Birthright: Lord of Arda (2 page)

Chapter III

Braden.

Braden rested his back against the cold stone plinth which sat three quarters submerged in the water, the girl was resting her head on his chest her head only just above the water. The pool had once been a temple to a long lost deity, marble stones and columns littered the area. He could hear the whispers of Alex and the other girl off behind him, the stone hiding one friend from the other. They were close friends but Braden really didn’t want to see what is friend was up to. At first he was excited by the naked women next to him, but as soon as things began to get serious he had stopped pulling back at first the women had been upset but she had settled quickly understanding his circumstances. Braden looked up at the sky watching the few small clouds drift past. His thoughts drifted to his mother she was probably sitting on the porch of their little one-room house, watching the young ones for the other adults in the village. She had been crippled long ago, she had almost no use in her legs only enough to use them as a pivot point to fall into bed at the end of the day. Braden spent most mornings taking care of her before heading to the butchers to work. Alex, the great friend he was had built his mother a wooden wheelchair so that she could move about with ease. He had been indebted to his friend for giving his mother back some freedom. She was a bright women and had slowly turned into the village teacher over the past ten years.

“Braden. What time is it?”

He looked up at the position of the sun, he raised his hand to cover the blinding light dripping water onto the girl’s head waking her from her doze. She mumbled something but Braden wasn’t paying any real attention.

“Looks about four o’clock.”

“I know, are you not supposed to be somewhere?”

It clicked, he was and he was late. He jumped up throwing the young girl off-balance and flipping her into the water. She thrashed around splashing water everywhere, Braden grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her up out of the water. The look she gave him was no longer cute or seductive it was more of shock and anger.

“What did you do that for?”

“Sorry I’ve got to go.”

He smiled and lent down kissing her on the cheek, she stopped dead and watched him as he waded towards the edge grabbing his shirt and boots from the bank as he started to run down the hill back to the village.

He skidded to a stop just behind a large willow tree, his chest was heaving. He hadn’t run like that in a while. Placing his hands on his knees he leant over to catch his breath and peered slowly around the trunk of the tree. The fields beyond were empty with not a soul in sight, perhaps he was too late but he couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse. Turning back he lent up against the tree his breathing was slowly calming. Looking down he still held his shirt in his hand, he had quickly put his boots on once he had crossed the river knowing that the fields were full of broken branches and sharp stones which would have slowed him down even further. Braden's ears pricked up. Sensing movement, he let his knees give way dropping his body down the trunk as he felt the object fly just above his head before rattling into the tree. He could feel the strength of the blow reverberating throughout the tree, he looked up just in time to roll out of the way of another blow aimed at his head. He felt small twigs break underneath his weight scratching the exposed skin on his back, he kicked himself backwards putting distance between himself and his attacker before spinning himself around and rising up from the ground. Standing straight ahead of him was a man well into his late fifties, his black hair streaked with grey slicked back over his head, the strong jawline and bold cheekbones screamed of the northern kingdom of Koral. He wore a complete black attire the only colour on his body was the white rose on the hilt of his sword. His dark brown eyes peered deep into the emerald of Braden’s, there was a look of pure disgust on his face. He stepped forward dropping a large leather sack onto the floor beside him, the sound of metal on metal drew Braden’s eyes away from the old man for a moment. He stood with his hands on the pummel of the wooden sword which had nearly decapitated Braden only moments ago his forearms bore scars from swords and daggers of all shapes and sizes.

“You’re late.”

“I’m sorry Bronn.”

“I will make you sorry, now pick up the practice sword from the bag and prepare.”

Braden bowed his head to the older man before stepping up to the bag and pulling out another wooden sword. He peered quickly into the bag and noticed two further steel swords, an axe and a bow. Was he training with all of these today or was the old man just being over prepared? Turning back to Bronn he took a few steps away from the bag before stopping still.

Bringing his feet together Braden raised the sword to his mouth kissing the cross guard and in turn saluting the old man, who returned the gesture before raising his hand and inviting him to attack. Braden went without a thought. He let the years of training guide him, four steps and he was in striking range feinting left before striking right. He felt the blow of his sword rebound off Bronn’s, swinging back around he attempted to strike on the left only be blocked again. He pushed hard into the old man’s guard before separating each taking a step back. This time the old man attacked. He did not have the brute strength of Braden or the dexterity of youth but almost four decades on the battlefield had made the old man’s reactions and technique sharper than any blade. The first attack was from above. Braden was able to block it easily but the second and third strikes coming on the left then right respectively were only blocked with only moments to spare. The old man did not take a respite and from that moment Braden knew he was in for a long few hours and was going to return home battered and bruised. The fight continued on for a further ten minutes most of which Braden had spent on the defence. It was the price for keeping the old man waiting, but he paid it willingly, knowing that even though he felt as if he had broken a rib from one strike and a finger from another it was training at the end of the day and it would make him a better fighter in the future. Finally the old man pulled back from the engagement, placing the tip of his blade into the ground and again resting his hand on the pommel. Staring back at him, Braden rested his blade against the outside of his leg as he reached round to touch the red welt forming on his ribs. He took a sharp intake of breath as his fingers touched the skin, which only made the pain worse as his ribs moved.

“Perhaps no bow practice for you then.” The old man chuckled to himself which only made Braden smile.

“How long have I been training you now? Five, six years?”

“Five this harvest. It seems your memory is fading faster than your sword skills.”

He touched his ribs again, looking down at the great red welt which would really cause his mother to complain. She had ok’d the training when Braden was thirteen but she had never been happy with the bruises and broken bones he occasionally returned with. She had once rolled herself all the way out to the old man’s house on the outskirts of the village and waited all day to, in Bronn’s words, ‘spit fire hotter than a dragon’s at him.

“My skills with sword will never fade Braden, don’t you forget that. Now I’m tired of sparing with you, it takes up so much energy to drop down to your level, that I believe I have earned a rest. Pick up the weights and begin your drills.”

Braden just shook his head at the old man before reaching back into the bag and pulling out two leather straps, each held small iron ingots about the size of his hand sewn into them. Strapping one to each arm he picked up the sword and moved back into the middle of the space between the bag and Bronn, who was now sat up against the willow trunk eating an apple. He looked up long enough to nod at Braden to begin before he returned to the fruit. Placing the blade at his hip as if sheathed he set his stance before pulling the wooden sword forward, striking his imaginary foe.

The sun was slowly moving towards the horizon. Braden’s arms felt as if they were about to drop off, he had been doing drills for over an hour with Bronn’s five minute break for Braden to fetch him water, the only respite from swinging the heavy wooden sword back and forth. The blade itself had been hollowed out and filled with lead making it heavier than a normal blade; an apparent legitimate training method which Braden thought was just another one of Bronn’s ridiculous ideas. The Koral swordsman was a mystery to many in the Shire, a few knew that he was training Braden along with other young men from Corshire and Bakershire, though whenever he had ever met them they had never spoke of weighted training and hour long drills. Perhaps he was the favourite student, or from the feeling in his muscles the least favourite. He stretched, his back and arms burned as the blood rushed through them. He clenched his teeth at the pain only chancing a quick glance over to Bronn to see if he had nodded off in the afternoon sun. The old man was coming towards him, Braden got ready to brace himself for an attack, he wouldn’t put it past the old man to come at him now in his weakened state, but then Braden noticed that he was looking straight past him off to the plains. Their sparing ground by the willows sat on a slight rise to the West of the Silver Road. From there they could see about three miles down its length. The great road travelled from the Hallfarm Fort on the borders with the Kingdom of Eridth only a few miles down the road, back up past Crane’s Roost, the castle of Braden’s Liege Lord, past the silver mines which gave it its name, up to the capital of Alton and then through the north of the Kingdom finally stopping at the borders of the Kingdom of Dalma. Bronn reached Braden’s shoulder and pointed into the distance to a small cloud of dust rising in the distance.

“Do you see?”

“Yes old man your eyes are not failing you yet.”

Braden felt his right leg buckle as Bronn’s knee struck the back of his, the old man only chuckled as he continued to watch the dust cloud come closer. They both stood at the top of the slope for few minutes watching before they finally noticed it veer off the Silver Road heading towards Farnshire.

“It seems we are in for a treat young man.”

Without a second thought the old man started jogging down the slope towards the town, leaving Braden at the top wondering what was happening.

Chapter IV

Alexander

Darkness was on its way the moon was already rising in the sky as Alexander walked back from the river to the village. All the kids were back at home and only a few women were left on the river's shore gossiping about the recent events in the Shire. As he neared the village edge he could see people gathering near the tavern, perhaps a passer-by had got too drunk and touched up the wrong man’s daughter or even the little Lord had drunk a little too much and made a fool of himself again. He was barely fifteen and couldn’t hold his drink. His first night in the village he caused a stir by getting blind drunk and then jumping up and down on the table screaming at the top of his lungs about how his father was cruel to him and never let him eat cake. The memory of the sight brought a smile to Alexander’s face. As he reached the edge of the village he spotted Bronn and Braden appearing out of the forest. Bronn seemed in a rush which made Alexander curious. Turning, he jogged around the edge of the village meeting up with Braden just as he reached the outskirts, his head followed Bronn as he walked straight by and into the village square pushing himself through to the middle.

“What’s happening? And what would get Bronn all worked up?”

“Don’t know, but we saw riders come down the Silver road. So something must have happened up at the Roost or at the capital."

Alexander stood thinking about what the news could be, either the King was calling for a grand tournament again, as one was due very soon or some bad news was awaiting the little village. He waved Braden through and followed the smaller man through the crowd to the tavern. Unlike Bronn the two young men were greeted with a smile as they pushed through to the centre, the duo were liked in the village, Braden or Alexander had helped out at least one member of most of the families who lived in the Shire. The tavern was the only two-storey building in the village. As the two approached they saw five men sitting on top of horses, each man was covered in chainmail, their dark green cloaks showed the red Crane of Alexander’s Lord. From the tavern, the little Lord appeared, his eyes looked glazed over. As he approached the five men, two of them dismounted, the first handing his reins over to the second, before approaching the little Lord. He lent in close whispering, to make sure that no-one else was aware of his conversation. Alexander could see over the soldiers shoulder and watched as fear and sorry filled the Lord’s eyes, though it soon glazed over with a cold emotionless glare. The two walked back to the horses, the little Lord taking the horse of the second man who then walked the horse forward. The lead guard then raised his head and glanced across the crowd before calling out.

“Lord Caldan Crane is dead.”

There was a gasp across the crowd, he wasn’t a benevolent ruler nor was he a harsh task master. Taxes had been raised in his time but he had invested much of the money in new roads between the shires and a permanent market at Crane’s Roost, which had made more than a few of Farnshire’s residents much better off. More than anything, it was a change of the norm which rattled the crowd and Alexander. Calden had been his Lord since he was born, he had never met the man and had only seen him from a distance across the castle grounds but Alexander felt the world begin to change around him. Looking up at the guard, he watched him turn and raise his arms.

“Long Live Lord Eldran Crane, Lord of the Roost.”

An old man to Alex’s left, was the first to bend a knee to the young Lord. Alexander and Braden followed suit and within a few heartbeats, the entire village was on it’s knees, heads bowed towards their new master. He chanced a glance up at the young boy and couldn’t tell if it was pride or shock which fell across his face.

“Rise.”

Lord Eldran’s voice broke slightly as he called out across the crowd, his face reddened slightly as he continued.

“My loyal subjects, I thank you for your allegiance. I know my father was loved by the people of Farnshire and your love will not be forgotten.”

He nodded to the guards before he pushed his heels into the horse pushing through the crowd, the four other horseman followed leaving the final guard standing at the front of the tavern. As soon as they reached the edge of the town Eldran pushed his horse into a gallop making for the Silver road and then north towards the Roost. Alexander turned back to watch Braden walk up to the lone guard. After a brief exchange of words he waved Alex over.

“James, it was James?” Braden asked.

“Jameson, actually.”

“James is easier, well Alex, James here is going to stay the night and make the trip back to the Roost on foot tomorrow. I thought we should introduce him to proper Shire ale. What do you think?”

Alexander reached out a hand to the guard, who looked at first reluctant to grab hold before finally accepting.

“Sounds like a good idea to me. Trust me James you have never tasted finer ale then in Farnshire.”

Braden led the way into the tavern, Alexander and James followed. A few other villagers walked in after them. The barmen would have a busy night Farnshire was alive with gossip. As they stepped through the threshold James removed his helmet revealing to Alex and Braden a much younger man than they expected. He was at most only one or two years older than the two friends. Taking a bench off to one side Braden left the two to fetch a few jugs for the night.

“Ever been to the Shires before James?”

“No, my first time. I have only been serving Lord Crane for three months and this is only the second time I have been out of the castle, mainly been in the practice yards with the other new recruits.”

“Sounds thrilling.” Alex replied sarcastically.

James shot Alex a dirty look across the table, Alex returned a mischievous smile shrugging his shoulders slightly.

“Don’t be offended friend, I only jest. A life of combat is much more exciting than that of a blacksmith. If you don’t mind me asking, why did you sign up?”

“I come from the Roost, not the castle but the small village around it. Even though it is always bustling with the market, unless you serve the castle itself there isn’t much to do in the way of work around there. So I decided to sign up, the skirmish with those barbarians who had crossed the border last winter had taken a toll on the guards’ numbers, so they were more than happy for a fresh recruit.”

Alexander nodded along with James’ story. He had heard about the barbarian attack, a man his father had traded with up at the Roost’s market had told him the entire story. The crash of mugs on the table snapped Alexander out of his thoughts, Braden sat down next James and pushed a full mug of ale into his hands.

“Now James, what juicy gossip do you have from the Roost?”