The Aftermath Read online

  The Aftermath

  Heartbeats & War Drums Book 4

  AMBER SAVAGE

  The Aftermath

  Heartbeats & War Drums Book 4

  Copyright © 2020 Amber Savage

  All rights reserved. Including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with.

  Contents

  Connect with Amber

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Sneak Peek

  Also by Amber Savage

  About the Author

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  Chapter 1

  Landing

  “C

  larissa is in trouble!” Hagan blurted as he jumped into alertness from a deep slumber. The rolling tides had lulled the intrepid time-traveler to sleep. It had been days since he had a full night’s rest. In the weeks leading up to this eve of battle all those who stood under the Magnahul banner had been preparing for battle.

  Magnahul stood within hearing distance, looking out the portal of the first-floor chamber. Moving his gaze from the waves to his Alchemist, he asked quietly, "Who is Clarissa?"

  Hagan hadn't realized he had spoken out aloud for all those in the chamber to hear. Mixed feelings of embarrassment and weakness washed over him. But he decided that this was not the time to be shy. He searched the room for those who were still awake and found warriors disguised as men of old returning his glance.

  He rose, found his sea legs, and navigated the roll and dip of the vessel. Standing next to Lord Magnahul, he whispered, "Bronia is in trouble." Magnahul did not need to ask how he knew. This was one area a sorcerer or an alchemist could not match a father's intuition.

  “Our plan cannot be altered. She can take care of herself,” he said, resolutely.

  Hagan knew there was a larger picture that had to remain in focus. Magnahul was right. But Hagan could not shed his feelings as quickly as the wiser leader of the clan could. “Where are we?” Hagan inquired.

  Magnahul stretched his heavy arm. In the distance, Hagan could see land. They would be in Le Havre within moments.

  “Give me the use of one ship,” he pleaded. “It will take you hours to march to the Palace. It will take me about the same time to sail to Inverness. I can be back by the time you return to port. Besides, I will be no use to you in battle – as you say, I have puny arms.”

  Adelstan Magnahul pondered the young man's impetuous plan. It had merit with little cost. Magnahul could certainly spare a ship. The plan was to set sail once the troops disembarked and waited for returning troops in two days. In that time, Hagan would be back. "Very well. Take one ship and the necessary crew to make good speed up the Channel. And bring Bronia home."

  Within the hour, the fast ships of the Magnahul fleet began to dock on the coastline. They stayed away from the main port where a French garrison was stationed. The fleet Magnahul had personally designed was one of the most advanced of the time. They were designed to operate individually, or as a hive.

  As a hive, they could be locked abeam, port to starboard, and made into a bridge. It resulted in the ability to move men from landmasses across a wide river when the need arose. Or it could be like it was to land an army on land without a port. The three shallow hull vessels would run aground onshore and provide an anchor for the other ships to attach themselves while the men strode off their vessels and landed on dry land. In the event danger presented itself, all the ships that attached themselves could break away and remain at sea, safe from ground forces.

  The ships sailed into place and locked themselves to their sister ship, allowing the men to file out rapidly. Within five hours, all the men had disembarked and marching to meet King Philip.

  The ships were unlocked and returned to sea, where they anchored just beyond the horizon. Magnahul entrusted Hagan with the fastest ship in the fleet. It would be able to sail up to Inverness in less than a day, half that, if the wind and tide were favorable. Hagan plotted the best course possible. His detachable computer calibrated the course precisely and Hagan made modifications to the sail and the weight distribution of the ship. It was rigged for speed. And that is exactly what it delivered.

  The men got to work in the cover of darkness and began repainting the ship and sails. It was made to look like a French trade ship rather than a Highland war galley. The men were already in French garb and would pass muster if they were sighted from one of the lookouts ashore using their spyglass.

  Chapter 2

  Tower View

  H agan's vision had occurred more than twelve hours ago and he was now speeding up the channel to rescue Bronia. There was a sense of urgency in his step and impatience in his voice. For a man who could jump time, the twelve hours he had to wait felt like an eternity. It was also an omen of things that lay ahead. How had he seen that vision?

  Once the boat was away and the captain had been given instructions on the path to follow, Hagan set himself on a journey of retrieving the memory. He wanted all the details of the peril he witnessed. By the time they got there, it would still not be high-tide. The fall would be deadly.

  He let his eyes gaze into the distance as he let his mind ponder the options. When his eyes returned to focus, it was facing the ship's stern where a harpoon crossbow was anchored to the hull. He considered a plan that included it.

  “Captain, what’s the range on that harpoon?”

  “Three boat lengths,” came the gruff answer.

  “That's not a lot." He looked at the contraption and studied its design. As the ship sped across with England on its left and France on its right, Hagan set to work on implementing his modifications. When they were done, he launched a harpoon as a test.

  “There is at least fifteen boat lengths there laddie," said the captain, coming to understand why he was called the Alchemist. As the sun began to pierce the eastern horizon, the boat began its turn east, around the last bend south of Inverness. They passed Moray Firth and watched a small group of men mulling about. Hagan figured they were Vicomte's men.

  The captain began raising the sails to reduce the speed as she darted for her objective. Hagan could see the faint image of Bronia's silhouette clinging to the side of the tower, just beside the highest window. No one had seen her there yet, though. There was still time.

  The shell of the castle's keep was plastered smooth. Save for a few projections of brick for increased strength, the walls were designed to prevent scaling. Bronia Magnahul had managed to find cracks that accommodated the tips of her fingers while one of her feet rested on those rare projections. This was the same picture Hagan had envisioned.

  Bronia had been hanging on the side for an hour by the time Hagan came around the bend and spotted her. He had the premonition the night before. S
he didn’t know he would come. She also didn’t know how she was going to get off the surface before she was spotted. Her only hope was to wait for high-tide and leap into the waves. It would be dangerous but at least there was a chance.

  As her mind focused on what had to be done, a harpoon struck the brick and plaster beside her, anchoring deep within it. The unexpected crash of iron against brick resulted in a destabilizing moment that caused her feet to slip. It was fortunate that her hands chose to remain resolute. She dangled now, hanging by the tips of her fingers. The searing pain in her forearms knocked her back to an alert state. Her fight or flight response that was now in high gear giving her the strength she needed to pull herself back up. The tips of her feet searched for the protrusion it once occupied. Finding it, she pushed herself up, able to rest her fingers.

  Her thoughts then reverted to the metal spike that now stuck twelve inches away from her. Hagan had intended to aim close, but even that was a little too close. A hair’s breadth to the left and he would have anchored her to the tower.

  Bronia turned to ascertain the source of the iron stake that penetrated the wall of the Keep. As her eyes followed the rope tied to the base of the harpoon. It focused on the man waving frantically from a French-colored ship that looked suspiciously like her father's reconnaissance vessel. The petite frame of the man behind the harpoon told her that it had to be Hagan. She also recognized the gait of the captain running from the mainsail to the aftcastle.

  She wished for her cloak. She needed something to be able to slide down the rope, which is exactly what was hanging at the base of the harpoon. Hagan had already thought of that and included a yard-arms worth of leather that she had to just hold on to and slide down. She launched herself from the wall of the tower and grabbed the two sides of the strap and began to accelerate down towards the ship.

  The men, who had yet to sleep, began lowering the sails once more and prepared a quick getaway. Before anyone knew they were there, they needed to vanish around the bend. It wasn't long before the night's assassin was secure on the bridge of the vessel and the captain commanded it underway.

  “How did you know?”

  It was neither the time nor the place to delve into details of such matters. The time for that would come. For now, they had to make it out of the bay and into the North Sea.

  “Let us discuss that once the battle is over, we still have much to do."

  “Where is my father?”

  “Lord Magnahul should be marching deep within France by now. They should have made it passed Rouen."

  “What if we use the colors of the ship to sail to Paris along the Seine?”

  Hagan thought that was a good idea, but the hull of the ship was not as shallow as the three that were used to anchor the makeshift bridge.

  “I have an idea. How is your French?" Bronia asked.

  “Not bad.”

  “We will need horses.”

  “We can find horses in Le Havre. If we ride now, we will be at Chateau Fontainebleau by the time they arrive."

  That's all the plan they needed. Everything else they would make up as they went along. It didn't take long for them to dock in Le Havre under a French flag and disembark. The ship set back out to sea while the two mingled in the French town whose citizens never once thought they were at war with the Isles.

  Procuring a horse from the stables was not difficult, and the two set at breakneck speed toward Paris. They would have to trade horses at Rouen and once again at Lex Meureux. If they rode hard they would be able to make good time. Hagan had clearly improved his equestrian skills and was keeping up with Bronia's pace. No problems seemed to lurk on the horizon.

  They arrived in Rouen earlier than they had anticipated. Fresh mounts would prove a powerful ally against the advancing time to battle. They were not expecting any significant military presence along the way. After all, all of King Philip's armies had been marching toward Anderhal Bay where an interesting fate awaited.

  As they galloped into the night, they could see the Magnahul armies encamped by the Seine. Most of the men were in the shadow. Only a few fires burned to throw off any suspicion that there were foreign troops marching south to the palace. Bronia felt a sense of relief that she would soon see her father.

  Hagan, however, urged caution. He said they should monitor the campfires before they exited the dark cloak of night. Bronia agreed. They snuck slowly around the bushes. As they moved closer to the front of the line, they began to hear fighting. The front lines had already been engaged by a straggling group of French troops.

  Lord Magnahul was leading the fight. Bronia inched up the embankment, being sure to keep out of sight. She watched as the battle ensued. Her father was in full control and it would not be long before the small detachment of men was overwhelmed. They had no idea that beyond the darkness there were forty-thousand men in the shadows.

  Magnahul had done that intentionally. A rider could ascertain their true numbers and report back to his king. She considered her options. What would best serve my father?

  As she watched, her father's concerns were soon proven. In the distance, fading into the edge of darkness were two French riders making speed to the south. Who knew where they were going and who they were going to tell? Bronia signaled to Hagan and the two set chase.

  It took them some time to catch up to the riders, but it was too late. They had reached a regiment of French troops stationed between the Magnahul troops and Lord Henry's men. The French troops were unaware of the invaders, on either side of them. But, in a few minutes, they would be in for a surprise that a skirmish was underway north of their position and they would deploy men, undoubtedly.

  Bronia knew that her father would have no problem defeating the men that stood in his way, but it also meant that the schedule would be altered. A new plan was necessary. Hagan suggested that they ride ahead and alert Lord Henry and let him march back to engage the French.

  “We can't do that. Lord Henry is still farther ahead. If we go, it will take them a few hours to march back. No, we have to let my father vanquish these forces. We have to make sure that any rider they dispatch cannot reach their destination." With that plan in mind, the two rode the perimeter of the regiment, watching as a rider entered the tent in the middle.

  “That must be the commander's tent," Bronia suggested.

  She was right. No sooner had the rider entered, the commander had summoned another rider. Within moments, he was off, undoubtedly headed to the palace. Bronia and Hagan mounted their horses and set chase, following the movements of the rider from the perimeter to avoid detection. The pursuit only presented an opportunity after an hour of riding. Bronia galloped astride, leaped on the horse and pushed the rider to the ground. Bronia was using him as a buffer to soften the blow of the fall and knock the rider out at the same time.

  Hagan, thinking quickly, gave chase to the two horses and reigned them in. His skills as a horseman were rapidly improving. By the time he got back to Bronia, the rider was already dead. It turned out that it wasn't his body, but his neck, that bore the brunt of the impact. He went quickly.

  “We need to search his pouch.”

  Sure enough, it was slung under his riding cloak and contained a missive from the commander of the regiment to the commander of the King's Guard. She read it in French then gasped. "They have identified my father and that there is an unknown number of troops on the march."

  “If that letter had gotten to the palace, the plans would be ruined."

  “There is no longer any time to wait. The plans have changed, we have to change as well.”

  Chapter 3

  Moonless Night

  S eventy-five thousand Frenchmen marched through the Highlands, leaving Inverness under the cover of darkness and arriving at the fork before dawn. Here, they split the contingent into three regiments, each under one captain. One would break to the north, another to the south, and one would push forward, coming at the tent city from the west. Together, they planned t
o converge upon Magnahul's Anderhal Bay from three directions, leaving them nowhere to run. The goal was to overwhelm the enemy and throw the scene into chaos – while the assassin did his deed. King Philip was sending a message to the other clans that he was in charge.

  Scouts were sent ahead for one last assessment before the troops came within striking distance. The Magnahul tent city looked like it did on any other night. Not a single Moroccan was in sight. A few Magnahul soldiers mulled about while several seemingly ordinary citizens moved around. The scouts returned to the captains of the three regiments and reported that nothing was out of the ordinary.

  From that point, the march progressed rapidly. Soldiers from the north were the first to descend from the ridge that overlooked a sea of tents and dwellings. Their advance was followed by the soldiers from the south. So many soldiers were on the move that the Moroccans in the tents below could feel the rumble – yet they stayed until the call to engage was sounded.

  Dust clouds began to rise while the momentum of the hurtling hordes reached critical mass. The din of movements in the distance echoed in the valley. Then morphed into the rumble of war as it drew closer. With armies pouring from the north and south, the attack was irreversible. By the time the eastern contingent prepared to join the charge, loud explosions rocked the land in the east and the forest erupted into flames. The ground beneath the soldiers had been dug up, filled with Moroccan black oil, and then ignited by a charge that was designed by the Alchemist. The effect was spectacular. French soldiers who didn’t die in the initial explosion were drowned in the toxic sludge beneath And those who escaped that were scorched to death by the trees now ignited and aflame.