The Library of Engriole Book 1: Promise and Betrayal

the library of

  engriole

  Book 1: Promise and Betrayal

  Isaac Lind

  Published by Headland Publishing LLC

  Copyright 2017 Isaac Lind

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  Dedicated to Abdel Kader Haidara

  Chapter 1

  To kill a squirrel, one had to sneak up on it close to fifty yards. Everyone knew that. Oakentere knew that, but the squirrels had become jumpy lately. He had to be about one hundred yards away when the squirrel froze up on its branch and looked cautiously around. He knew that if he moved any closer, it would jump off. Oakentere stopped and silently lifted his bow and bent it to the full stretch of his arrow. He had once shot a squirrel from seventy yards, but never a hundred yards. The squirrel was only half-visible, hidden behind the leaves of the tree. Oakentere knew the arrow would make a small clapping sound as it hit the leaves. Not much, but enough to warn the squirrel. He moved the aim slightly into where he expected the squirrel would jump, held his breath for a second, and the arrow was on its way. It hit the leaves, and the squirrel jumped right into the arrow’s path and fell off the branch.

  He counted the steps to the tree the squirrel had been in and found it had been a hundred and two yards away. The dead squirrel was four yards from the tree. Oakentere picked it up and removed the arrow, which he put it back into his quiver. With the squirrel, the second of the day, he went back home. At first, he wanted to tell everyone how he had shot a squirrel from one hundred and two yards. Then he remembered that no one had believed him when he told them about shooting one from seventy yards. They certainly wouldn’t believe him now. Still, he had two squirrels in one morning and that in itself was impressive.

  As he came out of the forest, Oakentere realized that no one would be interested in his dead squirrels. Even though he could see nothing, he could hear horses. Not one, but several. No one in the village had horses, and only an important visitor would have a horse. The regular tradesman coming up from the lowlands had mules or donkeys, but never horses.

  “What’s going on, Enon?” Oakentere said as his friend passed him on the trail.

  “There are knights from Berkin. They are summoning soldiers for a war party.”

  “Must be a big one, then, since they’re all the way up here.”

  The boys both ran down through the village to the square. A large crowd had gathered around the horsemen. Two of them had lined up all the young men and quickly separated them into groups of wanted and unwanted.

  “How old are you?” one of the men asked Enon when they finally reached the end of the line.

  “I’m seventeen.”

  “Good. Any weapon skills?”

  “I am good with the spear and have some skills with the blade,” Enon said, and it wasn’t a lie; he was as good as any in the village, but he had never seen any real soldiers doing a sword fight.

  “You’re in. Join the men on the right.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Enon cheered and fisted Oakentere’s shoulder before he took off.

  “And your age?” the man said, addressing Oakentere.

  “I’m fifteen, sir.”

  “Sorry, you’re too young and too feeble.”

  “I’m not, I’m...”

  “Move on, please.” The man interrupted Oakentere before he addressed the next one.

  As Oakentere moved away, he saw the leader of the horsemen had drawn a little away from the others, overlooking the square. At least Oakentere was sure he had to be the leader. He had a shiny suit of armor with a red eagle painted on his chest plate and sat on top of the finest horse Oakentere had ever seen.

  “Sir, I know I can serve you well. I am a good archer,” Oakentere said.

  The knight looked at him briefly. “NoNo, you’re not.”

  “I shot this squirrel today from a hundred yards distance.” Oakentere held up the dead squirrel.

  “Hand me your bow,” the knight said and stretched his right hand towards Oakentere. Oakentere handed his bow and one arrow to the knight, who pulled the bow to the reach of the arrow but didn’t let it go.

  “It’s a good bow,” he replied. “For hunting, but not for warfare.”

  “Why not?”

  “War archery is about power, not precision. War bows have more than double the pull and shoot arrows over four hundred yards. I need archers that can pull that weight over and over again until the enemy is defeated, sometimes for hours.”

  Oakentere looked down, realizing that he couldn’t even pull his own bow over and over again a full hour, let alone a bow with twice that pull. The knight handed the bow back but held on to the arrow and studied it.

  “Do you shoot squirrels with broad heads?” he asked, laughing.

  “The head balances the arrow, making it heavier up front so it can fly straight. The trees at this altitude are heavy because they grow so slowly, so the arrows need a heavier head, even though they only are meant for squirrels.”

  “You sure know your stuff.”

  “I make my bows and arrows all by myself,” Oakentere said.

  “Even the heads?”

  “Sure, I help out the blacksmith to sharpen and repair tools, and he lets me use his shop to make new arrowheads.”

  “Can you sharpen swords and knives as well?” The knight handed the arrow back to Oakentere.

  “Of course, sir.”

  “And you are fifteen, is that so?”

  “Yes, sir,” Oakentere answered, just waiting to hear once more that he was too young and too feeble.

  “That means you need your parents’ consent to join us.”

  “I am sure they will let me go, sir,” he said without being sure at all.

  “I might find some use for you, but I need proof that you have been truthful to me. Do you see the spruce beside the large tree cabin? That must be about a hundred yards off. If you can hit it where the tree divides into two large branches, then you can go and get your parents.”

  Oakentere took out an arrow, put it on the bowstring, and aimed. All the houses in the village were made of stone with only the doors and the roofs made out of wood. That was because all the trees this high up on the mountain were small and crooked and only good for firewood. Trees for building houses had to be bought in the lowlands. The richest man in the village, Mr. Aidenein, had built a house entirely in wood to show his wealth.

  The spruce had been planted by Mrs. Aidento, and she insisted it should not be cut down. She would probably dislike that her tree was used for target practice as well. Oakentere adjusted for the wind and released the arrow. Oakentere didn’t wait for the knight to approve his hit; as soon as the arrow hit the spruce right where it divided into two branches, he ran up the small beaten tracks to their cabin. “Mum, Dad,” he yelled as ran.

  ***

  “The carriages are waiting, my Lady.” The butler bowed deeply as he entered the queen’s private chamber.

  “We will be out in a moment.”

  “Thank you, my Lady.” The butler bowed even deeper before he left the room in a hurry.

  “I’d so wished you could join us on this journey.”

  “I would just be eager to get back. Now you can take your time visiting your father,” the king replied. “And my son, who is going to Engriole to get his name written into the Book of Rulers.” He bent do
wn and kissed the baby boy in the queen’s arms on the cheek.

  “He will, and my father will be so proud to see him.”

  “Talk well of me to the King of Gardir.”

  “I have only good things to say about my king.” The queen leaned into the king’s embrace.

  “Now you must hasten; the safety of the journey relies on traveling in daylight.” The king loosened his embrace. “Let me hold our prince while you make yourself ready.” The maid traveling with them already had on her outer gowns, and now she helped the queen to put on her overcoat. Even though it was what she would refer to as a traveling coat, the blue velvet and silver thread embroidery made it clear that she was no common traveler. The king followed them through the marble halls of the castle. The castle was the smallest of the royal castles within the five kingdoms, but many thought of it as the fairest one, most of all due to its location on a high cliff overlooking the ocean on one side and the capital city on the other side.

  “Take good care of our precious,” the king said as they reached the awaiting carriage. The queen stepped up into the carriage, and the king handed her their son.

  “I will, and we’ll be back before you know it,” the queen said before the door was closed. The king looked after the carriage as it left and couldn’t help but be worried.

  Chapter 2

  Lord Roden soon learned that Oakentere’s promise that his parents would let him go was highly overrated. His mother was furious.

  “What do you mean coming here dragging children off to war?” She stood before him with both hands on her hips and elbows straight out to each side, eyeing him from top to toe.

  “I...” was all Lord Roden managed to utter before she continued.

  “I will tell you what I think of these wars of yours. This is the reason mountain people are looked upon as savages.”

  By then, Oakentere’s father had caught up with her. He placed both hands on her shoulders to calm her down. “Please, dear Oakento, let the man speak. I am sorry, my Lord, but my wife has strong opinions,” he said to Lord Roden.

  “I can see that. You will be glad to know this isn’t a regular plundering war party. We will be teaming up with the forces of Gardir. In fact, it’s not really a war either; it is a show of strength before some negotiations. I doubt there will be any fighting at all.”

  “So what’s in it for us?”

  “Recognition and access to the roads and the markets, so we can trade our own merchandise.” The lord jumped from his horse and stood right before them. “And I am not taking children on as soldiers.” Oakentere looked up in confusion. The Lord had promised him to join them. “I want your son to join as my squire.”

  “What do you need a squire for if it’s not a real war?”

  “Same as the soldiers; just for show. I am meeting up with all the knights from Gardir. It will look better if I have a squire.”

  “And he will come back?”

  “I promise.”

  “Okay, Tere, you may go,” his father said, and Oakentere jumped up into his father’s arms and thanked him.

  His mother held him firmly in both arms and looked straight into his eyes. “I don’t know what you will face on this adventure, but remember, whatever you do, you got to look me in the eyes when you come back.”

  Oakentere nodded but didn't know what his mother was thinking of.

  Lord Roden was back on his horse already. “We ride out first thing in the morning. Be ready then.”

  “I will, sir.”

  “Bring your bow, and I need you to bring a grindstone so you can sharpen my swords.”

  “I will bring all three, and you will have the sharpest swords of them all.”

  ***

  The library of Engriole was more than a thousand years old, it was said that a copy of every book ever written was at the library. In the great halls, the bookshelves rose more than thirty feet from the ground on every wall, and each one of them was packed with books. Most books concerned everyday life, like books on herbs and plants, ways to dry meat, or carpentry. Then there were all the legends from ancient times. No one could tell any longer which ones described real events and which of them were just plain fairytales. Everyone seemed to agree at least there was a bit of both. Queen Amrya could feel the dust tickle in her nose as they drew nearer to the older parts of the building and had to resist the urge to sneeze. The last room looked more like a vault than a library. The doors were heavy and there were no windows in the thick walls. Only a few torches lit up the room. There were a lot fewer books in this room, with two bookshelves with glass doors on either side of the room. The books were all thicker, older, and more finely made than the other books. On the far wall stood nothing but a chest. On a large table in the middle of the room lay a heavy book where every page was made of the finest leather. Beside it lay the writers’ ink and feather pens. It was the Book of Rulers. Everyone who might inherit a throne in one of the five kingdoms had to have their name written into this book.

  “Anyone who is to be written into the Book of Rulers must be witnessed by members of the royal family from at least three of the five kingdoms.” The writer was an old man standing at the end of the large table. He had opened the Book of Rulers at the section for Antuk. “May the representatives present themselves.”

  “I am Queen Amrya of Antuk.”

  “I am King Godobar II of Eistella.” The fact that the Library of Engriole lay in Eistella made King Godobar the easiest ruler to call upon for an in-writing.

  “I am King Andur of Gardir.” King Andur was also Queen Amrya’s father and had come gladly to see his grandson being written into the Book of Rulers.

  “And the child?” the writer said.

  “He is Prince Endir III of Antuk,” Queen Amrya said.

  “Place him on the table. Has he got any known marks or distinguishing features?” The whole reason for the Book of Rulers was to recognize the ones with a claim on the throne; therefore, everything that distinguished them would be named in the book.

  “He has a birthmark on his lower back.” The queen rolled up the baby’s shirt.

  “Interesting. This looks like the seven-pointed star of the fire dragon. I am sure he is destined to be a great king.” The writer, who also was the head librarian, never had believed in destiny, but he felt compelled to say something nice during an in-writing. The writer wrote carefully, making sure his writing was as perfect as it could be. Little Endir grew impatient lying on a table in the cold room without his shirt on.

  “May I pick him up?” Queen Amrya shot in.

  “Oh dear, please do, my Lady.” The writer briefly looked up from the book. The queen dressed the boy and lifted him up. She warmed his back by gently rubbing her hand over the back, and he finally calmed down again.

  “Then I need the royal seals,” the writer said at last. Each of the kings took off his signature ring, dipped it in ink, and pressed it to the bottom of the page. Queen Amrya struggled to get off her ring, holding her child at the same time. Her maid wasn’t allowed in the inner room of the library, so she had to hold the baby at the same time.

  “From now on, Prince Endir is officially a royal heir of Antuk,” the writer proclaimed as soon as the queen had signed.

  “Tomorrow, we will travel on to Gardir so I can show off my grandson,” King Andur told King Godobar. “We thank you so much for your hospitality and your kind help.”

  The royals left the room of the ancient books and were accompanied by their servants, who waited out in the common areas of the library. The writer stayed behind, and as soon as the others left, a young girl emerged from the shadows.

  “Have I got it right, my dear Intilia?”

  “It reads correctly, but it isn’t as beautiful as it used to be.”

  “It should be beautiful, shouldn’t it?” the writer said. “It is, after all, one of the most important books in the world.”

  “Yes, it should.” Intilia took the pen and made some cosmetic changes to th
e writing on the page. The writer took out a key chain with a few keys on it, then he unlocked the huge chest. The inside of the chest was in red velvet.

  “We must wait a minute before the ink is dry enough to close the book,” Intilia said.

  “Of course,” the old man replied.

  Chapter 3

  Berkin was the only city in the north highlands. In the five Kingdoms, it wasn’t even reckoned as a city. Still, the inhabitants thought of it as the capital of the highlands as if the highlands was a kingdom. Oakentere had grown up among men that always said that the Berkin lords had no say in their village. However, when the Berkin lords came rounding up soldiers for a war party, young men always volunteered, mostly for the adventure of it. This kept the wealth of the lords, and the highlands’ reputation as a land of savages. For Oakentere, only seeing Berkin, a city with more than a thousand houses, was an adventure. Apart from that, Oakentere had not yet been inside Berkin. The soldiers were placed at a hill overlooking Berkin, waiting for the lords to lead them into battle.

  Lord Roden left Oakentere in the camp, where he stayed in a tent with other boys from his own village. He had left him several swords and daggers for sharpening and polishing. They had all been in a poor state, and Oakentere had been eager to prove himself as a good squire. He hardened the steel by heating it in the fire and cooling it down in cold water like the blacksmith had taught him. Then he sharpened it with three different grindstones; one was finer grained than the others, giving it a durable sharpness before he polished them until it shone like pure silver. So after three days, when Roden called for him, all the swords and daggers were perfect, but Oakentere was black with soot and dirt.

  “You look terrible, my young squire.” Roden laughed.

  “I have fixed all your blades,” Oakentere replied and handed a sword to Lord Roden. He pulled the sword out and examined it. He even cut himself as he tried the blade’s sharpness.

  “Amazing. It’s almost as good as new.”

  “No, it is as good as new.”

  “But you are not, my young squire, and I need you to shine just as much as the swords. I brought you some clothes. In an hour, we’ll ride out to meet up with the knights from Gardir.”