Kingshelm (Renegade Druid Cycle Book 1) Read online

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One - Barryn

  Chapter Two - Barryn

  Chapter Three - Barryn

  Chapter Four - Paardrac

  Chapter Five - Barryn

  Chapter Six - Barryn

  Chapter Seven - Barryn

  Chapter Eight - Mithrandrates

  Chapter Nine - Alcuin

  Chapter Ten - Mithrandrates

  Chapter Eleven - Alcuin

  Chapter Twelve - Mithrandrates

  Chapter Thirteen - Grantham

  Chapter Fourteen - Paardrac

  Chapter Fifteen - Alcuin

  Chapter Sixteen - Paardrac

  Chapter Seventeen - Barryn

  Chapter Eighteen - Barryn

  Chapter Nineteen - Mithrandrates

  Chapter Twenty - Barryn

  Chapter Twenty-One - Grantham

  Chapter Twenty-Two - Grantham

  Chapter Twenty-Three - Paardrac

  Chapter Twenty-Four - Paardrac

  Chapter Twenty-Five - Mithrandrates

  Chapter Twenty-Six - Mithrandrates

  Chapter Twenty-Seven - Barryn

  Chapter Twenty-Eight - Barryn

  Chapter Twenty-Nine - Barryn

  Chapter Thirty - Marek

  Chapter Thirty-One - Mithrandrates

  Chapter Thirty-Two - Barryn

  Chapter Thirty-Three - Barryn

  Chapter Thirty-Four - Mithrandrates

  Chapter Thirty-Five - Alcuin

  Chapter Thirty-Six - Barryn

  Chapter Thirty-Seven - Marek

  Chapter Thirty-Eight - Marek

  Chapter Thirty-Nine - Barryn

  Chapter Forty - Grantham

  Chapter Forty-One - Barryn

  Chapter Forty-Two - Barryn

  Chapter Forty-Three - Mithrandrates

  Chapter Forty-Four - Marek

  Chapter Forty-Five - Barryn

  Chapter Forty-Six - Alcuin

  Chapter Forty-Seven - Marek

  Chapter Forty-Eight - Barryn

  Chapter Forty-Nine - Marek

  Chapter Fifty - Grantham

  Chapter Fifty-One - Barryn

  Chapter Fifty-Two - Paardrac

  KINGSHELM

  George Hatt

  Copyright © 2015 George Hatt

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Vance Kelly

  www.vancekelly.com

  For Papa.

  If this book is a work of any quality, I have several people to thank for helping me make it that way.

  I want to first thank Ru Deyo for giving me the ideas of the M’Tarr and the Vehir—as well as other peoples in our shared multiverse, but I won’t mention them lest I post series spoilers at the front of my first damn book! He was also there for the whole writing process as a sounding board, a beta reader, and an in-multiverse fact checker.

  I also want to thank beta readers who helped me flog the draft into something resembling a book. Jordan Robertson and Kevin Kline generously gave their written comments and their great patience as I drafted this thing. Samantha Bellows pointed out something icky in an early draft that I subsequently deleted. Good catch!

  Big props go to Vance Kelly for producing stunning cover art that makes this look like the kind of book I’d want to pick up and read, and I’m a picky reader.

  And through it all—the early mornings and late nights of drafting and editing, the vicious bouts of writer’s block, and my hubris-fueled crowing as I finished yet another chapter—has been my beautiful wife Cindy.

  Thank you all.

  Bold was she and beautiful, and serenely fearless in her wrath.

  —Donald A. Mackenzie

  The talisman that has let my mind rove beyond the confines of this accursed tower shows me much, especially of the distant past. For instance, I watch now as dragons and their riders swoop down in fiery aerial cavalcade on formations of dwarves arrayed for battle in the plains below. Dwarves. Ha! Those stern folk called themselves the Haughrav in the days before their nations were crushed, and would split the skulls of anyone who named them “dwarf.” But this vision of fire and blood—of dragons and dwarves—though fascinating, bears little relevance to the volume at hand.

  As is customary for books of this genre, I shall begin this Supplement One to the Rise, Decline and Fall of the Mergovan Empire with an expository prologue that will, I hope, elucidate some of the more arcane aspects of the world of Fentress and its inhabitants during the Latter Warring States Era without overburdening the reader with superfluous detail.

  Readers of my previous volumes know full well that I have treated the social, economic, military, and thaumaturgical aspects of the Empire’s history in what the lay reader might consider excruciating detail (though I and my editors believe that the text was more than amply footnoted. In further defense of the admittedly ponderous volumes of the Rise, let me remind the reader that the books, and indeed the present volume, were written while I am exiled to Ersetu. I languish in a prison tower rising from infinite planes of gray dust for what is not actually eternity, but so closely approximates it that one could not call it otherwise without lapsing into rank pedantry. I have nothing if not time, in other words. I would ask for some indulgence from you, Dear Reader.)

  However, the thoroughly objective treatment I give the events of that epoch in the several volumes of the Rise tends to obscure any emotional connection the reader may have to the happenings outlined therein. Names, dates and places march by in such rapid succession at certain points of the narrative that one is hard pressed to keep up with them unless a pen and notebook are close at hand and liberally used. The present volume, as well as the volumes to follow, will fill that gap in the scholarship by describing actions, thoughts and feelings of a few of the principal actors in the events covered in the Rise. Whereas I sought to give an objective view in the previous volumes, Supplement One provides the subjective points of view that aid us in our attempt to answer that most vexing of questions facing students of Imperial history: “Why?”

  My research methods for Supplement One differ from those of my previous work, and I confess they approach the voyeuristic, depending chiefly upon this device that the grimoires name the Stone of Sight. Simply put, the Stone allows me to see through space and time, to read thoughts, to feel others’ emotions as if they were my own. Other historians say with poetic flourish that they have developed comfortable, old friendships with the subjects of their narratives. With the aid of the Stone, I have in fact done just that.

  During the writing of this volume, I strove mightily to suppress my urge toward exposition of that which my subjects had no knowledge. I feel that such a subjective treatment of the men, women and monsters in the following pages offers a verisimilitude that allows the reader “walk along the path” with those vibrant beings who have heretofore been reduced to flat caricatures populating other history books.

  To fully appreciate the treatment I give the prominent figures and their roles as told in Supplement One, the reader would do well to peruse the volumes of the Rise and at the very least familiarize himself with the timelines therein. A summary and concordance to that series is in the works but, alas, remains incomplete.

  Other tomes of use to the general reader include my Magic: The Technology of the Gods; Myth, Magic and the Mind: Man’s Creation of the Gods; and Before the Fiery Chariots: A Natural History of Fentress (the appendices on the mass extinctions wrought by our ancestors show how thoroughly they transformed the world for their use—the familiar truly devoured the alien in our distant past). Scholarly readers should be familiar enough with my catalog to decide for th
emselves which of my denser works will be of most utility in their studies.

  As always, I must list those to whom I am indebted for the completion of this work. First and foremost, I thank Our Lady of Chaos for taking pity on me in this prison tower and supplying me with a library and enchanted instruments equal to the task of keeping my mind occupied during my exile in the blackness of Ersetu.

  Time, study and reflection during my imprisonment have shown me how deeply I sank in error during my life as a mere human. I was led astray by my lust for domination and ultimately trapped by my own eldritch tinkering. To rule a world with an army of the undead, after all, destroys that very thing which is sought to be ruled. I know this now thanks to Her, and I now focus my not inconsiderable energies and intellect on the pursuit of knowledge rather than fulfilling a ravenous desire for power.

  I also must thank the paladin Hamfast, one of the Heroes of Old, for offering me his mercy and allowing me the beneficence of his truly honorable sense of justice. After my final defeat at the Shoraz-Athar Rift, he alone impressed upon the Companions of Mahurin that I should be imprisoned here rather than hurled into the Infernal Pits for an eternity of suffering.

  My hatred for Ashara has cooled significantly during my eternal, yet timeless, imprisonment. My criticisms of her are now purely academic and free of the vitriol that I had allowed to seep into my earlier works.

  Deva Astrotolic

  Tower on the Astral Sands

  Kyntha’s Feast Day, 1,523rd year of my imprisonment

  CHAPTER ONE

  Barryn

  Flickering candlelight and pungent incense smoke cast a solemn gloom in the ancient temple where Barryn of Clan Riverstar held vigil over the ceremonial bronze weapons he would soon carry on his journey to the Neverfar Realms.

  The boy of 16 winters sat cross-legged on a bear fur, mustering his spiritual power for the coming ordeal. Spicy-sweet curls of smoke undulated in the ruddy half-darkness and wafted his prayers to the stern gods he revered: Udric, chief of the gods, the bringer of knowledge, order and wisdom; Kyntha, goddess of the White Moon, fertility and the waters; and Taern, god of war, self-sacrifice and ruler of the great Red Moon. Other gods and powers moved in the heavens and the mysterious realms between light and shadow, such as Mahurin, the mighty warrior whose resplendent chariot carried the sun across the heavens. Elemental beings, wood spirits, the heroes of old, the fey and even the feared devas were no strangers to the people of the Caeldrynn. They watched the affairs of mortals but seldom interfered. If anything drew their gaze, it was when the son of a druid neared manhood and prepared for his rites of passage.

  Barryn shifted, flexed his broad shoulders and allowed himself to glance around. His dark, shoulder-length hair brushed lightly over his tunic. Surrounding him, thirteen megaliths stood guard around a stone altar carved with knotted serpents and geometric figures, staring down upon the boy and his weapons like a council of giants. The whole ancient, weathered circle formed the heart of the great timber-framed Hall of the Gods which was built many thousands of years after the stones were set in the hallowed ground. Great wooden pillars held the roof and rafters of the circular hall, all covered with carvings of writhing dragons and gnarled, grasping trees. Here sacrifices were made, oracles were read and handfasting vows exchanged. Here the very power of the gods was invoked and great magic worked in times of war and suffering. The temple inspired awe in the laity of the Clan, who only visited on special occasions and to observe holy days throughout the year. But for Barryn, it was a classroom and refuge from the drudgery of village life.

  All Caeldrynn youth passed a series of tests of their character and skill before they were considered adults by their kin and village. Children of hunters organized their first hunt, while children of blacksmiths crafted their first weapons or tools. Barryn was preparing for his first vision quest, but he would not go alone. An experienced druid and an adept would be accompany him to protect him and to help interpret his visions. This was the dangerous stage in Barryn’s education when he and the Clan would learn whether his path truly was that of the druids.

  Resting upon the stone altar before him, the young druid candidate’s bronze short sword and a quiver of bronze-tipped arrows glimmered red in the candlelight. Barryn would take the ceremonial weapons into the wilderness to hunt and to defend himself against the dangerous but mortal creatures that lurked in the woods. Steel, however, repelled the fey spirits of the forest and was thus forbidden to him on the vision quest—the spirits and otherfolk were welcome companions on this journey, not threats to be warded off.

  If the visions and the signs indicated against it, or if Barryn panicked during his journey to the Spirit Realms, his training as a druid would cease. Then even Barryn's mother, the High Druidess of Clan Riverstar, could not grant him his dream of speaking with the Holy Ones as a druid. He would choose another trade and be given over as an apprentice to a master for his secular, mundane training. Barryn took a deep breath, laden with the scent of bear fur mixed with incense, and exhaled it in small puffs, letting the cleansing breath wash the nagging thoughts failure away.

  Despite the needling doubts, Barryn had no serious fear about his destiny, assuming he returned safely from the dangerous trail he would have to find through the wilderness for his vision quest. He had excelled in his bardic training, having already memorized both the Epic of the Creation and The Fall of Heordethar. He knew what herbs numbed pain and which ones drew infection out of wounds, and he could make refreshing teas as well as intoxicating brews. Barryn had quickly learned the ancient runic letters and the powers of the even older druidic tree glyphs.

  Hand bells suddenly rang behind Barryn, and he rose to his feet. Six brown-robed druids filed into the temple behind him and assembled in groups of three flanking the altar. A last one, the High Druidess, took her position behind the altar. She was bedecked in a white hooded robe of the same cut as the other druids. Her staff was oak, one of the “star woods” that the mythical Justified Ancients brought to Fentress when they fled the ravages of the Vehir during the Heaven War of mystical antiquity. The High Druidess rapped the butt of the staff on the ground, and Barryn sank to his knees.

  She began the ritual that would set her son on his way to adulthood.

  “What are these on the altar?” she asked, pointing at the quiver of arrows.

  “They are the arrows that fly quick and straight, but not so quick as the piercing rays of will,” Barryn recited.

  “And what is this blade that rests on the altar?”

  “This is the sword that cuts deeply, but not so deeply as the blade of insight.”

  “But what is your most powerful weapon?”

  “It is wisdom.”

  The woman’s green eyes flashed, her face framed by fiery red hair and the white hood. “And where is wisdom?”

  “Wisdom is the treasure hidden in the wilderness that has no rivers, no mountains, no wood.”

  “Then go find it,” the High Druidess said, raising her staff. “Bring this treasure back and use it to serve your Clan and honor the Gods. For only wisdom lets us see nwyventh, supreme truth, that we may follow it and prosper. Let the Strength of Taern go with thee.”

  The other druids took up their part of the ceremony. “The Strength of Taern protect thee,” they said in unison.

  “The Quickness of Kyntha go with thee,” the High Druidess continued.

  “The Quickness of Kyntha protect thee,” the druids said.

  “The Wisdom of Udric go with thee.”

  “The Wisdom of Udric protect thee.”

  “Now off with you! Time is short, and the Mighty Ones await,” she commanded. At this, Barryn rose, took the weapons from the altar, and turned to leave the temple.

  He sped to a trot once he was out of the shadow of the temple and hustled through the village toward the gate in the wooden palisade marking the line between home and the wilds. He passed the timber longhouses and thatched-roofed huts that squatted in the predaw
n mist, sheltering the families inside them from the chilly spring morning. As Barryn made his way across the village green, he smelled smoke from morning fires and heard the banging and shuffling of households rising to begin the day’s labors.

  Life among the Caeldrynn was hard, but satisfying. The coming-of-age ceremonies helped forge the people of the Heathen Realms into a strong and hardy folk in ways that the decadent citizens of the Mergovan Empire never cared to understand. The tribes who dwelled in the ruin-dotted wilderness at the periphery of the empire needed to be strong to survive the rigors of the wilderness and the occasional skirmishes with the Mergovans on the frontier.

  Barryn had grown up watching men groan and bitch about the bloody fooking deer and the bloody fooking hour a man had to venture out into the cold just to fell one—and the jovial hunting songs they sang when they returned to the village with a couple of fat does field dressed and ready to be hung. The woods were dangerous and harbored creatures far more terrifying than deer, but they also yielded a bounty of game, timber and herbs. The folk of the Caeldrynn kept a good portion of their wealth, contributing as their hearts moved them to the druids and giving the thanes and war chiefs their due. It had been years since the larcenous tax collectors from Brynn Province had come to Clan Riverstar—and subsequently, years since Brynn had sent an ill-omened expedition to avenge the abuses heaped on the tax collectors.

  Barryn was too young to remember the last time the Clans had given the Castle Dwellers a good thrashing, but he knew exactly where the battle was fought. He often explored that wooded ravine east of the village and sometimes found rusted steel arrowheads and harness buckles scattered among the roots and underbrush. The decaying artifacts were all that remained of the last army that Lady Drucilla of the Waters sent against the Caeldrynn. Barryn wore one of his favorite arrowheads tied on a thong around his neck for luck on his quest. He fiddled with the pitted steel talisman, then hid it under his tunic so the fey would not see it and flee from him.