The King's Warrior

By Charles Dowdy

A young thief from the Outlands happens upon a rich opportunity. Except her target, a great warrior, is also seeking her. Once the thief learns who the warrior actually is, and what he expects her to steal for him, she will do anything to get back to her harsh, unforgiving life. But she will not escape the warrior, or his demands. War is erupting around them, and its outcome depends on whether she can conquer her own fears and breach an unassailable fortress.

About the author: Charles Dowdy is a broadcaster with radio stations in Mississippi and Louisiana. He currently lives in Louisiana with his wife, four children, two grateful mutts, one high priced yap dog, and a demon cat that has used way more than his allotted nine lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles Dowdy
• Release date: Feb 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458148469

Charles Dowdy

Charles Dowdy lives in Louisiana with his wife and four children.

Book preview

THE KING’S WARRIOR

Charles Dowdy

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dore’ al Touth

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Copyright © 2011 Charles Dowdy. Smashwords edition

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information e-mail all inquiries to:

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Interior Layout by Stanley J. Tremblay, www.FindTheAxis.com

Follow Charles Dowdy via Twitter at: @CharlesWDowdy

For Bethany

From the book of Dore' al Touth:

...and the warm breezes from the South shall make passable the Great Sea of Ice once again, allowing a rapid thaw to passions and grievances that men had long forgotten. This great human annihilation, should it occur, will release the Bon'dun raiders from beyond the Ma'Arten Mountains , and they will scavenge the battlefields, claiming the souls of the unworthy. Meanwhile, within the great human struggle, will be two warriors, each representing the last of their order. One is destined to walk a path of light, and the other a path of darkness. One must die at the hands of the other. It is decreed that as their struggle goes, so goes the fate of man."

CHAPTER 1

It was the hilt of the sword that caught the thief’s attention. Rubies were inset in a slender gold arch on either side of the handle, forging the kind of beauty that gave pause to this thief’s heart.

Nothing else about the stranger stood out from the rest of the inn’s crowd. Other than his darting, icy blue eyes, the stranger seemed as saddle weary as the rest of the bunch. His drab cloak, plain, mud covered boots and tangled, matted black hair were not in step with the ornate weapon partially shielded by his clothing, or with the dank, dark inn, for that matter.

From the corner of the smoky room, the thief, Lissa Arethaddle, took a renewed interest in the evening. The mindless banter continued around her. To the untrained eye, Lissa was engaged, participating, saying things that would have her mates rolling with laughter. But Lissa was watching the stranger as he made his way to the bar and ordered a drink. As only a careful thief can, she took note of details others would miss: the confidence in the stranger’s step, the way a space seemed to open for him at the crowded bar, the surly bartender’s quick service, and, even more interesting, how others waiting for their drinks did not complain when this took place.

Even though the stranger had never stepped foot in this inn, and Lissa was sure of that, this drunken bunch knew the type. The broad shoulders. The light and wary step. The cold eyes. Unknown riders were on the trails at night, and this was not a healthy time to question a mysterious newcomer.

The stranger cast about the inn, nodding his head ever so slightly at the few who met his gaze.

Then the stranger’s steel blue eyes settled squarely on her.

Just his gaze caused her stomach to drop – his look was that intense and discomforting to someone in her line of work.

As a thief, her senses were more acute to the unusual; often her very life depended on her nimble observations. Lissa turned away even as her brain raced for an explanation. She quickly wrote it off as happenstance or curiosity. Even from across the dim room her delicate facial features would give her away as a woman. And a young one at that. The only other women in the inn were serving drinks. The stranger appeared to be a traveled man, the thief noted as she risked another glance in his direction. Maybe he wondered at her elvish look, not that many even knew what the word meant anymore, and those that did thought it nothing more than words of fancy used to put children to sleep at night. This outsider might know of the elves of old.

Lissa pondered the stranger as one of her tablemates regaled the others with a bawdy tale. Perhaps the stranger’s direct eyes had only paused on her face as he recalled a childhood story about the elves as he sat on the lap of his own mother, long ago, somewhere far from this dark, drafty room.

Perhaps the stranger saw something simpler, the thief thought. Lissa had only seen sixteen planting seasons, and looked even younger than her years. Perhaps the stranger wondered at the slim, young woman accepted as an equal among a rowdy table of men.

It had not always been so.

On her first visit to the inn, two burly men, with a little too much ale in their stomachs, decided to test the young, slightly built thief. In her own way, Lissa Arethaddle was a beautiful woman. She played with their predictable hunger and lured the louts outside the inn, where the darkness was her ally and a great equalizer. She made examples of them, while they stumbled and screamed.

She had not been tested since.

After one more long pull on his mug, the stranger left the drink on the bar and came their way. His face was strong and honest, save the wicked scar that ran from just below his left eye to his chin. He was older than the thief had surmised at first glance. Much older, and the age marked his rugged face like the ground churned beneath a hard charging horse.

Despite her momentary hesitation at the stranger’s intense gaze, Lissa began to feel the excitement of the hunt.

And yet he was the one who seemed to be coming toward her. Their eyes were openly locked now – she on the one who seemed to be bearing in on her, and he on the one whom he seemed to have spent much effort finding.

That can’t be right, the thief thought as one of her hands slipped below the table and withdrew a knife from her boot, holding it there should it be needed.

She thought back to the last few weeks, to the villages she had visited, to the houses she had robbed. Had there been one among them who could hire such a man? Had there ever been such a house? There had not.

Still, her assessment continued to evolve. Streaks of gray ran through his hair. Father Time was betraying this man’s build and stance. This stranger will not be traipsing around the countryside alone much longer, she thought. Not if he wants to stay alive.

Perhaps she would have that blade after all.

Lissa Arethaddle, the stranger said as he approached the table.

Her mouth dropped open and her heart started to pound. How could anyone know her given name? This was not the name these men knew her by. Their banter stopped, and all heads turned toward the stranger, waiting for explanation.

The thief decided not to answer the stranger; not trusting the voice that suddenly lurked in the back of her throat. Her hand tightened on the hilt of the small blade. From such a distance, she knew she would have no problem burying the gleaming blade in his neck.

The stranger withdrew a small sack from his belt and threw it on the table. There was the unmistakable chink of coin as the sack landed.

I have need of your services, Lissa Arethaddle, the stranger said. There will be more when we are done.

Her? One of the drunks laughed. Are you daft, man? Taking her into the night? She’ll slit your throat before you have your leg over the saddle.

The others fell about themselves, finding as much humor from their drink as their words.

The thief hefted the bag and did not respond to his invitation. Using two fingers to pry the bag open, she studied the contents as she thought. She was looking at more money than she would see in a year, maybe two.

Why her? Why now? The man appeared to be alone, when men of rank or stature were rarely so. He was confident and carried a sword befitting royalty. His skin was bronzed by too much time in the sun. And, most disturbingly of all, he knew her real name and where to find her. That was what she could not get her mind around. How was that possible?

Lissa threw the sack back at him; deftly, he reached and caught it.

What services, exactly, do you think you are buying? she yelled.

The men around fell out with laughter again. They were used to her quick tongue, which they had seen flash on other occasions when she had been approached by men, predictably wanting what all men seemed to want.

Would you like me to explain the services I seek, the stranger said, setting the small purse in front of her again. Here among your friends?

The thief wasn’t sure how much of her emotion she was controlling and how much was displayed on her face. There were some in the crowd who had guessed her profession. And there were some who knew nothing of it, a fact that usually meant she had profited from their ignorance. That was not something she wanted to confess.

Suddenly, Lissa pointed at the stranger. Are you a conjurer?

The rowdy corner of the room had been half watching this exchange; however, this question silenced not just the table, but also the entire inn.

In tune with the room without bothering to look, the stranger shifted so that his back was to a post. His hand slipped casually beneath his cloak.

I prefer the sword, the stranger said, his voice carrying in the sudden silence. Nevertheless, I am versed in some of the ancient arts.

A murmuring swept through the crowd. He could be burned in the village square for such words.

Lissa was surprised. Her question had been a shot in the dark, and the stranger had been a fool to respond as he had. Suddenly, she saw a way out of the predicament.

She yelled, making sure all heard. The arts are forbidden, death is promised to those who trade in them.

I answered your question, the stranger said. I will not deny what I am.

Then prove it, Lissa yelled.

Leave the man be, a tablemate whispered.

Lissa Arethaddle was not sure how this stranger could have found her, but she did not think he knew magic. She simply had no one to call on as a friend. Even in a room full of people, Lissa was as alone as she always had been. As much as she hated to admit it, this stranger frightened her. That was why she wanted to be clear of his presence as quickly as possible. Perhaps from wherever he came, the talk of magic was allowed. Here, among these simple country folk, such talk was not tolerated.

There was a slight whisper of steel against steel as someone drew a sword. The crowd seemed to close in on their corner of the room, as if she had sucked in a great breath of humanity. Their eyes were stony. Their faces were set.

Lissa felt satisfaction now that the control swung her way. An instant earlier she had been on her own, now the whole inn had turned against this stranger. At one untoward movement, one harsh word, a dozen swords would run him through. Of course, they might prefer to have a little fun with him first. Minstrels did not venture this far into the outlands often. The citizens had to find entertainment where they could, and if this stranger was daft enough to fight an entire mob, well, Lissa could not be held accountable for what happened to him.

It was as if the stranger read her mind, then realized her intentions. The haggard face came to life. A quick glance right and left confirmed his suspicions. The stranger flashed a broad, easy smile.

Now Lissa was even more afraid of him, for a reason she could not understand.

Go ahead, conjurer, Lissa yelled, her voice carrying a shrill tone she did not recognize. Show us all one of your forbidden tricks!

The stranger took in the white knuckles and grimly set faces. The crowd was closing in on him now. There was not much time.

As you command, the stranger said. Watch my hand very closely.

With his left hand, palm down, the stranger drew a straight line through the air. The thief did not see his arm reach its full extension.

No one did.

The inn was pitched into complete darkness.

The lamps at the bar, the roaring fires in each hearth, the flickering candles on every table, were all instantly extinguished.

All paused for one instant, then there was pandemonium.

Chairs tumbled across the floor, tables overturned, people screamed as they trampled over each other for the door. The crowd jammed the entrance, clawing like animals. The Inn’s patrons spilled into the muddy road outside and did not stop there. Torches on each side of the door were out. Torches at the stable were extinguished. Even the moon itself was gone, suddenly ensconced behind a thick blanket of clouds.

The crowd ran madly for whatever structure they called home, or any distant place, as far from the inn as possible, they could possibly find.

Usually, darkness did not scare the thief. Had she not been terrified by what she’d just witnessed, she would have welcomed the cover of night, for that was where she worked. In this case, all she could do was sit perfectly still and hope the stranger had been swept away by the mob, although she feared that was not the case.

The darkness was absolute, seeming to squeeze the breath from her chest.

After a few moments, she forced herself to move. Like a ghost, she slid noiselessly to the packed, dirt floor and stole toward the back of the inn. Even though she was near panic, she knew she must carefully feel, rather than see, the things that blocked her path, objects that might raise alarm should she stumble into them. The bar creaked ever so slightly as she lifted it off the back door, which swung wide into the dark night.

Moving slowly toward the stables on her right, Lissa could still hear the pounding feet of those running from what they had seen in the inn. Before her, across a small clearing, was a deep, dark forest, a place where she could be lost to all others for as long as she desired.

Lissa would leave her mount. It was stolen only a few days before, and there were plenty of places where she could obtain another.

As she stepped out from the eaves of the inn, the clouds suddenly drifted away and the moon illuminated her path to safety.

And there, halfway across the clearing, waited the stranger on a huge black steed. In his hands he held the reins for a second horse, which he held out to her.

Lissa Arethaddle could see no sense in running. Her mind was still too confused to process all that had taken place, but she was sure of one thing. This stranger, this conjurer whose sword she had foolishly coveted, was beyond her skills. If he had wanted to do her harm, he would have done so already.

Lissa stepped away from the building, her feet heavy and plodding like the condemned trudging to a brutal fate.

She took the reins and climbed onto the horse as the stranger spun his mount so they were face to face.

We will ride through the night, the stranger said, his rugged face little more than a shadow now. There are provisions behind you. Keep up, and no tricks. It would be foolish to make me come looking. Do you understand?

Lissa Arethaddle nodded.

So far I am disappointed, the stranger said. Perhaps you are not much of a thief.

Why do you say that?

The stranger tossed her the purse of coins and turned his horse away. "Because you left my money on the