Seers of Verde: The Legend Fulfilled: Book One (17 page)

10

Fortress Bryann had never seen such an uproar of wailing and screams. Seers were fainting and others were huddled in groups of three or four, speaking in hushed, worried tones. Aides and med techs were rushing from room to room to check on the more serious cases.

Some of the watchers who had been monitoring the Tarylan troop, which had been sent out to exterminate the intruders, had come out of their trances in a state of hysteria. As one, the Seers watched with horror through the troopers' eyes as the strangers quickly and efficiently killed their men in the grove.

Several of the Seers groaned and writhed in empathetic pain as the hunters' arrows dropped their fellow Verdans. One Tarylan guard was pinned to a tree by two arrows piercing his stomach. He weakly struggled to free himself then watched helplessly as his fellow troopers fell, until his vision slowly blurred then went black.

The women witnessed in shock the bloody scene until all the Tarylans' life forces faded away. Nothing this traumatic had ever happened in the Verdan Valley since the Seers had anointed themselves protectors of their people.

When the watchers came out of their trances, some became violently ill, others screamed in terrified agony, and a few crumpled into helpless heaps from the strain of the experience. One of the recovering watchers managed to mumble to several aides the fate that had befallen their troopers. The attendants quickly spread the tragic news and soon an uncontrollable wave of despair swept through the fortress.

Even normally stoic High Seer Yseni grew pale and appeared shaken when she heard the disturbing news. She hurried back to her quarters with her stomach churning violently.

Only the even-tempered Zasha kept her wits as she bustled from watcher to watcher to check on their conditions. She found other cool-headed Seers to help carry the traumatized women to the infirmary then broke up small groups of frightened gossipers, ordering them to return to their duties.

After getting the situation under control, the exhausted elder Seer trudged to Yseni's quarters to see what assistance the leader might require. To her surprise, the High Seer was speaking in an agitated tone to five Tarylan captains. Yseni didn't halt her tirade even when Zasha approached the group.

“All of them must die,” Yseni hissed. “These strangers have killed sixteen of our bravest men. We have underestimated their prowess and skills. But this shall not happen again. I want every able-bodied Tarylan guard used to find and kill these enemies of the Verdan people.”

The grave-faced captains saluted respectfully and left to gather their troops for the campaign. Yseni was wild eyed with fury when her eyes fell on the waiting Zasha. “My orders stand. I will not be talked out my decision,” the High Seer growled at her friend.

Zasha just shook her head. “I did not come to argue with you, Yseni. But it will be much harder to keep it secret that there are strangers in our valley. If word spreads, many of our people will think the prophecy of the others is being fulfilled.”

Yseni snorted with disgust. “It is too late to worry about such things. These intruders must be eliminated from our presence before they do more harm to our people.”

Too tired to argue, Zasha only nodded, bid farewell, and wearily shuffled to her quarters for some much-needed sleep. She hoped the next group of Tarylans could find the strangers and kill them before word spread among the populace.

The five captains carefully scrutinized the map of Verde Valley. Pursuing and finding strangers in their midst was a new experience. No protocol existed that could help them decide what to do.

After the other four Tarylan officers had voiced their strategies, senior Captain Wojaht Gafla traced the areas on the map where the intruders could have traveled. He drew dozens of routes. The biggest unknown was the exact location of the infamous grove where Agusto Harn and his troopers had been slain.

“It will be difficult finding such a small group in the area we need to cover,” Wojaht said, cupping his chin with his hands. “They could easily slip past us if we stay in five large groups. But if we employed small scouting parties, say three men apiece, then we could cover a large area very quickly.”

With the other four captains in agreement, it was decided to send out twenty groups of three men each to scour as much territory as they could quickly cover. The remaining troops, a strike force of forty men, would slowly make its way up the central valley.

In Wojaht's plan, if a scouting party found the intruders, one of the troopers could alert the strike force, while the other two continued to monitor the strangers' movements. The captains were more than willing to hunt down the murderers of Agusto and his men. However, they begrudgingly respected their opponents' fighting skills.

They were confident the eleven people they were hunting would be no match for such a large force. Suspecting her Tarylan officers would balk at killing a young woman, Yseni changed her orders regarding the “witch,” who traveled with the intruders. The High Seer ordered the young woman to be captured and brought back to Fortress Bryann where she could be interrogated.

11

The old woman trudged out of her house, intent on her daily early morning trip to the village's communal well. However, she stopped and stared in amazement at the artwork that covered the well. In awe, she shuffled back and forth, inspecting each sketch that perfectly depicted every cabin in the village. When she spotted the drawing of her home, the old woman shook her head in disbelief then reverently took it down to admire it.

Not long after her arrival, many of the other villagers emerged from their cabins to go about their morning chores. It didn't take long for a crowd to gather around the well after word spread about the unusual drawings.

One ten-year-old boy tried unsuccessfully to squeeze between bodies of the adults pressed together as they viewed the marvelous illustrations. Frustrated, he paused to watch a bird flit around the top of the well then spotted something curious on the inside of the roof.

“Look, there's something hanging from a rafter!” the boy yelled. One of the taller villagers boosted himself up on the edge of the well and retrieved a scroll. After jumping down, he carefully unrolled it as the others crowded around to view the drawing.

“Mother Verde, it's the wounded boy who was brought here last night,” a woman said, pointing to the perfect likeness. “And look, he's being carried by some young men.”

A short, round little man practically put his nose on the piece of paper as he inspected it. “Do you recognize any of these men?” Osmar Nezdan asked, looking from villager to villager. The shaking of their heads answered him.

Again looking closely at the scroll, he spotted a young woman in the background of the drawing. The girl in the picture had a slight build. However, her face was indistinguishable, a curious oddity compared with the perfect details in this and the other artwork.

After finally getting a chance to see the scroll he discovered, the boy voiced his disappointment the surprise didn't contain more exciting secrets. Growing hungry and bored with the adults and their chatter, the boy pushed through the crowd in search of first meal, but stopped short, staring wide-eyed at the smiling strangers standing only about ten meters away.

He recognized the eleven people immediately. They were the ones who appeared in the drawing. The strangers wore perfectly fitted animal hides and leather boots. This was a sharp contrast to the tunic-style cloth garments worn by most Verdans. The young men had long flowing hair and short beards, which set them apart from the well-groomed villagers.

“Elder Osmar, look at this!” the trembling youth squeaked with fright. Glancing behind him, the boy saw no one was paying attention. “Elder Osmar!” he shrieked after taking a deep breath.

This time the villagers turned to see what all the fuss was about then a collective gasp escaped from the crowd.

Raaf Vonn took a few steps forward, said “Hello,” and held out more drawings. Osmar smiled broadly as he approached the strangers. Something in his gut told him this was going to be a rare moment. He stopped within a few meters of the group, laughed with delight, and said, “Allo, welcome to our village.”

Raaf did not understand the villager’s words, but sensed this friendly man meant no harm. He stepped forward and presented the drawings to Osmar.

“We are Nuvens. We have finally crossed the mountain to find you,” Raaf said then turned and pointed toward Mount Barrasca. Osmar was shocked to hear a language he did not understand. Verdans had spoken the same dialect for generations. The elder shook his head sadly then finally looked at the drawings Raaf had given him.

Osmar's face paled as he studied the etchings. The realization of what these drawings showed almost made him faint. “Can it be? Can it be?” he muttered over and over.

The old woman, who first discovered the drawings, took the new etchings from Osmar to look for herself. Unafraid, she shuffled to the group of strangers to get a better look at them. She stared hard at the drawings then approached each Nuven and touched him gently as tears ran down her cheeks. Each stranger gently cupped her hand in an alien but comforting greeting.

The last person she welcomed was Darya, who was sitting on an overturned bucket and feverishly drawing. Cocking her head to one side, the crone looked to see what the young woman was working on.

Seeing herself appear on the sheet of paper before her eyes, she cackled with delight. “By Mother Verde, the prophecy has come true, the lost ones have found us,” she crowed clapping her hands with delight.

In awe, the other villagers slowly made their way to greet the strangers. Even though they could not understand one another, soon Nuvens and Verdans were slapping each other on the back and laughing at their good fortune.

During the celebration, Osmar could not shake a troubling thought. While sifting through the drawings, he found the one that showed the strangers bringing the wounded Verdan youth to his doorstep. Seeing Osmar frown, Raaf walked over to check what was troubling the other man. The Nuven shook his head sadly and called for Darya, who was the center of attention after it was discovered she was the extraordinary artist.

After freeing herself at last, Darya sauntered over to her brother. “Give him the other scroll, Darya,” Raaf told her gently. With great deliberation, she pulled out a roll of more drawings and handed them to Osmar.

The Verdan elder could not contain his surprise as his eyes drank in the new illustrations. They showed in great detail the skirmish in the grove that led to the deaths of the fifteen Tarylan guards and wounding of the youth who lay recuperating in his home.

Osmar patted Raaf on the shoulder. “This is a great day, my friend, but I fear you may be in dire trouble if these drawings are true.”

12

The youth moaned in pain as he tried to move in his cot. His head still throbbed sickeningly. It even hurt to try to open his eyes. Someone was speaking, but his mind had trouble focusing on the words. His entire attention was devoted to the fire that burned in his skull.

He winced slightly after a wet cloth was placed over his head. The cool sensation relieved the pain just enough for him to try to open his eyes again. The voice returned at the same time he felt a hand clasp his shoulder reassuringly.

“Trooper Pratern, wake up,” a woman soothingly implored him. “Can you tell us what happened to you and the other Tarylan troopers sent to find the intruders?”
Intruders? Tarylan troopers?
Those words sounded familiar to Vitor Pratern.

Suddenly a flash of memory swept through his brain. He relived the battle scene at the grove — his fellow Tarylans were screaming in pain and falling to the ground. Arrows were protruding from their bodies.

With a gasp, Vitor opened his eyes. Even this effort made him dizzy, but he forced himself to focus on the somber faces gazing at him. He tried to talk, but could only manage a hoarse croak.

“Ah, he's awake. Welcome back, trooper,” the voice said. Vitor now could see it belonged to a smiling woman sitting at his bedside. “Quick, give him some water. The poor boy is trying to talk.”

A pair of unseen hands lifted up his head slightly, while the woman at his side allowed him to take a couple of slow, thirsty sips. Even this small amount of water tickled his throat, making him cough. The movement sent another spasm of pain shooting through his head. His eyes rolled back at the reaction.

Focusing again on the nearby woman, Vitor recognized her as a Seer. “Forgive me. My…head…is…on…fire,” he sputtered, his face wincing in pain. Each word jarred his brain a little more.

“Take your time, young Pratern,” Zasha said as she sympathetically patted his hand. Vitor asked for more water and successfully gulped it down.

“Our troop searched the grove the intruders had camped in overnight, but we did not find them in the first sweep,” he said slowly, trying to remember the events as they unfolded. “We were on our way back through the trees when the others appeared out of nowhere.”

Zasha leaned forward. Her eyes gleamed with intensity. She was no longer smiling. “What did Captain Harn do?”

Vitor closed his eyes at the painful memory. “The captain tried to lure one of the intruders to get close, then he pulled his knife, but the stranger blocked his attempt and killed him. The rest of the troop then rushed the others, but many were hit with arrows.”

Vitor stopped and frowned. His memory seemed to stop in the middle of the fight. “How many other troopers are left alive? I can't seem to remember anything else after that. What happened to me?”

Zasha shook her head. “You are the only one of Captain Harn's troop who survived. We don't think you were wounded by an arrow. It appears you were struck by some other kind of weapon.”

Vitor's eyes grew wide at the terrible realization that he was the lone survivor. Another stabbing pain sent a shiver through his body. The youth attempted to lift his hand to feel his head, but he could only move his arm slightly. He resigned himself to the fact it hurt to move any part of his body.

“How did I get here? Did you rescue me?” Vitor mumbled, fighting to refocus his blurring gaze. Exhaustion was sweeping over him.

Seeing he was tiring, Zasha leaned over him. “Someone brought you here. Apparently some Verdans found you and treated your wounds.”

Vitor struggled to stay awake, but he couldn't keep his eyes open. “Who?” he whispered, but passed out before he could hear the answer.

Zasha sat back. “That is what we want to know, too, young man.” An angry snort erupted behind Zasha.

“Well, he wasn't much help,” said a frustrated High Seer Yseni. “Do you think he was telling the truth?”

Zasha shrugged. “I don't think he's capable of lying in his state. He has a deep cut in his skull and probably has a severe concussion.”

Yseni paced around the infirmary, her hands folded tightly around her chest. “Why in Mother Verde would our people transport a wounded man to our troopers' encampment and then leave without reporting where they found him?” she fumed. “I don't like this turn of events at all. It smells of traitors.”

Zasha looked up and nodded. For once she and Yseni were in total agreement.

¶ ¶ ¶

“Are you sure no one saw you with the injured Tarylan?” Osmar Nezdan asked. The four young men smiled at their good fortune. All assured their village elder the plan had worked perfectly.

Posing as suppliers to Captain Wojaht Gafla's large strike force, the village men easily slipped into the encampment at dusk with their horse-drawn wagon. While others bustled around them, they carefully placed the blanket-covered Tarylan in a tent where he would be found.

They then steered the horses to the edge of the camp, unfastened the team, quickly watered the animals, mounted and rode off, leaving the rickety old wagon behind. On the way out of camp, one of the villagers approached a passing Tarylan trooper to tell him they thought they heard someone moaning in one of the supply tents.

When pressed for more information, they just shrugged and told him the general direction they thought they had heard the noise come from. After the trooper left to investigate, the four villagers rode off into the night. They rode hard, but stopped often to make sure no one followed them.

Hearing their story, a wry smile broke across Osmar's face. “Good work, men. Now we've given the troopers another puzzle to think about. Perhaps we've earned enough time to guarantee no harm comes to our new friends. I trust you left the note with the wounded man as we planned?”

The four grinned and nodded in unison. This was the biggest adventure they had ever partaken in. They made sure every detail was carried out in full. The note claimed that Verdans hauling supplies had found the wounded trooper near the grove where the Tarylans had attempted to attack the Nuvens.

The writer claimed he didn't want to be questioned due to an unscrupulous past, but was concerned for the safety of the trooper. Information in the note also gave great detail where the bodies of the other Tarylans could be found. This had accomplished the desired effect Osmar had hoped for.

As Osmar started to walk away, he stopped for a moment, looking concerned. “Oh well, I suppose losing a wagon is a small price to pay to protect our guests, eh?” The four young men guffawed at their miserly elder then set off in search of ale to brag about their exploits.

¶ ¶ ¶

After the discovery of the wounded trooper, a furious Captain Wojaht ordered the strike force to march double time to find their lost comrades. He sent the unconscious wounded trooper back to Fortress Bryann for treatment.

The Tarylans stared in shock at the sight. Fifteen of their fellow troopers lay dead before them in a perfect line. The slain men were respectfully laid out, arms crossed over their chests, their weapons placed by their sides. The blood-stained bodies had not been looted or mutilated, except for the obvious wounds that had killed them.

Several arrow shafts still protruded from a few of the fallen troopers. Never in recorded Verdan history had such a fate befallen Tarylan troopers.

These protectors of the Seers had never been in a battle with an unknown enemy. Troopers occasionally suffered injuries when the rare malcontent resisted arrest. Barely a handful of Tarylans had died in the line of duty in the Verdan Valley since it was settled two hundred years ago.

The normally fearsome Wojaht Gafla struggled to fight back tears as he knelt beside the body of Augusto Harn. His good friend looked peaceful, except for the large gash in his neck. The two captains had grown up together, products of the most respected Verdan bloodlines — Seer mothers.

Wojaht and Augusto had been hand picked at fourteen harvests to start their Tarylan training. Both had earned their captain's ranks through hard work and devotion to duty.

Finally, after saying a silent prayer to Mother Verde in honor of his friend, Wojaht rose and commanded his men to place the bodies of the fallen troopers in a wagon to be taken back to Fortress Bryann for a heroes' burial.

“I want every village within three days’ march of here thoroughly searched,” Wojaht growled to his waiting lieutenants. “We have permission from the High Council of Seers to do whatever is necessary to avenge the deaths of our brave comrades.”

The wide-eyed officers saluted and backed away, determined to carry out their leader's orders. As they started to withdraw, the captain called them back.

His grief had been replaced with an anger that made his body tremble.

“Report any Verdan who may have helped these intruders. Any traitors will be dealt the same sentence as the strangers — death!”