A Queen and a Rook

Drew Gallagher

Description

Every saga has a beginning. An epic story as gripping as Game of Thrones and The Last Kingdom
Even a King should be careful what he wishes for…
It is 493 BC. The tragic death of the chosen heir plunges a Kingdom into crisis. With no obvious male successor, a King must choose between his daughters. His favourite may not please an all-powerful army, the greatest of all Scythia, opposed to a deepening of relations with an historic enemy. A solution may lie in a proposed marriage of his two young granddaughters, one of whom will one day wear his crown. The spectre of a foreign prince, so close to the throne, may sting a resentful cabal of Generals to recklessness…

Sujets

• Romance historique
• Queen
• Fiction
• Romance
• Scythes
• Plain
• Historical fiction
• Rook
• Sarmatians
• Parable
• Story
• Scythia
• Historical

Informations

• Publié par: Balboa Press UK
• Date de parution: 30 mars 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781982287061
• Langue: English

Extrait

A Queen AND A ROOK


TESTAMENTS OF THE SILK ROADS



DREW GALLAGHER








Copyright © 2023 Drew Gallagher.

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.



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ISBN: 978-1-9822-8705-4 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-9822-8706-1 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 03/30/2023



Contents
Prologue
PART ONE
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
PART TWO
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
PART THREE
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
PART FOUR
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen















In Memoriam

Stewart “Ray” Gallagher (1976 – 2019)


For my parents



Prologue
Black Sea, February 493 BC
“The winds are definitely changing, my Lord. Not for the better, I would wager?” the captain noted breezily. He gazed warily at the ominous clouds on the distant horizon.
“In the event of a storm, will we return to Panticapaeum?” the young Prince asked uneasily.
The Jewel of Mamy’eva is a middling size merchant vessel which flew the Boar’s Head insignia of the Orch’tai Royal House. It had departed the port of Panticapaeum on the eastern coast of the Crimean Peninsula in the late afternoon and was now several hours out to sea. They hoped to reach the port of Tepe on the south-east shoreline of the Black Sea early the next day. The journey had been uneventful thus far, unusual for the time of year, yet the sky had darkened ominously in the past hour, a sure presage of a rare storm to come. The captain was a seasoned adventurer named Naeasses, now aged in his early thirties. He had been born and raised in Tanais to an Orch’tai father and Cretan mother, both long gone, and had first journeyed to sea at the tender age of six. His loyalty to the Orch’tai Crown was unquestioned, and it was for this reason that he had been selected by the Kor’nai to undertake this delicate clandestine mission.
Naeasses grinned at his young companion, aged only a year or so past his majority. “I take it you are not comfortable entrusting your fate to the will of Poseidon, my Lord? It is nothing to be ashamed of. Many a seasoned mariner once lived in abject terror of the sea.”
“Were you once terrified of the sea, Captain Naeasses?” Crown Prince Ach’ti asked shyly.
“I was, my Lord. Any man who proclaims otherwise is a liar. Sailing at this time of year is always plagued by fears of a storm. Whenever the winds from the north meet the balmy air of the south, we are destined for a rough night.”
Prince Ach’ti shivered lightly. “It is not natural for a man to be at sea in such foul weather, I would venture?”
“I am a Sea Captain, my Lord. It is most disagreeable for me to be ashore in any weather” Naeasses mused glibly.
“You sure tease, Captain Naeasses?” Ach’ti smiled tightly.
The captain grinned. “Only a little, young prince, I assure you.” Naeasses leaned in close to the young Prince. “I shall let you in to a little secret, young man. That is the surest means of settling a queasy belly in the face of an approaching storm.”
“What would that be, Captain Naeasses?” Ach’ti smiled hopefully.
“A belly full of wine or wodki, of course!” the captain grinned. “There is no surer cure for sea-sickness! I shall instruct the young wench, Paessa, to provision a couple of flagons to your quarters with haste. Dinner will be served in my private galley in two hours. I would be honoured if you would join me, young Prince, for you are my esteemed guest?”
“You are certain that we shall arrive at Tepe a few hours after first light, just as we planned?” the prince pressed. “I do not think it wise to keep our welcoming Committee waiting, Naeasses?”
“Indeed, we shall, my Lord. You shall be safe in your cabin until we disembark. I will send the girl, Paessa, along to your quarters presently.”
A short while later, Crown Prince Ach’ti, son to the Royal Prince Khai’duc, beloved nephew of His Royal Majesty King Tagar of the Orch’tai Royal House, and his chosen heir and successor, sat alone in his cabin reading an urgent correspondence when a knock came at his door. “Enter!” he commanded. The door opens and the young girl, Paessa, aged twelve-and-a-half, enters with a tray bearing two large flagons, one of wine, the other wodki. “Thank you”, the prince smiled warmly at the girl, who nodded politely at the handsome young man and left, closing the door behind her. A short while later, Paessa returned to inform Prince Ach’ti that supper was being served in the Captain’s Private Galley. Prince Ach’ti was by now dressed for supper, and he hastily gathered his correspondence in a security box, locked it with a key, and squirreled this inside a pocket within his tunic. He left the room, locked the door, and followed the girl down the narrow corridor to the Captain’s Quarters at the rear of the vessel. Sometime later, a ghoulish figure, garbed in a heavy black cloak, its hood drawn tight to avoid recognition, unlocked the door to the prince’s cabin and slipped inside. A brief time later, the spectre locked the door and vanished into the gloom of the cargo hold.
Supper was a luxurious affair, befitting the Royal status of the esteemed guest. The pair dined on roast pheasant, pan-fried squid in lemon-garlic butter, roast mutton, and fresh oranges, washed down with fine wine from the Bordeaux and generous measures of apricot wodki. At the end of the meal, two hours later, the sky is cast in ominous gloom and the wind howls like a tormented soul. The sea was increasingly choppy and, soon enough, a cacophony of thunder battered The Jewel of Mamy’eva as surely as the wind, rain, and waves. The young Prince Ach’ti, who was unaccustomed to heavy feasting, was unsteady on his feet as he made his way through the lower deck to his cabin, so much so that he almost slipped and fell heavily twice. He was relieved to eventually reach his quarters and, slipping out of his evening dress and into his sleeping attire, he poured himself a large restorative draught of wodki. It tasted wonderful, far sweeter than the liquor served at the Captain’s Table. He drained the goblet in a single gulp and poured himself a generous refill. Soon enough, he fell fast asleep.
When he awoke, a few hours later, Ach’ti felt nauseous and was sweating profusely. His sleeping robe was damp and clammy. He had been awoken by a strange sound coming from just outside his cabin, almost as if an animal had been clawing desperately at the door. Now, there was silence. Ach’ti felt decidedly queasy and stifled an immediate urge to vomit. He glanced around the cabin for a chamber pot, yet this was nowhere in sight. Climbing gingerly out of bed, he reached for his light woollen cloak. Perhaps his chamber pot had been left outside the door? The girl, sweet little Paessa, must have hoped to empty it before he rose in the morning ? He unlocked the door and stepped outside, blinking in the gloom of the hold. The chamber-pot was nowhere to be seen. “Hades below!” he hisses, blinking fast as his eyes adjust to the natural light from the stairwell to the upper deck, a dozen yards or so away.
“Excuse me?” a soft voice entreated. It sounded like a young girl.
“Who is that?” Ach’ti whispered hoarsely.
“My name is Neria? Are you feeling ill, my Lord?” the girl asked earnestly. The concern for his welfare was genuine and comforting.
“I feel terrible, Miss? I think I shall be sick!” the young Prince mumbled despairingly.
“Would you like me to help you on to the deck? I was not myself, a brief while ago. It is nothing to be ashamed of, my Lord?” the girl spoke comfortingly. “I went on deck for a brief stroll. The fresh air did me a world of good.”
“That would be lovely, thank you, you are most kind, Miss” Ach’ti sighed.
“Please, let me help you? It is this way.” The girl seemed to breeze across the timbers, her feet barely kissing the deck. She was a strikingly pretty child, aged on the cusp of her teens, fast flowering in to a rare and comely creature. She had pale skin, blonde hair, and piercing blue eyes. Her features were sharp and angular, her nose almost hawk-like. Neria smil