The King Swords by N. V. Gerhardt

Author:N. V. Gerhardt [Gerhardt, N. V.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-01-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

The sun was setting in the leaden sky as the coach sped along the forest road. The rain had been incessant over the last few days, making the way muddy and dangerous. Uujon looked out of the window, peering forward at the four horses straining at the bit. He wondered what he was doing here, with his father and this other detestable, crusty old man. He’d never accompanied his father on a business trip before. They crashed through the rain filled forest, the uneven, pot holed road making the coach jump and lurch erratically.

“Fucking hell!” cried Herret as his head hit the roof. “Can’t you tell your driver to slow the fuck down?”

“We’re late enough as it is,” snapped Arrton. “If you hadn’t been such a lazy bastard and got out of bed on time, we might have been there by now,” he tutted.

The coach ran over a tree root, causing Herret to swing from his seat, his black velvet robe snagging on a tack that was protruding from the carriage side.

“Fuck, look at that. It’s ripped!” he shouted. “This is one of my best robes. Look at it! Shit! I’m sick of this. We’ve been on the road for hours now, and you know I don’t like travelling at the best of times,” he grumbled. “How much further is this Hollins Rook?”

“Not far now, we’ll be there for nightfall,” Arrton replied. “And, Herret, for fuck’s sake, hold the fucking handle. That’s what it’s there for, to stop you rolling around.”

Reluctantly, Herret grasped the leather straps which were fixed to the coach sides and held on with all the might his aged frame could manage.

The coach cleared the forest soon after, running into open fields, all mainly flat apart from an odd rise in the ground here and there, making the journey somewhat smoother.

“Thank the Gods for that! My arse is numb,” said Herret as he sat back in his seat, knocking Uujon as he did.

“What? What are you looking at, you snivelling kid? What the fuck did you bring him for anyway, Arrton?”

Herret looked at the young man with disdain, finding himself irritated by his wavy, collar-length brown hair, his bright blue eyes, his crease-free teenage skin.

“Herret, leave my son alone. He’s sixteen now and has guild law decrees. He’s fit to accompany his father on any business matters, and this certainly is a lucrative business matter,” Arrton chortled.

Uujon reddened and continued to stare out of the window.

“It had better be lucrative,” grunted Herret. “Doesn’t Lord, umm, what’s-his-name –” Herret looked up at the roof, trying to conjure the name out of thin air.

“Lord Jethro Tremon Noredane is the name you’re looking for, and it would be wise if you don’t forget it again,” Arrton answered. “He’s a man you don’t want to cross.”

“Who is he, Father, this Lord Noredane?” Uujon asked timidly.

Arrton glanced at his son, a faint smile forming on his lips, pleased he was taking an interest in his father’s work. Even though he’d seen very little of him growing up, he still felt quite proud of how he’d turned out.

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