Sons of the Shipwright – Warlock

By George Lockwood

“In the 237th year of the Grand Empress Bo’sel, the Windell Empire changed its laws on magic. It allowed mages to teach and train others in war magic within the Windell army for the first time outside of the blackened-spired towers of Immalaris. Within two years the Empire spread from the East of the Dunna to the West coast of the Westlands, conquering the Myststep’s kingdom including the cities of Barrow Haven and Simerlin. With this, all peoples were free to move and unauthorized magic was made illegal for those not sanctioned to practice…”

What would you give to protect the ones you loved? Would you make a deal with the devil, knowing somewhere out there that they were safe? If he promised you he would keep them safe would you walk away from everything?

The Bokkom can offer you the world, all you have to do is follow the path.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Sep 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781035819249

George Lockwood

I can confirm that George Lockwood was born, and he is still alive in the UK, if you are going searching for this elusive creature, I recommend looking anywhere that sells Mead or milkshakes while also running board games. He may also be found in the wild walking around historical sites, museums and aquariums. If approached, he will begin talking at length about games or history. I recommend engaging him with photos of red pandas of which he is found.

Book preview

About the Author

I can confirm that George Lockwood was born, and he is still alive in the UK, if you are going searching for this elusive creature, I recommend looking anywhere that sells Mead or milkshakes while also running board games.

He may also be found in the wild walking around historical sites, museums and aquariums.

If approached, he will begin talking at length about games or history. I recommend engaging him with photos of red pandas of which he is found.

Dedication

My father, Robert.

You saw potential when nobody else did, not even me.

Thank you so much for your help and guidance.

Copyright Information ©

George Lockwood 2023

The right of George Lockwood to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035819232 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035819249 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2023

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Prequel: Guide to the Westlands

In the 237th year of the Grand Empress Bo’sel, the Windell Empire changed its laws on magic. It allowed mages to teach and train others in war magic within the Windell army for the first time outside of the blackened spired towers of Immalaris. Within two years, the Empire spread from the East of the Dunna to the West coast of the Westlands, conquering the Myststep’s kingdom including the cities of Barrow Haven and Simerlin. With this, all peoples were free to move and unauthorised magic was made illegal for those not sanctioned to practice…

…The winds around Barrow Haven are not welcoming, an ice-cold chill forced in by high mountains that touch frozen seas. The people of Barrow Haven are similarly unwelcoming. The town’s ports provide many great ships to be sold to the highest bidder during the brutal winters, time is spent building these great vessels upon the frozen seas, whilst warmer seasons allow for the massive constructions to be lowered into still freezing summer waters. The limited sun also gives a brief chance for the local inhabitants to plant trees and ground crops.

Chapter 1

Frozen Wastes

The Arctic winds slammed into the side of the small craft. The tiny boat was helplessly trapped in near-freezing water, almost a mile away from the nearest shore. In the darkness, the black water splashed over the sides of the boat, shards of ice fired up out of the spray hammering. The three cramped, tall, hooded figures, each of the hooded figures covered in heavy pitched-black whaleskin coats. Any exposed skin protected by thick gloves and heavy masks, not only to hide themselves from the biting wind but to hide them from anybody that might be looking from the distant small harbour town of Barrow Haven. The limited exposed skin around their eyes however was burning from the sub-zero winds.

Laboriously working together, the two figures at the back released, hand over hand, a long-spiked rope soaked in dark tar, wooden spines pushed through every foot added grip and gave a limited sense of distance in the screaming void of wind and water. Each year a fresh rope had to be formed in secret to replace the last one, lost to the ocean. The rope reached out into the darkness, with every wave the other figure tried to call out, his voice lost to the howling winds.

The darkness was complete, hiding everything but the outlines of the other figures, inches away. They made their way at a crawl, arms nearly wrenched from their sockets, close to exhaustion. Holding firm with each wave to stop the rope being ripped out of their hands, they were close to being dragged out to sea to be lost forever in the waves a single mistake would cost them everything.

Hours had passed since they left their respective homes in Barrow Haven. Sneaking out with the setting sun and the building of black clouds of a forming storm. They quietly making their way along the coastline to one of the many abandoned tool sheds that had stood unused since the first days of the Empire in Barrow Haven five years ago. In the darkness, as they crossed the bay the storm broke, the black clouds shattering releasing brutal heavy fragments of rain and sleet. The land was lost in moments as the small group climbed onboard and hooked one end of their tar spiked rope around a wooden stake buried within a collection of bushes and set off into the ocean.

Hand over hand they unleased the boat closer to its destination, the final heavy tar-soaked bar left the boat and they held on at the end of the rope. Hanging in the stormy water, being dragged from side to side. The water that was splashed into the boat began to drag them down, each lashing of rain becoming more perilous. They whispered spells, hoping for a momentary break in the torrent.

Mercifully, the wind broke for a few seconds and the air calmed around the boat. The boat rested for a moment in the water pulled by a wave it bumped gently against the near-invisible plateau of rocks, the wind seemed to form a solid wall that smashed against the boat lifting the bow, before they slammed in the water again the water rapidly began flooding in long scars in the hull.

Cursing to himself at the helm the old man reached out onto the stone surface, they were stranded in the open water close to a mile from the nearest shoreline, the boat breaking underneath them. Barely able to make out the solid black obsidian slab underneath their boat, but the ice-cold rock was there cold to the touch, it stood like a frozen wave rising beside them, barely twenty feet across its was largely submerged with each crashing wave forming a solid slippery mass.

With the helmsman holding the boat on the rock they managed to get out of the boat, slipping and bumping, each wave feeling like a desperate attempt by some great ancient force to drag them into the raging waters, the ledge of which was merely inches away. They slipped and staggered up the rock’s gentle incline. In the darkness and storm, years of practice coming together. Their leader reached down and felt the ground. Practised hands quickly found the lip of a black pit in the centre of the mound of rock. Inside was dry, the spray and rain forced away by some ancient magic.

Looking away from the hole to shout, the howling wind ripped the lead man’s hood off. The last of his black hairs bleeding into greying aged skin, rock-like, forged by the same unending winds that formed jagged sharp cliffs. He growled, gesturing towards the entrance before sensing it was useless in the blackness.

The helm’s man grabbed the closest figure, pulling the first of his compatriots up to the lip of the entryway and putting his hands onto the ledge and helped lower them into the ground. Turning to find the other was waiting in place close by feeling the slop of the rock, he grabbed them roughly half lifting then, helping them into the hole in the rock, fighting against the bitterly cold wind, as another fist of wind and hail tried again to pull him off the small island.

The first flash of lightning was blinding. Black, white-crested waves in all directions. To the left and right of him the rocky shores and grey towering cliffs long grooves etched up their towering side. Trapped in between the cliffs and the mountains beyond that towered overhead, was the town of Barrow Haven. The broad faced boat sheds were stationed like jagged wooden teeth along the shoreline between them small dark stone houses sat dormant, the fires inside hidden from the element.

A single razed hill in the centre showed the former heart of the town. On the hill all but one, the central manor now abandoned to the wind, rain and ice a single pinprick of light. Closer in the water were several hulking trade ships. Each titanic hull was fixed in place with hundreds of wooden supports and ropes, there had been set up over the last month their hulls ready to be raised up and exposed. Currently, they were being battered by the wind and waves creaking and waving, they were however ready for the winter. Ready for tonight.

Following the others, the old man started the climb down as his feet entered the hole the water drifted away, feet and legs drying instantly. The screaming rage of the winds dying down as his head went under. The last of the water dragged away from his clothes, replaced with dried warmth. He lowered down onto the black stone path with a dull thud.

To his left, the others had pulled their hoods down and were lighting torches. The younger of the two was a pale skinned black-haired woman. Her once beautiful face was beginning to show the strain of the cold frigid wastelands. Deep lines were beginning to form around her cold grey eyes. The other was a shorter middle-aged man, ragged black hair that grew in fading dreadlocks. Unlike the town, his eyes held a hint of blue colour. The shorter man sparked another torch with a whispered word, handing it over. Let’s get this done. Without thanks, the old man took the torch and walked off past the others down the darkened passage.

Inside, black rock walls glistened and sparkled in reflection of the torch light. The path angled down for a while before flatting out into a black stone corridor. Strange symbols were carved on every inch of the walls. Their meaning was lost long ago to the people of Barrow Haven, legends spoke of elves that had once used this temple before even the first humans had walked on the Westlands. The passage ended in a large, towering brass door inscribed with more strange symbols, they glowed bright silver in the torch light. The door opened slowly as they approached, the inside of the room was made of the same obsidian as the passage, the sound of dripping water slowly coming down from the ceiling onto a vast geometric set of grooves in the floor.

They slowly began to walk around the chamber, touching sections of the walls, muttering ancient words to themselves with their arms gliding over the rock surface. After a few verses, their voices began to rise, joining together, meeting in pitch and volume. The sound reverberating off the walls, vibrating, the water drops from above began to slow, freezing forming icicles.

The echoing chant increased with each verse until they all turned to see, rewarded with the first small spire of ice forming the ceiling. One by one they stopped moving focused on three icicles forming at the edges of the spiral armed pattern below. Hours passed; their exhausted bodies locked into place. The three spires of ice formed, curving, spiralling down water spinning around inside of columns of ice. Soon they connected the floor and the ceiling, the spirals in the floor connecting the three ice spires.

The chant changed, becoming a deep pulsing, rhythmic song. From below the spires, water and ice begin to glow. Strands of light travelled like electric spears through the water in the grooves along the ground, leaving frozen trails in its wake. The electric spears pulsed extending with each note, beginning to climb up the ice spires. Reaching the ceiling they vanished upwards into small pores in the rock. Sections of the ceiling were left frozen in their wake.

A few minutes later, a geometric reflection of the floor formed in the ceiling above, their part of the spell ended and the three dropped down, broken exhausted from the effort, the last deep pulse of sound echoing before leaving complete silence in the chamber, a few moments passed as they looked around breathing deeply. A cracking sounded from below shook the room, the sound told the three individuals that they had succussed. Quickly they made their way out, putting out the torches as they climbed back up. Having to trust in their instincts to take them home.

Outside, the world had changed. The magic spears had travelled fast, their black spit of rock was now the only thing in any direction not covered in white snow and ice. The raging water had frozen in place solid towering waves were partly hidden under thick falling snow. Several feet of ice had to settle between them and Barrow Haven in a short time.

A faint light lit the giant boats standing like mountains in the ice and falling snow. They had been wrenched out of the frozen water; the massive supports held them up over the ice, the blackened barrow wood able to lift their massive bodies out from the water as the ice arrived.

For most people in the town, it was just the full moon, an effect of the inhospitable environment, but for them and the select few in the know, it was magic. They helped each other out of the pit quickly looking around as they replaced their hoods. Jumping from the black mound onto the thick crust of ice. As they turned back to the rock their leader showed them the final part of the ritual, exaggerating the sounds and movements making them clear to them. The rock began to sink, lowering into the water, glowing with dull purple static as the rock dropped down leaving a soon to freeze exposed sections of water. The snow already beginning to cover the area.

As they set off over the snow heading back towards Barrow Haven, the woman caught up and matched the old man’s steps. We need to teach someone else. Are your boys not up for it? she sounded worried; her voice raw from the hours of chanting. The last few years had changed the older man. His wife dead, the shipwrights he had run for so long taken, and his children had become accepting of the empire’s new rules.

We will find another, they are soft. The empire has made them weak… He looked down at the ground, …More likely to report us than take an oath of silence to their own family. Rage building in his voice as ice formed in his breath, not looking away from the shoreline. Their conversation was clearly done, and she moved back not wanting to feel his wrath, his eyes had gone hardened black, the white had turned jet black and a single look made her shiver and retreat.

Almost an hour had passed by the time they trudged back in the freezing cold, snow and ice. Their boat was lost deep in the ice until the thaw and one of them would go out and hide or destroy it. The small group came close to one of the giant boats rising out of the snow as it started looming out of the darkness, a solid mass of blue paint, chipped and scrapped, large scars from some distant reef visible. The heavy waves of snow fell forming into an all-consuming blizzard overhead. The visibility dropping to nothing, hidden from any people that might be looking around at this early hour the small group made their way past.

The winter here was busy, local farmers, travellers and the townspeople would work for the four months of winter sheltering in shared houses, whist the magical ice held. Starting tomorrow at dawn the first bell would sound. The tolling boom would ring out calling all the people from around to the ships. The bell of the teleamart had been dragged in by the empire’s guards and set up in former town hall and now called out three times a day. At dawn, midday and dusk when the people would work, eat and stop for the day, the empires call to action were found in every town, ship, village and temple ringing with the same sound across the empire.

The first bleak grey rays of light began to bleed into the dark sky, fighting the darkness. The small party split up around the long wooden boathouses and onto land, the buildings paint had cracked and faded like the rest of the town and were in desperate need of repairs. They crouched low keeping away from places in town that people may be awake. Eyes peeled for any guards or faces at small portal windows. The town of Barrow Haven was a mix of old stone and older wood slowly rotting around the exposed flecking paint. All the paths were covered in snow, but the old man knew his way as he strode alone in the blizzard.

Cutting around the back of a disused cluster of stone buildings across the barren fields, slowing to hide any tracks from passing guards he made his way closer and closer to the centre of town. Keeping low as the light increased. He made his way close along a line of short wooden fence that separated the ice-covered path from the ice-filled garden of a small two-story house near the base of the central hill.

The garden was falling into disrepair, tall black and purple weeds had dominated the area their tips visible over the snow. Once painted and cared for, he did not notice the cracked welcome sign anymore. Quietly making his way inside through the less rusted, quieter side door at the back of the house, kicking snow off his heavy boots. In the middle room was a fireplace, dug in the centre, dying embers of the fire smouldered barely able to light the room from their sunken stone pit, a few ageing books on the back wall, meats hanging from the ceiling, several stools were pushed back against the walls. A narrow staircase led up to the sleeping rooms, with a single small window frozen over with snow.

Boys! He gave a deep growling call that echoed throughout the large central room. In response, the floorboards above started to shake as feet hit the floor above. He placed a few extra logs on the fire. Stomping round to grab one of the stools, older and larger than the others he slid it over to the fire.

Sitting with a grunt he began to remove the layers of winter coats and furs, reaching over to a pan he prepared with cold meats last night, he placed it onto a set of metal legs to heat over the fire, placing a half loaf of bread alongside it to warm. He placed his indoor coat on and carefully turned one of the sleeves and collar as he had had it last night, there was no sign that he had not been in all night drinking.

As the door at the top of the stairs opened, there was one last thing that sprang to mind. Twisting his hand and muttering a few words the snow from his coat and boots vanished in a cloud of steam mixing with the smoke from the fire.

His youngest did not look like him. With his mother’s round face and soft features, the only thing that his father had given him was his towering height, black hair and grey eyes. Soft features that had not yet faced a winter working on the boats would change. His youngest hurried down smiling broadly, a knot of pain formed in the old man’s chest, he looked so much like his mother.

On the stairs already fully dressed in his whaleskin coat and thick gloves. Morning father, I am going to see Maliou. Without stopping he grabbed some of the bread from the pan, eyes wide he looked at his father pausing nervously. I’m going to play in the snow before school? He only looked up long enough to see his father give a single tired nod, enough to have his son bolting out of the door.

The old man bellowed after him, Harris…

The boy was already out the door. Be back by dark. As the door slammed closed.

Boy will be the death of me. The old man’s voice grumbling like a roll of thunder.

Father, relax; at least he isn’t getting into trouble. His oldest son’s voice was calm, at the top of the stars he was also dressed, in many layers of dark whale skins, he had much more in common with his father. Both had cold grey eyes, a sharp jaw and towering height even for Barrow Haven, both were closer to seven feet than six, his hair was jet black as deep as his own had once been, a slight blue tinge in the light.

Sometimes he forgot his sons had grown up. While the others had been too young to remember times before the empire. Pyke had been there with him, Lyst was barely a teen and Harris a child. So, it had been Pyke there, when his wife had gone off and they had hidden. He cursed the empire, closing in on himself. Reaching across to a brown bottle and taking a long deep drink.

Chapter 2

It’s an Ice Life

Pyke made his way slowly downstairs, his father sat on his same worn stool, where he had been last night. the smell of alcohol filled the room, his collar was still up turned, the old man looked tired, and Pyke assumed he had been drinking all night again, he did most nights. It was strange that he had not slept, but Pyke was not going to ask about it. They sat for a while in uncomfortable silence, watching the fire catch one of the logs and flames climb, licking up into the frigid air. Pyke had seen outside that the storms had fractured into a brutal ice storm. The boats had risen out of the now frozen water in the distance, barely visible from the house.

Harris is off with that boy again. The tone of his father was familiar, unwilling to speak Pyke made a slight grunt of confirmation. A sound he was so used to making to avoid starting a confrontation. Waiting to see if his father had had enough to drink to calmly sit and grumble or if he would get angry again.

He ’ill end up an outcast if he keeps on with those dwarven pieces of trash. The son’s eyes glanced up at his father as he spoke. It was not surprising; his father often turned on the other races that were now allowed to live in the many cities of the empire. With both orcs and dwarven families taking up significant roles in town, there was mounting still tension. An orc family had taken up a place at the head of the town guard, as the law-master and head of one of the larger work crews. Two dwarf families had also moved into a small mining camp closer to the mountains. Most of the locals felt the same way as his father after their arrival, the extreme punishments for acting on that prejudice kept their families safe but the tension remained.

You know you will end up in the cells for talking like that. Keeping his voice low and calm, too tired to have the same fight again…

And what! His father erupted with rage; the fire seemed to shrink away. Nothing to do with a day anymore! The empire took everything! letting those half-borns and freaks stay in a civilised society!

They sat in tense silence for a while, Pyke quietly hoping for the bell that would send him to work. His father broke the silence after another deep drink. So where is Lyst, that pointless waster? not even out of bed before the sun rises. Snarling through half-closed teeth, hands clenching the bottle in the firelight.

Pyke! Not a question anymore, a command. Pyke looked up trying hard to hide a smile, he could never tell his father that his younger brother would likely have been out at the law-masters house. The idea of telling his father, that his middle son may well be curled up with the law master’s orcish daughter.

The first ring of the teleamart bell finally tolled out across the frozen wasteland. The teleamart rang from the town centre, Pyke rose. I am sure he left early to get to school. You know he likes to walk with his friends. Silence, Pyke was able to quickly turn and leave before his father questioned his future.

As he started down the crushed stone path out of the house. The fresh snow crunching under foot, making his way past the town centre, a small green patch of ground attached to a large hall. Once owned by the mayor, a wealthy business leader of the town before the empire arrived. What was once his manor house had now been set up as a barracks and the law-masters house. The guard, a few men in silver and green chainmail were smartly dressed, their spears leaning against the railings. Shields embossed with the emblem of the empire, a strange part dragon part lion head in silver on a crossed black and green background, banners on the walls had the same flag. A sign of the empire’s dominion in the centre of the frozen waste.

He made his way down to the docks, the ice had frozen hard, several inches to a few feet in depths, nobody knew what caused it. But every year on the full moon it happened, before the empire, they had held a festival, but not anymore. Pyke did not care anymore. In years gone past it was exciting, running out to play in the snow. Today it was a sign, that he was going to freeze every day for four long ice-clad months without a break, working on the titanic boats now risen into the air as grand towers to be cleaned, repaired and repainted before the winter ended.

Trudging out on the ice, hands already frozen cold even under two layers of gloves. The Blizzard had grown, dark clouds blocked out the sky in all directions. The looming hull read, The Shimmerscale in red, gold-lined paint. It came out of the snow like a tower of colour on the grey landscape. A blue painted commercial boat with its massive hull in desperate need of repair. Poorly patched scars from reefs and long days at sea, barnacles and what looked like a cannon hole high up on the port side. Ladders and wooden platforms were set up on all sides, their lower levels submerged under the ice. A few scattered figures walking around, black specks with unfriendly faces.

Pyke, you ready? I want you running the outside crew today, tools in the crates. The towering figure on the deck of the ship, thirty feet above. A large, muscular, green-skinned face with yellowing white tusks, wide, broad and bald orc. Brood was new to the area; he was a former merchant with the empire. Now with his family, he had taken up residence in the manor house. He was still struggling with the cold. Three massive thick coats and Pyke was still not sure if he had massive hands or several pairs of gloves on.

Most of the locals said that Brood and his wife now ran this town. Empowered by the empire’s iron will. His wife had taken up the job of local law master. Brood had nobody to stop him and had rarely been called up on his brutal working conditions. It was said that last winter seven of his workers had frozen to death but Pyke had never seen any of this and was happy to work with him.

They had spent many days together. Since the empire had arrived, the work had dried up. Most people had left, leaving Pyke alone and Brood mostly unwelcome. The close ‘friendship’ between Pyke’s brother Lyst and Broods daughter had enhanced both the amount of time the men now spent together and the hatred both received from the townspeople.

Pyke’s family was outcast from most events. Left to fend for itself when food supplies got low. Everything had changed when the empire marched past, the mayor fled, and the dockyards were cleared of tools. Now the empire’s borders were hundreds of miles away and for Pyke at least joining the army or getting lucky felt like the only real way to make it in this world.

Pyke did not focus on the work, after giving a few minutes of instructions to the small crew, he began to clean his section of the outsider hull, scraping barnacles and ageing paint away with a long flat blade. Hour’s past and Pyke did not need to focus much, allowing his mind to wander. Until the bell rang out again this time for lunch, Pyke was brought back from a fantasy of becoming the captain or Qayid as the army called them on such a vessel with a huge beard and an army of pretty girls. Fighting pirates or saving princesses and slaying sea dragons. He climbed one of the rope ladders onto the deck and made his way into what was, during the trading season the captain’s quarters.

An open set of rooms with a dining table, a fire and beds. Even rugs, blankets and paintings filled the beautiful room of rose wood. The other men and women were warming their hands trying hard to gain enough movement to pick up their bowls and spoon. Hurrying to get to the simmering stew first was the best way to get most of the limited supply of meat or vegetables. Most looked up when Pyke arrived, muttering about him letting in the cold. They slowly started to move like giant bears coming out of hibernation. They moved in clusters towards the heated iron cauldron in the middle of the room.

With a limited supply of stew and rolls of bread on the side table, Brood was forced to control the bread to prevent the ravenous workers from stealing more than their share. Even with the harsh punishments Brood inflicted, it was worth it for the extra rations. They ate in silence guarding their bowls and bread sitting in small huddles whispering, with the occasional growl as someone got too close to their limited food. Pyke often thought about what they were saying, to him sat alone there was nothing to discuss, there was a limit to the number of things to talk about, snow, rain, wind and ice. What information came from the outside could only fill a few hours of mostly uninformed speculation. He half-listened to talk about some farm girl being found to have stolen from the local trader before his mind wandered again.

He was brought back as two older works his father’s age approached, So, Pyke, I hear your brothers are causing all kinds of troubles. Ones an orc lover the other makes friends with half-forms. Think maybe your families had it too good for too long… Maybe we can sort that out. Both shared the local faces scarred and