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  Fury

  James Alderdice

  FURY Copyright 2019 James Alderdice

  Cover by J Caleb Design https://www.jcalebdesign.com/

  Map by Anna Stansfield http://artofannastansfield.blogspot.com/

  Digital formatting by: Hershel Burnside

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owners and the above publisher of this book.

  LOST REALMS PRESS

  Contents

  Prologue: The Dragon Awakes

  1. Legend of The Wyrm’s Tooth

  2. The Disagreement

  3. Encounter in the Forest

  4. Roll the Bones

  5. The Night Stalker

  6. The Rabbits Den

  7. Sour Welcomes

  8. Lay of the Land

  9. Demands and Threats

  10. The Doom Laden Trail

  11. Song of Treachery

  12. Morals and Dogma

  13. Drum and Fang

  14. Remember the Tune

  15. Armed to the Teeth

  16. To The Marsh

  17. A Mothers Vengeance

  18. In The Depths of a Black Well

  19. The Hoard

  20. Return of the King

  Epilogue: To the Crown

  The World of the Usurper King

  For Adam “The Brometheus”

  Prologue: The Dragon Awakes

  Darkness had taken her and when she awoke, crisp orange danced before her eyes not a hands breadth away. Fires crackled along the ground, burning thatch from a fallen roof. A blackened hand lay singed beside the greedy blaze, the unknown body it belonged to crushed by the fallen timbers. Was it one of her hand maids? Probably.

  The pitiful wailing of pain and sadness carried over the grim scene. A fetid reek pervaded the courtyard amidst the death and destruction. Blood was splattered crimson across the snow like sorrow. Her body was freezing from lying in snow and ice but also burnt from being too near the devouring flames of the ruined palace.

  She crawled free of the wreckage which attempted to trap her legs—luckily nothing felt broken. The fallen timbers had cracked her skull and a small amount of blood in dried rivulets caught her long black hair and pasted it down her pale face. Mind reeling, she cast about for anyone living, and then the memory of the horrific attack came, and she spun, hunting for the architect of this doom—the dragon.

  Finding no sign of the horrific beast she hurried on, hunting for someone, anyone, still alive.

  Rancid smoke curled over her shoulders, hiding the living from her gaze like wraiths in the mist. Daring not to speak aloud for fear of the monster, she stepped carefully through the palpable gloom.

  She heard men grunting a short distance away and ran toward them through the wheeling smoke. Passing through the amorphous veil she recognized the voice of the lord of the ruined palace. “Father?”

  “I am here, daughter! Thank the gods you live!” said her father. “Let me look at you.” He ran stern hands over her face and wiped away at the caked blood. “Any other wounds?”

  She felt at her torn gown. Her legs were badly bruised, she was sure, but nothing felt broken or cut. “I don’t think so. Where is mother?”

  Her father shook his head, lips downturned into a frown, then clutched her to his breast. They held each other tight and wept.

  “Lord Hoskuld, I have her free,” spoke one the men, as they dragged the body of his lady from beneath the ruins of a wall.

  Her father’s embrace intensified, not allowing her to look upon the broken visage of her mother. “You don’t need to see this,” he said. “Always remember her as she was, a beautiful queen, your mother.”

  She struggled to look one last time, but he was so much stronger and kept her pressed tight against his cold armor.

  “Bors,” Hoskuld ordered his headman, “Cover my lady and take her away. We must see to the rest of the dead.”

  “Let me at least touch her hand,” she said, “one last time.”

  Hoskuld, with tears streaming down his own lined face, gazed upon his daughter and nodded.

  She caressed the cold dead hand then gripped it tight. Tears fell, nearly blinding her as she swore, “Damn this dragon from hell! May Votan blight your bones!”

  “Take my daughter to the hall and see that someone, a maid, cares for her bruises and that crack on the skull,” ordered Hoskuld.

  She was carried away by one of the men at arms and then fell into a swoon and slept, dreaming mad dreams where giant shapes lurked in the dim fog and great jaws snapped ominously.

  ***

  That evening, she knelt beside the shrine of Votan, behind the ruined palace. She placed small incense burners before the twin pillars of Votan and his Queen Celene. Smoke surrounded her everywhere she went. Black plumes still rose from fires trapped beneath tumbled monoliths that the workmen could not reach and extinguish.

  She had been kneeling in front of the shrine almost all day. It was a massive block of stone with incredible detail carved upon the two pillars joined by a small arch above. It had been crafted long ago, when men worked intricate fashion beyond the skill they possessed today. It was their people’s best connection to the past and their ancestors, so it was venerated by most, but not all.

  Her skeptical father, Hoskuld, walked up behind her. “Praying?”

  “Why did it come? Why take mother and all the rest?”

  Hoskuld shrugged. “If your mother would have ever had a choice in the matter, she would have wanted you to live.”

  “Why? My life is worth no more than anyone else’s,” she said.

  “No parent would agree to that.”

  She looked at him with tears streaming down her face.

  “We all want answers,” he said, “but in this life, sometimes only the gods know that riddle and they will not share it with those of us that are still trapped in the flesh.”

  “You never pray,” she said accusingly. “So how can you know?”

  “I’ve never needed to. Not sure there is any point in starting now,” he said, coldly. He cast a wistful look at his destroyed palace.

  “I want answers,” she said, wiping away the tears. “Don’t you?”

  Hoskuld cast his arms about in despair. “Who knows why a dragon does what a dragon does, or why the gods allow them to afflict us so. If we really are their children, why pain us like this?” He leaned against the shrine and ran a hand along the carved face of Votan. “Once, perhaps, I believed in divine justice, but not anymore. This life is pain. We are but a game of dice to the gods,” he said softly. “At best they laugh at our struggles.”

  “Mother didn’t believe that.”

  “Perhaps she didn’t.” He set a hand on her shoulder.

  “But that is not why I am here,” she said.

  “Why are you here then? Praying at the shrine of Votan. It will be dark soon, and we must find shelter for the night. The wise man says the dragon will be back with the coming darkness.”

  She stood, her eyes ablaze. “I want answers, but most of all I want revenge upon the dragon. I have been here all day praying and giving libations to the gods that they will send the killer of souls to destroy the monster!”

  Hoskuld looked with surprise upon his daughter. She was a full-grown woman now, beautiful as a night filled with stars and the full glory of the moon. Until yesterday evening, all his thoughts for her had been on finding a worthy husband and soon, but the dragon changed everything. He and his men could not slay the beast, they couldn’t even prevent it from d
estroying his meager palace and taking his wife and dozens of other souls away. So much death. But beyond that, he never expected this bold and vengeful determination to cross her face. This was trouble, and he didn’t wish to lose a daughter along with his wife.

  “And if the gods do not hear our prayers? What then?” he said, simply.

  She looked at him and wiped away the tears. “They will hear my curses.”

  “Listen to me,” he shouted, taking her by the shoulders. “The dead are gone! Ash on the wind! I won’t have you become what I am! You’re going away before any more death and bitterness touches you!”

  “You can’t make me leave. This is my home!”

  “I am lord of Finnsburg, and you will go if I have to tie you up and bind you to a horse! I won’t debate this with you. You’re going! Pack your personal items, you will leave in the morning!”

  “No, I won’t! This is my home! My land!”

  He raised his hand as if to strike her, but she only stuck out her chin to claim the slap, to feel the pain on her face to match a broken heart.

  “You will go, if I have to have Bors carry you on his back! Argh!” he cried in anger and threw down his hands before doing something else he might regret. He reached into a pocket. “Take this. It was your mothers.” He held out a great red jewel on a chain. She took it without looking at it. He then strode away fuming.

  The red glare of the setting sun over the mountains fit her mood. She saw crimson everywhere.

  Turning back to the shrine of Votan, she looked upon the carven image of the stormy bearded god, the lines of his face hewn deep into the pillar. It was all things at once, stern and unfeeling, cold and vengeful. It looked like her father. “He heard me. He knows my words and so do you. Votan, send a man to slay the dragon. A man beyond all others who is a killer of souls and will save my people and my land.”

  1. Legend of The Wyrm’s Tooth

  The sloop was half swamped and limped into the bay of a coastal village halfway between Danelaw and Hellaink. The skipper dared not take his ship further on for fear of her going down, not to mention he wished to be rid of his dangerous passengers as soon as look upon them. They were fighting men that was sure, big bold men yet pantherish and quick. He had his suspicions but kept that to himself. The weather was a simpler reason to be rid of them.

  Slate grey skies overhead promised rain soon but for now there was only the tang of the sea and fresh scent of pines that encroached to within a few hundred yards of the fishing village.

  “I daren’t go any further like this, Mr. Gate. I know you wanted to get closer to the capitol and all, but the next gale that’s coming in looks grey as char and will surely send us to the bottom. And it seems she is a brewing something big up right now. It’s coming down from the Ice Sea.” He gestured to the mass of dark clouds looming far on the horizon.

  “I understand,” said Gathelaus. “I trust you will forget you ever saw me and my friend?” He thumbed to his half seasick companion, Niels.

  The skipper took his battered hat in one hand and leaned forward. “Honestly, I’m sure those coming after you would just as soon cut my heart out for helping you this far along, so, no, I won’t be saying a word.”

  Gathelaus clapped the skipper on the shoulder and handed him another solid gold piece. Then he and Niels picked up their rucksacks. The sloop eased next to the dock and before she was even tied off the two men had leapt aboard the groaning planks and were striding down the boardwalk taking in the scene.

  It was a quaint village with no more than a dozen small huts. There was one church, one stone keep looking as if it were caught frozen in time and ready to tumble to the ground, and one large inn and tavern. There was a stable nearby and from the look of things, despite it being a fishing village, they had good horses.

  “They get enough travelers here for an inn that big?” asked Niels.

  “It is on the coastal road, but it’s not the swiftest way to Hellainik. I’d say we are somewhere on the tip of the peninsula. Out of the way enough that Vikarskeid can’t have enough manpower to be sending anyone out here to wait for me.”

  “You think so? Maybe he has sent out word about a price on your head. One so large he has no intention of ever paying it,” suggested Niels.

  Gathelaus laughed in agreement, saying, “Likely he has, but who would wait down here? This is the far end of the world and I should know. I’ve been everywhere.”

  “You hope.”

  “Nobody would be waiting here,” said Gathelaus.

  “There shouldn’t have been raiders plying the waters a hundred miles off the coast looking for us either,” reminded Niels.

  Gathelaus’s face darkened. True enough they had been attacked in the middle of the open sea by reavers who recognized the Sellsword King; but that was just bad luck, and hadn’t he just sent them to the bottom regardless?

  “I need a stout drink,” said Gathelaus.

  The few folk in the village paid them no mind, seeming more interested in the sloop that had just arrived. A handful of men strode past them to go and see the other new arrivals.

  The tavern had a sign out front, hanging from a long rafter by twin chains. It read, The Wyrm’s Tooth. There was a whitewashed rendition of a long-pointed tooth behind the stylized lettering.

  “Odd name for a tavern.”

  “No, it isn’t,” said Gathelaus. “Every place like this just wants a story to stand out. What’s different is that it isn’t a sea related name. You’d think it would be named Votan’s Landing, or the Merwife’s Chamber.”

  They opened the door and went in. A man finished reciting a poem and sat back down amidst a handful of cheers.

  “Did you two just get off that ship?” asked an old man.

  “Yes,” answered Niels.

  “Where was she bound from?”

  “Mankares,” answered Niels with a half-truth.

  “Any fruit from the southlands?”

  “No.”

  The old man turned away, no longer interested in speaking with them.

  Inside the dimly lit tavern, a woman played a melancholy tune on a fiddle that was missing a string. A shaft of light from the damaged roof made all else inside seemed terribly dark by comparison. It was plain that there were a lot of people talking, but they went almost silent, muttering between themselves as the two men walked in.

  “Get us a drink, I’ll see about buying some of those horses we saw stabled outside,” said Gathelaus. Niels nodded and made his way toward the bar. Gathelaus called out, “I have need of horses. I have good coin to pay.”

  “Here,” drawled a mustachioed man at the bar. “I have horses but would need that good coin to part with them. We don’t get much travelers down here seeking the few we have.”

  “I can pay whatever they are worth,” said Gathelaus.

  “Follow me then,” said the man as he got up and went to the door.

  Gathelaus looked to Niels and said, “Don’t get too comfortable.”

  Niels shook his head and glanced at his fellow patrons. Most of them wore a simple cloak or tunic. No one had weapons that he could see. He glanced around the room as his eyes became a little more accustomed to the dark. Most of the dozen or so men seated within obviously belonged in an out of the way establishment like this. They were older and looked like fishermen or farmers. There was a barmaid at the far end of the tavern that caught his eye, too. She had an hourglass shape and a heaving bosom. Her dark hair stood out in stark relief from her pale skin.

  “I’ll have to meet her,” he said to himself.

  “What can I do you for?” asked the bartender.

  Niels acknowledged him then pushed his way to the bar. “I’m famished. I’ll also need two ales in the biggest mugs you can find, and I want them served by your prettiest wench!”

  “I’ve only got one, that’d be Dahlia. Hey Dahlia, fetch two ales!” called the barkeep. “She’ll help you out.”

  The pale beautiful woman with black hair and
large assets threatening to escape her corset made her way toward him carrying two enormous silver mugs topped with foam-covered ale.

  “Thank you kindly, Dahlia,” said Niels, attempting his most friendly greeting with his brightest grin. He knew she would have heard everything before, but it didn’t hurt to be polite.

  “That is two coppers,” she said. “Anything to eat is more.”

  Niels fished the coppers out of his coin purse and slid them across the table to her. She had to lean over a little to retrieve them. He couldn’t help but notice the large amber jewel on a golden chain resting between her breasts.

  “I am not on the menu,” she said softly, without looking at him.

  “Of course not, but you can’t begrudge me for looking.”

  “At least you didn’t try and toss them down my blouse. Cold coins will not warm my heart for any customer.”

  Niels smiled. “Well I do try to keep up some hint of gentlemanly manners.”

  “Anything else?” she asked with a mischievous smile.

  “Why is this place called, The Wyrm’s Tooth?” he asked trying to think of something, anything to keep talking to her.

  Dahlia asked, “You really aren’t from around here are you?” She pointed behind the bar. High on a mantelpiece and attached to a piece of dark polished wood hung a massive tooth. It must have been as long as a man’s hand. It had a slight curve and once Niels looked closely, it seemed that the edge of the tooth had small serrations. There was no doubt that whatever it had belonged to was a magnificent predator.

  “That is our claim to fame,” she said. “We have one of the only teeth taken from the wyrm.”

  “A dragon’s tooth?”

  She looked at him with a smile and nodded proudly.

  “So what is that really from?” prodded Niels. “One of those saber-toothed lions I’ve heard tell of? A tusked man-eating ape perhaps? Or perhaps a great shark?”

  Dahlia leaned in. Her brows arched crossly, but he liked the way she moved or at least the way specific parts of her moved.