Betrovia: The Land of Betrovia, #1

By Dave King

In a land where the horrors of war are as common as snow and ice in winter...

Patrik, a newly-married young man, turns down the safety of small town life to help his uncle manage a road-side inn many miles away. But before he can learn even the basics of running an inn, the uncle suddenly dies. If he had stayed where he was born, Patrik could have become a successful hunter, fur trapper, or even a successful artist. So why did he leave the comforts of home?

Not long after the death of his uncle, Patrik's wife dies, leaving him to mourn her death while struggling to be a good father to their two young daughters. Where can he find the inner peace he feverishly desires?

Tamara, boisterous, beautiful but often cantankerous, has turned down every man who has offered to rescue her from the pitiful routine of The Lonely Fox inn. Who, if anyone, could ever capture her love?

Kristof, The Lonely Fox Inn's stable hand, has attempted to earn Tamara's affection since he first set eyes upon her but has suffered a lifetime of rejection in the few months he has been employed there. What can he do to somehow make her love him?

Betrovia... a land in disarray... a land in need of peace...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dave King
• Release date: Jul 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781463757519

Book preview

Chapter 1

The light snow mixed with drizzle that began the evening before began to subside. Patrik opened the front door of The Lonely Fox Inn to check if it was still snowing. His oldest daughter, Tamara, busy with wiping off the tables and preparing to set up the dining room to serve breakfast to the inn’s two guests, looked out the corner of her eye to see her father slip on his coat and step outside. Galena, Patrik's other daughter, continued to stoke the fire in the cooking hearth. It was her turn to cook breakfast for the family and the inn's guests, and she hummed a traditional tune while prepping the fire. Galena wasn't paying attention to her father as he left the warm confines of the inn, but she was watching Tamara as she finished setting up the dining area. Can you come over here and help me?

Give me a few seconds, Tamara responded. Tamara's attention to her father's movements were interrupted by her sister's request. The door clicked shut and Galena asked for her sister's attention again as Patrik stepped off the inn's front porch into the mix of misty snow and cold drizzle. The Lonely Fox Inn was quite alone, isolated from any other example of civilization. It was a few yards from the main road connecting Noran, the nearest village to the west, and the capital city Lycentia, many miles to the east. And this was how Patrik liked it. It was only a few miles from Noran, but was far enough that Patrik could have the peace and quiet that he'd learned to appreciate whenever he could negotiate for it. The early morning light – cold, white and speckled with silver – revealed, as Patrik looked down at the road, a few puddles that had frozen over. Father, are you going to join us and our guests for breakfast this morning? Tamara asked as she opened the front door.

Yes, of course. I'll be right there. Before she closed the door, she started to sing one of her favorite songs, Emilee Trell. Patrik smiled and resisted the urge to sing with her as he heard the click of the front door. Very little happened in The Lonely Fox Inn without music of some kind. Both daughters loved to sing, and Patrik had encouraged their musical interests as much as he could. And Kristof, the hired hand, played guitar in the evenings or whenever he could without being yelled at by Patrik. It was his wife, their mother, Dalneia, however, who had been the true music lover of the family. This sudden memory of Dalneia singing with the girls caused Patrik to shudder. He forced that memory back into the dark recesses of his mind and instead looked past the closest frozen puddle to the edge of the woods that were north of the inn's front door. Shafts of silvery light, emanating from behind grayish, white clouds pointed out details of the wood's edge that were not evident when Patrik had first stepped out of the inn.

He squinted to catch signs of any forest life. Most mornings, when he thought of it, he'd happen upon a squirrel or two scampering back and forth as they rummaged for food for themselves and their babies. A day or so before, a doe and two fawns grazed not more than ten yards from the highway. But they were not present this day. Patrik glanced at the eastern sky. The clouds were still there, preventing the sun from sending anything but cold, sterile light onto the scene. More snowflakes mingled with even larger raindrops. Spring should be here soon. It's been a cold and dark winter. Too dark.

A breeze suddenly blew the smoke of breakfast from the chimney down onto the forest clearing, and Patrik began to smell whatever the girls were preparing for breakfast. Another gust made the smoke dissipate as quickly as it appeared; Patrik's thoughts about what should have been happening inside dissipated as well. Reaching out to catch one of the snowflakes, seemingly larger than the ones from a few moments previous, he wondered again why winter was not surrendering its grip on Betrovia. It was the first full month of Spring but the thick, gray clouds, freezing rain, and snow were strong evidence that Winter was not about to relinquish. Unsuccessful in grabbing the flake for a closer examination, he turned his attention once again to the clearing directly south of him. This time he noticed movement at ground level – a light brown blur. But was there a hint of white in the brown? Could it have been completely white?

He rubbed his eyes and squinted to make them focus better. The temptation to move off the road and onto the pale green grass of the clearing was evident but not very persuasive; it was his routine to stay motionless whenever denizens of the forest appeared outside the shadowy cloak of dusty brown and green. Patrik, experienced hunter and trapper, knew full well how to appear motionless when it was prudent to do so.

Pointy ears and a long snout appeared to be coming out from under a slightly-budding forsythia; Patrik imagined that he could see the long whiskers bristle. Was the creature mimicking him? Did it even notice him? Was it brown with specks of white or was it altogether white with shadows of the forest creating dark splotches? Before Patrik could analyze it further, it quickly disappeared back into the woods. Not white ... just a regular fox. Not the white one. Not today anyway. Patrik inadvertently stepped a bit closer to the clearing and, in doing so, stepped through one of the icy puddles. Now what to do with this wet shoe once I go inside? He scolded himself for being so careless and considered throwing caution to the wind to move off the road and completely onto the grassy clearing.

Father! Breakfast! It is time for breakfast! This time it was Galena. Her voice didn't communicate frustration, just information.

Yes, yes. Be right there.

Do you want tea today?

Yes. Tea sounds good.

And some meat broth as well?

Oh, meat broth? He paused. No, just tea. This wasn't a routine conversation between the father and his younger daughter. Rarely did she ask him such rudimentary things, Patrik reflected. Is she assuming something that I should be aware of? he whispered to himself. But before he could construct an acceptable answer, the creature that had captured his attention moments before scampered boldly a few yards onto the clearing. He ran, then stopped, then pounced as if fired from a gun. He buried his snout in what must have been a hole in the ground. Patrik then saw the fox pull out of the hole a field mouse. The furry-tailed hunter then looked directly at the innkeeper. The mouse was still alive, frantically attempting to dislodge himself from the jaws of his pursuer, and the fox stood motionless, appearing to look right through Patrik, right at what was directly behind him. The innkeeper involuntarily shuddered and the fox's tail pumped three times; the hunter and its prey were then gone, and the clearing once again was empty.

The shafts of cold morning light surrendered to beams of warm yellow coming out from what had become shreds of gray clouds. One beam highlighted the cleft in the bushes where the fox had just disappeared. Patrik thought about a sketch he had made a few days earlier, wishing that what he'd caught on parchment then could have been anything close to the perfection he’d just witnessed. Yes, it would have been good to sit on the porch and sketch this morning. But it's too cold, too wet. Winter must be over soon, so I can go to the forest again and sketch. His thoughts were interrupted once again.

Father, Uncle Franck has come downstairs and wants to know if you're joining him for breakfast. This time it was Tamara.

Oh, sorry. Right. I will come right now. Uncle Franck? How could he forget! His old friend, Franck, had arrived the evening before. He had said that he was on his way from Lycentia to a village near the Plains of Dreut, many miles west of Noran. Patrik tried to remember why the old merchant was traveling this time but couldn’t. He decided to ask during breakfast. And so it seemed that his contemplation of Creation in general and the fox specifically had to come to an end. He chuckled as he remembered Franck's asking for thirds of dessert at dinner the night before. I wonder if there'll be anything left of breakfast for me unless I go in right now, Patrik chuckled. Franck, Patrik and Dalneia had been good friends as they grew up looking for adventure on the wooded paths in and around Noran. He thought that it would be soothing during breakfast to reminisce about their childhood escapades. He then thought about their conversation from the evening before.

Chapter 2

And the previous evening's discussion went something like this:

So, are you going to eat even more of Galena's pie, Franck? You know you could ask her to pack some for you tomorrow before you leave?

Ha, you caught me, old friend, showing my true self. My true gluttonous self. But this apple pie is heavenly, so light but at the same time so –

Full of sugar?

Yes! That's it! It is so sweet! How could anyone be satisfied with just two slices? Ha!

Franck, as he finished off Galena's apple pie, reported some of the news of Lycentia.

Many of the merchants have been discussing how to charge higher prices for their Haarigoian products.

Like what? The only thing we buy for the inn that comes from Haarigo is sea salt. Patrik tried to appear interested.

Oh, but sea salt is very important. Of course, you already know that. But did you realize that the herdsmen are not just butchering their sheep but are now shearing them, too?

Bah! What use do they have for sheep's wool? When have they become interested in turning raw wool into anything of value?

Not when, my overly-bearded friend, but why. More than a few of the Haarigoian family lords have taken an interest in that wool, among a few other things. Their wool is raw, unwashed, totally unprocessed, unlike the wool the western Betrovian herdsmen bring to sell in the capital. That's why the clans are now shearing the sheep before they are butchered. And then they bundle up what they once considered offal for quick transport to the border. Even though they take pleasure in harassing our western border villages, they seem to take greater pleasure in taunting and tempting them with this wool that some in Lycentia believe is better than the Betrovian wool... even though it is unprocessed. That wool, until recently, was being burned to cook Haarigoian stew. That is, until some enterprising Haarigoian realized that folks in Lycentia were very interested in buying Haarigoian wool over the wool of their fellow countrymen.

So, why is there a movement amongst the merchants to fix the prices of this wool?

Fixing the prices guarantees that the merchants, primarily those of the ruling families of Lycentia, can control who gets the wool that's to be processed or even who finally obtains the products made from that refined wool. And, of course, those who control the flow of the product control the flow of the money to and from the Plains.

What does King Justen think about this new avenue of commerce with the enemy? Isn't it still true that many in the capital want all-out war with the Haarigoians? And now some want to test their fortunes in Haarigoian wool?

I don't see it that way exactly. Yes, Lycentia has been at odds with the Haarigoians for longer than I care to remember. But why allow that conflict to keep the city from benefiting from what the Haarigoians once considered garbage? They don't use sea salt to preserve food as we do, and they find it distasteful to wear wool clothing. He stopped to chew on more pie. The price-fixing of those products just makes sense. The merchants must unite to help fund the efforts of King Justen and his generals to someday secure the border with the Haarigoians as well as with their Rigarian allies. Charging the highest prices possible could guarantee a trustworthy stream of gold for funding their efforts. He sat back and continued. And something that I'm personally interested in, and I'm sure you're concerned with as well, is raising money this way will also promote more iron-mining. You know, the generals need iron to make the armor and weapons to gain the advantage over the Haarigoians.

It's not greed then ... it's the overall security of Lycentia that's the issue. And who could disagree with such a noble plan? And this is what King Justen desires?

The King? I don't know about that. Unfortunately, a few of the merchants may be forced out of the market unless they agree to the price-fixing.

Then how are the merchants and their families helping the King's efforts against them? They have no definite connections with the king. And what about Luis? Where does he fit in with all this? We can't forget Lycentia's loyal protector. What has he done to show his support for the king?

I don't see that Luis can do anything but support Justen. The king for as long as I can remember has shown himself to be consistent towards reducing the Haarigoian threat. And the merchant families who've helped to prosper Lycentia have consistently sided with King Justen. Yes, they've been good allies of the king, even when it's been obvious that their greed has not been tempered by their strong allegiance to the crown.

Once Patrik was done with reviewing the previous night's discussion, he turned away from the forest – away from the sunlight that was becoming slightly warmer by the minute – and stepped onto the porch. The shoe that had gotten wet left an muddy print where it hit the dry wood. I don't care if there's a wet Spring ... wet and atrociously muddy. I just don't want any more cold weather. With that said, he opened the front door of the inn and inhaled, taking in the aromas of Galena's cooking. Bacon, he said out loud.

Yes, Father. Bacon. Don't you remember Kristof saying yesterday that the bacon he had been curing was ready to be eaten? Galena stood in the doorway that connected the kitchen to the dining area. Her father smiled and shook his head: Galena would be the one to remind him of Kristof.

Chapter 3

Tamara was the first of the two girls to leave the kitchen to join Patrik and Franck for breakfast. The other of the two guests, a merchant who had stayed at the inn once or twice before, had come down the stairs. He was asking Galena something about the inn as she attempted to help him decide where he wanted to sit so she could serve him at least a cup of tea. The aroma of hot tea, fried potatoes and onions, freshly-baked bread as well as the bacon Galena had mentioned a few moments before permeated the dining area. Patrik ventured upstairs to find drier shoes and was surprised by the sunlight that was coming into his and Dalneia's room. The inquisitive other guest sat down at one of the smaller tables by the window on the east side of the room. He thanked Galena for whatever answer she'd given to his question, and she headed for the kitchen again. The dining room, the largest room in the inn, could seat twenty people comfortably, but if someone were to ask Patrik when that many had been in the room, he would confess that he didn't have a clue.

How's the weather this morning, Father? Tamara asked as she placed a heaping plate of breakfast food in front of him and then sat down beside him. Patrik was seated at one end of the longest table in the dining room while his old friend sat at the other. Between them were plates of what Galena had been preparing at least an hour before daylight. She was still in the kitchen, and the clanging of a few metallic utensils revealed that some cleaning had commenced. Franck looked up from his overly-filled plate of steaming food.

So, old man, what's going on outside this morning?

Oh, sorry, Tamara's question. The weather? It's still cold. And wet ... too wet. The puddles froze over last night. It's supposed to be spring, but we still must deal with this winter coldness. Patrik tried not to sound like he was complaining.

Bah! Look out that window over there. Franck pointed towards the window that the other guest had sat by. See that sunshine? Spring is just around the corner! Cheer up! He then bit into a piece of Galena's bread. He picked up some bacon from his plate, wrapped the remainder of the slice around it and crammed it into his mouth. All but a small trickle of bacon grease ended up in its intended destination. Patrik watched, unintentionally, to see if Franck would catch the residue before it fell. With his left hand, the old friend picked up another piece of bread and with his right wiped away the tiny bit of bacon before it succumbed to gravity's power.

Yes, we've had a long and cold winter, but you have to admit that all the snow was necessary. Last year's drought came to an end with the winter moisture. Coming down the highway yesterday I was amazed that most of the ponds were full and every stream was testing its banks. His voice trailed off as he became more interested in whether or not Galena was going to bring out more bread.

Father has been complaining all winter about the cold, Galena said, carrying, to Franck's delight, another plate of bread that this time was accompanied by a small bowl of apple cobbler. She set the cobbler as close to Franck as possible, knowing that he would be the first to help himself to it. Tamara, when was it when he wouldn't venture outside for an entire week? Remember when that was? When the snow was so heavy and deep that Kristof had to take care of bringing in all the wood for the fire? Franck wasn't paying any attention to this part of the conversation, and Patrik was glad that he wasn't.

Galena, our guest doesn't want to hear about my dislike of winter. Would you be a sweetheart and bring out for me another cup of tea? He handed Galena his cup, anticipating that she would take it to fill it up. But because she had already turned back towards the doorway leading into the kitchen, she missed him reaching out with it. Patrik watched her go into the kitchen and considered getting up and following her to give her the cup, but seeing Tamara come through the same doorway kept him seated. Tamara, could you take this to Galena to let her know that I don't need a new cup?

Fine. She took the cup and went back into the kitchen. With both daughters momentarily in the kitchen, Franck loudly slurped his tea and cleared his throat.

My white-bearded friend, do you remember what we were talking about last night? About the wool merchants in Lycentia? He drained the cup and set it down on the edge of the table so it would be easy for one of the girls to fill it. I forgot to mention the guilds ... the tailoring guilds! They aren't too pleased about the proposed price-fixing of the wool. I guess they figure that the higher prices will force them to charge more for the clothing they produce.

Oh, the guilds ... yes, I suppose that any agreement among the wool merchants will affect whatever the cloth makers and tailors charge for their goods. Tamara returned from the kitchen with another cup of tea for her father, and it arrived in a larger vessel.

She had already poured the tea into a new cup. Sorry. He forced a smiled as she handed it to him. Will you be wanting anything else this morning? Some meat broth?

Broth? Didn't you already ask me that? No, I don't want any broth this morning. Thank you. The cup in his hand had been Dalneia's favorite, a porcelain piece given to her by her grandmother. Patrik wondered why Galena had chosen that particular cup, but didn't think too long about it since Tamara was sitting down at the table.

Galena! Are you going to eat with us? Tamara hollered at the kitchen doorway.

Yes, I'll be right there. Just need to put away the bread so it won't dry out. Her response was so soft that Tamara probably did not hear it.

Bread? There's more bread? Franck waved an empty plate at Tamara. Did she say there's more bread? Get me just one more slice, would you? And with a bit more butter this time? Before Tamara could get up from the table, Galena came out of the kitchen with one more plate of food: two slices of breakfast bread and another – smaller this time – bowl of cobbler. Patrik, these girls are simply amazing. It's like they are reading my mind! I still would like more butter, please.

No, old friend, they just know what makes you feel at home. Patrik raised his cup in a mock toast. Food! And lots of it!

Ah ha, yes, that must be it, the old merchant agreed and raised his cup in response. Galena crossed her arms, watching the little ceremony, and once it was over, sat down at her usual place to the left of her father. There was one more place at the table – to the left side of Galena – that was available for someone else.

The Lonely Fox Inn, a structure of oak, ash, hickory and cedar, was erected at this location slightly more than forty miles southeast of Noran. It was framed with massive oak beams dragged from across the road with the minor fixtures finished with ash, hickory. Cedar was used intermittently, primarily for shingles and paneling. A tremendous wind storm not too far in the past ripped many of the shake shingles from the roof. And because he arrived from the hamlet to help repair the damaged roof – and not too much later decided to stay on – Kristof had become part of the family.

He, like Patrik and Franck, had grown up in the village, but being twenty or so years their junior hadn't known them. Since Noran was the only vestige of civilization in the southern foothills of the Rigarian mountains, however, their families knew of each other. Patrik and Dalneia's girls were born in the converted attic of the inn, so they didn't know him either. Kristof's father and two uncles were tailors – but Kristof was not. At the ripe old age of sixteen, he announced emphatically to his father that he wanted nothing to do with tailoring in Noran – or in any town for that matter. So, when he had heard of the position at the inn, he jumped at the chance.

The Lonely Fox Inn became both home and business venture for the Vellein family not long after Patrick and Dalneia were married. Patrik's Uncle Gradien, his father's brother, planned to sell the inn to him as soon as he was certain his nephew was confident in running it. But Gradien dying that same year kept Patrik from learning much of what his uncle had desired to teach him. Also, Patrik debated changing the inn's name but chose to keep the name, thereby, in a small way, honoring the memory of his overly-generous relative.

And what was the price for the inn? Fifty gold coins and the assurance to Gradien's wife, Helena, that it would never leave the family. That amount of gold would easily have paid for a one room cabin on the north side of Noran, so when word got out that the inn sold for only fifty gold coins, it became common knowledge that the inn was actually a gift to Patrick.

But it was not a gift in Dalneia's eyes.

Before Dalneia and Patrik – who had been good friends during their childhood and teenage years – started thinking, talking, and even researching how and when they might be made for each other, Dalneia expressed that if she were to spend the rest of her life with the hunter, she wanted to make a home for them in Noran. She did not want to move out of Noran to become a farmer, or anything resembling a farmer.

But working for my uncle in his inn won't be the dull, boring life of a farmer! There'd be lots of interesting people to meet and talk to since the inn is one of the best places between Noran and Lycentia for travelers to safely get off the road at night!

Working for your uncle and his inn isn't the problem. I just wish that the inn was here in town where I could be with my family. Many of our friends who've left Noran for Lycentia or wherever hardly come back to visit.

Now that's a gross generalization if I've ever heard one! Two of your closest friends, Lyndi and – oh, what's her name? Velnia? I forget – they come back to Noran every year for the holidays. Living and working at the inn won't be that bad... compared to what's offered me here in Noran.

Patrik, dear, you've stressed to me that you can't make a living as a hunter, trapper or even a woodcutter in Noran. According to you, the forest surrounding Noran is nearly void of things to kill and trap. But why are you so set on moving miles away from our families when there are still people here in town earning a fair living as hunters and trappers? Don't they seem happy here?

Dalneia's desire to remain in the safe confines of Noran was not unjustified. An entire branch of her family tree was nearly eliminated when she was a child. Her mother's sister, her husband and their children moved into the forest, and once there, established a small but substantial farm at the foot of the Rigarian Mountains north of Noran.

One winter their homestead was attacked by a band of Rigarian ruffians hoping – the story was – to find gold. Why they thought that little hut and the small family living there possessed any gold was never understood. But their deaths and the torching of the small domicile they had called home for a only a few years fueled Dalneia's desire to remain close – as much as it was within her power – to the security offered by Noran.

Chapter 4

Good morning, beautiful Tamara! Did you bless us with this royal feast of a breakfast? Kristof asked as he came into the dining room from the kitchen. Tamara didn't even look up.

Did you close the back door? The other way to enter the inn was through the south door that led into the kitchen. Kristof, nineteen years old, a few inches shorter than Patrik but taller than both girls, slipped off his coat, draped it over