The Warden's Sword

by Paul Summerhayes

  Contents

  Title

  Copy Write

  Dedication

  Map

  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

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Thank You

  The Warden’s Sword

  By

  Paul Summerhayes

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

  Copyright © 2016 Paul Summerhayes

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Art and Design: Infinite Imagination

  http://www.infiniteimagination.com.au/

  Subscribe to Paul’s no spam newsletter and download a free book:

  http://www.paulsummerhayes.com/

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/PWSummerhayes

  This book is dedicated to William and Lynette Summerhayes,

  who taught me that I was not too old to dream.

  Chapter 1

  Year - 837

  Many red and white banners fluttered in the gentle sea breeze above the massive Naromian army stretching across the southern Krystorian plains. In the previous few months, this mighty army fought its way from far in the south across the vast open plains to where it stood now. The army and every man in it was on the brink of exhaustion. Their enemy, the Krystorians, had fought well and should be proud of the strong resistance shown. But it was to no avail. Even though weary, the Naromian soldiers standing in their battle lines knew that victory was close.

  From a small hill, General Juan Lyomise, a native of northern Naromia, sat astride a magnificent bay warhorse and surveyed his army stretching out across the land below. It wasn’t his army but the king’s, but he always thought of the men as his. He wasn’t born into privilege and wealth, he was the son of a simple tradesman—Marco the ship builder. Over a lifetime of servitude to the crown, Juan had worked his way from the bottom to the position he now held. He was the commander general to the largest assembled army in history—more than fifty thousand souls.

  At the war council early that day, the general had informed his king, Pablo Borbe, and the real power behind the throne, Queen Sofia, that the Naromian flag would fly over the Krystorian capital, Rulle, within a week. Their beaten enemy had only the city walls to stop his army’s advance.

  He looked beyond the ranks of knights, foot soldiers, archers and siege machines to the city in the distance. It was told that the Krystorian capital was one of the most beautiful and cultured places in the known world. Tall spires dotted the city scape and seemed to reach to the heavens. It was rumoured that within the city, vast wealth could be found—both in gold and knowledge. There were art galleries, theatres and large buildings called museums which contained relics from the past. Ha! What value old dead things added to life was beyond his experience. I will see these museums when we sack the city, he mused.

  A man wearing the white livery of a messenger broke away from the rear of the army and jogged up the hill toward the general. His old eyes noted the messenger as soon as he broke ranks.

  “I never miss a thing,” he chuckled to himself. “I guess the message will be from those young captains wanting me to wipe their noses…or their arses.” You can always rely on the old man, he thought and chuckled a little louder. The career general had the reputation of being a hard man but he liked being needed. A fact he kept secret. The young officers were his only family as he never found the time to marry. And as an old man now, that was one of his few regrets. Family.

  It was late afternoon and the army would hold here for the night. He had given strict instructions that they were to stop ten miles from the city and set perimeter guards. The men needed a good night’s rest, for he envisioned the fighting would be intense come the morning. There was no need to exhaust the men further that day and attack the city. He hated wasting more lives than was necessary. As always, he knew his orders would be followed to the letter.

  More killing tomorrow…when will it end? He would not miss war and killing when he finally retired…when the king permitted it.

  “What will they call this war years from now?” he asked his horse as he patted the animal’s muscular neck. “Probably something grand and not what it really is...a senseless waste of human life.” All of the reports said that Tarmia had recently joined the war on Krystoria’s side and was sending an army to aid their ally. This would only mean the war will continue longer than he wanted. There was much more killing ahead…

  He turned back to see the progress of the approaching messenger but the man was no longer in sight. “That’s odd. Where did the bugger go?”

  The general caught movement out of the corner of his eye just before a razor sharp sword bit into his neck and in one fluid motion, his head left his shoulders and thumped wetly on the ground. The general’s trained warhorse never moved as the old man’s body slid off its back and landed beside its head.

  Silently, the pale grey-skinned messenger bent down and picked up the general’s head by its hair and dropped into a black bag. He removed his hood and the gentle sea breeze blew his black hair, exposing his pointed ears as he fastened the bag. This eldon was a member of the Brotherhood of Shadows and this was their trade. Death.

  “I hope the tent is set up in the right spot tonight, my dear,” said King Pablo Borbe IV as he studied a large map of Krystoria laid out on a folding table. “I had the tent masters flogged yesterday—they won’t make the same mistake twice.”

  The king was a pathetic excuse for a man. Middle-aged and balding, he was both mentally and physically frail before his time. Pablo would have been a disappointment to his father, King Miguel, a heroic warrior and noble statesman—a people’s king. His son’s softness would have disgusted him if he lived. Pablo allowed his underlings to manipulate him and make decisions in his stead. His queen, Sofia, was the chief offender. It was common knowledge that all the hard decisions were made by her. Even the current invasion of Krystoria was her idea, or so the rumours went. But who knew?

  Queen Sofia the Beautiful…was not actually beautiful. But no one was brave enough to say it, especially as she was the most powerful women in the world. She was the total opposite of her husband. She was tall, heavy-boned and strong, both physically and mentally. A real power house of a woman.

  “It is adequate for now, husband,�
�� said the queen. “But maybe we should have one of the tent slaves executed for good measure. It would ensure that the mix up never happened again.”

  “A splendid idea, my dear…is it necessary?”

  “Is it necessary?” She stared at her husband in disbelief. “Yes.”

  “Oh. I will see to it directly, my dear.”

  “Stop, husband. We have things to discuss.”

  “Yes, dear?”

  The queen plonked her mass down into a plush armchair that had travelled many hundreds of miles just for her comfort. “I want the city of Rulle occupied by our army by tomorrow night. In one day. I cannot wait any longer.” The queen picked at an imaginary thread on her dress. “This dry air doesn’t agree with me.”

  “You could return to the capital, my dear.”

  “What?! You would never succeed in this invasion without me. You should be thankful I am here.”

  “Yes, dear, I am...” He didn’t look like he meant it.

  “Too right you are.”

  “Evening, Your Highnesses,” said a voice from outside their tent’s flap. “A messenger from General Lyomise is here. He says he carries an urgent message.” The voice belonged to Sir Carlos, the king’s chamberlain.

  King Pablo looked at his wife for her consent.

  “Well. Let’s hear what the old buzzard has to say,” she waved her hand impatiently.

  “Yes, dear,” said the king. He adjusted his robes and sat in an armchair beside his wife. “Enter,” he said as regally as he could.

  The tent flap opened and Sir Carlos put his head in and nodded to the royal couple. He ushered the white-clothed messenger inside and stepped in behind the man, closing the tent flap. The messenger was unusually tall and he carried a black bag.

  “I haven’t got all night,” demanded the queen. “Spit it out.”

  “When you’re ready, my good man,” said the king. Which earned him a dirty look from his wife.

  The tall messenger lifted his hooded head and stared at the royals. His pale grey skin and pointed ears marked him as an eldon.

  The king, queen and Sir Carlos gasped. How could an eldon infiltrate their lines? There were none of their race this far south.

  “I have a message from the Brotherhood of Shadows on behalf of the King of Krystoria,” said the eldon.

  “What?” said the queen as she recoiled in fear from the eldon.

  “This is your final warning,” continued the eldon. “Leave Krystoria or die here.”

  He opened the black bag and dropped its gruesome contents onto the thick carpets in front of the royals. Three severed heads rolled across the floor. The old general’s head stopped at the queen’s feet—its sightless eyes staring up at her.

  The queen screamed.

  “This is so you don’t forget,” said the tall eldon. He produced a long curved sword from beneath his white robes and in a smooth action, he stepped forward and decapitated the king. The royal head flew through the air and landed on the carpet beside the general’s. The headless body sprayed the queen with blood before it toppled off the chair.

  The queen continued to scream.

  Coming to his senses, Carlos drew his sword and clumsily swung at the assassin but missed. Without taking his eyes off the queen, the eldon stabbed the chamberlain through the neck and the man dropped to the ground, choking on his own blood.

  “Help!” screamed the queen. “Help!”

  Several men at arms burst through the tent flap in time to see the assassin slash the tent’s side and escape into the night. An alarm bell sounded across the camp and they gave pursuit.

  The guard approached the queen and bowed slightly. “Are you all right, Your Highness?”

  “All right?! All right! What do you think?” she fumed. “Find that assassin and kill him! Hunt that eldon and all that know him until the end of time! And kill them all!”

  Chapter 2

  Year - 862

  It was a cold morning and Finn pulled his worn coat tightly around his shoulders. The small fire had burnt down during the night and the cottage was cold. While not as cold as the mountainous slopes where he came from, it was still cold. It was dark outside as he ate his breakfast, a bowl of reheated stew that his brother Garm had made the night before. It didn’t taste any better today. His thoughts drifted to Kalher’s absence. The old warden was a good cook and treated the brothers like sons. As eldon, they didn’t receive the same respect from everyone.

  Loud snores came from an adjacent room and seemed to vibrate around the small cottage. Garm was asleep. The big lug is always slow to wake on a cold morning, thought Finn. Just like when we were kids.

  Finn walked past the cottage’s only other resident as he carried his empty bowl into the small kitchen. Old Derric Larmpstine, the town drunk. He was a regular occupant of the warden’s small cell and this morning, he snored almost as loud as Garm. Almost.

  At least you’re not sleeping in the streets, old man, he thought. Your punishment will be Garm’s stew for breakfast.

  Finn grabbed the black sword from its wall hook near the kitchen and buckled it on. The sword was an alp’s weapon, lent to him by Mordan to protect his friend, Anna.

  Oh, Anna. I do wish we had a quiet life…I guess it’s not meant to be.

  Finn put on his green warden’s cloak and latched it in place with a leaf-shaped brooch. This was a warden’s brooch and sign to others he was in the king’s service. The cloak was a gift from the mayor, Anna’s stepfather and his boss. With the old warden, Kalher’s, death, the mayor had no choice but to promote the two grey-skinned eldon brothers. Finn was sure the mayor would have preferred human wardens, but Anna convinced him that Finn saved her and was the right man, or eldon, for the job. Did the mayor really have a choice?

  “You’re off early today,” said Garm from his bedroom door. Finn was so deep in thought that he hadn’t noticed the snoring had stopped. Garm was seven feet tall and looked comical with his long black hair standing up at odd angles. Many were intimidated by the gentle giant but Garm had a heart of gold.

  “I’m making my rounds then I’ll open the town gates.”

  “Are you going to Anna’s house again?”

  “Yeah. Mordan said people will be looking her now, hunting her for her First Born blood, and I can’t let that happen.”

  “That was weeks ago, the master’s probably dead.” Garm flattened his hair with his oversized hand. “And we haven’t seen that blood sucking alp. Maybe he’s dead, too.”

  “I don’t know about the master, but Mordan is definitely not dead. You haven’t seen him in action. I would be surprised if anyone could match his speed or strength.”

  “He hasn’t met me.” Garm stood straighter and bumped his head on the door frame.

  “He should consider himself lucky,” Finn laughed. “I better go. The merchants will be waiting at the gates.”

  “I will open the south gate if you open the north.”

  “Sounds good.” Finn opened the front door and the cold air hit him in the face. “Don’t forget to feed Derric some of your ‘experiment’ for his breakfast.”

  “It’s exactly how Mother made it.”

  Finn stepped outside and closed the front door.

  Finn’s gaze searched the quiet streets of Freewater as he walked toward the north gate. It had been unusually quiet since Kalher’s death—no, not death, he was murdered. He felt tense, as though an unseen threat loomed over his head and it would strike at any moment. But nothing happened and the village remained sleepy as always.

  Even Kirk Auttenburg, the town thug, had been keeping a low profile. The blonde man seemed to be actively avoiding him and Garm—which was probably a good thing as they were no longer the same wide-eyed eldon bumpkins Kirk met a year ago.

  It’s cold enough to snow. His breath puffed steam into the cold air as he trudged toward the village gate. It rarely snowed in the Tarmian low lands, unlike the mountains where he was born. As Finn walked through the town centre,
he spied Kirk across the Market Square. The blonde man was deep in conversation with three other men. At that distance he couldn’t tell who they were, but they didn’t look like locals.

  Kirk had finished talking with the men and they turned and went their separate ways. Kirk headed toward him. Unconsciously, Finn’s hand dropped to the black sword’s hilt. It was cold to the touch, which was always good sign—if the hilt was warm it meant that the enchanted blade could sense blood.

  The blonde man hesitated when he saw the eldon but quickly continued on his path, ignoring Finn as he passed.

  “Good morning, Kirk,” said Finn.

  “If you say so, Warden.” The blonde man didn’t stop.

  “Who were those men you were speaking to?”

  Kirk stopped and turned to face Finn. “Why? Is there a king’s law that says I can’t talk to people I pass? Is it punishable by death?”

  “I just wondered who they were. Are they new in Freewater?”

  “I don’t know. It’s the first time I seen them.” Kirk seemed in a hurry. “Is that all, Warden?”

  “Yeah. I am just doing my job. Let’s try to be civil.”

  The blonde man spat onto the ground and then turned and walked off. “You’ll get yours, eldon.”

  Yep…he’s still holding a grudge.

  At the north gate, Finn slid the drawbar back and swung open the gate. There was no one waiting to enter the village. Welcome to another quiet day in Freewater. I bet no one would even notice if the gates weren’t opened...

  He turned and headed toward the mayor’s house. He wanted to check on Anna. When he arrived, her street was empty and he wondered if anything ever happened here.

  There were no lights lit at the mayor’s house so he leant against a low stone wall and prepared himself for a long wait. Just as he got comfortable, he noticed a few men loitering down the street in the predawn shadows. There were three men. He wondered if they were the men Kirk was talking to and decided to investigate further.