Rydan

D. Lambert

Description

On the first steps along the path to conquest, tread lightly.

Born Esparan but raised in supposed isolation in the south, Prince Tohmas Galanth has always felt trapped between his blood and upbringing. Unexpectedly called north to defend the family he never knew, can he inspire the people of his homeland to fight for their freedom?

As the Northlander forces close in, Tohmas struggles to prove he's not the naive commander his enemies, as well as allies, expected. While remnants of a crushed Rydan clan seek vengeance against him, the Northlanders ready their axes for his throat.


Esparan is war torn and the other Princes of Espar bicker for supremacy as it burns to the ground. Wedged between two worlds, lucky for Tohmas, being underestimated means no one anticipates him to be the greatest threat of all.

Sujets

• Fantastique
• Epic Fantasy
• Adventure
• Fiction
• Action
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: 4 Horsemen Publications, Inc.
• Date de parution: 15 août 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781644502808
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

Table o f Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Glossary





Rydan
Son of No Man Serie s Book 1
Copyright © 2021 D. Lambert. All rights re served.


4 Horsemen Publication s, Inc.
1497 Main St. S uite 169
Dunedin, FL 34698
4horsemenpublicat ions.com
info@4horsemenpublicat ions.com
Cover by
Typesetting by Michel le Cline
Editor Amand a Miller
All rights to the work within are reserved to the author and publisher. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please contact either the Publisher or Author to gain per mission.
This is book is meant as a reference guide. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All brands, quotes, and cited work respectfully belongs to the original rights holders and bear no affiliation to the authors or pu blisher.
Library of Congress Control Number: 20 21941807
Print ISBN: 978-1-644 50-281-5
Audio ISBN: 978-1-644 50-279-2
E-book ISBN: 978-1-644 50-280-8



To my husband, who listens to the ramblings



“Never forget the pains we have endured, or the man responsible for them.”
— Clodn, son of Chief M olarkt of the Rydan Third Clan
Chapter 1
T he road was cold in the gloom, forcing the party to take their time. Daylight had melted the snow under the passage of feet and carts, but as the sun disappeared over the hills, the mud froze into ankle-turning ridges. Tohmas was disappointed to discover that Esparan horses were not as sure-footed as the Rydan steeds he was accustomed to. If one fell, he would be hard-pressed to replace i t locally.
At Tohmas’ side, Carsh’s stallion, Bashuran, snorted, nostrils flaring and casting a fog in the chill. Likely scenting the cooking fires ahead, the stallion danced eagerly, but Carsh kept the enormous horse reined in. Bashuran grunted his opinion b ut obeyed.
The lit windows of Homestead, set atop one of Clandac’s rolling hills, became clearer once the town was no longer silhouetted by the sunset. It was small by Esparan standards, yet larger than any Rydan encampment. There would be hundreds of people within, possibly thousands. He checked his sword and, without turning his head, verified that Carsh was equally prepared.
The thought made him smile. When was Carsh not prepared? The Rydan had a knife in hand, another two dozen on his baldrics, and a long blade on his belt. Bashuran would also make quick work of any threat . Usually two hands taller than other steeds in the region, the warhorse had a penchant for trampling things and could not be matched in speed or muscle. It made Tohmas miss his mare. The gelding he rode, Honest Justice, was a decent warhorse, but after growing up on the explosive power of the Outlands’ steeds, Justice felt too tame.
He reminded himself of the dozen protectors with him, each sworn bodyguards of commendable prowess, something he had not gotten used to yet. If nothing else, they were an obvious deterrent to thugs or thieves. What brigand would dare attack a Prince of Espar?
Prince Dragal of Clandac was an ally, Tohmas had been told.
Homestead was far from battle lines. The stone-stacked buildings were under greater threat from age and rain than invasion. The village did not even have a wall or lamps along the roads. As they crossed the bridge at the base of the hill and made their way up the dirt roads, the protectors li t torches.
Talon Vallant, a veteran of the last prince’s ranks, dismounted and led the way through the village square. He stopped at an adjacent building. By the rounding of the wayward side stones, the farmhouse was likely the oldest in the village. Walls laced with ivy, it stood in a small yard bordered by a stone fence. The firelight within was bright in the earl y evening.
Vallant spoke to the posted guards at the knee-high gate, who appeared to recognize the him. Once Vallant had handed over one of Tohmas’ tokens, the guard rushed into the house, the token clasped in his thickly-gloved hands. Tohmas wondered if the guard had noticed Vallant’s rank ha d changed.
Tohmas squinted in the poor light. Six guards stood in the yard, each with the green rank ropes of a protector over a shoulder. Although they all wore quilted overcoats in the cold, their tabards differed. One group wore blue and gold, the colors of Prince Dragal Galanth of Clandac. The other group had red tabards with black shield emblems on their chests. They belonged to Prince Sol Galanth of Solta.
The two princes were sharing the duty of keeping watch. They trusted e ach other.
“Once the protectors have permission, they will admit you,” Vallant said as he returned to Tohmas’ side. The old soldier had dismounted, but his horse followed him as if on a lead.
Tohmas looked at the door to the house. He would have to duck to get through its smoothed s tone arch.
“I could walk in there,” he mused.
“Yes, princes cannot be refused entry,” Vallant allowed. He pursed his lips, stretching his mustache. “But you’d not be making a good impression with you r uncles.”
Uncles . He had to remember that these men were his relatives.
The older man walked away and joined the ranks of the protectors that had spread out behind Tohmas in a defensive semi-circle. Most dismounted and stood by their steeds to better fill the space.
Carsh, mounted beside him, snorted like Bashuran, his half-laugh truncated. “Bah, doh n madder.”
“It matters,” Tohmas corrected gently. “We play this by their rules for now.”
“Yadda, yadda,” Carsh grumbled. He took a surreptitious glance around. A handful of protectors stood at the ready just out of earshot. Not only was Tohmas still wearing his weapons; he was also accompanied by his prime protector, Carsh. None of the men had any reason to fret over his w ell-being.
But the protectors were from his father’s reign—they hardly knew or trusted Carsh. They accepted the Rydan as a superb fighter, but no one seemed entirely positive where his loya lties lay.
“Why naw chief?” Carsh c omplained.
“They don’t have a chief, but it amounts to the same thing. Princes are just leaders with a fan cy title.”
“Be bedda ta Chief.”
“If they had a single chief,” Tohmas replied, “they’d be unified.” He left that thought hanging for the Rydan. Espar was divided into princedoms, each ruled by a prince who had his own allies and enemies. It was confusing, but it was also why he had been sent north, as Carsh knew. So long as the Esparans did not see the danger, they were v ulnerable.
The trick was to never let them r ealize it.
“Your accent is getting worse, Carsh,” Tohmas said. “That bastardization of Esparan and Rydan is—”
“Bedda fun!” Carsh finished with another sharp-toothed grin. His voice dropped quickly into a hush. “We be trustin’ tem, brudda?” The Rydan was uneasy—Carsh tended to dance on his feet when he was nervous—but Tohmas did not believe the anxiety wa s founded.
A more immediate concern was the choice of title.
“Do not call me that,” Tohmas whisp ered back.
Carsh’s long hands came up. “I be forgedin’. I be careful,” he promised, but his rolled eyes and half-smile said he was not, by any means, apologizing for the slip.
Movement at the farmhouse caught Tohmas’ attention. The protector messenger had returned.
“This way, Prince Tohmas,” the man invited, sweeping his arm in a grandiose gesture to indicate the path from the yard to the t hick door.
“Only your prime protector should attend. We will wait here for you, my Prince,” Vallant said with a wry smile. Two of the protectors took up posts within the yard, joining the Clandac and Solta soldiers f lawlessly.
As if we trust each other . Good for ap pearances.
Tohmas dismounted from Justice and, checking his weapons once more, passed through the gate. Carsh followed in his shadow, bone knif e in hand.
The room beyond the low doorway was hot, a large fire blazing in the hearth. Several fresh logs had been added; the night was young for the occupants. Atop the mantle, three tankards stood in a row, so worn by handling that their engraved crests had lost all relief. Dried herbs and flowers hung low from th e rafters.
Sound would not travel far in t his space.
Two men stood from their seats as Tohmas entered, leaving their own tankards on the pitted table. One was older than even Vallant, with white-blond hair and beard. His features were angled and stark, like a statue given life. The second man was shorter than the statue by only a few fingers, leaving him tall enough to see over Honest Justice’s withers. Although he was bulky, the man, blond-haired and blue-eyed like any Esparan, looked fatherly.
They matched their protectors outside: Prince Dragal, the great statue, wore blue and gold. Prince Sol, Dragal’s younger brother, wore his red a nd blacks.
Behind each man, trapped against the wall in the small space, stood the princes’ prime protectors. Dragal’s was a brute of equal height and thick muscle who had a sword on each side of his belt and a scar cutting through his mustache. The oth