by Damien Lake
Steel and Flame
Book One of
The Chronicles of
the Crimson Kings
By
Damien Lake
STEEL AND FLAME
Copyright © 2014 by Damien Lake
Written by Damien Lake
Cover and maps created by Kryslin Franks
First Publication 2014
Version 1.8
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole, in part, or in any form by any electronic, mechanical or any other means now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, recording, digital copying, scanning, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Thank you for purchasing an authorized copy of this novel and complying with copyright laws. By not distributing this novel without permission, you are giving support to all self-publishers and allowing them to continue sharing their creative spirit with readers worldwide.
Dedication
This novel, which I hope will be the first of many, is dedicated to my father, who took his children to the library every weekend from an early age, and thus ensured that a love of stories was well and truly seated in me.
Table of Contents:
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 01
Chapter 02
Chapter 03
Chapter 04
Chapter 05
Chapter 06
Chapter 07
Chapter 08
Chapter 09
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Interlude
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Excerpts from “Arm of Galemar”
Table of Maps:
Kingdom of Galemar
Southern Galemar
Town of Kingshome
Eastern Galemar
Prologue
His stomach heaved like the unceasing waves of the roiling sea as the swordsman burst into the night and stumbled from the isolated cottage. He fell to one knee with his palms pressing the grass, body trembling violently as he gulped deep swallows of air. The swordsman desperately wanted to wipe the horror from his mind. Wind whipped his hair and filled his lungs with salty ocean breeze.
It seemed as though the turmoil in his stomach would never cease. That it would, forever hence, verge on purging itself. Highest gods watching from above! That…that…
He concentrated fiercely on the gentle washing of the distant surf. Its clean rhythm of retreating waves slowly carried away much of the horror.
At last the churning eased. The shaking man raised his head.
This bluff overlooked the sea. The fading sun laid a golden ribbon across the waves to the beach below. Focusing on those fiery waters helped pull his mind further from the cottage’s interior. Years of witnessing battlefield slaughter and butchery had not prepared him for this.
Bumps sounded from within the lone cottage. The Red Man remained inside, sifting through the raw evil in his search for clues. The swordsman did not care; he had seen enough already to scar him the rest of his life. Deduction and inspection were not his primary skills, anyway…thank the Twelve for small enough favors. There was no need for him to return to this ravaged family’s remains. A family who had tended their flock on these bluffs.
Creaks sounded from the old door. The Red Man must have finished. The swordsman swiveled to face the cottage, hoping to see revulsion or outrage or sadness, but the Red Man’s face remained as granite.
Sunset made the Red Man look eerier than usual. When they had first met, the swordsman thought the man wore so much red because it matched his flaming hair. A red shirt of fine silk with long sleeves met exquisite gloves of the same color. Heavy leggings held up by a dyed belt of tooled leather were tucked into expensive riding boots. All were the earthy red of fine wine. He wore an unusually long coat hanging to his ankles, with full sleeves and a broad collar. It was thick and waterproof with a shiny red satin lining that flashed with every step.
Despite the bright red hair, the preponderance of the color in his clothing seemed unnatural. But one look at the Red Man’s eyes froze any comment. Jewel red, they shone like blood rubies twinkling in firelight. The setting sun made his crystalline irises blaze.
“He is long departed.”
The swordsman nodded yet remained on his knees, too unsteady to rise. The Red Man placed a firm hand on his shoulder in sympathy. A strange gesture from such a cold person.
“The strength of this one is increasing, but the life energies he harvested from these innocents will not long sustain him. More, they will feed his thirst for power. He will be driven to greater extremes.”
The swordsman wished he could avoid asking. He had no wish to stir the cauldron of his revulsion. Except his mind refused to let it go. “How…long did they suffer…that?”
“Days,” the Red Man stated quietly, a simple statement of fact. “An eightday at the limit, if he worked with caution.”
The nausea roared back. As real as though he stood within the cottage again, images tormented him, especially that of the young boy twisted in mind-shattering pain. Eyelids cut away. Bones pulverized. His skin peeled back, his muscles laid bare…and forced to remain conscious through it all, without question. Every member of the family arranged so they were in view of one another’s suffering, enduring such agony as could not be imagined by the swordsman.
His gorge rose too fast to control. While he purged himself, the Red Man cast his gaze over the golden sea. Not until the retching faded to heavy breathing did he speak.
“Do you see? This is but the inception. As the true power awakens, his nature will be subverted and corrupted further. For the nonce does his hunger override his intellect, yet once his mind regains control, the locating of him will be so much the harder. His stealth and caution will intensify, as will his power.”
“What then? More of…this?”
“Such as this will forever be born wherever he treads. More, the scope will broaden as his strength rises. And he is but one. In all my years of searching, he is the only one I am certain of this time…”
“How bad?” The swordsman slapped the ground hard with one hand. “Tell me! Just how far can he go?”
“I have related to you the tragedies of the past. Such a repetition is within the bounds of possibility, I assure you. And such is his goal. We must find him.”
The swordsman felt sick again but not from memory of this gristly scene. His own home, his friends, family…all at risk. At risk of…this.
He nodded, which satisfied the Red Man. “Then come. It is decided. You are my friend no longer, but my edom from here forward. There is much work to be done, for he has a good lead. Time is short, yet still favors us if we precipitate our pursuit.”
The Red Man helped him to his feet. Together they turned their backs on the sea and the cottage overlooking it.
Book 01
Novice<
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Chapter 01
From his perch in a relatively small Euvea tree, Colbey watched a trapper going about his business. He had stumbled across this distasteful man while making the rounds in his assigned section of the Euvea groves. More often than not, in Colbey’s opinion, the duty was a waste of time. Yet once in awhile he actually found an outsider who had wandered into the groves. Usually it turned out to be a thrill seeker looking for treasures or undiscovered civilizations or some even more extraordinarily ridiculous fantasy. Or perhaps they thought they led a charmed life and were immune to the forest’s threat. Or they’re too foolish to know better, Colbey thought bitterly.
For the length of a seven days’ journey into the Rovasii, the flora grew as in any other forest. The tallest trees topped eighty feet. A treasure trove of herbs and game, the Rovasii provided well for the settlements on its fringes. But few ever penetrated to its heart.
There, the Greater Euveas soared hundreds of feet from massive roots that twisted the very ground. Each tree stretched tall, a towering monument forty men would fail to encircle though they touched their fingertips to one another’s.
As awe inspiring as the Rovasii Forest’s Euvea trees were, the rumors concerning them were beyond exceptional. Tales regaled the taverns in the fringe towns concerning strange happenings and unearthly trickery experienced by those hunters who dared to venture so deep. It had been accepted by the fringe towners that the forest would share its bounty, but would never tolerate the desecration of its sacred Euvea heart. Few lost their lives in the forest, and the deaths which did occur were attributable to the natural hazards of a wild area. Still, none who had beheld the forest’s splendorous core ever ventured so far a second time. The warnings were clear.
Unfortunately the very lack of obvious lethal retribution by the forest tempted the foolhardy to witness this world of wonder for themselves. Which, Colbey reflected, is exactly why I have to deal with outlanders like this one!
Colbey thought that by now the forest’s reputation would keep the outsiders away. The depths of the outlanders’ ignorance and sheer stupidity still amazed him. Take this one for instance.
Undeterred by stories of spirits and demons and vicious creatures, he had trekked all the way here, to the sacred Euvea groves, just to carry off a bundle of hides! And not very many at that because he’d come without a pack animal. While the innermost depths of the Rovasii were home to many unusual and fantastic creatures, their hides were less useful than good leather or fox fur. What did he think would be worth the time and effort it took to make the round trip on foot? Probably he came hunting for something unusual enough to make a unique accessory for a wealthy lady’s party gown, a one-of-a-kind rarity to make the other frumps green with envy. Colbey nearly felt like asking, except anything this outlander might have to say interested him little. Anger filled him rather than curiosity, and now he had work to do.
He needed to drive this fool out of the Euvea, as his appointed duty dictated, preferably without killing him. Colbey had long believed that if they did kill a few of these lackwits, the other hunters in the fringe towns would take the stories regarding the deep forest seriously. Maybe then he could be spared making these endless patrol sweeps every other day. That decision belonged to the elders though, and he respected the village council to a far higher degree than these outland scavengers.
The man checked his trap, a wicked contraption of metal jaws that snapped shut on whatever stepped in it. Colbey moved through the interwoven Euvea branches to the tree above the trapper’s camp. Since most Euvea boughs were as wide as the paths in the outer forest, traveling by air was far easier than walking across the uneven ground, where one needed to climb gnarled roots in wall-like tangles.
Colbey double-checked his climbing gloves. They consisted of thin leather studded with steel spikes. The first forty feet of the colossal Euveas tended to be devoid of handy branches so a firm grip on their bark was essential. After spending his entire life in the deep forest, Colbey could skitter up and down the trees with the graceful speed of a squirrel.
He climbed to the ground without making a sound. Once there, he quickly surveyed the man’s belongings; travel packs, bed roll, various cooking gear, food, a small hatchet, bow, arrows, and skinning instruments. Searching the packs revealed extra clothing and trap parts.
Colbey made his choice. He tied the packs containing clothes, parts and the tools together by their strings. After shouldering the load, he re-ascended to the treetops. The packs’ combined weight made the climb considerably slower than the descent, nearly pulling him from the bark.
Once he stashed the packs in a crotch, he returned to his previous tree. The man had finished setting the trap and begun covering it with forest grass. Colbey expected him to return to his campsite, so it surprised him when the man started setting another of the contraptions. How many does he have?
Quite a few, as it turned out. They had been sitting near a stand of shrubbery which blocked them from Colbey’s view. The trespasser apparently intended to trap this entire clearing between the Euvea roots. Only after he finished the last trap did he return to his camp.
Colbey eagerly anticipated the trapper’s bewilderment at the loss of his gear and subsequent retreat from the forest in superstitious fear. But the trapper only stiffened in grim determination, retrieved his bow, then set off into the outer woods. He headed away from the deeper Euvea so Colbey let him go. The man had left his remaining gear, meaning he would be back.
His bewilderment increasing, Colbey reviewed the trapper’s odd reaction. This outlander ought to be confused and nervous and running for the nearest fringe town. Colbey’s temper flared before his training reasserted itself. No one ever solved puzzles when they were too angry to think. Bad enough that he already wasted the day like this when there were other pursuits he wanted to devote his time to.
The trapper had taken only his bow. So…he must be hunting for food to supplement his travel rations. He must also wish to leave the area he’d trapped alone for awhile so his scent and presence would fade. Except he had not bothered to search for his missing belongings, which must mean he’d been in the Euvea before. If he’d experienced similar tricks by other patrols, he would know that his possessions would never be located. It would also explain his lack of a pack animal. Colbey recalled several popular tricks the scouts played involving such beasts. This trapper would never have brought another one into the groves again.
Colbey’s anger returned. If this outlander had been here before and learned enough to accept the loss of his equipment as final, his stupidity clouded his senses too thickly to take the warning for what it meant! He’d been given a chance to leave unmolested once. Perhaps even several times if he had returned before this. The usual tricks would be insufficient to drive him off for good.
The trapper would be gone for awhile yet. Colbey needed to think of a warning that would get through the fool’s skull this time. Insinuations that outsiders were unwelcome obviously were not working with this one. He set his mind to the task of devising a strategy to deal with the trapper and descended to the forest floor while it cogitated.
First, he gathered various wind fallen branches that were of a size to be handled, mere twigs to the giant Euvea. He dropped one in each trap. The cruel barbarity of the contraptions sent a shiver down his spine. One large branch snapped in two. Such a trap did not kill immediately. Animals could suffer for days before the trapper returned. Not to mention making it unsafe for a scout to walk about in his own home!
He returned to the small camp, contemplating what else he could do, when noise in the underbrush alerted him to the man’s return. Wasting no time being surprised, he slipped his gloves back on and scurried to the treetops. Colbey wondered at the trapper as he watched the man emerge from the trees. He had been gone hardly a few minutes yet already returned with the carcass of a year-old deer.
The feat impressed Colbey until he noticed the mangled hind leg. This animal had wandered
into one of the man’s evil traps. He could see the scene in his mind, the young buck feebly attempting to escape while the trapper walked over, only needing to slash its throat with his knife.
Rather than stopping at his camp to butcher the meat, the trapper brought the kill over to the trapped clearing. His expression at finding his traps sprung looked only mildly more irritated than when he had discovered his packs missing. It must have seemed as though the Euvea trees had dropped their own branches so his traps would snare naught but firewood. The fool acted as though it was little more than what he expected.
Again he ignored the message. He set about rearming the traps after dropping his kill in the clearing’s center. This outlander possessed determination; Colbey gave him credit for that much. The trapper finished, then searched the clearing one last time. Colbey assumed he looked for signs of whatever had disturbed his work. Soon he learned otherwise. A sturdy branch had been the trapper’s goal, one with a tip that could be sharpened.
He used his knife to hack at the carcass, ruining any chance to use it for meat when he relentlessly scored the body. Once he turned it into a ruined mess, he dragged it around the clearing until blood smeared everywhere. Only then did he stake it to the ground in the center of his reset traps. Apparently satisfied, he returned to his camp.
Colbey felt disgusted. This trapper must be hunting a specific creature. Whatever he wanted, it must be a predator or a scavenger that he hoped to lure with the sent of a fresh kill. The scout considered dragging the mutilated carcass to the man’s camp after he fell asleep and leaving it draped over his body. Such wanton waste and despicable methods went against every teaching Colbey had received. He wanted to make a clear example of this outlander. Too bad the intruder watched his surroundings intently, alert to the forest’s trickery. It would be better to return after dark for the next attempt to drive the trespasser off.
