BATTLE FOR ELT:
THE TAKING OF THE
WIZARD BEARER
By A.C. Hutchinson
Copyright 2017 A.C. Hutchinson
www.achutchinson.com
All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission of the copyright owner.
Version 25/11/2017 c
For my kids. Just don’t read it until you’re eighteen. (And skip the rude parts.)
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Map
Prologue
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
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Also by A.C. Hutchinson
Author’s Note & Acknowledgements
PROLOGUE
Cassandra Delamare awoke with a start. Lying still she clutched her blankets tightly to her chest, as if she were hugging a doll, and listened. Her skin broke out in goose pimples and her stomach stirred with a sickness. There was someone in her bedchamber, she knew. The window is open too, she thought. She could feel an icy blast of winter air caressing the back of her neck. Pretend you're asleep, she told herself. Catch the intruder off guard.
She listened carefully. There was shouting and the clashing of swords in the courtyard below her window. What is happening? Fear gripped her, but she refused to panic. The sound of shuffling feet made her still her breathing. Her eyes searched the bedchamber, which was lit only by the cold light of the moon. But the intruder was behind her, she realised.
She reached into gloom, patting the bedside table, feeling for the candle she knew was there. But before she could touch it, a hand clasped across her mouth. The voice of a man, his accent blunt, spoke into her left ear: “Make a sound and I'll snap your neck.”
The man pulled her off the bed backwards. Her bottom hit the stone floor, sending a painful shock up her spine. Despite the man's earlier warning, she tried to scream, but his hand was clasped so tightly across her mouth all she achieved was a muffled cry. With one arm around her waist, the man lifted her like a child and walked towards the window. Cassandra felt very much like a little girl at that moment, despite being sixteen and a woman grown. She kicked the air, feeling powerless to do anything more.
She quelled her fear then and dared to bite down on the man's fingers. He let go of her mouth, but only briefly. When he returned his hand he gripped her tighter, squeezing her cheeks. Why has no one come to help me? she thought.
As the man lifted her onto the window ledge she caught her first glimpse of him. He was far from good-looking, with a hook nose and dark, dirty, shoulder-length hair. When he told her to stop fighting against him she noticed his blackened teeth and a missing tooth along his top jaw.
“Bye-bye, missy,” the man said, before pushing her hard in the chest.
She grabbed at the stone wall around the window, her fingernails scraping against it like a blade on a whetstone. Then she was falling. The white nightdress she wore ballooned. She expected to hit the cobbled yard below, a place she had walked so many times during less sinister daylight hours. Perhaps it’ll shatter my skull, she had time to think. But instead, she landed on something soft. It still forced the air from her lungs, though. She lay there for a moment wondering what had happened.
The dry smell of summer – a distant memory in this hard winter – filled her nostrils. She realised she had fallen onto a pile of hay.
She looked up into the night sky where stars twinkled unconcerned for her. Then the shape of the man from her bedchamber filled her vision as he jumped from the window above. He landed beside her. She attempted to scramble to her feet, but the man was upon her, grabbing her wrists and holding them to the hay while sitting on her midriff.
“Move. Move!” the man shouted to someone other than her. There was a jolt and then they were moving. She was lying in a horse-drawn wain, she realised. “Come on, come on,” the man shouted, this time looking to the place they were leaving behind.
Other men jumped onto the wain. I'm being taken by Volk's men. They'll take me to Wyke and I'll never see Kingstown again.
She glimpsed guards running after her, but the wain was moving too fast. It wasn't long before the guards were eaten up by the darkness.
We'll never make it through the gatehouse, she reassured herself. Guards will stop us and I'll be rescued.
But no one challenged them. The arched gateway obstructed her view of the night sky and then they were in the streets of Kingstown heading for the city wall. The main gate will be shut, though. But she was disappointed again. The wain sailed under the archway on its rickety wheels and then they were out of the city. As clouds misted the moon, the darkness was real, the type of darkness she had only heard about in stories, the type of darkness nightmares were made of.
CHAPTER 1
Stetland Rouger had been dreaming when the rider from Kingstown found him. Twisted nightmares full of pain and humiliation had haunted his nights since two months past. The subject of the dreams was not him, of that he was sure, although he had borne the physical pain of each and every 'mare since the night they'd begun. Of late they'd become ever more vivid.
The young guard who had woken him, dressed in the green of Kingstown, was insistent they made for the city straight away. “It's of the utmost importance,” the guard had said. “The king has requested your presence.”
They set off on horseback as the sky to the east suggested dawn with an array of pinks and oranges. A cold wind blew too. Stetland knew from the sight of the clouds that brooded around the distant Mount Airy that snow might fall by the time this day was through.
It was an hour's ride north to Kingstown. By the time they saw the city the sky was full of colour and birds delivered their pitch-perfect morning chorus from nearby trees.
Stetland pulled up his horse to take in the view. Even after all the years that had passed and the countless times he'd walked under the portcullis, he still marvelled at the size of the city. Its high walls stretched from left to right as far as the eye could see. Beyond it, tops of buildings competed for space. From the jumble of rooftops rose the skyline's centrepiece: the castle. Its four turrets reached into the early morning sky as if they were making a grab for the wispy clouds above. To the right of the turrets rose the tower. It reminded Stetland of a lighthouse he'd once seen by the sea. It was taller than any other building in the city and had a pointy roof, like a hat. Set in its walls were two square windows. He'd been inside the tower countless times and knew the windows followed the spiral
staircase within. Beyond the skyline of the city stood the flag-topped masts of galleys anchored in the harbour.
“Why have you stopped?” the Kingstown guard said from atop his horse.
“Just taking in the view,” Stetland said. “It's been a while.” Almost a year!
The guard nodded. His horse was restless. “Shall we go?” he said. Stetland sensed the guard was restless too.
Before Stetland could reply a voice spoke within his head, but he could not understand what it was saying. He put his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes tightly – not to listen, but because it was painful. The voice was like fingernails clawing at his brain.
“Stetland? Are you all right?” said the Kingstown guard.
As quickly as it had arrived, the voice left his head. He knew it would return, though, perhaps later, in his dreams.
“Yes,” Stetland said. “I'm fine. Let's go.”
Stetland kicked his heels into his horse.
They rode through the arched gateway and into the city streets. The place was not like he remembered it. Weeds grew in abundance from between cobbles. Buildings were in disrepair. A painfully thin boy wearing tattered clothes sat crossed-legged on the pavement with a hat in his lap. A single piece of silver glinted within it. Stetland pulled his horse to a halt.
“Stetland?” the guard said, impatiently. “We do not have time for this.”
Stetland ignored the guard and walked his horse to the boy.
“When was the last time you ate, young man?” Stetland said down to the boy.
“Two days past, mister,” the boy said in reply. His face was grubby, his once-blonde hair dirty, long and matted.
“And what did you eat?”
The boy looked from left to right as if he didn't want anyone to hear. “I found bones, mister. People throw em out sometimes. But don't tell, I'm not supposed to go through folk's rubbish, mister. I'd be thrown in the cells under the tower for it, and there's no food there, either. Just bad men wanting to do bad things to you.”
Stetland reached into his tunic and found two coins. He threw them into the boy's upended hat.
The boy looked at the silver in awe, his face beaming.
“Thanks, mister.” He got to his feet, closed his hat around the coins, and ran down a nearby alleyway.
“Can we go now?” the guard said.
Stetland got his horse moving and followed the guard through the narrow streets, which steadily rose towards the castle. People going about their daily business stopped and stared. Most knew who he was, he suspected.
When they arrived at the castle they passed through the gate and into a courtyard. Stetland dismounted. A stable boy took his horse. Sir John Bretel, the head of the king's guard and a formidable knight, skipped down the castle's steps. Stetland shook his outstretched hand.
“Thanks for coming at such short notice,” Sir John said. He was a thin man, but broad in the shoulders. A thick moustache was spread over his top lip.
“The young guard was lucky to find me.” Stetland liked to be inconspicuous. “So, tell me, Sir John, what trouble does King Bahlinger find himself in?”
The head of the king's guard rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. “None of his own doing, you'll be surprised to learn. Not this time.”
“That does surprise me.”
They walked through the castle gardens, barren in their winter suspension, and climbed the steps into the castle proper. They found King Bahlinger in the Great Hall, seated on his throne in front of a large window that stretched from floor to ceiling. Next to him, the queen's smaller throne sat empty.
“The Dark Rider himself,” King Bahlinger said, his voice echoing around the vast room. “Come, come,” he beckoned.
“I'll leave you both to talk,” Sir John said, bowing before leaving the room.
Stetland walked towards the king. A fire roared in a hearth to his left.
“I was starting to think that you wouldn't come,” the king said. His voice was as loud as his gut was large.
Stetland held out his hand; the king shook it with vigour. Bahlinger's fat fingers were decorated with rings, each carrying large jewels of varying colours.
“It's been a while, Your Majesty,” Stetland said.
“A year, maybe longer.”
Stetland had grown up with the king, like a brother. He wasn't part of the lineage, though. He had been an orphan child, found at the castle gates one morning when he was just a few days old. It was presumed he was the son of a whore. Bahlinger's father, King Leofric, had taken him in. Stetland had lived in the castle as Bahlinger's equal, until Leofric had died and Bahlinger took the throne. Then came that day nineteen years ago . . .
“What can I do for you, Sire?”
“I have some disturbing news, Stetland. There was trouble last night. Volk's men broke into the castle.”
Stetland adjusted his stance, suddenly uneasy. Never had an enemy set foot in the castle, invited or otherwise.
“Were there casualties?” Stetland asked.
“A few, yes. But most disturbingly, and I can hardly bring myself to say it . . .” Bahlinger looked to the floor. His broad face appeared pallid, stressed. Stetland hadn't noticed when he entered the room, but the king looked old. His beard, long and wiry, had in the time he'd been away turned from sooty black to the colour of dirty snow. “The wizard bearer has been taken, Stetland, from her bedchamber, while she slept.”
Stetland found himself lost for words. How could something so precious be stolen with such ease?
“How?” Stetland said, finally. “How could this happen?”
King Bahlinger sighed. “The gatekeepers were nowhere to be seen. I expect that they were paid handsomely before they fled. They're probably hiding in some brothel in The Warrens as we speak.” The Warrens was a place of sin and debauchery, a small town to the north full of brothels and taverns and a seemingly endless line of men with coin in their pockets and mischief in their eyes. “The guards on the city wall and the castle wall were not so fortunate. They were found with their throats slit. As for the wizard bearer, she was taken through her bedchamber window. My guards tell me they left in a horse-drawn wain.” The king scoffed. “How could we not stop a horse pulling a sodding wain?”
“What time did this happen?”
“Just before dawn.”
Stetland put a hand to his chin and rubbed his stubble. “They must've had help from inside the castle.”
“Do you not think I know this?” the king snapped. “I'll interview the staff later. If we've got a rat, I'll find it.”
“So what have you done? Have you sent men after her?”
“I sent two riders to track her. I sent them with birds too, but I've heard nothing since.” Two? Only two? “Don't look at me like that, Stetland. Look . . .” the king looked over Stetland's shoulder and then beckoned him closer. Stetland leaned in. “I'm a little short on soldiers. I'm fighting a war on too many fronts. That's why I sent for you. They'll take her to High Hunsley first, to rest. I don't doubt that. Lord Merek is Volk's puppet, I hear. If I send an army Merek won't let my men into the city. You, however, will be welcomed with open arms.”
“Not if Volk has got to him.”
Lord Merek was otherwise known as King Merek, following High Hunsley's declaration of independence some nineteen years past. King Bahlinger, who ruled the entire kingdom of Elt, did not recognise the declaration.
“Cassandra, the wizard bearer, is she of age?”
The king nodded, sombrely. “She is due to be married on the morrow, after which the courtship will take place. She's sixteen, younger than most bearers that came before her, but her coming of age is welcome, nonetheless.”
Stetland rubbed his chin.
“A wizard bearer of age in the hands of Volk doesn't bear thinking about.”
“I know. But it's all I have been thinking about.”
“The wain will slow them down. If I set off now I can catch them by nightfall. Maybe even
before they reach High Hunsley.” The king nodded. “The war is growing dangerous, Bahlinger. More and more are switching allegiance to Volk. His army is vast and growing. Those who don't pledge their allegiance are crushed. There’s cleansing too. And women are being taken as slaves.”
The king looked flustered. “A discussion for another time, mayhap.” Bahlinger waved his hands in the air as if to dismiss talk of Volk. “Sir John Bretel has requested he accompany you.”
“I'll take two soldiers too. Two of your best.”
“I'll have Sir John choose them. You'll be rewarded for this, Stetland.”
“It's not riches I seek. The girl is more important than anything you could offer me.”
“Whatever you wish. Just bring her back safe and well. If Volk were to produce children with her . . ."
“I know.”
Stetland made to leave, but the king spoke again. “I have a contingency plan. The wizard bearer's great-uncle Fabian, and her uncle Eaglen, are making their way from their homes in the north and south respectively. They mean to meet on the Great Road east of High Hunsley on the morrow. If something goes wrong – God help us all – and you don't manage to rescue the wizard bearer, then, presuming Volk's men have stayed the night at Lord Merek's pleasure, when they leave on the morrow, the wizards will be waiting for them.” Stetland had fought many battles with Fabian at his side. He was pleased to learn of Fabian's involvement. “Good luck, my friend.”
“I’ll send word when we reach High Hunsley.”
Stetland said his goodbyes and then made for the stables where he found his horse eating fresh hay. A stable boy was brushing its black coat.
“This is a good horse,” said the boy. He was about twelve years old, but tall for his age. “I want to be a soldier one day and go on adventures.”
“There's plenty of time for that,” Stetland said, patting the solid pack of muscle on the horse's shoulder. The animal whinnied. “Enjoy being a boy while you still can.”
“But the realm needs guards and soldiers.”
Seems it's common knowledge. “What makes you say that?”
Battle for Elt: The Taking of the Wizard Bearer Page 1
