The War Lord: The Saga of Tarod the Nine-Fingered, #1

By Steven E. Wedel

Tarod, a young man from the mountains, comes into civilization looking for help fighting off the slavers harassing his people. When he learns that the peaceful city of Nevara is holding a tournament to choose a new war lord, he joins the ranks of gladiators in hopes he can win and use his position to influence the king. His youth, inexperience, and the dark machinations of a wizard prove to be more challenging than the battles in the arena.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MoonHowler Press
• Release date: May 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223883425

Steven E. Wedel

Steven E. Wedel lives with his dogs, Bear and Sweet Pea, and his cat, Cleo. A lifelong Oklahoman, he grew up in Enid and now lives in Midwest City, with numerous addresses in between. He is the author of over 35 books under his name and two pseudonyms, but still has to rely on his day job of teaching high school English to keep himself and his furry dependents eating in air-conditioned comfort. Steven has four grown children and three grandsons. Be sure to visit him online and sign up for his newsletter.

Book preview

Conversation in the Inn

Tarod watched the innkeeper across the room as the man filled a plate with meat, beans, and bread. The innkeeper was a round man with a bushy brown beard and a shiny scalp. His eyes twinkled when he spoke, and his words often whistled through a gap where two upper teeth had been lost breaking up a fight in his business establishment in the days when he used his fists more than a stout club of hickory. The innkeeper’s name was Belen. During the time he’d been staying in Belen’s inn, Tarod had come to think kindly of the man. Belen set the plate of food on the table and dropped himself into the chair across from Tarod with a deep sigh.

Congratulations on living another day, young sir, Belen said. I hear it told that you killed two men today and that one of them was that wiry fellow from Philan. He was a big talker, he was. I was surprised he made it so far into the tournament. I can’t say I’ll miss his business here.

Tarod looked up from the plate of bleeding beef and dry bread to study the innkeeper’s ruddy face. All around him was the din of the inn’s common room – people eating, talking, drinking, singing, and gambling. Tarod blocked it out as he’d tried to do all week. Tonight, he thought he’d wanted only to be left alone, but now he found he craved company. He missed his mother’s cooking and his father’s words of advice. He tried to smile.

I’ve learned that most of the men in the tournament have more skill with their mouths than with their blades, Tarod said.

I don’t doubt it, Belen said, nodding. What surprised me was the number of winners who dropped out after the first round.

Most of them won by luck, Tarod said as he chewed a moist chunk of the beef. I doubt those men had seen real battle before. They didn’t know what it was like to have sharpened weapons aimed at them. They had never killed anyone before, either.

The innkeeper’s look was sad as he scrutinized his guest. It’s a bad business, killing. We don’t have much of that here in Nevara. Not in all of Minnea, for that matter, Belen said. We’re a peaceful people.

You say that, but you choose your new war lord with a tournament that kills dozens of men, Tarod said as he cut another bite from the steak. Warm blood ran across the plate.

Mostly foreigners, like yourself, Belen answered. We’ve been at peace so long that our own men are no longer battle-ready.

So I’ve noticed, Tarod said, grinning. The boys of my village could have beaten most of the men in the tournament that first day.

I heard it said that news of the tournament was more popular outside the borders of Minnea than within, Belen continued, his voice sibilant through the hole in his teeth. King Damen said it would bring in the best fighters from neighboring lands and they would kill each other in our capitol city, giving us a new war lord and eliminating our neighbors’ best warriors without a war. He said our war lords should die in hunting accidents more often because choosing a new one provides such a nice public spectacle. And it’s mighty good for business, I might add.

Tarod laughed. It sounds like your king is a clever one.

He’s a good king, as was his father before him, Belen said. But tell me, young sir, if you win tomorrow and are named war lord of Minnea, what will you do? Why do you want such a worthless title? Minnea has not gone to war in generations. The war lord does little more than organize the palace guard and lead parades. I would think a young man like you would seek more adventure.

Tarod chewed and swallowed, his eyes fixed on the rotund man sitting across the table from him. Why do none of the soldiers participate in the tournament? he asked. I expected to see many of them, but there have been none.

They are not permitted, Belen said. The war lord is a political post. The army is controlled by generals. Every soldier is a trained fighter. The king spends a great deal of gold to be sure they are well trained and armed. He won’t risk them turning on each other or dying in the arena.

The bread was dry and Tarod had to force it down his throat. His mother’s bread was light as air and flavored with herbs she gathered herself. He swallowed some ale, licked his lips, and said, This title I’m fighting for sounds more worthless with every word you speak.

Belen laughed, the gap in his teeth wide and comical. So I ask you again, young sir, why do you fight for it?

I would ask the king to help my people, Tarod said. My folk are made slaves. They are captured from their mountain villages to work on the plantations of the Obsidian Plains. A nation as strong as Minnea could help us defeat the lords of the Plains.

You will never convince King Damen to go to war, especially with the Plainsfolk. Belen stroked his moustache. We depend on the grain and cotton they provide.

We’ll see, Tarod said. If he won’t help my people, I’ll leave Minnea and you’ll have to have another tournament.

Ah, that’s if you win tomorrow. That Cormath fellow is a good fighter and comes from somewhere east of the Malatia Forest. He is no stranger to killing. And he seems to have an appetite for it, I’ve noticed.

"I’ve been fighting for my life since I was old