Stenson Blues: The Kingdom of Haven, #2

By Freddie Silva

Olaf wasn't sure when his luck went bad. Most said it was the day he fell and twisted his leg out of shape, but that was just the final straw on his unhappy slide from favor.  Even though he was a member of one of the most powerful families in the Seven Kingdoms, after the accident, he was relegated to herding pigs. 

Olaf had accepted his fate until his long-lost uncle and namesake suddenly appeared with a kingdom.  Olaf, as the closest living relative, is sent with the family delegation to persuade his uncle to share his good fortune.

To succeed, Olaf must overcome his own feelings of inadequacy, vie against his dirty-dealing cousin, and persuade his suspicious uncle that he can be trusted.  Along the way, he gets caught up in his uncle's political schemes, and may even meet the love of his life.  In the end, can Olaf prevail, make his uncle proud, and change his own luck?     

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wolf Jape
• Release date: May 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781540173478

Freddie Silva

Freddie Silva lives in Charlotte, North Carolina.  He has a passion for history, religion, and mythology.  He strives to use elements from these interests in his writing.  He has published stories in a variety of venues including Catfish Stew; Triangulation; The Alchemist Review, Short & Twisted Christmas Tales, and Broadswords and Blasters.  His Kingdom of Haven series, The Order of the Wolf, Stenson Blues, and The Eastern Factor are available in ebook and paperback versions.

Book preview

Chapter 1:  An Unlucky Name

Falling, falling, falling.  Whenever I closed my eyes I was forever falling.  The sensation could have been pleasant if not for the realization hovering over my shoulder – sharp, bone-jarring pain waited at the end.

I forced my eyes open to avoid what I knew was coming and looked out upon a dusty landscape.  I took another step, and a pang shot through my twisted right leg, reminding me that I hadn’t avoided the pain after all.  The fall had happened long ago, but I lived it over again every time I closed my eyes and felt the result with every step.  My hope was that somehow this journey would change the cycle, maybe this time I would land on my feet.  As I took one teeth-clenching step after another, I held onto that hope.  It was a new feeling for me – hope – and I resolved to follow it to a new ending.

My name was famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms – Olaf Stenson.  My name was famous, not I.  No one would confuse me for the uncle whose name I shared.  He was a famous warrior and I a crippled youth.  Besides a name, I was sure we had nothing in common.

I dreaded meeting my uncle.  What do you say to a relative that was abandoned by the family, especially one you have never met?  Good to meet you, uh, about that disowning thing...  He would see through any excuse.  His reputation as a shrewd negotiator had grown over the last several months.  I could think of no other man who had twisted the Duke of Kartoba’s tail in a knot and walked away unscathed, let alone gained a kingdom in the process.  All of which worked to emphasize the great gap between him and I, even though we shared a name.

My family saw his sudden rise as a chance to break free of the Duke’s influence.  I wasn’t so sure Uncle Olaf would see it that way.  Our uncle had been an embarrassment to the family and they had been content to let him disappear.  My cousin Jarad and I weren’t even a twinkle in our fathers’ eye at the time.  Now Jarad led our delegation, tasked with convincing our uncle to let the family hitch a ride on his rise to power.

I gritted my teeth at the thought of my cousin and looked to where he perched atop his precious horse at the head of our delegation.  Jarad had just turned eighteen and was the family-appointed successor to Uncle Olaf’s good fortune.  He painted a pretty picture: flashing green eyes and blazing red hair tied into twin braids that ran down his armored back atop his cape of Stenson Blue.  So much of my cousin’s vanity was tied up in his fiery locks, his hair color being rare even in Kartoba and all but unknown in the eastern kingdoms.

His vanity didn’t stop with his hair.  His horse had cost the family a fortune.  Still, he had insisted upon it, and had insisted that his sworn companions ride as well.  His little troop consisted of five other riders, all younger sons of prominent families with no chance of inheritance, looking to gain their fortunes at Uncle Olaf’s expense.  They reminded me of a flock of fancy tropical birds that you see in cages on the docks of Kartoba all bedecked in their family colors trying to out-preen each other.  They had pledged themselves to Jarad’s service, hoping he would make good on his promises of fame and fortune in our uncle’s new kingdom.  They didn’t know him like I did.

Even though Jarad enjoyed his new status as horseman and family spokesman, I could tell he wasn’t happy with our trip so far.  Kartoba, our home, dominated the western coast of the Seven Kingdoms, and was a fertile country dotted with orchards, farms, and fishing villages.  The farther east we traveled from Kartoba, the less civilized the countryside became and the more annoyed he looked.  Gone were the lush fields and tall trees of the coast.  The land we passed through consisted mostly of rocks and misshapen bushes.

I fought back a chuckle every time I looked up at his face.  The family retainers and servants that marched at my back may not have noticed, but I knew Jarad well, and that stone face meant that hot anger bubbled just beneath the surface.  It had been building for days, ever since we had passed from Kartoba into the Kingdom of Bathos, and especially since we left Bathos heading into our uncle’s new domains – the Kingdom of Haven.  We were close to our destination, or so the guide we had taken on in Bathos said, and Jarad looked as though he would blow at any moment.  I hoped he would lose his grip in the process, fall off his precious horse, and snap his neck in two.  That would be enough for me to forget my own condition.

The guide, a small dark man wearing a beard and the long tunics favored by the people of Bathos, paced next to Jarad’s horse one hand holding the lead.  He stopped Jarad’s mount and said something as he pointed ahead.

The servants held back, even though I knew they were curious.  Being a member of the family, I stepped forward, earning a scowl from Jarad.

What is it cousin? I asked.

Jarad’s scowl never wavered and the guide answered instead.  Ahead, he pointed again, just there, is Wolf Castle.

Stenson Castle, Jarad corrected.

I tried to straighten up to get a better look.  Bathos had been hill country, but now the land ahead ran flat as a pan fish.  Our new home stood on the brink of the flat land where it transitioned out of the hills.  I had heard that Uncle Olaf’s castle had started out as a border fort.  At this distance it didn’t look any larger than our family’s home in Kartoba.

Not much to look at, Jarad muttered, but it’s a start.  He kicked his horse into action.  Out of the way, Olaf.  He waved me away with a gloved hand as his mount surged forward, almost losing his grip.  Get back with your charges and get them moving to our new home.

After dodging Jarad and his fellow horsemen, my reward for speaking up, I limped back to our little caravan.  The family had sent along supplies and presents as a gesture of good faith, and Jarad had tasked me with overseeing the mule drivers and servants that made up our caravan.

Ever since the accident that had twisted my right leg, the family had treated me as no more than another servant.  They nicknamed me ‘Olaf the Unlucky’ and Jarad in particular never wasted a chance to remind me of my lowly status.  After all, being the elder, under different circumstances I would be the one riding the horse.  Instead I marched with the baggage train and servants, sent along to get another embarrassing Olaf away from the family estate.

Still, I couldn’t complain.  At least I had been put in charge of the servants.  It was more responsibility than I could expect at home.  Also, among the ranks of laborers and family retainers that followed my uneven gait, marched a detachment of Stenson guards.  Technically they should have been under Jarad’s command, but he wanted nothing to do with them, content to lord it over his little troop of horsemen.

Command of the guardsmen thrilled me beyond words.  Just as Jarad loved the idea of being a great horseman, I had visions of being a great military commander.  Up until my twelfth year, before the accident, I trained with the guards like all the men in my family, but not afterward.  Afterwards I had become a family liability rather than a potential leader.  But the guards didn’t seem to realize this and Jarad was too tied up in his own fantasy to set them straight on the matter.

As I regained my position at the head of the caravan, Captain Roland, who led the guards, raised one eyebrow at me.  Captain Roland was one of the few men in our caravan that I could look in the eye without trying to straighten my leg.  While he stood shorter than average height, he had been the wrestling champion of Kartoba in his youth, and had a stout build and broad chest.

We are almost there, I said.  You’ll see the castle before too long.

Captain Roland rubbed his goatee, gray streaking through the once blond whiskers.  Goatees were a new fashion among the guardsmen, but Roland had spent a good part of his career clean-shaven and had a habit of rubbing at the whiskers as if he hadn’t quite grown accustomed to his new facial hair. He looked back over his contingent and grimaced.  We’ll need to stop soon to prepare.

I smiled my agreement.  Roland had an appreciation for appearances.  We had to make a show of our arrival to impress the locals, and my uncle.  It’ll be another half-day before we arrive, I’ll speak to my cousin at the noon break.

I had no more energy to speak once the march resumed.  It took all of my effort to keep up the pace.  My twisted leg ached with every step, and my uneven gait put extra strain on my good leg, so that by the end of each day I could barely walk.  I could have spared myself the pain and rode on one of the pack mules, Jarad had all but ordered me to do so, and that had been enough incentive for me to endure the pain.

At the midday meal I hobbled over to Jarad and his group of bondsmen, who stretched and walked in circles, stiff-legged from their morning ride.  As usual, Jarad grimaced at my approach, but he usually showed restraint when in the presence of others so I figured I was safe from his scathing tongue.  We need to stop again when we are close to the castle to allow the guards to clean up their kits for our arrival.

Jarad barely looked up from his food at my announcement.  You do what you must, Olaf.  I’ve decided to ride ahead to the fort with my horse troop.  He stabbed me with his green eyes.  Just make sure our family’s gifts arrive before the end of the day.  I’ll make sure our uncle saves you a seat at the welcoming feast.

That was just like Jarad, assuming our uncle would welcome us with open arms.  But the guards planned to march behind you carrying the Stenson banner as we entered the castle.

Tell them to give the banner to Gordon here, he pointed to one of his followers, and we’ll carry it on ahead.

But...

Now Jarad stabbed his knife at me, eyes blazing down in barely controlled anger.  Their job is to guard our baggage, and your job is to ensure that it all arrives intact.  Is that clear?  Jarad had a slight build but stood quite a bit taller than I.  His mother always said that he was still growing into his height.  I outweighed him by a good margin, so he typically stared down at me to gain the advantage, even before the accident.

My anger flared hot and it felt like my head would explode with the suddenness of it.  I had learned to keep control in the presence of my cousin, but this time it was different.  I was not angry for myself, but for the slight that Jarad planned against the Stenson guardsmen.  They had been handpicked for this trip to protect Jarad and represent Stenson prestige and he treated them like common hire-swords. 

They are Stenson guardsmen.  I fought to maintain a controlled tone, the words coming out clipped and harsh.

Jarad frowned and stabbed a slice of apple off the platter one of his henchmen held, bringing it to his lips.  You love the guardsmen too much, Olaf.  The calmness of his tone warned me not to push any harder.  They are just another tool, no more.  He took a bite of the apple and shooed me away with his empty hand.

I stood my ground for a moment longer, struggling with myself, trying to decide how far to push.  In the end, years of habit made me clamp down on my anger and stagger away.

After lunch, Jarad and his troop of horsemen rode off, leaving the caravan in my care.  I dreaded going back to give the news to Captain Roland, instead I walked off and studied Wolf Castle in the distance.  We were only a couple of hours away now, and beyond the rows of crops on the near side I could make out a couple of towers and what looked like a low wall on the opposite side of the keep.  I became so engrossed in studying the towers that Captain Roland’s approach startled me.

Master Olaf, are you ready to continue?

I took a moment before replying, steeling myself for the accusation in his eyes.  Yes, I spun around, almost losing my balance while trying to avoid eye contact.  We should start off immediately.  I shuffled past him, head down, heading back to the caravan.

Master Olaf.

His voice rooted me in place.  I could hear no accusation, just emotion tightly controlled.  Yes.

We have a second banner.  We can still march into our new home behind a Stenson.  We both knew it wasn’t the same thing.  No matter that he had avoided the topic on our long march here, and had not shown any hurt on being ignored by Jarad, he knew as well as I did that I was a poor second best and the disappointment in his voice betrayed the knowledge.

I had been a fool to believe that the guardsmen didn’t understand my status in the family.  They were careful not to call me ‘Olaf the Unlucky’ to my face, but I realized that my dream of commanding their respect was just that, a dream.

I would be honored.  I tried to straighten my leg as I walked back to the caravan with Roland, but it hurt too much and I had to resume my normal crab walk.

Chapter 2: A Gimp Comes Calling

We arrived at Wolf Castle in the late afternoon as the sun began its drop to the horizon.  I felt like a fool, limping along at the head of the column while the guardsmen marched smartly at my back, the Stenson banner hung limp in the still air.  The servants and mule train followed behind in uneven clumps.  As we marched into town, the few farmers left in the fields watched our progress, but no one approached the road to greet us.  The fields gave way to a street lined with mud brick houses, residents equally unimpressed with our arrival.  No one stirred to meet us until we reached the west wall of the castle, if it could be called that.  The keep looked stout, built of rough-hewn stone, but it was a far cry from the castles of Kartoba, or even the ones we had seen in Bathos.  A pair of guards, a wolf’s head embossed into the mail on their breasts, met us at the gate.  They were short and dark-skinned, more so than the Bathos natives we had met.  Even with my twisted leg, I stood taller than both of them.

Once we stopped at the gate, the first guard spoke with a harsh accent.  We have expected you.  Which one is Olaf Stenson?

I stumped forward, embarrassed for the guardsmen behind me.  They had straightened their apparel and marched smartly for naught.  I am Olaf.

The guard nodded and motioned for me to follow him.

What about my people? The guards?

He looked over my shoulder and then shrugged.  An area has been set aside for them, but you must come now.  Your cousin is here and the Wolf Baron has awaited your arrival.  He has commanded that you be brought as soon as you arrive.

I was surprised Jarad had insisted upon waiting for me.  He said he would save me a place, but I knew that had been for the benefit of his listening bondsmen.  I moved to follow the guard, but paused and looked back at the Stenson guardsmen.  They stood at attention, a line of Stenson blue that made my heart ache, buckles on their dark blue-dyed woolen coats shining in the waning sunlight.  I had watched them take the time to polish those buckles at our last stop.  It didn’t seem right for them to have marched all the way from Kartoba to be dismissed upon our arrival.  They deserved more.

Captain Roland stood at the front, head held high, but I could tell his disappointment from the lack of expression on his face.  I determined to at least bring him along.  He deserved a place at Jarad’s back.  But the Captain of the Stenson Guard must accompany me to see to the needs of my cousin.

The wolf guard seemed to understand the need for military protocol, because he nodded his head and motioned for the Captain to follow.  Bring him, and come along.

I had not spoken to Captain Roland since our midday break, afraid of how he would react after my cousin’s insult.  It felt awkward to look him in the eye now and motion for him to come along.  He nodded once, maintaining his professional mask, and stepped up to follow us into the keep.

The guard led us through the gate, across a yard, up several flights of stairs, and down a torch-lit passageway.  I scrambled to keep up, my leg already tired from the day’s march.  Fortunately, our guide noticed my awkward gait and slowed his pace, and Captain Roland graciously stayed at my back even though I knew he had to slow his own pace to a crawl to maintain the position.  I desperately wanted him to walk next to me and chat like we had done earlier in the march, but he kept the proper distance.

Our journey ended at a small door.  The wolf guard knocked once and then ushered us inside.  The room was rather small with little decoration. A tapestry of some long ago battle scene hung in the shadows on the wall opposite the door.  A small candle chandelier lit the center of the room where Jarad and his companions sat at a large wooden table.  As I stepped inside, Jarad rose from his seat.  He had been drinking with his bondsmen from the looks of things.  A flagon and a scattering of goblets sat on the table along with a platter of cheese.   One of his followers had already drunk too much judging from the way he sat slumped over the table.

About time you arrived, Olaf.  Jarad looked askance at Captain Roland and then waved us both over to the table before addressing the wolf guard.  Now will my uncle agree to meet with us?

The guard nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Jarad dropped back down onto his chair with an audible thump and fiddled with a letter sitting before him.  It was an introduction from Uncle Karl, the family patriarch.  I don’t know what game our uncle is playing, but I don’t like waiting.  He motioned towards the pitcher on the table.  Might as well help yourself.  Who knows when we’ll get an audience.

I pulled out a chair and sat next to my cousin near the door.  His companions all remained at the far end of the table and talked among themselves, leaving space for the two of us to speak.  Captain Roland had taken up a position along the wall behind us, and Jarad seemed content to ignore his presence.  Your namesake would not meet with me until you arrived, he explained as he poured himself another cup of wine.

I don’t understand.

I bloody well didn’t tell him to wait for you.  That was the Jarad I knew, full of family affection.

Then how did he know...? Before I could finish my sentence the door opened again and our uncle strode into the room.  The guide from Bathos walked at his side.

Ah, Jarad muttered as we rose in greeting, the question is answered.

I had never met my uncle, but I knew him the moment I set eyes on him.  He had a typical Stenson appearance – sandy hair, round cheeks, and prominent chin – he looked like most of the members of our family only the lines of his face could have been chiseled from windswept granite and his close cropped hair held more than a hint of gray.  He stumped into the room and stopped before the table, towering over us and studying our faces with his dark piercing eyes.  I had seen bigger men, but had never encountered someone with such a menacing presence.

Jarad must have been similarly affected because he stood beside me, uncharacteristically quiet, his complaints of a moment before forgotten before the old man’s glare.

What do you want here?  Uncle Olaf had a rough voice, as though he spent too much time shouting, or growling.

I found myself shrinking back from his displeasure.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jarad shake himself and then stand up straighter.  I am Jarad Stenson, your nephew.  The family sent me here to... He offered the letter with a shaking hand.

Uncle Olaf snatched it out of Jarad’s hand.  I know why you are here.  It didn’t seem possible for the glare to get worse, but it did, especially when he turned it on me.  And who are you?

It took all of my nerve to return his stare and I had to lick my lips a couple of times before I was able to reply.  Olaf.

One eye shot up at my name, but he didn’t seem surprised.  I guessed the guide had already told him as much.  The Unlucky?

A flash of annoyance threatened to overwhelm my good manners, but fear of the huge man in front of me quickly smothered any thought of a sharp reply, although I did attempt to return his glare.  Luckily a woman’s voice at the door interrupted the encounter.

Olaf.  We both turned to look at the newcomer.  A pleasant looking older lady walked into the room.  She wore a simple gray gown, but her smile lit up the room.  Are they your nephews?

Yes.  Uncle Olaf pulled out a seat across the table from us for the lady to sit and then grudgingly took the seat next to her.  She motioned for us to take our seats at the table.  The guide remained standing at my uncle’s back.

Well, aren’t you going to introduce them?

The change in my uncle was astounding.  Gone was the glare of a moment before, replaced with a look of, could it be, affection?  He almost stammered his response, Of course.

Jarad took the opportunity afforded by our uncle’s change in manner to try to reassert control.  I am Jarad Stenson, my lady, the leader of this delegation.  He pushed back his chair and bowed at the waist.

The lady smiled a greeting and then turned her smile upon me, but I felt my tongue dry up with her scrutiny.  Her dark hair showed more gray than my uncle’s and her slightly darker complexion set it off and gave her an exotic look.  She was very pretty for an older lady, and I had never been very good at talking to pretty women, especially since the accident.

My uncle came to my rescue.  This is my other nephew, Olaf.

Oh how nice, another Olaf.  Her smile brightened even further at the news.  Used to my name causing the opposite reaction, I felt my face grow warm.  She patted my uncle’s hand and gave him a pointed look.  It be a nice name.

He ignored her comment, and continued his introductions.  This is Osha, my wife.

Wife?  Jarad hid it well, but I could tell that the news shocked him.  His hopes were pinned on being our uncle’s successor.  We didn’t know you were married.

Ha, have I disrupted your plans, boy?  Will the family withdraw their support if I have an heir of my own?

Jarad pulled his chair back up to the table and grabbed the pitcher to pour another cup of wine.  His hand shook slightly whether from anger or shock I couldn’t tell.  No, I have come to pledge our family’s support, and to pledge myself to your service.

Uncle Olaf smirked and then looked at me.  And why have you come, Olaf Stenson?  Will you also be my loyal servant?

His question caught me off guard.  No one bothered to ask me what I wanted.  Jarad and the rest of the family just assumed that I would