The Unfortunate

The Unfortunate
The High King Chronicles: Book I
J. M. Shaver


THE UNFORTUNATE Copyright © 2019 by J. M. Shaver. All Rights Reserved.
Cover artwork, Tristan and Isolde, by Hughes Merle
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
J. M. Shaver
Like my page on Facebook: facebook.com/JMShaverWriter,
and follow me on Twitter: twitter.com/JMShaverWriter.
Independently Published


To my parents


THE KNOWN REALMS


CHARACTERS OF IMPORTANCE
AENGUS: king of Drunacht
ATELIC: a member of Gildas’ fighting academy
AURNIA: mother of Jenniver, a village woman who was helped by Queen Marlisa of Armania
AWIERGAN: a member and champion of Gildas’ fighting academy
BANAN: prince of Armania, son of Beadurof and Marlisa
BEADUROF: king of Armania, husband of Marlisa, father of Banan
CYNRIC: prince of Yorcia, son of Ryce, brother of Eadlin
DEOGOL: a commoner, former sworn shield in service to King Beadurof
DERIAN: a member of Gildas’ fighting academy, attempted to steal from King Beadurof of Armania
EADLIN: princess of Yorcia, daughter of Ryce, sister of Cynric
EAMON: a lord and elder of the Drunish nobility
ENGLE: wife of Gildas
GILDAS: husband of Engle, owner of a fighting academy, former warden of Winnix
GRUAGH: a member of Gildas’ fighting academy, imprisoned for being a Drunish spy, cousin of Molan
JENNIVER: daughter of Aurnia, a handmaiden in service to Queen Marlisa of Armania
MARLISA: queen of Armania, wife of Beadurof, mother of Banan
MOLAN: a member of Gildas’ fighting academy, imprisoned for being a Drunish spy, cousin of Gruagh
PLEOH: advisor to  King Wyman of Winnix
RAEDAN: advisor to King Beadurof of Armania
RYCE: king of Yorcia, father of Cynric and Eadlin
WYMAN: king of Winnix
YRRE: a member of Gildas’ fighting academy, former guard in service to King Wyman of Winnix before having been imprisoned for rape.


PROLOGUE
It was early spring, and a storm was approaching. Occasional flashes of bluish-white light illuminated the clouds that blanketed the sky. Shallow but still menacing rumbles of thunder echoed in the distance. The smell of rain loomed heavy in the air, and it intensified briefly with each gust of wind. With the moon having begun its cycle anew, and with the addition of the dense cover of clouds, the night was the dimmest pitch, and shadows all but blended into the darkness. Without the assistance of a torch, it would have been difficult for one with even the keenest sight to discern shapes and features. The environment would have been dangerous for one unfamiliar with the layout of Caberton and its surroundings, especially if that individual were to attempt travel in the uninhabited countryside. Even for the locals, there would have been a risk, but for one man it was an ideal night. The combination of the new moon and an approaching storm ensured no one would be wandering the streets of Armania’s capital, and especially not the countryside. It was the perfect setting for the deed that had to be performed.
The man continued to progress at a steady rate, and from time to time he would glance quickly to where he had been. It was not entirely due to a concern of being followed. He wanted to know how far he was from the city, and satisfied that he had retreated to a safe distance and being certain he was alone, the man gently removed the satchel that hung from his left shoulder, lowered it to the ground, and removed its contents. Momentarily he held the newborn child as he deliberated what would occur next.
Having been raised in a monarchial society, he was aware of the horrors that accompanied raids and the aftermath of another monarch being conquered. He knew the men would always fight until death had claimed them or their opponents. It was a centuries-old trait ingrained in not only warriors but also those who were expected to protect the weak. A man was required to ensure the safety of his family, and if he were in the army, the welfare of his people and lands. It was a duty that carried with it a degree of honor, but it was not permanent. After months and even years of campaigns, it was not a rarity for honor to be forgotten, especially during the absence of a commanding officer. Having no protection and often being unable to fend for themselves, the women were captured as spoils of war. Yes, he was all too aware of these immoral practices, but the true victims, or so he believed, were the children. On most occasions they were only tormented by the drunken warriors with the result being bruises and scrapes. On rare occasions they were introduced into lives of slavery. If a child were the son of a conquered king, however, he was offered little mercy. The infant, if fortunate, would receive a swift death.
The man knew all of this from experience, but he had never become accustomed to the routine. It was not the first time he had murdered a child. He still was hesitant, though, but he knew it was necessary. The man dismissed his scruples and again glanced to the child. Time elapsed in seemingly delayed intervals before he at last laid the infant on the cold ground and removed the cloth that covered the child’s neck. He then reached for his belt, unsheathed his dagger, and advanced the blade, but before he could finish, the boy opened his eyes and smiled.
✽ ✽ ✽
King Beadurof of Armania quickly opened his eyes. His heart rate had quickened, his breathing had intensified, and beads of perspiration had begun to form along his brow. He remained still briefly, not knowing what to think, and as the remnants of drowsiness continued to fade slowly, he did his best to contemplate what he had experienced.
“A dream,” he eventually assured himself. “It was only a dream.” He lay still several lengthy moments and waited for his breathing to subside and