The Dragonfire Thief: The Adventures of Will the Wayfarer, #3

By Con Coleman

A journey into fear for the finest archer in the kingdom.

How does Will get himself in these situations? Working for a ruthless merchant on a journey across the sea to the distant, windswept Sullar Isles, Will fears the worst when the journey is interrupted by a visit to a sinister island to collect a mysterious iron dragonhead, reeking of terrible magic.

What is the merchant's plan for the dragonhead and what is its connection to the ambitious Lady Sullar and her dreams of power? Can Will stop their evil schemes before innocents are engulfed in dragonfire? And will he avoid death by angry bird while he's about it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Con Coleman
• Release date: Oct 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393173496

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

CHAPTER 1

Introduces a Fool and a Fopp

As I turned to face the cheering crowd, I started to think I’d done something monumentally stupid.

The last arrow, the prize-winning arrow, was about as perfect as any I’ve ever let fly. There was never any doubt I’d win — I am, after all, the best damned archer in the kingdom — but maybe I should have missed and thrown the contest.

I should tell you how it started.

Just before the second round of the contest, the one to decide who’d go through to the final, a man came up to me and said his name was Damon of Varris. His clothes were very fancy, in subtle but vivid colours, patterned with swirls and knot-work, and he had the sort of beard worn by men who employ someone else to trim it for them. His hair was weirdly shiny, almost as shiny as the rings on his fingers and the gleam in his crafty eyes. He approached me when I was taking a rest from the crowds and noise of the contest, for as well as the archery there were fortune tellers and jugglers, fire-breathers and pickpockets, wrestling and even mock melee with wooden weapons. I’d had enough of all the people and their noise and was sitting on a grassy bank between a charm-seller’s tent and the town walls, enjoying the relative peace.

‘You’re the finest bowman I’ve seen in a long time,’ Damon of Varris said. ‘Who taught you?’

I was feeling very sure of myself so just said, ‘It comes naturally.’

‘I quite believe it,’ Damon of Varris replied. ‘Such an eye cannot be learnt, only refined.’ He crouched down on his haunches and plucked a long blade of grass.

‘If you say so,’ I said. I crossed my hands behind my head and leaned back, taking the chance to practice the kind of look a man wears when he is so assured of victory, he can afford to let his mind drift to higher things.

‘A word of warning to you, though, Master Archer,’ Damon of Varris said, pointing the grass at me. ‘Be careful about winning.’

‘Careful? Why?’

‘You know, of course, this competition is held by Lord Marr?’

‘Everybody knows,’ I said. ‘He’s the biggest cheese for miles around. There’s plenty of prize money and a medal the size of a cartwheel. A medal with my name on it. What’s the problem?’

‘No problem,’ Damon of Varris said, ‘not as such. I just wondered if you’d ever heard of Hillebran of Trossle?’

‘No, can’t say I have. That name sounds made up.’

He gave an indulgent snigger. ‘I assure you he is very real. Or was. He was the winner last year. Very fine archer. Not as good as you, but an excellent shot.’

I gave him a look that showed I was no fool. ‘You said was.’

Damon of Varris wound the stalk of grass around his index finger. ‘You are perceptive. That’s good. You see, what you probably don’t know is Marr doesn’t hold this competition for mere entertainment. He is on the lookout for skilled men. Men like you.’

‘Isn’t that kind of the point?’ I said, rolling my eyes a little too emphatically. ‘Not much to it if you don’t look for who’s best. That’s how you decide the winner.’

‘True, but I’m talking about what happens after the winner gets his prize. Like what happened to Hillebran of Trossle.’

‘Listen, friend, either say your piece or leave me alone. I’ve got some serious lying around to do before I have to go back and show everyone how great I am.’

‘Of course,’ Damon of Varris said, unwinding the stalk of grass and twirling it around. ‘I shall be brief. It was a very close contest last year but Hillebran won fair and square, collected his winnings and went on his way, knowing well that every thug the country round was eyeing up the prize money. Then one of Marr’s men approached and offered him a position with his Lordship. Hillebran politely declined but Marr’s man wouldn’t hear of it. Before he knew what was happening, Hillebran of Trossle was thrown into a darkened room by six guardsmen and told in no uncertain terms that he now works for Lord Marr and he’d better get used to the idea.’

By this point, I expect my calm and confident demeanour was showing a few cracks. ‘You’re saying this competition is an excuse for Marr to get his hands on the best archers? By force?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what happens if you tell Lord Marr to get stuffed?

‘Well, you see, that’s what Hillebran of Trossle did.’

‘And?’

Damon of Varris smiled, and bobbed his head from side to side, wondering whether to break it to me gently or take the direct approach. He went for a bit of both. ‘Let’s just say it’s hard to be Aeoland’s greatest bowman when you’ve only got one hand.’

‘Right,’ I said. ‘I see. If you can’t be the best for Lord Marr then you’re the best for no one, is that it?’

‘Precisely,’ Damon of Varris said. ‘Not an unreasonable position, I would say, if you can enforce it.’ He stood up and looked about him. ‘Heed my warning, archer. I am certain you’ll win today, but step carefully when you lift the prize.’

‘Watch out for big men making me offers I can’t refuse?’

‘Exactly.’ Damon of Varris turned to walk away then stopped, turned back, thinking, then said, ‘Mind you, if you do find yourself in any trouble, I might be able to help.’ He reached into his tunic and produced a red-painted wooden whistle then came over and held it out. I took it from him.

‘What will this do?’ I asked. ‘Summon a winged horse to carry me away?’

Damon of Varris laughed, falsely, and said, ‘Nothing quite so uncanny. When Marr’s men close in, blow on that. I’ll see what I can do.’

I looked at the whistle. It was not some cheap child’s toy but the product of a proper craftsman’s hand, with etchings of a cloud blowing puffs of wind. ‘You’re too kind, but I have a question. Why help me? I’ve never seen you before in my life and I’ve been around long enough to know that nothing comes for nothing.’

Damon of Varris raised his well-shaped brows and nodded. ‘Wise words, I am sure. Let’s just say that I too have an interest in excellent bowmen but I don’t go about my business in quite the same clumsy way as Lord Marr. He has his methods, I have mine.’

‘You mean if he doesn’t chop my hand off, you will?’

‘And waste such a fine talent? Not at all. Just don’t forget the whistle.’

‘Right,’ I said.

He smiled at me and bowed to take his leave then made his parting shot. ‘And, forgive me, one last word. Second place is not first, but it might be much safer. The prize is still generous and they’ll only come looking for you once they’ve done with the winner.’ He raised a knowing eyebrow, giving me the full force of his twinkly eyes and shiny hair.

And then I saw what was really going on.

‘Ah, okay!’ I said. ‘I get it now, right. Very clever.’

Damon of Varris looked confused. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The fellow I’m up against, the blonde one with the chin, he’s not a friend of yours is he? A friend who knows he hasn’t a chance in hell of winning. Or maybe you put a lot of money on him, is that it? How much will you lose if I win? Must be quite a bit for you to try such a half-arsed scheme, with all this shite about my life being in danger. Very impressive gamesmanship and all, Master Damon of Varris, but I don’t think I’ll need your whistle, thank you.’ I threw it at him and he caught it deftly. ‘If there is any trouble I’ll wait for the winged horse.’

Damon of Varris chuckled to himself, looked down at the red whistle as if it was sharing the joke. ‘As you wish, archer. Go and win and then we’ll see whether I speak the truth.’ He turned on his heel and strode off into the clamour of the fair. I called him a few select words under my breath then went back to the serious business of doing very little.

~o~

I was sure — or I wanted to be sure — that this Damon fellow had made up the story about Hillebran of Trossle to get me to throw the contest, but I couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion he was telling the truth. As I wandered around the fair, waiting to take my place in the next round, it seemed changed, like there were suspicious characters everywhere, particularly anyone in Marr’s colours. I stopped to watch a the final wrestling bout, a tedious chore I don’t usually have time for, to see what happened to the winner. After the winner got his prize, I saw him being led to a small tent by a man in a dark red robe, which was then surrounded by seven or eight of Marr’s men, all with weapons. I stood, waiting for the wrestler to come back out but I spotted a few other rough-looking types glaring at me so turned away. Even then, I couldn’t get rid of the feeling of being watched, like every other spectator was one of Lord Marr’s spies, keeping their eye on me, making sure I didn’t stray too far. It was a relief to see a face I knew: a stonemason called Tullan Lampwick. He was a good man and a welcome sight.

‘Oh, look who it isn’t!’ Tullan said. ‘Will Wanderman! Well met, old chum!’

I said something that was supposed to be cheerful and confident but must have done a bad job because Tullan asked, ‘What’s the matter with you? You look like someone walked over your grave and you not even dead yet.’

‘Aye, well, I just heard something I didn’t want to hear,’ I said.

‘Must’ve been pretty bad,’ Tullan said, his kindly face creasing.

‘Might be,’ I said. ‘Listen, how much do you know about this contest?’

‘It’s the proving of many a fine fighter, that’s for sure,’ Tullan answered. ‘Not just archers, mind, but swordsmen and punch-fighters and what have you. Folk comes from all over the kingdom to try their hand and eye, but you know that, young Will. You’re no fool, eh?’

‘Aye, but what about the winners, Tullan? What do you know about them?’

‘Can’t say I follow you, Will, old chap.’ Tullan said, still grinning to cheer me up. ‘They get a good prize and a fine bag of gold, so they say, but you look like it’s some kind of a curse! And you in with a fine chance of taking the winner’s laurel. I was watching you earlier. I’d all but forgotten about your way with a bow. Why, you must be the finest archer in the kingdom.’

Even with my worries, who I was I to doubt him? ‘That’s as maybe but... Did you hear about last year’s winner? Fellow called Hillebran of Trossle.’

‘Sounds like a made up name to me,’ Tullan said.

‘Let’s say it’s for real, though. Have you heard of him?’

He shook his head. ‘Can’t say I have, but I’ll ask around if you like. I’ve a few pals here on a job with me. Repairs to his lordship’s chapel. I can see what they know. Anything else you want to say about this fellow?’

‘Just that he won the archery last year,’ I said. ‘That’s all I know, but if you could see what you can see I’ll buy you a drink once this is over.’

‘Tis a deal!’ Tullan said, offering me another cheery grin. ‘There’s a bit of time afore your final round. I’ll scare up my good fellows then find you by the lists there.’

I nodded my thanks, and we went our separate ways.

~o~

There were six archers up for the title, but it was pretty much a straight contest between me and the blonde fellow with the big chin – I forget his name. The other four did their best, but me and chin-man were in a different class. Part of me wondered if maybe they’d all been scared off by Damon of Varris but once I was in the swing of showing everyone who the finest archer in the kingdom is — I am — my nerves melted away and I just enjoyed myself. As for chin-man, his arrows were all on target but while he was hitting the heart from middle to rim, mine were dead centre every time. It can’t have helped that, despite the day being cool, especially so for early spring in this part of Aeoland, chin-man was sweating a lot. Nerves always travel in company.

With chin-man and me in the final two, there was a pause in the proceedings. The other archers were sent off to drown their sorrows while my rival and I were given time to compose ourselves. I was sitting on a comfortable chair, looking at the sky and drinking cool water from a wooden cup, when I heard the cheery voice of Tullan Lampwick at my ear.

‘Will, old fellow! My but you’re doing a fine job there. I think it’s in the bag, I really do!’

I turned to face Tullan, glad to see him looking as jolly as ever. ‘Kind of you to say so, Tullan,’ I said, ‘but did you ask your friends about Hillebran of Trossle?’

‘I certainly did.’

‘And?’

‘Well, now, thereby hangs a tail, as they say.’

Tullan Lampwick would go on for hours if I let him, so I said, ‘I don’t have much time, my friend, so best you get to the point.’

Tullan’s face clouded and he straightened up a bit. ‘Well, now, the lads didn’t know much, but young Johnny Field said he knew the name.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Said it were right funny,’ Tullan said, almost comically serious. ‘Said he didn’t much remember thon Hillebran winning the cup as seeing him a few months later. Quite some ways away from here, though, from Low’s Ford that is. Says he saw him up St Farlane’s way, when we was working on the inside there, some fine work it was too...’

I twisted right round in my seat and stared straight at Tullan. ‘What did he see?’

‘Well, now, there’s the thing. Poor chap looked like the demons was at his back. Worn away to a whisper, and always watching, watching. But that’s not the worst of it, you see. No. The thing is, he was missing a...’ Tullan stopped, looked up and said, ‘Oop. Someone’s wanting you, young Will.’

I turned round in my chair to see the Master of the Contest heading my way. ‘We must be starting again,’ I said, ‘but there’s still time. What was he missing?’

‘Missing? Who?’

‘Hillebran of Trossle! You’re pal said he was missing something.’

‘Contestants!’ the Master called. ‘Now is the time!’

‘Maybe this can wait, friend Will,’ Tullan Lampwick said. ‘You’ve got a job to be doing!’

‘No, just tell me,’ I said. ‘I need to know now.’

‘Oh, aye,’ Tullan said. ‘It was a hand. Johnny says your fellow was missing a hand.’

My heart dropped into my boots and my throat was suddenly dry. ‘Is he sure?’ I croaked.

‘Oh, aye,’ Tullan said, again. ‘Young Johnny wouldn’t lie. If he says your man was missing a paw, then missing a paw he was.’

CHAPTER 2

Takes its Chance

Now, come on, Will , I said to myself, this proves nothing. Damon of Varris could have invented the whole thing. You can still win the trophy and, more importantly, the cash, then get the hell out before any big men start asking questions. And, anyway, people lose their hands all the time, especially when they’ve made a name for themselves, not that thinking such a thing helps very much, you know, but he could have lost it some other way or this Johnny friend of Tullan’s could be mistaken, though he thought he spoke the truth, it was actually someone else he’d seen, someone else entirely, and not the same archer who’d won the contest before you did, and you’d better calm the hell down if you’ve to stand any chance of carrying this off. I would have worried some more, but the Master was calling my name. I squeaked a thank-you to Tullan Lampwick and went over to the Master, took his disapproving look for being late, then stood beside nervous chin-man.

The competition took place in a long range between waist-high fences with the local bumpkinry gathered along one side and a wooden platform on the other where Lord Marr’s richly-clad friends could show off their gold and watch the show from an appropriately elevated position. In the middle at the near end, on a wooden throne, sat Lord Marr himself, clad head to feet in red velvet or some other costly but impractical nonsense. Was he staring at me? I was sure-as-hell staring at him.

The Master stepped forward and told the crowd we’d have to pit our aim against the toughest challenge yet. Everyone made an ‘oooh’ sound but, really, it was no big deal. They’d moved the targets back a few feet but the big challenge for us two finalists was to make our shots against a sand-timer. Hit three heart-points before the sand runs out to win the big prize. No standing for ages thinking about the wind or the weight balance or any of that stuff. You had to be quick and accurate.

It would be laughably easy.

While we waited I went over to my opponent. ‘Nice try earlier,’ I said, doing my best to look carefree and brimming with confidence. ‘Might’ve been enough to spoil a man’s concentration in the usual way of things.’

‘What?’ said chin-man.

‘The trick you pulled with that friend of yours, Damon of Varris. You know what I mean. All that crap about Lord Marr forcing winners to work for him. I’m impressed at your nerve but it won’t make any difference. You’re going to lose.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, stranger,’ chin-man said, sweat glinting across his forehead. ‘I don’t know any Damien Varnish. I’m just doing my best here. I need that money for to pay the debt on my farm.’

‘Oh, come on,’ I said, ‘your pal Damon was a lot more convincing, so forget the old poor-me-I-need-this-prize-to-feed-my-starving-family routine. I’ve heard it all before.’

Chin-man turned to look straight at me. ‘You’re pretty clever yourself, stranger, but I ain’t no schemer. Maybe we should get on with what we’re here to do and give everyone a bit of entertainment while we do it?’ With that he moved away from me, fiddling with his bow then, a few moments later, the Master called us both up. He presented the sand-timer to the crowd and made a few more fatuous remarks about what an enormous challenge this was then turned to get permission from Lord Marr to proceed. His Lordship gave a theatrical wave and the Master indicated that chin-man should go first. He stepped up to the mark and hefted his bow – a good one it was, maybe better than mine – and felt for the three arrows in the quiver at his hip.

The Master called out: ‘On the cry I will upturn the sand and you will have until it runs out to do your best.  Are you ready, archer?’

Chin-man nodded, nervously. The Master turned to the lords and ladies and to the peasantry then raised his arms. The crowd counted down from three and, when they reached one, a cry went up and the Master over-turned the timer. Chin-man pulled an arrow from his quiver, set it, paused and let it loose. The arrow flew straight enough and hit the edge of the bull. The second arrow was better than the first but the third was well outside, making the crowd gasp. My opponent stopped, lowered his bow and sighed. Then he turned to accept some half-hearted applause and stepped back, noticing with a grimace there was still a bit of sand left to run.

The Master called me over and pointed me to the mark. I took my place, gave him a nod and turned to face the target. I could have laughed it was so simple. In fact, I might well have done. We had to wait a few moments while the Master made sure all the sand had run down and, while we waited, I looked disdainfully over at the nobles fidgeting in their finery. Lord Marr was scrutinising me, a be-ringed hand propping up his fox-like head. Remembering what Damon of Varris had said, I looked away to the other side, where the mob of commoners stood. Some of Marr’s soldiers were standing in the crowd, looking right at me. Nothing unusual about that, of course. Nothing unusual at all. I mean, why shouldn’t Lord Marr have his men keeping watch? Perfectly understandable.

The Master called out again: ‘On the cry I will upturn the sand and you will have until it runs out to do your best.  Are you ready, archer?’ I turned to him and raised my eyebrows, trying to show how calm I was even though Damon of Varris’s warning was now ringing in my head. Still, as soon as I focused my attention on those targets, the tension left me. All I had to do was what I do best. Why not make some serious cash out of it? Why not show the world I was exactly what I claimed to be? Once again, they counted down from three, the cry went up and the timer was turned. Knowing I had plenty of time, I paused, took in the distance and the breeze, let my arms, shoulders and back relax. Then I reached into my quiver, pulled out an arrow, nocked it and let it go. It flew as straight as a gannet’s dive, hitting the heart-point. I paused again, glanced at the timer, saw I still had ages, and lazily took another arrow, aimed and loosed. It hit the target just to the left of the first one. Another glance at the timer showed me I ought to get this last one done quickly just in case my confidence got the better of the situation, so I drew and loosed the final arrow which was caught by a sudden gust of wind and missed the entire target by a mile.

CHAPTER 3

Shows a Clean Pair of Heels

That was a joke. I didn’t miss. I never miss.

The arrow flew as straight as the first two and thudded into the target just above them.

If the crowd had been sitting they would have leapt to their feet. As it was, I turned to them and held my bow above my head while they cheered me to the sky. There was no doubt I’d won. The Master came over to me and raised my arm, calling out, ‘All praise to our winner, Will of...’ He turned to me and whispered, ‘Where did you say you were from?’

‘I didn’t,’ I replied.

He gave me a foul look then turned back to the crowd and cried out, ‘Will the Bowman!’

The crowd renewed their cheers and I nodded graciously, enjoying my moment. Then I saw Marr’s soldiers moving through the crowd towards a platform where the prize would be awarded. I turned to look at Marr himself, who was getting to his feet, preparing to make his way to the platform to present my prize. He didn’t look like someone about to deprive a man of his freedom — or of his hand — but I still didn’t trust him.

It was about this point I began to wonder if I’d made a mistake.

The soldiers were moving in closer now but still keeping their distance among the crowd. The Master stepped towards me and, as I turned to him, he nodded at a particularly massive fellow with a silver badge on his tunic. The massive soldier nodded back then stepped out of sight. I still didn’t know what to do, so I dumbly let the Master take my arm, a good bit more tightly than he needed to, and lead me over to the platform. We waited there for a moment while Lord Marr took his place on an ornately-carved chair, a few encouraging calls still coming from the crowd. He really took his time over it, giving the soldiers plenty of time to arrange themselves at the back of the platform, all of them staring straight at me. Then the massive one with the silver badge emerged from the crowd close by and came up behind me, while the Master let go of my arm and climbed up on to the platform to stand just behind Lord Marr. He placed a wooden case on a stand to Marr’s left, who reached into it, producing an ostentatiously large silver medal on