Might & Valour: Legacy of the Kingdom

By John Cristóbal

Perilous times abound for a great kingdom...

Following a mysterious plague that has ravaged the land and the assassination of a sovereign political figure, the country of Atoranth now stands on the brink of collapse. Josiah Locke, noble servant to a legendary ruler finds himself at the center of this turmoil. An emboldened enemy now threatens to lay siege and capture the country’s most ancient city, Edenfield. It is part of a larger effort to claim a foothold on the Continuum Column – an innovative, modular container which holds four levers known as the Earthen Shovels. If retrieved, they would herald a consequence that far surpasses what the entire realm has ever known.

Learning of this while beyond his country’s borders, Josiah’s recourse of helping a loved one flee into exile is altered when he meets a resilient young boy that may hold the key to halting the advancing army. Pitted against enemies on every side, Josiah will have to overcome ageless creatures, seasoned warlords, treacherous landscapes and deadly intrigue if he, his people and his kingdom are to survive...

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Cristóbal
• Release date: May 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463684832

John Cristóbal

John Cristóbal was born in 1984 and has lived most of his life in Connecticut. In 2006, he graduated from the accredited Hagan School of Business at Iona College in New Rochelle, New York. Apart from scholastics and a very successful career in business, John is an avid writer of fiction, dedicating much of his time to this vocation. Might & Valour: Legacy of the Kingdom is his debut novel.

Book preview

Prologue

It is a challenging time. The seasons of relative calm have long since vanished, and the days have been wrought with affliction. A devastating plague, the Plague of Toads, has swept through the realm of Eturim’s most ancient kingdom, Atoranth. This scourge has killed off tens of thousands of its population. Those who survived, refer to the present, fortunate days as EPICINIUM DE PLAGA (after the plague).

Several months have passed, and the country is only beginning to recover from the loss of life and livestock, which has affected both noble and pauper alike.

Meanwhile, widespread rumors of an escalating war persist, as Anon, the most powerful region in the realm, is determined to surround and enslave the remnants of a near-ruined country.

For Atoranth’s leaders, choices are scarce, and the time is short. They must decide whether they can muster enough men for a preemptive strike on their enemy’s country or shore up defenses on their own borders.

Meanwhile, whispers of a grander intrigue grow steadily among Atoranth’s hierarchy. It is believed that the motives behind Anon’s aggression are much more sinister than previously anticipated.

Domitian Barrow of the Mantle of Brandt, the most ruthless man Anon has ever known, has ascended to power in his region after a violent coup. Killing all in his way, even them within his own ranks, he’s been at war for three years with Atoranth’s wealthy ally, the region of Entheor. After a series of campaigns have been fought with neither side gaining a clear advantage, the war has regressed to a near-stalemate.

The provision of durable goods provided by Atoranth PRE ET PLAGA (prior to the plague) has greatly assisted Entheor throughout the ongoing conflict. Nevertheless, this blatant provocation has only stoked Domitian’s ire, who’s now shifted his focus toward Atoranth. Though not entirely unexpected, it is believed by Domitian that Atoranth is the key to fulfilling his pernicious ambitions, which go well-beyond overcoming Entheor.

Desperation hasn’t idled any of those caught in between the troubles. A wayward son of Anon’s uppermost nobility has absconded from underneath the clutches of the brutal tyrant. The wandering boy, who was born blind at birth, has for nearly-a-year traversed deep into unfamiliar lands, surviving off the charity of certain strangers. Separated from his loved ones, he’s purposed to find sanctuary and reunite in Atoranth.

Considered to be unlawfully fled, Domitian has dispatched eyes and ears, over the border of Anon, and into Atoranth, vowing to make an example of any who would leave without formal consent. As the Plague of Toads subsides and the threat of a direct war with Anon looms, Nathan-Micah cautiously moves forward, toward the promise of certain refuge.

Pressed beyond all measure but fastened by courage, the nobles of Edenfield, the chief city of Atoranth, plan the charter of its current course. Helmed by a great captain of men, Justus Hamm, a protector of the land, has served honorably as the integral figurehead among his people. However, given the dire situation lurking over the horizon, it remains to be seen whether the city and the region can bear their continued difficulties.

As the country waits with bated breath, the people bide their time, attending to their matters: with some wandering, others preparing, and some tending to an unseemly duty of unenviable orders.

Scores of Edenfield’s servants have been dispatched throughout the region, stacking the cargo of the dead. At long last, they have made their way to Cedar Burrow. It is one of the last villages from a list given to them by Justus Hamm. This place has been among the hardest hit by the Plague of Toads. The men work tirelessly and wonder if being fully covered from head-to-toe would offer enough protection to thwart their own deaths. Even still, this notion has given them the incentive to work quickly. In a place where the only sounds heard were that of their own footsteps and hooves of horse wagons, the last thing they expected to find was anyone else alive while moving through the eerily quiet countryside…

CHAPTER 1 - THE WANDERING BOY

CEDAR BURROW VILLAGE

The cordwood torch burned speedily through the blankets of hay firmly pressed down into the large wooden horse cart. The entire forest village of Cedar Burrow was rife with the odors of burnt straw and bodies piled atop of them. A young eleven-year-old child stood nearby as a woodsman set it aflame.

Andrew, an attendant to the duty, was adorned in forest green colored garments with a brown hood covering most of his face. He was short, pudgy, had a goatee, and badly tarnished teeth.

Get away, you! Andrew shouted at the little boy.

The boy was silent and didn’t listen. He had dark brown eyes and thick brown hair which ran over his ears. He wore dirty white rags for clothes. The lad hadn’t eaten in three days, and his belly yearned for bread.

Ah, alright, suit yourself, having some compassion for the young lad.

The woodsman watched as the fire progressed quickly, consuming the contents therein. He outstretched his arm to back the boy away from the ensuing flames.

Not a place ya want to be near, lad. Especially when the smell of flesh starts getting into the thick of your nostrils.

There was a look of concern growing on the boy’s face. He was struck by the revelation. The man stood there and turned to catch a quick glimpse of the countryside.

The ground was covered by thick, green weeds several inches high, and the nearby river that intersected with a canal looked like muddy water. A breath of fog came up from the unseasonable stretch of humidity in late autumn.

Surrounding him were many wooden houses with thatched roofs that were all coming apart. The small village was on a hill that overlooked a castle that had seen better years.

Plague can make victims of us all, I’m afraid, the woodsman said, very matter of fact. Name is Andrew, son. Which house did you come from?

The boy pointed in the direction of a dilapidated home three spaces down. Andrew had just pulled the bodies he was burning from.

Oh, his eyes widened. I’m sorry, son. I truly am.

They didn’t want to leave me, the boy said.

Your family? I’m sure they didn’t, Andrew sympathized.

I’m tired, he said with tears welling up in his eyes.

What’s your name? Andrew asked.

Nathan-Micah.

Moving a few paces away from the cart, Andrew extended his right hand to him.

Good to meet ya, Nathan-Micah. What’s say we can find you some other place to stay. Best to move away from here. Come on.

The child wholeheartedly agreed but had trouble reaching his hand to the man. Andrew was grieved at his heart, seeing such a helpless lad. Nathan-Micah was one of only three survivors in the entire village.

The whole region of Atoranth was overcome by disease, even within the walls of the moated castle where the region’s nobles resided.

Walking through the muddy ground, there were other woodsmen at work, carefully gathering bodies and placing them in carts that were lined up on either side of the main road.

Some had yet to be filled, while others were being torched.

CHAPTER 2 - ARCHON’S RESOLVE

CITY OF EDENFIELD - ATORANTH

The rain picked up a bit more than a slight drizzle in Edenfield as Archon stepped through the puddles that were accumulating in the crevices of the gray cobblestone laden ground. He was at the center court of the city, which was a stone’s throw away from outside the main palace.

We’ve but moments to spare. Just make sure to do it right. If there’s anyone else around, kill them too. Our mutual friend has provided you access to the interior gate. Shouldn’t be a problem for you two to sneak by, an unsavory looking man named Archon said while pointing to a worn-down stone staircase beyond the main foyer that led to a private gate.

He was in his early forties and dressed like most commoners were in a plain maroon-colored shirt and light brown suede pants.

We wouldn’t be out here if it were, a menacingly fierce man adorned in a gray cloak boasted.

The hood attached to his cloak covered most of his head, but Archon could still make out the steely cold eyes underneath. His associate, Olm, stood next to him, his hood down despite the rain falling into the five thousand square foot courtyard.

Many cities in the region were cluttered, defined by hulking towers overlooking tight quarters and a congestion of people below. However, this place had made good use of its land. In the city of Edenfield, there was a simple elegance among the many evenly spaced buildings, distinguished by their gothic architectural style. Some of the interior structures had wood paneling on the outside of their painted white walls, but others were outfitted by white limestone bricks that had been set in place for years.

The buildings all rested atop gray cobblestone paths that led to the main castle and were encompassed by eighty-foot-high walls. It had other fortified points. At over two hundred and fifty feet high, there stood a giant, red cone tower with numerous porticoes keeping constant vigil. Smaller forty-foot towers were strategically positioned along the city walls for defensive support.

There were four main entrances into the city and leading to the palace, where massive one-hundred-foot wooden drawbridges remained lowered throughout the afternoon. They presided over a shallow moat that surrounded the entire capital. Many guards with crossbows stood overhead along the walls, primarily concentrated near each of the drawbridges.

The number of sentries still around was a bit unsettling for the three men, even though they were among hundreds of people going about their business. Some were there to buy chickens, while others looked to trade what they could for leeches, hoping to obtain remedy for the plague that wreaked havoc, nearly a year…

"Make sure to grab the garment after it’s done. You’ll take the sword and garment, and burn these together once you’re outside the city walls.

Leave it as a grave marker for those that happen upon it, Archon instructed.

Does our benefactor require any other proof? Olm asked.

The sheath will suffice, Archon related.

Half now, Olm said, stretching out his hand.

Of course, Archon said, handing a satchel of gold coins over to Olm.

Both men nodded before departing. Archon smirked as he got lost in the crowd.

EDENFIELD PALACE - STEWARD’S QUARTERS

Steward Justus Hamm promised himself not to let the current troubles consume him as he sat at his desk in his stately quarters within the interior palace. Yet, he couldn’t forgo the multitude of thoughts that struck through like the serrated steel edge of an enemy’s weapon. Justus was well-acquainted with desperation. In such circumstances, he’d always felt more responsible for others than he should have. Notwithstanding, his compassion was what distinguished him from the rest.

Justus was noble, though he held the rugged facial exterior of a vagabond, and was laden with wrinkles on his forehead, and he had a dark brown beard. His hair reached over the sides of his ears and was marked by gray strands. Wearing a simple three-quarter length brown leather tunic and black boots, the ensemble did little to distinguish him from the soldiers he commanded.

Casual in dress, temperate in decision making, and formidable in war, Justus was admired by many and despised by many more. That sort of poise was one he held most of his life. His compassion was one of the few things that had never left him, even in the most challenging of times, with the most challenging of people—including enemies. It was perhaps the reason why he’d become the stuff of legend.

****

Before his stewardship, his days were spent as a field commander. Justus garnered the attention of friend and foe alike during war with the region of Torren some twenty years ago. The hard winter season was matched by the bitter sting of fierce fighting and harrowing famine. Following a battle in the northwest mountainous region of Torren, he and his men came across a scavenger, an elderly man not adequately clothed for the cold and licking the ice off a branch. Though some of Justus’ men drew swords, believing it to be an ambush, the field commander waved them off.

The scavenger stood up like a stag and with wild eyes, leered at them. Justus moved toward the unfortunate old man. His horse strutted and sloshed through the several inches of snow. The old man took a few steps back, not knowing what to do next.

It’s alright, Justus said. Where do you hail from? he then asked.

We’re—we’re displaced ones from the outlying region. We haven’t eaten anything in weeks, the man’s somber voice uttered, with a chilling undertone.

You’re from Torren? Justus inquired.

The old man nodded his head.

Are you hungry? Justus asked him.

Yes, Sire, but so are my kin, which be on the other side of the ridge, the man answered.

Make rations available, Justus said, avoiding making eye contact with his company of men. He knew how foolish he looked to his men and how hasty his actions seemed. Still, Justus knew offering this man and his people rations was the right decision.

Some of their heads turned, while others nodded in agreement with his choice. Justus then did something even more remarkable. He got off his horse and took off his cloak, revealing a burlap cloth with no armor plating and long sleeves underneath.

Here, can you ride? Justus asked, giving the man his outer cloak.

The wild-eyed man nodded as another soldier gave a piece of bread from his own rations. The old man snatched it quickly from the soldier’s hand and devoured it. Justus then helped hoist the weakened man upon his saddle while holding onto the reigns, making sure the horse didn’t buck.

Take me to them, Justus said, as he slowly led the march with the reigns in hand.

The man pointed in the direction where he’d come from.

Moments where Justus prevailed in circumstances that seemed greater than what he could do felt like a lifetime ago. Back then, the trials were far off in some distant land, but now this Plague of Toads offered a more intimate perspective for Justus. The onset of another war would also try him and allow Justus to plead for help wherever he could find it.

****

Guards, where is Josiah? sixty-year-old Steward Justus Hamm loudly shouted from his room inside the palatial estate of Edenfield. It was loud enough he could hear the scurrying of one of his men run through the rock-laden halls of the great chamber.

You summoned, Steward? Josiah carefully opened the door.

Yes, come in, Justus beckoned, waving his arm, never taking his eyes off a document he was signing.

Josiah’s piercing blue eyes darted across the room to the torch mounted on the wall to his right, before he refocused on awaiting his orders. Standing at five feet, nine inches, he was adorned in a black leather tunic, overlaid with silver plating on the chest. He had an average build and broad shoulders. His countenance retained a look of youthful innocence. Josiah’s hair was thick, black, and cut short. No trace of stubble tempered his cheeks or rounded out chin.

He was twenty-five years old, and it was his seventh year under the employ of Justus. Josiah’s father, Durin, a former commander and man of significant influence, enlisted Josiah’s services to him.

Having longed to see battle rather than take after the prosperous trade and shipping business his father started, Josiah desired to follow the path forged for him rather than pursue mercantile operations.

It came as quite the surprise for Josiah that Durin conceded to his son’s wishes, and an accord had been struck between Durin and Justus. One that would allow him to explore that much-desired route. Friends for years and having fought alongside each other in many battles, Justus was all the willing to accommodate.

The years of Josiah’s employ were marked by drills with the sword, intermingled with tedious lessons as well as the menial duties of servitude.

Youthful ambition had fashioned Josiah to be headstrong. The frustrations of a challenging life caused him much despair, which could barely be refrained from his heart.

PRIOR YEARS OF JOSIAH LOCKE - PRE ET PLAGA

I hope to see battle one day, Father, seventeen-year-old Josiah remembered, expressing his excitement about hearing the news that in another year and a half, he’d be under the wing of Justus.

He was standing outside the open field, near his father, Durin. They were both a stone’s throw away from the outside walls of their home, Locke Manor. The keep was approximately ten miles west of the capital city, Edenfield.

A scowl voicing disappointment was upon Durin’s face. He was comely and had a scar that ran from his left cheekbone down to his chin. Durin was scruffy and over six feet tall. He had broad shoulders and spoke authoritatively to his son, mostly with his hands resting on either side of his waist.

Boy, no one should ever hope to draw blood from another man.

Josiah respected his father and his opinions but felt he couldn’t confide in him regularly. He often found his father to be stoic and cold in his responses, holding to his views, and expecting others to value them as law.

Every war fought, and every battle waged groom the souls of men for destruction. War is but the exhaustion of peaceable discourse and the untamed expression of man’s vanity. It can consume even a just cause to fight, Durin said, packing dry goods of wheat and barley into the back of a large wooden wagon. What would you trust to see you through the battle? The strength of your arm or whim of your instincts?" Durin asked.

Both would suffice when properly refined, would they not? Josiah answered, helping his father with the remaining burlap bags still on the ground.

You have much to learn, my son. I hope to see one day what will become of you, Durin smiled as he led his son by the shoulder.

****

The still lingering memory evoked a fondness for his father. It was a bittersweet tonic that was but a fleeting remedy for Josiah.

Our coat of arms, Justus interjected, catching Josiah looking at a shield that was on the ground, propped up against a metal garment rack.

Its insignia was a simple castle with a wall, and two horses mirroring one another standing on their hind legs.

My father had his over the mantle of a fireplace. When I was younger, I use to try and climb on the edges of the stones to get it.

Justus smiled at his servant’s ambition. Did you?

Josiah grinned, somewhat embarrassingly. I did. I plucked it off, and it fell right on top of me. The sound of the metal crashing against the wood floor could be heard throughout the whole keep. My father and midwife both came rushing in at about the same time. I remember her screaming at the top of her lungs, thinking I died. My father took a quick look at me and ripped the shield away. Once he saw I was alright, I was hided worse than a tanner beating on his cow skins. Josiah laughed.

Justus laughed, placing a hand on his belly. You always were the adventurous sort, weren’t you? Justus said, then patting Josiah’s shoulder, And he a stern one.

Steward?

Your father, Justus clarified.

Josiah nodded his head.

He loved you more than anything, Justus faint smile dissipating. How long has it been?

Josiah’s lightheartedness snuck away, and he took a moment to answer.

Five years now, Josiah said. Even for merchants, the road is laden with peril.

Regrettable, his loss to brigands. He was a great friend. You honor me with his memory in this chamber, Justus complimented.

Thank you, Steward, Josiah replied.

As it were, I would’ve gladly welcomed a man of his abilities back into the fold, Justus then looked back at his own shield and the garment on his rack.

It’s been some days since the sword has been wielded, Justus commented.

The shield, too, I imagine, Josiah agreed.

Justus acknowledged him with a nod.

The men still speak stories of your days at war, Josiah then interjected.

Justus warily raised his eyebrows, The time may soon come that they speak of new ones.

The ones I’ve heard were never spoken directly by you to me.

You know the best ones better than most. Besides, I seek not to boast, Justus answered.

All those previous endeavors still remain fresh in the minds of most everyone in this kingdom. Is it true that you’ve ridden before without your shield? Josiah asked, looking at his shield, then glancing over to the burlap cloth garment on the rack. That you wore no armor or cuirass.

You think me reckless for doing so? Justus asked.

Josiah shook his head, No. I was just wondering what would compel someone to go without all their trappings.

Justus smirked, "I can assure you, Josiah, I’ve never gone onto the field lacking.

Of all the talk within these walls, have you no true understanding of the edict of Might & Valour?

A tradition selectively upheld by a few, Josiah hastily said.

I say to you, much more than that, Justus raised his eyebrows.

My sword which leans up against the wall, over there, Justus pointing to the broadsword still sheathed in a brown leather scabbard, a set of four encrusted rubies that glistened atop of it, That is the instrument where my might can be exercised. But, as I wax old, my might diminishes. It is hindered by time. Now, look back to that burlap cloth over there. By the rack next to the shield. That burlap you gaze on with cynicism is what has provided an ensample for many. Adorning that garment through journeying missions of both war and peace, heralds something more than your own strength. It is an expression of great faith and the establishing of a strong, integral boldness. A timeless principle of distinction that inspires confidence among men. Only a few have ventured to uphold this standard throughout their lives. Justus explained.

"It can also be seen as a recognition to outward eyes that a man will unequivocally yield to either life or ruin, from the esteemed to the lightly regarded, irrespective of his standing, influence, or riches. A ‘coarse reminder’ as some would say. What’s more, is that its evidence that we must draw from the reserves of exceeding boldness. The burlap cloth, Josiah, is nothing in and of itself, rather it is only a mere approach toward a specific intent. It is the confidence of the man who wears it, which gives it distinction. Might & Valour are established through the convictions