A Nobel Rebellion (Misfits of Gambria Book 6): Misfits of Gambria, #6

By pdmac

Believing Diad finally dead, Guina is free to marry the man she truly loves and makes him Lord Chamberlain in the process. But Konrud quickly discovers that being the Queen's husband matters little, and all the plotting and intrigue he experienced back in the Temple was mere child's play compared to the scheming, assassinations, and double-dealing at the Court.

At the top of the list is Pavia. Though she is under house arrest with Alric, that she was once Queen of Gambria, no matter how brief the days, only deepens her resentment and passion to reclaim what she believes is rightfully hers.

Next is Dade who has claimed the right to rule Glanon because he is the oldest son, though his father made his younger brother Bradach his heir… a mere technicality that Dade will soon correct.

Amidst the turmoil, Guina sends Duncan to talk some sense into Alexis who is still in Drunedun with the nation's tarracs. The meeting ought to be a surprise as Alexis believes Duncan is dead.

And has Raefgot, former wastrel and king's illegitimate son, finally found true love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trimble Hollow Press
• Release date: May 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781946495525

pdmac

pdmac is a diverse author, writer, and editor. He has a MA in Creative Writing, a Ph.D. in Theology, and is a member of the Steampunk Writers and Artists Guild, and the Georgia Writers Association.  He has also sung back-up for Broadway plays, provided voice for radio plays, and acted and directed theater stage productions.  In his off time, he and his wife race mountain bikes, kayak, and occasionally backpack sections of the Appalachian Trail.

Book preview

Misfits of Gambria

A NOBLE

REBELLION

pdmac

Text Description automatically generated

A Noble Rebellion is a work of fiction.  Names, places, characters, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is purely coincidental.  This Series, The Misfits of Gambria is a reworking of a former series titled Wolf 359.  Unfortunately, too many readers associated it with a well-known TV show and the two are in no manner similar.

Copyright © 2023

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express permission of the author or publisher.

Published by Trimble Hollow Press

eISBN: 978-1-946495-52-5

Front cover art by Victor Yang

Cover design by Trimble Hollow Concepts

For Terri Lynn

My Soulmate and Best Friend

& a very special thanks to Shawn

for his enthusiastic and unwavering support

& excellent input to this series

Characters

Alexis: Berserker of Gambria and Tarrac Master

Alric: King Diad’s second son, married to Pavia, his older brother’s widow.  He and Pavia are now under house arrest

Athdar: A subordinate of the Lord Purveyor, responsible for executing the questionable financial practices of the Lord Purveyor

Bradach: Youngest son of Lord Kylar

Brenna: Menec’s daughter and a member of the elite Twelve.  She is also the adopted daughter of Queen Guina

Caci: Wife of Menec

Cas: Swordmaster in the King’s Own

Cathmor: Commander of the King’s Own

Cattwg: Former Acting High Priest now in hiding

Cedrych: Former Lord of Radnor

Cobhan: Clan chief in Cinoc Mar

Dade: After murdering his father, he is now Lord of Glanon

Darroch: Steward to the High Priest

Deryn: Farm girl who has left her place on the farm and joined Alexis as a Tarrac Master

Diad: King of Gambria hiding in Glanon

Drubal: Restored Secretary General to the High Priest

Duncan: Restored High Priest  of Gambria

Gefnyn: Diad’s cousin and Lord of Brecknot

Glynnis: A working girl in the pub in Fichte

Guina: Queen of Gambria.  Believing Diad dead, she has married Konrud

Harun: Lord of Whiting

Haydon: Swordmaster of the King’s Own

Heledd: With her father’s death, she is now a Commnaderie Lord

Konrud: Prelate of Aberhond, now husband to Queen Guina

Llwyd: Level 1 scholar

Lord Purveyor: Responsible for the Kingdom’s finances

Menec: Lord of Radnor

Mostyn: Former Secretary General to the High Priest Vix

Pavia: Daughter of Bradwr and former wife of Emer.  She has since married Alric and is under house-arrest with him

Raefgot: King Diad’s bastard son.  He murdered his oldest brother Emer, and now lives in Grimnost

Rastamon: Alexis’ cat

Rulf: Chief of the Assassins

Slaven: Commander of the Templars

Thestor: Archpriest in Whiting

Tomos: Senior Prelate of the Temple and second in line for the office of High Priest

Tuathal: Chief of the Twelve, the Kingdom’s elite warriors

Vaddon: Leader of a theater troop in Rugia

Map Description automatically generatedMap Description automatically generated

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

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Chapter 1

Dressed in a sheer gown, Pavia stood next to the bed, watching Alric’s chest expand and settle in the shallow breaths of sleep.  Occasionally, a soft snore would emerge.  On the polished stone top of the side table, nestled against the wall opposite the bed, the naming stone nestled against a small crystal naming bowl filled with roan blood.  She had managed to avoid dipping her fingertips in the blood, convincing her warrior husband that they would get to that after some foreplay.  Thankfully, he was pretty much like any other man; once his attention was diverted to the throes of passion, purpose no longer mattered.

Carefully retrieving the naming bowl, she gently lifted each of his hands and lightly dipped the fingers in the dark congealed blood, laying them down to imprint the evidence on the silken bed sheets.  Though he would not remember when they placed their bloody hands on the stone, he would be convinced they did.  And that was enough.

Though feigning enthusiasm with the ritual, she silently wondered why any woman ever wanted to put herself through it, let alone get pregnant.  Not only did pregnancy last too long, it changed a woman’s body, and she had no desire to do that.  Truth was, she had no interest in child-bearing and even less in raising the little leeches.  They consumed far too much time and effort… not that she would actually have to spend much time with them – there were nannies and servants to do that.  But the little brats still required attention, and attention was not something she wanted to share.  There was a kingdom to reclaim.

Walking over to the mirror, she gazed approvingly at herself.  Twisting slightly to get better views of her sides and what part of her rear she could see, she reaffirmed that swelling into pregnancy was not a desirable option.  There was another way of getting what she wanted.

Walking over to open the bedroom door, she beckoned a waiting attendant.  Get rid of that thing, she disdainfully said, pointing at the naming bowl, and get me something to eat.  Where’s Rhosyn?

I’ll find her, m’Lady, the young girl nervously replied, quickly fetching the naming bowl and hastening out.

Moments later, a self-satisfied Rhoysn turned a corner and glided down the hallway, beckoning her mistress to meet her in privacy.  Good news, m’Lady, she quietly said as the two walked to the far end of the hall.  Standing in the morning’s sunlight streaming through the tall window, she looked around to ensure they were not overheard.  We’ve found several.

And?  Pavia’s eyes gleamed with excitement.  How far along?

The most at two months, she conspiratorially answered.  You’ll need to start looking pregnant soon, once they start showing.

Yes, yes, she nodded as she pondered the newest game.

What about him? Rhosyn queried, twitching her head towards the bedroom where the lord of the house lay in slumber, exhausted from the night’s pleasures.

He will need to be diverted.  Find someone for his pleasure.  I will get moodier and irritable as time goes on, enough that he’ll be glad to avoid me.  Be sure he has enough to keep himself entertained.

I’ll do my best, m’Lady, she grinned maliciously.

Midwife?

I’ve found a couple.  There’s one in the markets, a woman called Mabli.  She’s experienced, has children of her own, and appears respectable, too respectable, I think.  But she would be good as someone who could be added as a witness, to verify what the other midwife says.  The other is more to our liking.  Her name is Dea.

Pavia listened, the reality that the game was on filling her with excitement.  Finally, she had something to look forward to.  Arrange it.  I want to meet her today.

Yes, m’Lady, Rhosyn answered, giving her a respectful, yet intimate bow.  This will be your best game yet, she said admiringly, even better than Lucan.

Pavia grinned at the memory.  That was good, wasn’t it?  Though, he was really much too easy.

As they turned to walk back to the bedroom, Rhosyn wondered, Do you think he really gave up his essence, to the High Priest?

That’s the rumor, she shrugged.  I suppose it might be true, though I don’t know why anyone would want to do that.  Changing the subject, she asked, This Dea woman, what will she cost?

You’ll have to decide that m’Lady, she replied.  How much is the throne worth?

Fine, she agreed, pursing her lips.  Be sure she becomes intimately familiar with our enforcer.  Let there be no doubt what will happen should her lips ever forget to keep shut.

Bradach leaned against the railing of his second-floor balcony, gazing distractedly out to the commons.  The lush green of the wide field would normally be filled with gamboling children and nursemaids, merchants discussing affairs, and lovers oblivious to their surroundings.  Yet today few were out, for the day was overcast with heavy dark clouds.  It smelled of rain and he knew it would arrive at any time, pouring thick sheets of raindrops and scattering all who were foolishly caught outside.  Even the spice merchants were wise enough to hawk their wares from the dry safety of their street-side warehouses.

Yet Bradach thought little about them.  With the news of his father’s passing, his thoughts were a mixture of memory and anger that he was not called home to be there when he died.  That he had been left here, one of the last to know, spoke volumes of his fate.  It spoke volumes of his brother.

That they had never been close was an understatement.  Far different in more than their physical appearances, the younger son had the devoted attention of his father who showered him with overt affection, something rare in so cantankerous a man.  While Bradach never took his favored status for granted, Dade fought to be visible.  Unable to command attention at home, Dade found other venues, finally gaining a begrudging respect for his valor on the battlefield.

Yet father’s devotion still eluded the oldest son whose resentment of the intimacy between his younger brother and father turned to smoldering bitterness.  Bradach knew his brother for the man he was, which meant his own future was now in grave jeopardy.  Would Dade keep him in Mull?  Would Dade even provide for him to remain in Mull?  Reaching out for alliances would further infuriate the new lord of Glanon.  Yet he needed to secure his future… if he had one.  There was always the possibility that his fate would be decided by a bowstring.

Though his thoughts were jumbled, he still knew his filial responsibility.  If Buckom was not yet aware of Kylar’s passing, he would dutifully ensure the event was recorded.  The beginning drops of rain returned him to his surroundings.  Stepping back, he sighed at his morose lethargy.  Though Buckom was close, it wasn’t close enough to prevent him from getting drenched.  Yet he had a duty to perform, and weather was not a consideration.

Standing on the sheltered portico, Bradach removed his cloak and shook off the excess wetness.  He shook his head in ironic amusement for it seemed the rain’s intensity increased with each step he took to come here, only to diminish the moment he stepped into shelter.

Pushing through the tall doors, he came into the foyer where a scholar sat behind a large imposing counter.  He was an older man, intensely focused on the books spread open before him, carefully recording his research on thin pages of large parchment.  He seemed quite impervious to the hubbub in the great room behind him.  On either side of the counter, perched in boredom, sat a level twelve scholar, an abecedarian in the field of knowledge.  Both were young, probably just into their teen years.  One stifled a yawn; the other simply stared vacantly at the front doors.

Bradach studied the older scholar for a moment, taking in the man’s uniform.  In contrast to the plain black robes of the two neophytes, his was a black robe with wide panels of black velvet edged in gold, down the center of the robe.  On each sleeve were two chevrons, also edged in gold.  Perched carefully upon his head was a six-sided tam with a silver tassel on the left side.  Bradach nodded in recognition, a level five scholar.

Pardon me, he said as he approached the counter.

The scholar looked up, his furrowed brow revealing his momentary irritation at the interruption.  Quickly remembering his purpose for being at the front desk, his demeanor changed to one of detached pleasantness.

May I help you? he asked, carefully laying aside his quill.

I am Prince Bradach.

Yes, the man smiled with the same detached indifference, I know.

I’m here to record the passing of my father, Lord Kylar.

I’m so sorry for your loss, he replied.  Suddenly frowning, his head jerked to tilt left as he remembered something.  Lord Kylar… Lord Kylar…  He rummaged through several scraps of parchment piled on the edge of the desk.  Yes, here it is.  The Grandmaster, his eyes widened as he read, wishes to speak with Prince Bradach upon the demise of said prince’s father...  No matter the time.  He looked up with greater respect as well as urgency.  I think we better let the Grandmaster know you are here.  Turning to the young man on his left, he snapped his fingers.  You, young man.  Alert the Grandmaster that Prince Bradach is here.

Startled at the import of the mission, and thankful to be off the hard chair, the young aspiring scholar bounded away, returning only a few moments later.  He said to come up now, he gushed to the senior scholar.

Fine.  You can take Prince Bradach up then.

Pleased again for the chance to return to the sacred levels of the Grandmaster, the young man gravely announced, If you would please follow me, m’Lord.

Bradach was soon deposited outside the doors of the Grandmaster’s suite where Master Scholar Airleas, a slender middle-aged man, served as personal aide.

So sorry for your loss, Airleas commiserated.  Thank you for coming.  He was most insistent that he see you.  I’ll let him know you are here.  Prying the door open a bit, he made sure the old man was still awake.  With a patient smile, he beckoned Bradach to follow him in.

Prince Bradach is here, Grandmaster, Airleas quietly announced.

The old man looked up from his reading, giving them both a paternal smile.  Thank you, Airleas, he said, his voice tired and gravelly.  If you don’t mind, he said, I need to talk with Prince Bradach privately.

Of course, Grandmaster, Airleas graciously acquiesced, closing the door as he backed out.

Please sit, young man, the Grandmaster said, motioning to a chair close to the desk.  As Bradach settled, he continued, the words issuing forth with sluggish deliberateness.  I am saddened at the passing of your father.  I fear I am now the last one to remain, the last of our generation.  I admired him greatly.  I remember when he first came to Mull.  We were both young men then: I a mere abecedarian, he a prince of Glanon.  Your grandfather had brought him to Mull to meet my mentor, my predecessor.  We were so young then, he said, his voice and memory trailing off.  He gazed wistfully at his guest.

What a curse it is to grow old.  Just when the mind is blossoming to its full potential, the body recedes to emptiness.  I have become a vessel of aches and pains.  And now I merely wait until the body says it has had enough.  He coughed a guttural hack, clearing his throat, slowly wiping the spittle on a thin handkerchief.  Shaking back the sleeves of his robe, he rested his age spotted hands on the desktop.  Fixing his gaze on Bradach, he pontificated, What I shall miss most are the smells, the odors… the bouquet of living things, the way the wind comes off the sea, pushing the spice scents across the city.  I remember my first awareness of what spices could do, not just as flavoring, but as substance, as medicinal.

Bradach listened patiently, the old man’s ramblings reminding him of his father.  With the thought of his father emerged the sad ache of knowing him gone.  Comingled with the ache was guilt; he should have been there when his father passed.  That he had been here, instead of with his beloved father gnawed upon him, and within his guilt was anger, the anger that Dade had been there instead.

Though lost in his thoughts, Bradach noticed the old man’s eyelids drooping and his speech slowed perceptibly as his body settled into his chair.  Any moment now, the old man would be asleep.

Grandmaster, Bradach gently spoke, causing him to stir.  You asked to see me.

What?  He blinked several times, looking at his guest as though seeing him for the first time then remembering him.  Oh, yes, yes.  Of course.  Retrieving a stack of parchment pages, he leafed through half the stack before finding the one he wanted.  Squinting to make sure, he handed it across the desk.

Your father codified this the last time he was here.  He asked that I personally give it to you.  That was, he paused in thought, when that young man became the new high priest.  I said ‘of course’ I would.  It’s all legal and recorded.

What is this, Grandmaster, he asked as he began reading.

Your father, Lord Kylar, has made you his heir, he prosaically said.

Bradach’s jaw dropped.  He read quickly, then stared back at the Grandmaster.  His mind raced as he fought to gather his thoughts.  I am the Lord of Glanon?

So it seems, he said, giving him a warm smile.  A wise choice.  That is your copy, as the original has already been recorded and catalogued.  Yawning, he suddenly felt tired.  Well then.  Now that I have discharged my duty to an old friend, I ask that you allow an old man some rest.  On your way out, please ask Airleas to come in.  He laboriously pushed himself to standing.

Thank you, Grandmaster, Bradach earnestly said, giving the old man a respectful bow.

Standing outside the office suite, Bradach mulled his new status.  There was one little problem with his elevation as Lord of Glanon.  His brother was already firmly ensconced in that role.

Bounding back down the stairs, he pushed through the front doors.  It was still raining heavily.  Wrapping his still damp cloak around him, he watched the downpour.  His elation at his new role was tempered with the knowledge that he would need help to make it happen.  Fortunately, he did have friends, one in particular.  She would make things right.  Flipping the hood up, he burst out into the rain and headed towards Kinghall.

The Lord Purveyor stood at the balustrade of the covered walkway that ran along the outside of the rooms on the interior side of the third floor.  Rain poured off the extended roof above him, as he watched it loudly pummel the courtyard below.  He usually enjoyed days like this for it gave him an excuse to stay inside, content with his accounts and balance sheets.  Yet today the weather only added to his frustration.  His goal of nobility was no closer now than it had been when he began wooing Heledd.

She was a wily one.  When the High Priest returned, her attention shifted to the resurrected ghost only to discover the young man’s affections were elsewhere.  But that only seemed to instill a greater desire in her, a greater challenge.  He was exciting, at least for now.  Once the thrill of his return waned, Duncan would be just another priest.  Though Heledd was still affable to his attentions, she wasn’t as accessible as before.  He was no fool.  He knew she was plotting to gain Duncan’s attention.  Perhaps with the High Priest on his way south to retrieve the wayward berserker, she might be more amenable to the charm of the Lord Purveyor.  But again – he was no fool.  He knew Heledd’s games.  He knew all about Pavia and her friends and their games.

But at some point, it was time to grow up.  With Heledd’s newfound wealth, she seemed less inclined to go along with the frivolous escapades of four friends, especially with one of them under house arrest.

And then there was Siani.

The woman was a puzzle.  Empty-headed beyond comprehension, she was no longer enthusiastic in the bedroom.  Though an adequate lover, she lacked a consummate passion.  In fact, he had yet to find something that she was passionate about, something that would garner excitement.

He frowned at the thought of being married to her.  Still… what was his objective? Marrying her didn’t necessarily mean he had to be faithful.  But the woman could spend money!  And that was the one area he had the greatest concern.

And then there was Dade.  He would have to give permission and the man was as vain as they came.  The Lord Purveyor pondered a moment more.  Perhaps he could get to Dade through Bradach.  But the more he thought about it the poorer the idea it became.  He knew there was no devotion between the brothers, and Dade would just as likely oppose the arrangement out of spite.

What he needed was leverage.  Suddenly, he realized he was already developing leverage.  Besides earning a nice income, his house of pleasure was establishing a consistent clientele.

He chuckled at what had become of Athdar’s house.  It was perfect.  The neighborhood was low enough to give the wealthy a sense of superiority, yet at the same time appeal to their desire for elicit excitement.  He had wasted little time in its transformation.  It was elegantly apportioned, which restricted patronage to those who could afford it, thus eliminating the need for unnecessary protection.  The neighborhood itself, though common, was respectable enough to preclude the dregs of the likes that frequented the common houses in the villages along the coast.

An idea began to grow, an interesting idea.  He smiled at the thought of it.  He wondered if Siani might like to visit his latest investment.

Cathmor looked around the opulently apportioned room before crossing to open the doors to the outside balcony overlooking the sea.  Turning around, he saw Cas emerge from the adjoining bathroom, shaking his head in wonder.  Lightly bouncing on one of the two large beds pressed against the opposite wall, Haydon grinned impishly. 

Cathmor’s attention then followed the king as he meandered towards the balcony, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the room.  Motioning Haydon to follow their charge, he watched as Diad paused at the railing, gazed out over the sea, then down to the harbor.  The old man stood there, mesmerized by the ships and activity of the harbor.  He stood for a while, then returned to the room where he grabbed hold of an ornate high-backed armchair, dragging it to the balcony.

The three warriors watched as he positioned the chair so he could look down on the wharves and town.  But the railing itself was too high to look over and not high enough to look under without crouching down, and the gaps between balusters were not wide enough.  He fidgeted and grumped, pushing and positioning the chair without success.

Let’s see what we can do, Papa, Haydon soothed.  Taking measure of the balcony and the chair, he could come to no satisfactory arrangement without elevating the chair to dangerous heights.  He looked back to the others for help.  He wants to sit and watch like he did at the island.

At that moment, Athdar entered the room, his mood pensive.  I think you’re right, he said to Cathmor.  They know he’s the king.  He saw Diad’s pout and brows furrowed in frustration.  What gives?

He wants to watch the harbor, Haydon explained, like he did when we were on the island, but there’s no way to do it from here.

That could be a problem, Cas opined, watching Diad pace and fuss, pushing the chair around the balcony.

Sighing in exasperation, Athdar pursed his lips.  I’ll need to find a way to keep him safe and out of the way.  At least until I can arrange for us to get back to Mull.

Cathmor nodded thoughtfully.  I have an idea, he slowly said.  It involves some friends of ours.  He knowingly stared at Cas and Haydon.  In fact, I think I might have found a way for all of us to get out of here.

Sitting in the receiving room Chamberlain Prys listened attentively, his face revealing no emotion.  Standing before him, Athdar explained his predicament.

He’s a cantankerous old man, Chamberlain Prys.  He needs structure in the form of pattern and consistency.  While we were on the island, he sat in the same spot, every day, watching us work on the ship.  He was content and remained where he was, only moving for meals, sleep, and the occasional piss.

So, what is the problem? he asked, leaning back and interlacing his fingers.

He’s in a strange place, with too many people, and can’t see the harbor.

Prys stared at him, sifting the discussion and the possible problems.  What is it you want?

Chamberlain Prys, you have been more than accommodating and I hesitate to ask, but I wish to maintain some sort of calmness in this beautiful home.  Unless I can get my father comfortable, he will be a constant source of irritation.

I ask again, he frowned at the man’s circumlocution, what is it you wish?

"My good Chamberlain, I ask that my father be positioned at a secluded spot where he can watch