Dragonbound: Birthrights (Book 2)
Trinelim

The sun was still hours from rising as Narkin stalked the woods, bow in hand. There were a couple dogs roaming the area, killing sheep and scaring off deer. He had procrastinated long enough on hunting them.

He had been tracking them for two hours, but a new set of tracks caught his attention. Horses, boots, and dogs...Many small trees had been laid down and the ground was flattened. All signs of something he had hoped to be false.

Curious, he followed them just a bit further north. Though he was large, he was nimble enough to remain hidden. If he had to guess, he was about eight miles northeast of Trinelim.

With the next few steps, he could hear a low rumble of voices, a couple excited dogs, and dropping of tents. There were hisses from doused fires and the stamping of horses.

Cresting the hill, Narkin looked through the brush to find exactly what he had expected: An army. They weren’t Avestitian...He narrowed his eyes to see better. Brinn. Wearing green and white, but purple was added to it. Deep purple sashes wrapped around their waists. Were they sided with Trindal-VinCar?

He scowled and withdrew, heading home. Trindal-VinCar was not a country he’d like to fight. As he raced home, he continued to think on it. The more he thought on it, the angrier he became. Trindal-VinCar. He scoffed as he barged into his house. Doomed—they were doomed if they fought them.

Finding his best hammer, he shoved it in his belt. If ever he were to fight again, that tool would prove useful. No longer could he wield a sword. No more swords.

He readied his cream colored mare and rode her into town. As much as he hated to, he had to tell Williem what he had found. It was likely they could be attacked.

He raced through town toward the Lord’s manor. Once in the yard, he left his horse and moved to the door, knocking on it. It opened to a tall boy, Williem’s youngest son. He bowed his head and asked, “May I help you, Narkin?”

“I need to speak with your father,” he said, his voice its ususal distasteful, unfriendly tone.

“He is busy, is it—”

“An emergency, boy, people might die,” Narkin barked.

“Uh-r-right,” the boy stepped aside. “This way, Narkin.”

He led the tall, muscular man into a pretty sitting room filled with white wooden furniture with red cushions. Rather than sitting, Narkin slowly paced the room while the boy fetched his father.

He stepped slowly, eyeing the expensive decorations and rugs and curtains. He grew impatient over the next few minutes. He could feel fate creeping on the small town he had slowly grown attached to. Any minute now they could be attacked.

He heard footsteps heading toward the room and he turned to face Williem as he entered. “Narkin,” he greeted unkindly. “What is it?”

“An army to the north,” Narkin grunted. “Eight miles northeast, maybe three hundred soldiers, twenty dogs...from what I could see anyhow.”

Williem pondered, muttering to himself of the odds they’d be attacked. He muttered even lower with a slight scowl, turning away a bit. He held a finger to his hairless chin and lowered his narrow brows. “Brinn has been only attacking major cities of worth...”

“They are working for Trindal-VinCar now.”

“Are they Brinn?” he whipped his attention back to the barbarian.

He nodded. “Brinn seems to be allied with Sterjia now.”

“And of all people to notice, it had to be you?” Williem accused.

Narkin was once a soldier for Trindal-VinCar. He had left over a decade ago to escape the blood and magic and chaos. Once residing in Trinelim, he was instantly an outcast. Especially because of the Thirty-Year War.

Filling with anger and heat, Narkin pointed a finger at the noble and glowered. “I’ve not worked for them since I’ve left,” he snarled. “And I have never worked for Sterjia. There’s no sign as to where they are heading, and if they aren’t coming here, I’d like to stop them from reaching any other city.”

“We can send messages to others to ensure they ready their guard,” he replied, seeming to shove Narkin’s warning aside.

“That won’t work, they are moving now. They—”

"Your job, Narkin, is hunting. You are not a general, a captain, or even a soldier. Not for me and not for Avestitia. I will handle this how I see fit,” Williem hissed.

“That is what you say, but you are a foolish coward. I’ll handle this without you,” Narkin barked. With that, he stormed out of the house.

Grasping the reigns of his mare, he headed into the center of town. He passed the young girl with the fatherless child, her eyes wide. She wore a gold band on one of her fingers, oddly enough.

He continued forward until he reached the leather-worker's shop. Tying off his horse, he stepped inside, the heat gushing across his brown beard and face.

“I’ll be but a moment,” Tarn’s voice shouted from the side room.

“Business going well?” Narkin asked as he stepped through the doorway to the next room.

Tarn sat on his stool, trying to fix one of his tools. He scowled, but his scowl was innocent. The man had a child’s face, his jaw weak and his eyes a little rounder than most. His black hair was short, standing up along his hairline. Looking up to Narkin, he smiled widely, his teething seeming not to match, some large and some small.

“Narkin,” he stood, “Aye, come in! Business is same as ever. Do you have some furs for me today?”

“I have another problem actually,” he shook his head.

“Oh?” Narkin explained the army and Williem’s refusal to do much. The child-like man hunched over in his seat, holding his chin as he frowned once more. “Hm...” he pondered. “What have you in mind?”

“They need to be stopped, regardless of whatever town they may be attacking,” he said.

His large, blue eyes moved to the sturdy hammer hanging on his belt. He looked back to Narkin’s face, recognizing the look. Sighing heavily, he ran his hand over his face and stood, dropping his tool to the table. “Like old times, eh?” he grinned.

“Aye,” Narkin allowed a wide grin to wipe across his lips, his brows meeting. Like old times, indeed.

He and Tarn had escaped the country together, though at the time, Tarn was only hardly an adult. He fit into Trinelim better than Narkin did, for his appearance was far closer and he wasn’t a soldier. He, actually, was a relative of a mage who was in the military, and they often used Tarn as leverage against his cousin to keep him working for the ruler.

Again, they’d be fighting to protect themselves, and now, their homes.

Within the matter of an hour, Narkin and Tarn had gathered a group of townsmen in the square gardens. Many of them were retired soldiers and their sons.

They wore their own armors, some were old from previous wars and others were a bit newer but were more for decoration. They held swords, shields, axes, hammers, pitchforks, and many other things. They chanted and stamped their feet and roared with Narkin as he held his thick arm above his head.

Williem stood on his balcony, watching them in distaste. The guards were ordered to ignore Narkin, though a few had already broken his command and joined him. Malin, his youngest son, stood beside him and asked, “What are they doing? Why aren’t they listening to you?”

“The world is full of rebellion, my son,” he said, his voice rumbling deeply. “Let this be a lesson for you.”

“...What if they are right?” he nearly whispered.

Glowering, he turned toward the door and walked. “Being right or wrong, it means nothing if they do not follow orders,” he spat.

That seemed to sit wrong with him. He waited for his father to disappear before heading for the front door. Snatching up his coat, he dashed out and toward the square.

By the time he reached them, the men were marching out. Most of the younger ones were quiet and had wide eyes while others spoke to ease the tension. Many of the veterans wore expressions of deep thought and war raged in their eyes.

Malin slowed his stride, his eyes following the make-shift soldiers. He ran into someone and he backed away, holding his hands before himself as he looked forward, apologizing. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the Find ɴøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

The young, unwed mother backed away, holding her infant closely to her chest. She bowed to him, the gold band on her finger flashing momentarily. “I apologize,” she whispered.

It was the first time he had heard her speak. It took him a moment to recognize who she was. She was the young mother that Queen Kiaran had defended and gave her rings to.

“I should have watched where I was walking,” he shook his head. “The fault is mine.”

She hesitated, but stood again, keeping her head low and her eyes averted from him. “I shall remain out of the way, Sir Varthen,” she said.

He watched her for a moment, unhappy with how she seemed to disregard her own worth. She wasn’t in his way. It was his fault for running into her. He frowned, but slowly moved forward. Did his father set such a foul standard for their name? Varthen...It sounded like a curse on her tongue.

Ripping his attention forward, he found Narkin and bowed his head for a short moment. “Sir,” Malin greeted him.

“What?”

“Um...” he hesitated, his eyes darting to the leather-worker for a short moment. Swallowing hard, he said, “I need to know why you are rebelling against my father.”

“Because he is arrogant and foolish,” he answered shortly. “Tell me, boy. Why are you out here now? I am sure Lord Varthen will be unhappy.”

He allowed a slight smile to curl his lips and he said, “I am rebellious. But I won’t be for something stupid.”

“This is not stupid,” Narkin corrected. “It is necessary. Look, even some of your own father’s guards have joined us,” he pointed ahead.

“Allow me to help,” Malin nearly pleaded.

“Very well,” he smiled back.

Their small army of one hundred and fifty had made their way forward. They stalked the woods near a field where the opposing army was last seen. Narkin was correct, it was a small army. But they seemed to be rounding Trinelim.

He clutched the head of his hammer as it remained fastened to his belt. Malin and Tarn eyed him closely as he gritted his teeth. The others would be reluctant to continue the attack if it weren’t to protect their homes...However, he knew that they needed to be stopped. They were up to no good.

A distraction? Was this army a distraction? He cursed and the two grew anxious. “This could be something to draw us from Trinelim.”

“You just now thought of this?” Tran hissed. He cursed as well.

“Send the army back,” Malin suggested. “Keep some of your best men here and we can watch them. Keep a fast one to run back home for news, keep strong ones to keep the army busy.”

“Perhaps...” Narkin pondered, “we could use fifty men to make it appear as if there are more of us...” He looked over his shoulder at the trees surrounding them. “The vegetation is thick enough to hide us...Maybe if they think they’re surrounded...”

“They’ll leave?”

“Maybe,” Narkin lifted a brow. “Go to Bartrend and tell him what we’ve discussed. Request that he keep fifty men behind. Good men. Soldiers.”

“Aye,” he nodded and darted away.

“He’s a smart boy,” Tarn stated.

“I agree,” Narkin nodded, looking back to the army before him.

After the hundred had retreated home, Narkin spoke with Bartrend. They discussed who should be stationed where, planned how far apart the fires should be, and hoped for the best.

As planned, the men separated and surrounded the army in a semicircle, lighting fires and making extra noise. They wanted to appear to be a large and unintimidated army. One that wouldn’t care if they were loud or not. One that wasn’t trying to hide. One that was twice the size of Brinn’s army.

Then, Narkin, Bartrend, Tarn, and Malin stood together, watching the army pause and face them. It was time. “Send the messenger,” Narkin said.

Malin nodded and stepped forward, his blood growing cold. He wore armor, a helm, held a flag, and marched forward. He hid his fear well, his stride strong, though he was still a bit skinny.

“I think I like that boy,” Tarn said.

Narkin nodded and they watched. They watched him talk with a cavalier who simply stared him down. A loud cheer rose from the western side of the forest as the fake army laughed. The cavalier looked to the noise, the other soldiers seeming tense and unsettled. Finally, after what felt like hours, the boy parted and headed back for the treeline.

He broke out of his strut and ran into the woods, up the hill, and back to Narkin. Holding his knees, he doubled over, panting. “That was terrifying,” he gasped. “They could have killed me if they wished it.”

“Yet they did not,” Narkin slapped his back. “Good job, boy. What did you say?”

“I told them that the Queen’s personal army was here and she was unhappy with all the disturbances,” he stood back up. “Queen Krutia is rather intimidating to have to fight.”

“I’d say from the stories I’ve heard...yes,” Narkin nodded.

“I also told them that we were feeling generous...that is why they’re not dead yet,” Malin added. “They believed me.” The men laughed in victory and looked to the army as it headed east. “They’re going back to Brinn...”

“For now, we are safe,” Narkin stated.

“For now?”

“They may come back. That was too simple.”

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