Deluve's Waif

By Indy Patterson

“They shun you like a monster, but I see a champion; a force to be reckoned with. They are zealous, brutal, and without compassion, but you will be worse.” 

Dredt had to fight. Years as a hermit and bandit on the run led up to his enrollment in a mercenary corps, and he's going to end up regretting it more than anything else. The land is scarred, war-ravaged, breaking at the seams, and he signed up to push it to its limits. Armies will crumble, towns will burn, the trees will weep in sadness at the bloodshed between brothers, and Dolsa will face centuries of war.

But what will become truth and what will become legend?

Deluve's Waif is a dark fantasy story about the unflinching luck of life. It is set roughly four centuries before the other book in the Karaask Chronicles, The Eroded Knight, but is its own standalone story. These are the myths of old that are told to frighten kids to sleep. The ones that remain tales because the alternative is too grim to bare... 

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookRix
• Release date: Feb 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9783755408413

Book preview

Deluve’s Waif

They shun you like a monster, but I see a champion; a force to be reckoned with. They are zealous, brutal, and without compassion, but you will be worse. 

By Indy Patterson

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental

Dedication

Deluve’s Waif is a project I never truly expected to turn into what it is today, but it is time for me to thank those who made this project a reality. The two most vital, entertaining, and helpful people in my life. First up is my editor and writing colleague, and friend, Levens. Seriously, they keep me from writing too many derivative self-indulgent stories that show off how much of a perverted chump my creative headspace can be sometimes. Following up my editor is another friend, Tazy. Tazy helped me with naming one very important character and drew the protagonists months before this story was even finished. Without their efforts in tandem with my editor’s, I would doubt that I would even be able to write each day. I love these two people with every fibre of my being and wish them all the luck and success that all people as wonderful as them deserve.

The next few I want to thank are the influences on me and my writing in general. Peter V. Brett will always remain my writing hero and Brian McCellan is not far behind. Please check out The Warded Man and Promise of Blood from them respectively. And last but certainly not least: you. To all of my draft readers, friends, and casual victims of my rants alike: thank you.

Prologue

There was a time that’s now known by all:

Where Dolsa was still a young but eager nation.

Still learning of the Famiarian Brutes and Khavi Balls,

But trouble was brewing and ruin eventually follows creation

The land was ruled by High King Gerhart:

Who was wise but let his mind get the best of him.

False security would be his downfall, but we’ll get to that,

We still need to introduce all that follows the sum dim

Now, you remember the beliefs under the king.

Deluve was small and the Old Gods pulled with awe:

Neither supported by the crown and both left each other bleeding.

But the coming tremors and conflict none could foresee

The story starts with a child, but so does everything.

His true name has been lost to the fires and burial mounds.

Since every tale needs a name, White-Hair is our monster to sing.

A land ripe for chaos, one ready to be no longer sound.

Now White-Hair was born, 

Raised surrounded by the ways of old.

His ash-pale strands considered,

A sickness at best and at worst an omen:

A suspicion that still thrives to this day.

Stares cruel and cold

White-Hair from birth was destined;

Fated to make his own ruin.

Fled his home still early with age,

To seek the comfort of the trees.

No one knows why, 

But a knife’s scar leaves many theories. 

Experienced with age, 

White-Hair joined old Seeds:

A mercenary group well-known.

With skills just ripe for the job,

He killed and stayed quiet.

Collecting his coin apart of the creed

The day before a fateful battle, he met a witch,

But not one of a bog.

Old Gods by blood, 

Her actions in tandem with his would shape history.

A gruesome battle it was,

But a curse left White-Hair a beast in a fury fog

White-Hair was ruined;

A monster of misery.

He killed with rage and

Wandered the land.

But the witch was not done:

Her personal mystery unreined

Through magic, coin, or persuasion, 

He was to hers like a brand.

Revenge was the carcass she wanted; 

Wanted to rip and tear from.

Gerhart may have not deserved fame, 

But never a fate so grand

Dolsa thundered with protest;

Bodies fell like the beat of a drum.

The royals gathered in haste but,

White-Hair and the witch joined unseen.

Never trust a Kleider they say:

As their blood had let in the Old Gods scum

A soul lost his crown,

Their gaze fell heavy to a floor bloodied.

White-Hair ripped them anew

His cursed claws eating.

And with no one to lead,

The Warring period convened

Chapter One: The Boy Who Went Forth To Outrun Fear

All Dredt could smell was the stench of death.

The motion of cleaning his curved short sword had become a thoughtless action. Each drag of the rag, bloodied and blotched with mud to a point it was impossible to tell what original color it was, cleaned barely a noticeable amount of blood and gore off of the steel. Stopping for a second, he tilted the blade's face toward his own and looked down into it. A pair of dark, muddy green eyes looked back at him with a gaze of mutual weariness that he had no answers for. His hair was a messy rats' nest of short and cut ashen white with flakes of mud peppering the strands. Twenty-eight winters of trials behind the eyes that he could no longer bear to look into.

Keeping his eyes down to the mud, he resumed cleaning his blade. His hands ached with fatigue that only came from chopping through leather, metal, wood, skin, and skull all day. It wasn't just his hands that were tired; his whole body ached with hurt and yelled at him to rest. 

Battles were also so disorienting and coming out of them made everything feel wrong and strange. He checked his left hand and the scar still remained. Silently, he wondered why he had expected the vertical line of mended flesh to suddenly be gone. During the fight it was the only time where it seemed to cease to exist for him. Going through the motions, he drew the knife from the sheath attached to his leather uniform. He checked both sides before planting it back away snugly. There wasn't a single drop of blood or mud on the serrated knife: a welcomed sign. A clean blade like that meant it didn't get to a point where it was needed.

Dredt heard shouts from around him and he lifted his head to take a look around; he was surrounded by bodies. Fighters, men and women, potential husbands and wives, all strewn with their last moments captured for the world of the living to see. Whoever they were in life didn’t matter anymore, just another body to throw onto the pyre. Each corpse was its own flavor of gruesome; each a special appeal. His eyes lingered on one man whose head had been cut clean from their shoulders and later shoved underneath their arms as a joke. 

None of it seemed to want to make him vomit or heave out his lungs until they burned like a raging sun; it was only an empty feeling to him. He was no stranger to death no matter the flair or circumstances to it. All death is just that: death. A creeping feeling told him that he would never be able to forget the day but it came and went with its mark permanent. 

Deciding he'd already sat for too long, Dredt sheathed his falcata and pulled his wooden shield out of the mud with a wet sound, before standing up to face the murky infinite blue. The clearing had been scarred with mercenary bodies, discarded weapons, slain horses, and muddied soil. Trees around the clearing seemed to contain all of the bloodshed and made the conflict seem smaller than it actually was. 

This is gonna be one for the annals for sure, A voice behind Dredt spoke.

Dredt turned to see another mercenary walking towards him. The man looked built for war; morningstar mace lowered in his left hand and a bloodied shield on his right. He wore the same armor and uniform as Dredt as per corps regulation but broke away from that obedience with a flush blonde mustache above his lip. Uniforms were simple for the corps: light leather vests dyed grey with green outlines on top of chainmail.

Surprised to see you still in one piece, Jack, Dredt commented.

Jack threw his shield over his back and gave Dredt a friendly clap on the back with his free hand. You know damn well that it isn’t my fate to die in the mud.

Dredt’s mind wandered back to the carnage around him but it was just a dull sensation that only robbed of him response. The corpses were merely just things for his eyes to travel over, but sounds of screaming and the rush of adrenaline only hours before poured into his mind like a dam breaking under the buildup from a raging flood. Only the crack of thunder from the gloomy ceiling above broke the trance.

You still with me, pal? Jack asked with their lighthearted tone gone and replaced with a partially concerned one.

Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little… tired, I guess, Dredt answered unconvincingly.

Jack seemed pleased enough with the answer. Probably need some ale in you and a good rest. Come on, let the servants deal with the battlefield. We have a date with a nice paycheck, some accounting with an annal keeper, and then we’re home free.

Home free until our next job you mean, Dredt reminded him.

Jack threw an arm around his comrade, which was slightly easier thanks to Dredt being a tad shorter and leaner than him. Pfft. The job never goes away and I’m sure you’d get bored to death without it. If it wasn’t for me, all you’d think about is the next job and would lose out on all of the fun of the corps. Drink, fuck, have some good laughs. At least do it for me if not for the insufferable bunch you fight side-by-side with.

Dredt let himself be directed back towards the southern side of the clearing. I signed up with the Grimm Seeds to make some coin just like the rest of us; if I wanted to be all social I’d find a line of work that doesn’t involve being someone’s dog. Maybe I should grow my hair out and start walking on all fours to go along with the barking. You think I can get a leash to pull it LL off?

Jack stared at Dredt for a second before breaking out in a laugh. He looked with bewilderment before he couldn’t help it himself and joined his comrade in good humor. Even in the laughs, his eyes scanned the treelines and through the wooden mazes. Deployed on the southern side just at the edge of the tree line was a camp. Green banners characterized by the design of a dead and dry tree stood planted around the perimeter of the camp. Around 1000 troops were scattered across the camp, most recovered after the engagement but a few screams of the wounded could be heard.

The two walked through tent circles and past a medical pavilion. Those strewn across cots weren’t so lucky to fall in battle or come out mostly unscathed. Dredt’s eyes briefly saw a nurse working with grave haste to bandage a gruesome shoulder wound. It was as if a hound had ripped into the flesh and pulled out with sadistic glee. Upon the wound being dabbed with a rag, the soldier’s eyes seemed close to rolling back into her head. He turned his gaze away and continued walking with Jack, soon arriving at a larger round tent with flags flying at the entrance. 

Jack nodded at the two soldiers deployed to guard and pushed a tent flap aside and they both entered. The tent was a sparsely-decorated area, more or less only the bare essentials took up the plentiful space. Standing in front of the back spine of the tent was a banner different from the ones flying outside. A gold stitch outlined the red cloth and in the middle of the banner lay a symbol: three black partially overlapping rings with a sword running across them all. Thrown onto the white sheets of the cot was a sheathed sabre, its hilt and scabbard gilded with gold.

A man scribbled away with charcoal at a piece of parchment paper at a desk opposite to the bed on the left side of the room. Unlike the two mercenaries, the man wore bracers on his arms, metal greaves, sabatons, and a chainmail coif. His hair was a natural cedar brown but already strands of grey were populating the well-maintained head of hair.   

Happy to see you in good health, Captain, Jack announced.

The Captain dropped the charcoal and leaned back in the wicker chair. Dredt, Jack. Anything memorable to report beyond what will go in the annals?

Nothing important, sir. Their lines went in and committed just like you said they would. The cavalry did their job, Dredt replied in a dull tone. 

What are the losses so far? Jack asked.

The Captain glanced over to the papers. Current tallies record around 300 dead and another 400 wounded. We won, but this does put a sizable dent in our roster. Meaning we’ll only have a little more than 1,000 able bodies. Those rebels had slightly more than our scouts reported and they fought well.

How long till our next engagement, sir? Dredt asked.

Jack scoffed but a glare from the Captain reprimanded him enough. It’s a fine question, Jack. People like us have been busy since my first sunrise and none of that has changed. Work’s good and there’s no reason to lounge around when we have eager people ready to pay us. We have four months ‘till we fight.

Jack put on an uneasy smile at the news. Dredt’s gaze lingered and disappeared off into his own mind, thoughts of what another battle might bring working with more attention than deserved. An abruptly loud scream from the medical tent made them briefly turn their heads towards it, but they still continued with their conversation.

  Four months isn’t a lot of time, Captain. I hope that whoever hired us is paying us in wagons of gold because I can barely have any fun in that span, Jack half-joked.

The Captain ignored the joke. Four months are enough to recover and move to hit the target. Some Carcidge baron wants us to help with their dirty work aka eliminating another baron’s power. We’ll be paid well enough and it should be no problem; just another simple job.

Payment, you say? Jack asked with an eagerness.

For this one, you’ll get half as soon as everything’s sorted out with the counts and the other half like usual when we return to Halkard. The next job should be late payment. Baron plans to pay us right after the fighting and in more than full.

Anything else you need from us, Captain? Jack asked.

The Captain waved them off and went back to work on the papers. No, you boys are fine. Get some good chow and ale in you; you deserve it and it will be a while before we have time to actually rest. You’re dismissed, both of you.

Dredt snapped back to the present. The two mercenaries stood at attention before slightly bowing and leaving the tent. They came out to a slight drizzle that only gently peppered everything with a light coat. Dredt stepping into the rain gave him a calm he wasn’t unfamiliar with. The calm came with a connection to nature he always felt but never could explain. They set off and started to weave their way through tents and camp circles towards their own spot which was further down the line. 

Another job done, Dredt put simply.

Jack looked at him ridiculously before scoffing and shaking his head. You’re a riot, pal. You say that each time like it was as easy and straightforward as catching a hare in a trap, yet every time I catch glances of you on the battlefield you’re a totally different person.

Dredt shrugged. At least we aren’t fighting Famiarians. I heard they pour molten slag into prisoner’s wounds.

Jack looked convinced. And I heard another that they praise a drowned corpse as a god: I guess you have a point. When are you gonna let me in on where you learned how to fight like that?

Dredt snorted and smiled mischievously. Absolutely never. Not gonna let you add my name to your list of victims. I know your tricks just as well as you do, Jack. Go fool someone else if you’re so eager.

Jack shook his head like a disappointed mother. Tut tut tut. You’ll never understand the rich mystery you are. And it’s not just me, but most people in the Grimm Seeds want to have their spoils of your life. I might have to call in a favor or two and see if I can’t get someone into your tent and catch you with some pillow-talk.

Dredt raised an eyebrow. That wouldn’t have worked in the first place, and especially now since you told me.

Ah, but that’s what you think, but little do you know it will have the opposite effect. Mark my words, White-Hair, your secrets will be mine to trade and deal out to the happy buyers.

Arriving at the limits of the encampment, more than two dozen tents surrounded a sizable firepit with mercenaries scrubbing at their armor and cleaning their weapons. The terrain continued to be heavily wooded and remained just that for as far as the eye could see. A sense of exhaustion hung over not just their group, but over the whole corps. Since the feeling was universal, no one took offense to any short or rude behavior. None of the mercenaries commented on the two arriving back or even looked up for more than a brief second. Those not attending to their duties rested against trees or in hammocks, repairing another valuable aspect of their gear. 

 Take a page from my book, Jack: keep your mouth shut and just nod, Dredt said as he rounded his tent and disappeared inside.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll wake you when we have to report for the annals, but you’re on your own for evening chow, Jack said before wandering off back towards the center of the encampment.

Dredt registered the words before putting his face into his free hand and molding it like clay. With nothing as pressing as battle or a nagging comrade, the fatigue began to set in, but he pushed it back for as long as he needed. He threw off his leather vest and chainmail armor, resting his falcata on top in a neat pile on a square chest at the foot of the cot before dropping onto the pad. It felt like the most perfect thing in the world to him and he felt his body dissolve into the comfort before he drifted away into sleep.

Chapter Two: Campfire Stories

For a second there I thought that our cavalry had been found out and we were gonna have to take them all down alone, A voice around the campfire spoke.

Dredt murmured in agreement like most and settled his eyes back on the roaring bonfire. The moon lorded high in the sky and gave everything that the celestial light could sneak through a smooth cover in the obsidian night. He held a metal mug with some fresh tea brewed brought over from another Outfit. Taking a sip, it was a delicate minty flavor that did its job in leaving a warm feeling throughout him and with the pleasant aftertaste of the green leaf. He sat on his own chair, letting his mind wander or fall into the fire with little care. 

Most of his Outfit was squatting on stumps, laying on the ground, or sitting in a chair pulled out. It was a bit of a tradition among the Grimm Seeds to gather after a victory and celebrate. No bottle was being passed around or anything of that sort; they knew that they were expected to be sharp in the morning and no one was foolish enough to risk being discharged on an easy rule to follow. Some had decided to skip out on the fire and rest away in their tents but for the most part, the fire roared and drew in an odd sense of camaraderie to the mercenaries. The time was encouraged by the Lance Sergeant that pushed it onto the outfit corporal. Thus, combined with Jack’s nagging and the feeling of duty, Dredt had been dragged into one of these, for now, a total of seven times. 

Yeah, but once they came, not even a miracle could’ve saved the rebels from our cavalry. Cut right through them like sheep, Jack commented from Dredt’s right.

At least they had a chance to fight. Did you hear about the Deluvian Citadel in Oplet? A bear of a man with grey hair and a trimmed beard said across from Dredt. 

Another mercenary wearing the same Outfit as them all, a woman, walked out from the shadows to join them around the western side of the firepit. Yeah, I heard. Fucking brutal. I have no care for the militant sects, but no soul deserves that.

What exactly happened, corporal? Dredt asked, his peaked interest surprising him. 

The outfit corporal pushed their way onto a makeshift log bench and rested a hand on a sword hilt with a green rag attached to the bottom. No need for the formality, Dredt. This is off time. Just call me by name.

Dredt nodded. Sorry, Fia.

Fia waved it off. No worries. Anyways, I heard this from those merchants we passed a week ago, but apparently, one of the south-western Citadels in Oplet got hit with a disease of some sort.

That was more than some disease; it was a plague, a curse. That whole place should either be burned to the ground or left to rot in its own desecrated ground. Just to make sure that ‘disease’ doesn’t spread, The bearded mercenary jumped in.

The flickering flames illuminated Fia’s hard features on her face, sculpted by stress, and short-cut black hair. Aye. Apparently, they all started off with unassuming stuff: their stomachs hurting, head nagging, and limbs aching. Nobody initially had anything to fear except maybe some rotten food or bad water. But then it got worse: people passed out from work and they developed a fever that took them. It managed to get the whole Citadel without any survivors, 

How long did the disease infect them? Jack asked. 

It was all said and done in a week’s span. They got one letter out but the messenger returned and fell ill as well. Thankfully it didn’t spread, but now that whole Citadel’s an empty mass grave and nobody wants near it, Fia finished.

Apparently a lance corporal got caught with a sergeant in their tent this morning, A voice from around the campfire mentioned, suddenly shifting topics.

There was a wave of surprised snickers and under-breath comments at the rumor. A mercenary laying down on the grass started laughing too hard and received a friendly punch that quieted them down. Silence hung over the group, partially taken over by the crackle of the fire, as each waited for someone to follow up the scandalous topic.  

Another mercenary, a woman with scarlet red hair tied back in a ponytail sitting to Jack’s right, was the one to speak first. So, which of you sorry scum are fucking someone as of late?

The mercenary laying with their head in the lap of the woman with their eyes closed smiled. Of course you would ask that, Victoria. It’s pretty obvious who’s foolish enough to shack up with you.

Victoria was caught off guard and her face clearly flashed a shade of red only made brighter in the light of the fire as she stumbled to find her words. Dredt and others laughed at the betrayal. He felt a set of eyes stare at him and he turned to meet Fia’s gaze. He raised an eyebrow and had a feeling like he was somehow caught guilty.

Dredt? Fia asked with a sly look.

Yes, Fia?

You mind letting your Outfit, the people that you fight and train with, along with your corporal, who the lucky woman is? Fia plainly asked.

Dredt tried a convincing smile but it faltered like a weak twig. Who said I was with anyone?

Fia didn’t respond but Dredt felt the person to his right suddenly stop and go still. He turned his head slowly to Jack and put on the nicest face he could manage, one begging for a court-martial. The woman around Jack’s arms, a cavalry lancer from another Outfit if Dredt remembered correctly, giggled at her partner’s reaction.

Listen, White-Hair- Jack started to say.

Dredt cut him off. It’s Dredt, you blasted- 

How could I not say anything? I mean really. I hear a thing or two and you always act differently some mornings. It’s as much your fault as it is mine, White-Hair, Jack confessed.

I swear to the Old Gods, Jack, I will strangle you like the rat you are, Dredt threatened. 

The promise of violence was met with a campfire-wide chuckle but the press for answers didn’t let up. Come on, Dredt, there’s no rule against in the corps, that is as long as it’s not inside your Outfit. There’s also the rule that two people don’t end up making the third or they’ll get booted, but I don’t expect you or her to be dumb enough to do something like that.

Speaking of strangling, Victoria said as she pulled out a wrapped piece of parchment peppered with dark crimson blotches. Look what I found on one of the rebels.

Victoria unraveled it, showing it off ineffectively in the firelight, then passed it to the mercenary on her right. Looks like someone was a little too naughty.

What do we have here? A mercenary commented briefly.

That right there is a Tiin wanted poster from more than ten years ago. A little touched up but still plenty clear, Victoria explained.

What for? Fia asked before she got the poster. Oh, patricide. That’s a rare one.

I wish I could’ve killed my old man. Lucky bastard, A voice from around the campfire chimed in.

A couple of other comments rang out as the poster was passed from mercenary to mercenary. The paper eventually got around to Dredt. He moved it so he could see it with the firelight and it felt his heart stop. Drawn crudely but still capturing the defining features, Dredt saw his fourteen-year-old self in the paper. Eyes staring back at him as if his present self was solely to blame for his past. The reward called back to something that he wished he could escape, something that had been out of hand. 

He kept himself from staring too long and passed it along to Jack without saying anything. Paranoia pumped through him. His eyes darted to and from each face around the campfire, looking for confrontational gazes or any signs of them noticing. A spasm attacked his left hand and he shoved it behind his back. He could still feel the pain from the knife so many years later. It soon ceased and he felt his heartbeat slowly smooth out, but the dangers still haunted his sight.

Wonder what happened to this kid, Jack said after getting handed the wanted poster. On the run after doing something like that? Surprised they didn’t look in all of Parun for him. If I was to give my senior his due then that’d be the place to hide out in. They hate any crown business and the other families pushing their weight around. Total paradise for someone on the run.

"Jack’s already got an escape plan set up when all of his mistresses