Songweaver: Iron League Book 1

Songweaver

Iron League Book 1

DW JOHNSON

Copyright © 2018 by D. W. Johnson

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for brief quotations in a book review.

Printed in the United States of America

Cover Image: Marita Tathariel

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Dedicated to My Heavenly Father

A very special thank you to my daughter Dawn

for the love and joy she has brought into my life.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Other novels by DW Johnson

Darkwater

Xenkur Chronicles Volume 1

Shadowmage

Xenkur Chronicles Volume 2

Warden

Iron League Book 2

Rebel

Iron League Book 3

Amborlaine

Chapter 1

It's a Living

We seek your appearance with all haste.

Gray Star Tavern, Fallfell

That was all the note said. It arrived with three rings, one made of wood, one of iron, and one of stone.

Fallfell, Tomo said. That's way down south, other side of the Great Forest.

I know. Shar wondered why someone would send a message a hundred leagues to hire her. I'm good at what I do, yes, but not so famous as to be known throughout the lands.

It's time.

Shar took her place and surveyed the crowd. The inn filled this night. Every man stared at her. No, glaring at her with a lust, brought on by fantasies so shameful to border on the vulgar.

Perfect, Shar mumbled.

There is one immutable truth to the world. The woman remembered it each time she went up on stage. With men in a tavern, for that matter, men everywhere, the smaller her dress, the more coins would be thrown in her collection pail.

It may be sleazy, even obscene, but Shariana understood the number of crowns she took was based on how little she wore rather than how well she played.

The troupe started after dark, so the room was packed, and already many of the men had drunk past their body's ability to stay lucid. That too worked well in Shar's favor, for the more they drank, the less they cared how much they spent.

The other side to the liquid pouring out more profit was the comments screamed over the din of the bar. Nothing that had not been shouted at Shar before. It grew tiresome. The other problem occurred when she left to find a place to sleep. Without exception, she found one or two, sometimes more, of the braver and less savory characters waiting outside. Her scanty clothing and the cheap mead gave them bad ideas and poor judgment.

Most nights, the troupe played until either the owner signaled to quit or the place emptied. Here, both occurred together. Tomo, the owner of the Tall Dwarf tavern, waved his hands to signal the troupe to stop.

Only a few men still sat in the room, likely too drunk to stand. Instruments packed, Shar sought out Tomo for a glass of wine and payment. Tomo slid over a sweet wine and a gold crown. A single gold crown isn't much money for a night's work; the real money came from the collection pail sitting at the front of the stage. Shar split the coins with the other three players but still came away with nine silver and three gold crowns for herself. Enough to keep her from sleeping in an alley.

Shar had not built up a thirst for the wine. It was for wasting time. Slowly sipping the red sweetness would give those outside, waiting for her, time to sober up, wander off, or fall asleep. Not taking the time to savor the glass, would leave half a dozen drunk, sex-crazed men waiting for her on the other side of the door.

Shariana was not vain. But it was apparent, her looks were more alluring than average. Shar didn't have a swelled head; it was just a fact of nature.

Taller than average, fair-skinned, with long red hair and bright blue eyes, she turned many male and female heads. In her early twenties, her figure is in its prime. She had ample assets, as men say, and the way she dressed, it was natural to receive attention. Shar's exceptional features came from her mother, who had some Elven blood in her. She had a cream complexion and stunning appearance that all Elves held.

After an hour, Shar lifted her instruments and strapped on her sword 'Rhime.' The blade of the magical sword looked like a Glaive. It had a long square edge coming to a tip. Sharpened on both the short side and on the angle point.

On nights after a performance when she believed someone was waiting for her, she would also carry her Tetsubo. It was not the cumbersome version used by trolls and ogres, but a shorter, lighter form. Times like these, safe inside. Shar wondered why she carried weapons at all, and then, when accosted in the night, she thought she should have more.

A deep breath and out the tavern door, she went. The darkness was cold for this time of the year; the moon was full and high in the sky, lighting the night and making easy travel down the winding streets of Steelmire.

Shar can easily afford to stay at an inn, but, despite her occupation, she did not visit them unless she was playing. This is because they were filled with too many men and too much noise. Anyway, she missed her best and closest friend.

Shariana walked towards the stables, where her one faithful companion waited. Safir (Elvish for 'Wind') was her cohort's name, and no more intelligent animal existed. The stables were a fair distance, and even with the moon so bright, Shariana figured she would experience an interruption before arriving at the stalls. On cue, a man stepped out into her path just a few paces away.

That waz some right pre...y playin, ya done. The man slurred his words. Still, he was more sober than drunk. At the corner of her eye, another figure moved up from the right. The hair stood on the back of Shar's neck, the feeling someone was behind her.

Gentlemen, and I use that term loosely. Perhaps tonight is not a good night for this. The Tetsubo slid down out of her sleeve.

From her right, a man's voice, It's a perfect night. We were watchn ya, and we want...

This same scene had played in almost every town Shariana had visited. These events were because of her style. But she didn't believe they were any fault of hers. When you see it from Shar's view, just because her manner of dress is provocative doesn't mean she is some sex-crazed woman looking to bed every man she sees.

Yes, with a sigh, I am aware of what you want. Shar tightened her grip on the Tetsubo, And here is what you need.

Shariana swung the wooden weapon up in front of her like a pendulum, striking the man in an uppercut. In the moonlight, she could see the glow of teeth leaving his mouth. Shar crouched, stepped back, and swung the weapon under at knee height, catching the man behind her and tripping him. Not expecting the blow, he fell backward into the dirt, knocking himself out cold. That brought her into striking range to drive the Tetsubo into the man's gut on her right, knocking the air from his lungs. Shar watched him double over; she swung overhand and brought it down on the back of his head. Shar heard a noise and realized it was not the weapon that cracked.

The fight was over. The men would wake in the morning with the worst hangovers of their miserable lives.

It was a simple task for the woman to make three drunken misfits eat dirt. Shar's father taught her that fighting was the last choice, but when you do battle, give everything you have and make sure you win. Shariana's mother gave her striking features; her father gave her something different, skills to beat anyone in combat. And he gave her his last name, Fury.

****

How can I help you, constable? Shire Reeve was what passed for law in Steelmire. Shar understood why he was there. The men last night had woken up with fewer teeth and severe headaches and made up a story about how she looted them and left them for dead.

What is your name, Miss?

Shariana Fury. My friends call me Shar.

Lady Fury, something happened near here last night; someone said they witnessed a minstrel in the vicinity.

And of course, you thought to look in the stables for one, Shar said with sarcasm.

Ahem... Well... The men tell a story about how someone robbed and beat them.

Shar knew this wouldn't end well. She'd spend a few nights in jail, have her possessions confiscated, including Safir, and then be kicked out of town with nothing, or worse, sold into slavery. Of course, she could knock the constable upside the head and make a run for it. Shar had a better way to ease out of Steelmire.

I'm ready to answer any questions you have, Shire Reeve. This is where her femininity came into play. She ran her hand across his chest. You don't mind if I whistle while I pack, do you?

I... Well, I suppose not. The Shire Reeve looked somewhere other than her eyes when he answered.

That is what Shariana expected and wanted. She began whistling while the constable told the story of what happened last night.

The man saw what he wanted to see. A beautiful young woman, a half-dressed minstrel, alone and helpless. His eyes told him that.

Shariana Fury was a minstrel. People called her profession a Songweaver. She started singing songs and telling stories when she was a child.

However, that was only half of it. Shariana was not a typical Songweaver. She possessed hidden talents as well. Her mother taught Shar the art of Bardic magic. She taught Shar to infuse her words and her music with spells, creating many effects on herself or those around her with no one knowing.

Imbuing magic into songs, or in this case, her whistling had a profound effect on the man standing next to Shar. However, he had no knowledge anything was happening. Shariana's magical whistle complete, the man simply stood with open mouth, frozen in time. He had an expression on his face that was a cross between confusion and ecstasy.

To weave incantations into her songs and stories was physically draining and would leave Shar weak if used too much. That is why she did not use it in songs when performing. It would be too exhausting. So instead, Shar relied on a skimpy dress, smiles, and a handful of winks during those times to gain the coin she wanted.

Sorry, Shire Reeve, I must take my leave now. Lifting herself into the saddle, Shar headed out the stable doors.

Perhaps if I return next spring. Maybe then, the town drunkards can be fewer, and you may be more a constable than criminal.

Shariana realized the Shire Reeve caught nothing of what she said. But she felt better getting in the last word. The spell Shar placed on him locked his brain from the material world. Until the spell wore off, he would stand there in a comatose state.

Safir needed no prodding. The horse headed south, out of town. Shar jiggled her money purse, smiling at all the coins she had collected.

Coins from the previous night, the silver crowns she had taken from her three attackers, and the newly lifted purse from the constable. Not a bad take for a single night's work in this run-down hellhole of a town.

Shariana did not consider herself a thief. If she gave it any thought, which she ceremoniously did not. It probably was stealing; a court would say so. But Shar looked at it differently. Taking the men's purses last night was compensation for her troubles. If she had not acted quickly and won the fight, it would have been bad. And, just now, taking the constable's money was payment for Shar's time, which is precious.

Besides, they were men. Foul-mouthed, illiterate men could not recognize a decent thought if they were slapped by one on the face.

****

It was a beautiful day for traveling. The rain of spring had been absent for two nights, and the roads had dried out. A gentle breeze blew from the north with the sweet scent of Island Black Cherry.

One signpost pointed southwest, the paint faded and chipped. It read Winterrock. That city was on the other side of the mountains, near the Blackwater River, where the Blood Clan waged their stupid and useless war. Also, home to the Knights of the Rose. And although the paladins created a wonderful city, they were not accepting of Songweavers, labeling them vagabonds. The other sign, with a fresh coat on the lettering. It pointed due south and read Burrafirth.

Burrafirth would be the first in a list of towns she would pass through if she were going all the way to Fallfell.

What say you, Safir? Should we head south to the Great Forest?

Safir gave a little whinny and a nod and headed down the southern road.

Safir and Shariana had been down so many roads over just a few years. Since the Clan Wars ended, they had been free to go anywhere they wished. But, unfortunately, not everywhere was safe to travel alone. Even someone with Shar's talents could be waylaid. Since they left the northern regions, Gedia, the goddess of music, had been good to Safir and her. Oh, they had run into a minor issue now and again, but so far, nothing her skills could not handle.

In the distance, perhaps only a league, there was black smoke rising. Probably a caravan has stopped for the night. She would welcome company and a warm fire. Maybe they would trade a song or two for dinner.

****

Several caravan carts circled two campfires. There were men and women at work with various chores. Shar heard children laughing.

Children, Safir. A good sign.

Someone in the camp yelled, Rider coming in!

Hold, young lady. A large man with an equally enormous belly held up his hand and shouted. How can we be of service to you?

Perhaps, kind sir, I can be of service to you.

The man blushed. Whoa, now, girl. We're not looking for women of that kind.

This happened often. With her beauty and her clothes, some would think her a harlot. She held up her mandolin. No, kind sir, there is a song in my heart and a story on my lips. That was what one said when you were a Songweaver. It put people at ease and lets them know you are an entertainer.

The man laughed. Oh, well, pardon my mistake. He was still blushing. Please join us. We're sitting for supper.

Another man wearing cleric's robes stopped the two before they could get any closer to the camp. Please, dear, put on this kirtle, he smiled and blushed. We have children here.

The dress was itchy, ill-fitting, and uncomfortable, but Shar understood the priest's meaning. Children didn't need to be influenced by what she wore.

One child ran to her, Play us a song?

Leaning down, Shar addressed the youngster on her level, Of course, little one, but first, you must eat all your supper. She shouted joy and ran to her mother.

We have plenty, the priest said. Please join us.

Shar enjoyed her last meal several days ago, and she was famished. The cooking pot was boiling over, and it smelled like burned wood, but to refuse such an invitation would insult the hosts.

It turned out to be rabbit stew, though the bowl contained several unrecognizable pieces of food. The meal was pleasant, and everyone made light conversation.

There were the standard queries. Where did she come from? Where was she going? Had she seen any trouble? Her favorite question, which this time came from a young lad, Why is someone so beautiful wandering around in the wilderness? She always smiled and giggled a little when asked that. Does the question infer you have to be homely to tour the land?

The meal ended, and Shar whipped up a song, and then another. After washing the plates and cups, the kids went to bed. Then the real questions began.

Traveling alone? the priest began. I know the Clan Wars have been over for some time. Even so, I don't think that is safe in these lands?

I have skills that keep me safe.

I have seen your 'skills,' young woman, the priest shook a finger at Shar, I would think they would lead you into more trouble than keep you safe.

I understand your message. She left her answer at that. She didn't have to explain herself to any man.

Are you headed to Burrafirth? one woman asked.

I am, madam.

And where do you come from, originally?

This one question bothered Shariana the most. Because she couldn't say, I am from one specific town or even one kingdom. Well, I'm not from anywhere.

The woman looked aghast. Dear heart, everyone is from somewhere. Look at us; everyone here is from Basinwell. We are all family. From grandfather Eir over there too little 'sis' who I just put to bed. We're traveling to Burrafirth to join with more of our kin.

Another woman spoke. You must be from somewhere, dear. I mean, where were you born? Where is your family? Where are your people?

I'm sorry, madam, I mean no disrespect, but I do not know where I was born and my family... She pulled the sword Rhime out of its sheath, ...They are all dead. This sword is the only thing left of my family. That is where the questions ended, and an awkward silence began.

Everyone stared into the fire. The dancing of the flame, followed by an occasional crack of wood, were the only sounds. Finally, after the fire burned for some time, the big man with the belly spoke. Well, young woman, you are headed to Burrafirth. And so are we. Perhaps you want to go with us.

That is a kind invitation, but I move better on my own. But, of course, that was a lie, and whether these people realized it, they did not say. Not that she could ride faster; It was that Shariana preferred traveling alone.

Yes, of course, we understand, the man said. Please stay the night. You can lay out your bedroll under that wagon. It should be comfortable unless it rains.

Shariana tied Safir to the end of a cart. She lay the bedroll down, so her head was just a few inches away from the horse's hooves. It looked dangerous and stupid if someone watched her lie down that way, but the horse was an intelligent steed and would never step on her. Being this close to the horse's front legs meant Safir could wake Shar if the animal didn't like something.

****

I don't care what you think, Rassler. That is how I want it.

Rassler Mallor knew better than to argue any with the monarch. Too many times, he saw her temper. Though she was a generous ruler of the people, she could be harsh when she didn't get her way. He often witnessed the executioner's blade fall on anyone who dared to get and stay on the wrong side of Queen Collgard.

Yes. Your Highness. Rassler bowed and left the audience chamber.

The doors of the Queen's royal chamber closed, and Rassler let out a breath. He had tried in vain to dissuade his Queen from her current course of action.

Rassler knows that uniting the two kingdoms would further the Queen's search for supremacy. Still, he also knew it would make some influential people take a closer look at the kingdoms. Something Rassler could ill afford. He had a profitable business in the black-market slave trade and didn't want to see any of that profit decrease.

Rassler stopped the first servant he saw. Find Nimien. I wish to see him at once.

Rassler's chambers were in the castle's rear, and he preferred it. Isolated so far from the Queen and her court allowed him to move about without notice. His chambers were small, yet Rassler did not mind the inconvenience. He did not intend to stay in these quarters any longer than necessary. Once safely ensconced in his bed-chamber, Rassler waited for Nimien.

Nimien was one of the servants in the Queen's court and of no real significance to her Majesty other than running errands.

Rassler used the servant often. Years back, Rassler had caught Nimien stealing from the Queen's private chamber. If Rassler had turned him in, they would have cut off his hands. Instead, Rassler used that incident to make Nimien his personal lackey.

Sire, if her Majesty blends her kingdom with the Duchy of Bradian, she would control the countryside from the mountains to the sea. Nimien began pacing. That would cut the eastern kingdoms in half. Border guards would not allow slaves or slave traders to cross the kingdoms. How would you get slaves from the north down south?

I understand that, Nimien. That is why we must find a way for the Queen's plans to fail.

Rassler unconsciously played with the black obsidian ring on his finger. "Go to Shimmerhold; tell Gael that I need