Keeper of the Phoenix Read Free

of Baydoria River in the south-west of Krell. Few visitors came to Icamore. The settlement was pretty much cut off from the rest of Krell by the desert sands and jagged mountain ranges that surrounded the valley. As a result, the people of Icamore had learned to be self-sufficient in most things.
    The village was surrounded by farms that provided food and livestock for the people who lived there. In the middle of the settlement sat the village square. It was flanked by narrow dirt and cobblestone streets along which tiny shopfronts had been built. Further out from the square were the villagers’ houses, mostly whitewashed stone huts with thatched roofs.
    On the hill, perched above it all, sat Lord Belgrave’s rambling manor. Lord Belgrave governed the village and all the people who lived in the valley. Being the wealthiest and most powerful man in the area, Lord Belgrave owned much of the property in and around Icamore. He leased shops and farms to his tenants, claiming rent and taxes in return. He was a harsh landlord and those who disobeyed him were severely dealt with.
    The moment Ash arrived in Icamore he hurried to find a spot at the market, which operated every Saturday morning in the village square. Usually the market was a busy place full of stalls, but many men had left to fight in the war twelve months ago. Lord Belgrave had resisted sending his men to war for several years, but pressure from King Tristram had finally seen him relent.
    The Draygonians had plundered and over-populated their own country and their greedy ruler, King Phizo, wanted to claim Krell for his people. The Great Wall, which had been built by the Krellians several hundred years ago, was in danger of being breeched. All efforts now focused on stopping the Draygonians gaining a foothold in Krell.
    With many of the men away, including Lord Belgrave and his army, the market was much quieter than usual. Ash hoped he would be able to sell all his mother’s goods. They needed the money.
    Setting down his basket, Ash’s voice mingled with the cries of the other vendors. “Delicious fresh butter! Mouth-watering blackberry pies too tasty to miss. Strawberry jam! Come buy my delicious strawberry jam! Best in all our mighty kingdom of Krell.”
    Mrs Tattle, the tanner’s wife, jingled some coins at him. “I’ll have two pies and a pot of jam, thanks.”
    “Certainly, ma’am.” Ash tipped his hat.
    “Where’s your mother today, lad?”
    “Milking the cows.” Ash handed the jam and pies to Mrs Tattle and dropped the money in his coin pouch.
    Mrs Tattle shook her head sympathetically. “I hope you’re helping her while your father’s away.”
    “I’m trying to, Mrs Tattle.”
    “Good lad. Have you heard any news of the war then, Ash?”
    “No, Mrs Tattle,” Ash said. “No messengers have come our way.”
    “It’s a terrible shame,” Mrs Tattle said. “And a terrible price for our village to pay. We’ve lost my lord and many of our good men. There’s been no word from any of them in months, I hear.”
    “Hopefully they’re not lost entirely, Mrs Tattle. I want my pa and Duncan to come back.”
    “Yes, of course you do, Ash.” Mrs Tattle took a deep breath. “So let’s keep hoping for the best.”
    Ash nodded. “Yes, Mrs Tattle.”
    “Say hello to your ma for me, won’t you?”
    Ash tipped his hat again. Mrs Tattle wandered off. Ash tried to forget about his pa and Duncan and instead set up his cry once more. “Delicious fresh butter! Mouth-watering blackberry pies!”
    It was a prosperous morning. As the bells tolled eight, Ash sold his last pot of jam to old Fyodor Carver, the butcher. He knew Ma wanted him home, but it was early and he was tempted to stop at the river to watch the elderly fishermen bring in their catch.
    Ash picked up the basket, empty now save for the cream jug and his unusual rock, and set off. The smell of smoke, roasting nuts and frying meat wafted across the marketplace. Ignoring the rumblings of