Mercenary (Blade Asunder Book 1) Read online

  “Barnaby?” Myriam touched the silver chain that hung around her neck. “You know him?”

  “Yes of course,” nodded Hendon. “Everyone in the Cefinon Forest knows Barnaby.”

  “He gave us food as we rode past his cottage. He gave me this nice little present. Are you saying he is a fortune teller?”

  “There’s not much that Barnaby can’t do. At least that’s what he says. My father always warned me to stay away from him, saying that he practiced dark arts, but I’ve always found him fairly harmless. I like the stories he tells.”

  “What sort of stories?”

  “Stories about the forest and the kingdom mostly. Sometimes wilder stories of what the future might hold.”

  “And what did he tell you that your future would hold?” probed Myriam.

  “He said that I would meet a Princess and be swept away on an adventure.”

  “Really?” gasped Myriam.

  “No, I’m only joking,” laughed Hendon. “But he did say that silver will help ward off those that seek to harm you. Silver shimmers in the sun and shines in the light of the moon. He gave me one of those chains too.”

  “We seem to be matching our jewelery well!” clapped Myriam. “This forest is full of surprises.”

  The travelers followed the forest trail quietly for several hours until Ganry called them to a halt. “I can see smoke up ahead.”

  “It could be the town of Athaca,” said Hendon. “I’ve heard that it’s somewhere here in the forest.”

  Myriam tried to peer through the trees for signs of civilization. “Why would a town be all the way out here?”

  “I think they log trees and then float them down the river to the port of Brammanville.”

  “That could be handy if we wanted to go north,” mused Ganry. “But it doesn’t help us get west. The question is whether we go in or whether we try and keep a low profile and go around.”

  “I don’t think we can go around,” noted Artas, pointing at the ground. “It looks like this trail goes straight into the town. It’s bordered by the river on one side and thick forest on the other.”

  “Ride ahead Artas, see what you can find out,” suggested Ganry. “We’ll wait here for you.”

  “Won’t we be fairly conspicuous if we rode into town?” asked Myriam.

  “We may not have any option. Let’s see what Artas can find out.”

  “So sad that they are cutting down the trees,” said Hendon quietly, watching the smoke drift lazily into the sky.

  Myriam followed his gaze. “I guess they need them to build the boats though.”

  “It hurts the forest,” Hendon said sadly.

  “But can’t the trees grow back?”

  “Barnaby says that new trees can grow, yes, but once a tree is cut down it dies, it’s spirit dies. He said that if you anger the forest then it will remember the pain that you have caused it. That the forest never forgets.”

  “That’s a bit creepy isn’t it?” said Myriam, eyeing the trees around her slightly more circumspectly.

  They waited about an hour before Artas finally rode back into their little makeshift resting place.

  “So what’s the verdict?” Ganry asked Artas as he walked his horse towards them.

  “We definitely have to go through. It would take us days to try and work our way around. Unless you want go up across the mountain, there’s no way that we’d be able to cross the river unless we go over the town’s bridge.”

  “What’s the town like? How conspicuous will we be?”

  “Hendon was right, it’s a logging town. But there seemed to be quite a few merchants and other travelers passing through, so if we keep a low profile we should be okay. There’s an inn not far from the gate that this trail will take us to. We could spend the night there until we get a better sense of the terrain that lies ahead of us.”

  “Good work. Let’s do it,” accepted Ganry. “Lead on Artas, we’ll follow.”

  7

  Athaca was only a relatively small town. It was walled on all sides except where it faced the river. The River Walsall was one of the major waterways in the Kingdom of Palara, beginning high in the Basalt mountains, and flowing through the Cefinon Forest before reaching the Damatine Sea where the port of Brammanville had been built. The walls protecting Athaca were not made of stone, but of wood, from trees that had been felled from the forest. The gate that serviced the forest trail was relatively small, but it was manned by the town guard.

  “What’s your business in Athaca?” demanded the guard as Ganry presented himself.

  “We are returning to our farm in the west,” replied Ganry. “We seek lodging in Athaca for the night.”

  “Not the farm again,” whispered Artas under his breath.

  “Shut up,” Ganry hissed back, while smiling politely at the guard.

  The guard looked at them suspiciously. He eventually produced a ledger. “Write your name in this book. We are to record all entrances and exits.” Ganry quickly made up names for them all and entered them into the book. “Any weapons to declare?” asked the guard.

  “No,” replied Ganry, pulling his cloak tighter around him to conceal the sheath of his sword. “Just my son’s hunting bow.”

  “Very well, carry on,” nodded the guard, opening the gate for them.

  “I wrote our names as the Johannson family,” Ganry whispered to Artas. “We need to make sure that we use the same name when we ask for the room at the inn.”

  “No problem… dad.”

  “Shut up fool,” grinned Ganry.

  The inn was fairly small and basic, but they were able to secure a room that would sleep them all. Hendon and Myriam took charge of the horses while Ganry and Artas investigated the town.

  “Look at that, Artas. How industrious.” Ganry watched the tireless woodmen of Athaca at work. They were dragging the wood in from the forest and then tipping the logs into the river to send it downstream.

  “How do they stop it from getting caught in a log-jam along the way?” wondered Artas aloud.

  “I guess they have checkpoints of some kind along the river, plus they probably send men down on rafts to help clear any blockages.”

  “They seem to be sending a lot of logs down. Do you think they’re building a lot of boats?”

  “It could be that,” considered Ganry. “Perhaps some houses too? But mainly boats, I imagine. Duke Harald is likely increasing the size of his fleet.”

  They walked on through the town and found the main gate that they would need to leave through in the morning in order to continue their journey westward.

  “How are we going to get through that?” asked Artas, studying the heavily guarded gate.

  “We’ll just have to hope that they accept that we’re the Johansson family and that they don’t ask us too many questions.”

  “Isn’t that fairly risky?”

  “No more risky than walking in like we’ve just done,” countered Ganry.

  They returned to the inn and met up with Myriam, who was just about to go look for them.

  “Should we try and buy another horse for Hendon?”

  Ganry stood at the window looking down onto the busy street below. “Yes, probably a good idea. We’ll be able to move faster if we’ve each got a horse. Artas, take Hendon with you and go and buy one.”

  Once Artas and Hendon left the room, Myriam sat down on the bed. She looked exhausted.

  “How are you holding up?” asked Ganry.

  “I’m okay,” she smiled weakly. “Just tired, I guess. This feels like the first time we’ve stopped since my world was turned upside down. If I don’t think about what we’re running from or what we’re heading to, then I’m good. I can focus on just surviving. But I’m scared Ganry… I’m really scared.”

  Ganry didn’t want to patronize her by saying things would be fine. He just patted her shoulder comfortingly. “Perhaps we should send word to your grandmother. Let her know that you’re coming and what has happened.”


  “Who could we trust with such a message, Ganry? I think we’re better just to keep going, get there as soon as we can.” Myriam sighed. “How far do we still have to travel?”

  “If we were on the road, it would take us another eight days, but we can’t risk that. Once they realize that we evaded the hunters, they’ll increase their efforts to find us. We’re going to have to work our way along the trails of the Cefinon Forest, so it’s anyone’s guess, really.”

  Myriam flopped back onto her bed, and tried to get some rest.

  8

  Duke Harald sat brooding, alone in the throne room of Castle Villeroy. He had an important decision to make. King Ludwig and his wife, Queen Alissia, were safely locked away in the dungeons of the castle. The plan had been to kill them immediately and claim the throne, but the escape of the Princess Myriam complicated things.

  Myriam was the legitimate heir to the throne, and while she lived, Harald’s right to rule would always be under threat. It infuriated him that she continued to evade capture. Duke Harald’s dilemma was whether to kill the King now and claim the throne immediately or to continue to wait and delay any action until Myriam had been captured. Regicide is no small matter. To kill a king is a bold decision—especially when the king is your brother.

  Duke Harald’s ambitions to seize the throne had been brewing for a very long time. He had always been the stronger of the two brothers, the more aggressive. It was Harald who had led the armies, seen to the defense of the Kingdom of Palara, and commissioned the expansion of the Kingdom’s fleet of ships. It was a cruel twist of fate that he was the younger of the brothers, that it was Ludwig who had been crowned King. That Ludwig had fathered a child was yet another obstacle for Harald to overcome.

  He tugged at his beard in frustration, trying to decide what to do, and the best course of action.

  “Excuse me, sir,” said a tentative voice, as the door to the throne room slowly opened.

  “Yes, what is it?” responded Harald gruffly.

  It was Henrickson, his captain of the guard. “We’ve had a report from the hunting party that was pursuing Myriam.”

  “And?” demanded Harald impatiently.

  “We’re not exactly sure what happened, but she has eluded them, sir.”

  “What do you mean, eluded them?” growled Harald. “She is a fifteen year old girl. How has she possibly eluded a hunting party?”

  “She must be under the protection of someone, sir,” suggested Henrickson. “Half the hunters were slain, the dogs too. No fifteen year old girl could have done that.”

  “So there was someone with her when she escaped,” snarled Harald. “I knew it. But you found the body of her tutor?” Henrickson nodded. “So there are other agents at work,” reflected Harald. “Where did the hunting party lose sight of her?”

  “They were deep in the Cefinon Forest. It appears that she crossed Lake Braff, heading West.”

  “They are in pursuit?”

  Henrickson nodded. “Yes sir, they are heading towards the logging town of Athaca. We have sent reinforcements there, also.”

  “Tedious little witch!” spat Harald. “It infuriates me that we are wasting time scouring the Kingdom for this girl. Carry on, Henrickson. Bring her to me as soon as she is captured. Kill anyone that is trying to protect her.”

  Henrickson bowed and left the room.

  Harald started to pace. He always did this when trying to calm himself. He was angry that one young girl could thwart his carefully laid plans. Whoever was helping her would pay dearly.

  Harald had always been an ambitious man. His father had taught him well. Harald had been schooled in the art of war from a young age—how to fight, how to kill, how to plan a battle, and how to defend a city. Frustratingly, he had been born into a long, extended period of peace for the Kingdom of Palara. There was the odd border skirmish, the occasional pursuit of a marauding gang of bandits, but on the whole there were few threats to the security of the kingdom. Diplomacy and trade became the weapons of choice while he gnashed his teeth and sharpened his sword.

  He’d never had any interest in taking a wife. Women bored him. He dreamed of power. He dreamed of control. The plan to overthrow the rule of his brother Ludwig began to germinate and grow in his imagination when he was twenty-one. On a dare from one of his men, Harald had consulted a fortune teller. She was a wizened old woman draped in a shawl and burning incense to try and conceal her stench.

  “You dream of glory…” croaked the old woman, studying Harald’s hand. “But yet you will die alone. You will die alone and your dreams will crumble to dust…” Harald had been so enraged by the old woman’s prophecy that he had drawn his sword and slit her throat. He was determined that fate would not decide his destiny, that he would make his dreams come true, and that he would be the most powerful man that the world had ever seen. His name would be remembered throughout history.

  At first, he had tried reasoning with his brother, Ludwig, explaining the importance of building a strong army and expanding the influence and control of the Kingdom of Palara. He elaborated in detail on the need to build stronger alliances and subjugate those that refused to cooperate. But Ludwig was too content, too comfortable to see and understand what was possible, and what could be achieved. He wanted peace, but all that Harald dreamed of was war.

  On his deathbed, their father had arranged Ludwig’s marriage to Alissia from the House of Locke. Harald had never really understood their father’s fascination with Castle Locke, but Alissia had proved to be a loyal wife to Ludwig. Soon after they were married, Myriam had been born and the succession of the throne secured.

  Ludwig and Alissia had to die, of that Harald was certain, but he knew that he couldn’t kill them while Myriam lived. He needed to finish this cleanly, once and for all. Ludwig and Alissia would have to remain in the dungeon until Myriam was captured. Until Myriam could be brought back in chains.

  9

  King Ludwig had been content to let his brother Harald assume leadership of the armies of the Kingdom of Palara. Ludwig’s interests lay more in the negotiation of trading agreements with their neighbors. The rough and tumble of the army was more suited to the temperament of his hot-headed brother.

  Under the stewardship of Duke Harald, the armies of the Kingdom of Palara had almost doubled in size. He had transformed it from being a part-time military made up of conscripted farmers and tradesmen, into a professional army of men trained to fight, equipped with swords, shields, and armor.

  They may have lived in a time of peace, but for many years the armies of the Kingdom of Palara had been preparing for war. A war that King Ludwig had not seen coming.

  While Castle Villeroy was well protected by its defenses and a detachment of the Royal Guard, Duke Harald had developed two other centers of military power. The Walbourg Fort and the The Port of Brammanville.

  The Walbourg Fort was located on a rocky outcrop that overlooked the River Walsall, downstream from the logging town of Athaca. It was here that Duke Harald had created an enormous armory for the Kingdom and had built barracks to house the thousands of professional soldiers that he had recruited and trained. The Fort was in a strategic position, controlling any traffic on the river, looking out across the lower plains and out to the Damatine Sea. Soldiers could move quickly on horseback or could be transported by river raft down to Brammanville.

  Brammanville had long been an important port for the Kingdom of Palara. A bustling trade hub that had taken Palara’s grains and produce across the Damatine Sea to their trading partners in the cold lands of the north.

  Shipbuilding had been a skill and tradition that the men of Brammanville prided themselves on. Their trading ships were wide and flat, enabling them to make long-distance journeys across the Damatine Sea, but also to cope with the narrow waters of the Marshes of Llandaff and other inland water-ways. But Duke Harald wanted a different kind of ship. He wanted ships that could carry the Kingdom’s soldiers and horses. Ships that carry the Ki
ngdom to war and carry the Kingdom to victory.

  Unbeknownst to Ludwig, Harald embarked on a massive ship building program, creating a fleet that was now safely anchored in the harbor of Brammanville. A fleet of ships ready for a war that had not yet been declared, against enemies that had not yet been identified.

  10

  “Henrickson!” shouted Duke Harald.

  “Yes sir,” replied Harald’s captain of the guard, entering the throne room of Castle Villeroy.

  “If we assume that we will soon have dealt with the inconvenient Princess and my brother, we need to start planning our next move,” said Harald.

  “Yes sir,” nodded Henrickson. “I have prepared a map room where you can consider how you would like to mount the campaign.”

  “Excellent,” nodded Harald, following his captain to the adjacent room. Henrickson had set up a table with a large map of the region. The Kingdom of Palara was shown in the center. To the east the hilly lands controlled by the tribes of Ashfield and beyond that the plains of Mirnee. To the south the Basalt Mountains and the lands controlled by the Hartnett family. To the west the Berghein valley and the House of Locke. “What I’m interested in is here…” said Harald, pointing to the north-west.

  “Vandemland?”

  “Yes…” mused Harald. “They’ve never responded to any of our trade delegations. We share a land border with them but they keep it well fortified, and from what I hear, their mines are producing valuable seams of metals and jewels.”

  “They have always been fiercely independent. It is difficult to gauge their military capabilities. We don’t even have very good maps of what lies within their borders.”

  “We have two points of access though. There is the land border that we share with them, but they also have an extensive coastline along the Damatine Sea. We could use our ships to launch an attack on two fronts,” said Harald, using the map to illustrate his plans.

  “But what would our objective be, sir?” asked Henrickson.