THE REGENTS OF RHUM

Episode two of THE SCYTHIAN STONE SAGA picks up in York where Geile Plumat (the main antagonist from Blackgloom) is on trial for his failure to capture Daynin McKinnon and retrieve the Blackgloom bounty. At the same time, Daynin and his allies are working furiously to rebuild and fortify Kinloch Keep on the island of Rhum, knowing that with such a huge treasure in their hands, they will undoubtedly be tested again by those bent on Kinloch’s destruction. Kruzurk Makshare (Daynin’s mentor) is making all haste in divining the meaning of the Scythian Stone he was asked to deliver to Rhum. He has learned that the Stone may be the long lost Stone of Destiny, upon which every rightful king of Scotia (Scotland) has knelt since the beginning of time. Far to the north, a new element has come into play—Icelandic Vikings who are sent on a mission to capture the Stone by an evil skrineyalder (sorceress). Unknown to the Icelanders, another Viking contingent in the east has also learned of the Stone and has set sail to take Rhum by storm. Meanwhile, a third Viking army under Thorkell the Tall has landed on the Saxon coast near York, their aim being to capture the city and loot it. Fortunately for the Saxons, Geile Plumat is in the right place to face the Danish incursion, but will he stand and fight? To hold off all of these converging elements and protect both the Stone and the treasure, Daynin and his friends must use every ounce of wit, guile and deception they can muster to defend Kinloch Keep. Brude McAlpin, the giant Pictish spirit who was Daynin’s unlikely ally in the first episode, plays a key role in that defense, as well as becoming an entirely separate element in a developing story line that encompasses even more of what die hard fantasy fans yearn for--magic! Ultimately, Daynin must win against all odds in order to become the Regent of Rhum, a position from which he can unite the clans of Scotia, rebuild the McKinnon family and face the wrath of a Saxon crown that views all of Britain as theirs by right of conquest. The ending of Regents sets the stage for episode three, THE SCIONS OF SCOTIA. Written from multiple POV’s (in the Tom Clancy vein) and with a wealth of historical detail, THE REGENTS OF RHUM promises a fast paced action/adventure/fantasy tale set in a believable medieval world. Romance readers, too, will find plenty of the spice they seek as Daynin’s life continues to entwine with the feisty Sabritha, destined to become the other half of the Regents of Rhum. Or is she? For those of you who have not yet read THE BLACKGLOOM BOUNTY, fear not, THE REGENTS OF RHUM can be read as a stand alone story. However, it will greatly enhance your reading pleasure if you've read Book 1 before delving into Regents. That way, you'll be up to speed on all the characters, locations and previous events. This is a very large book--over 200,000 words. If you run across terms that are unfamiliar to you, refer to the extensive annotations listing at the end of each volume. In fact, you might want to bookmark that list for easy reference.

Prologue: The Island of Rhum, Scotia Late Spring, 988AD A mere fortnight has passed since the great siege at Kinloch Keep depicted in THE SCYTHIAN STONE, episode one of the grand, sweeping Kindle Vella saga of Daynin McKinnon and his Scotian compatriots. Daynin, his friends, cohorts and their prized Scythian Stone remain at the keep, recovering from the vicious assault of Geile Plumat and his Saxon minions. The Kinloch few have set about repairing the keep, healing their wounds and preparing for what is certain to be a very uncertain future. Little do they realize that word of the Blackgloom bounty—both the Seed’s treasure and the bounty on Daynin McKinnon’s head—has spread far and wide, opening more than a few greedy minds to the prospects of an easy windfall. Less still can Daynin and his small highland band imagine the importance of their sorcerous treasure and the mystical stone they have chosen to defend with all of their lives and futures. And defend it they must, as that is the path they have chosen for better or worse. Far to the south in York, Geile Plumat—still seething from the stinging defeat at Kinloch—is about to embark on a somewhat more certain path—that of his trial for treason and breach of fealty at the court of King Ethelred the Unready, ruler of the Saxons. Unbeknownst to Plumat, a series of world-changing events has already been set in motion that will forever alter his future and those at Kinloch Keep for whom he has vowed revenge. Chapter 1 Geile Plumat paced the damp floor of Heathrow Castle, York, like a salt-bred seaman standing second watch, his eyes searching the space around him for something—anything—that might change the inevitability of his circumstances. One hand alternately gripped the pommel of his dirk, then swept across his tunic, ridding the sweat of anxiety from its palm. The other hand toyed with a shiny bit of Pictish scale armor, Plumat’s only memento from the bloody siege at Rhum. “You will tell me if I speak too rapidly for you in court, will you not, Perdrick?” “Aye, my lord. Fear not. Merely speak thy tale as thee have given it to me for your father’s missives and I am certain all will go well. There are few in this realm who can relate a tale as well as I have known thee to do in the past. Except, perhaps, for your uncle G’Alvin. The bolt that slew him silenced the best tale weaver in Normandy and Britain, of that I’m certain. In the same breath, I might add in all modesty, there are fewer still who can manipulate the quill the way God has enabled me to do. No doubt that is why King Ethelred’s Jurisconsul chose me to transcribe your proceedings today, despite my longstanding and obvious allegiance to you and your family.” Plumat cast a skeptical look at the short, balding monk. He knew long-winded Perdrick Down might be his only friend in court that day, and that the cleric might well be writing the last pages of the Plumatian pedigree. He also knew that a breach of fealty, with which he had been charged by the King’s Eyre, could be more serious than almost any other crime in Britain. Simply knowing he was innocent of the charge would hardly stand as a defense. He had, after all, lost the Blackgloom treasure, failed to capture the Marquis’ assassins and caused several score of Duke Harold’s drengs to meet their doom on the dreary downs of Rhum. Those were charges he could face—and defend. But a breach of fealty meant death on the rack and loss of all properties. The charge was patently false, as Plumat had never wavered in his loyalty to Ethelred—even now, facing his last day on earth—though he had no way to prove his innocence. Perdrick’s practiced hand moved swiftly across the top of the large vellum page, inscribing first, “Friar’s Day, 13th May, Year of Our Lord, 988,” followed by the Latin phrase “Veniam Petimusque Damusque Vicissim: More In Sorrow Than In Anger.” As chief amanuensis for the Plumat family, it had been his duty for more than twenty years to chronicle the deeds, wills, marriages and deaths of one of the last untainted Saxon bloodlines in Britain. The biased prologue his fine calligraphy had just installed on the first page of the court record Perdrick surely knew would bring a harsh rebuke from his mentors at the Abbey of St. John. Those cloistered brethren, though, were not privy to the sad foreknowledge he carried as to the fate of Geile Plumat and all that had led up to this current litigation. Nor was anyone else, save the gaunt, unsmiling man standing across the chamber from Perdrick, staring up at the girding oath inscribed on the mantle above a roaring fire. “I have done all that this oath required of me, Perdrick,” Plumat mused, his voice almost lost in the din of echoes caused by the sudden influx of his jury of presentment, clamoring across the room for the best seats in the Great Hall behind him. “Aye, m’lord,” was all Perdrick could muster in reply. It wasn’t difficult to see the enormous strain and sorrow Plumat bore on his shoulders. Failure in the Kinloch siege had been hard enough on him these last few weeks. Now to be tried for treason because of it—that was a sufficient burden to bring down the stoutest of hearts. “Shall we proceed?” the monk asked. “You should go in first,” Plumat answered, distantly. He then began reading the knighting oath aloud, as if to brace himself for the coming storm. “Hearken, we beseech Thee, O Lord, to our prayers, and deign to bless with the right hand of Thy majesty this sword with which this, Thy servant, desires to be girded. We pray that this blade shall be a defense of churches, widows, orphans and all of Thy servants against the scourge of the pagans, that it may be the terror and dread of all evildoers, and that it may be found just, both in attack and defense, so long as the wearer shall live.” Those last seven words drove an icy stake through Plumat’s soul, almost causing him to bolt and run for the bailey’s gates. Knowing that his father would never forgive him for such an act of overt cowardice and that all his lands, chattel and titles would be forfeited to the crown quickly swept any thought of escape from his mind. If I have to die, Plumat reasoned, I will demand a trial by ordeal. At least that way, I shall die a death worthy of a warrior. A large, ornate and carefully prepared plea scroll tucked under his arm, Plumat turned toward the Great Hall and strode to his travail with as much dignity as his tattered honor could muster. In the back of his mind, an oath sprouted: If I live through this, highlander, I shall have my revenge upon you and the house of McKinnon. I swear it by God and upon my oath of girding!