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

by Jenner, M

  “I thank you again for your help. It was greatly appreciated. If there’s anything I can do for you, come and see me. I live at the far end of the town in a farmhouse. There’s a big tree just outside the front door. The locals call it ‘The Dead Man’ because of the way the gnarled bark has fashioned a face that looks distinctly like an old man. There are two large branches which never grow leaves; they say those are his arms, and there is even a split in the base of the trunk making it look like his legs are underground. Some say it moves a bit towards the east every year.” Looking around at the faces of his friends, Jarrow laughed self-consciously. “That’s the historian in me, I’m afraid. Anyway, you really cannot miss it,” he said, then went around the table, shaking their hands one by one.

  “Again, I am truly grateful for the help, but I must bid you farewell now,” Jarrow said. “I have been away for some time and I am eager to get back to my business. Please excuse me,” then, with a slight wave and a nod to the innkeeper, he was gone.

  “What a nice man,” Nuran offered.

  “Yes, and him being a Lord was a surprise,” Kern added.

  “We break him out of hell itself and he buys you a bowl of stew!” Ty burst out. “That squares it just because he’s a Lord – excuse me, because he calls himself a Lord?”

  “What did you want, fourteen horses?” Galandrik said, polishing off his flagon and waving the innkeeper over.

  “Yes! That would have been a good start!”

  The innkeeper reached the table. “More ale?” The innkeeper was a portly man, and his red cheeks glowed in the firelight.

  “Yes please, good sir,” Galandrik answered. Moments later, he returned with four full flagons.

  “How much is that?” Galandrik asked, with a sideways glance at Ty.

  “Lord Jarrow has paid for anything,” the chubby innkeeper answered, “all the food and drink you want, your rooms for the night – oh, and breakfast, as well.”

  “Say, what do you know of Lord Jarrow?” Ty asked the innkeeper.

  “Not a lot, really. He moved here a few years ago and has shown us nothing but kindness. Some people say he has slayed dragons and stolen their gold. In his house he has a dragon’s head on the wall, and he says it was his first ever kill! But it’s all old wives’ tales, if you ask me.” He waddled off back to his place behind the bar.

  The group chatted as they drank, catching up on the time they’d spent apart. Ty told of the fight with the tower guards – adding a few more orc guards to the scene for good measure. He told of the window jump, and how they’d floated down to the mountain with orc arrows whistling past their ears as they went. The inn was filling up now; the party were all merry and the stories were flowing with ease.

  “Nuran Iffes,” came a booming voice from the direction of the bar. “I thought you were dead?!” Nuran turned, and his face lit up with pleasure.

  “Haydar! You old dog, you,” Nuran replied, going over to the man. They greeted in the old paladin way, grasping each other’s forearms.

  “What the hell you doing down in Forkvain?” Haydar asked, still gripping Nuran’s forearm with one large hand, the other coming to rest on Nuran’s shoulder.

  “Well, to be honest it’s a long story. How long have you got?”

  “Actually just until tomorrow morning. That’s when we leave to go to Tonilla.”

  “Heading to Tonilla? Why Tonilla?”

  “That’s how far the orcs have come – well, nearly that far. They’re coming from the east; Tonilla should be under attack in three weeks,” Haydar explained.

  “Really, that’s bad news. You know about the tower just west of here?” Nuran asked.

  “We have heard rumours about an orc tower that makes the weapons and uses humans as slaves.”

  “The Horseshoe Mountains west of here, it’s hidden in there. They are digging for iron ore and making weapons. If you put a stop to it maybe it would hinder their advance?” Nuran suggested.

  “Sneaky little buggers, on our turf too! We heard about people disappearing and skirmishes between humans and orcs,” Haydar replied, “but put it down to renegade orcs on personal conquests – didn’t realize they had settled in!” He paused, twisting his moustache, apparently in deep thought. “We’ve got a thousand camped to the east, ready to advance north; we could split some and take a few hundred to the Tower,” Haydar said, thinking out loud.

  “It might be worth your while. I know a hidden entrance to the west, under the curve of the mountain.”

  “I’ll speak to my superiors and tell them of your story. In fact,” Haydar asked, “why don’t you come and tell them?”

  “Well, I haven’t been with the paladins for a while, since I joined the Truelight,” Nuran answered sheepishly.

  “That’s all in the past, Nuran. Plus, with the information you are going to give them, they’ll welcome you back with open arms. We cannot find enough good men these days,” Haydar replied, pressing the point.

  “All right, I’ll come with you and talk to them - but only because it’s the right thing to do, not because I’m joining up again.”

  “Good, good,” Haydar answered, finishing off his flagon of mead.

  Nuran went back to the table and explained his plan to the others. “So I’ll be back either tonight or first thing in the morning,” he finished.

  “No worries,” Kern answered.

  “See you later, big guy!” Ty’s cheeks sported a reddening glow from the mead that coursed through his body.

  “It must be your round, lad!” Galandrik slurred in Nuran’s general direction.

  “It’s free, you great bearded fool!” Nuran laughed back at the dwarf, patting his shoulder as he left the pub with Haydar.

  “I’ll get these, I need the toilet anyway,” Ty said as he rose, slightly unsteady on his feet. He approached the bar and called to the innkeeper, “Here please!”

  “Would you like the same again, my good man?” he asked.

  A man next to Ty at the bar turned and shouted to the innkeeper. “Oi, I was here first!” he complained angrily, and loudly enough to make Kern and Galandrik turn their heads.

  The innkeeper found himself in a slight predicament, but ignored the human and kept his gaze focused on Ty.

  “Yes please, I’ll take three ales,” Ty said, raising his voice as though he were the victor in an argument.

  “If you serve this little pig dog before me I will not be best pleased,” the human said, looking directly at Ty.

  “Pig dog?” Ty said taking a step back. “Did you call me a pig dog?”

  “No, I called you a little pig dog!” the human answered, bending down to Ty’s eye-level.

  Kern got up, empty flagon in his hand, pretending to be carrying it back to the counter. It was plain that the confrontation was getting a little too heated, and he tried to smooth things over. “Look, let’s all just get some ale and calm down,” he said evenly.

  The big human swivelled his head to look at Kern. He drew himself up to his full height, towering over Kern by several inches. Out of the corner of his eye, Kern also noticed three of the human’s friends, each getting ready to join the fracas. “And you must be Pig Dog’s dad?” the human said, folding his arms. Galandrik made his way over to stand next to Kern. “And you must be Pig Dog’s mummy!” The human began laughing heartily, and all his friends joined in on his joke.

  “I think she’s going to cry, Drigo,” one of the men said.

  Kern turned to the dwarf. “Mummy?” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Shall we?” Galandrik muttered back.

  “We shall,” Kern answered.

  With that, Kern swung a fast right hook, smashing Drigo square on the jaw. Drigo’s head was jolted backwards and he took a step back, then turned back to Kern. With a bellow of rage he launched a punch of his own, hitting Kern on the side of the face. Kern was knocked sideways and down to the floor. Galandrik easily ducked an awkwardly-aimed punch from one of the other men and la
nded an uppercut, knocking that opponent out cold – but another blow hit him straight on the jaw. The force of impact knocked him backwards, but he managed to stay on his feet. Ty picked up a barstool and brought it crashing down on Drigo’s back, knocking him to his knees. Another human ran at Kern, delivering a powerful kick to the stomach as Kern was getting up. Kern was knocked back down, and he rolled onto his back. Drigo turned, still on his knees, and swung a punch at Ty, hitting him in the ribs and sending him crashing into the bar.

  Galandrik managed to parry another oncoming punch, then sent an elbow cracking into the attacker’s face, knocking him backwards to the floor. Kern blocked another kick to the head, grabbing his attacker’s foot. With a sharp twist he spun his assailant off-balance, and a sickening crack was heard as the man’s ankle dislocated. Screaming and sobbing, he fell to the floor and rolled around there in agony.

  Drigo – now standing above Ty – drew a dagger from his belt. Ty looked up and spotted the blade, then shouted, “He has a weapon!” Hearing this, Galandrik charged at Drigo and jumped onto his back, covering and gouging at his eyes.

  Drigo swung his dagger blindly behind him and managed to stab the dwarf in the shoulder. With a howl of pain, Galandrik fell to the floor; Drigo spun around, sneering down at the injured dwarf, and raised a foot.

  Ty rolled away from the bar and in the same movement drew his dagger and sliced it across the back of Drigo’s supporting leg, severing the tendons there and sending the big man plummeting backwards screaming. His head slammed into the bar, knocking him out cold.

  Kern regained his feet an instant before his attacker did. Kern stood his ground. The man drew a dagger and lunged at Kern, thrusting forward, then swinging left to right, Kern managed, barely, to sidestep the attacks. Then, grabbing a metal bowl from an abandoned table, when his attacker thrust forward again Kern seized the advantage, stepping forward into the space created by the other man’s lunge and smashing the bowl into his opponent’s face, sending him reeling, staggering, and finally toppling over, unconscious.

  The last man gingerly climbed to his feet behind Kern, raising a rusty blade above the hunter and preparing to plunge it into his back. That was the last thing he did as a living man; Galandrik’s hand axe thudded into his back, knocking him forward into Kern. Kern turned and gripped the man’s arms, not knowing a strike from the rusty blade wasn’t to come. The man’s eyes rolled in his head and he dropped the weapon, pitching to his knees. Kern let go and his assailant fell face-first into the floor as a corpse.

  At last, six town guards burst in through the front door. The innkeeper rose from his hiding place behind the bar and grabbed a guard by the arm. Waving his arms about his head and gesturing at the four men on the floor, he volunteered a disjointed and spirited account of events, explaining how Drigo and his men had started the brawl, though the others had very thoroughly finished it.

  The guards took down the innkeeper’s story and the three unconscious men were dragged out to be carried off to the guard house; the dead man was tossed onto the back of a cart. Barmaids came round from their hiding places behind the bar, buckets and brushes in hand to clean the blood from the floor.

  After thanking the innkeeper, Kern, Ty, and Galandrik sank back down into their seats, nursing their wounds.

  “Like the good old days, eh?” Kern said, glancing at Ty.

  “Yes, but they hurt worse now than they did then,” Ty replied.

  “You can say that again!” Galandrik rubbed his bruised and bearded chin.

  “What a pointless death, though. All that over waiting for a jug of ale,” Kern reflected.

  “Not that pointless!” Ty answered, dropping a money pouch onto the table.

  “You stole his money?” Kern asked, sounding aghast.

  “I don’t really consider it stealing. More like compensation for the injuries,” Ty said, his hand pressed to his ribs.

  “You are one sneaky little pigdog,” Galandrik laughed. He winced as he tested his shoulder’s movement, then relaxed, realizing the wound wasn’t as bad as he had first thought. Kern ordered another round of ales.

  The next morning the group was sitting eating breakfast and discussing what to do next, when Nuran came in through the front door, and sat down at the table. He was acting sheepish, and Kern suspected something was afoot.

  “Morning, Nuran,” Kern said tentatively.

  “Hm. Depends on how you look at it?” Nuran answered. All three looked up from their breakfast at the paladin. “I… uh… I have something to tell you all,” Nuran said, clearing his throat once or twice and not meeting anyone’s eyes.

  “You found us some work and it pays a king’s ransom?” Ty said, uncomfortable with the sudden tension in the room.

  “No, I am afraid not – unless you want to ride to war with me,” Nuran answered without lifting his gaze from the table.

  “To war?” Kern echoed his words. “You’re re-joining the paladin ranks?”

  “Yes, I am afraid so,” Nuran said. “Haydar said I could help lead the attack on the orc tower, then they want me to re-join the others at Tonilla,” he explained.

  “Maybe we should join you,” Galandrik said.

  “Maybe you should!” Ty said snidely, with a sideways glance at Kern.

  “It’s a worthy cause, Nuran. Our blessing goes with you,” Kern said sadly.

  “Thank you. I’m sure our paths will cross again someday. I will always be in your debt for rescuing me from the orcs,” Nuran said as he rose from the table, “and one day I may repay you.”

  “Stay for breakfast at least,” Ty asked.

  “Sorry, we must leave right away,” Nuran said. As he began to walk away from the table, he muttered, “Maybe it’s better this way. I’m no good at goodbyes.”

  Kern quickly stood up and blocked his way, then reached out to clasp Nuran’s hand. “Goodbye, friend,” he said simply.

  “Goodbye, all,” Nuran said, shaking Kern’s hand in the paladin way. Then he turned and left the inn.

  “Then there were three,” Ty said as he stabbed his fork into a sausage.

  “I liked him,” Galandrik mumbled. “Very honest and trustworthy, a true gent.”

  “Paladins are like that,” Kern agreed.

  “Right, let’s go find another tied to a tree then!” Ty laughed.

  “Oh come on, you liked him as much as we did,” Kern replied.

  “You liked him because he saved your bacon when he destroyed all those skeletons.”

  “Rubbish,” Galandrik chipped in. “We had it completely under control.”

  “Really? It looked different from where I stood,” Ty laughed.

  “Hiding behind that gate, I guess it would look different!”

  Ty frowned at the dwarf. “Hiding? If I remember rightly I –”

  “We all did well,” Kern interrupted, and shook his head.

  “Yes, he was a good man,” Ty agreed, “but with or without him, we need to sort out where we are heading next.”

  “I’ve been thinking – we should sell those orc horses and buy some normal ones,” Kern suggested. “Restock our equipment and maybe head south.”

  “What about north, back to the ferryman to see if our horses are still there?” Galandrik suggested.

  “Could do,” Ty said, scratching his stubbly chin. “Then push on to Praise and pick up some work.”

  Kern stretched. “But if the horses aren’t at Finn’s,” he said, “we’d have to ride the orc horses all the way. The brands on them would stand out a mile and I don’t think we need any more attention.” He moved to a window and stood looking out at the hustle and bustle of the traders as they prepared for the morning market, pushing barrows and driving carts filled with all manner of goods. He seemed to be deep in thought.

  After a brief silence, Ty spoke up. “What about getting some new horses here? Then, if our horses are with Finn, we can sell them at Praise for a profit.”

  “That might be a better idea,” Kern ag
reed.

  “Right – here’s some gold, courtesy of Drigo and his pals,” Ty said, dropping four gold pieces onto the table. Galandrik and Kern each took two of the coins.

  “We’ll get equipped and meet back here at midday. I’ll sort the horses out later,” Kern said.

  “Sounds good to me,” Ty said. “Think I’ll go for a bath and a shave.”

  Galandrik sniggered. “Bath sounds very good, then maybe some female company.”

  Kern and Ty shared a glance and a smile at the dwarf’s eager tone, then they went their separate ways.

  Chapter Thirteen: We Meet Again

  Bok and Joli sat on their mounts watching the smoke rise from the town in the distance. The near-total lack of cover, aside from a few scattered trees, made this an ideal vantage point: The view was clear for miles. To the west stood the mountain range that surrounded the temple of Sanorgk, and to the east was the town of Forkvain, home of Xioven the mage.

  “I have a quick question.” Joli said, turning in his saddle to look at Bok.

  “What is it now?”

  “If Xioven is there, what if he opens the boxes but there is nothing inside? Then we still owe him money and we still don’t know Ty’s whereabouts.”

  “They won’t be empty. Trust me, magically-sealed boxes always hold something valuable,” Bok reassured him.

  “I hope you’re right. We’re low on supplies,” Joli whined, “and we only have enough money for one comfy night’s sleep in an inn. And I don’t want to go back to pick-pocketing.”

  “I said trust me.” Bok glared at Joli, who clamped his lips shut and kept any doubts to himself.

  The pair rode on and reached the gates of Forkvain just after midnight. After convincing the night watchmen on the main gate that they were coming into the town to work as personal guards for a very private but important businessman, they were inside and riding their horses through the town.

  “It’s too late to go see Xioven tonight,” Bok decided. “We’ll have to go in the morning.”

  “Good,” Joli answered. “I’m starving. We’ve been riding for days without a decent meal or rest,” he said dispiritedly.