The Treason Blade (Battle for Alsaar Book 1) Read online

  The Treason

  Blade

  Jenny Rebecca Keech

  Copyright © 2014 Jenny Rebecca Keech

  Edited by: Amanda Thames

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Photo: www.flickr.com/photos/albioneurope/6094585830

  ISBN: 1500461539

  ISBN-13: 978-1500461539

  DEDICATION

  To my family, who still continue to drive me forward. I would not be the writer I am without them.

  1

  Ishar hefted the fresh blade high in her right hand and examined its double edge. The metal was shaped sharp and true. The shallow grove down the middle lightened the weight without taking away any of its cutting strength. Her own weapon bore such a mark. The intricate markings down the sides indicated an object of passion. She glanced back to Fenric and nodded with satisfaction. “It is good. Who is he, this metal worker?”

  Fenric shrugged. “He is a she. Like you, she apparently enjoys a man’s occupation.” He inclined his head and spoke thoughtfully, “Or maybe like you her father had no sons.”

  Ishar smiled to herself and chose to ignore Fenric’s gentle barb. She wrinkled her nose and admired the sun’s glare off the cutting edges as she replied, “Father did not push me into this. I have known since the first time my fingers brushed across the hilt of one of his old blades that this would be my path.” Ishar reached behind with her left hand and stroked her fingers across the hilt of her own weapon, sheathed within its scabbard on a shoulder belt behind her back, “And I for one have never looked back.” She shook her head decisively. “I cannot explain it, Fenric. There has always been a certainty within me of my being a warrior.”

  “With two other sisters who have followed your path, it must be something in the blood,” Fenric muttered. “I am certain you have all turned your mother’s hair white by now.” Fenric turned a speculative glance her way. “What of your two younger sisters left at home?”

  Ishar grinned. “Fiona and Serine apparently do not have the blood of which you speak. They show no desire to pick up a weapon and go off to war. And mother is as lovely as the day that he married her, according to my father.”

  Fenric had his back braced against the side of the village well, set in the middle of the village of Lyell. He gave a nod at her words before glancing up at several shrieks. Fenric frowned and studied the noisy square. Laughing children ran freely amongst the market ground surrounding the center well, disrupting the women who argued with the sellers and buyers. He turned back and studied her. “How does Sajwe feel that only two of her daughters want to be wives and mothers and the others have chosen warrior status?”

  Ishar frowned at his words. Then she shrugged. “Since mother was once a warrior herself I can only say she is proud to see three daughters who have chosen this path. As for the other two choosing to be wives and mothers,” Ishar’s expression turned to one of amusement, “you should come to father’s holding more often,” she said with a chuckle. “Fiona keeps her head buried in father’s books, advising him more on ways of prospective profit than looking for a prospective husband and Serine stays busy studying all the various plants she can find and seeking out those that have any use for healing. She has earned herself quite a name. On any occasion that a trader comes through, Serine always takes time to see if they have some new herb or potion for her to examine.” Ishar shook her head in mock sadness. “Though you are right, Fenric. I am sure there are times Mother wished all of us had a little more interest in fine cloth or perfume when the traders come, like the other girls of Ayden. However, she has always proved true and loved us for who we are.”

  Fenric nodded thoughtfully, then stood and stepped away from the well. He stretched out his hand for the sword. Ishar relinquished the blade reluctantly. It was beautifully made. She would have to seek out this metal worker.

  Fenric set about wrapping the blade in cloth. “What of your sisters, Negara and Ealia? Are they still off to the north and west? I heard they left several months ago.”

  Ishar nodded. “The thievery has been bad close to the coastal area along the northern edge for the past two years, but now they have become too bold. They hit the village of Doan earlier this year and when the villagers resisted, they murdered the elder and his entire family. They were hanged.”

  Fenric’s mouth went slack. “All of them? Even the children?”

  Ishar nodded slowly. “All. Father was outraged. It was all Mother could do to stop him from taking himself off to battle. Negara left with her warband and Ealia with her archers soon after. Father wishes this dealt with now, before the summer is upon us.”

  Fenric nodded thoughtfully. He finished wrapping the blade and slid it within his pack. He glanced up with curiosity. “And why have you not gone with your sisters?”

  Ishar shrugged. “They are more than enough to deal with petty thieves. Besides, Father has sent me on a duty to the south. He wishes me to speak with Varyk.”

  Fenric wrinkled his brow. “Varyk of the south?” His lips pursed tightly and he crossed his arms as he gazed on her intently, a grimace marring his expression. “He is a stranger to our parts. It is rumored he has a mighty group of men who follow him and he has allied himself with the Lute leader, Wyn.” Fenric’s frown deepened. “Why does your father wish to speak to this man? He is not of the island. It is said he is a foreigner from the mainland of Megara and that the men who follow him are also foreigners. His wife is said to be a Lute, an enemy of our people,” he added bitterly.

  Ishar let Fenric’s frustration roll over her. Many people had struggled with the terms of peace between her father and Wyn. She shrugged. “We have made peace with the Lute. Father has noted with interest that the Britai have accepted Varyk as their leader. He brings stability to their war torn region.” She nodded intently. “It is because this Varyk has proved to be a powerful force that Father wishes to seek him as a possible ally in the coming future. We need no trouble with the south. Spring is coming and soon it will be the early summer season.”

  Fenric spit on the ground in disgust. “And the Tourna raiders will come.”

  “Ah, yes,” Ishar nodded solemnly with troubled eyes, “The Tourna.”

  Her mind cast itself backward to memories of childhood and stories spoken in low whispers and the hard facts she had learned as a young warrior facing this dreadful enemy called the Tourna, a people from the mainland coast of Megara. A hazy, fog-drifting sliver of coast situated two miles to the east of the small island of Alsaar where she lived, nestled in the northern regions in a land that belonged to her people, the Haaldyn. As a child the Tourna had been the ngarnri, the haunters of nightmares. What every parent warned their child lingered in the dark of the night and the shadowy recesses of the day. Places to be avoided. As a young warrior, Ishar had found that some nightmares too easily proved themselves real.

  The Tourna were Alsaar’s greatest enemy. Great boat builders and horsemen who brought their own mounts with them across the waterway whenever they came to raid. In large vessels of wood the Tourna would cover the distance between their two lands, bringing destruction and death to anyone who would not surrender. The Tourna were slavers and ruin was all they left in their wake each time they made landfall. Every ten years and always near the beginning of summer they appeared for what they called a harvesting.

  The winter snows had stopped several weeks earlier. The mountains already showed signs of melted snow, the downward flow held, at this point, within the confines of the Etu River that ran toward the south and the sea. Spring was almost upon them and this year it would herald the impending arrival of the Tourna. All of Alsaar shivered in
fear for what that would mean.

  In the past few years her father, Ryen of the Haaldyn, had managed to negotiate a peace with the Lute, the tribal people spread from the middle of Alsaar toward the eastern region, hidden within the woodlands they considered sacred. The peace had held, even with tensions high on both sides at times. It was her father’s wish for the Haaldyn to unite with the Lute to fight this coming threat. The last time of the Tourna’s coming, the Haaldyn had thrown them back after months of fighting to the north. The Britai had scattered and fled to caves and the Lute had defended their home within their grove. In the end, death and ruin had been left to much of the lowlands.

  But now a stranger had claimed this territory. It was the hope of her father that with this Varyk’s control of the south the lowland Britai would feel strong enough not to crumble at the first sign of attack. Then, with the Haaldyn and Lute united, the Tourna would face a ready enemy for the first time. More so, if Varyk would add the strength of his men and what troops he could muster among the Britai. The Tourna grew stronger and more aggressive with each deeper foray into the island. They were merciless in their ruthless conquest for slaves. The only unresolved issue before her father was the unknown Varyk. Where would he stand in this? Since little was really known about him, all was uncertain. The rumors abounded. Was he in alliance with the Tourna? Would he simply defend his lands and ignore the rest of Alsaar? And if he did, would his Lute wife bring her people to his defense when they were so desperately needed to hold the middle? There were too many uncertainties and her father needed answers. Ishar took the time to share these thoughts with Fenric.

  Fenric was silent as he absorbed the information. He leaned back against the well and crossed his arms across his light leather armor with a grim look, then stared past Ishar into the horizon. “Who would have thought the day would come when the defense of our land resided in the hands of Lute and the Britai?” He bent over and spit on the ground.

  Ishar looked down and toed the ground with her booted right foot. She knew one of Fenric’s sons had died in a battle between the Haaldyn and the Lute. It had been before the peace. Fenric, like many people, had trouble accepting the pact. But Wyn, the leader of the Lute had wanted the peace as much as Ryen. Wyn recognized the fundamental truth: without unification everyone on Alsaar would suffer under the feet of the Tourna. The past had revealed as much. Because of both Wyn’s and her father’s will, the treaty had held and prospered for the past two years. Ishar hoped the daughter of Wyn, pledged to Varyk, was as wise as her father.

  “Ah, well,” Fenric added softly, “we must do what we must.” He leaned forward and clasped her arm in camaraderie before he spoke, his voice low. “Be careful in your journey, Ishar. And judge these people well. You know not who your true enemy might be.”

  Ishar rode out of Lyell an hour later. Fenric also parted, headed for Ayden. He said he would speak of her well-being to her father when he saw him. Fenric’s earlier words still reverberated through her head. She still felt uncertain on whether she had his blessing for her journey. The loss of his son still resonated within the tone of his voice. Many people still struggled with the thought of the Haaldyn/Lute peace. It was hard after over a century of fighting. Ishar shrugged off the thought and nudged her horse, Simi, upward as she moved from the highland grassy hills toward more rocky terrain. With the coming threat, she decided, everyone had to be above feelings for past hurts. If the Tourna met confusion and infighting it was the island of Alsaar that would suffer.

  Ishar’s thoughts flickered to the last meeting she held with her father as she guided her mare into a short rocky rift and nudged the horse upward into the mountains. Her father had argued a case for her warband accompanying her as a precaution to entering the unknown lands of Varyk. Her warband were the Wörie, meaning ‘wild wolves’ in the Haaldyn language. With the black Hanjor wolf emblem emblazed upon their armored breastplates, these were men and women she had come to know and trust deeply. Some had even been personally selected after she was chosen as Siobyn, leader, over them. Her warriors were a fierce group, a family created and shaped by violence and war, who disliked outsiders and were savage to their enemy in battle. Ishar decided against her father’s concerns citing that Varyk would probably not like the sight of a band of armored warriors showing up at his gate. It would do nothing to promote trust. The Wörie had voiced their concerns and again Ishar had set aside their warnings and ordered them to remain at Ayden, her father’s stronghold, for further orders. Her warband had not been happy but so far Ishar had failed to notice strays following her trail.

  She made good time the first day as she headed into the high mountains. A heavy snow slowed her progress the next two days as she continued over the main peak and then worked her way downward out of the Twyndur mountain Range. Ishar was forced at times to find and take cover through several heavy snows and then work her way onward through large drifts. By the end of four days she had moved out of the rocky terrain and crossed into the heavily forested and dark hilly woodland of the Lute. She encountered no problems. Actually, she encountered nothing. The Lute were only noticed when in a mood to be seen, but they offered no trouble as she passed through their lands and for that she was grateful.

  Three days later, near dark, Ishar crossed the Etu River that ran from the northwest toward the southeast, an indication that she had entered the lands of the Britai. It also told her that she was close to the holding of Varyk that her father called Taryn. Ishar had never been this far south. It was hard to imagine, but the land seemed to grow greener and more damp the farther south she went. She found the cool balmy air quite a nice change. Earlier, she had removed her fur-lined Burda from over her armor and stowed it behind her saddle. She now donned it again as she stopped and prepared a fire on the other side of the Etu.

  The next morning Ishar woke and took the time to fish. She yearned for a variation from cold dried meat. While the fish cooked, Ishar bathed and packed her gear. She quickly donned her clothes: pants which fell to her lower calves over knee length boots, a long-sleeved under tunic that came to her thighs and a short-sleeved split outer tunic that draped to her knees. Over these she slipped her chainmail, her breastplate with the engraved image of a wolf carved within the leather and steel, her forearm guards and leg greaves. Finished, she strapped her fighting daggers to her boots and slipped her sword sheath over her head.

  Ishar wanted to be prepared for anything as she rode toward the holding. She ate quickly and scattered dirt across the dying embers. She slipped her hood on her head and attached the lower faceguard so that only her green eyes showed. Ishar made her way over to Simi and mounted. She nudged her horse cautiously toward the east. It had been told to her that this holding of Varyk’s stood close to the eastern side of the southern low lands.

  Crossing yet another grassy hillock that afternoon, a holding came into view. It was stone built with thick outer walls. Soldiers walked the top of the fortification. It was impressive and reminded Ishar of Ayden, though it lacked the size of her father’s stronghold. Located to the side at the bottom of the hill was a small village with a several connected lanes set among thatch roofed structures. Children could be seen guiding sheep and several women worked together, turning the land up in preparation of the seed to come. Ishar continued down the slope. Now that she was in the lowlands, there was vibrant deep green as far as the eye could see. Ishar had ridden through so many drifting mists that her clothes were heavy with dampness. Thankfully the air held a hint of mildness, especially when compared to the much colder region of her northern homeland.

  Ishar recognized the moment she was spotted. There was a flurry of movement along the wall and by the time she reached the gate she was greeted by several soldiers, all too closely bunched. They should know better, she observed quietly. Groups should always spread out and surround anything uncertain. They should never cluster themselves in case of attack. The soldiers continued to watch her movements with nervous eyes. Their appearance leant
a suggestion of training but none had the look of the wild bunch of men which Varyk was reputed to have surrounded himself. Those men were alleged to be Raanan warriors, from a land far to the south of the Tourna. All Ishar knew were the rumors that had circulated to the north about warriors so fierce looking that men quailed just at their appearance in battle. There was not a man before her that met that measure. Of course, it would not be the first time that rumors had become exaggerated. Her own Wörie bore legendary status among her people, said to be capable of near immortal feats, but they were ordinary men and women who fought with extraordinary skill and courage in any engagement. She thought these praised warriors of Varyk would be similar.

  She calmed her mare and waited patiently, showing no outward sign of aggression. She undid her faceguard and flipped her hood onto her shoulders. The fresh breeze felt cool upon her face.

  Ishar knew her clothing and armor bore markings that would indicate she was Haaldyn. But even if she had worn the garments of the Britai or Lute, she would have been easily recognized by her short, reddish-blonde hair that spoke of a history beyond the island. Her people had claimed the harsh northern region nearly a hundred years earlier when they had made landfall and found a new home comparable to the homeland of their ancestors from across the sea and up in the far northern regions of Megara.

  The Haaldyn were known by their tall height, fair skin and their blond or red hair, which contrasted with the Lute and Britai who were native to the island. Both groups were a people of slightly shorter statue with brown or black hair and normally dark eyes.

  Those dark eyes watched her now with wariness. These soldiers were Britai. Their skin was slightly more olive, not pale like the Lute. And there were no women among the warriors like there would have been with the Lute. The Lute shared the Haaldyn’s belief that a woman had as much right as a man to fight in battle.