Seeker (The Source Chronicles Book 1)

by MJ Blehart

  It was then Dak saw him. A man had come in through the tapestry-hidden door. His skin was dark, his eyebrows full and bushy. He had a mustache and no beard. He looked to be an amalgam of Medaelian and Anarian, to Dak’s eyes.

  He also held a knife, which he was preparing to throw.

  Dak moved fast, around the wall, unseen.

  The dark man bided his time, waiting for Lyrra-Sharron to come about just so.

  He slapped the handle of the knife upon his palm, and made ready to throw.

  “Lyrra-Sharron, Drop!” cried Dak as the knife flew.

  Lyrra-Sharron fell to the floor instantly at the sound of Dak’s voice. The knife sailed by and hit the wall.

  The man turned to face Dak, and was met with a sword in the belly. He started, tried to say something, then collapsed.

  Wilnar-Medira moved at her, and Lyrra-Sharron rolled on her side, away, then jumped up. She parried with her sword, then dagger, then sword. She moved fast, stepping towards Wilnar-Medira, her dagger blade running down his rapier blade. She thrust her own rapier as he tried to bring his dagger down to block.

  The point of her rapier entered his chest. Wilnar-Medira gaped at the blade, frozen. Then he gasped, and slid off her sword.

  He lurched, dropping his rapier. He stumbled back, and away.

  Lyrra-Sharron followed. Aldo Wilnar-Medira fell to his knees, then to his face, still clutching his dagger.

  *****

  Dak came to Lyrra-Sharron, and stood at her side. “It’s over.”

  She nodded her head in response, catching her breath. The Medaelian King, she would admit to none other but herself, was a surprisingly decent adversary with a rapier. “You saved me, Dak Amviir. Again. That man you killed...that was Count Vular-Murtona, Chief of Medaelian Intelligence. Thank you.”

  “What now?” Dak asked.

  “We have to make certain Wilnar-Medira is finished.”

  Dak approached the prone King.

  He knelt beside him, took his right hand, obviously feeling his pulse. “His heart still beats. Not strong.” Dak dropped the hand, and stood, turned to face Lyrra-Sharron. “What do you want to do with him?”

  Lyrra-Sharron was torn between letting him die slowly from the wound she’d already inflicted, or slitting his throat. Either way, she would not leave him alive.

  She was about to speak, when she saw the flicker of motion.

  With a strangled cry, Lyrra-Sharron dove at Dak, knocking him to the ground.

  Wilnar-Medira had leapt up from the floor, dagger aimed at Dak’s unprotected back. He staggered by, having missed as Lyrra-Sharron took Dak to the floor.

  Wilnar-Medira dropped to his knees, coughed hard, blood emerging from his lips. He collapsed with a sigh, and was still.

  *****

  Lyrra-Sharron held Dak, both of them on their sides, lying on the floor, staring at the now dead King.

  “Cam was not mistaken,” remarked Dak calmly. “You needed me here. And I needed you here.”

  She gazed at him. The look on her face made him tense, uncomfortable. He had held it in for so long, and it was threatening to burst from his chest now.

  Dak tried to move, but Lyrra-Sharron rolled him onto his back, straddling him.

  “No, not this time, Dak Amviir,” she said. “I will kiss you, and you will like it.”

  With that, she bent down, and kissed him soundly on the lips. At first he offered faint resistance, but soon gave in. He had awaited this moment for so long.

  When she released him, in a hoarse whisper, Dak said. “I follow you, Lyrra-Sharron, because I cannot help but love you.”

  Dak suddenly frowned. He could not believe he was giving it up this easily. He had never been one to beat about the bush. “I tried to deny it, but I can’t. I love you, Lyrra-Sharron Anduin.”

  The Princess stood, and offered Dak her hand, helping him up. When he was on his feet, she put her arms around his chest, looking into his eyes.

  “Dak Amviir, why it took you this long to admit that I shall never know,” she smiled genuinely at him. “Why I have ignored this for so long...well, I was a bit preoccupied. But now...”

  She left it hanging, pulled him to her, and kissed him again.

  Banging on the door interrupted them. They both turned, weapons ready. The doors flew open, and Torman charged in, beside Nadav.

  They stopped in their tracks as they noted the two bodies on the floor. “Well. I see you didn’t need us after all,” commented Torman bemusedly.

  Lyrra-Sharron gestured to them as Dak shifted to the side. “We managed. Why are you here, Torman?”

  Nadav chuckled. “We got all the servants, swept the palace twice. We came across Darak fighting the guards, and opened the gates to let Torman in.”

  “The Palace is ours,” stated Torman. “Darak was hurt, but is being tended to. Khelvan is keeping an eye on the various people, whom we confined to the guard barracks. Neva has groups sweeping the palace, making certain we’ve got them all.”

  “Well done,” Lyrra-Sharron complimented her officers. “I hereby claim the city of Penkira, in the name of Varlock-Sharron Anduin, Second Prince of Medaelia.”

  “Witnessed!” cried Nadav.

  “Hoo-zah!” exclaimed Torman.

  “Hoo-zah!” the others responded.

  “Nadav, take the banners. Lower the flag of Wilnar-Medira, and raise the flag of Anduin. Torman, assemble a group. Ride out with a Palace Guard banner, and the Sharron banner. Tell the guards on the walls to surrender, then let Andim and Kallan and the others into the city.”

  “Aye, Captain!” exclaimed Nadav, saluting. He pointed to several raiders who had come behind him and Torman into the throne room, and they followed him out.

  “Torman, take some of our more loud voiced Falcon Raiders, and have them go all about the city with our banner. Have them announce that the Falcon Raiders hereby claim Penkira, and Medaelia, in the name of Second Prince Varlock-Sharron Anduin. We will let them know who rules here.”

  Torman saluted, gathered raiders and left.

  Lyrra-Sharron turned to Dak. “I think it is time to go and see to our prisoners. We should let them know what has happened, and who is in charge now.”

  “Indeed. That easy?” asked Dak,

  “Yes,” she replied. “My father is the Second Prince of Medaelia. Wilnar-Medira had no legitimate heirs. My father rules, now.”

  Dak said nothing. His confession had been more emotion than he’d expressed to any in a long, long time. He wanted to continue from where they’d left off, but he realized that he loved a woman whose duty would always come first. And now, duty called.

  Lyrra-Sharron sheathed her rapier. “Come, then, Dak Amviir.” She gestured to a Falcon Raider. “Alnar, remain here with Talad. We shall figure out assignments for our occupation shortly.”

  He saluted crisply.

  Dak offered Lyrra-Sharron his elbow. She took it, looked up at his face, and gave him a smile that made his heart want to leap from his chest in excitement.

  Perhaps his confession to the woman he loved more than life itself was worth something to her, after all.

  Lyrra-Sharron and Dak left the throne room arm in arm.

  Chapter 39

  They gathered on the Vann plains, southeast of Vanntir. When the fighting was over, the ground had been churned muddy and littered with bodies. Some, those of officers and nobility, were removed from the field to be buried. Others were removed by family. The rest, a frightfully large total of around twelve thousand, both Sharron and Medaelian, were piled up in quickly-dug foxholes.

  Priests from both nations, representing various beliefs, including the two most dominant of t’Thera, the Church of the Triad and the Society of The Source, were allowed to come say prayers. Each in their own manner could send the souls of the deceased on their way to whatever afterlife or other plain of existence they believed the dead transcended to.

  The bodies were then piled with pitch and wood and other combustibles, and
burned. Pestilence had to be prevented.

  Considering the scale of the two opposing armies, the number of casualties could have been far higher.

  Sir Tulock, along with the Lady Marna and Sir Garvol, had ridden to the field, leaving Lady Ara and Constable drey-Sharron in charge at the Palace. The Seneschal had greeted his victorious King, who advised him of all he had planned for the coming weeks and months, the threat of Medaelia now dispelled for good.

  The former Prime Minister of Medaelia, Lord Gelva Dova-Kumirr, had been presented to Varlock-Sharron by the Princess. There, with shaking hands, he had presented the Crown of Medaelia to the King. He was then turned over to Sir Tulock Oran, who would become the acting Prime Minister of Medaelia, in addition to his duties as Seneschal of Sharron.

  Gelva Dova-Kumirr was released from his service, given a large pension, and returned to his family estate in the northeast of Medaelia. Varlock-Sharron felt no need to punish the former leaders of Medaelia, for they had served Wilnar-Medira loyally, which he did not consider a fault. Even General Grom-Valock, who was healing from his wounds, was spared his life, and ordered into exile. This he accepted, for it was better than the death he’d been promised.

  To the astonishment of most, Varlock-Sharron organized a state funeral for Aldo Wilnar-Medira. He was paraded through the streets of Penkira, then buried in his family crypt. Overseen by Colonel Von Pirvarn, who was currently in charge of things in Penkira, the nobility of Medaelia were ordered to the Vann plains, to swear allegiance to Varlock-Sharron.

  The Medaelian Army was broken, and none was willing to challenge the strength of a King as powerful as Varlock-Sharron had become. Especially a King with a Sorcerer at his side, as the Medaelians soon discovered.

  Meeting with the members of the Council present, Varlock-Sharron had been laying out plans for how to deal with his new acquisition. An entire Kingdom took a lot of effort to run, and a large part of the Sharron Army had been dispatched, for the time being, to the eastern borders with Rannora and Nevarna. Though neither likely would pose much of a threat, this was not the time to let them take advantage of the Medaelian situation.

  A week and a half after the death of Wilnar-Medira, the nobility of Medaelia was present before Varlock-Sharron. There, without incident, they pledged fealty to their new King, who promised there would be no retribution for support of Wilnar-Medira. Rumors flew that preparations were in order to combine Sharron and Medaelia into one Kingdom.

  Finally, the last people awaited by Varlock-Sharron, Speaker Erlonn Broyva and the Order of the Common, presented themselves on the Vann plain. The King called an audience, and everyone of any rank, including the leadership of the Falcon Raiders, was invited to attend.

  For the most part, Cam Murtallan had watched it all without comment. He had happily greeted Lyrra-Sharron and the other Falcon Raiders upon their return, and they had traded stories of their battles.

  Cam, changed by his experiences of the last several months, had grossly understated his role in the border war. Varlock-Sharron had corrected this, and the Falcon Raiders could not help but look at Cam with obvious awe.

  It had been the most powerful spell Cam had ever cast, even greater than that which had cost him his powers for a time. But with his newfound understanding of sorcery, Cam had controlled the output of his energy, and recovered with no injury other than the exhaustion any physical exertion on such a scale would leave behind. Meditation and deep slumber found the Sorcerer recovered to his normal self.

  All invited to attend court were gathered in a very large pavilion erected on the plain, where they milled about, awaiting Varlock-Sharron to begin. A platform had been erected on one end of the tent, where the King would sit his throne.

  Today was New Year’s Day. It was the Spring Solstice, the start of the Season of Planting. Throughout the world there would be celebrations of this day, as last night’s once annual eclipse of I’lunae by its larger sister moon, Aelunae, marked the passage between seasons.

  Knowing for the most part what would transpire today, Cam was struck by the appropriateness of the timing. All part of the greater scheme of things, he did not question for an instant it was set in motion by unseen forces long, long ago.

  “Do we know what the King wants?” asked Nadav, glancing towards the dais where his father currently stood, conferring with other aides to the Seneschal.

  “Yes, for the most part,” replied Lyrra-Sharron. “He is going to dispel the rumors, and set the course that both Sharron and Medaelia will take over the next few years.”

  “I have never sat through a court,” remarked Cam conversationally.

  “Normally, I would be at my father’s side for this,” commented Lyrra-Sharron. “But he asked me to sit amongst my officers. He will call me up when the time comes, and publicly acknowledge that I remain his heir. This is going to be a tremendously large nation for him to maintain, now.”

  “Sharron and Medaelia as one?” queried Nadav.

  “Something like that,” responded Lyrra-Sharron. “Though the nations will retain separate administrations, apart from the Crown. At least, that is the King’s plan.”

  Sir Tulock appeared upon the stage at the front of the tent, and was presented his staff by Lord Norvil, which he proceeded to bang on a metal shield a half dozen times, getting the attention of the oddly mixed assembly.

  “My lords and ladies…may I have your attention, please? His Royal Majesty, Varlock-Sharron Anduin, King of Sharron and King of Medaelia, wishes to address all those assembled. Please rise! All hail Varlock-Sharron. Long live the King!”

  “Long live the King! Long live the King!” responded the assembled crowd, rising to their feet.

  Varlock-Sharron entered the pavilion. All bowed before him, save Lyrra-Sharron and Cam. He stepped up to the hastily constructed platform, and gestured to the assembled crowd.

  “You may all be seated,” he said simply.

  In no particular order, the various groups took seats.

  “Thank you all for being here today,” began the King. “Much has happened these past few weeks, and there are many questions for which you seek answers. Though I keep my own counsel, I do wish to dispel many rumors, and close some business that must be dealt with.”

  The assembly muttered quietly among themselves a moment, before the King raised a hand for silence.

  “The first two orders of business are personal. I would ask Speaker of the Common Erlonn Broyva to come forward.”

  Speaker Broyva approached the throne. He gestured to Sir Tulock, and knelt before the King.

  “I am your servant, my liege,” he said.

  “You have served me very well indeed. I know you to be a simple man, an innkeeper from Anduin, named to the Common without much fanfare, then elevated to Speaker by unanimous acclaim. None has ever been so popular. At risk to your position, you did my bidding without question, serving both Common and Crown with unparalleled competence. I promised you I would reward you for such service.”

  Sir Tulock handed the King a scroll, which he unrolled and read from himself. “For service far above and beyond that of the office of Speaker for the Common, to Common and Crown, do we, Varlock-Sharron Anduin, King of Sharron and King of Medaelia, raise Erlonn Broyva of Anduin to the ranks of the nobility. From this time forth, he shall be known as Lord Erlonn Broyva, for none has better earned such a title, nor deserved to be recognized more. He shall have all ranks and privileges afforded those of his state. Done by our hand on the First day of Prisatuary of the new year five double-ought-five, before Council, Order of the Common, and nobility of Sharron and Medaelia.”

  He handed the scroll back to Sir Tulock. “You serve Sharron faithfully, Lord Erlonn. I will ask a great task of you, and the Order of the Common as well.” He stood, gesturing to the members of the Order. “A body similar to the Common will be established for Medaelia. I wish you to advise this new body, and help to organize and arrange them, in preparation for the Anduin rule of Medaelia.” />
  The members of the Order of the Common showed their assent, clearly pleased to be included in such.

  “In addition, I feel the Common needs to be better kept abreast of matters of state,” continued the King. “Therefore, once a month, I invite The Speaker of the Common to attend meetings of The Council, where he will be given a chance to voice the concerns of the people to the leadership of Sharron directly, and have voting privileges, representing the general populace of the kingdom.”

  There was a mix of responses from the Order of the Common, each showing their clear pleasure at being given a louder, more direct voice. It was unprecedented, and it would cement their loyalty to this King unlike any before him.

  “Lord Erlonn, thank you for your continued service.”

  Sir Tulock banged his staff. “A cheer for the newest member of the nobility of Sharron, and the service of Lord Erlonn Broyva and the Order of the Common. Hoo-zah!”

  “Hoo-zah! Hoo-zah!” echoed the assembly. Applause and cheers followed.

  Erlonn Broyva bowed deeply. The King offered him a hand, and helped him up. Varlock-Sharron stood and bowed his head to the Speaker of The Common, then shook his hand. Newly ennobled Lord Erlonn Broyva returned to his seat.

  “Sir Tulock,” the King gestured, retaking his seat.

  “His Majesty wishes Lord Norvil Rivarr to present himself.”

  Lord Norvil, a look of unsuspecting curiosity clearly on his face, approached the platform, kneeling before the King.

  Nadav, seated beside Cam, leaned forward attentively.

  “Lord Norvil, Sir Tulock has spoken often of your outstanding service. You have served as a deputy to three Seneschals, now, and have always borne a quiet dignity, and served in your office with efficiency and skill for many years.” He spoke up louder now. “As you are aware, the Baron of House Tilroan, Fornon Val-Cara, was a traitor to the Crown. For his actions, his title has been taken, and will not be passed on to his family. They will remain on their property, and will keep some of their fortune, but all other privileges belonging to a Baronetcy have been removed from them.”

  He looked to Lord Norvil again. “Your family lands are in the Tilroan Barony. Your father was of the nobility, and his father before him. The family Rivarr has served crown and country well. For your long service, and your unwavering loyalty, I hereby raise family Rivarr to the level of the higher nobility. If you will swear fealty to me, I will name you the first Baron Rivarr.”