Two Heirs: The Marmoros Trilogy, #1

By Peter Kenson

The entire Ystrad royal family was thought to have been massacred during an invasion by their planetary neighbours, but when evidence emerges that one of the family may have survived, agent David Held is despatched to find and protect the royal heir.

Denied his usual array of hi-tech equipment, he is forced to seek the help of an outcast prince determined to unite his people and reclaim their ancestral homeland.

As the fates of the two young heirs become increasingly intertwined, can the race to find the one, help to fulfil the ambitions of the other? Or will both be destroyed by a ruthless enemy who has no qualms about bringing advanced warfare to a pre-industrial society?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter Kenson
• Release date: Oct 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781386292555

Book preview

Prologue

The psychic blast reverberated through all corners of the empire and for the few seconds it lasted, the universe was a sad place.  The outpouring of grief was so intense that grown men stopped in mid-stride, and women and children burst into tears for no reason other than the intensity of the emotion that suddenly hit them.  Telepaths everywhere instinctively strengthened their shields yet still cringed from the sheer power of the outburst.  The whole of the known universe felt an almost personal loss but only one in a trillion had any inkling of what really had just happened.

***

Some hours later, four of those more knowledgeable people were standing around a Stellar Display Tank on the imperial planet of Galgos.

Khan, the head of the Imperial Secret Service, opened the discussion.

So the babe survived the crash after all.

Is there any other possible explanation for this phenomenon?

You’re the Chief Scientific Advisor.  You tell me.

The scientist shook his head.  Until four hours ago I would not have said it was possible, a mental blast of that power.  Not even for a member of the Ystrad royal family.  The scream originated from a planet in the region of space where we know the escape ship was headed after the attack on the royal palace.  But the navy searched that whole region.

We did, Space Admiral Wei, the third member of the quartet said, fiddling with the controls on the display.  It was the most powerful model display tank, capable of showing stellar and planetary objects down to asteroid level.  It could even indicate the status of ships and satellites in a particular region of space, if there was a suitable information source such as a local navigational beacon to upload the information.

This is the region where we think the blast originated.  It was 25 years ago but I’ve scanned the records.  We searched every inhabited and uninhabited planet in that entire region but we found no trace of a crash site.

Well obviously you should have looked harder.

Gentlemen, gentlemen, Khan intervened.  Recriminations at this stage are not going to move us forward.  What are the damage estimates? he said, turning to the fourth member of the group.

"Reports are coming in of casualties on every imperial planet; industrial accidents, traffic accidents, major transport problems.  All due to momentary loss of concentration.  On top of that, we have severe casualties among the telepathic community.  Anyone who didn’t get their shields up in time suffered trauma, and several hundred are in shock induced comas.  We don’t have the full figures yet; the reports are still coming in but the damage will run into billions.

Whoever or whatever caused this has to be found and stopped.  The Emperor is concerned at the moment but if it should happen again….  He will be looking for heads to liberate from shoulders, if you understand me.

Khan tried to calm the situation.  "You will have to manage the Emperor.  You’re the chancellor.  It’s part of your job description.

"None of us are in a position, as yet, to guarantee anything about a recurrence.  But every psychologist I’ve spoken to in the last couple of hours has agreed that this was grief, probably caused by a singular traumatic event rather than an on-going situation.

I asked them to hypothesise and extrapolate based on the Ystrad baby scenario.  Assuming that the baby survived the crash, and all the evidence seems to be pointing that way, he would have needed help to survive this long.  We know that one of the family’s retainers escaped in the craft with the baby.  We can only speculate that something has happened to either the boy himself or to his guardian.

You refer to him as a boy but it’s been 25 years since the Belsi attacked Ystradis. The boy will be a grown man by now.

That’s not necessarily so, the chief scientist said.  We don’t know everything about the Ystrad physiology; they’re quite a secretive race.  But we know they are very long lived, much longer than most other races and develop to maturity or adulthood over a correspondingly longer timespan.  Coupled with that, the consensus of opinion among the telepathic community is that the outburst had childish overtones of fear and loneliness as well as the massive feeling of sadness and loss.  I don’t think we’re talking about an adult Ystrad here.  I think we’re talking about a child who has just lost the guardian who’s been looking after him for the last 25 years.

Then we have to find this child, the chancellor stated, if he is still a child, and restore him to his people before anything else happens to him that might trigger another outburst.  How confident are we about the child’s location?

Reasonably confident.  Telepaths are not scientific instruments and everybody was caught unawares by this blast.  Nevertheless we’ve triangulated best estimates from as many telepaths as we can and we’ve narrowed down the possibilities to only three star systems.  Two of the three contain no habitable planets, and the escape craft they used could not have sustained life in a hostile environment for as much as one year let alone twenty five.  The third stellar system has one planet in the goldilocks zone, the habitable zone around the star.  That has to be the favourite.  They could have exited the escape craft and mingled with the local population.  I understand the differences in physical appearance are not that great.

And you surveyed this planet at the time of the search, Admiral?

We did, and found no trace of a crash site.  However, the land mass of the planet is mainly concentrated in the southern hemisphere.  Most of the northern hemisphere is ocean.  If the escape craft came down in the ocean, there would be no trace of a crash site to find.

So your excuse is that they splashed down in the ocean and somehow managed to swim to shore.  Is that it?

It is not an excuse, Chancellor, but it is a viable theory.  We know that the type of craft they were using had some aquatic capability.  They would not have had to… swim very far.

I see.  And the native population.  What stage are they at?

Unfortunately this is one of the original Terran colonies that was lost after the collapse of the First Expansion.  With the loss of contact, the civilisation regressed.  When it was rediscovered about 150 years ago, it was a feudal state.  Castles, warlords, definitely pre-industrial.  Probably no more than 0.5 on the Kardashev scale.

So we can’t go in and mount a full scale search without contravening at least three Galactic Non-Intervention laws.

Not a chance.  The Department of Exo-Affairs has slapped an interdiction on the planet.  Absolutely no contact.  However, the situation is even more complicated than that.

The other three all looked at Khan. How so?

"We believe that we have located, at least on a planetary level, the missing heir to the throne of Ystrad.  Technically their uncrowned king since the demise of his parents.  If we have done that, the Ystrad, being a telepathic race, will also have done so, and probably more easily and quickly than we did.  They will undoubtedly mount a search and rescue mission regardless of any Galactic Non-Intervention laws.

"And it gets worse.  The Ystrad are a scattered race following the capture of Ystradis by the Belsi, in the conflict from which the baby fled.  However, the restoration of their king would provide a rallying point for their people, and could lead to a renewal of the war with the Belsi and an attempt to retake their home planet.

"The Belsi, on the other hand, will do everything in their power to prevent this.  Now the Belsi are inherently a non-telepathic race but they will have access to telepaths, and it will not take them long to find the location of this planet.  Once they have it, they will be down there in numbers, trampling everything and everybody in their way to find this Ystrad prince and eliminate him.

So we now have not only the possibility of technological interference with a pre-industrial society, but the real risk of an inter-racial conflict being waged on the surface of this planet in the middle of a primitive and innocent people.

Oh shit, muttered the chancellor.  Do we have to tell the Emperor?

That’s your call, of course, Khan said.  But I don’t see how we can keep the lid on this, particularly if it does break out into open conflict.

So what’s to be done?

"I suggest that the first thing is to get the Emperor to summon the Belsi and the Ystrad ambassadors and read them the riot act.  Tell them the boy is under his personal protection; make him a ward of the Imperial Court or something.  If he puts on one of his really scary performances it might slow them down a bit, or at least make them think twice about putting troops on the ground.

The second thing is to seal off the planet as far as we can. They will still try to put some people in there even if they don’t send in troops.  Admiral Wei, can you put a blockade up around the planet?

Not that would be totally effective.  You can commit as many ships as you want to a planetary blockade, and a determined smuggler or blockade runner will find a way through.  They always do.  The best I can do is to put up a network of early warning satellites with a warship there to monitor the signals and intercept what he can.

Okay then.  The third thing is…. We’ve got to find this youngster and before anybody else does. And that means we’ve got to put our own people on the ground.

And break a few galactic laws ourselves?

It won’t be the first time and I doubt it will be the last.  Of course it would probably be best not to draw the Emperor’s attention to this part of the plan.  Plausible deniability and all that.

How will we identify the child from the native population?  For a start, what age would the boy be or, at least appear to be?

That’s very difficult to say with any degree of confidence.  The exo-team who have been studying the race say that the rate of development of a young Ystrad is heavily dependent on environmental factors; suitable food supply, secure family environment, education and training, peer group pressure etc.  With the possible exception of the food supply, most of those other factors have either not been present or not been ideal.  Best estimate is that he will appear to be in his low teens, possibly as much as 15/16 but no more and he could be very much younger.

Great.  That narrows it down to most of the male children on the planet.  So how will we identify this particular one?

Well, the boy is probably going to be a loner.  He may be able to physically pass as one of the natives but he will not belong to any family group.  However, I would suggest the most profitable course would be to look for telepathic leakage.  The native population is very definitely non-telepathic.  The evidence of this blast shows that the boy is not in full control of his own ability and is unlikely to be able to fully shield himself.  If we use people who are capable of tracking telepathic ability, he may give himself away.

It was the chancellor who voiced the suspicion that had been growing as Khan relayed all this information.

Uh, Khan.  How exactly do we know all these details about the local population?

Well… I do have some low-level assets on the planet.  Locals who file regular reports but without any understanding of why, or who they’re reporting to.  Useful as contacts for the people we will have to send in but no more than that.

So, do you have any agents suitable for this assignment?

Yes, of course.  We have to treat this as a priority task and I have three or four agents who could handle it.  All of them have some telepathic ability, either natural or trained and all of them are capable of dealing with a mission of this… sensitivity.  I will just have to pull them off their current deployments.

Won’t a team of agents increase the risk of drawing attention to themselves?

They won’t be a team as such.  I will have to send them in as individuals, working on their own.  Scatter them across the continent to provide maximum coverage.  I will alert the local contacts to help but it’s a huge area to search.  What worries me is the risk of technological contamination.  All of my people are trained in the latest weapons, devices, technological gizmos, anything that will give them an edge.  And none of which they will be able to use on this planet.  They’re going to have to go in bare-arsed.

Do we have a choice?

No regrettably, I don’t believe we do.

Well I may be able to help there, the CSA broke in.  We’ve had a team working for quite some time now on deep memory implants, suppression and substitution of memories and we’ve been making a lot of progress.  I believe we’re at a point where we could take one of your agents, suppress their technical training and knowledge and graft on a set of skills, training and experience that would be appropriate to let them blend in to the society on this planet.

How effective is it? Khan asked.

Oh it definitely works.  We’ve conducted trials where we’ve taken a couple of volunteer scientists and retrained them in a completely different field.  The trial subjects were able to work and converse with colleagues in their new non-scientific fields as though they had worked there all their lives.

And is it reversible?

Definitely.  In fact that’s really the only problem we’ve encountered; occasional memory leakage.  We’ve run some of these tests over extended periods and the new implants have stayed stable throughout.  However, sometimes weeks or months later, something triggers one of the suppressed memories and it comes bubbling back to the surface. The trigger might be a sight or a sound, or even a smell.  It’s completely unpredictable.  Even then it doesn’t affect the implanted memories.  It just causes a bit of confusion in the subject’s mind.

You’re saying that you could take my agent, suppress his technical training and knowledge, retrain him as a farmer who would blend into this primitive society and the only risk is that in two months’ time he might suddenly remember how to disassemble and clean a multi-phase repeating laser rifle.

Ah… yes.  Something like that.

Khan looked around the room at the others.

Gentlemen, it appears we have the bare bones of a plan here.  We have to find this boy, this heir to the Ystrad throne and protect him from the Belsi.  Chancellor, I’m relying on you to scare the living daylights out of those ambassadors and keep their people off that planet.  Admiral, I want that blockade up and running as soon as possible, to the best level that you can achieve.  And I will go and roust out some agents for reassignment.

Chapter 1 - Paelis

The man sat quietly astride his horse, watching the activity in the clearing below.  Four covered wagons and five open carts had arrived a few moments earlier, and were preparing to set up camp for the night.  They were escorted by a large group of horsemen who spread out around the clearing.  He counted thirty eight mounted fighters, some with swords and bows and others carrying spears and shields.  Another nine warriors were driving the carts, their personal mounts saddled and tethered to the rear of each wagon.  Their armour was minimal, mostly sleeveless leather jerkins, the archers identifiable by the leather bracer on their arm. 

The exception was clearly the leader of the group.  Mounted on the pick of the horses, a chestnut mare with four white feet and a white blaze on its nose, he wore a chain mail shirt and a crested helmet that had seen better days.  While all the others dismounted to set up the camp, he rode the perimeter of the clearing, posting sentries in the treeline both ahead and behind along the trail they had used.

Quickly but without any fuss, the drivers arranged the wagons into a semicircle in the centre of the clearing allowing fifty paces of open space between the campsite and the nearest trees.  The leader of the group was a cautious man who obviously did not intend to be surprised during the night.  But then, the watcher thought, you don't survive long at this game without learning some caution.

At the central point of the circle, two of the men were building a fireplace, cutting the turf into squares and stacking them, ready to replace in the morning.  Others watered the horses at the stream which flowed swiftly down the ridge to his left to border one edge of the clearing.  The horses were then hobbled before being turned loose to feed on the grass. 

One of the wagons had disgorged a quantity of slaves, the clanking of their ankle chains audible above the bustle of the camp.  Eight male and five female slaves were labouring now to erect the tents around the other side of the circle.  One of the women stumbled and fell under the load she was carrying but no-one moved to help her.  One of the warriors cursed her and gave her a kick in the ribs before dragging her upright by her hair.  He was a giant of a man standing head and shoulders above most of the other men and lifted the slave easily off her feet, dangling her by her hair until a shouted curse from the leader made him release his hold.  If the watcher on the ridge felt any emotion at the slave's cries of pain, it did not show on his face, but he made a mental note of the giant swordsman in the book of accounts.

There were other women in the camp too.  Two of the cleaner and better dressed had ridden up front with the driver of one of the wagons but most of the rest had been sprawled across the contents of the open carts.  One of the tents being erected was much larger than the others and the leader's two women disappeared inside as soon as it was up.  The other women busied themselves helping to unload the carts and prepare the evening meal.

There was another woman as well who caught the watcher's eye.  She had travelled in one of the covered wagons but she was not manacled like the slaves and she was clearly not one of the camp followers.  She was better dressed and from a distance appeared more beautiful than the leader's two women, but she did not go into the leader's tent.  Instead she stayed by the wagons and seemed to ignore the activity going on around her.  She had what could best be described as presence but with no obvious role or authority.  He could not fit her into any of the easy categories, but noted that all of the camp followers and most of the men walked cautiously around her.

His attention was diverted then by the arrival of the outriders; the two point riders coming back down the trail that forded the stream, two more coming in from the far side of the camp and another two following the side trail over the ridge about eighty paces to the east of where the observer sat.  Despite himself, he was impressed.  He had known they were out there of course, but it was another indication that this was more than just an ordinary band of brigands and slavers.  Some of them, definitely the leader and almost certainly some of the others, had received military training at some point.

His horse stirred as a small animal, disturbed by the riders on the trail, rustled through the undergrowth behind them.  He leaned forward slightly to rub the horse's neck and whisper in its ear.  The rustling faded away and horse and rider resumed their watch.

When he had found the group earlier in the day there had been more of them, nearer sixty on his original count.  Somewhere along the trail as he manoeuvred to keep out of sight of the outriders, a group of them had split off.  So now they waited, horse and man looking as though carved from a single block of wood as they stood motionless, concealed from view by the beech trees that crested the ridge.

The late afternoon sun was rapidly heading towards the treetops and an autumn mist was starting to form over the stream.  The first frosts were still a few weeks away he judged, but already the evenings were turning chilly.  The camp fire below was starting to catch now and the slaves were being herded away towards the trees to collect armfuls of dry wood.

One of the sentries shouted a challenge and all around the camp men reached for weapons, checking swords in their scabbards and reaching for bows ready to string.  Two of the horses had been kept saddled and tethered to the wagons and the giant swordsman and the leader of the group were mounted before the answering hail came from down the trail.  The camp relaxed again as another five horsemen rode out from under the gloomy trees and into the circle of firelight.  It had obviously been a successful hunt as one of the horsemen had the carcass of a deer laid across the front of his saddle.  He dismounted to the congratulations of the camp and a grudging nod from the leader.  They would eat well tonight.

The watcher on the ridge waited until the camp had settled down again before he moved, backing his mount cautiously down the far side of the ridge and then angling across to cut the trail the outriders had followed.  He crested the ridge and started down towards the clearing.  It was almost full dark now and neither of the moons had risen yet so, although he was not trying to creep up on them, his approach on the side trail was not detected.  He stopped at the edge of the clearing and hailed the camp.

Halloo the camp.

The results were electric.  As before men reached for weapons and bows were strung.  The leader and the giant were mounted and threw their horses into a flat gallop across the clearing towards the sound of the hail.  The man sat calmly astride his mount and waited for them to reach him.  The leader dragged his horse to a standstill, rearing up on its hind legs while his companion galloped past to check the trail behind him.

Neither man spoke until the giant returned down the trail and took position behind the man.  He's alone.

The leader nodded.  Who are you and what do you want?

I'm just a traveller.  Been on these back trails for days without seeing a soul.  Saw your campfire from the ridge up there.

And...

Felt like some company.  Thought I could maybe share your fire, share some talk.  I've a couple of rabbits I can add to your pot.

We got food.  This from the giant.

So I can smell.  But in my experience, a little more never comes amiss.

What are you doing on the back trails? the leader asked.

In my profession, I prefer to travel the quiet roads until I get where I'm going.

And where's that?

Truth to tell, I haven't rightly made my mind up on that.  So I just travel until something turns up.

And your profession?

Little bit of this, little bit of that.  Generally seems to end up with a little bit of fighting.

The giant stirred behind him.  He's a common sell-sword.

A sell-sword, yes, the man agreed amiably.  But I take exception to common.

You rate yourself then, the leader asked.

There's more than a few men who could testify to my skill.... If only they were still able to speak.

Let me kill him now, the giant growled.  Then we'll see how good he is.

Wait, the leader commanded.  He has asked for our hospitality.  We should not refuse him.  There will be time enough in the morning for a trial of arms... If you agree?

I will be delighted.

You will be dead, the giant commented.

Then I should obviously make best use of my remaining time on this earth.  And the smell from your campfire is really becoming most enticing.  Shall we?

He urged his horse into a walk, forcing the leader to turn and trot after him.

I didn't catch your name.

I didn't offer it.  But it's Held.

Held.  That's not a common name.

It's Gernian.  Apparently it means something in Gernish.

You from Gernia then?

Nope.  But my father travelled quite widely.

And your mother?

Followed him.

I'm Manfred Redblade but everybody calls me Manny.  This is my camp.  And the ox behind you is Torsten.

They reached the circle of wagons and the crowd of men parted to let them through.  At a sign from Manny, the swords disappeared back into scabbards and the bows were unstrung.

Drop your gear over by the wagons and come to the fire.

Held unsaddled his horse and rubbed him down with a couple of handfuls of grass before turning him loose with a slap on the rump.

Ain't ya gonna 'obble 'im then?

He turned to face the speaker, a fresh faced youth of no more than 16 or 17 summers.  No need.  He'll still be here in the morning.

But wot if somebody steals 'im?

Then I'll kill the sentry who fell asleep.

Oh.  I'm Jaks by the way.  Manny sent me to fetch you to the fire.

Thought I'd get lost, did he?

Er no, Jaks flustered.  I.... I don't think it was that.

Only kidding, he smiled.  But the smell of that food is causing my stomach to make some serious complaining noises.  Let's go eat.

The slaves had dragged some logs into a rough circle around the fire and Jaks found room for them on the far side opposite Manny.  As befitted the leader, Manny sat in a proper chair and spoke now, without getting up but in a voice loud enough to command attention.

This is Held, not from Gernia despite the name.  He is going to be our guest for tonight and tomorrow has offered to give Torsten a demonstration of his sword fighting skills.

There was a chorus of sniggers and muffled laughter around the circle.

I thank you for the hospitality of hearth and food and I promise not to be too hard on Torsten in the morning.

That provoked some more open laughter and a scowl on the face of the giant Torsten, who grabbed a slab of venison from one of the slaves and attacked it savagely.  As the food was being served, Held took the opportunity to look around the circle.  Manny sat in front of his tent in a wooden chair with some ornate carving and his two women, one on either side, on collapsible camp stools.  All of the other fighters, barring those on sentry, were seated on the logs, some with their womenfolk alongside them.  The slaves were walking round carrying platters of steaming meat and pitchers of beer.

He helped himself to a generous portion of venison and then gave Jaks a nudge. 

As I rode in, I thought I saw another woman, rather striking, long brown hair.  I don't see her now.

Oh, that'll be the Lady Falaise.  She's an 'ostage.  She don't eat with us.

A hostage for what?

Well we went to 'er village to collect the regular tribute. You know, provisions for the winter an' that.  An' the village came up short like.  Manny got pretty riled up with his local lordship, so Torsten belted 'im one an' we took 'is woman as 'ostage.  Gave 'em one week to come up with the rest of the goods.  We go back there, day after tomorrow.

So her village is near here then?

"Well it ain't a proper village like.  They're travelling folk.  Settle somewhere for a few seasons, plant some crops, raise some livestock and then, suddenly, up and move on.  One of the old-timers told me it can sometimes take weeks to track them down to collect our provisions.

Some people call 'em gypsies but that ain't right.  My da told me.  They used to be regular settled folk with towns an' villages an' that.

So what happened? Held prompted after a mouthful of meat.

Dunno for certain.  I 'eard there was some trouble with a local warlord.  Took over their main city an' drove 'em out.  Been 'omeless ever since.  Least that's what I 'eard.  Long time ago now.

So why do they give you this tribute?

'Cos we needs it.  For the winter.  Otherwise we'd starve.  They always grows too much anyway.  That's what Manny says.  So we asks 'em and they gives it.

And if they don't?  What happens if they don't come up with the rest of the provisions?

Manny will keep Lady Falaise for 'imself.  Fancies 'er something rotten 'e does.  Course it'll cause some trouble with Leyla an' Mo, but Torsten's quite sweet on Leyla so it'll all work out.

Leyla and Mo, I take it, are the two on either side of Manny.

That's right.  Mo's the little dark one on the left and Leyla's the blonde with the big um...

Chest? he supplied helpfully.

Yeah.  Not 'arf.

Any further musings on the potential domestic difficulties which Manny might face, were interrupted by a shout from across the fire. 

So Held.  Tell us your story.

It's a long story.

We have all evening.  Where have you travelled?  Where did you learn the sword?  Where did you work last?

I've travelled all over but mostly in the southern regions.  This is my first trip up North.  And I learned the sword at my father's knee.

So your father taught you everything he knew?

Not exactly.  He was killed in a swordfight when I was only twelve.

He wasn't the best then, Torsten threw across the circle.

"He was to me.

After he died, I sailed to the island of Nasaki and enrolled in the sword school there.  Best in the known world.  They didn't want to take me so I had to insist.

And how exactly did you do that? Manny asked.

I challenged the leading student in the school and killed him in a duel.  After that they took me in and I spent the next five years there, studying everything I could about the sword.

And then?

And then I went back and killed the man who had killed my father.  Since then I've been all over.  Wherever somebody needed a sword and was willing to pay for the best.

You think a lot of yourself, Held.  We'll see who is best when you face my sword in the morning.

Torsten, for some reason you seem to have taken a dislike to me.  I have that effect on some people.  I don't understand it myself but it does happen.  But if you let your dislike of me rule your actions tomorrow, then it is you who will lose my friend.  Not I.

With a roar of anger the giant surged to his feet.  Why wait for tomorrow?  Let's settle this now, tonight.

I won't fight you now because you're drunk and I don't fight people who are incapable of defending themselves.

Incapable!  Torsten was incandescent with rage.  He seized his sword from behind the log where he had been sitting and walked slowly around the fire.  I'll show you who's incapable.  However much I've had to drink, I'm more than capable of splitting you into tiny pieces and barbecuing the lot.

Held remained seated as the other fighters scattered, falling backwards over the logs in their attempt to create a space.  Looking across the fire he could see that Manny was also sitting calmly, a half-smile playing across his face.  As he caught Held's eye, he shrugged his shoulders but made no move to intervene.

Stand up and fight or sit there and die, Torsten yelled.  It's all the same to me.

If you make me draw my sword, I will kill you, Held said, and then rolled smartly to one side as Torsten's sword crashed down onto the log where he had been sitting.

It was an impressive sword, he thought and there was clearly no-one else in the group who would have been capable of wielding it.  It was also embedded to a hands breadth in the log which quite firmly was refusing to release it.  Held moved cautiously to the side, his own sword still in its scabbard and stood hands on hips, watching the giant struggling to free his weapon.

With a roar of fury, Torsten gave up his attempt to free the massive weapon and turned to the nearest fighter.  Give me your sword.

Trembling, the man unhooked his scabbard and handed it to Torsten who drew the blade and whirled round to face Held.  It was a fine blade but fully two feet shorter than the one embedded in the log.

Don't do this Torsten, he said.  Fight me tomorrow with your own sword.

If the giant heard him speak, he gave no sign but charged straight at the smaller man, relying on his greater strength and momentum.  Held stepped back one pace and swayed to his right.  In one graceful, fluid movement, he drew his sword and dragged the leading edge across the giant's torso upwards from right hip to left shoulder.  Continuing the turn for a full 360 degrees, he had returned his sword to its scabbard and stood facing his giant opponent again before the latter even knew he was dead.

There were gasps of shock from the audience as an expression of surprise spread across Torsten's face.  He dropped the borrowed sword and clasped his hands to his belly as if trying to hold together the edges of the wound through which his lifeblood was pouring.  Slowly he dropped to his knees and then pitched forward onto his face.

Cries of anger came then from some of the fighters as their champion twitched convulsively for the last time.  Held turned to face Manny who had risen from his chair, the smile now absent from his face.  The leader raised his hand for silence.

It was a fair fight and an honourable death.  This man, he said pointing at Held, "is still under the protection of my hospitality.  He will not be harmed.

You four, he indicated a group of fighters, prepare the body for burial.  And you Held, get some rest.  We will talk again in the morning.

He watched as Held walked slowly towards the wagon where he had left his belongings, the crowd parting before him to give him passage.  Then he called one of the archers to him.

Ash, you lived in Gernia for a few years before you came north.  What does Held mean in the Gernish tongue?

The archer scratched his grizzled chin for a few seconds.  Held, he said.  Held in the Gernish tongue means hero.

Chapter 2

The dreams were always the same.  White, brilliant white.  White walls, white ceiling.  He was in a room somewhere, all white but there was nothing he could identify.  Nothing that would tell him where he was.

There were voices in the background too.  Sometimes he thought he could recognise one or other of the voices but they were always changing and he could not put a name to any of them.  He strained to listen but they were too far away or speaking too softly.  They were discussing him.  He was sure of it but he could never quite make out what they were saying.

When he woke the next morning, Held rolled out from beneath the wagon where he had spent the night.  He felt refreshed despite the dreams which had come again.  They seemed to come every night now but he pushed them to the back of his mind and stretched his muscles instead.

Dawn was spreading across the sky although the sun was not yet risen.  The mist from the stream had spread a little but would quickly burn off in the morning sun.  There was dew on the grass and his travel cloak was damp as he took it off and spread it over one of the wagon wheels to dry.

The camp was already stirring.  One of the slaves was piling kindling onto the embers of last night’s fire.  The kindling caught with a crackle and more substantial wood was hastily added.  Two of the other slaves were struggling with an enormous cooking pot containing the morning's porridge, placing it carefully on tripods on either side of the fire.

All around the camp men were stretching, scratching and walking towards the trees to take a piss.  Held was reminded of the pressure in his own bladder and headed in the same direction.  The camp followers were active too; some of the tents were already being struck ready to load on the carts.

Once he had relieved himself and splashed some water on his face from the stream, he stripped to the waist and began his daily exercise routine; twenty minutes of concentrated effort to bring man and sword into perfect balance, a harmony of power, grace and efficiency.  Such was the level of concentration required by the exercise that he was oblivious to his surroundings, and to the fact that all activity had stopped within the camp.  When he finally stopped, drenched with sweat, there was a ripple of applause all around him.

He brought his attention back to the present and found that he was surrounded by a circle of fighters with Manny among them.

Very impressive, he said.  Is that what they taught you in Nasaki?

It's some of it, Held admitted.  They taught me to always start the day with a programme of exercise to clear the mind, stretch the body and create the balance for the day.

Balance.  Yes, a swordsman needs balance.  And that sword is an unusual design.

It's called a katana.  The craftsmen on Nasaki make them.  The best of them are better than any other swords I've ever come across.

That's a big claim.  Let me try it, feel the balance.

No.  Can't do that.  Nobody handles this sword but myself.

Manny’s eyes narrowed at that and other men who had stayed to listen to the exchange started to drift away, all suddenly remembering some urgent task which had to be performed.

Very well, I'll let that pass for now. 

He forced a more conciliatory tone into his voice.  Tell me, which direction will you head once you have broken your fast?

Held shook his head.  Like I said, I'm just travelling.  I have no contract to go to.  I'm just waiting for something to turn up.

Then why don't you ride with us today?  I lost a good man last night.  I could use a good swordsman.

I don't take orders well.

Nobody's asking you to.  Just ride with us for a day and we can talk as we go.  See how we get on.

Held considered for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders.  I don't have any better offers for today but I'm making you no promises.

Fair enough.  Let's go eat.

Without waiting for a reply, Manny turned on his heel and strode off towards the fire.  Held picked his shirt off the bush where he had thrown it and pulled it over his head.  He could feel eyes watching him as he walked back towards the wagons.  As he passed the slave wagon, the hostage who Jaks had called Lady Falaise was standing there.

From close to, he could see that she was even more attractive than he had realised.  She was tall, only slightly shorter than himself.  She had shoulder length brown hair that shone in the early morning sunlight and soft hazel eyes that took in everything about a man in one look.  Her figure was slender and she wore a dark green dress made of a material he did not recognise but which clung to every curve.

He made a formal bow.  My Lady.

She looked at him as though appraising his worth and then turned her back and climbed into the wagon without saying a word.

***

They buried the giant Torsten at the edge of the clearing before they set out that morning.  Held was surprised when, after the burial, Jaks turned up carrying Torsten's sword and a small bundle of possessions.

'S yours now, he said.  You kills a man in a fair fight, you gets all 'is stuff.  That's the rules in this outfit.  Manny says.

They went through the meagre bundle together.  Apart from a purse containing a few copper and silver coins, there was only a pair of oversized boots, some clothing in a poor state of repair and, of course, the sword.

Lose the clothes, he told Jaks.

Lose 'em.  What d'ya mean, lose 'em.  I can sell this lot.  There's some of the women 'ere who are very 'andy with a needle.  Cut down, this could make a tidy outfit for any one of the blokes 'ere.  Meself included.

Do it then.  And if you make any coin from it, you can keep it for your trouble.

Blimey, thanks mate.  You're all right, you are.

Held lifted the sword.  It was far too heavy for him to use but