A Ritual of Bone Read online

  Wolves of Valour Publications

  Written by Lee C Conley

  Second Edition 2019

  ISBN:

  978-1-9993750-1-0

  Cover art by Cloud Quinot

  and

  Cover layout by Lee Conley

  Copyright © 2018 Lee Conley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, microfilm, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, or used in another book, without written permission from the author.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to everyone who believed in me and who pushed me to finish this. Thank you to all those who didn’t believe I could do it, you drove me onwards.

  Thank you to my wife Laura and my daughter Luna for your patience and insight. Thanks to my family, to Mum, Dad and Nan for all your support. Thanks to my editor Tim Marquitz for your critical eye and hard work. Thanks to Cloud Quinot for your fantastic artwork on the cover. Thank you to Alan and to Morag for the proofing, and to Nigel for your wise thoughts on plot and for teaching me the noble art of swordsmanship.

  Thanks to everyone who has helped me this year and those who gave your valued opinions on the cover that’s you, Dyrk Ashton, Michael Baker (and for the map advice & good chats, thanks dude), Kareem Mahfouz, Sadir Samir, Rob Hayes. Thanks to Timy Takacs for hosting my cover reveal and everything else. Thanks to Graham Austin-King for the publishing advice.

  Thanks to all the reviewers who have taken the time and the folks in the online writing community and also to the fellow authors I met through SPFBO not listed above, to Phil Parker, Jacob Sannox, Scott Kaelen, Aidan Walsh, Nick Borrelli, Jesse and Rebekah Teller, Dave Woolliscroft, Paul Torr, David Humphrey, Jennifer at Bunnyreads, Steven McKinnon, Paul Lavender, J.P. Ashman and Alica Wanstall-Burke – You guys all rock! There are so many great authors and other folks I’ve met this year if I’ve missed any of you I’m sorry. Also, thanks to Pete, Katie, Nina, Fox and all the guys at Wolfshead, and all my other friends and followers for all the support and likes.

  For Laura and Luna

  Chapter one

  The Apprentice

  A great sense of fear and dread came over him as he stepped into the dim moonlight. He glanced up at the rising sliver of moon through the trees. The faint light silhouetted the branches, which clawed the sky like black twisted fingers grasping the moons crescent.

  He was being watched. A cold shiver ran over him. He stared into the darkness.

  Nothing.

  He lowered his hood and turned to look down the track, which led through the gap in the crumbling wall and down off into the dark tree line. The darkness seemed to close in around him. His mind let his eyes see dark shapes staring at him through the shadows. The feeling of being watched grew stronger.

  He absently clutched at the idol hung around his neck, a totem for the gods of his fathers. Not generally a follower of the old ways, yet he sought any protection against the night and its watching shadows.

  Still looking into the trees, he kissed the wooden carving and tucked it under his shirt. He shook himself. He should know better about such things. It was just this place, old and full of spirits. He glanced up at the thin sliver of moon rising through the trees, the object of his study and the reason for his venture out into the ruins this night.

  The young apprentice ducked back inside the marquee and returned with a small glowing lantern. After a long searching look back off into the trees, he made his way out from the crumbling stone enclosure, picking his path carefully so as not to stumble in the dark. He followed the track cut through the rock-strewn undergrowth and up a short distance to a high place on the hillside overlooking the small cluster of crumbling ruins in which they had made camp.

  The track led on to another older worn path. Still rocky in places, it wound up the hill he now ascended. He could still feel that strange feeling of unfriendly eyes as he climbed the hill. He glanced about nervously. He was exposed, with nothing but grass and the dark trees below. The thought of a dark shape staring at him through the shadows made him uneasy. The lantern light just seemed to bring the darkness even closer.

  He hurried on. The top of the path came out into a square space. If natural or cut into the rock, the apprentice was not sure, but at some point in the past, someone had laid stones to make a low wall on the two outward sides, creating a small open room on the hillside. If it ever had a roof there was no sign. It was ancient. A grass and moss-covered ruin, akin to those it stood watch over. To one side was a large flat stone and upon it was a clay bowl. Beside the stone, a large bronze bell set in a wooden frame.

  His master had ordered the bell brought with them and the bowl was theirs also. He remembered it took two mules to haul the great bell up the hill when they first came to this accursed place. He still had no idea why his master had insisted on bringing the damn pointless thing. They seemed to have brought so many strange and seemingly useless things, but who was he to question his master’s wisdom? Just a lowly apprentice from the College, it was not his place to challenge such things.

  Shrugging to himself, the apprentice approached the bowl on the stone and filled it with water from a skin he took from his bag. He then placed a small piece of Ironwood in the water. The wood floated in the bowl but spun round and round, finally coming to rest in one direction as if pulled by some unseen force. He looked up at the rising moon. The slim waning crescent had now risen above the trees and was framed by the clouds in its pale light. He thought perhaps two, maybe three nights until the black moon. From his bag he produced a strange measuring device. He then noted the direction of both the floating wood and the moon above. Measuring its height and position in the sky compared to the direction of the floating wood. He took out a piece of slate and chalk and noted down his findings, then hastily put his equipment back into the bag hung at his side.

  He looked out over the low wall at the gloom of the ruins below. He could make out little but vague shadows, not even the glow of fire from the campsite. The wind picked up and whistled through the stony bluffs, blowing out the candle in his lantern. He cursed and turned to make his way back down the path. He half-feared to see some fell creature standing in his path as he turned, but the way was clear. All he could see was the dark path down to the shadow of the trees.

  The sense of dread again filled him as he made his way down the hill, carrying the extinguished lantern. He neared the dark trees and quickened his pace. The wind had brought the trees to life. They creaked and groaned as they bent to the will of the wind.

  There was a loud crack. He froze–just a branch falling. Then another crack came from the darkness, followed by the sound of tumbling of rocks. There was something out there.

  A sudden panic clutched his heart, and he ran. He had no desire to meet whatever evil was stalking him in the darkness of this ancient place. His terror and panic overcame his judgment. He ran recklessly back down the track, hardly looking. He was waiting for some terrible hand to seize him or to be felled from a blow from behind as he ran. Ahead, through the gap in the crumbling wall, he could make out the warm glow of the fire from the campsite. In his blind panic, his shin struck a hidden branch in his path. In pain, he stumbled. The extinguished lantern flew from his hands and sailed off into the gloom. His foot found some hole or gap. He tripped, his foot remaining lodged as he went over.

  He cried out at a flash of pain from his trapped ankle. He tried to dislodge his foot and get up. The pain flashed up his leg again. He realised he couldn’t.

  He cried out again. Was something chasing him? Well, it had him now. He lay in agony, terrified. And then, blackness descended upon him. H
e must have fallen unconscious, for the next thing he remembered was the sound of voices and a great dog looming above him.

  ***

  The hound towered over the fallen apprentice, howling into the night. It was a great grey shaggy beast with long matted hair and a thin, pointed face. The apprentice lay dazed. The great hound licked the apprentice’s face with a rough slobbery tongue, and continued howling and barking towards the sound of the approaching voices.

  He became aware of a nearing light, and then, of two figures standing over him.

  ‘Good dog,’ said a low, aged voice. He recognised it as his master’s voice.

  ‘See, I told you I heard something,’ spoke another voice.

  His master replied, ‘The dog certainly did.’

  The lantern light only half-illuminated their faces from below, but the apprentice knew the other figure to be the large frame of Master Logan.

  ‘Are you OK down there, lad?’ asked Logan.

  The apprentice, relieved at the familiar voices, then realised his pursuer had not manifested into hard reality.

  ‘My foot’s stuck, I can’t walk,’ whimpered the apprentice.

  He cried out at a sudden burst of pain from his leg as a heavy weight was lifted away, and his leg freed.

  ‘You’re a mess, boy. How did you manage this?’ demanded the master in a stern tone.

  ‘There was something out there in the woods.’

  The master’s tone softened with interest. ‘What did you see?’

  ‘Well, nothing…but I could feel its eyes hunting me for some time. Then I heard something in the trees, and as I hurried back, I must have tripped. It was chasing me, I swear.’

  The master, not satisfied, persisted, ‘But did you see anything? Or just running from shadows?’

  ‘Well, no, Master. I saw nothing, but…’

  The apprentice suddenly felt very foolish under their gaze. His master, Eldrick, just looked at him with a stern frown. Although, he did then look off into the night, searching. Master Logan raised his lantern and also looked into the shadowy tree line. Nothing.

  Logan turned to the stricken apprentice. ‘If there was something out there, the dog would have caught wind of it and would have been barking all over the place long before you saw anything.’ He bent and stroked the great hound’s ears.

  ‘Well, old boy? What do you think? Anybody out there?’ The hound nuzzled at Master Logan’s hands and continued to sit there, staring up at his master.

  ‘See, he don’t think anything’s about.’

  Logan laughed. ‘Perhaps you were just spooked by the shadows in the darkness. This is a fell place after all.’

  The two masters helped the young apprentice up and, supporting him on either side, bore him back to the warmth and safety of the campfire.

  They came through the gap in the crumbling wall and back into the campsite. The glow of the campfire came from the hearth inside the large tent, and it gave the canvas a flickering glow.

  The hound ran on to reclaim its spot by the fire as the masters helped the apprentice through the heavy canvas flap, which served as an entrance to the great marquee. Inside, it was quite large and lavishly decorated, not something set up for a night or two.

  It was held up by a thick wooden pole set deep into the ground and was covered by a thick, heavy canvas which was pegged closely to the earth. The marquee housed several other smaller tents, all clustered around the fire, and had various provisions and equipment stored in the corners. There was a hole in the roof at the central point above the fire through which the smoke escaped. The flickering firelight sent shadows dancing on the canvas overhead.

  They laid him down in his own open tent.

  ‘This leg needs tending. You will not be wandering about in the dark for some time, boy,’ said his master gravely.

  Master Eldrick had, among the many things in his time with the College, studied healing and herbcraft and his abilities were more than apt. However, this did not lessen the pain for the apprentice as his master first reset, and then bound his leg in splints.

  Master Logan brought the apprentice some tea brewed from strange herbs and a bitter tasting root to chew on.

  ‘For the pain, lad,’ he said. The pain was great but the tea and foul-tasting root, obviously medicinal, did seem to ease the throbbing in his ankle.

  As he lay there, staring up at the canvas, he felt the fear slowly ebb away, leaving him instead with the growing feeling of foolishness.

  This camp had been his home for some weeks now. It was, in fact, the second moon, now waning and nearly black, that he had recorded since they arrived. The tea and root were starting to take effect and make him feel drowsy. As he drifted towards sleep in the safety of the campsite, he felt it again.

  He was being watched. He glanced around. The hound was asleep on his side, near the fire outside Logan’s tent. The master himself was presumably seated inside with a drink. Master Eldrick’s tent was now closed, but he would, no doubt, be in there, studying some ancient lore or far off text. Ever reading to guide him in some of the research they had come here to conduct.

  He dreaded some of the research of the coming days, but he would not think of that, even if his master was now in his tent planning so. Not with this terrible sense watching him from some hidden corner.

  He looked up. He could see the moon through the centre hole above. Its crescent had risen high, still framed by the clouds. He clutched at the wooden idol hung around his neck. He hoped that if any of the many gods were watching, they would protect him. His mind had been playing tricks on him of late. He lay watching the moon and eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.

  CHAPTER Two

  The Tracker

  The village was deserted. The surrounding trees were motionless and the air was quiet and still. The lone rider passed amongst the small huddle of crude buildings. One had been set ablaze and, now, the charred timbers lay blackened, the embers still smoking.

  The buildings were round but still little more than primitive hovels, low walls made from mud and woven bracken and turf packed over the roofs. The ground seemed well trodden–the local folk had lived here some time.

  There were many tracks laid across each other. He could make out little from the confusion around the buildings. The animal pens lay open and empty. Possessions and tools littered the floor. The folk who lived here either seemed to have left in great haste or been caught unawares. Strange?

  If they had moved on, they would have taken more with them, and if they had been attacked, would more not have been taken? Granted, much had been looted, the food stores empty, no sign of any animals and weapons, but still, valuable tools and trinkets had been abandoned. If there had been an attack, where are the dead? The mystery deepened.

  He was a huntsman, tracking the wild creatures that haunted the hills and deep forests of Arnar. If it were man or beast, he could hunt them, he was Bjorn.

  He had hunted many great beasts across the realm and his skills as a great huntsman and tracker had soon earned him renown far and wide. The local lords of the villages and towns paid him to hunt with them or to hunt down troublesome beasts that attacked villages or took livestock. Even on occasion to track down men who fled into the wilds for refuge from their crimes, but Bjorn always found them. Lord Archeon had recently sought him out and hired him to ride to the northern borders to investigate the disappearances.

  There had been many tales of the strange disappearances. Folk had been found to be missing and outlying farmsteads had been found mysteriously deserted. Fear and rumour had spread amongst the local folk. There is whispered talk of an evil beast stalking the land and rumours of attacks coming from the barrens in the north, known as the savage lands.

  Lord Archeon served as the king’s warden of the west, and he ruled over these north western frontier territories. It was he who had summoned Bjorn. Word of his deeds had indeed spread far and wide, to catch the attention of such a powerful lord. The hunter had sworn to track d
own this beast, if it even existed. More likely, he thought, he would end up finding some foolish outlaws responsible.

  He had searched and talked to all who would speak of the matter. He spent much time in the taverns here and there listening to the local talk, hoping for some word or news to aid his search, but so far nothing but rumour.

  Yet Bjorn had found farms and homesteads deserted. Their buildings left dark and empty. Some days past, while searching one such place, he picked up an odd trail leading from one of the strangely deserted farmsteads out along the border and had followed it north into the barrens.

  The barrens, despite the name, were not empty. Many had settled the lands. Beyond Arnar’s northern borders, small defended villages were dotted here and there. Exiles and outlaws came to these lawless lands to evade capture. The primitive savages, who once gave the lands their name, had long ago fled north when the armies of Arn marched west from Cydor and forged the realms now known as Arnar.

  He followed the trail for leagues across the border deep into these savage lands. It was this morning when he had seen the smoke rising above the trees. Bjorn followed it here to the small hamlet nestled in the wooded hills.

  The burnt-out house had been smoking at least a day maybe two. He searched the floor around the houses. There was no hope. There were too many tracks, old and new, all laid over each other. He moved his search to the surrounding ground, there were still tracks but they were clearer. He took in every bent blade of grass, every broken twig and footprint until he found something.

  He could see where people had knelt a while under the trees. Yes, they knelt for some time, watching. He touched the imprints of feet and depressions left by knees in the mud.

  His eyes then followed the tracks through the grass as they split up towards the houses. He followed. Studying a footprint, it looked like they were running.