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  A City in Shadow

  The Chronicles of Grayfist Book 1

  By:

  Scott Ferrell

  MysticPhysh Publishing

  Copyright © 2020 J Scott Ferrell

  Find out more about the author by going to these sites:

  http://www.munboy.com

  https://www.facebook.com/a.munboy

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover Art: Kart Studio

  https://www.artstation.com/kartstudio

  Cover Design: rebeccacovers

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  Other Books by Scott Ferrell

  Subject 624 Origins

  Subject 624 (Book 1)

  https://amzn.to/38yzq9r

  Building 817 (Book 2)

  https://amzn.to/2P0Sa9B

  The Everstone Chronicles

  (With Anéla Ferrell)

  Dragon Cave Mountain (Book 1)

  https://amzn.to/2rX3s6z

  Enter the Deep (Book 2)

  Coming 2020

  The Gatekeeper Trilogy

  The Gatekeeper (Book 1)

  http://amzn.to/2GIqAbx

  Gate City (Book 2)

  http://amzn.to/2Ee8pw0

  Gates of Delicia (Book 3)

  http://amzn.to/2ED1p9w

  The following is a preview of the upcoming release, A City in Shadow.

  PART 1

  Chapter 1

  The Death of a City

  …And for some men, peace shall never be found, for death be their mistress and their curse…

  -from the Words of Andrue the Truthful

  An early spring drizzle of rain fell through the air like weeping mists. It collected on Roryn Grayfist’s plate armor until the droplets were fat enough to run down the spaulders protecting his shoulders, onto his arm beneath the armor, and into his gauntlets where it pooled at the tips of his fingers. His left arm, anyway. He assumed it was doing the same on his right, though he couldn’t feel it. He had fought battles in worse conditions, including drenching downpours, but this was somehow worse. All the thin little streams of rainwater that had found their way under his armor felt like bugs skittering across his skin. He resisted the urge to shutter at the sensation.

  “The Dust take me, that’s a lot of bastards,” Kalub Manik said from Roryn’s side.

  Roryn kept his eyes trained on the soon to be battlefield in front of them. While the city of Kimwick had managed to muster more defenders than his field marshal had anticipated, the number that had come out of the city walls to meet them couldn’t be considered “a lot” by any stretch of the imagination. Roryn guessed maybe 300 men stood before his army. His advisers had estimated the city defenses to be only around 100. A paltry number even for a city as small as Kimwick, especially considering most of its able-bodied men were stuck on the western front.

  Considering that fact, it had been a surprise when Kimwick’s governor, Zuri Ezer, had defied Lord Marshal Corrin’s orders to send more men. Ezer had claimed they had no more men to give without the total collapse of their city. He had asserted that the remaining 50 or so men able to swing a sword were needed in defense of the city against local bandits. He did this by an ambassador, of course, sent to the Lord Marshal along with expressions of his deepest regret.

  The Lord Marshal had instructed Roryn and Galub to stop by Kimwick on its way to the western front—along with other cities in their path—to impress upon the local leaders the need for their cooperation. When their battalions came within a half-league of the city the previous night, they found its gates barred by what could only be described as a small army. Much more than would have been necessary to defend against the rag tag bands of bandits that roamed the area.

  It seemed Ezer had been holding out on the Lord Marshal.

  Of course, Kimwick’s defenders were severely outnumbered. Roryn’s battalion held nearly 600 men, including infantry, calvary, and bowmen. Galub commanded a battalion of around 700. If Kimwick’s men stood against their forces, it would be a bloodbath and Galub knew it. 300 men wasn’t a lot compared to the companies they had marched from Talice to the West, but then again, Galub was prone to exaggeration.

  Roryn had no idea what would possess them to stand up to a force that large. He had hoped diplomacy would prevent what was surely going to be a massacre, but Ezer had refused to meet them on neutral ground between the two forces. That decision defied logic, especially considering the fate that awaited him and his city. If he had given up peacefully, Kimwick would have been made to pay penance for a number of years, but at least the death toll would have been limited to one. Ezer would have been beheaded and a new governor installed. Perhaps the man thought they stood a chance and his life could be spared. Perhaps he thought to flee the town while the army was otherwise engaged.

  The former seemed a reasonable thought if it weren’t for the fact that Roryn and Galub had sent a good portion of their men to surround the city but with orders to stay out of sight. They had kept four companies, totaling about 600 men, at the front of the gates. No doubt, Ezer thought the two-to-one odds his city faced weren’t too bad. He likely had no idea those odds were more than four-to-one. Roryn hoped the governor wouldn’t attempt to flee. Cowards were treated much more harshly than men who stood in defiance of their lords.

  “It’s a shame, really,” Galub said when Roryn didn’t reply. “That’s going to be a lot of death because one man decided his little backwater collection of hovels were more important than defending our Harbinger-blessed lands.”

  Roryn nodded across the field toward the men waiting to defend Kimwick. “That’s nothing more than an impressive number of farmers pulled from their fields to fight for…well, I doubt they have any idea what they’re fighting for. I don’t think their presence in the army would be worth a half-measure of wheat to the Lord Marshal.”

  “If they can swing a sword without cutting their own damned arms off, the Lord Marshal wants them.”

  “Looks like they’re only good for swinging a pitchfork,” Roryn muttered.

  “At any rate.” Galub waved a hand, though Roryn wasn’t certain it was meant to shew away his concerns or a persistent fly buzzing in front of the man’s face. “The Lord Marshal cannot allow such insubordination. An example is to be made of this collection of backwater hovels.”

  Roryn frowned and finally turned to fully look at his fellow Marshal. Galub was a barrel-chested man, though the barrel had begun to bow a bit at the bottom. His uniform stretched over his middle, not quite to the brink of catastrophic failure but getting close. His cheeks and chin were clean shaven and he sported a neatly trimmed mustache as was the style for noblemen these days, though Galub was barely of noble birth. The fifth son of a minor noble, Marshal was the highest rank he could hope for in the Imperial Army.

  He was the same rank as Roryn who hadn’t been born into a noble family. Only those of noble birth could advance past the rank of captain. His father had been a lifelong military man who never rose above the rank of sergeant. Roryn had thought captain had been his ceiling, so it had come as a shock when he was given the rank of marshal two fortnights past. The move had caused a commotion among the marshals of noble birth and no real reason had been given beyond “you deserve it.”

  As a marshal, that put Roryn in charge of fou
r companies totaling about 600 men. He had been hesitant to take on the roll, but a military man of low birth did not ask questions. He jumped into the position with his boots in the Dust.

  “Kimwick will suffer under the weight of losing so many men?” Roryn agreed cautiously.

  Galub grinned at him, his tight little eyes nearly disappearing. “You misunderstand. There will be no Kimwick after today.”

  “Our orders were to conscript the able-bodied men from this town and remove its head of state,” Roryn said. “Nothing more.”

  “A runner came in a bit ago,” Galub said. “Weren’t you told? Our Lord Marshal has grown weary of these little piss and shit towns thinking they’re above the greater good of this empire our Harbingers have built. Kimwick will serve as an example to those who might defy the wishes of those who allow them to exist through their grace.”

  Galub was a great many things, but a good liar was not one of them. Roryn had served with the man long enough to know his tells. The shifting of his eyes as he spoke. The straightening of his back. The tightening of his fists on his horse’s reins. There had been no runner with last minute orders. This was the order he had been given before they set out.

  Why hadn’t Roryn been informed?

  He kept his face calm, impassive. “The women and children are to be taken and sold, then?”

  “No,” Galub replied simply.

  Roryn shifted in the saddle, an involuntary movement. There was no mistaking the meaning behind that one-worded response. He had been part of a great many battles during his two decades in the army, including the destruction of many cities. In those instances, many were killed, but most were taken and sold into slavery.

  In Galub’s single word, Roryn knew this wouldn’t be the case for Kimwick. Its fate would be much worse.

  “Is that really necessary?” he asked.

  Galub shrugged. “It’s not my place to question orders. It’s not yours either, I might add. The Lord Marshal wants this peasant town burnt to the ground and we’re the flint to strike the spark.”

  Something deep inside Roryn’s gut tightened. Kimwick was a nothing little city. It wasn’t strategically located. The population wasn’t large enough to provide a substantial amount of men to the army. So, why this city? Surely there had to be other places to make an example of those who defied the Lord Marshal?

  Kimwick would have no warning. Its people would die. Men and women, young and old. Children. It didn’t matter. Those capable of holding a weapon no doubt stood before them across the field, but what of the others? Did they cower in their homes? Did they pray to the Harbingers for mercy?

  He had so much blood on his hands already, but they were red with the blood of enemies faced in battle. Could he ride home with the blood of innocents coating his hands? Could he face his family with crimson gloves?

  Roryn closed his eyes. He tried to never thought of his family while on campaign. He couldn’t. If he did, the undeniable urge to quit the army and go home to them for good would very nearly overcome him. If he let his thoughts linger on him, he would surely break and run to them. To sweet Evelyn and their brave little boy, Michan.

  “Where is the runner?” he asked. “I need to verify those orders.”

  Galub wrinkled his face in disgust. “You don’t need to verify anything.”

  Roryn shook his head. “I can’t give those orders until I verify them. You know as well as me that—”

  “Who would have thought the Gray Crow wouldn’t have the steel in his guts to properly deal with a city full of cowards?” Galub laughed jovially. “I’ll give the orders for you. Will that satisfy your kind soul?”

  “You have no authority over my men.” Even as Roryn said it, he knew it wasn’t true. He was a Marshal of the first rank, the lowest among that command. Galub was in the fourth rank, right below a Field Marshal. He had the power and authority to take command of every single one of Roryn’s men.

  Galub didn’t lower himself to reply. Instead, he turned laboriously in the saddle. “Captain Keaty.”

  The captain stepped away from the huddle of commanders where they were going over the last details of the battle before it started. He marched over, stood just behind Galub’s horse, and saluted. “Marshal?”

  “Raze the town,” Galub said, his eyes on Kimwick.

  Keaty glanced at Roryn, his direct commander but directed his question at Galub. “Sir?”

  “Is that a difficult order to understand, Captain?”

  “No, sir. I just thought…” Another sideways glance at Roryn.

  Roryn kept his face schooled, emotionless. This was wrong. Of course, as the Harbingers’ right hand at war, the Lord Marshal could issue any order he saw fit to achieve the goals of the Empire. Roryn just didn’t know if the order had come down from the Lord Marshal. As a Marshal of the fourth rank, Galub had a certain amount of anonymity on the battlefield and a nasty streak three leagues wide but was he truly capable of ordering the destruction of an entire city? What could be the possible reason for him to do so?

  “You thought what, Captain?” Galub asked.

  “We had our orders, sir.”

  “Orders change.” Galub rolled his shoulders and sat up straighter in the saddle. “The signal to advance on the rebels is imminent, Captain. I suggest you hurry to relay the new orders. All companies are to attack Kimwick when the signal is given.”

  “All of them?” The captain glanced toward the forest surrounding the city where hundreds more men were positioned to catch anybody trying to flee.

  “I’m sorry, did I not speak clearly?”

  Keaty looked to Roryn again for confirmation of the new orders, but Roryn knew better than to give even the slightest hint that he would try to overturn these new orders. He wouldn’t dispute or reaffirm them in front of their subordinates. Questioning a superior would leave him open to disciplinary action.

  “Is there a problem, Captain?” Galub asked.

  “No, sir,” Keaty said. He saluted again and turned to relay the new orders to the other commanders and to send out runners.

  “Captain,” Roryn said.

  Keaty turned back, a hint of relief on his youthful face. He clearly thought Roryn would override Galub.

  “The Steelbrow Company will hang back from the battle,” Roryn said.

  Keaty waited as if Roryn would have more orders for him, but when there was no more coming, he saluted one last time and raced off to spread the new orders.

  “The Steelbrow Company will stay behind to guard our rear,” Roryn said once the captain was out of earshot.

  Galub twisted his bulk to look out at the leagues of empty plain at their backs but said nothing. The implication was clear.

  The Steelbrow Company, his old company when he was a captain just a fortnight ago, had enough blood on its hands. He knew every man’s name in that company. He knew them. He knew their mothers and fathers. Wives and children. He would not allow them to get the blood of their own countrymen on their hands.

  “Is this really the action we want to take? What possible reason could we have to burn this tiny nothing little town?” Roryn asked.

  “Does the tip of the spear need to know why it is being rammed into a man’s gut?” Galub asked, his voice dripping with smug triumph. He wanted this, Roryn realized. The man was going to revel in the coming carnage. “It doesn’t. We are the spear, Grayfist. You’ve been around long enough to know this. Is it this new position of yours that has caused you to become so squeamish, Marshal? Put a different title in front of your name and all of the sudden you became a man of the people? A friend to rebellious people maybe?”

  The derision in Galub’s voice was unmistakable. Roryn had worked alongside him on several occasions but there had never been any animosity between the two. He couldn’t figure out where the sudden change had come from.

  “The slaughtering of innocent people—” Roryn started.

  “They harbor traitors and
cowards,” Galub said smoothly. “They will be dealt with accordingly. Give the signal to attack, Marshal.”

  No, I just need a little time to think, damn you, Roryn thought. Through the gray haze of light rain, his eyes fell on a man running along the lines of troops, relaying the new orders. There were several of them performing this duty, but it would take time to reach all companies involved. The attack could dissolve into chaos with their companies following different orders. It was a weak argument and Roryn knew it. It was also the only one he had at the moment.

  With a glance at Galub, he clamped his jaws tight and held his tongue, though. There would be no more discussions. Any further debating a direct order from the Lord Marshal could be seen as disobedience, pure and simple.

  Roryn turned in the saddle to look at the trumpeter who stood alert and eager to perform his duties. After another moment of hesitation and his heart sitting low in his chest, he nodded.

  The young man saluted with a fist against his chest and pressed the horn to his lips. He blew one long note to signal the army to prepare themselves for the imminent charge.

  Roryn straightened and gazed out over the hundreds of men lined up before Kimwick. At the sound of the horn, the runners ran even faster, desperately shouting the new orders. Using signal flags or the horns to relay orders would have been simpler and faster, but the town they faced, the men they prepared to slaughter were Kithean. Their own people, some who would know the signals. Before marching on the city, Roryn and Galub had decided to use runners instead so they didn’t risk tipping off their “foe” to their plans.

  The trumpeter blew one quick note.

  No, Roryn thought, his eyes sweeping over the lines of men to find all the runners. They’re not ready.

  The trumpeter blew out one more long, loud note that he held for as long as he could.

  The mass of men under their command joined in, shouting war cries as they ran toward Kimwick’s minuscule defenders. There would be no battle tactics. No finesse. No carefully planned and organized attacks. The razing of a town was quick and brutal. Overwhelm its defenders. Overwhelm the town. Leave nothing standing. Burn everything. Kill everyone.