The Iron Keys by Ben Galley

Author:Ben Galley [Galley, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy
Amazon: B09VZ1D8K5
Goodreads: 60775489
Publisher: BenGalley.com
Published: 2022-03-18T06:00:00+00:00

Part Three

The miserable mist clung to them until the daylight began to fail. As the sun died on the distant horizon, the haze dissolved, and for the first time in weeks, the Iron Keys saw the Efjar Marshes spread out before them.

They sprawled beneath a bruised sky, punctured with furtive stars. It was flat, drab, and endless. Here and there, the occasional hillock defied the monotony, rising up like the shell of some lonely tortoise.

‘The gods are smiling again,’ said Toskig, as the army claimed an area of firm earth. Horns were sounded, calling the soldiers to make camp.

Farden, Gossfring and Toskig were released to set up their fire for the night. Farden hovered around them, unsure of whether his two comrades would want to spend the evening as well as the day with him, but they seemed willing enough, and he set out to gather fuel for the fire.

Farden wandered through the crowds of milling mages and clanking soldiers. Hammers were seeing to muddy tent-spikes. Coloured pennants had been raised on tall poles, gathering scattered companies together. Torches and lanterns sparked into life. The cheerful twanging of a ljot floated to Farden’s ears, and some laughter too. The Keys were glad to be off their sodden feet.

The cooks had already claimed most of the wood for the cauldron fires, and nobody was about to challenge them on it, least of all Farden. All throughout the camp, he could hear the rumble of hungry stomachs. Farden kept his head down and his hood low, eager not to attract any unwanted attention.

After an hour of fruitless wandering, Farden retraced his steps. A breeze had sprung up, making the pennants and tents crackle. Farden spied Lord Vice’s tent towering above the rest as usual, dusty crimson in colour.

Farden decided to give it a wide berth. He tacked sideways, skirting a blacksmith’s tent, then cutting a wide arc around a few hunched figures hovering around a spitting torch. In the light of its flame he spied a few bruises on their familiar faces. Even a lopsided and poulticed jaw, if his eyes didn’t deceive him. Farden hugged the shadows as he worked his way around Vice’s tent.

He had almost escaped when a yell caught him. ‘Ah, young Farden!’

Farden stopped dead in his tracks, wincing. He clicked his boots together with a squelch, and bowed to his superior.

‘Lord Vice.’

Vice had a smile on his lips. He was wearing bright steel armour and a long rust-red cloak. His dirty blonde hair was slicked back with wax, and his angular features were edges for the torch and twilight to play with. Three of his guards stood behind him, eying Farden warily.

‘How fortuitous that I should run in to you, mage.’

Farden matched Vice’s sharp gaze, not wishing to show any weakness or fear. He felt that he had failed the man.

‘How so, Lord Vice?’

The smirk grew. ‘Several of my sergeants have just informed me,’ said Vice, ‘that we are in need of more soldiers to dig latrines.’

Farden’s heart fell.

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