Unleashed: Part 1 of the Baksa Series, page 1
Tales of Ganden
Unleashed
Book 1 of the Baksa Series
Mercy triumphs over judgment
(an index of character names can be found on the back page)
Copyright © 2024 Travis Kuffel
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Map designed and drawn by Travis Kuffel
Map revised and formatted by Saumya Singh, @saumyasvision/inkarnate
Book Design and Layout by Emmanuel Okpeniku meritokpes@Fiverr
Book Cover by Oliver James konain@TheReadsy.com
Acknowledgements
I must first thank my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ for being willing to give inspiration through Holy Spirit. Without his grace and strength, I don’t believe any of this would have been possible or worthwhile.
To all the family and friends, and friends who became family, whether you’re still on this path of adventure with me or have moved on through choice or circumstance, you all had a part to play, and I thank the Lord for you.
www.TalesofGanden.com
TravisKuffel@TalesofGanden.com
Don’t miss any of these exciting titles from
Tales of Ganden!
The Baksa Series
Unleashed
The Shadow War Saga
Keep an eye out for the release dates!
Book 1 - Agents of Conflict
Book 2 - Shadow Hunters
Book 3 - The Reckoning
Chapter 1
Jarek-Mulkavien tasted a hint of change in the air as the rickety old buckboard rolled northeast along Tamayan Road. The waxing crescent moon illuminated a cool fall night, yet he remained persistently shirtless, displaying his weathered, bronzed torso adorned with tattooed artwork, unbothered by the crisp air tossed about by a swirling headwind blowing in from the eastern Saryan Coast. The salt dispersed from the air long before reaching that far inland, but pressure from a coastal storm was building. Whether it remained over the sea or ripped inland would be revealed soon.
A long white goatee dangled across his broad, muscular chest as he held the leather reins loose in his hands, speaking in a rolling guttural accent to his longtime companion.
“You see, Fiona, not that long ago we had a ten-foot winter! Och, you should’ve seen the snowdrifts that year! Touched the eaves of the houses across all the realms. Aye, it was a blustery brigand of a winter, that one was. No one could use their front doors! Ha! Second-floor windows became the only way into the houses!”
He ran a thick hand over his bald head, smoothed by a fresh layer of hoof wax from when he shaved it that morning.
“Och, the bitter cold of that winter cost plenty of people their lives, lass. Once the snows fell, the sun could do little to warm the air. It was well past summer before the last snows melted in Ikarton. By Yaqol, the poor farmers couldn’t plant their crops until late, and it set all the realms back without enough food for their families and animals.”
He looked into the distance while the old black mare pulled the wagon along the dusty road. A few scattered clouds wafted across the firmament of bright stars filling the night sky.
“Hattie remembers it well, though, I’m sure! Don’t you dear! Och, she had some cold ears that winter! Someone got wise and started making hats for all the horses that pulled the merchants and caravanners around between the realms. Made our horses happy, no doubt! Got someone rich, too! I heard they moved to Havash and live a fancy life now.”
He glanced at the loaded wooden crates in the back of the buckboard.
“Why not, I say? Don’t have to invent anything new, just gotta make something better than what it was, and that’s what they did. Here we are all these years later, still delivering fancy horse hats to the realms before winter hits. Pretty sure the ones we’ve got are just knock-offs, the way our customer loaded them up so quiet and sent us on our way so quick.”
The smuggler patted the heavy purse full of kessips resting by his feet under the seat, making the coins rattle.
“Makes no nevermind to me. If it pays what needs to be paid, then so be it! That’s what my ma used to say to my pa.”
He lifted his voice into an unnatural falsetto to mimic his mother while adjusting his green and blue kilt.
“I don’t care what you do, as long as you do it well and keep food on the table to keep young Jarek-Mulkavien fed!”
His voice dropped back into his natural, raspy tone.
“They always called me by my full first name, but my pa was so in love with her, he couldn’t leave her alone long enough to get paid for the jobs he did. He’d be rushing home empty-handed but have his arms wrapped tight around her singing every night. It was right simple, but a blessed life, all the same.”
He squinted his seasoned gray eyes against the darkness, peering at the distant lights emanating from Chazel’s Inn. As the buckboard jostled along the dirt road, he caught the faint smell of smoke and saw a smoldering campfire off to his right, shifting his gaze toward a small encampment.
His voice dropped to a low tone as he furrowed his brow.
“Judging by those Subanderii horses, that’s a group of Baksa Rangers out on patrol.” He shook his head. “Keeping the realms safe for honest folks like us, eh, ladies?”
He could not withhold his booming laugh echoing across the open fields as the mare pulled the creaking wagon to its destination.
***
The thief held his breath as he lay flat on his belly, trying to stay invisible as he watched the gregarious smuggler pass by on the dusty road until he was out of sight and his voice faded into the distance. He was surprised by the man’s talkative behavior with no one else in the wagon. The black mare swished her tail and bobbed her head in response to everything he said, and he kept looking down at the gold hilt of a rapier sheathed at his hip, patting the handle while he rambled on. If the thief did not know any better, he would have guessed the man was talking to the horse and sword.
He raised himself to one knee once the night fell silent again. An owl hooted in the distance, as crickets conducted an orchestral tune in the cool air rustling across the long grass of the open fields.
A sixteen-year-old with plain features, a pale complexion, and a ruddy face, his shock of curly brown hair was unmanageable. Stronger than his lean frame let on, he pulled the thin, drab vest closer to his chest as wisps of breath turned white in the cool air while he looked all around with soft brown eyes.
He remained low while approaching the encampment as the night grew quieter. He was an aspiring sneak thief, hoping to make a name for himself, but his previous foray did not go as planned. The perfect opportunity presented itself with the chance to change his fortunes for the better. Baksa armor and weaponry brought a high price in the less reputable markets. Selling even one set of armor might provide enough money for a year, but fleecing all ten men of the Ranger patrol would make him a legend. His name and reputation would be more valuable than any income he could earn.
He stayed cautious, looking for anyone on watch, but everyone appeared to be sleeping. The horses were staked to the ground nearby, but he crept from downwind to avoid alerting them. Subanderii horses were the finest in all of Ganden, raised upon the Subandem Plateaus far to the northwest. He was ambitious, but he was no fool. Stealing the Baksa armor was one thing, but stealing one of their horses would be a death sentence. With a quick glance, he saw their knees locked out as they stood, sleeping upright.
He approached the nearest Baksa, whose lusty snoring was loud enough to cover most of his movements. The thief’s thick hands were calloused from many years of apprenticing for his blacksmith father, but his fingers had an unexpected gentle touch as he nimbly untied the gold-trimmed white armor and removed the breastplate from the Baksa. He relieved the slumbering man of a small purse of kessips, hooking it to his belt while being careful not to rattle the coins. The thief lifted the Baksa’s sword from nearby on the ground and snuck away with the items, stashing them a short distance away before returning for more.
The laborious night wore on as the young thief relieved the Rangers of their goods with painstaking discipline, building a stockpile. He was grateful Baksa armor and weapons were made from lightweight materials as he organized it on a rolled-out canvas. Once finished, he would tie the canvas into a simple backpack. The challenge would be getting to the desert city of Arena to sell the items, but he was confident he could hitch a ride with traders from Riverwynd. He knew the risks of crossing the Midbaros Desert on foot, so paying to ride on a buckboard was worthwhile. An organized crime ring called The Five dominated every business in Arena and was always hiring new talent. With a substantial score from the Baksa, he could establish a reputation that would lead to promotion within the criminal organization.
As he slipped the armor and coin purse from the last sleeping Baksa, he smiled to himself. He had taken everything worthwhile without them ever knowing he was there. The sun had not yet risen on the clear eastern horizon while the crescent moon hung low in the west. He needed to load up and put as much distance as possible between himself and the Baksa before they awakened. He knew they would be livid and already left a false trail leading northeast toward Chazel’s In
He remained on one knee for a moment and peered at the sleeping men, wondering if he had miscounted. He found it odd that there were ten horses but only nine men, knowing the Baksa Rangers always rode in groups of ten. Perhaps they had encountered bandits and raiders on their route, and one of their men died.
He looked around one more time with sweat glistening on his brow in the cool air, and lightweight shoes damp from the dewy grass. The man nearest him snored loudly, startling the young thief while no one else stirred. He tried calming his racing heart while remaining low to the ground on his way through the camp. The sleeping horses were still unaware of his presence.
Giddy, he had to force himself not to rush from the excitement of how much the Baksa’s haul would change life, but as he approached where he left the stash, he scrunched his eyebrows. He had returned to the same spot all night, but must have lost his way on the last trip. The armor and weapons were not where he remembered placing them. Perplexed, he searched around, trying to retrace his steps in the dark. Panic rose in his throat as he whipped all around. It was challenging to see in the darkness, but he made every painstaking effort to take the same route every time, hoping to avoid such a disaster. He cursed at himself under his breath at his recklessness.
The stars provided a dim glow that strained the eyes as he laid down the breastplate, sword and sack of coins on the ground. Careful to remember where he placed them, he hurried back to the camp. It was all he could do to resist the urge to rush. The only thing worse than misplacing the stolen items would be awakening the Baksa while searching for them.
Once at the encampment, he regained his bearings and overemphasized every step, retracing his path back to where the stash should have been. He was frantic while searching along the way, desperate to find where he got twisted up.
It took every ounce of willpower in his body to inhibit the scream of panicked rage trying to erupt from his throat when he returned to the same spot he had just left. The location was accurate, but the newest pile had vanished as well.
He sprinted back and forth in a crouch, trying to unravel what he had done wrong. He knew he was in the right place. The dry grass was flattened where the canvas kept the dew from forming.
He froze in his tracks, as terror paralyzed him, with goosebumps erupting all over his body and the hair on the back of his neck standing on end at the sound of a deep, raspy voice speaking from the dark close behind him.
“Did you find it yet?”
The young thief remained transfixed, still crouched low.
“You’d best not reach for that short dagger on your belt.”
“Trust me…I may be an idiot, but I’m no fool.”
A low, subtle laugh rumbled in the dark. “I’ve got to say, you impress me, kid. I don’t think anyone’s ever tried robbing a Baksa Ranger of his armor while he wore it, but you just stripped nine of them bare. You’ve got some ambition.”
“Thanks…” He could not control the smile forming on his lips from the compliment.
“Don’t be stupid.” The serious timbre turned threatening. “That wasn’t a compliment. You’ve signed your own death sentence. You have two ways this can end, and neither will be pleasant. Stealing one of our horses would have been better for you because you’d be riding away right now. I don’t think you understand how much our armor matters to us Baksa.”
The tone sent a terrified shiver down the thief’s spine as a ball of emotion formed in his throat. Unhindered tears sprung from his eyes, soaking his cheeks as he attempted to be brave, though his shaky voice revealed his fear.
“Wh-what will you do to me?”
“Nothing at all. That’s not my call. Your fate is in Lieutenant André’s hands now, but how well he slept tonight will decide whether you live past sunrise. If you want to see what sunset looks like, stand up slowly with your hands behind your back. Make any sudden moves, and I’ll have to tell my Lieutenant how you died. Got it?”
It was all the teenager could do to keep his bladder from purging itself down his pant leg while he hyperventilated and stifled sobs.
“Y-y-yes sir…yes s-s-sir! D-d-don’t kill me! Please don’t kill me…my momma…it’ll break her heart!”
He felt a massive presence loom behind him as giant hands wrapped around his wrists and tied them together.
“What’s your momma call you, kid?”
The young thief took a deep breath to calm himself. “Aapeli, sir.”
“Where are you from?”
“H-Havash.”
The huge hands grabbed Aapeli’s shoulders and spun him around. In the predawn twilight, Aapeli was shocked by the towering man’s size. His hands were the size of Aapeli’s head. He wore the gold-trimmed white armor of the Baksa, but it looked nothing like the armor he removed from the other men. It was much larger, and still strained against the mass of muscles bulging from the Baksa’s arms. Aapeli’s eyes were level with the man’s chest, where a silver pendant hung from a thin chain depicting a wolf howling at a crescent moon. He looked up and saw he had shoulder-length black and tan hair pulled back into a loose top-knot. His dark-bronze face was smooth, clean shaved, and fierce, deep brown eyes glared at him as a humorless smile danced across the man’s lips.
“Well, Aapeli of Havash. I’m Cadel of the Baksa, and if you want to live, you’d better keep your mouth shut and do everything I say.”
***
The smell of fresh-cooked bacon filled the air as the Baksa stirred. Cadel crouched beside the crackling fire, shifting the slabs of sizzling meat around on the cast-iron skillet with a pot of coffee percolating nearby on the embers.
Aapeli sat uncomfortably nearby, his arms bound behind him. His discomfort was less physical and far more psychological. Cadel had said nothing to him since throwing him to the ground and beginning to make breakfast. The relentless fear of the unknown tormented him, and he felt sick to his stomach.
One of the men, athletic and of medium height, walked to the fire to pour a cup of coffee.
“Morning, Cadel. Who’s our guest?”
Cadel kept shifting the food around. “Sleep good, Kobus? You look a little lighter.”
Kobus shifted his arms around and stretched his torso, pretending not to notice he was not wearing his armor as he beamed and nodded toward Aapeli. The young thief squirmed under his intense gaze.
“You know, I thought something felt different this morning. Thought I might’ve just lost some weight, you know?”
“You?” Cadel smiled and glanced at him. “You lose any weight, and a breeze could carry you away.”
Kobus chuckled and sipped his coffee.
One of the other men bolted up from the ground in a breathless panic and rushed to Cadel’s side in a loud whisper. His blue eyes were wide with fright.
“By Yaqol! It’s daylight, Cadel! I slept through my watch! André’s gonna kill me!”
“André’s already got one person to kill today, Deorsa. I think he might let you slip through.”
“But why didn’t you wake me up?”
Cadel shrugged his broad shoulders and nodded his head towards Aapeli. “I was having fun watching him work all night.”
“Wait!” Aapeli’s eyes shot wide. “You watched me the whole…”
A fierce glare from Cadel immediately shut the young thief’s mouth.
Kobus leaned closer to Cadel. “You don’t suppose André will…”
Cadel stayed silent and stared in response as Kobus trailed off. Lieutenant André had a reputation that provided a pessimistic outlook for Aapeli’s future. Cadel returned to finishing breakfast while everyone grabbed their meals and ate in subdued silence, bracing themselves for an inevitable discussion.
Lieutenant André was soon up and eating with the men, only acknowledging Aapeli’s presence with a perturbed grunt, when he saw the teenager bound and sitting on the ground.
