Valguard

N Humphrey David

Description

A woman kidnapped by bandits. A mercenary sent alone to rescue her. Time is running out, the odds are against him and he must play a dangerous game to survive...High up in the fells, a mercenary called Valguard pits himself against a band of vicious thieves and seemingly impossible odds on a daring night-time raid on a remote, fortified stronghold to rescue a hostage. Meanwhile, his employer, The Duke, waits at the border for news of the mission. Will he outwit the ruthless group of over twenty bandits known as The Cutters? Or has his luck ran out and this time he has sent his friend to a very bloody death?The first Valguard book and prologue to the forthcoming novel 'Ten of Swords'

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Function9.com
• Date de parution: 28 janvier 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781783016457
• Langue: English

Extrait

VALGUARD: KNIGHT OF COINS 
by David N Humphrey
 
 
 
Valguard: Knight of Coins Copyright © David N Humphrey, 2014
 
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition
that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
 
No part of this book, including electronic versions (ie PDF or eBook) may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission from the copyright holder, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in connection with a review for insertion in a newspaper, magazine, website or broadcast. Any infringement
of the publisher’s rights will result in appropriate legal action.
 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
 
First published in 2014 by Function9.com
Version 1.06
 
www.knightofcoins.com @knightofcoins
 
www.tenofswords.co.uk @tenofswordsbook
 
 
 
 
For Helen xxx
 
 
Chapters
1 His Job is Death
2 Captured
3 Explosion
4 Hostage
5 The Waiting Soldiers
6 The Duke of Pentland
 
 
Chapter 1 
 
His Job was Death
 
He knew that before the sun came up he would have to kill everyone in that house. Hidden amongst the surrounding ferns and lying on his front, he watched and waited for movement, his eyes fixed intently on the remote farmstead sat on the dark moors.
The breeze gently brushed the scroll-like fiddlehead tops around him, except for the fronds directly in front, which were held apart by his gloved hands. His eyes were adjusted to the clear, moonless night that was just peppered by stars but he could clearly see the fortified building of Mardale sat in a gully.
As he watched, a dark figure in dirty armour carrying a ten foot long wooden pike at his shoulder casually walked around the perimeter once again.
Farmhouses don’t normally have perimeter guards but in reality this was a stronghold and its inhabitants were definitely not farmers.
Being only a few miles from the border meant the outpost had seen many raids in its lifetime and over the years it had been fortified. The windows were fewer and smaller than you’d expect and had almost been reduced to slits. To the right side was a square, heavily defended gatehouse arching over a wooden entrance with a thick perimeter wall of stone, wide enough to walk along, connecting each of the buildings in turn. It was modifications like these that the new owners had been looking for when they stole it.
The guard was average height and build and had a lumpy nose and greasy, red face. His slightly oversized and dented sallet helmet together with a simple breastplate gave the appearance of a military man but that was undermined by the tatty clothes underneath and his boots, which were too worn and uncared for. A wide leather belt wound around him and had several pouches attached along with a dagger and a sword. A sash of red was tied around him too, probably to remind him which side he was on. Nothing on him seemed to match and he had the manner of someone who had been put on the perimeter because there wasn’t anyone else available.
As the sentry disappeared round the corner, the watcher sprang up from the ground and leaving his green camouflaged sheet in the ferns, sprinted almost silently towards the blind side of the building. His legs whipped through the bracken before he crossed a low wooden bridge over the stream, his feet touching the planks three times in a soft ‘thump-thump-thump’ before he raced back up the grassed ground stopping only when his body slammed flat into edge of the wall. He held his breath, listening for any noise that he had been spotted.
Nothing.
Good.
Avoiding the patrolling guard meant that without a confrontation there wouldn’t be a subsequent break in his laps and no-one would trigger the alarm. Best to leave him walking outside unaware of his planned incursion and get him on the way out.
His next step would be to sneak over the perimeter wall and stop the watcher on the gatehouse, he wouldn’t be able to make progress inside the yard without removing him. He rolled himself around the corner stones of the wall and sunk into the shadows once again.
At the front of the compound, on the roof of the gatehouse, a roundish figure shuffled back and forth, occasionally disappearing behind the stone box of the lookout post. He did not notice fifty feet behind him, the fingers of a pair of hands curl over the battlements followed by the top of a hooded head. The head waited until the guard was behind the post and with the courtyard clear, sprang over the wall and dropped low on the walkway. Glancing behind, he quietly hurried unseen towards the gatehouse, stopping at the stone wall beneath the turret before creeping around going up the steps.
On the exposed platform above the thick, oak front doors, an enormous, obese man with a mess of matted hair and patchy beard on his sweaty, fat head lumbered along behind the battlements of the outer wall of the gatehouse and stopped in the slightly sheltered corner. Sniffing and wheezing, he leaned against the wall and with another sniff pulled the mucus back into his nose before his sleeve wiped across his nostrils. His wet hand tucked itself into his coat, reappearing holding a metal flask of spirit. He knew only too well he couldn’t drink on watch but he was arrogant enough to know the chief’s rules didn’t apply to him. On bloody watch again. It never seemed to be his turn to have some fun. Bastards.
In anticipation his mouth began to water and he spat on the floor to make room for the drink. As he unscrewed the cap, he looked to his left and then to his right to make sure he was unobserved. He wasn’t sure which way was his left and right but he checked them all the same.
He raised the flask to his lips, tilted his head backwards and looking at the clear night sky took several thirsty gulps of the harsh alcohol. The first few swigs tasted good with a sharp kick to it but the last glug choked him in pain as he felt his throat fill up, he spat and splattered and sprayed the mixture of drink and blood out through his gritted teeth. His ears popped with the pressure on his throat stopping his head from moving. As his wide eyes looked down he saw the silhouette of a hooded man standing perfectly still directly in front of him where seconds ago there was no-one. His right arm was outstretched from under a cloak and stopped at the cross-guard of a sword whose blade extended into the guard’s burbling throat. The guard’s tongue had by now balled-up into his bloodied mouth and pushed his teeth apart and his relaxed arm holding the drink canister fell away to his side. His eyes continued to roll downwards with just enough life to see the torchlight flickering on the gleaming shaft of metal that had pierced his upper throat between his tongue and voice box. With that last image sent to his brain, his eyelids slid over his empty eyes and a final breath of air leaked out of his ventilated neck.
The intruder waited for a moment to ensure the guard was dead, before ripping out his gleaming sword and concealing within his silhouette. As silently as he had appeared, he vanished back down the steps into the courtyard.
The guard’s massive, lifeless body slid down the wall, its head knocking on every stone on the way, the long, tangled hair marking a vertical red stripe down the wall like a paintbrush as it went.
Creeping carefully along the inner wall of the yard, passing unnoticed the paddock of settled horses who were standing asleep, each with a bent leg resting on its hoof tip. Suddenly a door ahead of him opened inwards about fifteen feet away, light shone out onto the cobbles of the courtyard making a couple of horses turn their necks. Before he could press himself back into the shadows of a convenient buttress, he could just about hear a man shout an insult from inside.
‘...it’ll take a while fer ya to empty that big bladder through that small tap, Ladner haha ha!’
A fat man staggered onto the courtyard in front of him, grinning to himself and mumbling a slurred insult back to his heckler. After taking a few steps, he suddenly stopped. The intruder tensed, expecting the man to have seen him, spin round and attack, but he didn’t. Instead, he just unbuttoned the front of his pants and just starting pissing right where he stood in the middle of the yard.
Dirty bastard.
He was still moaning and mumbling and cursing someone as he waved the piss left and right of him. The beer stinking urine was arcing away from its maker and splashing on the shiny cobbles. The assassin waited. He wasn’t going to attack him mid-flow, at least let him finish, but he looked about furtively to both sides, it was still clear. The liquid kept on flowing and showed no sign of slowing – that was a lot of beer! Finally, the jet of piss began to droop, became a dotted line and then after a couple of splashes, stopped altogether. The intruder’s fists clenched waiting for the miscreant to put himself away. What he didn’t expect next was instead of putting his nob back in his pants, he pulled them straight down to his knees and then squatted. His bare, pimply arse sticking out from under his tunic shirt.
He’s gonna have a shit!
In the middle of the courtyard? Nobody does that.
Enough.
The stranger dashed from the shadows and grabbed the top of the filthy bastard’s hair and pulled his head back. The drunk man was in an awkward, vulnerable position anyway and as his head went back his mouth opened in sh