Seeker (The Source Chronicles Book 1) (11 page)

Dak knelt by the merchant’s body, uncharacteristically gentle.  “I’m sorry, Max.”

Cam stepped up to Dak’s shoulder.  “Let me help you bury them, Dak.  It’s the least I can do.”

*****

It was almost dark when they reached the clearing.  Cam was concerned that the guards he had fought would be conscious by now.  “I doubt I killed any of them,” he explained.

None of Cam’s former opponents stirred as he reached them.  When he checked more closely, he found each soldier’s throat had been slit.

“What did you do?” questioned Cam angrily, glaring at the Princess.

“It was necessary.  If they escaped, they would have reported where we were,” defended Lyrra-Sharron.

“That was brutal, and uncalled for,” said Cam heatedly.  “You could have bound and gagged them.  We’dve been gone before they could have done anything.”

Lyrra-Sharron turned and walked away without uttering a word.

Dak said nothing.

In silence, Lyrra-Sharron bound Dak’s wounded forearm.  She pointed out Cam’s slashed limb to Dak, and the ex-soldier once more played healer to the sorcerer, dressing Cam’s minor injury.  Lyrra-Sharron, meanwhile, began moving the bodies of the dead into the underbrush, further from the road.

As night fell, they took the soldiers’ armor and found pieces to fit each of them.  The fugitives took weapons as well, and chose the best three horses still on the road.  The rest were scared off by Dak, running away down the road in either direction. 

Lyrra-Sharron noted that Cam climbed atop the horse with some familiarity, easing the Princesses’ concerns that he had no riding experience.

She spoke for the first time since Cam’s ire with her as they all made ready to ride.

“Dak will show the way.  His night vision is excellent, and he knows where we must go.  If we encounter more soldiers, stay back, and let Dak speak with them.  We should be able to convince them we are from another company, so long as they do not notice me, or your staff.  We should be able to make our hideout by dawn, with a little side tracking to throw off any possible pursuit.”

Cam made no response, not hiding his continued displeasure with Lyrra-Sharron over her execution of the wounded soldiers.

“Lead on, Dak.”

They rode off at a walk, Dak just slightly ahead, Lyrra-Sharron and Cam side by side, flanking.  To the casual observer, they looked like a platoon, out on patrol.  With luck, they would rejoin the Falcon Raiders by morning.

*****

King Varlock-Sharron Anduin pondered the last time he’d slept.  Midnight was now long past, and the night before he’d gotten no rest, either.  He sat alone now in the main chambers where the Council met.  Scrolls were strewn all around his table, reports and requests and other business that he needed to examine.  But he couldn’t concentrate.

Varlock-Sharron arose, stretching.  He wore a plain grey tunic, black breeches, soft leather boots.  His hair was down, a simple black leather belt about his waist, the end hanging to just below his left knee. 

He moved to the window, looking out over his palace courtyard, into the city.  He glanced upwards, seeing both moons, Aelunae and I’lunae, neither full, each more than half, outshining the stars.  He contemplated a walk upon the battlements to clear his head.

He felt a change in the air as someone entered the room, and turned to see Lady Ara Wiram come in.  She looked tired, but alert.  She also wore very plain attire, a simple purple tunic and grey skirt to her ankles.  She inclined her head slightly to the King.

“You should rest, your Majesty,” she said quietly.  “You neglected sleep last night, and now you do so again tonight.  You will think and act more effectively with a clear head.”

Varlock-Sharron grinned ruefully.  “Are you certain you are not a nanny, Ara?”

She laughed lightly.  “Nay, my liege.  It has been a long time, now, since we had any children in the Palace.  But I am worried about you.  Any word?”

The King let out an exasperated breath.  “None.  We are certain she has escaped Gara-Sharron, but to where is anyone’s guess.”

Lady Ara took a seat.  “I wanted to ask you about something I have heard.  It came to my attention that you are no longer demanding the capture of your daughter alive.”

King Varlock-Sharron said nothing.  He only stared out the window.

“My liege, can you really condone the murder of your own flesh and blood?”

The King continued to look intently out the window.

Lady Ara arose, and moved just behind the King.  “Varlock-Sharron...speak to me.”

“She is a criminal.  She incites rebellion.  She stirs the people against me.”

“That is no answer.”

He turned to her, his face set.  “Princess Lyrra-Sharron Anduin has committed highest treason.  She leads brigands and rebels against me, and she makes a mockery of our family name.  She knows the laws.  She knows her crimes.  The punishment for this is a forgone conclusion.”

“What about the stability of Sharron?  The continuation of the rule of the family Anduin?”

Varlock-Sharron walked away, towards the table.  He didn’t turn to face Lady Ara.  “How can Sharron be kept stable under my rebellious daughter?  I am still young.  I can take another wife, sire another child.  The Anduins will continue to rule Sharron.  I will see to that.”

Lady Ara was silent a time, looking out the window.  She turned to her King.  “Since Kyrra-Sharron left us, you’ve taken many to your bed.  But you have never loved another, as you loved her.  Have you a mistress worthy of the void she left you?  Can you sire a child by a woman you must make the equal of your dead wife?”

Varlock-Sharron turned to her, slowly.  It sent a shiver down her spine, the look he gave her.  His voice was formal, and determined.  “I am the King.  I will do what must be done.”

Lord Tulock entered, looking far more awake than Varlock-Sharron felt.  “Your Majesty, we have a new problem.”

“What has happened?”

Lord Tulock laid down a scroll, and opened it.  The King moved up behind him, and observed it to be a map of his eastern frontiers, the borders with Medaelia and Cordianlott.

“There are definitely soldiers in Penlorka, and they are increasing in numbers,” said Tulock.  “But that’s only half.  What’s most interesting, and by interesting I mean disturbing, are the soldiers quietly moving into northern Medaelia from Cordinalott.”

“Where is General Bodrir?” asked the King directly.

“Issuing orders to General Sopirr,” replied Tulock.  “He and Sir Garvol will be here shortly.  They sent me ahead to show you where the movement is.”

The King looked down at the maps.  “How do we know about Cordianlott soldiers moving into Medaelia?  How do we know they are not preparing to immediately attack?”

“I have excellent spies,” said Sir Garvol, strolling into the room with General Bodrir just behind him.  “I have agents among the soldiers of Medaelia, and among the officers of Cordianlott.  It would appear King Wilnar-Medira and King Juron
have
made some sort of deal.  Lord Mika’s ‘rumors’ have some truth to them.  Though I am still concerned that he heard anything before me.”

“I have ordered General Sopirr to double the garrison at Vanntir, and to move more troops into the Vann Region,” added General Bodrir.

The King shook his head, still looking at the maps.  “No, General, bring him here.  Get me the rest of the Council.  Now.”

Lord Tulock Oran ordered the King’s guards to find the others.

In ten minutes, they were all there, save one.

“Lord Mika Forkuln is not in the palace, your Majesty,” stated Captain-General Callan.  “No one has seen him since the Council met after the Sorcerer was freed.  We’re looking for any useful representative of his staff now.”

“We shall have to deal with that later,” said the King.  “If Lord Mika has already left Gara-Sharron, he is probably up to no good. We will keep an eye on this situation for later.  Right now, we have more pressing matters.  We need to move smartly.  Tulock?”

Lord Tulock filled in everyone on the situation at the Medaelian border, and the apparent alliance between Wilnar-Medira and Pol Juron.  When he concluded, Varlock-Sharron took over.

“Of course we are not meant to know of the troop movements between Medaelia and Cordinalott.  If we shift more soldiers into Vanntir, we show them we know more than we should.  We have already added several companies to the outpost in anticipation of the closing of Gara-Sharron becoming public knowledge, correct?”

General Bodrir acknowledged.  “Done.  They arrive tomorrow.”

“Leave it at that, then,” said the King.  He stood.  “We shall convene again tomorrow, but for tonight, this is what I want to be done.  We have an impending situation on the eastern frontier.  We also have the threat of the Falcon Raiders inside our borders.  I do not like the idea of a two-front war.”  He paused, changing his attention.  “Admiral Trem-Sharron, send more ships up the river Medanaria, quietly.  I want them in a position to attack soldiers in the Vann region, or within Medaelia itself, or to ferry troops, if need be.  But I want them ready.”

Admiral Trem-Sharron saluted.  “It shall be done, your Majesty.”

The King looked to General Bodrir, and General Sopirr.  “Place more troops just outside of the Vann Region, close enough to reach the border, but spread out enough to not look obvious to errant scouts.  Also, and we will discuss this further tomorrow, I want a company, reinforced with reserves and trainees, to be ready to march towards our border with Cordianlott.  King Juron always likes to curry favor with Wilnar-Medira.  If he sees me threatening him, he might withdraw from any allegiance with Medaelia.”

Varlock-Sharron sat down again.  “We must also be concerned with the Falcon Raiders.  I want you to call up the reserves, and use as many companies as possible.  Begin to sweep from fifty miles outside of Gara-Sharron in all directions.  Check all the woodlands, abandoned villages, farmhouses.  Everywhere.  Leave no stone unturned.  Find the Falcon Raiders.”

“Captain-General Callan,” the King addressed now the head of the Guardsmen.  “You will send out Guardsmen to cover the fifty mile area between Gara-Sharron and the Army’s sweeps.  That way, the Generals will be still have plenty of soldiers to bring to the eastern frontiers if battle appears imminent.”

The members of the Council acknowledged the King’s commands.

“Carry out my orders.  Then get some rest.  We shall meet again tomorrow, and I will map out the overall plan with you.  We will be ready for any action on our borders, and we will find and eliminate the Falcon Raiders.  Dismissed.”

As they left, talking quietly amongst themselves, King Varlock-Sharron Anduin remained.  He gazed off into space, lost in thought.

Lord Tulock approached as if to speak with him, but paused, then turned to leave. Lady Ara Wiram waited near the door a few moments after the others had gone, and then departed herself.  Varlock-Sharron knew they both contemplated speaking with him as a friend, knowing that when he was like this, he could only be a King.

Varlock-Sharron had impending war on a third front, within himself.  He knew his laws, carried them out as had to be done.  Not even he, nor his family, was above them. 

He did not want to see his daughter die.  The King knew that he had no choice, knew that her rebellion had to be stopped.  But the man could not bear the thought of his own child being murdered. 

As always, Varlock-Sharron Anduin, King of Sharron, would see to the defense of his kingdom, and his right to the throne.  His heart and mind set, he arose from his seat.  War was his only option.

Chapter 11

His stomach rumbled.  It had been hours since he’d had his supper, and hours yet til sunrise.  Not that it mattered, and not that his supervisor cared.

Sure, he had volunteered…but how was he to know he would wind up working so late into the night?  He recalled exactly what they’d been told.

“Okay, lads,” the boss had said, making a rare appearance in the Third Degree Mason’s Berth.  “The crown has passed us an emergency job.  I need five volunteers for a work shift tonight.  You won’t be paid time and a half, but you will make your hourly for however long it takes.”

“Does the time count towards practical for Second Degree?” questioned Char, always a pragmatist.

The boss considered it a moment.  “Sure, yeah, why not?”

So he had volunteered.  His wife was due to have their second child in a matter of weeks, and they had been eyeing a new, larger residence down the block from their own.  He was only ten hours from clearing the needed time, and he had already passed the tests to be advanced to a Second Degree Mason.  The extra Gold Crown per work day, and the guarantee of more work time as a Second Degree would allow them the resources to upgrade their home.

His father would be proud.  Raised on a farmland east of Shartu, near the Medaelian border, originally he had hoped to take over the family lands. 

But years ago, when he was in his teens, a Medaelian Army platoon had crossed the border, and razed their farm.  The barn, the house, and the fields were completely devastated before the nearest fire brigade had reached them. 

The local Baron had paid out minimal compensation, not enough to rebuild, and too late in the season to replant, so his father had taken them to Gara-Sharron, in the hopes of finding better opportunities.

His father discovered the local public works was nearly always hiring, and the steady, though low salary was enough to get his family a small apartment.  His younger brother could attend a school, and his mother found work as a seamstress.

In a short time, he too sought out work, and became a Mason.  As a Fifth Degree Mason, he had barely made enough to buy food, but along with his parents’ salaries, they lived decent lives.

When he made Fourth Degree, he moved into a new apartment with Char and a couple more co-workers.  His younger brother went off to join the Army.  His parents continued to work, and he saw them once a week for supper.

Then he met Alya-Sharron, and his life would never be the same.  Before the season was out, they were married, and moved in to a tiny loft together.  At the end of the year, she was six months pregnant with their first child.

So he alone earned a living, and he worked diligently and hard to support his family.  Every chance he got he worked to advance to the next degree, and was considered one of the most reliable of the Masons employed by the City of Gara-Sharron Public Works.

So here he was, in the middle of the night, bricking up the entranceway to a never-used service tunnel for the aqueduct.

When they first started to work, the sun setting, a group of three men from the Waterworks arrived, complaining bitterly about the sealing of this passage.  They had argued with the supervisor, a First Degree Mason, until he had sent one of the other Third Degrees’ to find the boss.

The supervisor agreed to stop the work til the boss arrived.  Ten minutes later, when he did, there was a lengthy argument that ensued, ending when the boss produced a writ, claiming it came from the Seneschal of the Kingdom himself. 

They read it a few times, muttering to themselves, then departed, making it apparent they remained irked.

“Boss, we still get paid for this hour?” asked Char.

The boss chuckled.  “Not yer fault, lads.  Yeah, you’ll be paid.”

So the work had continued.  Eventually, special portable oil work lamps were brought out, illuminating the alleyway almost brighter than a mid afternoon sun could. 

The owners of the nearest homes complained, until the supervisor showed them the writ the boss had left with him.

They worked on, pausing only to drink from a water-flask the supervisor offered now and then.

He had lost all track of time, but Char had just passed him the last brick, which he set in place.  Another Mason held aloft a tub of mortar.  He put some on the trowel, and worked it into the joints between the bricks, and the top of the passageway’s concrete.

Soon, it was finished, and he took a step back.  The other two masons and the man mixing and providing the mortar had only three or four bricks left to go.  He and Char had always been a phenomenal team.

“How late ya think it is, Jak?” Char questioned.

He shrugged, feeling the tightness in his shoulders from the hours of work at various angles.  “Dunno.  Gotta be tomorrow, by now.”

The supervisor stepped in front of them, checking their work.  He ran his ungloved hand over the brick and joints, checking for imperfections of improperly mortared areas.  He began to bob his head up and down in approval, and turned.

“Char, Jak?  As always, nice work.  Clean up your tools, but leave ‘em here on the cart, I’ll get ‘em back to the workshop.  Go home, get some sleep.”

“Uh, Jarick, we get paid until they finish?” asked Char.

The supervisor rolled his eyes.  “Char ApDornn, you will squeeze every silver piece out of every job you can, won’t you?”

“Can I help it if Jak and I work too fast?” Char asked, feigning indignance.

Jarick said nothing more, pointed to the tools lying off to the side, and went to observe the work of the other three.

Jak and Char picked up their trowels, went to the water buckets near the cart, and cleaned them off. 

Jak paused to look up for the moons, and found them.  Judging from their position in the skies, it had to be a couple hours past midnight. 

“How many hours to Second Degree you think remain for ya?” Char questioned.

Jak considered it a moment.  “We just worked about eight hours.  So that leaves me two.  I’m back on the retaining wall project in the west tomorrow, so I qual at the end of the day.”

Char grunted low in his throat.  “Lucky bastard.  I need another seventeen hours myself.  How did you pull that far ahead, anyhow?”

Jak grinned.  “I take less work days off to recover from a late night at the pub with you and the boys since I became a father.”

Char just grunted again, and finished cleaning his trowel.

Jak’s grin broadened.  Thinking about his wife, his son, and his unborn child made him feel like the luckiest man in the Kingdom. 

He had his work, he had his family, and he had his friends.  Jak didn’t care why they needed to close off a dingy passageway through the north wall, under the aqueduct.  He worked to support his family, and so long as he made a living that could keep a roof over their heads and food in their bellies, life was good.

He put the trowel into the cart, emptied his water bucket and placed it their too.  A yawn crept up on him, and he had to acknowledge how sleepy he was.  He made certain nothing was left where he’d been working, and started down the alley, towards the street and home.

“’Night, Jak!” Char called.  Jak turned, saw his friend walking slowly, backwards, the other way down the alley.

“G’night, Char,” he responded.  He checked the dagger at his back, not that he’d need it.  The streets were crawling with constables, Soldiers, and Guardsmen all day, and more than once down the alley during the night.  He didn’t know, or frankly care, why. 

Char had mentioned something about the public hanging yesterday going badly, but Jak had been with his wife and son all day, enjoying a day off alone with the people who were his whole life. 

His special work permit was in his pouch, so if he was stopped along the way, he could produce it as explanation for why he was on the streets so late into the night.

He yawned again.  Dismissing all other thoughts, Jak wanted to get home, and climb into bed beside his wife, and get as much sleep as he could, before returning to work tomorrow.  The unusual late night work shift would hardly make a dent in the routine that was Jak’s life.  He didn’t care in the least just how regular and ordinary his life might have been.

*****

The sun was beginning to rise.  Lyrra-Sharron, Dak Amviir and Cam Murtallan rode their horses at a slow walk along the quiet, obviously seldom used road.  The night had not been completely uneventful, for they had encountered two patrols. But each time Dak had succeeded at convincing them that they, too, were a platoon of Sharron Army soldiers.

They hardly spoke during their ride.  Lyrra-Sharron suspected that Cam was in a nearly meditative state.  Conscious enough to stay in the saddle, but folded within himself for some other purpose.  And she suspected he was still cross with her, too.

They were all tired, but very alert.  After everything they had been through, getting caught now, at the end of so long a journey, would be not only humiliating, but completely unacceptable. 

A twig snapped just off the road, and Dak raised a hand, calling a stop.  They paused, not drawing weapons, listening.

“I hope the birds aren’t feeling vengeful this morning,” Dak called, somewhat over-loud.

A slight rustling off to the right, and moments later three men stepped out of the woods along the road.  Two had crossbows, the third a short recurve bow.  Each was additionally armed with swords of varying types and knives.  They wore the same attire, black breeches, colored tunics, and black, studded leather vests.  And their weapons were aimed at the three on horseback.

“No one has ever called a hungry falcon vengeful,” stated the man with the bow.

“Then we are mistaken,” replied Lyrra-Sharron, dropping her hood.

The Flacon Raiders lowered their weapons, and each bowed their heads to acknowledge the riders.  “Your Highness,” intoned the man with the recurve, “we did not know when to expect you back.  Word came that Gara-Sharron was sealed.”

“It was, Darak, it was,” said Lyrra-Sharron.  “How many of our people are here, and who is in charge?”

“We have thirty-five at this base, with Torman in command.  Nadav is still with the main group, but has sent Varnon and a platoon to set up a third base.  We were unsure about your safety, and decided creating a third place you were ignorant of might be prudent.”

“Very good, Darak,” replied Lyrra-Sharron, pleased.  “I presume, then, that Nadav retains overall command?”

“Aye, your Highness,” he concurred.  “Torman is acting second of the whole of the Raiders. I’m Torman’s deputy here, and Varnon is Nadav’s.  As you ordered.”

Lyrra-Sharron turned to Dak.  “I was correct in my choice of Nadav, it would appear.”

“I told you that one had talent,” Dak stated.  “With our return, we’ll have to continue to put him to good use.”

Lyrra-Sharron addressed the Raiders on foot.  “Darak, have Andim and Kallan returned?”

“No.  We’ve gotten very little out of Gara-Sharron since it was sealed.  Torman thinks we’ve lost a lot of our informants there.”

Dak responded, “If Kurr talked, that may be.  I’ll look into it once we get reorganized.”

Lyrra-Sharron tapped a finger against her chin.  “Perhaps.  We are going to have a lot of work to do.  The King is not at all pleased with what we did.  He will certainly redouble his efforts to find us, now.  Let us get into the village, rest our horses, and continue from there.”

“If I may ask, your Highness, who is this man?” questioned Darak.

Lyrra-Sharron looked to Cam.  “His name is Cam Murtallan.  He was instrumental in our escape from the city.”

Cam inclined his head slightly to the man.

“I’ll run ahead and tell Torman you’re here.”

“Very well, Darak,” replied Lyrra-Sharron.

“Magan, Corlan, return to your pickets.  I’ll be back soon, and bring some food,” said Darak.  The crossbowmen saluted, then walked back into the woods.  Darak turned, and jogged up the road, away.

“It’s fortunate I taught them not to shoot Sharron soldiers on sight,” commented Dak.

Lyrra-Sharron smirked slightly at that, “Indeed.”  She turned to Cam, “Considering your present state, I thought it best not to make an issue of your, shall we say, vocation.  Besides, only a couple of my people know the whole reason we went to Gara-Sharron in the first place.”

Cam just looked at her, but made no response.  His eyes did not reveal his mood, either.

They rode ahead slowly.  After just another five minutes, before them arose the walls of the abandoned village of Tarmollo. 

On first glance, Tarmollo appeared to be a normal, walled community.  But past that, it was hard to miss the obvious disrepair of the ramparts, and the scorch marks along their tops.  No smoke rose from the village, and an eerie silence seemed to emanate from the town.  All three on horseback shivered.

“What happened here?” asked Cam quietly.

Dak answered, in a hushed tone.  “Six years ago, plague ravaged this village.  Guardsmen quarantined it, then burned it to the ground.  It has been vacant since.”

“I can believe it,” remarked Cam.  “The souls of the dead still linger.”