The Clovel Destroyer

This book is a work of
fiction. Any references to historical events, people, or real
places are used fictitiously. All characters in this book are
products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Revised Edition

Smashwords

Text Copyright © 2016
Shannon G Brewer

Cover Illustration Art ©
Dusan Kostic | Dreamstime.com

All rights reserved,
including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any
form.

Visit the series website
at

www.clovelsword.com

Also By gordon
brewer

Clovel Sword Chronicles

Shield of skool (BOOK
1)

BATTLE FOR THREE REALMS
(BOOK 2)

the clovel destroyer
(novella)

trail to omcuUr
(novella)

Beowulf: Curse of the
dreygurs

Introduction

The Clovel Sword Chronicles is an epic dark fantasy,
set on the terra world of Kamin. The highest aspiration of the
warrior culture, which dominates the human world, is to die
honorably in battle, allowing the warrior's soul to reach
Haligulf
. It is an ancient pact, brought about
when the gods came into the world from the Great Void. While the
agreement continues the cycle of life and death, between the realms
of the gods and humans, it is
an unbalanced
world of entities and the souls they control. The gods do not stop
the ravages of continuous warfare and praying in the temples only
gives a fleeting hope to the populace. While some prophets speak of
a great hope about the changes are coming into the world, the rest
of humanity struggle through their lives.

One such person among the lands is a warrior named
Urith of Esterblud. He remains blissfully unaware of the prophecy
and his destiny within the realms which awaits
him
so
many seasons in the future. For the moment, his youthful
ambitions fall
apart,
and he must survive as
his personal world collapses in disaster and heartbreak. In this
back story to the Clovel Sword Chronicles, a tribal hero starts the
long struggle of rebuilding after suffering his deepest wounds and
darkest despair.

All the wounds we bear to
leave us like worms on a fishing hook; a
spirit
fighting against what the
Fates give us.

Ancient Esterblud
Proverb

The young warrior stood alone on the trail, watching
as
low
clouds swept over the forest of dry
lellowtere
trees in the distance. A black
helmet with long, pointed cheek and nose plates covered the
warrior’s head, which gave the fitting impression of a metal
death’s head. Adorned with an elaborately decorated, golden image
of an
Estercetus
, on the helmet’s crest, it was the sea
serpent symbol of the Esterblud people. The warrior’s tunic was
green with red edging, revealing his membership within his king’s
personal guard. Spun from the finest
Vulthnal
wool, it covered most of his chain mail armor. The uniform, worn
proudly, provided protection from the cold lands he patrolled.

Standing motionless, the man waited for the riders
he had seen earlier as he walked from the village. He rested his
large left hand comfortably on the pommel of his
longsword
, which hung from his waist, nearly extending to
the ground. Encased
in
the leather scabbard,
his newly forged sword blade carried finely detailed engravings of
the beasts and humans in battle. The Esterblud warrior slid his
right hand down the leather
baudrik
belt, his
fingers absently feeling the knots of the belt which looped over
his shoulder. Each knot representing a great battle completed,
either by killing an enemy or beast. The warrior felt the six knots
of his previous victories, each reminding him of his superior
skills and training, for the Esterbluds were proud and fearless. To
his tribe, death in battle meant joining the greatest of warrior
spirits who had gone before to the sky realm, an honor
higher
than any other.

Echoes of hoof beats had
reached
the man’s ears before he saw the
ossanes
riding at full gallop toward him. Appearing over
the forest ridge, the animals long, muscular necks and elongated
heads, obscured the riders. The warrior quickly recalled the smell
of the ugly beasts which provided the
primary
transportation on Kamin. But his eyes focused upon the riders. Even
at the great distance, the Esterblud
readily
identified the golden helmets and blue tunics of his enemy. The
farmers of the area were correct in their rumors about the nearby
Aberffraw raiders. A quick count revealed six of the enemy
approaching the village. Unlike the warriors who rode them, their
mounts had no armor. While not good odds, the vulnerability left
the young giant
confident.
A quick
consideration of the situation revealed he had little choice but to
stand his ground since only he stood between these raiders and the
small village of
Iffwer
. The rest of the
Esterblud warriors of his tribe were far to the south, riding
against the main force of Aberffraw along the coast, not far from
the large city of
Gramcan
. Tasked to act as a
scout by his father, the young warrior now forgot his resentment to
such unworthy duties, like searching for the enemy in an obscure
village. Now, he faced this enemy.

He thought about retreating back to the village for
his
ossane
to ride to his father, reporting
this enemy band. The man shook his head
.
While
logic might dictate such action at times, it was unworthy of a real
warrior
. Decided, he slid the shield and two
spears from behind his back, unhooking them from the baudrik belt.
He pushed the iron spear tips into the hard soil, then slid his arm
through the straps on the back of the round wood and
metal
shield.
Standing like a statue, the
giant man held steady, watching the oncoming riders as the echoes
of their hoofbeats grew louder.
The rhythm of the sound
reminded him of the
chants of his
tribe when
sang
in homage
to the
Estercetus
, their
sea
serpent
protector. He softly sang the song
to the sound of the oncoming hoof beats.

The party of Aberffraw
raiders
slowed their mounts when they spotted the lone figure standing in
the middle of the trail. The Esterblud saw the men, suspicious of
an ambush, looking closely at the forest which lined both sides of
the trail. Two of the riders pulled a spear from behind their back
while the rest satisfied themselves by pulling their short swords.
They came to a stop several paces in front of the Esterblud, their
ossanes snorting and rearing their heads high above the riders. The
group
knew the colors of the warrior in their
way,
and it gave them a slight pause.

A short man with thick arms, speaking in broken
Esterblud with a jeering tone spoke, “Move aside and we might let
you live
.”
There was a laugh from the group
which quickly faded as the young warrior remained quiet, his eyes
carefully looking for the most dangerous of his enemy. The man with
the thick arms stood out as the leader. However, the Esterblud
spotted another warrior showing long gray hair flowing beneath his
helmet. That man concerned him first.

“
F
ighters
who
become old through skill and cunning. To survive long, you must
watch out for them.”

The words of his father filled his head as he kept
careful watch of the old warrior. But his attention quickly shifted
to the spear holders in the back of the group. They spoke in
whispers,
and the Esterblud could make out
parts of the Aberffraw tongue. He felt their eagerness, wanting to
prove
themselves. The warrior slowly gripped
his Clovel Sword.

“
I’m Urith of the
Penhda
clan. I give you fair warning. You can
leave,
or you can die,” the giant suddenly spoke to the
group. “It’s your choice on this day.”

As he expected from his deliberate provocation, the
Esterblud saw one of the men holding a spear grow dark with rage.
The spear flew toward the warrior who dodged the projectile. There
was a fleeting instant before the Aberffraw with the thick arms
suddenly attacked.

Urith could hear himself yelling the battle cry as
he pulled one of the spears from the ground, swiftly embedding it
into the chest of the oncoming ossane. The dying animal pitched
forward, sending its rider into the dirt of the trail as the Clovel
Destroyer finished off the rider by driving his sword into the
man’s back. His instinct and training since childhood guided the
Esterblud giant as he stood next to the body, ready for battle. The
expected onslaught came as the remaining warriors came at him. A
spear struck his shield, glancing off as he ducked away from a
sword blow swung at him by one of the passing riders. Urith felt
the blow
on his exposed back as another
raider
hacked at him. The impact of the blade
sent him staggering, but fortunately, it failed to cut through the
chain mail. Catching a glance at another rider coming in close, the
Esterblud crouched low to avoid the short sword. He swung the
Clovel Sword into the legs of the ocean, which fell to the ground.
Both animal and rider screamed as the helpless creature panicked,
rolling over onto the man, crushing him in the saddle.

The giant warrior used the melee to his advantage,
sprinting over a few paces to his spear still stuck in the soil. He
turned just in time to launch his weapon at one of the Aberffraw’s
bearing down on him. The Esterblud spear entered the man’s abdomen,
pushing through his back. The man lost control of his ossane and
the animal suddenly ran toward the Esterblud. Urith barely dodged
the cloven hoofs which left him vulnerable to an enemy who waited
for the right moment. Before the young Esterblud realized what
happened, a sword tip passed between the face guard on his helmet.
He tasted the blood and felt the impact of the iron blade striking
into his teeth and bone. Blood splattered inside his helmet,
blinding him. Dazed from the blow, Urith spun away from the brunt
of the attack, sending his
longsword
slicing
high through the air. He felt the sword strike something
hard,
and he heard the groan, although he was
not certain of the source. Unable to stop himself, he fell to one
knee, unable to see his enemy. The blood poured from his face wound
as he shook his head, trying to wipe his eyes while blood
fell
down his chest. Spitting out several
teeth, he blindly lifted his shield to a desperate attempt to
defend himself. While he expected another attack to finish him, he
instead heard the familiar sound of grunts, sword strokes and death
groans of a battle around him.

As Urith finally cleared his vision, he heard
ossanes galloping away. The
Esterblud
carefully lifted his helmet to get a better view and saw two
riderless mounts speeding away. He
sensed
the
last attacker must be next to him before he peered up at the man
who still sat tall on his mount. Urith slowly rose to his feet,
unsure what to expect.

“
You
fight as
one of the demigods, Urith of the Penhda clan.” The man sheathed
his sword. The gray hair hanging on the enemy warrior’s shoulders
whipped in the wind. His action and the Vulthnal accent surprised
Urith. “I see no need to continue this fight. Let us stop now since
we have both suffered ugly wounds.”

Momentarily stunned at the gesture, Urith saw the
bloodstain
spreading across the leather
breeches of his enemy. The man held his hand tightly on his
hip,
and the Esterblud decided his sword must
have struck the warrior during the fight.

The Esterblud spit more blood and saliva on the
ground as he tried to speak, one side of his face numb. “My father
was right, always watch out for the old warriors. You had the
advantage, why did you stop?” Urith kept his hand on his face,
putting pressure to stop the bleeding.