(Note: This is my winning first chapter in the East Texas Writer’s Guild, First Chapter Award Unpublished Fantasy. Originally posted CalebandLindaPirtle.com

CHAPTER ONE – SOBERING

Owain Mirthborne shook his head as steel on steel rang out, mixed with the shouts of the invaders. He poured another glass of wine.

“Lord Henry, you have made a fine mess of things,” he whispered before taking a sip.

The melee made its way further inside the estate. The double oak doors crashed open and a fierce looking youth entered, brandishing a wide-bladed sword. A simple weapon to but in the right hands, lethal.

Owain smiled and blinked, trying to remember where he had laid his sword. He took four stumbling paces to the trestle table as he remembered.

The youth charged.

Owain slid his sword from the scabbard still holding his wine. He took a drink as he watched the wild boy lunge at him. He stepped aside, slapped the youth on the back with the flat of his blade and drank some wine. The stench of leather and sweat followed in the youth’s wake.

“You, my dear lad, need a bath. I’ll give you to the count of three to run along.”

“You’re drunk,” sneered the bandit. “I’ll have your head, old man.”

“One. Not until I have finished my wine.”

“That wine will be the end of you.” The youth thrust.

Owain parried and stepped back. “Two. Run along and I’ll let you live.”

“That pretty sword will be mine when I’m done here.”

Owain laughed and turned his cup up.

The bandit seeing an opening stepped in and swept his sword level at Owain’s neck.

Owain ducked. The blade whistled over his head as he flicked his cup into the boy’s face.

The youth, now unbalanced, swatted at the cup. Owain came upright, dodged a clumsy backhanded swing, thrust, and stepped in. The slim blade slid deep. The hilt showed and nothing else. He locked eyes with his attacker as the life drained from him. The bandit’s sword clattered on the floor as the boy’s arms flailed about Owain’s shoulders. His legs churned and blood oozed from the corner of his mouth.

“Three. Why couldn’t you have just run along?”

“I—I may have…” the boy’s breath rattled in his throat as Owain twisted the blade. The boy slumped over onto Owain’s shoulder; he patted his foe on the back. “That’s a good lad.”

One last exhale and the corpse slid down to the floor.

“You got blood on my surcoat.” Owain shook his head, removed his blade from the boy’s body, and cleaned the blood off on the bandit’s clothes. He looked at the empty cup on the floor and picked it up. “Lord Henry, I fear you’ve made a grave mistake.” He licked his lips, set the cup down and poured more wine. He belted on the scabbard and slid the sword home. He grabbed the cup and made his way out of the room. He was sure that more than a mage or two would be with this group of marauders. He was in no condition to summon the power needed to defend himself against another wielder of the art.

Slipping through the abandoned kitchen, Owain made his way towards the backdoor. Sneaking this way and that as to avoid being seen, he made the stables. The reek of manure and oats greeted him. He found his horse and leapt up into the saddle. Spurring the steed onward, he made his way towards his small keep. Thunder rolled and Owain caught a flash from the corner of his eye.

A red flash.

Red lightning.

He sighed. “This does not bode well.” He spurred his mount harder, his need to get home growing more urgent by the minute.

The keep came into sight. The small farm below it with its wheat near ready for harvest made Owain frown. He hoped to see the harvest. This was the harvest that would make him. This was the harvest which would allow him to leave Lord Henry’s service. He dismounted the horse and ignored Hewitt his servant as he slammed through the door. “Merewen!” he called out to his wife. Thunder rolled and Owain cringed. All these long years, he thought he had avoided the man. There is still time if Merewen will hurry.

“What is it, Owain?” Merewen questioned as she came from her quarters, the distaff and spindle in her hands. Glancing at his clothes, she cocked her head sideways. “Why do you have blood on you? Owain?” Worry spread across her face.

“Gather up Merien, gather up some food. We need to leave, now.”

“What? No. Owain, you said this was the last time. This is our home. We have wheat ready to be harvested, and it will be cold soon.” She eased closer to him and sniffed. “You’ve been drinking,” she bit her lower lip. “Who did you kill this time?”

Owain spread his hands, “We’ve no time to discuss this, Merewen. We must leave now. You don’t understand.”

She slapped him, “I understand well enough. You’re drunk. You’re always drunk. I am not leaving my home. Who was it that challenged the great Owain Mirthbourne and so lost his life?”

Anger welled inside him as the welts raised on his face. Magic simmered on the edge of his emotions. Sobering him. The slap stung more than physically.

“Merewen, there are things you do not know. Things you cannot fathom. Lord Henry has made a mistake. Things have not gone well and I am no longer under his employ. Things are likely to get worse if we do not leave, now. My love, round up Merien, and do as I say.”

Power rose like the tide, and threatened to burst, Owain ground his teeth to keep it at bay. He gazed into the wide eyes of his wife. Tears flowed down her cheeks. Her lips quivered.

“Miserable drunk. You  ,” she sobbed, shoulders slumped and defeated. “Merien,” she cried out. “Where are you, Merien?”

No answer came.

“Merien?” Owain called.

There came a pounding on the door. Owain jumped, startled.

“Merien,” Merewen called out as Hewitt opened the door.

A man stepped in, black booted, with a russet cloak. He held a large sack.  Another man came in behind the first, holding Merien by the back of her neck.

“Papa,” the girl cried out. A hand clamped tightly over her mouth.

Merewen screamed.

Owain’s sword appeared in his left hand, a blue flame in the other.

“Stay your hand, swordsman,” spoke the first man. “Make a move and she dies. I’ve no doubt you’re good. I’ve no doubt you’d kill me. Do that and he kills her. You can’t take us both. I am Hywel, he’s Landis, and this,” he opened the sack and turned it up. A thump sounded as an object fell out of it. “Is Lord Henry Billingsworth.”

A head rolled out onto the floor. Dead eyes stared up at Owain.

Merewen jumped back and screamed. Merien struggled against her captor wide-eyed and crying.

Owain, keeping his sword up, glanced down. “Henry,” he whispered. “Let her go, if you wish to live.”

“We questioned him for a good while. And he kept telling us that Owain Mirthbourne would make us all regret this. Just so you know, Landis and I had nothing to do with him dying. We are messengers for our Lord. We bring your greetings, Owain Mirthbourne. Greetings from Jermanus Tordun.”

‘I don’t care who you bring greetings from, there will be no talking until you release my daughter.”

“Kill them, Owain.” Merewen cried

“I will get her back,” Owain held his wife as she pounded her fist on his chest.

Owain looked down at Lord Henry’s head. “Hewitt, take care of Henry, bury what is left.”

‘Yes sir.”

<<>>

Owain mounted his horse, as Merewen gazed beyond him.

“Bring back my daughter.”

“Our daughter, she is mine as well.” He spurred his horse onward.

Henry’s estate did not have the same welcomed feel as it once did. Guards stood everywhere and patrolled the grounds as well. None barred his way. He knew why. He knew what Jermanus wanted. He knew what would be demanded in return for his daughter. But could he do it? Could he bend the knee? Could he take the Oath of Rooted Magic and swear his fealty to a Magicborn. He would have to in order to get Merien back. He racked his brain trying to think of a way out of this situation.

None came.

All his thoughts led to one decision. Bend the knee. Take the Oath. Jermanus played the game well. The Red Mage knew he would not bend the knee of his own accord. Jermanus knew that Owain was at one time more powerful than he.

Curse my stupid soul. I should have fought back. Even if Merien died, he would die with her and Merewen. A more merciful fate than bending the knee. He dismounted and threw the reins to a waiting guard. Another approached.

“Owain Mirthbourne, our master awaits.”

“Piss off, scamp. He’s no master of mine.”

The guard smirked. “This way.”

“I know the way. I said piss off.”

“As you wish.” The guard bowed and inclined his head towards the door.

Owain made his way to Henry’s main hall, he knew Jermanus would be there waiting for him. Hopefully with his daughter. The main hall was dark, the way Henry liked it. Thick curtains lined the walls. The only thing out of place was Henry’s high-backed chair. It sat on a makeshift dais in the middle of the room, and in it sat Jermanus Tordun, as if he sat on a throne. He had disposed of a local lord and sat like a king. A sheen of sweat covered his bald pate, glinting in the candle light.

“Owain! Owain Mirthbourne, why it is you. You’ve come after all. You look old, Owain.”

“Jermanus Tordun. You’ve gotten fat. I would say it’s been too long, but that would be a lie. Release my daughter, Jermanus. You have no need of her.”

Jermanus rose, his red robe flowing in shimmering folds. Sighing, he poured himself a glass of Henry’s wine. “We have dispensed with the niceties, have we? Let’s get down to it then. I need–let me rephrase that–I want you, Owain. I want you to fight for me. There’s a war coming. A war against all Magicborn. A war that calls all of us to unite.”

“I’m not for hire, Jermanus. You know that. Taking the Oath?” Owain shook his head, looked at the floor and frowned.

“Extreme circumstances call for extreme measures. Hence, I have your daughter. Three days, Owain. I give you three days to come back and take the Oath. Until then, your daughter remains with me.”

“And if I refuse?”

Jermanus laughed, “It’s quite simple, my dear Owain. She dies.”

Owain closed his eyes as sorcerous energy sprung to life inside him.

“Don’t even think about it. You cannot kill me, Owain. I have gained more power since our times together. No harm will come to the girl. Three days, she’ll be fed and well cared for. You are in no position to do anything drastic. One move, you die, she’ll die and then I’ll send my men to your wife. She’ll die too but not before they–well–you know what they’ll do first.”

“Release my daughter.”

Jermanus smiled and patted Owain on the shoulder. “Three days, old friend. Three days. Think on my offer. You’ll have no need of that pathetic little farm. That crop of wheat? Owain Mirthbourne, a farmer?” Jermanus laughed. “That’s not you, Owain. You’re a fighter. Side by side again. You and I? Oh the adventures we have shared and the blood we have shed.”

Owain stared into the eyes of his old comrade. Stared into the eyes of a man who had lost his soul. The Jermanus of old had a small shred of decency, which was gone now.

Owain ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. He did not want to face Merewen without Merien, but he could not defeat Jermanus right now. “So tell me what this coming war is all about, Jermanus? Something you have brought upon yourself, no doubt.”

“It’s no small matter, Owain. A Council has formed. A Council that wants to end our kind. The Baseborn see themselves as weaker, and unable to control us. They have raised an army of Mage Hunters. They plan to seek us out one by one and put an end to us. No more Magicborn in the realm they say.”

“And yet you had Baseborn help with the attack on Henry’s estate. I killed one.”

“Pawns. For enough money a man will betray his own mother.”

“And what was Henry’s part in this?”

“Your dear Henry betrayed this Council to me.”

“And you killed him for helping you?”

Jermanus smirked, “No, fool. Henry played both ends against the middle. He sought to trap and betrayed me. Which was his intention all along. He was a part of the Council you see. He thought I didn’t know. He thought I couldn’t find out.”

“But you did, and poor Henry had to lose his head.”

“I am beyond a mere mage, Owain. Last you knew me we were soldiers in the same army. I now control an army.” He motioned with his hand, “Each of those men you saw outside? They are all Magicborn. All have bent the knee and taken the Oath. I’ll rid this realm of all Baseborn folk before this is over.”

Owain stiffened, “That would include my wife and daughter, Jermanus.”

Jermanus licked his lips, “If you swear on them, Owain, they’ll be…spared. Three days I give you to think on it. Three days from now, before the sun sets you will return and I will hand your daughter back to you.”

“I want to see her.”

“Granted. Hywel will take you to her.”

<<>>

Hywel led him to one of Henry’s spare rooms and unlocked the door.

“Don’t try anything, please? I have no desire to fight you.”

“Then let us go.”

“I wish I could, Owain. He’d know though. And he’d torture me. He’s taken enough from me already.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” Hywel opened the door. “Just a little while, then you must go.”

Owain entered the room, as Merien rushed up to greet him. He caught her in his arms.

“Papa!”

“Merien, my sweet girl. Are they treating you good?”

“When can I come home?”

“In a few days. Are they treating you good?”

“Good enough. Why am I here? No one will tell me anything.”

“Because a bad man wants you here. He has promised to let you go, I just have to do him a favor is all.”

“After you do the favor, I can come home? I miss Momma,” she sobbed.

“She misses you. Just stay strong for a few days, Merien. I’ll come get you once I have done the favor.”

“What favor, Papa?”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” he shook his head and kissed her on the cheek and wiped her tears.

Hywel stepped in and cleared his throat. “I hate to break this up, but Owain you better go.”

“I love you, Merien. Stay strong, don’t cause trouble and everything will be fine.”

“I love you too, Papa. I’ll be strong.” More tears welled in her eyes and she clung to her father’s arm. He pulled away and stepped into the hall.

“When this is said and done, Hywel, you’ll be the second one I kill.”

Hywel nodded, “That would be a welcomed mercy.”