Pawns (The Wielders of Arantha Book 1)

by Patrick Hodges

  A s he made his way to the main courtyard, Mizar pondered the ramifications of Sen's findings and how it all tied into the events of the past few days.

  The morning after Zendak's arrival, Aridor dispatched Prince Warran, along with a full contingent of soldiers, to relay the wounded Agrusian prince's message to King Largo, who ruled Darad's nearest neighbor, Imar. Word reached Mizar that a messenger had returned early that morning with a letter from Warran stating that Largo was requesting a meeting with Aridor so they could discuss strategies for dealing with Elzor and the female Wielder. Viceroy Callis of Barju had also been summoned to explain how Elzor could create an army without him knowing.

  As for Zendak himself, thanks to Sen and the court physician, his condition had improved to the point where he was no longer in pain, but he would bear the scars of his encounter with the female Wielder for the rest of his life. That, along with the knowledge that his homeland had been invaded and his family butchered, made Mizar wonder if the poor man would ever recover.

  By the time Mizar reached the courtyard, the space was filled with merychs, saddled and shoed, upon which fifteen members of the King's personal guard sat. They were all decked out in full battle gear, leather armor covering their bodies from neck to shins, with longswords dangling at their sides and shields slung over their backs.

  Taking care not to step on anything malodorous, he sidled through the throng until he spied Aridor. The King was giving Queen Belena a warm kiss, causing Mizar to turn away, feeling guilty at having invaded their privacy. Only a moment later, the couple parted and Belena, with only a respectful nod and a smile to Mizar as she passed, walked regally past the riders and through an interior door.

  Mizar turned his attention back to Aridor. At that moment, he flashed back to the day the two of them met for the first time, the day his life changed completely.

  Sixteen-year-old Mizar, accompanied by his father, Deegan, made the two-day journey from Ghaldyn province to Mount Calabur in accordance with King Sardor's edict. Darad had been without a High Mage since the death of Merdeen fifty years prior, and though the kingdom was able to survive without the benefit of a High Mage in the interim, the rulers never stopped their search for another that might assume that role.

  The entire Cavern thrummed with energy, which coursed through Mizar's veins like water through a conduit. When it was discovered that he could manipulate the elements—-air, earth, fire and water—-he was vigorously trained to take his place at the side of Aridor's father, King Armak. There were none alive to teach him the art of Wielding, but Armak provided many instructors to help him strengthen himself both mentally and physically in order to facilitate controlling his fledgling abilities.

  Saying goodbye to Deegan was difficult and tearful. With no siblings, Mizar worried that his father wouldn't be able to maintain the family farm. King Armak, however, generously allowed Mizar to provide his father with more than enough coin to compensate for his absence, and when Deegan became too infirm to manage, Mizar's two cousins graciously moved their families to the farm to take over for him.

  Aridor was a lad of ten when Mizar first met him, a stout-hearted boy determined to prove himself worthy at every turn: practicing swordplay, archery and merychship until he dropped from exhaustion. He grew to be a warrior of monumental repute, and was right alongside King Armak when they won the final battle against the lawless region of Vanda; a battle that, sadly, Armak did not survive.

  Since assuming the throne, Aridor had reigned with a firm yet just hand, hammering out trade agreements with the neighboring kingdoms of Imar, Barju and Agrus. Darad was rich in precious metals and crop-producing farmland, it enjoyed a healthy population of cattle, and it boasted the largest and best-trained army on Elystra, ten thousand strong. Their borders had not been encroached upon, and Aridor's sovereignty had not been challenged, in decades.

  In the blink of an eye, Mizar's ominous vision of death and devastation returned to his thoughts. Though he'd experienced hundreds of visions, most of them were mild, almost innocuous. Since that fateful day nearly four decades ago, he'd been High Mage of a country that hardly needed one.

  Until now.

  “Mizar,” Aridor said, striding over. “I am leaving to meet with King Largo. I expect to return in ten days. Possibly longer, knowing how much that old windbag likes to hear himself speak.”

  “Yes, sire,” Mizar replied with a surreptitious grin. “Who will be in charge during your absence?”

  “I sent word to Prince Agedor, who is commanding our forces along the southern border. He will be returning later today.”

  Mizar's jaw twitched. Unlike Warran, Prince Agedor's arrogance was often difficult to deal with. “Do you not wish me to accompany you, sire?”

  “I appreciate the offer, old friend, but your presence in Imar would likely do more harm than good. Viceroy Callis has never been adept at hiding his jealousy that the path to Arantha lies within our borders and not his. Not to mention your … other limitation.”

  They locked eyes, not speaking. After a few moments, Mizar nodded again. “Understood, sire.”

  “Did this morning's consultation give you any more insight as to what travails we might face in the near future?”

  “Regrettably not, sire. Though the images did not cause me the same distress as before, they were no less opaque. I made it a point to try to deduce which villages were the sites of the massacre I saw, but it was no use. I then tried to concentrate on the female Wielders, hoping to gain some insight as to their identities.”

  The King waved to a nearby servant, who came forth and fastened a thick black cloak emblazoned with the Daradian emblem around his neck and shoulders. He tugged the clasp into place just below his Adam's apple. “And?”

  Mizar exhaled. “As before, there were two women standing together, facing the third. The light that clothed the two was bright and warm, and it completely obscured their faces. The third, however, I saw much more clearly. Her appearance matches that of the Wielder Prince Zendak ran afoul of: tall, slender, with long dark hair. Her countenance was one of pure malice, as was the blue energy that sparked and crackled around her.”

  “Elzaria,” Aridor said knowingly.

  “Sire?”

  “Her name is Elzaria. Several refugees from Agrus sought sanctuary in Barju. With most of the Barjan militia in shambles thanks to Elzor, he's had his Black Guard close his borders until further notice.”

  This did not surprise Mizar in the least. The Barjan ruler's penchant for paranoia was common knowledge among the royals. Elzor's defection, to some degree, seemed to justify that paranoia. Even so, to bar refugees from entering his country was cold, even for him.

  Aridor continued, “Thankfully, he had the foresight to send his own envoy to Imar to inform them of Agrus's fall. The mastermind behind the invasion was indeed Elzor, a former captain in the Barjan militia. Elzaria is his twin sister.”

  Mizar averted his eyes, staring at the throng of soldiers attempting to keep their merychs still as they awaited the order to move out. “I don't suppose these refugees were able to shed some light on the nature of the fe … of Elzaria's power.”

  Aridor shook his head. “I'm afraid not. I have also heard that the army Elzor commands is not large, barely six hundred men, though I am loath to trust that number. Regardless, there is no way they could stand against the combined might of Darad, Imar and Barju.”

  “Your Highness –”

  Aridor held his hand up. “I will not underestimate the power of this Wielder, I assure you. The Agrusian army, though skilled and well-trained, was caught off guard. We will not make the same mistake.”

  He waved at a waiting stable boy, who brought forth Aridor's mount: a tall gray merych with a patch of white hair on its forehead that closely resembled a sword. In one motion, Aridor placed his foot in one stirrup and swung his body over the beast's back. Grasping the reins, he turned to face Mizar again. “Accelerate your studies. Whatever knowledge lies locked with
in Merdeen's scribblings, you have until I return to find it.”

  “Yes, sire.” Mizar bowed his head. “If I may, I would ask permission for my apprentice and I to travel to Ghaldyn once our studies are complete.”

  Aridor affixed his High Mage with a steely glare. “We may be on the brink of war, Mizar. Now is not the time to surrender to homesickness.”

  “With respect, sire,” Mizar said, unblinking, “My father has been unwell for some time now. If dark days are indeed ahead of us, this may be my last chance to see him.” Not to mention, it would keep him from having to deal with Prince Agedor, who had never approved of his ascension to High Mage given his common upbringing, but he didn't want to admit this to Aridor.

  The King considered this for a few moments, rubbing his bearded chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Very well. But you'd better be back by the time I return. I strongly suspect my mood will not be as jovial as it is now.”

  Without waiting for a response, Aridor shouted, “Open the gate!”

  Three men drew the wooden plank from its housings and two others pulled the giant doors open. As the morning sun poured in through the entrance, Aridor kicked his merych's flanks, and it immediately bolted through the opening, his personal guards kicking their mounts into motion and following right behind.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  D avin worked two shifts on the excavator, and Maeve decided to take another nap after they finished lunch and she gave herself another shot of pain-blocker. At the rate she was using the stuff up, they would run out in a week, perhaps ten days. If it was this energy source that was causing her headaches, they needed to find it and get it into a containment unit before it killed her. Thank the Saints there doesn't seem to be any radiation.

  With the sun beginning to set, Maeve pulled two bowls of stew from the synthesizer and set one in front of Davin, right next to his cup of water. He immediately started eating, making a satisfied face after the first spoonful. “Oh my God, thank you. After two shifts in that damn tunnel, this is what I need.” He licked his lips. “Did you program it to add extra thyme?”

  “Of course,” Maeve said. “Just like Grandma used to.”

  He took another heaping spoonful. “Thanks, Mom,” he said around a mouthful of potatoes.

  She took a similarly large bite. “No problem. How's your head?”

  “It's okay, I guess. Not as bad as yours, thank God. The blockers still working?”

  “Yeah. I may need one more dose before I start night watch. Any luck with the PT's?”

  Davin spent most of his free time trying to fix the personal transporters, but so far without much luck. “Not yet. And if I'm being honest, I don't know what else I can do. But something else occurred to me today.”

  “What?”

  “Well, Banikar sent us here to find something that will help us defeat the Jegg, right?”

  “Right.”

  “The PT's are Jegg technology, and the closer we seem to get to this energy source, the more it seems to affect them negatively. Which makes me think we're on the right track after all.”

  Maeve nodded. “That makes sense. At least we didn't come all this way for nothing.” She took a swig from her cup. “Now all we need to do is find the bloody stuff. Of course, with good news comes bad news.”

  “Yeah,” Davin said gloomily. “How're we gonna get back home if we can't use the quantigraphic rift drive? Even if we had the fuel, it would take a hundred years to get home using the supralight engines.”

  “Ninety-seven years, three months, fourteen days,” Maeve said.

  Davin chuffed under his breath. “Oh, well, that's much better. I wonder if there'll be anything left of the Terran Confederation by the time we get there.”

  “One problem at a time, Dav,” she said before tilting her bowl up to her mouth, draining the last few scraps of stew. “So far, everything Banikar told your father has been correct.”

  “Mmm hmm. Wish he could've thrown in a bit about dealing with the local wildlife.” He looked thoughtful. “I was wondering: do you think taking a turn on the excavator after sunset would be worth it? We would increase our productivity, and the cave is pretty well lit. The noise might even keep them away.”

  “That's true, but one of us would still have to keep watch all the time. Think you're up to another round on that thing?”

  “Sure. We can take turns until one of us needs to sleep.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Maeve deposited the empty bowl and spoon into the synthesizer's drawer and stood up. “Sun's about to set. I'm going to check the sensors, make sure everything's still functioning.”

  “Okay. I'm going to take a dip before we lose the light.”

  “Make it quick. Be right back.” She activated the PT and tapped the console on her arm. It was a crapshoot whether it would work or not, but if it saved time, it was worth it. She relaxed slightly when she heard the familiar whir, and just like that, she was gone, transporting down to the far end of the wadi.

  They still hadn't had a visual of the beasts, and Maeve was grateful for that. She made it a point to make sure the sensors at this location were a hundred percent operational. If an attack was going to come, it would most likely come via the riverbed, as the mountain lake was a bottle-neck with only one way out. The only other way in would involve an eighty-foot jump from the rim of the basin. She couldn't imagine any animal, alien or otherwise, escaping that fall uninjured.

  She checked each of the five sensors, and they were all working properly. Farther back were some powerful floodlights, which were programmed to activate if the sensors picked up any movement at all.

  Directly west of the wadi was another enormous mountain, taller than any in the vicinity, and Maeve looked up to see the Castelan sun nearly completing its descent. If the PT didn't cooperate, she would have to leave now to make it back to the Talon before the wadi was completely dark.

  She hadn't taken two steps back toward the camp when the floodlights suddenly activated, illuminating the rocky riverbed. Just as she turned to face in that direction, she heard another sound. A deep, guttural growl. And then another. And another.

  Maeve's breath caught in her throat as three dark, sleek shapes sprang from the shadows, each landing on four enormous paws about a hundred yards away.

  The sirens blared into raucous life, causing Maeve to clap her hands over her ears. The beasts took a half-step back, but they didn't run away. Instead, they continued their march forward. Towards her, towards Davin.

  Maeve's battle-hardened nerves barely held together as, for the first time, she beheld the creatures whose territory they'd invaded. Sharp, pointed ears jutted from a narrow, tapered skull ending in a black nose. Beneath their noses were mouths that bore some nasty-looking fangs that could rip the flesh from her bones in a heartbeat. But more fearsome than their savage appearance was their size. Though they resembled feral wolves, they were the size of lions.

  Shite.

  Doing her best to ignore the siren, she activated the PT device, stabbing furiously at the console. This time, however, she heard no whir, felt no field of energy surround her. She cast a quick glance at the console screen, which bore the words “Transport Failed.”

  Double shite.

  Maeve stabbed at the console several more times, but the PT obstinately refused to activate. Panic rising, she drew her pistol from its holster and took aim at the nearest creature, who she guessed to be the pack leader. She hated to kill a wild animal merely defending its home, but it was either her or it. Maybe she'd just wound it, and that would be enough to chase it away.

  She pulled the trigger. Nothing happened.

  She pulled again. Still nothing.

  Jammed.

  Are you farking kidding me?

  With no other options, she turned on her heel and sprinted back to the camp as fast as her legs could carry her.

  She felt more than heard the creatures following her. If the video images she saw were any indication,
they would catch her long before she reached the ship.

  She was about halfway back when she heard one of the floodlights topple and shatter behind her, obviously knocked over by one of the creatures. They were after her, all right. And if they caught her, they would go after Davin next.

  No.

  She didn't dare turn around. She had to run. She had to keep running. If by some miracle she made it to the Talon, and the box next to the exit-ramp that held the concussion grenades, she'd teach these creatures a thing or two.

  Only fifty yards away. Fifty yards to safety. Could she possibly make it?

  Her heart, which felt like it was going to burst from the long, panic-fueled sprint, lifted when she saw Davin cross her field of vision. He'd reached the Talon's ramp, and was rifling through the box, no doubt looking for a grenade to throw.

  The growling noises were close, and Maeve imagined the wolf-creatures were within pouncing distance behind her. She heard the sound of their padded paws as they connected with the dirt. They were close. Too close.

  She wasn't going to make it.

  Ignoring her instincts, she turned her head to glance behind her, but before she could discern how far away she was from certain death, she felt a massive paw swipe at her back. Its claws grazed her skin, and she felt the back of her tank top being torn away. The sudden shift in momentum caused her to trip over a rock that protruded up from the dry riverbed. Unable to right herself, she pitched headfirst onto the dirt, hitting the ground with a thud that knocked the breath from her body.

  Immediately, she turned over onto her back, silently praying to every Saint she could think of that she would somehow survive the next few minutes.

  “Mom!” Davin cried from behind her.

  Then, the largest of the creatures sprang, straddling her body with its enormous frame, knocking the gun from her hand. She locked eyes with the thing. It had dark, savage eyes, tinged yellow by the miniscule light provided from the lamps set up around the encampment. Saliva dripped from its fangs as it hungrily eyed its next meal.

  Fear gripped Maeve's heart, forcing its way through her chest and up into her brain.