Author's note: This is my latest writing project, which I am thrilled to share with you all. It is the sequel to Kyrin: Son of a Warrior, which was completed in March 2013. This is where I left off. Enjoy. ~The Ghost Writer
Kyrin Chronicles Book Two: The Black Hoard
Behold! This tale I tell for all
Young and old, great and small
I speak of realms across the sea
A land of pain and misery
Built on blood and ancient gold
Beating heart of immoral bold
So go! And find what you desire
In the shadow of the watchful fire.
Book One: An Adventure Long Overdue
Chapter 1
The island of Werithor lay far out in the Western Sea, weeks away from the sandy coastline bordering Mossflower Country. Thick forests covered its surface in a lush patch of green, surrounding a dormant volcano which towered solemnly over the expansive treeline. From afar, the island seemed to be a gem floating in the emerald waters, unspoiled and untouched.
However, this façade quickly faded upon closer inspection, for Werithor served as the headquarters for a vast corsair network responsible for generations of terror on land and at sea. Dozens of well-concealed villages were scattered throughout the island, hidden by the trees and linked by multiple rivers and streams crisscrossing its interior. Returning crews moored at Werithor's single port to resupply and trade at these villages or drop off their plunder.
Maintaining Werithor's secrecy was paramount. Ships roamed the waters surrounding the island, ready to engage any vessel deemed hostile. Squads of guards patrolled the villages to enforce strict curfews which, if broken, meant instant death. The result was that Werithor had never appeared in any documents or maps. Its existence was completely unknown to the outside world.
Despite these measures, there was never any cause for discontent among the corsairs. The Emperor of Werithor always ensured that those who filled their quotas were handsomely paid in supplies as well as a cut of their own plunder. If any talk of dissent or rebellion ever surfaced, he would always have an army of loyal followers ready to silence the opposition.
Werithor's corsairs were as experienced as they were numerous. Crews comprised of battle-hardened individuals with seasons of experience under their belt. Additionally, not all corsairs were vermin; nobeast cared about that sort of thing. The philosophy was simple: If you did your job, you were useful. If not, you were killed. This kept the ranks clean of the rabble normally associated with the profession. United by greed, checked by discipline, and armed to the teeth with highly sophisticated ships and weaponry, they were the de facto rulers of the high seas.
These were just a few reasons why Tenzir Bloodblade felt uneasy as the remnants of his fleet neared the island. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a patch over his left eye, the fire-furred fox was Werithor's most powerful and ruthless captain, commanding over a thousand corsairs. Other captains respected him; younger corsairs wanted to be like him. But even a revered veteran like Tenzir found it difficult to ignore the growing pit in his stomach as his battered ships drifted into the harbor.
Guards and slaves alike fell silent as the caravan of ravaged vessels emerged from the heavy fog. In the lead was the Bloodblade, Tenzir's own ship. Her hull was badly damaged, riddled with ugly, charred blotches. The ship's rear mast was broken in two, the top half dangling by a sliver of wood. What was left of her deep red sails twisted in the wind like cobwebs. The ships that followed were in similar states of ruin.
From somewhere further inland, a large conch sounded, signaling the fleet's arrival. Tenzir watched from Bloodblade's deck as two dozen blue-clad guards assembled on the pier, ready to receive him and his plunder. Blue was the official color of Werithor, and while the corsairs dressed down to avoid revealing their ties to the empire, the soldiers on the island were easily identifiable by their blue bandanas and padded tunics emblazoned with the Emperor's personal emblem: a wildcat's skull superimposed over the head of a trident.
"Rumskull," spoke Tenzir, not taking his eyes off the pier. His voice had a dull edge to it, like a rusty blade scraping along stone.
The ship's deck trembled as a burly, overweight weasel hurried over to do his master's bidding. He was dressed in ragged trousers tied off at the ankles, and his unruly beard glistened with pan grease and fishbones from past meals. Halting before Tenzir, he threw a salute with a meaty paw, speaking in a strange voice that sounded like he only breathed helium. "First mate Rumskull reportin' fer duty, Cap'n."
"Fetch me my formal cloak," the fox ordered.
Rumskull grabbed a passing crewbeast. "You 'eard the Cap'n!" he snarled, "get 'im 'is cloak! The formal 'un!" The rattled underling scampered off to do Tenzir's bidding.
Bloodblade's crew fell silent, staring up in awe at the fortress now looming over them. Built into the side of the volcano using the mountain's own rock, the enormous black stone complex, with its winding battlements, jagged walls, and somber towers, cast a shadow over the twenty or so ships in the harbor.
As Bloodblade docked, the crewbeast that Rumskull had dispatched earlier returned with a fine blue cloak, which the weasel promptly donned on his master. Although Tenzir personally detested the color, the fox knew he had to dress appropriately for the occasion.
"All set, Cap'n," came Rumskull's voice. "Yore ready ter go."
"Stay with the ship," Tenzir told him, as his subordinates laid out a ramp for him to walk on. Still adjusting the fabric of the cloak encircling his neck, Tenzir descended the ramp and onto the dock.
The squad of guards that had intercepted the fleet stood at attention as their leader stepped forward, saluting the veteran fox.
"Cap'n Tenzir. It's a surprise t' see ye, sir!"
"I wish to request an immediate audience with Emperor Valroth," rasped Tenzir.
"Of course, Cap'n," said the guard. "We just need ter undergo th' standard unloading protocols and…" his voice trailed off at the sight of Tenzir's single eye leering venomously at him.
"Now."
"R-right away, sir. My mistake." The guard nodded to his squad. "You two, bring Cap'n Tenzir up to th' palace. The rest of ye, search the ships."
The two soldiers he selected led Tenzir up a winding set of narrow stone stairs hidden in the cliffs. After a long climb they reached the palace gates: two giant slabs of carved oak reinforced with steel bindings sporting the same skull-and-trident found on the soldiers' uniforms. The pit in Tenzir's stomach never felt as deep as it did now.
One of Tenzir's escorts signaled to the guard standing on the ramparts above, who in turn signaled back and disappeared behind the wall. A few seconds later, there was a mechanical groan, and the massive doors swung inward.
Tenzir entered the fortress first, followed by the two guards. The soldiers in the fort immediately stopped what they were doing. A hubbub swept through the courtyard as they speculated about his sudden return. The fox ignored them, his eyes now fixated on the front face of the Emperor's palace, which was cleverly constructed directly into the volcano's flank.
The doors to the palace opened automatically, much like the fortress gates. The sounds of the outside world faded as the fox and his guards entered a dimly-lit but spacious cavern. This was the palace's main hall. Marble columns, embedded with precious stones, held up the jagged ceiling. Slaves of various species, supervised by more blue-clad guards, swept the floors and polished the collection of statues and treasures on display. Flanked by his escort, Tenzir walked across the hall to the staircase at the other end of the cavern, climbing several levels before reaching the top floor. Here lay a set of doors fitted with a pair gilded knockers shaped like wildcat heads, behind which the throne room was located.
The pit in Captain Tenzir's stomach was starting to feel more like a void.
One of the guards stepped forth. Approaching the doors, he lifted one of the knockers and knocked three times.
"Enter!" came a harsh voice from within.
The other guard opened the doors, bowing slightly. Tenzir took a deep breath before walking in, allowing the doors to close behind him. Unlike the lower levels, which were carved out of the volcano's interior, the Emperor's throne room was a perfectly rectangular chamber with granite walls, supported by two rows of bejeweled columns. Its tall ceiling amplified every step that Tenzir took. Looking at the floor, he could see his own reflection in the sparkling marble tiles. The side walls featured six massive arched windows each, which allowed light to flood in. Between each window hung a different life-sized portrait depicting none other than Emperor Valroth himself. The wildcat founder of Werithor had ruled for nearly a hundred seasons. Most of the corsairs sailing the Western Sea worked for him at this point. The paintings depicted Valroth in his younger years; gallant, sophisticated – even handsome, ignoring the fact that he had built his empire upon greed, conquest, and exploitation. Though the wildcat had no heir, he showed no signs of fading anytime soon. Everybeast marveled at his longevity, even the slaves.
The only other noticeable sign of life in the throne room was a young ottermaid named Ingle, who was diligently scrubbing the floors near the edge of the room. Tenzir recognized her, for he had seen her in here working during his past meetings with the Emperor. To the fox, she was a timid creature, dressed in a worn blue smock and waistband, the skull-and-trident branded on the back of her right paw as it was on all slaves.
Tenzir walked across the blue carpet that ran down the middle of the room. The Emperor's throne sat on a platform on the other end of the chamber, partially visible behind a pair of sheer curtains emblazoned with the ubiquitous skull-and-trident. The fabric obscured Valroth's features, but the silhouette of the enormous wildcat seated on his throne was unmistakable. In recent seasons, the ancient ruler had ceased making public appearances, prohibiting anybeast to lay eyes on him directly. But he still wielded absolute power, and he could still end the fox's life with a simple wave of his paw.
Stopping at the foot of the stairs leading up to the throne, the fox got down on one knee and bowed his head. "I have returned, Your Majesty," he announced.
"So you have," came Valroth's ominous reply from the figure behind the curtain. His voice, which echoed throughout the room, still carried the unmistakable imperiousness and vitality of the conqueror depicted in the portraits. "Tell me, Captain: why are you back so soon?"
Tenzir could detect the danger in the wildcat's voice. "We were ambushed, Your Majesty."
"Ambushed," repeated Valroth.
The fox began his tale. "For the first three days after we reached land, we stayed near the coast, but we found little there. The ice floes to the north have not yet melted, and the mountains to the east prevented us from marching further inland. So on the fourth day, we traveled south. That's when they set upon us."
"Who?" Valroth asked.
"Hares, Your Majesty. Hundreds of them, uniformed and well-armed. They fought harder than any foe we had ever seen. We made our stand, but they were too many. As we retreated, they started attacking our ships with fire arrows, sinking one and damaging the rest."
The Emperor's tone was icy. "So the expedition was a failure."
"We did capture sixteen locals, Your Majesty," Tenzir offered.
"I don't need more slaves, Captain," the wildcat growled. "I. Need. Gold."
The fox kept his head bowed. "I understand, Your Majesty."
An uncomfortable silence ensued, punctuated only by the faint squeak of marble tiles being polished. Unbeknownst to the pair, Ingle had been quietly eavesdropping on their conversation the entire time.
Valroth finally spoke. "Under normal circumstances I'd have you slain. However, a troubling new development means that – for now – you get to live."
Tenzir felt relief wash through his body as Valroth continued.
"Twelve days ago, a slave somehow managed to find a way out of the fortress, steal a boat and provisions, and escape the island."
Ingle nearly dropped the rag she was holding. She knew of the slave they were talking about: a kindly yet somewhat eccentric old mouseslave named Plinn who lived in the same compound as Ingle did. The younger slaves loved his stories about faraway lands, hope, and freedom. The ottermaid continued to scrub the floors, trying to be as quiet as possible.
Tenzir, too, was incredulous that a slave even got as far as outside the fortress walls unsupervised, but held his tongue as Valroth continued.
"His fellow slaves, under interrogation, revealed that he was headed toward Salamandastron, located on the western shores of Mossflower Country. It is a fortress much like this one; carved from a volcano, manned by hare warriors under the command of badgers."
"Those must be the same hares that engaged my forces," deduced the fox.
"If the slave has reached Salamandastron, then he will have informed them about Werithor's existence. My entire empire is at risk."
Although Tenzir doubted that the fugitive survived the journey, he was not about to argue. Instead, an idea to redeem himself was beginning to form in the fox's mind. "The mountain seems to safeguard the coasts further south, Your Majesty," he said. "It seems that there is much wealth in the region, considering the presence of a military stronghold."
"Yes," mused Valroth, "a mountain like Salamandastron would undoubtedly be filled with priceless treasures, as would the settlements further inland."
"And conquering these regions would expand Your Majesty's empire onto the continent," suggested Tenzir.
"So it would seem," concurred the wildcat.
Ingle's heart was racing from all the new information. The guards had said that Plinn had been quarantined due to illness. But now the truth was out that he had escaped alone from a fortress previously believed to be impregnable. And now, for the first time, the ottermaid was hearing about Werithor's corsairs losing a battle. Suddenly, the old mouse's tales of freedom didn't seem so farfetched.
The fox gazed up at the veiled throne. "I implore Your Majesty to let me exact revenge upon these hares."
"And you shall," Valroth replied. "As soon as your fleet is ready to sail again, you are to take all the ships and corsairs under your command to Salamandastron. Retrieve the slave and silence all who have heard his story. Wipe the mountain off the map."
"The mountain shall fall, and we shall find Your Majesty's slave, alive or dead," answered Tenzir, knowing full well that these were not so much promises as they were terms for his survival.
The Emperor's tone became threatening once more. "Fail me again, Captain, and your corpse will be thrown to the gulls. Now get out of my sight."
Tenzir bowed low. "I live only to serve Werithor!"