Seers of Verde: The Legend Fulfilled: Book One (31 page)

14

Haral Kaut trembled with fatigue and hunger, but he refused to give up trailing the ten men who had murdered almost everyone in his village two days ago. The slender youth of sixteen harvests did not have a plan except to stay hidden from the murderers and keep following them. He hoped to find some sympathetic Verdans who would help him. He remembered the horrifying things that had happened.

On that terrible night, Haral had stumbled outside while half-asleep to relieve himself in the outside toilet. When finished, he heard strange muffled sounds from the cabin next door. Thinking his neighbor, Innes, was having a nightmare, Haral crept over to her window, hoping to get a peek at the lovely girl who was about his age. To his horror, he saw a large man holding her down, forcing himself on her.

Haral was about to shout a warning when the man pulled out a long-handled knife, the same kind the visitors displayed at the festivities, and took a deadly swipe across her throat. The attacker snarled with disgust as Innes’s blood spurted out on him. The boy dropped to his knees in a reflexive gag. He stifled the urge to vomit, knowing the noise would alert the attacker to his presence. Even so, Haral heard the attacker run to the window. In a desperate attempt to hide, he dove into his mother’s flower bed, hoping the bushy plants would shield him.

Moments later, he heard two gruff voices. “What is it, Kolo?”

“Thought I heard something when I was finishing with her,” a second voice said.

After a long silence the first man said, “I don’t see anything. It was probably just one of their chickens. Let’s go. We’re almost finished here.”

Terrified, Haral tried to crawl through the flowers without making them betray him. Peering through one of the thicker bushes, he stared at Innes’s window, fearing the murderer was just out of sight waiting for him to move. Knowing he wasn’t helping anyone by hiding in the flowers, Haral snuck out and darted to his parents’ cabin to alert them to the gruesome events that had taken place next door.

Instinctively, he carefully peered into his parents’ bedroom window. Seeing nothing unusual, except for two figures in the bed, he softly called out for his father, but got no reply. This was not unusual because most of the village must be sleeping off the food and drink from that night’s festivities. Haral crept around the cabin, but froze next to the wall when he saw a group of men gather close by. They spoke surprisingly loud for the late hour.

“Is it finished?” a familiar voice asked.

“Aye, Captain,” the others answered in unison.

One of the men snorted. “These drunks were easier to kill than an old grazer. With the few pups we left and the bodies as proof, everyone will think Defenders did this. Let’s leave this worthless place,” the first voice ordered.

Haral recognized the speaker as Lanzo, leader of the so-called Defender circle who had wandered into the village that night and took part in the celebration. With his heart pounding so hard in his chest that it hurt, the youth forced himself to wait until the men had walked to the river, when he bolted into his cabin. He got no response from his parents when he rushed into their room.

Grabbing his father, he tried to shake him awake only to discover to his horror that sticky blood was everywhere. Now sobbing, he checked his mother only to find her lifeless body. Their throats had been cut, and blood was everywhere. He somehow managed to stifle a scream of anguish as he hugged his mother’s bare feet.

Now in shock, Haral stumbled toward his brother’s room. His sibling had suffered the same fate as their parents. The boy of twelve harvests looked eerily peaceful. He must not have awakened.

In a daze, Haral shuffled over to a basin of water and methodically washed his parents’ blood from his hands. The sound of voices again snapped him back to awareness. Crawling on his hands and knees, the youth stayed in the darkness just inside the front door, which was standing wide open, as were all the other cabins in the village.

The killers were now walking out of the village. They were not hurrying. Obviously they had no fears of being detected. Hatred surged through Haral’s heart as he watched the men head toward the same mountain path from which they had entered the village.

Something Lanzo had said etched itself into Haral’s brain:
“Everyone will think Defenders did this.”
What did he mean by that? Haral wondered. If Defenders hadn’t done this, who were the killers?

A feeling of helplessness seized the trembling youth as he watched the departing group. Fearing the killers would get away unnoticed, Haral swung into action. The youth grabbed his father’s hunting knife. He then quickly threw some dried meat and fruit into a pack.

Peering carefully out of the door to make sure he was not being watched, Haral sprinted up the path to follow the men. He felt he was his village’s only hope for revenge.

¶ ¶ ¶

Now after trailing the killers for two days, Haral was growing weak and finding it harder to keep up with them. He slept fitfully when the killers did, but was fearful of losing them. His food had run out, and he had no water to drink for most of the second day.

Thankfully, the group decided to camp for the evening, which would at least give Haral a chance to rest. The boy crawled onto a small ledge and lay his head down on his folded arms with a tired sigh. Haral did not even notice the soft rustle behind him. Before he could defend himself, a pair of strong arms pulled him off the ledge. The boy tried to struggle, but he was subdued and bound without a sound.

Fearing one of the killers had somehow doubled back on him, Haral squeezed his eyes shut. He did not want to see the knife that would slit his throat. After a few terrifying moments, the youth opened his eyes. He was in the middle of a group of smiling men, but they were not the killers.

One of the men put a finger against his lips to indicate he wanted no sound from Haral, then untied his bonds and offered the young man a large canteen of water. The youth nodded that he understood and gratefully drank his fill. Returning the canteen, Haral eyed his captors. A chill ran through his body as he realized this bearded group of men must be Defenders.

“Who are you and why do you follow those men?” asked the man who had given him water. He spoke Verdan, but his words were heavily accented.

For some reason, Haral did not feel threatened by this group. These men were younger and had no malice in their eyes. Taking a deep breath, the young Verdan sobbed as he told the strangers about the tragedy that had befallen his village at the hands of the men he had been following.

He could not help himself when he finished. “Those men said they were Defenders. Even bragged about it during the celebration. Afterwards, though, they said the killings would look like Defenders had done it.”

The new group frowned as one after hearing his story. “I can promise you the men you follow are not Defenders,” said the leader. “We, too, have been following them the past two days after we saw them leave your village. We were curious about them and you. I am Ranar Matao,” the leader said, handing Haral the canteen again. “My circle and I are saddened to hear about the killings in your village.”

Haral nodded slowly. He had not allowed himself to think about losing his parents, brother, and most of his friends. His eyes welled with tears as he remembered. One of the other men smiled and gave Haral a large piece of dried jerky. They knew the youngster had had little to eat or drink for many hours.

Ranar reached over and patted Haral on the shoulder. “Tonight we will avenge your village. Defenders do not kill innocents who have done them no harm.”

¶ ¶ ¶

Lanzo Kroll was awakened by a strange sound in the middle of the night. The veteran Sankari captain lay perfectly still, keeping his breathing even in case he was being watched. He listened carefully to all the night sounds. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for light rustling, normal for night rodents in the mountains.

Lanzo was about to relax when he heard the sound again — like someone gagging—then it stopped abruptly. His body stiffened at the familiarity of the noise — that slight gurgle when someone’s throat was sliced open.

The officer rose slowly from his hiding place. Out of habit, he changed sleeping locations two to three times at night. He never wanted an enemy or one of his disloyal men to know where he was. Lanzo stared into the night from behind a cluster of rocks where he had bedded down. Large shadows moved silently from hiding places. The figures stopped and pounced on his sleeping men with deadly intent. The captain drew out his knife and crouched behind a large rock.

One of the shadows stopped to investigate the narrow wedge where Lanzo had bedded down. The Sankari leaped forward and sunk his knife into the other man’s side with a savage thrust. The wounded Defender groaned with pain and fell backward from the attack. Lanzo pulled his knife out quickly and thrust it deeply into his foe’s chest.

He rose to scramble away to a new vantage point, but the Sankari did not move fast enough. Two nearby Defenders heard the crash of the attack and their circle brother’s moan. They jumped through the small opening and were upon Lanzo before he could raise his knife in self defense. Two knives jabbed into the Sankari’s body.

Lanzo gasped and collapsed to the ground from his wounds. A hand grabbed the captain's hair, raising his head off the ground. The wounded man could feel the hot breath of the other man on his face. “Who are you? Why do you impersonate Defenders and kill innocents?” an angry voice asked in a Nuven accent. “Speak and we will treat your wounds.”

Although he could not see the man, Lanzo knew who had attacked him — Defenders. “I am dead already,” he rasped. “If you don’t kill me, they will. Finish it.” Before the Defender could raise his knife, Lanzo writhed in pain one last time then died with a soft gasp.

Ranar swore loudly and let Lanzo’s head fall to the ground with a thud. A third Defender stepped through the opening and reported all the sleeping men had been killed.

“Now we’ll never know who these impostors were,” Ranar growled.

The Defender who helped kill Lanzo knelt down and examined the captain’s knife. “This is a Verdan weapon. These men must have been Sankari, but why attack their own people?”

Ranar shook his head. “The Sankari must be getting desperate to blame such an atrocity on us. Let us hope we can convince the Verdans we were not responsible for the attack on that village.”

The other Defender spoke up hopefully. “Perhaps we can plead our case to the Seers. They have seemed willing to stop the bloodshed.”

Ranar nodded. “Perhaps they will.”

15

The Verdan Chamber of Officials echoed with the shrieking woman’s pleas for revenge. Normally, such a raw display of emotion would not have been allowed in the small amphitheater. However, this occasion was unusual due to the speaker and her cause.

Serna Holser, normally known for her tolerant nature, stood on the dais in the middle of the amphitheater. She was surrounded by two hundred Verdan leaders. The Seer shouted at the top of her lungs, demanding justice for a horrible crime — the murder of almost everyone in her home village. Beside her cringed a frightened blond girl, Arista Holser, her brother’s daughter.

A group of ragtag youths sat in a circle around Serna and the girl. Many of them sported terrible wounds that were beginning to heal. The Council of Seers, led by High Seer Rufina, sat in somber silence behind the animated Serna. Their presence in the chamber was a first.

Normally, a handful of Verdan leaders were requested to appear before the Seer council. In the past, if the Seers wished to address the chamber on a specific issue, there would be one representative. The presence of the Seer council emphasized the importance of the message. Disregarding protocol, Rufina introduced Serna, then embraced her on the dais.

“Honorable leaders of Verde, I introduce to you Seer Serna. What she is about to propose to you has the complete blessing of the High Council of Seers.”

Serna’s face was fiery red even before she started speaking. In a choking voice, the Seer presented the eight young survivors of the murderous attack on their village by men they believed to be Defenders. The chamber was filled with gasps and murmurs of disbelief as the Verdan leaders saw what the attackers had done to the youngsters. Serna related the fate of the others in the village — most of them had been killed from slashed throats except for her brother who was beaten to death.

“As all of you know, I have long advocated a peaceful solution to the hostilities between the Sankari and Nuvens. But now Nuven Defenders have committed a terrible crime for which they must be punished. I ask your help in demanding these murderers be handed over to us for justice. My niece and these young ones will be able to identify the killers.”

Serna paused and moved slowly in a circle as if to gaze into the eyes of every Verdan leader listening to her.

“If the Nuvens refuse to turn over these murdering Defenders, then I propose the complete surrender and abandonment of their temples. We cannot allow these shelters for their pagan beliefs to flourish. They undermine our true religion, the worship of Mother Verde. Any Nuvens, whether they be Defenders or not, who would oppose us should be executed as traitors!” she screamed.

Swept up by the emotion, the chamber erupted in cheers and shouts for action against the Defenders. One respected Verdan leader demanded the murderous Defenders be turned over immediately and all other Defenders be expelled from Verde Valley. His resolution was approved in the loudest unanimous vote of support ever heard in the august chamber.

High Seer Rufina gave an imperceptible nod to Manor Stillinger, who had accompanied her under the guise of representing the Tarylan guards. He flashed a quick smile to relate he understood. Their plan had gone much better than either had hoped. It would not take long for these Verdan leaders to return home and incite hatred and a call to action among their followers.

The Verdan population would rise up against such a horrible crime to an unsuspecting village. The fires for revenge would only be fanned further by the survivors of the unwarranted attack, the innocent girls who had been raped and beaten and the boys who would be scarred for life after they were left for dead.

¶ ¶ ¶

Grig Vonn was aghast at what he had just heard from the delegation of Verdan and Seer leaders. They had accused a Defender circle of an unthinkable crime: murdering all the adults in an entire Verdan village and leaving several mutilated younglings behind. The Nuven leader looked up and down the long oak table at his fellow elders seated on either side of him. Normally a stoic group, the others bore shocked expressions. Many shook their heads in disbelief.

Grig had listened sympathetically to the young girl and her cousin who described the attack on their village. The two youngsters, scarred from a recent attack, were accompanied by a stern-looking Seer. He had dealt with Serna before in attempts to resolve the hostilities between the Sankari and the Nuvens. Now the woman was angry and resolute in her call for the elders to hand over the offending Defenders.

Instead of arguing with the Verdan group, Grig barked an order to his aides. “I want all Defender patrol activities for the past month in front of me immediately.” The elder leaned forward and asked the Verdan group the exact location of the village which had been attacked. Serna told him it was the farthest settlement downriver in Verde Valley.

“Downriver? Those are all Verdan settlements. We don’t send our Defenders through your territory. We can hardly protect our own villages,” Grig said.

Serna was not to be dissuaded. “Obviously, one of your circles decided to strike out at innocents who could not defend themselves.”

An aide apologized for interrupting, then handed Grig a large folded map. The counselor unfolded the parchment and studied it carefully. With his finger poised just over the parchment, he traced many lines that ran to and from all of the Nuven temples. After a few moments of silence, the elder straightened up, a somber look on his face.

“According to all the records of our Defender patrols, only one circle has been close to the village,” he told the Verdan delegation.

Even Serna seemed surprised by this admission. “Do you know who these murderers are?”

Grig looked at the coded information and nodded. “Yes, we know what circle was there. It is undetermined if they are murderers.”

Serna snorted. “Perhaps these Defenders were acting on their own. It does not matter. We want these killers to face Verdan justice. Serious consequences will befall any Nuven who shelters these murderers.”

Grig sat back in his chair and raised his hands in the air. “Our Defenders would never attack an unarmed village and commit the atrocities you describe.”

Serna rose. The other members of the delegation followed her lead. “Your excuses matter not to me, Nuven,” she hissed. “You have a week to find and release these villains to us or your people will face dire consequences.”

Before Grig could offer a reasonable compromise, Serna and the others stormed out of Temple Vonn, named after his famous ancestor, Lar Vonn. All ten elders sat in stunned silence at this shocking turn of events.

“It may not matter if the murderers were Defenders or not,” Xander Vonn said as he thoughtfully stroked his full, white beard. “As long as the Verdans are convinced Defenders attacked that village, our people may be forced to pay a terrible price.”

Grig nodded in agreement. “I want every Defender circle to report their activities for the past two weeks. But I fear we may have to prepare for the worst if we cannot convince the Verdans our people are not to blame for the killings in that village.”