Jonathan Haymaker

by Sam Ferguson

  Jonathan Haymaker

  By

  Sam Ferguson

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Jonathan Haymaker

  Copyright © 2015 by Sam Ferguson

  All Rights Reserved

  For L.B.

  Contents

  Other Books by Sam Ferguson

  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

  About the Author

  Other Books by Sam Ferguson

  Tales from Terramyr (Short story anthology)

  The Dragon’s Champion Series

  The Dragon’s Champion

  The Warlock Senator

  The Dragon’s Test

  Erik and the Dragon

  The Immortal Mystic

  Return of the Dragon

  The Netherworld Gate Series

  The Tomni’Tai Scroll

  The King’s Ring

  Son of the Dragon

  The Dragons of Kendualdern

  Ascension

  Other Novels

  Dimwater’s Dragon

  Chapter 1

  An arrow whizzed by Captain Ziegler’s head. The whistling shaft plunked deep into a thick, moss-covered tree and quivered violently. The large man grunted, and turned his attention back to the group in front of him. His body was soaked from the heavy rain that had assaulted him and his men all afternoon. Salty sweat mixed with the rain running over his face, stinging his eyes. Another arrow sailed by, this one missing by a wide margin. A flash of lighting tore through the sky above and a deafening thunder rumbled through the forest.

  A troll moved into view, coming around a muddy knoll and wielding a spear. This was no lumbering idiot from the caves in the north, it was a swamp troll. It was lean and muscular. It wore leather armor over its groin and torso. A pair of long, curved knives hung from its belt. The spear was made with an iron head, honed to a point so deadly that it could pierce even through chainmail. Ziegler had seen that plenty of times before.

  The troll looked up and the two locked eyes. The troll’s red, fierce orbs sparkled and the creature snarled to reveal a set of long, bottom teeth curled upward toward its pointy nose. Its blazingly red hair was neatly kept in a short mohawk that ran all the way down the back of its green neck. It snarled and moved toward Captain Ziegler.

  The captain leapt over the fallen log that had shielded him from the onslaught of arrows, his sword held firmly in his left hand and a small javelin in his right. He threw the javelin at the beast and charged. His boots squished and sloshed in the watery mud below, but he didn’t lose his footing, for his boots were made with iron cleats along the bottom to afford him better purchase in the Murkle Quags, as the area of the trolls was called.

  The troll lunged forward, easily avoiding the thrown javelin by ducking under it nimbly. It jabbed its spear toward Ziegler’s face. The large man jerked his body to the left and came in with a savage blow of his sword. The sturdy blade tore into the troll’s flesh, ripping and tearing through the tough exterior to slice the tender sinew beneath. Brown blood oozed out from the wound and the troll’s right arm fell off, severed just a few inches below the shoulder.

  The monster howled ferociously, but Ziegler didn’t let up. He knew that if he gave the troll more than a few moments of respite, it could easily grow its limb back. He pressed in, reaching up and planting a heavy boot in the troll’s stomach, driving the iron cleats through the leather armor and sending the troll flying backward.

  The green creature somersaulted backward and came up with a long knife in its left hand. It slashed at Ziegler and then jumped forward, gnashing and biting at him. Ziegler reacted in an instant, gripping the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword and coming up to connect with the troll’s jaw. The bone shattered as the crossguard connected. Ziegler cut out to the side and then drove a powerful strike with his left knee into the troll’s stomach, knocking the wind out of the creature. It flailed to its back, gasping for breath.

  Ziegler came down on the troll’s neck with his left boot, letting his cleats pin the troll down as he flipped his sword down and pierced the creature’s heart. The troll twitched a few times and then it went still. Ziegler wiped his face, clearing the rain and filth from it before moving on.

  A pair of trolls were coming up over the muddy knoll. Water and mud sloshed out from their unshod d feet as they charged him. One raised a bow made of wood and bone. It snarled at him, but Ziegler dove behind a thick tree. The arrow bit into the side of the tree and glanced off, separating hunks of bark from the trunk and spinning over Ziegler’s leg as he made it to cover. He slid when he hit the ground, carried by the viscous mud out from behind the tree and back into the open.

  The second troll had anticipated this, and was already in the air over Ziegler with a heavy axe. Zeigler had more than enough experience with the trolls to know that the troll would have calculated his trajectory. The human captain was more than ready, smiling as he drove the tip of his sword up into the troll’s heart.

  “Look before you leap, lady,” Ziegler advised as he ripped his sword free and clambered back to his feet. The other troll still stood on the knoll, aiming another arrow. Ziegler used his right hand to grip the dead troll by the throat and lift him up as a shield. The dead body jerked as the next arrow bit into its back. Ziegler dropped the dead troll and ran at the troll with the bow.

  The troll reached back with blinding speed, pulling another arrow free and bringing it to the bowstring before Ziegler could close the distance. It sneered wickedly and let the arrow fly. Everything slowed for Ziegler then. His senses amplified and time nearly stopped. The plinking sound of raindrops sounded as drums while the arrow shaft slowly ran along the bow, scraping along like a strange fiddle that played only the melody of death. The fletching broke the monotonous sound, raising the pitch and alerting Ziegler that his life was nearly over.

  Then everything rushed in all at once. A mighty hammer smashed into the bow, catching the tail end of the arrow and rendering it flightless as its back half splintered off. The bow limbs snapped back, causing the troll to flinch as they pummeled him, providing just the opening Ziegler needed.

  The captain rushed in and took the troll’s head with one swing. The body went stiff, finally falling backward like a felled pine as the head bounced to the ground some seven feet off to Ziegler’s right.

  A moment later, Bull was rushing up the knoll to retrieve his hammer. The large, bald headed man bent down and drove a thin dagger into the dead troll’s heart. He looked up and winked. “Can’t be too careful,” he said with a wink. Bull then got up and tugged at his beard. “I reckon that is the last of them,” he said. “How many did you kill?” The berserker’s brown eyes looked down to Ziegler and the captain smiled.

  “Before I got pinned down by the archer, I took maybe a dozen or so,” Ziegler said as he spun around and looked at the bodies littering the forest around him. “Plus these three,” he added.

  “Uh-uh,” Bull said with a shake of his head. He thumped his hammer on the headless corpse. “This one’s mine.”

  Captain Ziegler narrowed his eyes on Bull and slowly sheathed his sword. “How do you figure?”
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  “You may have taken its head, but without my hammer, he would have had you pinned and stuffed on his mantle. He had a bead on you, clear as day.” Bull winked and then motioned with his arm for Ziegler to follow him.

  Captain Ziegler sighed and let Bull count the headless troll as his kill. There wasn’t much point arguing with Bull, Ziegler knew. The crazy oaf would just tell everyone that it was his kill regardless of what Ziegler said. That was his way. Better to let him count it. At least this way he wasn’t gloating about saving Ziegler’s life.

  As if hearing the captain’s thoughts, Bull stopped and held a finger in the air. “Does saving the captain’s life get me a promotion?” he asked with a wry smile.

  Captain Ziegler didn’t miss a beat. He slapped the man on the shoulder and nodded. “Sure, you are now promoted from cow-pie to ox-tail. I’d tell you not to spend the extra salary on booze and women, but you won’t live long enough to use it anyway.”

  Bull grunted. “None of us will at this rate,” he said.

  The two regrouped with the others, hands on their weapons in case there were more trolls nearby.

  Captain Ziegler saw Moose first, though that wasn’t really a surprise. The giant man stood over seven feet tall. His body was too wide to hide behind any of the trees that grew in the ever damp swamps of the Murkle Quags too. Add that to the fact that he always seemed to have a cigar in his mouth and it was fairly easy to spot the smoking mountain of a man anywhere, which probably accounted for the many jagged scars he carried on just about any bit of skin that was visible. The trolls seemed to spot him first also, and almost always started an assault by coming at Moose.

  Moose saw the captain and nodded to him. Then he moved to the side and revealed that he was not alone. Bear was walking behind him. Despite Moose being so large, it was no easy feat to eclipse Bear, for he was a large man as well. He stood six feet tall and weighed well over two hundred pounds. Yet, he didn’t show any scars. Unlike Moose, Bear was silent and quick. So adept was he as a scout that he could stand on your toes and still you wouldn’t be able to see him. Any battle with the trolls that didn’t start with them attacking Moose, were initiated when Bear found a group of the nasty creatures to ambush.

  Bear moved past Moose and knelt down next to a groaning man lying face down in the mud. Bear was also the group’s field surgeon. He slid his right hand down around the fallen soldier’s chest and came up with a copious amount of blood in his palm. He looked up and shook his head at Captain Ziegler.

  Ziegler had long ago learned not to argue with Bear when it came to medicine. If there was a chance to save someone, Bear would fight the demons of Hammenfein to heal that person. On the other hand, if Bear said that the wounded man wasn’t going to make it, then there wasn’t anything a mortal could do to save the wretch. With the fighting fierce as it was, they didn’t have the medicine or supplies to waste on any who couldn’t make it.

  Captain Ziegler nodded to Bear and the man rose to his feet, whispering a prayer over the still-groaning soldier on the ground.

  Ziegler turned around, realizing that no one else was regrouping with them. “Where are the others?”

  Moose shook his head grimly as he cupped his hand and poured the rainwater over his armor and wiped the battle’s blood from his armor and body.

  “They call us the Ghosts of the Quags for a reason,” Bear said.

  Ziegler nodded and spun around, looking through the trees. His stoic expression turned to a frowning grimace, and then to an open-mouthed look of dread. “Where is Raven?”

  Bear and Moose looked behind them, leaning and peering around the trees. Ziegler turned to Bull, but the bald man merely shrugged.

  “Looks like we need a new wizard,” Bull said. “It ain’t the first time.”

  Ziegler huffed and kicked the mud at his feet. A bit of brown mud splatted onto a nearby tree and started to slime its way down to the ground.

  Just then, the rain let up. The clouds cleared from the forest above them and the sun managed to break through to the forest floor with its warming light.

  “No, he’s not dead,” Ziegler said with a grin.

  “Well of course I’m not dead!” Raven called out from twenty yards to the north. “Sorry about the rain gentlemen, but I had a nasty group of trolls to deal with. They sprang up from one of those covered mud-holes and tried to surprise me.” The wizard moved easily in the mud, using his staff for balance and smiling as he rejoined the group. “Still haven’t met a troll that can best my fire magic.”

  Ziegler returned the smile and nodded. “Good. I would hate to think that we would have to travel through the Warrens without you.”

  “Not to worry,” Raven said with a flourish of his arm to the sky. “I’ll keep the monsoon at bay.”

  “How many in the group that attacked you?” Bull asked Raven.

  “Seven,” Raven said smugly.

  Bull snorted and waved the wizard off. “Captain bagged fourteen, and I got twenty-six.”

  Bear laughed and shook his head. “Still counting yesterday’s kills are we?” he poked at Bull.

  Bull glared and pointed the top of his hammer at Bear. “All freshly killed this afternoon!”

  “Easy, Bull, just a jest to lighten the mood,” Bear said.

  “Unless you got more, keep yer mouth shut!” Bull shouted. There was a time when Captain Ziegler would have stopped such arguments, but as harsh as the words may get, he had come to know that Bull was actually quite fond of Bear. The two were like brothers. They fought all the day long, but if any troll ever came upon the other, they would be the first in line to defend the other.

  “I got thirty,” Bear said.

  “You lie!” Bull shouted.

  Bear shrugged. “Doesn’t matter,” he said as he thumbed in Moose’s direction. “He got well over fifty.”

  “Not possible,” Bull replied, though the fire had gone out from his voice now.

  Moose smiled and bit down on his damp cigar. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. They all knew what he was capable of. Moose walked toward Raven and leaned down. The wizard quickly weaved a spell of fire to dry and then light the cigar. A cloud of gray smoke swirled around Moose as he inhaled and then walked to the north.

  Raven coughed and waved his hand in front of his face. “I hate it when he does that,” he said quietly when he got closer to the others.

  “Why don’t you tell him that?” Bear asked with a shrug.

  Raven looked at Bear incredulously and shook his head. “Cuz he just killed half a hundred trolls. I am not about to tell him ‘no’ and risk his wrath if he can’t get his cigar.”

  “Scared of Moose, are ya big wizard?” Bull poked.

  “I don’t see you rushing to challenge him either,” Raven fired back.

  Bull nodded and arched a brow as he ceded the point. Then he looked beyond the group and watched Moose. “Where is he going?”

  Captain Ziegler broke in then. “North,” he said simply. “Everyone else is dead. We can’t storm the Warrens with just the five of us. We need to get back to Battlegrym and find some new recruits.”

  “I think we have run out of fools,” Bear said as he looked at the bodies around them.

  “There are always fools to be had,” Bull said. “Every kingdom is full of ‘em, and ours is no different.”

  “True,” Bear agreed. “But other kingdoms don’t seem to be killing their fools off as quickly as the trolls are working through ours.”

  “Come on, let’s get moving,” Ziegler ordered. As the group made their way to the north through the swampy trees, Ziegler counted the dead and then made a note in a small, leather-bound journal.

  “You’re going to run out of room soon,” Bear commented to Captain Ziegler.

  Ziegler nodded and looked down at the skull tattoos on his left arm, then he placed the journal into a small pouch on the back of his belt.

  Chapter 2

  Jonathan set his left hand to the hay bale, fing
ers near the base of the arrow shaft protruding from the yellow, dried grass. He squeezed the arrow between his right thumb and forefinger and pulled steadily. The scratchy hay was difficult to pull against at first, but then the arrow loosened and came free. The fourteen-year-old placed the arrow into his leather quiver hanging on his back and then turned around to make the trek back to his firing position.

  All of the ground around him was covered with a light dusting of bits of hay and new grass springing up under the freshly cut crop. His bow sat upon a large, flat boulder of gray stone that sat conveniently just over seventy yards away from the bale Jonathan was using for target practice. His boots crunched the bits of chaff as he walked. The air around him was still, perfect for target practice.

  He set his quiver down upon the stone, with the open end facing his left thigh so he could easily retrieve the arrows. He took up his bow in his left hand and pulled the first arrow out of the quiver. He set the nock to the string and held the bow loosely, pointed down at the ground as his eyes focused on the bale of hay. He was never allowed to paint the hay, for then it would be useless for the animals, not to mention he would then have to face grandfather’s fury. Still, he had to have something to aim for. His eyes scanned for the focal point, the red maple leaf he had wedged into the straw.

  His lips curled into a smile when he saw the target. He drew his string back as he inhaled deeply. The back of the arrow just touched the corner of Jonathan’s mouth and he held his eyes on the maple leaf. He released his fingers, allowing the string to snap back into place and launch the arrow sailing through the air. It whistled as it spun during its flight. Jonathan’s smile widened when he heard the thabump! The arrow sank deeply into the hay bale, directly in the center of the red maple leaf. The bottom half of the leaf fell to the ground, but that didn’t matter now. Jonathan had a new target.