by R. L. Poston
The Dread King
The Chronicles of Larken
Book 1
By R. L. Poston
Copyright © 2017 by R. L. Poston
First edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover art by Christine C. Poston
(https://www.facebook.com/artbyccposton)
Cover design & map illustration by Treasure Scarbrough
(www.treasurescarbro.tumblr.com)
Editing by Tamara Blaine (www.acloserlookediting.com)
Map inspired by R. L. Poston and designed by Treasure Scarbrough
Dedicated to Leeta Poston
without whose love and support
this book would have never been.
And a special “Thank you!” to
Carol Darcy
whose enthusiastic support
gave us the boost we needed.
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Map of the Three Kingdoms
Chapter 1: Larken, Melona, Crystal, And Blade
Chapter 2: Leaving Ox Run
Chapter 3: Sarkis—Blade & Crystal
Chapter 4: Training
Chapter 5: Melona’s Bonding
Chapter 6: Audience with the King
Chapter 7: Elven Training
Chapter 8: Larken’s Bonding
Chapter 9: The Aftermath
Chapter 10: Larken’s Missions
Chapter 11: A Matter of Priorities
Chapter 12: Strange Request from the Elves
Chapter 13: The Elven Fellowship
Chapter 14 The Invasion
Chapter 15: Wedding
Chapter 16: Weather and Spies
Chapter 17: Desert Campaign
Chapter 18: Battle
Chapter 19: Preparation
Chapter 20: Reconnaissance
Chapter 21: Skirmishes
Chapter 22: The Final Battle: The Beginning
Chapter 23 The Final Battle
Chapter 24: Homecoming
Chapter 25: Watchfulness
Glossary
Characters
Places and Organizations (see map)
Concepts
About The Series
About the Author
Chapter 1: Larken, Melona, Crystal, And Blade
Glaring at the pile of lumber and wanting to be angry at someone yielded no satisfaction, so finally Larken heaved a sigh and began pulling out the most promising boards and laying them aside. If pressed, Larken would have admitted that it was most likely that the smith had assigned him the task of building new racks for storing lumber because he was the best choice to get it done right. But that admission was not forthcoming from Larken at the moment. He like working with wood, but this the task took him away from metalwork the other apprentices were working on. This only reinforced Larken’s view of himself as the awkward toddler who was always sent on errands to get him out of the way. Not that he was a toddler anymore. It had been sixteen summers since the smith had pulled him from the flames of what had been Larken’s home. Now, he and the smith were the same height, although the smith still outweighed Larken by a considerable amount.
Most people found it odd that the smith and his wife, both busy and no-nonsense people, had adopted a two-year-old baby. When asked why they did so, they shrugged and simply answered, “Someone had to.”
So, Larken had been raised in the smithy. He was given work to do, corrected simply and directly for mistakes, and punished when he intentionally did wrong. There were very few other dynamics in his interactions with his foster parents, and Larken grew to prefer it that way.
Larken had become very skilled in the woodwork required to supplement the ironwork of the smithy. The nature of wood was something he understood more intimately than the nature of iron. This was a marked difference between him and the other apprentices, but one that actually made Larken more valuable to the smith.
Few people, especially those who lived within the village of Ox Run, understood that the smith needed to work with wood as well as metal. If they had thought about it, they would have realized that hoes, axes, and other implements needed wooden handles to be fitted and balanced to the metal heads. Wagon wheels needed spokes and hubs. It was hard to name many metal objects that didn’t have a wooden component. But wood was not as forgiving as iron, which could be reheated and reshaped. Once a piece of wood had been ruined, it was fit only to be turned into charcoal to feed the forge.
Larken paused to massage his left hand, feeling again the phantom pain in his missing outer two fingers. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Melona approaching along the side of the smithy. They both paused to watch three parrots winging their way over the smithy.
“Three parrots mean a wedding,” remarked Melona.
“Sure,” answered Larken. “Somewhere. A lot of people get married all the time.”
“But the parrots are here, and the wedding is supposed to be for the people seeing the parrots, not just anywhere.”
“So, who’s getting married?” challenged Larken. Everyone in Ox Run, except Larken, knew that eventually Larken and Melona would take the vows of wedding. Melona had long ago assumed this fact and found it amusing that Larken still didn’t believe it.
“We’ll just have to wait and find out. Are you ready for lunch?” she asked, hefting a basket that she had brought from the village. “Dad took some old tools in trade, and I brought them to the smith to see which ones he could repair. Since I was coming anyway, I thought we could have lunch together.”
The smith’s wife normally had something for the apprentices to grab for lunch, but the smith, who never sat down to eat during the day, expected his apprentices to work and eat at the same time. Most of the apprentices had learned to grab hasty mouthfuls between jobs. Only after the forges were closed for the day did they all settle down for a real meal. Melona had somehow charmed the smith into letting her bring Larken lunch a few times each month.
Melona’s dad was the owner of the Ox Tale, one of Ox Run’s trade stores. Melona’s parents approved of her friendship with Larken, and often welcomed Larken into their home for meals and visits. Melona and Larken complemented each other both physically and emotionally. Melona, like Larken, was tall and slender, but Melona’s blonde hair contrasted with Larken’s dark brown hair as much as Melona’s lighthearted exuberance contrasted with Larken’s reticence. While Larken’s reticence caused discomfort in others, Melona’s quick wit brought ease to any conversation. Melona wasn’t the prettiest of the village girls, but her good nature made her one of the most popular.
Settling onto the grass in the shade from a spreading oak that stood as sentinel on a hill at the back of the smithy, they applied themselves quickly to the lunch.
“The mayor says that Search will come here next week,” Melona informed Larken between bites, and then she immediately regretted her remark. Larken had stopped chewing in mid-bite, a frown shadowing his face.
Melona continued hastily, “I am sure that they won’t find anyone.”
“They shouldn’t even be trying,” gru
mbled Larken.
“Now, Larken, you know we need Healers. Half the village would be dead now if we didn’t have a Healer. And even you can’t argue that we don’t need Warders to protect the kingdom. And, besides, no one has to go if they don’t want to.”
“Janné went,” Larken answered. Janné had been found to have Talent six years ago by their village’s resident Healer when Janné was sixteen years old. Janné’s mother, however, had been bedridden with a wasting ailment that did not respond even to Healing. After much discussion with her mother, Janné had left for Sarkis, the capital city of Shropanshire, with the understanding that her stipend from the castle would be used by the village Healer to ensure her mother’s welfare. Her mother had died two weeks after she left. Larken had been nine at the time and had been infatuated with Janné. He saw the death of Janné’s mother as a betrayal, and he never forgave the Healers or the Warders, whom he held to blame for the incident.
Melona sighed; it was an old argument. Melona suspected that Larken’s anger partially came from his feelings of guilt over the death of his family, but he was stubbornly unwilling to talk about his feelings. To keep his friendship and to maintain peace between them, Melona had avoided Search for several years. Larken, of course, would have nothing to do with Healers, even when he was hurt or ill.
“Larken, let’s not argue about it. We both know that Healers are necessary. If there hadn’t been a Healer in Ox Run when I was born, Mother would have died. You don’t want people to die, do you?”
“No,” responded Larken. “I just don’t trust them.”
“Healers only want to help,” reasoned Melona. “Would you rather someone be sick for days and maybe die instead of being Healed? Anyway, I came to have lunch with you, not to argue.”
“Sorry,” murmured Larken, feeling guilty for spoiling the mood, and angry at the same time for Melona’s bringing the subject up. Larken couldn’t explain his feelings, but it all made sense to him somehow. Healers were not to be trusted. Janné had left to be a Healer, and her mother had died. Larken’s parents had died in the same fire that had burned away the outer fingers of his left hand, and Healers were not able to help with either, although everyone talked about how wonderful they were.
The rest of lunch was spent in one-sided conversation that consisted mainly of Melona’s talking about village events. Larken contributed little to such conversations. Melona often teased Larken about his being as unresponsive “as a newborn rock,” but Melona’s loquaciousness and Larken’s reticence fit together and made both of them comfortable.
As Larken listened to Melona, he gazed out over the land around Ox Run. Ox Run lay about two weeks west of the capital, Sarkis, by horseback. Much of the country around Ox Run was low and swampy, but the land rose as one approached the capital, so that Sarkis stood in the middle of a rich, fertile plain. Continuing east from Sarkis, a traveler would find himself after two more weeks at the foot of the high Sarkan Mountain range that guarded the western border of the impassable Seagrave Desert. A well-traveled road led south and north along the western edge of the Sarkan Mountains to the kingdoms of Norland in the north and Grealand in the south. All three kingdoms were bordered on the west by the Great Sea, but in winter the northern part of Norland was sheathed in ice that extended well out into the sea. Ox Run was about half-way between the sea and Sarkis and was the beneficiary of a steady stream of traffic between the western seaports and Sarkis. The village consisted mainly of farmers, trappers, a few artisans, and the ever-present merchants to supply the trade that was needed by all.
After Melona had left, Larken completed building the racks. He had used the back of the smithy as the back of the racks, but had chosen to brace the racks diagonally from the back wall of the smithy, as well as from the ground. When the smith came to review Larken’s work, he seemed pleased with this arrangement.
“That is good.” His voice rumbled in a soft manner that only he could affect. “Did you learn about triangles from your reading?”
“No. It just seemed like a good idea.”
“It is. You’ve done well.”
Larken was warmed by the smith’s praise, especially since the smith didn’t hand out praise easily. His standards were perfection in both design and execution, and rarely did he praise without adding suggestions for improvements.
“Good, good,” rumbled the smith quietly as he thoroughly inspected every inch of the shelves. Then he turned to Larken.
“The shelves are good, like most of your work,” he said. “Have you thought about another trade?”
Larken was dumbstruck. He had never entertained the idea of living away from the smithy. Now the smith seemed to be suggesting that he leave.
“No,” he answered. “Why?”
“You have more ability and sense than any of my other apprentices,” said the smith. “But you do not like the forge. Your work shows that you can be a skilled craftsman, but a smith needs to love fire and heat. You do not.”
That was true. Larken could work with the forge, but he did not like it. He enjoyed shaping metal, but he liked neither the heat nor the glare of the forge.
Not knowing what to say, Larken fell back on his natural silence. After a moment, the smith continued, “I like you, Larken. You’re one of my best workers, but I can see the strain in you when you work with the forge.”
Larken didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. The smith also said nothing for a long while. Then, realizing that Larken wasn’t going to respond, he rumbled, “You are welcome to continue as my apprentice. You do good work, but you should think about what I’ve said.”
With that, the smith turned to go.
“Sir?”
“Yes?” said the smith, turning back to Larken.
“Thank you. I will think about what you have said.”
The smith nodded and left Larken to his thoughts.
Larken stayed at the back of the smithy for another hour, pretending to finish cleaning up his work. However, his mind wasn’t focused on his work anymore. The smith had brought into the open a conflict which Larken struggled with. He truly enjoyed woodcraft. Wood seemed to follow his thoughts rather than having to be forced into a shape like iron did. He enjoyed the feel and smell of wood much more than the acrid smell of iron. His woodwork and carvings brought a good price in the markets, but the smithy was the only home he could remember.
Larken knew that, even if the smith did not force the issue, he would have to decide soon whether to continue as one of the smith’s apprentices or try another trade. At the moment, however, he couldn’t make a good decision. He promised himself that he would talk to Melona. She would help him sort things out.
* * * * *
Two days later, Search reached Ox Run late in the afternoon and brought with it a carnival atmosphere. The village’s single inn was quickly filled, not by the escort of soldiers who set up their tents outside the village walls, nor by the Healer who was dutifully ensconced in the residence of the village Healer, but by the folks from the outlying region who came for the excitement of Search. Many brought their sons and daughters in hopes that they would be chosen. Peddlers and entertainers came, hoping that the crowds would spend a few extra coins during the Search. For a brief time, Ox Run was transformed from a small, unremarkable village into a festival.
In Ox Run, as in hundreds of other small villages, a central green was maintained in front of the town hall. It was used for proclamations, picnics, festivals, plays, and, most often, a playground for children. The formal welcome to Search by the local officials wasn’t slated until the next day, but a crowd had gathered on the green, knowing that the Healer and the Warder would first visit the town hall to pay their respects to the mayor before settling down for the evening. Peddlers and performers were working the crowds and creating a mildly chaotic atmosphere.
Larken was being towed by Melona through the crowd toward the town hall steps in front of the green. While Melona could slip easily through a narrow gap in
the crowd and elicit a polite shifting with a cheery “Excuse me,” the crowd was not as forgiving to Larken. As a result, he was getting increasingly frustrated with being bumped and shoved by the crowd while Melona continued to pull him forward.
Melona and Larken were intending to join Melona’s parents for supper. Melona was angling toward the north side of the steps, close to the lane that led to her home. She hoped to get a glimpse of the Healer and Warder at the town hall before dinnertime. As they drew near the Hall, there was a minor commotion near the entrance.
“Oh, look, Larken!” exclaimed Melona. “The Healer must be coming out.”
The crowd surged toward the Hall, everyone trying to get a better view. Larken, however, tried to pull Melona against the flow of people, to back them out of the crowd.
“Oh, come on, Larken,” Melona urged as she pulled on Larken’s hand and moved with the crowd toward the Hall. “Don’t be a spoilsport.”
Grudgingly, Larken allowed Melona to pull him along with the crowd. However, as she moved forward, closer to the steps, Melona’s hand slipped out of his. Larken hung back, but he kept his eye on the top of her head and saw her stand on tiptoe to try to see the steps leading up to the Hall. A sudden backward surge of the crowd sent her and a few others tumbling to the ground. Larken tried to push forward to where Melona had fallen; however, the crowd was tightly packed, and the front of the crowd was still trying to move back from the steps. As Melona tried in vain to stand, Larken pushed and shouted at people, trying to reach her. His shoves and shouts raised answering complaints from those around him, who were helpless to move against the larger crowd.
“Hold!” came a voice that seemed to reverberate in the air. “Clear the way.” The crowd suddenly fell away from Larken and Melona, as if pushed aside by an invisible force.
