by Rob J. Hayes
The Bound Folio
Tales of First Earth, Vol. 1
Rob J. Hayes
© 2016
Edited by J.M. Martin
Cover Design by Shawn T. King
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Worldwide Rights
Created in the United States of America
Published by Ragnarok Publications | www.ragnarokpub.com
Publisher: Tim Marquitz | Creative Director: J.M. Martin
CONTENTS
Author’s Note
The Sword of the North
A Game of Poisons
The Kid
The Battle of Underbridge
The Merchant of Truridge
By My Life and My Bloodline
You Never Forget Your First Time
Black Blood
Appendix: Religion on First Earth
About the Author
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Author’s Note
In The Bound Folio I collect together a number of short stories that expand upon the history of First Earth, the setting of my Ties That Bind trilogy, as well as many of my forthcoming titles, and these tales give a glimpse into the backgrounds of some of the characters that populate it. Each story exists as a standalone, requiring no prior knowledge of the world or characters involved.
Some I wrote because I wanted to further delve into a character's past to explain why they are the way they are, but either that past was too complex or simply didn't fit into the full-sized novels. Others I wrote because I wanted to jump into a character's shoes before introducing them in the novel they star in. And one I wrote because I wanted to humanize one of my least likeable characters.
Some of the tales contained within focus on characters people might recognize from The Ties that Bind trilogy, while others will introduce new characters from the upcoming Best Laid Plans duology, and a couple will focus on characters who have yet to make an appearance at all.
I hope you enjoy reading these stories as much as I have writing them, and I hope they pique some interest in future tales from First Earth. They are as follows:
“The Sword of the North” – Set 15 years prior to the events of The Ties that Bind.
When Derran Fowl's father requests a witch hunter to exorcise his daughter, Derran's whole world comes crashing down around him.
“A Game of Poisons” – Set 1 year prior to the events of The Ties that Bind.
Alfer Boharn was once the most famous assassin in the world, but those days are behind him now. Unfortunately, the past has a way of catching up with folk.
“The Kid” – Set 5 years prior to the events of The Ties that Bind.
Growing up in Korral is a hard life where friends are just enemies waiting for a reason. The Kid is about to find his reason.
“The Battle of Underbridge” – Set 51 years prior to the events of The Ties that Bind.
The Five Kingdoms war against the dead never ends and squire Tristan Southerland is about to get his first taste of it.
“The Merchant of Truridge” – Set 8 years prior to the events of The Ties that Bind.
After the suspicious death of his father, Sirion Tell returns to Truridge to take up the family business, only to find out just how dangerous the merchants of Truridge can be.
“By My Life and My Bloodline” – Set 3 years prior to the events of The Ties that Bind.
Lorri and Ehln are guilty of no other crime than existing, yet it's enough to see them chased to the ends of First Earth and back.
“You Never Forget Your First Time” – Set 9 years prior to the events of The Ties that Bind.
Before she became Queen of the Five Kingdoms, Shián Crowfeather was the only student ever to be expelled from the school of mistresses.
“Black Blood” – Set 1 year after the events of The Ties that Bind.
Between devious pirates, walking skeletons, and an ancient treasure map; Arbiter Beck's mission in the Pirate Isles will just have to wait.
The Sword of the North
“DERRAN. DERRAN! WHERE IN THE GODS' NAMES ARE YOU?”
Derran shot his little sister an apologetic look. Swamped in blankets, Leesa smiled sympathetically and nodded back.
“BY THE BLAZES OF HELL, BOY, YOU BEST SHOW YOURSELF THIS SECOND.”
Derran put down the book he had been reading and slipped from his sister's room. A short jog later, he stepped around a corner in front of his father just as the man was about to release another thunderous bellow.
His father stepped back in shock at Derran's appearance and lashed out, catching his son with a backhand across the lip that split the skin and forced Derran to catch himself on the wall. Despite the pain, Derran refused to cry out.
“Do you know where I've been today?” Gerand Fowl asked.
Derran thought of a number of answers, all of which would earn him a black eye, and instead decided to adopt his usual silent reproachful look.
“I've been at the docks at Land's End overseeing the shipment of our latest iron stock. Earning this family's income,” Gerand's voice was rising again. “What did I tell you to do in my absence?”
Derran tried to ignore the fact that his father stank of alcohol and cheap perfume and answered the question without a hint of emotion. “You said I should continue learning my figures in your absence, sir.”
“And yet, upon my return our steward tells me you have been in the yard practicing swordplay with the soldiers all day.”
Derran noticed the family steward, Orin Syù, standing ten feet behind his father. He chose to ignore the petty little man with his bulging eyes and huge nose with its latticework of broken veins.
“Yes, sir,” Derran answered and braced for the blow. To his surprise, it didn't come.
“Son, you need to learn these things,” Gerand said, putting his hand on his son's shoulder and turning him so they were both headed towards the study. “When you turn eighteen I'll be expecting you to help me run the family businesses. Knowing your figures to help me with the books is an important part of that.”
Derran knew his father never touched the books. He left it up to the steward; yet, Derran also knew that reminding his father of that would flare his anger once again. With some careful maneuvering, he might get out of the situation without another beating. “But father, at eighteen you were squire for Sir Kark Byfield. You spent your youth in battles and entering tourneys, earning your knighthood.”
Gerand nodded. “True, true, but my father never taught me figures. It's why I have to rely so on Orin. There may be time for swordplay, but only after your studies are complete. It's for the best, son.”
They stopped outside the study and Gerand opened the door. “I'll have dinner sent to you when it's ready. Make sure you complete all the exercises set out for you and show your work to Orin when it's complete. Now I've a terrible headache, so I'm going to lie down for a while.” With that, Gerand Fowl turned and walked away, talking to the steward as they went. Derran stood in the doorway to the study, almost unscathed; he could still taste the blood from his split lip.
Inside the study, he found all the work set out for him already completed. Underneath the books was a small, inconspicuous note in his little brother's handwriting. It said: 'Don't make
it look too obvious.'
#
Derran parried, then dodged out of range for a split second before darting back in. He brushed aside his opponent’s parry and brought his sword up in what would have been a deadly arc. The blunted tourney sword made a satisfying clang as it connected with the guard’s chest plate. The guard, a man in his late twenties with a proud scar running down his left cheek, made an annoyed grunt. He shook Derran's hand with a muttered compliment about the boy's form, then departed for the bath house.
At just fifteen, Derran was already an accomplished swordsman. He had beaten every soldier under his father’s command, though admittedly it was not a large garrison. His ten-year-old brother, Keelin, was showing the same aptitude for swordplay, yet lacked the brawn at his young age to best larger opponents. Both boys had inherited their father's skill and balance with a sword in hand, along with many of his features, including his size, although Derran was shaping up to be taller with less bulk. The boys had also inherited their mother's dark brown hair and steel gray eyes.
Leesa, however, had inherited nothing from their father. She was a smaller version of their mother with fine, delicate features and a smile that could light up a room. She had also been born two months early and plagued by frailty ever since. Recently, she had been in very poor health, and Derran had taken to reading to her on a daily basis. Despite being only eight, and sick too often, Leesa always smiled and laughed at the right places in the stories. In fact, she was always in a cheerful mood when Derran visited and loved any story he picked to read. It was a pleasant change from reading to Keelin, who always wanted his older brother to read stories of buccaneers and good-natured bandits stealing from the rich and giving to poor. It was made even worse by the fact that Keelin was already far better with his words than Derran.
None of the other soldiers were willing to take Derran's challenge that day, and Keelin was busy at his studies, so Derran retired to his room and ordered a hot bath drawn. After bathing, he ordered a light lunch of bread with butter and bacon and two eggs, then settled into his chair to read a book entitled Jacob's Study of Mine Management.
Derran awoke with a start as his door opened and his lunch was brought in. The servant carrying his lunch was called Helena, a petite girl of seventeen years with stunning blue eyes and a wicked grin. She placed Derran's lunch next to him, then busied herself tidying the bed and turning over the pillows while Derran walked over to the doorway and locked the door. She was in his arms almost before he turned around.
“I brought your refreshment, m'lord,” Helena purred and kissed him with a desperate passion.
Derran returned the kiss before pulling away a little. “You always refresh me, Helena,” he said, then carried her to the bed without another word. Derran was under no false impressions that she was as inexperienced at bed-play as he, but they made up for it with passion and, as always, she seemed to enjoy it.
#
The seasons changed quickly in the east; all too soon autumn changed to winter. Derran's sixteenth birthing-day passed even quicker. It was a dull affair. Keelin brought his ever-present youthful enthusiasm, but Leesa had been too ill to leave her bed. In an act that seemed beyond strange to Derran, his father had gifted him with a sword. It was not a very pretty weapon. It lacked decoration, even the family crest, but it was well balanced and had a good, sharp edge.
“All men of age should have their own sword,” his father said, “even those that won't be using it.”
It was in the first weeks of winter, just after the nights became longer than the days, when Derran received a summons to his father's personal study. In his entire life Derran had only seen his father's study twice. Once when Leesa had been born and the midwife had ordered all the men in the house into the study until it was finished, and once when he and Keelin were younger and they stole their father's key and snuck in. They had taken such a beating when he caught them. Now, Derran was being summoned. His father wanted him there. It was unnerving, to say the least.
When he arrived he found the door ajar and light spilled from the room into the darkened corridor. Derran knocked, waited a few moments until his father answered, and then stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.
Gerand sat alone in the large, elaborate study with a half-empty bottle of whiskey next to his grand chair. He was staring into the fire with savage intensity, despite the weather rarely getting cold enough to need a fire as far south as they were.
Derran stopped by his father's chair and waited, back straight and at attention. His father didn't seem to notice; he just took another big mouthful from the whiskey glass beside him.
Derran waited a few seconds more, then cleared his throat. “You sent for me, sir?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes.”
Gerand Fowl looked tired. He put down his glass and pushed himself up from his chair. Derran could tell he was drunk from the shaky way he stood, never mind the stink of alcohol on the man. He had no doubt been drinking for many hours, Derran thought to himself as he waited for his father to speak. The wait went on for some time.
“I've sent a request to the Inquisition for us to be visited by one of their Arbiters.”
Derran felt his face twist into a look of pure shock. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened. “Why would you want an Arbiter here, father?”
“It's for your sister. I've come to believe her illnesses are not...natural.” Derran couldn't believe what he was hearing. It had to be some sort of joke. His father continued, heedless. “It's not like the Inquisition to ignore such a request, so...”
“What are you saying, father? Are you telling me you've requested a witch hunter to come investigate your own daughter?” Derran wasn't shouting, he never shouted, but his voice had taken a deadly serious tone.
“Son, she's been speaking in tongues. And, she knows things. Things she shouldn't know. Things she couldn't know. I fear she may be cursed, or even worse, possessed.”
“What could she know that could convince you she's possessed?”
“She knows I've been...uh, transgressing.”
“Everyone from here to Land's End knows about your whores.”
Gerand's hand lashed out and struck Derran on the cheek. It was a powerful blow that should have knocked him to the floor, yet Derran's body didn't move an inch. The cold stare he turned on his father, however, made the man take a backwards step.
Derran's voice was as cold as his stare, his gray eyes boring a hole into his father. “She's a sick eight-year-old girl with a fever, father. She needs medicine and time, not some witch hunter from Sarth!”
“The request has already been sent. If there's nothing wrong with her the Arbiter will leave; but, if there is something...they'll know what to do to make her better. It's for the best, son.”
Derran had to restrain himself from hitting the man; instead, he turned on his heel and strode from the room, knowing there was nothing he could do now to stop the Arbiter's arrival.
#
The next two weeks passed much too quickly. Derran spent a lot of time with Leesa, keeping her company and reassuring her. She knew the Arbiter was coming, despite everyone being under strict orders not to talk about it, and Derran was not going to lie to his little sister for the sake of their father. Derran spent the remainder of his time in the practice yard or with Keelin. Their father was absent most of the time, either at Land's End or in his personal study with the steward, so the boys were left largely unsupervised. They enjoyed the freedom as much as they could, given the circumstances.
The Arbiter drifted into the grounds like a fog on the wind. No one noticed him arrive, but suddenly he was there, and everyone kept their distance out of fear or respect or a goodly measure of both.
The Arbiter was a tall, skinny man, his hair long, brown, and unkempt. His face looked gaunt, and his eyes were hollow. He wore simple brown leather breeches, a tunic of the same make, and a long brown over-coat. The Arbiter had a short sword buckled at b
oth hips, and holy symbols dangled from all over his person.
No one told the Arbiter who the Lord of the Manor was and, in his current garb, Gerand looked more like a travelling merchant, having just returned from one of his trips to Land's End. Despite this, the Arbiter approached Derran's father.
“My name is Arbiter Prin,” the man's voice was deep and full of menace. “I will need use of a private room. There will be no admittance whatsoever, save from any whose presence I directly request. I will need interviews with all of your family members and also the house staff. I will begin in one hour. You may lead the way now.”
Never in his life had Derran seen his father so truly cowed; even when a prince had stayed with them for a week, Gerand had maintained his air of command. Now, he stumbled out some words and led the way for the witch hunter as if a mere servant. Derran couldn't say why it angered him. He watched until they had left and the courtyard had cleared of people, and then released his breath. With a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, Derran slipped away in search of Helena.
By the time he had searched almost the entire grounds, worry had given way to suspicion. Throwing caution to the wind, Derran decided to ask the manor's head chef.
“She disappeared two nights ago, young sir. I wondered 'bout it m'self, so I asked the steward.”
“And?” Derran didn't like the anxious pit forming in his stomach.
“Steward said the Lordship 'ad stopped her employment. Had her escorted from the manor, middle of the night. I checked with Sergeant Bowen to make sure she was a'right—he was on duty that night. Said he saw her escorted by one of the patrol men that runs 'tween here and Land's End.”
“So, she was taken to Land's End?”
“Couldn't say, young Lordship.”
Derran went in search of Sergeant Bowen. He already knew there was only one reason his father would send the serving girl away.
