Chasing Portals: Swords and Science Book 1

by Jason Parker

  A shriek of excitement escaped Daria’s lips at Moros’s mesmerizing words of murder and destruction. She could no longer contain her arousal. Her body burned with desire. It consumed her. She slipped a hand inside her panties and began caressing her breasts with the other.

  “Vladrik’s power and anger will make him a useful tool for us,” Moros purred. She interpreted his subtle change in inflection as appreciation for her display.

  “As his conquests grow,” he continued, “so will his ego. He will begin to believe he can recapture his former glory. Temper his ambitions and ensure he fully understands his place and who he serves. You will need to remind him of this frequently. Watch him closely, he must not stray from the course I have outlined for him. You will not disappoint me in this.”

  Daria let out a moan. “No, never!”

  “Now,” Moros commanded, “remove your clothing, and do it slowly.”

  She quivered at the sprinkle of velvety anticipation in his voice and envisioned him reveling in the perfection of her body. The hope and belief she could excite him to such a degree elevated her to a state of unbridled ecstasy.

  Her body moved in a rhythmic gyration. She slowly lifted her camisole until her breasts finally sprang free. She pulled the camisole over her head, tossed it to the side and seductively slid her hands down the contours of her breasts bringing them to rest on her swaying hips. She playfully lowered and raised the side straps of her thong teasing him again and again until she could no longer resist. Dropping the panties to the ankles of her boots, she moaned and caressed herself.

  “I am yours, my lord,” she breathed.

  CHAPTER 9

  About a mile away from the Institute, the wagon Nightlocke was riding on halted at the stagecoach station in the village of Camber. He was still caught up in the doldrums of saying farewell to the Institute as he hopped off the wagon and immediately searched for Ron and Laurela. After scanning the crowd and several passersby, he spotted them in a grassy area off to the side of the platform. He was pleasantly surprised to find the two holding hands.

  “Looks like you guys have a story to tell,” he said with a grin as he greeted his friends.

  Laurela blushed slightly, but Nightlocke didn’t think he’d ever witnessed such starry-eyed exuberance.

  “This is my new number one girl,” Ron said enthusiastically. “You should have seen her last night. She walked up and elbowed Glerni aside then pulled me away and told me I was her man.”

  “Jeez, Ron,” Laurela said giving Ron a playful punch in the arm, “I don’t think those people at the other end of the station heard you.”

  “I’m sure that’s exactly how it happened,” Nightlocke laughed with a wink toward Laurela.

  “Hope to die,” Ron said with feigned sincerity, “and most amazing of all, we didn’t even have sex!”

  Laurela turned bright red and gave Ron a harder punch in the arm.

  Ignoring her, Ron turned to Nightlocke. “Speaking of sex, my friend. Rumor has it you were seen sneaking out of Ambernifer’s lab this morning doing the walk of shame.”

  Now it was Nightlocke’s turn to blush. “What? Who told you that?” he stammered.

  “Ha! So, it is true. I knew it!” Ron exclaimed. “Ambernifer lit up your night twice!”

  Ron’s innocent jape hit Nightlocke like a knife stab to an old wound. He certainly didn’t want to go into details on how he had left things with Ambernifer. He didn’t want to tarnish his friends’ happiness.

  “More like three times, you ass,” Nightlocke countered. Turning to Laurela he asked, “You sure this is the guy you want?”

  “Hard to believe, isn't it?” she responded, shaking her head.

  “My congratulations to you both,” Nightlocke said. “What are your plans now?”

  “I'm going to become a farmer,” Ron said. “Well, eventually. I’m taking a detour to Agron, first. I promised my father and older brother I would help them repair and upgrade some of the storage facilities and equipment for the family business. It should only take three or four months and then I'm on my way to the Arcanta region to roll in the hay.”

  “He should fit right in,” Laurela said, stifling a laugh.

  “So you have no interest in being involved with your family’s business?” Nightlocke asked Ron.

  Ron shook his head and waived his arms back and forth across his body. “No, no, no. I would be miserable. I’m happy to help out for the next few months, but then I’ll leave it to my older brother, Brylan, to be the successor.”

  “I thought as much,” Nightlocke nodded, then turned toward Laurela. “Sounds like you're heading home then?”

  “Yes,” she responded, “I plan to begin work at the Arcanta agricultural science center immediately—mixing fertilizers and performing soil and water testing. I've been hanging around the place since my early teens. My parents realized pretty early on I wasn’t going to be much use in the fields and let me pursue my interests.”

  Ron released her hand and put an arm around her waist.

  Laurela smiled at Ron and continued, “The people at the science center are a hard-working, dedicated group, but innovation is needed. I see a lot of opportunity to develop fertilizers tailored to the specific needs of each seed and soil type to improve crop output. I also think there is much to learn from the cellular structure of the plants we grow. Ron was always good at cellular analysis, so he should be able to offer insight in that area.”

  “Wow! It sounds like you should be the Scientist,” Nightlocke said, amazed by her ambition.

  “Yeah, you’re sweet, but throw something like that force beam you're so interested in at me and I really wouldn't know where to begin. You, on the other hand, could probably accomplish in a few months what will likely take me a few years,” Laurela countered.

  Nightlocke suspected there was a fair amount of truth in her assessment, but he reassured her. “I'm certain your passion for agricultural science will lead you to great success.”

  “That's nice of you to say,” Laurela beamed. “So what about you? Are you going home to Tanger?”

  “No,” Nightlocke responded to Laurela, “there is nothing left for me in Tanger now that my grandmother’s gone.”

  Laurela stepped away from Ron and squeezed Nightlocke’s hand. “I know it must be difficult to not have a place to call home. Please know that you’re always welcome in Arcanta.”

  He returned her squeeze. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

  “Hey,” Ron interjected, “you never told us your parents died in military service.”

  Laurela glared at Ron. “Maybe that’s because he doesn’t want to talk about it. Fodjan really shouldn’t have mentioned it in his graduation address yesterday.”

  “It’s okay. Really,” Nightlocke said, holding up his hands. “I wasn’t thrilled about Fodjan broadcasting my personal affairs to the entire graduation assembly, but it’s not a sensitive subject.”

  He glanced at the simple brass clock mounted above the station entrance. “It looks like we have some time to kill, so I’ll tell you the story, if you really want to hear it.”

  Ron and Laurela looked at each other, then back toward Nightlocke and nodded.

  “Well,” Nightlocke began, “my grandmother, Aldanna, was also in the military. For sixteen years she served at the Central Outpost with my grandfather, Kendel, until he was injured in combat with a swarm of basilisks. He recovered for the most part, but his left fibula was badly broken and enough of a limp remained to compromise his mobility to the point where he was no longer an effective soldier. They decided to retire to Tanger and start a family. My mother, Kylea, was born soon after.”

  “Wow!” Laurela commented as she brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Military roots run deep in your family. Maybe that’s why you are so interested in the force beam.”

  Nightlocke rubbed his chin. “Hmm. I hadn’t really considered that. Anyway, the military was certainly in my mother’s blood. She was extremely clo
se to her father and, according to grandmother, would constantly beg him to tell her stories about his soldiering days. When Kendel died from complications attributed to residual basilisk poison, my mother became determined to follow in his footsteps and battle the creatures that had taken him from her. At eighteen, she left Tanger and enlisted at the Central Outpost.”

  “Kylea sounds pretty intense,” Ron interrupted. He gave Nightlocke a light punch on the shoulder. “I guess that’s where you get it from. You just direct your energies to creating rather than killing.”

  Nightlocke rubbed his arm. His face contorted in mock anguish. “Again, that’s something I never considered.”

  “Go on with your story,” Laurela urged and lightly slapped Ron on his arm.

  Nightlocke smiled and continued. “At the Outpost Kylea met my father, a young Tuvirian lieutenant named Jaff Logan. They married and a few years later she returned home pregnant with me. The pregnancy was unplanned and unexpected. My parents desperately wanted to resume their life in the military, but they realized the Central Outpost was not an ideal place to raise a child. My grandmother empathized with my parents and agreed to raise me.”

  He paused to lick his lips and swallow. “A few months after I was born, my parents resumed their duties at the Central Outpost. They returned for visits every few months when they were granted leave, but they were more like an aunt and uncle. My grandmother was my true parent. In the autumn, when I was eleven, my parents were overdue for a visit when an unfamiliar soldier arrived. My parents had been killed in battle.”

  Laurela put an arm around his shoulder. “That’s an awful story. I’m so sorry.”

  Nightlocke shook his head. “Thanks, but it’s okay. Really. My parents’ deaths convinced me I wanted nothing to do with the military. With the support of my grandmother, I focused on science and eventually ended up at the Institute. In a strange way I think everything worked out how it was supposed to.”

  “Okay, enough with the sad stories,” Ron said pretending to wipe tears from his eyes. “We just graduated. We should be happy. Since you’re not going back to Tanger, where are you going?”

  “I'm going to Brighton,” Nightlocke replied. “I received a sudden offer to apprentice with a Master Scientist there.”

  “Lucky dog,” Ron said, slapping Nightlocke on the back. “Catching a gig at the beach for the summer.”

  “Who's the Master Scientist?” Laurela asked.

  Nightlocke shrugged. “His name's Dagan Garris. He's retired and Rainstel wouldn't tell me his Scientist name. It's all very mysterious, but Rainstel and Fodjan strongly urged me to take advantage of the offer, so I'm going to check it out.”

  Ron rubbed his hands together. “I hope it works out for you, but if not, there's always the beach and the scantily clad women.”

  Laurela smiled and shook her head. “You have my best wishes as well. We both have to travel through Crossroads. We can ride together on one of the six steam coaches heading in that direction. They should be leaving soon.”

  Nightlocke stared at the line of steam coaches. Workers were busily prepping the brass and copper steam engines and attending to the teams of horses. The steam engine provided propulsion to the wheels and relieved the burden of the horses. A typical stagecoach employed four horses and could average five mph. A steam coach could operate with half the horses and at twice the speed.

  “I’ve heard rumors that Scientists at the steam engine manufacturing facilities in Caleria are working on steam powered coaches operated without horses. The main problem, though, is the steering and stopping mechanisms have yet to be perfected.”

  “That’s fascinating,” Ron drawled with a fake yawn.

  Nightlocke rolled his eyes. “You know, I’m not sorry to see you go, but I am sorry I missed seeing your family at graduation yesterday.”

  “Yeah, unfortunately they had to leave right after the ceremony,” Ron explained. “They had to be in Crossroads yesterday afternoon to pick up a shipment of hardware. I’ll ride with them back home to Agron. They should be here in an hour to pick me up.”

  “You’re lucky they were able to at least see you graduate,” Laurela said. “My parents are stuck in Arcanta in the middle of planting season. Such is the life of farmers.”

  When it was time to board, Nightlocke left the pair to locate his backpack. He pulled it from a pile of luggage on the platform and handed it to a porter to load into the cargo bin on top of his coach. When he rejoined his friends, Laurela was wiping tears from her eyes. His heart ached for her. She had pined for Ron for four years before they finally became a couple, but after less than one day they were going separate directions. At least they would be reunited again in a few months.

  “Well, Ron,” Nightlocke said. “I guess this is it for a while. Take care of yourself and stay out of trouble.”

  “Hey,” Ron responded, “I'm not the one going to the beach. Seriously, brother, good luck with everything and don't be a stranger.”

  “Not a chance,” Nightlocke said as he shook Ron's hand and embraced him.

  “I'll see you on the coach, Laurela,” Nightlocke said as he left them to say their goodbyes in private.

  ***

  The five-hour steam coach ride to Crossroads passed with idle chat about force beams and fertilizers. The coach windows revealed a landscape of plains and sparse woodlands. A smattering of small settlements emerged along the road and herds of livestock—cattle, sheep, and goats—periodically dotted the horizon. While the soil was far less friendly to agriculture than Laurela’s native Arcanta, a few small farms were sprinkled about.

  As the settlements became less scattered and larger, Nightlocke knew they were approaching Crossroads. Crossroads was a large town aptly named for being centered at the junction of five roads. It was a hub for the movement and transfer of goods not only within Delon, but all of Gandany.

  The population was transient and the town catered to the needs of the many travelers and merchants. Large warehousing facilities dominated the inner city and an abundance of inns and taverns were scattered about, ranging from elegant to seedy. Merchants wheeled and dealed, barkeeps poured and served, gamblers cheered and lamented, exotic dancers entertained and teased. If you could imagine it, you could find it in Crossroads.

  Their conversation quieted and Nightlocke glanced at Laurela. She was staring blanking at her hands and he noted a hint of sadness. He knew it was tough for her to leave Ron. He smiled in spite of himself and raised a hand to his mouth to hide it from Laurela.

  Seeing the outskirts of Crossroads reminded him of the excursions Ron organized to the town during class breaks. Ron and friends would catch a ride on one of his family’s supply wagons and party until dawn. Ron claimed there was nothing comparable to Crossroads in all of Gandany, not even in the large cities of Harkovia. He knew Ron didn’t have firsthand knowledge of this, but Nightlocke could believe it based on what he’d seen.

  “Oh!” Laurela said, looking up and smacking her forehead as the steam coach pulled into the bustling Crossroads station. “I can’t believe I almost forgot to tell you this. The night before graduation a strange man approached me wanting to ask some questions about you. He made up some bull story about being with Science Monthly but I recognized him.”

  Nightlocke raised his eyebrows. “So you know this guy?”

  Laurela leaned toward him and spoke quietly. “I don’t exactly know him, but when I was a kid I saw him kill a man.”

  “Really! What would someone like that want with me?” he wondered, scratching the top of his head.

  “I have no idea what he wanted from you,” she continued to whisper. “When I threatened to expose him, he backed off and agreed to leave. You need to watch your back, though. He killed this man right in the middle of a harvest festival.”

  “Can you tell me what he looks like?” Nightlocke asked, also whispering.

  She paused then shrugged. “Hmm. I’ll try. He’s average height, average build, has dark wa
vy hair cut quite short—maybe around thirty. There’s nothing real distinctive about him, but…”

  “But what?” he asked, leaning expectantly.

  Laurela knitted her eyebrows. “I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. He’s remarkably unremarkable, in a creepy sort of way.”

  Laurela looked helplessly at him and raised her hands. “I’m sorry, I know that doesn’t give you much to go on.”

  “That’s ok. Thanks for the warning, I’ll keep an eye out,” he said, furtively glancing at the other passengers.

  They disembarked as the early evening sun slid toward the horizon. The station was a hive of activity. An array of steam coaches and stagecoaches lined the passenger lanes as workers inspected the steam engines and attended to the horses. In the neighboring depot lanes, cargo handlers yelled at each other as they loaded and unloaded coaches and wagons.

  Nightlocke and Laurela separated to book passage to their respective destinations. After standing in two lines and enduring numerous bumps and elbows, Nightlocke secured a ticket. He returned to find Laurela looking dour.

  “Were you unable to get a ticket,” he asked.

  “Oh, I got one,” she huffed. “Just not the one I wanted. I got to the front of the line for the only steam coach going to Arcanta just as they started pulling the seats out so they could use it for cargo.” She slammed a fist into her palm. “The next passenger steam coach is in two days! I’m stuck on a stagecoach and I have to wait an hour and a half before it departs. It’s going to take forever to travel the two-hundred miles home.”

  Nightlocke grinned sheepishly and brushed a hand through his hair. “Um, I had better luck. My steam coach leaves in ten minutes. Sorry you got shafted on the transportation.”

  “It's okay,” she sighed. “I should have expected it. Arcanta’s in the middle of nowhere. This isn’t the first time I’ve had transportation problems. I’m just really anxious to get home.”