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

by Jenner, M

  “This must have been an old storage room,” Ty said, gagging behind his hands.

  “And not too long ago abandoned, by the looks of it,” Galandrik answered, kicking over a crate and sending a nest of rats scuttling into the crevices in the walls.

  After examining the door Ty got his lockpicks out and went to work on the lock. Within minutes the lock clicked; Ty smiled at the others, looking overly pleased with himself. As gently as he could Ty pushed the door but it seemed to be stuck. Setting his shoulder against the door he pushed harder, to no avail.

  “Are you sure you unlocked it?” Kern asked smugly.

  “You heard it unlock as well as I did!” Ty barked back.

  “Maybe you’re losing your touch,” Galandrik chuckled. “Or your injuries may have weakened your lock-picking skills – or maybe the door has a magical lock as well?”

  “Look, I know a magically-locked door from a normal door. This isn’t locked with magic, it’s just old and needs a good shove,” Ty said, walking back to Galandrik,

  “A shove, you say? Right – stand back,” Galandrik announced. Dropping his axe to the floor, he spat on his hands and gave them a quick rub, then picked the axe up again.

  “Won’t this make more noise than a little?” Kern protested, stepping back a pace. “And who knows what’s lurking around here.”

  “Any better ideas? We stay in here, that smell will kill us,” the dwarf answered, holding the giant axe to one side, readying himself for a swing.

  Covering his eyes, Ty shouted, “Hit it!” And with that, Galandrik’s mighty axe swung round and into the door with a deafening smash.

  They all peered expectantly at the door; Galandrik’s blow had splintered the wood, removing a smallish chunk.

  “Maybe I’m losing my touch?” Ty said, raising an eyebrow.

  “I ain’t finished yet, lad!” Galandrik swung and again knocked only a modest chunk out.

  “Want me to have a swing?” Ty said, smiling and offering a hand.

  “Just leave him to it,” Kern said.

  Galandrik swung his axe three more times before succeeding in making a hole large enough to climb through. Kern stepped up to see what lay beyond. “There’s a boulder up against the door. Someone didn’t want it opened,” he announced.

  “Maybe something didn’t want it opened,” Ty suggested.

  After a few minutes they squeezed through the hole, after knocking away some remaining shards of timber, to find themselves in a corridor that led straight on ahead. They continued walking down for a few minutes, then arrived at the entrance to another circular room.

  They look through into the room, it had another sloping corridor heading downwards to their left. The wall on the right featured a massive hole, probably ten feet in dimension. From beyond the opening, they could hear voices which seemed to float up from whatever lay below. They walked slowly to the hole, and stretching out carefully over a pile of rocks, they looked over and down.

  Directly in front of them and about ten meters down was a massive room. To either side were two curving slopes leading down to the floor of the room. In the room’s middle sat a stone table. At each corner of the table was a wooden post rising several feet, and on the table lay a man. He was spread-eagled, hands and feet each tied to one of the wooden poles. A pentagram symbol was scrawled on his bare chest, in what looked like blood, and he was nude except for a leather loincloth. Standing next to the bound figure, a tall figure wearing red robes and bearing a wooden staff was chanting. Perhaps two dozen men were ranged around the room, all in similar but drab-coloured robes, heads bowed and arms folded.

  “Curse the humans, curse the humans, and curse the humans,” the man in red shouted, raising the staff high above his head. Ty caught a glimpse of the head of the staff, and it appeared to have been carved into the shape of a bird’s head. The ritual continued. “With my hawk’s head I will pluck out your eyes; with my claws I will rip the flesh from your black human bones; and with my wings I will lift you into the heavens, then drop you into the pit of hell!” the red-robed man sang, as the men around the table raised their arms above their heads, as if on cue, and cheered.

  “With the blood of this man we will steal the magic of men. We will use their magic against them, we will drive them back to the sea, and the land will be ours once more!” The robed man rested his staff on his victim’s forehead, then dragged it down over his chest.

  “It’s going to be a sacrifice. Maybe we can sneak past without them noticing?” Ty whispered.

  “What about the man on the table? We can’t just leave him to these creatures,” Kern replied incredulously, as they slipped quietly back down from their vantage point.

  “This isn’t our fight! We have to get through here, and fighting these will only end in disaster,” Ty hissed back.

  “Kern is right,” Galandrik said, drawing his huge axe. “We can’t leave him.”

  “With or without you, Ty, we fight!” Kern said, drawing his sword.

  Ty shook his head and dropped his backpack to the cave floor while pulling out his crossbow. “What’s the plan?” he asked unenthusiastically, still shaking his head.

  Kern leaned forward, scouting out the surroundings. In a few moments he turned to the others, “We go down and around. Count to a hundred, then hit the leader, the one in the red robes, with your crossbow. Even you couldn’t miss a target that size,” Kern grinned, trying to lighten the mood. Ty just stared at him bleakly, and Kern sighed. “When you drop the leader, then we’ll charge in. They don’t look armed so it shouldn’t be too hard,” he finished.

  “Ok, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Ty said, lying down on the rocks and loading a crossbow bolt.

  Kern and Galandrik slowly made their way down the slope, keeping low under the cover of the wall; eventually they reached a stone slab behind the tall man in red.

  Once in position behind the man, they could see three other exits, corridors leading away from the room. The man on the slab was elven; not very old, Kern thought, but then elves always did hide their age well. He gauged the distance and thought he could get to the table within seconds, and braced himself for the attack.

  Galandrik whispered, “Shall I concentrate on crowd control while you deal with the man in red?”

  “Yes,” Kern said with a nod. “Do it berserker style; they’ll shit themselves!” Galandrik smiled and gripped his axe.

  Ty sighted down his crossbow at the red-robed man; he could see Kern and Galandrik nestling behind a stone slab within feet of his target, “Always fighting other people’s battles,” he muttered. “We never learn. Always doing things for others for nothing, probably won’t even get a thank you…” Ty held his crossbow steady, the lethal tip of the bow aimed directly at the man’s chest. A minute passed as Ty counted under his breath.

  “96, 97, 98 –” then he froze. He felt something cold and hard against the back of his neck.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he heard a voice say from close behind him – too close. Cursing to himself he dropped his crossbow next to him, then held his hands out in front of him and waited.

  Xioven and Bok sat at their usual table in the Bucket of Blood inn. “Sorry for your loss, Bok,” Xioven said, taking a mouthful of ale.

  “Yeah, thanks. He was a good friend, Joli was. Damn that Rat! I will avenge Joli and get those chests back if it’s the last thing I ever do,” Bok vowed, slamming his jug of ale on the wooden table and spilling most of it.

  “When are you going to set off on their trail?” Xioven asked the thief.

  “As soon as my horse is readied. They shouldn’t be hard to track; there’s only one path through the Eastern Mountains this far south, and that’s through the towers and into Breeze,” Bok explained.

  “He seems to leave a trail of destruction wherever he goes, so it shouldn’t be too hard,” Xioven said grimly.

  “Yeah, he’s a walking disaster. And I nearly had him! Standing above him, ready to strik
e, when some barn hand who wanted to be a hero stepped in. Well, I soon put paid to him,” Bok smirked.

  Bok’s boasting was cut short by the sound of horses outside. Xioven and Bok turned and looked out the window Thirteen riders, all wearing the King’s emblem on their breasts, were dismounting and tying their horses up outside. “I wonder what the hell King’s men are doing here,” Xioven said curiously.

  “Yeah, I wonder what they want in Forkvain,” Bok said.

  The door swung open and Svorn entered the inn. He stopped and looked around walking from one end of the bar to the other, he walked back to where he entered “Barman, over here,” he snapped.

  The potbellied barman shuffled over to where Svorn was standing. “Yes sir?”

  “I am Svorn, captain of the King’s personal guard. Have you food here?”

  “Yes, certainly – for you and your men, the finest food in Forkvain,” the barman declared.

  “I doubt that, but it’ll do. Bring food and drink enough for thirteen men over to those tables,” Svorn said, pointing at the table next to Bok and Xioven. He walked outside and then came back in followed by twelve well-armoured men. They all sat down after removing some of the armour that encumbered them. Before long, the table was lined with pots of stew, bread, fruit, and ale, and the men dove in hungrily, talking over one another as they shared stories of glorious battles in days gone by.

  Bok got up and stood at the bar next to Svorn, two empty mugs in hand. Svorn looked the thief up and down with a steely gaze. Svorn turned back to the barkeep. “I’m looking for a party of three, a Human, a halfling and a dwarf. They go by the names of –”

  Before he could finish his sentence, Bok interrupted. “Ty the Rat!”

  Svorn looked suspiciously at Bok, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his bastard sword.

  “No need for that, good friend! I am also looking for these thieves,” Bok explained, holding both hands up in a gesture of innocence.

  “Best you explain…friend,” Svorn said menacingly, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “I will indeed explain – but please, Svorn, captain of the King’s guard, come join me and my companion,” Bok said, taking a step towards his table and pointing to an empty seat. Svorn followed Bok over and sat down warily.

  “This is Xioven, my good friend and the respected owner of the Quarterstaff Magic Shop, and I am Bok the bounty hunter,” he said, giving Xioven a kick under the table.

  “Good to meet you,” Xioven said, that was replied by a nod of the head from Svorn.

  “I have been following the trail of those you seek since Praise,” Bok began.

  “Why do you follow these men?” Svorn asked, leaning back in his chair.

  “There is a bounty on their heads,” Bok replied, “for theft and murder.”

  “Who did they kill?”

  “They killed my associate Joli, not even two days ago!”

  “But you said you have been following them since Praise. That is over five days’ ride from here,” Svorn said, picking holes in Bok’s story.

  “Yes, indeed it is,” Bok said with a slight stutter, “but when we began tracking them, they were wanted for stealing horses in Praise. We caught up to them two days ago, and my friend died at Ty’s own hand.”

  Svorn stared at Bok and frowned, contemplating his statement. “They have stolen two valuable chests from me as well,” Xioven added.

  “From us,” Bok corrected quickly.

  Svorn’s attention turned to Xioven, and Bok’s horse-stealing tale was forgotten in an instant. “Chests? What chests?” Svorn asked, gazing intently at Xioven.

  “Two splendid, jewel-encrusted chests. I was on my way to go get them opened when he…that Rat ambushed me and stole them. I did some damage to him, but he got away in the end,” Xioven explained.

  “So where did, ah, your chests come from?” Svorn asked, leaning back into his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head.

  Xioven looked at Bok for assistance but he said nothing; his eyes widened with a blank expression.

  “Oh come now, tell me where these precious chests came from,” Svorn said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. “I’m interested in jewel-encrusted chests; it’s a passion of mine.”

  Bok turned slowly to Svorn, “…I won them,” he lied. Xioven closed his eyes and sighed heavily in disbelief.

  “Oh, you won them, really! You won these jewel-encrusted chests,” Svorn said with a knowing smile.

  “Yes, I got lucky,” Bok said, looking down at the table.

  “Extremely lucky, I would say, luckier than the other guy. At what game or contest exactly did you win these precious chests?” Svorn asked. Svorn placed his sword and his forearms on the table and leaned in, lacing his fingers together.

  “It was a game of… bone dice, in – up north near Gateford forest,” Bok said, stuttering over his sentence.

  “Bone dice, you say! And who did you win these off – or I should say, who lost?” Svorn asked. He lifted his hands, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his clasped hands.

  “I… I… didn’t catch his name. He was a traveller and he stopped at our camp, that’s Joli and I, the one Ty killed,” Bok stammered. Svorn’s restless movements were making him very nervous, and his gaze kept darting to the sword on the table between them. “We had a few ales and one thing led to another, and we ended up playing dice, that simple really.”

  “So what did you have to put up against these precious chests?”

  “Just gold, the guy couldn’t open them, the chests I mean, so he just wanted to be rid of them – I mean, well, that’s what he told me anyway,” Bok said with added enthusiasm, sensing a possible escape from his web of lies.

  Svorn rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and learned back in his chair. His men had picked up on his body language and expressions, and they set down drink and food, readying themselves for action. A bead of sweat trickled down Bok’s temple, but he dared not wipe it away; he just stared at Svorn and tried to look honest. Xioven’s hand was trembling; he could hardly lift his goblet without spilling its contents.

  Svorn suddenly leaned forward. “Right then!” he exclaimed. Bok flinched in his chair like a child expecting a smack, and Xioven spilled his ale. “What’s up with you two?” he added.

  “Nothing, good sir,” Bok said with false cheer. Quickly recovering his posture, he lifted his ale and took a massive swig, his hand visibly shaking.

  “So do you know where this Ty went with your chests?” Svorn asked, smiling.

  “Yes, though the Eastern Mountains to Breeze,” Bok said, confidence returning to his voice.

  “As you are a bounty hunter, I suppose you can track him?” Svorn said, standing up from the table. Bok and Xioven clambered nervously to their feet as well.

  “Yes sir, I’ll find him,” Bok said.

  “It’s settled, then. We will meet in the stables tomorrow at dawn and proceed together,” Svorn announced. “You will get your chests, I will get my man and take him back to the King, and we will all be happy.”

  “We will, thank you,” Bok said, extending his hand for a handshake. “May I ask why you want him?”

  After a pause, Svorn answered. “He is a thief who stole two precious jewel-encrusted chests which belong to me. I will reclaim them and deliver his punishment - beheading.”

  Bok swallowed deeply as Svorn ignored his proffered hand. The soldier walked back over to his men, sat down and began to eat.

  Bok and Xioven hurried out of the Inn. “Why did you mention the chests?” Bok hissed, once outside.

  “Stealing horses, you said! He knew Ty wasn’t a horse thief!” Xioven replied.

  “Whatever. I think he bought my story about winning the chests,” Bok said. He thought about the sentence of beheading, and scratched his neck.

  “I’m not too sure,” Xioven answered.

  “I must go with him, even if he doesn’t believe me. I will never get a better chance
to kill Ty.”

  “Yes, but what about the chests though?”

  “Don’t worry about the chests. I’ll keep a watchful eye on them and take them at the right time. It’s what I do, remember?” Bok boasted.

  “It’s your choice, but stealing from the captain of the guard isn’t the wisest thing to do.”

  “Maybe not, but they are more interested in Ty than in those chests. Besides, the King has more than enough gold already.”

  “Whatever you say, my friend. May the gods be with you.”

  “Fuck the gods; I want Ty.”

  Svorn settled into his seat at the table next to Tez, his second-in-command. Grabbing a ladle, he scooped a portion of beef stew into his bowl, then tore off a chunk of fresh herb bread and began eating with gusto.

  “What was that about?” Tez asked. “At one point I thought you were going to kill them.”

  “I thought about it, yes. They killed Solomon,” he said, seemingly unbothered as he dipped the chunk of bread into the stew.

  “What? And…you let them go?” Tez said, frowning.

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I did, Tez. They told me some cock and bull story about winning the chests at dice and how Ty stole the chests from them,” Svorn said, wiping stew from his chin.

  “But, how, I thought…Huh?”

  “I know; I don’t understand exactly what went on,” Svorn said, finishing off his stew. “But what I do know is that Ty still has the chests, and our new friends are going to lead us straight to them.”

  Tez smiled. “You want someone to watch them, make sure they don’t leave town? You may have spooked them.”

  “Yes, send Jud and Alexon,” Svorn said, grabbing some cake covered in sweet frost icing for dessert.

  The next morning Svorn and his men readied their horses. His men, full from a hearty breakfast, donned their armour and saddled the mounts. Bok walked round the corner leading his horse. “Good morning,” he said, yawning.

  “Good day, Bok. Where’s your companion?” Svorn asked.

  “He isn’t coming. He can’t ride a horse and he has a shop to open; he would be useless,” Bok answered.