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Andrews UK - Dale Osborne

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165 pages

English

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The sequel to the Rebel King deals with the invasion of Travia by King Eric. Unknown to King Edward, Eric has a second army waiting to cross the sea. In a desperate bid to stop the invasion, Edward marches his army back from the Westlands. Eric has taken Southholm, the main city of Travia, and plans to trap Edward between his two forces as soon as the long Travian winter has passed. The Lady Ewelen, having escaped exile, has fled to the castle of her new lover, but her position soon becomes precarious. Jed Stone, Thomas the bowman and Will Grange, are forced to flee Southholm as Eric takes control. They must ensure the safety of Lady Mirel from the unwanted intentions of Lord Geoffrey Averly. All roads lead to the final battle that will determine who will rule Travia.

Sujets

Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)

Fantasy

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Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	02 décembre 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781785380747
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.

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Title Page
KINGDOMS & CROWNS
Dale Osborne
& Cavin Wright

Publisher Information
Published in 2014 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright © Dale Osborne & Cavin Wright 2014
The rights of Dale Osborne & Cavin Wright to be identified as authors of this book have been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Dedication
In memory of Cavin Wright.
A good friend and co-author.

Book One
Kingdoms & Crowns
Chapter One
Martin Weave was slightly portly - or at least that was what those who sought to be polite said, anyway. He was, many thought, the perfect example of a priest of the Three. He had an inner kindness that somehow shone through his worn and weathered face. His swiftly receding hairline seemed to be visibly sprinting towards the back of his neck with each passing day.
But it was not his appearance that troubled Martin; nothing so predictably mundane or narcissistic. He was deeply troubled by his faith - or more to the point - his lack of it. He had been so unbelievably devout all those years ago. He had pledged his life to the Three without a cursory thought as to whether he was doing the right thing. He had a calling, or at least he thought he had; a guiding light, as he liked to think of it, a beacon drawing him to the priesthood.
Now though, that blazing beacon was reduced to not much more than a pile of smouldering ashes. He had solemnly sworn an oath to revoke the temptations of women, strong drink and blasphemous language. The strong drink and the language did not prove to be much of a challenge, but the women... oh the women! Try as he may, he could not keep the thoughts of them from his mind. And there were so many of the tempting creatures. They seemed to pop up before him, each one as tempting as the last. There was little he could do, he realised eventually, except come to a decision.
This was the reason he had climbed the steep steps cut into the rock and scaled them to the top of the cliffs above Southholm. He had space to breathe up here and no women to try his faith. He had to admit it was not getting any easier. In fact, day by day, he grew less and less committed to his vocation and more and more drawn to breaking his vows.
He knew at least two other priests who had secret lovers, hidden away from plain sight. But to Brother Martin, if you couldn’t honour your vows, then you gave them up and turned your back on your service to your gods. There could be no secrets from the Three. They would know the moment you broke your word to them, and to him trying to deceive them was far worse than admitting you were weak. Better to be honest, he decided.
He glanced over the churning sea far below him and for a moment forgot all about his problem. At first he thought a flock of enormous gulls were flying low around the long bluff of land that formed Colom Point. But they were not birds, and as his eyes squinted slightly against the glare, he realised they were ships. The sea was alive with them!
Martin’s jaw dropped as he stared in disbelief. He had never seen so many ships. Southholm had a small fleet of five fishing boats, but this fleet far exceeded that. Besides, the fishing grounds were to the east, beyond Fern Bay, and these ships were coming from the west. They were big too, bigger than any fishing vessel the priest had ever seen.
Martin gave a gasp as he realised they could mean only one thing - the Falarac fleet that had landed in the west. But what were they doing this far east? There was no doubt as to where they were heading. Southholm was directly in their path.
Gathering up his robes, Martin started sprinting for all he was worth towards the steps that would take him back down to the city’s side gate. He had to warn someone.
More to the point, a city under siege was no place for a priest. He needed to gather his belongings, such as they were, and head inland as fast as his legs would carry him. All thoughts of the temptations by the fairer sex had gone, banished by the sudden panic that grabbed him. The need to be gone was far greater than questions about his faith right now.
The path was uneven and littered with loose stones and shale. He came close to losing his footing more than once, but he was surprisingly agile for a man of his stature and avoided stumbling. He was forced to slow down as he reached the steep steps. Only a fool would risk his neck by trying to rush down such a dangerous obstacle. He forced himself to pick his footing carefully as he traversed the smooth and well worn treads. The edges, once sharp and defined, had been worn smooth by years of use and by the elements.
He cursed the slowness of his descent, but there was little else for it. It was a long drop to the bottom. Watching every placement of his feet with ultimate caution, he eventually reached the bottom and picked up his pace once again. With solid ground under him, his thoughts returned to the massive fleet he had witnessed.
So many ships...
So many men...
He spotted one of the city guards, lounging nonchalantly outside the small side gate. The man looked bored and somewhat disaffected by his onerous duty. He had removed his helm and it lay on the ground beside him.
Martin hurried up to him and pointed wildly towards the cliff steps. “Ships!” he proclaimed urgently, “the Falarac fleet is here!”
The guard gave him an odd look. The last thing he needed right now was a drunk or possibly mad priest yelling nonsense at him.
“Go find somewhere quiet t’ sleep it off, before I ’as you put in the cells!” he growled, his eyes narrowing as he glared menacingly at Martin.
“I am not drunk!” declared Martin, his arm flailing wildly back in the direction of the steps. “I was just up on the cliffs and I saw a whole fleet sailing round the point. It has to be the fleet that landed in the west. By the Three, man, you have to warn the Captain of the Watch!”
The guard spat noisily on the ground. “What I’m goin’ t’ do is loosen some of your teeth if you don’t bugger off!” He was growing tired of this stupid game the priest had chosen to play, and priest or not, a punch in the mouth was a good cure, by his reckoning.
Martin took a swift step back. The fool was obviously not going to believe him and worse, he believed, would carry out his threat of violence if he did not go away. Shaking his head and muttering to himself, Martin pushed past the guard and through the gate.
The guard watched him go with a pitiful look on his face. Balmy ! he thought to himself. Still, it wasn’t his problem was it?
Martin, still angry that the guard had refused to take him seriously, made his way through the busy streets. People took little notice of the solitary priest as he headed briskly for the inn he was staying at. If no one was going to listen to him, then the Three take them all. He kept his head down, glancing up only now and then to orient himself.
The Burning Man Tavern was not the most expensive establishment in Southholm. In fact it ranked pretty much at the other end of the scale, but it was one of the better of that ilk.
Martin burst through the door. His intent was to gather his belongings and vacate the city as soon as he was able. He’d done his best to raise the alarm and had been ignored. Besides, it would not be long before the fleet became clear to the workers in the harbour area and then everyone would know. He was still not looking directly where he was going and felt suddenly as if he had walked into a wall. He tottered backwards, staggered for a second, then lost his balance altogether.
Thomas grinned good-naturedly. “In quite a hurry there my friend,” he offered, extending his hand to help the priest to his feet.
Martin took in the well-built man he’d collided with. He was about the same size as Martin, but where Martin ran to a little fat, the other was solid muscle. He took the extended hand and felt himself being pulled effortlessly to his feet.
“My apologies,” he managed awkwardly, “I was not paying attention to where I was going.”
Thomas shrugged as if it was no matter.
The priest felt suddenly awkward as several people at the inn stopped what they were doing and looked in his direction. Some seemed to be in clear anticipation of an offered fight. A tavern brawl was ever the source of free entertainment. But they were to be disappointed. Firstly, he was not a man of violence, and secondly, even if he were, he would not pick a fight with someone as hearty as the man he now faced.
Thomas was about to walk away. The priest obviously had pressing matters to attend to, and he did not wish to detain him any longer. Thomas was never sure exactly what it was that priests did, when not engaged in the work of the Three, but he was sure they had lives, just like everyone else.
“You may want to leave the city,” Martin called after the retreating stranger. He wasn’t sure what had prompted him to make that declaration, but he had nonetheless offered the advice.
Thomas turned with a slight frown. Had he just been threatened?
By a priest ?
Martin saw the frown and realised his warning may have sounded more sinister than he intended. He had certainly not intended it as a threat. “I was up on the cliffs,” he hasten