Darker the Shadow (The Howler King Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Books by J. Lloyd Morgan

  Title page

  Copyright Information

  Dedication

  Introduction

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  About the Author

  Books by J. Lloyd Morgan

  The Bariwon Chronicles

  The Hidden Sun

  The Waxing Moon

  The Zealous Star

  Bring Down the Rain

  Wall of Faith

  The Mirror of the Soul

  (Written in conjunction with Chris de Burgh)

  The Night the Port-A-Potty Burned Down and Other Stories

  The Howler King Trilogy

  Darker the Shadow

  Stronger the Barrier

  Brighter the Light

  DARKER

  THE

  SHADOW

  J. Lloyd Morgan

  Pender Publishing

  Text Copyright © 2016

  Cover design Copyright © 2016

  Interior copyright design Copyright © 2016

  Pendr Publishing

  Author website: http://www.jlloydmorgan.com

  1st Edition

  All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  ISBN-10: 0-9886330-9-4

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9886330-9-4

  Edited by: Boundless Books

  Cover design: Kelley Morgan

  To Pendr, for nudging me over the years to put his story into words.

  INTRODUCTION

  When novelists are asked, “How do you write a book?” the answers will differ. Personally, my books are centered on the characters. When I sit down to write, I think to myself, “Ok, which character is this chapter about, and where did I leave off with him or her?” From there, I begin to write and see what happens. For me, that is the most enjoyable part of the writing process.

  A friend who read an early draft of this book asked, “What will be the storyline of the next book in the series?” My answer? “I don’t know. However, I can’t wait to find out.”

  That isn’t to say I don’t have a general idea where my books are headed, but I’ve found the journey to be more interesting if the destination is somewhat of a mystery.

  For this book, it got its start several years ago. A character, Pendr, developed in my mind while I wrote The Bariwon Chronicles. He was an interesting enough of a character to inspire the short story “The Howler King.” I thought that story would be enough to appease Pendr, but this book indicates I was wrong.

  While exploring more of Pendr’s story, a whole new world of characters and settings opened up to me. I hope you enjoy getting to know these characters as I did.

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  The day Wyjec understood death, he understood power.

  The Masters of Sothcar had power because they controlled who lived and who died. They ate their fill while Wyjec and the other chardi survived on scraps and thick gruel. “Be thankful,” the Masters had told the chardi. “We rescued you from certain death. All we ask in return is unquestioned devotion.”

  Wyjec knelt in a row with thirteen chardi, head to the ground, and palms flat against the cold, stone floor. The smell of unwashed bodies assaulted his nostrils. He and the rest of the chardi were not allowed to bathe. Water was life, and the Masters controlled the water. The stone walls of the palace sometimes gathered moisture, and Wyjec was not above licking what water he could while the Masters were otherwise engaged.

  “We are indebted to the Masters. We owe the Masters all. We live to serve the Masters.” Wyjec uttered the praises along with his fellow chardi to the men in front of him. The mantra would repeat until the Masters told them to stop. Only then would the chardi be allowed to eat. Only then would the chardi be allowed to live.

  A Master, tall and heavy, walked to Wyjec. Deliberately, the Master placed his thick leather boot on Wyjec’s hand, and then the large man shifted his weight, causing Wyjec’s fingers to crack under the pressure. Still, Wyjec prayed vocally, reciting the words. Crying out would show unworthiness. Pain lanced up his arm, but he would not give in. At nearly twice his size, the Master could do what he wanted, and there was nothing Wyjec could do to stop him.

  “We are indebted to the Masters. We owe the Masters all. We live to serve the Masters,” Wyjec chanted again. The pain became almost too unbearable. Wyjec was no match for the Master, let alone the rest of them who stood and watched. Protection, he thought. I need protection.

  There. A trickle in his mind, like tasting cool water on a hot day. It was small, but the trickle was present. Careful not to let it slip away, Wyjec focused on the pain from the Master crushing his fingers. The trickle seeped forward through his mind, down his neck, to his shoulder and arm, then his hand. The pain began to lessen, though Wyjec could still sense the pressure of the Master’s foot.

  Abruptly, the pain ceased. In its place, Wyjec’s hand acted as if encased in a plate gauntlet, though it appeared no different to his eyes. At the same moment, his body became weakened—a feeling akin to having just climbed several flights of stairs. His heart did not beat any faster, yet every part of him felt tired. Still, the pain in his hand was gone. The trade-off of fatigue was worth it. He continued to chant, though his mind was not on the words he spoke. What’s this? What’s stopping the pain? He had an idea but dared not believe it to be true.

  After a moment, the heavy-set Master removed his foot. “This chardi has proven his worth,” he intoned. The Master moved to the chardi on Wyjec’s left. He was of an age with Wyjec, not quite a man, yet too old to be a boy. They were friends, as much as possible in t
he Masters’ palace. Once again, the Master stepped on the chardi’s hand. Unlike Wyjec, this chardi cried out.

  “Why do you cry out, chardi?” the Master demanded. “Is it you lack the strength to serve us? Are you so weak that even a little pain distracts you from your devotion?”

  Wyjec continued to chant, along with the other chardi. It was dangerous to acknowledge the conflict. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he could protect the other young man. I don’t understand how I helped myself. How can I help him?

  “Chardi!” the Master shouted to the rest of the kneeling figures. “You have an unworthy among you!”

  Being labeled unworthy meant one thing: death.

  None of the chardi moved to help the one labeled unworthy as the Masters dragged him to the front of the room. None of the chardi dared flinch when the unworthy was beheaded. None of the chardi dared hope. None of the chardi even believed in the possibility of hope.

  None except Wyjec. If the Masters cannot harm me, they hold no power over me.

  Chapter 2

  Pendr stepped out from the darkened blacksmith’s workshop and into the sunlight. There, down the dirt-packed road, he could see the king’s bannermen. Nothcar’s green standard, the symbol of an evergreen tree embroidered with silver thread, fluttered in the spring breeze.

  “They’re coming!” Pendr called out. “Father, come see!”

  “One moment, my boy,” Osbrik said from inside the smithy.

  Word of the king’s men visiting the town had arrived two days previous. Pendr’s father had expressed his doubts of the news and had told his son not to hope for what might not be. However, the traveling merchant’s word proved true.

  Atop large stallions, knights rode with silver plate mail glimmering in the mid-day sun. Even their mounts wore armor trimmed in silver and green. They approached steadily, seeming to ignore the townspeople while at the same time observing everything.

  The vanguard had reached the smithy by the time Osbrik emerged. Neither father nor son spoke as they watched the knights head toward the town center. Pendr counted fourteen knights in all, a lucky number. He hoped it was a good omen.

  “C’mon then, my boy,” Osbrik said. “Let’s see what this is all about.”

  The town of Logs Pond was in a remote part of Nothcar, away from most main roads that led from the king’s castle to other larger towns in the kingdom. While roughly eight hundred people lived in the town proper, at least twice that many lived on the farms around the area. Visits from the realm’s protectors were uncommon. The last time Pendr recalled seeing knights was when he was twelve winters. Six winters had come and gone since then, but he still enjoyed revisiting the memories of seeing the gallant men mounted on war horses.

  A group of townsfolk followed behind the knights, whispering excitedly to each other. Pendr and his father joined the throng.

  “Why are they here?” Pendr asked.

  Osbrik’s face tightened. “Could be a number of things. We shall see.”

  Logs Pond’s town center was oval shaped with a large fountain in the middle. The land roundabout was mainly forest, with red maples being the most predominate. The granite used in the construction of the fountain had to be shipped in from the mountains in the west. It was not easy, but Osbrik had explained to Pendr when he was younger that custom dictated that each town or village have a fountain at its center, though he was unclear why.

  The knights rode around the fountain, and it seemed to Pendr that the lead knight was inspecting it. Appearing satisfied, the knights came to a stop in front of the largest building in town: the mayor’s home.

  Mayor Lonz was already standing on his porch which doubled as a platform for town meetings. He wore a green tunic embroidered with silver stitching—the tree symbol matching the knight’s banners. It was something Pendr had only seen him wear on the most prestigious of occasions. The mayor’s long, white hair cascaded over his wide shoulders.

  “Welcome to Logs Pond,” Mayor Lonz boomed. “We are honored to have knights from the realm visit us. We offer our hospitality.”

  The town center now contained what Pendr guessed was nearly every person in the nearby area. He spotted his mother and three younger siblings on the other side, but there was no way to get to them without pushing people out of the way.

  For a moment, none of the knights spoke; they remained still as statues. Slowly, the knight at the front lifted the visor of his helm. Pendr could only see him from the side, but it was enough to tell that the knight had a thick, dark mustache which connected with his trimmed beard.

  “I am Fueron, Knight of Nothcar. We accept your welcome. We shan’t be here long. We bring grim tidings from King Viskum.”

  “Oh?” Mayor Lonz asked, his face paling. “And what tidings are these?”

  Fueron responded by turning his horse to face the crowd. The multitude stood quietly on, watching. The knight peered out at the townsfolk, his facial expression unreadable to Pendr.

  “War,” the knight said.

  The crowd’s reaction was palpable. Mothers held infants closer to their chests. The elderly looked at the ground and shook their heads. Pendr felt his father wrap a muscular arm around his shoulder.

  “War?” Mayor Lonz asked. His face had turned nearly as white as his hair.

  Fueron nodded. “For a generation, this town has enjoyed the hard-won peace achieved by King Viskum. Alas, it was not meant to endure. The southern part of the realm has come under attack, with the enemy capturing the town of Iredell. The king intends to respond with no small measure of force.”

  The grip on Pendr’s shoulder tightened, though he wasn’t sure why. Surely Logs Pond was far enough north to not be in danger. Why is father fearful? Pendr thought.

  “What is it you require?” the mayor asked.

  The lead knight turned back and faced the town’s leader. “We need to see your book of records. King Viskum, in his wisdom, understands that we need towns like Logs Pond to continue to function and send supplies in support of the war. He thereby will only be conscripting young men and women between fourteen and nineteen winters.”

  Several people in the crowd gasped. Pendr felt his father sigh deeply. Conscripting? What does that mean? As a blacksmith’s apprentice, Pendr’s schooling focused mostly on the skills needed in the smithy.

  Fueron continued, “We require a mid-day meal, care for our horses, and access to your records. We’ll then be on our way. You will have four days in which to prepare at which point we will be back for the conscripts as well as other supplies which we require.”

  Mayor Lonz nodded gravely. “It shall be as you say.” Lonz motioned to two young men in the crowd. “Tikan, Wescro, see to the horses.” His focus returned to the knights. “Sirs, if you will follow me.”

  “C’mon, my boy,” Osbrik said, pulling Pendr back from the crowd. “We have much to discuss.”

  “But Tik and Wes will need help with the horses,” Pendr said.

  His father continued to pull him back. “Your friends are quite capable of that task. Now, back to the smithy. No more questions until we get there.”

  Pendr glanced over his shoulder one last time to watch as the knights dismounted. They looked regal and powerful. The last time the knights had visited, Pendr had dreams of riding on a horse, adorned in plate mail armor, and going off to fight whatever foes dared threaten the kingdom. He had told his father about these dreams. His father chided him, calling it the foolishness of youth. The fantasies of becoming a knight faded with time. Pendr was destined to be a blacksmith, like his father—a fate he now readily accepted.

  The crowd began to disperse. Mothers were crying, and their children were crying along with them, though Pendr believed the younger children were merely reacting in kind. I don’t understand. Any threat was far from Logs Pond; it had to be. Maybe it had something to do with what the knight said about the young men and women … oh, what was the word again? Ah, yes, conscripting.

  “Father, what does consc
ripting mean?” Pendr asked as they continued back to the smithy.

  “I told you no more questions until we were back inside. I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

  Pendr was taken aback by his father’s harsh response. As the town blacksmith, his father was the strongest man in town, and probably the region. He was also the tallest, though Pendr nearly matched his height. Even with his imposing physical appearance and skill as a blacksmith, Osbrik was known as much for his wisdom and composure. Pendr could not recall the last time his father had spoken harshly to him.

  The blacksmith shop was only a few structures away from the town center. Next to it was the tanner’s building, owned by Canod. He and Osbrik were good friends and had been as far back as Pendr could remember.

  “Light guide us,” Canod said as they passed. His blue eyes showed sadness, something else that was uncommon as Canod was always quick with witty comments.

  “Light guide us,” Pendr and Osbrik echoed.

  Upon reaching the smithy, Osbrik motioned for Pendr to enter first. The glow from the forge was enough to illuminate the inside of the building. The embers needed tending, which Pendr did habitually. As he stoked the coals, his father closed the main door—something normally done only at the end of the day.

  “Father, what is it? What has you so rattled?”

  “You’re being conscripted, my boy.”

  “I don’t know that word, father. Conscripted.” The word felt strange coming off his tongue.

  “That’s because it’s a word I’d hoped you’d never hear. It means you’re going to be a soldier. The king is pressing you into service.”

  A soldier? That was what he had dreamed about becoming when he was younger. Now, the idea lacked any appeal. “I don’t understand. I’m an apprentice blacksmith, not a soldier. Can the king do that?”

  Osbrik walked over and stared into the forge. “He’s the king. He can do as he pleases.”

  This idea of being conscripted did not make any sense to Pendr. His whole life, the king was someone who lived in a faraway castle. Never had the ruler of the land directly impacted Pendr’s life—certainly not to the point where Pendr had learned any skills aside from what the town needed. “But, I know nothing of combat or swordplay.”