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  The Miscreant

  By

  Brock E. Deskins

  Copyright ©2014 by Brock E. Deskins

  Dingo Dog Publishing

  Cover Illustration Copyright ©2014

  Copyright, Legal Notice and Disclaimer:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Books by Brock E. Deskins

  The SORCERER’S PATH

  The Sorcerer’s Ascension

  The Sorcerer’s Torment

  The Sorcerer’s Legacy

  The Sorcerer’s Vengeance

  The Sorcerer’s Scourge

  The Sorcerer’s Abyss

  The Sorcerer’s Return

  The Sorcerer’s Destiny

  BROOKLYN SHADOWS

  Shrouds of Darkness

  Blood Conspiracy

  OTHER BOOKS BY BROCK E. DESKINS

  The Portal

  CONTENTS

  Part 1

  The Miscreant

  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

  Part 2

  The Student

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  EPILOGUE

  A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR

  Part 1

  The Miscreant

  CHAPTER 1

  King Remiel Altena sat on his throne atop the low dais in his audience room. Standing as immobile as a statue, on his right, was his head of the diplomatic corps, which was the polite name afforded to his kingdom’s intelligence agency. Despite proudly displaying the gray hair and beard of a man into his middle years, Gregor Ward was possibly the most deadly man with a blade in the kingdom, if not the known world.

  At the foot of the dais, preening as if it were him gracing the king with his presence, stood Joshua Roux. Although barely in his thirties, Joshua Roux was a man of great wealth and influence. His official title was Voice of The Guild. He acted as the agent between the secretive yet powerful consortium and the government. The Guild controlled almost all trade within and between the various kingdoms throughout the realm. No one could buy, sell, or move goods without The Guild’s say-so along with handing over a substantial cut of their profits. Membership in The Guild was very exclusive but critical for anyone wanting to expand their business beyond the most basic and local sort.

  “I know why you are here, Mr. Roux, so say your piece and be gone,” King Remiel commanded. “I have important things requiring my attention.”

  Joshua gave the king a predator’s smile. “Your Majesty, The Guild has heard of your plans to join several of the kingdoms and ours with a free-trade road. I must say, we find it most distressing that we had to learn of this secondhand.”

  “I do not think the method of discovery is nearly as distressing as what will become of The Guild when it is completed.” Remiel returned the guildsman’s false smile. “You will lose your stranglehold over the kingdoms’ finances and the de facto rule you think you possess.”

  “Your Majesty, The Guild is your most loyal vassal and wishes only to maintain our great economy for all its citizens. Your proposed trade route could be a great benefit if properly administered. Such a massive endeavor will require an exorbitant sum to finance and even more to maintain and defend it. The Guild would be happy to invest in its construction and defense.”

  “You want to control it like you do everything else! I am funding this project from my own coffers, and I will break The Guild’s back by opening it to all who wish to do trade without fear of retribution from you and the thugs you pay to enforce your will.”

  “Sire, you mistake our intentions. We only wish to protect the kingdom from unsavory sorts and ensure that all business is conducted within the law. Without The Guild, crime would run rampant. In countries where we have little foothold, the black market operates with impunity, shop owners are targets of extortion, theft, and violence. The Guild protects its members and ensures that all goods and services are properly controlled and taxed, taxes that fill your coffers.”

  “The only taxes you care about are the unreported ones bulging the pockets of our parliamentary members.”

  “The Guild operates within the purview of the law. If you know of anyone acting in an illegal manner, I urge you to bring it to my attention, and I will deal with the matter personally. It is my solemn duty to uphold The Guild’s reputation.”

  “You amaze me, Mr. Roux.”

  Joshua gave the king a small bow. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “You amaze me with your ability to lie to my face without a hint of shame or deception. It is truly uncanny. I would hate to play cards with you.”

  “I once had the silly dream of becoming an actor, but while my ability was laudable, I wisely chose a more lucrative path. However, I do enjoy the occasion when I can put my former skills to good use.”

  Remiel gripped the arms of his throne. “Go. Tell your Guild that I will see this road built if it takes my dying breath to do so.”

  Joshua bowed deeply. “We all pray it does not, Your Highness.”

  The king did not relax his steel grip on the throne until the detestable man disappeared through the tall doors at the end of the room. Remiel slunk in his seat, released an exasperated sigh, and rubbed at his temples with his right hand.

  “Am I a fool, Gregor?”

  “I’ve never thought you to be, Highness.”

  “Do you think I’m doing the right thing?”

  “It depends on your definition of right. I think you are certainly doing the proper thing, but you have made powerful enemies with your declaration.”

  Remiel chortled. “The Guild has always been my enemy, and my father’s enemy, and his father’s as well. The Guild is the enemy of everyone in the kingdom who is not part of their organization.”

  “True perhaps, but you were never theirs. You undermine their control with this road and talk of free trade, and they will not stand idly by whilst you cut their legs out from beneath them.”

  “Gods, how I wish I could simply arrest and execute every last one of them, burn their guild houses, and destroy them.”

  “As you said, their coin makes heavy many pockets, and parliament would never allow it.”

  Remiel slammed a heavy fist against the arm of his throne. “Whose idiotic idea was it to create a constitutional monarchy?”

  “That would be your mad great-uncle after levying numerous insane taxes to pay for self-aggrandizing monuments, the least popular being the phallus tax. The populace hated it even more than the tax collectors did and nearly overthrew the crown. Only the creation of parliament and the succession of your grandfather prevented an uprising.”

  “It was a rhetorical question, Gregor. I’m quite aware o
f my family history. Damn Uncle Arvind and his massive ego and tiny prick!”

  ***

  Joshua traveled through the pristine, cobbled streets of the wealthy district near the palace in his opulent coach. Leva was the capital of Anatolia, its upper ward the kingdom’s crowning jewel due almost entirely to The Guild’s powerful influence. An army of men kept the streets free from trash, both refuse and of the human variety. Proper gutters, sidewalks, and drains allowed the decent people to walk freely without fear of soiling their fine clothes or being accosted by lowborn filth.

  There was of course some animosity amongst the populace living in squalor within the lower wards, but who cared? Let them grumble into their cups as they tried to drown the misery of their own failed existence. The Guild was a symbol for proper men, a lofty goal they could achieve if they had the will, the wits, and the right connections to aim for it, and he would be damned if he would let anyone undermine it.

  The Guild was nearly as old as the kingdom itself, and Joshua had risen through its ranks using his intelligence and guile despite his modest birth. If Remiel thought he could undermine The Guild and open commerce for the Free Traders, he was in for a rude awakening. Other softhearted and people-pleasing monarchs had tried to enact similar laws in the past and failed. Now that parliament held sway over almost everything concerning the running of the kingdom and The Guild held sway over much of parliament, the king was destined for disappointment.

  The coach passed through the gates and entered the expansive courtyard of The Guild’s headquarters. The building was a monument to engineering. Using the latest innovations, the soaring structure was constructed of concrete instead of hewn blocks. Its smooth, seamless, and angular walls towered nearly a hundred feet above the city, looking down upon the populace and serving to remind them who was the true power within the kingdom and beyond.

  Joshua strode down the polished marble halls without glancing at the numerous paintings and sculptures adorning the walls. Such opulence had become commonplace to his eyes long ago and no longer enthralled him as it did when he was but a journeyman member.

  He pushed through the ridiculously tall double doors and entered the meeting hall. The room was not as grand as one might think given its importance, but its purpose was one of thought and decision, not ostentation. This was the heart of their empire, where they chose who could trade what and where and for how much. From this room, a handful of men and women steered the finances and, as such, the fate of almost every kingdom in the known world.

  Eleven sets of eyes belonging to the elder members of the consortium turned toward Joshua when he entered the room. Members shuffled the papers stacked in front of them and sat up straighter at his arrival.

  Joshua gave a nod to those in attendance. “Ladies, gentlemen, you know where I have been and why. The rumors we heard are confirmed by the king himself.”

  An older man with a wild, white mane, named Rupert Westcott exclaimed, “That fool Remiel is really going to try to build a trade road without our say-so?”

  “He is intent upon it.”

  “Ridiculous,” Sabinus Cole, one of only three women on the council declared. “Such an undertaking will cost millions, tens of millions, of dinarins. Where is he going to get that kind of money? Parliament will never allow another tax to pay for it. We’ll see to that.”

  “He claims to be financing it from his own coffers, but I think we know who the other investors are.”

  “Those damnable Free Traders!” Roger Seaver cursed and slammed his fist against the long table around which the members were seated.

  “Most likely,” Joshua agreed, “but certainly not just them. I imagine he has some support from other leaders who do not appreciate our level of influence within their kingdoms.”

  “I think it is high time we remind them that we are in control,” Rupert declared. “We must make an example out of this free trade movement’s leaders. We will cut off Remiel’s cash flow and destroy the Free Traders.”

  “I agree we must make an example out of some of the Free Traders, particularly those leading the movement, but I suggest we rethink our actions regarding the king’s road.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Sabinus asked.

  “I propose we let him build it.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “Hear me out. Let us constrict His Majesty’s cash flow, but do not cut it off entirely. Let him build the road, but force him to drain his resources to do so. Make it as costly an endeavor as possible without killing it in its cradle. It will force him to take desperate measures, ones deeply distasteful to the populace. The longer it takes him to build the road, the more it will cost. The more it costs, the greater the burden on the peasants. By the time the highway is completed, the people will despise him.”

  Sabina smiled. “The people will beg for his removal.”

  “We will come in, remove the king, and take his road. Money will pour into the kingdoms connected to the highway, and the people will applaud us and the man we put on the throne.”

  “This is a very dangerous scheme you propose,” Roger cautioned. “If the king ever finds proof of our attempts at usurpation, not even our influence in parliament will save us from the headsman.”

  “We have been doing this long enough to know how to do it right so that nothing exists to link us to his overthrow. When we do move against Remiel directly, it will be so fast it will be over before anyone, including the king, is aware it has happened.”

  “Few men have ever become wealthy without taking risks,” Rupert said. “I second Mr. Roux’s proposal.”

  A unanimous chorus of ayes resounded from around the table. Joshua smiled, beaming at the coming of a new age that he was bringing into being.

  CHAPTER 2

  Garran bent forward, twisted the wooden spigot to top off his cup, and leaned back against the still’s worm box. He sipped the clear spirit and grimaced as it burned a trail down his throat and set his stomach afire. Garran was a youth of average height, build, and looks, but he excelled at leading his peers. Unfortunately, he most often led them straight into trouble.

  “Shouldn’t we be back at the work site?” Matt asked. “I’m pretty sure our lunch break was over an hour ago."

  Matt was Garran’s best friend and had been since birth. Few ever left Wooder’s Bend just like few people ever moved there. It was an isolated town deep in the southern forests of Anatolia. There was little to do in Wooder’s Bend except hew down trees, drink, and chase girls.

  Garran pulled a tobacco twist from his vest pocket, lit it from the fire blazing beneath the copper still, and drew the caustic smoke into his lungs. “They won’t miss us. If they do, we’ll just tell them we were working the western line.”

  “What if they check?”

  “So what? It’s not as if the trees are going anywhere. We’ll cut them down tomorrow.”

  “Not if old man Finney catches us poaching off his still again. He swore he was gonna kill us next time.”

  Garran gave a dismissive wave of his hand, leaving a swirl of bluish smoke hanging in the air. “Finney wouldn’t know what end of a sword was dangerous. He’s the biggest drunk in town, and that’s saying something. The man would probably be the richest if he didn’t drink the bulk of his inventory.”

  A crossbow bolt thudded into the worm tank inches from Garran’s head. Both boys jumped to their feet and searched for the source of danger. Fifty yards down the hill, Finney struggled to cock the old, but still lethal, crossbow for a second shot.

  “Holy crap!” Matt shouted. “He’s gonna kill us!”

  Garran grabbed his reaping blade, a sickle-like tool with a heavier blade and longer, stouter haft, and sank the tempered steel point into the worm tank. The powerful alcohol poured from the wound and trickled downhill. Taking a long drag on his tobacco twist, Garran pitched the burning ember ahead of the heavy rivulet.

  “Garran, come on!”

  Garran ducked and grinned as another quarrel
sped past and stuck in the ground between him and Matt who was already fleeing up the hill. Garran chased after Matt, laughing at the expletives old man Finney hurled at them. The brewer’s curses and Garran’s laughter redoubled when the leaking alcohol touched the smoldering embers of the discarded tobacco twist, traced a fiery line back to the still, and exploded quite dramatically.

  The two youths crested the top of the hill and sprinted down the back slope toward their current work site. It was a long run, and both boys were ready to collapse by the time they heard the hacking of dozens of axes and the working of huge saws felling the massive trees. Finally reaching their job site, Matt and Garran braced their hands on their knees and gasped in lungfuls of air. Matt glanced at Garran and both started laughing uproariously.

  “Finney wouldn’t know what end is dangerous,” Matt mocked. “Thunk! You should have seen the look on your face!”

  “My face? You look like you almost pissed yourself. You screeched like your sister when she caught me peeking through a crack in the outhouse wall.”

  “You were spying on my sister? That is so wrong.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “You should be.”

  “I thought it was your mom.”

  Matt reached down, grabbed a branch, and swung it at Garran’s head. Garran intercepted the half-hearted attack with his reaping blade and kicked him in the crotch.

  “Aha, parry! Nut crusher!”

  Matt dropped to the ground holding his abused groin and moaned. “You prick!”

  “I know, right? Come on, we better get to work before they check on us and find out we haven’t done squat all day.”

  Matt extended a hand. “You’re a monster, you know that?”

  Garran grabbed Matt’s hand and hauled him to his feet. “Yep.”

  Dozens of felled trees lay along the ground, chopped down over the course of the last few days before the lumberjacks moved to another location nearby. Garran used his reaping blade to strip the boughs and smaller branches before Matt hacked the stouter limbs from the trunk with his axe. Engrossed in their work once more, neither young man heard their foreman approach until he shouted at them.