The Broken King: The Adventures of Will the Wayfarer

By Con Coleman

Helping the helpless can be a pain in the backside, especially if magic's involved.

Will just wants a peaceful life, but when he takes pity on a crippled vagrant who thinks he's the wronged King of Aeoland, things become very complicated very quickly.
 
Choked by a black-clad sorcerer, attacked by an enchanted amulet, and almost getting his head chopped off by outlaws, Will is thrown into making a choice that might just determine the fate of the kingdom. Can he stay in once piece long enough to discover the truth behind the crazed myth-making of The Broken King? And what might he discover about himself in the process?

The Broken King is a fast-moving fantasy adventure, introducing the cynical but good-hearted Will the Wayfarer, self-styled 'finest archer in the kingdom'. If you love the wit and humour of Joe Abercrombie or Scott Lynch, then you might just fall for Will...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Con Coleman
• Release date: Sep 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386198215

Con Coleman

I'm Con Coleman and I write fantasy fiction. I used to be an historian, specialising in Scottish and European History but gave that up to get a normal job and to write fiction in my spare time. That said, I never really left history behind as my interest in the past runs through my writing, shaping the world I've built, influencing the characters and the ideas. Still, my stories are not weighed down by tons of detail. I want them to be adventures, not history lessons dressed up as fantasy. I also love the outdoors, the wilder the better. I live in Glasgow, Scotland, so it's not too far to the mountains, lochs and woods that make my home so beautiful. I'm never happier than when I'm walking through some Highland glen or an Orcadian beach, taking in the splendour and thinking of story ideas. This is one of the reasons why Will, the narrator of my stories, is a wanderer.  Landscape is a big influence on what I write and I hope that comes across, that you feel the rain on your face, or the cold wind biting, hear the wind rushing through the trees or see the dipping sun light up the sky. And, like you, I love books. I read a lot, particularly well-crafted fiction, engaging history, and books about nature and travel. I like books that take you to another world or that shed a new light on familiar places.

Book preview

Find out more about Will’s exploits at concoleman.com

Chapter 1

Confronts some Ruffians

Listen, I know how stories like this are supposed to begin.

There should be some dire warning of impending doom, like a dreadful prophesy foretelling a kingdom plunged into infinite darkness. Or perhaps some black-clad enchanter appears out of a mystic fog and does something terrible to trembling innocents. Maybe it should start with a daring escape from evil outlaws, or with two strangers meeting in the deserted ruins of a great fortress, ready to fight for their lives. Or what about a once proud and noble soul cast down into the gutter, his only ambition to gather a band of trusted adventurers who will restore him to greatness?

Do those sound like good beginnings? Well, I’m not exaggerating when I tell you they’re all in here – sort of – but when this whole thing started it didn’t feel like anything quite so momentous. In fact, if you really want to know, it was all a bit annoying.

I was walking through a village in Athenvore, looking at the inn up ahead and wondering if it was worth stopping for a drink, when this man came flying out of the door and landed with a muddy splat in the middle of the road, swiftly followed by a wooden crutch and a cloth bag. The inn door slammed and some loud, bitter laughter sounded from inside. The man lay there, stunned. Being the considerate type, I went over to him and said, ‘You all right there?’

The fellow looked up at me, disdain written all over his face. He was tall and gangly, with a pointed jaw and high, balding forehead. ‘I am quite fine, thank you,’ he said, reaching for the crutch while waving away my offer of an arm up. ‘I do not require your assistance.’ He looked around as he got up. ‘Though you might locate my luggage.’

Assuming he meant the ragged cloth bag that had been thrown out of the inn with him, I could see it well enough, lying on the other side of the road. ‘This?’ I said, picking it up and handing it to him. The man took it from me without a word and, balancing himself against the crutch, pulled the strap of the bag over his head.

‘You’re welcome,’ I said.

‘Now,’ he said, like I hadn’t spoken. ‘I need to go north.’ Along with his face, his voice was substantially more refined than you’d expect of someone who’d just been chucked out of an inn. That kind is usually as rough as a bag of barkrats, but this fellow talked and held himself like he was some aristocrat. ‘I say, would you kindly direct me to the north?’ he said.

‘North is that way,’ I said, pointing and wondering what had happened to his north-sense. He tried wiping some muck from his raggedy clothes but just smeared it over himself. ‘Filthy,’ he said. He adjusted the bag on his shoulder, took a good hold of his crutch then started looking around again, like he was waiting for a retinue of knights to arrive and whisk him back to his fancy castle.

‘Is that where you’re headed?’ I asked him. ‘North?’

He looked at me like I’d made some terrible assumption about him then said, ‘I seek a village named Waldby-in-the-Wood.’

‘Waldby?’ I thought for a moment. ‘It rings a bell. I don’t think it’s far. A couple of days at a steady pace, though it’s not on the road. Might be tricky to find.’

‘Is that so? You know these roads?’

‘Well enough,’ I said. ‘Waldby’s a tiny place in the middle of some woods. I can’t recall ever going there but I know of it.’

‘But you could locate it if need be?’

‘Probably,’ I said, not liking where this was going.

‘Then you can take me there,’ the man said.

‘I can what?’

‘Take me there. You say the road is not clear and I hear rumours of outlaws. I will be safer with a guide and I see you carry a bow. You can defend me if attacked.’

‘Oh, is that right?’ I said. ‘Defend you? I suppose it would be my honour to serve, would it?’

‘Why exactly,’ the tall man said, glad I’d finally understood him. He shifted the crutch under his arm, making ready to be gone.

‘Well, it would also be my honour to tell you to fuck off.’

He glared at me, aghast. ‘Watch your language, young man! I would caution you to be more mindful, lest you pay a heavy price.’

This was all getting a bit much. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ I said.

I couldn’t quite believe it when his expression changed from utter pomposity to a sort of patronising pity, like he’d finally realised he was dealing with an imbecile who needed a firm hand. ‘You will do your duty,’ he said, slowly, ‘and take me to Waldby-in-the-Wood. When we arrive, I will see what modest reward I can contrive, though even if one is not forthcoming you may be assured that you will have done a great deed for the kingdom. And for your king.’

I was beginning to understand why he’d been chucked out of the inn – I was tempted to throw him through the nearest door myself. ‘My king?’ I said.

‘Exactly.’ He drew himself up to his fullest height so that he might better look down on me. ‘I would normally prefer not to declare myself so soon but, as it seems necessary, prepare yourself.’

By now I was ready for anything, so I said, ‘Go right ahead.’

He looked like he was going to make some loud proclamation to the whole street – empty as it was – but at the last moment he thought better of it and leaned in towards me. ‘I,’ he whispered, ‘am Hosmer.’

‘Right,’ I said, nodding. ‘That’s nice.’

‘So,’ the tall fellow said, pulling back and resuming his lofty tone. ‘You will assist me.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘I won’t,’ then turned and walked away, tired of his weirdness.

‘Wait!’ the tall man shouted. ‘Where are you going?’

I didn’t reply, just gave him half a wave and kept on walking. He could find Waldby-in-the-Wood without my help. I’d better things to do than burden myself with a beggar who thinks he’s lord of the manor and it was still early enough for me to get a few more miles under my boots and away from this crazy man.

‘Stop, I say!’ he shouted. ‘You there! I command you to wait for me!’

Behind me I heard the inn door open and more voices sounded, deeper and coarser than the tall man with the crutch. I was still near enough to hear one of them say, ‘You still here? I thought we told you to piss off.’

‘Ah, it is you,’ the tall man with the crutch said. ‘You have come to apologise?’

I slowed down a bit so I could listen. Another voice said, ‘Apologise? Apologise for what? For tossing you in the road where you belong?’

‘Your behaviour is most inappropriate,’ the tall man said. ‘Do you not remember with whom you are speaking?’

‘Oh, we remember alright,’ the first voice said.

Despite myself I stopped, the devil on one shoulder asking me why bother just as the saint on my other shoulder told me this fellow might need my help. Now that I heard these other men giving him a hard time, I wondered if the tall fellow wasn’t somehow a bit damaged, that what I’d taken for arrogance might really be a kind of mad innocence. I was curious enough to wait and to hear the second man from the inn say something though I couldn’t make it out. I turned to get a look at them. There were three men, all of them big and rough and crowding around the tall man with the crutch, who was pulling himself to his full height so he might better order these ruffians to leave him alone.

‘I have made myself perfectly clear,’ the tall man was saying. ‘Now either you assist me or go about your business. I have no time for low-lifes impeding me on my journey.’

‘We’ll impede you into pieces,’ one of the big men said. His pals thought this was hilarious.

‘Aye,’ another said, joining in. ‘We’ll impede you up the backside!’ This fell pretty damned flat, even made the other two look a bit sheepish for a moment but, to cover up, the smallest of the three took another step towards the tall man and gave him a shove. He stumbled, his crutch swinging and hitting the biggest man on the leg.