He watched as his grandfather surveyed the best way to enter, taking notice of the old man’s movements. He was looking his age. He was active and could hold his own against anyone, but the years that wore on his 70-year-old frame were beginning to bring him down. This was something Silas had begun to notice several years before. Garland was the only parent he had ever known. The change he had undergone over the past seventeen years was subtle but apparent. Silas hated the thought of losing his grandfather, but he knew old age was just a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. He didn't know what he would do without Garland.
These thoughts pulsed through his mind, as they were about to meet death face to face. What was about to take place could go terribly wrong. Not only may he lose a grandfather, but he too could die. He had only one more protest in him.
“Are you sure this is what we should do?”
Garland was still studying their approach. “Yes,” he said. He looked at Silas and slowly pulled the sword from its sheath. “Stay ten paces behind me. When I drop to the ground, fire your first shot where the threat is highest. Save your last shot for the other. From this distance, a shotgun will only wound them. After the second shot, come in with your sword and we will take them.
Silas nodded. He was as ready as he could be, considering. He gripped the gun tighter as his grandfather gave him another firm squeeze on the shoulder and stood from his crouch. He counted the steps until he reached ten paces. He immediately stopped when a deafening sound roared through the air. He jumped to the ground and expected his grandfather to do the same, but he didn't. Garland just stood there. The bang sounded again and Silas knew it was from a gun. Still, his grandfather stood motionless. Silas wanted to call out, but did not want to give away his position. Where had the shot come from? Garland then turned, revealing a stain of blood spreading across his shirt, and fell to his knees.
“No!” Silas cried, just above a whisper, seeing two gaping wounds crying out of Garland’s stomach. Silas could not stay where he was. With his gun in hand and the sword on his back he ran to his grandfather's side.
“Sil…, run Silas...”
“No, no, no, you can’t die like this!” Where had the shot come from?
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Theron and Marcus charging to where he held his dying grandfather. Silas lifted the gun and pulled back both hammers, but was too late. Marcus slapped the gun away and it fell to the ground harmlessly. He reached for his sword from behind, but was sharply kicked in the face before it could leave its sheath. Silas had been blinded with the kick. All he could see was black and could hear nothing but a loud ringing. With one last breath, he heaved and slipped out of consciousness.
When he woke, he wasn't sure if he had yet opened his eyes, but soon realized he was blindfolded. Ropes were tied tight against his wrists in front of him. His head felt as though a marching band had paraded on his skull and the trumpets were still blowing. He moved his arms to see if there was any chance of freeing himself. He was surprised to find that he wasn’t tied to anything, although the knotted ropes around his wrists and legs made his escape feel impossible. After a few moments he mustered the strength to slide on his rear to a dirt wall. He rubbed his face against it. The rough edge scraped open his flesh, the dry dirt on his face becoming mud. Finally his eyes were free of the blindfold, but his ability to see was not much better than before.
He was in a small room. It was dark except for a small stream of light coming in through a hole in the door on the other side. Its source was weak and seemed to flicker as if it were a torch. Once his eyes were able to adjust, he looked down to find a lifeless body lying on the ground just feet away.
“Grandpa?” Silas whispered.
Silence.
“Grandpa!” He said more sharply.
Finally the body breathed to life, but the breath was shallow and ragged. “Silas,” he said. His voice sounded almost as a memory. If Silas hadn't been listening for it, he would have never heard him. But he could hear and the sound was that of a dying man fighting a battle for every last breath. His wounds showed that he had been shot twice. How is he still alive? The image of his grandfather lying helpless on the bloodstained ground would be burned into his mind forever. He had never seen him in such a helpless state. He wished more than anything that they had not come to this mountain in the first place.
Silas sluggishly moved his body to his grandfather. Garland had been left there to die and Silas wished he could comfort him. With his hands and legs tied, he knelt next to him.
“I guess they got the medallion,” Silas said.
A slight grin came across Garland's face. “No.”
Silas cocked his head waiting for an explanation.
The sound Garland made was as though he was reaching for each word. “When they found that it wasn't on either of us,” he took a long pause to breathe, “they questioned me for … for about twenty minutes. I wouldn't tell them anything, so they brought me in here.”
“How come they didn’t find it? I saw you with it in the truck.”
“Exactly,” Garland said with a smile. “There’s a hidden compartment behind the seat. If you didn’t know about it, you’d never find it. I placed the medallion there when you weren’t looking.”
For some reason a wave of relief fell over Silas, not because he was happy the medallion was temporarily safe, but that his grandfather wasn't about to die in vain. If either Marcus or Theron had their grimy hands on the medallion, Garland's death would be for nothing.
With the relief came a fountain of remorse flooding his body, resulting in a bleeding of tears. His grandfather, the only man who had ever cared anything about him, was about to die. There was no more time and Garland's death was inevitable. With him gone there was no one, no family or friends in this life. Silas was old enough to take care of himself, but that wasn't the problem. He was about to be truly alone.
Garland held up a hand when he noticed the tears rolling down Silas' face. “Silas. There is nothing you can do. I will be fine.”
“You're going to die.”
“It's not the end of the world, Silas.”
“I don't want to be alone. I need you here.”
“You won't be alone.”
Silas didn't know how Garland could say this. It wasn't true, but he wasn't going to make this harder than it was.
“Are you in pain?” he asked.
Garland smiled, but it turned into a agonizing grimace. “Yes.”
“I wish there was something I could do.”
“You need to listen to me,” Garland said. He took a deep breath, almost counting down the seconds. “You know where the medallion is. Don't tell them.”
Silas nodded, hanging on every word.
“These next couple of days are going to be difficult. They are not going to kill you as long as they think you know where the medallion is. If anything, tell them I hid it in the woods. It may buy you some time.” Garland swallowed hard. “They’ll get impatient. They’ll threaten to kill you and will eventually do so if you keep refusing. But by then you will hopefully have help. A protector.”
Silas began to interrupt, but Garland held up a finger. “Your protector will be here no later than two days. You must hold out until then.”
“How? Who?” Silas said.
“Just follow him, Silas. Do everything as he tells you. Take him to the medallion and he will take you to safety.”
“How do you know this?”
“It was planned from the beginning.”
“What beginning?”
Garland let out a deep cough. Silas could tell the pain within him was becoming too much to endure. He knew he shouldn't be pestering his dying grandfather with questions, but there was so much left to learn.
There was a long pause as Garland gathered the strength to speak.
“Silas.”
He bent forward to hear his nearly soundless words.
“I never thought it would begin like this, dear boy,” he sa
id.
A hot tear rolled down Silas’ cheek as he clutched his grandfather’s hand as much as his bound wrists would allow. Garlands fingers were releasing their ever-weakening grip. Silas tried to tell him not to talk, but the old man ignored him.
“There is something I need you to do.”
“Anything,” Silas said.
“Remain brave. The days ahead of you are the beginning of something great and terrible. Your future is uncertain, but one thing is for sure, you are powerful and the Stühocs know it.”
A look of confusion crossed Silas’ face. What does he mean, powerful?
Garland’s eyes widened. “The Stühocs have been waiting for this moment, Silas. Follow the one who can lead you home.”
His eyes slowly closed and in an instant, his grandfather was lifeless by Silas’ side and his grip went limp.
“Grandpa, don't go.” The tears were uncontrollable now. “Please, don't go.”
Silas sat alone in the dark room. He was alone in the world. He had no one to help him and no one to care if he made it out alive. But according to his grandfather, he only needed to survive for two more days.
Chapter Two
Julian Hobbes walked slowly in the night as he made his way to the entrance of the Green Pumpkin. An odd name for a pub, he thought. The place was notorious for hosting some of Marenon's most vile criminals. Julian hated being there. This wasn't the first time, either. Going to places like this was just another part of the mission. He knew the scum inside would sense that he was not their kind. He always tried to avoid the gazes that accompanied his arrival.
He had been there a week before and was only in a hurry to return now due to the nature of his mission. He had been sent to the Green Pumpkin to find Alric Thirsk. The man was well known and well traveled in these parts, probably because of jobs just like the one Julian had offered him. From what Julian knew, Alric's work, and that of his three-man crew, was not always criminal in nature, rather it consisted of whatever would bring in the money. Julian’s eyebrows furrowed as he thought. Even in Marenon, everything’s about money. His father had always told him that was how it was in the old world too. Nevertheless, Alric and his crew were the best at what they did, and Julian could only accept the best.
The week before, Julian had presented Alric with his proposal as well as maps of the targeted area and other information he would need to complete the job. As expected, Alric said he would have to discuss it with his crew and they would meet him a week later to give an answer. Julian had hoped to get an answer that day, but Alric wouldn't budge. Everything was done in collaboration with his crew.
Julian looked up and down the cobblestone streets of the city of Canor. Aside from the occasional horse and buggy, there was hardly a soul out that night. He could see the warm glow of the lanterns in the window of the Green Pumpkin and could hear the ruckus coming from inside. As he came to the door, he took a deep breath and felt for his dagger hidden underneath his cloak. He rubbed a hand through his dark, jaw-length hair and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head to shadow his face. An ominous look would draw more attention than he needed, but it could be enough to frighten anyone that might confront him. He took another deep breath and walked through the door.
At first, no one looked up at him. A fight in the back corner held most of the crowd's attention. Others were engaged in conversation and sucking down one drink after another. Perhaps he was being overcautious.
There stood a divide in the middle of the pub and Julian made his way past it. A private room in the far right corner was reserved for his party where the others would be waiting for him. The fight that held most of the pub's attention was a twisted brawl happening only feet from where Julian needed to be, however. This was no good. An attempt to walk through would drag him into the conflict.
The crowd was in a frenzy as the blood spurted and spit flew. The fight was going to end in a dead body if they didn't stop soon. Perhaps that was the point. Finally, one opponent was able to pin the other to the ground. The man straddled him and swung his fists into the other’s face mercilessly, one right after the other. The crowd shouted louder and louder, but it was nothing compared to Julian's voice inside his brain yelling for him to stop this madness. He knew he didn’t need the attention he was going to get, but he felt he had no choice. The victim’s eyes started to roll back and he would likely die if Julian didn't intervene. He walked over to the bloodthirsty fighter and placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
“Let him go,” Julian said.
The attacker stopped and looked down at Julian’s hand then to his face. The previously jeering crowd fell silent as the man stood and stepped inches from Julian's shadowed nose.
“What exactly are you planning to do if I don’t?” the man grinned a yellow gap-filled grin, looking to his peers for encouragement. He found none.
Without warning, Julian grabbed the man's wrist and wrapped his arm behind his back, bringing the fighter to his knees. He cried out in surprise as Julian lifted his foot and kicked him in the middle of his back, snapping his arm like a twig. In the same motion he pulled out his dagger in readiness for a second attack from elsewhere. Not a soul moved. The entire pub sat motionless, trembling in fear of what Julian may be capable of doing to them. When he felt there was no attack coming, he sheathed his dagger back under his cloak, sheltering its visibility. Julian let out a silent shudder. It was too easy to let it happen. This was something he had always been trained to evade, a weakness his mentor had always told him to subdue. Whenever anger flooded into Julian's veins he could snap. His training could kick into motion and he had the potential to do something reckless. The problem in this situation was that he was harming the people he had sworn to protect. It troubled him even though he knew he had just saved someone’s life. He looked down at the man with the broken arm. The rest of the crowd sat dumbstruck at what they had just witnessed.
“Get back to your drinks.” It was just more than a whisper, but Julian's command jolted the crowd to nervous fidgeting among themselves. Julian pointed to the man who had been taking a beating when he arrived. “Someone get him help.” Immediately two people rushed to the man's side to care for his wounds.
Julian's training had become a blessing and a curse. He was of the Dunarian Council, warriors who had taken an oath to destroy the Stühocs and restore peace to Marenon.
The Dunarian Council had long ago been appointed by the Human king of Marenon, during the days of Sir Barton Teague. Julian had never met Teague, but knew plenty about him. Teague had originally formed the council. He had petitioned the king for the eradication of the Stühocs from Marenon and the creation of a special group to carry it out. The king agreed and named Teague its leader. Eventually, war came about and the Dunarian Council was on the front lines. The war ended badly, resulting in the king’s death, Erellens closing off their borders to the North and the Stühocs gaining more power. Shortly after that, Barton Teague disappeared. The new king’s successor had been friendly to the Dunarians, allowing them to continue their work. But in recent years that king had been killed and replaced by a tyrant who then declared the Dunarians outlaws.
Humans sympathizing with the Dunarian cause soon took up residence in Jekyll Rock after the war. The Erellens had given the fortress of Jekyll Rock to the council during the war, allowing the group quite a formidable base. The city housed several thousand soldiers and a thousand or more regular citizens. Anyone living within the city walls of Jekyll Rock considered themselves Dunarian. The soldiers were known as the Dunarian Order. The Dunarian Council was the law and leadership of the Order and the citizens. Julian had joined the Dunarian Order only five years before, but he had wanted to be a part of the Dunarians since he was younger. From a small boy he had grown to love and cherish the people that his father had spoken so highly of. He knew that the Dunarians were a part of something greater than Marenon’s Human monarchy.
The king sitting on the throne now wanted to bring peace between the
Humans and Stühocs and restore trade and commerce with the Erellens. The Erellens, Julian could understand, but the Stühocs? The Stühocs deserved nothing but death, for all the Stühocs sought after was the destruction of anyone who wasn’t part of them. Sure, the Stühocs may one day make peace with the Human king, but only to increase their fighting power. First the Erellens would be destroyed, and then the Humans would be next until all that would be left in Marenon were Stühocs. Preventing this sort of action was what being a part of the Dunarian Order was about, and Julian had been honored to serve.
The Dunarians thrived through the years, but mostly in secret. The group was smaller than it had ever been, yet this allowed for more covert operations for its soldiers. After rising in the ranks of the Dunarian Order, Julian became one of the youngest people to be elected to the council. What the council now planned was big and Julian played a vital role. He was only twenty-four years old now, but he was the best swordsman of the eight and his fighting mirrored that of his mentor Kaden Osric.
He hoped he didn't need to use his dagger in the next room where his party waited. He also hoped they hadn’t slipped out the back window after seeing his quick fight only feet from the door. As he crossed through the doorway he lowered his hood revealing his long, thin face and green eyes. If he had not been so fierce and determined he might have seemed handsome, but on this mission his aim was to drive fear. They must know the mission cannot be taken lightly.
Alric Thirsk sat at the table on the other side of the room. Julian noticed the mercenary’s dagger glinting in the lamplight. Alric’s stare was stern and unwelcoming and he gave a look that dared someone to get too close. He looked the type to be devious enough for illegal jobs. He was shorter than Julian. His hair was cut close and he grew a thin black beard, making himself seem almost devilish. His demeanor was not contrary to that assumption. Next to Alric sat a strikingly beautiful woman. She had to be barely Julian's age, perhaps a couple of years younger. Her hair was also black and was pulled back in a ponytail reaching the middle of her back. Her eyes bore into him as though she were ready to set him on fire with a word. Another member of the group was a man about twice the size and weight of Julian, all muscle. Days of unshaven stubble lay patched across his face. There was also a blonde, fair-skinned man, perhaps a little older than the woman. He looked Erellen to Julian, but that couldn’t be possible. The Erellens hadn’t left their borders to the North for years.
The Marenon Chronicles Collection Page 2