Authors: James A. West

Reaper Of Sorrows (Book 1) (25 page)

“What of the others?” Rathe asked.

Erryn flung the head away and watched it bounce across the muddy grass. “Lord Sanouk’s men were here. They took Mitros’s men, but left him behind. Many of my people had been locked in the mines, forgotten. The rest are like to be in the forests, or fled altogether. Mitros we found lying in his own squalor, drunk and insensible.”

“You know your people cannot remain here,” Rathe advised. He had told the same to the villagers of Hilan. Whether or not King Nabar sought to avenge his brother’s death, word of rebellion would enrage the king and the nobles of his court. Highborn of no land would tolerate rebellion.

Erryn scanned the decrepit palisade, and then the crags rising into the sodden mists beyond. “The greatest part of Onareth’s wealth yet lies within the mines. With so much gold, we can build a fortress and an army to resist anything Nabar dares to throw against us.”

“So you would make yourself a queen?” Rathe asked in jest.

Erryn’s lips spread in a mischievous smile. “Stranger things have happened. Perhaps naming myself Queen of the North is not so strange after all.”

Breyon shouted, “Queen Erryn!” The cry was quickly taken up by the soldiers at her back, and the Maidens of the Lyre.

“I could use a wise general,” Erryn said after the raucous chanting faded. “A man of war and honor … a man who was once the king’s champion, and who could treat with potential enemies and allies alike. Such a man as that,” she added, her cheeks reddening, “could, perhaps, rise higher … even become a king.”

Loro whistled softly, looking between Rathe and Nesaea.

Rathe cleared his throat, avoiding Nesaea’s pointed glare. “You honor me, but such is not my path.”

Erryn looked at her fingers, red with Mitros’s blood.

“However,” Rathe added, “I will remain here awhile—a fortnight, no more—to help you begin building a proper army and defenses.” Even a fortnight was too long, but Rathe could not live with the idea of abandoning Erryn and her people without the smallest assistance. He would give advice, and leave it in Erryn’s hands to see that advice put into practice.

Erryn’s face cleared at his offer, and her eyes brightened as if he had secretly given her a chance to persuade him to accept her idea of kingship at her side. Nesaea’s countenance grew stormier.

Gods
, Rathe mused sourly,
will I ever tread an easy path?

The gods, whether amused by his plea or sympathetic to his plight, kept silent.

He should have told Erryn she was a fool for thinking to stand against Onareth with naught but an army of crofters, miners, and a smattering of outcast soldiers gathered from the foothills of the Gyntors, but as she had said, stranger things had happened down through the ages. If he did not miss his guess, she had the fire within her to oversee the rise of a new kingdom.

Once the storied Scorpion, now an instigator of rebellions.
Life he decided, was strange indeed.

Epilogue

R
athe halted his mount, motioning for Loro to rein in abreast of him. He cocked his ear, listening for the thunder of pursuing hooves, but hearing only silence.
Perhaps we outran them?
The thought held more hope than truth.

The party hunting them was large, no less than a score of armed horsemen. They might have split, with one group riding ahead, while the other pressed in on their heels. The Gyntors lay hard to the north, and the grassy steppes of Qairennor waited many days west. The only route that offered any chance of escape was the one he least wanted to take.

His time in Valdar, twice the agreed fortnight, had taught him that where the foothills harbored many a stalking abomination, the heart of the Gyntors was worse. Over brimming mugs of ale, he had heard it told that folk once lived in great cities perched atop high plateaus, or sheltered within deep vales. Those were dead places now, all the tellers of such stories agreed, shunned by even the most brazen treasure seekers. Why those civilizations fell into ruin, no one knew for certain, but suspicion ranged from dark sorceries to vengeful gods, to men forgetting they were men and becoming bloodthirsty beasts.

“I don’t suppose you regret leaving Valdar so soon?” Loro asked, scowling at the forest rising around them, grim and indistinct in the gloaming. Snow-clad cliffs and crags loomed higher still, peeking down at the world from behind streamers of mist.

Rathe arched an eyebrow. “Was it not you who spoke fondly of the life of a bandit? Besides, we had delayed too long already—that we are running now, is proof of that.”

Loro glared. “I intended that we should be
profitable
bandits on the shores of the Sea of Muika, not a pair of hungry dolts running from bounty hunters through these accursed mountains.”

“I think you have heard too many bard’s tales, brother. A bandit’s life is a mean affair, and usually ends under the swinging axe of a headsman, or in a deep, lightless cell.”

“If you thought so,” Loro snorted, “then why did you agree to it?”

Why indeed?
The question was simple, the answer harder. On one side Erryn, the other Nesaea. Caught between two women, each jealous for his affections, was a poor position for any man.

Also, there was his surety that those hounding them now were from Onareth. While no definite word had come that the esteem once granted Rathe by King Nabar had been revoked, he sensed that disavowal as keenly as he felt the changing of the seasons. Like a foul odor drifting on the wind, he had detected a looming danger drawing near some days before seeing the first sign of those who pursued them.

Luckily, he and Loro had ridden from Valdar before that threat found them. Had they remained in the village, Rathe’s presence would have brought down the full wrath of Onareth upon Erryn and her people before they were prepared to repel such an assault. For a time, at least, Erryn and her people would stay safe in relative obscurity.

Before Rathe could form a simpler answer to Loro’s question than what had passed through his mind, the metallic ring of an iron-shod hoof striking stone turned him. A shadow stirred farther down the trail, within a dense thicket of pines.

“Which way,” Loro breathed, looking west as if to tip the balance in favor of his choice.

An arrow flashed an inch above Rathe’s head and thudded into a tree. “North,” he growled, wishing he could have advised any other direction. Sawing the reins, he put heels to his mount.

“Gods and demons!” Loro cursed, following hard after.

Cool and dark, the waiting forest welcomed them into its ancient embrace, promising sanctuary for the moment, but telling nothing of the future, or revealing the wonders and evils that it kept hidden.

Other Books by James A. West

If you enjoyed Reaper of Sorrows - Songs of the Scorpion Volume I, be sure to check out these other exciting fantasy books by James A. West:

Heirs of the Fallen Series

Book One -
The God King

Book Two -
Crown of the Setting Sun

Short stories

Night’s Hunt

Biography

WHEN JAMES
was thirteen years old he read The Talisman, by Stephen King and Peter Straub, and a seed of an idea was planted that someday he, too, would create different worlds and realities. After a stint in the US Army, a year as a long-haul truck driver, and a couple as a log home builder, he enrolled at the University of Montana. There, he majored in Psychology and, by chance, took a creative writing course. Words started to flow, and worlds were born. James lives in Montana with his wife and his bodyguard, a Mini-Schnauzer named Jonesy.

Find James at: