Haven Keep (Book 1) (4 page)

“And be replaced by you?” asked Smen, his face a mask of distrust.

“Not just by me, by us.  We will hold the north in our hands and all the spoils that accompany it.  Riches...Power...”  Ky’s eyes burned with ambition and greed.  “Together we will hold the lion’s share.”

“This is not just foolishness,” accused Smen. “It is madness, treason.”  He turned to leave.

Ky’s smile widened.  “Jubben thought you might feel this way.”

Dennen and Drake grabbed Smen from either side.  Jubben’s thick arm darted out and snaked around Smen’s neck.  Smen sank to his knees under the weight of the three men.

All eyes turned to Cannon.  It seemed  Smen and he were the only two not in on this from the beginning.

Cannon shrugged and pulled out his dagger.  There was no emotion in his voice.

“I wasn’t doing anything else tonight.”  His dagger caught on a rib as he slid it into Smen’s heart.

Cannon never thought sneaking Smen’s body into Cray’s chambers was going to be difficult.  Now that he and Jubben were carrying the corpse down the hallway towards the chief’s room he was not so sure.  Most of the clan was in bed and the majority of those who weren’t were passed out drunk in the hall.  Those facts didn’t guarantee the two men wouldn’t encounter someone staggering through the dark corridor looking for a place to sleep off a night’s worth of strong drink.

Cannon peered over his shoulder for the fifth or sixth time.  The long hallway remained empty, the only light provided by the faint glow of the moon through a small window.  He listened for any sound of movement.  Nothing.  They were alone.  He told himself he was just being paranoid, only he knew there was no such thing as too careful.

The rough wooden walls muffled most of the sound as he and Jubben crept towards their destination. The burden they carried was completely limp, rigor mortis having not yet set in, and much heavier than Cannon would have guessed.  The man cooperated less in death than he had in life. This would have been far easier if they didn’t have to be so blasted quiet.

A creak in the floor boards stopped the two men dead in their tracks. Cannon caught a glimpse of Jubben’s concerned expression.  They both listened intently for further signs of life.  If they were caught now they would be forced to fight their way out and could never return home.  To Cannon that was unacceptable.  His muscles tensed and his hand reached for his dagger. He searched the shadows at the far end of the hallway.

Jubben motioned Cannon slowly forward.  Occasional snores could still be heard through some of the doorways as they passed by each room, but those sounds were soon left behind and once again they found themselves alone in the silence.

Cannon knew he and Jubben were the best men suited for this task.  He would not have trusted it to any of the others, nor counted on any of them to remain quiet if they were caught.

Ky was in his own bed to avoid any suspicion as to his involvement.  Pleven remained in the hall and feigned sleep, keeping one eye open to watch for any signs of trouble.  So far there hadn’t been any.  The others waited in their homes and listened for what they hoped would be the cries of the people, mourning their beloved Chief.

The two men now stood in front of their chief’s bedchamber. This end of the hallway was nearly pitch black. The shadows made good cover.  Cannon slowly pushed open the door.  Smen’s booted foot slipped out of his grasp and struck the wooden floor planks with a dull thud.

“Who’s there?”  It was Cray’s voice.

Cannon held his breath and waited.  The room was dark and he could only see a few feet inside.

“Who’s there?  Show yourself.”

Jubben brought his forefinger to his lips.  There was still a chance Cray would forget what he heard and return to bed.

A sound of steel sliding out of leather broke the silence.

“Strike a light woman!”

Cannon dropped the body and sprang into action.  Jubben was quicker.  Cray’s wife, Jezereel, lit the lamp in time to witness her husband fall to the floor.  Jubben stood over Cray’s body, Smen’s bloody sword in his hand.

Jezereel shrieked and threw the bed pan at Cannon.  He deflected it easily.  “We are sorry to report we were too late to stop Smen from killing your dear husband.  It was unfortunate he killed you too.  We were, however able to surprise him as he fled.”

Cannon shook his head in mock sorrow.  “He died before he could reveal why he had done such a dastardly deed.”

Jezereel screamed her last breath as the two men stalked toward her.

Jubben was trying to work up tears as the footsteps came closer.  Cannon didn’t bother, instead he bent down and pretended to clean his dagger on Smen’s cloak.

Val, Greggor and Len rushed into the room followed closely by Pleven.

“What have you done?” cried Val.

“We failed in preventing Cray’s murder.  We did however succeed in catching the culprit.”

“The Lady Jezereel....is she?”

Cannon shook his head.

The hallway outside the room was fast filling with onlookers and more than one person tried to shove their way inside.

“Someone will pay for this.”  Greggor drew his sword.  Val and Len followed suit.

Pleven laid his hand on Greggor’s forearm in a light restraint and nodded toward the body of Smen. “Someone already has.

Chapter Four

Harvest Celebration was here and Von was finally finished with his chores.  He stepped out of the stables into the brisk air of the early evening and closed the doors behind him.  A cursory glance at the horizon revealed the lateness of the hour and a long line of dark clouds that promised to bring more snow.   He took a moment to ensure the heavy doors were latched and everything was secure.  A weary sigh escaped his lips, he longed for his bed, but there remained one additional task before he could escape to the warmth of his room.

Reece and Dell were waiting for him in the main kitchen.  He remembered the promise made to them over a week ago, one he was beginning to regret.  Cleaning up after the banquet would keep him up into the early hours of the morning.

Fresh snow crunched beneath Von’s boots.  The snow arrived early this year, dusting the rough timber and stone buildings he passed on his way to the Great Hall.  This snowfall was not the earliest in Von’s memory, but it came close.

The courtyard was uncharacteristically empty.  Everyone had long since abandoned their chores, seeking the warmth of an indoor fire, or more likely getting an early start on the festivities.  Small wisps of smoke rose from rock chimneys jutting at various levels into the evening sky, evidence not everyone had yet made their way to the Hall.

The Harvest Celebration was a big event in Azmark, something most Northerners looked to with great anticipation.  To Von it marked the beginning of another long freezing winter.  At least the crops were safely gathered into the granaries and cellars.  What a huge job that always was.  Thankfully those tasks usually fell to other servants.

Von considered himself lucky to have Baiden as his master.  He knew when Dell and Reece teased him there was some truth behind the jibes.  Von was privileged to be educated alongside Kaiden, learning the fighting and hunting skills taught to the freemen in Azmark.  Von took advantage of Baiden’s generosity, learning from anyone who was willing to teach him. It all added to the education received in his early years at the court of Evenfelle.

The fact he had even been at court in Evenfelle was something he never told anyone.  Dell and Reece probably wouldn’t believe him if he did.

Thoughts of Evenfelle made him wonder why the clans never banded together to help save his homeland.  Maybe they could have stopped the destruction of his country, the fall of the capital, the death of his family. 
Why didn’t they  make an attempt, mount some kind of resistance, at least try to save the empire?

Von scooped up a fistful of snow, formed a tight ball and threw the packed ice in frustration. The snowball smashed against the solid wall of the Great Hall.  It did as much damage to the gray stone as his efforts to find a way home had succeeded in getting him off this frozen island.  He pulled his threadbare cloak around his broad shoulders to ward off the cold and continued his march towards the Hall.  He quickened his pace, trying to outrun those old memories.

“Those days are gone,” he muttered to himself.   “You are a blacksmith apprentice now.”  Apprentice sounded much better than bond servant, better than slave.

The Great Hall loomed before him.  It was nearly the size of a small castle.  The stone structure, built as a last line of defense, was the residence of many citizens of Azmark.  It was a remnant of ancient times, when battles raged across the north and Azmark ruled over many lands to the south. Those days were just as gone as Von’s old life.  Azmark was a shadow of its former self, a ghost of its former glory.

Inside the Hall the festivities were probably well under way.  The celebration of the end of the harvest, the death of the summer and the birth of the winter.  All things the clerics still preached about.

Von didn’t hold much faith in the religion of the north.  He still considered himself part of the empire and couldn’t bring himself to convert to the doctrines the clerics believed.  The inhabitants of the north had been a part of the empire.  In Von’s mind they should still think of themselves as such.  Not many did, especially since the empire was now gone, fractured by the Black Horde.

Von stared into the sky.  A light snow began to fall.  The dark clouds threatened to send more, giving Von a shiver.  He quickened his pace, reached the back door of the kitchen, and stomped up the steps in an attempt to knock the snow from his boots.  Pushing open the door he squeezed inside, shutting out the cold.  The warmth of the kitchen fires made him glad he was back indoors.

The kitchen buzzed with activity, a beehive of cooks and servants whisking food and drinks into the Hall and empty platters out.  The serving girls rushed back and forth, their skirts whirling. A few sent admiring glances Von’s way.  They giggled and whispered to one another until Allie’s eyes widened.  She turned bright red, nearly dropping a platter of pork. The giggles turned to outright laughter. Redd shooed everyone back to work.

Von was oblivious to the attention.  He scanned the packed room for his friends, finally spotting Dell and Reece standing in a corner, elbow deep in the wash tubs.  Reece glanced up from his work and aimed a toothy grin at Von.

Von returned Reece’s grin and headed to the corner. He was glad to see the pile of clean dishes was larger than the dirty pile.  “The banquet must be ending early for you to be this far along,” Von said hopefully.

Dell laughed. “It hasn’t ended yet.  There are more dishes where these came from. We just thought we would get a head start.”

“Reece must have talked you into that,” Von mused.  “He’s always been the industrious one. I bet he has quite a treasure trove stashed away with all the extra chores he manages to find time to do.”

“I have a little saved too,” Dell insisted.

“Sure you do,” Von teased.  Reece bit his lip trying not to laugh at his friend.

“I do,” protested Dell.  “Maybe not as much as Reece, but I think I will be able to buy back my freedom in a few years. I might be able to add to it if we ever get those daggers you promised.”

“I’m still working on them,” Von said, feeling a stab of guilt.  The knives were technically complete.  He’d worked with the mysterious metal for a week and a half now.  The longer he labored, the stranger the metal behaved.  The power felt the day Berkler watched him often returned.  It was an enigma, one he desperately needed an answer to.  It wouldn’t hurt to keep the daggers for a few more days, to see if he could learn more.

“No hurry,” Dell said.  “It isn’t like I have anything to do for the next few weeks except more dishes.”  He slopped a rag into the tub.

“Until then, maybe Reece will give you a loan.” Von turned to Reece.  “How much do you have saved anyway?”

Reece shrugged.  “Almost enough I think.  My dad owed a lot of money before he died, so it might take a while.  I just hope I can earn enough to buy Tara’s freedom too.  I don’t want to see her sold off as someone’s bride.”

Von winced at that.  He knew his own situation wasn’t exactly enviable, but Reece’s sister Tara was in an even greater predicament.  She could end up the unwilling bride to an old toothless grandpa or worse.

“I’m sure you’ll have enough time,” Von offered.  He gestured to the dishes.  “Let’s just get these done.  I had a long day and can’t wait for bed.”

“You should know this celebration will last late into the night,” Dell said.  “Many of the women might eventually go to bed, but most of the men will be drinking mead and mulled brandy well into the morning hours.  Some of them will end up sleeping at the tables with their faces down in their food.”  He chuckled then put his face down a hand’s breath from the dish water and made gurgling sounds, imitating a drunk.

“You should see old Berkler in there drinking and carrying on.  People aren’t only listening to him, they’re starting to act like him too.”

As if speaking his name had been a summons, in walked Berkler.  He stalked over to the three friends.   The man didn’t look happy, he never did.  The crusty codger stared down his pointy nose at Von and the others.  Reece and Dell put their heads down and began vigorously scrubbing dishes.  Von hoped to the High Cleric that  Berkler hadn’t heard anything.

Berkler focused his attention on Von. “Standing around watching others work again.”  It was not a question and he didn’t wait for a reply.  “Baiden said I can use you tomorrow,” he snapped.  “Have the forge ready by the time I arrive and be glad I didn’t have to go looking for you.”

Turning towards Reece and Dell he roared, “You two boys bring more mead!  We are running low.”  He spun on his heels and left.  The noise from the banquet could be heard through the door before Berkler slammed it shut.

“I don’t envy you,” Reece breathed.  “I would hate to spend a day with that man.  I know he is a master blacksmith and occupies a place of respect, but I can’t bring myself to like him.”

“Who does?” Dell asked, splashing dish water on the floor.  “Still, I hear your work has brought you great praise.  Some say you’ll be the best blacksmith in generations.”

Reece laughed.  “Yes, but others say you have all thumbs.  How is it you can’t ever do any intricate work like jewelry or decorative inlay?”

“I can do inlay,” Von protested, a little embarrassed.

Reece and Dell were both laughing now.  “Yeah, if it is on a sword blade,” they said in unison.

“Well, I just happen to like swords.”  Von’s face went flush.

“And spears and axes and hammers.”  Dell was giggling now.

“And shields and armor and don’t forget those knives,” Reece continued.

“Oh, yes we mustn’t forget those knives.  You make hundreds of them.   Hunting knives, throwing knives,” Reece hefted a butcher’s knife out of the wash tub.   “How come never a good kitchen knife?”  He wore a smirk and Dell was laughing out loud.

“If you want I’ll make you a kitchen knife instead of a dagger.”

“No, no.”  Reece started back peddling. “No need for that.  I can’t wait to get my hands on it.  I wish I had it already,” he said more seriously.  “Or better yet, one of your swords.”

That made Dell stop laughing too.  “You couldn’t afford one,” he insisted.  “Not even with your stash of gold.  From what I hear, people pay Baiden a large sum of money for a sword forged by Von.  Anyhow, you can place your order later, I’m still waiting on my dagger.”

Von didn’t like being the center of the conversation, but at least they’d quit talking about Berkler. He hoped his friends never guessed why he was so enthralled with weapons.  It was a fantasy really.  One day he would arm himself and fight against the Horde that ravished his home land, destroyed the empire, killed his family.

“I hear old Berk has tried to purchase you on a number of occasions,” Reece piped in.

Von cringed at the thought.

“If he likes you so much why does he treat you so bad?”

“I don’t think he does like me,” answered Von, a little annoyed the conversation was back on Berkler.  “He just likes my abilities.  He takes credit for all my best work.”  The frustration Von felt made him forget discretion.  “I’m sure someone has commissioned some difficult piece and he wants me to forge it.  If people think his craftsmanship has gotten any better in the past couple years it’s because of me.”

Dell whistled through his teeth.

“That’s a strong accusation, even if it is true,” Reece warned.

Von suspected Reece believed it was.

“He’s a respected man,” continued Reece.  “The seven crafts are almost sacred here in Azmark, and blacksmiths especially.  Be careful who you say that to.  You could make trouble.”