The Call of the Crown
T.J.Garrett
Copyright 2012-13 by T.J.Garrett
Smashwords Edition
(Anthony John Garrett)
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without a written permission from the author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review.
Contents
Table of Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Maps
Prologue - Landings
Chapter 1 - Spring Feast
Chapter 2 - Brea's Lot: Part One
Chapter 3 - A Simple Plan
Chapter 4 - New Friends
Chapter 5 - The Scroll
Chapter 6 - Brea’s Lot: Part Two
Chapter 7 - The Journey Begins
Chapter 8 - Olam’s Blessing
Chapter 9 - The Salrians
Chapter 10 - Three Steps Ahead
Chapter 11 - Secrets of Am’bieth
Chapter 12 - Cover and Fire
Chapter 13 - Brea’s Lot: Part Three
Chapter 14 - Trouble with the Neighbours
Chapter 15 - The Rukin
Chapter 16 - Dining with Wolves
Chapter 17 - Ealian’s Plan
Chapter 18 - The Song of Fael
Chapter 19 - Tear in the River
Chapter 20 - Bits and Pieces
Chapter 21 - Brea’s Lot: Part Four
Chapter 22 - Gialyn’s Night
Chapter 23 - The Hollow
Chapter 24 - Tor’s Landing
Chapter 25 - Elspeth’s Wish
Chapter 26 - The Cren
Chapter 27 - Dreams and Demons
Chapter 28 - The Morrdin Line
Chapter 29 - Kirin’thar’s Message
Chapter 30 - Good, Bad, and Ancient
Chapter 31 - What Happened to Ealian?
Chapter 32 - The New Road
Chapter 33 - Brea’s Lot: Part Five
Glossary:
Dedication
Dedicated to my writing hero Robert Jordan. And all the other great fantasy writers who are no longer with us.
“I for one would love to know what Rand al’Thor has been up to.”
Acknowledgements
Editing Service
www.gatheringleavesediting.com
Beta Readers
Annalise Garrett
Rebecca Perry
Mathew Taylor
Rob May
Jo Green
Technical Assistance
Mark Knight
John Wheeler
Cassie McCown
Helpful Authors
Elizabeth Stokes
David Rosso-Taylor
Rob May
MAPS
For a detailed map, please go to - tjgarrett.com
PROLOGUE
Landings
A few days earlier, on the northeastern An’aird Barath coast. One hundred ten leagues north-northwest of Bailryn.
Cal knew he appeared all but invisible against the midnight shroud of the southern cliffs. His green-brown cloak merged with the dark wood of the small Surabhan vessel—a two-mast ship no bigger than a large fishing boat. Nevertheless, invisible or not, he did his best to stay still, hands gripped tight around the guardrail, eyes fixed on the bay to the north. He was there to learn, to spy, really. The elm-wood bow still strapped to his back would be of little use at this range, but he wasn’t there to fight. He just needed to see them for himself.
From behind, he could hear the three crewmen and their captain busying themselves with their duties. Suppressing a laugh, he felt a smile crease his lips. He knew the crewmen’s toil wasn’t a sign of their diligence; their hustle was more a show of reluctance at facing what perils lay to the north. The best he could say of the four Surabhan was they were adequate.
The Surabhan crew, their black cloaks covering bright shirts, were all much shorter than he was. Their boots lay piled under the forecastle steps; even the sound of their booted footfalls was too high a risk. They worked in silence, no songs, not tonight. The air was thick with anticipation or fear. None of them wanted to be there. Cal thought the lure of his gold was beginning to lose its shine. It wouldn’t be long before there was trouble, but he didn’t care. He had to know.
Cal turned his gaze towards the bay. Seven broad ships of the Kel’madden lay anchored in line a half mile from shore, black sails drawn tight against the mast rail. No lamp shone on deck. Only the faint shimmer of the Northern Arc gave up their position. The silver reflections of the Lights of Collisdan—the flickering waves of blue-grey light, that now and then rolled over the northern sky—danced around the shadows, drawing a pale sketch of the ships’ rigging.
Despite the dark, he could see the longboats ferrying men and supplies to shore. Each carried what appeared to be a half load of cargo, along with maybe fifteen of the Madden. The Troopers held their spears vertical as they sat to both port and starboard, giving the longboats the impression of huge, prickle-backed creatures lurching their way to shore.
To his left, beyond the beach, Cal saw odd-looking beasts of burden striding up the cliff path, pulling thin, two-wheeled carts—the same carts as those towed, floating on their sides, from the anchored ships. The beasts were tall, like horses. But the similarity ended there; they had short-snouted faces and wider hind legs; bristles of a thick black hair ran down from their ears to meet their tails, their skin appeared scaled, reflecting the light from their handler’s torches. They were too far away for him to be certain, though. Scaled horses! Who ever heard of such a thing? It must be the dark, playing tricks on him.
The longboats ploughed into the sand. The Kel’madden Troopers disembarked in an well ordered manner. In little over a minute, they lined up in ranks four abreast, ready to march up the cliff path to their camp. Another hundred, how many more before they’re done? Cal’s grip tightened on the guardrail.
"Have you seen enough, Cahldien?" Mateaf, Cal’s kinsman—both Crenach’dair woodsmen—edged his way to the bow. He, too, was tall but still half a hand shorter than his commander. Both were thin but broad at the shoulders. If their heads were not covered, their blond hair would flow past the shoulder. Both had the piercing grey-green eyes of their kin and looks of sober determination. The two moved with a relaxed grace, as though they had practiced every action.
‘Cahldien’ smiled. "I have told you to call me Cal, friend. There are only two of us. The Surabhans do not care for rank—only gold.”
Mateaf nodded yet looked reluctant to obey. He gave a sigh, and his shoulders sank. “It is hard to believe even the Salrians would allow them to land here.”
Cal shook his head. “I doubt they know any more than we did a fortnight ago. We are thirty leagues from the nearest farmhouse, never mind a town or vill—”
The captain interrupted. "Sir, I do not mean to barge in, but we should go. We’re pushing the gods’ own luck being this close. Little use having your gold if I’m not alive to spend it."
Cal turned to the captain. So, the man likes to listen. "Soon," he told him. Then, “Captain… you said this friend of yours first saw these ships a month ago?”
“Right you are, sir, yes. Came close to being caught by them, he said. Fair scared the life out of him, it
did. He was full of it when he got back to the tavern. Said how he had to outrun them, sir.”
“I doubt very much your friend would have been able to outrun them, captain. We’ll just call that… a fisherman’s tale.” Leaning forward, Cal gave the captain his best stare. “But you are sure of the date… a month, no more?”
The captain sighed. “Yes, as I have told you a dozen times, sir. He may not be speaking the truth, saying they chased him, and all—the gods know the man likes to spin a yarn—but I know where he was, and I know where he has been… It was a month! I swear it!”
Cal eyed the captain again and bit his lip. “Very well, we will have to take your word for it. I would have preferred to talk to your friend, though.”
“I tried sir, I tried. You wouldn’t have gotten him on this boat for half the gold in Bailryn, and I tell ya, he’s no coward, not him, sir. Which is why I think we should be off? You must have seen enough by now.” The captain blinked, looking hopeful of a favourable response. When none came, he turned and slowly made his way back to the mid-deck.
"We are too late." Mateaf pulled up his hood, covering his face in shadow, and stared northwards beyond the anchored ships, seemingly paying more attention to the heavens than the activities along the bay. Was he praying? Did he think their mission was futile?
Again, Cal shook his head. "I do not think we are too late, my friend. They are not all here yet." He gestured to the northernmost point of the bay. "Do you see?"
Mateaf creased his eyes. A long moment passed as he gazed into the dark. Cal, too, watched and waited for a sign of what he had seen earlier. It wasn’t long in coming. A light-blue ball of flame illuminated the outline of a monstrous beast, and with it, signs of maybe five more.
Mateaf gasped. He held his lips against the sound of his own prayer. “Gods, it can’t be… Gods, no!”
“Easy, friend," Cal said, patting Mateaf on his shoulder. “I count maybe seven. Yet I do not see the black one amongst them. If he is not here, then she is not here, either. We may yet have time… and it seems they are still setting up camp.” Cal nodded towards the high ridge to the west of the beach, where the soldiers led the “horses”. “I would give a year’s gold to see beyond that ridge. We need to know their numbers.”
He gazed down to the dark waters and rubbed at his brow. “It is ten days round trip to Toi’ildrieg by ship—two months, maybe three… There could be twenty thousand by the time they are finished.”
“Do you really think it is her? After one hundred and twenty years… you really think it is her.”
“Whether it is her or another like her, it makes little difference. Someone has the power, or the beasts wouldn’t be here.”
The captain’s bare feet came thumping along the foredeck. “Really, sir, I must pro—”
“Not so loud, you fool!” Cal forced a harsh whisper through his clenched teeth. Rolling his eyes, he turned to the captain. “Do you think this… barge of yours can outrun one of their longboats with thirty Kel’madden rowing hard to catch you? If you talk much louder, we will find out. We leave when I say!”
The captain stood as if embarrassed, with his head bowed low. “My apologies, sir,” he whispered. “But the men, they’re getting restless… and to tell you true, so am I, sir. We must be gone from here.” He looked back and forth between the two Cren.
“You have been paid to do the work, captain, paid very well. We go when the work is done.” Cal told him.
The captain sighed, bowed, and left again.
Cal watched the crewmen staring at the captain as he walked back to the mid-deck. Their hands rose in anticipation of his orders. The indignant gawping expressions on their faces showed they were none too pleased by his response, in truth; they looked a whisker short of mutiny. The captain had little control over them. He waved his arms and gestured back towards the bow while muttering some inaudible grumble.
“You know he is right. The moon will be up over the cliff soon, and those clouds are beginning to clear,” Mateaf told him.
Cal gave a grin. “I know, friend. I will order our course changed when he doesn’t think it was his idea. The man is charging enough gold to buy this boat twice over, yet he does nothing but test me. If it were up to him, we would have left having learned nothing. No, he can earn his money.”
Mateaf gave him a wry look.
Cal turned his gaze towards the north once more. The longboats had returned to the ships and were already reloading. Another hundred Kel’madden! Gods, if we had known sooner. Damn the Salrians. If only they had a sentry, a lookout, a passing shepherd… anything! For them to get this far…! Do not be a fool. You cannot blame the Salrians. They chose this beach for good reason! Cal sighed. “I suppose you are right, nothing more can be done here.”
The captain all but jumped overboard when Cal tapped him on the shoulder. “Make your course south, captain. And by the gods, stay east of the reef this time.”
“Aye, sir,” he said, with a smile that spoke of utter relief.
The captain gave the faintest nod to his crewmen. They jumped like coiled springs, as though they had been planning their actions for the past hour. The three crewmen wasted no time turning the small ship about, even the captain helped them set sails.
Cal turned to Mateaf and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Our work is done here, friend. It is up to the council now. And may the gods offer them wisdom.”
CHAPTER 1
Spring Feast
The Geddy Valley, half a mile north of the small town of Albergeddy, on the northeastern border of Ealdihain. Two hundred forty leagues west of Bailryn.
“Is that a giant following us?”
Gialyn Re’adh had heard footsteps—heavy footsteps. As he turned back to his father, he all but tripped on the hard-packed dirt road. Again, he yelped, “Father… a giant!” while stabbing his still-pointing finger in the direction of the two men—one man and a giant—following a hundred paces behind.
“What was that, boy?” Daric, Gialyn’s father, turned his head and squinted back along the road. The two strangers were a fair way off, but not so far that it wasn’t clear one of them was… unusual. “No, it isn’t. Don’t you know giants have two heads, boy?” The older man laughed and cast a wry eye in Gialyn’s direction. “And don’t point. It’s rude.”
Of course, Gialyn knew his father was joking. Giants only have one head. Not that anyone had seen one in three hundred years. Now that he thought on it, it was a ridiculous thing to say. It couldn’t be a giant, could it?
“It is just a tall man,” Daric said. “Enough now. Stop staring.” He waved Pepa—the family horse, a shaggy pie-bold mare—forward and, despite taking a last look for himself, urged Gialyn to pay attention to the road.
Gialyn couldn’t resist another look, either…. One was older, of a regular build. A thin, light-coloured cloak covered his day clothes, and he had a cane or staff in one hand. The other man was huge—if he is a man—well over eight feet. He carried a pack the size of a small cart on his back. He, too, wore a light-coloured cloak, similar to the one the older man wore. Maybe they were military cloaks or the two of them belonged to the same clan. On the other hand, maybe they just bought them from the same store.
“I have seen tall men before, Father,” Gialyn said, “but he is wide with it. And he doesn’t look Surabhan to me.”
Daric glanced back. “They might be here for the Spring Feast. They’re not local. I would know a man that size if he lived in the Geddy. I would guess they have come up from Beugeddy. Stop looking!” Daric flicked Gialyn’s hair. “Pay attention to the road, boy. How many times do I have to tell you? I do not want you leading Pepa into a trough. This is the first time I have something to sell at market, even if it is only beets and beans. I don’t want them spread all over the road.”
“Sorry, Father.”
“Honestly, boy, your head is in the clouds. Giants are much bigger. Even the women are ten foot tall, or more! If there were any left, they will
be a thousand miles south, well beyond the Eurmac. Giants…” Daric shook his head.
Gialyn loosened Pepa’s harness a little. He took the waterskin from the cart and splashed some water over the horse’s neck. He took one final look as he placed the skin back in the cart. Maybe he’s not a giant, but he is big. I bet he’s come to the feast to perform—one of those strongman acts, maybe. Now that would be something to see.
It was hot. Gialyn was beginning to wish he had taken his mother’s advice and worn his yellow shirt. Yellow would be cooler. Unfashionable or not, it would be more comfortable than the black one he now wore. He tugged on the collar and swept the sweat-matted hair from his forehead. Gods, I have a full day of this, and it isn’t even noon yet.
Holding his collar open with one hand, he guided Pepa with the other. Barely ten minutes from home and already the poor thing looked tired. She was a young horse, her first time pulling the cart, and what with the heat… Gialyn swiped the flies from around Pepa’s eyes and again tried easing her harness a little. It was the best he could do for her.
The track was hard underfoot. Spring had begun early, and what little rain they had slid off the hard surface. The heat of the packed dirt made Gialyn’s feet itch with sweat inside his boots. He was glad it was only another mile to the town green.
Gialyn wiped a bead of sweat from his neck and glanced across Pepa’s crest at his father. He chuckled to himself. Daric—a tallish, dark-haired man of middle years with a slender but strong build—walked three paces ahead, talking as though his son was paying attention. Gialyn wondered how long he would keep it up. He wasn’t trying to be rude; it was just hard to hear his muttering while he faced the other way.
“…can get the horse fitted… done, we will be able to plough the… Next year I will be… Of course, Tanner keeps me… Damn that…”
The mumbling went on, until…
“Are you listening to me, boy?” Daric shouted.
The Call of the Crown (Book 1) Page 1
