Champion

Champion

by Jon Kiln

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

Copyright © 2015.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in book reviews.

Artas and Ganry rode horseback to Fort Wallbour. Overnight they would stop out in the open air and camp on the edges of the forest. This part of the kingdom was at peace, at the moment, totally unaware that a war may break out on the borders.

The first night was comfortable enough. A cooking fire by the side of a small stream provided all their needs. Artas caught a rabbit with his bow, and while it cooked on the spit over the fire, Ganry began Artas’s training.

The young nobleman was already an expert with a bow, but he needed to strengthen his sword skills to be a better all round warrior. They sparred together for a few hours, with Ganry trying to hone Artas’s sword craft. Balance was crucial in sword fighting, and here Artas had a distinct disadvantage. His leg was still not fully recovered from his escapade with the dragon, and he walked with a distinct limp.

It was Ganry’s hope that one day Artas would be the one that protected their Queen. Having been a life long friend of Myriam, Artas was in a similar position to her, having also lost his parents. They had been beheaded for showing support to Myriam during the previous coup. This had brought Artas and Myriam closer together, a bond that was still strong.

The night went by without any incident, but even though they were still in the Kingdom of Palara, Ganry insisted on setting a watch. He was a seasoned warrior and always assumed prudence. Just because they were still in their homeland did not mean they were safe.

Ganry set a morning routine for the both of them so they would stay physically fit. Artas struggled with the running, but he said nothing, hoping it would strengthen his weakened leg.

They set off after breakfast and training, and soon arrived at Fort Wallbour. They met with General Royston, delivering to him the sealed message from Queen Myriam to march half his troops to the borders of Mirnee. He was somewhat taken by surprise as the rumors had not hit this part of the world yet.

They stayed and enjoyed the home comforts of the fort for one night. Ganry knew the sea crossing would be rough. He wanted one last day on dry land so he could sleep in a proper bed and eat good food. Queen Myriam ensured her soldiers were well fed and provided for, still, Ganry did not let the comforts interrupt their exercise regime and he proved a hard taskmaster, but Artas never complained.

The next day found them riding down to the port town of Brammanville where Ganry would search out Admiral Bingham to deliver his other message. This proved more difficult than expected as it appeared he had not been seen for a number of days, and no one seemed to know of his whereabouts. He had left in one of the smaller vessels with a small crew to intercept a boat that had no authority to stray close to the Kingdom’s harbor.

If fishing boats from other countries came too close to shore to fish, they would be intercepted by the navy and guided out of Palaran territorial waters. It was unusual for fishing vessels to approach another’s harbors for they knew they would be questioned and possibly lose their catch. Generally, most fishing boats stayed out at sea and only went near their own ports.

It was a mystery, but not one that would delay Ganry’s journey. He could not concern himself with every problem he came across. After speaking with the acting Admiral, he left the Queen’s orders that instructed them to ready their ships for battle. Acting Admiral Patterson also informed Ganry that a search party was out looking for Admiral Bingham. It was probably bad weather out at sea that had caused delays. Ganry advised that the acting admiral send a messenger to Castle Villeroy if Bingham was not found. The Queen should be informed of the missing commander.

Passage on a trade ship had been booked for the two travelers and they were soon settling into their shared bunks in a small cabin. Neither of them liked to travel by sea, but it was the quickest way to Aelland, the capital city of Mirnee.

Once on their way, the journey proved to be tedious and boring, but Ganry kept up Artas’s training whenever the sea was calm enough for them to practice on the deck. The journey had so far been uneventful, but on the second day there was much excitement. Artas went to investigate all the noise.

“It seems they have come across Admiral Bingham’s boat,” Artas informed Ganry on his return. “Apparently it was very much off course to where it should be. Our Captain has boarded it to see if all is well. We should soon be back on course if there proves to be a simple answer to the mystery.”

Within an hour, the ship’s sails were hoisted and they were moving on again.

That evening Ganry spoke with the Captain at the dining table.

“He was not himself, no he was not,” the Captain told him. “Acted very strange, if you ask me. But it’s not my place to be telling an Admiral what to be doin’.”

“Why, what was he doing?” Ganry asked, becoming interested with this mystery. Admiral Bingham was one of Myriam’s trusted commanders. If he was acting out of character then it was a concern for the Kingdom.

“Well, I’d say he’s a fair man is the Admiral. Knows his business, always keeps calm but in control. Never one for shouting or looking flustered. Yet, he seemed kinda lost. He knows these seas like the back of ‘is ‘ands, he does, yet he asked for directions back to port. Bit odd if ya ask me. The crew seemed just as confused too,” the Captain finished, wiping his greasy hands on a napkin as he ate his fish supper.

“Maybe he had a knock on the head?” Ganry suggested.

“Nah, he was strange all round,” the Captain continued the tale. “When I asks about the fishing boat, he tells me to mind my own damn business and get back on course for wherever it is I’m off to. Said not to stand in the way of an Admiral. Never spoken like that to me afore. He’s generally a jolly fellow, not a wild one.”

“Appen he had a bad bit o’ rum ration,” another of the crew said, which lightened the mood and brought laughter to the room.

Ganry smiled, but glancing at Artas he could see concern etched on his features as well, showing the same concern that he felt himself.

Something was not right.

The Admiral’s boat arrived back at port Brammanville the very next day. It was with some relief that his second in command, Commander Patterson, watched the Admiral disembark, but he could see that there was something wrong. Never before had he seen such a storm pasted on his leader’s face.

The Admiral was a tall man, lanky but strong. He sported a short grey beard and neat mustache. He usually was an agreeable fellow, but today was unusually curt and abrupt.

“Patterson, I want to speak with you. We have much to do, follow me,” he demanded of his second in command as he marched off towards the port buildings.

Patterson followed immediately, using the opportunity to pass to the Admiral the Queen’s instructions that had been left by her emissaries. He was surprised when the Admiral made no attempt to open the orders immediately, instead placing them in the inside pocket of his uniform.

They arrived at a large wooden building that housed the naval headquarters and Patterson followed his leader straight into the operations room.

“I have orders that I want actioned immediately,” Admiral Bingham said, as soon as the door was closed behind them. “I command that every ship in this harbor is to set sail. We are to plot a Northern course and sail for two days. We will then weigh anchor and await further instructions.”

“What?” Patterson questioned the rationale behind such an order. “Sir, this is madness, surely you don’t mean every ship in the fleet? We cannot leave the dock unprotected, sir, I don’t understand.”

“It is not for you to understand my tactics, Patterson. It is for you to carry out my instructions.”

“Please Admiral, you must read the sealed orders from our Queen before you commit every naval vessel away from this port,” Patterson spluttered, totally confused at the behavior of his superior.

“Either you carry out my orders immediately, Patterson, or I’ll have you in chains. Which do you chose?”

Patterson looked at his Admiral, who was red in the face with anger and he did not doubt that he would have him locked up for insubordination. He was a changed man. Something must have happened to him while he had been out to sea for him to act so strangely upon his return.

The Admiral pulled out the sealed orders from the Queen. It seemed almost as a concession to his second in command. He ripped open the envelope, barely glancing at the message before screwing the paper up into his fist.

“This is exactly why we have to move the naval forces out of this port.”

“Surely the Queen wishes a small contingency to stay and protect the port, sir? Two days sailing is not ensuring the safety of the people of Port Brammanville,” Patterson argued.

“I will not stand for this insubordination for much longer, man. Give out my orders, now, Patterson, or I will find someone who will and you will spend the journey in the brig.”

This was a difficult situation for Patterson. He clearly believed the Admiral’s orders were at odds with what he understood from Queen Myriam’s emissaries. He could refuse, and be locked away, or he could play along and maybe become privy to the Admiral’s thoughts. It would be better to be by the Admiral’s side in order to determine exactly what was happening.

Patterson saluted the Admiral before leaving him alone in the operations room to relay his orders to the captains’ of the ships. He looked back at him, just before he closed the door, and felt that the Admiral was struggling with something personal. He seemed very troubled and was mumbling quietly, too quiet for him to hear his words. The Admiral’s orders were for the smaller ships to sail immediately on the evening tide, not even stocking up before leaving. The other captains looked at him incredulously, as if he had gone mad when he passed on the Admiral’s orders, but all obeyed.

It was a puzzle. Why would the Admiral want the port emptied? It was almost as if he was purposely leaving it open for attack. Maybe it was a ploy, some decoy to draw the enemy in and then ambush them. He had sailed with the Admiral for years, and respected his authority and his seafaring tactics, but he was no longer sure this was the same man. He was unhappy leaving the port with just a small army garrison to protect it. They were less than one hundred men and not much of a presence.

Even more confusing was that Patterson was ordered to board the same vessel as the Admiral, the North Star, and she was to head the naval forces. This was not the usual protocol, but Admiral Bingham had insisted that they sail together. Usually, they would sail on different vessels, spreading out the chain of command in case of attack. This was one anomaly that Patterson did not object to though. He wanted to be close to the Admiral, watch his every move. If necessary he would act to secure the safety of Palara and suffer the consequences at a later date.

It would be a few days before the larger ships would be ready to set sail, so Patterson decided to bide his time. He would await the right opportunity to act, if necessary, and hopefully get a better understanding of the Admirals intentions.

***

The weather so far had been fair. Ganry and Artas were at last finding their sea legs. They were both on the deck of the ship, Artas looking out to sea while Ganry sharpened his sword. He had decided to repair Windstorm before they had set out. It had been damaged in the battle with the usurper, Duke Harald. Originally it had been forged by the great swordsmith, Grimlock Gladesmith, in the Limestone mountains. That had been a long time ago, and it was one of the last of its kind.

He was happy with the craftsmanship of Rosinda, the blacksmith, who had repaired the blade. She was a skilled swordsmith for sure. It was a shame that not many would use her services, believing that it was man’s work, but Ganry believed her workmanship to be equal, if not better, than any man he knew. She had added her own personal touches to the reforged blade and Ganry believed it to be even better than ever.

Ganry always believed that Windstorm had been special, almost with a mind of its own. When Rosinda told him that his sword had magical properties, which were dependent on the holder that wielded it, he had not been surprised one bit. Once, not too long ago, Ganry would have said that she spoke nonsense, but now, he was not so sure, not after everything he had seen over the last few years.

Hendon, the forest dweller, had almost convinced him of the truth of magic with his extraordinary staff. Hendon also had other skills, seemingly able to understand and speak to the animals and trees. He had become a good friend and trusted companion, and Ganry wished that he traveled with them. Hendon had needed to return to his forest home after helping to recover the kidnapped Duchess D’Anjue. He did not care too much for travel, much preferring to be close to nature in his forest home.

Ganry sat and admired the blacksmith’s work. The dark sheen of the blade, its razor sharp edges, and its perfectly balanced weight. He swung it around, cutting it through the air in an intricate pattern of swirls and arcs. Artas watched on, amazed at the old veteran’s skill with the blade.

“Do you think I will ever be as skillful with a sword as you, Ganry?” Artas asked, hopefully.

“Not unless you train a damn sight harder than you have been so far. You’re getting lazy on this boat,” he retorted, pointing his sword at Artas.

Artas ignored Ganry’s challenge. Instead something on the horizon caught his eye and he stared intently out to sea.

“Well then, boy, you afraid of an old man?” Ganry teased.

“Look,” Artas said pointing out across the water. “What is that large dark shape on the horizon over there?”

Ganry stood next to him and looked at the black mass. It appeared to be growing bigger every second.

“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s a storm cloud, but it’s not like one I’ve ever seen before. It seems to be moving too fast. See how quickly it approaches. Whatever it is, something tells me we should not ignore it.”

Suddenly the ship’s bell rang insistently. Clearly they were not the only ones who had seen the dark shape on the horizon. The sailors were galvanized, shouting orders to each other and frantically rushing around preparing the vessel for the approaching storm.

“I think our adventure has just begun,” Ganry said to Artas as they both readied themselves for the approaching darkness.