The Swordmaster, page 1
Sam Feuerbach
The Swordmaster
The Krosann Saga
Volume Two
Translator: Tim Casey
Thanks to the best proof-readers: Neil McCourt, James Brian
Copyright © Sam Feuerbach
1st edition 2022 (1.2)
Volumes in chronological order:
The Krosann Saga
(Volume 1) The Murderess Crow
(Volume 2) The Swordmaster
(Volume 3) The Sand Timer
(Volume 4) The Myrnean Goddess (in 2023)
(Volume 5) The Soul Spear (in 2023)
(Volume 6) The Traitor (in 2023)
The Saga of the Gravedigger’s Son and the Waif Girl
Link to Volume 1
Volume 2
Volume 3
Volume 4
There are more adventures to come …
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Content
a soldiery death
the world turns
visitors welcome
pain and death
the letter
pocket them first, then divvy them out
the new captain
gallows humour
secret passage
what is a sword?
cadet against cadet
the duel
the most dangerous place in Toladar
a new contract
only water
distinguished visitors
politic parleying
the blackbird
never hang around too long
talking things out
castle cragwater
high treason
trust is good
a prince
the vow
Tanderheim
lies and treachery
the plan
the great magicus
war by all means
a soldiery death
Karek sat on the chair, frozen to the spot. His blood, cold as ice, throbbed against his skull. He couldn’t remember ever having felt so miserable. He closed his eyes. No improvement. The news had been spreading since the beginning of breakfast. Faces, mostly curious at first, then shocked, finally upset. Heads huddled together as anxious voices whispered to one another. There were a few faces that were completely impassive.
Cadet Mussand had crept up to the top of the donjon during the night and leaped down into the bailey. The night watchmen had been able to do no more than retrieve the shattered body from the cobblestones. Everyone in the fortress was convinced it had been suicide.
Captain Bostun’s face displayed a look of furrowed concern – a concern that, to Karek’s eyes, was about as genuine as the name the prince had given himself: Linnek. The boy could hardly contain his fury.
You have him on your conscience, Bostun. Payback time will be an occasion that you will never forget, believe me.
Why had Mussand thrown his life away like that? Sure, Dragan and Bostun had made his life hell here. But Karek didn’t believe that they had thrown him from the donjon. Mussand must have been feeling truly desperate to have slipped out into the night, climbed the stairs and then taken the ultimate measure of hurling himself to his death. His skull had been shattered on impact, just like his future, his dreams, his friendly personality. And only because the wrong captain had picked him out.
The prince hoped that Mussand was in a better place now. He wished that he had stood up for the lad more, despite having suffered a broken nose during his last attempt. He wished that he had supported his friend in the refectory only a short time earlier when Dragan had dumped the semolina pudding on Mussand’s head. Why hadn’t he shown the lad that he was full square behind him, given him some hope at least? It was too late now.
Sergeant Karson announced that Mussand’s send-off would be in the afternoon. The military’s actions were always pragmatic when it came to such matters – sweep anything awkward under the carpet and throw the dirt over the corpses. Funerals were as much a part of being a soldier as uniforms or the morning roll call. Done and dusted, and then back to normal.
Breakfast continued, but the depressed mood made for a quiet affair, a silent mark of respect to the absent Mussand.
Karek didn’t even bother asking Impy – who was sitting opposite him as usual – for his bun. The prince had well and truly lost his appetite.
‘How is it any different to murder?’ he heard himself mutter.
‘How do you mean?’ asked Blinn, beside him.
‘That bastard Bostun drove him to it – it’s as clear as the nose on your face,’ whispered Karek. ‘Just think of the events in the arena and the unjustifiable whipping. And who knows what the whites were doing behind closed doors that made Mussand’s life so miserable.’
Blinn said nothing. He didn’t seem to know how to react to the situation. Eduk looked even paler and more invisible than usual.
‘There’s nothing more we can do for Mussand,’ said Impy. ‘We can only try and ensure that nothing like this happens again. I know only too well what it feels like when you’re the smallest and supposedly the weakest.’
Karek looked at him. The son of the king had never been faced with such problems. Ever since he was a nipper, his fellow human beings at the royal court had greeted him with conscientious politeness and respect, not to mention subservience. Who else could say that? There was no mention of that here in the fortress, of course – in fact, he had suffered a fair bit himself in this place. But when compared to Mussand, who had attracted misfortune as a privy attracts flies, he was doing just fine. The prince had developed a certain reputation for himself among the other recruits, even among the whites. ‘King of the wasps’, someone had named him during last night’s supper, and the fellow had meant it respectfully. But it was a triviality, for his sorrow over Mussand was like a piercing pain. The cold finality that death brought with it was something that he had first experienced ten years earlier when his mother had died. For a small child to lose his mother like that was a hundred times worse than this, even, so that the memory of it would gnaw at him forever. And today’s experience didn’t make things any easier, knowing that Mussand’s death had been so unnecessary.
That afternoon, the cadets, the captains, Sergeant Karson and some of the older soldiers gathered in the little chapel by the fortress wall.
Mussand was lying, completely swathed in a blanket, on the cold stone floor. Karek was relieved that none of him could be seen, for the reports regarding the state of his shattered body had been terrible to hear.
To make up for the missing priest – who was only seen within the fortress on Sundays if at all – the captain responsible for Mussand’s wellbeing stepped forward. Bostun, no less, with that solemn look on his face.
First, he scanned his audience dramatically. Then he frowned. And then he spoke: ‘Soldiers, cadets, men. We know that it is the fate, the holy obligation of every soldier to fight for his fatherland, and – if Lithor or Dothora so desire – to die. The ultimate occurs in the relentless battle against the enemy, against evil, against all those who jeopardise – alas, all too often – our beloved homeland of Toladar. For this task we need fearless, determined souls who are willing to face danger with broad chests and a resolute purpose.’
Karek glanced at the others present. Dragan was missing. Dragan, of all people, who had tormented Mussand mercilessly with the enthusiastic approval of his captain, Bostun, and who had been equally responsible for the lad’s despair. Karek was sure that Dragan’s absence had nothing to do with respect – and everything to do with cowardice.
This didn’t seem to be Bostun’s first delivery of such a speech. He was clearly enjoying it, and if truth be told, he was captivating his audience with his eloquence.
‘All the more tragic that a young soul chose suicide without putting up any resistance. It saddens me to the core that Cadet Mussand did not come to me with his doubts and worries before reaching such a fateful decision. It saddens us that our recruiters erred in their judgement – nay, we cannot absolve ourselves of this error either, for Mussand was clearly not made of the stuff that the Toladarian army needs.’
Karek could hardly breathe as the polished, hypocritical words wrapped themselves around his neck, and the noose began to tighten. At that very moment, it became apparent to him how important it was in people’s lives that the dice of fate, having been shaken so violently in life’s hollow cup, would land favourably. If only Mussand had ended up in To Shyr Ban’s troop at the start, then he would still be alive – Karek was convinced of that. So simple, and yet so complicated at the same time.
‘It saddens us that in doing what he did Mussand abandoned his responsibility to defend Tolador. But let us not be angry with him, for he has left us with the task of doing what he should have done – only better.’
Karek was fit to be tied, he was so angry. He could hardly endure the insidious accusations that were being thrown at Mussand, which suggested that the young man himself had been the root of all evil.
He noticed himself stepping forward – almost as though someone had pushed him. Then he spoke in the same sonorous tones that the captain had used. ‘It saddens me, nay us, that the reasons for Mussand’s decision to jump to his death are not being openly discussed here without.’
It was out now. As a result, all heads turned in his direction, surprised, but as befitted
Captain To Shyr Ban stared at him, shaking his head almost imperceptibly, as though he were trying to stop the young man in his tracks. Suddenly, the prince was shocked at his own courage and at the situation that he had landed himself in. Even more frightening was the fact that Bostun seemed not in the least surprised or intimidated but seemed to be looking forward to a public verbal exchange – an opportunity to put Karek back in his box for once and for all.
‘Cadet Linnek, are you overcome by grief? How are we to understand your statement?’ asked Bostun in a friendly tone.
Karek knew that there was no way back. ‘What I mean is that Mussand was perfectly suited to being a soldier. However, certain circumstances dictated that he never had the opportunity to prove himself.’
Bostun was becoming increasingly amicable – it seemed that he wanted to undermine Karek with adroit follow-up questions: ‘Noble of you to express your views publicly, but how did you come to that conclusion?’
‘Very easily. Mussand sought your protection and support – but in vain, alas.’
Astonishment softened the hitherto impassive faces of the mourners, timid whispers began to echo around the nave, not only concerning the boy’s assertion, but especially at the confident manner with which he had addressed a high-ranking officer. To Shyr Ban’s stony, dark face resembled black granite.
Karek continued in a matter-of-fact voice: ‘One of your cadets mistreated and tortured him on a daily basis, so that he turned up too late for assembly and received a public whipping. Mussand was tormented by this person day after day, and yet his captain stood idly by or even authorised it.’
Karek’s impudence was now beginning to prove effective. Captain Bostun – suddenly the subject of serious charges, delivered with no respect whatsoever and disgraceful beyond measure – was slowly but surely losing his cool.
Visibly angry, he launched a counterattack: ‘Cadet Linnek, what do you think you are doing? Not only are you showing a lack of respect due to your superior, but you are also accusing your comrade, Dragan, and me. And what I find particular nauseating and cowardly, is that the former doesn’t even have the opportunity to defend himself.’
Karek’s fury was now clouding his understanding. ‘What? Whose name did you mention? Dragan? How did you come up with that? I never mentioned a name.’
Bostun’s nostrils were flaring: ‘Don’t act the idiot. Of course, Dragan.’
Karek nodded. ‘Very well. Help me out. How is it that Dragan cannot defend himself?’
‘Because he is not with us at the moment.’
‘Really? Where is he then? And I thought it was a given that everyone would be here. After all, one of his white cadet comrades is being interred. The black cadets are all present, at any rate.’
For the first time, Bostun seemed at a loss as to how to respond.
Karek continued: ‘And do I understand you correctly? Are you telling me that it is slanderous and cowardly to speak ill of someone when they are not present?’
‘Well observed. Precisely. You are denying Dragan the right to defend himself,’ replied Bostun, whose temper was fraying rapidly, as could be seen by the muscles on his face, which were now twitching uncontrollably.
‘Does this right only apply to Dragan or to everyone else as well?’
‘Of course, it applies to everyone!’ snarled Bostun.
While Karek, despite his fury, continued to argue with total concentration, it seemed as if anger was blocking the captain’s rational thought processes. He seemed quite incapable of figuring out what the prince was driving at.
Karek spoke now with quiet but steely deliberation: ‘Then stop speaking ill of Mussand.’
Bostun’s face, previously red with fury, suddenly drained of all colour. He clearly hadn’t expected the verbal skirmish to be so difficult. The realisation that Karek was in the process of making a holy show of him in full public view and turning him into a laughingstock was infuriating him beyond belief. Never before had an upstart cadet dared such a thing. Karek only had to glance at his comrades to see that they were looking at him in silent amazement. Their features betrayed a mixture of admiration, horror and concern. A minimal smile and a worried frown were now chiselled into To Shyr Ban’s black granite face. The seasoned soldiers looked from the captain to Karek and back again in irritation.
Blinn whispered: ‘Leave well alone, Linnek. You’ve got him. If Gryphon were here, you’d be leading by two black shields. Apologise for your rudeness – then he won’t be able to do anything.’
But his background, combined with his senses of responsibility and of justice – values that had been drilled into him from earliest childhood – made him take the final step so that he could win the third, decisive point. Blinn was right – this public debate was akin to the training fights in the arena. And he was challenging none other than Captain Bostun, an experienced officer. Of course, the prince knew very well that he would never have gone this far were he not in reality the son of a king and the heir to a throne. Only, Bostun didn’t know this and was consequently baffled by the seemingly unshakeable self-confidence of his opponent. This was exactly where Karek saw his opportunity. On several occasions, he had seen how short-tempered and uncontrolled Bostun could be – his own slightly crooked nose was a constant reminder to the young prince of one such explosive occasion whenever he happened to look in the mirror.
The prince took half a step towards the captain and looked him straight in the eye. Calmly, but with a voice full of reproach and scorn, he said: ‘Mussand placed his trust in you. And instead of defending him, you sacrificed him. You didn’t stop Dragan. Instead, you spurred him on to torture the lad.’
This open accusation was too much for the captain.
Bostun was foaming at the mouth with rage as he bellowed: ‘Lies! Nothing but lies, you fat piece of shite! Mussand was a waster! A good-for-nothing layabout, not worthy of defending our people. He would have run away at the first sight of the enemy. Look at yourself – you’re another waste of space – completely unsuited to a soldierly life. You’d be better off out of here. Who do you think you are, anyway, you arsehole of a cadet, passing judgement on me like that?!’
‘Well, at least you are here and can defend yourself.’
Bostun’s eyes nearly popped out of his head at that. It seemed that he was having murderous thoughts and would slay Karek at any moment.
‘Enough now!’ Sergeant Karson’s voice thundered around the chapel. ‘Arrest Cadet Linnek. Captain Bostun – I await you in the main building. This funeral is hereby over.’
Karek remained perfectly calm. His conscience was clear. At least he had corrected the record and restored Mussand’s reputation. He could do no more.
The prince felt a mixture of approval, confusion and amazement from the eyes that were boring into his back as two soldiers ordered him in surprisingly polite tones to accompany them to the holding cell.
He heard Brawl shouting out angrily: ‘What do you mean? It’s Bostun who’s the arsehole! Why hasn’t he been arrested?’
Finally, he heard no more than his own steps and those of the two soldiers on either side as they led him away.
the world turns
She flitted through the forest. Feinting fast like a predatory cat. A woman in black leather clothing.
Only now had she asked herself for the umpteenth time why she had simply let Prince Karek go – the heir to the throne of Tolador – instead of murdering him. ‘Kill Prince Karek Marein’ was the command she had been given. Four simple words for one simple contract. The first word had always been particularly easy for her. A simple, short, unmistakeable word with a wonderful finality about it. Kill! And what had she gone and done?
Oh, well. Things had become a little bit more complicated. Any encounters she had with people were always complicated, especially whenever she made the mistake of engaging in conversation with them instead of killing them off quickly before they had the chance to open their mouths. Logical.
