Warrior Lord

Book Two

‘THE TEARS OF A GOD’ series

By Eric McGough

‘The Tears of a God’ series

Prequel

‘THE EVIL WITHIN’

Book 1

‘GIVEN BLOOD’

Book 2

‘WARRIOR LORD’

Book 3

‘THE SWORD OF VOITRA’

Book 4

‘SOUL REAPER’

(Expected early 2019)

Copyright © 2017 by Eric McGough

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced,

without the permission of the author.

Cover Design: SelfPubBookCovers.com/Ladylight

He was on a balcony in the vast enclosure of the Sacred Well. He could not move; some force held him rigid and helpless. The floor of the enclosure was fifty feet below him. Cal had his eyes locked on the scene below, where black-robed figures faced the Sacred Well in the centre of the floor. Florinda, his bride to be, was lying on a slab positioned over the centre of the well. The black robed priests started chanting but Cal could not understand the words. One of the priests drew a silver knife and placed it against Florinda’s throat. The chanting rose in volume and intensity. She looked at the priest with the knife at her throat with what seemed like adoration. She smiled at the priest; her face showing what appeared to be gratitude. Cal tried to shout but his mouth would not shape the words. Inside, he screamed ‘Florinda, NO! NO! NO! Forgive me. Stop this! Stop!’ Cal saw the knife as it was drawn across her throat. Silver, and gleaming, it sliced silently through the white flesh, and then returned to the folds of the black robe. The priests repositioned the platform so that the blood from her open throat poured off the marble slab into the centre of the well. Florinda remained calm.

Florinda’s eyes roamed the enclosure then they came to rest on Cal. There was instant recognition in them. The blood pumped out. Their eyes locked together for an eternity that measured scant seconds. She was smiling at him as she lay on her back looking up at him. Her eyes said a thousand words. None of them helped him. She seemed to say ‘It’s all right. I love you but I must leave you now. This has to be.’

Cal screamed her name in the empty shell of his useless body. The pain of his despair tore through the veils of his inner self, reaching to the seat of his very soul.

The blood stopped pumping. Her eyes closed, and Cal died a thousand remorseful deaths.

Something was touching the back of his neck. He barely registered the sensation at first but then he felt it pulling him backward away from the scene. He tried to stop it, to stay where he could see his lost love. Even as her lifeblood had emptied into the well, he still could not bring himself to leave her. The pulling became harder and suddenly there was a loud banging noise in his head.

He jerked awake in his room in Llandri’s cabin. The bedding was on the floor and he had banged his head hard on the planking of the wall. He was sweating and his heart was racing, thumping in his chest. Florinda was dead. Of course she was; he knew that. His nightmare had replayed those fateful, evil moments in vivid detail. There was no escape from that experience, from the reality of what he and Mara had faced in The Palace of the High Lords. He sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He heard soft footfalls walking quietly away from his door. It would be Mara, alert as ever to his feelings. Her concern for him calmed him a little. She would not intrude but she would be ready to help at a moment’s notice, but in the cold of the night, his thoughts belonged only to Florinda.

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‘WARRIOR LORD’

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CHAPTER 1

Cal realised very quickly that he was not a fighting man. His life had been one of daily work in the forge with his father and the apprentices. He had learned his trade well and was regarded as a fitting legacy to his father’s acclaimed skills, but fighting, and more to the point; the killing, was not part of his nature. He looked back now in horror at the soldier that he had killed at the Palace. It all seemed like a dream; he had been beside himself with the pain of Florinda’s death. He had lashed out in a blind madness. The soldier was simply in the way, but he had killed him, and Mara had killed thirteen. Now that he was back in Candlewood, he wanted revenge. He wanted it in a way that he had never wanted anything in his life before, and so he had asked Mara to teach him to fight. She was an expert; deadly. If anyone could teach him, she could. She had agreed without hesitation.

Mara was on her back in the dirt. Her sword lay where he had kicked it, from out of her grasp. She stared up at him, daring him to make his killing lunge. He did, but the point dug dirt, where her heart had been. It had only been a half-hearted action. His knees buckled and a knife came to his throat from behind.

Lord Calderon. I have to inform you that you are now Lord Calderon diseased, Mara said.

Cal got to his feet and turned to face her. I just can’t believe it, he said, shaking his head. I didn’t see you move, yet I did, it’s like chasing shadows. I’ll never achieve anything like it.

She smiled her best-encouraging smile. I am Mara, You must not expect to match me, but I will teach you to live longer. Anything else will be a bonus.

She stood with her back to Llandri’s cabin. Then she got him to stand in front of her, pointing his sword at her heart. The tip was four inches short of its target.

Think of it this way, she said. All you have to do is push the blade a few inches, say nine, to pierce the ribs and enter the heart. She waited until he agreed. Is there any other way to kill me more efficiently, or quicker, or easier, from this position?

No.

So, we both know what you will be doing, there’s no question about that. Now, think about what I will be doing. She waited again while he thought about it for a moment, then she continued. You don’t know, you’ve already decided that you have me. It’s only a matter of pushing your sword a few inches, and that means that in your head I’m going to be here, as I am now, but with your sword sticking out of me. To make matters worse for you, you're so pleased with yourself that you're grinning all over your cock-sure face; you’ve lost your way. You're no longer a warrior; you’re an idiot, who thinks it's all over. She thumped him in the small of his back. That was a knife," she said, from behind him.

She resumed her position, in front of his disbelieving eyes. That was not fair, she confessed. We were talking, and you were concentrating on my words. You didn’t expect it. Cal felt a little better for that. But there we have the secret; whichever way it’s applied. The unexpected is always the best option. We have two points of view; yours and mine. We both know yours, but only I know mine. I will do what you don’t expect me to do. That way I have the advantage, not you, in spite of your sword.

He was not satisfied. But how do you do that shadow thing? After all, it’s only a few inches. How long does it take to push a sword eight or nine inches?

She laughed. Longer than you think. The sword only moves after a succession of other things take place. First, there is the decision, and then the flexing of the muscles needed to keep your balance and provide the energy to push through the ribs. You’re not going to try to disguise your thrust because there is no need. You have me pinned against the wall. You think it’s going to take an instant to finish me. The common soldier will show off as he lets you know that he is going to kill you. It’s the moment when he’s committed to the thrust, that’s when I move. He sees only the image that is certain in his mind; he’s focussing on the small area where he is pointing the blade. So when he sees me move his brain can’t understand it. He sees it but his brain says it’s not really happening.

She tapped the back of his head with her knuckles. That was a rock, she said, coming back to stand between the point of his sword and the wall.

It’s incredible. I saw you move to your right, just a few inches. Then I saw you go down and disappear. The strange thing is, I only seemed to see you from the corner of my eye, and I couldn’t be sure at the time. It looks more like a shadow.

She explained as best she could. What I did was move to my right for just about the shortest distance that I needed to for you to register it enough to expect it to carry on. At that point, I went where I was going all the time. That was down. In the shortest way possible, I have moved the point of thrust to just over my left shoulder, close to my neck. I could have stopped there, and have evaded your thrust, but I would still be in the general area of where you want me. Instead, I go under your sword arm and pass you on your right. I go under your sword arm because it’s your only blind spot. Also, it’s a general rule that a thrusting swordsman lifts his face as he thrusts. His head goes back, and he sees things below his arm at the edge of his vision.

She wondered if he had understood her explanation. Try it, she suggested.

Cal was not keen on the idea. Theories were all very good but in reality, he could injure her. Not with the sword, he said. Let me get a stick.

Mara pouted at him. You do not think that I require the precaution of using a stick to demonstrate my point, do you?

No, you don’t need it, but I do.

She huffed and puffed for a moment, and then she went off and came back with a piece of wattle. She waved it in his face. I’ll do you a deal. If you stab me in the ribs with this, it’ll cause a nasty little bruise, and probably break the skin too. Do that and I promise to do the training without real swords from then on, deal?

Deal, he said.

She gave him the stick and took up her position with the stick pointing at her heart.

He asked her if she was ready. She just smiled at him. He decided that she was, and jabbed the pretend sword as fast, and as hard as he could at her chest. It hit the log wall of the cabin, taking some skin off his hand where it jarred through his grip. He really did not see her move. Nothing appeared to her right, he was sure of that. He turned around looking for her and fell over her. She was on top of him with a knife at his throat before he had worked out which way was up.

You expected me to go to my right didn’t you? He confessed that he had. So I went to my left, and down, instead.

She was right. He felt that he was going to catch her before she could move. To hedge his bets, he had struck quite a way to her right so that he would still be in line if she managed to start moving. By going the opposite way she had used his ploy to her advantage.

She jumped off him and stood up offering her hand to help him to his feet. He took hold of her wrist, and she hauled him upright, but she didn’t stop there. She pulled too hard, and he stumbled into her. Before he could get his balance she had tripped him over, onto his back. The knife was at his throat again.

Damn it! he said. Is there no end to your tricks? You always catch me off guard.

That’s exactly what I’m teaching you. It’s all about the unexpected. What your opponent expects and what he doesn’t.

She got to her feet and offered her hand again. He took hold of her wrist, but this time, as she was hauling him up he let go. She went back with the force of her pull and tripped over his foot, falling over. He was on her like lightning but she used his momentum to throw him to one side. As he scrambled to his knees the knife was against his throat again.

There. You see! Now you are starting to think. You caught me off guard.

He shrugged. Even so, you still killed me.

Of course, I am Mara! You can’t expect to kill me that easily. But you had me fooled for a moment, and that could mean death to a lesser foe.

Just then, Cleasa came round the log cabin. She shook her head when she saw them on the ground, with Mara’s knife at Cal’s throat. If you’ve quite finished slitting Lord Calderon’s throat, your suppers are on the table. She shook her head again as she walked back, tutting to herself.

Mara and Cal shared a quiet laugh. They got to their feet and dusted themselves down before following her indoors.

And to the washroom, the pair of you, before you sit, she instructed. She turned to her husband. Poor Lord Calderon will be black and blue, the way she keeps throwing him about. It’s a wonder he’s not dead. Every time I see them she has her knife at his throat.

Llandri’s stern features cracked into a half smile. Mara is the best person to teach him. War is not a game. He will not survive without her. The more he learns to defend himself the better. Even then she will need to be at his side constantly.

I know your right, Cleasa conceded. It just doesn’t seem proper for a lord to be rolling around in the dirt, that’s all. I suppose I’ll get used to it."

Before they come back, Llandri whispered. You know he doesn’t like to be called lord, at least not in private. Try to remember to use his family name.

She nodded just as they came back in. Sit down, the pair of you. Here, sit here Lor ... Cal. I’ve made your favourite; roasted parsnips, and boiled vegetables, in ale sauce. There’s lots more on the hearth, so don’t be shy, eat up till your fit to burst.

Cal sat where she said, before a very large helping. He thanked her until she blushed, and then began to do justice to the delicious meal.

CHAPTER 2

It had been three weeks since their return from the Palace. Most of that time he had spent walking or sitting in the forest thinking of Florinda. Mara had left him to his grief, but she had made sure that someone was on hand to keep an eye on him at all times. Mostly it was Mara, sometimes it was Kaphra, and at others, Llandri had taken his turn. When he had stayed out all night she had sat close, listening to his quiet sobbing, and wishing with all her heart that she could mend his grief. But his heart was broken. Only time could mend such pain. At such times she felt that her heart was broken too. She felt his pain in a way that she had never experienced before. She had shared the Keening twice, and something of him was inside her, though she did not understand what it was.

Now, though, he was getting stronger. He had turned his hurt into the need for revenge. And he had started to think about the other people, who had been taken to the mines. He still did not accept his role as a lord, but Llandri had told her that in time when the Keening was complete, he would see things differently. In the meantime, he was keen to gain skills in fighting so that he could try to take his revenge for Florinda’s death, and go to help the others.

He was changing, slowly. The Keening had started to make him more aware. His eyes had become more piercing. They were lit by golden threads, crisscrossing the dark brown. When he looked at her in a certain way, Mara felt that he was looking into her soul. She had seen traces of golden flame, running down the sides of his face, when he was moved by strong emotions. She had seen it at night in the forest when he was grieving. Llandri had told her that the Keening would surface another three times. He had reached what Llandri had called the Sun Burst stage, at the lake, when the golden lines had formed a cocoon around him. That would happen three more times, after which, he would have all the power of a lord and who knows what else.

According to The Prophecy, he would rise up against the evil of Malphas and Ghorram. The people would follow him in his quest for revenge, and become an army of volunteers. His aim would be to sweep the land clean of all traces of the evil lords, along with the evil practices that they promoted. If his quest was won, he would go on to lead them into a New Golden age, an age of spiritual enlightenment, and a return to working with the beneficial forces of nature. But Cal wanted nothing more than revenge. Prophecy meant nothing to him.

They had been watching him closely while he mused, and it seemed that an air of expectation had grown to fill the space between them. He thought that he should make his intentions clear. They deserved that. He told them that he was sorry for their plight and that a part of him wanted to help them, but he did not believe himself to be the leader they wanted. His only motivation was for revenge. After he had said his mind, Llandri started to speak.

Many of us saw the star cross the face of the full moon that night, I saw it too. We watch on such nights because a full moon at this time of year is called a candle moon; others have other names. When it broke into three we were apprehensive about what that might mean. It could have something to do with The Prophecy but there was nothing else to add to it; until you came to us. When Mara explained that your mother had died at that very moment, making you motherless and that you went into a keening, which is what used to happen to novice lords back in the days when there used to be novices. The keening is a sort of rebirth. Well, that was all the proof we needed.

Cal looked up at the older man, questions in his eyes. Llandri continued.

It is understandable that you want revenge, as anyone would, considering what happened. If you get your revenge on Lord Ghorram our world will surely change, hopefully, it will be remade. We know our role in this. We are to support you in what you want and in that we serve our own purpose also. We want a war, to purge our land of this corruption and turn it back to its true course. With you as our leader, we would have what we have waited so long for. But you are not ready to accept this role, perhaps you never will. It is not our choice, it is yours alone. We believe in this prophecy. It is all we have ever wanted. It is not reasonable for us to expect you to believe.

The Candlers had held to this one hope for almost a century. They had kept themselves free of corruption, and still worked their Earth Craft in the same way that centuries of Candlers had done before them. Their craft was to produce flame, clean, pure flame. From candles and torches made from the unique Candle trees, found only in Candlewood Forest. They distilled the sap to make oils. They used the pith for wicking and the greasy fibre for everything from tapers to torches. Their methods and recipes were known only to them, and they were regarded as outsiders to the rest of the population but tolerated because of the usefulness of their knowledge.

The Candler’s delivery system allowed them to maintain contact with a network of dissident groups, from Threewaters in the north to Casia and Copia in the South. These groups were made up of people who, like the Candlers, were not in sympathy with the corrupt forces which ruled the land. There were no large groups. Just a network of singles and couples who did not know each other, but who were kept in touch by the Candlers as they passed through the towns and villages delivering their goods. They were all people like Miller and his wife Leylie who lived in Wood Henge. Now that The Prophecy had come true the Candlers were busy spreading the word to their allies that the time for action was getting close. Cal did not know it, but a small yet totally committed army was already forming behind the scenes. He had only to openly declare war, and it would rally to his banner fully armed and organised.

In the meantime, he was tucking into his second bowl of Cleasa’s delicious food. Mara was warning him that bigger was slower. Cleasa was encouraging him all the way. And Llandri was saying nothing.

After the meal, Kaphra came to ask Cal if he and Mara would do him the honour of visiting his home for the evening. He cordially invited Llandri and Cleasa too, but Cleasa said that young people did not need oldies cluttering up their social life. She and Llandri would be having an early night, but she kissed him and thanked him for asking.

Cal was really pleased that Kaphra had come to him as a friend. He had called him Cal, as Cal had asked him to when they had set out for the Palace. Since then Cal had been too occupied with his grief to think of the shy Candler. It was time to give the world its due. Life had to go on. He was lucky to have friends who respected him enough not to take offence at his neglect of them.

Throughout his grieving, Mara had always been near. She had kept a discreet distance from him, but he knew that her eyes had been on him even in the forest at night. He had felt her presence when, in his darkest moments, the flames had trickled down his face. At such times he had felt a bond with her, a bond which had formed through the power of the shared Keening. He was not sure that it was fair to involve her in the process. He knew that he had held on to her twice now during the strange experiences. He only knew that it felt right at the time. Afterwards, though, he had felt embarrassed and guilty for putting her through it. He owed her a lot. More than he could ever hope to repay. And he had done nothing for her in return. She had faith in him because of The Prophecy, as did the Candlers, But he did not feel like a hero of prophecy. He felt like a fraud. He had pursued his own purpose, not theirs. He was still doing so, with his need for revenge. But Mara had said that he need be nothing more than himself. She insisted that it was important that he did what he wanted to do, with concern for his own agenda only. Her faith in him was absolute.

The three friends walked under the first stars of the night to Kaphra’s cabin. It had a veranda at the front, and Kaphra had lit a fire at the end of it, where he had placed three chairs and a small table.

Before they sat, Kaphra asked Cal into the cabin to look round. It was cosy inside. A large fire blazed in the hearth, and the room was scented with pots of shavings and dried flowers. Everywhere he looked, Cal, saw the most exquisite carving, and all the walls were polished to a deep lustre, showing off the beautiful figuring of the timber. It was uplifting, calming, and very lived in.

Cal pointed out some of the carvings, enthusing over the workmanship and the artistry. Kaphra dismissed them as nothing special, saying that many Candlers like to carve, as it developed their knowledge of the nature of the wood. He led them back out to the little campfire and poured them all a jug of ale.

You’ve embarrassed him now, Mara told Cal. He is far too modest to sing his own praises.

Cal looked at the young man. He was blushing, looking down into his jug. He noticed Cal looking.

I have so much to learn yet, about the life of the sacred wood. My efforts are clumsy compared to others. If you really like my carving I should take you to the home of my teacher, Usack. He is a master carver.

Cal smiled. I would like that Kaphra, thanks, but I still think your work is beautiful. I would be so pleased to be able to do half as well as you. I’m afraid that when it comes to wood, all my skills as a blacksmith are useless to me. It just seems so soft and fragile, unlike the steel, which I can bend and shape to match even my wildest dreams.

We must go to see Usack soon, anyway, Mara said. He is also a master of the staff. He is the one who taught me most of my fighting skills."

Then we should all go together, Cal said.

Kaphra was pleased. Cal noticed with satisfaction that his face had lightened somewhat