Black Cross
Page 72
***
Fal patted the neck of the proud white elven steed he'd been given by Lord Errwin-Roe, and took one last look behind him at a city he hardly recognised. The elegant horse trotted through Wesson’s eastern gate, its head and tail held high as it followed the black mare of Correia Burr. Sav, Errolas, Gleave and Starks followed behind on their own proud steeds; each were armed, armoured, carrying saddle bags and wearing the dark green of a pathfinder; setting out on a mission to the south none but Correia and Errolas knew about.
***
Fransys wasn’t happy. His big sister had forced him to cut off his shoulder length hair because hers was short and brown like Mamma’s and she was jealous, and now she said he looked like Old Man Mickel the farmer, albeit blonde, not grey.
‘Well I’m not old, Meya, I’m only bloody eight.’ He took another handful of dirt from the road he sat on and threw it back at the door to his family’s cottage, praying to Sir Samorl for Meya to come out just at the right time. Looking back over his shoulder, he frowned to see it hadn’t happen.
‘Useless bloody god,’ Fransys said to himself, before looking back up the road which led out of Hinton. Fransys’ eyes widened and his breath caught at the sight before him. Licking his dry lips, he struggled to think what to do. He wasn’t even sure if what he saw was real or a trick of the light. He'd heard that could happen, especially when tired or upset.
‘Dadda,’ Fransys called softly.
Nothing.
‘Dadda!’ he shouted, as the dirty-white caparisoned horse and armoured rider he saw on the road drew closer. The black hart on the blood and dirt soiled white trapper, heater shield and surcoat was clear to the boy’s young eyes.
‘What now, lad?’ Hjefroy said as he came to the door of the cottage, his left hand scratching at the stump where his right had once been. Hjefroy frowned as he noticed his son’s shorn hair, which had mirrored his own earlier that same day. Sighing hard, he turned to shout for Meya, knowing it would be his daughter’s doing.
‘Dadda look!’
Hjefroy couldn’t miss the fear in his son’s voice. He tensed as he turned and looked back out the door, following his boy’s frightened stare up the road to a loan rider, whose horse aimlessly walked to and fro, picking at the patchy grass by the side of the road. Baron Brackley? Not like you to travel alone…
Hjefroy’s gut lurched as he realised the reason for his son’s understandable fear. He walked slowly out into the road to stand in front of Fransys. ‘Go inside lad, this ain’t for yer eyes,’ he said, unable to take his own from the sight before him.
‘Is that the Baron of Ullston, Dadda?’
‘Aye, lad, it is, Now go I say.’
‘But his head… it’s gone, and he’s still riding his horse?’
Hjefroy closed his eyes tight for a brief moment before turning and dropping to crouch in front of his son. He rested his left hand on his son’s shoulder, whilst tucking his stump into his shirt as was his habit. ‘The Baron’s dead, my son. He isn’t riding, the horse is walking itself, I promise you that.’
Fransys’ blue eyes were wide as he tried to look round his father. ‘But how does he not fall off and who killed him?’
‘If I tell ye, will ye go indoors and send yer mother out to me?’
Fransys nodded.
‘What did the Baron do for us, Fransys?’
‘He built us this cottage.’
‘Aye, that he did, but what else, for everyone in the area?’
‘He holds the summer fete at his hall.’
Hjefroy smiled despite the situation. ‘And what did I used to do with the Baron, lad?’ He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his son’s eyes widened yet more as he remembered.
‘Fight thieves and goblins and monsters.’
Laughing, again despite the situation, Hjefroy nodded. ‘Aye son, we did, and I think that’s what Baron Brackley went to do recently. He went to fight off some nasty goblins—’
‘But they killed him?’ Fransys cut in, solemnly.
Hjefroy nodded again. ‘I think they did. It’s an old wicked trick for goblins to tie a lord or knight to his horse and send that horse on its way, to frighten people like us, but that’s all that’s happened here lad, ye see?’
Fransys’ eyes welled with tears as he nodded, his head hanging low at the end.
‘But we won’t let ’em scare us will we, son? The Baron deserves a proper Samorlian burial and that’s what yer mother and I will give him, but I need ye to go get her for that, and then I need ye to be brave and go stay with yer sister, make sure—
‘Ah-ah, Fransys… I know what she’s done to yer hair and I’ll be talking to her for it, but ye need to be with her and stop her—’
‘Dadda,’ Fransys said suddenly, whilst again looking past his father.
‘What?’
‘The Baron, Dadda… he just drew his sword.’
Hjefroy’s heart almost stopped as he heard the words and saw the genuine fear returning to his son’s face. Turning round slowly whilst remaining crouched, Hjefroy looked upon his former liege lord’s armoured corpse, as it lifted its blooded broadsword high and turned its mount to face the two of them.
‘Morl’s bloody balls,’ Hjefroy said whilst breathing out heavily. He grabbed his son with his good hand then and ran for his cottage. ‘My sword,’ he shouted, ‘Sasha! Grab me my fucking sword!’
Hooves pounded the earth behind them.
***
With a swirl of thick, acrid smoke and a scream a spoilt child would be proud of, a fleshy red sack of bones with yellowed teeth and black eyes appeared on the moss covered ground. Steam poured from that flesh, flesh that slowly rolled over revealing a curled up, howling goblin, whose scrawny limbs, bald head and torn ears shuddered violently.
Finally, the red-skinned creature’s shudder slowed to a tremble as he began to stiffly unwrap himself from his self hugging fetal position. He looked about himself and painfully stretched his thin but tightly muscled limbs, the trembles falling away to a growing confidence that spread a sharp toothed grin across his pointed face.
The Red Goblin’s howling screech had fallen to a mumble, which now transformed into a rasping chuckle, before developing into an all out manic laugh. Forcing himself to his feet, the goblin chieftain stretched his arms and legs completely, his naked and toned form disgusting his observer.
Bowing low in an almost mocking gesture, without even looking upon the recipient, The Red Goblin spoke his first coherent words since re-awakening. ‘Your wards worked, just like your emissary Dignaaln said they would.’ He slowly waved his hands in front of his face, before checking his legs and torso, making sure all had returned in tact. He finished by taking a hold of his cock and balls and giving them a good tug.
‘Indeed,’ an unamused, bass-like voice said from within The Red Goblin’s head. ‘Did you doubt that fact, goblin?’
The goblin snarled. ‘Chieftain!’ He released his package to pick at his right ear. ‘And not at all, it’s told your power is unmeasurable.’ The Red Goblin sucked the product of his ear picking from his clawed finger and looked up high, into his observer’s eyes.
‘You’d do well to remember my power. You are naught but a servant to me. Your title means nothing here goblin.’
‘I was chosen by a bloody god!’ The Red Goblin’s defiance was apparent through his balled fists and wide stance.
The voice in his head roared, dropping him to his knees.
‘You were born of a mortal mother who bled to death as your father had you tattooed red at birth, by a shaman he later killed.’
The Red Goblin rocked back at the revelation, his eyes darting around, focusing on nothing as he tried to find a way to disprove the facts unfolding in his head.
‘Do not mistake that with being chosen by a false god you fool. If you hadn’t murdered your father the first chance you had, you might have learnt that yourself.’
Taking in deep breaths to calm his beating heart, The
Red Goblin looked at the skin of his arms. He shook his head slowly and tried but failed to climb to his feet; his legs refused to work for him.
‘You may not have had the beginning you believed, goblin, but you do have power. You have my backing, after all, and there’s nothing more you could ever need to fulfill your ambitions.’ The voice had lowered, but its every syllable continued to resonate throughout the chieftain’s skull. ‘Now tell me what I wish to know, and we shall talk more about the great things I can do for you.’
Licking his thin lips, The Red Goblin finally stood. He straightened his back and lifted his head, before revealing what he knew the being before him had been waiting to hear since his arrival.
‘The north is in disarray and the kingdom as a whole has been weakened as you desired… master.’ The Red Goblin had uttered the latter with reluctance whilst struggling to push the new found truth about his origins to the back of his mind. Visions of future glory, power and wealth won out in the end however, and he grinned as he locked eyes with the creature towering over him. ‘From what I’ve done and seen, I believe now is the time for the humans to witness your return.’
The look The Red Goblin received caused him to step back, and although he would never admit it, even to himself, the goblin chieftain almost felt sorry for the humans of Altoln and Sirreta, for what was to come… well, it didn’t bear thinking about, even for him.
So ends the first book from the tales of the Black Powder Wars.
Thank you for reading:
Black Cross
First book from the tales of the
Black Powder Wars
Amazon reviews are mandatory.
Well, maybe not, but they're more than welcome.
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J P Ashman is currently working on:
Black Martlet
First short story from the tales of the
Black Powder Wars
(Due for release late 2015)
Black Guild
Second book from the tales of the
Black Powder Wars
(Due for release 2016)
Biography
Born 1981 in Blackpool, England, my parents instilled into me a love of not only nature and wildlife, but of fantasy, history and mystery. My imagination, sparked at a young age and projected onto paper through pencil and other tools for many years, was left behind with regards to future careers when I fell in love with motorcycles. From this, I studied motor vehicle maintenance at college, before moving onto electrical and mechanical engineering. None of this seemed to satisfy me, and so, I moved onto several clerical roles. I made many friends and gained valuable experience whilst working in offices (including valuable writing experience), but again felt I needed to move on. This is when I became an optical technician. Almost ten years on, now a lab manager for the same optical company I started with, I continue to pursue that career, whilst managing (thanks to my wife) to throw myself into my writing. I finally have the release for the imagination that would never settle, and an enjoyable career in optics to accompany and support it.
Although my working life does not go hand in hand with fantasy fiction, my experience with medieval re-enactment and a love of nature, history and gaming does. Through these passions, as well as day to day life, I manage to find more than enough inspiration to create a world I enjoy and can escape to.
I hope Brisance and its characters allowed you to do the same.
J P Ashman
Table of Contents
Map of Brisance
Prologue
Chapter 1: Cursed Wind
Chapter 2: Dock Street
Chapter 3: The Report
Chapter 4: Symptoms
Chapter 5: Visitors
Chapter 6: The first deaths
Chapter 7: The one that got away
Chapter 8: No more beds
Chapter 9: Trust
Chapter 10: Answers
Chapter 11: Break In
Chapter 12: Outbreak
Chapter 13: Let them burn
Chapter 14: Kings Avenue
Chapter 15: Marble and Gold
Chapter 16: Condemned
Chapter 17: Quarantine
Chapter 18: Civil Disorder
Chapter 19: High Stakes
Chapter 20: In The Dark
Chapter 21: Knockers
Chapter 22: Pursued
Chapter 23: Reconnaissance
Chapter 24: The Pathfinders Cave
Chapter 25: Coincidences
Chapter 26: On With The Mission
Chapter 27: Bookworms
Chapter 28: Sea Of Gold
Chapter 29: Smoke
Chapter 30: Confrontation
Chapter 31: Beresford
Chapter 32: Wesson’s Bowels
Chapter 33: Fire & Ice
Chapter 34: Hold The Bridge
Chapter 35: Vulnerable
Chapter 36: Deals
Chapter 37: History Lesson
Chapter 38: Negotiation
Chapter 39: Can’t See The Wood For The Trees
Chapter 40: Broadleaf Forest
Chapter 41: Keep to the Path
Chapter 42: Middle Wood
Chapter 43: The Elven Council
Chapter 44: Threats and Promises
Chapter 45: Return To Wesson
Chapter 46: Distribution
Epilogue