Needle Ash Book 3: Shadows Rise: Needle Ash, #3
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About this ebook
Brother against brother!
Michael Harthino, warrior-prince of Artalland, returns home to claim his birthright and save his kingdom... the only problem is, everyone thinks he is dead. Aided by his constant companion, the mage Sharona, Michael must unravel the plot that has turned his house against him, forced him into exile, and placed control of Artalland in the hands of Alanrae, the sorceress queen of enemy nation Ferralla.
Childhood friend and former love interest Lady Julia, daughter of the slain General Butler, has a daring idea to save Artalland: assassinate Queen Alanrae, bride of Michael's treacherous brother Johan. It is a task Michael alone can accomplish with his knowledge of the Great Citadel of Artifia.
But Michael is no assassin... But if it is not murder, it is civil war...
Needle Ash is a new Military Fantasy / High Fantasy adventure by David V. Stewart, author of Muramasa: Blood Drinker and The Water of Awakening, taking cues from contemporary favorites like Robert Jordan and Glen Cook.
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Needle Ash Book 3 - David V. Stewart
Author’s Note
Shadows Rise is the third part of Needle Ash, and as such, is building and continuing the story from the first two books. If you have not read the first two parts of the story, you should do so, as the conclusion of the story is dependent on what was previously established. If you are reading this in the first half of 2018, you can still get the first two parts of story for free by getting on my mailing list: http://dvspress.com/list
Also of possible interest to you is another book set in the same world called The Water of Awakening. It is written in a very different style from this book, utilizing something approximating the idealist style of classic fantasy, rather than the contemporary realist style found in Needle Ash, and may not be to every person’s tastes. Though the events of that book precede this book (and indeed some of the characters make appearances in Needle Ash), it is not necessary to read it to understand what is happening in Needle Ash.
Map of the Central Divine Strand
Needle Ash
––––––––
Book III:
Shadows Rise
I: In the Shadows
What you think permanent, is transient
What you think transient, is eternal
A proud king built a proud castle. All details were profound to his eyes, and he cast them in stone, to leave to his children when the time came for him to depart. I brought him back at the end, and he saw the truth of things. The castle was gone, and the people that wandered over the empty spaces were unfamiliar to him. He wept, thinking the work of his heart was lost forever, but like most men, he failed to understand the eternal nature of creation.
No two men can share a dream, and no two men can share an empire. The tribulations created by these conflicts, you will see, are dreams colliding, like great storms meeting over high mountains. All that you hold dear will be washed away with the passing of the age.
When at last you meet me
Beyond hope, beyond dreams
You will see the truth of my words
Without despair, without sadness
For nothing can take from you what you are, and what you created, nor how you created yourself.
-The Apocrypha of Verbus, fifth proclamation.
Michael and Sharona made the high pass in the Crafter’s Mountains well before noon, envying the horses and their ability to eat grass after three days of nothing but hardtack and foraged berries.
The way down was easy going, though slow, for the path took many switchbacks from the pass, descending into a rolling rocky highland. A few scattered farmhouses stood watch over the empty wastes, manned by free men and women and their children, who took little notice of the travelers except to wave from their work. Plots of wheat and barley were ripening in the new sun, fed by the previous night’s brief rain. The road was muddy as it wandered the hills, and the horses would occasionally do a stumble-step over a drifting wagon rut.
Many streams fed the land, and water for the horses and the skins was plentiful, cool, and pure. In the late afternoon, Sharona and Michael reached another village, this one larger and more sprawling than Erithice, with the name of Suppero. It had a small, stone chapel standing at its center, with a large graveyard stretching north from its rear doors. A detailed bronzed statue of Artifia, standing in stark contrast to the simple wood buildings around it, stood guard on the threshold of the cemetery. As Michael and Sharona slowly rode by, they espied a strange looking man tending the graves.
His skin was a sallow grey, quite different from the pale olives of the rest of the village, and his eyes were a slight yellow that caught the sun brightly. These things alone pegged him as some member of the Orc tribes from the drylands and the far east. His face, however, was very human indeed, if a bit flat, bearded by hair of pale red.
Greetings,
Michael said. Are you the caretaker?
Aye,
said the man, who was using a hoe to break up weeds around a tall headstone. Name is Buto. Me and my family tend to the needs of the stone. Are you the new cleric?
He nodded to Sharona.
No,
Sharona said.
The man shrugged. We been without one a while. Just figured.
Do you keep tabs on things around here, being the caretaker?
Michael said. He took a coin from his pocket and flashed it in the sun.
Buto shrugged again.
Do you know if Sir Angelico has returned to his manor from the war?
Yar, he did,
Buto said.
Michael flipped the coin to Buto and smiled to Sharona. Our luck is turning around.
But he left a day past,
Buto added.
I told you there’s no such thing as luck,
Sharona said.
Michael sighed. Do you know where he went?
To Calasora, I expect. The big wedding, you know.
Michael turned quietly to Sharona. Julia. He would set the wedding quickly, now that he is king.
He spoke loudly again to Buto. Thank you for your assistance. When we are in Calasora, I will do you the favor of inquiring about your cleric.
I’ll be fine either way. We just miss the good speeches and sermons. Lots of folks here didn’t learn to read, so the best we do is me reading to them, and I ain’t much of a reader either. We have all our holy texts collecting dust. It’s a pity.
I see,
Michael said. Is there any homely lodging about?
Yar. My house.
Buto pointed out of the graveyard and toward a large house near the church. Came with the job, but we have lots of room. Stable is empty, but you can get some hay from anyone down the way.
Thank you,
Michael said. We’ll return shortly if we need to.
Without regard, Buto set back to weeding, humming a strange tune in a raspy voice.
Sharona followed Michael a short ways from the graveyard.
What is on your mind?
she said.
We could stay at the Travisti Manor tonight, I am sure, and I know their hospitality would be very great, but...
You fear they may think you dead?
Or worse, an outlaw,
Michael said. Angelico is loyal to me, but his family has a long relationship with the crown. I fear their men-at-arms would attack before I could get to Angelico’s father .
We could handle them.
I prefer not to,
Michael said. I want nobody to be hurt on my account. Let’s stay with the half-orc and press for Calasora as soon as possible.
I thought you intended to press charity here? I’m sure you have plenty of money still to pay our way until Angelico returns.
Michael grumbled. I know I said that, but Julia will be wedding Johan soon. I would not have her take that vow without knowing what Johan has done.
Sharona sighed. Very well, I will follow you.
Michael nodded, and they turned back to the farmhouse.
Buto had a homely wife that did not appear to share his unique heritage, along with three children that definitely did. The two daughters and a son possessed the same ashy-grey skin of their father, along with eyes of a light, almost yellow-brown shade. Sharona remarked to the side that they looked more like orcs than did their father, but that could have been the result of their heavy-faced and very portly mother.
Buto, who was as easy-going at home as at his work, had Sharona and Michael eat with them for supper, where they could see that the children were, in fact, quite like any other children in behavior and mannerisms.
Are you traveling to Calasora for the royal wedding?
asked the eldest child, a daughter still shy of maidenhood, while they were breaking a loaf of bread.
We’ve only just heard,
Michael said. We were on our way to Tantini, in Vestania. Have there been other travelers?
I think so, but they didn’t stay in the town. I heard the king is marrying a beautiful woman.
Michael nodded. I know of her. She is a beauty.
Buto said quietly, It’s the power that really brings those types together.
True enough,
Michael said.
I would love to go,
the girl said. I heard they are doing a full state wedding, with a parade and all.
So, how did a half-orc end up so far south and west?
Sharona asked flatly as she buttered a piece of bread. Michael stepped on her foot. She frowned at him. Watch your boot!
Michael sighed and rubbed his head.
That’s a bit rude,
Buto’s wife said.
It’s what I am,
Buto said. Actually I’m a quarter orc at best. My father was the unsightly product of a union of a local woman with a traveling mercenary. The church raised me, for which I am grateful, and gave me this plot of land, which I have made good use of in the building of this house. Land around here ain’t worth much, and this is small, but it’s mine.
I thought the house was quite large,
Sharona said.
Has to be large for the large family,
said the wife.
Indeed,
Michael said. And while the family is in the works I am happy to enjoy its craftsmanship and hospitality.
*
Michael and Sharona bade Buto and his family farewell before first light and traveled the entire day with only a brief rest, eating in the saddle some bread and cheese Buto had given them. In mid-afternoon, they passed through a small, very poor village on the western slopes of the highlands, little more than a collection of shacks amid the granite. The people there were grim and stocky, of uncertain heritage, and gave only minimal greeting as they passed. Michael elected not to trade or stay there, and made Sharona push with haste down the rocky slopes to a wide evergreen woodland. Well into the night, they camped under the trees as the sky was clear and the weather pleasant.
Why didn’t you want to stay in that town?
Sharona asked him as they heated up some tea over a fire (the non-magical sort, though Sharona had lit it with a snap of her fingers).
Appearances rarely deceive,
Michael said. Good men tend to make good houses, for they intend to use them and pass them on. Shabby houses are always a waypoint for brigands. They put no value into their homes, for they expect to abandon them.
Maybe they were just poor,
Sharona said. I’ve met fine people in shacks.
The specific example doesn’t disprove the general rule,
Michael said. You can look at it this way - we could have stayed there, and nothing would have happened, or we could have woken up with daggers in our backs. Here, we are almost assured we won’t wake up with daggers in our backs.
I suppose I see the wisdom in it, but I’m not sure I like the way you generalize people.
When you don’t have time to know them all, it becomes necessary,
Michael said. Did you think that perhaps we did them a service?
How did we do them a service by avoiding them?
Look at us.
I can only look at you, Michael, I left the mirror with Shadathal.
Michael chuckled. We’re dressed richly. One man and one woman. Easy pickings, I’d say.
We’re far from easy pickings,
Sharona said.
Yes, but they don’t know that. They could have tried to have at us, and been killed; thus we did them a favor by avoiding them.
They could have attacked us while we were in the village. Why didn’t they? There were certainly enough of them to put us to flight.
They saw my sword, which was enough to make them weigh the risks. And why risk death at the hands of an armed man when one can merely attack that man in his sleep? When it comes to fighting men, I’m a good judge.
But not in politics,
Sharona said