Gatekeeper E-Book

Adam Collins

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

Having crossed the wide expanse of Lake Myre the Pathfinders at last find themselves shipwrecked on its eastern shore.

Anabel's return to Jarro at the head of the Free Slave Army has turned the tide of the war in favour of the western kingdom.

Megan has fallen into the hands of the cannibal witch Silvene. Imprisoned in the witch's tower, she awaits her fate with growing trepidation.

Ben Preem stands ready for the next phase of the war. Kan-Ta has been saved but The Horde are still a dangerous foe. For the first time in many years the Jarrian army is on the offensive. Now all that he needs to do is find out where the enemy has gone, and destroy them.

"Like the shepherd upon his mountain rock, the Gatekeeper stands and guards the lock... " Anon

Leseprobe

Adam Collins

Gatekeeper

BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

Intro

4

Bloodthorn Series

BooK Three

GATEKEEPER

Copyright © 2015 Adam Collins

All rights reserved.

Dedicated with love to our two wonderful pets.

Works

Bloodthorn Series:

1. STOLEN

2. Blood and Fire

3. GATEKEEPER

4. Maelstrom

1. Storm

2. The Tower

3. Plans

4. Gantu Prime

5. Crossroads

6. Dinner

7. Lakeside East

8. Blackflower

9. Well Matched

10. The Essence of Dark

11. Varash

12. Moonlit

13. In the Flesh

14. Charred

15. Strong Arm

16. Nest

17. One-eyed Jack

18. An Uneasy Alliance

19. Nineoaks:

20. Layers

21. Seagulls

22. Monsters

23. Battle Song

24. Bound

Chapter 1. Storm

As night fast approached wind strength increased. They were two days out, and a day from the eastern shore when the storm finally broke. The ship was a small two-mast-er called The Swan. The name implied grace and beauty, but in reality she was a lumbering tub teetering on verge of capsize. The bilge-pump operated day and night, rough or calm, in a small room off the poop-deck. Dark clouds finally released sending torrents of cold rain hammering across her decks. The view ahead, obscured by a grey wall of water and the heaving prow. The captain was a human called Herrit. Most days he was either drunk or on the verge. Tonight, fear had sobered his foggy mind, making him cling, white knuckled, to the ship’s wheel as if he was dangling feet-first over a precipice. ‘Batten hatches and furl sail!’ Herrit roared into his First Mate's ear.

Falko nodded and ran off to organise the crew. Dusky figures clambered aloft to gather the billowing sheets, and not a minute too soon. The winds persistent howl was rising to a roar. White-tipped waves buffeted the front and sides of the hull sending spray up over the gunwale. If creaking timber was her voice, she was groaning in pain-wracked agony. Herrit knew it was going to get much rougher. It was the worst storm he had seen in his five years sailing Lake Myre, and it was only just starting. He prayed to the gods of the seas and hung on tight.

Below-decks, the passengers sat in wide-eyed terror as the hull heaved in ever-growing undulations. Water seeped down the walls of the common-room in increasing volume. There were only two private rooms on the ship taken by two Faerkine of noble bearing, a male and a female. Though they travelled together the separate rooms indicated that they were not a match. The rest of the passengers huddled together in the mid-ship sleeping quarters. Lines of hammocks, three abreast, ran the length either side of a narrow passageway.

Helfwen was sipping from his jug of dwarf brandy and telling a tall tale to a small dwarf boy who was returning home to Timberland South with his uncle. ‘Why, this ain’t nothin’ to worry on, laddie. One time I was crossin’ the Agento Sea when the ship started to flounder in a mighty gale.’

‘Was it like this one, Lord Helfwen?’ asked the boy excitedly.

‘This ain’t a storm, laddie, not even close!’ Helfwen took another sip of brandy.

The boy looked worryingly at the seeping walls, ‘What happened?’

‘Well now, you see, the captain comes to me an’ says, “We’re lost Helfwen, the ship's taken on too much water and land ain’t nowhere to be seen. The mast’s broke and we’re adrift.”

The boy leaned a little closer, goggle eyed, ‘What did you do?’

‘Well now, I says to the captain, “Captain, you’re a lucky man!” Helfwen stopped, took another sup from the jug, then looked back at the boy and pointing a shaky finger at him, ‘Where was I…? Oh yes...I says, “Captain, you’re a lucky man. For I’m Helfwen of Timberland,” he thumped his chest. “An’ I’m yet to be beat. I’ve sparred with giants, and wrestled whales afore break-fast!” he hiccupped and burped. "An’ I’ll be damned if a small thing like this here storm’ll better me!”

‘What did you do, Helfwen?’ the boy asked excitedly.

‘Why, I went right up on deck and--’ the jug was up to Helfwen’s mouth again. Some of the liquid was dripping down his beard. When he looked back at the boy his eyes looked a little watery. ‘An’ I grabbed hold of the anchor. An’ takin’ a deep breath, I jumped right into the sea holdin’ onto it.’

‘Did you really?’ exclaimed the boy.

‘Sure as we’re sittin’ here.’

‘What happened then?

‘Well, you see, that there anchor took me right to the bottom in a flash. An’ when I got there I started walkin’ back towards land pullin’ that there ship along as I went.’

‘But how did you breathe?’

‘How did I breathe…? That-that’s…a very good point...I’m glad you asked me that.’ Helfwen looked momentarily flummoxed by the question. ‘Well now you see,’ he began again. ‘I’m a champion swimmer, boy. One gulp of air was all I needed,’ Helfwen grinned in delight at his answer and took another swig to celebrate his quick wit.

‘He’s a champion something alright,’ Brok mumbled to Brinn.

Brinn smiled and shushed Brok.

Helfwen hadn’t heard Brok’s remark and continued with his story, ‘I pulled that there ship all day and all night ‘till we reached safe waters. Then I pulled it ashore on a quiet beach.’

‘Was the captain happy?

‘The captain, the crew, and all them passengers too,’ nodded Helfwen grinning happily.

The boy was smiling from ear to ear, ‘Did they give you a reward, Lord Helfwen?’

‘Oh they wanted to! But I’m a modest dwarf and refused it outright,’ Helfwen waved his hand dismissively.

Brok coughed loudly. Helfwen shot him a quick irritated glance then looked back at the dwarf boy and smiled.

‘You are the bravest dwarf of them all, Lord Helfwen. And my father of course, he’s a great warrior too, just like you.’

Helfwen laughed, ‘I’m sure he is, laddie,’ he placed the jug to his lips again.

‘Come, Heldan, ‘tis time for yer hammock,’ announced Heldan’s uncle.

‘But I want to hear more of Lord Helfwen’s stories, uncle,’ protested the boy.

‘We all need our rest, boy. I’m sure he’ll tell you more on the morrow,’ insisted the uncle.

‘Will you, Helfwen? Will you tell me more tomorrow?’ pleaded the boy.

‘That’s guaranteed, son,’ interrupted Brok.

Helfwen threw another dagger look at Brok then smiled as he turned back to face the boy, ‘I will at that, laddie, never fear,’ he patted the boy's head as he was lead away by his uncle.

‘Storm’s getting worse,’ said Brinn when they were finally alone.

The ship was climbing and falling ever more steeply.

‘Not to worry. We have the mighty Helfwen with us should we need aid. He’ll quiet the storm with a blast from his backside,’ Brok grinned.

Helfwen snorted, took another swig from the jug and promptly collapsed back onto the straw on the floor, snoring.

‘It’s time we all tried to get a little sleep,’ offered Balzimar.

‘Agreed,’ said Brok as he swung himself into his hammock.

Brinn followed suit. Balzimar struggled to get into his hammock for a while then finally managed to get the hang of it, and fell into its folds causing the whole thing to swing wildly backwards and forwards for a time.

There were close to thirty passengers in the hold. The second section held their horses and equipment, and the third, stores and merchandise for transport to Myre Port East. Brinn stared up at the swaying ceiling. Drops of water were collecting and falling at varying points along its length. A single oil lamp gave the minimum of light by which to see. Apart from Helfwen’s snores, the hold was quiet. Most of the passengers lay awake, praying. Few would find sleep while the storm raged. Brinn heard a soft click and raised his head to look down the ship. The door to one of the private rooms opened. The female Faerkine stepped out onto the walkway, turned, and closed the door to her room behind her.

She was tall for a Faerkine almost as tall as a human female and elegantly beautiful. Long dark-brown hair fell to her waist. She briefly looked down the length of the hold, her green eyes glistening in the dark. Brinn watched as she disappeared up the stairs towards the poop-deck. Swaying in his hammock, he closed his eyes and calmed his mind. The muscles of his back and chest relaxed and he could feel his body slip into that comfortable drowsy state just before sleep. A drop of water splashed on his forehead bringing him crashing back from the edge. He tried once again to relax, and closed his eyes for a second time. He was almost asleep when a second droplet splashed on his face. His eyes opened. It was useless. He'd find no sleep tonight. Retrieving his pipe, he eased himself out of the hammock and walked up the aisle towards the stairs to the upper level. The ship was swaying sharply as he climbed to the passenger's viewing gallery. Wooden benches lined the walls, and the stern-facing window offered a disquieting view of the growing, rain-lashed, waves outside. Brinn lit his pipe and inhaled the soothing smoke.

‘I have always wondered why your race persists with that habit,’ the Faerkine woman stepped out from the shadows in the corner of the room.

Brinn’s heart jumped. He had not seen her even with his exceptional vision. It was as if she had stepped through the wall and suddenly appeared, ‘God's--!’ he cried.

She smiled, and her smile lit up the small room such was her beauty. ‘Apologies, I didn’t mean to frighten you.’

Brinn cleared his throat, ‘I wasn’t...I mean...I didn’t see you standing there. I thought I was alone,’ he stuttered.

‘I am Geylynn,’ she held her hand out.

Brinn took hold of her hand, and a trickle of electricity passed between them. Geylynn looked oddly at him as they touched, ‘I am Pant...Brinn,’ he changed at the last.

Geylynn’s smile broadened and her oval eyes widened, ‘It’s good to meet you, Pantbrinn,’

‘No...I’m sorry...it’s just Brinn. My name is Brinn,’ he corrected.

‘I see. It is good to meet you…Brinn,’ she nodded as she released his hand.

Brinn felt a pang of loss as her hand left his. He wanted to hold it again, feeling somewhat awkward under her stare, his cheeks flushed. She had the high cheekbones and pointed chin of her race, as well as the unmistakable small, pink, star-shaped, bump in the middle of the forehead. His face reddened more, ‘What brings you here, Geylynn?’ he finally managed.

‘We travel to our kin beyond the forest.’

‘You're not from this place then?’

‘No. We have travelled long to get here. All the way from Faeldaron on the other side of the Divide.’

‘The Divide?’

She thought for a moment, ‘You call it the sea.’

‘That is a long journey,’ agreed Brinn. ‘For pleasure, or perhaps…love? he smiled impishly.

‘It's not love,’ she laughed.

‘Ah, then it must be pleasure.’

‘No, not that either.’

‘What else could it possibly be?’

‘We are emissaries,’ Geylynn looked out the window at the crashing waves.

Brinn sensed she did not wish to be pushed further on the subject.

‘The weather is bleak. Is it always so here?’ she asked.

‘I don’t know,’ he shrugged. ‘I’m a stranger to these parts as well.’

‘From where do you hail?’

‘To the south and west. It’s called Jarro.’

Geylynn nodded, ‘I've not heard of it. But then that's to be expected,’ she turned and looked out the window.

The ship lurched violently making them both stagger.

‘I fear the storm is getting worse,’ she finally said after a moment's silence.

‘Yes it is, and with more to come,’ agreed Brinn.

‘I will retire to my cabin. It's become much too dangerous to wonder abroad, I think. Perhaps it's better to be prudent, given the circumstances. It was nice meeting you, Brinn,’ she held out her hand again. ‘I hope we can speak again before the voyage ends.’

Brinn took hold of her delicate hand and marvelled at the intricately spiralled tattoo decorating her arm. A tri-banded swirl of entwining filaments conjoined to form an arch, of sorts, the roots of which wrapped around her wrist in interwoven strands before ending knotted to the bow of a small key on the back of her forearm, ‘As do I, my-lady,’ he said.

As Geylynn stood at the top of the stairs leading down to the sleeping quarters she looked back at Brinn, her green eyes twinkling in the dark. Then she smiled and continued down. Brinn stood staring at the stairs for a few moments before placing his pipe back into his mouth and inhaling deeply. He turned to face the window. Outside in the dark, the waves crashing against the hull were growing ever larger.

The wind was roaring past at an incredible speed. Captain Herrit and First Mate Falko were both holding onto the ship's wheel in order to stop it from drifting off course. They had strapped themselves into position using tether ropes. There was little to do now but hang on and pray. Herrit cursed his luck. He had come inland to avoid the violent sea, but now found himself in a storm larger than any he had experienced while sailing the deep. The crew had battled valiantly all night long to keep The Swan afloat. Four men were lost and there were three in the infirmary, but the ship was still heading east.

A great dark wall loomed out of the night. Herrit saw it first and swore. Falko made the sign of the sea goddess.

‘It’s not possible! We’re hours from land yet!’ screamed Herrit.

Falko looked up at the howling wind and rain, ‘The wind!’ he pointed up. ‘The wind has pushed us across faster than expected!’

The shadow of the fast approaching coastline loomed larger.

‘Drop anchor!’ screamed Herrit.

The crew didn’t hear and stayed clinging to rail and rope for dear life.

He turned to his first mate, ‘Get them to drop anchor, or we’re lost!’ he roared into Falko’s ear over the terrible din.

Falko looked fearfully at his captain, and slowly nodded. Untying himself, he edged away down the poop-deck using the railing as a guide. On reaching the main deck he gathered some of the crew and headed forward towards the anchor release mechanism. Great walls of water surged twenty feet into the air before crashing down with crushing force knocking men from their feet and sending them sprawling across the slickened deck-planks. It took them unbearably long minutes to get forward. Two men were lost overboard in the attempt, only four remained. Falko looked towards the coast. White water showed where rocks pierced the surface. They were close…too close perhaps. The anchor release was jammed. With hands numbed almost beyond use by the cold, he fumbled with the lever. The bow dipped low as another colossal wave came crashing over the prow swamping the sailors. When it receded there were only two men left. Falko grabbed hold of the leaver again and pushed with all of his remaining strength. It wouldn’t move. The second sailor grabbed hold and pushed as well. After agonising seconds the lever jerked forward an inch, and then finally, released. The chain rattled as it ran out through its guide-rails. There was a lurch as the ship slowed and finally stopped moving. The bow bounced up and down with each new wave causing the chain to slacken and tighten with every surge. Falko was exhausted and clung to the anchor release lever unable to move. A great rumbling noise heralded the approach of a giant wave. It came out of the darkness like a collapsing mountain of foaming white water. Falko made the sign of the sea goddess and turned his head away. The wave hit. The deck was momentarily submerged. As the water receded The Swan popped back up out of the depts. Falko was gone, and the anchor chain had snapped. The Swan resumed its drive towards the rocks.

‘Everyone outside now!’ shouted a deckhand.

Heads popped out of hammocks all along the hold.

‘What’s happening?’ asked one terrified passenger.

‘Rocks! And we’re gonna hit! So get topside now or die where you lay!’ then the man was gone.

There was a panicked rush for the stairs to the upper level. The walkway between the hammocks was jammed with passengers scrambling to save what valuables they could. There was a terrible shudder as The Swan made contact with the rocks. The heavy timbers of the hull were broken apart like rotten sticks and a great lump of jagged stone plugged the hole. As the sea lifted the ship again, water gushed in through the opening in the side. The screams of women and children filled the air as icy water rushed in around the passenger’s feet.

Another sickening thump followed as the ship was pounded against the rocks for a second time. A vertical crack opened along the site of the impact, allowing even more water to cascade in. The single lamp was quenched in the spray, plunging the hold into darkness. As the ship was slammed against the rocks for the third time the hull split in two. Water rushed in swamping the ships innards in one quick rush. Brinn came to the surface with a gasp. He had grabbed hold of Balzimar as he exited the sinking ship and hauled him out. The old wizard was coughing and spluttering. There was a heavy timbered hatch-door floating nearby. Brinn swam for it and placed the wizard on board. Helfwen broke the surface some distance away. The young dwarf boy was clinging to his neck as he made for Brinn and Balzimar. Brok soon followed.

Brinn heard a soft voice calling. Staring into the dark waves he caught a quick glimpse of Geylynn. She was in trouble and had a nasty gash on her brow. Brinn immediately swam towards the floundering woman but she slipped beneath the waves before he could narrow the distance. Upon reaching the spot he dived beneath the surging surf. Down, down, he went. Deeper and deeper into the darkness. The water pressing hard against his body, ink-black and cold, but he pushed on regardless.

Chapter 2. The Tower

Megan awoke abruptly, sitting upright in her cot. The scratching sound at the door had returned. It had happened before but her sleep-fogged mind had been unable to grasp the significance before the noise had stopped. Now she was fully awake and the sound was real. She was growing weaker and paler by the day. If she didn't escape soon she would not have the strength to try. The iron ball manacled to her ankle would slow her down. It would have to be removed or Silvene would run her down, in no-time, and drag her back for another beating. She had tried twice before but she had always found her. Megan's bruised body a testament to the punishment metered.

Twin crescent moons lightened the gloom enough to discern shape. Misshapen fingers with long dirty nails were reaching under the gap at the bottom of the door, gently caressing the splintered wood on the inside. Something was sniffing, she could hear it snuffling back and forth like a dog smelling a rat. A long, snakelike, tongue slipped through a small gap in the door's planks. Megan screamed. The sound of scampering feet brought an end to the nightmare, as the creature beat a hasty retreat into the night. Megan released her pent-up breath and began to cry. The night passed slowly.

***

The door-lock clicked and the door was shoved open, bathing the dark tower-room with morning light. Silvene's silhouette filled the frame. 'Out you come, my dear, there's chores to be done.'

Megan threw back her tattered blanket and rolled her weary body out of bed onto unsteady feet.

Silvene scowled and flicked her raven-black hair away from her face with a shake of her head, ' Water first, and then fire-wood…chop enough to last the day…you know the routine, my dear. Off you go,' Silvene stepped back from the door to allow Megan exit.

The winding stone stairs leading down to the tower's base had no railing. One slip and the fall, though not high enough to kill, could have ruptured organs, or perhaps even snapped bones. Megan descended with care, keeping away from the edge 'til she reached safer ground. After fetching water from the nearby stream she would spend most of the morning chopping wood with a blunt rusted axe. It was strength-sapping work, chopping, stacking, and lifting. Silvene would return mid-morning having emptied the many traps she kept throughout the forest. Megan spent much of the rest of the day gutting and skinning the dead animals, preserving the meat by drying it in a smoke-hut beside the cottage.

Mid-day she was allowed a short break, given a small portion of bread and a mug of water. The main meal was an hour before sundown. A horrendous watery offal soup, consisting of discarded fish-heads or the leftovers of the day's butchering. It was little surprise that she collapsed into bed each night, unable to move 'til morning came once again and the nightmare returned.

***

Scratch-scratch-scratch... Megan's eyes opened. It was dark and cold. Her breath, a foggy mist. Scratch-scratch. Snuffel-snuffel. Her heart began to race, the rhythmic pounding in her ears booming a warning of imminent danger. It had returned. The snuffling and scratching continued for some minutes as Megan lay perfectly still and quiet. A low keening moan of frustration issued from the creature and the scratching stopped. Megan listened with relief to the sound of retreating footsteps. There was silence. Sleep did not return.

***

The door swung open blinding Megan with morning light.

'Up and out, my dear. You know what's expected,' Silvene held the door open for Megan to exit.

Megan threw back her blanket and rolled out of the cot. Black circles under bloodshot eyes gave her a pitiful look. The manacle was cutting into the flesh around her ankle. She limped towards the door and the waiting Silvene.

'What's the matter, my dear, feeling a bit under the weather, are we? Silvene sneered. 'Well it's your own fault, isn't it? Ungrateful little trollop! You wouldn't have that ball on your leg if you showed a bit of appreciation, now would you? Running off like that after all I've done for you. It's me wot puts food in your belly and a roof over your head, my girl, don't go forgetting that!' she snarled.

Megan recognised the switch in Silvene's character and knew that another beating was imminent if Silvene could not be distracted in some way. 'Yes…you are right…' she answered softly.

'What…? Silvene seemed confused.

'You are correct when you say that I've been…unappreciative. I have been, and I wish to apologise.'

'You do…?' Silvene was completely taken off-guard by the simple statement.

'Yes, I do. My actions were completely unwarranted, I see that now. I don't blame you for one second. I blame myself. In your place I would have reacted similarly.'

'You would?' Silvene looked a tad sceptical.

'Yes, I would. I owe you so much...I owe you my life. If you'd not found me when you did, and taken me into your home, I'd be dead.'

Silvene nodded slowly. 'Yes you would, my girl.'