The Island of Istburn: The Black Armor Tales, #2

By Samuel A Mayo

The story continues as Satchel and company search the Armendr Sea for clues about the nefarious Order of Arx Niveus and the mystical spyglass. Amon is still after the red mandolin, only this time he's not alone. The elven bounty hunter has teamed up with a psychopathic killer who will stop at nothing to get what he wants: Satchel's magic armor. Hastiand the bard learns to survive on a deserted island. When he ventures into the island's dark woods, he stumbles upon secrets hundreds of years old. All paths lead to the island of Istburn where the actions of a few will change the lives of thousands.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dark Tapestry Press
• Release date: May 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393637394

Samuel A Mayo

Sam Mayo was born the day after Christmas in 1982. He currently lives in the Midwest with his family and their weird pets. He writes stories of adventure that mix science fiction and fantasy.

Book preview

The Island

of Istburn

Book 2 of The Black Armor Tales

Samuel A. Mayo

COPYRIGHT © 2010, 2018, 2020 by Samuel A. Mayo.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the email address below.

Dark Tapestry Press

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Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Book Layout ©2013 BookDesignTemplates.com

Ordering Information:

Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address above.

The Island of Istburn/ Samuel A. Mayo. – 3rd ed.

As before, as always, for Michelle.

About the Author

Sam began creating stories at a young age. In high school, he wrote a few short pieces (they were terrible). In college, he wrote several more short pieces (also terrible). In 2008, he finished a draft of the fantasy-adventure novel, The Thief and Red Mandolin (not as terrible). He self-published it in 2009. He has written a few more books and several short stories, some of which have been published in anthologies.

Sam splits his time between writing, working in a cubicle, and Tae Kwon Do. He also occasionally contributes articles to CarboardCarnage.com.

When time allows, he enjoys playing video and tabletop games and hanging out with his awesome wife and daughter. They live in the American Midwest with their overweight cat and overly-sensitive dog.

Life is good.

For information on other works by the author,

please visit him online at samuelmayo.com.

Important Locations

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1 The Hole

Chapter 2 The Queen Marta

Chapter 3 Pirate Hunters

Chapter 4 The Mysterious Island

Chapter 5 Captain & Thief

Chapter 6 A Vagabond’s Deal

Chapter 7 Lady Montague

Chapter 8 The Mandolin’s Fear

Chapter 9 Ravencoast

Chapter 10 Distant Memories

The Journal of Amon Vosh  (Vol. 90, Entry #1):

Chapter 11 The Journal

Chapter 12 A Magical Perspective

Chapter 13 The Lighthouse

Chapter 14 Leviathan’s Maw

Chapter 15 The Magistrate

Chapter 16 Ferro Distra

Chapter 17 Lighting the Lantern

Chapter 18 Captured

Chapter 19 Prizrak Island

Chapter 20 Archer Sewald

Chapter 21 The Cave

Chapter 22 The Jade

Chapter 23 The Engineer

Chapter 24 Surprise Meeting

Chapter 25 Guardian & Vault

Chapter 26 Escape

Chapter 27 Truth & Reconciliation

Chapter 28 Reunion

Chapter 29 Dinner & Invitation

Chapter 30 Return to Brunland

Chapter 31 Unwelcome News

Chapter 32 Preparations

Chapter 33 The Calm Before

Chapter 34 The Storm

Chapter 35 Garganta

Chapter 36 Sylljack

Chapter 37 The New Musician

The Journal of Amon Vosh  (Vol. 90, Entry #2):

Prologue

Twenty-two Years Ago

Basco sat at his desk, quietly reading the morning newspaper. A cup of coffee, freshly brewed and still steaming, sat on a small saucer dish within easy reach. The sky promised a calm summer’s day, the kind with a light breeze that cooled the air just right.

A plate slid onto the desk as a warm hand caressed his shoulder.

Breakfast, dear, said his wife, Beatrice, just before kissing his cheek.

This is a surprise, said Basco. Did Orvis leave us?

She giggled. No, silly, I just wanted to bring it to you myself. Is that so unusual a thing for a wife?

Basco smiled at her. Not at all. He kissed her on the lips. He then took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. His eyes went to the nearby open window. It looks to be a pleasant day today. Good for a stroll or even a ride.

It does, dear. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she said, You could...take Philip with you.

Basco groaned inwardly. If I can pry him loose of that confounded trinket. Did you know I saw light from under his door at around midnight last night? Doubtless he never even went to sleep.

All the more reason to get him out of the house.

Gods know he needs it. But, all he’ll want to talk about—if he does talk—is his precious artifact. The thing’s infected his brain.

Beatrice adopted that pleading look all wives, especially mothers, have honed to a scalpel’s edge. Basco. Darling. He just needs his father. You were away too long this time. She placed one of her hands on his and ran her fingers in circles along his skin with just the lightest of touches.

Basco sighed. She’d won him over long before they’d begun speaking. It had been like when they first got together. It had been a long courtship, and he had pursued her fiercely, for she had many suitors. After he had finally convinced her to marry him, he suspected that she had wanted him all along, but had made him work for it all the same. That thought never upset him, though. All that mattered was her. Just her.

Aye, that I was, he said. He took in his wife’s face with his one good eye. He’d lost the other to an ogre in a dark cave many years ago. All right, he said sighing again, all right. By the gods, B, I should send you to speak with the bankers. You’d have them feeding you grapes by lunchtime and beg to give you more.

Beatrice smiled wryly at him and kissed him again.

She drew back sharply and gasped when a loud boom rang out from somewhere nearby. An accompanying shudder ran through the house. Husband and wife stood up straight, jarred from their moment.

What was that? said Basco, his ear still ringing. He moved around his desk briskly, accidentally hitting the coffee mug and spilling its still-steaming contents over his papers and onto his hand and pantleg.

He cursed as he shook his hand.

Basco, are you all right? asked Beatrice, still in shock.

I’m fine, he growled, more to his hand than his wife. Let’s find out what the blazes—

The office door swung open. Orvis, their manservant stumbled in, his face pale, clothes burnt and disheveled.

Sir. Milady. His voice quavered. One of his hands went to his mouth. It’s...it’s awful.

What’s happened, Orvis? demanded Basco.

The manservant swallowed. Philip.

Basco’s eyes widened. Beatrice made a noise behind him and began speaking, but Basco did not hear her. He rushed through the door, commanding Orvis and his wife to stay put. He ran up the staircase, taking two steps at a time, and sprinted down the long hall that led to the east wing and, more importantly, Philip’s room.

His heart sank as he drew nearer. Dust-filled sunlight came through the doorway. Too much sunlight. The door lay in pieces on the floor. Debris and dark soot covered the ground and walls near and across from the room. The acrid smell of burning cloth and wood hit his nostrils.

No, said Basco quietly. Then more loudly, No no no no.

His feet crunched on ash and splinters as he stepped over the pieces of the door and into Philip’s room. Or rather, what had once been Philip’s room. The north-facing wall was mostly gone. Bits of the roof still tumbled to the floor which had buckled where Philip’s desk had once been. The explosion—for what else could it have been?—had slammed the bed against the wall, burying part of the frame into the brick. The mattress still burned, the sheets aflame. Books and papers lay scattered about the room, most of them charred.

Basco did not see his son.

Philip? he said as he stepped slowly into the room.

He began coughing thanks to the smoke and dust. The floor felt weak as his weight pressed down. He lost his balance as it gave way. He would have fallen through had Orvis not caught his arm and drawn him back into the hallway. The pair of them watched as the floor crumbled, falling into the dining room below.

Was anyone down there? asked Basco.

Thankfully no, sir, said the manservant, still breathing hard from the effort. His master was no small man.

Basco, came Beatrice’s voice. Where is he?

Basco looked at her with his eye. Her eyes had never looked so pleading, so desperate. It was too much. He looked down.

No, she said in almost a whisper.

She started for the door, but Basco caught her. Don’t! he shouted.

Philip! she screamed and resisted his grasp. There was little point in her struggle. Her husband had arms nearly as thick as a man’s head, all muscle. She could try all day to break free and would give out long before he did.

Then, she simply collapsed, sobbing. Basco slumped down next to her. His grip on her, at first one of restraint, became an embrace. She leaned into him and cried.

Why? thought Basco as tears of his own ran down his face. Why did you take him, All-Father?

Then he remembered something. The artifact. A simple thing: a small, unassuming tinderbox. He remembered the inscription on its underside that served as much as the signature of the designer as it did a motto:

FIDES SERVO DILIGO

Basco gritted his teeth. Never again.

Chapter 1

The Hole

Present Day

Amon lifted the small leather flap on the back of his wrist and checked his range monitor. Underneath the flap was a flexible round disk, no thicker than a coin, and nearly as wide as his wrist. It housed a noiseless clock with thin white grid lines superimposed over the clock face. Several red dots moved slowly across the display. The artifact of a long-dead civilization, it used some combination of clockwork, high-pitched frequency sound waves, and something called electricity, which came from lightning. The device detected heat signatures within a certain range of the user and displayed terrain layout via light green contour lines. A scientist from the Order of Arx Niveus did his best to explain the details to Amon, but all the sand elf had cared about was how to make it work.

The edge of the disk had two small sliders, one on either side of his wrist. One controlled the viewing distance on the grid while the other controlled the grid's transparency. Amon's body heat supplied energy to the flexible lens giving off a small amount of luminescence. This made it easy for him to read, especially on dark nights such as this one. As he stared at it, two of the red dots standing next to one another separated briefly and then came back together. The device had accurately identified the two guards at the entrance to the Actarcus fortress prison. Amon smiled.

Technology is a wonderful thing, he thought to himself.

Amon covered the monitor once more and waited for the right moment to move. He had spent a little over a week planning this mission, a short amount of time to set up a jailbreak from the most secure prison facility in Tirian. But, he had full confidence in his plan, especially considering who the convict was. In fact, Amon's role would be minimal by comparison. All he had to do was provide the means.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and checked the monitor one more time. Though he was used to warm nights, Amon didn't like this humidity. Give him sand and a hot dry desert any day. A second later, another red blip appeared. It was a weak signal, but good enough for Amon.

Finally came out of your hole, little rabbit, he thought.

He mouthed a few words in an ancient tongue and his body shimmered as he became invisible. Moving swiftly and smoothly like a panther, he stole across the open meadow leading to the prison's entrance, the tall brown grass parting like water. Without breaking his stride, he snagged the small rabbit that had appeared on the monitor, wrapped it in cloth so it wouldn't make a fuss, and continued on to the prison's front gate. He passed unnoticed between the two guards and entered the compound's front courtyard.

Slipping into the main building, he thought to himself, This will be easier than anticipated.

While Actarcus was indeed designed to house the Tirian Hegemony's nastiest criminals, its true purpose went beyond that. The real reason why it had been created was the Hole. Nestled within the main cell blocks was a shaft leading deep into the earth to a place with no cells, no keys for any lock, nor any guards.

The shaft itself was little more than a slightly angled tunnel of rock two hundred feet long and four feet in diameter. Its wall was lined with a special film that made it permanently slick. The opening was in plain view of all of the prisoners in Actarcus. None of the prison's inhabitants, inmates or guards, truly knew what lay within its throat. Only that those who tried to escape or struck one of the guards were thrown down the shaft and never seen again. The bloodcurdling screams of those tossed into the Hole served as a better deterrent than any number of guards or prison bars. The Hole was where Amon wanted to go.

He moved through whitewash concrete corridors and hallways until he reached the shaft opening that led to the Hole. With its confusing layout, getting around the prison disoriented most, but not Amon. After all, he had helped design this place.

The gas lanterns had been extinguished for the night. The guards—on a break between rounds—were absent. Amon reached into his cloak and removed the wrapped-up rabbit. Using another strip of cloth, he tied a single, heavy chain link to the rabbit's neck. Taking a cautionary look around him, Amon tossed the rabbit into the shaft. He heard a slight thud as it bumped against the side of the shaft and then the sound of it sliding down. The bounty hunter waited a few seconds more, listening. He heard the faintest squeak from the rabbit and knew that he had accomplished his task.

Amon turned away from the opening and exited the prison the same way he had entered. All he had to do now was sit and watch. The prison would be destroyed of course, but what was the price of a few criminals—who would probably die in here anyway—and a few guards—who were probably just as guilty as the inmates. The mandolin had to be caught no matter the cost.

Amon's jaw clenched tight as he remembered his most recent encounter with the cursed instrument. His normally golden-colored eyes took on a blue hue. A sliver of sadness broke through the barrier he'd placed in his mind. When had he become so numb?

He pushed aside these thoughts. He had a job to do and that was that. When he reached the edge of the woods surrounding the prison, he stopped and lifted back the flap on the Range Monitor. Moving the slider on the right side of the disk, he expanded the field of view until he could see most of the compound. Most of its inhabitants showed up as motionless little dots. A new dot appeared approximately where the entrance to the Hole was. Its signal was dim at first, but it grew steadily stronger. It would remain stationary for some time. It was a pretty deep hole, after all. When the dot moved away from the Hole, the chaos began. Amon closed the flap, fixed his eyes on the prison buildings, and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

Within a matter of minutes, the prison was reduced to broken rubble engulfed by a raging fire. Smoke rose high overhead, carrying with it the stench of burning bodies and waste. Screams of prisoners and guards rang out into the night and struck some small part of Amon's heart that pitied them, but not enough to regret what he had done.

As he watched the scene, a single figure emerged from within the blaze. It was a man of moderate height and heavy build, his hardened muscles were well defined, and the flames were reflected in the sweat that covered his body. With the fire at his back, the darkness obscured his face, but Amon knew exactly who it was. Several months ago, he wouldn’t have even considered using him, but that was before Hastiand's betrayal.

He stepped away from the edge of the trees to meet the newcomer. As soon as he caught sight of Amon, the man stopped and cocked his head to one side, studying the bounty hunter.

You're the last person I expected to help me, the man said in a rough voice. It was a voice that had seen more than a lifetime's worth of experience, none of it good. Thank you for the nice present by the way. Eating a coney was a nice change in diet. The man made a disgusting slurping noise with his mouth. Still, you could have given me two chain links. Would've made quicker work of everything. The man eyed Amon a moment. I see you still have the little memento I gave you.

The man traced a line with his finger down his own face that mirrored the scar that ran down Amon's forehead, down the side of his nose and cheek, ending at the bottom of his jaw.

Hints of red flowed into Amon's eyes as he made a face and said, I didn't come here to listen to your insults, Sylljack. I need you for a job.

Though it was hard to see, Amon could tell Sylljack was smiling.

The mighty Amon Vosh needs me. Seeing as you put me in this place I find that highly amusing.

It concerns the red mandolin, said Amon.

Sylljack's grin faded. He considered for a moment before saying, What is this? A trick?

Amon shook his head. No trick. I need your help capturing it.

And what makes you think I'll help you?

Because I have this.

From within his cloak, Amon produced a round pendant made of polished smooth silver with a hinge on one side and a clasp on the other. Etched onto both sides of the disk was a large "S' with a pair of swords crossed behind it.

Sylljack cleared his throat. So you do. A short pause and then, Where do we start?

Amon smiled and the red in his eyes gave way to the green. That's better. He returned the pendant to its place inside his cloak. Our first stop is Leona.

Chapter 2

The Queen Marta

The cannonball whistled in the air as it flew over Satchel's head, making him duck. Their aim was improving.

Satchel, shouted Captain Sebastion from behind the ship's helm, Get below deck.

Satchel began to protest. He wanted to be up on deck where he could actually help. The crew of the Vagabond's Madness moved to and fro about the brigantine, each member performing their given duties with practiced efficiency.

The Captain gave Satchel a nasty look and said with an edge in her voice, We've been over this. Now get down there, or I'll shove you down there myself.

It's all right, Satchel, said Basco's in his deep, gruff voice. The eye-patched mountain of a man stood on the starboard side of the ship, steam rifle at the ready. We'll call for you if we need you.

He glanced at Addie who stood near the captain. Receiving no help from her either, Satchel sighed and opened the door that led to the lower decks and headed for the officers' quarters. While he wanted to be useful, it would be on his own terms. He didn't like being someone's pet, acting only when told to do so, even if they were the captain.

Four months ago, his life had been very different. He had been a simple pickpocket under the tutelage of Jarek, the best thief in all Tirian. He had raised Satchel after finding the boy abandoned in a back corner of the Pipes, the underground portion of the city of Ire. Satchel had no idea that his first solo job as a thief-for-hire would be the catalyst for the events that followed. He stole two items in the middle of a trade: a brass spyglass and a rolled-up parchment with a black seal.

A strange bard named Hastiand assaulted Jarek and Satchel, attempting to steal the scroll. After the attack, Jarek took Satchel, along with Addie, one of Jarek's former apprentices, on a journey to discover the truth behind the items. They stopped in Leona to meet one of Jarek's old comrades: Basco. It was in the cathedral at Leona that Satchel lost Jarek. The old thief sacrificed himself to protect them in a battle against the White Knight, a creature bent on taking the items for himself. In an ironic twist, had it not been for the arrival of Hastiand and his cursed mandolin, the Knight might have killed them all.

Before his defeat at the hands of the mandolin, the Knight said that he was part of an organization known as the Order of Arx Niveus. The singular goal of this Order was to reshape the world to their liking by collecting objects of immense power, such as the mandolin.

Satchel, Addie, and Basco, along with Basco's manservant, Orvis, and an Arnsøthan barbarian named Loth fled Leona after being blamed for the destruction caused by the mandolin's release of magic during the fight with the White Knight. They rode for five days, fought the fierce cold of the Koldriff mountains, and arrived in Brunland, a port city on the Armendr Sea. After some confusion and complications, they found Captain Sebastion, another former comrade of Jarek and Basco.

With nowhere else to go, they joined the Captain Sebastion aboard the Vagabond with a new mission: bring down Arx Niveus. However, since they began their voyage, very little had been done toward this goal, and it irritated Satchel. The only thing that the captain and her crew of pirates seemed interested in was taking down other ships.

Satchel opened the door to the officers' quarters and stepped in. Loth's massive body rested on a too-small bunk on the port side of the ship. He raised his head a few inches when Satchel came to the room.

Everything all right? asked Loth.

I don't like staying down here while everyone else is up top, said Satchel with a huff, and I don't like getting bossed around by her.

Ah, Loth know what you mean, little friend. But everyone has job. Our job to clean up.

Satchel heaved a sigh and sat down on the bunk opposite Loth's. It seems like all we've done for months is plunder Tirian ships. After that business in Darra Port, we haven't come across so much as a clue as to where to go next.

Loth raised his hands, and said, Don't know. Loth just think we should trust captain.

Satchel stared through the nearest viewport at the waters of the Armendr. I just wish I knew what we were doing.

UP ON DECK, CAPTAIN Sebastion and her crew worked feverishly to catch up to the Queen Marta, a three-masted, thirty-gun Tirian man o' war. The Vagabond happened upon her new prey by chance after the thick morning fog lifted as they rounded the largest of the Culver Islands. The pirates knew that the Marta carried the salary for the Tirian troops posted in this region of the Armendr and were eager to overtake her.

A strong wind worked in their favor that morning. They closed in fast on the Marta. As soon as the Marta had spotted them, it turned tail and ran, firing its pair of stern guns at varying intervals throughout the chase.

The two ships approached the opening of a large bay that served as home to a Tirian naval outpost. Sebastion wanted to catch the Marta before it entered the bay. A good way ahead of the two ships lay a peninsula jutting out from the island like a long finger. Just around the cape of the peninsula was the entrance to the bay.

The Vagabond closed to within three cable lengths of the Marta, but it wasn't fast enough. Sebastion's mind raced as she tried to think of how to catch up. Glancing at the bow of the ship, her eyes fell on the two foremost swivel guns, and an idea struck her. It had a hitch though: she'd have to use her magic. Pirate crews tended to be a superstitious bunch; a magic-wielding captain onboard wouldn't sit well with them.

She looked to her first mate, a hardened sailor named Selkirk, and said, Take the helm.

Selkirk nodded and obeyed as the captain raced to the front of the ship.

She pointed to a crewman near one of the swivel guns and said, Mister Regin, power up that swivel gun.

Regin gave her an odd look and began to ask a question, but the look on Sebastion's face made him think otherwise. As he opened the valve that drew in the steam needed to fire the gun, Sebastion went to the nearby ammunition box and picked up a small round shot. Taking care that none of the crew paid too close attention she brought the ball close to her mouth and whispered a few words to it. She did the same to three more before handing them to Regin.

Meeting Regin's eyes, she said, Aim for her rudder.

Regin gave her a look of disbelief and said, While I appreciate your compliment of my talents, captain, I can't hit a target that small at this distance. ‘Sides, the gun only fires so far and that little shot'll just bounce off.

"You'll do as I