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    Lord of A Thousand Souls
    Lord of A Thousand Souls
    Lord of A Thousand Souls
    Ebook236 pages3 hours

    Lord of A Thousand Souls

    By Barbara Bretana

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    His father murdered, his mother abandoning him to the winners, Merwin is the half-blood grandson of the Lord of the Elves. Raised not as a Prince but as a stable boy, he must learn to hide his anger and pride lest he suffer the same fate as his father. As he nearly reaches his manhood, his liege lord and wizard send him on a quest to retrieve a special mare, a Fae mare of unsurpassed beauty, speed and magic. But she is more than mare, more than magic and will be used to open the Gates of the Elven Realm by her blood spilt upon the dolmens of Merwin's former home.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBarbara Bretana
    Release dateDec 13, 2014
    ISBN9781310622052
    Lord of A Thousand Souls
    Author

    Barbara Bretana

    I've been writing and reading since the age of three. Anyone who knows me knows I'm nuts about horses, reading, dogs and painting. Went to school in Vermont, Castleton State and Pratt/Phoenix School of Design and found out college wasn't for me. Worked with Developmentally Disabled and loved it. Went back to school for my CNA license and decided to try writing for a career as I keep breaking things like my rotator cuff, discs and whatnot. Getting bucked off your horse, well, I don't bounce like I used to. I'm the one in the brown coat.

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      Book preview

      Lord of A Thousand Souls - Barbara Bretana

      Lord of A Thousand Souls

      Barbara Bretana

      Copyright 2014 by Barbara Bretana

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook 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 recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Dedication

      I dream of many things and somewhere, I believe they come true. To all those people whose dreams are waiting to prove we were right. Never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never---in nothing, great or small, large or petty.

      Churchill. Oct. 29, 1941

      This is the thing that I was born to do.

      St. 100

      Samuel Daniel

      O Liberty! white Goddess! Is it well

      To leave the gates unguarded?

      The Unguarded Gates

      Thomas Bailey Aldrich

      Unspeakable, O Queen, is the sorrow you bid me renew.

      Eclogues Virgil II, l. 3

      Unwillingly, I left your land, O Queen.

      Ibid, l. 460

      Chapter One

      The man-at-arms led me by the hand into the Great Hall in silence. When I attempted to speak he hushed me by cupping his hand over my mouth and gave me a harsh look that frightened me. We passed heavy braziers on the walls that sputtered and smoked, filled the dank air with greasy smoke. Our booted feet made little noise in the dried out rushes that covered the slabs of flat, fitted rock on the floor. Heavy woolen tapestries hung from every available surface and covered doorways and halls where the wind behind them barely moved their folds. It was a poor castle such as I had ever been raised in.

      We trod a long central aisle down to a raised dais that held a score of high backed chairs occupied by older men in heavy leather, wolf furred caps and swords larger than I was. The man in the center chair was just frosted with gray; he had bright bold eyes of blue, was clean shaven with strong lines that bracketed his mouth. On his forehead, he wore a thin gold circlet with a red stone in the center. I knew him; he was the King that had murdered my father on the battlefield.

      The soldier bowed to all seven of the seated nobles and pressed his hand on my shoulders. I resisted and he hissed at me. Kneel before the King, he spat and I set my lips and shook my head, staring instead at the large windows behind them, the tall candelabras set with hundreds of lit wax candles and made of gold and bronze; the squadron of soldiers lining the back wall complete with pikes, swords and bows. A priest in blue cassock with a large cross hanging from his waist stood near a door opening into a brightly lit room where music swelled through in glorious chords.

      The soldier kicked my feet out from under me and I fell face first into the stone step, felt my lip split, my cheek tear and swell as blood poured from my face. I lay there stunned for a moment while quick tears sprang from my eyes and then rolled over and climbed to my feet, standing slowly with my hand pressed to the blood. The soldier looked at me in astonishment.

      He cuffed me on the back of the head and I sat down, my eyes unfocused and I could barely understand him as he cursed me. Merwin, son of Etheron of Valderia, the one with the crown spoke in words oddly accented. I shook my head, held my hand to the cut on my face to stem the blood. My hands were soon covered.

      Sergeant, does he understand our speech?

      The man-at-arms cleared his throat, Aye, sire. The brat speaks at least five.

      The man stood, pushed his cape back and descended to my level. He took my face in his hand and lifted me to my feet so that my toes barely touched the ground.

      Do you hear me, Merwin Von Valkenberg? Your father has perished on the end of my sword; your mother has fled to the Forest of Gothis along with what is left of your holdings and fiefs. Your Barons have given you over to me as hostage for their loyalties and sureties. You will be taught and trained as a member of my royal household as a prisoner of war. Will you give your bond?

      I spread my one eye open wide, the other had swelled shut and blood obscured my vision.

      My mother is alive? She left me to be captured and taken away? My voice quivered but then, I was only six years old and had barely learned to hold a short sword.

      He let me fall to my knees and I struggled up again; could not seem to find the strength to stand on my own.

      She begged me to spare your life, teach you how to be a warrior, swore she would not raise an army to retake your family’s estates nor put you back on the path to the throne. If I let you live.

      I do not believe you, I whispered and he reached into the pocket of his cape to pull out the thick gold chain that was ever at my mother’s throat. From it hung the disk of gold carved into the shape of a mounted warrior holding aloft not a sword but a faerie wand.

      He threw it at my feet and I reached for it only to have the sergeant snatch it out of the air before I could take it.

      No sign of your former office will exist, my lord Prince, the King returned. Sergeant Althorn, you will escort the boy Merwin to the North Tower and provide him with a room one level above the foundations and teach him the rudiments of horse husbandry.

      Aye, Sire. Get up, boy and follow me.

      I climbed to my feet with his help, his hand lifted the back of my tunic and dragged me forth out of the Great Hall through one of the doorways behind a tapestry of a great golden dragon whose furled wings sheltered a lovely maiden with ringlets of yellow hair.

      We traveled down dark, long dank hallways turning corners, climbing up one level only to descend two until I was no longer even conscious but being dragged by my shoulders to be thrown into a room little better than a cell.

      I did not wake till late the next day, on the floor in a small pool of blood under my cheek. I could only see out of one eye, the other was caked with dried blood, my cheekbone swollen, and my mouth sore. I sat up, planted my heeled boots in the straw and looked around. The walls were rounded stone with several arrow slits, one door of oaken boards some four inches thick and bound with iron latches. A cot lay in one corner covered with a mattress stuffed with straw; a three legged stool and a chest filled with rude clothes and rat eaten blankets.

      I found a pitcher of scummy water and a cup half filled with wine that had turned to vinegar. I went to the door and lifted the latch, jiggled it but was not surprised when it did not open. I tried to kick it but my booted foot made neither dent on it nor even an echo in the hallway.

      I found no exits, no escape route. I could do nothing but sit and wait; not even pacing would avail me of anything.

      I spent a few hours asleep on the cot and when I woke, a woman clothed in a severe gray dress with silver fur on neckline and cuffs, her hair bound in a Hennin was in the room with an armed guard behind her. She had a basket on one arm, turned her head to the guard and ordered him to bring a table into my room.

      He opened the door, barked an order and barred the door behind her. She handed the basket to him, came over to me and inspected my face.

      Stand up, my lord, she ordered and the guard protested.

      He is naught a lord, Dame Silver. He is to be called Merwin, nothing more by order of His Majesty.

      Can you stand, Merwin? She returned her attention to me. Her eyes were pale silver, her hair as black as a crow’s wing under the white wimple. She had no welcoming smile.

      I turned my face towards her so that I could see her with my good eye.

      How old are you, boy?

      Who are you, lady? I swung my legs over and my head swam. She pushed me back with a hand on my velvet covered chest, her hands touched the wounds on my face as the door opened and two more armed guards carried in a rough table made from sawn planks.

      Put my things on it and bring me hot water and warm food.

      Yes, Dame Silver.

      She pursed her lips as she studied my wounds. This needs stitching and cleaning, she tasked. I believe your cheek may be broken.

      She pushed on my face bones and I felt them shift. Pain flared through my head and I whimpered before I could stifle it. I grabbed her hand and panted hoarsely. Stop. Don’t touch me.

      She went to the basket, rummaged through it until she found a small green bottle with a cork lid. Drink this, she popped off the top.

      You must think me mind addled, Damas, if you believe I will take anything from your hands. You are all my enemies, I spat.

      Drink, boy, or we will force you, the guard threatened.

      It is only a pain medicine, she said. It will let me treat you without hurting you.

      I do not want your aid. I scooted back against the wall and away from her. She sighed, told the guards to hold me and no matter how hard I struggled, they held me down and poured the contents of the little bottle down my throat. She lifted me onto the table and held me while my head whirled as everything became fuzzy and distorted. Sounds were distorted, voices became a jumbled mumble and their faces loomed over mine like the swollen moon. My face lolled back in her hands, the rest of my body refused to obey my commands.

      Hot water bathed my face and rivulets of bloody water dripped onto my neck and hair. The woman stitched my cheek and I felt only a tiny pricking as she mended the cuts with precise, neat stitches. Pulling out a small pair of shears, she cut off my clothes till I was totally naked. Laying aside my velvet tunic, silken kirtle, satin braes and leather leggings with soft woolen hosiery, she folded them neatly in a pile.

      By the time she had finished bathing my body of its sweat, blood and dirt, the water was cool and I shivered in the chill room. It took three of them to dress me in the rough homespun tunic and short pants, thin slippers and half cloak.

      The smell of food roused me a little and I sat up while the lady fed me hot soup, tea and rye bread, a meal not even served to my father’s pigs. I had no will left, I was a lax doll that she played with until she was satisfied, laid me back upon the rude bed, loosely tied me to it and left me alone.

      Chapter Two

      The next time I woke it was to the rough shaking of a man’s hand. He wore a tight tunic of leather with homespun braes and heavy boots. He smelled of the stables and wisps of straw stuck to his woolens and hair. I am Leam, sent to teach you how to care for the horses. Follow me.

      Will I break my fast? I asked sleepily, forgetting where I was.

      He widened his dark eyes and laughed. When we are done with chores, we may eat. Get up, or the Captain of the Guard will send soldiers to drag us out.

      I do not care. I turned my back to him and burrowed under the covers, tried to go back to sleep. He pulled me off the cot and I fell to the stone floor, banging both my knees and elbows. Finally, he dragged me out of the cell by the back of my neck.

      I had no time to study the route through the manor house to the stables. This place was small, housed only a few dozen riding mounts, mostly ladies palfreys and coach horses. I saw nothing of the King’s war mounts, tourney animals or his knights’ destriers, nor royal race horses or brood mares.

      The stalls were mostly box stalls, heavily laden with straw and there were also tie stalls occupied by heavy coach animals. A few turned curious eyes on me. I heard the nickering of the studs, the comforting noises as teeth ground away at hay, the jingling of harnesses, meowing of cats and the rustling of rats through the bedding.

      Where are the King’s stables? I asked.

      These are the King’s Stables, the man returned and he scowled as I laughed.

      This barn is poorer than my father’s woodsman, I sneered. Where are the Knights mounts, the war horses, the race horses?

      All you need to worry about is how to load a wheelbarrow and use a pitchfork. He shoved me till I fell to my knees. I expect you to start on this one and have them all done by nuncheon. If you want to eat.

      I refused to move or pick up the fork. He clouted me on the head and I went flying backwards to land on my rear end where I refused to move further. After an hour of staring mulishly at his feet, we marched back to the cell and he locked me in without food and only a bucket of water. He came back next morn to repeat the lesson with much the same results.

      By the third day, I was so hungry that I had begun to chew on the straw from the floor. When he walked me to the stables, I could barely move and was weak from hunger. He placed the handle of the fork in my grip and hesitantly, I opened the stall door and stood there.

      What do I do? I asked in a low voice.

      Fork the clean straw to the edges and pick out the piles of dung and the wet. When you have found all the dirt, bank the sides with clean fresh and restock more flakes from a fresh bale in the center.

      In a half hour, I had loaded a wheelbarrow and blisters had formed on both palms. As I finished with that one, he sent me on to the next. The horse inside was nervous and threatened to kick me but I had enough experience to avoid that danger.

      By early afternoon I had done six stalls and my hands were a bloodied mess; I was exhausted. I pushed the last wheelbarrow to the pile and had to use my entire weight to tip it. Flipping, the handles clipped me on my sore cheek. I saw a burst of lights and remember little more than the shit pile coming up to meet me. Boy, you are getting to be a regular customer of mine, the woman’s familiar voice sucked me out of a nightmare as I opened my eyes on the walls of my tower cell and her unsmiling face.

      Today, she wore a lemon yellow dress with a six inch wide ribbon of white and gold brocade around her bodice and down her long, winged sleeves and trailing hem. Lemon colored leather slippers peeked out from under her dress folds. Around her waist was a thick silk belt that hung to her knees and held a bunch of keys and a medicine pouch. I reached up my left hand and found that both hands had been wrapped with thin linen strips, my cheek had been treated with liniment of witch hazel to bring down the new swelling. ≧How do you feel?

      Hurts.

      If I were you, boy, I would do what they want and not incur their wrath. They can make your stay here miserable or tolerable.

      I gave her a sardonic look. Mistress, I am the son of a Prince, an heir to Kings. I do not expect to be treated as a slave but a valued hostage.

      You are hostage to a House destroyed, with no power or bargaining force. I would suggest you swallow your pride and become faceless as a mouse; invisible as a shadow at dusk, as unnoticeable as a serf. You will survive that way.

      I inclined my head. Your words of wisdom are noted, Mistress.

      She studied me. How old are you?

      Six. Seven next Christ’s mass.

      You were born on Christmas Day?

      Yes.

      Are you a Christian? Do you attend services?

      I attended High Masses with my mother and father every Sunday.

      Do you wish to attend here?

      Do your priests here worship the one true God?

      "I will ask His Majesty if the Priest will allow you to participate. Tomorrow is Sunday. I will send suitable raiment for your attendance. You are excused today and tomorrow from your chores in the stables.

      Sundays you may attend Mass, Saturdays, you will be tutored by Sergeant Belog in swords play and archery. She rose to leave.

      Mistress?

      Yes?

      I would like to learn herbage and healing skills. From you.

      That is not up to me. The King has set your schedule.

      She knocked on my door and the guard let her out. I could hear the locks engage after she left me. Not long after that, menservants brought hot tea, cheese and biscuits, a bowl of stewed rabbit with wizened pieces of vegetables and a mug of mulled cider. They did not stay long nor did they leave me any metal utensils, just a wooden spoon that would be of no use in scraping at the stones of my wall. I was also quite sure that digging my way through the wall would only bring me into another section of the castle and not an outside avenue.

      When the same man returned at the next quarter hour, he brought me clean padded jerkin, leather braes and boots intended for riding with flat heels and knee high with cuffs that rolled over. They were for

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