Bonus Chapters
Logan and the Crystal Sword Series
Book 2 - Back to the Start
Bonus chapters covering some of the minor characters
Warning: Spoilers!
Giorgi
His eyes cast across the greening valley from the tower. Dawn would be the time of attack, it had happened before. With the winter snows melting, the chance if an opportune strike from one of the neighbouring villages grew. His eyes were drawn along the river towards the end of the valley, where a path cut into the forest.
The attack on his village last year had been sudden. They’d managed to retreat to the towers, throwing rocks and sharp sticks at them. No time to heat water or oil to throw at them as they sacked the town. Fortunately they didn’t kill anyone from his village, but the loss of livestock had been hard. He’d led a return attack later in the season to get the livestock back, which had been partly successful.
The sun rose above the snow encased peaks, highlighting the mist drifting through the still forests. It seemed there would be no attack this morning. His mind, as leader of the mountain village, shifting to other worries. Mainly the work ahead to gather enough food, their stocks low. But also to the group of boys who’d arrived just before the first big snowfall of winter.
Their clothes and language strange, the way they acted stranger still, trusting, almost too trusting. They’d arrived in metal beasts, four wheels moving without needing any horses. In fact, they didn’t have any horses at all. An odd thing to be without high in these mountains, maybe they were afraid of horses? As the saying went, the only one a horse hasn’t thrown off is the one who has never got up on it. Even though strange, they were friendly and had lots of fascinating objects, a few they’d shared with those living in the village.
He descended the tower and out onto the narrow street made muddy from melted snow. He couldn’t decide if he wanted the group to stay. They would be a great help during the short summer, strong enough to help around the village and their preparations to survive the next winter. They would even make good warriors in a few years. As he stepped around a frozen puddle, he saw one of them. The boy wore a bright purple jacket, talking to his own daughter down the street. His instinct was to march up and shoo him away, the boy had no standing as far as he knew. Though it was possible a few of the boys might marry into families in the village once they’d proven themselves.
All these thoughts were for nothing if he couldn’t make them stay. He’d already heard a few of them talking about moving on. How they planned to do that without horses, he didn’t know. They always seemed to be in a hurry, ready to leap away in the next breath of air. But to where they couldn’t say, almost like they were running to something, pushing reason aside to reach it. But you can’t catch up to that which doesn’t exist, even on a fast horse.
He’d need to meet with them, the older ones, and sort out what they were thinking…
Berke
The horse trod along the road, Berke rubbed its neck as it shivered the flies away. A good horse, just a bit on the small side, but most horses raised in the mountains tended to be that way.
He glanced at the boys trudging along the road just in front of him, their hands bound. He’d come across this group outside a Genoese trading city weeks ago. They were young to be travelling alone, not an adult among them, but that wasn’t the strangest part he’d found about them. Even with their range of different coloured hair and eyes, the oddest part was trying to work out their leader. He’d think it was the red haired one or the talkative one but then the group would argue with them. Not one of them commanded respect or the final say, an odd group indeed.
He’d been unable to find out much about their past, just odd inconsistent stories. Their claims of being traders were dubious, with very little in the way of items to trade. They acted like a bunch of nobles, thrown together from across the world and forced into a group heading somewhere they wouldn’t say. But they also weren’t runaway slaves, none of them showing the signs or desperation. Well, not currently, a smiled danced across his lips. He’d seized the opportunity to capture them, they had no tribe, no identification, almost like ghosts that he could exploit for his own gain. And in their capture their real leader had emerged.
His head bent, grey eyes locked onto the road at his feet. He’d suspected this boy was their leader, but it wasn’t until they’d knives at their throats and all their eyes turned to him that Berke was sure. But the boy they called Logan froze, his eyes wide and confused. Not that he could do much without a weapon, remarkably he’d not seen any weapons on them apart from a simple hunting bow.
Berke’s home city rose into view, twisting his heart. A few seasons ago a terrible sickness had descended on the place, taking his family, his wife and kids, his trading business declining. He’d only just started picking up the pieces. The future prospects dim until this group had dropped into his life. Not only could he sell them as slaves but also all their fascinating and odd trinkets. He’d be back on track to recover his old life, the one he deserved. Berke straightened in his new horse, motioning it forward, it was time to banish old memories and make a new life.
Khan Toghon Temür
The newly opened flowers covered the bare branches of the trees Toghon walked under. A soft breeze still chilled by winter and the nearby lake lifted a few petals from the branches and swirled them across the grass. It was the first reasonable day of spring and he was taking the chance to get outside.
A perfect spring day except for the minster striding alongside him, he complained about the provinces not having enough power and resources. Toghon couldn’t care less, as emperor he probably should, but it was all so boring. That’s why he appointed an administration to overseas the empire but the last one had failed. So had the previous few, much to his annoyance.
He waved the minster away, sick of his blathering. Everyone wanted something from him and it got tiring. His eyes shifted to his 11 year old son up ahead by the lake, he’d wanted to make him his heir and next emperor but the minsters had refused. Something about his mother not being of proper standing. He’d raged at them, thrown his favourite white porcelain vase with blue dragons on it at one obnoxious minster in a fit of anger. Not that it had changed anything, when he wanted something important they would all say no.
A red leaf blew past him on the breeze and out across the lake, its colour like the hair of the boy he’d met recently. He’d received reports from a far outpost about this strange group. He would have sent an escort, but the army was rundown and dealing with warlords and traitors all around him. The most troublesome being the red turban rebellion. Fortunately the outpost marshal had directed the group to present themselves at the capital city and they’d followed the orders.
He’d been worried that the rebellion would rally around this kid with red fire hair, but after talking to him, his fears seemed unfounded. The boy called Marcus, a strange name, only wanted to head home. Providing him with a bright yellow shirt as a gift, presented by that another boy who claimed the shirt came from where they lived, some far off island south of here. Providing them a boat hadn’t been a hard decision, sending a potential problem away and possibly opening trade with another land, one they would conquer in the future, an easy decision. Though he’d still required them to leave two behind so they would just steal the boat and give it to one of those traitorous pirates, he wasn’t that foolish. Normally, he wouldn’t have bothered with all this at all, but his chancellor hadn’t arrived back yet.
Toghon sighed at the thought, he’d had to plead the old chancellor out of retirement. The begging still irritated him, an emperor shouldn’t have to do that. Though the chancellor had fixed the broken canals, grain shortages and sorted the new paper money in a short time, Toghon was still suspicious of him. There was always a chance the chancellor would cease power or have him taken out. He’d been one of the minsters unwilling to let his son be the next emperor. The chancellor didn’t even like his wife, hopefully soon to be Empress Gi.
He cast all these thoughts aside, they were giving him a headache. Beside the lake sat a table with paper and brushes. He sat, picking up a brush and dipped it in a pot of black ink. Carefully sweeping the ink across the paper at just the right widths and lengths. It relaxed him, the fears and troubles of running an empire melting away. If only he could do this more often, he’d give heaven itself to find a quiet hideaway in the mountains, where he could write and follow his other interests, but it was not to be.