The Jarlsguard

By Cameron Warwick

When his latest job goes disastrously wrong, mercenary Igan svarnit is forced to undertake the most dangerous mission he has ever faced. Pennyless and alone, he will need every ounce of strength, skill and courage he has in order to prevail against his foes and survive in a world of monsters, intrigues and rogues. Will Igan succeed in his near-impossible mission, or is he condemned to death and defeat?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cameron Warwick
• Release date: Jul 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201055202

Book preview

Chapter I

The Juven Woods were a dangerous place for travelers, particularly by night. The towering conifers and thick bushes concealed everything, and the howling of wolves and the occasional bear’s roar was enough to unnerve even the bravest of men. Worse still, the wailing wind and the biting cold made it all the more difficult to ready oneself against these dangers.

A troop of mercenaries marched through these woods. They tactically surrounded an oak cart pulled by two donkeys. Captain Dalvar rode along at the head with his charge, the owner of the cart and the rich trade within it, a merchant named Jalt Skrin. It was him they were escorting through the accursed Juven Woods, for a handsome sum. He was an old, fat, beady-eyed man, with no skill in his hands but a sharp mind for business and trade. Skilled enough to know a good band of mercenaries when he met them.

Igan Svarnit, Dalvar’s second-in-command, sped up his pace and came up to the captain’s side. He was tall and broad, with jet black hair and icy blue eyes. The scars on his arms and face spoke for themselves. The men are skittish, he reported.

I can tell, Dalvar said, It’s these damned woods. We’ll be out of ‘em soon enough. Hopefully they’ll stop whining when we do. Dalvar and Igan looked almost like father and son, though Dalvar was shorter and had a great bushy black beard, riddled with grey.

Igan nodded in agreement, listening to the sound of a fat man trying to catch his breath. Captain Dalvar, Jalt called out, louder than he needed to. His quivering voice stood out from the bold, deep tenors of the guard he hired. Captain Dalvar, I must inquire, how long does a trek through these woods often take?

Half a day of walking, Dalvar said, we’ll meet the morning sun on the other side. Then it’s a march north to Veleg, the most boring town in Norvenger, and from there a simple pass up the fjord roads to Gärnard. There’s plenty of stops along the way for us to get supplies and steady our pace.

I heard talks of heinous beasts lurking in these woods, Jalt said, such things that are depicted on fine ivory carvings of sea-dragon tusks, tales traded about their ferocity and-

Don’t torture yourself with such tales, Dalvar interrupted him, the local wildmen who live off the woods like beasts are the only thing you need worry about it here.

Jalt shook his head and quaked. His horse beneath him seemed to resist his shivers with a huff.

We’re better armed, Igan said, and better trained. The wildmen fight like animals and use primitive weapons. We’ll be fine.

If you say so, Jalt said nervously, could you get my mead from the caravan?

No, Igan refused, I’m not your servant.

Do it, or I’ll shove this dirk up your arse, Dalvar said with a toothy smile.

Igan