The Sword of Light: Book One of the Veredor Chronicles

THE SWORD OF LIGHT

BOOK ONE OF THE
VEREDOR CHRONICLES

E J GILMOUR

The Sword of
Light: Book One of the Veredor Chronicles

Smashwords
Edition

Copyright 2013
E J Gilmour

ISBN:
978-0-9923750-0-3

www.ejgilmour.com

The Sword of Light: Book One of the Veredor Chronicles by E J
Gilmour is subject to copyright. All rights reserved. This
publication must not be altered, printed, resold, shared, copied or
redistributed without the written permission of E J Gilmour. This
publication is a work of fiction. All characters and situations in
this novel are products of the author’s imagination. Any
resemblance to real people or situations is coincidental. Cover
image: © depositphotos.com/Piolka

MAP OF THE
EASTERN LANDS

CHAPTER
ONE

Deep in the
southern hills of the Kingdom of Ortaria, perched precariously on a
mountainside, was a lonely and simply built hut. There was nothing
particularly unusual about the hut, apart from its rather perilous
location. A steep track led down to a little village far below, and
anybody passing through the village would have thought that it was
a very strange place to build a home, if they noticed it at
all.

A young man stood by the only window and looked out across
the valley. He was taller than average with wavy brown hair and
dark eyes. The small window presented a view of the entire village.
The people of Clemensdale were scurrying about and making
preparations for the approaching storm. Dark clouds were rolling
across the hills to the east. Thunder rumbled from above and
echoed throughout the valley. He reached out and
fastened the shutters as lightning lit up the sky above.

The hut was
made up of a single room with a central wooden table and two single
beds against each wall. An oil lantern filled the little room with
a warm light. On top of the table was a small metal box. The young
man sat down and gently lifted the lid off the box. Inside was a
piece of folded parchment paper. He took it out and unfolded the
letter. He then began to read.

Brother
Erako,

I send to you
this child. His name is Eben. Lady Kaloren has requested that he be
hidden from our enemies. She has assigned me the task to protect
the child. I must ensure he is placed somewhere where he will not
be found. She has also requested for the Ecorian Sword to remain
with Eben. I know I can trust you to protect this child. It is
truly important that you accept. We are living in a dangerous time.
Our numbers are few in these lands. The rumours are true; the hand
of evil reaches south. I will only say a little in this letter of
our troubles. We have encountered our old enemies in Ortaria. There
is also word that they have entered Vastoria. We can only hope that
the Cosmic Gate holds true. We fear the time grows near. One of us
will come to take Eben from you soon.

Sincerely,

Carlin.

Eben had read
the letter at least a dozen times, and with each reading more
questions entered his mind. The metal box had been hidden beneath
Erako’s bed. The contents of the letter had shocked him deeply.

For most of
his life Eben had lived in the southern hills of Ortaria. He had
been taught the craft of surviving in the wild rocky land by Erako,
the Huntsman of Clemensdale. Erako was already an old man when Eben
was entrusted to his care, and he singlehandedly raised Eben from
when he was only two years old. Few memories remained of the time
before Eben had arrived, only vague recollections and faces of
people who he could not clearly remember. Eben had always been told
that a stranger had left him and had promised to return one day to
take him away, but the stranger never returned. The months turned
into years without a word or message.

Over sixteen
years had passed since he had arrived at the small remote village.
In the depths of winter a fever had overcome Erako. The old
huntsman passed away peacefully in his sleep. Life in the village
had not been the same since Erako’s death.

Eben had
always been told that if he waited someone would eventually come to
Clemensdale to explain his origins, but after reading the letter he
felt a deep desire to search for the answers himself. There was so
much that he wanted to know: who Carlin and Lady Kaloren were, and
where had he come from, but mostly he wanted to find his
parents.

**

After several
hours the storm had passed. Questions continued to circle around in
Eben’s mind. He knew that he would have to leave his home and begin
a dangerous journey if he was ever going to have a chance at
discovering any of the answers. Clemensdale was a humble village
and very far from anything evil or treacherous. The people were shy
folk and went about their business without much care for the
happenings of the wider world. The village was tucked away in the
hills and mostly forgotten by outsiders.

Many dreadful
stories had been brought to Clemensdale by peddlers, drifters, and
nomads. The Kingdom of Ortaria had once been a peaceful and
beautiful land. Rumours continued to surface that something
menacing was growing in the north and east of the country. The
summers had grown cold and the winters long and icy. Crops had
mostly failed, rivers were depleted of fish, and few animals
remained in the forests. However, even with all these happenings,
the little village of Clemensdale remained mostly untroubled. The
farmers had little to complain about, the bakers still baked, the
shepherds still tended their sheep, and the village folk were as
happy as they had ever been.

Eben pondered
the stories as he packed his bag. He knew the roads that led north
would be dangerous. His thoughts were interrupted by a gentle
tapping at the door. He opened the door and looked out to see old
Vera, the baker’s wife, standing just outside. Vera was a very old
woman with grey hair and blue eyes that were full of cheer. She
looked up at him with a warm smile.

‘
Hello there my dear boy,’ she said as she stepped inside and
out of the cold.

‘
Vera, I wasn’t expecting you.’

‘
I’ve come to bring you some bread. We baked it this morning
especially for you,’ she said, setting the basket down on the
table. She turned to face him. ‘How are you my boy? We’ve been
worried about you living all alone up here on the hill. Is
everything alright?’ she asked as her eyes glanced across at his
half packed bag on the floor.

‘
I’m fine.’

‘
It looks to me that you are planning to go somewhere,’ she
said, a look of worry crossing her face.

There was a
short silence as Eben thought of how best to tell Vera about his
planned journey to Ancora. He knew that Vera cared for him like an
aunt would for a nephew, and he also knew she would probably be
opposed to any suggestion of an adventure beyond the boundaries of
Clemensdale.

‘
I am, Vera. I’m going on a journey.’

She nervously
scratched her chin and shook her head. ‘Eben, you should
reconsider. There are many terrible things out on the roads of
Ortaria. Erako would have wanted you to stay safely here in
Clemensdale. You have an important place here in our village. We
care about you; you know we do.’

‘
I know, Vera, but please understand I must go to Ancora. If
my parents are out there somewhere I still may be able to find
them. I know the road will be dangerous, but it’s a chance I’m
willing to take.’

She took his
hand and warmly smiled. ‘I understand what it is like to have so
many questions and no answers. If you really must go then you also
must stay safe. You don’t know much about the outside world, none
of us here in Clemensdale do. Don’t trust anyone. It’s not like
Clemensdale out there; the people beyond the hills are only
interested in what they can take from you. They say it’s all about
take, take, take in the north. Keep your eyes wide open. Always
remember your home and your people. Once you find what you seek
hurry home to us. We will be waiting for you.’

‘
Thank you, Vera.’

**

Eben had been
walking for three days. He had set out from Clemensdale taking only
his leather cloak, a hand axe, his hunting bow, enough food for
several weeks on the road, and the Ecorian Sword that was mentioned
in the letter. He had decided to take the back road from
Clemensdale to the main highway.

It had rained
heavily overnight and dark clouds filled the sky above the hilly
terrain. Not a single bird could be heard singing that morning, and
a deep gloominess had settled over the land. The road ahead looked
rugged and unpleasant. He expected a long day of tough trekking
along the rocky and rarely trodden way.

The back road
led northeast toward the main highway which he planned to follow
all the way to the port city of Ancora. Stories of bandits and
other unspeakable terrors on the northern road had convinced him
the back way to the highway would be his best option. The road had
already proven to be challenging; it traversed many deep valleys
and unstable ridges, and often he found it difficult to know
whether he was actually following the road or had strayed off onto
a goat track.

The brightness
of Clemensdale faded away the further he moved north. It seemed
that the trees were struggling against a silent and invisible
force. The leaves were withered and their branches drooped. The
light of the sun struggled to make it all the way to the ground,
and a murky feeling permeated the landscape. His hope pushed him to
persevere, and he wasn’t going to let a road or the gloominess
force him to turn back. He had his sights firmly set on the great
capital of Ortaria.

**

Eben’s dark
eyes surveyed his surroundings. He had arrived at the place where
the old back road intersected the main highway that led from Ancora
to the Iron Gate Pass. The landscape around was dotted with large
oak trees rising up over moss covered rocky ground. Directly ahead
of him were the ruins of an ancient village. Most of the stone
houses were completely derelict, and all the inhabitants had long
since moved on. A stream flowed through the village, pouring down
out of the hill country to the south. Eben approached with caution.
Erako had taught him how to pass by unnoticed. He had been educated
in all that was necessary to become a huntsman; walking silently
was one skill he was quite adept at.

He passed
through the ruins and came to the edge of the stream where an old
rock bridge spanned the fast flowing water below. For a moment he
had a feeling that he was being watched. Without moving his eyes
darted to the left and the right.

‘
You there!’ shouted a voice to his right. He quickly turned
around as his hand went for his hunting dagger. In the centre of
the ruined village was an old and very large oak tree. Hanging
upside down by a rope tied around his ankles was a bedraggled young
man with an unkempt red beard and long greasy dark hair. He was
perhaps a year or two older than Eben. It was instantly clear that
his hands were tied behind his back. The rope around his ankles was
attached to a chain that was wrapped around a branch high above,
and his head hung about four feet from the ground. He looked at
Eben with bright blue eyes and a wide smile.

Eben slowly
walked toward him. ‘How can I help you?’

‘
I think the answer to your question is obvious,’ replied the
young man, glancing upward toward the chain that was holding him in
place. ‘I’ve been waiting for someone like you to come by and free
me.’