The Protector of Esparia (The Annals of Esparia Book 1)

by Lisa M. Wilson

  Without looking up, he grunted, “Ragus.” He resumed their journey. She was keenly aware of his irritation.

  The dark, aqua-green moss was finally drying out so it no longer gurgled when stepped on. Only the thudding of Jessica’s feet on the soft soil disturbed the serenity around them. Varnack’s paws made no sound. Several times they happened upon some pint-sized woodland rodents who chattered at them in alarm, and once Jessica glimpsed a single-horned, hairy beast behind a heavily laden berry bush.

  The grape sized lavender fruit that dotted the red shrubbery emitted a strong, sugary fragrance, distinctively different from the flowery scent of the trees. Jessica yearned to try the botanical delicacy. However, having disturbed Varnack once already, she kept her desire to her herself and trailed behind him in silence. He seemed on edge, constantly turning his head to look from side to side and every fifty yards or so he would sniff the air.

  When the sun drew straight overhead her guide came to a halt. Before them lay a vast planting of the twisted, fruit laden bushes. They grew so thick together, no tree could spring up in their midst, and no moss could grow under them. The strong sun flooded in, its heat making the heady fruit scent even more powerful.

  “Food,” Varnack indicated the shiny lavender berries with a nod of his head. “Dandle.”

  “Dandle berries, huh? I hope they’re good.” Picking a handful of the darker ones, she popped several into her mouth. When the sweet juice from the crushed dandle swirled around her taste buds, a moan of pleasure tumbled out. “Mmmm, these are great!”

  She offered her companion the remainder in her palm. He shook his mighty head, then sniffed at the air. She ate them herself. “They taste like over-ripened raspberries from home.” She maneuvered her way through the thornless, triangular leafed plants, plucking the succulent berries as she walked. Varnack contented himself with the fruit at the edge of the patch. Snapping all of the berries within easy reach, they soon ate their fill.

  Happy for the brief rest, Jessica watched a tiny pink bug crawl across a broad red leaf. On reaching the lavender fruit, a small needle-like tongue shot out. Juice traveled through the translucent tongue, and as it filled the bug’s belly, the insect turned from pale pink to dark pink and finally the same vibrant lavender as the fruit.

  “So where are we going?”

  “Ramadine.”

  More questions burned on her lips, but before she could give voice to any of them, the hair on Varnack’s back bristled. Jessica stared in awe at her massive bodyguard. At once he transformed from a tranquil, yet grumpy escort to an alert warrior tensed for battle. She bolted to his side and crouched down beside him, her heart pounding in her chest.

  “Too exposed.” The silent message came into her mind, making her instantly grateful for the rare communications gift she possessed. On all fours she scurried after him back into the protection of the dense forest. Belly down, she waited.

  Peering through the low growing foliage, Jessica caught sight of dark figures moving through the forest opposite the Dandleberry patch. She counted five altogether. They avoided the open berry patch and were soon out of sight. It took nearly half an hour before the hair on Varnack’s back relaxed. She realized she could finally speak in safety, but held her voice to a whisper none-the-less.

  “Where am I, Varnack, and who are you?” She felt sick to her stomach. “This is no game; even I could sense the danger coming from those guys.” She stared across the top of the berry patch, trying to bring her pulse down to normal. “Who are they? Who’s after us?”

  He turned his golden eyes to meet hers. Her answers lay hidden there, but he responded with only one word. “Daenon.”

  Leading the way again, Varnack proceeded at a right angle from their original direction. The large planet, Ragus, lay at their back and the afternoon sun to their right.

  Jessica broke a short stick from a dandleberry bush. She twisted her long, red hair on top of her head and used the wood to anchor it in place. To her dismay, her hands still trembled.

  “Sorry Varnack, but I need to talk. You don’t have to listen. I just need to calm my nerves, and talking helps.” She began with her life back home. She reminisced about her parents, her friends, and a lot of her feelings. At several intervals in her monologue, Varnack grunted his assurance that he was actually paying attention. When she began telling him about her recent dreams, his ears twitched.

  “Repeat,” he requested. Surprised, she told him again, adding all of the details she could remember about Haesom’s death and the several conversations she overheard in the mists.

  “Varnack, I’ve heard Graesion mentioned several times now. I’ve got my suspicions, but can you tell me who he was?”

  “Grandfather”.

  “My grandfather?”

  Varnack nodded and picked up the pace. Further questions remained locked away, for now she jogged to keep up with him.

  The forest floor turned from cushioning moss to a muddy, marshy consistency. The trees grew wider and their branches hung lower. Hardened insect mounds seemed to grow up from the mud. This new terrain did not slow Varnack. He bounded over buggy habitats with graceful ease, but Jessica found the going more difficult. She was a runner, not a hurdler, and she clumsily sidestepped the hardened mud hives. With her greater height, she needed to push aside some low hanging branches to avoid being slapped in the face. Eventually Jessica mastered the new challenges of the run. Just when she felt confident at spotting and avoiding the woodland hazards, Varnack stopped.

  Just ahead lay a small hamlet, built on several acres of cleared forestland. A couple of dozen brick and wood buildings made up this out-of-the-way village. “Is this Ramadine?”

  “No. Vorgen Hoffle.”

  Varnack led the way around the clearing to a small dirt road that transected the forest and led into the town. The cobblestone main street was deserted; pools of blood punctuated the roadway.

  “Something’s very wrong, Varnack.” Jessica placed her hand on his back and felt his muscles tighten. “Hello,” she called into the eerie silence.

  Varnack’s ears twitched. “There.” He motioned to the largest of the brick buildings. Cautiously, they walked toward it. When they were within several yards of the structure, a male voice yelled from within, “Come no further.”

  “We’re travelers and need shelter for the night.” Jessica called back.

  “You are not welcome, leave,” a woman answered.

  Jessica turned to Varnack. “This is your country, are the people always like this?”

  He sniffed the air. “Death. Fear.”

  She stared back at the two-story building. This time an old man’s face appeared in an upper level window. “We’ve been walking all day.” she called. “Please, don’t turn us away.”

  After many minutes the upper story window opened and the old man poked his head out. His cheek sported a nasty cut and a bloody patch covered one eye. “Who are you?”

  Varnack’s thoughts flooded Jessica’s mind. “My companion is Varnack.” She translated the thoughts. “He’s a Trigal hound and comes to you from Ramadine.” The old man’s head jerked up and he turned to speak to someone behind him. Jessica continued, “Esparia is at war, the High Protector is dead.”

  The double-wide front door opened and three men stepped out onto a green brick porch. Each bore fresh wounds, the blood on their bandages still bright red. One held a bloodstained rag over a stump at the end of his right arm where his hand should have been. “What do you desire?” he asked, his voice tired, but wary.

  “Oh, Varnack, what happened here?” Jessica swallowed hard. She shoved her horror back into the recesses of her mind. She was the daughter of a Colonel, she could handle this. “First of all,” she strode toward the men, “I desire to help.”

  She shouldered past the three and marched into the spacious gathering hall. At least two hundred women and children filled the space. There were no tables or chairs, only wall to wall humanity. The silence was eerie,
for a room filled with so many children should have been buzzing with their tiny voices, but here, not even a baby cried. Most sat dejectedly on the wood flooring. A few women were distributing drinks of water. Children huddled close to their mothers; the silent fear in their eyes spoke volumes. The three men on the porch trudged inside. The one with the missing hand sat heavily on a wooden chair while the other two kept an eye on Jessica, hands on their swords. Varnack padded to her side and sat on his hind quarters.

  “Will someone please tell us what went on here?” she pleaded.

  “Five men came,” one of the female water bearers responded. “They were looking for a woman, a foreigner.”

  “I told them there was no stranger here,” another woman offered. She sat in a corner, her knees drawn up to her chin with her arms clasped tightly around them. Three children pressed closed to her.

  “It was obvious they were frustrated,” the one eyed old man said from halfway down the stairs at the side of the room. “We told them they were in the wrong place, but they attacked, went from house to house.”

  Looking at the three younger men with weapons, Jessica asked, “Where are the other men?”

  “Those still alive are upstairs.” A woman, her tunic and pants smeared with drying blood, gestured with her eyes to the floor above. She held a basin of water, and a few dozen cloth bandages hung from her arm. “These three are the only men who can still stand. Those five assassins attacked so swiftly, we were unprepared for the fight.”

  “They fought for pleasure,” the one-handed man added, his voice devoid of emotion.

  “I am Tarin, High Older of Vorgen Hoffle.” The old man with one eye made his way to Jessica and Varnack. “We gathered everyone here in case the black clothed riders return, as they threatened.”

  Varnack said to Jessica. “Our trail leads here.”

  Jessica felt ill. “Varnack, what are…” Before she could finish, he left the building.

  “You’re the one they were looking for, aren’t you?” A fair-haired girl, several years younger than Jessica, stated. She was staring at the jean jacket tied around Jessica’s waist. “Foreigner. They don’t realize they should be looking for a girl.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Jessica searched for words of comfort. “If these men return, my companion will handle them.”

  “A dog!” the woman in the corner spat. She rose to her feet, her face red with fury. “How can a simple dog defeat five butchers?” Her voice went higher in pitch and volume. “Who are you, to bring this on us?”

  “Chana, enough!” the one-handed man commanded. “The girl said this Varnack is a Trigal Hound.”

  “Myth and superstition,” Chana sneered.

  “No,” High Older Tarin cut in, “not myth, and certainly not superstition. Trigal Hounds exist.” He turned to Jessica. “We have no strength left in us for another fight. Our men were taken by surprise and many now hover between life and death. Had we been prepared, weapons in hand, we would have beaten those five.”

  “Is there no doctor here?” The people stared at her blankly. “A physician?” Still no response. “A healer?”

  “No healer. Our hoffle is too small,” the woman with the bandages and water basin said.

  “Why are those killers looking for you?” the fair-haired girl asked.

  Jessica felt bewildered. She shook her head. “I truly don’t know. I’m nobody.”

  Tears welled up in the young girl’s eyes. “My father is upstairs dying. Are you saying he’ll die for no good reason?”

  Jessica groped for something meaningful to say. “My Grandfather was a man named Graesion. I think he was someone important.”

  High Older Tarin looked as if Jessica had just slapped him. “Graesion, of the house of Saylon?” he barely whispered.

  “Yes.” It was Jessica’s turn to be surprised. “You’ve heard of him?”

  Several others in the room gasped, but no one spoke. Chana’s young son, a boy about ten years of age finally broke the silence. “Who’s Graesion of the House of Saylon?”

  Jessica needed an answer to that question herself. She looked expectantly at the old man. However, before he could answer, an elderly woman stepped up to the lad. With a disgusted expression on her face, the aged lady shook his shoulder. “What do you do in school all day, boy? Don’t you know your history? Graesion was the great High Protector. He and Lady Gayleena were Lord Haesom’s parents.”

  Jessica’s heart skipped a beat. “Lady Gayleena?” Before she could connect any more dots, Varnack appeared in the doorway.

  “They return,” he alerted.

  “Already?” Jessica barely breathed. “Varnack, I can fight, I’ve been trained,” she offered. “Tell me…”

  He cut her off. “Stay.”

  “But…”

  “Everyone.” His command left no room for argument. He spun around and sat on his haunches on the front deck.

  “The riders return,” Jessica warned. “Varnack wants us to stay here.”

  The man with one hand rose, “I’d rather die fighting.”

  Jessica hurried to block his path. “If Varnack says to stay, then we stay.”

  “I didn’t hear him speak. How do you know what the hound wants?” he challenged.

  “I just know, okay? We communicate. If Varnack fails, then you can still die fighting, but right now you’d be more a liability than a help.”

  “Sit down, Bareth,” the high older urged. “No one doubts your courage.”

  With his remaining hand, Bareth pulled a dagger from his belt and sat back on the chair.

  Jessica took up position in the open doorway. Some of the women cracked the shutters to better see the road outside. Tarin, the high older, shuffled to Jessica’s side while the last two men fell in behind him. Within moments the dull patter of horse’s hooves on hardened earth reached her ears. Five black clothed men, their heads shaved, rode on shiny black horses down the stony street. Even though-or perhaps because-the situation was so intense, Jessica needed to stifle a laugh. Black! Why was it that bad guys always seemed to wear black?

  The five halted a few yards from Varnack, then dismounted in unison. One pointed to Jessica standing in the doorway and whispered to his comrade, a man distinguished from the other four by a red sash around his middle.

  “Girl,” the leader called, “come with us and we’ll leave this hoffle. No one gets hurt.”

  Once spoken, the untruth issued from the man’s lips as a thin black rope coiling and twisting into a knot just in front of his mouth. Jessica saw it so clearly that, for an instant, it actually obscured his lips. Outraged, she shot back, “You lie!”

  Varnack’s thoughts came to her. “Leave now,” she translated. “Or Varnack”, she nodded her head toward him, “will kill you.”

  The men laughed, they seemed truly amused by her warning, but before their smiles faded, Varnack lunged from the porch. Startled by his swiftness, Jessica jumped back, thumping into the one handed man who was standing close behind her. He swore under his breath.

  Varnack moved with astounding speed. Razor sharp claws protruded from each mighty forepaw. With the left he slit a man’s throat while simultaneously using the right to rip open another’s chest. Varnack nimbly touched the ground on all fours. He spun around and kicked with his hind legs, connecting with such force on a third killer, that the human was dead before hitting the ground. The fourth man pulled his sword and lunged at the mighty animal. Varnack pulled back, barely dodging the weapon. Before the assassin could swing again, he sprang. His teeth sank deep into the man’s side, tearing the flesh away. The killer cried out in agony. A dagger flew from just behind where Jessica stood. It landed with a muted thud in the wounded man’s heart.

  “Justice, though I think my hand is worth twenty of that doogeroot’s lives,” Bareth declared in cold satisfaction.

  The red-sashed leader, his face alive with shock and anger, leapt at Varnack. In each hand he held a long, jagged edged blade. Varnack twisted to th
e side as one of the knives slashed downward toward his head. He rolled away, but the second dagger caught his shoulder. Red blood oozed onto his golden coat. The hound jumped, snapping at the man’s left hand. He tore the tiny finger off. The enemy grimaced but made no noise. He held onto his weapon in a blood soaked grip. He hacked again at Varnack, twisting the blades over and around with blinding speed.

  Their dance had a deadly grace to it. Weaving and bobbing, Varnack would lung and nip, then prance back so swiftly that his feet did not seem to touch the earth. Scattered pools of red liquid dotted his sleek body. The two had maneuvered further down the street. Jessica and many of the townspeople now crowded onto the veranda to witness the fight. With surprising agility, the Trigal hound skirted behind his opponent. He connected with the man’s left hand again and this time caused the blade to sail through the air. Spinning around after the elusive animal, the man was caught off balance by a hit to the side. Again, Varnack dodged a deadly jab. He sprang back, circled once more, and charged the man, biting into his raised right sword arm. The two tumbled to the ground. Varnack quickly released the arm and sank his sharp fangs deep into the neck of the red sashed leader. The man struggled to twist away, pounding at Varnack’s head, but the jaws held firm. Within moments, he ceased to struggle. The warrior dog did not let go of the throat until his opponent’s body completely ceased to quiver.

  “I’ll bet they thought Trigal hounds were myth and superstition too,” High Older Tarin mused. “It’s over,” he announced to his people, “we are safe once again.”

  Jessica, gasping from having held her breath so many times, ran to Varnack. He licked at the clotting blood on his shoulder. “I’ve never seen anything like that before, and I hope to never have to see it again.” She stroked his head. “Thanks, Varnack.”

  Chana’s inquisitive ten-year-old boy appeared at her elbow. “Can I touch him?” The child reached out to Varnack.