Tin Thoughts (The Downfall Saga Book 2) Read online

  Tin Thoughts

  The Downfall Saga, Volume 2

  Chris McCready

  Published by Chris Mccready, 2015.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  TIN THOUGHTS

  First edition. October 16, 2015.

  Copyright © 2015 Chris McCready.

  ISBN: 978-1516330485

  Written by Chris McCready.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 1

  The first note rang out into the air, loud and brash. Donovan intentionally plucked the out of tune string, and his lute let out a wail which made the hairs on the back of the neck stand up. The note pierced the conversations around the room, struck the far wall, and rebounded. When it came back to him, Donovan added a deep beat, like a horse galloping in the distance, it was a sound that was felt, more than heard, in the noisy room. He let the horse continue to gallop, letting out an inhuman scream every few strides, until most of the heads in the room had turned towards him. He silenced the strings, and the audience quieted in turn. Donovan allowed the scowl to leave his face, and a smile slowly replaced it.

  He let the silence stretch out for a moment longer than was necessary. He waited until he saw the first hand reaching for a drink before launching into “Breaker.” The song was about a dangerous section of water near the southern edge of the continent, where the currents were strong, and the ocean hid many dangers. The music embodied the crashing waves with the subtle undertones of the lamenting sailors. Donovan chose this as his first song because it started fast and heavy, and only grew faster. His fingers flew over the strings, sweat began dripping down his brow, yet he managed to keep the smile on his face as he surveyed the crowd.

  Donovan had spent the first part of his summer wandering around Kendra. Classes didn’t resume at Haven until the fall, not that he was sure he would be resuming his studies. He was a poor wizard, the weakest in class, despite his best efforts. His Gift seemed to express itself in different ways than the other students, but no one could explain to him why it was different. Maybe it was the Blood Magic, they would say, yet none could explain how it would affect his Gift as such.

  Eleven months ago, he had turned up at Haven, alone and frightened. An intricate symbol had been carved into his chest, over his heart, which he’d been told was Blood Magic, not that any of the wizards at Haven claimed to know much about it, since its use had been forbidden centuries ago. Eleven months later and the cuts looked as if they had been made mere hours ago. It siphoned energy from him, sustaining its magic in perpetuity, unless he could track down whoever had created it, and get them to undo their work. Donovan had no recollection of events previous to the first night he appeared at Haven, and no one knew if the Blood Magic had a more nefarious purpose than blocking his memories.

  He spent most of his nights playing his lute. He needed time to forget, so he could finally remember.

  The song finished in a flurry. The notes so fast that he’d mess them up if he tried to think about them while he played. He drew a couple of deep breaths while the audience applauded. He’d chosen that song to get their attention. Now he had to keep it.

  The first dozen chords rang out, true and steady. A few people began singing an old drinking song while he played, and more joined in with every chord. There were many variations to the words, but most of the people of Kendra favored one version, and they sung it loud to drown out any opposition. Donovan had learned the tune the first night he’d played at The Engorged Liver, but he still didn’t know its true name.

  With no recollection of his family, he’d turned to his one true love. He’d played for free the first night to a small smattering of people, but now made a fair wage playing to a packed house every night. He didn’t play for the money. He played to pass the time until he would begin his quest anew. He would track down his family to find out who he is and why they had abandoned him.

  His only lead was a man named Eamon. Eamon had left him a couple of notes the previous year, along with the lute he was currently playing. His final note told Donovan how to contact him when he was in Lornell in August. Lornell lay far to the east, in what used to be Deogal lands. The lawless, border town had grown over the years, and Donovan was curious about the business Eamon was conducting there.

  Scanning the crowded room, Donovan saw the usual mix of people crammed into every available chair, except for a lone figure sitting at a table in the corner of the room. The figure had his back to Donovan. He had a shaved head and a stocky build. When he turned his head to the side, Donovan saw a narrow braided beard hanging from his chin.

  Donovan finished his song and took a break. Walking over to the bar, he ordered a cider. He took a sip to ease his sore throat. The cider’s aroma was a welcome relief from the stench of humanity filling the room.

  “We’ve got a lively bunch tonight,” said Aine, one of the servers at The Engorged Liver.

  “I’m not going to complain if they want to sing the songs for me,” said Donovan.

  “My ears wish they wouldn’t.”

  “It’s your ears or my throat.”

  Donovan downed the rest of the cider. He surveyed the room, paying attention to everyone’s demeanor, their conversations and, most importantly, the state of their drinks. He tried to adapt his song choice to the state of the room, but it was difficult when everyone was in a different state of inebriation. He set his mug down on the bar and returned to his stool on the small stage.

  His gaze drifted to the figure in the corner who had turned around, and was watching the stage. Something looked off about his face. Donovan thought that his eyes might be too far apart, but couldn’t tell for sure at this distance.

  They locked eyes.

  Donovan was the first to blink, and he looked down at his lute. He pretended to make a couple of small adjustments before he started to play a ballad. He got a third of the way through the song before being interrupted.

  “Play something good, not that sissy stuff,” came an obviously drunk voice from the middle of the room.

  Donovan ignored him and continued to play and sing.

  “Oi!” came the voice again.

  Donovan searched the crowd until he found the speaker. A large, burly fellow sat at a table, red faced with a trail of liquid running down the front of his shirt.

  “Play something else,” he said, banging his empty mug on the table.

  Donovan continued to ignore him, when a mug came flying at the stage. Donovan kept playing as it sailed towards his head, and didn’t react as it brushed the edge of his ear, before smashing on the wall behind him.

&nb
sp; Donovan finished the song as the man got up and walked towards the stage.

  “You deaf boy? I told you to play something else.”

  “I was just about to, before you interrupted me.”

  “You sassing me? I won’t let a boy sass me.” He lifted his leg to step up onto the stage.

  “You can say whatever you want from down there, but the stage is mine,” said Donovan calmly. “If you step up here, we will have problems.”

  Donovan set his lute into its case beside him on the stage, and waited to see what the man was going to do next. Judging by the smiles and laughter from the crowd, Donovan knew how ridiculous of a sight this must be. Donovan thought that he was seventeen, but didn’t know for sure without his memories. He was small for his age, and here he was, facing down a man nearly a foot taller than himself and at least a hundred pounds heavier.

  “I’m being paid to entertain the crowd,” said Donovan. “So you can either go sit down and let me play, or take a step forward and I’ll give everybody a show that they weren’t expecting.”

  The man hesitated, clearly surprised by Donovan’s attitude. Donovan watched the man’s eyes twitch back and forth as he tried to think of a way to save face.

  “Is there a song that you want to hear?”

  Donovan saw his body relax, and he took a step backwards.

  “Thomas’ Tramp.”

  “As you wish.”

  Donovan gave him a smile and carefully retrieved his lute from its case. When he looked up again, he saw that the man had already retreated back to his seat.

  Donovan played for the next hour before thanking the crowd, and beginning to pack up his lute. Several patrons stopped by for a quick word and dropped an iron penny or two into an old hat that he’d placed on the stage. Donovan was just closing the clasps on his lute case when he sensed someone standing nearby. Looking up, he saw the man who’d been sitting in the corner table standing a few feet away.

  Donovan got a better look at him up close. He was four and a half feet tall and muscular, with a shaved head and a long, narrow black beard done up in a single braid. His face was broader and flatter than a normal man. Donovan thought that he might be a dwarf but wasn’t too sure.

  “Sorry, but I have to go,” said Donovan, collecting the money from the hat and transferring it to his pocket. He was pleased to see a couple of crescents among the pennies.

  “You’ll have time to listen to me,” he said.

  “I’ve heard it before, and it’s rarely true,” said Donovan, picking up his lute case and turning to head up to his room.

  “Can’t you spare a couple minutes?”

  Donovan headed for the hallway leading to the stairs.

  “My name’s Tuff.”

  Donovan heard heavy footsteps follow him up the stairs. He walk to the end of the hallway, and unlocked the door to his room.

  “Boy. You will show me respect.”

  Donovan turned to face Tuff.

  “If you want my respect, then earn it,” said Donovan. “You can start by not calling me boy.”

  “Donovan. Yeah, I know your name and a lot more besides. Does that surprise you?”

  Donovan gave him a shrug, and opened the door to his room.

  “That’s it,” said Tuff. He raised his right hand and pointed it dramatically towards Donovan, palm first.

  Donovan watched his eyes widen and he stared down at his hand. Tuff looked back at Donovan, and thrust his hand forward again, with a similar lack of results.

  Donovan bent down beside his bed and slid the case underneath. Tuff followed him into the room and stood uncomfortably close beside Donovan.

  “What did you do?” asked Tuff. “How?”

  “It’s not polite to enter someone’s room without permission,” said Donovan.

  “What are you going to do about it? Use your magic? I forgot, you barely have any.”

  Donovan raised his left hand slightly, and the knife that he had pulled out of the sheath behind his back prodded Tuff between his legs.

  “You have one chance to leave the room whole. Otherwise you’ll lose some of your dangly bits.”

  Tuff stared down at him for a moment before bursting out laughing.

  “Osmont was right when he said that you’d face down a bear with nothing but a piece of string, and still expect to survive.”

  “I thought you’d be more attached to your dangly bits,” said Donovan, raising the knife higher so the tip of the blade dug painfully into Tuff’s pants.

  “Be careful with that. Those things don’t grow back.”

  Tuff stood on his tiptoes and slowly backed away from Donovan.

  “Better,” said Donovan. “Now what were you saying about Osmont?”

  “He’s the reason I’m here. He didn’t think he’d make it back in time and didn’t want you travelling to Lornell on your own.”

  “So he sent a strange man to be my escort?”

  “You take that back before I give you a whooping.”

  “You don’t think that you’re strange?” Donovan stood up, picked up the pack which was hanging on a bedpost, and slung it over his shoulder.

  “Strange, I’ll give you, but don’t call me a man again. While I may travel your lands, I was bred and raised in Kern.”

  “My apologies. I wasn’t sure if calling you dwarf was offensive.” Donovan ushered him out of the room. Donovan stepped out into the hallway, before closing and locking the door. “As I said earlier, I have places to be and I don’t need a chaperone.”

  Donovan left Tuff standing there as he headed downstairs and out into the busy streets of Kendra. He wove his way through the crowd and headed for the keep sitting atop a hill, towering over the rest of the city.

  Chapter 2

  “You’re dead,” said Jerel, wading into the middle of the melee.

  “He didn’t touch me,” said Donovan, lowering his practice sword and looking over at Jerel.

  “I’m the one doing the teaching, not you. If I say you’re dead, then you’re dead. Do you want me to demonstrate?”

  “Why don’t you.”

  “Put your sword back up. Just like how you tried to block his last swing.”

  Donovan raised his sword in front of him.

  “Let’s see what would happen if this was a real fight and he swung as hard as he could.”

  Jerel grabbed the sword from the guard that Donovan had been sparring with. With no warning, he turned around and leveled a hard slash at Donovan.

  Donovan tried to block the attack like he had the previous one, sword in his right hand, blade pointing upwards, and close to his body.

  Jerel’s attack knocked his sword aside and hit him hard on the shoulder, causing his entire arm to go numb. His sword clattered to the ground.

  “If you want to fight like a dancer, then you’d better dance while you fight,” said Jerel.

  Jerel was a wizard employed by the Royal Family of Rourke. Donovan had met Jerel the previous year when he was invited to dinner with the Queen and one of his classmates, Prince Caddaric Kelvin. Donovan had been making almost daily trips to train with Jerel and the guards at the keep. Caddaric had managed to join them a few times, but most days he was trapped inside, entertaining his mother, the Queen.

  “You are still young, and quite small,” continued Jerel. “You cannot fight might with might. You must use speed and guile to defeat your opponent. Understand?”

  “Yes, Jerel,” said Donovan, looking down at his dropped sword.

  “Watch your opponent, not the ground. Now pick it up.”

  Donovan flexed his hand several times as the feeling slowly returned to it, before bending down to retrieve his sword.

  “Good,” said Jerel. “Now get ready to spar.”

  “Who am I sparring with?” asked Donovan, taking a step back from the five guards clustered around him and Jerel.

  “All of them.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Fair. Neither’s life. Deal with it.�
��

  Donovan took several more steps backwards and sized up his opponents. Lou and Orson were the newest guards. They’d only been training for a couple of weeks with a sword, but they were big and strong. Clifton and Gerard were decent fighters, but clumsy if they moved around too much. Gord was a solid fighter and would be his toughest opponent. Donovan knew that this wasn’t a fair fight. Jerel was trying to humble him, but he wasn’t prepared to admit defeat.

  As soon as Jerel signaled for them to start, Donovan dove under Orson’s guard, and hacked at his hamstring. Standing up, he took a casual swing at his neck to put him out of the fight.

  Clifton tried to push past Orson’s kneeling form to attacked Donovan, but his blade got caught on Orson’s arm. Donovan finished him with a stab to the chest, and backed away from the three people trying to encircle him.

  Five seconds in, and two opponents were down. Not a bad start to a difficult situation, thought Donovan.

  His first priority was to further reduce their numerical advantage, and Lou was the easiest target. Lou approached from his right, while Gord came straight at him. Lunging towards Lou, they locked blades. Donovan threw a kick which connected with his knee, dropping him to the ground. Donovan casually finished him while circling to put his body between himself and the remaining attackers.

  This was when things would get interesting. With the easy targets felled, it was only a matter of time before Gord and Gerard coordinated their attacks. He tried to grab the sword out of Lou’s hand, but he refused to release it.

  They circled around the body, each in a different direction. Just before they closed in, Donovan dove over Lou’s prone form. Rolling back to his feet, he watched as they closed in. Gord was only a few feet away when Donovan threw his sword at him. It wasn’t something that he’d do in a real battle, but the spinning sword hit Gord in the chest.

  Gerard hesitated for a moment as he watched the sword clatter to the ground, and Donovan closed the distance. Grabbing his sword arm, he twisted around and threw Gerard to the ground. Despite the size discrepancy, Donovan used leverage to his advantage and painfully twisted Gerard’s arm until he released his sword. Picking it up, Donovan finished his prone opponent, only to feel a heavy kick to his backside which sent him sprawling. The sword was jarred loose from his hand when he hit the hard ground, and he was forced to roll away to avoid Jerel’s next attack.