New Camelot's Bronson

By Brenda Gable

High Sheriff Bronson O’Toole has worked for the sheriff’s office since he obtained his warrior-sorcerer powers.
Seleta Ursa is a Gypsy. Ten years ago, she witnessed the massacre of a Gypsy caravan by three barons. Because they were Gypsies, justice was denied to the survivors.
It is the annual Festival of the Horse in New Camelot. Gypsies from across the realm have arrived to support their king in seeking justice for the massacred innocents. Seleta uses her powers to reclaim gems and gold the murderers stole and leaves terrorizing mementoes behind.
Bronson is ordered by his king to find the barons’ gold. His senses detect the reek of fear on the old warriors. They claim no one alive knew about the stones. Bronson’s intuition tells him someone who was supposed to be dead is the thief. He discovers clues: shredded bits of a woman’s bloodied veil and artfully carved daggers.
The moment Bronson sees Seleta in an alehouse, he begins an aggressive pursuit. Seleta is torn apart between the love for her family and her love for Bronson. However, her duty is to seek justice for her murdered family. She realizes hers and Bronson’s love can never be and she says she is bespoken to another.
Refusing to accept her avowal of another love, Bronson delves deeper into the mysterious thefts. He discovers the knives are Gypsy crafted. His thoughts lead him to their encampment where he finds Seleta. She is whisked away from him by young males. Undeterred, he espies her entering the tent of the Gypsy king. He can’t believe his eyes. What is the connection between Seleta, the Gypsy king, and those knives found at the barons’ estates? He is fearful of the answer his logical mind is grinding out and his intuition is screaming.
His last interview with a baron draws a confession from the shriveled old warrior. The old man laughs at Bronson’s attempt to arrest him. There is no proof of the baron’s wrongdoing. The old man confesses why he and his peers don’t want the stones back. They were cursed by a dying Gypsy witch. He recites, “Any time you try to sell those gems, they will weep with our blood. Only the hand of my womb will be able to cleanse them."
Bronson knows Seleta and her people are intent on revenge. The Gypsy kingdom is encamped on the front door of New Camelot’s capital. He has to stop them without harming Seleta or inciting a civil war. Odd news is delivered: the Gypsy clans have vanished before the festival’s end. Admonishing his deputy to get powerful help, Bronson teleports to the baron’s castle. He finds it surrounded by a vengeful mob. He stands alone and demands they cease their attack. Prince Darren and his dragons arrive to support Bronson. The gypsy king agrees to talk.
Bronson offers to prosecute the three barons in a court of their peers. He feels he has enough evidence: the bloody gemstones, the swatches of Seleta’s mother’s veil, witness testimony and a confession. The gypsy leader makes it clear—if there is no conviction, Bronson doesn’t wed Seleta.
The day of the trial arrives. Bronson presents his case and invokes the cursed magic of the blood stones and connects them to the barons with the blood-stained mementos of that night. He can tell by the disgust on the jury’s face that they condemn the barons’ atrocity. However, they can’t believe they did such a vile crime.
Seleta senses the jurors wavering. She employs her allure power and demands they return a guilty verdict. They struggle, but fall to her compelling magic. The barons are hung. Bronson gets his Seleta and they are wed in a lavish ceremony.
Bronson admits when he came into his powers as a youth, he employed them to obtain justice against a raiding party of Vikings that destroyed his village. He too witnessed a slaughter and heard his parents’ cries for justice in his sleep. Even though Bronson and Seleta come from different castes, it turns out they are not so different after all. Both are compelled to obtain justice

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brenda Gable
• Release date: Nov 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370499724

Brenda Gable

An award-winning author, Brenda Gable is a graduate of North Carolina State University and the Air Force Institute of Technology. She is published in southern magazines and anthologies. The mother of two adult children, lover of an absentminded yet brilliant husband, and caregiver to a clowder of cats, one hyper dog, and a noble horse, she's a very happy woman. Brenda enjoys sports and daydreaming up "what if" scenarios while she attacks the weeds in her flower and vegetable gardens. Her twisted mind has produced a series of New Camelot tales. She hopes you enjoy reading them as much as she enjoyed creating them.

Book preview

TALES OF NEW CAMELOT

BRONSON

BY

BRENDA GABLE

BOOK THIRTEEN

Book Twelve License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

ISBN-13: 978-1519747341

ISBN-10: 1519747349

New Camelot Books in Publication

Rogue Prince

Crystal Sorceress

New Camelot’s Thief

Black Sorcerer

Fire Sorceress

Bernard the Bard

High Sheriff of New Camelot

New Camelot’s Lion

New Camelot’s Brewster

Rogue Dragon

New Camelot's Sally the Whore

New Camelot's Fafnir

New Camelot's Bronson

New Camelot's Tarnished Knight

New Camelot’s Dragon’s Breath

New Camelot’s Baker

New Camelot’s Merchant Prince

Kingston Books in Publication

Vindication

Redemption

Retribution

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my very own Pooka.

Chapter 1

High Sheriff Bronson O’Toole did what his predecessors did after a hard day. He opened up the bottom right hand drawer in his battered oaken desk and pulled out the bottle of spirits. Propping his scuffed boots upon the ancient desk, he leaned his chair back against the stone wall of his office and drew in a bracing swig of the burning liquid to wash the fetid taste of not one, but two hangings out of his mouth. If watching sobbing and struggling women having their necks snapped wasn’t enough to ruin your day, after the hangings he was summoned before King Wolfrick Asarlaís. The ruler of New Camelot’s words still rang in Bronson’s ears.

You have to pay attention to the complaints laid against the fey. At least give them a token effort. I’m hearing too many rumblings about your complacency. Barons Dungarven and Clashanally have been before me demanding you do something about their missing valuables. They’re old war peers of my father and he’s put a bug up my arse about their straits. I’m removing that bug and putting it up yours. Do something to get these old warriors off my back!

When Bethany Regina from the Old World arrived in New Camelot fifteen years ago, her magical healing sorcery stimulated the many varieties of fey to awaken. For the last 800 years, one might, upon a blue moon, see a fairy in a secluded grove. With her healing magic as the genesis, the powerful little creatures now inhabited every flower bed, every flowering tree grove, and anywhere else they took a notion. Water and Sea Nymphs claimed calm waters such as ponds and firths. House Brownies took up residence in homes where they favored the human occupants. As for dragons and Sea Serpents, they settled wherever they damned well wanted in a land created by Morgan Le Fey after defeating the infamous King Arthur and Merlin.

Irritation washed over him as he reflected on the last time he responded to a complaint against a fey entity. He slammed the chair legs down upon the stone pavers of the gaol’s floor at Wolfrick’s chaffing orders. Running his fingers through his thick sable hair, he bemoaned the fact that he didn’t have time to go and investigate the real cause of some farmer’s milk cow going dry. It sure wasn’t because a fairy put a hex on the beast. It went against his good sense, but he responded to the complaint. When he’d suggested feeding the ribby cow more hay and grain, the farmer almost had a fit of apoplexy.

The misshapen creature that had become his second shadow appeared out of the either and waved a frothy mug at Bronson. Cor, High Sheriff, you have got to buy some more Eagle's Landing ale. This local stuff tastes like horse piss. I canna appreciate the dark emotions in your dungeon with refreshment that tastes this bad.

Bronson lowered his eyes and gazed upon the three-foot tall fey entity leaning against his desk. At first glance, one would think he was a dwarf with an oversized head, feet and hands. That is, until the creature opened his mouth and exposed needle sharp canines designed for shredding human flesh. The fey man's attire comprised of a filthy woolen tunic that had at one time been beige, a stained brown leather vest, and matching moth-eaten woven hose. He topped off a shock of greasy black hair with a bright red felt cap. Koosa, an infamous Red Cap Fairy, had taken up residence at the gaol to dine on the inmates' misery since Bethany Regina had proclaimed human fodder to be off limits. He refused to leave until Bronson found him a mate.

Bronson retorted with a bilious eye at the fey man that had invoked squatters rights on his premises, If you'd contribute to your upkeep, I'd buy a better grade of ale. Freeloaders can't be picky, you know.

Koosa ran a finger around the inside of his mouth and pulled out a chunk of partially masticated meat that he promptly shoved back in and swallowed. Don't get your ire up with me. Just thought you'd appreciate a better quality of ale. I know I would. He released a deep sigh. I'd also like a mate. Me attempts at finding one aren't going none too good.

Your love life is none of my concern. Bronson nodded to the flagon Koosa waved about without regard to spillage in a hand that bore grime encrusted nails. That is for the inmates. He picked up the bottle of spirits and offered, Try this. It'll put hair on your chest and make you forget about your woes.

Koosa dashed the flagon's remaining contents onto the stone pavers and extended the vessel forward. Don't mind if I do. When the creature smiled, the exposed rows of yellow teeth sent a shudder of distaste through Bronson.

He held up a cautioning hand. Sip it. It's smooth as a baby's butt, yet has the punch of an arena fighter.

The Red Cap gave a mocking bow. The day I can't handle spirits, is the day Donn will take me back to his frozen hell. After a quick salute with his flagon, the unwanted resident of New Camelot's gaol quaffed the powerful drink down.

Bronson's face fell into lines of bemusement when the red-faced fairy released a gust of air. Wheee! Now that's refreshment. He shoved his flagon forward. Let's have another go.

Koosa, has anyone ever told you that you were a sot?

The Red Cap lifted his head from smelling the potent brew. Oh, aye. Numerous times. Me last wife conked me on me head with a bottle of the elixir before she left.

Knowing he shouldn't ask, Bronson still posed the question. How many wives have you had?

Koosa lifted his eyes to the ceiling as if the number were written on it. Oh, I'd say in the neighborhood of a dozen or so.

Bronson knew his jaw dropped. A dozen wives? Why so many?

Koosa leveled a bemused look at him. You don't know much about Red Cap females, do you?

Bronson shook his head. Can't say as I do. In fact, Koosa was the only Red Cap he'd ever met and he regretted the day the thirsty creature showed up.

They're a fractious, ill-tempered lot. He gave a knowing wink. Wouldn't recommend consorting with one if I were you.

Not on my list of things to accomplish in this lifetime. Now, off with you. I have work to do.

On a surly, No need to be testy, the fey man vanished. Bronson did a double take when he realized his perpetual guest had taken the bottle of spirits with him. That aged spirits had cost him a full silver. In disgust, he picked up a complaint off the top of the stack on his desk and settled into his chair to be angered and amused by the foibles of the human race.

This petitioner claimed his wife was seduced by a male Flower Fairy and nine months latter produced a changeling that wouldn’t stop crying. The second complaint droned on about a leaky roof the owner insisted was caused by an incompetent House Brownie. He sifted through the stack. On and on, the petitioners laid their idiocy and personal shortcomings on some fey entity. He pitched the handful he clutched onto the smoking peat glowing in the hearth. In all his time working for the king, he’d never come across a petty-minded fey. If the fey were evil, their crimes against mankind were done on a grand scale. One-Eyed Balor had killed thousands of humans in his lifetime. The Woodwose was reviled by mankind for it had a strong hankering for fresh human flesh as did the occasional Troll , and until recently, the Red Caps.

He continued to sort through the layer of petitions with calloused fingers, his feeling of despondency growing with each missive. He and his deputies would waste their time in responding to them. Time that he felt was slipping through his fingers. He was almost thirty-five. He’d accumulated some modest wealth. However, he had no hearth, no home, and no wife to call his own. Without a family to care for, he stayed at the gaol in a one-room cell; his companions villains and guards. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference between the two. There was something elusive he was missing in his life. Damned if he could put his finger on it.

Whoa! He re-read a complaint received a few days ago that he'd scanned and added to the pile of fey complaints. Stolen gemstones? It was Baron Clashanally’s complaint. Why hadn’t Wolfrick mentioned the stones? Now this was something that piqued his curiosity. Why would the fey steal gemstones? He sorted through the rest of the stack and pulled out the complaint of stolen valuables from Baron Dungarven. Like Clashanally, the old warrior had been relieved of a fortune in faceted stones and gold.

Clutching the two parchment sheets in his big hands, he bellowed out the door, Cody!

Large booted steps slapped down the hallway to Bronson’s office. A carrot-topped young man with a slab of cheese in one hand and a flagon of ale in the other appeared. Bronson released a sigh of resignation. The boy’s appetite was insatiable. One would think he was a dragon instead of a half-Royal deputy. When Duke Graeme Asarlaís handed Cody over into his care, little did he understand how many groceries it took to feed a lanky lad transforming into a large man. Over the years he'd had thoughts of fostering Cody with a farmer so he wouldn't be exposed to the underbelly of New Camelot. However, Cody's ability to teleport safely to unknown destinations was a gift not to be tossed away.

Cody scrutinized the crumpled pile of ash in the hearth. What are they? Lame horses? Dried up ponds? Moldy grain?

Bronson’s sensuous lips lifted in a feral smile laced with the anticipation of the hunt. His amber eyes glittered with an obsessive eagerness to bring the guilty to justice. Nothing so mundane. What we have is an enterprising jewel thief that knows fey tricks.

* * * * *

Seleta Gilbert opened the leather pouch and poured a king’s ransom in gemstones along the pitted counter top as her mother's curse echoed in her head. She lowered her voice to a false tenor and addressed the proprietor of the small mercantile store. Make me an offer.

Enery’s eyes widened with awe combined with greed. The fence licked his lips then said, I don’t have that much on me. I’ll have to sell the gems before I can pay you for what they’re worth.

She peered through the gauze of her mask and studied the old man’s face as she passed a caressing hand over stones that reflected the candle light on each exposed facet. They’re unflawed. Each and every one of them perfect in clarity, cut and caret size.

Enery had been in the stolen goods business for as long as she could remember. With a face like a soft tuber, he was non-descript in his middle-aged plumpness and bald head. The worn linen tunics he wore bore no adornment that would identify him, nor did he have any distinguishing characteristics. Dressed in the uniform of the lower caste, he would pass unnoticed and forgotten as he plied his trade within the stone-lined walls of New Camelot’s wealthy.

She rapped her knuckles on the table, snatching his attention away from the bounty before him. They rival any prince’s fortune. I want full price.

The fence’s face drew up in a grimace of pain. I can only give you half price.

She scooped up a handful of gems and placed them into her leather pouch. I’m disappointed in you. I’ll find someone else.

Enery placed a hand over her black glove. Wait! I’ll go to the money lenders. However, I want a twenty-five percent commission.

Seleta narrowed her eyes in anticipation of a good haggle. The old bastard wanted to stick her on a spit and roast her over a slow fire. She scooped up another handful while saying, Five percent will make you a wealthy man. Take it or leave it.

His small eyes shone with the excitement of the deal. Fifteen percent. After the money lenders have their way with me, I’ll only get fifty percent of the gems’ value. To offload this many stones is going to solicit questions. I’m taking a dangerous risk trying to sell them.

She released a non-feminine snort. The money lenders take the risk at the resale. I’ll give you ten percent commission off seventy-five wholesale. That’s my final offer. She scooped up the last of the stones and settled them with a soft clack into the pouch. Holding the leather bag before him, she purred, What’s it to be, Enery?

He snatched it from her fingers. Bless all the pearls in the ocean. You’d bring Donn to his knees in tears with your negotiations. I’ll do it. Get back with me in a few days. I’ll have your gold ready. Small coins as usual?

Satisfied with the offer, Seleta rose from the wooden stool. Leaning forward, she shook the fence’s hand to seal the deal. If you betray me, I’ll kill you.

Enery nodded. That’s what they all say. Yet, I’m still alive.

Seleta quipped, Honest or lucky?

Enery laughed sending a belly supported by a wide leather belt to jiggling. He raised and lowered his pale eyebrows. Both.

With a farewell wave, she exited into the alley under the blackness of a new moon. A dark shadow separated itself from its brethren along the building’s wall and matched its steps with hers.

How much? Galen’s voice had finally finished changing and settled deep into his chest in a melodious baritone.

Seventy-five percent of market value less ten percent for commission.

Mmph! I’m taking you with me instead of Cody when I go to buy that horse I’ve had my eye on.

Seleta laughed, easing the tension in her shoulders that seemed to be her constant companion. Her young brother was both a joy to her and an annoyance as he stretched his wings to fly away into adulthood. Together they traveled through the back alleys of New Camelot, their black silken garb making them one with the night. Arriving in the section of town occupied by wealthy merchants, they slipped through an ivy covered door into a garden courtyard lit with smoking torches.

Galen lifted his mask exposing sandy eyebrows, a thick thatch of matching hair and a profuse array of freckles. His features were a glaring contrast to his walnut shell-colored eyes. Like her, his parents had bestowed the fair features of their sire and the dark eyes of their mother upon him. He gave her a peck on her cheek. I’m going to grab something to eat. Sleep well, Sis.

After removing her mask, she unbound her hair while she waited in the foyer of their home and listened to him raid the pantry. He may have stopped growing, but his appetite hadn’t abated. She peered into the candlelit hallway and watched him climb the steps two at a time with a cat’s quiet stealth, a tart in one hand and a flagon in the other. After hearing his bedroom door shut, she clutched the gauzy mask to her chest and whispered to the men who occupied her nightmares, I have just begun to ruin you.

From inside the shadowy interior of the two story building she heard the creaking of a wooden stool being relieved of its burden. Searching the dark recesses with alarm, she spied a wrinkled old woman, hunched with age, waddling into view.

The voice that came out of the gloom was a mere feathery rasp. Will Enery sell them?

Seleta gave her nanny a brief hug. She shepherded her back to the warmth of the smoldering fireplace where she had been sleeping. Every one, Nanny Moira. Enery has them now and will pass them to the money lenders. Those stones will be dispersed throughout the world by the end of the month. In a few days we'll pick up the gold for their sale and give half to Niki.

The old retainer wiped moisture from her eyes. May Danu turn their black hearts into coal and burn them in her hearth for what those barons did to your ma and pa.

Seleta was not startled by the vehemence in the curse. Nanny often spoke the damning words. Seleta patted Moira's plump shoulder in commiseration. Go to bed, Nanny. I’ll be up soon.

Her childhood nurse and teacher gave her charge a kiss on the cheek. You worry me so with your doings, but it has to be done.

Seleta gave a solemn nod. Yes. It does.

As Moira made her slow progress up the steps, Seleta mentally stepped through her plans for retribution. Relieve Chappoquinn of his livestock. Rustle Dungarven and Clashanally’s cattle and horses. Steal the last of the blood jewels from Chappoquinn. After that, she’d burn their spring fields. She wouldn’t be satisfied until the three barons were totally ruined. Then she’d take their lives. Only when they lay lifeless at her feet in the lea where her parents died would her thirst for justice be quenched.

An explosion of gold colored glitter announced the presence of Layla, the resident House Brownie. A fairy without wings and the size of a hand span, the minute fey woman hovered before Seleta's face. La, Lady Seleta, your comings and goings are interfering with my night rest. How am I to help Nanny Moira during the day when I'm half dead on my feet?

The brownie stretched and then covered her mouth with a small hand when she yawned. Seleta had acquired Layla after the prior house occupants had succumbed to the infirmaries of old age.

I'm truly sorry to disturb you, Layla. But my activities require the cover of night.

With skin the color of saddle leather and eyes beetle black, she was a boon to the Gilbert household for Moira was too decrepit to toil in housework and Seleta's surveillance of the barons required most of her time. Layla scratched her rear end over the fluffy tunic she was wearing. Her eyes glittering in the candlelit room, she intoned, Revenge is a heavy burden to bear, Lady Seleta. She waved an expressive hand towards the stairs. Look at Nanny Moira. She's been holding her pain so tight to her, there's been no room for a husband, babes or happiness to enter her life.

Layla's astute observation struck a nerve. It's not revenge I'm seeking, Layla. Its justice we want. Ten years ago, we tried to get the barons brought up on charges. Niki said the sheriff wouldn't act because the crimes were done at night and the witnesses were unreliable. He was right. the country sheriff turned a deaf ear to our pleas. So, I waited for the Council to do something. She waved her hands in frustration.