Serenity Valley Read online

  The Rogue Gallery

  Book One

  Serenity Valley

  By Rocky Bills

  The Rogue Gallery

  Book One

  Serenity Valley

  Copyright © 2014 Rocky Bills

  First Published 2014

  Email: [email protected]

  URL: http://www.theroguegallery.com

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a database and retrieved system or transmitted in any form or any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the owner of copyright and the above publishers.

  Original Cover Art by Roxanne Bills

  Editor Melissa Gray

  Serenity Valley

  Smashwords Version

  Bills, Rocky

  Dedication

  To my family who have served gallantly as readers for my story. Without your encouragement I would never have published this project. A special thanks to Penny who helped assemble all the pieces.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  About Author

  About the Series

  Prologue

  It is the year of Our Lord 1105, and a vicious, treacherous struggle for riches and holdings is upon the land. As kings topple and neighbor schemes against neighbor, the pope is, at the same time, demanding continued crusades to the Holy Land for the purpose of holding Jerusalem. Wave after wave of warriors are conscripted to private armies to fight in the Holy Land and for noblemen’s greed. The land remains in a constant state of turmoil as armies raid, plunder, and murder their way across the mainland.

  In the midst of this turmoil is a hold like no other, De Ferrier, on England’s main island. Surrounded by mountains and rivers, De Ferrier Hold lies within the tranquil Serenity Valley. Since the time of the ancients, De Ferrier Hold has been known for breeding and training an elite bloodline of the much-prized heavy chargers. Near and far, a De Ferrier charger is considered more deadly and coveted than the fiercest of warriors.

  The legend begins in mid-spring, as the hold’s prized mare is tended in the birthing stable.

  Chapter 1

  And God took a handful of southerly wind, blew his breath upon it, and created the horse. ~ Bedouin Legend

  The huge birthing stable stands on the highest point of the rolling, grassy hillside. A steady drizzle of rain pelts the slate roof for the second hour, and it is well past 3:00 AM. The interior of the stable is lit by the yellow flicker of over 100 glass-encased oil lamps. The lamps are placed high on the wooden support columns to prevent the horses from tampering with them. A mild breeze through the center aisleway carries the scent of rain and pine pitch. These scents are mingled with the stable odors, giving it a unique and unmistakable aroma. A full day and night I have spent in the birthing stall. I smell of horse manure and soiled straw and must look as bad as the foul odor that emanates from every part of my body. I dipped the rag back into the bucket of cool water and began swabbing down Siren’s dapple gray neck once more. I believe she actually understood that I was trying to comfort her, as she allowed me to attend her.

  Normally as foul-mannered with her handlers as a mountain bear, many of the stable workers bore scars that would attest to her true and vicious nature. I held no malice toward her, as her very disposition was the product of over 100 years of selective breeding for aggression as well as conformation. She holds the best of traits needed for the makings of a fine warhorse. She is considered the top broodmare in the area, possibly the entire island. Her prized offspring have proven their worth well in numerous campaigns, on a number of continents.

  Entering into the second day of labor was reason enough for alarm, but Siren, now well past twenty years old, probably should have been retired instead of bred as an experiment to the most notorious stud in the land. The sire, Hades, is a famed, battle-hardened warhorse credited with killing seven knights in battle and an unknown number of opposing chargers. Hades (aka Black Savage) is over 18 hands. With Siren near the same height, they were bred to achieve the size and graceful lines both horses possess, without concern for temperament or disposition. I prayed that God might intercede with this mingling, that such offspring from these two would not produce an insane outlaw. As no one else in the stable wanted to tend the big mare, I accepted the task, as always. I had always felt she was slighted for reasons beyond her control.

  My concern for the mare increased when she went into distress, with rapid breathing and uncontrolled sweats. I listened to the big gray mare’s chest and could hear the awful sound of congestion in her lungs. I felt her heartbeat, which was rapid and unpredictable, indicating her massive heart was failing and allowing her lungs to fill with water. I looked into her majestic blue-black eyes and could see the milky film start to creep in around the edges. My heart suddenly felt heavy, as if an anvil had been placed on my chest. Thoughts raced through my mind. What could I do? What could possibly be done? Siren raised her head so that her eye was level with my own. She softly nuzzled my shoulder with her mouth as if she was trying to comfort me. I knew she could smell and sense my feelings of great despair. My body felt hot all over, and I could feel my eyes starting to fill with water. “It’s all right, grand lady; I will do everything that I can to help you.” Siren gently rested her enormous head against my torso, her ears at shoulder height, the tip of her nose near to knee level. “I must leave you for a few moments, my lady, to get more help. Do not worry; I will be right back.” Siren let out a soft, weak whinny. I quickly turned and left the stall.

  I ran down the center walkway of the stable toward the grooms' quarters. The noise of rapid footsteps received notice from the alert horses. Inquisitive heads began poking over stall doors. The snorts and bellowing of various horses mixed with the thud of my heavy boots on the stone floor. I reached the door for the sleeping quarters and snatched it open, smashing it against the wall. I grabbed the first person I came to, but soon regretted it. I barked, “Wake up, Fulk. I need help!”

  With a groggy slur, Fulk mumbled, “Leave me be, I’m sleeeeeeping.”

  “It's important, Fulk! GET UP!”

  Fulk grumbled, “Who is it? Is that you, Gamel? Go screw yourself in the arse.”

  “Fulk, I don't have time for your shit!” I yelled.

  Filled with rage and urgency, I grabbed the side of the bed and flipped it upside down, then picked it up and threw it outside into the stable. I reached down, grabbed Fulk’s foot, and dragged the struggling charge outside. Face up, with his back to the ground, Fulk looked up at me with eyes the size of plates, but he found no more smart words in his current state of shock and fear. Normally the bully in the stables, this must have been too much to comprehend. I demanded, “Go fetch the stable marshal, and tell him it’s an emergency!”

  Fulk just lay there on the ground, staring at me with his mouth wide open. “Now, you jiggy bastard! RUN, DAMN IT!”

  Fulk jumped to his feet. In his haste, he turned and ran over the remains of his bed, falling face-first to the ground. He struggled to right himself and began running again, only looking back once to see if I was in pursuit.

  With that task finished, I ran to the supply
room and picked up the marshal’s medical box, a couple of clean blankets, and the birthing ropes. By now, the horses were awake, and heads protruded from every occupied stall. The entire stable would be awake soon from the chorus of loud bellows, whinnies, and snorts from the horses trying to find out what was going on. With my load of equipment, I ran back to the birthing stall. Upon reaching Siren, seeing her condition made me feel as if a knife had stabbed my racing heart. There, on the fresh straw, she lay on her belly. Her legs were under her, with her nose touching the ground. She wheezed as she struggled with every breath, her nostrils dilated wide as a winded horse's would be after running a great distance. Her life blood flowed from her birth canal, forming a hot, crimson pool under her hindquarters. Her life was being robbed from her with each beat of her heart.

  I put the medical equipment and supplies down and walked to her. She forcibly raised her head and gave a soft whinny in recognition. Water freely ran from my eyes and over my cheeks, dropping where it may. I felt a great numbness, and the sense of loss overwhelmed me. I suddenly remembered that I needed to breathe and took in a huge, gasping breath. I could feel great pressure behind my eyes as my shattered heart pounded. If I could have shared my own life force with Siren, I would have. All I could do, though, was make her passing as easy as possible. In a reassuring voice, I said, “It’s all right, my fine lady, you have done your best.” Siren now lay to her side but held her head up as if to fight gravity with what last spark of life she had. She struggled to right her head over her legs, to try to sit up again, but she simply lacked the strength. She could just hold her head off the ground. I positioned myself and sat on the ground behind her head and reached up, stroking her massive neck. “Rest your head on me, great lady; you are not alone,” I told her softly.

  Siren carefully laid her enormous head on my lap and legs and seemed to breathe a little easier. So caught up with emotion was I that I could not feel the crushing weight of her head and neck. “It is all right, great lady of horses, rest now, and be at peace.” I felt Siren’s body relax completely, as if she was accepting death without fear; the same way she had lived her life, fearlessly and without regret. Siren took one last full breath and slowly let it escape her lungs. I mumbled, “Goodbye, my lady. Go to your long, peaceful sleep.” I heard a soft whinny, as if thanking me, and Siren slipped away. Her eyes clouded over, and after a few death throes of her legs, she was released from her lifeless body and all earthly obligations.

  Sayer, the stable marshal, quickly stepped into the stall Siren and I occupied. “Gamel, what is going on? Fulk is having a fit, screaming that you have gone mad and murderous! Where in hades are you, Gamel?” Mostly hidden under Siren’s neck and head, it took Sayer a moment to locate me. In another moment, he realized the situation; mostly just by the look of my face. In a low, saddened tone, he continued, “Oh…Oh, oh, my God have mercy, Siren.” Sayer immediately stepped in to examine Siren. By now, the other stable workers were popping in to see what was going on and making a hasty retreat. Sayer said sadly, “Well, there was nothing to be done, Gamel. The massive blood loss was probably due to rupture or detachment from da womb. She was good as gone when last she was bred. I recommended against this breeding, you know. The sire and dam were just too big, so this kind of thing was bound to happen. We don’t need horses as big as houses! Not even accounting for crossing dispositions of such a vicious nature! Very sad indeed, but nothing you could have done. You all right, Gamel?”

  “I’m fine, Sayer, but there is one thing you could do for me.”

  “What do you need, boy; what can I do?”

  “Could you help me get out from under her? I’m afraid I might be here until the second coming otherwise.”

  “Oh, sure, sure, of course, no problem.” Sayer helped roll and lift, using Siren’s halter, until I worked my way free.

  Both of us stood there just staring at Siren’s lifeless body. I said, “It’s almost like seeing the end of a legacy, the ending of an original and near-perfect bloodline.”

  “Aye, son, it truly is. Up to her offspring now to carry on the line. At least we have that! Well, I will inform the lord when he gets up from his sleep. I’m not looking forward to that, but it must be done.”

  “I do not envy that task, Sayer. I will see to the burial. I would like to bury her with her halter if that’s all right with you.”

  “Yes, yes, of course! She certainly earned it. She made the warhorse line what it is today. Wrap her in a new blanket also.” I was touched and amazed that such cost was to be extended to honor Siren. “I will arrange for the grave with the groundskeeper and have him send word when it’s ready,” Sayer said.

  “Thanks, Sayer. I’ll see to her; I consider it an honor seeing her to the final rest.”

  “One more thing, Gamel: don’t forget to eat something.”

  “Sure, I will.” I had no idea when the hollow pit in my stomach could even tolerate solid food. It felt empty, and my heart felt like it was in my throat. The thought of food sickened me terribly. Sayer understood this, as we were so much alike when it came to the horses, and loss.

  I had decided to try some hot tea in my stomach while I waited for the grave to be prepared. Turning to leave the stall, I noticed some movement from the corner of my eye. I turned but could not locate what had caught my attention. I surveyed the entire stall but still couldn’t locate anything amiss. It could have been some latent movement from Siren’s body caused by chemicals left behind in the muscles. Then, yet again, a sense of movement caught my eye toward the rear of Siren’s body. It was then that I saw it perfectly for the first time, a few tail hairs blown up into the air. Well, that explained it, just gas escaping the body, which was perfectly normal. Even as easily explained as it was, for some reason, my eyes stayed focused on the tail. Something wasn’t right, not right at all. Hairs were blown up in perfectly spaced time intervals. I was probably just imagining things because of the grief and despair I felt, just the mind playing cruel tricks. Just to put my mind at ease, though, I moved around to Siren’s rear and moved her tail away.

  I saw something white and oddly shaped protruding from her birth canal. I bent down to look closer and was shocked to see a white nostril the size of my fist. I reached down to touch it, and it flared, then recoiled from my touch. I was so startled, I fell back on my butt. The poor foal must have been close to birthing when Siren died and was now trapped in the birth canal. I quickly crawled up to the body and put my face down to the nostril so I could feel the breath against my face to be sure I wasn’t imagining everything. I felt the warm breath on my face, and to my surprise, the nostril was reacting to the scent of my own breath. When I exhaled, the nostril would expand and contract, taking in air in short spurts as a horse would when remembering a particular scent. The foal was still alive, or so it seemed. I needed to get Sayer, but I knew he would probably be on the other side of the hold by now. There was no time to wait. If there was a chance the foal could live, I must cut it from Siren’s body, and with great haste. I quickly ran to the medical supplies and opened the old, scarred wooden box. I picked up the sharp double-edged knife.

  Kneeling in front of Siren’s belly, I said, “Please forgive me, Siren, but I am going to try to save your foal!” Without any more hesitation, I plunged the knife into the belly and began my cut. I had never done this myself, but I had seen Sayer do it on a pregnant cow that broke a leg just short of birthing. In that case, the cow was put down prior to cutting the calf free. I continued cutting through various tissue layers until I came to the womb. I made a long, careful cut to open the womb, ignoring the gore and odor from the grisly procedure. I had to tell myself that Siren wasn’t here anymore, just her broken, empty vessel that once held her spirit. As the cut lengthened, more and more of the foal exploded into view, until the hind legs were out. I prepared to pull the foal free, but it was proven unnecessary. Before I could pull on the legs, the foal slid completely out of the belly and onto the straw. In front of me was a brig
ht white foal, struggling to raise its head. What was more shocking than the fact that the foal was alive was the size of it. Once it straightened out its legs, it was the size of a small two-year-old. I started talking to the beastie and blowing in its nose so it could imprint on me. It again sniffed my breath as if to store it away for future reference. It shifted position, getting its legs under it, and I grabbed dry straw and began rubbing the body from head to hoof to stimulate and dry the various birth fluids from the coat. I tied off the umbilical cord with a rawhide string I found in the medical box, then cut the foal free. As if knowing it was free, the foal stood on shaking legs and began rocking back and forth. Before it could topple over, I stood and placed a hip against it as a mother would do. The foal braced against me as I continued rubbing it down. While cleaning the foal, I realized something had, till now, been overlooked in all the excitement, so I took a look at its private parts. “Well, my very lucky young man, welcome to the world!”

  I knew before long something needed to be done regarding feeding, so I called out, “Need some assistance here, please.” To my surprise, within seconds Fulk had appeared in the door of the stall.

  “Yes, Gamel, what do you need? What’s that—we were told that the mare died before birth!”

  “She did, Fulk, but her foal didn’t die with her.”

  “Then, how in the world…” Fulk then noticed the mare’s body, and again, his eyes widened and his mouth hung open. “You cut the foal from the dead mare’s body…when? How?”