In The Wake Of War: The Ballard Trilogy, #1

By Stephen L. Nowland

The town of Bracksford was caught in the middle of many conflicts during a recent war, yet the tightly-knit community always found a way to pull together and survive against great adversity. Now that peace has finally settled over the land, they struggle to rebuild while haunted by the memories of violence seen and family lost.

Aislin Ballard, the innkeeper's daughter goes about her daily life helping the rebuilding effort any way she can, while struggling with deeper issues of loss and a foreboding sense that the king behind the conflict is still out there, seeking vengeance against the realm for losing both the conflict and his throne. When the spectre of war threatens to engulf the region once again, Aislin and a small group of companions find themselves the only ones able to avert disaster, if they can gather their courage and risk all not to fight a war, but to stop one before it begins.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen L. Nowland
• Release date: Dec 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311289278

Stephen L. Nowland

I was one of those kids who daydreamed his way through school. All the little adventures I'd concoct in my mind were far more interesting than math or tests or sport. Somehow, I passed the important bits (art and english) and moved on, but always with a creative perspective to my life. It was around 1992 when the magic of reading really sunk into me, for it was then I discovered fantasy novels. Feist, Salvatore & Eddings showed me worlds that fired my imagination, and from that point on I knew I wanted to write the stories that flitted around the recesses of my imagination. Unfortunately, I spent most of the next fifteen years dealing with poor health, including resultant chronic fatigue syndrome which interfered with my life immeasurably, but gave me ample time for thought. An abortive attempt to create a story happened around 1996, but I look back on such things as stepping stones on the road to where I wanted to be. My first complete novel was actually done back in '03, but it was a derivative work based on elements from other stories, something I didn't realise until after I'd written it. The mind can do funny things if you don't keep it on a tight leash! Still, there were some unique points to the story I kept, so I scrapped the rest and began a completely new for Neverwinter Nights, that RPG video game thing you may or may not have heard of. The story was so successful (filled with rich, creamy character development) that I lamented that only people playing the game would ever see it. In 2009, with my health improving, I resolved to novelize the stories I'd written, in addition to developing the world in which they exist as the basis for a new fantasy series. I consider those stories to be merely the first iteration of the saga, for my novels have evolved far beyond the original scope, in terms of detail, plot and character building. Looking back on it now, I can see my style has evolved a very long way from those humble beginnings indeed. Oh, I also paint. You can expect to see more cover art with each title, becoming more technically sophisticated each time.

Book preview

IN THE WAKE OF WAR

_____________________________________

BALLARD TRILOGY : 1

STEPHEN L. NOWLAND

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015-2019 Stephen Louis Nowland

Edited by Lesley Wheeler

Map Illustration by Cornelia Yoder

http://www.corneliayoder.com

The Author asserts the moral right to be

identified as the author of this work.

Table of Contents

World Map

Local Map

Prologue

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

Epilogue

About the Author

Prologue

Captain Ellis hated the sea. The turgid waters swelled and crashed against the shoreline, pounding away at rocks jutting from the frozen sands with a monotony matched only by the unyielding grey skies. Were he to give it half a chance, the sea would take the captain's life in a heartbeat without pity or remorse. The sea had no friends.

From where he stood, Ellis' grey eyes watched his ship the Evermoor at anchor, as near to the coast as she could be without being drawn in and dashed apart on the unforgiving rocks. The bitter wind caressed her bare rigging as she patiently waited for her crew's task to be complete. Only five men had stayed behind to keep her safe, with the rest accompanying their captain and his passenger to the dangerous shore.

Given a choice, Ellis would have stayed in calmer waters further south, but times were tough, and he had taken this job to stay afloat, as it were — he couldn't fight the allure of easy money. Still, two weeks on this gods-forsaken rock was testing his patience and he yearned to be finished with this task. Behind him, over a dozen men sifted and dug through great piles of twisted and blackened metal lying on the rocky sands, searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack.

Captain Ellis narrowed his cold gaze on his passenger, moving amongst the ship's crew in the ongoing search for whatever had brought them here. Dressed in a dark cloak of fine weave, little could be seen of the man's features, and his name remained a mystery. Ellis always preferred to look his business partners in the eye, yet once more the promise of greater riches had been dangled before him, all for the promise of anonymity.

Ellis caught the eye of his first mate Deven, a sharp-featured, wiry little man dressed in a dirty old longcoat. In spite of his shabby appearance, he had a mind like a steel trap and used it on more than one occasion to secure work for the ship. Sensing his captain's silent inquiry, Deven threaded his way through the crew and casually sauntered over.

What's the good word, Dev? Ellis asked without shifting his gaze from the ongoing work.

Nothing but sand and great bloody chunks of metal, cap'n, the sailor muttered. The crew are getting restless. Doesn't matter how good the pay is, it's frustrating trying to find something when we're not even told exactly what it is we're lookin' for.

If you're fishing for information, I'm in the dark as much as you are, the captain offered. It's all part of the deal. If our customer wants us to shift piles of metal on a beach for days on end, that's what we're going to do.

You don't have to tell me twice, Cap'n, Deven assured him, but some of the lads are pretty superstitious about this place. They don't call it the 'Isle of the Dead' 'cause of its population of fluffy kittens. They're cold and scared, and the longer we stay here, the worse it's going to get.

Anything on this island — living or dead — was destroyed when the falling star hit a couple of years ago mate, Ellis impatiently reminded him.

Try telling them that, Deven chuckled, drawing only a grunt of acknowledgement from the captain. They'd had this discussion many times over the past few weeks, but Ellis was out of options.

I've plied my trade on the seas for going on twenty years, mate, and I've never seen work so hard to come by. Everyone’s broke, or maybe they're just hoarding their money, waiting for better times to come around. The captain lowered his voice as he continued speaking. If we didn't take this job, I was probably going to have to sell the old girl, he confided, glancing back at the Evermoor.

It's that bad?

Just remind the crew of the money coming our way, Ellis growled. After this, we'll sail south and soak up the warmth for a few months.

Yeah, about that, Deven muttered, reaching into his longcoat and withdrawing a sheaf of rolled papers. I caught a glimpse of our passenger's face a little while ago when he thought nobody was lookin'. Ellis glanced at the dark-cloaked man who continued to search the wreckage. There was an air of desperation in his movements, as if he too were growing tired of the tedious expedition.

I've no interest in learning anything about the man, Dev, Ellis stated flatly. He paid extra for anonymity, and I won't jeopardise that.

"Respectfully Cap'n, he's not gonna know if you know who he is, the first mate pointed out, as he leafed through the papers in his hands. Besides, if my guess is right, you might change your mind." Deven liked to make some extra money on the side keeping an eye out for wanted criminals, who often tried to flee justice aboard ships like the Evermoor. Finding the one he was looking for, Deven pulled out a paper from the pile and handed it to the captain.

Wanted for high crimes — Osric Davignon, he mumbled aloud. "Dead or alive, reward a thousand gold sovereigns? Wait, I've heard of this one. He used to be King of Tulsone, but got kicked off his throne by his brother."

That's the one, Deven confirmed. The queen says he did some nasty stuff above and beyond bein’ our enemy durin' the war, if you can believe that.

You reckon this is the man scrounging through a pile of junk on this freezing cold beach?

I do.

A thousand sovereigns, Ellis muttered to himself, staring at the unusually well-drawn face sketched on the paper in his trembling hands. The entire crew and their families would be set for life, and then some. He stared at the back of his passenger, wondering what lay hidden beneath the obscuring hood and made a decision. Is he armed?

I seen the hilt of a weapon sticking out of his belt, but there was no blade on it. Might be a memento or something? Not much good for anything 'cept maybe a knuckle-duster.

Pass the word. When I give the signal, I want five men to hold him. Don't take any chances — knock him out if you need to.

With pleasure, cap'n, Deven replied, touching one hand to his forehead in salute. He quietly moved amongst the crew, whispering quick instructions to his most trusted men, while Ellis headed for their esteemed guest.

The man who may well be a former king had cleared a space around a particular piece of wreckage, and crouched amongst blackened pieces of twisted metal. He carefully pushed aside other, smaller pieces of debris and focused upon something in the sand. Ellis stood a few yards behind him and observed this for a few moments before making his presence known.

Have you found something, Osric? he asked as casually as if they were friends.

At long last, I've found the whole reason we came here... he replied, until his voice trailed off when he realised he'd been tricked into revealing his identity. Ellis narrowed his eyes in triumph. This would be a very lucrative catch. Deven caught his eye from a few yards away, giving the captain a quick nod to confirm they were ready.

It's a real shame, you losing your throne like that, Ellis went on, slowly moving in along with half a dozen of his crew. Seems to me a competent king would have seen it coming.

My reputation precedes me, it seems, Osric remarked without any hint of fear. His hands continued moving in the sand, though Ellis couldn't see what he was doing. I don't suppose I might prevail upon your honour to carry out our agreement?

The agreement has changed, I'm sorry to say. I'm not normally one to renege on a business deal, but I've a chance to snag ten times what you're offering — from the Queen of Aielund no less.

Everyone has their price, Osric answered bitterly. What happens now?

We're done here, Ellis said as much to the crew as to his prisoner. We're heading back to the ship, where we will show you accommodation more appropriate to a man on the run from the law. Sometimes, a man in your position can get desperate and lash out without realising it. My advice to you is to keep calm, or my lads will have to knock you out. The wanted notice says 'dead or alive', and 'alive' doesn't make a mess. So, Mister Davignon, come along quietly, and we won't have to kill you.

Osric slowly stood up and turned to face the captain, raising his chin and pulling back his dark hood for the first time since they'd met. He was nobility alright, with fine features, blond hair and dark eyes. A scraggly beard had formed during their time on the beach, yet his proud nature was still on display. This was not a man accustomed to surrender. In his hand was the empty hilt of his weapon, into which he placed a small blue gem.

You will address me as 'Your Majesty', Osric sneered, just as the Evermoor's crew leaped on top of him. A heartbeat later, Osric burst out of the hold as those same six men were thrown back several yards, to land heavily in the sand or on top of debris. A clear sword, its edge glowing with blue light, flashed in his hand where the empty hilt had been a moment before. With no warning, Osric dashed forward and deeply cut Ellis' leg.

He fell to the ground in astonishment and pain, grasping at the searing wound as he watched Osric move amongst the crew faster than he thought possible, cutting down anyone who sought to challenge him. Deven was the first to fall, taking the strange sword in his gut for his trouble. Despite his grave injury, Ellis tried to regain his footing, grasping the hilt of his cutlass in one hand and trying to staunch the flow of blood with his other, in an attempt to rally his crew.

Nobody, not even his strongest men could stand against the fallen king, who seemed to revel in the fighting. When it became obvious they simply couldn't beat him, Evermoor's few remaining crew backed away from the monster, hands raised to indicate their surrender. Osric raised his left arm and pointed his fist at them, and with a quick gesture, a blast of energy shot forward, engulfing them in green fire.

Osric ignored their cries of agony and turned to point his arm towards the Evermoor, sending another bolt of green lightning towards the ship. Aghast at the carnage, Ellis could only watch as a storm of green fire engulfed the masts and quickly spread through the vulnerable timber, dooming the ship to a fiery end. Osric let out a cry of delight at the display, and glanced down at the wounded captain, who futilely tried to stand as his life was destroyed around him.

I can't abide deal-breakers, the fallen king explained with a half-smile on his lips, but in thanks for reuniting me with true power, I give you your life. Enjoy the final days of your existence on this bleak, frozen rock, and think of your mistake. He touched a small metal box attached to his wrist and vanished in a flash of violet light, leaving the captain of the Evermoor to his fate.

1

Aislin

In the north-eastern corner of the great island of Feydwiir, nestled between two mountain ranges and the sparkling waters of the northern straits, was the Kingdom of Aielund, one of the most populous and wealthy realms in the land. These riches were not counted in gold or gems, but in the vast tracts of verdant plains which produced a bounty of food, far more than the kingdom needed for itself, with the excess sold to neighbouring lands for a very tidy profit.

At the centre of the kingdom, surrounded by farms, was a small town called Bracksford. It was the hub for those who worked the land, as well as merchants and people who simply enjoyed the country life. The largest building in town was the Bracksfordshire Arms Inn, a huge, two-storey place which served as a temporary stopover for travellers. It was old, but renowned for its warm hospitality and a good night's rest. This night however, one of its residents wasn't sleeping very well at all.

Lying amongst her twisted blankets, Aislin Ballard dreamed of a less peaceful time, when the town that had been home for her twelve years of life was invaded by soldiers, searching for someone of importance staying at the inn — a young lady of royal blood. They wore red tabards, stank of sweat and carried swords and axes openly. In the common room, her friends and their parents whom Aislin had known all of her short life were bullied and shouted at.

Her father, a big man who wasn't afraid of anyone, pulled out a trusty hardwood club from behind the bar and stepped into harm's way. He'd already witnessed what happened to those who stood up to the soldiers, yet courageously took them on anyway. He was no match for professional soldiers armed with steel, receiving a gauntlet to his face for daring to oppose them.

Aislin, only eight years old at the time, cowered under a table and watched the horrible events unfold, powerless to help as a captain of the royal guard, an escort of their esteemed visitor, was quickly subdued with a series of blows to his helmeted head. Blood trickled down the side of his face and dripped on the wooden floor as he joined her father, who clutched at his own bruised face to stop the bleeding.

One of the soldiers returned from upstairs dragging a lovely blond woman behind him. She kicked and screamed as they took her through the side door and vanished, leaving the distraught people of the common room shaking in fear.

In her dream, when Aislin emerged from under the table, the scene had changed to a time three months later, when the war had come to Bracksford’s doorstep. She didn’t even know what the fighting was all about, but once more the town had come under attack, this time from soldiers in dirty tabards of white and gold, men who were unshaven, rough and spoke a strange language. With the town's defenders easily overwhelmed, the newcomers terrorised the townsfolk for days.

Her dad did his best to keep the peace, even if he took a few more lumps on his head in the process. Aislin did what she was told, kept her head down and served the invaders as if they were regular customers, while trying to ignore the fear in the townsfolk's faces. Now and then when she found some time to herself, she would go to the stables where nobody would see her crying.

Then, sounds of fighting erupted in the town and Aislin thought more soldiers were coming to finish them off. When she looked out of a window and saw a small, silvery dragon no larger than a cow land in the street, a feeling of awe swept over her. The dragon strode into the ranks of their oppressors in a fury of claws and lightning, a riveting display of power.

When the battle was over and the townsfolk freed, Aislin crept outside, slowly moving towards the proud creature as it sat in the middle of the street. She reached out for it with one hand, almost touching the magnificent creature as she drew ever closer. Even though she had seen what it could do, Aislin approached with confidence, and felt no fear.

As she touched its side, she was surprised to find its flank felt furry, not scaly, and her confusion increased when the dragon turned and began to lick her face. She awakened to find her hands deep in the fur of a large cat lying on top of her, cleaning her cheek with its rough tongue.

Cut it out, Keg, Aislin complained in a sleepy voice, shoving the huge ginger tomcat to one side. Keg, purring loudly enough to wake half the inn sat on the bed, swishing his tail back and forth, satisfied his job was done. The room was almost completely dark, but for a sliver of dim grey light coming through the window shutters. It was nearly dawn and her cat was letting her know in no uncertain terms that it was time for food.

Aislin took a moment to rub her eyes and shrug off the horrible dream. The memory of those events was burned into her mind, and even four years later, the feeling of being powerless lingered. For months after the second attack on the town, she had hardly left her father's side out of fear, made worse when the town was evacuated two years later as the kingdom was invaded yet again. It was only in the last year she had found the courage to sleep by herself in her own room.

Her hand strayed across the bedside table to where a large, sheathed dagger lay, a gift from a friend during the war. Simply touching the leather-wrapped hilt of the weapon was enough to help her shrug off the dream and focus on the present. Keg gave a throaty meow as a reminder of his empty belly, and Aislin responded by playfully tossing the bed-covers over him, before clambering out of bed to start the day.

The room was freezing and she hurried across the bare floor to put on her slippers. After quickly taking care of her morning routine, she put on a plain brown dress and picked up the dagger, taking special care as she strapped it to her back.

Once secured, she drew the weapon and brandished it before her, marvelling at the shine of the metal, and its balance in her hand before sheathing it once more. She put on a worn, oversized jacket which covered the weapon from view, and provided some extra protection against the cold. Her father did not approve of her carrying the knife around all the time, and she had made a promise not to, meaning Aislin had to be extra careful not to be discovered or she'd be in trouble.

Finally ready, she left the bedroom with Keg hurrying past to make sure she didn't get lost on the way to his food bowl. Aislin had a few stops to make beforehand, however. Across the hallway in the near-darkness were two other doors, and she quietly knocked on the nearest before turning the handle.

Wake up, dad, she ordered the room's sole occupant. The sound of someone rolling over to try and get more sleep could be heard, muttering something about I'll be up in a minute.

Your minutes can go for hours, dad, Aislin pointed out before the sound of snoring rumbled around the room. Rolling her eyes at Keg, she closed the door and headed down the hallway, doing her best to ignore the other room on her left as she went past. It was too early in the day to deal with that.

Even in the dark, Aislin knew her way around the cold inn better than just about anyone except her father. She found a lantern perched on the usual shelf and once it was lit, headed through a small doorway and down a flight of stairs into the even colder larder. Keg, anticipating what was to come, sat at the top of the stairs while Aislin took a small slice of prepared meat from the shelf and tossed it to the hungry cat.

"You should find more mice instead of eating our food," she admonished the hefty feline, as he tore into the meat while making little growling noises. She then went about the morning ritual, lighting the fireplace, the stove in the kitchen, and three other lanterns, while stifling the urge to yawn.

Shortly afterward, she unlocked the front door and breathed in the rich air of late spring. Keg took the opportunity presented and dashed outside, hopefully to fulfil his mouse hunting duties, but more likely to find a comfortable spot to laze about in the warmth of the rising sun. Above the door hung a battered sign spelled out Bracksfordshi Ar In in florid script, missing a chunk of wood with some important letters on it, yet still conveying the inn's general purpose to passer's by. Like everything else in their lives, it would just have to last a little bit longer.

Returning to the kitchen, she struggled to lift a heavy pot containing a hearty soup from last night's meal onto the stove, to become this morning's breakfast. As she stoked the fire some more, Vicki arrived.

A chubby woman with curly brown hair, Vicki was responsible for running the kitchens and although friendly, she had an annoying habit of assuming Aislin didn't know how to do anything. Naturally, Vicki took the time to explain every little task and pat her on the head afterwards, as if Aislin were an obedient pet. When she brought this up with her dad, he had simply replied, keep your ears open and you might learn something.

This morning, Aislin was learning the task of chopping tired vegetables with a blunt knife, because Vicki didn't think she could be trusted with anything sharper. When her back was turned, Aislin would glare at her and make faces, making sure her face was perfectly normal whenever Vicki turned back again. It was small consolation considering the mountain of vegetables Aislin had to chop, in preparation for the day's cooking.

With the sun well and truly above the horizon, people began arriving from their rooms upstairs, or through the front door, seeking a filling meal to start their day. Ordinarily, Aislin's father would be at the counter by now, taking orders and making the guests comfortable. His position was still vacant however, and Aislin occasionally glanced at the doorway, wondering what was taking him so long.

It seems your father was up late with his friends again, Vicki muttered, also noticing the absence.

I'll go and see what's keeping him, Aislin offered, looking for any opportunity to get away from her chopping duties.

No, keep at it or we'll have nothing to serve come the noon meal, Vicki sighed. I'll work the counter 'til he gets here, and hopefully Kirsten will be here soon as well. Taking off her apron, Vicki went to the counter to serve the customers, leaving Aislin to continue preparing the vegies for a little longer, before deciding on a faster way.

Glancing around to make sure she was alone, she set aside the dull old knife and reached under her jacket. With a faint rasp of metal, she drew her magnificent dagger and began using it on the vegetables. Aislin was always careful with it, for it was the sharpest one she'd ever seen. It sliced through potatoes, carrots and pumpkin with incredible ease, and before long Aislin was chopping up a storm.

By the time Vicki returned a few minutes later, the mountain of vegetables had been prepared and Aislin stood there, dagger hidden once more and looking as casual about her accomplishment as possible.

My word, looks like you've gotten the hang of it, Vicki marvelled. Have some breakfast and then we'll start service. Aislin smiled innocently and picked up a bowl, then ladled some of the bubbling soup into it. She tore off a hunk of stale bread from a nearby loaf, sat down, and ate her fill.

Her dad finally arrived and took over at the counter, giving Aislin a wink as he went past. He was a big man with a rotund belly, short, dark hair which was going grey around the edges, and friendly brown eyes. He walked with a limp and groaned a little every now and then as he hobbled along, a legacy from his encounter with those soldiers years ago. Though he tried to hide it, the leg was a constant source of pain, and he wasn't as strong as he used to be.

With the morning service fully underway, Vicki instructed Aislin to work the tables, but stopped her just before she headed out into the common room.

Let’s take a moment to tidy you up a bit, the cook suggested. You're a bit of a mess. Vicki took a stiff brush and used it to smooth the tangles out of Aislin’s hair, causing her to wince every time the brush became caught in her long auburn locks.

You could be a pretty little girl if you'd take the time, Vicki admonished her as she continued to work. A pity your mother isn't around to show you all this, god bless her. You have her dark eyes though. Aislin tried to reply, but winced in pain as the rough brushing continued. Vicki's love was a bit harsh sometimes.

Once she was considered tidy enough, Aislin was given a plate of food, and instructions as to where it should go. She hurried out into the common room and was surprised at how many customers were there.

I haven't seen it this busy in years, her father remarked from the bar, gazing at the busy room with a wide smile.

There's a lot of travellers coming in from the north, Kirsten explained as she dashed past. She was a cheerful young woman twice Aislin's age, with red hair and a wide smile that showed off her dimpled cheeks. Mostly merchants, but I think there's a few coming in for the archery tournament. You're going to have to hire some more help.

I think you and Aislin can handle it for now, Aislin's dad said with a dismissive wave. Merchants don't stay long, and if the tournament turnout is as bad as last year, we'd be operating at a loss. Frankly, we could use the extra coin. Go to it, chook, he said to Aislin, who gave him a confident smile and headed into the bustling room.

The next couple of hours were a blur as the understaffed inn struggled to keep up with the sudden demand. A few months short of thirteen, Aislin was perhaps too small to be working this sort of job, or any sort, when she thought about it. She would have much preferred to be playing with the other children in town or going to school. But with times as tough as they were and her father’s injury, Aislin felt she was needed at the inn more than her classes, so she dropped out of school to help keep the place running.

Her size worked against her when carrying some of the larger meals, and people had a habit of not noticing her until the last moment. When she had started working the tables last year, she had been knocked about on more than occasion, but since then, Aislin had learned to anticipate when someone was about to stumble into her. She could squeeze her tiny frame through the narrowest of gaps, and practically danced through the throng without dropping a plate or being run over, much to the amusement of the patrons.

As usual, the crowd mostly consisted of women. The few men present were typically quite old, with younger men very scarce indeed over the past couple of years. Aislin tried not to think about it too much, choosing instead to focus on her work. The crowd shrank once breakfast was over, and things became a little easier.

Vicki tasked Aislin with the dishes in preparation for the lunch service. It wasn't difficult however, and gave her time to study a book Kirsten had opened before her. With their livelihood at stake, Aislin may not have been able to attend school, but that was no excuse to avoid learning.

Give it another try, the energetic waitress prompted as she went back and forth over the floor with a mop.

I know what I did wrong, Aislin protested. It sounded funny when I read it aloud, but it says 'read' on the page! 'The jolly merchant read the red book,' she repeated. How come 'read' and 'read' are spelled the same if they're said differently?

"I have