THE VIKING WARS
CARTHAL CHRONICLES BOOK #1
Adrien Leduc
(Leduc, Adrien 1987- )
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form than that in which it is published.
SYNOPSIS
Gruesome and mysterious murders. Enemies within. The ending of a truce. When Carthal's longlasting peace is shattered by the onset of war, King Gryndall and his valiant knights must fight to defend their nation and its people. Yet the dark forces conspiring against them are more powerful than any of them could ever have imagined. Filled with mystery, romance, action, and intrigue, The Viking Wars is a fast-paced fantasy thriller that will leave you wanting more.
COVER ART
Cover art by Rhonda Potter. Rhonda lives in Ottawa, Canada with her husband and daughter and has been painting off and on for more than a decade.
DEDICATION
For my cousin, J. A. L., one of the first to foster my love of all things medieval;
And to LEGO and libraries everywhere, for helping me dive into that wonderful world.
MAIN CHARACTERS
Antolis - Deputy Priest of the Cycliad vice-ruler of Lindisfarne
Anwir - High Priest of the Cycliad and ruler of Lindisfarne
Conan - Knight of the Order (archer)
Constantine Blackwell - Royal Coroner
Copernicus - Advisor to Godric and Gryndall
Donal - Knight of the Order (archer)
Dalwynn - Knight of the Order (swordsman)
Geoffrey - Royal Messenger
Gryndall - King of Carthal
Junius - Knight of the Order (swordsman)
Karl Nördgren - Elderly citizen of Vinland
Lionel - Ygraine's nephew and member of the Cycliad
Marcus - Knight of the Order (swordsman)
Morcant - Knight of the Order (swordsman)
Muirfinn - Knight of the Order (swordsman)
Theo - Knight of the Order (swordsman)
Winifred -Ygraine's personal maid
Ygraine - Gryndall's wife and Queen of Carthal
PLACES
Brinsley - Port city situated on southwest coast of Carthal
Carthal - A fictional island nation roughly four hundred kilometres across and home to the Carthalians.
Clarendon - Capital of Carthal
Darnfell - Small city situated in mid-eastern Carthal
Hawthorne - Port city situated on southeast coast of Carthal
Lancaster - Small city situated just outside the Great Wood in western Carthal
Lindisfarne - An island located fifteen kilometres off the southwest coast of Carthal. Home to the Cycliad (Order of monks) and site of their monastery. Also home to approximately one hundred twenty lay inhabitants. Lindisfarne is governed by Anwir and the Cycliad. Religious law is in place.
Nairn - Small port hamlet that services Lindisfarne
Skagen - Capital and principal city of Vinland
Vinland - A fictional island nation, roughly two hundred kilometres across, and home to the Vikings. Situated approximately two hundred kilometres south of Carthal.
TERMS
Cycliad - Religious Order of monks
Ilani - Tribe to which Cynwrig, Gryndall's grandfather, belonged
Jarl - Viking leader
Knight of the Order - Like the knights of King Arthur's Round Table; men who have pledged to serve and protect Carthal and its people.
Thain - Viking leader; second in command after the jarl. Usually the jarl's eldest son.
AUTHOR'S NOTES
Time and time-keeping:
While I realize that people living in the period spanning the fifth and sixth centuries, to keep things simple I have used the same units of time as we use in the present day.
Setting
While the islands of Vinland, Carthal, and Lindisfarne are all fictitious, there are certain elements of fact contained therein. For instance, all of Vinland's towns and cities are named after real towns and cities found throughout the Scandinavian/Viking world (Sweden, Denmark, Norway, and Iceland). Lindisfarne, nicknamed 'Holy Island', is located within a mile of the English coast and was home to a thriving monastic community throughout the Middle Ages.
If you're the type of person who wishes to place these three islands on a map of the real world, I would tell you that I imagine them as being somewhere in the North Sea (though the climate of the islands are more akin to present-day Vancouver. I picture lots of rain and greenery, mild winters and cool, windy summers. The smell of the ocean constantly present.).
As to the year, if you wanted to place this on a chart of world history, it would be somewhere between 450 and 600 A.D.
Carthal's population make-up, with its mixture of Celt, Briton, and Roman, would fit nicely in southwestern England.
Despite all this, I am a staunch supporter of imagination and fantasy and I believe that it is you, the reader, who should choose where you imagine these places to be and how you wish to picture them. Don't let my notes influence your own vision.
MAP
Chapter One
(June 1)
Of all the tales my young master, Prince Tyrion, could have commissioned me to put to paper, he has chosen this one. Why, I can only wonder. Perhaps because it describes the events leading up to the death of his mother, and shortly after, his father, the great King Gryndall who once ruled all of Carthal. Or perhaps because it tells of the exploits of Donal and Dalwynn, two of the greatest Carthalian knights to have ever lived.
Whatever the reason, it is certainly not out of vanity for my Lord and master was but a babe, still suckling at his mother's breast, when the Viking Wars began. Moreover, as you shall soon learn, we were not the victors of that great conflict and to this day we suffer under the tyranny of our enemies and must bear the shame that comes with being a conquered people.
Our story begins sixteen years ago, on a cold and wet Spring day...
"Whoa! Slow there, boy!"
Gryndall pulled hard on the reins, bringing his white stallion to a sudden halt.
"Donal!"
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Come here. Quickly."
The handsome, gaunt-faced knight flicked the reins in his hands, willing his horse to carry him to the king's side.
"What do you make of this?"
"Well, it's a felled oak, my Lord. On a forest road. Can only be the set-up for an ambush."
Gryndall nodded as though this was the answer he'd been expecting. "But yet there is no threat to us."
"Correct, my Lord. Those wheel tracks there would suggest that a carriage was run off the road."
Donal spurred his horse forwards, steering the animal towards the point at which the road dropped off and gave way to ferns and thick, leafy brush. Behind him, three other Knights of the Order were busy scanning the dense trees, lines of worry etched on their faces.
"Have no fear, friends," said Donal, seeing their expressions as he climbed out of his saddle, "whatever ambush party set this trap has come and gone."
"How can you be so sure?" demanded the bearded and pot-bellied Morcant.
"Because there is an empty money chest. There. In that bush. Wantonly discarded, the prize already taken."
"Is there more?" asked Gryndall, dismounting and joining his knight at the side of the road.
"It's difficult to tell from here. This brush is so thick."
"Aye. It's been a rainy year."
Donal acknowledged the king's observation with a nod as he freed himse
lf from his bow and hung it from his saddle horn.
"I'll go and have a closer look, my Lord."
"Very well. The rest of you," Gryndall ordered, turning towards the three other knights, "see that this tree is moved."
"Yes, my Lord."
Of the three, only Morcant grumbled as they dismounted and plodded through the mud towards the felled oak lying across the road.
"My Lord!" Donal called suddenly, racing up the embankment with a small, wooden chest in his hands.
"It's one of ours."
Eyes narrowing, the broad-shouldered king extended a hand. "Let me have a look."
Donal passed him the empty money chest.
"Yes. It's one of ours. It has my seal," he said slowly, rotating the object in his hands. "How is it that there's been no word of this...of this ambush?"
"Maybe it only happened yesterday," proffered Theo, the youngest of the knights as he worked with the others to remove the felled tree.
The knights groaned and strained against the heavy object as they rolled it through the mud, the slick road making the task impossibly difficult.
"And if this carriage," Theo continued, grunting as he pushed with all his might against the heavy log, "started at Clarendon (pause, straining and grunting) and was destined for Hawthorne or Riordan (groan), then it hasn't had the time yet to be missed."
"He makes a good argument, my Lord," said Donal.
Gryndall nodded, still gripping the empty chest as though he expected the coins it had once held to reappear.
"I can't understand how this could happen. There is peace in Carthal, no? Not since before my father's reign has there been anything like this."
"Aye," said Dalwynn, the massive red-headed knight. "Perhaps it's like last year then. Just a gang of insolent youths with nothing better to do. We'll teach 'em a lesson right enough when we learn who they are," he added, grinning broadly as he smacked a fist into his open palm.
Gryndall shook his head. "This is something more serious. The carriage - to which these wheel tracks belong - is nowhere to be found. The driver. Where is he? The rest of the cargo. It's missing. No, Theo," he said, his voice low and melancholic, "this has the feel of something more coordinated. Something more sinister."
"Would you like us to search the area, my Lord?"
It was Dalwynn who posed the question.
"No. We haven't the time. Antolis awaits us at Brinsley. It would be rude to keep him waiting any longer. We'll inquire at Lancaster on our way through. See if there have been any reports of an ambush. I'll have the local militia come here and conduct a proper search. Perhaps they'll be able to turn up something more."
"A wise course of action, my Lord," said Donal, slinging his bow and quiver over his shoulder and mounting his horse.
"Aye. The best we can do at the moment, anyways. Come, men," said Gryndall, spurring his horse forwards, "we ride for Brinsley."
"Your Majesty."
"Anwir. I was not expecting you."
The priest smiled, his eyes flicking from the face of the king to the faces of the four knights behind him. "Given the gravity of some of our latest troubles at Lindisfarne, I thought it would be best if I be the one to come and see you this time around."
Gryndall gave a nod of understanding, stroking his dark beard between his thumb and forefinger. "I see."
"I've reserved you and Antolis' usual table for us at the Red Boar. At least Elwynn said it was the table where you two tend to hold these quarterly meetings. We can discuss matters there, I presume?"
Gryndall nodded again. "Aye. Knights." He turned to Morcant, Theo, Dalwynn and Donal. "You are relieved. Take the horses to the fort and see that they're watered and fed. I'd like the horseshoes checked on mine as well. He felt weak in his left leg. After that, do what you will. We're here until tomorrow. See that my bags are brought to my room at the garrison - you know the one I like, right? The one in the tower."
"Yes, my Lord," Donal answered, glancing momentarily at a fruit vendor loudly hawking a variety of produce a short distance away.
"And when shall we return for you, my Lord?" asked Dalwynn, taking hold of the reins of Gryndall's horse.
[Scribe's Note: In Carthal it is considered bad luck to name one's horse and thus our steeds, no matter how heroic and faithful a creature it may be, go unnamed.]
"Give me an hour."
Dalwynn nodded and clapped his right fist over his heart, the Order's salute. "Yes, my Lord."
Once the four knights had gone, having melted into the busy shopping crowd of Brinsley's High Street, Gryndall turned and followed Anwir into the small, welcoming tavern.
"So nice to see you again, your Worship," said Elwynn, owner of the Red Boar, bowing slightly as the priest entered the tavern. "And King Gryndall," he added, his eyes widening as Gryndall stepped into view from behind him.
The thin and pale man with the arching left eyebrow bowed theatrically. "Our friend from Lindisfarne wasn't lying when he said he needed a table for you and himself. To what do we owe this pleasure?"
"Well, first, you know how I feel about bowing," said Gryndall, glancing around the hazy, smoke-filled interior.
"I am ashamed, your Majesty. I forgot. Pardon me," Elwynn replied tenderly, his eyes sincere and feminine. "Perhaps a salute like the Knights of the Order, then?" he added, planting a fist over his heart.
"No, Elwynn, that is for the Knights of the Order. A simple hello and how do you do will suffice."
"Right...er...my apologies, your Majesty," he said slowly, his lisp more pronounced than usual.
[Scribe’s Note: A brief word on addressing important people in Carthal, should you ever happen to visit. (Though today Carthal is a rather unhappy place to visit.) The king is ‘My Lord’ if you are one of his knights or directly in his employ. He is ‘Your Majesty’ if you are anyone else. High Priest Anwir and Deputy Priest Antolis are both ‘Your Worship’. The queen is ‘My Lady’ to all.]
Out of the corner of his eye, Gryndall studied Anwir's face. He was sneering.
"Your king is an unusual one," the priest commented, conjuring a small smile as his eyes flicked from Gryndall to Elwynn, the latter looking markedly thinner and more pale standing next to the robust and barrel-chested Gryndall.
"If unusual is demanding that your subjects possess self-confidence," Gryndall answered, somewhat insulted by the priest's sword-edged remark.
Anwir gave a snort of derision. "You call them your subjects yet they are not permitted to bow to you?"
"They are my subjects, but they are also my people," Gryndall shot back, his expression growing dark. "And it is my will that my people be strong, proud, and fierce in spirit - as Carthalians have always been. To accept bows and curtsies from them," he continued, gesturing towards Elwynn, "is to encourage submission and surrender."
The priest gave a sly smile. "An interesting perspective. Your father certainly wasn't too proud to accept a bow from his subjects."
"My father was different in that regard."
"Yes. He was. Shall we take our seats?"
"Let's," Gryndall growled.
While he and Anwir had never been close, he'd certainly never experienced such open contempt from him.
Somewhat wary now of Anwir, he followed Elwynn towards the small table in the corner where he and Antolis, the Deputy Priest, usually met at their quarterly exchanges. Antolis was much easier to deal with, much more jovial, and he wondered why the High Priest had chosen to come in his stead this time around.
Once they were seated, the tavern-keep snapped his fingers and headed off to tend to another group of patrons as a young woman, who Gryndall recognized immediately, hurried towards their table.
"Gail."
"Your Majesty," the young woman answered, smiling and performing a small curtsy.
"Gail. Eight years. Eight years my father has been dead and eight years I have been king. What is my opinion regarding bows and curtsies?"
She shot a nervous glance towards
Anwir.
"Um..."
"I'm suddenly feeling the need to brand it on some of you," Gryndall joked, glancing at the priest for some support but quickly returning his eyes to Gail when he realized he would receive none.
His ribbing had the desired effect on the young barmaid though because she smiled as she shook her head apologetically. "Your Majesty - I completely forgot. I'm so used to offering a curtsy to distinguished guests," she said, glancing once more at Anwir. "I'm sorry. Old habits die hard, right?"
She said this with a shrug, both hands flat with palms facing up, a school-girl grin on her face.
Gryndall sighed and waved his hand dismissively. "I suppose. But please remember for next time - and for always. You are a strong and proud Carthalian woman. Are you not?"
"Yes, your Majesty."
"And thus you do not bow or curtsy to any man - no matter how distinguished he may think himself," he said, his gaze shifting to Anwir. "It is not our custom."
"I understand, your Majesty," she said solemnly, her eyes fixed on Gryndall. "I shall never offer you a curtsy again - for as long as I live."
He smiled at her obvious sarcasm. "That's what I like to hear. Now, bring me my usual honey mead," he waved to the priest, "and whatever our friend here is having, and we'll leave it at that, shall we?"
"Of course, your Majesty. Your Worship. What would you like?"
"Dandelion tea."
"Of course, your Worship."
"Thank you, Gail," said Gryndall, annoyed by Anwir's terse tone.
"You're most welcome, your Majesty. I'll be as quick as a dragonfly with those drinks."
He smiled, winking. "Take your time."
He watched her go, her healthy bottom swaying gently from side to side as she headed for the kitchen.
"Now then," he began, turning in his seat so that he faced the priest. "What's been troubling Lindisfarne since Antolis' last visit?"