by MJ Blehart
The Sorcerer walked over to Dak, who had not noticed him yet. Quietly, when he got within earshot, he spoke, “You might want to have a physician look at that, Dak. If you have one.”
Dak turned to him. “Not here, though there may be a trained field medic or two.” He turned to the woman, who wore a dark grey divided riding skirt, and brown tunic, standing near. “Neva? Could you find me a medic?” he raised his forearm, the cloth tied about it freshly bloody.
She glanced towards him, noted his wound, and turned to walk towards the tents inside the village.
Cam moved closer to Dak. “May I?” he asked. Dak looked to him, and bowed his head once in agreement. Cam took his arm, unwrapped the bandage, and examined the wound.
“This hurt as much as it looks like it does?” queried Cam.
Dak said nothing.
Cam took a deep breath, let it our slow. “Alright, let me ask this. How many of you Falcon Raiders are there, anyhow?”
“Around three-hundred or so,” said Dak. “Not counting informants, and other sympathizers.”
“Just what is it you’re all sympathetic to, Dak?” asked Cam directly.
Dak almost glared at him. “To the removal of the King. But if you want more, you’ll have to ask Lyrra-Sharron.”
Cam was examining Dak’s wound closely. “I think I might be able to do something for this, Dak…but you have to trust me.”
Dak looked at him more intently, then nodded his head in acceptance of the offer.
Cam took a deep breath, and slowed his heart some. He began to mutter in a low voice, barely audible. The language was familiar to virtually nobody, and Cam’s own understanding of it was limited to spellcasting. When he was finished, he said calmly “Mend.”
Dak shivered slightly, then looked down at his arm. It no longer bled, and the wound was clearly less deep then before.
“You have your powers back?” Dak asked softly, a note of astonishment in his tone.
Cam grinned ruefully. “Not really. Healing is perhaps the simplest of spells. If I had all my power back, I could have closed the wound entirely, and left no trace of it, not even a scar,” he let out a sigh. “At least I can do a little.”
“Thank you, then.” Dak acknowledged faintly.
Cam looked at Dak, saw the gratitude on his face. It was more than he had expected from the man. Maybe he could win his trust after all.
Cam began to pay attention to the conversation between Torman and Lyrra-Sharron again, as they were coming towards him and Dak.
“...is where we stand now, your Highness,” concluded Torman. “We’re a small group here, another small group with Varnon, setting up a third base, and Nadav commands from the core.”
Lyrra-Sharron turned to Dak, drawing him back into the conversation. “Do you think it wise to divide our forces so?”
Dak considered that a moment. “Probably. We can leave Nadav at the new site, and Torman here. You can still run operations from our old location.”
“Excellent,” she replied. “Torman, you shall need to send a runner to both of the other groups, let them know we are back. We will stay with you for a couple days, then return to the main base. After that, we move ahead with recruitment and plans. The time has come to take action, before the King hunts us down.”
“Very well, Your Highness,” Torman replied. “You’ve been riding all night, no? Breakfast is being served in the central pavilion just ahead. I’ll make sure to have tents erected for you at once.”
Neva returned with the bandages, and Dak held his arm out for her. She seemed a bit surprised by how much better it looked, but went on to dress it without comment.
“Thank you, Torman,” said Lyrra-Sharron. He saluted her, moved off. She turned to Cam. “Walk with me.”
Cam fell into step beside the Princess. They were alone in the center of what had once been a large trader’s market. “This is it, Cam Murtallan. You have a choice. I invited you to join us. Now, it is your decision. If you wish to leave, so be it. I will give you the horse we captured, a small store of food, an extra blanket. If you choose to leave, you would be wise to get out of Sharron as quickly as possible. I cannot force you to join us, it must be your own choice.”
Cam considered his situation a moment before responding. “I have to be honest. I’ve considered leaving once or twice since we escaped Gara-Sharron. I normally work alone, never one for joining a group. But I’ve also considered what you went through when you saved me. Whether or not that was your goal, you did it none-the-less, and my very life I owe to you. I have to know, though, what this is all about.”
She tilted her head and looked into his eyes. “This?”
Cam continued. “You. The Princess of this Kingdom. The Falcon Raiders. What’s it all about?”
Lyrra-Sharron seemed taken aback. “You cannot be serious! Cam Murtallan, my father was about to hang you for being what you are! You do not think that makes the man a monster?”
Cam shrugged. “He’s a King. He does what he sees best, I suppose. But you lived in his palace. If you wanted the crown, why didn’t you just slit his throat?”
She reacted too fast for Cam to stop her. Lyrra-Sharron caught Cam completely off guard, and punched him in the eye, knocking him to the ground. She stood over him, furious.
“How dare you suggest such a thing! I am no cold blooded murderer, like him!” She took several deep breaths, then composed herself. “I would never have the throne if I had taken his life. We have laws that see to that. I want the people to support me, lest our enemies see us as weak. That is what this is about. I speak for the people, something my father has forgotten how to do.”
Cam looked up to her, propped on his elbows, not yet ready to rise. He decided this was definitely not the time to comment about the cut throats of the soldiers. “So you say. But what has he done that brought you to this? I don’t believe ‘the people’ asked you to come and lead them.”
She crossed her arms, eyeing Cam acidly. Then, she sighed, calming. “It is too complicated a story to be told quickly, Cam Murtallan. Not now. I will explain, in time.” She paused, took another deep breath, let it out slow, then continued. “This is not going to be easy. For either of us. If you stay, I will teach you to fight, and use what assistance you can offer to end my father’s rule. I may also have read something from the Royal Libraries that could help you better understand your current dilemma.”
“Doesn’t help me much with the library in the palace, and you here.”
Lyrra-Sharron tapped a finger to her temple. “Eidetic memory. Whatever I see, whatever I read, I can remember it completely.”
Cam made to rise. Lyrra-Sharron offered him a hand, and he took it.
“It seems more beneficial for me to stay with you, than to strike out on my own,” Cam stated, having reached his decision. “I’ll help you. But I won’t be an ordinary foot soldier. I work for you, and maybe Dak, directly.”
She inclined her head slightly in response. “Agreed. I have a feeling you will make a better advisor than soldier anyhow. At least, for the time being. I have to admit, though, you are very good with the staff.”
“When you’re a boy alone on the streets of an occupied city, you need to fight for your food to survive. Blades are hard to come by.” He paused. A single push, he decided. “One last thing, Lyrra-Sharron.”
“What is that?”
“Don’t do that again. Next time, I’ll strike back.”
She smirked. “Of course. Next time I shall keep my head.”
Together, they walked to the pavilion where Dak and Torman were already eating steaming oatmeal.
Dak looked to Lyrra-Sharron. “It’s settled, then?”
She glanced towards Cam. “Indeed. Cam Murtallan will be joining us after all.”
Dak nodded his head, and continued to eat.
Lyrra-Sharron turned to Torman. “Torman ApCrill, this is Cam Murtallan. He is a new advisor and personal guard. Please see to it he has a tent erected for hi
m. Try as well to find him some clothes. He has been a recent prisoner of my father’s, whom we freed. I should like to make certain he is introduced to our key people.”
“Cam Murtallan,” Torman greeted him.
Cam responded in kind.
Lyrra-Sharron took a seat, and gestured for Cam to do so as well. A young woman, no more than a teenager, served them.
“We have much to do,” commented Lyrra-Sharron. “We need to learn what our losses were from our little excursion into town. We then need to re-group, and move to the next phase. The time has come.”
Dak and Torman paid her full attention, Cam observed. She did, he had to admit, have quite the command presence.
“This is only the beginning, my lords. Our plans are in motion. No more waiting. Sharron will remain strong and whole. I will see to that. No matter what.”
Cam just sat there, ignoring any continuance to her oration, and pondered the situation he now found himself in.
For good or ill, he was no longer alone, on a quest only he was aware of. What this would bode, even prophecy could not predict.
At least now he had reclaimed the time.
He knew with absolute certainty that it was his to seek. Although delayed, he still had a purpose.
Someday, Cam Murtallan, orphan, street urchin, vagabond, now Falcon Raider, would be the finder of the greatest lost relic in the world. He still lived. Destiny clearly was still with him.
The prophetic dream he could recall with absolute clarity must not have been mistaken after all.
Chapter 12
King Varlock-Sharron Anduin stood alone in the practice yard. He was motionless, pausing in his exercise. He held his sword low, with the tip pointed up in a classic en guarde position.
Varlock-Sharron often did this, practicing his forms, moving from position to position, challenging strength, endurance, balance and more. He moved with a fluid grace, the motions of a master swordsman, man and blade as one.
The King used his own weapon, a long sword with a hand-and-a-half hilt, and upward swept quillions. A fine blade, passed on from generation to generation within his household. A sense of pride and honor always filled him when he used this weapon.
Of late, Varlock-Sharron made time for these exercises, as well as combat with practice swords against various soldiers. The King had wanted to do just that today, but yesterday he had cracked two of Captain-General Ov Callan’s ribs with the practice weapon. His balance had been off, so he chose instead to work alone on technique.
The heavy door to the courtyard opened, and Lord Tulock Oran came through. A guard closed the entry behind him. He watched as his King ran through the solo exercises a few more times.
Varlock-Sharron stepped out of his en guarde position, firmly planting the tip of his blade into the soft earth of the practice court. He turned to his Seneschal, acknowledging his presence.
“Greetings, Tulock. What brings you out here?”
Lord Tulock moved towards his King. “Reports from General Bodrir, my liege.”
The King went over to a table beside a wall. He lifted up a decanter there, filled with iced water, and poured the cold liquid into a pewter tankard. He took a long draught, then removed his tunic from a peg on the wall. He pulled it over his head, began to tuck it into his breeches. “What news does my Army Commander have this week?”
Tulock handed the King his belt. “Nothing good, I’m afraid.”
The King walked towards the center of the courtyard. He took the sword out of the earth, and sheathed it at his left hip. “Three weeks, Tulock. She escaped over three weeks ago. He has searched over half the kingdom, and has found nothing of my renegade daughter?”
Lord Tulock shook his head. “No, your Majesty. She has disappeared, and covered her tracks admirably. What’s worse, though, is her increased attacks on platoons of soldiers. She hasn’t killed too many, but she’s taken a lot of equipment, not to mention horses and supplies. Moreover, she’s providing stolen goods to local villages, especially the poorer ones within the kingdom. She’s building a supporting foundation among the peasants.”
The King sighed. “So I look like some kind of robber baron. I can only supply so much, and now my daughter steals from me, and appears to be the great provider to the people. She continues to humiliate my Crown, forcing me to give more to these villages myself. The treasury is taking a beating, and Lady Ara is becoming concerned. More over, General Sopirr’s reports indicate a growing force on our eastern frontier.”
“Yes,” replied Lord Tulock. “We’ve got a real problem. General Bodrir continues to sweep through the countryside, but so far nothing. Remains of a camp at Tarmollo is all he’s discovered so far, but apart from that, he has nothing else. He can only cover so much ground.”
The King touched the hilt of his blade, saying nothing, then walked towards the door. He opened it, and walked into the dim hallway, Lord Tulock falling into step beside him.
“I do have some good news, however. Varlock-Sharron, Sir Garvol has located Lord Mika,” Tulock continued. “The bastard son-of-a-bitch is hiding in King Wilnar-Medira’s palace. He requested asylum.”
The King laughed. “Is that so? No surprise there, I guess. Can Sir Garvol do anything about this?”
“Yes, your Majesty,” concurred Lord Tulock. “He has a few low-profile sources within Penkira, and the palace. Lord Mika Forkuln can be taken care of within a week.”
“See to it, then, Tulock,” the King stated matter-of-factly. “Let it be a lesson to everyone that treason and betrayal will not be tolerated in my staff. Is his Second adequate as a replacement Foreign Minister?”
Lord Tulock made an indelicate sound. “Hardly. I fear his staff is entirely too corrupted. They haven’t been worth much to us lately.”
The King nodded his head at that. A guard in front of a heavy door saluted and opened it, admitting Varlock-Sharron and Tulock to a small private library. The King went to the fireplace, removing his sword and placing it above the mantle. He took a seat at the large desk before it. Lord Tulock continued to stand.
“I shall write it up now. I am releasing the entire foreign ministry. Give them a couple week’s severance, and send them packing. I assume you have a recommendation or two for replacements?”
Lord Tulock took a seat in front of the desk. “I do, but it may surprise you. I had considered Lord Halron Gam-Sharron, but Lady Ara relies on him too much as her deputy, so she won’t let him go.”
The King paused from the parchment he was writing on, and looked up at Lord Tulock. “Do you and Ara discuss everything, Tulock?”
His Seneschal grinned impishly. “Only important things. Aside from yourself, she’s the smartest person in this palace. And the most reasonable.”
The King grunted low in his throat, and went back to his work.
“As I said, it was not an easy choice to make. The foreign ministry is a disaster, and needs to be revamped with all speed. I think the best candidate is Marna Forkuln.”
The King stopped and eyed his Seneschal. “Wait a moment. Is she not related to Lord Mika? And is she not part of Garvol’s staff?”
“Yes to both,” said Lord Tulock. “But hear me out. She is a cousin of Lord Mika, the daughter of his dead uncle, Sir Malav Forkuln.”
“Sir Malav was a great soldier. He died too young,” stated Varlock-Sharron definitively. He paused, momentarily reminiscing. “The House of Forkuln had been a bastion of greatness for a long time. Many believed if the House of Anduin reached its twilight, the Forkulns’ would be the next to take the throne. But they faded first. Lord Wrill was a great man, but his only son has proven to be a terrible disappointment, to say the least. And Sir Malav had but one daughter. The Forkuln name will die with Lord Mika. Which brings up another point. Marna Forkuln is not much out of her teens, is she?”
Lord Tulock leaned back in his chair. “I know she is an odd choice, but I have several reasons. Yes, she only just turned eighteen. But she’s the one who located Lord M
ika. She also confirmed the alliance between Juron and Wilnar-Medira. Furthermore, she presented a treatise to Sir Garvol on Intelligence and the Foreign Ministry, and how the two should work far closer to prevent lapses in such knowledge again. He showed this to me. She is bold, she’s tough, and she has no pre-conceptions about nobility, politics, or how a ministry is to be organized and run. If Sir Garvol, Lady Ara and I take her in hand, we could establish an entirely new Foreign Ministry. One that works.”
The King brushed hair away from his face. “Interesting. Very well, bring her to me, Tulock, and I shall question her. I find myself intrigued, I have to admit. Besides, a woman as Foreign Minister could cause quite a stir amongst my brother monarchs. That alone makes the possibility worthwhile.”
“I’ll set up a meeting right away, your Majesty,” said Tulock.
The King leaned over the parchment again, finished, then lit a candle, dribbling wax next to his signature. He pressed his signet ring to it, then rolled the scroll up and handed the parchment to Tulock. “There. Present this to the Foreign Ministry as soon as you can. Let us get that cleared right now, before they do additional harm. Anything else?”
Tulock placed the scroll in the pouch at his side. “The Falcon Raiders?”
King Varlock-Sharron stood, and walked to the fireplace. He leaned upon the mantle, looking at the sword mounted above it. “Yes. Call in General Bodrir and Constable drey-Sharron. We need to work out a new plan, some way to snare them. This cannot be allowed to go on any longer.”
Lord Tulock arose. “Yes, my liege.”
The King turned to him again. “What of the Sorcerer? Any word of him?”
Tulock shook his head. “No, your Majesty. He’s probably left Sharron, could be halfway across the ocean by now. It may be just as well.”
The King examined his sword somewhat absently. “True. True. But I do not think he is gone. He may have stayed to assist my daughter. Keep him on the wanted criminals scrolls, for now.”
“Aye, my liege. Not that it ever helps us any. Up the reward?”
The King glanced at him. “No. It does not seem to matter. Just do not remove him from the list.”