Mist Falcon: Book One Of The Warrior Poet Archives (Epic Fantasy Adventure) Read online

  Mist Falcon

  Book One of The Warrior Poet Archives

  Ryan J. Doughan

  This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or people, living or dead. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely those of the author and do not represent the thoughts of any other individuals who have worked in the production of this book.

  Mist Falcon

  Book One of The Warrior Poet Archives

  All Right Reserved

  Copyright © 2015 Ryan J Doughan

  This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  www.ryanjdoughan.com

  ISBN: 978-0-9962062-0-4 (ebook)

  ISBN: 978-0-9962062-1-1 (print)

  Acknowledgements

  In shaping the story and, ultimately, the book of MIST FALCON, I have been helped along by a great many people. First, a huge thank you to my dad, Larry, for reading to me every night of my childhood and offering me the keys to Narnia, Middle Earth, and more. You taught me the magic of storytelling and the written word, so thanks, Dad. Also, thank you to my mom who always encouraged me to reach for the stars.

  A big thank you to all of my early readers: Katie, Colin, Aaron, Bob, Larry, Connie, Matt, and Amanda. Your comments and critiques helped me in all my blind spots. And a special thank you to Becky for your incredible help in editing. This book would not have been the same without all of your help.

  Thanks are due the fine folks at Busy Bee Book Covers and Polgarus Studios for their efforts in the artwork and formatting of MIST FALCON. The presentation of this book would not have turned out nearly as well without their hard work. A thank you is also owed to authors Derek Benz, Brent Weeks, Melissa McPhail, and Holly Lisle, whose advice and experience has been most beneficial.

  Finally, though it sometimes seems mere ritual or cliché to thank one’s spouse for their efforts and support, I need to give an enormous thank you to my wife, Katie. Your encouragement through such a long process is truly incredible. I would be lost without you. So from the bottom of my heart and with love, thank you.

  For my beautiful bride, the mother of my children, and the love of my life.

  I write this now, chiseled in Stone and wrapped in Wind…

  Chapter 1

  He was just squatting. The house wasn’t his. But then, as far as Aiden knew, the house wasn’t really anyone’s anymore. No one had lived in most of the country homes surrounding Oustenbasch since the revolt and the most recent Princes’ War had ravaged the entire territory. Now the once grand estates were little more than burnt out husks, long since pillaged, offering their shelter to small animals and the occasional squatter. Squatting, as it turned out, just happened to be Aiden’s specialty.

  “Go out to the estates,” Old Kempt had told Aiden two years past now, “best thing in the world for a young man starting out.”

  Aiden had nodded in agreement holding the fear from leaking onto his face. Something of his feelings must have bled through his determination though, because Kempt had winked at him and leaned in closer. “Don’t you mind the stories, lad. Superstition, young Aiden, that’s all it be. You mind old Kempt, now. Go out to them estates and have a look around. You find something out there that someone in the city might want; you bring it back to my shop. I’ll fix you up with a fair sum for it. Could be a fine living for a hard working young man, you mark my words, a fine living.”

  “Yeah, alright,” Aiden remembered saying, and that had been that.

  Aiden had settled down in this particular home, what was once the Lanchestor Estate according to the still-standing stonework of the front entry, nearly a month ago. He found himself loathe to leave. The roof of Lanchestor Hall still stood, defiantly repelling rain, and Aiden had grown use to the dry sleeping conditions. He hadn’t known such dependable dryness since the Touch had killed his father, burned down his home and taken Jansen, Aiden’s older brother, all as payment for what Aiden’s father had owed.

  Aiden forced thoughts of the past away, focusing on the here and now. He looked again at the great stone entry as he passed beneath its grandeur. The huge doors had long since been torn down and hauled away, but the entry still stood, gaping wide—inviting any who dared enter. He liked it here at this quiet estate. Still, other than shelter, he had gotten about as much as he was going to from the Lanchestors.

  The state of previously being pillaged didn’t mean there was nothing left of value in the estates surrounding the city, and Aiden was one of the few who would brave the stories of ghosts and grummels to seek out any treasures left behind.

  “Superstition,” he said aloud to no one in particular as his eyes swept over the still-dusty floorboards and empty shelves of the main hall. Ghosts and grummels may have been superstitious children’s tales, but bandits, mercenaries, and bounty hunters were only too real to this outer rim of Oustenbasch. One couldn’t be too careful when the rule of law extended only to the strength of a man’s own arms or the keenness of his blade.

  Aiden made his way back through a hallway into what must have once been a study or office of some kind. Here he had set up his own quaint living area filled with his few possessions, including those treasures gathered from the estate. The Lanchestors, and those who had previously looted the house, had been kind enough to leave behind several items that Aiden was sure would fetch a tidy profit for him.

  Upon arriving, Aiden had found a handful of coins tucked beneath a loose floorboard in this very room. He smiled to himself, remembering: that was when he had decided to stay on as the Lanchestors’ guest for a while. In the last month, Aiden had collected a slightly chipped, wide-mouthed ceramic bottle with a worn cork to close off the top, two silver steins, and several sheaves of paper that had somehow avoided all of the small fires the estate had endured, along with an assortment of other small prizes. All in all it would be a decent take and Aiden should be able to trade old Kempt in Oustenbasch for enough supplies to get to the next estate on his list.

  “It should be enough,” he said aloud, willing the truth into the words as his eyes moved from his tiny treasure trove to stare at the Lanchestor grounds out the cracked window glass. The mist was turning to rain out there, clouds obscuring the two moons of the Twin Angels, and Aiden truly didn’t want to go out in the rain and mud.

  Once finished with the main house, Aiden had moved on to a few of the buildings and dwellings that sat scattered on the property. Most of the buildings had proven useless, empty of anything of value—a couple of horseshoes in the stables a small tarnished plate in a servants room—nothing that would sell for much.

  Now Aiden had come to the end of his circuit around the grounds. He was nearly back to the main house with only one final servant’s dwelling to be gone through. Aiden sighed, poured a drink from his jug, drained it, and headed back into the hall. Wrapping his cloak tight about himself to ward off the chill and the rain, he splashed his way through quickly forming mud puddles to the last of the Lanchestors’ buildings.

  The small, one room house looked much like the rest of the buildings—pillaged, very pillaged. Aiden made his way through the room methodically all the same. This was, after all, what he did: looked for things others had missed.

  He searched the single room for the better part of an hour, finding little enough of value. Wi
th a sigh, Aiden pushed his hair back out of his face, accomplishing only to streak his forehead with soot. That was it then—time to move on. As he turned to leave, Aiden’s eye fell on the cold ashes of the fireplace. Fine, one more try, he thought, moving across the room.

  When he reached the hearth and bent to poke through the ashes, Aiden placed his hand against the brick to steady himself. This particular brick, however, didn’t hold Aiden’s weight, but gave to his push, receding into the wall. A series of metallic clicks sounded. Then, with a groaning, dusty, pop a door swung free from the wall paneling adjacent to the fireplace. A small compartment, sheathed in metal, lay revealed behind the door. Cradled in that compartment nestled a delicately-carved box, adorned with a single precious blue stone on its clasp.

  Aiden took the box gingerly, but firmly as if scared it might both break and vanish from his hands. Kneeling, he placed it on the dust-covered floor before pressing the blue stone. He was rewarded with a faint click. The lid opened, revealing more wealth than Aiden had ever had a right to hope for: rings, bracelets, a gold necklace, two pea-sized clear stones that Aiden could only believe were diamonds, and a ruby the size of a small grape. There was also a smattering of golden eagles, each coin worth ten silver pennies. It was a fortune. Beneath the bed of coins, Aiden uncovered a small knife in a leather sheath whose pummel was shaped into the head of a falcon. On the sheath, just below the crossbar, a clenched talon had been embossed into the leather. Drawing the blade, Aiden found it still well oiled, and if scavenging and trading had taught him anything, it was how to recognize a metal. This blade was silver as surely as the coins were gold eagles. Still, it was light—half of what it should have weighed, maybe less.

  Even through his awe at the new discovery, Aiden couldn’t help wondering what all this was doing here. Someone had gone to a lot of effort to construct a secret door and mechanism just to hide this box. Had Master Lanchestor put it here, or had one of his servants been stealing from him? Maybe the master of the house had a secret lover who liked gifts. In the end, it didn’t matter overly much how it got here. It was Aiden’s now.

  After looking over his treasure for another few moments, Aiden slipped the sheathed knife into his boot, closed the lid on the box of his new treasure, and after consideration, shut the hidden door again for safe measure. With his windfall cradled tightly under his arm, he headed back to the main Lanchestor house and his room.

  Once back in private sanctuary, he pulled the small box out once more just to ward off disbelief. Now the question: what to do? He was done with all of his scavenging at the Lanchestor estate; he knew that. Still, it was hard to leave behind this safe seclusion and head back into crowded Oustenbasch. The city wasn’t a place for a man to flaunt wealth without swordarms to keep him safe. Aiden had no time to hire swordarms, and it would draw to much attention at rate for a poor scavenger to looking for hired muscle. He’d draw every gang to him like gawkers to a Delrethi Cobra fight. No, he’d just have to be careful.

  With a sigh, Aiden retrieved his leather bag from the corner and began packing up his belongings. When he came to the small treasure box, he paused. Aiden had had things taken from him by the gangs in the past, especially in those early days when he didn’t know any better. It was never good to appear overly full on goods if you weren’t also overly protected by swordarms. Aiden opened the lid of the box, and was again stunned by the wealth inside. No, he couldn’t keep all of this together, just in case.

  Aiden grabbed a few of the golden eagles and dropped them into his coin purse, enjoying the extra weight in the small bag that usually felt so light. He slipped a few more into one of the pockets sewn into the inside of his cloak. He dropped the ruby and diamonds into another cloak pocket, and wrapped the necklace, bracelets, and rings into his extra shirt before packing them. After considering, he dropped the remaining coins into the bottom of the ceramic bottle and then stuffed in the rag he used for washing to keep the coins from rattling and clinking around.

  After packing some of the less valuable things on the top of the bag, Aiden flipped the flap over the opening, tied it down to the clasp on the bottom, and shouldered his life’s fortune.

  He was just passing from the Lanchestor grounds onto the road with his pack over one shoulder and his small hunting bow and few arrows over the other when the realization hit him: what was old Kempt going to say about all the riches showing up in his shop? Would he even be able to move the pricier jewels and rings? Kempt had always treated Aiden fairly, never cheating him out of his goods, or at least not cheating him like he cheated other, unwary customers. There were other, more dangerous options, but Aiden wasn’t sure he was ready to go to the Barons, not yet. His father had been their man, but where were they when the Touch had come to call? Absent. Easily absent.

  Aiden sighed and started toward town. He would begin with Kempt as he always had, and decide on the rest if the old man couldn’t help him.

  He only traveled a mile toward town before veering off onto a diagonal cart path which would lead him around the north wall and through a maple grove to the western gate of Oustenbasch. This entrance was otherwise known as the Serpent’s Tail; Aiden supposed it was for the meandering route one was forced to take to get through the first quarter mile of the city before other avenues branched off.

  The quarter mile of Serpent’s Tail lay riddled with shops and vendors—free shops and vendors. Neither Baron had a hold on the space. It was too hard to hold or maneuver easily without the normal back-alley traffic. And because the Barons were mostly absent, true smiles bloomed on the vendors’ faces along the path. It felt unnatural to Aiden, so used to seeing the ice in the eyes behind a smile. Still, the Serpent’s Tail gave Aiden the perfect route in and out of the city—no Baron swordarms to harass him, and old Kempt’s shop sat to the side of the square that the short stretch spilled onto.

  Aiden crossed the square, careful to keep his speed to a brisk walk. He had business to attend to, not desperation to run from—nothing to hide. Willing this persona into being, Aiden passed the large fountain in the square center which depicted some fiery angel, probably Sansol or his vengeful brother Antice come down from their lunar throne to do battle, sword drawn over a two-headed water demon. The image was supposed to be uplifting, Aiden knew, good vanquishing evil, but he always found it a little disturbing.

  Another dozen quick steps and Aiden approached Kempt’s shop. Kaine, one of the shopkeeper’s swordarms, leaned lazily against the building. “Well, if it ain't the little sparrow,” Kaine sneered, spitting. “Come to push more chipped cups and blunted knives on Master Kempt, have ya?”

  “Good to see you too, Kaine. Just doing business. I’m not looking for trouble.”

  Kaine spit again, but offered no rebuttal as Aiden entered.

  Aiden gained another glance from Pax, Kempt’s other swordarm, upon entering, but nothing more. Aiden had never been worth more than a cursory glance, and with his pockets filled with more fortune than he had ever dreamed of finding on the estates, he was grateful for his overlooked nature.

  Old Kempt finished his dealings with a haggard woman in a faded, green dress selling off a few trinkets. Her shoulders fell as she let her head drop in a slow, defeated nod. From the counter, she pulled the few drab pennies Kempt had offered, turned and passed Aiden on her way to the door. Not good; Kempt must be in one of his moods. There was nothing for it, though. Aiden wasn’t leaving without at least attempting the sale.

  He smiled as he stepped up to the counter. Looking up from a giant ledger book, old Kempt hesitated for only a moment before recognition lit in his eyes, and he smiled as well.

  “Little Master Aiden, you’ve grown. I barely recognized you standing there.”

  Aiden ground his teeth, bristling at the little comment, though he hoped it didn’t show. Aiden had always been small. He didn’t think of himself that way, but at seventeen he understood there were a lot of people bigger than him. He also doubted he had grown much since old Kemp
t had seen him last and thought his change in appearance had more to do with his not bathing for the last couple weeks. Still, Aiden smiled all the broader in response.

  “And how are you, Kempt? Stolen any sweet treats from small children since last we met?”

  Kempt gave a wounded frown, furrowing his bushy, gray eyebrows. “Come now little Aiden, that was ages ago and a simple misunderstanding.” He smiled at the end to show the wound was superficial at best.

  Aiden offered a short laugh. “And as for you? How’s business?”

  “Oh, business is business, as they say. It’s much as it always has been.” Here Kempt tilted his head slightly as if trying to get a better view past his beakish nose. “Speaking of business, what can I be doing for the little Master today?”

  With a slight twist of his shoulder, Aiden spun his bag from his shoulder and to the floor at his feet. He undid the tie and pulled out the steins and sheaves of paper. Better to start small, he thought. Setting them on the counter, he eyed Kempt as if this was his whole take.

  Old Kempt looked over the steins and flipped through the paper before making his offer. “A silver penny apiece for the four sheaves of paper and twelve drab pennies for the two steins together,” he said.

  Aiden shook his head. The paper price was fair but the price on the steins was a bit low, even for old Kempt. The shopkeeper would be able to turn around and sell them in two days’ time for three times what he was offering Aiden. This wasn’t the big piece of Aiden’s sale today, but he couldn’t just let the offer go uncontested.

  “Eighteen drab pennies for the steins,” he said.

  “Fourteen,” Kempt countered so quickly he must have been expecting Aiden’s refusal.