Seeker (The Source Chronicles Book 1) (12 page)

Lyrra-Sharron twisted in her saddle towards the Sorcerer.  “You believe dead souls can hurt us, Cam Murtallan?”

He grunted low in his throat.  “Of course not.  But I’d bet no one sleeps soundly within those walls.”

They rode on, approaching the gate.  Several men with bows and crossbows stood atop the ramparts, barely noticeable, except at closer range.  There were many advantages to sixty feet of stone.

Two men and a woman stood just inside the gate, clearly awaiting the group on horseback.  One of the men stepped forward as they drew to a halt.  He looked tired, but alert.

“Your Highness,” he intoned.  His tunic was green, his studded leather vest open.  He wore a sword at his hip, along with several knives.  He had strait, dark brown hair cut close to the scalp, and dull hazel eyes.  He bowed slightly, the others doing so as well.  “Welcome back.  We heard nothing, and were concerned.”

“It is good to be back, Torman.  Our return was…complicated.  Things are agreeable here?”

“Yes, excepting that no one has been sleeping too well.”

Lyrra-Sharron turned and looked at Cam.  He responded with a shrug of his shoulders.

Torman continued.  “But that’s of little consequence.  What happened to you?”

They swung down off the horses, and Lyrra-Sharron began to tell him of everything that had transpired.  The other man led off the horses, and the woman walked away, only to return a few minutes later with water and bread for the three travelers.

*****

Cam stopped paying any attention to Lyrra-Sharron as he quietly ate the bread he’d been offered, and drank his fill of water.  He was far more thirsty than he realized.  It had been a long night, and try as he might, Cam had only barely been able to meditate on horseback.  Between his scattered thoughts, the movement of the horse, and his continued ire with Lyrra-Sharron, finding his center was almost impossible.

He looked at his surroundings.  The only buildings standing were severely damaged and charred
,
having barely survived the decimation of the village.  Several pavilions and smaller tents stood, though, and men and women walked about them.  Only thirty five in all were here, or so Darak had claimed.  There was certainly plenty of room for them. 

After his surge the day before, once more Cam found he had reduced the opening he’d made in his power.  But rather than let that frustrate him, he considered it, focused on it.  In anger, he could call it up, as though it had never left him.  But when he did that, he paid a price.  It was not an easy task, opening the webbing that held his power.

For many years now, his power, his self-perceived status as a Sorcerer, had been the absolute center of his being, the complete focus of his life.  Once he’d accepted it, he had made it himself.  Now, without it, he had to focus on who he was as a man.  All his life, Cam Murtallan had avoided that very notion. 

Growing up an orphan, living among the rubble and decay of a dying city, Cam was always defined either by the pack he ran with, or the simplicity of day-to-day survival.  After discovering sorcery, he made this the focus of his attentions.  Now, Cam was forced to focus on himself.  The time had come to discover whom exactly was the man named Cam Murtallan.

Against all odds, he had another chance.  Cam would work to restore his powers, even though he knew it would not be easy. Cam realized that if he wanted his abilities back, it was his only option.

With the loss of his powers, Cam would have to put his mission aside.  He had no choice.  His only alternative now was to cooperate with Lyrra-Sharron and her Falcon Raiders, and to discover how he could get his abilities back.

He shook his head to himself.  While he was grateful to be rescued, the Princesses’ senseless execution of those soldiers yesterday just did not sit well with Cam.  He debated with himself if making any mention of this to her was worth it, in the long run.

Cam came out of his reverie, and noticed Dak leaning against the wall.  His wound was clearly bleeding again.  Cam’s own injury had been rather superficial.

The Sorcerer walked over to Dak, who had not noticed him yet.  Quietly, when he got within earshot, he spoke, “You might want to have a physician look at that, Dak.  If you have one.”

Dak turned to him.  “Not here, though there may be a trained field medic or two.”  He turned to the woman, who wore a dark grey divided riding skirt, and brown tunic, standing near.  “Neva?  Could you find me a medic?” he raised his forearm, the cloth tied about it freshly bloody. 

She glanced towards him, noted his wound, and turned to walk towards the tents inside the village.

Cam moved closer to Dak.  “May I?” he asked.  Dak looked to him, and bowed his head once in agreement.  Cam took his arm, unwrapped the bandage, and examined the wound.

“This hurt as much as it looks like it does?” queried Cam.

Dak said nothing.

Cam took a deep breath, let it our slow.  “Alright, let me ask this.  How many of you Falcon Raiders are there, anyhow?”

“Around three-hundred or so,” said Dak.  “Not counting informants, and other sympathizers.”

“Just what is it you’re all sympathetic to, Dak?” asked Cam directly.

Dak almost glared at him.  “To the removal of the King.  But if you want more, you’ll have to ask Lyrra-Sharron.”

Cam was examining Dak’s wound closely.  “I think I might be able to do something for this, Dak…but you have to trust me.”

Dak looked at him more intently, then nodded his head in acceptance of the offer.

Cam took a deep breath, and slowed his heart some.  He began to mutter in a low voice, barely audible.  The language was familiar to virtually nobody, and Cam’s own understanding of it was limited to spellcasting.  When he was finished, he said calmly “Mend.”

Dak shivered slightly, then looked down at his arm.  It no longer bled, and the wound was clearly less deep then before.

“You have your powers back?” Dak asked softly, a note of astonishment in his tone.

Cam grinned ruefully.  “Not really.  Healing is perhaps the simplest of spells.  If I had all my power back, I could have closed the wound entirely, and left no trace of it, not even a scar,” he let out a sigh.  “At least I can do a little.”

“Thank you, then.” Dak acknowledged faintly.

Cam looked at Dak, saw the gratitude on his face.  It was more than he had expected from the man.  Maybe he could win his trust after all.

Cam began to pay attention to the conversation between Torman and Lyrra-Sharron again, as they were coming towards him and Dak.

“...is where we stand now, your Highness,” concluded Torman.  “We’re a small group here, another small group with Varnon, setting up a third base, and Nadav commands from the core.”

Lyrra-Sharron turned to Dak, drawing him back into the conversation.  “Do you think it wise to divide our forces so?”

Dak considered that a moment.  “Probably.  We can leave Nadav at the new site, and Torman here.  You can still run operations from our old location.”

“Excellent,” she replied.  “Torman, you shall need to send a runner to both of the other groups, let them know we are back.  We will stay with you for a couple days, then return to the main base.  After that, we move ahead with recruitment and plans.  The time has come to take action, before the King hunts us down.”

“Very well, Your Highness,” Torman replied.  “You’ve been riding all night, no?  Breakfast is being served in the central pavilion just ahead.  I’ll make sure to have tents erected for you at once.”

Neva returned with the bandages, and Dak held his arm out for her.  She seemed a bit surprised by how much better it looked, but went on to dress it without comment.

“Thank you, Torman,” said Lyrra-Sharron.  He saluted her, moved off.  She turned to Cam.  “Walk with me.”

Cam fell into step beside the Princess.  They were alone in the center of what had once been a large trader’s market.  “This is it, Cam Murtallan.  You have a choice.  I invited you to join us.  Now, it is your decision.  If you wish to leave, so be it.  I will give you the horse we captured, a small store of food, an extra blanket.  If you choose to leave, you would be wise to get out of Sharron as quickly as possible.  I cannot force you to join us, it must be your own choice.”

Cam considered his situation a moment before responding.  “I have to be honest.  I’ve considered leaving once or twice since we escaped Gara-Sharron.  I normally work alone, never one for joining a group.  But I’ve also considered what you went through when you saved me.  Whether or not that was your goal, you did it none-the-less, and my very life I owe to you.  I have to know, though, what this is all about.”

She tilted her head and looked into his eyes.  “This?”

Cam continued.  “You.  The Princess of this Kingdom.  The Falcon Raiders.  What’s it all about?”

Lyrra-Sharron seemed taken aback.  “You cannot be serious!  Cam Murtallan, my father was about to hang you for being what you are!  You do not think that makes the man a monster?”

Cam shrugged.  “He’s a King.  He does what he sees best, I suppose.  But you lived in his palace.  If you wanted the crown, why didn’t you just slit his throat?”

She reacted too fast for Cam to stop her.  Lyrra-Sharron caught Cam completely off guard, and punched him in the eye, knocking him to the ground.  She stood over him, furious.

“How dare you suggest such a thing!  I am no cold blooded murderer, like him!”  She took several deep breaths, then composed herself.  “I would never have the throne if I had taken his life.  We have laws that see to that.  I want the people to support me, lest our enemies see us as weak.  That is what this is about.  I speak for the people, something my father has forgotten how to do.”

Cam looked up to her, propped on his elbows, not yet ready to rise.  He decided this was definitely not the time to comment about the cut throats of the soldiers.  “So you say.  But what has he done that brought you to this?  I don’t believe ‘the people’ asked you to come and lead them.”

She crossed her arms, eyeing Cam acidly.  Then, she sighed, calming.  “It is too complicated a story to be told quickly, Cam Murtallan.  Not now.  I will explain, in time.”  She paused, took another deep breath, let it out slow, then continued.  “This is not going to be easy.  For either of us.  If you stay, I will teach you to fight, and use what assistance you can offer to end my father’s rule.  I may also have read something from the Royal Libraries that could help you better understand your current dilemma.”

“Doesn’t help me much with the library in the palace, and you here.”

Lyrra-Sharron tapped a finger to her temple.  “Eidetic memory.  Whatever I see, whatever I read, I can remember it completely.”

Cam made to rise.  Lyrra-Sharron offered him a hand, and he took it.

“It seems more beneficial for me to stay with you, than to strike out on my own,” Cam stated, having reached his decision.  “I’ll help you.  But I won’t be an ordinary foot soldier.  I work for you, and maybe Dak, directly.”

She inclined her head slightly in response.  “Agreed.  I have a feeling you will make a better advisor than soldier anyhow.  At least, for the time being.  I have to admit, though, you are very good with the staff.”

“When you’re a boy alone on the streets of an occupied city, you need to fight for your food to survive.  Blades are hard to come by.”  He paused.  A single push, he decided.  “One last thing, Lyrra-Sharron.”

“What is that?”

“Don’t do that again.  Next time, I’ll strike back.”

She smirked.  “Of course.  Next time I shall keep my head.”

Together, they walked to the pavilion where Dak and Torman were already eating steaming oatmeal.

Dak looked to Lyrra-Sharron.  “It’s settled, then?”

She glanced towards Cam.  “Indeed.  Cam Murtallan will be joining us after all.”

Dak nodded his head, and continued to eat.

Lyrra-Sharron turned to Torman.  “Torman ApCrill, this is Cam Murtallan.  He is a new advisor and personal guard.  Please see to it he has a tent erected for him.  Try as well to find him some clothes.  He has been a recent prisoner of my father’s, whom we freed.  I should like to make certain he is introduced to our key people.”

“Cam Murtallan,” Torman greeted him.

Cam responded in kind.

Lyrra-Sharron took a seat, and gestured for Cam to do so as well.  A young woman, no more than a teenager, served them.

“We have much to do,” commented Lyrra-Sharron.  “We need to learn what our losses were from our little excursion into town. We then need to re-group, and move to the next phase.  The time has come.”

Dak and Torman paid her full attention, Cam observed.  She did, he had to admit, have quite the command presence.

“This is only the beginning, my lords.  Our plans are in motion.  No more waiting.  Sharron will remain strong and whole.  I will see to that.  No matter what.”

Cam just sat there, ignoring any continuance to her oration, and pondered the situation he now found himself in.

For good or ill, he was no longer alone, on a quest only he was aware of.  What this would bode, even prophecy could not predict. 

At least now he had reclaimed the time.