The Plain Girl's Earrings

By Kim J Cowie

How far would you go to resist a brutal regime? Out hunting for relics, young Starsin sees a friend murdered by a High Master of the Virnal dictatorship, He makes a first act of resistance, only to fear the consequences as he comes under the Virnals' suspicious eye. Meanwhile, a mysterious adventuress is tracking him for her own ends. How long can he survive?

Cadet Starsin only ever wanted a simple life, pursuing his own selfish interests, maintaining a mistress and adding to his meager army pay by trading in ancient artifacts. But when he witnesses the cold blooded murder, Starsin feels impelled against his instincts to protest. This marks him down as a trouble-maker and potential rebel. Then he involves himself with a political hostage.

The ruthless Virnal Order rules over the Empire of Satine by fear, guile and an iron hand. Lethal poisons from a past cataclysm are leaking from the ground, causing sickness and death. Unseen insurgency seeks to overturn the established order.

Implicated in sedition, and with both the Virnals and a mysterious adventuress named Lannaira Hajan taking an unhealthy interest in him, Starsin’s mundane life is turned upside down. His own ambiguous past threatens an explosive revelation.

Take a journey across a troubled land with Starsin, as he battles the Virnals, uncovers shocking secrets and finds that he is not the man he thought he was. Will he survive his quest?

Previously sold as “Deadly Relics”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kim J Cowie
• Release date: Jul 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781310863615

Kim J Cowie

Kim Cowie has worked as a technician and as a technical author, and has sold articles to non-fiction magazines, as well as two short stories. Kim has always enjoyed reading and writing SF and fantasy stories. Currently he is working on a series of fantasy novels.Kim was included in the June 2017 list of "14 Exciting New Authors to Try Over the Summer" on the SFFChronicles forum.

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The Plain Girl’s Earrings

(Deadly Relics #1)

by Kim J Cowie

Copyright 2017 by Kim J Cowie

Smashwords Edition

***

Copyright 2017. All Rights Reserved.

This work may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the copyright holder. The unauthorised distribution or reproduction of this copyrighted work is illegal.

Copyright © 2017 Kim J Cowie

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 9781983031007

Independently Published.

Design by KJC

DEDICATION

To my late parents, with love.

Other books by Kim J Cowie:

Deadly Journey

The Witch’s Box

The Golim War

Dark Tides

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

With thanks to my beta readers and my Critique Circle critiquing partners. They know who they are.

The Plain Girl’s Earrings

-1-

Spell-Hunters

I am not here. I am a shadow. I am watching. I am gathering threads, and when I tug them, hidden forces will stir.

(Secret Journal of Lannaira Hajan)

What are you doing here, Estevan?

Heavy drops of rain struck Starsin and made his horse twitch its ears. A uniformed rider trotted toward him, avoiding the cabbage and onion gardens outside the village. It was Rukan, a regular army officer who had supervised part of his cadet training.

I was out riding, Starsin said. The rain--

Behind Rukan, the peaked straw roofs rose, struck into gold by a ray of the fugitive sun. Above them, thunder rumbled.

Starsin glimpsed movement, and with a shock saw a group of riders in the village, part hidden behind the nearer huts. At their head rode two men clad in gaudy armour, painted in primary colours. They were Virnals, the armed face of the Empire. His stomach tightened. He had no cause to like the Virnal Order or their policies.

On this, his free day, he had hoped to buy up any collectible relics turned up by the villagers, but not now. It would be prudent to leave, but helmeted heads turned to him. He had been seen.

Heart thumping, he sketched a salute, and sat his horse.

It was summer in the Empire of Satine, and the day had dawned with the sun rising red-eyed to promise another incandescent day. By noon it had stood in a dust-laden sky like burning brass, baking the Plains earth and the city and throwing up a heat that made the air tremble.

Huts of rough wood, mud and straw huddled beside a single dirt track that bisected the hamlet. Animals wandered unchecked with rain beading their coats, and corn dollies fashioned to ward off evil swung from the straw eaves in the wind.

Rukan pointed a thumb to the troop behind him. You shouldn’t be here, he told Starsin.

Why, what’s going on?

The Virnals are about to search the village for sorcerers. He eyed Starsin with concern. You should leave.

The Order had a reputation for brutality,

It’s going to pour with rain. I won’t cause any trouble. The heat had been enough to bake a man dry, despite the ever-present breeze of the Plains. But now black clouds roiled overhead charged with electricity and the threat of storm. He did not want a soaking, and his curiosity was piqued. With Rukan here, nothing bad should happen to him.

Have it your own way then. But if they want you gone, then go.

Further drops of rain fell, and thunder crackled. He’d risk staying. Earlier, he had been in high spirits as the threaded his way to the village, avoiding riding on the villagers’ scruffy fields.

The leading Virnal officers rode out from behind the huts, across the village vegetable gardens. One was wrinkle-faced, with straggling white hair and skin flushed by red blotches. The other had cropped hair that had been brown but was now greying and bore a scar on his left cheek.

Who are they? Starsin asked, nodding toward them.

Lord Varnoth and Lord Kathan, Rukan said.

Starsin’s stomach tightened. Something important must be going down, for two leaders of the Virnal Order to appear in person.

You know what you’re supposed to do? the scar-faced and more military looking of the two Virnal leaders asked in a harsh, loud voice. Starsin guessed this was Lord Kathan, a senior military commander. Kathan was addressing a young, blond Virnal officer, whom Starsin also recognised as Lieutenant Larash.

Yes, sir. It’s on our list, Larash said.

On your list? So what about it? Kathan fixed Lieutenant Larash with a stare that even Starsin felt disquieting.

This is Swampfeld, sir. Despite his aristocratic breeding, Larash’s voice stumbled. I mean, it’s next on the list of locations we’re checking for signs of insurgents.

Kathan gave a nod. Proceed, then.

A few women and older men cringed in front of the nearer huts. Unlike their masters, most of the peasants were dark-haired, darker-skinned, yellow-eyed. Starsin saw no children or able-bodied men. Where were they?

You men! Larash ordered, pointing. Circle round the other side. Soldiers spurred their horses away, past the huts.

The village looked inactive. Were the men working elsewhere, or hunting the vicious but edible lizards in the polluted marshes? Or were they hiding under cover? The villagers seemed afraid. Was this their normal response to the appearance of Virnals and soldiers, or were they fearful of some offence being discovered? Already Starsin was regretting his impulse to remain, but to leave now would look suspicious.

Clear outside, shouted the corporal of Larash’s squad from the other side of the double line of huts.

Flush them out, Larash ordered.

Soldiers dismounted and banged on the doors of several huts. Come out, you field-vermin, and greet your lords!

A sudden movement erupted, surprising Starsin. Several men with buckets and farm tools ran furtively between two huts.

Halt! a soldier shouted.

Rukan caught Starsin’s eye and signalled him not to move.

Doors opened and the people, cowed, came out to collect in a huddle, none wishing to be foremost. The soldiers herded them till all were gathered in sight of the high Virnal Lords and their entourage. A few soldiers remained out of sight, looking inside huts.

Larash was frowning as the peasants in front knelt on the damp ground. Check inside the huts, he shouted. Then the village hetman, distinguished by his felt hat, onyx badge and woollen cloak, came forward. The soldiers smirked as the peasants edged away from them, to Starsin’s disquiet.

The other high Virnal, evidently Lord Varnoth, wore an open-faced gilded helmet with upward projecting wings. He turned in his saddle with a slight scrape and clatter of metal. An expression of amusement and pleasure flitted across Varnoth’s lined features. The Virnal appeared to feast on the peasants’ terror as a mosquito feasts on human blood. In this muddy, untidy, dun-coloured village, he was as exalted as a god in his red, yellow and blue armour.

Meanwhile, the hetman prostrated himself in the rain-pocked dirt. To Starsin, the man’s pose was a cringing model of abject fear.

How may we serve you, great Lords? the man said.

The rain, previously a shower, increased to a downpour.

While we shelter from this rain, we want food and drink, said the other senior Virnal, scarred Lord Kathan. His voice was harsh. Whatever you’ve got; don’t trouble with anything fancy.

Come to my house. It is dry there. He gestured to the largest of the clay-walled dwellings.

Larash ordered his troop to dismount. The officers also dismounted and tethered their mounts to fencing. Starsin did likewise.

Larash stared in Starsin’s direction. Starsin looked around for a hut where he could shelter, away from the Virnal troop, but Rukan plucked at his sleeve.

Stay with me.

Is it all right? Starsin asked Rukan in a low voice. He wanted to stay at Rukan’s side, but as a lowly army cadet he preferred not to share a hut with any of the high Virnal leadership.

Rukan nodded.

The Virnal officers, with Starsin and several soldiers, ducked their heads into the hetman’s house. In the main room was a fireplace of mud brick against the side wall, a table, and a pole ladder leading to a sleeping platform overhead. The officers and men who got in first found sacks and bundles on which to sit. The hut was about ten paces by five, and the fifteen soldiers and officers together with several peasants crowded the space.

Starsin wrinkled his nose at a mixture of smells, the most prominent being animal dung. A gust of rain pattered on the thatch as the hetman’s woman and children produced flat beer, fruit and bread, and set these on the broad table. The children had skin sores, and one boy had an infected eye. The man whispered urgent orders, rebuking their clumsiness, evidently terrified lest they irritate or provoke the lords.

Lord Varnoth glanced around the interior. His gaze fixed on Rukan. Lieutenant.

The junior army officer appeared lost in private reverie and did not respond.

Lieutenant!

Rukan jerked his attention towards the senior Virnal.

Milord?

You’re Rukan, aren’t you? I hope you have checked the discs? Make sure we have no evil miasma here. Better an age of icy rain than that!

The junior officer shaded a greenish disc of mineral strapped to his wrist, and held it close to his eyes. His hands were shaking. It does not sparkle, Milord, Rukan said. The place is safe.

The men relaxed once more. Starsin knew the risk well. Everyone was afraid of the miasma emitted unseen from objects dug up by fools and careless treasure-seekers. In this hut, fetishes carved in wood hung from a ceiling constructed of poles, showing a certain skill in native art, but Starsin doubted such things could protect against the invisible horror.

Was something troubling Lieutenant Rukan? Since returning from his last mission, the formerly open and friendly man had appeared withdrawn, prone to moods and anger. Last time they met, Starsin had wanted to reach out and offer comfort, but had been unable to penetrate the other man’s shell.

The visitors ate. Starsin found the bread quite pleasant till his teeth concussed on a piece of grit.

Rukan, watching him wince said, If you must eat this muck, cadet, then bite slowly. That’s the trick of it.

Starsin, too well-bred to speak with his mouth full, nodded.

Cadet, fetch in the Master’s hawk, Kathan said in a mild tone.

Starsin choked on a fragment of bread. Yes, Milord. Being spoken to by a senior Virnal filled him with alarm.

Outside, the hawk cage hung untended from one of the timalts. The ordinary soldiers were usually issued with these low six-legged beasts while officers got horses. Hooves shuffled in the mud as he approached, and he caught a sour smell of wet horse. The hooded bird, large and tawny-coloured, made a discontented noise as Starsin untied the cage. He re-entered the hut, looking for a space to put down the cage in a hut full of damp people.

Just put it here, cadet, Lord Kathan said, pointing.

Starsin did as he was told and put the uncovered cage on the crude table. The peasant children edged away from it, and the adults stared.

Starsin turned to Rukan and in a low voice asked a question. Rukan, what’s the hawk for?

It’s supposed to detect sorcerers.

Kathan fixed him with a chilly blue-eyed stare, till Starsin looked away. You’ll see soon enough, boy.

He had been overheard. Starsin’s stomach tightened, but the Virnal made no further remark. Regaining his composure, Starsin observed the two leading Virnals. Kathan, the Virnal military leader, was powerful and accustomed to using violence to impose his will. He had never been handsome, and the scar on his left cheek did not improve his looks. He was a few years younger than Varnoth, hard and fit, but lines of ageing showed on his skin.

Lord Varnoth, the Grand Master, had the forbidding features of a man used to control. He had thrown a dead mouse to his hawk and now fed strips of raw meat to the caged bird. He smiled as the hooked beak tore the flesh.

The Virnals were an elitist Order, and they had several regiments of elite soldiers who served alongside the Army. Other Virnals, including Varnoth, held civilian posts in the Imperial administration.

The plain victuals consumed, Starsin asked himself how soon the Virnals would investigate the frightened villagers for sorcery. Not while the rain continued, it seemed. The leaders gave no orders, and the Virnals and officers betrayed their boredom by picking up the hetman’s few possessions and making scornful remarks.

We have no entertainment here! the third Virnal, Larash, complained to the village hetman. Provide some!

The hetman fled, to reappear with another man, short, in a brown hessian smock. A juggler, Lords!

It was surprising the villagers had a juggler at all. Soldiers shuffled aside to give the man floor space.

He took out rudely carved balls of wood, and held them ready, two in each hand. Sweat stood out on his brow. Starsin hoped the man’s act would appease the capricious visitors, and he would not fail by dropping a ball. Four-ball juggling wasn’t so easy, yet the villager juggled with skill, making balls pass above his head, over his raised leg, even grazing the sleeping platform above.

Jewels glittered in an enamelled hilt as Larash raised a small knife of glinting steel. The young Virnal officer was extremely handsome, with ash-blond hair, long eyelashes and a smooth, hairless face, but Starsin had met Larash socially and found him obnoxious and arrogant.

Larash flicked his knife forward, and one of the juggler’s balls spun away. The soldiers gasped and the juggler froze in fear, letting the remaining balls fall. A soldier knelt, armour creaking, and retrieved the ball from the straw, with the knife stuck fast in it. As he held it up, the two senior Virnals and the soldiers cheered and applauded Larash. Starsin concealed his disapproval as best he could, while the juggler, humiliated, got his remaining balls in motion to await his overlords’ next jest. For the moment, they were in a good humour.

Starsin saw Larash’s intent now fastened on the two young girls, as the young Virnal caught the hetman’s attention and gestured towards them.

They look half-ripe. Let’s have them uncovered! he said with a smirk.

Starsin chilled with unease, wondering what base act the Virnal had in mind.

The father hesitated, frozen with horror.

Lord Kathan took an interest in his empty ale mug.

What, you disobey? Larash drawled, with a vile grin.

Starsin, disgusted at this treatment of the unattractive girls, turned to Rukan to seek his response. He had been steadied on occasion by the officer’s guidance.

Rukan, glassy-eyed, stared at the wall with fists clenched.

Starsin should have taken Rukan’s advice to move on.

-2-

Today I lurked at the western city gate and spied on a column of armed riders as they rode out. Three Virnals headed them, straight-backed and menacing in their shiny plate armour. Two had shoulder flags that identify them as Lord Varnoth and Lord Kathan, High Masters of the Virnal Order, that efficient and ubiquitous cabal. Why them? Just seeing them makes me a little afraid. Since coming to their city, I have a clearer appreciation of who the Virnals are. Based in an imposing Citadel, their order provides most of the Empire’s administrators and they have their own elite armed forces, distinct from the Emperor’s army.

Following them were officers of the regular army, with plain chain-mail armour. They looked as if they know their place - behind. Then ten of the ordinary soldiery in cheap cane and leather armour. Knew their place too; behind the officers, and riding six-legged timalts, utility beasts.

(Secret Journal of Lannaira Hajan)

Intimidated by Larash, the hetman muttered a few words to his daughters. With eyes downcast, the girls removed their long brown dresses, then a kind of vest, leaving them clad in grubby underskirts. Their breasts were bared. They were half-formed, Starsin saw, like half-pomegranates. A pleasing sight, but it aroused in him a futile protective impulse. The soldiers whistled and guffawed as the girls looked at the floor, with their arms wrapped protectively around their skinny bodies.

Lord Varnoth smiled as if it pained him. You’re quick to discover aesthetic possibilities in such uncouth surroundings, Larash. He drank the last of his beer and winced.

Lord Kathan scowled as though the amusements of his colleagues were no concern of his.

Varnoth still appeared unsatiated. His gaze shifted to the small boys, and Starsin’s guts clenched at the thought of the further obscenity that might follow.

Does your bird need water, Grand Master? Lord Kathan asked.

Lord Varnoth, distracted, considered this. He bent over the cage. Have the hetman bring fresh water.

Starsin caught a glimpse of the hetman’s contorted face as he turned away. It chilled him. He guessed what the others did not know, or care. City-dwellers did not mind a bit of nudity, but the Plains peasants were a prudish lot who kept private the things of the body. The long and multi-layered clothes they wore in this heat suggested as much.

Kathan, thin-lipped, gestured at the girls. Stop this farce!

The father hustled his children away into the next room and threw their garments after them.

That did not amuse you, eh? Larash said to Starsin, who had failed to conceal his distaste.

Starsin made a diplomatic shrug.

The Virnal officers and their escort were becoming bored, and their temper uncertain. So far the villagers had got off lightly. The rain continued to hiss and murmur outside. Starsin stood and went to the door. He had had enough of this bullying and the tensions in the hut.

Where are you going, Estevan? Rukan looked at him in surprise.

Starsin nodded to Rukan. To take a leak, he murmured. Someone chuckled. Starsin made it to the door, heated and self-conscious.

He stepped out into the rain, followed by muted laughter. A screen of pelting water hid the fields beyond the village. The rain and the cooler air brought on a genuine need to urinate. He moved away from the door, made a trickle of yellow against the side of the hut under the eaves, and grimaced. By now he would have lost his seat in the hetman’s crowded house, even if he cared to return. But he was forgetting what he’d come for.

He fastened his pants and ran to the next hut, where he pushed open the door and entered.

An old peasant sat inside, mending a hoe. His white hair and beard caught the light from the doorway. He looked up.

What is it? the old man asked, in a thick country accent. You people have already searched in here.

The man’s boldness surprised Starsin. The other peasants had been cringing. I don’t want to search. I heard there were relics for sale in these villages.

Not so. The old man carried on with his repair work.

I’m not with those other people.

You have the same uniform as some of them.

I’m an army cadet. I was out riding, and the rain started.

Any fool could have seen it was going to rain.

Starsin let this pass. No doubt the country people had weather lore.

I don’t like those people much, Starsin said. I’ve heard what they do.

We’ve all heard what they do. Now they’ve come here.

Starsin waited.

Relics, eh? The old man got up, and fumbled in a corner of the hut.

A fertility talisman carved in greenstone hung from the roof. Starsin eyed it, wondering if anyone other than Rukan would note his extended absence. He was relieved to be away from the menacing Virnals. Their amusements offended him, and judging from what he had just seen, the Virnals were less interested in continuing an elite learned and military Order than in the enjoyment of power.

The old man pushed aside a pile of rags, and took out a few objects, which he placed before Starsin.

Starsin collected ancient relics, and made a small profit by selling them on. He didn’t need the money, but it was a pursuit that appealed to him, involving esoteric knowledge, mildly unconventional activity, risk and exclusivity.

Sit down, young soldier, and welcome.

Starsin nodded curtly and sat on the straw palliasse that took up a third of the floor space.

What is your name, young soldier?

You don’t need to know it, old man. Nosy peasant.

You are from the city, of course. You do not speak like the soldiers.

He glanced at the things, broken bits of pottery, a lump of corroded metal, a glass bottle and a scrap of stained but clean-edged metal without interest. He poked at the last item with his finger. That might be worth a few mina, if he got it cheap.

You have a kind face, young man, the old man whispered. Can you not help us? These Virnals seek out anyone with a trace of far-sight or healing skill, and crush them. They blame us for the old evils left behind by the Ancient Ones.

This conversation alarmed Starsin. He did not want to be associated with a futile resistance movement. I’m only a cadet. The Virnals control everything. Please don’t ask me--

You will not always be a powerless cadet, young man. You could help us. There are others-- The old man grasped at Starsin’s arm.

What old evils?

The things under the ground.

Ah, the bad miasma from dug objects, and the burning pits. He doubted that country spell-casters were to blame for these.

He poked at the relics. These look harmless. Like most treasure-hunters, Starsin wore a ring whose inset stone would glow if he handled anything dangerous. I’ll give you a silver mina and take these away. He could afford the charity. But I was looking for something more special.

Starsin handed over a silver coin and pocketed the near-worthless relics.

Who told you there was something more special here?

Starsin shrugged. A lady. He meant a young lady he had met at a party.

The old man stiffened, and his manner changed. Do you know a lady, with earrings?

What an idiotic question. Many women in the city did, including his foster mother, Lady Estevan. He shrugged. Yes.

A horn blared from outside the hut and horses neighed. The patter of rain had ceased; evidently the search was reforming. Starsin got to his feet, anxious lest the troopers make off with his horse. The old man tugged at Starsin’s arm, and he turned in irritation.

Take this! The old man was holding out a rounded object, which he pressed into Starsin’s hand. Give it to the Lady!

Who? Starsin held his ring to the object.

Someone was calling Starsin’s name from the village street. He thrust open the hut door and looked out, to see soldiers tramping in