Forged in Fire: The Godewyne Chronicles, #1

By Fraser Scott

Secrets.

Scheming.

Magic.

Secrets abound on the island nation of Godewyne. The fact that defenses are weak at the King’s seat, Castle Godewyne, is not a secret to power hungry noble Aderlard Malculinus; nor to court Jester Josh who seems to be closely guarding a few secrets of his own.

Speaking of secrets, what is the hidden agenda of the royal assassin and what is Wickenshire’s blacksmith, Ranulf, hiding about his past? How will Ranulf’s secrets affect his orphaned grandson/apprentice Rollie? Will these and other secrets be revealed or pushed into the shadows with the arrival of a mysterious stranger who wants to commission Rollie to forge an odd Druid token out of a mysterious metal?

And once the secret of the token is revealed will anything ever be the same?

The debut novel from Fraser Scott, Forged in Fire is a new addition to the great Fantasy tradition of Jeff Wheeler, James Maxwell, and David Eddings and is the first book of The Godewyne Chronicles (Book 1: Forged in Fire, Book 2: A Song Among the Trees, & Book 3: Rollie Revealed).

Fraiser Scott: “When I was a teenager, during the summer, after I got off work, I liked to sit in the shade of a big maple tree in our back yard with an iced tea and a book. My favorites were fantasy books; the best were the series. I’d get lost in the legends and ancient chronicles of wizards, warriors, fairies, quests, guardians, magic, gods, sorcerers, dragons, demons, champions, elves, angels, and fantastic beasts -- from ‘The Lord of the Rings' to ‘The Belgariad’ to ‘Shannara’ to ‘The Elric Saga’ to ‘The Eternal Champion’ series – I just couldn’t get enough. I was born too early for the Harry Potter books and George R.R. Martin’s ‘Game of Thrones’ and the ‘Wheel of Time’ and ‘The Lightbringer’ series by Brent Weeks, so I had to read those without my maple tree (and the iced tea was replaced by a frosty IPA). I’d like to think that there is some kid (or grown up kid like me) who’s reading ‘The Godewyne Chronicles’ under a tree somewhere, getting lost into the story, eagerly awaiting the next book in the set while, at the same time, hoping the book they’re reading won’t end.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: FastForward Publishing
• Release date: Nov 10, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540184856

Book preview

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

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This creative journey started out as a challenge from a very good friend. He suggested that if I read fantasy so much, why not try to write my own. I never thought about it much until he mentioned it. Once he did, I couldn't stop writing. I wrote The Godewyne Chronicles to take us to another place with characters that are funny and hopefully endearing. I wish to acknowledge my editor who put me on this dare and my two sons who inspire me to be creative and amusing every day.

THE MAP OF GODEWYNE

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A FREE BOOK FOR YOU

For a limited time, get a FREE copy of

The Godewyne Chronicles Sketchbook

Just visit www.Godewyne.com and click the

Yes, I Want a Free Book button.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

You’ll have fun seeing an artist’s sketches of your favorite characters like Rollie, Josh, Ranulf, Eleanor, Gespar, Owen, Clarell, Eglebert, Nixie Nocker, Maculinus, Ayala, and more.

Along with the sketches, this book includes quotes from the series and a never before published forward I wrote about how this book started out as an idea at a party (definitely not your typical publishing model). 

So, grab free copy of the book ... it’s just my way of saying, Thanks!

I believe that authors don't do enough to thank readers like you for taking the time to read our work - you're the reason we get to do what we love, and I think that deserves a big THANK YOU.

Enjoy.

CHAPTER ONE

Wickenshire

. . . . . . . . . . . .

THE VILLAGE OF WICKENSHIRE was an unexpected place in a remote corner of the kingdom of Godewyne. Most travelers happened upon it unexpectedly and felt that they must be lost for they had no idea how they got there. The road there was no highway, but more like a shepherd’s track which wandered through a ramble of dells and cliffs into a large wooded glade. By most accounts, those who did find their way there, found it was a sleepy place of little interest. Here sturdy folk lived and worked their few trades in service to their honorable Lord Spurgeon, thane to King Godebert. His lordship had earned this holding through one heroic act in the battle of Bidlee Hill. Some gossips disagree as to whether it was heroic or not.

The tale goes that his lordship, Ledfrick Spurgeon, had just been made a Knight through vague family connections and used all his family’s money to purchase a good courser to carry him forward with the King’s guard into battle against the invading Dents. Knowing next to nothing about horses, his lordship asked a family friend to procure him a proper horse. This friend was no true friend and this horse was no charger.  The stout mare had a nice look about her and a gentle ride; but she probably would have been happier behind a plow.  While she proved an adequate mount on the parade ground, she was disastrous in the field. She sensed her rider's nervousness and became skittish herself.  If he was worried, she was, too.

Her first and only test was at the battle of Bidlee Hill. King Godebert and his Knights had assembled at the top of the hill and readied themselves for battle. At the first sound of the king’s trumpeters’ call to order, the mare bolted off with her rider, Lord Spurgeon, down the hill and across the field directly towards the enemy. He did his best to turn her head back to the safety of his allies; but adrenaline drove her forward.

Once she got close enough to realize that she was running directly into a line of hostile pikemen, she panicked and promptly dumped her rider to flee for her life. Finding himself on foot facing a horde of Dents, Lord Spurgeon was quick to follow his horse’s example, running away from the battle in full panic. He spied the king’s colors fluttering above the hill and made for their safety. As he crested the rise, prepared to be shamed for his cowardice, he took an arrow in the back. All thought the arrow was meant for King Godebert and assumed Spurgeon had nobly saved his majesty's life. Some even hold him responsible for rallying the Knights.

Wounded and in great pain, Lord Spurgeon spun about  in circles on the hilltop and screaming loudly Ack!, which sounded to many like a shortened form of Attack!  The king gathered behind his Knights (whether to rally them or for his own protection, was never made clear) and they all charged forward away from Lord Spurgeon who mercifully fainted. The Dents were caught by surprise with this uncoordinated attack and were driven from the field.

After the battle, the surgeons found that his lordship's chain mail had prevented the arrow from going very deep. He had more bruising than wound, but what little blood there was had caused his faint. Once he recovered, it came to him as a surprise that he was to be honored by the king for his valor.  Lord Spurgeon had no idea what everyone thought he had done, but was happy to be rewarded with a little shire castle, thus elevating him in the peerage.

The story of his heroism has grown and been embellished over the years. Wickenshire was his and he its hero. The king had his doubts, though, giving his lordship the least of his holdings and never inviting him to court again. His lordship maintained that his old war wound prevented him from traveling and settled down into the easy pace of a country noble.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

CASTLE SPURGEON, as it was now called, sat on top of a large rock formation. Its tower keep had a view of the whole valley below, which consisted of large rocks strewn about like a giant had cast them in an oversized game of marbles. Some would say that it was perfect for goats and not much else. What they didn't see was that the land was rich in minerals like iron, coal, and some copper used in trade by the village. The village proper lay below the castle. There was not much to it other than a few cottages lining the road. The occasional traveler rode through on the common road with little acknowledgment, perhaps brought about by its general insignificance or, more likely, by the reputation of the Dancing Goat, the sole tavern. Besides being only a small tavern with a common room and two guest rooms, there was the ignoble reputation for its food, which was earned by the great poisoning. Myrus, the Dancing Goat's host, often declared in his defense, that he had no idea the mushrooms were poisonous. One mushroom looks the same as another, he would say. Three of his patrons disagreed as they lay writhing on his well swept floor. After that, fewer travelers were willing to stop and try their luck on his cooking; and there was little else in the village to give anyone pause. The local craftsmen plied their trades in a modest way, mostly to serve the needs of the castle. There was a bakery, a tannery, the alewife’s cottage, a few farmers and the blacksmith’s forge, which lay a mile from the village in an old grove of oak trees.

The forge was formidable. Central to it was a large furnace of stone built up against the rock foundation of the castle above, with a large fire pit and tall smoke stack of piled granite and limestone. Off to the side, there was a smaller area with a small fire pit and anvil.  Ranulf Tirk was the village blacksmith, a muscular man in his mid-fifties. His physique built by years of wielding the smith's hammer. The rhythm of his blows shaped the local iron and forged what was necessary for the community. He was assisted by his grandson, Rollie, a lad of sixteen years. As solid as his grandfather was, Rollie was thin and awkward. Rollie! his grandfather would say, Watch what you're hitting or you'll be hammering yourself.

Yes, sir, Rollie would respond before taking another awkward swing with his hammer.

You know, boy, that anvil has had more strikes than the iron you're working. Leave that and give me a hand.

Rollie would leave his iron and go hold the tongs for his grandfather while the iron was struck, often scoring their forearms with hot metal flakes from their blows. Grandfather always said it made a man tougher to ignore the pain and focus on the work. They worked long hours, stoking of the charcoal fires from the pre-dawn to dusk. At the end of the day, they would retire to their cottage for a meal of turnips and porridge.

One spring morning as they were stoking their fires, Clarell Lyonete, the baker's daughter, brought over a basket of scones. She was the middle child and the fairest of the Lyonete children and perhaps the village. At least for this village she was. Anywhere else she was unremarkable. What with her large nose, wide hips, and thick calves she would have blended into any street scene. But her fair hair framed a heart shaped face with eyes that sparkled a bright blue reflecting the laughter behind them. What she lacked in looks, she made up in spirit, which could be quite mischievous. Clarell presented her basket to Ranulf, who was busy with the forge.

He gave Clarell a glance. What's this for?

Clarell curtsied as she had been told by her father to do and smiled. Why sir, ‘tis fair trade!

For what? You can see I'm busy. Ranulf huffed and pumped the bellows harder.

It's a basket of freshly made scones. Still warm from the oven, Clarell offered.

Ranulf gazed at the basket and then turned his back to her and continued to work the bellows. From behind his back, he said, What does your father want from me? Whatever it is, scones are hardly a fair trade.

Clarell was not to be intimidated by the gruff Ranulf. A pan, for cakes. We are in short supply. It shouldn't take long.

Ranulf stopped his pumping and turned to give Clarell a hard stare. You have no idea how long it takes. I have my day planned and my metal laid out. Nary enough for a pan. Take your scones back to your father with my regards. Ranulf turned back to his bellows and hoped that this was the end of the interruption to his work.

Clarell looked about not knowing what to do. She was somewhat defeated by this encounter. She glanced over at Rollie who was stoking his own fire and gave him a smile. Maybe she could rally his support. Ranulf kept Rollie on a short leash and he therefore had very little interaction with the village folk other than doing business with them. Not surprisingly, he welcomed Clarell's attention and shyly smiled back.

I'll do it, blurted Rollie.

You will? smiled Clarell delightedly.

Yes. It should be easy confirmed Rollie.

Ranulf had turned at this exchange, somewhat baffled by his grandson's sudden boldness. What say you? demanded Ranulf. You got your own things to do.

It just nails. That's all you ever give me to do.

Nails is good trade. Can never make enough nails!

Clarell watched this exchange with some amusement. Casually, she lifted the napkin off the scones and flashed them at Rollie. He