Jarak Dormath build an army capable of defeating the mighty Saricons? If not, then Dy’ain will face subjugation and persecution of the likes they have never seen.

  Jason L McWhirter

  A Twiin Entertainment book

  Books by Jason McWhirter

  Cavalier Trilogy

  The Cavalier, book one

  The Rise of Malbeck, book two

  Glimmer in the Shadow, book three

  The Chronicles of Corvell

  Steel Lord Series

  BannerFall, book one

  Banner Lord, the last chapter

  Non-Fantasy

  The Life of Ely

  Published by Twiin Entertainment

  www.twiinentertainment.com

  Copyright © Jason L. McWhirter, 2015

  Library of Congress

  All rights reserved

  Cover art by Christian Quinot

  All other art by Jason L. McWhirter

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored electronically, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are 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.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to all readers and lovers of the written word. Without you, without us, as I certainly qualify as an admirer of books, our world would be much different. Imagine all the stories and knowledge passed down through books over the years, and then imagine living in a world with none of it. Exactly! Enough said.

  The Lands of Belorth and Corvell

  Banner Lord

  The Chronicles of Corvell

  The Last Chapter of the Steel Lord Series

  JASON L MCWHIRTER

  Prologue

  Lyra sat in the shadows, the comfort of the darkness like a mother’s lullaby, a gray hood pulled low over her face, her lavender eyes staring at a man sitting several tables away. The man’s hand was wrapped around a mug, his eyes staring ahead at nothing, seemingly deep in thought. Leaning against the wall she had found a good spot to watch, the shadows of the dimly lit bar providing plenty of cover, after all, she didn’t want anyone to see her silver white hair, pointy ears, and lavender eyes, all accidental results of using negative auras before she had known any better. The bar was dirty, dark, and smelt of sweat and warm ale. Boisterous drunken laughter and loud alcohol induced voices stroked Lyra’s senses. She felt at home in places like this, spending much of her life either working in one, or patronizing similar establishments.

  The man she was watching was a Merger, a sell-sword named Kedrick, and she had been on his trail for over two weeks. At least she hoped it was him. She had a vast network of spies all throughout Corvell and just a week ago word came to her that a man fitting his description had arrived in Dy’ain looking for work as a sell sword. Just a few weeks ago she was a member of the Shadows, a group of assassins well known throughout Corvell; thought by many to be merely the subject of stories told in taverns over ale and a warm fire. But they were real, at least they had been. Thalon, the leader, and the rest of her crew, were somehow killed in a dark alley the night the Saricons attacked Cythera. She was the lone survivor.

  The swordsman she was watching was dressed in dark clothes, the man wore chainmail armor under a hardened leather cuirass, the center of which was adorned in several steel gray plates. A short sword was strapped to his back, and a second blade, a long sword, hung from his hip belt. Lyra held no doubt, if the man before her was indeed Kedrick, that he also carried several concealed knives. She had heard rumors of the man for many years; known to have been a warden once, and although a Merger he lacked the temperament to continue into the Dygon Guard. Rumors were whispered that his wife and two children were killed by two thieves while he was away. Ever since then he had not been the same. Prone to anger and quick to draw his blade, he was not the type of man the Dygon Guard wanted. Supposedly he had an argument with a warden and swords were drawn; the end result being the death of the warden. During the trial his execution was stayed as he convinced the tribunal it was self-defense, not to mention his family, a noble line, had allegedly lined the magistrate’s pockets. But he was kicked out as well as disowned by his family; setting him on the path he now walked. He had left Dy’ain, roaming farther north into Corvell where he sold his talents with weapons. Lyra did not know how skilled he was, but she smiled under the cowl of her hood, knowing that the answer to that question was soon to surface.

  After the death of their leader and the rest of her crew, Lyra had made it her priority to find others like her, and to hopefully rebuild the Shadows. But this time she would lead them. She had no doubt that she could persuade other cast-outs to join her; after all she had enough coin to buy a king’s palace. After her crew was killed, she acquired all their money, and now she was wealthy enough to do what she wished. But finding others outside the royal families with the Way had proved to be difficult. It was very rare for anyone outside the royal houses to be born with the Way, and those that had were often killed or banished, the successful ones surviving because they had learned to hide from searching eyes.

  It was late into the night and the bar, located in a trading town near Kreb called Om’gar, was near capacity. The tavern was small, barely accommodating the eighteen additional patrons beside the barkeep and the two serving girls, which looked to be the daughters of the middle-aged man working behind the bar. But all towns, no matter their size, had beggars, thieves, and cutthroats, and Lyra had no problem finding a few willing players. Leaning back in her chair, the Aura Mage watched as the scene played out.

  After a few moments three men approached the swordsman, one stepping in front of him and the other two standing just back on either side. Lyra watched as the sell-sword, his head barely moving from his cup, quickly appraised the men, his dark eyes flittering left and right. The men were clearly poor, their soiled threadbare clothes and dirty smudged faces giving them away as beggars. Lyra had given them each a gold drack to attack the Merger, warning them not to draw any weapons. She figured they had some rusty knives on them, but told them it would be in their best interest to keep them sheathed. The men would sell their own sisters to a whore house so attacking a man in a bar for a gold drack was an easy decision.

  Kedrick smelt the three men first, his eyes making the assessment after his nose that they were beggars. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at the man before him.

  The beggar’s hair was long and greasy, tangled tendrils sweeping over his darting and nervous eyes. “We could use some coin,” he stammered.

  Kedrick said nothing, his
dark eyes narrowing as he watched the other two shuffling nervously on either side. “We all could,” he said finally. “Now be gone if you want to live,” he added, draining his cup.

  Drawing a little energy from his aura, he sent it into his extremities. He doubted he would need it against these three, but it was a habit when potential danger presented itself. He saw the attack coming easy enough. The man in front of him stopped fidgeting, a tell-tale sign that he was about to attack. Kedrick lifted his metal cup just as the beggar in front of him clumsily shot his fist forward. As the attacker’s fist struck the metal cup, Kedrick shoved his stool back as the two men on either side converged on him.

  They didn’t know what hit them. Snapping his foot to the right, he struck one of the men in the chest, while the other beggar on his left jabbed his fist at him. The Merger’s bodied moved with slightly enhanced speed, leaning back he avoided the punch while simultaneously gripping the man’s hand in a wrist lock, twisting it hard to the side and down, slamming his body head first onto the table. Reaching back with his other hand he drew the short sword sheathed there, the silver blade flashing as it came to rest on the back of the man’s neck. It all happened as fast as a snap of the fingers.

  Meanwhile, the man that attacked first was hunched over before him holding his broken hand, whimpering and whining from the pain. His partner that took the kick to the chest was just getting up from the floor. The bar had grown silent; the patrons suddenly sober from the awesome display of martial skill. It happened so fast that many were whispering to one another, their hushed voices clearly wondering who this man was.

  “Do you want to die?” Kendrick said to the man he was holding down, his razor sharp sword still resting on his neck and his body immobilized by the wrist lock.

  “No, no, please don’t kill me!” the beggar squealed.

  Within moments the barkeep was there along with two big, brawny men, clearly his bouncers. But they did not attack, their expressions weary as they eyed the dangerous swordsman. “What happened?” the stocky barkeep asked.

  Kedrick lifted his blade, jerked the man up from the table and shoved him towards a bouncer. The big man caught him easily and held him tight. “They attacked me for coin.”

  The barkeep frowned. “We don’t want any brawlers in here. Now you’re going to have to leave along with these men.”

  Suddenly Lyra was there. “Sir, it was as he said. I watched these men attack him. He was just protecting himself.”

  Kedrick looked at Lyra, his eyes skeptical as she still wore her hooded cape, her face masked in shadow.

  “You witnessed it?” the barkeep asked.

  “I did. The man here was minding his own business.”

  “Very well, but see to it you stay out of trouble.” Then he looked at the bouncers. “Get these scum out of here!”

  The sounds of the bar suddenly started up again, the tension of the fight now nearly diffused.

  “May I sit with you?” Lyra asked.

  Kedrick sat back down, his dark eyes stern. “Why would I want that?”

  “I figured you might want to know why I hired those three to attack you.”

  Narrowing his eyes, his forearms flexing as if eager for the handles of his blades, Kedrick leaned back in his chair, increasing the space between them. “You’re an Aurit.” It wasn’t a question. He had clearly turned on his towd.

  Lyra nodded her head.

  “And you are a mage, which is why you won’t take off your hood.” Again, it wasn’t a question.

  “That is correct. My name is Lyra.”

  “I’ve heard of you.” Kedrick relaxed a little and nodded his head towards the chair facing him. Lyra sat down slowly, not wanting to increase the dangerous man’s agitation.

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I am reforming the Shadows. All but me were slain when the Saricons attacked Cythera. I need a new Merger.”

  “You are assassins. I am not.”

  “Really? You are a sell-sword, fighting and killing for money. What is the difference?”

  Kedrick didn’t say anything for a moment, either thinking of her words or possibly an appropriate retort. “You may be right. But I do not kill indiscriminately.”

  “And you would not have to. Besides the difference between you and I is just semantics. If you are hired to guard a caravan and in that caravan they are transporting stolen goods, unbeknownst to you, what will you do if the owners of those goods showed up to take them back?”

  “I would fight,” Kendrick whispered, knowing where she was going.

  “Exactly, killing innocents in the process. You are not much different than I.”

  Kendrick was thinking. Perhaps she was right. Over the years his anger and frustration as to what had happened to him had festered, turning him into a shell of a man who did whatever was necessary to survive. He could paint the picture however he wanted to in his mind, by Lyra was right, he was sure he had killed innocents in the past. But nonetheless, he had to vocalize it, the words alone, although meager, enough to justify his own actions.

  “You may be right…but as I said, I will not kill just because you order it. I have my limits.”

  Lyra thought for a moment. “I agree to those terms. At any time you don’t feel comfortable with a mission, you may opt out. But not in the midst of it. That would endanger us all.”

  “Us? How many do you have?”

  “Just you and I for now. But I will find more.”

  “You say that as if I’ve already made up my mind.”

  “I will offer you a thousand gold dracks just for joining. After that we split all profits equally. And trust me, there will be no shortage of work now that the Saricons have taken Cythera.”

  Kedrick had once been a member of a wealthy noble family, but now he was disowned, banished from his family after the disgrace of killing the warden. He had no wife, no children, and no money other than what he made as a sell-sword. A man could live several years alone on a thousand gold dracks. It was definitely temping, and she knew it.

  “I will join you. But I want fifteen hundred gold dracks up front. “

  Lyra smiled behind the shadows of her hood. “Very well. Now, let us drink and celebrate our new arrangement.”

  Kedrick’s face was void of emotion, but he slid his dented, and now empty, cup forward.

  Chapter 1

  Two weeks earlier….

  The fire was smoldering, the red coals subtly heating the night air but offering little light to fight back the darkness. They were a two days ride west of Cythera and thought it safe to have a small fire, keeping the flames low, almost non-existent. The coals offered little heat, but it was enough to provide some small amount of warmth and comfort to the travel worn group, much of their exhaustion mental rather than physical. They were huddled around the coals hidden in one of the many small copses of trees that were scattered throughout the steppes of Dy’ain.

  “We need a plan,” Cat said as she leaned closer to the coals.

  “We need shelter and food first. Winter will be coming soon and we cannot be wandering about,” Rath responded, finishing the last piece of his bread. They had been rationing their food and their individual allotments did little to curb their appetites. But it was enough to get them by. Rath was tired and covered with the dust of the road, but he looked better than the rest. Brant and Cat, despite their best efforts to clean themselves, were still covered by splatters of dried blood. Jarak’s wounds were bad. The flesh around his chest and neck had been wrapped in cloth and was now soaked with sweat and seepage from his burns. He was in pain, everyone knew it, but thus far he had not complained.

  They were exhausted from the recent ordeal. Cythera had fallen and Jarak’s mother and father, king and queen of Dy’ain, had been killed by his uncle. And if it hadn’t been for Brant crossing paths with Jarak in the alley that night, Jarak would be dead as well. He had come to his aid and killed the three memb
ers of the Shadows. Together they had found Cat guarding the wall and Rath in his home, and they had all left the city in the middle of the night just as the Saricons had attacked. And now they were alone and unsure of what to do.

  “And we need to get the prince’s wounds attended to,” Rylene added. “They will become infected if we cannot care for them properly.” Once Kulvar Rand’s servant, now Prince Jarak’s care giver, the middle-aged woman looked tired, her long dark hair ratty and unkempt. They had traveled hard each day, increasing the distance between themselves and the conquered city of Cythera.

  “I may have an idea, but it will not be easy,” Brant suggested.

  Jarak looked up from the fire for the first time. “Easy? Nothing will be easy from here on out.”

  Brant did not reply, but continued with his original thought. “I have a friend who may take us in, but we would be living in his barn. He does not have much to offer, but it would be a roof at least. I hate to even ask him as it could bring danger to his family. But I do not see any other solutions.”

  “Where is this friend?” Rath asked.

  “Near a small town called Bygon.”

  Cat pursed her lips in thought. “That’s a week’s travel. We do not have enough food.”

  “We can hunt and forage,” Brant offered.

  “If we had to we could kill a horse,” Rylene suggested.

  “That would slow us down, but it is an option,” Rath added.

  The previous night Brant had told everyone who he was, or at least part of the story. He had left out some details, explaining to them that he had worked in the Kul-brite mines before being captured by the Schulg and forced to fight in the arena. He spoke of his escape and how Kulvar Rand had later found him. He had finished his tale by informing them that he had spent nearly a year with the Dygon Guard, living with Ari at Master Rand’s estate. So far Cat had asked him nothing about his abilities as a Merger, and had noticed her curious look when he had left that part out of the story. Jarak too had not brought it up. He had clearly seen him Fuse and defeat the other Merger in the alley at Cythera, but so far had said nothing, his mind elsewhere. Neither of them had mentioned a thing about the Way, and so he didn’t bring it up.