The Treason Blade (Battle for Alsaar Book 1)

The Treason

Blade

Jenny
Rebecca Keech

Copyright © 2014 Jenny Rebecca Keech

Edited by: Amanda Thames

All rights reserved.

Cover Photo:
www.flickr.com/photos/albioneurope/6094585830

ISBN: 1500461539

ISBN-13:
978-1500461539

To my family, who still continue to drive me
forward.
I would not be the writer I am without them.

Ishar hefted the fresh blade high in her right hand
and examined its double edge. The metal was shaped sharp and true. The shallow
grove down the middle lightened the weight without taking away any of its
cutting strength. Her own weapon bore such a mark. The intricate markings down
the sides indicated an object of passion. She glanced back to Fenric and nodded
with satisfaction. “It is good. Who is he, this metal worker?”

Fenric
shrugged. “He is a she. Like you, she apparently enjoys a man’s occupation.” He
inclined his head and spoke thoughtfully, “Or maybe like you her father had no
sons.”

Ishar smiled
to herself and chose to ignore Fenric’s gentle barb. She wrinkled her nose and
admired the sun’s glare off the cutting edges as she replied, “Father did not
push me into this. I have known since the first time my fingers brushed across
the hilt of one of his old blades that this would be my path.” Ishar reached
behind with her left hand and stroked her fingers across the hilt of her own
weapon, sheathed within its scabbard on a shoulder belt behind her back, “And I
for one have never looked back.” She shook her head decisively. “I cannot
explain it, Fenric. There has always been a certainty within me of my being a
warrior.”

“With two
other sisters who have followed your path, it must be something in the blood,”
Fenric muttered. “I am certain you have all turned your mother’s hair white by
now.” Fenric turned a speculative glance her way. “What of your two younger
sisters left at home?”

Ishar
grinned. “Fiona and Serine apparently do not have the blood of which you speak.
They show no desire to pick up a weapon and go off to war. And mother is as
lovely as the day that he married her, according to my father.”

Fenric had his
back braced against the side of the village well, set in the middle of the
village of Lyell. He gave a nod at her words before glancing up at several
shrieks. Fenric frowned and studied the
noisy square. Laughing children ran freely amongst the market ground
surrounding the center well, disrupting the women who argued with the sellers
and buyers. He turned back and studied her. “How does Sajwe feel that only two
of her daughters want to be wives and mothers and the others have chosen
warrior status?”

Ishar frowned
at his words. Then she shrugged. “Since mother was once a warrior herself I can
only say she is proud to see three daughters who have chosen this path. As for
the other two choosing to be wives and mothers,” Ishar’s expression turned to
one of amusement, “you should come to father’s holding more often,” she said
with a chuckle. “Fiona keeps her head buried in father’s books, advising him
more on ways of prospective profit than looking for a prospective husband and
Serine stays busy studying all the various plants she can find and seeking out
those that have any use for healing. She has earned herself quite a name. On
any occasion that a trader comes through, Serine always takes time to see if
they have some new herb or potion for her to examine.” Ishar shook her head in
mock sadness. “Though you are right, Fenric. I am sure there are times Mother
wished all of us had a little more interest in fine cloth or perfume when the
traders come, like the other girls of Ayden. However, she has always proved
true and loved us for who we are.”

Fenric nodded
thoughtfully, then stood and stepped away from the well. He stretched out his
hand for the sword. Ishar relinquished the blade reluctantly. It was
beautifully made. She would have to seek out this metal worker.

Fenric set
about wrapping the blade in cloth. “What of your sisters, Negara and Ealia? Are
they still off to the north and west? I heard they left several months ago.”

Ishar nodded.
“The thievery has been bad close to the coastal area along the northern edge
for the past two years, but now they have become too bold. They hit the village
of Doan earlier this year and when the villagers resisted, they murdered the
elder and his entire family. They were hanged.”

Fenric’s
mouth went slack. “All of them? Even the children?”

Ishar nodded
slowly. “All. Father was outraged. It was all Mother could do to stop him from
taking himself off to battle. Negara left with her warband and Ealia with her
archers soon after. Father wishes this dealt with now, before the summer is
upon us.”

Fenric nodded
thoughtfully. He finished wrapping the blade and slid it within his pack. He
glanced up with curiosity. “And why have you not gone with your sisters?”

Ishar
shrugged. “They are more than enough to deal with petty thieves. Besides,
Father has sent me on a duty to the south. He wishes me to speak with Varyk.”

Fenric
wrinkled his brow.
“Varyk of the south?”
His lips
pursed tightly and he crossed his arms as he gazed on her intently, a grimace
marring his expression. “He is a stranger to our parts. It is rumored he has a
mighty group of men who follow him and he has allied himself with the Lute
leader, Wyn.” Fenric’s frown deepened. “Why does your father wish to speak to
this man? He is not of the island. It is said he is a foreigner from the
mainland of Megara and that the men who follow him are also foreigners. His
wife is said to be a Lute, an enemy of our people,” he added bitterly.

Ishar let
Fenric’s frustration roll over her. Many people had struggled with the terms of
peace between her father and Wyn. She shrugged. “We have made peace with the
Lute. Father has noted with interest that the Britai have accepted Varyk as
their leader. He brings stability to their war torn region.” She nodded intently.
“It is because this Varyk has proved to be a powerful force that Father wishes
to seek him as a possible ally in the coming future. We need no trouble with
the south. Spring is coming and soon it will be the early summer season.”

Fenric spit
on the ground in disgust. “And the Tourna raiders will come.”

“Ah, yes,”
Ishar nodded solemnly with troubled eyes, “The Tourna.”

Her mind cast
itself backward to memories of childhood and stories spoken in low whispers and
the hard facts she had learned as a young warrior facing this dreadful enemy
called the Tourna, a people from the mainland coast of Megara. A hazy,
fog-drifting sliver of coast situated two miles to the east of the small island
of Alsaar where she lived, nestled in the northern regions in a land that
belonged to her people, the Haaldyn. As a child the Tourna had been the
ngarnri, the haunters of nightmares. What every parent warned their child
lingered in the dark of the night and the shadowy recesses of the day.
Places to be avoided.
As a young warrior, Ishar had found
that some nightmares too easily proved themselves real.

The Tourna were Alsaar’s greatest enemy.
Great boat builders and horsemen who brought their own mounts with
them across the waterway whenever they came to raid.
In large vessels of
wood the Tourna would cover the distance between their two lands, bringing
destruction and death to anyone who would not surrender. The Tourna were
slavers and ruin was all they left in their wake each time they made landfall.
Every ten years and always near the beginning of summer they appeared for what
they called a harvesting.

The winter snows had stopped several weeks earlier.
The mountains already showed signs of melted snow, the downward flow held, at
this point, within the confines of the Etu River that ran toward the south and
the sea. Spring was almost upon them and this year it would herald the
impending arrival of the Tourna. All of Alsaar shivered in fear for what that
would mean.

In the past few years her father, Ryen of the
Haaldyn, had managed to negotiate a peace with the Lute, the tribal people
spread from the middle of Alsaar toward the eastern region, hidden within the
woodlands they considered sacred. The peace had held, even with tensions high
on both sides at times. It was her father’s wish for the Haaldyn to unite with
the Lute to fight this coming threat. The last time of the Tourna’s
coming,
the Haaldyn had thrown them back after months of
fighting to the north. The Britai had scattered and fled to caves and the Lute
had defended their home within their grove. In the end, death and ruin had been
left
to
much of the lowlands.

But now a stranger had claimed this territory. It
was the hope of her father that with this Varyk’s control of the south the
lowland Britai would feel strong enough not to crumble at the first sign of
attack. Then, with the Haaldyn and Lute united, the Tourna would face a ready
enemy for the first time. More so, if Varyk would add the strength of his men
and what troops he could muster among the Britai. The Tourna grew stronger and
more aggressive with each deeper foray into the island. They were merciless in
their ruthless conquest for slaves. The only unresolved issue before her father
was the unknown Varyk. Where would he stand in this? Since little was really
known about him, all was uncertain. The rumors abounded. Was he in alliance
with the Tourna? Would he simply defend his lands and ignore the rest of
Alsaar? And if he did, would his Lute wife bring her people to his defense when
they were so desperately needed to hold the middle? There were too many
uncertainties and her father needed answers. Ishar took the time to share these
thoughts with Fenric.

Fenric was
silent as he absorbed the information. He leaned back against the well and
crossed his arms across his light leather armor with a grim look, then stared
past Ishar into the horizon. “Who would have thought the day would come when
the defense of our land resided in the hands of Lute and the Britai?” He bent
over and spit on the ground.

Ishar looked
down and toed the ground with her booted right foot. She knew one of Fenric’s
sons had died in a battle between the Haaldyn and the Lute. It had been before
the peace. Fenric, like many people, had trouble accepting the pact. But Wyn,
the leader of the Lute had wanted the peace as much as Ryen. Wyn recognized the
fundamental truth: without unification everyone on Alsaar would suffer under
the feet of the Tourna. The past had revealed as much. Because of both Wyn’s
and her father’s will, the treaty had held and prospered for the past two
years. Ishar hoped the daughter of Wyn, pledged to Varyk, was as wise as her
father.

“Ah, well,”
Fenric added softly, “we must do what we must.” He leaned forward and clasped
her arm in camaraderie before he spoke, his voice low. “Be careful in your
journey, Ishar. And judge these people well. You know not who your true enemy
might be.”

Ishar rode
out of Lyell an hour later. Fenric also parted, headed for Ayden. He said he
would speak of her well-being to her father when he saw him. Fenric’s earlier
words still reverberated through her head. She still felt uncertain on whether
she had his blessing for her journey. The loss of his son still resonated
within the tone of his voice. Many people still struggled with the thought of
the Haaldyn/Lute peace. It was hard after over a century of fighting. Ishar
shrugged off the thought and nudged her horse, Simi, upward as she moved from
the highland grassy hills toward more rocky terrain. With the coming threat,
she decided, everyone had to be above feelings for past hurts. If the Tourna
met confusion and infighting it was the island of Alsaar that would suffer.

Ishar’s
thoughts flickered to the last meeting she held with her father as she guided
her mare into a short rocky rift and nudged the horse upward into the
mountains. Her father had argued a case for her warband accompanying her as a
precaution to entering the unknown lands of Varyk. Her warband were the Wörie,
meaning ‘wild wolves’ in the Haaldyn language. With the black Hanjor wolf
emblem emblazed upon their armored breastplates, these were men and women she
had come to know and trust deeply. Some had even been personally selected after
she was chosen as Siobyn, leader, over them. Her warriors were a fierce group,
a family created and shaped by violence and war, who disliked outsiders and
were savage to their enemy in battle. Ishar decided against her father’s
concerns citing that Varyk would probably not like the sight of a band of
armored warriors showing up at his gate. It would do nothing to promote trust.
The Wörie had voiced their concerns and again Ishar had set aside their
warnings and ordered them to remain at Ayden, her father’s stronghold, for
further orders. Her warband had not been happy but so far Ishar had failed to
notice strays following her trail.

She made good
time the first day as she headed into the high mountains. A heavy snow slowed
her progress the next two days as she continued over the main peak and then
worked her way downward out of the Twyndur mountain Range. Ishar was forced at
times to find and take cover through several heavy snows and then work her way
onward through large drifts. By the end of four days she had moved out of the
rocky terrain and crossed into the heavily forested and dark hilly woodland of
the Lute. She encountered no problems. Actually, she encountered nothing. The
Lute
were
only noticed when in a mood to be seen, but
they offered no trouble as she passed through their lands and for that she was
grateful.

Three days later, near dark, Ishar crossed the Etu
River that ran from the northwest toward the southeast, an indication that she
had entered the lands of the Britai. It also told her that she was close to the
holding of Varyk that her father called Taryn. Ishar had never been this far
south. It was hard to imagine, but the land seemed to grow greener and
more damp
the farther south she went. She found the cool
balmy air quite a nice change. Earlier, she had removed her fur-lined Burda
from over her armor and stowed it behind her saddle. She now donned it again as
she stopped and prepared a fire on the other side of the Etu.