The Marenon Chronicles Collection

by Jason D. Morrow

  “Name please,” the man said.

  “Coffman,” he answered willingly.

  “And where were you captured, Coffman?”

  “Why don’t you ask my captors?” This answer landed him with a swift punch in the gut, causing all his breath to be knocked out of him. He suspected the guard’s hand hurt worse than his stomach, however.

  “Where were you captured?” the man repeated.

  Coffman stood himself upright and straightened his shirt. “In the desert somewhere. I don’t know.”

  “What were you doing so close to Voelif?”

  “Tracking scowlers,” Coffman lied.

  The man sat for a moment as if to weigh Coffman’s answers. “You can find more scowlers to the south, you know. Foolish of you to look near here for those foul creatures. They don’t taste very good either.”

  “I’m in it for the pelts.”

  “I see,” the man said. The man had written Coffman’s name in his little book and probably a short description of him as well. He sat looking at no spot in particular, probably deciding what to do with him. Coffman saw the list of names in the book on the table. It was a list arranged in chronological order by when each prisoner arrived. There was a date and a description for each person and the book was obviously filled. In fact, as Coffman glanced at the shelves in the room, he saw a hundred more just like it. Thousands of slaves had been brought here. He remembered what the others had said about the slave fields in Mudavé, and how wretched and abused the captured people seemed. The Nestorians must have bought their slaves from the Stühocs. Either way, they were never released. Once a man or a woman was caught and used, there was no hope of freedom. That is, unless they managed to escape, which was Coffman’s plan, of course.

  “I think you’ll do well in helping us finish the production of the Pyramid around the Sphere. There’s a lot of heavy lifting to be done.” The man wrote some things next to Coffman’s name and then turned the book around so Coffman could see it.

  “Sign your name,” the man instructed.

  Coffman bent down and grabbed the pen held out for him. He quickly glanced at the other names on the list, people that had been processed before him as recently as the day before. One name in particular caught his attention. In bold letters was written a name than Coffman had heard many times. Daewyn Florelle. It was an Erellen name and the surname Florelle was one of power and recognition in Marenon. Jiaros Florelle was the king over the Erellens. Daewyn was his son. Next to Daewyn’s name was not the man’s Erellen signature as would have been expected of him. Coffman wasn’t surprised to know that the Nestorian didn’t catch what the Erellen had written beside his own name. They were two Erellen words that Coffman was able to translate roughly. The words were pronounced, Motemiam Seloriam. Find me. Help me.

  Chapter Ten

  With the sarians soaring high and fast, Silas had no fear that he would not reach Hanzad before the assassin or anyone else for that matter. It would take the masked menace the rest of the day on foot, while the group of four would be there within the hour. This gave Silas and the others some measure of comfort, but not a lot. None of them still had any idea what Jessup was talking about when he told them to search at the root of dwelling. It meant nothing to any of them, and there were few other clues to work with.

  Kaden soared ahead of them next to Lorcan talking about something Silas couldn’t hear. Next to Silas, Inga flew only a few feet away. He couldn’t help but stare at her as the wind caught her hair. She was beautiful. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about such things when they were supposed to be concentrating on the mission ahead of them, but he couldn’t help it. His feelings for her were growing every day and he wished he could just tell her. He didn’t know how she felt about him though. He knew she admired him, but wasn’t that because he was the Meshulan? Wasn’t it out of respect for what he could do for Marenon? Maybe. Maybe not. The past three months training alongside Inga had been the best months Silas had in recent memory. And yet it was a difficult time, having lost his grandfather. There was a huge weight on Silas’ shoulders too, and much was expected of him in the near future. But Inga always had a way of bringing him back down to a place that felt more real. With her he always felt he was in the right place.

  He remembered one night in particular, about two weeks before. Kaden had sent them out to work on magic training, and they had gotten lost in the woods. They tried to find their way back for a several hours, but obviously neither of them was trying too hard. Silas knew that if they really needed to get back to Jekyll Rock then they could do it fairly easily. But the illusion of being lost together was too much fun.

  They had come to a large waterfall that Silas had seen several times when training with Kaden, and he remembered how bright Inga’s eyes had become. She looked sideways at Silas and ran for the pool at the bottom of the falls and jumped in, embracing the cool water as it engulfed her. Silas had not been far behind. They swam the afternoon away, talking about everything but training and the problems of Marenon. It was the first time since his arrival that Silas was able to get away and be himself for a little while. It felt good to talk with someone who wasn’t telling him that he needed to be prepared to fight at any moment, or that some people wanted him dead, or that Marenon was a dangerous place for the Meshulan.

  Meshulan.

  He was beginning to hate the word; he was so sick of hearing it. Silas knew what his duties were and he knew that the future was dim. He didn’t need to be reminded of it every moment of every day. Inga had provided him with such an escape. Their friendship had truly started when she stood up for him and convinced the other mercenaries to join with Silas to go into Mudavé. That day at the waterfall had solidified their friendship.

  However, Lorcan’s presence made things complicated. Silas had no doubt that Lorcan held deep feelings for Inga. He could see it in the way he spoke with her and how he treated her. The Erellen loved her. For this reason, Silas found it hard to like Lorcan. Sure, Lorcan had saved his life in Timugo, or at least attempted to. It was an honorable thing to do, but there’s only so much friendship two men can have when they fall for the same woman. Silas knew he was crazy to think he was falling in love with her. He knew he didn’t have time for love and all the stuff that went along with it. He had an important job to do that couldn’t be distracted with a relationship. That said, he wouldn’t turn Inga down if she came to him and said she was in love with him. He knew he wouldn’t care about the mission ahead of him. But he believed that she would stand next to him no matter what, and he would be able to accomplish his destiny with her by his side.

  Silas shook the thoughts from his head. What was he thinking? If he spent half as much time working on his magic as he did thinking about Inga, he would be quite competent in his abilities. He couldn’t push the thoughts of her from his head, though. They saw each other every day, and even when they weren’t near each other, he still thought about her. The way she smiled, laughed, cried, all of it. But he felt pathetic that he had never been able to voice his feelings for her. She had been merely feet from him for most of the past three months, and he could not so much as tell her that he truly enjoyed being around her. He didn’t want to lose what they already had. What if he made it awkward? If he told her how he felt even a little bit, she might become distant. Better to have her near and enjoy her presence than to have her near and feeling detached. He would not tell her about his feelings. Not yet anyway. Besides, he needed to be concentrating on the root of dwelling, or whatever madness Jessup had spouted out before he died.

  It was still early in the afternoon as they flew north over the forests and over Hanzad. It was a smaller city, not as big as Canor, and the buildings were not as tall as Jekyll Rock. It was an inconspicuous place and off the map for most beings in Marenon. This is how the people of Hanzad preferred it. There was no need to dabble in the affairs of other cities, although the city guards were still employed by the king as they were in every major Human city.r />
  Silas could see people below them shouting and pointing as they flew over the city. Most had probably never even seen a sarian before. They landed the birds on the north end of the city, and when they dismounted, Kaden gathered them around.

  “I think we should split up,” he said. “Ask around, see what you can find out. Try not to draw too much attention to yourselves, though. Especially you,” he said to Silas. “Here,” he said as he reached inside his saddlebag and pulled out a long, black cloak. “Word travels fast in Marenon, and I don’t want people to recognize you. Put the hood over your head so no one will see your face.”

  Silas held up the cloak and looked at the others. “How does this keep me from drawing attention to myself?”

  “It will conceal you,” Kaden answered. “I don’t expect any trouble, but if someone recognizes you it will slow us considerably. Act distant, but be forward enough to ask questions.”

  “The root of dwelling?” Lorcan asked. “Do you think it’s safe to just be asking about it? What if it’s something ultra-secretive to people around here? They might not like strangers asking about their private matters.”

  Kaden shrugged. “It’s all we can do. Let’s meet back in an hour to see what we come up with.”

  “Here?” Inga asked.

  Kaden shook his head and pointed south. “The Birchwood Pub. It’s on the other end of the town. We can rest there and get some food before we head out again. Any questions?”

  None of them spoke.

  “Then I’ll see you in an hour.”

  Kaden turned and began walking in one direction, a look of determination showing that he knew where he needed to look. Lorcan stayed behind for a moment, but decided to go in the opposite direction, giving Inga a small wink before he took off. Inga stayed behind with Silas.

  “We can go together,” she said. “It will make it easier if you’re nervous that someone will recognize you. Kaden’s right though. It would take a lot of our time if people knew the Meshulan was in their midst. We’d never get out of here.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Silas said. “I mean, about you staying with me.” He pulled the cloak around his shoulders and lifted the hood over his head. Inga bent down, trying to see his face as Silas made an effort to conceal it.

  With a nod of affirmation, Inga said it was perfect. “Virtually invisible.”

  “Couldn’t you cast a spell or something that would actually make me invisible?” Silas said with a chuckle.

  On cue, Inga closed her eyes and stretched out the palm of her hand and Silas felt a sudden rush of cold air come around him. It was one of the strangest feelings he had ever experienced before. His skin felt as though tiny particles of ice clung to it, and when he looked down at his hand, all he saw was the ground. He looked at his feet…dirt. Even the staff in his other hand was missing. It was the ultimate disguise.

  “How did you learn to do that?” Silas asked.

  “It took a long time to get it right, but once I learned to do it, it was easy,” she answered. “I call that particular magical power shadow.”

  “That’s appropriate,” Silas said. “How long can it last?”

  “The more I concentrate, the longer it will last, but at the most I can only do it for a few minutes.”

  “This is incredible!”

  And as quickly as it had come, Silas’ disguise disappeared.

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  “Do you think you could teach me to do that sometime?”

  “I think we need you to master the shield first,” she said with a wink.

  “I’m probably the slowest person you’ve seen at learning magic, aren’t I?”

  “No, no,” she said with a laugh. “I taught Alric to move things around and make a fireball once. It took him a month to even get a spark.”

  Silas grinned at the memory of Alric showing him the magic. That was exactly what he had done to make a campfire in the middle of the path, showing Silas for the first time that magic existed in Marenon.

  Inga led the way around the city, asking various people about the root of dwelling. Some people just gave her a strange look and shook their heads, while some would look at Silas standing with his face half-covered, holding his staff, and they would nervously walk away. They soon decided it was best that he stand farther away from her so people didn’t get anxious by his ominous look. It didn’t help, however, because no one seemed to know anything about the root of dwelling. Silas thought about the term a little bit. It was an odd phrase and didn’t seem to fit anywhere. What could Jessup have meant by it? It sounded like a place, but such a vague description was leading them nowhere.

  The hour went by quickly and the two had come up with no answers. They asked someone how to find The Birchwood Pub and were directed to it. The inside was smoky and full of people who had finished working for the day and wanted to get some refreshments. They looked around in search for the other two, but neither Lorcan nor Kaden had made it in yet. Silas and Inga snuck into a small booth in the corner across from each other.

  “I envy you,” Silas said. “Your powers, I mean.”

  “Is that so?” she asked with an eyebrow raised.

  Silas nodded. “It looks like it comes so easy for you when I can barely move simple objects around.”

  “It wasn’t always so easy,” she said, scratching at her hands on the table. “It took years of studying and long days of training.”

  “With Silandrin,” Silas said.

  Inga didn’t hide her surprise. “You remember well,” she said. The two of them had not spoken of the Sorcerer that had instructed her since the day in the forest after escaping the Anwyns. That one small conversation revealed so much about Inga and her past, yet left so many more unanswered questions. He had asked her how she died, and she responded by telling him that it was too intimate of a question to ask. He vowed to himself never to ask her again. If she wanted him to know, she would tell him.

  “Have you felt him?” Silas asked. “His presence, I mean.”

  “I felt something at the old house today,” she said. “It was sort of like feeling Silandrin, but much more powerful. I can’t really explain it. It was as if he was there, or had been there recently. It did nothing to me physically, but it wrecked my concentration.”

  “Could it have been the Gatekeeper’s magic?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “It didn’t affect any of you, but only me. I would imagine that means it had something to do with magic.”

  Silas nodded. He wondered what it was like being so attuned to magic. The power that one could possess was unlimited. Inga had more power stored within her that she didn’t even use. She could take just about any man down with her abilities, but she respected her magic. She knew it was a tool to serve a greater purpose.

  Inga lifted an arm in the air and gave a slight wave when she saw Kaden and Lorcan walk through the entrance of the pub. They spotted her and made their way beside them.

  “Any luck?” Silas asked as Kaden took the seat to his right.

  Kaden shook his head and let out a sigh. “Nothing. I’ve never felt so lost. This root of dwelling could be anything and nobody seems to know what I’m talking about.”

  “Same here,” said Lorcan. “Only they stare at me longer because they act like they haven’t ever seen an Erellen.”

  “So what do we do now?” Inga asked.

  No one said anything for a long moment. “We get some food and drinks and think about it,” Silas finally said. Kaden patted him on the back with satisfaction, and Silas got up from his seat and walked to the crowded bar. He stood between two gruff men. The one to his right looked nearly as drunk as a person could be without passing out, and the other seemed stiff, almost nervous. Silas caught him glancing at him and he turned to his drink quickly, as though he hoped Silas hadn’t seen him. Silas wasn’t sure why the man would be acting in such a way. He had taken the hood down, so he didn’t look so formidable. And he thought Kaden had been a little overca
utious with the hood anyway. He didn’t believe anyone in Hanzad was going to recognize him. Most in Jekyll Rock barely recognized him. So why would they notice him in a city that kept itself secluded from the rest of Marenon?

  “What would you like?” the bartender asked.

  “I recommend the fish and stewed potatoes,” the man to Silas’ left said without looking up from his drink.

  Silas looked at him for a long moment, then to the bartender. “Four of those please.” He looked back to the man beside him at the bar. “Have we met?”

  “No sir,” the man said. “I know you though.” He looked up from his mug revealing a rough beard and cheek-length hair. Silas could tell from his build that the man was short, but very strong and no stranger to hard work. He also couldn’t help but notice the man’s wrist, displaying a small tattoo of what looked to be a dragon. “You’re the Meshulan, aren’t you?” he whispered as he pulled his sleeve down closer to his hand.

  Silas jerked his head back suddenly, shocked to hear this from a complete stranger. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say. Should he deny it and pretend to be someone else? That’s probably what Kaden would have him do, but Kaden didn’t know everything. This was just another man that was happy to see the one who was famous for killing Maroke.

  “Don’t worry,” the man said. “Your secret is safe with me. I understand the need to keep a low profile. But you are him, aren’t you?”

  Silas looked from side to side, then stuck out a hand. “The name’s Silas Ainsley,” he said.

  The man accepted his hand and shook it excitedly. “Very nice to meet you sir! Very nice indeed! My name is Saul, game hunter extraordinaire.”