Seeker (The Source Chronicles Book 1) (44 page)

They all looked stunned at that.  It was totally unexpected for any in the position of Speaker to so easily give up the office.

“Underspeaker?” asked Erlonn Broyva.

He shook his head.  “You are the Speaker, Erlonn Broyva.”

“Archivist?”

“You remain where you are, Speaker,” said Sir Brodan staunchly.

“Herald?”

“There’s no question in my mind, Erlonn Broyva.  You are Speaker.”

“Chronicler?”

Baroness Kurrman was shaking her head.  “No wrong has been done.  You do what you must.  You are the Speaker, Erlonn Broyva.”

“Underchronicler?”

“You remain Speaker of the Common, Erlonn Broyva.”

“Thank you,” the Speaker.  “There is much still to be done.  The King has, as you read, placed Baron Foltupp at my disposal.  I, in turn, place him before you all.”

He paused, noting the responses around the table.  “We are done here, then.  You may go.”

They departed, all save Garen Val-Sharron and Sir Garvol. 

“Do you wish me to address the Common, Erlonn Broyva?” questioned Sir Garvol.             

“It would make things much easier.  They’ll take the news better, coming from a member of Council.”

Sir Garvol bowed his head.  “Indeed.  I see now the Common serves a greater purpose than we’ve credited you with.  You lead brilliantly, Erlonn Broyva.”

The Speaker of the Common had heard that the Warlord did not give compliments lightly.  “Thank you, Sir Garvol.”

Sir Garvol looked to Garen Val-Sharron, gestured respectfully to him, then left the room.

“Garen?” queried Erlonn Broyva after Sir Garvol was gone.

He wore a pleased but notably sad look on his face.  “My son.  The King sent word of my son.  He is among the Falcon Raiders.  An officer, no less.”

“Are you disappointed?” asked Erlonn Broyva.

“Not really.  I should be.  After being drummed from the Guardsmen, to join the band that has been so much trouble to this kingdom...but to follow the Princess...”

He paused.  “And to think he is so trusted by her as to be one of her Lieutenants...” his eyes sparkled.  “No, I actually find myself quite proud of him.  He’s done well for himself after all.”

Erlonn Broyva placed a hand on his Herald’s shoulder.  “The Falcon Raiders go to Penkira.  Your son is with them.  They fight
for
the Crown, now.  They are outlaws no more.”

Garen Val-Sharron looked thoughtfully at the Speaker.  “Then he
will
do me proud, in the end.  I only hope I get a chance to speak with him again.”

“If he’s at all the fighter you are, my friend,” Erlonn Broyva commented.  “I cannot doubt the chance will present itself.”

Chapter 33

Cam rode at the side of the King, leading nearly three-hundred Baronial Guardsmen of houses Dovan, Foltupp, and formerly Tilroan, en route to Vantirr.  Varlock-Sharron decided along the way that he would dissolve the house of Tilroan, and had already taken the guardsmen as his own, now. 

Tilroan’s soldiers would be loyal to whoever paid their wages. 

They spoke often, Varlock-Sharron and Cam.  The Sorcerer told him of his journeys, the libraries he’d visited, the lands he’d seen, the cities he’d passed through.  He talked quietly of his abilities, and at night coaxed Varlock-Sharron into learning some of what he could do with his own untapped powers.

“What harm can it do, your Majesty?” asked Cam patiently the first night they’d camped.

“I am unsure, Cam,” replied the King quietly.  “I have never been comfortable with this.  I am not certain I want to learn its use.  Can you help me block it?”

“No, your Majesty.  That’s not possible.  And believe me, its loss is devastating, so I wouldn’t even consider that.  Unused or not, you have this skill.  Why don’t we start small?”

“How about we not start at all?” remarked the King.

Cam shrugged.  “The choice is, of course, yours.  For a man who claims to be a scholar, I’m surprised you would not wish to learn what this might make you capable of.”

Varlock-Sharron said nothing for a moment.  “You are asking me to turn around a belief I have held now for over thirty years.  Sorcery killed my father, nearly killed me, and later took the life of my daughter.  I have banned its use in this kingdom for most of my life, and denied my own connection to it.”

“Let’s look at this another way, then,” pressed Cam.  “How did you feel when you began to study swordfighting, began to learn tactical and strategic planning?  In the beginning, when you had no idea how it was done?”

Varlock-Sharron clearly looked into himself a moment.  “I felt that my father wanted the impossible,” he recalled.  “I did not think I would ever gain proper balance when I was fighting, and I just could not keep all the ideas of military operations in my head, and his generals inundated me with information.”

“Did you press on, or give up at any point?”

“One morning, I threw down my sword, cursed out the generals, and locked myself in my room,” Varlock-Sharron began to chuckle.  “I was barely ten years old.  But that was the first time my father spoke to me like a man.  He explained that, with time, it would come to me.  He expressed his confidence in me, and my ability to learn.  He gave me the day to consider his words, and I began again the next morning.”

“How long did it take for you to prove the truth in his words?”

“Not long, really.  A few weeks or so.”

“So you went on to become skilled with these things,” Cam concluded.  “After that, you found that scholarly pursuits were something you enjoyed, correct?”

“Indeed,” replied Varlock-Sharron, the curiosity in his voice apparent.

“Sorcery, Varlock-Sharron Anduin, I have come to learn, is a life long pursuit.  Before I came here, it was my everything.  But now, I see it for what it truly is.”

“And that would be?”

“A tool,” stated Cam definitively.  “Like any pen, or sword, or spoon, or shovel.  But unlike those, Sorcery is misunderstood, even, as far as I have seen, by those of us who wield this tool.  And so I now study it, more closely than before, to learn how to better its use.  You, your Majesty, are a lifelong student, as you have said, and after all these years, I have shown you a different aspect of Sorcery.  During our conversations, you’ve asked many questions…and for many of them, you could find answers on your own, if you begin to study this.”

Varlock-Sharron turned his head towards the Sorcerer, a look of deep consideration in his eyes.  “You make an intriguing argument.  Indeed, you have touched upon a lifelong curiosity, really.  You are a very persuasive man, do you know that?  Very well, then, in the interest of scholarly pursuits, why not?  Show me Sorcery, Cam Murtallan.”

“As you will, your Majesty,” Cam smirked a moment, then began.  “I’ve never taught anyone how this is done.  I learned this all on my own, you know.  This should prove interesting.  Let’s begin.  Seat yourself more comfortably.”

Varlock-Sharron shifted, until he sat cross-legged beside Cam.

“Now then, close your eyes.  Take deep breaths.  Inhale...exhale.  Inhale...exhale.  Good.  Slow your heart.  Listen to my voice....”

“This is uncanny, Cam,” remarked the King.

“This is the only way I know how to teach you,” Cam said patiently.  “Will you heed my words, or not?”

Varlock-Sharron cleared his throat, regained his composure.  “Very well, then.  As a scholar, I am always interested in learning new things.  Time to be serious.  Let us try this.”

They went through the breathing exercises again.  When Cam was certain Varlock-Sharron was at the edge of a meditative state, he continued.

“Concentrate.  Slow your breath, slow your heart,” Cam paused, waiting.  “Yes, like you do before you practice sword exercises.  Good.  Good.  Use your inner eye, Varlock-Sharron.  Seek inside yourself.  You’re looking for a globe of light.  An orb of intense energies, and power.  Look hard.  Start near your heart.  If it’s not there, seek it out.  Sense it.  Try and feel it.”

“I...I see it,” said the King quietly after several minutes.

“Good.  Don’t touch it.  Focus on it.  Tell me, what do you see?”

“Colors...” said Varlock-Sharron quietly.  “So many colors...too many to describe.  Light...light playing all around it.  It is beautiful...”

“Good, stay focused on this, Varlock-Sharron.  This is the center of your power.  This
is
the power within you.  This is Sorcery.”

“I never knew this was here,” the King nearly whispered.

“Stay with me.  Now, keeping in mind where that power is, open your eyes.”

Varlock-Sharron slowly opened his eyes, seeing Cam, then looking to the campfire.  “The fire!  It is so intense...so many colors...I see it so clearly!”

“Good, then you’re in the right place to do this,” said Cam.  “Watch and observe, then repeat as I do.”

Cam took a moment, focused, then looked to the fire.  “Power within me, magic of sorcery, power beyond sight:  Make the fire dimmer, cease some of this heat and light.  Bring the flames lower, and with this spell, mute its light.  Dim the fire, lesson its heat, fire shrunken by my power...Dim!”

The fire dimmed, sinking down, the heat dissipating.

Varlock-Sharron said nothing, but Cam could sense him becoming slightly agitated.

“Stay with me, your Majesty, that was only half.”

Varlock-Sharron nodded his head mutely.

“Power within me, magic of sorcery, power beyond sight,” Cam began again.  “Revive this fire, return its heat, and its light.  Make the flames higher, with this spell, make them hotter.  Raise the fire, increase its heat, fire grown by my power...Ignite!”

The fire roared up again, hotter and more brilliant than before.

“Are you ready, Varlock-Sharron?”

“I think so...” the King whispered.

“Gather the thought.  Know your intent.  Take it slow...and when you are ready, cast the spell.”

The King took a moment to do as Cam instructed, then he began.

“Power within me, magic of sorcery, power beyond sight:  Make the fire dimmer, cease some of this heat and light.  Bring the flames lower, and with this spell, mute its light.  Dim the fire, lesson its heat, fire lessened by my power...Dim!”

Tentatively, the fire dimmed.  Soon, it was less intense, clearly affected by Varlock-Sharron’s spell.

“I did it!” Varlock-Sharron exclaimed.

“Now bring it back,” said Cam.

Varlock-Sharron tried twice, but was clearly too excited.  Feeling the chill, Cam took over, and brought the flame back up.

“I did it once,” said the King in his defense after.

Cam nodded his head, grinning.  “You did indeed, your Majesty.  Not bad for one who has denied his power so long.”
              The rest of that night had been uneventful.  The next day, they spoke quite a bit as they rode, traveling along the well maintained highway, crossing areas with rolling fields, patchy woodlands, and occasional farmsteads. 

Sharron was a nation of many terrains, and thus had a source for nearly every kind of product a strong nation might need to produce.  The road itself was dirt and stone, serviced along its path by the Kingdom itself at some intervals, other times by the local infrastructure. 

The following night, they worked a little more on Sorcery.  While Varlock-Sharron began to learn has sorcerous capabilities, Cam learned a lot about the politics of the Estarian continent, which he’d never given thought to before. 

As they shared their different knowledge bases with one another, their friendship grew stronger bonds.

After the second night, Royal Guardsmen, led by Captain-General Ov Callan, met with them upon the road.  The Guardsmen were clearly exhausted, having ridden hard from Gara-Sharron even during the night, taking turns resting and leading one-another.  Varlock-Sharron was pleased that the Baron had reached Gara-Sharron so quickly, and went over scrolls sent by the Regent, Sir Tulock.

It was quite obvious when they’d crossed into the Vann Region, as the land became flat, fertile fields broken only by marshes as far as the eye could see.  Cam learned that to the south, where the Mendanaria was broader and deeper, much of the land would be flooded during periods of heavy rains. 

Before the sun set again, they reached Vantirr.   Cam had seen it on the horizon, standing out on the level plain.  Wooden walls rising above the field, appearing to present imposing defenses.  Clearly this was an outpost, the first line of defense against a pending attack, rather than a place of refuge to be held up in during a siege.  As they neared, there were clear signs that it had been attacked before.

As they rode into the gate, a pair of important looking men met them.  Each saluted, fist to heart.

“Your Majesty,” the taller of them intoned, his long salt and pepper hair pulled back and tied off.  “Welcome to Outpost Vantirr.”

“General Bodrir, General Sopirr,” the King acknowledged them.  “Glad we could join you.   We have many things to discuss.”

“Your Majesty…I don’t mean to pry, but isn’t this the Sorcerer you had planned to have executed?” queried the one Cam presumed to be Bodrir.

“Indeed.  He has been granted an amnesty, and has been instrumental in events of the past week.”

“I can hardly wait to hear,” the General said, looking at Cam with a curious eye.

Their horses were taken, and they were led to a conference room by the Generals, where they were offered food and drink, and rested from the road.

Varlock-Sharron explained the presence of the Sorcerer.  He then told the Generals of the outcome of the Falcon Raider crisis, and the mission his no-longer rebellious daughter had undertaken.  They were clearly thrilled with the anticipated arrival of the Black Knight Company, and that Lyrra-Sharron was not dead, and might be helpful against the Medealians, in the end. 

The following day, Cam had remained at the King’s side, at his request.  The King, Guardsman Captain-General and Army Generals and their staff went over troop placements, probable enemy soldier locations, and contingent battle plans.  During the course of the morning, Cam had learned much about military strategy.  He asked questions, and found answers.  He never made a suggestion, save when the King asked if he had any.

At first, the Generals and other officers seemed to resent the presence of the Sorcerer.  But as the morning wore on, they came to a grudging respect.  Cam had learned much from his time with Lyrra-Sharron and Dak, and now became aware of even more from the King and his generals, noted to be among the greatest military strategists in the world.  His contributions were few, but important.  Over all he simply gained a deeper perspective about a great many things.

As the day wore on, Cam found a pair of soldiers who claimed to be adept with the rapier.  Observed by Varlock-Sharron and General Sopirr, Cam had gone through the motions with a practice blade.  Though he’d only fought with rapier for a few months, Cam bested his opponents four out of five bouts. 

An hour later, with only four defeats against three opponents, Cam had earned the respect of the officers, and a majority of the soldiers.  His place at the side of the King was no longer questioned.  Cam pondered quietly what they would think if he showed off his skills with his staff.

More often than not, Cam simply observed.  He studied.  He watched soldiers drill.  He overheard some passing conversations, knew they were nervous.  He saw the uncertainty over the forces they would face.  He listened to the plans laid out, altered, and laid out again.

Another two days passed, the morning found Cam Murtallan sitting upon the battlement, legs crossed, having just come out of his trance.

The sun was rising in the mostly clear sky, apart from wispy clouds here and there.  It was a perfectly crisp, end of Stillness morning.

He was clad in heavy black boots up to the top of his shins, a dark green tunic, covered in studded leather armor.  His rapier was belted at his side.  His hair was pulled back and tied off with a leather cord.