Of Swordsmen and Sorcery Volume One

Of Swordsmen and Sorcery

Volume one

Kevin Lumley

Published by Jaqhama Press 2014

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © Kevin Lumley 2014

This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Acknowledgements

To my beautiful wife Linda, whose encouragement and help never fails to inspire.

The Bride of Prince Arlic

Arriving in the province of Ranadar and finding himself short of funds, Jarn joins a cavalry unit in the employ of the Duke of House Karesh. Being an expert horseman and able fighter he is soon noticed by his superiors. When the Duke sends his daughter Ilsa to the neighbouring city of Crenella for her upcoming wedding to a minor Prince, Jarn is one of the hundred strong, hand picked troopers to accompany her.

The journey is uneventful until they are ambushed in the Jaygr Pass.

Part One: Massacre in the mountains.

He cuts to the left, he cuts to the right!

A turbaned figure leaps toward him, and he ducks down as a tulwar blade narrowly misses taking his head from his shoulders.

Jarn parries with his own sword and the force of his blow sends his attacker stumbling backwards. Before the turbaned warrior regains his balance Jarn runs him through.

Ripping his scimitar from his opponent’s body Jarn steps back and measures the scene before him.

A hundred men had ridden into the Jaygr Pass only a short time ago; if there were still twenty of them standing and fighting Jarn would be surprised. The Hillmen had swept over the cavalry column from both behind and in front. More Hillmen, hidden in the crags above, had hurled rocks and boulders down amongst the mounted soldiers. Trapped within the steep walls of the pass escape was almost impossible.

Jarn’s eyes are drawn to the carriage which contains Ilsa, the daughter of the Duke. It is here that the remaining soldiers are still offering some resistance. Their attackers are too many however and Jarn knows they will be overwhelmed in a few more moments.

Nearby a trained warhorse stands above the body of its fallen rider. In two long bounds Jarn has reached its side and grabbed the reins. He vaults into the saddle and jerks the animal’s head in the direction of the stricken carriage. He kicks the horse into a gallop and guides it around the yelling Hillmen. One of the turbaned men attempts to block his passage, a slight movement of the reins and the trained horse swerves around the man as Jarn slashes downward with his scimitar. The turbaned one screams and reels away, half his face sheared off.

At the carriage the captain of the troop has watched Jarn’s progress through the ranks of the Hillmen. That Jarn is a Koszak from the Southern Steppe is known to him. Even now, in these dire moments, the captain can appreciate the skill that Jarn possesses as a rider.

Only two other soldiers still stand with the captain as Jarn savagely pulls the charging horse to a stop. For a few seconds only there is a respite in the battle.

The girl, Jarn shouts. Hand me up the girl!

The captain hesitates.

You’re finished, the Koszak growls. Would you give these whoresons the prize they seek?

Their eyes meet, the captain spins on his heel and throws open the door of the carriage. He thrusts an arm inside and drags out a struggling figure. Beside herself with terror the Duke’s daughter is shrieking and clawing at the man who holds her. The captain yells something at the silk clad woman and lifts her bodily off the ground. Without ceremony Jarn throws her across the saddle in front of himself. A long spear pierces the captain’s chest and impales him against the carriage. Jarn curses and wrenches the warhorse about and, with heels flaying the animal’s sides unmercifully, and sword flailing in a web of steel about him, he rides over or around the turbaned warriors who block his route to the opposite end of the pass.

* * *

Some time later Jarn pulls the weary horse to a halt and swings down from the saddle.

He reaches up and lifts the Duke’s daughter down and sets her on her feet.

Her silken clothes are dishevelled, her honey gold hair is in wild disarray and her face veil has been torn off. Bright green eyes look at the Koszak with trepidation.

He points to a fallen slab of granite. Go sit over there, my lady, I must attend to the horse.

Her head rises a little. Should we not continue to ride on?

We should, Jarn agrees. But not on this animal.

Is it too tired to carry both of us then?

Jarn points to the steed’s underbelly. It won’t be carrying anyone much longer.

The young woman follows the pointing finger and gasps.

How the valiant warhorse has carried them this far, Jarn does not know. A broken spear juts from the animal’s belly, the haft of which is coated in thick red blood. More blood pools on the ground beneath even as they speak.

Oh, the poor thing, exclaims the girl.

Jarn whirls on her. A hundred men lie dead back in that pass, men who died to protect you, and you worry about a horse?

The green eyes brim with tears and the voice becomes a choked sob. I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I knew some of those soldiers well. I know their families, their wives… Her voice trails off as her memory replays the events of the recent past.

Jarn’s voice is gruff. Aye, well. Best you avert your eyes from what I must do now.

She looks at him uncomprehendingly as he draws a thick bladed poniard from a sheath on his belt. Speaking soothingly to the horse the Koszak slides the razor sharp blade across the large vein in the animal’s neck. Another puddle of blood quickly forms under the dying creature as its legs give out and it collapses to the ground. Jarn kneels down next to it and strokes its head until the last breath is expelled from the lungs and the eyes glaze over in death.

The Koszak climbs to his feet and turns to regard his companion.

She has tried not to watch the man deal with the stricken horse, now she looks directly at him. She gazes on a big, broad shouldered warrior, dressed in the leather breeks and chain-mail shirt of her father’s horse guards. His helmet has long since been knocked from his head and she notices that he is rather pleasantly good looking. Short dark hair, square jawed face, eyes the colour of winter skies. In his early twenties she guesses, only a few years older than herself.

I am Jarn, he says. I was employed by your father, the Duke, some months ago.

He has spoken of you. You are the Koszak from the Steppe in the far South. I am Ilsa as you already know. I think we can forgo any titles it might usually be considered polite to use.

Woman after my own heart, Jarn tells her. Fancy titles aren’t going to get us out of this mess.

He looks at her flowing silken robes and soft sandalled feet, suited for the court they will be of little use in this terrain. Hands on hips he glances back down the trail. We keep moving for now, later we’ll find somewhere to make camp for the night. Those turbaned devils will be searching every cave and canyon for us. I took as many different twists and turns as I could, but they might still track us until the sun sets.

Ilsa pushes herself to her feet. Where shall we go in this barren place?

There’s a well at the centre of some ruins not far from here. We’ll head that way, at least we won’t die of thirst in these cursed mountains.

* * *

Some hours later as the sun sinks behind the mountain ridges Jarn and his companion find themselves standing on a small plateau. Hidden amongst the towering crags it is almost invisible from any of the trails below.

Even if the Hillmen guess this is where we were headed there’s a good chance they won’t follow us here. One of your father’s men told me they shun this place, evil spirits live here or some such nonsense.

Ilsa casts a glance in the Koszak’s direction. And you do not fear those spirits?

Jarn grins at her. Not until they bother me at least.

She walks beside him until they come to the remains of a crumbling wall. Jarn takes her arm and helps her over it. Once on the other side they can see the remains of other structures. Here a fallen tower, there a broken dome of what might have been a temple of sorts.

Aha, exclaims Jarn with satisfaction. There’s the well, come girl lets get ourselves a drink.

Jarn strides off with casual self-assurance while Ilsa hangs back. She looks nervously around the ruined city. It is almost dark now and as a full moon rises eerie shadows are cast about her.

Come, Ilsa, drink your fill while I find us somewhere secure to sleep tonight. I don’t think the Hillmen will find us here but it pays to be careful.

Ilsa approaches the well; Jarn has already drunk several times. Looking over the top of the brickwork she is surprised to find the water level is only slightly lower than the wall itself.

She bends forward and scoops up a handful of the clear liquid.

Good hey? asks Jarn. Swallowing another mouthful the girl nods.

While Ilsa drinks the Koszak wanders around the central courtyard, the moon is bright in the heavens but every now and then a cloud passes across it and the plateau is plunged into complete darkness.

Finished reliving her thirst Ilsa joins Jarn outside the entrance to the temple. The wooden doors have long since rotted off, the stonework is crumbling in places but Jarn decides it might be a good place to spend the night. There is enough moonlight to guide him as he enters the interior.

Behind him he hears his companion gasp and turns in time to see her raise a hand to her mouth.

What is it girl? His hand rests on the hilt of his sword as his eyes search for enemies.

Ilsa points towards the base of one of the fallen towers. I thought I saw something move over there. Something big.

Jarn narrows his eyes and peers about. It is a windless night and nothing disturbs the silence around them. After several moments he turns back to Ilsa. I don’t see anything, are you sure it wasn’t a trick of the moonlight?

Ilsa stares hard at the spot she thought she had seen movement but the lunar light shows only fallen masonry and cracked paving stones.

I fear I am overcome by today’s events Jarn, my nerves are stretched to breaking point. I see wild Hillmen in every shadow.

Not surprising, Jarn agrees. Here, there’s a small antechamber just behind this old tapestry, we can build a fire, I’ll keep watch while you get some sleep.

That’s all very well, but what shall we do if the Hillmen come upon us?

The Koszak waves his hand at some steps behind him. These stairs go up to the roof, they are on our side only, nobody outside the antechamber will be able to use them. We can climb up onto the roof and get away over the wall if we have to.

Ilsa yawns. Well, you’re right, I hope we don’t have to.

Jarn has found some tattered cushions on a dais and now he throws them onto the tiled floor.

Make yourself comfortable while I gather some wood for a fire.

* * *

Part Two: The stalker in the ruins.

As Jarn pokes and prods his way around the room, Ilsa makes herself as comfortable as possible.

The small fire that Jarn has lit in the centre of the room provides both warmth and a source of light for the pair.

My father will send another troop of cavalry out to search for us, she informs him.

Indeed, agrees Jarn. But not until he discovers we have not arrived in Crenella, and that won’t be for a few days yet. The same for your future husband. My guess is it will be at least three days before anyone suspects we have met with trouble.

Ilsa sighs. Yes, of course you are right.

Another thought occurs to her. How will they find us? We are far from Jaygr Pass.

They will not, confesses the Koszak. We will have to make our own way to Crenella from here.

Ilsa stares at him. She looks at her shredded sandals and thin silks. You expect me to walk to Crenella from here? Dressed like this?

Jarn halts his examination of the antechamber and turns back to the girl.

Despite her dishevelled appearance she is still an extremely attractive young woman. The thin silk clothes do little to disguise the lithe body beneath. He stares at her with an admiring look in his eyes.

Ilsa takes note of this and stares boldly back. I am not some hill bred wench, used to the rigours of the crags.

Jarn grins. Don’t worry, my lady; I don’t expect you to walk all the way to Crenella. Come sunrise I’ll take a look around and see if I cannot convince a passing Hillman to lend me his horse.

A raised eyebrow. Lend?

Well, steal actually.

Ilsa starts to shake her head. No, you can’t, if you are captured or killed by the Hillmen what will become of me. I’ll die left alone in this bleak place. Or worse I will be caught myself and used as a plaything by those turbaned devils.

Her eyes start to tear. Please, Jarn, promise me you won’t leave me alone here. If it is necessary, I will walk to Crenella with you.

She lowers her head and her shoulders shake. Jarn crosses the small room and takes her in his arms. He strokes her head and smiles at her. Without thought she raises her lips to his and they kiss.

Jarn feels the blood pound through his veins but he draws back from the girl.

You are about to be married, he mumbles.

To a man I have met perhaps four times, a man I do not love. It is a marriage of convenience, Jarn, merely to secure my father’s standing with the King.

She draws his head back down toward her. If we are caught by the Hillmen, that day will never come. Let us live for the moment.

Their lips touch again. He lowers her gently to the tattered cushions.

Ilsa writhes passionately in the Koszak’s embrace; soon their talking is replaced with the sounds of lovemaking.

* * *

Jarn awakes suddenly.

He turns his head and peers about himself. The girl, Ilsa lies in his arms, her gentle breath brushes against his cheek.

Carefully, so as not to rouse the sleeping girl, he slowly extracts himself from her embrace. Rolling to his feet he hastily pulls on his leather breeks and boots. He reaches down and slides the scimitar noiselessly out of its oiled sheath.

Something is not right; a feeling of being watched is strong within the Koszak warrior.

Have the Hillmen finally tracked them to this deserted place?

He glides across the small room with the grace of a panther.

He swings aside the dusty tapestry and steps out into the moonlit outer room. The silvery rays shine down brightly on the ruins and just for an instant Jarn believes he glimpses a movement some distance away.

He casts a wary eye back into the antechamber. The girl sleeps on, undisturbed by his leaving.

Clutching his sword tightly in his fist the Koszak moves out into the open courtyard.

* * *

Jarn has stalked all around the edge of the open courtyard and found nothing. Had the Hillmen been here, they would have attacked ere now, he knows.

Shrugging the Koszak rests his sword on his shoulder and walks back in the direction of the derelict temple.

The silence of the plateau is broken by a scream of abject terror!

The hackles on the back of Jarn’s