The Northlander

John E. Elias

Description

Björn was raised in the Northland, a mountainous country of almost unbearable cold. In this unforgiving environment, the survivors became quick, agile, and incredibly strong. Because the land could support only a limited number of people, a select number of people were expelled to make their way in the outside world. But before they were released, they were highly trained to be mighty skilled warriors. Emotions were systematically suppressed to prevent interfering with the sometimes daunting tasks they must prepare to face.

This is the story of the Northlander, who earned success and wealth as a most honorable mercenary. Accepting only those assignments that met his self defined moral standards of honor, he agrees to protect a princess on a dangerous trip to meet her future husband, the king of a far away land. A story of adventure and honor, Björn must learn to embrace the emerging emotions he was trained to ignore and begin a new life filled with love.

Sujets

• Fantastique
• Epic Fantasy
• Fiction
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 21 février 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781936688340
• Langue: English

Extrait

THE
NORTHLANDER

JOHN E. ELIAS

 


 
 
 
© 2012 John E. Elias
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author or publisher.
 
 
Published in eBook format by AKA-Publishing
Columbia, Missouri
www.aka-publishing.com
 
Designed by Yolanda Ciolli
www.yolandaciolli.com
 
Converted by http://www.eBookIt.com
 
ISBN-13: 978-1-9366-8834-0
 
 



 
 
 



 
 
Dedication

This book is dedicated to my four
wonderful and loving children:
Lisa, Alan, Michael and Paula.
 


 
 
PROLOGUE
 
Björn was raised in the Northland, a mountainous country of almost unbearable cold. In this unforgiving environment, the survivors became quick, agile, and incredibly strong. Because the land could support only a limited number of people, a select number of people were expelled to make their way in the outside world. But before they were released, they were highly trained to be mighty skilled warriors. Emotions were systematically suppressed to prevent interfering with the sometimes daunting tasks they must prepare to face.
This is the story of the Northlander, who earned success and wealth as a most honorable mercenary. Accepting only those assignments that met his self defined moral standards of honor, he agrees to protect a princess on a dangerous trip to meet her future husband, the king of a far away land. A story of adventure and honor, Björn must learn to embrace the emerging emotions he was trained to ignore and begin a new life filled with love.
CHAPTER ONE
THE GENTLE PEOPLE

 
The stranger strolled down the dirt road, followed by a horse slightly behind and to his left. Their steps lifted small clouds of dust that trailed behind them.
The man was average height and slender; some would call him thin. His skin stretched tightly over his face, accenting his high cheekbones, sharp nose, and thin lips. His eyes, a unique dark gray color that was almost black, were the most prominent feature of his face. Though his eyes were focused lazily ahead, they gave the impression that they missed little.
His hair was also dark gray, but that seemed to be its natural color, not from age. It was short and wiry, the cut rough as though he was unconcerned with appearance.
He wore clothes of dark brown hide, and the material rippled and moved with his stride, like cloth instead of leather. His shirt appeared more like a short jacket covering the top of his trousers with a cowl hanging down the back.
His brisk pace exposed the hilt of a short sword hanging at his waist and except for the two long swords that hung on his back his appearance, while unique, would not have drawn more than casual attention. The swords were much longer than most and incredibly thin. The hilts sat above his shoulders on each side of his muscled neck, and the blades hung almost to his ankles. Because of their length, it looked like they might tangle with his legs and trip him at any step, but they swung in rhythm with his stride, as though from long and careful practice. The swords were enclosed in sheaths made from the same material as his clothes.
The horse was dun colored, his body compact with powerful legs, neck and back. A large roll of what looked like an animal hide was thrown across its back and fastened neatly under its belly. A bag was tied to either side of the horse, and attached to one of the bags was a bow as long as an average man was tall, and wraps containing many long lethal-looking arrows. Like the man, the horse appeared unconcerned with his surroundings. Both walked steadily, their pace purposeful, as though they had a specific destination in mind.
Steep mountains lay in the distance in all four directions. Between the mountains, the land rolled with gentle hills, meadows, slow-moving streams, and a river. While most of the land was open, forests and groves of trees were scattered throughout. The countryside was peaceful; birds sang, small animals strayed in and around buildings, and people went about their tasks intent upon their work.
Homesteads with cabins and barns dotted the landscape, and the farmland was divided into small fields by rock walls. It was spring planting time. Men, women, and children worked the fields. The men plowed furrows in the earth, using horses, oxen and, in some cases, donkeys. The plows ranged all the way from sturdy metal to wood. Women and children sowed the seed, while older children followed, employing a variety of implements-—from flat boards with handles to limbs with branches—to cover the seeds. If any of the farmers noticed the pair on the road, they did so covertly.
The river ran lazily through the land bordering the road. It was relatively wide, shallow, and slow-moving, but at a few points it narrowed and speeded up, running noisily over rapids.
Farm work was underway on both sides of the river. When the river was quiet, sounds carried clearly over the water, and the man could hear families talking as they went about their work.
Across the river, a young boy working with an older man threw down his hoe angrily. His voice carried clearly across the water as though he were beside the road.
“Why do we have to work so hard when they take everything?” he shouted. “We go to bed hungry at night while they feast on what we grow and on the animals we raise.”
The older man spoke softly, but his voice still carried. “Be careful, my son. We do not know who is listening.”
“I do not care, Father. We just buried Londa. If there had been enough to eat, she would still be alive. And mother just stays in the cabin and cries. I wish we could leave this place.”
“Please, my son, your mother cannot travel. And where would we go? Our families have lived here as long as any of us can remember. I have no idea where to take us.”
“Anywhere would be better than here,” the boy said bitterly.
The father’s sigh could be heard clearly across the water. “Please, my son, we must get this field planted and let me think about it.”
The traveler murmured softly to the horse, “Jago, it may be that this will be an interesting place.”
A small village appeared ahead of them. It was laid out haphazardly as though it had simply grown over the years rather than being the result of a plan. The buildings were constructed from rough-hewn lumber of varying sizes, and the roofs were thatch. There were few windows and the doors were small. From the coloration and aging of the wood, the cabins were obviously of different ages; few were new. The others varied so greatly in age that they seemed to be from separate eras.
A short distance apart from the village, on a small hill, stood a tiny church, very different from the other buildings. While the buildings in the village were in good repair and showed the effects of care, the church was neglected. Weeds and shrubs grew high around it. Windows were broken, and the door hung off its hinges. Part of it had been damaged by fire.
Six children played a game with smooth, round stones in the road. To the traveler, it seemed that the purpose of the game was for one player to cast a large stone a short distance ahead, and for the rest of the players to attempt to hit it with smaller stones they tossed. The four boys and two girls were engrossed in their play, squealing gleefully when a small stone struck the large one.
Suddenly, an argument broke out and one of the boys grabbed the stone of the smallest girl and tossed it away from the playing area. The stone skipped down the road, striking the traveler’s boot. The children grew silent except for the small girl, who cried softly.
The man stopped, reached down, and picked up the stone. The stone and the children at play cracked through the normal tight control of his emotions and brought back a painful memory.
As a small boy, he had watched other children playing. They took turns tossing little, round vertebrae from a marlot, a large rodent, toward a line they had drawn on a rock. The purpose of the game was to see whose cast came closest to the line. When each player had made a cast , the game began anew. Björn the boy watched.
“Come, Björn, that is not for you,” a tall man said to the boy. The man turned and walked up the path. When the boy did not follow, he spoke again. “Come, Björn,” he repeated. The boy reluctantly followed.
One of the players teased the boy. In a falsetto voice, he mimicked, “Come, Björn. Come, Björn.” The memory was still alive for the traveler.
“Mister, can I have my stone?” the small girl asked. When he did not respond, she repeated, “Mister, can I have my stone?”
The traveler started as his mind was yanked back to the present. Squatting, he held out the stone to the child, who took it with a small “Thank you.” As they resumed their game, the traveler stayed in a crouch, watching them for several long moments. The long-forgotten memory brought with it strange feelings, feelings he found disturbing. He stood, shook himself like a dog shaking water from its coat, and continued down the road into the village.
Except for the children playing in their strange fashion, the only people to be seen in the village were two elderly women sitting on a log in front of a small cabin built into the side of a hill. One of the women smoked a long pipe while she stripped husks from a basket of corn, and the other worked on a small piece of material in her lap. From the look of it, she was creating a small garment. Neither woman spoke, each working diligently at her task, one smoking with small streams of smoke coming from both her mouth and the bowl of the pipe while the other sewed. With downcast eyes, they furtively watched the stranger.
The traveler and his horse stopped in front of a building different from the rest. While built in the same casual style with the same rough-hewn wood, and obviously ancien