Rallig

Remnant: Book of Xiandol Chapter 6

Carlyle had arisen early once again that morning, that time being to retrieve horses from the stable just outside the walls of the city. As he guided the pair of them back by the long sets of reins, their fresh horseshoes clopped loudly against the paved stone roads. Kensley was, as directed, prepared with supplies for the both of them, just outside of the hall. Beside him were the two packs, tied closed, and the leather sheath and belt beside it.

“Enforcer.” Carlyle studied his face and his patient, stiff stance. The young man was wearing the same contoured and stained leather breastplate and arm and leg guards. “You’d best equip yourself properly with your weapon.” He dictated, glancing down at the weapon.

“Uh, yes, sir,” Kensley replied hastily, bending down to take up the ends of the leather belt.

Carlyle let out a breath of relief into the cold air as he adjusted the freshly buckled saddles upon the backs of the horses. Kensley had turned his concentration to placing the sheath and its holder around his waist and affixing the buckle tightly. The captain took the chance to load his own pack of supplies at the back of the saddle, on either side of the animal’s hips.

The long-haired man double-checked his gear and took up his pack just the same. “It is completed, sir.”

Carlyle looked back to Kensley. “Good.” He said shortly. “And I assume Oberlander is still teaching you young men to ride a horse?”

“Of course.”

Carlyle smiled and stepped up into the stirrup at his side before swinging his opposite leg over. He leaned to the side and took the rein of the second horse, making sure to hold it steady while Kensley mounted the animal. The long-haired man shifted himself side to side in order to find a comfortable position.

The horses began their even stride back out to the gates of the city, with Carlyle in the lead. “How does that weapon feel?” He asked.

“Heavy, if I were to be honest.” Kensley declared, his lips moving gently in the cold air.

“As it should be.” Carlyle nodded. “You remember what I told you?”

“About…?”

“About a sword at your hip.” Carlyle cleared his throat and glanced back. “It must be displayed, not as something to induce conflict, but as something to deter it.”

Kensley nodded in thought and took a look pause before responding. “One could say the same about the magi, as well. Don’t you think?”

“Huh, is that so?”

“They have great power, but also great knowledge.” Kensley shrugged. Off in the distance to the west, the tall towers just barely stood out through the veil of fog. “They know that using their powers for destruction would be more trouble than they are worth.”

“Maybe so.” Carlyle nodded and continued on the way to the front gate.

Rallig was just about a half-day of travel from the capital by horse. It was one of the nearest towns to the east, just at the edge of the cold northern forest, and bordering the long Ebb river that continued all the way east to the mountain range. Some people of the town tended meager farms of barley and root vegetables that continued to be harvested through the early winter, but the main tithe the town offered back to the capital was lumber.

The dirt road, littered with both muddy and dried wagon tracks of various ages led Carlyle and Kensley into the town not long after noon. Just at the edge of the dwellings were neat posts, holding back stocks of timbers, shaved of their bark, and covered with a thick layer of thatch to protect them from moisture. Farther inside were various small dwellings, made of scrap wood and more dried grasses and old bark. Finally, at the southern stretch of the town, by the muddy banks and creeping waters of the river, was a meager bridge and sawmill.

There were a few of the inhabitants about, moving about work animals and carts in the mid-afternoon sun. Most avoided turning their eyes up to the enforcers, with their tall horses and dangling weapons. It was then when a singular young man spoke up and stepped forward in their path. “You two, from the capital, are you?”

“Yes, here on enforcer business.” Carlyle urged his horse gently to a stop before stepping down. He shielded his eyes and called the young man closer with a nod. “It’s about some men who aren’t from this area.”

The local looked at Kensley as he joined beside Carlyle, the reins of the horse still in his grasp. “Yes, I talked with your captain.” He pursed his lips and turned his head to the northwest. “He’s in the stables with the both of them.”

Carlyle patted the man on his shoulder and turned back to Kensley. “It’s him, then,” He said, hiding his apprehension. “Well, he’s probably just going to be more upset if we keep him waiting.”

Carlyle turned the horse about and continued back in the direction of the edge of the town. Kensley jogged to keep up. “Who’s here? Another captain?”

“Yes.” Carlyle returned. The pair took the side streets back up to where the town ended, and the thin trees of the forest stood. The farthest building at the stretches of the land was a stable, as well as a fenced-off section of dry grass, in which a collection of roughly bred horses dashed about. “We’ll be able to keep these animals here, conveniently enough.” Carlyle began as they stepped through the wide doorway.

The dirty, matted straw had been the home of both the prisoners and the enforcer who had brought them in. The man, the second captain of the Consort, perked up as his trained ears caught the sound of someone entering. “Mandabus, are you here?” The voice called out for him.

Kensley caught sight of the captain first. His wavy, dark hair, stretching down his neck was oily and dirty, and his eyes told of several nights with minimal sleep. “Carlyle, about time.” He growled. “Ah, fresh meat, is it?”

Carlyle offered a short salute of his fist to his chest to his comrade. “Made you camp out in the stable, did they?”

Kensley avoided Mandabus’ gaze and turned to look about the horse stalls. Most were free, save a single one where two men were strung up, their hands tied to ropes and held in a similar manner to the animals that were meant for the space.

“I’ve had worse.” The menacing captain grimaced. “But at least these two have kept quiet.”

Carlyle caught up with Kensley to examine the men. “Edrian passed on the message that they had a couple of daggers on them? Non-issue sort?”

“And more, I found.” Mandabus huffed and kicked his pack out from the messy bedding. “After the porter left to bring the news to you, I ran across some other stuff. They had already traded off a couple of these to some of the workers here.” From the messy bundle, he picked up and presented out a handful of uneven billets of iron, still raw with rough hammer marks.

Carlyle clicked his tongue and shook his head at the captive men. “How interesting. And we don’t know where this fresh iron is being forged at?”

Mandabus was already busy returning his pack of belongings to a tidy state. With it swung over his shoulder, he pulled out his sword from his thigh and stepped before the prisoners. “Can’t be too far. They came on foot. Get up!” He ordered the two loudly.

Carlyle watched the rough handling of the men. “Leaving already?”

“Like I said, I don’t have horses for them,” Mandabus growled and looked back. “They’re going to have to follow behind me, that or be dragged. The earlier we leave, the faster I can be back to the capital and have a bath.”

Carlyle sighed. “So be it. Kensley-?”

The young enforcer was at the far end of the stable, looking out to the northeast. “Sir?”

“We’ll have to do some investigation, it seems.”

“One last thing,” Mandabus spoke up again, the captives now at either side of him. “I was originally this way to find a boy who was just of age. When this is all taken care of, you may want to find him.”

“I’ll see to it, Mandabus…” Carlyle replied.

The Mountain’s Bounty

Remnant: Book of Xiandol Chapter 5

The Sing Mountains stretched almost the entirety of the land of Callia, from the icy north sea to the humid forest of the south. The craggy range and rough foothills were of little interest to the Kingdom, nor the people living within it. Though iron of good quality was of great desire and limited quantity, brief surveys of the granite outcroppings revealed that little was available in easily accessible regions. The Kingdom managed to seek out a feasible source of the ore from the bogs not far from the capital’s coastline, but those choosing to go behind the Enforcer’s back would eventually stumble upon an unorthodox method for unearthing bits of the raw metal.

Herzeg was a weathered, scruffy trader who had grown tired of taking advantage of the people who lived in the towns about Xiandol. In one of his short stays in the capital to pick up supplies, he came across a strange woman and her husband who tipped him off to a location in the mountains where he was likely to make it big with only a slight amount of work, as well as work under the nose of the Kingdom. In exchange for the information and some of the riches, Herzeg was to gather men for the operation and lead them, including the strange woman, to the promised site. The weathered man agreed.

The woman, revealing herself as one of mage blood, displayed her aptitude toward the stone, the power she held able to seek out and unearth hidden ores where they lay. Herzeg and his group had since taken up camp upon one desolate stretch of the mountainside. The first snow of the approaching winter had yet to come forth over the peaks, but the cold wind blew nonetheless. From the high elevation of the mountainside crevices, they were able to take in the vast expanse of the Xiandolan lowlands, but their gazes remained pointed to the rock faces instead.

Serinda was the mage’s name, a woman with raven hair, who had married a forge master in the capital and hid away from the other magi of the sanctum. With her powers, she had managed to make headway through the fault lines of the mountain’s face, and come across the reddened stains of the desired ore within. From there, the workers would take to the chunks of fallen stone to pry away at the veins hidden inside.

The clangs of dull metal against the stone echoed about the tall ridges to either side of the mountainside gully. Herzeg maneuvered over the uneven ground and loose rubble. “We need four more bucket-fulls of the raw stuff if we want to keep up production.” He directed loudly, kicking through scraps. He gazed down the valley to the flatland below. The meager river below was more dried banks of mud than flowing water, a result of the poor amount of rainfall during the seasons previous. Beside it was the group’s primary camp, where the haphazardly constructed bloomeries were located, built to refine the rocky ore they had been collecting.

Up one of the tight slopes, the mage was seeing to forging more cracks and separating another section of outcropping. Above her, on either side, a pair of men were forcing wide planks into the forming crevices to leverage the rock outward when the woman was out of the way. “Outta the way!” One called down.

Serinda ducked in the opposite direction and danced up another heap of loose granite. The workers leaned into their levers and pushed the rock outward, shattering bits of it away before the mass tumbled apart and spread its remains over the land below. Herzeg joined the workers as they shuffled the rubble further apart, eyes trained to search for any signs of ore. The boss, himself, took to picking up individual shards of the granite to judge the quality of the finding. “Nothing.” He glanced up to the sky, where the cloud cover and shifting sun were beginning to bring the land to darkness. “Grab up what you have on you, and let’s head down!” He ordered loudly down the piles of rubble.

With the bounty for the day collected up in buckets and pants pockets, the workers made the trudge down the steep and uneven paths to the dirt ground below. The mage joined by his side. She wore plainclothes, so as to not stand out from the others, but the lack of signs of physical labor upon her body hinted at her origins of the capital. “Herzeg, we need to move some of the good soon.”

The leader huffed and adjusted his grip on the meagerly-filled bucket. “Unless you want to trade in unmarked billets, you’ll have to wait.”

Serinda folded her hands under her arms to save them from the growing cold. “My husband and daughter in the capital won’t be able to eat if I’m not able to send them coppers.”

“Your husband needs to find someone with the tools to replicate the King’s seal like I’ve been saying.” Herzeg shrugged and shook his head apathetically.

“You know anyone like that would be in the Keep’s filthy pockets. We would be reported.”

“Then you can wait for the others to get back from their rounds and share what they were able to trade for.” Herzeg sighed. He passed the bucket back and forth between his arms to offer a break to his muscles. Inside the camp, the few other workers were fiddling with what remained of the previous day’s diggings. The women were tending to the fires and stew pots upon them, or bringing up buckets of water from the meager flow of the nearby river.

The temporary settlement had one primary purpose: to take the raw ore and rock from the mountainside and turn it into sufficiently pure samples of iron. The metal would then be smuggled and traded off for those desperate for tools or weapons for a cheaper price than the capital charged. The mud from the riverbed served greatly in building up the stout earthen pipe ovens that had been constructed by the men to separating the slag from the pure metal. Herzeg approached his forge-hand, who was attending to the spent coal and glowing embers at the base bloomery. The ore inside glowed and shifted into bubbly puddles of stringy semi-molten metal at the open base. “Get much today?” Gul asked as the leader deposited what was brought with him.

A few of the workers followed up with their own hauls of rough stone, containing the traces of ore, and dumped them on the meager pile. Herzeg ignored the question, instead looking about the tents of the camp. “Where are the brothers?”

The forge-hand shrugged and wiped his hands of gray ash and soot. “Still not returned.”

Herzeg shook his head and looked to the west. “They should have been back this morning, if not yesterday.”

“People are probably wary about buying unmarked iron.”

The leader shook his head and stared off across the land as it slowly became enveloped by the encroaching fog from the west. “It’s the end of the season; the townsmen have their coppers, and their tools are likely all but worn from being worked all season.”

“Quite.” Gul wiped his brow. “I doubt they’d run off, either. The younger one still wants to make cozy with your mage.”

Herzeg let out a singular laugh. “Not a chance.” He remarked loudly as he caught sight of the woman trudging by.

Serinda placed herself on the edge of the settlement and looked off across the vast flat land. “And if they happened to be captured?”

“The enforcers are all holed up already by this time of year.” Herzeg huffed.

“Those two likely headed all the way to Rallig, just as you suggested.” The other man recalled.

Herzeg bit his tongue and stomped the matted grass loudly. “Why? Why did we trust those two to head off on their own?” He turned back to the camp and the few people within earshot. “This’ll have to be the last night here! First sun, we pack up and move- up north!”

The others about the settlement huffed and suddenly redirected their efforts back to their tents and the other temporary fixtures set about the camp. Gul kicked dirt into the embers of the fire to stifle the burning, causing light smoke to begin pouring out from the earthen flue. “Not at this rate. We won’t be able to move all this material, sir.”

Herzeg fumbled with the crate of tools nearby, extracting from it a short spade. “Wrap what we have in some canvas, we’ll bury it in the mud at the riverside. It’s better if we don’t get caught with it on us anyway.”

Prerelease: The Color of Houm Book 1

Howdy Greasers! For the first time proper, I’m running a prerelease and review period for one of my newly published novels! I present book one in the Color of Houm series: Seeing Red, releasing May 10th!

For those wanting to get it early and free, you can sign up for Booksprout and get the ARK (Advanced Review Copy).

Get it here!

Note that any ARK through Booksprout or other sites comes with the expectation of both reading through most or all of the book, and then posting your review on the Amazon page before the review deadline of May 8th. Those choosing to participate through Booksprout will be reminded through email when the deadline approaches.

For anyone back here for the first time in a while, you might notice the fresh new look and feel to the site! Now Branded as Fifty Shades of Grease Publishing, home of Author Sean Clark (That’s me)!

A Dull Edge

Remnant: Book Of Xiandol Chapter 4

Carlyle was the first to awake that morning. The cold hung upon the air like a wet garment. Over his thin trousers, he pulled over the long wool smock and a pair of thick, leather shoes. Outside the cracks in the wood paneling of the building, he could spot the gray of the first morning light through the cloud cover. From his walled-off room on the second floor of the hall, he exited and descended the stairs to the ground floor. The few members of the Consort, including the new recruits, were still asleep in the bunks at the sides of the building.

The captain pushed out the front doors. The cold air and wash of fog were strangely refreshing. His stop for the morning was the quartermaster, located within reach of the city’s gates. Only those in either the Guard or the Enforcer’s Consort were allowed use of a weapon, and the quartermaster was in charge of seeing to whom what was given.

Carlyle finally found his way inside the building just adjacent to the secured storage. Upon hearing the door slam under the force of the wind, there was a stirring from the floorboards of the next story up. The old man, likely of a similar age to the king, was wrapped in a ragged fur as he stepped down the stairs to the wide counter of the structure. “What is it, so early?”

Carlyle placed his hands on the counter, brushing off the cold from them one at a time. “Pardon my haste this morning. I must requisition an arm from you.”

The quartermaster rubbed at his eyes. “Ah, Carlyle. It’s that time of year, is it not?”

“Indeed.”

The old man fished around out of sight under the counter. His hands returned up top with a hefty key. “Come now. I’ll allow you your pick, as always.”

Carlyle waited patiently as the man folded up the hinged section of counter and stepped out. The two men headed back out into the cold, across the street to the thick walls of the storage room. The hefty lock upon the crossbeam opened without complaint from the key. Inside, the meager collection of racked swords reflected back dull light from the cast of the sun through the door. The captain stepped inside while the older man held the door. In the dim light, Carlyle gazed about at the blades and shields. His eyes fell upon a medium-sized arming sword, with dull edges and a haze of surface rust. In his hand, it weighed slightly less than his own personal sword but was still noticeably heavy.

“That one?” The quartermaster hummed as Carlyle brought it back outside.

“It will do.”

“I suppose.”

Carlyle nodded and allowed the old man to close up the storage room after his exit. “There are few things in this world that cannot be fixed or brought back to their previous glory.”

The quartermaster guided Carlyle by the shoulder back into his shop. “I shall have it sent to the forge for sharpening, and-”

“Not necessary.” Carlyle cut in. “I will hope that the recruit I am watching over will not need to use it.”

The old man hummed and returned back behind the counter, gazing over the shelves of tarnished leather belts and sheathes. “I see. I believe this shall do for him, then.” He said, flopping a bare belt and scabbard at the captain. “Will you be needing any armor today?”

“We have leathers, still, in the hall,” Carlyle confirmed. “Thank you, though.” He concluded, carefully placing the blade safely away into the leather holder.

By the time Carlyle had returned back to the hall, the chimney was already smoking with a freshly stoked fire. The new recruit with long, dark locks was at the pyre, attending to the charred logs while the others were still attempting to rise.

“Kensley,” Carlyle announced his presence, holding the weapon at his side.

Kensley stood instantly, holding the prodding stick at his side. “Good morning, sir.”

The captain shook his head. “Did I not tell you that you were valued for your ability to think on your own?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you may continue attending to the fire before doing silly things such as saluting my presence.”

“Yes, s- understood.” Kensley relaxed.

“Senior officer Bently-” Carlyle smirked and looked about. “May I trouble you to fix breakfast for us, once again?”

The thick man, still fixing his bedding at the far end of the room perked up. “Coming right up.”

“Perfect.” Carlyle sighed and took in the odor of smoke and the fresh warmth from the growing fire. “Kensley, before we eat, I wish to have you accept something.”

The long-haired man placed down the rod by the fire and folded his arms behind his back. “Anything.”

Carlyle tugged on Kensley’s shoulder, ushering him to the entrance, and further out the door. The recruit’s breath began to dissipate into wide clouds as the fresh air outside washed over him. The captain hoisted up the ends of the leather holster, holding the worn buckles outward. “Since you’ll be accompanying me outside the capital, I thought it wise for you to be properly equipped.”

Kensley swallowed hard and carefully took the leather equipment in his hands. He swung the long end of it over his shoulder and allowed his fingers to trace the end of the sword’s grip. “This is-”

“As promised.”

Kensley tugged on the heavy blade and separated it from the confines of the hard, weathered leather. His eyes followed the twin edges of the arming sword, and the slight tarnish of the metal. Before speaking another word, he placed it back inside and folded the leather straps between his arms. “I am honored, captain.”

“It’s not quite like the wooden ones you’ve used in training, is it?” Carlyle examined Kensley’s wary look to the weapon. “You’ll get used to it. It’ll start with getting it cleaned up this day. I hope to depart tomorrow morning- with it, of course.”

Fifty Shades of Grease [The Story]

I scowl as I look at the sandwich before me. Damn the spinach- it’s started to go bad, and damn that strange-armed man Popeye for making people seem like it’s some sort of magical leaf. I should be at home editing my next SciFi novel- The Color of Houm, Book One: Seeing Red, but I’m, stuck at my job in the deli. Just gotta pay for the cover, and pre-reviews, and advertisements… I repeat these words to myself, hoping that by the time the sequel is out, I’ve at least had enough sales to recoup the cost of the cover. I gaze at the long, monotone brown of the wheat roll and just hope I have enough turkey sliced for the lunch rush.

Mike is supposed to help me, but he’s making sure that the Karen is getting her ham sliced just to the right thinness, and properly shoved into the little bags we use. Therefore, she cannot help staunch the flow of all the hungry nerds who are going to inevitably come by very soon from the game store next door. They’re hosting a DnD campaign there. If I wasn’t working, actually, I would be there. Well, maybe if I weren’t totally shy. I totally bet all of them would love to read my books, too. That is, if they ever actually picked up a single book and read at all, and not just watch anime. Such is life.

And so as Mike went on break, the parade of neckbeards began. Many were talking about their adventure or their dice rolls and nat 20’s to think about their order before they arrived before me. And so, footlong after footlong, messy meatball after messy meatball, I fulfilled their disgusting mayo-slathered orders. At least none of them would ever dream of choosing my wilted spinach. Until her.

She was discussing the treasure the party had just gotten out of the dungeon, and warning about what would happen if they didn’t fulfill the terms of their quest. She was far from just the Dungeon Master- or Mistress, rather- she was the game store’s manager, Christina Graisse. She turned to me, smiling, transporting me back to the world of the normal smelling.

“My good sandwich man? Twelve-inch turkey-bacon-ranch on nine-grain, no cheese, please.”
She had obviously rolled all nat-twenties when she was speccing into beauty. I nearly cut my fingers open preparing her roll, as I was distracted by her neatly-fitting graphic tee of what was likely a band I had never heard of.

“And… anything besides the regular stuff?” I ask, pushing the winkled, cold bacon into a neat, greasy pile.

“Oh, just load it up with spinach, please.”

I look down- shoot- all that’s left is the wrinkled, wilted stuff at the bottom of the pan.
“Oh.” She says suddenly, looking over the smudged sneeze guard. “Well, that is unfortunate. Your cucumbers look just fine, and really, they’re both pretty much all water, am I right?”

Is she teasing me? I had never thought about it, but she was likely right, that both were pretty much watery, tasteless, and very much unrequited on any sort of real sandwich. Well, maybe not that last part.

“Just toss on whatever you’ve got,” Graisse spoke up, smiling as I turn my face to the sandwich wrapper. I feel my fingers flush as I finish slicing and wrapping the long roll of meat and bread.

I prepare the price tag for her, “I’ll take off a bit just to make up for the lack of spinach.”

She shakes a finger at me. “Oh, don’t worry, sandwich man. Perhaps you’ve saved me from having a nasty bit of spinach hanging to my teeth later when we start up again.”

“Uh… sure.” I managed to peep out as she talked behind my back. I turned to face her once again and offer the neatly wrapped food to her. Our hands touched as it swapped grasps.

“When do you get off?”

Huh? I feel my cheeks redden.

“From your shift here. You can stop by after, we have some fresh character sheets if you want to drop in. I mean, I see you peering in the window all the time on the way to your car.”

“Two… two more hours.”

“Good. Hope to see you then.”

Damn. She’s perfect.

April Fools! No, I won’t write more. Half of a chapter of the ‘source material’ is already too much to read, let alone analyze.