Quest for the Scorpion's Jewel

by Amy Green

  Published by Warner Press Inc, Anderson, IN 46012

  Warner Press and “WP” logo is a trademark of Warner Press Inc.

  Copyright ©2011 by Amy Lynn Green

  Cover Design © 2011 by Warner Press Inc

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or any other method of storage—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-59317-486-6

  Editors: Karen Rhodes, Robin Fogle

  Cover by Curtis D. Corzine

  Design and layout: Curtis D. Corzine

  Printed in the USA

  To my sister Erika,

  for loving me no matter what.

  Chapter 1

  The city had been too crowded that morning at the hanging. Captain Demetri hated when the people thronged to watch criminals die—making everything noisier and less orderly.

  The former captain of Nalatid, a small desert town in District Four of Amarias, had encouraged such spectacles. Even though Demetri did not approve of treating an execution as entertainment, he knew little could be done to stop it. The people didn’t understand that death, though necessary at times, was not a game to be played at.

  This particular band of marauders had killed four innocent shepherds and stolen their flocks, fleeing to the rocky cliffs for protection. Demetri and his troops had found them within eight hours. They always did.

  Now, back in the compound, Demetri set the record book on his desk and opened to the last page. There, listed neatly in columns, were lines of information about the group: its members, last known location, methods, possible escape routes. Beneath each man’s name was a description, details about his home and family.

  Picking up the pen, Demetri wrote the date and time of the execution in the blank column of the log. The marauders were now dead on paper as well as in reality.

  He had kept the record book ever since his promotion to captain the year before, and already its pages were nearly full. Every murderer, bandit, and rebel to set foot in Nalatid had been captured and executed. Sometimes the smugglers evaded his grasp—they weren’t as simple-minded as the other criminals—but Demetri was beginning calculations to bring them to justice as well. Nothing a little planning can’t accomplish, he mused, flipping through the columns of numbers and information in his book.

  Captain Demetri had not become a legendary tracker by sheer guesswork. Being a soldier had more to do with strategy and planning than most people realized, and he was good at both. Frighteningly good.

  That was what had moved him up the ranks at such a young age. He was barely twenty-one, and yet he commanded an entire outpost. It was not so much the power that Demetri enjoyed. He simply liked to be busy. It was better that way.

  As he waited for the ink to dry, Demetri glanced out the small window near his desk. Dusk had long since faded into the shadowy blackness of night, and with the darkness came the welcome cool that brought relief to the scorched desert. Demetri hardly noticed the vague shapes of clay buildings and dusty roads outside his window. He had been in the desert for a long time now, and it had not changed.

  A long time…. Demetri blinked. Five years. It had been five years since he had lost himself in the Abaktan Desert.

  And that means.…

  Demetri swore under his breath. It was time for another Festival.

  He slammed the thick book shut, clenching his teeth. Being angry, he knew, was irrational, but although five years in the desert had darkened his skin and improved his skill with the sword, they could not erase the memories. Nothing could.

  No, it was not fair that he had survived when the others in his squad had not. But he was the only one who had to live with the guilt—the memories.

  “Sir?” a timid voice from the doorway piped up. It was one of the servants, a young man of about sixteen. Just like I was five years ago.

  “What do you want?” he growled, more harshly than was necessary.

  The servant looked down, too timid to meet the Patrol captain’s eyes. “What is it?” Demetri repeated, a bit more patiently.

  “There’s a man in the courtyard who wants to see you.”

  “I am busy.” It was a lie, but Demetri was hardly in the mood to entertain a visitor to the military compound. “Tell him to come back tomorrow.”

  “He bears the king’s seal on his papers.”

  Demetri froze, his hand still on the record book, then stood slowly. The seal...it couldn’t be. Not after all this time. But this was the very time when they would come back.

  Five years in the desert. Demetri had hoped they had forgotten about him. That of course was foolish.The servant, appearing a bit uneasy, added, “He insists on seeing you.”

  Of course he does. Demetri forced his face into the blank, stoic mask he wore around the troops and nodded at the servant. “I will be there shortly.”

  Demetri sank back into his chair, his mind whirling as frantically as a desert storm. He had to meet with this stranger sent from the king. There was no way to avoid it. He did not know who the man would be, but he knew why he was there.

  He fought for composure, for the emotionless objectivity that made him the perfect Patrol captain. His duty was to the king, and he would fulfill that duty. No matter what it cost.

  Demetri moved quickly and silently down the halls of the compound, ignoring the salutes of the Patrol members on watch. Before he entered the courtyard, he peered out from a crack in the door.

  There, over by the compound gate. A man, stooped slightly with age and dressed in a simple dark robe, was staring at the doorway where Demetri stood, almost as if he were watching him. It was hard to make out his features, since he stood a distance away from the fire that warmed the Patrol members on guard duty, but Demetri knew it was one of them. One of the Riders.

  Demetri did not pause to think about the man further, knowing if he did he might turn back. Resolutely he strode out into the courtyard, letting the black cape that indicated his rank billow behind him in the desert wind.

  “What are you doing in my city?” he demanded, drawing himself up to his full, impressive height. He towered over the old man.

  Instead of responding, the old man laughed. Demetri was reminded of an echo in a cavern—the sound, hollow and empty. “Your city? Is that what you think?”

  Demetri didn’t respond. Any response would be taken as a sign of weakness.

  “You think you are important, boy?” the old man continued. “You and I—we are nothing but grains of sand, insignificant parts of a greater whole.” Before Demetri could respond, the man pulled something from beneath his shapeless cloak and held it up.

  Glinting in the dim light from the nearby fire was a golden medallion, inscribed with the symbol of King Selen of Amarias.

  Demetri had seen a medallion like it only once before in his life, exactly five years before, when he watched the other members of his squad die before his very eyes. They should have killed me too.

  But he knew why they had not. They knew that someday he would be of use to them. That day had come.

  Feeling like every step was forced, Demetri escorted the old man to his quarters and dismissed the guards outside. Silence lasted a moment, and Demetri knew he was being studied. The old man’s pale eyes were watching him in the dim candlelight.

  Demetri was the first to break the silence. “Who are you?”

  “You may call me Aleric, Captain. You made a
n agreement five years ago. I am here to collect.”

  Demetri had thought he was prepared to hear these words, ones he had expected the moment the servant had mentioned the seal. Still, he felt the color drain from his face.

  “Do I need to remind you,” Aleric asked casually, “what will happen if you refuse?”

  “No,” Demetri said. “If I refuse, you will kill my brother. I once failed those who depended on me. It will never happen again.”

  For a brief moment Aleric paused, stroking his thin beard. “I often wondered why the last Chief Rider didn’t kill you when he had the chance. Perhaps I know now. You love your brother, don’t you?”

  Demetri did not care to speak of his brother anymore. “What do you want from me?” he asked, drilling Aleric with a cold stare.

  “You know that the Festival is tomorrow.”

  Demetri’s expression never changed. He made sure of it. “Yes.”

  “The Youth Guard will be sent out. One squad will be coming through your district on the way to Da’armos.” Aleric’s tone remained flat, lifeless. “You are to make sure they do not arrive.”

  Five years in the desert had taught Demetri more than strategy: it had taught him the importance of following orders, whether he liked them or not. And now his brother’s life was at stake. “I will not fail you,” he promised, never flinching.

  “See that you don’t,” Aleric said. “They are clever ones, you know. Chosen from all the districts of Amarias: the bravest, strongest, most principled and intelligent….”

  “I know,” Demetri interrupted, looking away. “Believe me, I know.”

  “That’s right,” Aleric said. “I had forgotten. You were once in the Guard, correct? At the last Festival commissioning, five years ago?”

  Demetri clenched his jaw. He knew Aleric had not forgotten. He merely wants me to remember. But I will not.

  “You never answered my question. Who are you?” he asked abruptly. “I know your name is Aleric, and that you work for the king, but I know nothing else about you.”

  “You know nothing about the Guard Riders?” Aleric pressed, staring at him again. “I would think a military leader such as yourself would have found out more. Especially a military leader with your…background.”

  He was right, of course, but Demetri did not admit it. He wanted to hear from Aleric himself. “I only know that the Riders were the ones who killed the others in my squad.”

  “There is little else to know,” Aleric replied with a shrug. “We cannot let the Youth Guard members live. Occasionally the king will order that one member of a squad be allowed to succeed, to keep the people happy, but that is the exception, not the rule.”

  “And sometimes, a few escape, never to be heard from again,” Demetri added, “or turn to the king’s side, like me.”

  Aleric nodded. “But most Youth Guard die before they become old enough to challenge the king—to challenge us.”

  None of the people knew this, of course. They might complain about King Selen’s high taxes, or how he drafted their sons into his army, but they did not know that Guard Riders like Aleric killed the Youth Guard at the king’s order. All of the people believed the lie that the children who died were heroes, perishing in a noble quest to help their country. And, as long as they did not know the truth, peace reignedin Amarias.

  Aleric half-lowered his eyes, squinting intently at Demetri. “And I trust you will remain loyal to the king, or your brother will be the one to pay the price this time.”

  My brother. Demetri hadn’t seen him for five years, since he had left home.

  “I am the captain of the Guard Riders,” Aleric continued. “All others are under my authority, and I, in turn, am under the authority of the king.” The implied threat was clear in Aleric’s words and his eyes—you don’t dare defy me, boy.

  “Will I report to you when they are dead?” Demetri asked. He left his real question unspoken: And then will you leave me in peace?

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  Demetri waited for Aleric to explain, but he merely reached into a pocket in his cloak and withdrew a medallion, identical to the one he had shown Demetri earlier. “Wear it with pride,” he said. “It is carried by all Guard Riders. You may give your other medallion to me.”

  Demetri’s hand went automatically to his neck. “How did you…?”

  Aleric’s pale eyes chilled Demetri, even in the dry desert heat. “I have ways of knowing that you would never understand.”

  Almost without realizing he was doing it, Demetri unfastened the silver chain from around his neck and handed his medallion to Aleric, who held it up, examining the red dragon engraved in the center. “Your family crest,” he observed. “I would have thought you would want to forget everything from your past.”

  “Not everything,” Demetri said without emotion. He placed the Guard Rider medallion around his neck and slipped it under his uniform. It felt hot against his skin.

  “I will return it to you when your task is complete,” Aleric said, the dragon medallion disappearing into the dark folds of his robe. “You must wear the symbol of the Guard Rider at all times. I will know if you take it off, and I will take it as a sign of treachery.”

  Demetri frowned. “Why is it so important?”

  Aleric answered the question with one of his own. “Do you dream often, Captain?”

  The smell of incense burning…foreign shouts and the clang of swords…that endless scream…. Demetri shook his head. “No.” I do not have dreams anymore. Only nightmares.

  “You will now. And that is how I will know you have accomplished your task.” Instead of explaining, Aleric chuckled dryly. “Ironic, isn’t it? What you are being asked to do? To kill Youth Guard members when you yourself once belonged to the Guard.”

  Demetri smiled slightly, noticing the look of surprise on the old man’s face. It was not the reaction he was expecting. But Demetri knew his duty, and he would do it, for his brother’s sake. “J’abbet ses mitren, oldrivar lakita ses omidreden.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “A Da’armon proverb I’ve learned during my years along the border,” Demetri replied. “It translates roughly to, ‘If you release the wind, you must be prepared to reap the whirlwind.’”

  Now Aleric nodded, looking pleased. “You mean, of course, that actions have consequences.”

  “Yes,” Demetri said. “I made a choice years ago—ally myself with the king to save my family. I released the wind. Now I have no choice. The squad will not leave my territory alive. You will give me more details when the time comes?”

  Aleric nodded. “They will be followed closely, of course. You will know when they come through Nalatid.”

  “I will make sure they are dead. And no one will be able to stop me.”

  “Oh? Not even God?” Though Aleric asked it casually, Demetri could see a spark of interest in his eyes. This man, like Demetri himself, loved to analyze others.

  He is welcome to this information. Demetri laughed, a hard, bitter laugh, and turned to face him. “Many of the desert people cling to their old superstitions. I know some here who still believe in God. I do not.”

  From the look on Aleric’s face, it was a satisfactory answer. “Yes,” he said, shrugging. “Many prefer to deny the existence of the Enemy. The main thing is that both you and I will fight to the end. Isn’t that right?”

  Now it was Demetri’s turn to shrug. He turned to face the window, hoping Aleric would leave. The man has long overstayed his welcome. “If you say so.”

  Despite what Aleric said, Demetri knew there was no God. There couldn’t be. Not with all the evil he had seen.

  “Do you believe you made the right choice five years ago, Captain, knowing what you do now?”

  Demetri paused for a second, but did not turn to face Aleric. “No one can gather back the wind once
it is released, Aleric.” His voice was quiet, measured, but it had a hollow emptiness that seemed to make it echo dully through the room. “All that matters now is being the one left standing when the whirlwind clears.”

  When Demetri finally turned around, Aleric was gone. He hadn’t even heard the old man slip through the door.

  Demetri lowered himself silently into his chair, opening up the record book. He had done what was necessary. His brother’s life—that was what mattered.

  But is it right? Demetri buried the thought, sent it back with the other memories and beliefs he never wanted to see again.

  Then he began to write, recording everything he knew about the Guard, about Aleric, about his mission. Usually, recording information was a way for him to relax before going to sleep, but not tonight. Tonight he would find no peace.

  He was in the middle of a list when a knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. “What is it?” he asked, turning around wearily.

  This time there was no servant boy in the doorway. Instead, a frightened-looking Patrol member stood at stiff attention. “Report,” Demetri demanded. There must be trouble.

  The Patrol member’s hand trembled as he saluted. “My partner and I were guarding the city gate,” he began, his words bumping into each other like a train of clumsy camels. “An old man came….”

  An old man. Demetri groaned inwardly. What has Aleric done?

  “We stopped him, it being after curfew and all,” the Patrol member babbled, his eyes wide. “He told us he was on the king’s business, but my partner didn’t believe him…. ”

  “Get to the point,” Demetri snapped. “What happened?”

  “The old man stabbed him,” the Patrol member said, his face registering complete shock. “Right there before my eyes. I swear, we only asked him to prove his papers weren’t forged….”

  But Demetri had stopped listening. What kind of a man is this? he wondered, fingering the medallion. Demetri knew without a doubt that the Patrol member’s death had been intended as a warning for him.

  A warning well taken. Demetri had survived the whirlwind five years before; he would survive now. The Youth Guard members would die.