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

by Jenner, M

  “Maybe we shouldn’t have gone to Blame.”

  “Well, I thought he would’ve headed there. Now we know they didn’t, so they must have gone through the forest or down this path. Either way I think we should eat; we’ve been traveling all night.” Bok guided his horse off the track towards Gateford Forest. He could see a little circle of trees, perfectly placed for travellers who needed shelter from the wind and rain, not too far off the road. They set up camp and settled in to eat some of their dried hard rations.

  “I think they went through the forest,” Joli said, biting into a piece of dried beef.

  “Really. Why on earth would you think that?”

  “I don’t know, just a hunch,” Joli answered sombrely, spitting a piece of fat onto the dirt.

  Bok rolled his eyes, then got to his feet. “Can you hear that?” he asked.

  “Hear what?”

  “I hear a horse,” Bok said, peering out through the trees to the south. “I don’t believe it,” he said triumphantly.

  “Don’t believe what?” Joli asked, finally spotting the horseman in the distance.

  “That is, without a shadow of a doubt, Ty ‘The Rat’ Quickpick!” Bok drew his sword.

  “I can’t see that far; how can you be sure?” Joli asked.

  “The cloak, I recognise his cloak: black hood and brown bottom,” Bok answered, looking over his shoulder at Joli.

  “He’s far too tall for Ty.”

  “He looks taller because he’s on a horse, you idiot. It’s him, I can smell it!” Bok scolded.

  “All right, then, if you’re sure. Let’s do it.”

  “Quick, over there – on the highest part of the bank near those trees at the side of the road. We can jump him from there. You go to that forward tree,” Bok ordered as they left the clearing, “and I’ll sit behind the far one. When you jump out from behind the tree, the only thing he’ll be able to do is swerve straight into me.” Joli followed obediently and they waited behind their respective trees, ready to put Bok’s plan into action.

  The rider was flying towards them, his head down as he rode his lathered mount as fast as he possibly could. As horse and rider reached the ambush point, Joli jumped out, launching a throwing axe at his mounted target.

  Solomon never even saw his attacker; the axe thudded into his shoulder, breaking his collarbone. Smelling blood, the horse reared in a panic, and did exactly what Bok had predicted it would. Solomon, now in agony from the axe embedded in his shoulder and struggling to stay upright, veered straight towards him, helpless to control the horse. Bok jumped out as the mount drew level, and struck.

  The blow caught the rider in the side, slicing a devastating path through his rib cage. Solomon fell from the horse, landing face down in the dirt. The horse reared up on its hind legs, flailing its forelegs at Bok before galloping off up the path. Solomon’s backpack, loosened from its fastenings, fell from the saddle to the ground. Bok stood above the felled rider, raised his sword. “Payback, fool,” he said, bringing his sword straight down and piercing Solomon’s neck, with a sickening crunch as the sword cut through the spine. Solomon’s body twitched once.

  “That was a lot easier than I thought it would be,” Joli said, walking over to the corpse, “but he definitely looks taller laying down.”

  “I told you it would be easy,” Bok said, ripping his sword free. He leaned down to wipe it on Ty’s cloak, then replaced it in its scabbard. He snatched up the backpack lying on the ground next to the body and turned back to the clearing.

  “Drag him off to the side, out of sight, then meet me back at camp.”

  Joli cursed under his breath at the task ahead. He grabbed the body by the arm, dragging it off to the side of the pathway. He had already started to walk away when he remembered his throwing axe. Returning to the body, he tugged and pushed until he succeeded in rolling it over.

  Solomon’s eyes stared sightlessly up at him.

  “Bok! I think you’d better come see this!”

  Bok set the pack down and came jogging back over. “This better be good or I’ll… oh.” There was a long silence. “I don’t believe it,” Bok said, staring down at the lifeless face of Solomon.

  “I think we murdered someone. I told you he was too tall,” Joli said, looking at Bok.

  “But, but – this is definitely his cloak!”

  “I think we better get the hell out of here,” Joli said, tugging to retrieve his throwing axe from Solomon’s shoulder.

  “For once I think you’re right,” Bok agreed, hurrying over the wagon path towards the clearing on the other side. Once they got to the clearing Joli saddled up the horses while Bok emptied Solomon’s pack out onto the ground. He kicked through the bits and pieces, then saw the corner of one of the chests poking out of its covering blanket. Picking it up, he unwrapped the protective swaddling.

  “Look what we have here.” He turned the casket to admire it from all directions, greedily adding up the worth of the gilding and gemstones, the mithril hinges; he was practically drooling at the thought of how much this piece of treasure would bring him.

  “Nice. What’s in it?”

  “How should I know?” Bok said, shaking his head in disgust at Joli’s naiveté. Then he spotted another blanket-wrapped shape on the ground, and pointed it out to Joli. “Unwrap that, see if it’s another.”

  Joli drew back the fabric to reveal another chest, as richly decorated as the one Bok held.

  “There you go! Lucky dip!” Bok said, holding his up and shaking it vigorously. Joli mimicked the motion with his own casket. After a few moments of twisting and turning the coffer in all directions to examine and admire it, Bok sat on a tree stump.

  “Right then, let’s see what’s in it.” He went to work with his picks, and Joli did the same.

  Ten minutes went by, in which time both had gotten the same result.

  “This is a tricky little sucker,” Bok declared. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s full of platinum pieces! I have heard about these tiny chests holding a small fortune.”

  “Mine’s the same. I’m going for the smash option,” Joli said, placing the chest he held on a tree stump. He walked over to his mount and got his axe out, then went back to the little chest on its tree-stump perch. He rested the axe against his legs and spat on his hands, rubbing them together.

  “Platinum pieces, here I come,” Joli said, swinging the axe high above his head and bringing it down with all his might. He hit the chest plumb centre. Bok, watching from a few paces away, was amazed at what he saw.

  When the axe connected with the chest, there was an explosion like a massive lightning strike, sending Joli flying backwards. When the smoke cleared, the chest sat intact on the tree stump, but nothing of the axe remained. Joli lay on his back, moaning and groaning. Bok walked tentatively over to the chest and poked it with one finger. It looked the same as before – untouched, unmarked, unscathed. He picked it up, looking closer to where the axe blow had landed. Not even a scratch, dent, or chip marked the casket’s surface. It looked as good as new.

  “I don’t believe that,” Bok muttered.

  “I do!” Joli said, sitting up with another groan, looking at his blackened, burnt hands.

  Bok placed both chests back in their blankets and slipped them into his backpack.

  “I think whatever is in those chests doesn’t want to come out in a hurry,” Bok said, slinging the pack over his saddle and strapping it on.

  “Tell me about it!” Joli said as he searched for the remains of his axe.

  “Right, then – mount up and let’s get going,” Bok ordered the still-shaken Joli.

  “Where are we heading?”

  “To Forkvain, to see Xioven the mage.”

  “Xioven?” Joli frowned at the suggestion. “But we still owe him, and we have well exceeded the time he allowed us to get him the money.”

  “Exactly. When he opens these for us with his magic, we’ll just slip him some platinum to pay what we owe him
and everyone’s happy!”

  “Sounds good to me,” Joli replied as they rode off heading south.

  Ty groaned, his eyes blinded by the daylight shining into the small cave. Gathering his muddled thoughts, he finally remembered the events of the previous night and gingerly felt the lump on the back of his head. Solomon, you sly old dog, he thought.

  He realized how cold and hungry he was and reached into one of the backpacks, pulling out a blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders. He wondered briefly where his cloak was, then came to the conclusion that Solomon had robbed him as well as assaulted him.

  He was relieved to find that Sol had left some of the rations, at least, and he pulled out some salted meat and ate mechanically. After his hunger pangs had abated somewhat, he looked down at the small towers and rubbed his eyes, still slightly dazed from Solomon’s blow. He searched his pockets, but didn’t find anything else missing, apart from his cloak, Solomon, and the pack containing the chests. Ty leaned up against the entrance to the cave, staying low and keeping out of sight.

  Right; where are you, Kern Ocarn? He waited for hours, dozing occasionally. Finally around midmorning, judging by the sun, he saw movement down below. Groups of slaves were being chain-ganged down towards the slope of the pit, as another line of chained slaves came up and out. Squinting, he tried to spot Kern, Galandrik, or Nuran. Eventually he found them – all three of them, and someone else.

  They were being led to the south of the Black Tower of Sanorgk. Not directly under him, but close enough; he thought he could get to them without being seen. He watched as they were herded into a meagre hut with a plume of smoke coming out of the top.

  He gathered his gear and wondered if he could lower it all down together. He found only enough rope to make one lift, and he knew he could never get back up for a second. He decided to wait until it was fully dark, when the guards would probably be sleeping.

  Everything below was quiet and still, apart from the patrolling guards that circled around the huts. They shadowed the perimeter and occasionally wandered in amongst the huts – but seemed to be paying special attention to the hut that held Kern and the others. After Ty’s escape with Solomon, it seemed the rest of their party was under close scrutiny. He slowly lowered the weapon-filled pack down the mountainside. It wasn’t as hard as he’d thought it would be; the pack touched down on the ground below without incident. Then he edged himself over the lip of the cave entrance, easing down from ledge to ledge, finding footholds as best he could. His light frame didn’t disturb many rocks, but the odd loose stone fell down the mountainside, making more noise than he would have liked. He froze for a few seconds each time, before carrying on with his descent.

  Eventually he stood next to the weapons and backpack. He grabbed Galandrik’s axe, Kern’s longbow and arrows, and the sword he’d picked up, not entirely certain that it was Nuran’s. Slightly encumbered, he trudged on, keeping behind the little huts and close to the mountain.

  When he reached his companions’ hut, he waited until the patrolling guard walked past, then made his move and darted to the front door. Crouching down, he peered through the iron bars of the door, and saw four beds with four sleeping bodies.

  He could hear Galandrik’s familiar snore, and saw Kern sleeping fitfully in the nearest bed. As quietly as he could, he poked the hunter’s bow in through the bars and tapped Kern on the forehead. Without waking, Kern swatted the bow away as if it were an annoying fly. Once more Ty tapped Kern on the head, slightly harder this time.

  Kern opened his eyes and looked at the thief. One finger to his lips, Ty cautioned, “Shhhhhh.” Kern grasped his bow and Ty pushed the quiver through, followed by the sword and axe.

  “I thought you escaped?” Kern whispered.

  “No, but Solomon has.”

  “Why didn’t you go with him?” Kern asked.

  “I didn’t get an invite. I’ll tell you after we get the hell out of here,” Ty said. Reaching through the bars, he passed Kern the ring of keys he had stolen from the tower guard. Ty went to work on the hut lock, which opened in seconds.

  Kern tried a few keys, and eventually found one that unlocked his ankle restraints. He moved swiftly to the others, waking them and unlocking their restraints – including Jarrow. He handed around their recovered weapons; Jarrow, of course, had none.

  Ty opened the door and they followed him single-file around to the back and the rest of their equipment, closing the door behind them. Ty had brought all the armour and equipment he could carry, and as they retrieved their gear, Galandrik and Nuran thanked him.

  “No time for that now, people. You can pat him on his back until he bruises when we are away,” Kern said, swinging his bow over his shoulder. “Jarrow,” he asked, “do you know a quick way out of here? We came in to the west, through the mountains.”

  “That way will be crawling with orcs, looking for your friend. I’ve heard stories about a secret passage to the east, around the back of the tower?” Jarrow offered.

  “Secret passage it is, then,” Kern said, looking around at the others for their approval.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Nuran said. Galandrik smashed his axe against his chest and added, “Please let us meet a few on the way!”

  “I’m sure you will get your revenge, Galandrik,” Kern said with a smile. Deep inside, he was glad they were back together again, but he didn’t know how to show it. With a furtive glance at Ty, he regretted having cursed him the night before.

  But now wasn’t the time for it. Now was the time for leadership.

  They headed towards the tower, keeping to the shadows behind the buildings and hard against the mountain’s southern inner wall. Once around the back of the tower, they spotted a pathway leading towards the eastern curve of the inner mountain. Troublingly, it led straight through the heart of the garrison’s campsite – some fifty tents that were situated directly in their path.

  Each tent looked big enough to house ten orcs, Nuran thought, and he did the math. “There could be five hundred orcs here.”

  “Damn!” Ty hissed.

  “We’ve not finished yet,” Kern said tightly.

  “Over there!” Galandrik pointed to a stable.

  “Perfect,” Kern said, then told the others, “Head to the stable. Keep low.”

  The group snuck over to the stable, crouching behind barrels and tents as they went. When they were within about twenty feet, they could see four orcs sitting around a makeshift table playing cards at the right end of the stable. Two more guards stood talking at the other end, some distance away – the stable was huge, long enough to house thirty horses. Outside were carts lined up, three filled with ore from the mining and three filled with hay for the horses’ feed.

  “What’s the plan?” Ty whispered.

  “We need to split these up, make them easier to control,” Kern said. “Ty and Galandrik, go make your way around the back of the stable. See what you can do to distract them, so we can get a bit closer. And,” he added, “whatever you’re going to do, try to do it quietly. We don’t want to wake the world.”

  “Don’t even think about aiming that comment at me,” Ty growled.

  “I’m just reminding you to keep it down.” Ty shook his head and nodded for Galandrik to follow him. Kern and the others stayed low and watched.

  “I’ll give you keep it down,” Ty muttered to himself as they made their way around the tents and behind the stable. Finding a likely spot behind a cart full of barrels, Ty squatted down and waved Galandrik over.

  “I’ll make a noise,” he told the dwarf. “Keep low and behind the barn. When he turns the corner you take him down – and make sure he goes down the first time. We don’t need any screaming.”

  “What if there are two?” Galandrik asked.

  “I’ll deal with the second one.”

  “Three?”

  “Will be a crowd.”

  Galandrik stepped behind the back of the shed, and Ty crouched down, making sure
he was well-hidden. Galandrik was only a few feet away; the orc would have to walk right between them. Ty picked up a fist-sized stone and threw it halfway up the barn wall, towards the four orcs. All four stood up and looked towards the back of the barn, and one shouted something in Orcish.

  Kern, Nuran, and Jarrow watched tensely as all four orcs rose from the table and immediately grabbed their weapons. One of them shouted down the side of the barn. Then he whistled at the other two orcs, and gestured for them to walk round the far side of the barn.

  “Shit,” Kern whispered. “You go after those two, and I’ll back up Galandrik and Ty.” Without another word Nuran and Jarrow slipped after the orcs, making their way between barrels, carts, and tents – anything they could hide behind.

  Kern pulled two arrows from his quiver and notched them, pulling the string back tight. He carefully turned his bow so both arrows were lying side by side, and aimed them at the orcs.

  Ty shook his head and held up four fingers as he mouthed the word “four” to Galandrik; the dwarf nodded and held his axe ready.

  When the first two orcs reached the end of the barn, Galandrik swung his axe straight into the midriff of the closest. The second orc stepped forward, trying to gain advantage over the back of his dead companion; as soon as his head was turned Ty pounced, and sinking his daggers deep into the orc’s sides. He twisted the blades, then pulled them out and struck again. The orc fell sideways to the floor, pinning Ty beneath him. Ty’s dagger was still stuck in his victim’s side.

  The remaining two orcs rounded the corner behind their comrades and saw the ambush. One of them leapt forward and swung his sword at Galandrik, but the dwarf parried the attack. The second stood over Ty, who struggled to pull his arm free from the weight of the dead orc lying on it. He could see the delight in the orc’s eyes, like a spider preying on a fly caught in its web. The orc’s mouth opened and he took a deep breath, preparing to bellow a battle cry. In the surreal slowness of the moment, Ty stared in fascination at the sharp, elongated teeth inside the orc’s mouth and a line of saliva dripping from his bottom lip. Then time snapped back to normal as an arrow head appeared between the orc’s teeth, having penetrated from behind through the back of his neck. A second arrow struck Galandrik’s attacker in the side of the neck, and both orcs fell forward to crash on top of Ty.