Amadar

By Dave Robinson

It was supposed to be a simple job; the wizard even supplied the plans to the house. All Gwion had to do was steal a staff. Unfortunately the staff had its own agenda.

Caught between the prophecies of two wizards, one living and one dead, it is all Gwion's wits and Aetricia's sword can do to keep the two of them alive in the face of Amadar's rage. Can anyone stop the wizard before he ascends to godhood?

• Language: English
• Publisher: KEH Publishing
• Release date: Apr 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215366370

Dave Robinson

I’m Dave, and I write. I’m also a father, a reader, gamer, a comic fan, and a hockey fan. Unfortunately, there is a problem with those terms; they don’t so much describe me as label me, and the map is not the territory. Calling me a father says nothing about my relationship with my daughter and how she thinks I’m silly. It ignores the essence of the relationship for convenience. It’s the same with my love of books, comics, role-playing games, and hockey; labels only say what, not how or why. They miss all the good parts. If you want more of a biography: I was born in the UK, grew up in Canada, and have spent time in the US. I’ve been freelancing for the last seven years. Before that, and in no particular order, I’ve managed a bookstore, worked in a pawnshop, been a telephone customer service rep, and even cleaned carpets for a living. As a freelancer, I’ve done everything from simple web content, to ghostwritten novels. I’ve even written a course on trading forex online. I’ve also edited everything from whitepapers to a science fiction anthology. Right now, I'm working on the next Doc Vandal adventure.

Book preview

Amadar

A Tale of the Harven Empire

by Dave Robinson

A Doc Vandal Publication

Copyright 2013 by Dave Robinson

First Print Edition 2017

Cover Illustration by Carlos Balarezo

Cover Design by Queen Graphics

This is a work of fiction. All similarities to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All events, locales, and incidents are either purely the product of the author’s imagination or used for fictitious purposes.

Works by Dave Robinson

The Doc Vandal Series

Against the Eldest Flame

Air Pirates of Krakatoa

Attacked Beneath Antarctica

Giant Robots of Tunguska

The Sunkiller Affair

The Ziggurat of Doom

Other Works

Price of Imperium

This novel is dedicated to my late partner Kim, without whom I would never have written a word; to our daughter Kyrie, who entered the world as the first draft was being written; and to my brother Neil, who always believed I was a writer even when I didn’t. Also thanks to my late parents, Lyn Robinson, and Clive Robinson. You’re both gone now but I hope you would enjoy these adventures.

Any errors are mine alone.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

About the Author

Chapter One

Two men played toss-knife in an inn yard. This throw had better do it, Gwion thought, looking across the shadowed yard toward the makeshift target. A knife stuck out from a thin wooden board resting against a hitching post on the other side of the yard. Three gold crowns rested on top of the board, a fingers-breadth from the knife. If he made this throw, that gold would pay his rent for a moon and food for a week. His stomach growled; he'd had no breakfast.

Hurry up, young’un, a harsh voice interrupted. If ye don't throw I'll claim forfeit and take my gold back. The man sounded sour like the thin beer he'd been swilling. You've turned copper into gold at my expense and I'll not stand here much longer, so toss the knife if you think you can best me.

Gwion ignored the man's words, took aim, and threw. The throw was good, the blade flashing as it leapt from sun to shadow. His knife thunked into the target, quivering between the other knife and the coins.

"I'll thank you for my gold instead, Gwion walked over to collect his winnings. I'd let you try to win it back, but I've other things to do this night."

I don't think I'll be tossin' a knife with you any time soon. Next time I see you coming I'll keep my coin in my pouch and my knife at my belt.

Gwion nodded, and sheathed his blade. There was a roast in the common room calling his name.

Gwion's belly was full, and his pouch a weight against his leg. The sun was setting, and most of the streets were dark. Gwion moved through the streets, eyes open for pickpockets, sliding just far enough past people that he wouldn't be touched.

Look out below! Gwion stepped aside just in time to avoid the stinking brown and yellow mess that hit the street. That was a close one. He looked up to try to find the window it had come from but it was shut already. He shook his head, remembering a night spent drinking with a maid who worked on the Street of Cats who had told him how she always aimed the honey-buckets she dumped out the window.

Something clacked on the cobbles behind him, sounding like a cross between footsteps and hoof beats. Gwion tried to ignore it; but the noises grew louder. He sped up, and the beat matched his pace: clack-clack-clack, clack-clack-clack. His pulse raced and he started looking for a way off the street.

Cat's-Kin, a voice hissed from behind him. Gwion turned to see a bulky figure silhouetted by the falling sun. Its bare feet showed dull claws, the source of the noise. It hissed more than spoke, but not unintelligibly. My Master wishes to speak with you. Come with me.

The creature looked like a lizard whose mother was an ape. As far as anyone knew it was nameless; just Amadar's lizard slave and Amadar was a powerful enough wizard that no one questioned him too closely.

Your master wants to see me? Why would he want to see me?

I do not question his meanings; he gives orders and I obey. You would be wise to do the same. The creature turned back the way Gwion had come. Follow me.

Gwion didn't want to follow it, but he wanted to spend the next thousand years wishing he was a toad even less. The roast that had put such warmth in his belly was a lump of ice.

Now he didn't have to weave his way through the crowd, they separated before his guide like a ship's bow wave. No one dared interfere with that creature; no one who wished to see the next morning. It was a long walk, and the city grew darker as they moved. They walked through the rising night, passing from globe of light to globe of light. The odors of cooking wafted from houses as they passed, occasionally punctuated by the fouler stenches of the city.

It was almost a candle later that they came into view of their destination. A black tower rose alone in a square like an island in a sea of stone. Those buildings look like they’re afraid of it. Squat at the base, towering into the darkness, it was blacker than the night itself. Gwion felt the weight that had been his dinner grow colder, as cold as the tower was black. His heart beat faster, the calmness he'd forced into himself ebbing as they approached.

Iron torches flared in the doorway; flames cast from solid iron glowed with the white heat of the forge. Bars threw shadows like teeth in the light of the forge-glow, and slowly retracted like the fangs of a viper. Gwion hesitated, losing his stride. The ape-lizard turned its head around, looking almost straight back without moving its shoulders. You must follow manling. My Master awaits.

Gwion gulped, and stepped forward, following his guide to the gates. That looks entirely too much like a mouth for my comfort. Settling his shoulders, he reached for the throwing knife at his belt; drawing comfort from the roughness of its wire-wrapped hilt, and the longer fighting dagger hanging beside it. Breathing a little more steadily he followed the figure into the tower's jaws.

He couldn't help stopping once he passed through the doors.  The chamber was huge, with a row of doors down both sides and lit by iron torches between the doorways. Colored hangings accentuated the glossy blackness of the walls. At the far end was a spiral ramp; the red carpet leading upwards into the darkness like a tongue or snake. Which way do I go? He turned to ask his companion, only to realize it had vanished.

:: Follow the ramp ahead of you. I await your presence. :: The voice seemed to bypass his ears and imprint itself directly in his mind. It was a cold dry voice, like leaves rubbing together or a snake slithering through his thoughts. Gwion nodded, and started across the carpet. The pile was deep and soft, cushioning his steps and rendering even his normally quiet tread silent.

I hope Wizards don't have a good sense of smell, or he'll be able to smell the fear-sweat from a mile away. The image of a wizard casting a spell of smelling brought a quick smile to his face, a smile that vanished as soon as it appeared.

Walking up the ramp, he saw tapestries running along the walls; telling stories from the days of the founding of the Empire.  Each tapestry hung between two of the fireless torches, the threads gleaming in the white light. The first showed Gwydion Dragonfyre, the Founder of the Empire. Beside the Emperor was a tall spare man, picked out in exquisite detail, not the focus of the image, but of the weaver.  In another tapestry the same figure stood beside Rhyslin the Tall at the signing of the Great Charter.

The torches grew hotter as he climbed; each pair larger and fiercer than the last. He’s in every tapestry, bigger and bolder each time. Gwion stopped to look at the last tapestry, now the figure was taking over an entire panel, dominating both the wall and the image. It was hot up here, and his shirt felt almost to his skin, ahead of him he could see a large brass, or was it gold, door.

:: Come in Cat's Kin, I have been waiting for you. :: The almost-voice slithered through his mind as the door opened.

Stepping across the threshold, the first thing Gwion noticed was a wave of cold air. The room was the perfect temperature, and the sudden change almost made him stagger. It was blistering hot just the other side of the doorway. It was more evenly lit here too, and Gwion glanced around the room, checking for a possible escape route. The door slid shut with an audible click behind him, calculatedly reminding him he was in the wizard's power. Gwion shook his head, why was the Wizard making such a point of it? Anyone would know they were in his power.

Taking a slightly more confident breath Gwion glanced about the room. It was a small chamber, filled with things he had never seen before. Strange idols sat near braziers, bathing in the scent of incense. One wall bore the head of a horned cat, stuffed and mounted. Did those eyes just move? Books bound in strange leathers filled a bookcase; some straining against the bindings that held them closed. A lizard sat in a cage watching him through iridescent eyes, then turned away. Shelves held vials, powders, and other things Gwion couldn’t place. A crystal globe showed a storm at sea, ships tossed on the waves. The man from the tapestries sat on a throne in the middle of the room, looking up from a bowl of thick red liquid.

Greetings, Cat's Kin, I am Amadar. The voice sounded dryer in his ears than in his mind. Sit youth, sit. The wizard gestured towards a small low chair that hadn't been there before he made the offer.

Gwion sat cautiously, easing down on the chair not sure if it was real. Once seated, he looked up at the wizard.

"I expect you are wondering what one such as you could do for one such as me. The voice reached for Gwion's soul, pulling his gaze to Amadar's. My reasons are my own, and need not concern you. Suffice it to say there is something I wish done, something that you can do for me."

Gwion sat there, his eyes locked on the wizard. I wonder what he wants, all I know he can tell everything I'm thinking before I think it.  He forced himself to consider nothing but what the other was saying. Concentrate, concentrate, focus on the here and now. The litany ran through his head. Concentrate Gwion, concentrate.

I wish for you to retrieve an item for me. A bronze staff currently held by the Count of lar Tamis. It is about your height in length, inscribed with symbols and runes. Some say it once belonged to Khrellan the Blue, but that is none of your concern. Something told Gwion he shouldn't interrupt the wizard. As we speak, it lies locked in a room in the lower levels of his townhouse. You have three days to retrieve it for me.

Amadar gestured and a cased scroll and a small bag appeared on a table. There is a map of the townhouse, and one hundred gold crowns to cover any incidental expenses. You will be paid a further thousand crowns once I have the staff. If I do not receive the staff in the specified three days, I will send my associate to retrieve you. I trust I am making myself clear.

You are, sir. Gwion said. You want me to go into the Count of lar Tamis' townhouse and retrieve a staff for you. I have three days to perform this commission. He pointed toward the scroll. The map there shows the layout of the house, and also the location of the staff? If it's this easy why is he getting someone else to do it?

Yes, yes. Amadar almost spat the words. The map shows the location of the staff, and where the guards are located. It should be easy for one of your talents to retrieve the staff. He looked taller, as if casting off a disguise, or maybe letting it slip.

You have your instructions, now go! Gwion's chair vanished, and only the fact he was already rising saved him from an embarrassing fall. He reached for the bag and scroll afraid the table would disappear. He wasn't disappointed; no sooner had his hand closed on the objects than the table returned to thin air.

Gwion bowed, stowing the scroll and bag inside his tunic. I'll be back in three days with the staff. He backed through the doorway; the door had vanished, into the stifling heat. He couldn't have said whether it was a gesture of respect, or simple fear.  It doesn't matter if you've your back to him; if he takes it into his head to make you vanish like that chair does it really matter if he's looking at your face or your backside?

The torches felt hotter, the tapestries more sinister than they had on the way up. What he first saw as craftsmanship now seemed fouler and less straightforward. Gwion could feel the sweat dripping from him; soaking his clothes. The air had the smell of fear-sweat mixed with the forge. The pile on the carpet that reminded him even more of some monstrous tongue was so deep he couldn't hear a thing as he descended.

He emerged into the lower chamber and its relative coolness, though even here the iron torches glowed brighter than they had on his first entry, spilling their harsh pitiless light into the room and cutting small shadows from the door frames that lined the walls.

I will escort you out, Cat's Kin. Gwion started as the voice came over his shoulder. Craning his neck backwards, he saw that his erstwhile escort had reappeared from nowhere. I trust you will be able to find your way from the gates of the Tower, manling.

Yes, I'm sure I will. Gwion answered. Even if I couldn't I'd rather wander the city alone than take another trip at this one's heels. He walked more quickly, knowing he had company. Once again, the doorway opened like a mouth. As it shut behind him the two iron torches that flanked the doorway died out like eyes snapping shut. He stood alone in the sudden darkness, feeling the life of the city around him, thanking both Forger and Luckbringer he had survived.

He wrapped his arms around his chest, shivering in the chill air. The city was quiet in this quarter, as if the brooding blackness of the tower laid its own weight on the surrounding buildings. Gwion started to move forwards, his normally quiet tread echoing on the cobbles after the deep pile of the wizard's carpet.

There was no one around and he hunched his shoulders and walked quickly towards the safety he felt from the surrounding buildings. Just a little bit further, then he won’t be able to see me. He looked over his shoulder at the windowless tower, then turned back to move just a little faster. What if he cast a spell on me? Maybe he can see me wherever I am.

As he got further from the tower he felt a weight lift from his shoulders, just a little with each step. The quiet sounds of the sleeping city returned as he neared the other buildings. What kind of people could live here, he wondered. I can't imagine living in the shadow of that tower.

Getting closer, he could see signs and houses outlined in the darkness. Some had illuminated signs; an apothecary stood beside a purveyor of manuscripts ancient and rare. Under the eaves, he walked quickly along the street, close to the walls. He let his feet be his guide, trusting their memory for the quickest way home. He kept looking over his shoulder as he walked; is he sending someone after me, is something watching me? Twice he looked back, thinking he heard footsteps, but it was only the pounding of his own heart.

Once away from the tower he started to relax just a little more, falling back into common habits. Looking around for the watch, who would most likely ask all sorts of uncomfortable questions about why someone like him was out so late. I can just imagine telling them ‘oh I'm just returning from having to a chat with the Wizard Amadar because he wants me to break into some Count's house to retrieve something for him.’ That would earn me a quick trip to the Pits, if not the headsman. He rubbed his neck at the thought. Those images kept his eyes moving and probing the darkness. That may be a brighter future than the wizard would give me if I don't get him that staff. This must be what they meant when they said sometimes you can't win for losing.

The second quarter of the night was ending by the time he got near the docks and home. Now that he was in familiar surroundings, it was easier to take to the alleys. Gwion could tell where he was from the sounds and the smells. Marisa always baked right after sundown so her house smelled of fresh bread all night long. One couple was famous for their nightly fights, one or the other would regularly get drunk, come home and pick a fight. The making up afterwards was almost as loud as the fights.

Ahead, he saw a familiar alley, running in behind an innyard. The watch avoided Plow Horse Alley; it was too narrow to march four abreast and hidden from casual eyes. Now if that Wizard hasn’t sent anyone to follow me I’m free and clear.

It was even darker inside the alley, the buildings high and close together, and he paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. The sewage channel down the center added its familiar tang to the air as he started through the still blackness.

He had almost reached the end of the alley, relieved that no one had felt the need to empty a chamber pot as he walked by. Less than a dozen paces ahead it opened into a small square with a tavern on the right and shops to the left. A burst of noise told him the tavern door had opened, probably to let some patron out into the freedom of the night. Gwion ducked towards the tavern, sidling up against the bricks in case it was a drunk looking for a fight. The bricks were old and smooth against Gwion's side; cool in the night. An armor-clad woman with a sword near as long as Gwion was tall slung over her shoulder passed the alley. She had dark skin, blonde hair, and armor that looked like nothing he'd ever seen before. That was all he had time to notice before he felt something hard poking his ribs and foul breath on his cheek.

What have we got here? The voice was heavy with the smell of bad teeth and too much garlic, A chicken ripe for the plucking?

Gwion stood hardly breathing, his ears straining to hear if the man was alone. A soft scrape on the cobbles to his left said he wasn't. Now we're going to have ourselves a little fun, the voice continued. If you don't want to be plucked little bird, you'll look the other way as we do it. He felt the cold hardness of metal dig into his side, hard enough to leave a bruise if it didn't draw blood, and then he was standing alone.

Look the other way? The other way from what? The question echoed in his mind. It echoed in his mind for a bare moment before the other two removed all doubt, stepping out from the shadows, long swords drawn to attack the woman.

Ware Steel!

The words burst from his lips before he made up his mind to intervene. The two men were moving cautiously towards the woman, moving apart to flank her when they attacked. Gwion shouted and they charged together, both swords extended to try and run the woman through. Her reaction was even swifter than theirs.

Goddess Aid! she bellowed, spinning on her heel, the sword moving from her back to her hands as if by magick. Four and a half feet of blued steel made a wall between her and her attackers. She backed off slowly, turning side to side. The armor didn't seem to slow her down at all; her sword licking out to bat theirs aside one, then the other. Gwion saw the scene slow down, blades arcing slowly through the air leaving trails behind them, the stamp of booted feet staccato as the three wove their web of death.

The close rasp of steel on brick broke the stillness, and everything sped up again. Gwion whirled to see the face of a third man, whose stroke was slightly off, sparking a trail along the wall. Hammer it! He cursed softly, drawing his fighting dagger.Gwion rammed his shoulder into the man's belly, following it up with a stab, trying to get inside the longer weapon. His opponent smelled of rusty iron and unwashed flesh. Gwion wrinkled his nose at the stench; his dagger turning in his hand as it bit through cloth to skid off mail. Mail? Long swords and mail for a mugging?

The man's knees buckled and he slammed backwards into the cobbles, nearly landing in the sewage. His sword skittered away and he grabbed Gwion's shoulders and tried to pull him down. The man's eyes were wide and cords stood out on his neck as he pulled Gwion down and rolled on top of him, raising a fist to smash into Gwion's face. Gwion jerked his head to the side, and the slower man's fist smashed into the cobbles; bringing a muffled curse to the man's lips. That curse died as Gwion's dagger drove up into his armpit, replaced by a slowly fading look of surprise.

Unfffffffffff He grunted, levering the heavy body off his chest and rolling it over with a wet thud, one foot splashing into the sewage runoff. Gathering his knife he got to one knee and looked towards the clang of steel he could barely hear over his own heart. The woman had pressed the men backwards, back into the alley; but now they were fighting from almost opposite sides. She was weaving from foe to foe, two or three quick blows then turning to the other, looking for an opening. They were no match for her individually, but flanking her from the shadows into the light they were holding their own. She's going to lose, they'll wear her down.

Dropping his dagger, Gwion reached for his throwing knife, sliding it out from the sheath. The haft was smooth in his grip, the wire wrappings giving just enough roughness that it wouldn't slip at the wrong time. There, he's made a stroke, and is pulling back to parry... now. Gwion's hand arced forwards just as the man started to drop his left hand. The knife left his hand perfectly, the pommel knob gliding past his fingertips as the blade took flight. His eyes tracked the flight and the man's throat, looking down a thread only he could see. The knife flew along that thread as if it were solid, ending its track like a flower growing from the mugger's throat.

The man's breath stopped and he reached for the knife growing from his neck; only to lose his fingertips as her sword sliced through his neck, sending the head toppling one direction and his fingers in another. Gwion was sure he could see a surprised look on the man's face as it rolled away. The last mugger didn't survive his friend by more than a score of heartbeats. The woman turned all her attention to him: One, two, three. Her first stroke beat his long sword aside; her second broke the arm that held it, and the third sent his head rolling down the alleyway to splash into the sewage, face down.

She raised the sword to a guard position when she saw Gwion, then lowered it slowly as he stood up, arms spread and obviously unarmed. Aetricia Whitebrand thanks you, Man.

Her voice was deep and husky, tinged with an accent he didn't recognize, but he replied in kind. You're welcome, woman.

Gwion had seen armed women before, but not ones who looked like this. She stood a good head taller than he was which put her well over six feet. Her skin was dark, and her features regular, with a square chin and thin straight nose below cool green eyes. Her hair was white-blond, worn in a long thick braid down her back. He matched her gaze for just a moment before breaking eye contact.

Nodding to her he bent beside the man he'd killed, retrieved his dagger and reached for his pouch, intent on finding some clues if not a few crowns to set off the attempt on his life.

Are you nothing but a thief? Man. Aetricia's scornful voice cut through the darkness as he opened the pouch, pouring the contents into his palm.

No, I am not 'nothing but a thief,' he growled, looking over the contents of his hand. Three muggers working together, who take the time to warn off a bystander before attacking their victim? Muggers willing to forgo a small, unarmored victim in the darkness for one in full armor in the light? Muggers wearing chain mail under their jerkins, bearing long swords for weapons.

What do you mean? She said more softly.

What I mean is these were no ordinary muggers. He waved a hand at the bodies. The Children of the Shadow work in pairs, not threes. Muggers don't waste money on mail, it stops them running away. They never pass up an easy target for a hard one, and they use weapons they can hide easily, like clubs and knives. Mail makes it a lot harder to pass in a crowd.

So, this was no ordinary mugging, and you look for information, not profit. Her voice took on a questioning tone.

Of course I wanted information He replied. People who go around attacking others in the middle of the night in my neighborhood worry me. He held up a small medallion that had spilled out of the pouch. See, this man was carrying the arms of the House of lar Tamis. He was a guard for a local nobleman, not just a footpad.

"The House of lar Tamis. I will remember them. My rihalsa has truly begun. I have made my first enemy. She nodded to Gwion, finally sheathing her sword. I will remember you, too."

With that, she turned on her heel and strode away, her warrior's stride carrying her down the street and out of sight. She is a strange one, Gwion mused, but this seems to be my night for it. Meeting the Wizard Amadar, being hired to burgle and attacked by the House of lar Tamis, and now meeting her. Time for me to sleep, and I'll talk to Kessa in the morning.

Chapter Two

Gwion awoke slowly, the late morning sun penetrating the dimness of his room. His first reaction was to groan and roll over, burying his face in the pillow rather than trying to face the day. Rolling over, however, brought him face to face with Amadar's bag of coins, and that brought everything back.

What have I got myself into this time? He tossed back his covers and sat up, feet feeling for the floor. I go for a simple game of toss-knife to win enough coins to pay my rent and fill my belly, and end up meeting the Wizard Amadar.  Then, to fill my ale-jack to overflowing, I get a commission to retrieve something for him.  He shook his head. I’m dead. I may as well just kill myself and get it over with.

Gwion got up and started to pace. Forger’s Hammer strike me, what am I going to do? The floor creaked to his pacing, and he looked around, half expecting to see a lizard looking at him from atop one of his chests. Thank the Luckbringer it’s not there. He swung his head around to look at the window, in case it was straining against the bar.

I need to talk to Kessa about this. He thought furiously as he started looking around for his boots and clothes. She'll know what I ought to do. I don't think I can get away with just taking the gold back to Amadar and saying Thanks but no thanks. Then I can spend the next thousand years wishing I was a toad, with the memory of Kessa telling me that nothing good ever comes of dealing with Wizards. I don't think this is going to be a good sennight.

He dressed, putting most of his gold in the wired pouch that hung down inside his shirt. He was more heavily armed than usual, three throwing knives and his fighting dagger. I wish I could wear my sword on the streets, and I'd better not forget to drop off a few gold for the Luckbringer, I’ll be needing all the luck I can get. That thought clasped firmly in mind he made his way out the door, stopping to lock the room, and down the outside stairs to the street.

Kessa was the closest thing to a mother Gwion could remember. His mother had died years