Koen Sample

As I finish editing Noonday in the North (book three of the Absolution of the Morning Star Series), I’ve decided to take a little detour before continuing with book four, Destiny of the Daystar. Don’t worry, I am not leaving Lucardia. I’m only deviating momentarily from the main storyline to explore the three-year disappearance of Erikson’s father, Koen the Gray, before Erikson was born. This new novel will be called Koen, and although it takes place in the Absolution of the Morning Star world, it will be a stand-alone novel that I hope to traditionally publish. As that could take a year or more, I want to get Koen written and start querying before continuing on with the Absolution of the Morning Star series.

Koen will be a grim tale, as I’ve mentioned in some of my blogs, but it is an important story to tell and will explain the world that Erikson grew up in and perhaps offer a glimmer into some of the mysteries of Erikson’s birth.

I always like to have a sample of my work available on my website, so please enjoy a preliminary draft of Koen’s first chapter.

Cheers!

Chapter 1

Koen stepped from the forest hedge into the swirl of flurries. It was the first squall of the season, and the snow was not yet a danger, just a nuisance. Confident none were around to see his face, Koen lowered the hood of his wolfskin cloak and let the refreshing flakes pepper his black hair. The fur, though warm, made his head itch, a torture he had endured for several days straight. Koen rubbed the cold flakes into his scalp for some relief and then replaced the hood.

Koen had to be cautious. Blackdown would send men to look for him, men that knew him well. He had a good head start, and it was unlikely they would catch up to him now, but he should remain a faceless stranger to all he passed so no one could point a finger. Though, with his skin dirtied by the road’s dust and his beard grown full, he doubted even Rachel would recognize him.

Koen sighed and looked back to the frost-nipped pines. It had been three weeks since he left Blackdown, and in that time, he had traveled some four hundred miles, all of it cold, difficult, and lonely.

“Well, there’s no turning back now. Right, Cyrus?”

The black Luenwell destrier shook its reins.

“I don’t know why we came here either,” he looked to the gray sky, “but I search for something miraculous, and what better place to start than the vast land of mystery beyond the Great Step.”

Cyrus snorted and scuffed his hoof.

Koen laughed and rubbed the horse’s neck. “I know. I’m crazy. Let’s see if we can’t find you somewhere good to graze, huh?” He scanned the horizon. “That tower there will do nicely for the night.” He clicked, and Cyrus continued into the wind-swept field.

Koen shielded his eyes from the snow as he scanned the top of the fortified structure. There was nothing particular about it, just a simple hundred-foot-tall turret tower. It had some simple defenses, but its builders erected it more to watch than fight. On the other side of the building was a three-hundred-foot drop known as the Great Step. The world beyond this ridge was no longer Lucardia, just thousands of miles of uncharted tundra and desert called the Wastelands.

The ancients had built these watchtowers in five-mile intervals stretching 800 miles from the Adriel Mountains to the north down to the volcanic Badlands to the south. The span allowed a continuous unobstructed view and clear signaling in case of trouble. No one knew who built the towers or why, but Lucardia had always feared the mystery of the Wastelands and thus kept close watch. Even now, Nornish Knights manned the southernmost towers near the oasis city of Scorchaven, the Wastelands’ only habitation. The knights’ vigilance was more out of tradition than need, and the post was considered a punishment. But this far north, the centuries of quiet left most of the ancient structures abandoned and crumbling. This one was no exception. Hundreds of years of freeze and thaw had left its mark, and a crack threatened to split the stone tube in two.

Cyrus snorted.

“Stop complaining. I know it’s not inviting, but it will get cold tonight.”

Koen dismounted, undid his bedroll, saddle bags, and sword, and placed them next to a dead tree. He peeled some bark away and tested the dryness of the wood. Any fuel was a luxury this close to the step, and this old tree would do nicely for his night’s fire.

Koen then unsaddled Cyrus, much to the horse’s joy, and gave him a little slap on its backside. “Go and have fun before it gets dark.”

The destrier clip-clopped away.

“But don’t go too far. We’re in wolf country.”

The horse snorted and began eating some clover.

Koen moved his things into the tower. Long ago, someone had stripped the door from the hinges, which wasn’t necessarily bad as it let in some fresh air to keep out the rot. The circular room was empty but for a ring of blackened stones. He knelt and felt the ash. Unsurprisingly, other travelers had taken refuge, but he wasn’t looking for company. A bed of coals could smolder for days. This ash was cold. Koen nodded and looked around the room. It was dry, free of debris, and there were no raccoon droppings. It wasn’t Blackdown, but as the evening winds howled an escape from the darkness to the east, it would be his palace for the night.

Koen got his camp in order and set a fire within the stones. The flurries made the wood damper than he had hoped, and it smoked horribly, but with some coaxing, the flame spit and sputtered. Koen stood back and watched the smoke snake up the tower. Confident the flame would take, he followed the smoke’s climb up the spiral stairs to the parapet.

With the tower’s high perch on the edge of the Great Step’s plateau, the view forward stretched for more than twenty miles to the curve of the Earth. It was a desolate tundra landscape but still beautiful. The short Autumn was in full swing, and the land was red in one last show before winter.

Koen squinted. Just barely visible, where the sky became purple, was a series of upright stones. He nodded. “Just like the books said.” He leaned out into the wind to get a view of the cliff. “Now, how are we going to get down there?” He whistled at the sight. “Well, I guess that will be tomorrow’s worry.”

Koen looked left. A twin tower was roughly five miles north. Behind were the white points of the Adriel Mountains, orange in the light of dusk. He looked south- wind-swept grass and another tower.   

Koen’s eyes locked onto some movement. About a mile down a meandering path were four dark forms. He looked back at the smoke billowing out the tower’s windows and knew they had spotted him.

“Damn.” He went to the other side of the parapet and whistled down to Cyrus. The horse looked up from his feast. “We’ve got company.” Cyrus shook his head and trotted over to the tower.

Koen hurried down the steps and took up his sword. He glanced out the tower’s entrance to see the four horsemen approaching at a full trot. They were eager, which didn’t bode well for Koen. He was halfway between Northfall and Edgewind, both about a two-day ride away. He was in prime bandit country, and no one would come to help, no matter how loud he shouted.

Koen looked at his sword’s hilt. He had rushed out of Blackdown without considering trading his blade for a less grandiose sword. With an ivory grip, gold gilt on the pommel and cross guard, and flowery filigree down the fuller, it screamed of wealth. It had been a gift from his father, and emperors weren’t known for gifting utilitarian weapons. Should he hide the temptation of wealth and greet these men unarmed? Koen focused on the horsemen. They were armed but not armored. In a fight, he had a chance. He pulled the sword from the scabbard and stepped out.

The white-bearded man in the lead grinned, showing a gold tooth. “Hale be thou, stranger. How fare ye this blustery night?”

“I’m well.” Koen eyed the other three horsemen as they wrapped around him. Koen stepped back towards the tower’s entrance. He glanced at their hands to be sure they remained free of their swords. “May I help you, gentlemen?” One of the men moved to pet Cyrus. “Hey!” Koen pointed his sword at the man. “Don’t touch my horse.”

“Easy now, stranger.” The bearded man motioned for the other man to back away. “Let’s not get ornery so soon after a greeting. He means your horse no harm. Toon is young, and it’s not every day one sees such a fine stallion.”

“It’s rude to touch another man’s horse without permission.”

“Yes, your right. Toon apologizes, don’t you, Toon?”

The man nodded.

“It is a Luenwell Destrier, yes?”

“Yes, and as a warhorse, he tends to bite strangers.”

“I suppose that makes sense. We thank you for the warning.”

“What do you men want? It screams of banditry riding up unannounced at dusk. I warn you, I’m no stranger to the road and will put up a fight stronger than I’m worth.”

“You misunderstand. We saw the smoke of your fire and wondered if we may join you. Most feel the warmth of a crackling hearth is wasted on one.”

“You don’t change your tune merely because you see I can bite, do you?”

“It’s been a cold and wet day, and we’ve been riding hard. That is all… I swear.”

“I’m a solitary sort of fellow who prefers to be left alone with my thoughts.”

“Clearly, but we only wish to warm our hands and then will be on our way. We are rushing to make it to Northfall by the day’s end tomorrow and plan to ride through the night. It seems to me a warm supper would give us energy for that journey, and in these endless fields, a fire is a luxury too good to pass.”

“There are forests just a few miles to the west with plenty of free-standing timber in want of a flint’s spark.”

“It will be dark before we get there.” A wolf howled in the distance. “These are savage lands and the forest full of beasts. You would send us away into the wilderness to be pounced upon by wolves?”

“Perhaps.”

“You don’t look like that kind of man.”

“You’d be surprised what kind of man I am.”

“We do not wish to impose.” The man’s eyes molested the fire. “We are just cold. I see you are wary of strangers, and do not blame you. The times have reared cruel men. What if we were to leave our weapons out here with our horses? Then may we share your warmth?”

“I could make quick work of four unarmed men.”

“Clearly. Hence, my offer.”

“Maybe it will be I who robs you this night.”

“I see no malice in your heart. You’re wary of us, yet you have not shooed us away.”

“Yet.” Koen looked between the four and back to the fire.

“We aren’t heathens and will kindly reward you for your hospitality. We’ve got a skin of good brandy from Glassglen that will ease the sores of a long day’s ride,” he pointed to one of his companions, “and Gerrit there has several jackrabbits ready to be dressed out and stuck on a spit.”

The man held up the rodents.

“You see? Five fat ones for five men. Our snares were a prophet and gave us a gift to bear to our future host.”

Koen’s belly rumbled. He rested his sword on his shoulder and ran his tongue over his teeth. “Very well. We have a deal, but I sleep in this tower alone this night. There will be no sloth after the bellies are full. Understood?”

“Understood.”

“Come on then. Let’s get out of this wind.”

The man nodded to the others. They dismounted and brought their rabbits and brandy with them. Koen carefully watched each man as they passed into the tower to ensure they kept their word. All appeared to be unarmed except for their eating knives. Could they really be simple men not yet accustomed to the change in the land? No, all those men were dead.

The bearded man stopped before entering and glanced at Koen’s sword. “You keep your weapon unsheathed?”

“It is where I draw the line. I am one, and you are four. As you said, we are far from the highway, and I have no desire to make this tower my tomb. My steel remains alert, or I will insist you be on your way.”

“Fair enough.”

Koen held out his hand. “After you.”

The bearded man joined the others by the fire. Koen looked around the night to be sure no one was sneaking about in the tall grass. He locked eyes with Cyrus, and the horse shook his head. Koen shrugged and then entered the tower. He chose to sit by the door with his sword across his lap.

The bearded man warmed his hands. “So, what do we call you, stranger?”

Koen adjusted his wolfskin cloak. “All call me Gray… of Eagleshire.”

“Eagleshire? Ah, you’re a fellow Southling. From your demeanor and dress, I feared you were from the north. Though, that sword is much too fine for a Northling blade.”

“It was a gift for service rendered.”

The man raised his eyebrows. “Must have been quite the service. The war?”

“Yes.” 

“Eagleshire is in West Gate, right?”

Koen nodded.

“You’re far from home, Gray of Eagleshire.”

“Yes, I am.”

“I am Stefan. Our butcher is Gerrit, and the other two are Basten and Toon. We are from Glassglen.”

“Why the haste to Northfall?”

“I’ve brought caribou herds to Glassglen every year these past thirty just as my father did before me. They grow fat on the sweet grass and bring me a modest profit.”

“You’re late for that trade.”

“Don’t I know it, and I fear the high price. Hence the difficult decision to travel through the night.”

“You’ve chosen an interesting route. Passing through the Northern Rise at Edgewind would have been far quicker.”

“This, I know, but Basten and Toon have never seen the Great Step, and I thought this an opportune time for a life experience. Though, I admit it has been a longer journey than I remembered.”

Koen nodded.

“Basten, hand me the skin.” Stefan drew the cork and offered the brandy to Koen. “Try some good medicine from Glassglen.”

“I’m sorry, but if you wouldn’t mind drinking first.”

Stefan frowned.

“This may not be my home, but technically, you are my guest. It is custom.”

“It isn’t poisoned.”

“So says all assassins.”

“Wouldn’t know. I’ve never met one. Have you?”

“Perhaps.”

“My, you are a cautious fellow.”

“Experience, I’m afraid.”

Stefan took a long pull, swished the brandy around, and swallowed. He opened his mouth to show it was empty. “Happy?”

Koen nodded and took the skin. He took a small sip and handed it back to Stefan. “It’s strong.”

“We don’t raise popinjays in Glassglen,” he handed the brandy to the others, who also drank. “How about you? What brings you this way?”

“I head for the Wastelands.”

“The Wastelands. Why?”

“I have my reasons.”

“There is nothing out there but tundra and bones.”

“There are ruins.” Koen pointed up to the parapet. “I could see them in the distance. At one time, something was there.”

“Ghost yards, all of them. They say that all who venture into the Wastelands do not return.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that too.”

Stefan again handed Koen the skin. “And you’re not deterred?”

Koen took a sip. “Death is an old friend.”

“Well then, you’re either brave or suicidal.”

“I’m neither.” He handed the skin back. “I’m just a man searching for lost things and where best to search than the land of the lost.”

“Well, I hope you find whatever you’re looking for out here. You’ll certainly have plenty of stories to tell if you return.” Stefan took a swig. “Come find me in Glassglen. I’ll be eager to hear of your adventures and will gladly procure the necessary liquid lubrication to help ease out the tales. You’ve now tasted our wears and know their worth.”

Koen smirked. “Sure.”

“Gerrit, be quick with those rabbits. We are all hungry and don’t want to overstay our welcome.”

Gerrit skinned, gutted, and set the rabbits over the fire. The tower filled with the smell of roasting meat.

Koen’s mouth watered. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such big rabbits.”

“Yes, they’re a local delicacy and a godsend. The journey to Northfall is never easy, but I learned early on from my pa that if you set a half-dozen snares before bed, you’re destined for a day’s meal, right Gerrit?”

The man nodded.

Koen looked around the three downturned faces. “Your friends aren’t very talkative.”

“They’re simple folk that don’t have much to say.”

“Family?”

“Gerrit’s my nephew. Toon and Basten are brothers but not my kin. They’re the sons of an old friend who died a few years ago. Elmer was his name. He asked that I watch out for his boys if anything should happen to him. So, that’s what I’ve done; they turned out to be fine men. Their father died not too far from here.”

“And that is why you bring them this way?”

“Yes. Elmer was a good friend. The world is quieter without him.”

Koen took his sword from his lap and placed it next to him. “What happened to your friend?”

“The cold snuck up on him while he slept, as it tends to do too many this far north. Luckily, the snows are late this year. The last time I came this way in November, a foot of white was already on the ground. The year Elmer died was a cursed year. We got caught in a blizzard that painted everything white. When we woke, Elmer was frozen solid.”

“Tough life.”

“Tis, but it’s the only one I know. I see in your eyes that you’re no stranger to difficulty.”

“I’ve had some rough patches, yes.”

“You were a soldier.”

“Still am. Once you step upon a battlefield, you never leave.”

Stephan nodded. “Being from Eagleshire, I would assume you fought on the side of the emperor.”

“Yes.”

“Well, at least you were on the winning side.”

“I grew up on the fields of war. Initially, I held my head high, pushed forward by the beat of drums. By the end, I stared at my muck-covered boots pelted by the din of wails. I know more dead men than living and sometimes think they got the better end of the deal. Only the emperor truly won in this war.”

“Him and his sons.”

Koen glanced at the man. “The war wounded Lucardia. While the emperor basks in Highwater’s light, he sent his sons into the dark to tend to the sickness.”

“I guess. But it’s hard to feel sorry for men who live in palaces.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“At least it’s over, and we can heal.”

“We try.”

“What does a soldier do in this age of peace?”

“Good question.” Koen motioned to the room around him. “I guess they do this.”

Stefan pressed upon the rabbit flesh to test its doneness. “I get a sense that you are searching for something.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ve never met a lone traveler on this road who wasn’t looking for something lost.”

“Are there many?”

“Enough to earn a reputation.” Stefan sighed. “What you are looking for is not here, son, and certainly not in the Wastelands. You’d be best to find a nice church and let the words of Caspia warm your cold soul.”

“What I search for is not easily found. Even Caspia does not have the answers I quest for.”

“And the Wastelands do?”

“I believe they’re a good place to start looking.”

“But what could such a barren place hide?”

Koen looked around the four. “Magic.”

“Ha! That’s a good one. I won’t pry if you want to keep your secrets.” Stefan looked to Koen. “Oh, you’re serious.”

Koen’s jaw bulged. “Yes.”

“Oh, well, if magic is what you want, you’re heading in the wrong direction. Twrgwyn and the white towers of the guild are some four hundred miles to the west.”

“I don’t search for the Guild of White’s tricks. I search for the Nyth Cigfran.”

“The Nyth Cigfran…the Raven’s Nest? I’ve not heard that name since I was a boy listening to my gram’s fairytales. I’m afraid you’re a few thousand years too late.”

“They live still.”

“How do you know?”

“I have my sources. The witches hide from a world that grew… unappreciative of their ways.”

“And they choose the Wastelands?”

“I don’t know, but it seems like a good place to hide, no?”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“I will search all of Lucardia’s forgotten places until I find what I am looking for.”

“It is bound to be a long journey. Lucardia has a lot of secrets.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Don’t you have anyone who will miss you?”

“Yes, but I do what I do for them.”

“A woman?”

“A wife, yes.”

“I understand. I’m sorry, Gray. I know little of the Wastelands. It’s a place to look upon with wonder, but it is ultimately forbidden. I know that about a mile to the north, there’s a collapse that should allow you better egress to the basin. It is all I can offer. Hopefully, it will save your fine destrier from a thrown shoe.”

“This is valuable information. Thank you.”

Stefan waved away the thanks. “Eh, don’t thank me.” He drew his knife and poked the backside of a rabbit. Clear juice sizzled in the fire. “I fear you make me an accomplice in murder.”

“Then why ease my passing?”

“If you’re eager to die, why let you suffer? These hares cooked through. Let us sup so we can leave Gray of Eagleshire to his thoughts. Let us hope he comes to his better senses and directs that fine horse back to the embrace of his wife rather than entering the crush of the Wastelands.”

The five feasted in silence as the wind howled.

Stefan patted his belly as the bones hissed in the fire and the wineskin emptied of brandy. “That was a fine meal. There’s nothing like a hare grown fat under the harvest moon.”

“Has my fire finally eased your chill?”

“Yes, indeed. Caspia has smiled upon us.” He looked to Koen and sighed. “You’re right. We should be going and leave you to those thoughts. Northfall does not grow any closer.”

The four stood. Koen took up his sword and blocked the door. The fire’s light sparkled off his blade.

Stefan looked at the sword and then at Koen’s eyes. “What are you doing? Surely, we’ve proved you have nothing to fear from us.”

“Yes, you seem like fine fellows.”

“Then why the steel?”

Koen turned the sword in the light. “I thank you for the meat and drink. Even your company proved palatable. But I’m afraid I can’t afford anyone following me on this journey, and thus, I must silence the witnesses.”

“We’re leaving as we promised.”

“No, I’m afraid your journey ends here.”

Stefan held up his hands and looked at the others. “I don’t understand.”

“I did try to shoo you away.” Koen sighed. “I tried to warn you that I am not a good man.”

“There is no reason to do this. We are but four simple men who are eking out a hard life. Who would listen to anything we had to say about a journey we make often?”

“If you’re honest, your words carry too much weight. If you are not, then the hounds will be at my heels. I’m sorry.”

Gerrit drew his short knife and lunged. With one swipe, Koen sent the man’s head flying upon a geyser of gore that painted the rafters. Before Toon and Basten could react, Koen cut them down- Toon with a grievous gash across the neck and Basten venting his viscera to join the rabbit carcasses hissing within the fire. Stefan bolted for the door as Basten lamented and tried to fish out his lost guts from the coals. Koen grabbed Stefan’s cloak and pulled him back into the tower. The old man stumbled over the corpse of his nephew, falling on his arm hard. The bone cracked, and the man screamed. Nursing his wounded limb, he looked up at Koen with dread.

“You… you are the devil incarnate.”

Koen firmly pressed his sword into the man’s chest. Stefan tried to stop the blade with his unbroken hand, but the steel was sharp and passed through his fingers like sausages. His breastbone crunched, and the sword found a home in his heart.

“I’m so sorry,” said Koen as he twisted and pulled out the blade. The life left Stefan’s eyes in three spurts.

Koen turned to Basten and silenced his screams with a quick jab of steel between the eyes. He drew the fancy blade from the dead man, examined it in the firelight, and tossed it next to Stefan’s body. “Here. May it buy you all a good burial.”

Koen looked around the abattoir. He focused on his bedroll, now soaked in blood, and sighed. Koen collected his other things and stepped out into the angry night. He looked to the stars, hoping God would strike him down. Nothing… absolutely nothing. He moved to Stefan’s horse and drew out the old man’s sword. It was a good blade- sharp with a decent twang when flicked. More importantly, it was much less assuming.

Koen turned to Cyrus. The horse snorted and gave him an eye.

“Don’t give me that look. What’s done is done. They would have spread tales of a lone traveler in black with a fine sword to every tavern in Northfall, and we’d be back in Blackdown by week’s end.” Koen checked through Stefan’s saddle bag. Something jingled. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” He pulled out a length of chain attached to several shackles. “What do you suppose a group of caribou herders is doing with all this? Hmm?” He inspected the rudimentary cuffs. “These are awfully small and still sticky with blood. Slavers… peddling in children, by the looks. And here I am feeling guilty.”

Koen continued looking through the other men’s things, finding a few valuable items for the long journey ahead. He then slapped each mount to send them running into the night.

“I should have known. This whole land is sick.” He retrieved his saddle and heaved it onto Cyrus’s back. “They were quite taken with you, boy. They probably schemed to use you to pull a long line of pitiful children to some god-awful market of woe.” He checked the tightness of the saddle’s straps. “You wouldn’t be giving me that accusing stare then, would you?”

Cyrus nickered.

“I know. It’s still a nasty business, but what I do, I do for the realm. That’s all that’s important now. What is adding four more dead to the pile? Hmm? The guilty…the innocent, it does not matter. They are all just fertilizer for Lucardia.”

Koen mounted Cyrus and headed north toward the break in the step. The fire in the tower dulled, and silence and cold returned to the land.