The Legend of Goldenmane: Journey to Sur-La Book One (of Three) Read online

  Copyright © 2021 D.L. Osborn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any way or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without written permission from the author.

  ISBN: 9798745431005

  For my wife, Virginia.

  Thank you for your love and support.

  S unlight gleamed from the long, silver blade as a sharpening stone grazed over it’s razor-sharp edges. A drop of glistening sweat fell from the nose of the blonde teenage boy. His concentration was absolute as he examined the sword, over and over, striving for perfection.

  An older man emerged from the doorway of a small, nearby hut, walked over to the boy, and held out his hand. The sweating teenager cautiously presented him the broadsword.

  “Take care of your steel,” the elder stated, “and your steel will take care of you.”

  The stout man examined the weapon with the eye of an expert swordsman, studying for any imperfections.

  “Well done, Erlik,” he said, still looking at the blade. “You make your father proud.”

  The boy nodded, and smiled.

  “You will do fine next week, son.” his father said, placing a strong hand on Erlik’s shoulder.

  The youth was just one month past his sixteenth birthday. And, his ceremonial first hunt was only seven days away.

  Just then, a tender female voice echoed from within the tiny hut. “Erlik, Bjorn, … breakfast is ready.” she announced. “Romi, … Romi where are you?”

  The boy already knew the next sentence out of his mother’s mouth.

  “Erlik, will you go get your little sister, please?”

  He responded reluctantly, but respectfully. “Yes, mother.”

  Heavy mist still covered the low lying areas around their small village as the sun peaked over the distant mountains. It was a crisp spring morning, and the birds had just begun to sing. All around the community, early-rising villagers were busy starting their daily chores.

  The unsuspecting residents had no idea the legion of soldiers were coming. In fact, they were already there. And, it was far too late by the time an alarm was sounded. The heavily armed troops stormed into the settlement like a swarm of locusts.

  Well trained and battle hardened, the regiment had control of the village within minutes. Those who resisted were either killed or pummeled by a cluster of soldiers.

  By mid-morning, all the villagers had been herded into a large field on the outskirts of the community. An enormous red tent was assembled, and caged wagons were positioned in a complete circle surrounding the interior of the grassy meadow. Hundreds of sneering soldiers stood around the wagons, side-by-side, closing off the perimeter.

  Most of the residents were forced into the immense canvas tent. All except the teenage boys – who were kneeling in a row, with a line of armed troops directly behind them.

  An unbelievably large, hulking man walked slowly into the middle of the encircled field and crossed his arms. At nearly seven feet tall, he was easily the largest man to ever set foot in their village. The towering figure wore a silver battle helmet with a curved white horn on each side. His upper body was covered with a grey chainmail vest, leaving his massive, hairy arms exposed. A large fur cape attached across the top of the vest, and hung from his brawny shoulders to the ground. Brown canvas pants and dusty infantry boots completed the imposing man’s uniform.

  He looked at the twelve kneeling boys.

  “Is this all of them?” he asked gruffly.

  A few moments later, there was a scuffling at the end of the row. Two soldiers showed up with Erlik and pushed him into the line. One of them kicked the back of the boy’s knees, dropping him to the ground.

  “Stay down,” he said harshly, as the other spat on the back of Erlik’s head. The two soldiers looked at the burly man in the center, and one of them reported, “This is the last one.”

  The brute-man stepped closer to the line of boys, at the opposite end from Erlik, and began to size-up each of the kneeling youth. His eyes scanned the first boy in line, like a farmer examining cattle. The intimidating giant looked intently at the young one, without saying a word. After a short time, he turned his attention to the second boy in line, and casually stepped in front of him.

  His assessment was quick and decisive.

  “No.” the man said simply, and the soldiers behind the second boy jerked him to his feet and led the youth away.

  This process continued for each and every boy in line, with about every other one being “dismissed”.

  Eventually, the towering giant was standing in front of Erlik. He took a few moments to evaluate the boy, and then looked at the two soldiers standing behind him. One had a freshly swollen black eye, and the other sported a small gash at the base of his nose.

  The hulking man gazed back at Erlik. “Save this one for last.”

  Walking back to the center of the enclosed circle, the large brute said with a deep, loud voice:

  “My name is Baasa. I am here in service to the great King Tambien of Balamar.” He spoke slowly and with purpose, like a politician giving a speech. “Today, we are looking for young warriors. Gladiators. Nothing else.” He looked at the line of kneeling boys. “Each of you will face me in the circle. If I find you acceptable, then your life will belong to King Tambien, and you will serve as he sees fit.” The man paused for a moment to emphasize his next statement. “If you are found unacceptable, then you will be put down.” He glared at the boys. “And, your entire family also.”

  “Make no mistake,” Baasa added, “you are fighting for your lives, and the lives of your loved ones. So I expect a worthy effort….and no cowardice.”

  The huge man waved his hand toward the red tent, and armed guards pulled out four people – shoving them to their knees. It was a man, woman, and two young girls. Tears streamed down their faces as they looked at the first boy in the lineup.

  “Father!” he exclaimed.

  The soldier behind the youth slapped him in the back of the head. “Shut up!”

  Baasa unclipped his large cape, and it fell to the ground behind him. He intertwined his thick fingers and cracked his knuckles.

  “Alright,” he said, motioning to the first boy, “You’re up.”

  The tension was palpable as the young kid hesitantly stood and slowly, grudgingly stepped toward the towering brute.

  “Get your hands up, boy,” Baasa snarled.

  The two stared at each other for a moment and the tall man spoke again.

  “Come on,” he uttered in frustration, “make a move!”

  The teenager threw a wimpy, half-hearted punch, hitting Baasa in the lower abdomen. The hulking man didn’t flinch. He hauled back and rocketed his fist into the boy’s face. The kid dropped to the ground, as blood oozed from a large cut over his nose.

  “You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Baasa remarked. “You’re a joke!”

  The big man shook his head in frustration. “I’ll give you one more chance.”

  The bloody-faced boy got to his feet and lunged, striking Baasa’s stomach with his shoulder. The youth immediately pounded his right fist into the big man’s ribs with all his might. Twice.

  Baasa raised his left arm and slammed his elbow down – onto the boy’s upper back – sending him, once again, to the ground.

  Then, the big brute powered a strong kick into the kid’s left torso. The awful sound of breaking ribs echoed throughout the enclosed field.

  Letting out a horribl
e groan, the battered boy rubbed his face across the grass and dirt. But, Baasa didn’t let up. He stomped hard onto the youth’s lower back.

  The towering man paused for a second, lifted his foot high, once again, and pounded his heel into the back of the boy’s skull.

  The teenager’s body went limp.

  Baasa stepped back from the motionless figure, looked at the soldiers, and made a slashing sign across his massive neck.

  Immediately, a trooper paced forward with a long, thick knife and plunged it into the upper back of the lifeless body – piercing the heart.

  At the same instant, soldiers behind the family unsheathed knives and cold-heartedly murdered them all.

  A hush fell over the field.

  The boy’s body was dragged to the edge of the enclosed circle and dumped in front of one of the caged wagons. The bodies of the dead family members were also dragged across the field and nonchalantly lumped on top of the youth’s warm corpse.

  “I hope the rest of you are better than that,” Baasa grumbled.

  “Next!”

  The imposing man systematically worked his way down the line, toward Erlik.

  Most of the frightened boys didn’t fare much better than the first. They were all executed, along with their families. Except one. Erlik’s friend Artemis. He was fortunate enough to land one solid blow to the huge man’s jaw before Baasa pummeled him severely. The soldiers heaved him into one of the cages, and his family was taken back into the tent.

  Finally, Baasa stood, once again, at center circle - looking at Erlik.

  “So far this has been a total waste of our time and effort.” He continued to glare at the boy. “Maybe you can salvage a little dignity for this backwater dump of a town.”

  Erlik’s father, mother, and sister Romi, were brought from the red tent and forced to kneel as the previous families did.

  His father had been beaten badly. Dark purple bruises covered his face and arms, along with many deep, bleeding cuts. He had obviously put up a great fight. It appeared his left arm had been broken, as it hung limply to his side.

  Baasa noticed Bjorn’s dark blonde hair.

  “Well,” he laughed, leaning his head toward Erlik, “he is definitely your boy.”

  The imposing man stepped closer to Erlik’s father.

  “What is your name?”

  “Bjorn,” he answered, blood dripping from a cut in his mouth.

  “We don’t see many of your kind this far south. What brings you here, northerner?”

  The battered man was silent.

  Baasa noticed a small scar on Bjorn’s left forearm – in the shape of a “V”.

  “Ahh….” the huge man said, “You’re a Viking.”

  Baasa leaned closer toward Erlik’s father.

  “A deserter, eh?”

  Bjorn did not respond.

  “You Vikings have the reputation of being fierce warriors.”

  The massive brute turned and looked at Erlik.

  “Is your boy a fierce warrior?”

  Bjorn glanced wearily at Erlik, then back at Baasa.

  “Let me fight for my son,” he replied faintly.

  The big man let out a boisterous laugh.

  “Now that I would like to see. But, unfortunately we are not here today for broken old men.”

  Baasa calmly walked back to the middle of the circle and faced Erlik.

  “You’re up, boy.”

  Erlik rose and cautiously stepped forward. His heart was pounding. The young one glanced at the heaping pile of dead bodies, and gulped. Then, raising his arms into a fighting stance, he inched closer to the imposing Baasa.

  Even in his nervousness, the boy knew he had to strike quickly, and hurt the giant before he could land a damaging blow.

  Like a panther, Erlik leaped toward the gigantic man and swung a clenched fist at his jaw. Baasa shifted his head just enough to avoid the blow.

  The big brute responded with a punch to Erlik’s ribcage, and then pounded his massive fist into the teenager’s face.

  Erlik toppled to the ground, as pain radiated from his temple to his chin.

  He tasted the salty tartness of blood seeping into his mouth from a cut behind his lower lip.

  It felt like he had been hit with a battering ram. His left eye instantly began to swell. The blonde boy raised to his feet, as his eyes started to water.

  Baasa stepped forward and swung mightily at Erlik’s head. The youth ducked just in time to elude the deadly strike, and rocketed a punch into the big man’s sternum. Baasa shoved Erlik back and unleashed a powerful roundhouse kick. It hit the boy in his shoulder, but was still strong enough to topple him to the ground.

  The swift kick had caught the youngster by surprise. He wasn’t expecting a move like that. Apparently, the giant was more agile than he appeared.

  As Erlik started to get up, Baasa booted him in the face – hard. While the teen was dazed, the big man leaned over and hammered a fist into Erlik’s exposed stomach. After doubling over in pain, He had enough wits about him to roll away from the towering giant – trying to put some distance between them. Erlik ended up kneeling on one knee, grabbing his bruised stomach, and desperately trying to breathe.

  Baasa decided not to advance and, instead, crossed his massive arms.

  “Well,” he announced to no one in particular, “the kid can certainly take a beating.”

  Erlik’s left eye was almost completely swollen shut, his nose and mouth were both bleeding profusely, and his shoulder and stomach were burning with pain. He knew he couldn’t last much longer.

  He had to make his move now.

  Baasa uncrossed his arms and took a step toward the battered boy.

  Erlik clinched some dirt in his right hand and tossed it into the giant’s face. The desperate boy used the distraction to dart around the big man. Baasa, wiping his eyes, turned and watched – wondering where the kid was going. He didn’t take the lad for a cowardly runner.

  In one fluid motion, Erlik picked up Baasa’s massive cape and flung it over the big man’s head – knocking his horned helmet to the ground.

  “Arrggh!” the man growled, clawing at the covering.

  As Baasa tossed the fur aside, Erlik grabbed the helmet.

  The boy knew he had only one shot.

  He had to make it count.

  With all his might, he swung the helmet toward Baasa’s neck – the sharp horns ready to gouge.

  At the last moment, Baasa raised his left arm and one of the horns buried itself deep into the man’s forearm – just inches from his throat. Blood splattered onto the side of the brute’s face.

  Baasa grinned.

  Hauling back with his right arm, he clobbered Erlik again – sending the dejected youth to the ground.

  The hulking man pulled the horn from his forearm and wiped the red-stained ivory on his canvas pants.

  Baasa looked at the soldiers.

  “This one’s a keeper.”

  He placed the horned helmet back on his head.

  “Take the boy, then kill everyone else….and burn it all.”

  Erlik turned to look at his father, mother, and sister. The soldiers behind his family unsheathed their swords, and raised the blades over their heads.

  “No!” Erlik cried. But his scream was cut short, as a soldier slammed the hilt of his sword into the back of the boy’s head – sending him into darkness.

  T he stench of sweat and dust filled Erlik’s nostrils as he slowly regained consciousness. It took a few moments for his fogged vision to subside, and his eyesight to clear.

  He was lying on his back atop a flat wooden floor. Erlik felt a sense of movement and heard the sound of creaky wagon wheels on a dirt road.

  The aching boy felt like he had been trampled by a two ton mastodon. He cautiously and painfully sat up, quickly realizing he was in one of the caged wagons from the field.

  Erlik rubbed the back of his head, running his hand across the large knot that formed from whatever hit
him earlier.

  “You alright, pal?” came a familiar voice from a few feet away. It was Artemis. “We thought you were dead.”

  Erlik looked at his friend. It was a grim sight. The left side of his face had been beaten to a pulp. Dried blood clots covered the surface of three huge welts.

  Artemis noticed the way Erlik looked at him. “You should see the other guy,” he joked.

  Erlik laughed – but had to grip his stomach from the bruising pain.

  There were five other young men sitting inside the cage. They all looked like Erlik felt.

  “How long have I been out?”

  “A day and a half,” Artemis replied. He tipped his head toward the others. “These boys are from Darkas. It was raided after us.”

  Erlik nodded at the battered young men, then turned and looked out the back of the cage. Two black horses were directly behind them, pulling another caged wagon. Two soldiers were sitting behind the steeds, on a raised seat. One of the military men was holding the reigns, while the other clutched an impressive longbow.

  On each side of the wagon, mounted soldiers rode powerful-looking brown geldings. In the distance, behind the trailing wagon, Erlik noticed a large plume of dust billowing into the air.

  “Must be a long caravan,” he said.

  “We counted twenty-five wagons.”

  Erlik’s stomach growled loudly.

  Artemis responded, “We should be stopping to eat soon.”

  Erlik’s good friend was correct. And, within thirty minutes, the sizable cavalcade came to a stop. Erlik spotted a vast woodland area of trees and shrubs to the left of the caravan, about fifty yards away.

  Soon, a group of soldiers showed up, hauling a large steaming pot. One of them stepped over to the wagon and unlocked the cage.

  “Okay, boys,” he said., “Stretch your legs and get something to eat. You have five minutes.”

  The beaten and bruised young men climbed down from the wagon and stepped over to the smoking kettle. Everyone watched, as a soldier dipped a big wooden ladle into the pot.

  Erlik was already ten yards away, and at full stride, before the first trooper shouted.

  The boy glanced behind him and saw two soldiers in pursuit. Erlik’s joints were stiff and sore, but he was running like a cheetah, toward the trees.