CHAPTER 1 – INTO THE WILDERNESS
Athene had cursed the day that she had signed the charter for the convoy to Nordheim many times since they set off two months ago. The baggage train was so mind-numbingly slow and boring as they trundled their way through the increasingly barren countryside. But the money would keep her in lodgings and wine for at least three months after this trip. Easy money really – cook for the hundred warriors and twelve merchants, don’t use too much salt, overcook everything and don’t poison anyone, then return home to Tanaria without the tribes of Nordheim killing you. Sounded easy. It was easy too, except for the endless stream of delays and the monotony of the trail. Athene chuckled as she remembered her mother fussing around her before the trip.
‘Don’t take the skirts, do take the woollen leggings, lay off the lip balm there will be a lot of wild and unruly men on the trip.’ However, it didn’t matter how dressed down Athene stayed, some toothless hero would sit down next to her fire and start with the war stories whilst grabbing some soup or hanging around her on fire picket – ‘Oh, my hero,’ was usually enough to make them think that their story had impressed her – ‘Now bugger off and leave me to cook,’ was what it really meant. Athene stoked the evening fire to keep the stew warm. The nights had been getting progressively colder with the altitude of the mountains, the men around her had erected their weathered tents in the usual fashion against the sides of the wagons in preparation for the night and the first perimeter patrol was due back shortly. She had noticed the numerous mercenaries that accompanied them had stepped up their activities and patrols now that they had entered foreign lands; even if they had been invited into Nordheim it was still in the back of their minds that this time last year they had been close to full blown war.
Ralf gingerly approached the fire to warm his hands, the fire giving his boyish features a warm glow. Athene had developed a bit of a motherly soft spot for him over the last few weeks on the trail. At sixteen, he was the youngest of the three Balmore brothers. She liked it when Ralf was on guard duty, as he looked comical dressed in his oversized leather breastplate and a longsword shoved in his belt that occasionally dragged its tip across the ground. His cheeky smile and rosy cheeks made the lad seem out of place against the gruffness of the older and serious men on the trail. He was a nice lad but she doubted his ability to carry out his duty of protecting the wagon trail effectively. It was more likely that his brothers managed to sign their contract as a trio, but then everyone needs to start their first proper employment somewhere. After all she was no different, this was her first trail also.
As Ralf came into the light of the fire he angled his face away from her then as he turned to leave, a swelling bruise around his eye could just be seen.
‘Ralf, my dear boy, what has happened to you?’ Athene enquired worriedly. Ralf hated being called ‘Boy’ but never showed his displeasure to Athene; she somehow made the word easier to stomach.
‘I don’t want to talk about it Athene. Can I get some soup?’
‘But Ralf, this is the third time I’ve seen you with unexplained injuries, I’m going to talk to your Captain.’ She was beginning to think that being friends with one of the only two women on this journey was bringing Ralf a lot more resentment from the other troops than he really deserved.
‘No,’ Ralf begged. ‘Please. You will only make it worse. My brothers have told me that your first trail makes a man of you.’ His brothers were of a different breed to Ralf altogether and blatantly avoided Athene but from what she had overheard from the many loose tongues that were willing to gossip with her; they were a reasonable enough type. Harsh but fair.
‘... Or your first trail might break you,’ replied Athene. ‘Was it Adie again?’ she asked. She could see by his expression that Ralf considered lying to her for a moment, but eventually he swallowed his pride and nodded.
‘I cleaned his sword and armour just as he told me, but I refused to do his shift for him, the lazy toad wanted an extra hour in his bed-roll. When I finally managed to get him up, he flew at me from his pit like the devil himself and cracked my head open. …and worst of all my brothers won’t do a damn thing about that stupid dung herder. They just say that I need to sort things out for myself.’
Athene had seen Adie bully and shove a few of the youngsters around during the trip, he was a tall, plain featured man with matted and unkempt dark hair and broad shoulders. He was much older than the others, but still of low rank, the type who thought that his years of service had earned him the God-given right to do as he pleased. Athene had always just laughed away his vulgar sexual comments that he made towards her when collecting his meals. She had grown up in a busy tavern, so was no stranger to such comments, but she knew all too well that if she was stranded alone in the middle of nowhere with only Adie for help, that repugnant greasebag would have made good his joking words. The thought of Adie slavering on top of her made Athene gag, she quickly pushed the sickening thought from her mind.
‘Are you alright?’ Ralf enquired, tentatively touching her hand.
‘Yes,’ Athene replied softly, clearing her throat. ‘Yes of course, I’m fine; it’s you I worry about. Now don’t take any more shit from that man. If I see him touch you again I will report it to Capitan Henrick. Now have some soup to warm yourself up and have a good shift tonight.’
The next night Ralf came running frantically into her baggage tent unexpected, the cold air following him in.
‘Athene I need a stew pot quickly,’ he panted.
Puzzled, she handed one over and he quickly left the tent. The sound of laughter from outside made her peep through the gap, to see Ralf marching up and down the path with his sword drawn across his shoulder and the pot balanced on his head. Adie was amongst the jeering group of soldiers shouting above the others.
‘Now you have your new armour; you will wear your new helmet every time you report in, boy.’ Athene closed the flap in disgust – she was not in the mood for camp jests tonight.
At last the long days on the trail had drifted to an end as the convoy approached their destination, Croweheim, the town that the barbarians considered their capital. The town of Croweheim was formed from a collection of villages that had grown with time, encircled with a large timber wall for defence. It seemed rather primitive and would merely be considered a large outpost fort by Tanarian or Aristrian standards.
They had stopped at several mines along the wagon trails journey, picking up a fresh cargo of different coloured crystals at each stop. The widespread discovery of crystals containing what could only be described as magical powers had already made a lot of merchants and land owners extremely rich. Before their discovery en-masse, people had known of the odd stone here and there containing unusual powers, but now they were quickly becoming common place items providing the most basic of functions. Each mine seemed to produce its own unique strain of the coloured crystals, and these made up the majority of the cargo that the merchants required for export and which they now transported for profit and trade. Athene had hated the past days when they had arrived at the mines, as there always seemed to be so much hanging around whist the paperwork was being approved or the crystals being recounted, all she could think about was getting her final pay cheque and proving to her mother that she had been wrong – she could make it on her own.
Also at each mine stop the insistence on being searched every time you entered or left the facility had driven her mad, it had been humiliating to her, especially when she had only entered to restock some cooking provisions. The merchants running the wagon trail could have easily ordered some of the men to restock the provisions, but instead they insisted that she and Greta do it and she had nothing to do with the food at all, she was involved with the accounts scribe. After starting her employment all sweet and innocent, she had soon learned a measure of distrust on this trail and suspected the merchants were getting a kick back from the mine’s guards doing the body searches. Judging from the lascivious expressions on the miners’ and guards’ faces when she arrived through the checkpoint; there weren’t many women working in the business yet.
Mining had once again become a prosperous profession with the wealth of the crystals fuelling the economy in all areas.
They had long since passed the Great Gate – a huge iron-riveted structure that guarded the only pass through the mountains and marked the end of the civilized world, Athene had noticed a lot more tension and activity from their armed guards after passing through the gate. Under the trade agreement the Nordheim outriders had been escorting them through the impressive and breathtaking views of the snow-peaked mountains and down into the greener pastures of the valleys below. They were told that their barbarian friends were only there to ensure their protection and lead them in to Croweheim safely. One of the outriders had been conversing with the Convoy Master, Bazil, about the best route he should take in to the town, but the barbarian’s thick tribal accent made him difficult to understand.
‘At least this savage had made the attempt to speak a more civilised tongue.’ Bazil thought to himself feeling somewhat at a loss for not understanding a single word of the Nordheim natives.
As the convoy approached the roughly-cut wooden gates of the town, the head Carl (Bodyguard) of the baggage train, a distinguished man known as Henrick mounted the lead cart and let out a mighty bellow. ‘Tanarians Halt.’
In stories told around the camp fires during the trail she had overheard that in his prime he had been a 2nd Lieutenant in the elite Tanarian Lancers and had seen a considerable amount of action in the constant border skirmishes. He was of the old school, a cavalry man through and through and now Head Mercenary – unusually for an officer the other lower ranking warriors seemed to greatly respect him.
Today he was dressed in full battle armour that sparkled in the sunlight, with a six foot spear and plumed helm he was quite a sight and Athene could hardly keep her eyes off him. Around the camp he had hardly stood out apart from his height, being of average build with long dark hair displaying the first flick of grey, his square warriors chin and looks were commonplace amongst the men at arms. But as soon as he donned his impressive battle armour he was transformed into a different man, a man that could instantly hold a lady’s eye, a man who stood out above others and moved with a natural and distinct air of command.
Years ago, when she had been a teenager and had seen nothing of the real world she had always swooned to gain the attentions of the men in uniform that entered their establishment. They had stood out from amongst the locals and were frivolous with their coin, but it was not long before she had discovered the error in her judgment, they being, on the whole, heavy drinkers and poor lovers. Having spent her early years cooped up in her mother’s inn, she had grown up for as long as she could remember without knowing her true father, sure there had always been a different man about the place at one time or another - with a thriving nightlife, copious amounts of alcohol and an attractive mother owning the place, this was guaranteed.
Today however, as she watched Henrick, she decided that he had a different air about him to the soldiers that she had encountered in the past. She sighed unwittingly as she watched him. He even moved differently to the other armoured men of the trail and seemed very comfortable in his armour, almost as if he had been born in the steel suit. With military precision and little disturbance to his bearing and posture he jumped down from the cart and mounted his waiting pony in one fluid movement. Athene’s attention was quickly dragged away from her little daydream as the Nordheim drums began to sound from Croweheim and the gates swung open. A mass of armed men filled the open gap, facing them in silence with weapons at the ready they waited in battle formation – an interlocked shield-wall.
Tanarian hands instinctively reached for sword hilts.
Henrick noticed the shuffling and unease behind him and turned.
‘Steady men, do nothing rash. Nordheim trade negotiations are always made under arms, it is just their way.’ Keeping his voice low he whispered to a nearby trooper, ‘Make sure the merchants have shield bearers next to them in case it all kicks off,’ he instructed.
A huge bear of a man stepped forward from the massed men and wall of elaborately painted shields depicting dragons and mythological creatures that filled the open gate. A cloud momentarily blotted out the sun allowing her to stop squinting towards Croweheim. With a better view of the town Athene now realised that the silhouetted shapes above the town gates were actually severed heads. She bumped into a cart as she backed away from the gruesome scene, fighting desperately to hold down the taste of bile and panic that started to rise from her stomach into her throat. To her immense relief she won her battle and was able to hold back her sudden nausea. The dread of knowing that she would forever be known on the trail as the maiden that vomited before the trade agreement or perhaps even the battle that might come, helped to quell the urge to revisit her breakfast. She soon forgot the episode as her gaze dropped to the imposing figure advancing towards their line.
He wore a gleaming winged helm and great steel shoulder guards that seemed to double his size. The man’s bulging arms were the size of her thighs. Athene’s gaze was riveted on the man or perhaps he was actually part bull, such was the size of his chest. It was not his gold engraved armour that made her eyes bulge as she studied the man with her jaw a gasp, but the terrifying battle axe caked in dried blood that he held. This man was definitely no square-basher or administrator.
‘Welcome guests of Croweheim. I am Corvus – King of this land.’ The imposing figure spoke in poor Tanarian, mispronouncing the start of the ‘Welcome’ as a string of V’s.
A balding merchant stepped up into the protective aura that Henrick seemed to project, ‘I …I am Bazil – Convoy Master,’ stuttered the merchant. ‘We bring the magic crystals from our lands in trade good King, and would gladly welcome your hospitality.’
Corvus raised his axe high into the air and one hundred hearts missed a beat anticipating bloodshed to follow, then he drove it deep into the ground as was the tradition of the Nordheim people - to symbolise that no weapons should be used and to signal the beginning of trade.
‘Welcome foreigners. Welcome – come out of this winter’s day and into my warm halls - let us talk business and feast, let us start a new chapter in Tanarian relations.’ An audible sigh of relief passed through the Tanarian ranks.
The cloud looked just like any other that floated through the sky, maybe a little darker than the rest, yet unlike the others it now remained static in the sky above Croweheim. Unnoticed by the convoy, it had been following them overhead the past day magically controlled from afar. It sank lower in the sky as the Tanarians’ crystal cargo was unloaded into the trade halls. Hundreds of leagues away deep in the Aristrian mountains, the acolyte sat in a small cave chanting the vision spell, maintaining his master’s magic. Two powerful Spellmasters stood behind the hooded acolyte in discussion, any onlooker could have easily perceived the two as courtiers rather than magicians, with their lavish clothing and casual tone discussing their previous night out, such was their ease and tone of the conversation.
‘Why do you always insist on such dark and dank surroundings to cast your magic Bellack?’
The other man gave an audible sigh, ‘Did you learn nothing from your time spent with the Brotherhood, Saznack? The channelling location can be as important as the spell itself, I know that I have three years seniority on you Saznack but I don’t expect to have to tutor you in the basics again. This place will magnify our magic ten-fold.’
Saznack looked around disapprovingly at the rough cut walls and the slight glimmer of crystal embedded in them.
‘You must be getting weak Bellack, perhaps I should now lead the Brotherhood, I need no cave to amplify my magic, besides this mud smells like your mother’s dung. I paid thirty silver for these boots and now they are ruined, the finest buckhide leather now impregnated with the fragrance of your outhouse – just perfect.’
‘Oh hush yourself Saznack, I’ll have my slaves lick them clean for you when we get back if it is that much of a problem to you. Now observe closely through the cloud; I now command the powers I have absorbed from the book of Magnus, it is almost time for us to take another step closer to our place by our Queen’s side; well stop scraping the crud from your shoes and come and help me channel the spell you fool. This is going to be amusing.’
Athene had been looking forward to being waited on at the feast for a change, but as usual a cook’s work is never done. Thanks to the fat merchants bragging about her good trail food over the past months, Athene had been unwillingly dragged into some strange cook-off for the banquet feast, or as the Head Merchant Tulbak had put it in diplomatic terms – an exchange of cultures, trade and tastes. As she began her protests he had pulled her in close and whispered into her ear, ‘Stop your whinging woman – you’ve been paid well, don’t mess up this trade deal for us now, I will personally give you a bonus if you do this one task for me now and the trade goes well.’ His spittle showered into her ear, ‘Come on girl I can’t back down now, show them how it’s done the Tanarian way and I’ll see you good.’
Athene knew the words were spoken with hollow intent; there would be no escape from ending up back in the kitchens again whether she liked it or not, so she decided that she might as well show some willing. On the plus side the judging was to be done at the head table where both Henrick and Corvus sat. Something about that man both terrified and captivated her at the same time. Corvus had bounded around his guests seemingly excited at the new company. Now, up close, she noticed a lot more about the man than her initial view across the field, he sported a light scar over his right eye, but this only served to enhance his rugged looks. Unlike a lot of the warriors she had encountered, Corvus had warm eyes, with a twinkle of boyish jest in them, he was led about the hall by his entourage of advisors and was briefly introduced to Athene, but after discovering that she was just a cook they deemed her to be of little importance in the negotiations, he was quickly whisked away from her. His close presence sent an unnatural shiver down her spine. Was it terror or excitement? She really didn’t care which, the new sensation was overwhelming, after the brief introduction she needed to catch her breath briefly turning away to fan herself. Her gaze was soon back on him, glancing up she noticed that he moved his considerable bulk through the busy revellers in the hall with the grace of a cat and his long blond hair and golden beard only enhanced the theory forming in her mind that he was indeed part-cat, as his beard and locks gave him the appearance of a lion’s mane.
In comparison Henrick who had caught her eye earlier in the day, was efficient with his movements; he seemed to lack the excitement that the others in the great feasting hall felt. It was as if he had seen it all before, his only movement was to raise his ale mug to his mouth wetting his lips every so often. He kept his chin held high and his every move was filled with confidence, unlike the merchants who cringed away from any of the merry locals that fell about them as they staggered about the hall quite drunk. ‘Yes,’ she thought to herself, as she fumbled through her baggage to find her emergency lip balm, it would be an interesting night ahead of them.
She threw her bag of provisions and utensils that she had gathered from her wagon into the corner of the basic Nordheim kitchen.
‘Have you got some cider vinegar?’ Athene asked the Nordheim kitchen hand who had been assigned to help her but now looked back at her uncomprehendingly. Athene gave a loud sigh, ‘Have you Sss-iiii-der Vinnn-egg-aar,’ Athene repeated her sentence slower and a bit louder feeling her temperature rise at the shrugging of her assistants shoulders. ‘They have given me a donkey to win the race.’ She was rewarded with another blank look. She kicked over the pile of sticks used for the nearby oven in frustration.
‘This is going to be impossible,’ she screamed now striking her bag of cooking supplies that had been brought to her. Athene rummaged through her ruffled gear, yes there was hope at last. She had kept the empty bottle – the smell should be enough to stir recognition into the gormless kitchen hand assigned to her. After waving the topless bottle under the young man’s nose he cried out.
‘Tobla cuba,’ and then ran off as if his apron was ablaze.
Athene guessed that the gruff 6’ 4’ one eyed warrior in chainmail was standing watch by the kitchen door to make sure the king’s food was not being poisoned. With his double headed axe at the ready she noticed that he followed her every move. She thought it strange that they had sent a warrior with just one eye to watch her, the good eye glistened a light blue whilst the other was badly scarred and white. She did not stare long at the man’s battered appearance, she had plenty to be getting on with. However, it was soon apparent that he was there for more than one reason, for when she bent down to place her dish into the low iron stove she heard the excited tone of voices from the other Nordheim kitchen hands that populated the room, she didn’t need to be a linguist, she could understand jeering and ogling in any language. It was at this point she realised that only men filled the kitchens in this unfamiliar land. When she arose, with her cheeks blushing red, old one eye was dishing out seemingly harsh words by his tone in their cursed foreign tongue and when two of the locals answered him back he dropped his axe, storming over to bang the lads’ skulls together. Perhaps she had actually been assigned a rather large guardian angel?
With a renewed quietness in the kitchen and a smile on her face the real work began again. The Nordheim cooks worked frantically alongside Athene and had the tall warrior not been there, the competition between them could well have resulted in a little Tanarian sabotage. Her pot of chilli powder could have easily been slipped into one of their unattended pots. The completed meals were soon finished and consumed at the head table. The cider-broiled hog had gone down well, as had the roast swan and sweet potatoes. Sweating and nervous she was called over to stand before the table with her Nordheim opposite by Tulbak, with all the stress and excitement a wave of tiredness came over her, she just craved a dark corner to huddle up in. She was not shocked by the judges predictable outcome.
‘We’ll call it a draw,’ declared the fat merchant as he winked at Athene and applauded over-enthusiastically. The merchant resembled a clapping turtle she thought with his fat body and skinny neck. Repulsed by her employers, Athene slipped away from the brief attention and rested herself, slumped at a side table with a clay cup filled with a strong mulled wine.
With the ale flowing freely, a selection of mixed crystals were randomly selected from the wagons and brought before the head table for inspection and more importantly to agree prices.
A year after their mass discovery the crystals had proved to be a most useful resource. When picked up they would seem no different to any other rock apart from maybe the colouration. However when cracked, their true powers became more apparent. The yellow ones radiated a strong amber light for around thirty days, much to the disgust of the torch makers. The blue ones provided incredible warmth; several could heat a large room, and the red crystals, when held close to a wound could aid recovery. The first signs of their powers had been discovered when a miner accidently sent his pickaxe through his foot and smashed the red crystal below, hardly any blood had run onto the floor as the wound had immediately started to heal. Questions with regard to the crystals’ properties were soon raised and many experiments were alleged to have been conducted by the council before certifying them safe for public use and export. Tulbuk was one of the few merchants in Tanaria to hold an official crystal export license.
They had also transported a smaller consignment of green crystals which appeared to have no special ability but they still made good ornaments. These unusual properties had made the crystals much sought after and very expensive as they had only been discovered in Tanarian lands, therefore also extremely lucrative. But there were some who had voiced concerns that not all of the crystals’ powers had been discovered yet.
Tulbak had had a long slow climb over the years to get to the position of Head Merchant. Unlike his peers, who made rash and quick decisions and either climbed or fell through the ranks quickly, Tulbak had slept on every major decision. Everything in his life had been carefully calculated, his promotions, his marriage to a wife of a higher class and their children to bring closer ties to her noble and influential parents. They had all been factored in as an equation to his master plan. Now, after many months of planning and negotiation, he had secured his license and the continued supply of crystals to the Nordheim trade routes. Damn he was good, he thought to himself as he continued feigning his interest in the Nordheim negotiator’s life story, he let the man talk as he took in the surroundings of the hall. People freely gave away far too much information on how best to close a deal from their everyday surroundings. The first rule for his success in negotiation was always to have the meeting in their territory not yours, uncover everything about them without exposing anything of yourself. His second rule was - if they had to come to you, hire somewhere different, make some excuses and meet on neutral ground. These basic rules had served him well so far. Glancing around at the weapons and painted shields that lined the ornately carved timber walls of the hall, it was quickly apparent to him that these Nordheimers’ were a nation of thick skulled warriors with their only trade experience in timber and lumber, they would be easy pickings for a man of his experience. It was obvious that the blue crystals would fetch the highest price, with wood used in nearly every building it was their largest commodity. Having the ability to heat their homes without using wood would be priceless. He just had to be careful not to upset them and maybe throw in some worthless extras to make it appear he was giving an incredible deal. Don’t rush him to the final prices, just take your time and I will be a lot richer he though. Keep smiling and nodding with feigned interest.
The military men had quickly grown bored with the ongoing negotiations and decided to drop a compliment to the cooks. King Corvus had just wanted to have a closer inspection of the exotic dark-haired chef who had prepared the tasty meal for them and badgered Henrick into introducing them again. As he approached, her hazel eyes immediately fixed on him as he closed to her through the crowded hall. She was far from unattractive, full glistening lips and a look of innocence about her, he had seen several more attractive women in Nordheim, but her striking jet black hair drew him in. All the native women of Nordheim were blond or now grey. Corvus had been happily married over the past eighteen years but he still could not resist a flirt, especially since Amiria his wife and Queen had elected to stay out of the way during the men’s business.
He tripped over a helmet that had been placed on the floor clumsily smashing into Athene’s table sending their drinks flying but still managing to proudly keep his own tankard of ale from spilling. He smiled down at his splattered wet guest and shrugged. Not the coolest of introductions he thought.
Slowly the unusually dark cloud drifted down against the wind, lower and lower into the town.