Seeker (The Source Chronicles Book 1) (50 page)

Varlock-Sharron was impressed.  The fighting was mostly over.  The phantom reserves continued to remain in place, milling about, preparing weapons, laughing, muttering, stamping, a dull roar less than a quarter mile away. 

The King got off his horse.  He walked to Cam.  “Cam Murtallan?” he said.  Nothing.  The Sorcerer was shaking violently, the effort of maintaining the illusion clearly taking its toll on him.  “Cam Murtallan, it is over.  You can end this, now.”

Cam remained unresponsive, shaking, soaked from his own sweat.  He suddenly took a deep breath, as though he’d been holding it in all this time, and the phantom army simply vanished.

General Grom-Valock cried out in shock.  “I knew it was a deception!”

Varlock-Sharron glanced towards him.  “A very good illusion, and an astonishingly good Sorcerer.”

Cam Murtallan opened his eyes, proceeded to collapse.  Colonel Pirvarn and Captain Hir-Sharron caught him between them.  He did not speak, but gave them a look of deepest gratitude.

Varlock-Sharron chuckled.  “Well done, Cam Murtallan, well done!” Pirvarn and Hir-Sharron continued to support the weakened Sorcerer.

The King of Sharron turned to his Generals, and the stunned former commander of the Medaelian Army.

“Bodrir, Sopirr.  Take Grom-Valock, and have him order his commanders to gather their people, so we can round them up.  Have our forces take the Medaelians’ weapons.  Re-organize, and divide up the remainder of our forces.  Have half take charge of the prisoners, and get the other half ready to march into Medaelia.”

“It shall be done, your Majesty!” responded General Bodrir proudly.

They saluted, and rode off, leading the still clearly bewildered and dismayed Grom-Valock’s horse between them.

Varlock-Sharron looked to Cam.  “You did it, Cam Murtallan.  You saved my army, you saved my crown, and you saved my Kingdom.”

Cam smirked weakly, still supported by the Colonel and Captain.  “So I suppose you want to arrest me now, right?  I am an illegal Sorcerer, after all.”

Varlock-Sharron chuckled again.  “True.  But what kind of an ingrate would I be were I to have you hanged, now?”

He raised his voice.  “Captain-General Callan, Captain Hir-Sharron, Colonel Pirvarn, please witness this.  I hereby revoke the law banning Sorcery in Sharron.”

“Witnessed,” responded the commander of the Royal Guardsmen proudly.  His armor was dented on the right side of his breast plate, where a blunt weapon had impacted, but he was otherwise unhurt.

“Witnessed,” repeated both Pirvarn and Hir-Sharron.

“We shall do this formally, soon,” continued the King.

“What will become of Grom-Valock?” asked Cam, slowly recovering his strength, leaning less on his supporters.

“We shall return him to Wilnar-Medira.”

Varlock-Sharron frowned, remembering.  “Of course, if Lyrra-Sharron succeeds, Wilnar-Medira will be no more.”

Cam had finally regained his equilibrium, and stood on his own again.  “Let’s hope the Falcon Raiders are succeeding.”

Varlock-Sharron’s thoughts went out to Lyrra-Sharron and the Falcon Raiders, in Penkira.  The Sharron Army had beaten the odds and emerged victorious.  Did Lyrra-Sharron as well?

Chapter 38

The throne room was large, and opulent.  Only three ways in or out, one for servants, one for the King alone, and the main double doors.

Dak Amviir stood near those double doors, listening for any outside.  In the center of the room, Princess Lyrra-Sharron and King Aldo
Wilnar-Medira had been facing one another and circling for some time now.  Neither was willing to engage.  For some reason that escaped Dak, Lyrra-Sharron still held only the one blade.  He had expected her to draw her second, or at least a dagger.  But he said nothing, and observed quietly.

Wilnar-Medira no longer looked so confident.  His face was drawn and weary, uncertain.  He lightly beat Lyrra-Sharron’s blade with his.  She made no move.

They shifted to circle the other way.  Lyrra-Sharron beat Wilnar-Medira’s blade, and he took a step back.

“Exercising caution, your Majesty?” asked Lyrra-Sharron contemptuously.

“You do not sit on your throne for twenty years without caution, Princess,” responded the King of Medaelia.  “This reckless behavior of yours will only leave your father without an heir.”

“Quite possible,” she replied nonchalantly.  “But then, if you find the point of my blade in your chest, you have no heir at all.”

Wilnar-Medira made no response.

Lyrra-Sharron beat his blade again, and moved forward.  He took another step back.  They circled.

It came with no warning.  Wilnar-Medira beat Lyrra-Sharron’s blade twice.  He made a move, a half lunge.

The Princess shifted to the right, pushing away at the blade with her left hand.  She took a step back, returning to en guarde as Wilnar-Medira did the same simultaneously.  Her black leather gauntlet was torn, blood on her palm.

“The first of your blood I draw this day,” commented Wilnar-Medira haughtily.

“The last,” replied Lyrra-Sharron deadpan.

She lunged, he parried with his sword.  She recovered and lunged again, this time he parried with his dagger.  She used her left hand against the flat of the rapier, pushing it up and away as she stepped in closer.

Wilnar-Medira dropped and rolled along his back, coming up in a crouch, facing her.

“That was very impressive, your Majesty,” she said condescendingly.

He was breathing a bit too hard to respond.

She pressed, he parried.  He countered, attacked, and she parried.  He lunged, she side stepped, then came in, at close range, her blade locking his, her hand pressing on his wrist, holding his dagger at bay.

“If you yield now, I will not kill you,” said Lyrra-Sharron simply.

His response was a push with both arms, firmly, forcing Lyrra-Sharron back.  She was again en guard.

Breathing hard, Wilnar-Medira pressed in.  Lyrra-Sharron ducked, then dove forward, reaching behind her back, drawing her dagger.  She came up, swinging.

Wilnar-Medira sucked in his stomach and jumped back.  His breath exploded in a loud groan, and Dak noted his tunic was torn along his chest, blood welling up.

Lyrra-Sharron arose, and pressed her advantage.  She used both blades to take Wilnar-Medira’s out and down, then moved in.  But he dropped to his back and rolled, taking several quick strides back.

It was then Dak saw him.  A man had come in through the tapestry-hidden door.  His skin was dark, his eyebrows full and bushy.  He had a mustache and no beard.  He looked to be an amalgam of Medaelian and Anarian, to Dak’s eyes.

He also held a knife, which he was preparing to throw.

Dak moved fast, around the wall, unseen.

The dark man bided his time, waiting for Lyrra-Sharron to come about just so.

He slapped the handle of the knife upon his palm, and made ready to throw.

“Lyrra-Sharron, Drop!” cried Dak as the knife flew.

Lyrra-Sharron fell to the floor instantly at the sound of Dak’s voice.  The knife sailed by and hit the wall.

The man turned to face Dak, and was met with a sword in the belly.  He started, tried to say something, then collapsed.

Wilnar-Medira moved at her, and Lyrra-Sharron rolled on her side, away, then jumped up.  She parried with her sword, then dagger, then sword.  She moved fast, stepping towards Wilnar-Medira, her dagger blade running down his rapier blade.  She thrust her own rapier as he tried to bring his dagger down to block.

The point of her rapier entered his chest.  Wilnar-Medira gaped at the blade, frozen.  Then he gasped, and slid off her sword.

He lurched, dropping his rapier.  He stumbled back, and away.

Lyrra-Sharron followed.  Aldo Wilnar-Medira fell to his knees, then to his face, still clutching his dagger.

*****

              Dak came to Lyrra-Sharron, and stood at her side.  “It’s over.”

She nodded her head in response, catching her breath.  The Medaelian King, she would admit to none other but herself, was a surprisingly decent adversary with a rapier.  “You saved me, Dak Amviir.  Again.  That man you killed...that was Count Vular-Murtona, Chief of Medaelian Intelligence.  Thank you.”

“What now?” Dak asked.

“We have to make certain Wilnar-Medira is finished.”

Dak approached the prone King.

He knelt beside him, took his right hand, obviously feeling his pulse.  “His heart still beats.  Not strong.”  Dak dropped the hand, and stood, turned to face Lyrra-Sharron.   “What do you want to do with him?”

Lyrra-Sharron was torn between letting him die slowly from the wound she’d already inflicted, or slitting his throat.  Either way, she would not leave him alive. 

She was about to speak, when she saw the flicker of motion.

With a strangled cry, Lyrra-Sharron dove at Dak, knocking him to the ground.

Wilnar-Medira had leapt up from the floor, dagger aimed at Dak’s unprotected back.  He staggered by, having missed as Lyrra-Sharron took Dak to the floor. 

Wilnar-Medira dropped to his knees, coughed hard, blood emerging from his lips.  He collapsed with a sigh, and was still.

*****

Lyrra-Sharron held Dak, both of them on their sides, lying on the floor, staring at the now dead King.

“Cam was not mistaken,” remarked Dak calmly.  “You needed me here.  And I needed
you
here.”

              She gazed at him.  The look on her face made him tense, uncomfortable.  He had held it in for so long, and it was threatening to burst from his chest now.

Dak tried to move, but Lyrra-Sharron rolled him onto his back, straddling him.

“No, not this time, Dak Amviir,” she said.  “I will kiss you, and you will like it.”

With that, she bent down, and kissed him soundly on the lips.  At first he offered faint resistance, but soon gave in.  He had awaited this moment for so long. 

When she released him, in a hoarse whisper, Dak said.  “I follow you, Lyrra-Sharron, because I cannot help but love you.”

Dak suddenly frowned.   He could not believe he was giving it up this easily.  He had never been one to beat about the bush.  “I tried to deny it, but I can’t.  I love you, Lyrra-Sharron Anduin.”

The Princess stood, and offered Dak her hand, helping him up.  When he was on his feet, she put her arms around his chest, looking into his eyes.

“Dak Amviir, why it took you this long to admit that I shall never know,” she smiled genuinely at him.  “Why I have ignored this for so long...well, I was a bit preoccupied.  But now...” 

She left it hanging, pulled him to her, and kissed him again.

Banging on the door interrupted them.  They both turned, weapons ready.  The doors flew open, and Torman charged in, beside Nadav.

They stopped in their tracks as they noted the two bodies on the floor.  “Well.  I see you didn’t need us after all,” commented Torman bemusedly.

Lyrra-Sharron gestured to them as Dak shifted to the side.  “We managed.  Why are you here, Torman?”

Nadav chuckled.  “We got all the servants, swept the palace twice.  We came across Darak fighting the guards, and opened the gates to let Torman in.”

“The Palace is ours,” stated Torman.  “Darak was hurt, but is being tended to.  Khelvan is keeping an eye on the various people, whom we confined to the guard barracks.  Neva has groups sweeping the palace, making certain we’ve got them all.”

“Well done,” Lyrra-Sharron complimented her officers.  “I hereby claim the city of Penkira, in the name of Varlock-Sharron Anduin, Second Prince of Medaelia.”

“Witnessed!” cried Nadav.

“Hoo-zah!” exclaimed Torman.

“Hoo-zah!” the others responded.

“Nadav, take the banners.  Lower the flag of Wilnar-Medira, and raise the flag of Anduin.  Torman, assemble a group.  Ride out with a Palace Guard banner, and the Sharron banner.  Tell the guards on the walls to surrender, then let Andim and Kallan and the others into the city.”

“Aye, Captain!” exclaimed Nadav, saluting.  He pointed to several raiders who had come behind him and Torman into the throne room, and they followed him out.

“Torman, take some of our more loud voiced Falcon Raiders, and have them go all about the city with our banner.  Have them announce that the Falcon Raiders hereby claim Penkira, and Medaelia, in the name of Second Prince Varlock-Sharron Anduin.  We will let them know who rules here.”

Torman saluted, gathered raiders and left.

Lyrra-Sharron turned to Dak.  “I think it is time to go and see to our prisoners.  We should let them know what has happened, and who is in charge now.”

“Indeed.  That easy?” asked Dak,

“Yes,” she replied.  “My father is the Second Prince of Medaelia.  Wilnar-Medira had no legitimate heirs.  My father rules, now.”

Dak said nothing.  His confession had been more emotion than he’d expressed to any in a long, long time.  He wanted to continue from where they’d left off, but he realized that he loved a woman whose duty would always come first.  And now, duty called.

Lyrra-Sharron sheathed her rapier.  “Come, then, Dak Amviir.”  She gestured to a Falcon Raider.  “Alnar, remain here with Talad.  We shall figure out assignments for our occupation shortly.”

He saluted crisply. 

Dak offered Lyrra-Sharron his elbow.  She took it, looked up at his face, and gave him a smile that made his heart want to leap from his chest in excitement. 

Perhaps his confession to the woman he loved more than life itself was worth something to her, after all.

Lyrra-Sharron and Dak left the throne room arm in arm.