The struggle for authori.., p.1
The Struggle for Authority, page 1
The Struggle for Authority
The Stone Cycle Book 4
Allan N. Packer
Luminant Publications
Contents
Map of Arvenon and Surrounding Kingdoms
Volume 1—The Swell Begins to Build
Prologue
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
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Volume 2—The Breakers Come Crashing In
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue
List of Characters
Note from the Author
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Struggle for Authority
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The Stone Cycle Book 4
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Copyright © 2020 by Allan N. Packer
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First edition (v1.3) published in 2020
by Luminant Publications
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All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, stored in, or introduced into a database or retrieval system, in any form, or by any means, without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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ISBN 978-1-925898-52-1
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Luminant Publications
PO Box 201
Burnside, South Australia 5066
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http://www.allanpacker.com
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Cover Design by Karri Klawiter
Map illustration by Brian Plush
To Julie and Chris, true friends as well as family through the changing seasons of life.
Map of Arvenon and Surrounding Kingdoms
Volume 1—The Swell Begins to Build
Prologue
Heaving up a final sack of turnips, Carnwill clambered onto the cart.
“Move!” he growled. The crack of a whip sounded, and the horse took up the strain, rolling its burden slowly forward.
To outward observation, Carnwill and his two companions were traders, selling vegetables to the army camped outside Steffan’s Citadel on the border of Erestor. A shrewd observer might have called them an unlikely group of produce merchants.
For a man of Carnwill’s talents, his current occupation was incongruous. Competent and accomplished, he was an Arvenian native who spoke Rogandan fluently. From early beginnings as a farmer and a trader, he had made his mark as a sailor and a soldier.
Carnwill was dangerous and relentless. As a tracker he was second to none, and his skill had led to a covert role in the employ of King Agon of Rogand. Agon trusted him implicitly, which made Carnwill the rarest of the rare.
He now had a single purpose—to find Thomas Stablehand. He would have been willing to drag him before King Agon as well, but his employer made it clear he intended to use other resources for that purpose. Carnwill’s brief was to hunt him down and inform the king of his whereabouts.
His quarry had been traced to Carnwill’s current location, and the tracker needed a way to explore the region without attracting attention. Trading vegetables provided a perfect cover.
The work was boring—mind-numbingly so—but Carnwill was a patient man.
1
Six days after Hazor’s mercenary force was destroyed in Will’s ambush
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The sun had disappeared below the tree line, and darkness was creeping slowly in to take its place, settling over the forest like a heavy mantle. Breysen knew he should be grateful for the protective cover of night, but the forest felt alien and hostile to him in the gloom. Each night his discomfort had grown as the hours stretched away beneath the somber boughs. At times he imagined the low hanging branches were reaching down to strangle him. His head told him sternly that any such notion was ridiculous, but his heart wasn’t convinced.
Campfires burned brightly just beyond the edge of the forest, and delicious smells often wafted toward him when the wind shifted in the right direction. There was no welcome for him there. Will Prentis’s men were vigilant, and every fugitive who emerged from the forest had been dealt with ruthlessly.
He wondered once more what had possessed him to sign on as a mercenary. Hazor, his recruiter, had sought Breysen out, somehow aware that he had fought at Torbury Scarp and that he needed coin. The mercenary leader insisted he was not looking for paid killers; he had been commissioned to rapidly build a force of irregular soldiers with the sole purpose of maintaining order throughout the kingdom.
The wages on offer should have given sufficient warning, but Breysen chose to ignore the signs, lured by the size of the promised payout. A bag bulging with coins had been dangled before him as a reward for signing on, and he had hesitated for barely a moment before taking hold of it. He saw now that he had been a fool, and a credulous fool at that.
At first Hazor’s group had done little more than canter about the countryside. Everything had changed when they set off in pursuit of a group of armed men. Hazor’s hunters enjoyed an overwhelming advantage in numbers and most of them were hungry for a fight, but their apparent superiority proved illusory.
The ferocity of their quarry beggared belief—Breysen had once hunted a wounded bear that seemed genial by comparison. The hunters were never allowed to rest. Arrows descended from the sky at any time of the day or night, and always when least expected. The size of Hazor’s band rapidly diminished; the deadly rain eventually accounted for hundreds of the mercenaries. The men had fallen with barely a glimpse of their enemies.
Rumors began to surface. A few of the mercenaries whispered that their targets were the king and his pregnant queen. The idea hadn’t troubled most of them, but Breysen had been appalled. He hadn’t signed on for treason, and he wasted no time in confronting Hazor directly with the rumors. The mercenary leader reacted with fury, and Breysen had hastily withdrawn without answers and in fear for his life.
Then came the rumor that their invisible enemies were being led by Will Prentis.
A veil had finally been lifted from Breysen’s eyes the moment this latest rumor reached his ears. Everything suddenly made sense. He had served under Will and his deputy Rufe, and it no longer came as any surprise that the fighting had been so one-sided.
From that moment he had abandoned hope. Hazor was doomed, and all of his men with him.
The mercenary leader apparently couldn’t see it coming. Hazor could reasonably boast his share of animal cunning, but he clearly lacked the wit to grasp what lay in store for him and his men.
The unequal struggle continued until Will finally lured Hazor into the forest. The mercenary’s entire force had been wiped out in the disastrous battle that followed. Breysen had been one of the few who survived.
Almost a week had passed since the battle. The forest still smoldered from the fire that raged through it during the fighting, and bodies lay scattered among the charred undergrowth, many of them burned beyond recognition. The stench had become almost unbearable. Bird song echoed through any normal forest; the trees here were as silent as the grave.
Breysen knew how to survive on his own in the wild, but he could find precious little that was safe to eat in this scorched wasteland. Streams still flowed freely, and he was largely reduced to satisfying himself with fresh water.
Other mercenaries had survived, although none so far had matched Breysen’s patience. One by one the ragged fugitives had appeared at the forest’s edge, hungry and miserable as they waited for nightfall. He had watched as they abandoned the cover of the trees, willing to risk discovery in their desperation. Not one had survived.
Every night the bright moonlight had conspired with the sentries against the fugitives. Nature itself seemed set on bringing the mercenaries to final ruin.
On that particular night, Breysen’s luck appeared to have turned. Thick clouds covered the moon completely. His moment had arrived.
Making his way carefully to the very edge of the forest, he positioned himself behind a large tree and peered out at the sentries. As usual, very few of them were sitting around the campfires. Most of them were out patrolling in the darkness.
His reserves of st
As he steeled himself to go, a branch cracked behind him in the forest. Spinning around, he dimly saw another man creeping stealthily toward him. He drew his sword frantically, his heart racing, dismayed at having been exposed at last. When the other man made no move to attack him, Breysen belatedly realized he was facing another fugitive like himself. As the figure drew closer it became obvious that he was in an equally miserable condition.
Breysen sheathed his sword, frowning at the intruder. His chances of survival were poor enough as it was. He hadn’t planned on being burdened down with another helpless runaway.
The wiry newcomer drew alongside, contenting himself with a nod in the direction of Breysen. His face was drawn, and his arm had been bandaged crudely. From the stains on the bandage he had been losing blood, although he seemed unperturbed by the injury.
Breysen didn’t mince his words. “Don’t expect me to look out for you,” he whispered roughly. “I won’t be expecting help from you, and I have nothing to offer myself.”
The other shrugged in the darkness. “No quarrel with me,” he replied. “Our chances are better on our own.”
With that the stranger touched his forehead in a simple salute, then slipped away from the shelter of the trees and disappeared into the darkness.
Breysen forced down his annoyance. He didn’t need distractions. Now he had to choose whether to set off immediately or to wait until the other man was long gone. The sentries were undoubtedly on high alert given the moonless night. If the other man was caught, they would be doubly cautious.
He quickly decided that his best option was to leave immediately. If one of the two fugitives was detected, the other might have a better chance of slipping away in the confusion. He took a breath, then headed out into the open.
Dark as it was, Breysen knew where he was heading. He had not entirely wasted the days of enforced inaction that lay behind him. Climbing repeatedly into a tall tree during daylight hours to assess the topography of the area, he had plotted his escape route carefully. A broad stretch of undulating land lay before him, and he intended to avoid exposed ridges and take full advantage of every available depression. His journey would proceed in four stages, with a pause as soon as he reached each landmark. He hoped that the dense cloud cover would reduce the likelihood of him being spotted.
Breysen scurried forward in a low crouch until he reached a natural hollow in the ground. The first and easiest part of his journey was now behind him.
The next stage was the most dangerous. A long stretch of exposed ground lay ahead with no natural protection. Every other fugitive had been run to ground in this area. Most of them had tried to run as quickly as possible across the open space. Now that he was there himself, the temptation to run like a rabbit was almost overwhelming. He thrust such urges aside. He had a plan, and he intended to stick to it. He would crawl.
Lowering himself onto his belly, Breysen squirmed out into the open.
Progress felt painfully slow, and he forced down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him, concentrating instead on the patch of ground immediately before him. He had plenty of time. Night had barely begun, and he expected to be long gone when daylight dawned.
After a few nervous minutes Breysen had made slow but steady progress. Then he came to a sudden halt—his surroundings were slowly becoming visible. His heart began to pound, even as his eyes widened with alarm. A quick glance into the heavens confirmed that the clouds covering the face of the moon were beginning to dissipate.
Acting instinctively, Breysen dropped to the ground to conceal himself. As he did so, a dark figure rose up behind him, closer to the forest. Breysen had passed his fellow fugitive in the dark. Apparently spooked by the sudden change in the conditions, the other man decided to run for it. It was a poor decision, because it exposed him to one of the patrolling soldiers. The sentry spurred his horse toward the fleeing figure.
From his prone position on the ground, Breysen saw that the speeding horse was heading directly toward him.
There wasn’t time to think. As the rider approached, Breysen leaped to his feet, directly in front of the animal. The horse reared up, squealing in fright. Its rider was thrown to the ground. Before the man could get up, Breysen threw himself forward and punched him hard in the face. The sentry went down and didn’t move.
Shouts sounded from the direction of the campfires. Other sentries must have become aware of the disturbance—he had very little time. Hurrying to the horse, Breysen grabbed its reins and swung himself into the saddle. His feet had barely settled into the stirrups when the horse reared up again. The other mercenary had reappeared.
Breysen struggled to calm the animal. Then he turned to his fellow fugitive. “Quickly! Get up behind me!”
The other man ignored him at first, pulling a knife as he turned away. Bending low, he plunged his blade several times into the unconscious sentry before turning away and clambering onto the horse’s back. The knife disappeared again into his clothing. He hadn’t bothered to wipe the blade clean.
Breysen sat frozen in the saddle, shocked at the cold-blooded execution of a defenseless man. “Go!” the other man demanded. Snapping out of his daze, Breysen urged the horse forward.
Their attempt at escape might have been short-lived, except that heavy cloud cover once more blanketed the moon, plunging their surroundings into total darkness. Breysen steered the horse away from the forest, trying to roughly follow the path he had planned. Voices called out behind them, but the darkness shielded them as they raced toward freedom.
They continued to ride with only short breaks until the sky began to lighten with the coming of the dawn.
By then the horse was almost spent. Neither of the riders were in any better condition. Breysen was barely able to stay in the saddle.
For much of the night they had ridden across grasslands and rolling hills. The open ground had disappeared just before dawn, and the trees of a vast forest again surrounded them. To hide their tracks they sought out a suitable stream and rode along it for the best part of an hour. Finally they guided the horse out of the water onto rocky ground where its hoof prints would not be visible. Then they sought out a quiet clearing hidden among the towering trees.
Both of them were utterly exhausted. Breysen managed to find some strips of dried meat and some stale bread in a saddlebag. He shared it with his companion, who chewed it unthinkingly before lying down. He was asleep almost immediately.
In defiance of his depleted state, Breysen somehow found the energy to remove the saddle and bridle from the horse before slumping to the ground. Rich green grass flourished in the clearing, and the last thing he remembered before falling asleep was the sight of the animal quietly cropping the grass.
It was the cold that eventually woke him. Daylight had almost faded away. The cloud cover had disappeared entirely, and stars were already winking in the open sky above the clearing.
