The King's Gold: (The King's Gold Saga Book 1)

by Jenner, M

  “Please, join me; sit down and feast,” Conn said from his place at the far end of the table. First to sit was Ty; without another word, a large morsel of pork was in one hand and a chunk of wheat bread in the other. Kern and Galandrik followed suit, and soon all were eating – and eating well.

  “This is the best meal I’ve had since I won that archery competition back in Phebon,” Ty commented, grease dripping down his chin. Kern glanced at Galandrik and rolled his eyes. Galandrik shook his head, then returned his attention to his plate. For a long while they feasted without talking, enjoying every mouthful of the splendid buffet.

  “I don’t think I could manage another bean,” Galandrik said, letting out an overly-exaggerated burp and dropping a half-eaten king prawn onto his plate.

  “Nor I, sir,” Kern offered.

  After draining a full jug of mead, Ty finally joined the conversation. “Yes,” he said, “that was good. Many thanks to your fine cooks,” he added as he rubbed his swollen belly.

  “I should imagine you have a few questions that need answering, so if you are all satisfied, we will have the table cleared and prepare our strategy. I will be happy to answer any questions you may have and offer any knowledge that might be helpful,” Conn said. He clapped his hands twice, and four servants appeared in the room instantly; Ty stared, gaping, and wondered if the wizard had used magic to create such perfectly trained house-servants.

  Before long, the table was bare, apart from a couple of jugs of ale and two bottles of Raith red wine, accompanied by four clean cups.

  “Fire away,” Conn said, leaning forward onto the table.

  After a brief silence the dwarf turned to Conn. “I have only one question for you. Why don’t you just send an army down there to retrieve your gold? Why send us?”

  After a pause, Conn answered patiently. “Simple. An army would be spotted from miles away; the orcs would be well warned before the army was close enough to even pepper their walls with arrows. We believe they have taken the gold for hiding, into some caves in the southeast. If they saw an army coming, they would disappear or blend in to become well nigh invisible.” His voice trailed off. “No, we would never find them…”

  There was an uncomfortable silence, then Conn resumed his speech. “But you three can get down there undetected and steal the gold from under their noses. Furthermore, King Moriak has armies fighting the orcs in the east and the dark elves in the North.” Conn paused and glanced over to Kern, waiting for a reaction, but nothing came. “He doesn’t have enough men to spare any for retrieving the gold,” Conn finished.

  “How much did they steal?” Ty asked, now puffing on a long bone pipe.

  “The precise amount is insignificant. There are two chests, though we doubt very much that they have been opened, as most of the orc shamans are being used in the great wars to the east. You needn’t worry about the contents of the chests – they are well-secured by powerful spells. Just worry about getting them back here,” Conn said, leaning over the table and staring at Ty.

  Conn rose from his chair and walked over to one of his untidy bookshelves. After searching through the books, scrolls, parchments, and papers, he eventually selected a long tubular container, hollowed out of what looked like a thigh bone, with a small chain attached towards one end. Whatever beast this came from must have been quite some size, Kern thought.

  Returning to the table, Conn twisted the end of bone near the chain until it popped free. Kern realized that the length of bone must be a case of some sort, with a bone cap or lid at one end. Letting the lid hang free on the chain that connected it to the case, Conn pulled a tightly-rolled sheet of parchment from the hollowed-out bone, and smoothed it out upon the table. It was a map of Bodisha.

  “The ambush on our troops was two days’ ride south of here, just across the River Narv from the town of Praise, slightly north of Gateford Forest. You can pick the orcs’ trail up there. We think they either went through Gateford Forest or southeast, around it, towards the Eastern Mountains. Either way their trail is about as hidden as a trail can be, and doesn’t want to be found,” Conn said, studying the map, finger pointing to the ambush spot.

  “Can we cross the river at Praise?” Galandrik asked.

  “Yes, there is a ferry crossing,” Conn explained.

  “You said we would have a guide also; does he know the route through Gateford Forest if need be?” Ty asked, blowing a small smoke ring through a larger one.

  Conn lifted his head from the map and looked at Ty. “No one knows a route through Gateford Forest. Some even say the forest moves the paths the traders make, to confuse and trap those who venture in.”

  “The forest moves the paths?” asked Ty sceptically.

  “They say the forest is… alive.”

  Ty slowly pulled the long bone pipe from his mouth and looked at Kern. “Have you been in there?” he questioned shakily.

  “No, but I have heard the stories about giant bats and forest ogres eating traders,” Kern replied, turning away from Ty and winking cheekily at Galandrik.

  “Aye, lad, many a dwarf has been sent through there and never returned. We call it ‘Dume Kaziad,’ the Dark Forest,” Galandrik added, carefully keeping a straight face.

  Ty slumped back into his chair, deep in thought. “I hate ogres, I hate forests, I hate bats, and I hate this quest!” he muttered under his breath.

  Picking up on Kern and Galandrik’s teasing, Conn smiled to himself as he moved to another table which had been covered up with a white cotton cloth since their arrival. Conn grabbed one corner and turned to Ty. “Maybe this will help you defeat those evil ogres.” With a faint grin, he whipped off the cloth with a snap of his wrist.

  The cloth fell to the floor alongside the table, revealing a massive display of weapons. Everything on the table looked new and unused, brightly resplendent in the flickering torch light. Ty slowly raised himself from the chair, gazing wide-eyed at the table. Kern and Galandrik also stood and moved toward the table as if in a trance, their eyes widened by the beauty in front of them.

  Kern, with his longer legs, reached the table first; his gaze rested on an elven longbow and he gazed at it for several seconds before reaching down and gently lifting the bow into the air. It felt lighter than any bow he had ever held. Made of white yew wood with a maple wood backing, the weapon seemed to shimmer like white smoke when he turned it, and runes swirled along its length from tip to toe. Kern knew at first glance that this bow was special – even aside from the ethereal beauty of the thing, its quality brown buckskin grip and the widened limbs for longevity and decreased bow noise spoke of incomparable craftsmanship. He could smell the tiger balm that had been rubbed into the stave for extra hardness. Twirling it in his hands, he studied its beauty and grace.

  Galandrik stepped up next to Kern and selected a two-handed great-axe from the table. “By the great gods of Grimnoss, this is the finest piece of weapon-smithing I have seen since the great battle of Agromarrn.” He studied the axe with great interest; its shaft was made of hardwood, the handle covered in buckskin, and the double-bladed head shone like no other axe he had seen before. The engravings on the blade faces were intricate and precise; swirls and circles covered every inch. Only the high dwarf lords carried weapons of such beauty; this would cut through an orc like a hot knife through butter, Galandrik thought to himself.

  Ty reached the table at last. Still gaping like a child with mouth wide open, he picked up a bone-handled dagger carved into the shape of a dragon’s head. Next to it sat a leather wrist holster, the kind he had only ever seen the elder thieves in Phebon wearing. After examining the dagger’s splendour – and cutting his thumb slightly on its sharpness – he lay it gently down onto the table once more. Ty quickly strapped on the wrist holster, complete with leather hand wrap. Raising his hand in front of his face, he slowly turned his wrist round and round while balling his fist open and shut. The leather wrap was a perfect fit. Snatching up the dagger from the table, he locked it in
place, then pulled his shirt sleeve over the new toy. Strolling away from the table, Ty fought to conceal a grin. It felt as though there actually was nothing on his wrist. Suddenly, with a snap of his arm and a spin, his new dagger flew handle first from his hidden holster; he caught it perfectly, with the tip pointing straight at Conn.

  “Very nice,” Conn commented drily.

  Soon Ty had both holsters on and was practicing releasing the duelling daggers together, trying to perfect the double release motion. Kern had picked up a large brown goatskin quiver filled with fine arrows, while Galandrik stared at his axe – complete with a back holster – still captivated by its beauty. All three of them were like overgrown children, full of enthusiasm and joy.

  Conn resumed his seat at the head of the table, waiting for his three guests to follow. Before long the demands of hospitality pulled them back to their own seats, though each of the three still gazed at their new weapons.

  Conn cleared his throat with intention. “Tonight you will sleep in town, at the Orc’s Armpit. I believe you are all familiar with this place?” Conn looked around the table.

  “Yes, Ty and I have been there a few times,” Kern answered

  Conn looked at Galandrik with a knowing glance; it was the tavern Galandrik had been arrested in. Galandrik looked faintly chastened, then nodded. “Good,” Conn continued. “Go to the stable behind the tavern at dawn. There will be three horses and armour – padded leather for the ranger, chainmail for the dwarf, and light leather for the thief,” Conn said. Ty was intent on rolling his wrists round and admiring his new holsters – far too busy to notice the wizard’s sly insult. Kern didn’t miss it, however.

  “You will also be provided backpacks with bedding, torches, flint and tinder, rations, oil, ropes, a few random potions, and some poisons to aid you in your journey,” Conn finished.

  “That’s all well and good, but how are we going to find the ambush point? I thought you said we would have a guide,” Galandrik said.

  “You do; his name is Solomon. He will be ready tomorrow at dawn, complete with maps for the route,” Conn said reassuringly. “Leave your weapons here; they will be delivered with the armour and horses tomorrow. That does includes you,” Conn said, looking at the halfling.

  “But mine are hidden, why should –” Ty’s protest was cut short as Conn raised his voice.

  “Because I said so, Ty; now take them off and leave them on the table. They will be delivered to you at dawn,” Conn concluded.

  “Just leave them, Ty, and let’s get out of here,” Kern said.

  “Can’t see any reason why I should; it isn’t as though people can see them.” Ty complained unceasingly under his breath as he reluctantly unfastened his arm holsters while the others waited.

  “That’s all I can offer you for now. Solomon will explain more once you get underway. Good luck, and bring back the King’s gold. All of it.” Conn heaved the massive double-doors open and gave orders to the guards outside. The guard hurried off, but soon returned with their old weapons – and their old, but freshly-washed, clothes.

  “Put these back on; you won’t stand out as much in the tavern,” Conn insisted. The expensive fabrics and exquisitely tailored clothes had served their purpose, he mused – the trio had been knocked ever so slightly out of their comfort zone, awed and distracted by the trappings of wealth. However, Conn had no intention of letting them run off dressed like lords – time enough for their new wardrobes after they had completed his task.

  Donning once more their familiar clothes and weapons, the party said their farewells to Conn. They walked along the corridor and down the centre stairs that led to the front door. Galandrik walked out while Kern stopped to examine one of the tapestries, depicting a battle between orcs and men many moons ago. In the centre of the picture was a paladin seated on his mount, both wearing bright silver-plate mail armour. The horse was on its two hind legs, rearing up, and the paladin held the reins tight in one hand and lifted his sword aloft in the other. Many orcs surrounded them, and Kern pondered the paladin’s fate.

  Ty stood next to Kern, examining a golden vase that sat on a plinth. As if reading Ty’s mind Kern whispered, “You even think about trying to steal that and I swear I’ll –”

  “As if I would,” Ty chuckled, and the pair walked out the main door, catching Galandrik up and heading for the Orc’s Armpit.

  Chapter Three: Mistaken Identity

  The party walked towards the tavern in the cool evening; summer was coming to an end and the autumn chill was just starting to set in.

  Ty crossed his arms and rubbed his shoulders. “I hope there’s some warmer clothes with the supplies and horses.”

  “I’m sure there will be; he won’t want us to freeze before we get his precious gold,” Galandrik reassured Ty.

  Ty shivered. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Within the hour they could smell the food and hear the hustle and bustle of Raith’s most popular drinking hole: The Orc’s Armpit. As they entered through the main door, the smell of pipe tobacco filled their nostrils. Through the cloud of smoke hanging over the room, they saw three men playing instruments in the corner of the tavern: One on a flute, one on a crude banjo, and one banging a cowskin drum. A handful of townsfolk danced in front of the musicians; the music was old folk tunes from years gone by.

  Kern pointed to an empty table and they quickly claimed it. They called over a busty maid, and soon they were all drinking pints of mead. Ty looked down at the leather wrist straps concealing his daggers – his old ones, with no release mechanism – and sighed.

  Galandrik looked around the inn. There were races from all over the world of Bodisha: humans, halflings, wood elves, dwarves, and even the odd half-orc, all telling tales of high adventure and long-lost legends, or just stories of their day’s events.

  “Well, at least we have some decent work for a change,” Ty commented, feeling glum about the temporary loss of the new dagger straps.

  “Not that we had much choice in the matter,” Kern replied.

  “It still doesn’t look right to me,” Galandrik said. “Something just seems strange, sending us to get two chests of gold. Why is the king troubled over two chests’ worth? He has more gold than Grimnoss Mountain has rocks!”

  “Who cares?” Ty said, shrugging his shoulders. He filled his long bone pipe with stonecrop leaf, a common tobacco in Bodisha. “As long as we get what they want and we get our one thousand gold, what does it matter?”

  “That stuff will kill you,” Kern remarked, eyeing Ty’s pipe.

  “Yes, and so can a giant bat in Gateford Forest, but we’re still going there!” Ty answered, blowing a smoke ring as his companions laughed.

  “Right, who’s for another?” Ty asked, standing. Galandrik and Kern both nodded. Ty walked over and stood in line at the bar; he was ordering the three pints of mead when a big fat human clumsily knocked into him, nearly bowling the halfling over. The fat man turned around and looked down at Ty. Without even a hint of an apology, he straightened his oversized pointy hat and turned back to his friend, a human who looked like he had been rolling in dirt all morning: Mud covered his clothes and face, with the odd piece of hay stuck in his straggly greying hair.

  Ty was about to say something when he heard the fat man mention hill giants in the south killing his livestock. Being the inquisitive type, Ty edged closer to listen.

  “Bloody hill giants’ve killed five cows, two horses, and eleven sheep so far this year! You just can’t stop them. Bloody huge they are, and them clubs they carry are massive – the size of an ox!” the fat farmer said to his grubby friend.

  “So where exactly do they come from?” his companion asked, picking a lump of mud from his neck and dropping it on the floor.

  “I think they come down from the Eastern Mountains, and camp in the hills near Praise. They know our livestock is an easy meal.” The first farmer paid for one jug of ale and another of what looked like red wine; Ty watched as he put the few coppers’
change he had been given into a leather pouch hanging from his belt.

  Ty didn’t give it another thought. He quickly looked round the inn. No eyes were on him, and most importantly Kern’s eyes were not on him. I’ll teach you to barge into people without saying sorry, he thought as he drew a tiny double-bladed dagger from his belt. These were used much the same as scissors; thieves called them strap-cutters. As soon as the maid placed the three pints onto the bar, making enough noise for a smokescreen, he made his move, slicing the pouch’s leather straps in one smooth, swift motion and catching the bag in another.

  He slipped the pilfered pouch inside his tunic, as if searching for his own coin-pouch to pay the bar girl. Pulling his hand free from his tunic, he dropped some coinage on the bar. Noticing that there were only a few coppers left after she had collected the price of the mead, Ty said, “Keep those, my love, a gift from me to you,” with a wink. The maid’s face reddened; a tavern like the Orc’s Armpit didn’t attract big tippers. This little display caught the eye of the newly-poor farmer, but he turned back to his conversation without sparing a second thought for the cause of the maid’s delight; he didn’t even see Ty as the halfling walked away.

  “What took you so long? We nearly died of thirst over here,” Galandrik jested.

  “Just listening to a tale of hill giants eating a farmer’s livestock,” Ty said, looking cheerful.

  As Kern and Galandrik talked about battles of their forefathers, Ty discreetly checked the pouch. Not a bad piece of work, he thought; five gold pieces, over thirty silver, a handful of copper, and a nice ruby encrusted gold ring that looked small enough for a child – certainly too small for even his smallest finger. Still, Ty was pleased. It’s not the loot, it’s the looting, he thought, smiling to himself. He placed the gold pieces into the hidden pocket inside his tunic on the left. It was an old habit – he kept silver and copper coins on the right side and separate from his own until the money had been there long enough for him to forget where he’d stolen it from; then and only then he’d mix it with his own.