Argentum's Song: Ferus' Gifts, #1

By Russell Smith

Argentum's Song is a story of dreams come true.

 

There is a prophesy that the seed of Simon, a True Warrior dedicated wholly to Ferus, will bring deliverance from darkness. Simon dreams that his son, Argent, will become this great warrior, defeating the Beast and eradicating the weirs once and for all.

 

Martha and Franklin, teen nobles sold into indentured servitude, are caught unwillingly in the middle of this clash. They dream of revenge against their enemies, a new life, and a chance to prove themselves.

 

All fifteen year old Argent dreams of is freedom from the heavy burden placed on him by Simon, as well as night terrors of failure and despair that haunt his sleep.

This is a story of dreams come true.

 

The question is: which ones?

 

***

 

The winner of the 2021 Braun Book award for new fiction, Argentum's Song is an allegorical fantasy with weirwolves and advanced clockwork technologies. Ferus, the creator, is at work with a rescue plan, part of which involves distributing a supernatural metal, 'Argentum', to his followers. However, in our corner of the world, little is known about Ferus or his plan. His few followers are often at odds and cling to their traditions and prejudices. Can they become united against the growing enemy horde in time? Jump into the action to find out!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Russell Smith
• Release date: Oct 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781738661404

Russell Smith

Russell Smith has an engineering and education background. He has had the priviledge to work cross culturally overseas with clean water issues, and in northern Ontario with a community centre on an Anishnaabek community. He currently resides in southern Ontario with his wife and son where he writes and provides debriefing and other care to third culture kids and cross cultural workers.

Book preview

One

From his perch in the tree, Argent blew two short blasts on the sentry horn. Before he removed the horn from his lips, his father Simon had already gotten to his feet by the campfire. Simon’s creased, weathered face took a moment to sweep the frost-covered clearing before his dark eyes looked up the redwood and locked with his son’s.

Where?

Argent didn't need to answer. They both heard blood-curdling war cries echo off the mountain pass, slightly south of the camp's clearing. The beasts had given up any pretence of stealth at the sound of Argent's horn. The rest of their caravan—a merchant, several servants, and three guards—were beginning to wake, but most hadn’t even made it out of their bedrolls by the time the two attackers charged through the foliage.

Argent hefted a leg over his perch and slipped onto a lower branch. Moving quickly, he wrapped his arms around the large limb, swung, and dropped onto the frozen ground; his bent knees absorbed most of the shock of the landing. He grabbed Barwolfripper from where he had left the weapon standing against the tree trunk and spun.

He had the claymore half out of its sheath before he realized he was too late. In the time it had taken Argent to descend the tree, Simon had already dealt with the creatures. A grey one had been cut in two, probably before it had even known what was happening. The darker-coloured of the two had made it to the campfire before Simon’s Wolfripper had found its mark mid-spine. Its face still shuddered now, stunned at the metal that had paralysed it so easily. The shock almost made the twisted and distorted features compassion worthy.

Almost, but not quite.

Argent’s thoughts turned to the frustration of having once again been too slow to make the first kill. Simon twisted Wolfripper’s hilt and pushed the monster off the blade with his sandalled foot. The corpse tumbled onto the bedroll that the caravan's leader, a merchant named Ladin, was even now scrambling out of.

Th–thank you, Ladin stammered. I could have been bitten.

Franklin, Ladin’s bodyguard, ran to his side with his sabre drawn. He was a little late by Argent’s measure and looked like he knew it. Argent could identify with his clear desire to redeem himself.

Simon nodded curtly at the two men and bent to clean Wolfripper on the beast’s pelt. As he did so, Argent admired the weapon’s faint rainbow aura, visible in the low moonlight. Argentum ... the pure metal after which he had been named. Not the counterfeit alloy that tinkers and alchemists tried to pass off as the real thing. The counterfeit, like the silver that made up most of its content, could penetrate weir-hide given enough force, but only Argentum would pierce it like a hot needle through wax.

Argent looked to Barwolfripper, his own sword, and drew it the rest of the way from its sheath. The huge blade was nearly as tall as he was. It was Wolfripper’s twin in every way, except for the aura. Barwolfripper was thus far crafted only from dull metal with a silver edge and tip.

Argent noticed his father watching him as he strapped the leather sheath and sword to his back.

Don't worry. said Simon. It won't be long now. Another half cycle and Barwolfripper will be complete.

The uncharacteristic display of comfort caught Argent off-guard. Yes, sir. Not long now.

Argent hoped his tone of voice didn’t make it obvious that his heart wasn’t in it. He wished he had Simon's faith. He wished he knew he was going to pass the test.

Franklin shouldered past Argent and got closer to Simon. Sooner than a half-cycle, I think. It won’t take nearly fifteen days to reach Phoentown. We’re already mostly through the pass.

Simon pointedly didn’t acknowledge Franklin’s interjection. Instead he gestured to the weirs.

What's your assessment? Simon asked.

Argent looked the two corpses over. They were fairly nondescript, having the same long, scraggly weir-hide, skewed misshaped skeletons, and jagged, murderous teeth that all weirs possessed. Their faces were gaunt and haggard and seemed divorced enough from humanity to have been suffering from their illness for quite a while.

Mid-stage scouts or scavengers? Argent said, hazarding a guess. Thought our small caravan was prey they could handle on their own?

Simon shook his head. No. Look at the ribs showing through the skin. Haven’t eaten anything for weeks. Probably since infection. That’s why they look further along than they are. Nothing but early-stage runts, shunned by their pack and desperate.

Franklin swaggered over to the far corpse and lifted one of its limb to get a better look. I agree. You can tell by—

Fool! Simon said, approaching with long paces that quickly ate up the distance between them. Step away and don’t touch anything. Do you think this is a game? Do you want to be infected?

The shocked young man dropped the limb and wiped his hand repeatedly on his tunic. But they’re dead. They can’t bite anymore.

Last night you still mocked the existence of weirs. Now you know more of infection than I?

The merchant, Ladin, stiffened as he observed the confrontation. He backed up against his personal sledge, his eyes flitting to the snow-covered vegetation that surrounded the clearing where they’d made camp.

What do we do to ensure infection doesn’t occur? Ladin asked. Could there be others out there?

Build pyres over them and burn them. Don’t touch them. And yes, of course there are more out there. Simon grabbed Franklin's wrist forcing the hand that had come in contact with the weir into the full moonlight for more illumination. Argent get our supplies. Today we head east up the mountain.

Argent obediently started toward the supply sledge, glad for an excuse to miss what might happen to Franklin if his father suspected an infection. He glanced down at the leather and fur strips tied around his own wiry legs. Beneath those wraps was a hand-breadth scar on his left calf where Simon had removed a chunk of flesh he’d thought might have been infected. Simon prohibited alcohol, so there had been nothing to dull the pain.

What? Ladin protested. Simon, you can’t leave us now. Please just stay with us long enough to get us through the pass.

Argent couldn’t help but grin. So, the merchant had decided that barbarians like Argent and his father had a purpose after all. They weren’t just there to tell weir-tales and be laughed at. As he began untying the the sledge's cover he heard Simon respond.

In our scouting we've only seen signs of two weirs near by. I was planning to hunt them today and leave tomorrow. Their attack has made that unnecessary. If you hurry, you should make it to Phoentown before any others pick up your scent.

Ladin turned and rooted around in his sledge. His upper torso disappeared behind the canvas and the muted thuds and clangs that rang out suggested a frantic search. Argent was almost done bundling their few provisions by the time Ladin emerged with two fists full of much more silver than Argent could count.

Simon, please take this, said Ladin. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but you must know how valuable of an asset you are to our caravan. Take it as a token of gratitude for saving my life. I’ll give you as much again if you’ll just accompany us to the town.

Argent sucked in his breath. Bad move, Ladin. Very bad move. You don’t try to buy a True Warrior’s service.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw Simon slowly release Franklin’s wrist.

You would dare steal my reward? The huge warrior advanced on the confused and retreating merchant. You would dare tempt me to receive mammon for the service I give freely to my Lord?

Frantically, Ladin glanced at the weapon on Simon’s back. Of course Wolfripper had only ever been used against the infected, but Ladin couldn’t know that. He likely just wanted to get out of the confrontation with his head intact.

Argent figured he had better step in before things got worse. Sir, I think it was a misunderstanding. I think Ladin meant it as a gift, not payment, right?

Yes, the merchant said, cowering before Simon’s righteous anger. Yes, a gift."

I will take no such filthy gift. Simon’s eyes blazed but he stopped advancing.

Maybe, Ladin swallowed as his voice squeaked. maybe, it would be best ... if we do part ways after all?

Two

Martha watched with a mixture of admiration and disappointment as the lanky youth diffused the violence between Ladin and the massive barbarian who had just saved the party from the monsters. She had half-hoped that Ladin would get some of what he deserved, but a quick glance showed that Franklin and the other two guards were getting ready to face off with the barbarians if worse came to worse.

She had to grudgingly respect the boy’s skill at tamping down his father’s temper. The barbarian leader had called him Argent. It was strange; they had been travelling together for weeks, but this was the first she had heard his name.

When the two barbarians had joined their caravan, she had tried to befriend him. He seemed to be within a year or two of her own age. He had even returned her smile on occasion, and she’d thought she might have a chance at breaking through his shy silence.

Then Franklin had waltzed over and started loudly telling her about how the ignorant barbarian youth had devoured the noon meal, completely ignoring the proffered cutlery. The bodyguard had then gotten between Martha and the boy, placing his hand protectively on the hilt of his sabre.

That had crushed any chance of her getting to know Argent better; after that, he seemed to have assumed that she shared Franklin’s disdain of barbarians. They had little more to do with each other for the rest of the journey—and Martha certainly wasn’t going to go chasing him if he wouldn’t give her the benefit of the doubt.

Up until now, she hadn’t considered it any great loss.

There had only been one other opportunity for the two to strike up a conversation. Three days ago, Thom, the oldest of the guards, had pulled out a pan reed flute he played every so often. He performed a lilting tune, and since their work was already finished for the night she and her father had started to dance.

Tentatively, a new instrument had joined in. She had been surprised to see Argent sit beside the older man and accompany him on a tin flute. The younger barbarian certainly was no court musician, but he was at least as good as Thom. If anything, he had a more natural, unrefined talent. She wondered what he could have become if he’d had access to the same access to music teachers that she'd had as a child.

Before finishing even one song, Argent had stopped abruptly, his face crimson as he dropped his eyes to the ground. She had whirled around to see what had made him stop, and there was his father, watching with obvious disapproval. It made her spine shiver. Thom had gone on to finish the melody alone, then Father had bowed and fetched Mother for the next song.

As Argent had disappeared into the forest, Martha got up to walk after him—but Franklin caught her by the elbow and asked for the next dance. She wasn't an idiot, she knew that Franklin, despite being indentured as well, considered himself above her station. The only reason he asked was due to his lack of options. However, she also couldn’t say that she minded the dark young noble’s attention. Besides, she loved to dance and had figured she could always try to corner Argent to ask him about his music later.

Now, with the barbarians preparing to depart, she realized she was unlikely to get that chance.

As she watched the confrontation between Simon and Ladin fizzle, she noticed Argent fish something from his pouch. He glanced around until his blue eyes met her own and then quickly made his way over to her.  

Put a string of fifteen knots in this. he murmured.

Martha looked down at the piece of sinew he held out to her. She had been ordered to do many arbitrary tasks over the years—Ladin had made some power drunk demands of her and her family since they’d been forced into indentured servitude for failing to cover their debts—but this was by far the most arbitrary.

She would have swallowed her pride and done it anyway if Ladin had ordered it, to keep him from finding an excuse to increase their term of indenture. Argent, however, had no such power over her and she wasn’t about to let him treat her as if she was his slave too.

Do it yourself, she said.

Argent sucked in a breath. I can’t... I can’t count that high. Please just do it before Simon notices.

Martha blushed as she realized she had been the one refusing to give him the benefit of the doubt this time. She quickly added the knots to the sinew and tried to phrase an appropriate apology as she handed it over, but he took it from her and walked away before she had the right words.

As Argent started up the mountainside, hefting a burden that would make most men twice his weight stagger, she heard her own father’s voice at her side.

What was that about? he asked.

He wanted me to tie fifteen knots for him.

Why?

I think so he could learn to count. I’m not sure.

Franklin’s nearby guffaw surprised her. She hadn’t heard him come up alongside them.

What an idiot, said the bodyguard. "If he wanted to learn math, he should have asked for ten knots. Or possibly eight, if he were travelling to the eastern continent. No math