Byzantium, Book 1: Dead Men's Road

By I.A. Watson

Award Winning Author I. A. Watson, one of the most prolific voices in New Pulp, takes readers into a world of history of fantasy, one marred with magic, monsters, and mystery in his exclusive original Pro Se Single Shot Signatures Series Byzantium.

In a world where Christianity never arose to sweep away the old magics, where sorcerer-guilds and necromancer-kings rule amidst the Roman ruins, Kirkgrim the Wanderer joins a caravan train across war-torn wasteland to the world's most corrupt city. The reluctant hero finds himself trapped with travelers, refugee orphans, deserter soldiers, a beautiful hunted sorceress, and one mad viking, amidst civil war, religious zealots, brutal reavers, and a growing zombie army - guarding a secret that could bring the last vestiges of civilization crashing down in flames.

In Byzantium Book One: Dead Men’s Road, a beautiful woman tasked with delivering a sealed package to the Invisible College in Byzantium is pursued by merciless bandits, relentless undead, and a charming scoundrel who has nothing to lose.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Jul 17, 2014

Book preview

Book 1: Dead Men’s Road

By I.A. Watson

Copyright © 2014 I.A. Watson

Published by Pro Se Press at Smashwords

In which we chronicle the adventures of an unusual band of travelers, featuring an interfering Wanderer, a lady with a quest, a Viking with an axe, a tracker with a pig, and a full cast of merchants, mages, pilgrims, soldiers, orphans, spies, traitors, rebels, monks, and restless undead, for the reader’s delight and edification.

I. On the Hiring of Caravan Guards

Stop! Stop! Stop!

The disreputable Viking with the tangled, beer-soaked beard looked round at the Caravan Master in surprise. What? he asked.

When I asked if you could fight, I didn’t mean show me! Padavas the Portly protested. He gestured at the collection of would-be hired guards lying on the ground groaning and clutching their wounds.

How else would you know? Sigroth Sigrothson puzzled.

That got a chuckle from the forming crowd. The thronging Dirne waystation and marketplace outside Thracian Orestinas was a popular junction. The Padavas Caravan was not the only train passing through. The whole of the square was jammed with wagons and animals, passengers and traders. The brief sudden mêlée had been an amusing diversion for the seething mass packed inside the fortress walls.

Kirkgrim the Wanderer was amongst the idle crowd. He’d arrived in Orestinas two days ago but had won too much from the forum gamblers there to stay any longer. Dirne was a natural crossroads, with two or three major caravans and a host of smaller traders passing through each day. It was a good place for Kirkgrim to find his next trouble.

Maybe the large out-of-place Viking was it?

The Wanderer tapped one of the many campsite whores on the shoulder, smiled charmingly, and asked her, Whose caravan is that?

Newcomer, the painted woman answered. Padavas’ company. First time through here. Usually runs east of Byzantium, before all that trouble out there. Quite a big train. She eyed the traveler hopefully. A few coins to bang my drum, soldier?

I’m not a soldier, and I never charge to bang drums, Kirkgrim told her with a grin. To soften his putdown he added, Tell you what though. Here’s some minted resin to chew, yours for nothing. He hoped it might help her breath for her next mark.

So do I get to be a guard, yet? Sigroth Sigrothson demanded. I’m good at guarding things. Show me a thing and I’ll guard it.

The train’s scout slid down off one of the wagons to join the Caravan Master. He’s got a point, Boss Padavas, the lanky tracker noted. You did ask if he could look after himself. He can. And if he can do that to all these toughs queuing up to sign on as guards, he should be able to handle himself out on the trail.

Padavas looked at the four bravos laid out across the courtyard in various states of consciousness. The healthiest of them was groaning and clutching a shattered wrist. I wanted to get more than one guard here, Fitz, the caravan master protested. Now they’re all… broken.

Only a little bit broken, the Viking pointed out. I didn’t use my axe. Do you want to see how I use my axe?

"No. No, that’s quite alright," the Caravan Master assured the big man hastily.

He’s large enough to count as more than one guard, Fitz pointed out. The beaky-nosed scout liked the look of the towering Norseman. He’s probably big enough to count as a wagon.

He looks the part, Padavas admitted in undertones to his trailblazer, but you know what they say about Vikings.

Kirkgrim had slipped in to somehow join the conversation. Do they say they’ll scare the doings out of any bandit who tries to come after your caravan after this? he offered

Well… I suppose so, yes.

Kirkgrim winked over at Fitz. There you go, then. Deterrent, fighter, and portable wall in one handy employee.

Padavas turned to the Wanderer. Who are you?

A concerned citizen.

The Caravan Master looked Kirkgrim up and down. The gray hooded stranger was lean and tall. His pale skin marked him as a Celt. He carried a black wood staff but no other obvious weaponry. Are you applying to be a guard?

No, thanks. I don’t want to end up competing with Sigroth there. I like my spine where it is. And I don’t take orders well. It wouldn’t be a good match. Stick with the very large Viking, is my advice.

We do need to bring the guard back to strength, Boss, Fitz the scout prompted. Of the bunch we picked up in Veranus only that smith’s kid stayed the distance.

I’m not a deterrent, Sigroth insisted fiercely. Probably. I never wash.

Possibly means detergent? Kirkgrim supplied to the confused Padavas and Fitz.

The Caravan Master sighed. He gestured for his guard commander to come forward. Burly mercenary chief Santar Strongarm had been watching the performance with growing wariness. Now he came forward to assert his authority with a pronounced swagger.

A sea-thief Viking raider, the commander accused. He scowled at Sigroth and spat.

Sigroth was puzzled. Why would I steal a sea? How would I carry it?

Deal with him, would you, Santar? commanded Padavas. Sign him up and let’s get ready for off.

Kirkgrim stood to one side as the rough guardsman shouldered his way through the waystation crowd to follow his employer’s instructions. Right, Santar told the Viking, You’re hired – against my better judgment seeing as how I don’t like hairy foul smelling red Northmen who steal our womenfolk.

What womenfolk?