The Orphan's Secret

by R. J. Francis

  The Orphan’s

  Secret

  PRINCIPALITY: BOOK ONE

  The Orphan’s

  Secret

  R. J. FRANCIS

  Copyright © 2016 R. J. Francis

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1534764550

  ISBN-13: 978-1534764552

  DEDICATION

  To my loving family.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  Jaimin’s mind floated in the void, powerless. He remembered absolutely everything: where he was, what had happened, and what he still needed to do to save his friends’ lives. But he’d been foolish. In his fear, he’d let too much blood escape, and now his own life was slipping away.

  He desperately searched the quiet for a second chance.

  He searched, and he searched, and he called upon the divine spirit for mercy.

  Not right away, but soon afterward, somewhere in the silence he found the panicked slosh of his own heartbeat.

  There you are.

  Next, the pain in his foot gradually made itself known again. He clung to the pain—encouraged it—hoping it would help rekindle the rest of his senses. He knew he couldn’t work on sealing his wound without a firm anchor—without a point to return to.

  And then: Who’s that? Somebody had him by the armpits and was dragging him backward. A zing of pain shot up his leg.

  He recognized the sound of the rain now. And other sounds, too: the persistent wind, drops on a tin roof growing louder, and the gravel grinding beneath him as he was drawn across it.

  “He’s beautiful,” he heard a girl say. Then, closer to his head, the same tender voice: “Are you awake? I’ve got you, now. You’re off the road.”

  She has me.

  He should have been comforted by this, and he was, but the consequences were terrifying.

  He felt the girl ease off his bow case to lay him down. Something was poking him in the back now. Was it hay? It smelled like wet hay. She draped a heavy cloth over him. Slowly, the edges of the blackness lightened to grey, and the girl’s face came into focus, upside down. She was kneeling over him. Above her, a plate of tin roofing blocked the rain.

  This girl looked to be his age—or maybe further toward twenty. She had dark eyes and blackish-brown hair which only fell to her shoulders.

  And, despite the odd angle, he could tell she was exceptionally pretty.

  “Where does it hurt?” she asked.

  “My foot,” he said, but he tried to angle his boot so she wouldn’t see just how serious the wound was.

  She checked it out. “It’s bleeding, silly. You have to elevate it,” she said. She dragged over a hay bale, lifted his boot, and gingerly set it down on the bale. “Stay still. I’ll be right back with help.” She started off.

  No! Don’t bring the family outside! He had to stall her. Saunder wouldn’t want the townspeople involved in this mess, no matter how dire things were.

  “Wait!” he called out.

  She ran back and leaned in over him once more. Her face was even closer this time. She looked excited, as if she were thrilled to be able to help. Rain dripped from her hair: it looked like she’d given up her own cloak to cover him. “Water,” he whispered. “May I please have some water? There’s a skin on my horse.”

  “There’s…an arrow in it,” she said, straining to see the skin through the driving rain. “It looks empty. Is your horse bleeding too? And there’s another arrow in… I…I’ll be right back,” she said, hopping to her feet. “I’ll take care of you. Just stay still.” She ran toward the farmhouse.

  Jaimin tried to sit up, but exhaustion had him nailed to the spot.

  Moments later, another rider arrived. Arin had found him.

  “There you are,” Arin called out, dismounting. “Sweet mercy! Is all that blood from you?”

  “My foot’s broken. Saunder and Cory…”

  “We know. We’ve alerted the army.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Your mother told us. Why don’t you start working on that foot? I’ll stand guard.”

  “Not here,” Jaimin said. “Just get me home.”

  Arin quickly fashioned a pressure bandage for Jaimin’s foot using two handkerchiefs and a writing stick. Sharing a saddle, they rode out, with the wounded horse following on a lead.

  Jaimin buried his face in the back of Arin’s wet cloak. He distracted himself from the burning pain of his wound by trying to recall everything he’d just been through. They would ask him, for sure. As soon as he got home, they would want to know everything.

  The whole mess had started just before sundown.

  The white-tails had been eluding Jaimin’s hunting party all day. Just as the team were about to give up and start home, Jaimin had spotted a gorgeous buck that seemed distracted by the approaching storm.

  Following Saunder’s expert guidance, he’d positioned himself well without spooking the deer, and he had the animal in his crosshairs.

  He’s mocking me, he remembered thinking, because the buck was posing just like the one in the handbook. The animal had bowed to chew a tuft of grass, but when a branch snapped he was back at attention, pivoting his saucer ears.

  Jaimin squeezed the trigger. Steady… steady…

  Twoong! The arrow spun free. It sailed wide, tearing a patch of skin from the buck’s rump. The poor creature hopped zigzag into the safety of the trees.

  “Augh!”

  “It’s never easy,” said Saunder.

  Jaimin was thoroughly pissed off. Never easy. It’s not like he was just hunting for sport. This was for practice. He’d figured if he could kill a deer, maybe he could kill a man.

  “Should we look for him?” Saunder asked.

  “It’s too dark,” Jaimin said.

  “All right. I’ll let Vic know.”

  “I was sure I had him.” Jaimin slipped his crossbow into its case on his back, trying not to snag his hood. He made sure his black curls were tucked in all around. He warmed his numb nose with his gloves.

  Saunder tapped the metallic device clipped to his ear. “Victor, come on up now.” Victor and his twenty-year-old son Cory had gone off earlier to investigate a noise. “Vic, you hear me?”

  “I can’t believe it,” Jaimin muttered. “I’m a great shot on straw targets. Why can’t I hit anything alive?”

  “Victor, Cory, come in,” Saunder called.

  “Is that thing even working?”

  “It’s gotta be,” said Saunder. “I hear the wind on their side.” He took off the communicator, fiddled with a tiny knob, and h
ung it back on his ear. “Vic, can you hear me now?”

  “Maybe they’re stalking.”

  “Nah, he’d at least tap the communicator.”

  “That thing’s a piece of crap, I told you…”

  “Shhh,” said Saunder, “I hear ‘em. Cory? Is that you? Where’s your father?”

  “What’s he saying?”

  “If you’d shush I could hear.”

  Jaimin sulked. This day had dragged on long enough. Now that he’d proven himself a hunting failure, he just wanted to go home.

  Saunder’s eyes suddenly got big. “They’re in some kind of trouble!”

  “What? What did Cory say?”

  “It sounded like, ‘Help.’”

  “Help?”

  Without another word, Saunder took off running.

  Jaimin bolted after him, and tried to keep up. They high-stepped across tangled brush to get back to the trail. Once on the trail, they had to climb and descend a series of steep hills, leaping over several creeks at the low spots.

  Help? Saunder must have had heard wrong, Jaimin thought. The terrain was manageable. All the old-time traps had been dismantled. The wildcats always stayed clear of humans—well, there was that poor little kid last year…

  Just over the next hill, Saunder stopped so abruptly Jaimin ran smack into the bow case on his back.

  “Gast!” Saunder swore, reaching to block Jaimin’s eyes. “Don’t look!”

  But Jaimin had already seen.

  It was Victor. He was spread-eagle across the trail, with his mouth and eyes frozen open. Two black-fletched crossbow bolts were embedded in his chest. Blood, black and glossy, bubbled from his wounds.

  “No,” Jaimin mouthed. “No! What happened?”

  A few steps down the trail, they saw the young man Cory squirming among snaky rivulets of his father’s blood. Three arrows had lodged at odd angles in his gut.

  Jaimin ran to kneel at Cory’s shoulder. The bolts twitched in time with Cory’s heartbeat, waving their fletching defiantly. “Aw… Hang on, Cor,” Jaimin said. “I’ll get these out. Who did this?”

  “They’re still here,” Cory whispered. “Right… over… there…”

  “Get behind me, Jay!” Saunder yelled, raising his bow toward the east.

  “But Cory’s…”

  “Now!”

  Jaimin scrambled behind Saunder. “That tree behind us,” Saunder whispered. “Head for it. Go!”

  Jaimin made for the huge maple, wading through the thorny vines that wove through the undergrowth. Saunder kept pace, his back against Jaimin’s, shielding the boy. They were almost to the tree, when Saunder loosed his bolt at something.

  And then, very close, there was a dull, hollow crack! Jaimin spun. An arrow had struck Saunder’s leg! Jaimin caught Saunder by the armpits, and dragged him to the tree.

  “Augh! Let me see,” Jaimin said. The bolt—feathers dyed black—had penetrated deep into Saunder’s leg just below the knee. “Hold still.” Jaimin stooped to lay his hands on the area.

  “None of that!” Saunder shoved his bow at Jaimin. “Too risky. Juss… just keep down!”

  “Who are these people?” Jaimin whispered, as he spanned and loaded Saunder’s bow, then handed it back. “Who’s trying to kill us?”

  “Dunno, but you’ve gotta run and get help,” Saunder said, his face furrowed by the pain. “It’s the only chance we have.”

  “I can’t leave you here like this.”

  “I’ll manage. Circle back to the trail and get to your horse. I’ll keep ‘em busy so they don’t follow you. Go!”

  “A…alone?”

  A spasm jerked Saunder’s leg. He cringed, throwing his head back. “Aw, crap, Jay—just get going!”

  Jaimin ran off.

  He made it to the trail. From there, it was still quite a distance to the stable. The wind gusted, whipping the yellow maples and bringing the first cold, fat raindrops of the storm.

  Jaimin was sure he was being followed.

  He sprinted for as long as he could, and then he had to slow. Each step was taking more effort than the last. His thighs burned. On a downslope he stumbled, but he got up and pushed on. He knew how damn important it was to get help—not just for himself, but for Saunder and Cory.

  When at last he glimpsed the stable ahead, he found new strength to sprint again.

  The old place was blanketed in vines. Undoing the hidden latch, he yanked the door open. He hurried inside, untied his horse, hopped up into the saddle, loaded his bow…

  And he rode back out. Hopefully, he thought, he’d been quick enough, and whoever had shot the others hadn’t caught up.

  But they had.

  And there they were!

  The mysterious foes were two girls with glossy black hair, wearing dark uniforms. They had their crossbows raised, and…

  Thoonk! Thoonk! A bolt pierced Jaimin’s boot and sent a painful shock up his leg. Another hit his saddle.

  He aimed in and shot back, striking one of the girls in the neck, knocking her backward.

  Yes! His confidence surged. The other foe was fiddling with her bow. If he could just get past her to the trail… He spurred his horse and charged.

  As he passed her, she jumped at him, seizing his leg at the knee. His horse veered into the low brush. Squeezing his thighs to stay on the saddle, he stowed his bow in its case to free his hands.

  He grasped her firmly by the throat and got a good look at her. Milky white skin. Dark red lips. She seemed to be smiling. It was an eerie, longing look—one he’d seen before on girls who were infatuated with him. Or maybe she just couldn’t breathe.

  “Who are you?” he demanded.

  “Halp,” she croaked. The horse was still struggling with the awkward weight balance, and it jerked, which shook the girl from Jaimin’s grip. She fell backward into the brush.

  Fortunately, in the scuffle, she hadn’t disturbed the black-fletched bolt that Jaimin noticed was still lodged in his leather boot. He cued his horse to ride on.

  He gained some distance, and then felt another bolt slam into his horse—near the saddle again. The stallion flinched but didn’t slow.

  The trail twisted, climbed, sank, and twisted again before Jaimin dared to suppose that he was out of the girls’ range.

  He glanced down again at the bolt. It was stuck firmly, but it didn’t feel like it had gone far into his foot, so he grasped it firmly and yanked it out.

  Augh! A huge mistake! A hideous, stabbing pain wracked his body.

  Stunned, he gaped at the arrowhead. Its razor-sharp backward-aimed prongs had gone deep. Bits of his own flesh and even flecks of bone were stuck to it. He flung the arrow away in panic.

  And the horrible pain persisted.

  He had no idea what to do. He punched his own thigh a few times, hoping to distract his nerves. It didn’t help.

  His horse was still moving, following the trail. Each time the animal stepped, another agonizing shock shot up Jaimin’s leg and spine, but he rode on, clenching his teeth.

  The rain became steady and heavy. Before long, he reached the main route and turned northward toward the city. The grand road through the southern forest, lit at intervals by lamps on both sides, was abandoned tonight.

  Soon Jaimin’s vision was starting to spin at the edges. He glanced down again to check out his foot. Blood was streaming from his wound. But to stop and bind it? Was it safe yet?

  Fear drove him onward.

  The forest soon gave way to the farming district. At the first farm he neared someone stood outside a barn, securing its sliding door. His mind wanted him to keep going—after all, the western post wasn’t much farther—but his body didn’t believe he could make it. If this person—this stranger—could help…

  And that’s when he blacked out, tumbling sidelong onto the mud.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Elaina set down her bucket and jug and ran out onto the road. She looked south. She looked north. She mopped the rain off her face with the b
ack of her hand, but more just dribbled down from her forehead.

  Lairen, a compact, weatherworn farmer, stepped out onto the porch with a medical satchel tucked under his arm. “Looks like he’s gone,” he shouted.

  “I took too long.”

  “Well, it may be for the better,” he said. “If there’s trouble tonight, you don’t want any part of it.”

  Elaina examined the spot where the boy’s horse had been standing. Drops of fresh blood were already being mixed into the mud by the rain. Two sets of hoofprints led away. Someone else had been by! The prints went north.

  Had the boy been rescued—or abducted? Crime was such a rarity in Arra, Elaina didn’t want to believe her patient was the victim of foul play; still, his wounded foot, and the arrows…

  “I’ve got to find him,” she declared. She didn’t need to know his story, she just wanted to make sure he was safe.

  There was no time to tack up her horse. The relentless rain was bound to wash away any telltale blood drops and soften any tracks. She’d have to head out on foot.

  “Whoa,” Lairen hollered, hopping off the porch and prancing out in her direction, splattering mud everywhere. “Hold on there! You’re not going out like that.” He pulled off his cloak, flung it around her, tied it, raised the hood, and gave her shoulder a firm squeeze for luck. “You be careful, now.”

  “Thanks.”

  She snatched the medical satchel and ran off along the fences, where the soil was firmer. At each road crossing, she paused only long enough to see which way the prints and scarlet puddles led. No one else was about.

  Her tracking led her into the river valley where the poorest farmers lived.

  She took her eyes off her footing for just a moment and sqwush! a puddle of goo swallowed her leg all the way up to her knee—and held on. She chided herself: brilliant, Elaina!

  Bracing herself with her fingers and her other boot, with a tug and a rude slorp! she freed herself, and kept on going, following the hoofprints over a lamp-lit bridge that spanned the swollen river.

  Just past the bridge, she was halted by a sign planted in the middle of the road. “STAY OUT,” it said, in big, blocky letters. “TOXIC TOADSTOOLS.” The king’s seal was stamped in wax.

  Beyond the sign, the way seemed overgrown and impassable. She remembered hearing about a poisonous fungal bloom in this wood. She had no idea whether the place was still toxic, but the hoofprints led right in there! Of course, she’d take the chance and go in…