The Codex of Otar (Vermaland Book 1)

Book summary

In The Codex of Otar, Alana of House Torvah leads her magical nomadic people on a perilous journey toward the promised Valley of Neva. Along the way, they face hostile forces, unforgiving landscapes, and dark conspiracies that threaten their survival. Alana must summon all her strength to protect her people and reach their sacred destination.

Excerpt from The Codex of Otar (Vermaland Book 1)

Chapter 1

The Troop

Alana of House Torvah sighed as she urged her team of draft animals toward the flatlander village. The troop had traveled for months across the vast grassy plains and woodlands since crossing the wide Middle River, separating the East and West Kingdoms, and they needed a few days to rest their beasts and resupply their wagons.

She used a long, slender willow rod to flick the muscular hindquarters of the broad-shouldered, horned beasts drawing her wagon. Alana sat uncomfortably beside her future mother-in-law, Sephra of House Physka, who scowled ahead at the tendrils of white smoke rising from the chimneys of the distant village.

“Your dancewear is clean, I hope?” Sephra snarled. “You will have to join the other women tonight. We will need your share of the money for supplies. You cannot shirk your responsibilities to the caravan because you dance so poorly. If you were not betrothed to my dear Garrad, I’d have your skinny behind working the pallets with the other lazy sluts in this Troop.” The old woman smirked.

I’m sure you would, if you could.

“But I am betrothed to your precious Garrad, Sephra, and I’m no empath to work the pallets, so please be silent while I mind the beasts,” Alana scolded. “I will dance with the others and get the fools of the village worked up for the pallet girls,” she hissed. “Have no fear of that.” Alana turned to glare at the portly older woman. “Have you your cards and potions ready to filch money from the village fools with your lies?”

“Don’t be impertinent, child,” Sephra hissed, her eyes narrowed in her chubby face. “I’ve been leading this troop for over thirty years and my readings are always true.” She raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever made a reading at all, Alana? I fear you have no talent for it. If your time ever comes to lead a troop of your own,” she said, shaking her greasy, gray head, “I can only pray to Blessed Neva you’re plagued with a daughter-in-law such as you.”

A redheaded boy of seven poked his head out between them from inside the wagon. “I’m hungry, Auntie. Are we going to stop soon to eat?”

Sephra turned in her seat and slapped at the boy. “There are beans in the stove and bread in the box. Serve yourself, child.”

“Yes, Mother Sephra.” The boy winced and disappeared back into the swaying wagon.

“That child is selfish and lazy, Alana,” Sephra scolded. “I cannot imagine why you’d want to saddle my son with such a one as him.”

“He’s your own sister’s grandchild, Sephra,” Alana retorted, wide-eyed. “Would you have rather they’d smothered him at birth for the color of his hair? He’s a sweet child and will be a good man someday.”

“He thinks only of his own needs,” the old woman persisted. “If you don’t beat some sense into him soon, his hair color may just prove true and you’ll find your throat slit in your sleep along with that of my son.”

Like Jami slit yours? I’m sure he wanted to more than once.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alana sighed. “Your own son is a redhead and he’s no man to fear. Lyham will be the same. Only old fools hold with that business of redheaded boys being evil.” Alans flipped the rod to urge the beasts along the rutted, dusty trail. “They were never born evil, just used for evil by others for greed.”

“Jami cost me my prosperous merchant husband and a comfortable family life with a sturdy house back in Tarth,” Sephra replied bitterly as she stared at the wide fields of grain growing on either side of the rutted track they followed.

“That was your choice, Sephra,” Alana pointed out bluntly. “You chose the life of your son over your wealthy husband and his family. Could you have lived with the man who chose to smother his own infant because the babe had the bad luck of being born with red hair rather than black?”

“Alron was a good man,” Sephra protested. “He took me to be his wife even though I had Garrad in my belly from working the pallets.” She took a sad, deep breath and scanned the sky. “He simply chose to live by the traditions we were taught as children.” Sephra pulled her shawl tighter around her broad shoulders and dabbed at a tear. “Since the days of the Wizard Uprisings, red-haired boys have been put to death to prevent the chances of such atrocities ever happening again. Men with the power are not to be trusted, but my Jami has never shown any signs of being gifted.”

“And if he had?” Alana asked with a raised brow. “Would you have slit his throat in his sleep at thirteen when the first signs came?”

“Of course not,” Sephra snapped. “He’s my son and I’ve loved him since the first moment I felt him squirm in my belly.”

“It was the same with Lyham’s mother when she begged me to take him into my care after seeing the tuft of red upon his tiny scalp. She, unlike you, wasn’t willing to give up her husband, her other children, and their standing in the community to keep her redheaded babe. I was the next best choice. I’m marrying into a family of heretics and was willing to accept a redheaded male as an equal.” Alana flicked the rod again to keep the animals lumbering along.

“My Jami is better than most. He was never selfish and always grateful for my losses on his behalf. I fear this Lyham to be of lesser quality,” Sephra sighed. “Will he be grateful like my Jami, who has never forgotten my and his brother’s sacrifices, so he could live?”

You’ve never let him forget it, have you?

“How could he forget, Sephra?” Alana snapped. “You’ve gone out of your way to remind the poor boy of it every day of his wretched life.”

“You’re an ungrateful, impertinent young woman, Alana. My son and I could have done better.”

Would that you had. I’ll never understand why my parents agreed to the match.

“Perhaps,” Alana said with a self-satisfied grin upon her sunburned face,” if he weren’t the son of a mean-tempered old heretic.”

“I don’t have to take this from you, girl,” Sephra snapped and began twisting her chunky body around as she attempted to crawl back inside the moving wagon. “I’m the Mother of this Troop and you owe me respect for that, if nothing else.”

Respect is earned.

Alana pulled on the reins to slow her animals so the woman could make her way into the back without injuring herself. As soon as Sephra disappeared back into the wagon, Lyham took her place on the seat of the bouncing wagon. He held a thick slice of bread in one hand and Alana saw butter smeared on his chin as he chewed.

“Why is Mother Sephra crying again?” he asked with confusion on his sweet freckled face.

“She’s just old, Lyham,” Alana sighed. “Old women cry a lot for no good reason.”

“You’re old, but you never cry, Auntie.”

I just don’t let you see it, child.

“I’m not that old.” Alana laughed and snapped the willow rod to get her beasts moving again.

She led her caravan to the gates of the medium-sized village, where a man in a brown homespun tunic and simple leather boots stopped her.

The tall bearded man grabbed the harness of her lead animal to bring the team to a complete stop. “What’s the meaning of this, woman? I’m Chief Constable Ivar. Who are you people and what do you want in Pyne?”

Alana smiled her sweetest. “We are simple travelers from Tarth, heading to the west. We need supplies. Have you a mercantile for foodstuffs and a livery for feed grain?”

Two men in similar brown tunics joined him and one sneered up at Alana. “These are a bunch of those Vermin from the east, Ivar. We don’t want their like here in Pyne. Their women are whores and their men thieves. If you let them through the gates, you’ll be letting in filth. Our women, children, and property won’t be safe at night.”

“Maybe they have some of that Vermin wine,” one of the men added, licking his greasy, pink lips as he leered up at Alana, “I hear that’s some potent stuff and as sweet as what’s between their women’s legs.”

“Is he right?” the chief constable asked. “You have any of that Vermin Wine with you? We might be willing to trade for some of that.”

Another constable, shorter and plumper than the others and with missing and rotted teeth, leered up at Alana. He slid a grimy hand boldly beneath her skirt to fondle the bare skin of her calf. “We might be willing to trade for a little more than wine, as well.” He smiled a toothless smile and pinched the skin her leg. “What ya think, girlie? I hear what you Vermin bitches have between your pretty legs can suck a man all but dry.”

His hand wandered a little farther up Alana’s leg. “Why don’t we go in the back of this fancy wagon and give it a try?”

All the men except the chief constable laughed at the man’s lewd remark.

Alana kicked his offending hand away and wished she could reach her boot to pull her knife. “We will dance later tonight, m’lord, and there will be pallet girls available for your pleasuring.”

She glanced around, assessing the terrain beyond the gates of the flatlander village. “We can park our wagons over there,” Alana pointed to a stand of swaying conifers beside a small creek. “If that is agreeable with you,” she said to the chief constable, ignoring the others who stared up at her, grinning.

“Yeah, I suppose it will be acceptable.” He drew a large knife from a sheath on his belt and pointed the wide, shining blade at Alana. “Keep your brats outside the gates, though, and I don’t want to see more than three adults together in the village at any one time either. You can set up tables for trade goods, but I’ll be around every day at dusk to collect the ten percent tax on your take. How long are you people planning to stay at Pyne?”

Alana nodded. “That’s all agreeable,” she said sweetly. “We’ll be here for a few days … no more than three, to rest our animals and resupply our wagons. We are in need of a guide, as well. Can you recommend someone who knows the best route to the mountains in the west?”

The eyes of all four men went wide. “Th-that’s Dark Elf territory,” the toothless man stammered. “You’ll be hard pressed to find anyone to guide you there. We don’t enter their territory and the pointy-eared bastards stay away from ours.”

“What business do you have with the Dark Elves?” The chief constable asked with narrowed eyes.

“We’ve got no business with them,” Alana admitted, but smoothed her red hair to conceal her ears that sported distinctive points at their tips. “We’re on our way west to find a valley of our own … where we can have a fresh start and grow our berries and make our wine.”