Firstborn

By B G P Hughes

On the remote isles of Skarrak, a creature stalks the night, preying on the people of the towns. Jon of Gor, a beastslayer of some renown, is hired by the local jarl to hunt down the monster. But wherever he searches, he encounters a wall of silence, of half-truths and denial, of superstition and suspicion. The creature’s victims are shrouded in secrecy and finding them is only half the battle. Desperate to continue his own search for his lost sister, he must battle against time, deception and the beast itself; a battle that soon becomes personal…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398438477

B G P Hughes

B G P Hughes was born in Kent in the UK and has spent time living in Saudi Arabia, Greece, Switzerland and the Bahamas. He has variously spent time working with sharks, working for international companies, writing and producing computer games and running companies. He holds a Bachelor’s Degree in Marine Biology and a Master’s in Business Administration from Imperial College. He is now a teacher, but his first love remains writing.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Are you the Badger? called a voice.

The stranger unconsciously put a hand to his forehead where the long streak of white hair merged with the black.

Aye, I’ve been called that, said Badger, looking across at the man who had accosted him; a thin, wiry man as worn as the island that had born him, a net hanging from one hand, the other on his hip as he looked Badger up and down.

Thought so, said the fisherman. His brows furrowed slightly. What brings you here?

I go where the work is, said Badger, glancing along the jetty and wondering if this man had been sent to meet him. A squall stirred his long hair, blowing wisps across his mailed shoulders. You’ve got monsters here, or so I’m told.

So they say, agreed the fisherman, though I’ve never seen any myself, he added doubtfully. But the stranger said nothing, just continued to look along the jetty as if he was waiting for something. Are you still looking for your sister then?

Always, said Badger, the weight of years crushing the sound from his lips so it was barely a whisper.

The fisherman frowned again. You won’t find her here. I know everyone in the town.

Probably not, agreed Badger. Now he was looking at the top of the rise beyond the town, where a jagged keep sat, cleft in two by the cliffs, the two halves joined by a narrow bridge. That where I’ll find jarl Harald? he nodded.

Aye, said the fisherman. He expecting you?

More or less.

The fisherman continued to watch the stranger for a moment, then seemed to make up his mind. Tell you what, you help me get this net stashed and I’ll show you the way up there.

Finally, Badger turned back to look at the fisherman, measuring him, the eager look on his face, half-hidden in the grey bush of his beard. I don’t need the company or the questions, so why can’t I refuse?

Right you are, he agreed, stepping alongside his new companion.

Thanks, said the fisherman, just fold it over as I pull it in. It gets tangled up in the boat, but it needs laying one fold on top of the other, back and forth so to speak…

He left it hanging, but Badger didn’t answer.

Right, well, I guess you know what you’re doing then, then on a whim he stuck out a hand. Roald, Agar’s son they call me.

Jon of Gor, said Badger, gripping the fisherman’s knobbly hand firmly in his own black glove.

Oh! I thought…

You thought I was named after an animal, finished Badger for him. How many times have I had this conversation? How many variations? Bloody bards.

The fisherman chuckled into his beard. Well, now that you mention it… He gave a lopsided grin, but Badger wasn’t smiling. Yes… stumbled the fisherman, the net, he added, holding it up as if he’d forgotten it.

The net, agreed Badger.

The two men worked swiftly as Roald pulled the net up from the moored boat below, and Badger laid it out carefully. Badger shook his head. Roald wore a thin woollen shirt, and trousers cut off at the knee. No hat, no gloves, no shoes. Even through his jerkin and mail shirt, Badger could feel the cold seeping into his bones. With the net finally rolled up, he rubbed at his arms, trying to chafe some life into them. He caught Roald looking at him strangely.

Does it get any warmer in the islands? grunted Badger.

Roald raised eyebrows. You cold? he said, surprised, and Badger scowled but Roald just chuckled to himself.

Well, fancy that! He hauled himself back onto the jetty using the mooring rope of the boat.

Come on then, I’ll show you the way, and the two men began to wend their way along the jetty, weaving between nets and reeking buckets of fish, the boards creaking beneath their feet.

Aye, it gets warmer, concurred Roald, but it gets a lot colder in the winter. Real ‘gloves weather’ as we call it here, he glanced down at the Badger’s gloved hands. Still I guess you’re from a long way south if the tales are to be believed.

Bithnia, said Badger shortly, before feeling the need to add something, It’s warmer than here, but not the warmest I’ve been to.

Bithnia, Bithnia, mused Roald, trying to place it. No, can’t say I’ve heard of it. Beyond Brin, is it?

And then some, agreed Badger. They were wending their way into the town, between houses of cobbled stone, mortared with daub, some roofed with slate, some with thatch. The streets were wide, irregular and mostly bare turf, muddy in places, but Badger had seen far worse. And smelt far worse. At least the wind serves a purpose.

The town, such as it was, was barely three streets before they started rising over bare grass, low stone walls marking their path. The wind returned with a vengeance, and though Badger had his hair loosely tied back, it still whipped about, festooning his shoulders like straggly seaweed. Kos, why don’t I just cut the damn stuff off? But he knew the answer.

You really don’t like the breeze, do you? said Roald, glancing across at him, the hint of a smirk.

It’s not like in the tales, is it? said Badger dryly. Fast as a snake, tough as an ox, the Badger shrugs off the wind like the farts of the gods. Bloody bards. He’d thought he was done with this ‘breeze’ on the boat over, but it seemed that Skarrak was no better shelter.

Roald laughed and raised his hands placatingly. I’m not saying you don’t look the part, he conceded, but I thought you’d be, well, taller.

Tougher? offered Badger wryly.

Well, they say you once tracked a troll through thick snow for seven days and seven nights then crept into its cave and beheaded it before it even woke.

What else do they say? offered Badger. There were woods to the left, running parallel to them up the slope. A bit of shelter perhaps?

Roald laughed. Well, there’s tales you know. Of course, we know they ain’t all true, but… well they say you’ve killed a dozen men.

He left it hanging like a question, but Badger wasn’t going to be drawn.

Isn’t that so? queried the fisherman.

No, said Badger grimly. Far more than that, but sadly none of them were poets. I don’t hunt men.

They say you are looking for slavers, said Roald.

They have a lot to say, commented Badger.

Roald couldn’t miss the flash in the Badger’s ice-blue eyes.

Right, I get it. None of my business, said the fisherman hurriedly, for the first time feeling the cold. He fell silent for a moment as they climbed the steady slope, their only accompaniment the occasional bleat of sheep in the fields either side. Several hundred paces above them the Badger could see the keep: a sturdy, cold gatehouse cut from giant blocks of granite, and beyond it, a narrow bridge of wood that spanned a great chasm to a massive stack upon which sat the keep proper. It looked old, maybe even pre-cataclysm, but he could see it was not run down, despite its ragged look.

Roald followed his look.

That’s the Karrek, the jarl’s seat, strongest fort in the isles, never been taken by force.

It’s a long way up from the town, said Badger.

No need to be any closer, said Roald, Lublow and Crowsmir are both ruled by the jarl, so the only enemies we have, come from the sea. Plenty of warning; we’ve got beacons on both sides of the island.

Badger nodded. Not much use now though is it, if you have monsters prowling the town.

Great views up there, continued Roald, you can see all the way eastwards across the Sea of Brin. Of course, trouble, when it comes, is from the corsairs on the other side but watchmen are always keeping an eye across the archipelago, and it’s many years since the corsairs tried a raid on these islands. Not much for them here to be honest, unless they like fish, wool and porridge!

The archipelago is at peace? asked Badger, not because he was particularly interested but because politics could always get in his way.

Aye, twenty years now, confirmed Roald, pretty much since Harald became jarl, the other jarls have left each other alone. There are a few bored carls hankering after the days of old but to be honest, most of us like it this way. I get to fish without having to look over my shoulder all the time and life’s even comfortable. Haven’t been able to say that for a while. Lublow’s booming.

If that’s booming, I’d hate to see what the town looked like before.

Well, this is it, said the fisherman, as they approached the gatehouse. A lone carl was lounging in its shadow out of the wind, a fighting man in a mail hauberk and with a long-handled axe casually leaning against the wall.

Helloa! That you Roald, called the carl, resting a hand casually on the axe handle.

Strigmar, heralded Roald, raising one hand. Look who I’ve got here, he added as the two men approached the open gate.

Strigmar glanced at Badger. Am I supposed to recognise him?

It’s the Badger.

Strigmar just looked at the fisherman blankly.

You know, the Badger; the one in the Skald’s stories.

Strigmar took a second look, this time properly, noting the darkened jerkin, the mail shirt, and the pair of swords strapped to the Badger’s back.

What? The Beastslayer? he said doubtfully.

I’ve been called that, agreed Badger. And a lot worse.

What do they call you Badger for then? said Strigmar.

I dig things up, said Badger dryly.

Strigmar laughed. I don’t think that’s it man. It’s your hair. Surprised you haven’t made the link.

For a moment Badger wondered if he was joking, but he caught Roald shaking his head over the man’s shoulder. Ah! Clearly brains not a requirement for guards then.

I’m here to see jarl Harald.

He expecting you?

More or less, said Badger, once again.

Which is it? More? Or less? said Strigmar evenly.

Less, admitted Badger, he doesn’t know I’m here, but he’ll want to see me all the same.

Well, I’m not sure…

Oten’s balls, Strigmar, interjected Roald, he’s the Badger. Of course, the jarl will want to see him!

What do you want to see him for?

Work, said Badger, the kind I specialise in.

Strigmar stuck out his chin. He’s got guards already. Good strong carls, many of them.

I don’t hunt men, said Badger, Beast slaying is my business.

Oh, right, said Strigmar, the offence fading from his eyes. Came because of those stories then. A couple of women flap their lips and suddenly we’ve got a monster problem.

Well, to be fair, the rumours are hardly new, said Roald, surprisingly leaping to assist Badger.

Strigmar shook his head but he relented. Whatever. I’ll take you across anyway and you can let the jarl send you on your way. Roald, you watch the gate till I get back.

I’ve got fish to unload…

Watch the gate, repeated Strigmar.

Right you are, agreed Roald amiably, Badger, you swing by any time you like and I’ll stand you an ale. My house is at the end of the dock, the one with fishbone carvings on the sills.

Badger nodded. I’ll do that.

Strigmar motioned Badger to follow him, and they walked between the squat towers of the gatehouse and onto the bridge beyond. Ahead Badger could see the keep proper. It wasn’t a huge building, more squat than tall, and an outer wall ran around both it and the grounds on top of the stack. The wall was not high, maybe twelve feet, and not even crenelated but with the bridge the only way across, it was an ample defence.

A sudden gust of wind caused both men to veer as they strode across the boards, and Badger threw his hands out instinctively.

Not much of a railing is it? laughed Strigmar. And it’s a long way down. Take a look if you like.

I’ll pass, thanks, said Badger. Knowing my luck, I’d just get blown over the edge. He felt a momentary pang of queasy sickness at the thought.

Together they finally ducked into the cover of the gate at the far end, past a small squad of carls, and up a shallow grassy mound to the keep proper. Here, two more carls fell in behind Badger, and another ran ahead to find the jarl so that they both arrived at the audience chamber at the same time.

Jarl Harald was a huge man, six and a half feet tall, maybe more. He was dressed like his carls in a long mail hauberk with a fine, wide leather belt supporting a more than ample sack of belly, a scabbarded sword at the waist. His face was weathered, not old exactly but had certainly seen better days, and was surrounded by a forest of hair; long silver locks on the top and a thicket of grey beneath.

Welcome to my hearth, said Harald. There was a high wooden throne set on a dais behind him but Harald didn’t sit, just waved the carls back with one hand, the other resting on his sword hilt.

You do me honour, lord, replied Badger formally, waiting for Harald to open the conversation.

So… Jon of Gor, the Beastslayer, eh? You’re a most welcome sight. A most welcome one. A godsend one might almost say.

Badger raised his eyebrows. This is going better than I expected.

I am at your service, my lord.

I am pleased to hear it, but let’s get on to that in a moment. It’s not often I get to meet a living legend. When I sent my man to Brin, I had no idea you’d be turning up. I didn’t credit him with the wits to find someone like you.

And nor should you. The man spent most of his time drunk in the taverns of Vintil, with not a clue of who he was looking for or how to find them. But I heard anyway. I always do. Never the news that I want, only the work that I need.

I need men with wits, continued the jarl, looking sharply at Badger, I’ve had hunters here before of course but they’ve left me with nothing more than an empty purse.

Badger’s eyes narrowed. Really? This is news.

Your purse may well be lighter when I’m done, said Badger evenly, but your problem will be solved.

Harald pursed his lips. Confident, eh? I like that. And they say you carry a magic sword no less, to get the job done. I’d like to see that!

As you wish, said the Beastslayer, reaching over his left shoulder and easing the blade free, and then resting it easily across both palms, the peculiar silver of the blade glinting in the feeble light.

The jarl stepped forward, lifting the blade from Badger’s hands. It’s not what I expected. I thought to see a long sword but this is something new.

It’s a katana. Longer and lighter, and liable to break if not well made.

And it is indeed a thing of beauty, real beauty, added the jarl, his eyes mesmerised by the peculiar swirling in the blade. So this is Icebreaker. A strange name, no?

I find conversation is easier with it in my hand, said Badger evenly.

The jarl burst out laughing, a great roar that came right from his belly. Ah, I see the stories about you aren’t wholly nonsense then! I like it! Icebreaker… The jarl’s smile faded. I don’t suppose you would sell it?

No, said Badger firmly.

No, I didn’t think so, said Harald, handing the blade back, Can’t blame a man for asking though, can you?

So, what am I hunting? said the Beastslayer, gently relieving the jarl of his blade. Don’t want him to get too tempted.

Harald gave a dry chuckle. First I want to know what you’re charging.

Depends what I’m hunting, said Badger again, If it’s not worth my fees, then I figure it’s something you’d have dealt with yourself.

Badger could see a flash of temper on Harald’s face, then perhaps the slightest hint of discomfit.

Well, truth is I don’t really know, can’t find anyone who’s claimed to have seen it, at least, not anyone who’s come to me about it.

Badger frowned. Odd.

Then how do you know there’s a monster?

Because the rumours persist. Word gets around, but no real detail. There’s gossip among the women though, yet my carls know nothing.

Badger waited. There had to be more than this to merit sending a man to Brin.

Rumours are bad enough to affect trade though, and they’ve reached the other islands, even beyond. Couple of merchants raising their prices to bring goods in, and no jarl can afford that. Truth be told, I’d been ignoring it, just fairy tales you know. Oten knows we’re superstitious people but then Gisla said she’d heard of a genuine attack across the bay in Crowsmir…

Can I speak to this, Gisla?

Gisla’s my wife. You can if you think it helpful but she’s visiting family on Greentop right now. In any case, it was third- or fourth-hand news, no detail, only that it was an attack on a young woman, no names and she couldn’t find out any more. Either they didn’t know or they didn’t want to say. That’s why I need someone like you. I need someone who can dig out this creature, find it and get rid of it. As you say, if it was something my carls could deal with, I’d have done it but you can’t kill a beast you can’t find.

Isn’t that the truth? So then, not as easy as it first seemed.

So, can you do it?

I can do it, said Badger, without hesitating, My rate is 200 in gold: Brinese and unclipped. I take fifty up front and the rest when I’m done, maybe more when I know what I’m hunting. If there’s anything at all. Might be it’s a wild goose chase but I’ll get an advance if nothing else. There was a time when this was the hardest part, the money, when I’d been too shy to haggle, too desperate to refuse, and I’d take whatever I was offered. How many times have I done this now? A dozen times? More. Now I know that sometimes it’s the easiest part of the hunt.

That’s a lot of money, said Harald, frowning, I’ll pay you a hundred in gold, twenty up front, and the price sticks whatever it is.

I don’t negotiate, said Badger, That’s my price. As I said if it’s not worth that, then you’d be able to deal with it yourself.

Now there really was no mistaking the colour in Harald’s cheeks, and the iron in his voice.

You think you can tell me, me, what I do in my own hall?

Badger raised a hand to placate him. I’m not telling you you have to accept. I’m just telling you what the job is worth to me.

You insolent boy! shouted Harald, Maybe I should just throw you off the bridge…

But you won’t. Oh, you’ll shout a bit, hammer your chest. We all do it just to show how manly we are so we can back down without it looking like a defeat. And your carls will be happy you gave me a dressing down. But in the end, you’ll take it, and you said as much when I walked in.

And so Badger let the jarl run himself down, even stood a few insults, the kind that weren’t designed to really anger but were worth the noise of making.

You’d be surprised just how many monsters there are to hunt in this part of the world, leftovers from the cataclysm. I’ll find other contracts, and you can find other hunters if you prefer. When it comes down to it, it’s just money for you. For me, that’s the price I put on my life.

And just like that, the jarl’s anger winked out. Fair enough. I expected nothing less, truth be told.

Badger couldn’t stop a quirk of the eyebrows. He may have all the trappings of a northern hero straight out of the tales but I’m going to have to re-evaluate this man. He’s not some character from a story, all noise and fury. He’s a jarl, a regular king in these parts, and I’d better not forget it.

Bloody bards.

Chapter 2

The jarl’s hospitality included a warm meal in the kitchens and small pewter mug of dark, bitter ale, which Badger gladly accepted, partly to stay out of the wind and partly because of his habit in never turning down a free meal, even with his purse now heavy with gold. But it didn’t include lodging, and after a fruitless attempt to get rumours out of the serving girl, Badger pushed himself up from the table and asked the way out of the keep.

I’ll walk you out, said a voice behind him, and he turned expecting to see another servant. What he got was something entirely different, a girl, a young woman really but no servant; that was clear from the quality of her jerkin, and the dagger at her belt. Her face was perhaps a little too long in the chin to be described as beautiful in the classic sense, yet she was remarkably pretty, her eyes a deep brown, a speckling of freckles beneath them, and the whole framed by two braids that bound her black hair from the temples and hung down to her breast.

My thanks, said Badger gruffly, no idea if she was a carl or something else.

My name’s Amelia, said the woman, sticking out her hand even as she walked towards him across the flagstones, and you must be the hunter; The Beasts layer, no less.

The very same, said Badger, a little tiredly, but clasping her hand firmly nevertheless. Does everyone know me here? And you are a carl? he asked tentatively.

Amelia laughed; a surprisingly gay sound in the dour heaviness of the kitchen.

Only a stranger would ask that. Come, I’ll show you the way, she added, gesturing with one hand to a small, stone, spiral staircase that led upwards and back to the ground floor. Women can’t be carls, more’s the pity, she added as Badger stepped alongside, I am the jarl’s daughter.

Badger felt a small twinge of disappointment. He had neither the time nor the inclination to mess about with a woman, yet still, there was no denying the twinge.

Got any advice on hunting this beast? asked Badger. It wasn’t much of a conversation opener but Badger felt it was often best just to ask. The stair was too narrow for them to walk up together and it was made even more uncomfortable by the fact Amelia let him go first, but he still craned over his shoulder.

My advice? Well now… She paused until they reached the head of the stairs, and then they walked together across a small hall to a door leading into the courtyard. Perhaps a good idea would be to sample the fleshpots of Lublow and Crowsmir, maybe thrash about in the marshes a bit to show willing, and then tell my father you found nothing.

Badger didn’t bother to disguise his surprise. Then Amelia laughed.

I’m teasing you. There aren’t any fleshpots on the isles.

Badger snorted.

Truth is you’re just wasting your time. I’m sure there isn’t anything to find, so you’d be better of enjoying your advance than traipsing about all over the place and annoying people with questions. Still, if you want to show willing you could kill a couple of Drowned and say they’re the cause of the rumours.

Badger frowned. Drowned?

Drowned, confirmed Amelia, looking at him, a little surprised.

Never heard of them.

Oh! said Amelia, even more surprised, then furrowed her brows, I guess they must be peculiar to these parts then. You get them from time to time, washed up souls of those lost at sea. Dead, except not exactly if you know what I mean. Drowned.

Undead? said Badger uneasily.

I guess, said Amelia, Oh don’t look at me like that. They are not exactly terrifying just… well, a bit discomfiting if you haven’t seen one before. Just imagine a corpse that’s been in the sea a while, and that’s what you get.

I’ve never heard of such thing, said Badger as they approached the inner gates.

They come ashore all over the Isles from time to time. The story is that Adunis laid a curse long ago when the people chose to build a shrine to Oten first. A curse that he’d take the souls of any that were lost at sea and trap them in his watery palace. With the souls still in this world, the bodies are never truly dead. So the tales go anyway.

You like your tales here, commented Badger.

Amelia laughed again, that peculiarly cheerful sound. The winter nights are pretty long here, she agreed.

Now they were on the bridge, and if Amelia noticed Badger’s discomfit, she said nothing.

Anyway, there’s a bounty of one gold coin for a Drowned, so at least you wouldn’t be empty-handed. Killed one myself a year back, she added proudly.

Badger was impressed but thought better of saying anything. They can be killed? How exactly?

By removing the head, said Amelia, nonchalantly.

Thankfully, they were finally off