The Ghost Of Eslenda (Book 1) Read Free Page A

awakens. I would hear about this fighter from Eslenda from his own mouth."
    Tag Makk sat on his platform while the people of Penarol bowed before him and swore obedience to the Turuck Overlord. He watched each one and looked into their eyes filling him up with the power of victory. Perhaps he would choose a new wife from this city. He desired children again; his last ones grew up and started their own lives. A father can be proud and he would be again. He would tell Machel to keep an eye out for his next wife.
    His evening nap was short. Machel came to him shortly after nightfall to tell him the Eslenda fighter had regained his senses and took some food. Tag Makk grinned at the prospect of talking with the stranger. There were so few who would tell him the truth. The stranger would assume he was a dead man thus freeing his tongue. He was curious how an elderly man could best his Shadow Runners. The mark of the Menaloch was upon them. It would be nice to hear an outsider's opinion of his fighters. It would be a good evening.
    The stranger was sitting in the corner eating stale bread. His eyes followed Tag Makk into the room. The stranger was much older than Tag Makk expected. His long silver hair was loosely tied behind his head. His face was red and puffy from the beating he received. He had killed ten Shadow Runners of Turuck. Ten who had the touch of the Menaloch. Tag Makk decided right then not to kill the stranger.
    From his sword skill to the frayed but elegant clothing, Tag Makk concluded the man was nobility from Eslenda who had not been home in some time. The Overlord smiled as he noticed the heavy ring on the man's hand. The rumors had a bit of truth in them after all and it was coming together into a story worth recalling.
    There were few swordsman of such skill and age and the Menaloch had dropped him into the hands of the one who could use him to full advantage. Tag Makk knew him now. The man was renowned for his blade although he was rumored to be dead. Well, not yet. Tag Makk sat in a chair provided by a guard and the golden box sat at his feet.
    "I hear you fight well," said Tag Makk. The man remained silent but still watched his host. "You appear older than I might have imagined from the reports I received. How is it you have left Eslenda to come to me?"
    The stranger looked away.
    "Your prowess with the blade is not unknown to me, Sir Norman."
    "You know who I am?" There was concern in the man's eyes and his diction was still precise despite his wounds.
    "Yes. Why you hide with the Penarols is nothing to me. The intrigues of Men hold no interest for me. Your kingdoms fall to dust soon enough. What you can teach my soldiers will reward you greatly. We are masters of the war hammer but the sword will add a needed dimension to my army. Do you have an interest in training my men?"
    "Perhaps. Are you going to invade Eslenda?"
    "Eventually. I am in no hurry at the moment."
    "But you will strike there?"
    "I will. It appears to be the next logical step after Masina. And Liannest after that," he spoke the last aloud but to himself.
    "I will teach your soldiers if I may fight alongside them."
    "Ah, Sir Norman. My soldiers will be the finest in the world. We shall sweep your king from his throne."
    "He's not my king," snapped Sir Norman.
    "Ah, I understand usurpers. Will you crave the fatal blow to King Henry yourself?"
    "If it's convenient."
    "So proper. Will my soldiers need to learn the courtesy of knights? I'm afraid that will be a bigger challenge than teaching swordplay."
    "As you say, but it is central to the training."
    "My army is greater than any in Eslenda. Perhaps I don't need you after all. We will overrun them without your help."
    "Perhaps, but your losses will be great. Your army will be much reduced and may not be able to hold all your conquests. Which ones will Tag Makk surrender?"
    "I do not surrender!" Tag Makk's voice crackled with power and the golden casket seemed to murmur.
    His soldiers cringed