Gauntlet

By Rory Byrd

Hell is a very personal thing...

Reaping death across the length of the Southern Kingdom come the invading forces of the Bloodking. Their final destination: the mountain outpost of Kerris, an inconsequential speck with no acclaim other than an ancient legend and a sleeping dragon. A place so beneath notice, it might have been ignored entirely of the Bloodking’s ultimate trophy had not escaped there.

Amethyst, daughter of the Duke of Kerris, defends this final outpost. Caught been desiring the life of a knight and being loved as a woman, Amethyst seeks a way to survive the coming tide of death and save her beloved people.

A failed apprentice crafter, Tellyv, may just have her solution. Having accidentally built a mystical object of wild and unpredictable power, he may have harnessed a force that even a bloodking cannot withstand.

But in the final days of the conquering of the Southern Kingdom, there is more than just the future at stake. Religions and love and beliefs clash in a final confrontation that may make or break a friendship. Unless the future actually succumbs to the hands of the most vile villain of all: Amethyst’s own father.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rory Byrd
• Release date: Aug 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301753109

Rory Byrd

Rory Byrd has been writing since attending Morris High School. After a long hiatus, he participated in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) a few Novembers ago. Since then, he's been writing like a fiend. Byrd loves his wife, three children, and going to the pet store to look at bunnies.

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Published 2013 by Hesermx Publishing

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2013 by Rory Byrd

All rights reserved.

The right of Rory Byrd to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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Gauntlet

Rory Byrd

Dear Julie

Gratias tibi, amor.

Chapter 1

The door hammered open with the crack of a lightning bolt and the splintering of rusted orange metal. A blazing demon, huffing fire in his frenzy, slid forward with death in his eyes. The heat of his fury illuminated the small storeroom where his cowering prey sat, frozen by the ice clogging his veins. The final judgment fell--death was at hand.

The Duke of Kerris did not speak at first, his fiery gaze beating down upon the small table in front of him like a harvester of sinful souls. The shrinking scribe who sat, hands rigidly locked upon small metal rings, tried to find the energy to gulp. The storeroom was small, too small to escape his gaze, a small antechamber off the stables, once a shack for storing grain and feed. Now, cleaned of the discarded droppings that once saturated the room in the smell of rot, it held little more other than this table: only a series of iron chests each oiled and locked to keep the prying hands of curious stable boys well out of the contents.

The Duke of Kerris sucked in his breath as if to drink a river and held it, contemplating whether to let loose the dragon fire of accusations and pronouncements upon the room’s only obvious occupant. His target, a young man, marked with the dark skin of the coastal tribes, blinked back.

Tellyv, the young scribe sitting before his duke, twitched unconsciously, his face and eyes unremarkable in the blazing furnace of the Duke’s fury. His face was blank of expression, the result of having suffered the Duke’s wrath many times. It was this blank expression that held the Duke’s wrath at bay in this moment. But only for a moment.

Not here? the Duke snapped, keeping hold of the dam of his rage until the moment when Tellyv spoke the wrong words.

I am here, Tellyv replied humbly, pretending to misunderstand the intent of the Duke’s sparse words.

Then where?

My Duke…

Think soundly as to whom your allegiance is to, the Duke cut off Tellyv’s words coldly.

Tellyv thought, his eyes bouncing to the left and then glancing up at the bales of hay that were stored on the supports above his head. His eyes rolled a bit back and forth as if mulling over his answer. Certainly there was a way out of this moment…but it wasn’t coming to him.

Again, Tellyv, the Duke of Kerris snarled, restraining his anger only to save the brunt of it for his chosen prey.

My Duke, Tellyv removed his hands from the table and slid them into his lap as a sign of humility. A thin line of rings and leather were left in their wake, some etched with symbols, others sitting in iron shavings. Certainly you don’t think I would…

I would gut you in a heartbeat, the Duke cut him off cleanly again, this time solely to avoid the unpleasant sound of Tellyv’s denial. The large man snarled--a good sign to Tellyv. It meant he was believed, if only for a moment.

As a proper father should, Tellyv lowered his eyes to his hands.

If you had had a proper father, you wouldn’t be here, the Duke snarled, looking smartly about the room as if his victim could possibly fit between the chests or behind the single chair in which the young man sat.

I apologize for my earlier embarrassment, Tellyv replied. My father should have been more careful.

The Duke of Kerris offered one nasty look, just to ensure that the young man was not hiding sarcasm behind his humble tones. Then he slammed the door, intent on returning to his search. Tellyv put his hands back on the table without another thought, his fingers cascading across his tools, eager to return to work.

For a moment, the young scribe sat, alone.

Silent as a serpent, a bushel of red hair fell upon him, covering his eyes and ears as if putting a wig on backwards. A scalp tapped against his scalp; he could feel the knock bounce around in his skull.

He likes to bring up your father, doesn’t he? Amethyst stuck her tongue out at the closed door, straw from the bushels above her floating slowly past her face as she balanced, head to head, upside down from the rafter. Tellyv, unable to look up from the pressure on his top, imagined her as a massive, fire-haired bat.

It gets his point across, Tellyv replied. His fingers drummed impatiently to return to work.

That he’s a pig’s arse? Amethyst asked in a sweet voice.

That he’d do anything for his daughter, Tellyv answered.

No, he’d do anything to make sure I’m a virgin.

"You are a virgin, Tellyv replied, although he almost added a right?" to the end.

Have you been playing in my unmentionables again?

"Again would insinuate that I have before. Which I have not. Ever."

Cause you’re too shy to admit you would.

"Because I would not. Ever."

You’re avoiding my question.

"I have not. Ev-er."

But you’ve imagined it.

You’re hurting my head, Tellyv replied.

Amethyst sighed and batted her eyelashes on habit. She hoisted herself up, swung a bit on the rafters, and then dropped lightly to land on both feet with the feline grace that caught the attention of most of the men of Kerris, from cook’s assistant to guard captain to the men who came from the lower village to bark wares. She was a fiery sight, much like a well-stoked blaze, whether she encouraged the attention or not. Amethyst’s long hair was rare in this part of the world, having inherited it from her father; an old man who had appeared from the east and won himself a dukeship under suspicious circumstances some decade-and-a-half ago. He had come with a small band of warriors, including Tellyv’s father, who claimed he was really a traveling bard. Amethyst’s brilliant hair was coupled with the crystal green eyes of Amethyst’s mother, or so people said. Amethyst’s striking features were tethered, however, by her figure: she had the muscle of a lower noble of the Southern Kingdom, with the natural curves of a practiced and well-trained warrior. Whether in her armor or in the dress of the court, it was this contrast that really made her a sight to behold. She possessed the beauty of two nations: the great Southern Empire to which the Duke now beheld his allegiance, and an exotic world hidden from view by the dark shadows of mountains.

Amethyst’s radiance was common place enough for Tellyv. The weight on his head gone, he returned his eyes to the small ring in his fingers; a tiny chisel scraping carefully to imbed a hard rune into the soft metal.

So, what were we talking about? Amethyst asked, ignoring the fact that Tellyv had chosen his work over her.

We weren’t talking. I was working. You were kissing the larder boy.

Before that, obviously.

Did you ever think it was you kissing a larder boy that might make your father so angry?

Yes, Amethyst grinned from ear to ear. Though that’s not why I kiss him. I think of it as a bonus.

I don’t want to know why you kiss him, Tellyv tried to save himself.

Because he’s the only one who doesn’t take it for granted. He’s like…shocked every time I say hello to him. Every other man thinks a small peck means he’s got me. Like they can just get me. Or worse…ugh. Amethyst’s grin turned to a grimace.

You don’t even know the larder boy’s name.

Nor do you, Amethyst challenged.

Tellyv stopped his work, scanned his empty brain, then shrugged and returned to his work.

What were we talking about? Amethyst asked again. I can’t remember for the life of me.

Well… Tellyv thought for a moment, unhappy that his mind had to release the objects in front of him. I had mentioned that everyone has their own personal hell. You asked me why that mattered. I asked if you believed in the arguments of the redeemers. That’s as far as it got.

No wonder I forgot!

Why are you asking now? Tellyv inquired, stopping for a second to compare the rune to another in the soft candlelight. Seeing his work as less than perfect, he returned his hands to his craft.

Because I’ll need to tell him something when he catches me.

Think about this: if you tell him you’re with me, he’ll know you were lying. Tellyv had to stop his work long enough to give Amethyst a disapproving look. She was far too crafty to make such an obvious mistake.

"No, no, no, my good scribe. You aren’t thinking."

Forgive me for that, Tellyv replied sarcastically.

I’ll tell him what you asked and then say I tried to avoid the subject, but you pressed me. So, I ran out with my hands over my ears, and that’s why I wasn’t around you.

Tellyv blinked for a moment.

"Odd...that is what happened," he said.

Right. No sense trying to get you to lie, Tel. You are horrendous at it. Can’t believe you managed to not tell him where I was anyway.

One of my shining moments.

Can’t disagree with that, Amethyst nodded in absent-minded approval. Anyway. I’ll just tell him you kept pressing the question, and I got vexed and went off by myself to pray for your soul in the chapel.

Instead of rolling your eyes at me and then noticing the larder boy passing by the door. What happened to him anyway?

He snuck off when father kicked in the door. Did you know there’s a small hole in the back wall up there?

No, Tellyv shook his head. Why didn’t you use it?

I think he assumes father will castrate him if he’s caught, Amethyst ignored his question.

He’s right, Tellyv returned to his work again, etching away at the small rune with feverish motions.

I know, Amethyst replied, her grin returned. He’s so cute when he’s scared to death.

Great.

Noting that Tellyv had returned to his work, Amethyst walked around him in a full circle. Then she stopped to stand behind him, leaning far enough that her long locks would occasionally block his work.

So, back on point: if everyone has their own personal hell, then obviously that has to mean something, Tellyv said without looking up. Do you actually think…

With Tellyv’s words scarcely off his tongue, Amethyst was out the door and gone for the night.

Tellyv smirked inside and continued with his work.

Chapter 2

Amethyst slid on the heavy chain shirt; the cuirass’s weight gripping her shoulders as gravity yanked at the mail. The sensation was pleasant, heavy yet comforting. In this leather and metal, Amethyst felt solid like rock, tireless like the mountain. Flights of fantasy flittered from her mind; discipline rooted squarely into her heart. The leather straps tightened, and she was secure within herself.

An announcement from out the windows alerted her that the militia had arrived; one of the local farmers was drumming about as if he was in charge. Amethyst felt a smirk boil up from within, but the heavy chainmail kept it off her face. Her fingers laced up to tighten the leather cords that bound her long hair as she strutted out into the light.

The central plaza of Kerris was blazing with men in leather and iron; a scattering of steel bearing knights amongst a wild sea of iron-hammered peasants. They sauntered around as if suddenly important now that they, too, carried weapons of war. The stark strangeness of the Duke of Kerris conscripting his farmers had not settled upon them. The peasants were in love with their own fantasies. Perhaps they were all destined to be heroes.

Some of the Duke’s knights skulked about, watching the untrained infantry with disdain. Pulling up onto her favorite charger, Amethyst scanned their faces, seeking out her direct subordinates: Kelfrin of Lathery, Colbult Avers, Fresserk the White, and the sisters Avantry. They were off on their own, as usual, a small renegade band loyal only to her. Amethyst smiled to see them, noting the oldest of them, Fresserk, as he pointed up towards the sky. Following the gesture, Amethyst noted her father, the Duke of Kerris, glaring down from a heavy battlement, staring as if the whole of the world was falling to hell.

Amethyst gently nudged her mount amongst green men, boys and laborers ranging from the young to the mildly old. They wore pieces scavenged from gravesites and passed down from grandfathers. They looked like children playing at soldiers; they stood somewhat close to rigid and somewhat close to alert. They glanced a bit at the sky now-and-then. They questioned the paid soldiers around them with their frowns.

Amethyst stopped in front of a rather arrogantly eyed boy, no more than nineteen or so, who fought back a smirk, unsuccessfully, at seeing her. Amethyst held back a similar look, assuming what the boy was thinking. Likely, he was fantasizing over the most recent gossip, and likely, it was some uncouth exploit about Amethyst, herself.

The Duke’s daughter lingered in front of the youth, watching as he tried to take in her leather-clad shape without being obvious. Mercenaries and knights hired by the Duke often looked at her that way. She raised one eyebrow at him, giving him a final chance to respect her.

Seeing no change on the boy’s face, Amethyst turned her eyes up to look over the whole of the crowd. Lifting her chin, she spoke loudly enough to be heard over the shifting metal and whispers.

In this time of conflict, Amethyst’s voice was crisp as it opened to the air, you will assemble each morning in this keep to drill. Should the war come to Kerris, we shall be prepared. Should the King call for our aid, we shall respond.

Glances amongst the peasants grew nervous as reality sank in thickly. Until this moment, the attacks upon the far northeast border of the Southern Kingdom must have been only rumor to them. Amethyst had been reading her father’s private messages for weeks and was surprised he had waited so long before calling the Kerris militia. He wasn’t one for optimism.

We will stand together as a people, undivided by the foreigners who lap at our gates or by the sanguis traitors who hide in our shadows. We shall be the shining example of a people sewn together as one.

There were some mild murmurs at the mention of the sanguis: religious fanatics who shared the beliefs of the Bloodking. For weeks now, any bandit or thug had been compared to these people. Amethyst almost wished she hadn’t brought them up.

Your fields will keep, but tend to them you must, Amethyst continued trying not to stumble on her carefully prepared wording, as we shall be feeding those who fight in our place. Through grain or steel, we shall join the army and defend that which is sacred to us.

A murmur of approval came from the scattered knights. The peasant farmers stood, somewhat rigid with fear. Amethyst was pleased enough with her speech. Her father stared down upon her from his perch.

You shall be divided amongst the knights; follow their words as you would follow mine.

The boy in front of Amethyst cracked a sarcastic smile, amused at her words. Amethyst smiled inside, having lingered here just for this moment. She slid off her mount to look him cleanly in the eye.

Discipline, she spoke directly to him, is the sword of the warrior.

A quick kick to the groin dropped the boy to the dirt.

The younger men gasped and stood straighter. The older men stood frozen, wisely not drawing attention to themselves. High above, the Duke of Kerris stared.

Loyalty is her shield, Amethyst continued as if she had not kicked the man at all. Courage…

A massive roar drowned out the last of her oath, a bestial thing that echoed so loudly within the stone walls that it was as if a monster was standing directly amongst them. Farmers dropped to the ground, some screaming in fits, as knights drew swords and raised shields. Her confidence bound tight within her armor, Amethyst raised her head to look up at her father who looked out over the battlements at the thick clouds that clung to the mountains above them. Following his gaze, Amethyst turned her head, her heart pounding within her.

Something like a thick, reptilian tail vanished into the white mists of the mountains. Amethyst frowned, wondering if she had really seen the Lady of the Mountain.

Chapter 3

Tellyv sat down his inks and scrolls beside the small clay model of Kerris. Years ago, as a boy, Tellyv had marveled at the model, kept in perfect accord with the city’s long years. There was a crack in the wall over the Redeemer’s Chapel, carefully carved in place when it had first appeared ten years ago. Here sat the Dragon’s Shadow tavern, moved since the night it had burnt down. Across the main square were the series of gates that led into the main keep. Even the edges of the mountains were preserved in the model, marking the farthest edges of the city.

The entirety of the model was ringed with the base of the Green Mountains, a bay of fields for a land that sat in the clouds. The two imperial roads, one to the capital city and the other to the ruined city of Gamasca, were scratched into the table, along with a scattering of huts that marked the outer edge of the defensible lands. If the plains had been a sea, Kerris would have been a safe harbor for shipping. With such natural walls cradling the city, it would have made a great fortress. But there was nothing on this frontier worth the cost of construction.

Before Tellyv had been sent far away to learn the art of the crafters, he had marveled at such a skilled model. Today, grown and knowledgeable of the ways of the mystic artisans, he gave little notice except to be careful not to knock it aside as he dumped his heavy load of scrolls and inks.

Tellyv sighed, trying to ignore his discomfort at being pulled away from his project to act as a simple scribe. It wasn’t that he felt above the task: Tellyv owed four more years on his father’s debt to the Duke of Kerris and had never even considered not paying it in full, especially since the debt had been made to give Tellyv a chance at being something more than a serf or a slave. Although his father had come to the kingdom with the Duke, he had come a free man. Free but poor, unfortunately. For reasons Tellyv didn’t know, the Duke valued a forced servitude enough to pay for a very expensive apprenticeship in the capital. Perhaps if Tellyv hadn’t been called back by his father’s death, he would have been able to make enough to pay the debt in real coin. But that was not to be.

The doors of the war room opened, and Tellyv finally wrestled his discomfort into a side corner of his mind. His project could wait; it was time to earn his keep.

The doors shut, revealing Amethyst striding into the hall in her heavy chain mail, still looking as stern and confident as she always did when soldiering. Tellyv sighed a bit to see her alone; that same nagging desire to get the meeting over with jumped back out from its corner. He put his eyes to the blank scroll before him.

You’re thinking of the capital, Amethyst spoke abruptly, her voice sharp.

Why do you always accuse me of that? Tellyv replied without looking up at her. I don’t ever sit around thinking of that.

Why not? I would be.

Yes, you. Not me. It was…distracting.

Oh come on, Amethyst replied, slapping one hand on the table to be extra annoying. Your father paid seventeen years of service to have you trained as a crafter, Tel. You act like the work he did means nothing.

I meant your question, Tellyv looked up to see a stern look on her face. She gave a half-glare, making him uncomfortable enough to not show his anger. The city and my schooling are different, Amethyst. You’re trying to get me riled up.

Why would I DO THAT? Amethyst’s voice exploded with anxiety.

I don’t know, Tellyv winced. But you never mention my father unless you’re trying to rile me up.

He’s been dead three years, why should it bother you anymore?

You’re thinking my father was like yours.

Oh, I know…you’re still burned because here you are, almost a fully trained crafter, and you’re allowed nothing but the role of a scribe for seven years. Tut-tut, it’s halfway over. Amethyst took a big breath, showing her teasing was starting to calm her a bit.

I didn’t finish--which you know--and I don’t mind--which you know.

And you’re annoyed--which I know. Amethyst added.

No. Amee, what’s got you?

I’m not saying--

Her sentence was snapped off as the chamber’s doors opened again, and in marched the Duke of Kerris in the company of a handsome knight bearing the colors of the King’s royal elite. The two were arguing in polite tones--no one who knew the Duke’s colored past argued in any other way--as they entered, ignoring the two other occupants for the moment.

Amethyst raised one eyebrow, unaware until now that her father had a guest. She sized up the man, pleased to see that he walked comfortably with a sword at his side and had enough tone to show he used his blade for more than ceremony. His hair was salt-and-pepper, which contrasted with his age. His eyes were a typical blue, but strictly clearer than most men’s.

The dragon has been there for years, the Duke, now in the center of the room, turned on his guest like a tiger attacked from behind. Some idiot knight likely came along seeking to slay it and woke it up. It will sleep soon enough. So it has been for years and so it will be. You act as if you have never seen such a beast.

My Duke, the man replied without backing down, "I live in civilized lands. You can be sure that I have not ever seen such a beast. Unless it was mounted on a wall."

Then, by all means, go mount it, the Duke replied, giving extra emphasis to the vulgarity in his words.

I am here on the King’s business, the elite knight replied smoothly. His voice was soothing enough that he somehow avoided sounding like a boot-licking coward to Amethyst. She smiled, enjoying the show.

Then let us talk of the King’s business, the Duke snapped back. The dragon is in the mountains. It will stay in the mountains--aside a sheep or ox or such for a snack. Likely it may already be sleeping again; the females spend a lot of time sleeping.

You can tell that it’s female? the elite knight inquired. Amethyst snickered silently.

Once you see the size of a male, you’ll never confuse the two again.

I suppose you’re not referring to its body, the elite knight said darkly.

Only part of the body the Duke frowned, showing his displeasure at the conversation again. "Lord Kawel, you are here on the King’s business. I was given this keep, in part, because of the dragon. Which makes the dragon my business. His last words he spoke in staccato, punching the air as if his tongue was an arrow. Can we move on?"

I have rallied the militia, Amethyst interjected herself, stepping forward like a cat on the prowl. Tellyv glanced around a bit, fighting off some weak feelings of embarrassment. He should have gotten used to Amethyst’s feminine displays