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    Under the Mountain: Book III of The Sword of Bayne
    Under the Mountain: Book III of The Sword of Bayne
    Under the Mountain: Book III of The Sword of Bayne
    Ebook177 pages2 hours

    Under the Mountain: Book III of The Sword of Bayne

    By Ty Johnston

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    About this ebook

    Bayne kul Kanon has climbed the mountain and traveled to another world. He has learned the secrets of his past, and he has suffered for gaining such knowledge.

    He has been broken, the scars of a thousand wounds layering every inch of his body. But he wanders on, enraged.

    Returning to the world of Ursia, he forges ahead on another quest, a search for an old friend, a priest of the god Ashal.

    Yet Bayne now believes himself to be a god, a god of war, and he will brook no foolishness from mere mortals.

    None are safe who face the wandering warrior. Gladiators, politicians, soldiers, even priests and women and children and the old must give way before this terror striding across their lands.

    Only an aging wizard-priest and a warrior from another time might hold the keys to halting Bayne kul Kanon.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherTy Johnston
    Release dateApr 12, 2011
    ISBN9781458173027
    Under the Mountain: Book III of The Sword of Bayne
    Author

    Ty Johnston

    Originally from Kentucky, Ty Johnston is a former newspaper journalist. He lives in North Carolina with loving memories of his late wife.Blog: tyjohnston.blogspot.com

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      Book preview

      Under the Mountain - Ty Johnston

      Under the Mountain

      Book III of The Sword of Bayne

      by Ty Johnston

      Copyright 2011 by L. M. Press

      for Peake and Pendleton

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Dear reader

      Thank you for taking the time, and shelling out some change, to read this short novel. Under the Mountain is the third part of a three-part series of short novels collectively titled The Sword of Bayne. The first part is titled Bayne’s Climb and the second A Thousand Wounds, both currently available in digital formats.

      This series is somewhat experimental, utilizing and mixing together allegorical fiction, epic fantasy, Sword & Sorcery and a touch here and there of literary fiction. I hope this mixture works. You the reader are the final judge.

      Also, for those of you familiar with The Kobalos Trilogy and the adventures of my Kron Darkbow character, The Sword of Bayne takes place in the same world, but nearly two thousand years before the events of The Kobalos Trilogy. Bayne’s tale, as well as those of Kron Darkbow, are part of a longer saga, what I think of as The Ursian Chronicles.

      42 years After Ashal (A.A.)

      Part I: The Shepherd

      The mountain stood before him, and he stood before the mountain. He had been here once before, almost in the exact same spot. He still wore the same shirt of chain links, and he still carried a long, two-handed sword upon his back. As before, his muscles continued to bulge beneath the flesh of his sleeveless shirt, and his domed head glinted beneath the bright of the day’s sun.

      But that was all that was the same. Much had changed.

      The flesh of Bayne kul Kanon was no longer without blemish. Now he was a monstrosity to look upon, every inch of his skin layered in rows upon rows and lines upon lines of scar tissue, remainders of an otherworldly whipping at the urging of a mad god.

      His eyes, always shaded and hard, were now dark and sunken. Within the warrior’s visage was more than strength of body and mind, more than the steel of nerve it took to kill and wage war. Now there was a twinge of eldritch madness, of torture and pain and wrongdoing.

      Before this mountain stood not the same Bayne kul Kanon who had stood there once upon a time.

      Too, Bayne himself was not the only change to the scenery.

      At the base of a mountain sat what once had been a settlement so small it could quite not have been called a village. Bayne had thought of it as the village that was not a village. It was in ruins. What once had been a half dozen structures that had been little more than hovels were now skeletons of gray logs reaching for the sky. Here and there were the shattered remains of slate roofs and broken doors and hay so old and defiled as to be blackened.

      Even at a distance Bayne could make out the remains of the place. Yet he had visited the village that was not a village and spoken with one of its inhabitants not long ago. Perhaps weeks? The swordsman was not sure of the passage of time as he had traveled much, and bitterly had been unconscious during some of his sojourn. Regardless of any exactness about the passing of time, he had not been gone from this location so long that it could have fallen to ruin, and there were no recent signs of war that would lead one to believe the settlement had been ransacked.

      Still, whatever fate had befallen such a place, the mountain still stood tall, as if a sleeping giant watching all that went on below. At one time Bayne might have even smiled at the mountain, as if it were an old friend. But not now. There was no light remaining in his vision, no source of happiness or gratitude.

      His iron eyes roamed the fallen town and the cold, gray heights of the crags, then the warrior shrugged.

      There was nothing for him here. He had left behind a companion, the priestly Pedrague, on a ledge of the mountain, and he would seek the man out. Why? Bayne did not know. He no longer felt little sense of loyalty to his fellow. Perhaps Pedrague was his last mortal link to this world, and perhaps Bayne wished to sever that final tie. The swordsman’s feelings on the matter were a mystery to himself. But he would find Pedrague, tell the man of his recent exploits to another world, a mad world, and then be upon his way to whatever fate awaited him out in the wide expanses of this world.

      He shrugged again. It was time to go. He tromped toward what was left of the village that was not a village, expecting to find the familiar road that wound its way up the mountainside to where Bayne had left behind the priest.

      Bayne paused. The road. It had been a path of red bricks, and it had ran from a forest into the village that was not a village. Now there seemed little sign of it.

      He turned and looked back the way he had come.

      There was the forest, looking much as it had when he had last seen it, full of tall trees and green. There was an opening between several of the trees, an alley where the road had once meandered.

      The warrior squatted and stared at the ground. There was but short grass beneath his booted feet. He reached and clawed at the greenery with his bare hands. He did not have to tear long at the grass and dirt. There was the brick road right beneath him. It had been overgrown.

      Bayne stood and looked back toward the fallen village that was not a village.

      Time had passed here. How long, he did not know, but long enough that the road could be taken over by the wild. How long would that take? A year? More?

      Had he been gone from this world that long? It had seemed but days or weeks at most. And if he had been gone so long, would Pedrague still await him atop the mountain? Not likely.

      Whatever the case, there were no answers to be found here in the middle of a field atop a forgotten road. Bayne marched towards the town’s remains.

      He was approaching the first building, a structure that had fallen in upon itself, when movement caught the corner of his eye. The swordsman glanced in that direction.

      Between two large bushes stood a short sun-skinned man of many years, his body wrapped in dusty muslin robes and his head toweled in dark wrappings. In one hand he gripped a flint-tipped spear as if it were a walking staff. His other hand held a rope that straggled away behind the fellow.

      He stood still, starring directly at Bayne.

      Hello, there, the warrior said.

      The old man did not move other than to blink.

      There is no need to be frightened, Bayne said. I mean you no harm.

      The stranger lifted his head back and eyed the warrior, his gaze taking in more than the mere physicality of Bayne.

      Finally, That is a good thing. I thank you for it. I mean no disrespect, but your image is one of a bloodletter.

      Bayne slowly approached, making sure to keep his hands hanging at his side so as not to further present himself as a killer.

      A bleating noise alerted the warrior to a near animal, and his eyes soon proved his ears correct when a sheep hoofed its way from around behind the old man, the other end of the rope attached to a thin leather muzzle about the animal’s snout.

      The old shepherd leaned over and patted the sheep’s head. To the animal, he said, Yes, we are glad this big, tough man is not going to kill us, aren’t we?

      At a time not so long in the past, Bayne would have smiled upon seeing such a sight. Now he did not smile.

      The village, the swordsman said, motioning toward the near crumbling structures.

      The shepherd glanced back up at the warrior, then to the fallen buildings. Yes?

      How long has it been in this condition?

      With his spear hand, the shepherd rubbed at his chin as if thinking. His gaze twisted to the clear sky for a moment to give further evidence to the fact he was trying to remember, then he said, To my knowledge it has always been such.

      Do you live near here? Bayne asked.

      The shepherd jabbed a thumb along the grass-covered road toward the far woods. I have a shack in the forest.

      How long have you lived there?

      Again the other man rubbed at his chin and stared to the sky, but not for as long this time. I have been tending sheep along this mountain for a little more than a decade.

      "A decade?"

      Yes. The man nodded his head. I am sure of it. It will be eleven years come this winter.

      Bayne could hardly believe what he was being told. At least a decade had passed, likely more. Bayne had been in that other world, a world of mad people and mad kings, for more than a decade.

      Who is your patron? the warrior asked.

      The church, the shepherd said.

      Bayne wore a quizzical expression. What church?

      You haven’t heard of the church? the shepherd asked, shaking his head. Where have you been the last forty years?

      "Forty years? Bayne nearly choked on his own words, but then had other thoughts. Do you mean the Ashalics?"

      No, not that murderous lot, the shepherd said. I’m talking about the northern bunch, the Ashalites.

      Bayne nodded. He was familiar with both religions that had derived their beliefs from the god Ashal, a god whom Bayne had spoken with atop this same mountain he now stood near. But to Bayne’s knowledge, the two faiths had only existed about twenty years, since Ashal’s mortal form had been slain.

      After Verkanus went missing, the Trodans took over all this land, the shepherd explained, pointing with his spear along the tree- and mountain-strewn horizon. They deeded it to the Ashalites about twenty years back.

      Is there a local temple?

      Just the other side of the mountain, the shepherd said.

      Bayne’s gaze flowed along the rocky crags to the other mountains beyond. There was a string of high bluffs running north and south with this largest of mountains before him being central. He knew of and saw no path that would lead around the mountain.

      How does one get there? he asked of the other man.

      You go south around the mountain along an old goat path to where you will find a newer village, the shepherd said. From there a trail leads up into the heights. That way rises high, but eventually it will bring you down into a valley where the church temple rests. It is a remote spot, but the head priest there says he needs his solitude for some project on which he is working. It’s a fine valley, though, with a flat lake for drinking water and fishing, and the monks there have enough land to support themselves.

      Is that the only route?

      The shepherd jabbed his spear to the sky. Up the mountain there used to be a road that supposedly went over to the other side, but I’ve heard it has been blocked by rockslides for years and years.

      Bayne paused with further questions, giving himself time to think. He knew from experience that the road above indeed was blocked, at least at one point, and from there one would have to climb directly up the side of the mountain. It was a treacherous path, one Bayne had conquered before though he had no interest in doing so now. Why climb if there was an easier route? For that matter, why travel near the mountain at all when there was so much more of the world to see? What intrigued him was the Ashalite temple the other side of this mountain, and that was the same church of which Pedrague had been a priest. Perhaps someone there would know the whereabouts of Pedrague, if the man still lived. From what little the shepherd had told him, Bayne was beginning to believe he had been gone from this world for nearly twenty years. It was possible Pedrague no longer survived.

      There was only one way to find out.

      I thank you for your time, Bayne said with a nod, then he turned and trod past the old man and into waist-high brush.

      The shepherd waved to the warrior’s back. Good luck with wherever it is you’re going!

      Part II: The Game

      Bayne pushed his way through spiky brush to come out on the southwest corner of the mountain. He walked onto rocky ground with millions of pebbles and stones of all sizes beneath

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