In Search of Spice
IN SEARCH OF
SPICE
REX SUMNER
Published in June 2015 by
MyVoice Publishing
www.myvoicepublishing.co.uk
Copyright © Rex Sumner 2015
The right of Rex Sumner to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Cover and interior artwork by Maria Gandolfo.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means,
without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
ISBN 978-1-909359-26-0
Note: this is a work of fiction. No characters are based on actual people, alive or dead; policies and actions of countries and governments depicted bear no relation to actual historical fact. Customs of various people are from the authors imagination and have no bearing on actual customs of any people.
Contents
Extracted from the Royal Records in Praesidium VI
Acknowledgements
I would like to give particular thanks to my wonderful team of readers who have provided valuable reaction to this book. Without you guys this work would be very different. I have thanked particular contributions by naming a character after you, although their disgusting habits and interesting behaviour bear no relation to your own.
I would also like to thank the many authors, too many to list, whom I have enjoyed over the years, and whose work has of course influenced my own.
Particular thanks to my sons who were the first to read the manuscript and influence the early direction of the book, and to my long suffering wife who has delighted in my enthusiasm and encouraged me to write for decades.
I must emphasize that you should not expect to find any of the customs described in this book anywhere in the world. Yes, I have borrowed liberally from many cultures but adapted the customs to suit my world. You may rightly recognise Fijian customs, however the Fijians are a very modest people, unlike the Vituans.
The interesting custom from Malacca, while being historical fact in our world, is unlikely to persist to this day. The custom of the Sung to carry a number of courtesans with them is directly borrowed from historical Chinese accounts. Personally, I think it was a much more civilised approach to meeting new people than the Western one of overbearing force.
I am not a swordsman, Asmara would run me through in a moment. While I know some terms, specialist moves like the Heron Strike are entirely my imagination, not designed for imitation.
Welcome to Harrhein and please enjoy a world vibrant in its differences.
Rex Sumner
Kuala Lumpur 2015
Harrhein
O
ver the past five hundred years, the kings of Harrhein consolidated the kingdom by conquest, bringing Fearaigh and Galicia into the country.
Coillearnacha stayed separate, with another race, Elves, occupying the western shores. An uneasy truce prevails, with frequent raids from both sides of the border.
No one knows what happens in the far north. Expeditions founder on the enmity of native peoples.
To the east lie the islands and peninsulas of the warlike Spakka, who delight in raiding Harrhein and capture every ship they can, while in every other direction lies limitless ocean.
To break free, the people of Harrhein need to make a deep sea vessel and sail over the edge of the world.
Extracted from the Royal Records in Praesidium
P
art of the Charter for raising the Queen Rose, the list of those brave and adventurous souls who underwrote the cost of the expedition.
Treason
A
tall austere man walked through the doorway from the inn and spoke to the booth’s sole occupant. “Hello Victor. Have you picked the Champion yet?”
The elderly man turned from his seat in the gallery overlooking the fighting court and smiled.
“Oliver! Oliver Bouvier! What a surprise, and just in time, my wine glass is empty and the bottle is gone. The Navarre red is excellent. As to the blades, well I think we are going to see some unusual upsets today.”
Oliver turned and gestured to a serving girl. “A bottle of Navarre red, if you please.” He seated himself beside Victor, easing his spare frame into the seat and looked with disapproval into the salle. “A cryptic clue as always. What have you seen?”
“There’s a girl come through the qualifying, don’t know who she is but her craftsmanship is awesome. She has been going through her opponents like chaff, and one opponent even resigned rather than face her. She is fighting next, up against a professional from Lansbridge, her first real test. Here she comes now.”
A girl strode out of the fighters tunnel into the courtyard, tall and elegant, moving lithely like a panther. She was slim and willowy, with broad, muscled shoulders, a little heavier on the right. She wore the leather and chain mail armour of a bladesman, plus a mask over her eyes, enough to obscure recognition. Bright, dark red hair was visible under her hauberk and a beautiful rapier grew out of her hand as if it was permanent.
“A beauty, and young, I reckon. Who is she?”
“No idea, but she has been damn well taught. Strong too, see how tall she is. Only girl to make it through qualifying.”
A buzz went through the crowd and a cheer arose from the open area below
“What’s that they are calling her? Russet? And Red Rattna? That awful barbarian queen who bathes in her victims’ blood? Don’t we know her real name and background?”
“No, she’s a mystery entrant. She has red hair and a quick blade, that’s enough for the crowds. See, she wears a small mask, as is her right. It is clear she is a Noble’s daughter who has worked with an expert bladesman. She uses a rapier very well, going through all the parries fluidly and automatically. In one of the bouts she met a compound attack by a simple displacement combined with an envelopment and took him.”
“I have no idea what you said.”
“Ah, Oliver, if you are going to watch fencing, you should learn the terms.”
“I don’t care about the terms or fencing, I only came to speak with you. Disgraceful they let a girl compete.”
“I think like everyone else you hope to see a little blood, and I am sure even a puritan like you would enjoy a girl’s blood even more.”
“Or a lot. Even better. Damn Papists, happy to see them all die. Not sure if the crowd want to see the girl’s blood or see her shed others blood.” He mused this last, looking around at the crowd and stroking his prominent nose.
“Well, I think they will be disappointed. She’s a clean fighter; she hits the marks perfectly and never takes a risk. At least not yet. She may have to at this level. Just look at Morten. You can see he won’t give her an inch.”
The fighters were ready, toeing the line and raising their swords in salute. Morten had a longsword. He held it with both hands, his left hand cupped around the pommel. The referee called the start and the jury stooped to watch for hits. Morten came forward carefully and made a small feint, which Russet ignored. He gave a beat to her blade and stepped back in surprise at the speed of the counter-beat. His eyes narrowed and he lunged into the tiny, high opening presented, then desperately tried to bring the sword down in a parry as she slipped his blade, ducked to the floor and sliced up at his hand by the wrist, raising a fountain of ‘blood’; actually red ink in small sachets strapped to each bladesman’s body. The referee’s whistle went abruptly and both players stopped.
