Thief King: A Book of Orenck

By James O. Barnes

After years of neglect from its cruel and unstable king, the kingdom of Orenck is on the verge of collapse. Conspirators from within plot the king's overthrow while neighboring countries prepare to invade. In the midst of this turmoil petty thief, Shankla, is mistaken for the king. Can he escape assassination, save his country from invasion,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Loconeal Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Oct 29, 2017
• ISBN: 9781940466491

Book preview

James O. Barnes

Loconeal Publishing

Amherst

Thief King: A Book of Orenck

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events in this novel are either fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2009 by James O. Barnes

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced, stored, archived or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the publisher.

Contact your local bookseller for a copy.

Published by Loconeal Publishing, LLC

ISBN Print: 978-0-9825653-0-8

ISBN EPUB: 978-1-940466-49-1

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www.jamesobarnes.com

Amazon Author Page – James O. Barnes

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Table of Contents

Map

Chapter One: The Mine

Chapter Two: Maerkus

Chapter Three: Riverwyn

Chapter Four: Council

Chapter Five: Healer

Chapter Six: Festival Finale

Chapter Seven: Escape

Chapter Eight: Journey to Touhea

Chapter Nine: Winkles Inn

Chapter Ten: Eban Kal Orenck VI

Chapter Eleven: Sir Godding

Chapter Twelve: Long Live the Dead King

Chapter Thirteen: Captured

Chapter Fourteen: Orenck City

Chapter Fifteen: You Are What You Wear

Chapter Sixteen: A Captain’s Word

Chapter Seventeen: Push for the Throne

Chapter Eighteen: Long Live the Thief King

Epilogue

Dedication

About the Author

Map

Chapter One: The Mine

Despite the cool temperature of the mine, sweat ran down Shankla’s forehead and into his eyes. He winced as it burned and blurred his vision. Laying face down on the floor of the mine, he could feel the loose dust billow around his face as he breathed. Not able to keep from breathing in the dust, it coated his lungs with every labored breath he took. It was all he could do to keep from coughing up one of those lungs and giving away his position. He cursed himself for his own stupidity.

Why does this always happen when I work for Sir Godding? I swear why do I listen to that man?

Shankla knew that he hadn’t really had a choice about taking the job. If you owed someone like Sir Godding money that was just the way it was. Shankla had been desperate when the Baron of Touhea City approached him with the idea of robbing the king’s silver mines. He still owed the less-than-understanding man back percentages and his license fee. Without the fee payment Shankla would not be able to operate within the Touhea Franchise. There were few men that ever denied the Baron, Sir Richard Godding, anything and stuck around long enough to boast about it. That little fact had a lot to do with Shankla’s decision as well.

Shankla shook his head and tried to focus on his current problem. There would be plenty of time later to contemplate the situation with Sir Godding. Shankla went over the plan in his head again for what seemed like the thousandth time. It had not been without its dangers, but it had been a good plan.

Sneaking in during the night, Shankla had crawled into the mouth of the mine. He had then made his way to one of the abandoned mineshafts to hide. That had been the easy part. As Shankla had been informed, the guards were few and lax. A wooden placard had been hung on a rope stretched across the entrance of the shaft in which Shankla had chosen to spend the night. It didn’t have any words on it, not that any of the workers could read it if it had. It did have a hastily drawn picture of a black semi-circle. A large red X had been painted over it in red. It served its purpose.

Shankla had left his satchel and clothes in his hiding spot. Wearing only a loincloth, he had slipped from his hiding spot and quietly joined the line of passing workers on their way to the active sections of the mine. He had shivered a little at the damp coolness of the air blowing through the mine. It was forbidden for workers to enter wearing anything more than a loincloth. There had been problems in the past with some of them trying to smuggle small amounts out for family members during visits. Sadly, there were not very many visitors.

The plan had been to slip back out of line as the workers left the mine. Shankla would stay hidden until nightfall. He would then leave the way he had entered under the darkness of a moonless sky.

After spending a full day toiling in the mines with the other workers, the chill was long forgotten. Grime and sweat now covered his body, his hands were blistered. No one had paid any attention to one more worker. It was like the miners didn’t even exist to most of the guards. They barely looked at them. None of the workers made eye contact.

The flickering flames of the oil lamps were the only thing holding back the darkness of the mines. The lamps hung on iron pegs that had been stuck into the cracks of the walls. The dim light wavered and shadows helped Shankla to remain unnoticed by the guards inside the mine. Settled back into the roped off shaft, Shankla had just finished changing back into his clothes to wait for night to fall. All had been going according to plan. Then, something or someone must have tipped off the guards.

I tol’ya, twelve in, twelve out. What’sa prob’m Cap’n?

And I tell you, I counted thirteen in there. The man’s voice was deep, gruff, and didn’t sound happy. Worse, it was getting closer.

Well, who would’ve guessed that one of them would pay enough attention to count? Shankla cursed his stupidity again. What’s done is done, Shankla, look forward. With a little luck, Shankla would hopefully escape the mine with his life.

Who knows, I might even live long enough to have the silver ore smelted into coins. The king’s mines on the Touhea River contained the richest veins of silver ore to be found in the entire kingdom of Orenck.

The guards turned the corner about twenty feet up the mine and came into view as Shankla stifled another cough. The oil in the hanging lamps was low and the light they gave was dim, almost burned out. It was still enough light for Shankla to see that there were only two of them. The guard in the lead wore a shoulder sash of forest green, silver stripes ran parallel on both edges, a captain.

As the guards came closer Shankla was forced back into the shadows. He held his breath as they passed him. They would be searching all the shafts on their way back to the entrance. Even if they didn’t find anything, it was important to keep it in the minds of the workers that stealing from the king’s mines would not be tolerated.

Think, Shankla!

The sound of footsteps grew more distant as the guards worked their way deeper into the mine. Now was the time to do something. Shankla slowly crawled under the rope blocking the shaft, careful not to bump the sign hanging from it. He made his way to the mine entrance and stopped just ten paces before the exit. He hugged his back against the rocky surface of the wall. Crouching in the darkness of shadow to catch his breath, the cool surface of the wall felt good against his back. Shankla forced his own breathing to steady so he would be able concentrate on listening for the guards. He couldn’t hear them.

That wasn’t so hard. All I have to do now is get out of the mine and pass anybody hanging around the entrance.

Pulling open the bag of silver ore and staring longingly at it, Shankla sighed, knowing what he had to do. His mind had already started to convince himself that it would be too costly for him to have the silver ore smelted and minted into coins. Still, it would have been worth more than he normally made in six months of picking pockets in Touhea.

Enough time had passed that Shankla was sure the guards had reached the end and were by now surely on their way back. Holding the bottom corners of the cloth sack, he upended it. The entire contents fell into a pile on the floor. Shankla hoped the guards wouldn’t look too hard for him if they found the silver.

Shankla slung his satchel to the front of his body and reached in one of the smaller outside pockets. He pulled out a small dark green ball with black spots. It looked a lot like a walnut still in its husk. Shankla rolled it around in the palm of his hand.

My last popper, I hope you do the trick, he whispered to himself. Turning the popper over in his hand again, Shankla inspected it more closely. A mixture of stone salt, sulfur, flint, iron pellets and some other sort of black powder all encased within a colored clay shell. Shankla wasn’t sure how they were assembled or worked, but he knew what they could do. They had been a gift from Sir Godding. The man had acquired them through one of his many merchant dealings. Shankla had found them handy for causing diversions when needed.

The noise they made usually wasn’t that loud, but maybe in the narrow passages of the mine it might be convincing. Shankla hoped it would be enough. Laying the popper gently on the ground, he began to strip off his clothing careful not to shift the rubble under his feet.

After first folding then rolling his clothes tightly for a better fit, he placed his faded black leggings and tan shirt neatly into his satchel. He then pulled a large cloth the size of a bed sheet from his pack. It had been yellowed by age but Shankla still rubbed it vigorously in the dirt before laying it out flat. Using his hands, he piled as much of the loose dirt as he could onto it. He then picked up another handful of dirt and rubbed it into the stubble on his face and his blonde hair. Shankla hoped the effect would make it look darker. The sweat and grime still on him from the day’s toil would probably have been enough, but the more the better.

Cap’n! Over ’ere, someone’s been ’ere. Went this way, the guard was saying.

He’d better not get away with any of my silver. The captain didn’t sound happy.

Funny, I thought it was the king’s silver. Shankla couldn’t help but smile. He knew he had a way of getting under people’s skin. Even it would seem the skin of those he had never met.

Aye, Cap’n, sir!

Aye, sir indeed. It’ll still be your backside if you let him get away.

With no more time left, Shankla finished making himself ready. He tied the loincloth around his waist once again and stuffed the now empty silver bag, a souvenir of the trip, into his satchel. Lifting the satchel, he positioned it to rest on his back.

Holding the corners of the dirt-filled sheet in his left hand and the popper in his right, Shankla slowly stood and looked around. The late afternoon light streamed through the entrance. Hoping the hour of the day would lend to his disguise, Shankla headed for the entrance in a crouch and stopped as close to the opening as he dared.

With the popper in hand, Shankla took aim at a portion of the mine wall of mostly exposed rock. He threw it as hard as he was capable. If the popper didn’t hit with enough force to cause the friction needed, the separate parts within it would not react. It was enough! The sound that followed removed any doubt Shankla may have had about it being loud enough. The world was now silent except for the ringing in his ears. The smell of burnt sulfur and black powder filled his nostrils.

Agonizingly long seconds went by as he waited for the shadows at the entrance he knew would come to investigate the sound. They filled the entrance to the mine nearly blocking the late afternoon sun. Shankla shifted the corners of the cloth to his right hand and positioned them in much the same way he would when he used his slingshot to hunt for small game. Because of the weight of the dirt, he had to use two hands to swing it over his head.

Screaming as loud as he could, he ran towards the entrance to the mine swinging the sheet overhead as he went. In one motion Shankla aimed the contents upward and out. Letting loose two of the corners, the load flew at the entrance ahead of him.

The smell of sulfur, dust, and dirt billowed from the entrance of the mine. The desired effect on those who came to investigate the blast gave Shankla hope. When he heard the shouts of alarm ringing out, he knew it was time. The sheet was now wrapped around his head and draped over his back to hide his satchel. He took as deep a breath as he was able with the dust flying around, and ran for the entrance.

Help! Shankla wailed before making a loud coughing sound. The captain . . . trapped . . . explosion. He ran through the crowd at the entrance and headed straight for the sluice used for washing the loose dirt from the silver ore. It was fed from a small tributary that flowed into the Touhea River. The river was exactly where Shankla wanted to go.

All attention was directed at the mine. In the confusion that followed, none of the soldiers on duty cared about a lowly mine worker heading toward the sluice to wash the dirt from his eyes. They did, however, shout concerns for their captain and go running into the mine. Their bodies served well to block the entrance from anyone trying to exit.

The short distance to the river seemed like miles as Shankla ran as fast as he could. The river’s water was cold and a shock to the body, especially when the only piece of clothing being worn was a loincloth. Shankla maneuvered his way further out into the main current of the river. Before the roaring sound of the river drowned out all other sounds, Shankla heard one voice shouting above the others. He was sure it was that of the captain, probably cursing the guards for allowing him to escape.

The mine and his financial loss of six months of—albeit disreputable—income were quickly forgotten. Shankla’s current situation demanded his full attention. The river was quickly sapping the heat from his body. He was getting stiff and beginning to shiver. After drifting down river for several miles he decided to start swimming. The movement helped keep his muscles from cramping in the cold water. Crossing the current towards the south bank of the river, Shankla hoped he could still make it to shore before nightfall.

The Touhea River served as a natural border between the kingdoms of Orenck and that of the Banedossean Empire to the south. The southern shore would be safer in the event the guards did decide to follow him. There were no settlements that Shankla knew of on the Banedossean side of the river between the mines and Touhea. As far as Shankla knew, and he was not one that followed the politics of nations, the Banedosseans still honored the part of the treaty that disallowed them from building in that region. Border patrols were still allowed, and they could be just as bad or worse. There were always rumors.

By the time Shankla was able to make his way to the shore the sun had set. The only light to be had came from the red, evening glow of the sun’s setting rays reflecting off the distant clouds. Shankla dragged his tired and shivering body out of the river. Dripping wet and exhausted, he half-walked and half-crawled. About fifty feet inland he collapsed in a field of tall windswept grass. After a few minutes rest Shankla began untying the sheet he had secured to his satchel strap before swimming. He wrung the water out and laid it on the ground. Shankla then proceeded to dump the contents and a sizable amount of water from his satchel. With any luck it would all dry out by morning.

The stars now his only source of light, Shankla sat with his legs crossed. He set about the task of sorting through the objects piled in front of him. Most of the items would dry and be fine. The item that most concerned Shankla was wrapped tightly in two layers of treated oilskins and covered with a beaver pelt. He didn’t know he would have to protect it from water when it had been wrapped. That was just the way that he always treated it.

Well now, let’s have a look at you. Shankla quickly untied the knots and inspected the contents he had so carefully secured.

Dry, he breathed with a sigh of relief. His mother’s journal was dry and undamaged.

After Shankla’s mother died the journal was one of the few things he had kept. He couldn’t remember a time when he was younger that he hadn’t seen his mother either writing in it or reading from it. It was now one of Shankla’s most prized possessions. The journal held the knowledge his mother had obtained over her years as an Herbalist in the Healer Guild. That was before wedding Shankla’s father. She had increased her knowledge by watching and learning from other Healers as well as through her own observation and theory. It had allowed her to masquerade as one after Shankla’s father died. On occasion it had even allowed Shankla to do the same when the need arose.

Shankla let out a long nostalgic sigh as he stroked the cover of the journal. He rewrapped it before setting it aside to inspect the rest of his belongings. Shankla wrung out his clothes as best he could before laying them out to dry.

Sleeping naked outdoors wasn’t at the top of the list of things Shankla liked to do. The late summer breeze was mild and would help to dry his skin. It was still better than spending the night in wet clothes and surely ending up ill by morning. He would just cut some of the tall grass to use for insulation against any cooler breezes that might spring up during the night.

Shankla positioned his satchel under his head as he lay back to rest. It still needed to dry like the rest of his things, but he was unwilling to set it aside during the night. Pulling it closer, he slid his hand under the satchel. The security of the blade he kept sheathed in a pocket sewn to the backside made him feel better. Shankla fell asleep holding the smooth polished surface of the blade’s wooden handle. His thoughts of cutting the tall grass for covering warmth were now gone with fatigue. With any luck the rumors of increased Banedossean border patrols were false and just a product of the doomsayers.

The sun was high when Shankla awoke sore, stiff, and unable to move. He panicked for an instant before realizing he had gotten tangled up in the sheet he had been sleeping on. Shankla felt his muscles scream with pain and fatigue. He unwrapped himself and said a quick prayer of thanks to The One for a safe night. Taking a few minutes to give his muscles the attention they needed, Shankla applied gentle pressure in just the right areas of his body to relieve the pain. In the years before her death Shankla’s mother had taught him well.

Refreshed and ready for the day, Shankla stretched his arms over his head then stood. A cool breeze sent a shiver across his body making him very aware that he was still naked. Checking the clothing he had laid out the night before, he found they were still damp. No matter, the sun would soon finish the job. Shankla shook his clothes to evict any unwanted tenants that may have moved in during the night. He quickly dressed before packing up the rest of his makeshift camp.

With great care Shankla packed each item into his satchel. It was important for him to be able to quickly find anything he needed in the bag. Such attention to detail had saved his life many times. The satchel was more than just a shoulder bag to Shankla. Besides his mother’s journal, it was the only other physical connection he still had with his past. His father had tanned the hide to make it. His mother had helped sew the leather pieces together. With a large inner pocket and four smaller outer ones, two in the front and one on each end, it contained all Shankla’s belongings. He kept very little in his room back in Touhea, just a few articles of clothing. The sheath sewn to the backside of the satchel was added later.

After his mother died Shankla had learned that the kindness of strangers wasn’t always so kind. A sharp blade could usually be counted on to scare a good many cowardly men. Those it didn’t scare paused to think twice. In Shankla’s case, that was all he needed to make a getaway. It wasn’t that he liked running away from a fight, he just didn’t like the idea of fighting if it could be avoided. Besides, his skill with a knife was well known among the Guild. Shankla could easily slice an apple at ten paces and at twenty paces he was still likely to at least hit the apple. Just drawing the knife was usually enough to stop those that challenged him.

Shankla finished packing and walked to the river’s shore to check for any evidence that he may have been followed. Holding his hand over his brow to shield his eyes, he searched up and down the river as far as he could see. Land on both sides of the river was relatively flat, but that ended the similarity. The north side was covered in forest. The foliage of the trees had already begun to change in color but not yet drop in great quantities to the ground. Patches of yellow, green, red, and brown covered the land beyond the shore like a patchwork quilt. They blocked from sight anything beyond the water’s edge. The Banedossean side of the river was an open expanse covered in tall windswept grasses. Its bordering forests long ago razed during the wars. Nothing could hide for long in the flat areas bordering the river.

Turning his mind to more pressing matters, Shankla walked westward with the flow of the river. He had to get back on the northern side of the river and out of Banedossean territory before he reached Touhea. Shankla estimated his journey down the river had taken him at least as far as a day or two of what walking would have. Without a horse or boat for transportation, he would have to walk the rest of the way. It would take nearly three weeks of walking in the open sunlight. A journey, if not made easier, would at least be shadier if he could find a way back to the Orenck side of the river. Maybe he could even get some assistance from one of the many villages just off the road to Touhea.

With no trees for shade, Shankla draped the ragged silver ore bag over his head. It wasn’t much, but it would help to shield his head and neck from the sun. Securing it with one of the many leather straps he carried in his satchel, Shankla began his trek westward. Occasionally he glanced across the wide expanse of the river and behind him for good measure. Several times he started at the sound of a fish splashing or a bird taking flight. As far as he could tell, no one was following him. Shankla didn’t like the prospect of swimming across the river’s current again, but he would give it a try if it came to that.

Chapter Two: Maerkus

After his third night on the river’s bank Shankla chanced to build a small cook fire. He had been awakened in the early morning by an unwanted guest looking for warmth during the cool autumn night. It was a garter snake. His father welcomed them in the fields of his farm years ago before he died. He called them the farmer’s friend and they were encouraged to stay around to help keep the rats and other rodents from eating the winter stores. This one was not very big and only measured about eighteen inches. Still, it had been enough to frighten Shankla out of a troubled sleep. His fingers had found the comfort of his knife. The snake never had a chance to move.

Shankla searched the surrounding area for pieces of driftwood washed ashore. He found a small amount and built a fire. There wasn’t much meat on the snake. It would still be a pleasant change from the steady diet of the last few days of river reeds. Using a small stick as a spit to hold the meat, he began cooking it over the fire. Shankla swallowed as his mouth watered while watching it cook.

As Shankla rinsed his knife and hands in the river, he could hear the embers hiss as what little fat there was on the snake dripped onto them. The smell of the meat cooking made his hunger increase, so he returned to the fire. Eating the meat ravenously, Shankla still had to follow it up with a few of the raw river reeds to fill the still empty spots left in his stomach.

Shankla leaned back to rest a little longer before he began another day of walking. He raised his head and looked out across the river. That’s when he saw it. A small fishing boat was riding atop the choppy water on the northern side of the river. It was staying close to the shore and out of the main current while it worked its way up river.

Shankla couldn’t believe it. He looked twice to make sure he wasn’t imagining what he saw. Hopefully it was not just some trick of the sun’s reflection upon the river’s current. It looked like it had a full crew. Without delay he jumped to his feet waving his arms and shouting.

Help! Over here! Help!

Shankla jumped and waved his arms. He could not be sure if they had seen him. The boatmen didn’t respond, and he began to feel a bit foolish. Looking around desperately for some better way to get their attention, he grabbed two hands full of fresh green grass and tossed them onto the dying embers of his cook fire. Blowing on the remaining coals brought them to a bright red-orange glow.

Come on, come on, burn!

The grass started to smoke. The fire belched forth a cloud of dark smoke. Shankla pulled the sheet from his satchel and began to vigorously wave it in the air. He wished there were higher ground to be better seen. He yelled again.

Help! Over here! Help!

The boat slowed its eastward progression up river. He could see the boatmen with their hands shielding their eyes looking back at him and his spirits began to rise. Shankla continued to wave the sheet and shout for help. The boatmen lowered their oars back into the water and Shankla felt his hopes dash. The boat continued to make its way up river.

Well I guess I can’t blame you, Shankla said.

Crestfallen, Shankla’s head and shoulders slumped and he stared at the water. He understood why they didn’t help. If he had seen someone on the Banedossean side of the river, he’d probably think it was a trick as well. Banedossean men were known for their treachery. Their women, well that was a different story or so he had been told. Having never actually met either, he only had the word of those who told the stories.

Swim it is then, Shankla told himself. It was going to be the only way to get across and Shankla knew he would have to do it soon before he got too close to Touhea. If Shankla tried to cross the river there, aside from drowning because it was much wider, he was more likely be caught by one of the patrols. He would be dead in the water before he reached land.

No one from the Empire of Banedoss was permitted to set foot on Orenck soil without an official invitation and advanced notice. Only those lucky enough to hold a lucrative trading commission were able to move with relative freedom across the borders. Even then, they still had to have papers with the official seal of King Eban Kal Orenck VI. They were only permitted to pass at monitored border stations.

Now is as good a time as any. I might as well get started while I’m fresh. I wish the beaver pelt was big enough to keep my clothes dry as well.

Shankla used one booted foot to spread the coals of the fire. With the other foot he kicked the sandy soil of the riverbank onto the remaining embers. Gathering his satchel, he prepared to change back into the loincloth. As he did so, he looked up and his heart skipped a beat. The fishing boat was making its way to the center of the river.

Maybe I won’t have to swim after all. Shankla allowed himself a little hope.

The boat was south of the main current and Shankla could begin to make out the tanned weatherworn faces of the crew. The man in front stood with his right leg on the rail and leaned forward