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175 pages

English

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Description

Owen, a hunter of lesser dragons, now finds himself forced to hunt true wyrms, while learning how long he must go to step out of his father’s and his teacher’s shadows. Meanwhile, they must confront demons from their own pasts—demons that might yet kill them all.

Sujets

Fiction

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Publié par	Xlibris US
Date de parution	29 août 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781669844655
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

The Cloven Tree

C.S. HOLMQUIST

Copyright © 2022 by C.S. Holmquist.

Library of Congress Control Number:
2022916082
ISBN:
Hardcover
978-1-6698-4467-9
Softcover
978-1-6698-4466-2
eBook
978-1-6698-4465-5

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 08/25/2022

Xlibris
844-714-8691
www.Xlibris.com
846337

Contents
For Authors and Readers
Introduction

Chapter 1 Strong Man, Bellicose Fens
Chapter 2 In Council
Chapter 3 The Hide
Chapter 4 The Vision
Chapter 5 The Souls of Men
Chapter 6 Commando A-Borning
Chapter 7 The Kilea
Chapter 8 Tunnels to Keep
Chapter 9 Taras In Pain
Chapter 10 Commitment To Keep
Chapter 11 Courting Order
Chapter 12 Courting Chaos
Chapter 13 Flanking Races
Chapter 14 Strategic Ground
Chapter 15 The Ninth Lord
Chapter 16 Bron and Curtis
Chapter 17 Anarchy Again
Chapter 18 The Captains Reminisce
Chapter 19 Blood, Insanity, Death
Chapter 20 The Cloven Tree

Denouement

For Authors and Readers
In Prydain I’ve walked since the time of my youth.
With Théoden I rode, that horse-king most couth.
I’ve traveled forested paths, across Dwarven Floors,
Through towns, mountains, deserts, oceans, skies and more.
Past stars, planets, princes, and princedoms I’ve tread.
With star Captains’ve journeyed, with war Captains bled.
I’ve been to Narnia, and two Foundations,
Two Endors, two Andors amid countless nations.
All of these I have visited in my time.
Those are their worlds; now please join me in mine!
None here have furry feet with doors that are round,
This tale doesn’t start so low to the ground.
Some things are well known, (take no accents for brogues),
Some things are different, (but of course there are rogues).
I hope how I’ve used them add to the tale’s worth.
Now please, enter and enjoy this place Not Earth.
Christian S. Holmquist

Dedication For: A Man, A Book, And A Cloven Tree
For Dad, who wouldn’t let me quit…
For Mr. Z, who wouldn’t let me cheat…
And for Sean, who said, ‘Write that book.’

Introduction
When Not to Hunt
One thousand ten years after the High Kings came to power, Taras watched thoughtfully as MacOwen set fire to the brambles that had caught the dragon cub. In the two years since he came to Fentown for his exile, the dragoneer had seen little to impress him. Oh, these ex-slaves had such a tremendous sense of community that even the native fenlanders like the Higgins clan had adopted the methods and ways of the freed slaves. But the skills of these fenhunters were sadly lacking, as were the local wyrms, mishatched, misbegotten, virtually mindless things that could not truly even be called dragons. In his long life, he’d hunted drakes that had shaken the entire world of Angaea, ones that had destroyed armies and nations. Ones that had magic as strong as the power of the flesh demons. Now he lived among wyrms that couldn’t even speak, the riffraff of dragon-kind, whose deaths were not deeds of fame or glory, but rather of controlling vermin. He felt like a master huntsman sent to kill barn rats, or a great sculptor relegated to making bricks.
Yet now MacOwen did this. Unless he thought the fire would kill the thing−and Taras did not think him to be that ignorant−MacOwen must have realized it was the safest course of action. MacOwen hadn’t even needed to ask Taras if it was a true drake!! As they walked homeward, Taras began considering that he had underestimated these people, thinking them good, but simple, even stupid. How had he made such a drastic, so fatal a miscalculation? He listened as the two boys who had shown them the fledgling questioned their father about it.
“Owen mac Owen MacOwen, I burned the brush ta’ free it!” MacOwen said to his oldest, strongest son in that irritating mix of orc-slave and fenlander dialects. “It’s a true dragon, son, not one a’ the local wyrms we kill for their hides, but a real dragon pup. Prob’ly testing his wings and caught a real strong wind. If it grows up, it’ll have a voice, a mind, and’ll be able ta’ use magic. No, Gawen mac Owen MacOwen,” he said to the other boy, “I don’t want ta’ kill it; killing even a baby wyrm with fire’s like tryin’ t’drown fish.”
Gawen spoke up.
“But aren’t most dragons evil, Dad?”
MacOwen shrugged as they walked toward Fentown.
“They aren’t somethin’ y’wanna cross. That drake’s young enough his family’ll be looking for him. Kill a cub that young, his clan’ll come down on y’like the wrath a’ the Magnum Drake, if they find out. Prob’ly would’ve, too. We couldn’t’ve passed up a hide like that if we’d killed the little fella. They’d find out soon by his scent or in a hundred years as rumor reached ’em of a true hide got from the fens. Either way, they’d come for vengeance.”
Taras felt his self-delusion shatter. He had truly underestimated these good people, and had not found himself wrong for two years! How did the idea that they were simple, let alone stupid hold him so long?
“Arrogance,” he muttered to himself. Underestimating anyone was the worst error a dragoneer could make. The men, half-bloods, and elves that made their livings killing dragons sanctioned by the great princes (and occasionally by dragon chiefs) could never afford to underestimate anyone, lest it become a habit. Of course, if he had done more than seven hunts and wallowing in his own self-pity in the last two years, he might have learned earlier. But, no, he’d immediately dismissed his neighbors as well-meaning idiots, and so left himself no choice but to be the fool.
Mentally berating himself, Taras at first missed MacOwen’s reply.
“My apologies, Mr. MacOwen. No, I was speaking of myself. I just realized how prideful I was, a deadly mistake in my former wyrm dealings.”
“So you are a dragoneer!” Gawen said enthusiastically, as his surprised older brother dropped the weights he almost always carried for strength training, a legacy of recovering from debilitating fever. “Alber Higgins and I both thought you were, but Tum Craster said you weren’t! Why’d you come here?”
“Gawen mac Owen MacOwen, hush! If the man hasn’t spoken of it, he doesn’t want to! Sure as all hells, he doesn’t need some young boy-pup of a teenager pryin’ in his life!”
Taras looked at MacOwen and saw briefly that the man had his own deep scars. Nodding gratefully at him, he put his hand on Gawen’s shoulder and squeezed. “You did nothing wrong, son. Some wounds just take longer to heal than others.”
Changing the subject, he looked back at their father. It was time to find out why the man called his sons by their last name twice. He had been arrogant, if he’d not mustered the desire to ask that question in two years! Well, now he would finally begin to know his neighbors. “If I may ask, why do you call them that? Mac Owen MacOwen?”
“As a slave, my only name was Owen. When I was freed, I wanted more for my kids. My dad’s name was Owen and maybe his dad’s too. Ain’t sure. Anyway, someone told me that some folks use their dad’s name as a last name. Told me a diff’rent way of it, too. ‘MacOwen’ or ‘mac Owen’ sounds better ta’ me than ‘Owen’sson’ or ‘son of Owen.’ I try to avoid usin’ the name both ways at once, but I was a little vexed.”
“Ah,” Taras said, realizing it was a surname and a patronymic at once. The patronymic was as good a middle name as any other. It certainly had a rhythm, at the least. “I remember my mother using my full name as well. If I may also ask, why are your sons’ names so similar?” Owen, Gawen, Elwen, Agwen, Urwen...that had bothered Taras as well.
The old pain resurfaced in MacOwen’s eyes, but he answered briefly. “For luck. Gawain and my names’re similar. All my other brothers died, like Jaff.”
Taras sensed a pain that was as deep as his own grief, and so did not press. “Well, young Gawen, young Owen, you are right. I am a dragoneer-retired,” after a fashion, he thought to himself. “If your father does not mind, perhaps I could start teaching you boys some of my dragon lore.”
“You’d do that, Mr. Taras?” MacOwen said, shocked out of his reverie, so much so that he stopped.
“I underestimated you, Mr. MacOwen, and maybe everyone else here. An arrogant dragoneer is a stupid one. I have experience that could help them even if the wyrms here are little like true dragons. I think I should share it.”
In his mind, he heard the joyous cry of the fledgling as it was found. He looked back and up to see an adult drake swooping toward the burning brush. Taking it as a sign, Taras Longreach let himself feel something he had not since that terr