“It looks like they headed south, as I expected.” Cal kicked a broken spear shaft into the dormant fire. ”I doubt they’re bound for Sol Limar, so we’ll watch closely for signs of them leaving the road while we travel.”
“So we continue heading south?”
Cal shrugged. “Of course. Sol Limar is where the king is.”
“The king?”
“Yes. We need help.”
“What if we run into them along the way? Is that why you brought the sword?”
His gaze shifted to the weapon at his hip, its length almost touching the ground.
“No. I wouldn’t even want to try.” He shook his head. “I might cut off something important, and that cannot be healed.”
Lyra approached him, frowning. “Then, why bring it?”
He smiled. “I told you before. The sword’s not for me. I made it for someone else to use. In this case, that someone comes from Sol Limar. In the future, there will be others…assuming we get the right future. If things go wrong, it won’t matter anyway.”
Lyra shook her head and chuckled. “Never mind. I give up.” Circling the fire pit, she avoided looking directly at the red stains on the gravel. “Come on. Let’s keep moving.” She glanced toward the dark clouds to the west. “It looks like it might rain today.”
They resumed their journey south, with Lyra carrying the floating pack and her lute, and Cal carrying a more common pack and the sword. As they walked in silence, Lyra found herself frequently glancing toward Cal, who appeared not to notice. At some point during the past few weeks, her perception of him had changed. Yes, he still had his oddities, but she now found them more comforting than annoying. In addition, she found herself drawn to his powerful sense of selfless integrity. It astounded her that he had risked his life to save the captive Tantarri. Even with the aid of his magic, Cal had almost died to help people he had never even met. His single-minded goal of stopping The Hand’s nightmarish plan gave Lyra a clarity she had never had before experienced. She found herself believing in something larger than her own life, willing to go to extremes to see it succeed.
A cool gust blew from the west, and Lyra felt a drop of water hit her cheek. Another struck her forehead and she swung her pack around to access it while glancing toward Cal, seeing no visible reaction as his mind appeared elsewhere.
“I think it might start raining soon.” Lyra said as she pulled her grey wool cloak out before closing the pack. “You might want to grab your cloak.”
Cal looked at her “What?” He blinked as a raindrop hit him in the eye. He rubbed it. “Is it raining?”
Lyra stopped and tied the cloak about her neck, covering the lute. The cold sprinkles of water became more frequent. “I’m not sure. Maybe you should use your magic and see what it tells you.”
He frowned at her as she pulled her hood over her head. “You can be quite sarcastic at times.” Then, the rain hit.
“You’re welcome.”
Cal scrambled to pull his cloak from his pack, his wet hair sticking to his forehead as water dripped down his face. He pulled his hood up, tied the flap on his pack into place, and nodded for them to continue.
They walked in the rain for a couple hours, circling around the deeper puddles that formed in the potholes and dips. Despite the cloak’s ability to shed water, the constant rain eventually seeped through the fabric and left her wet underneath. When they reached a rise in the road, Lyra stopped and turned west in hope of finding signs to the rain ending. Below the dark clouds, between a gap in the trees, a row of tall foothills stood less than a mile away. Her gazed shifted toward what appeared to be a rocky cliffside.
“Maybe we can get out of the rain over there.”
He turned toward where she pointed, nodding after a moment before he led her off the road, through the wet brush occupying the gap between the taller trees. When they broke past the initial barrier of brush, they found themselves on a trail.
They followed a path surrounded by brush and tall grass that shed gathered rain upon them, somehow making them even wetter. After about a half-mile, the snaking trail emerged into a narrow ravine between two foothills.
Cal stopped short, causing Lyra to crash into him. He stumbled forward a step, but said nothing. He just stood there.
“Why’d you stop? We’re almost there,” she asked.
He stepped aside and pointed. Lyra gasped upon seeing two dead men lying among the rocks ahead. Despite the dirt and rain that covered them, it only took a moment to recognize the bright colors.
“Tantarri. We’ve found them.”
Easing closer to the corpses, Lyra recalled their names – Haru and Venarri. The men were dead and their spirits had moved on. Yet, she felt horrible for them being abandoned in this manner.
Cal turned toward her. “How do your people treat their dead?”
“My people?” She glanced at the men and realized that Cal still thought she was Tantarri. “I…I don’t know.”
His brow furrowed, and he turned toward the corpses. “Will they be offended if we use a funeral pyre?”
Unsure of what to do, her only response was a shrug. It was disturbing to see these men treated this way, discarded like old furniture that no longer held value.
Glancing around, Cal nodded before cutting off the trail, toward the two men.
“Help me move them.”
Lyra bit her lip and found her stomach churning at the thought of touching dead bodies. She closed her eyes and took a calming breath. Opening them, she followed the trail of trampled grass left in Cal’s wake. He walked around the first man and slid his hands beneath the man’s armpits while Lyra grabbed his ankles. With a grunt, they lifted the man off the ground, his rear barely above it.
Cal nodded his head to the side. “To the downed tree.”
Lyra turned toward the dead pine, its trunk split where it had fallen over a boulder. They carried the man toward it, his bottom side dragging against the gentle slope. Cal backed into needle-covered branches and leaned the man against the boulder so he was sitting upright beside the tree.
They returned for the other man and carried him to the tree, propping him up on the opposite side of the rock from his dead companion. Cal stepped back and began searching the ground.
Lyra glanced up at the cloud-covered sky, blinking at the rain as it fell in her eyes.
“Nothing’s going to burn in this.” She held her hands out, palms up as the rain splattered on them. “Even when it stops raining, it will be a while before this old tree to dry enough to burn.”
“Perhaps.” Cal shrugged as he bent to grab a long, narrow rock that fit nicely in his palm. “Or perhaps a bit of magic will do the trick.”
He walked over to the boulder and began scraping something into its face using the sharp edge of the rock in his hand. Apparently finished, he stepped back and stared at the symbol. Lyra watched in curiosity as the rune glowed bright red, pulsed, and faded. Cal grabbed Lyra’s arm and backed away, pulling her with him.
The boulder burst into flames, the intense heat of the flash forcing Lyra to turn away. When she turned back, she found the rock burning brightly, setting the tree aflame along with the two men who leaned against it. As the needles burned, they crackled and popped before dropping into the long grass and setting small smoldering fires that filled the air with smoke.
“May Issal watch over them,” Cal said solemnly.
He turned and returned to the trail, leading her deeper into the ravine. After hiking a few hundred feet, it became clear that there was a recessed area within the cliffside, perhaps two stories above the canyon floor. They climbed up toward it, slipping and scrambling on the loose gravel on the way up.
The ground leveled when they reached the recess. Lyra pulled her hood back and looked up at the overhanging rock, feeling thankful for shelter from the cold rain.
“A fire,” Cal noted as he walked past her and squatted beside a pile of ashes, encircled by rocks the size of a man’s head. He pick
ed up a small stick and dug into the ashes while holding his other hand over them. “Still warm. They were here.”
Turning toward the burning rock and tree, Lyra realized that he was right. The soldiers had camped here and had likely followed the trail along the ravine floor, heading west.
Cal stood and walked past her, heading back down the hillside.
“Where are you going?”
He spoke over his shoulder as he scrambled down the loose rock and gravel. “We’re wet and cold. I’m gathering wood for a fire.” He reached the bottom and turned toward her. “Stay there. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He headed back down the hillside, toward the burning tree, its orange flame flickering wildly in the rain, in the failing daylight.
18
The clopping of hooves and the rumble of wheels arose from behind. Lyra and Cal moved to the side of the road, allowing the wagon to pass by. The massive hooves of the workhorses at the fore splashed through a puddle, a reminder of the rain from the prior evening. Deciding that her boots were damp enough, Lyra followed Cal around the puddle, the pair trailing behind the wagon as it drove toward the open city gate.
A glance to the top of a two-story tall wall built of grey stone blocks, revealed armed bowmen watching the traffic below. As they passed through the gate, beneath the raised portcullis, the road shifted from damp gravel to a nestled mosaic of cobblestone.
The main street ran toward the heart of the city, toward a grey castle built atop a hill overlooking the Sol Mai Ocean. The bright morning sun forced Lyra to squint as she gazed toward the bay beyond the shadowed towers of the keep. In the distance, a single ship with white sails drifted out toward the open sea.
“We have little time to waste, so we’re heading straight to the castle.” Cal turned toward her and grinned. “Have you ever met a king?”
“Um…no. Most people doubt they will ever meet one.”
Cal’s grin widened. “We’re not most people.”
His pace quickened as the street narrowed. Lyra hurried to keep up with him as he weaved among the foot traffic and vendors clogging the busy street.
“What if he won’t see you?” Lyra asked as she caught up with him. “What if he doesn’t believe you?”
Cal continued without pause, his eyes focused on the castle. “I’ll make him listen. There can be no other course.”
Lyra rolled her eyes and groaned, afraid of whatever theatrics he had in mind.
They passed a bakery and the smell of fresh bread made Lyra’s mouth water. Her stomach growled, underfed from a light breakfast that happened four hours and ten miles earlier.
Without pause, Cal led her up the stairs that graced the side of the hill, rising to meet another open gate within a smaller wall. By the time they reached the top, Lyra’s tunic was damp with sweat and stuck to her skin – the result of the heat, thick with humidity from the precipitation of the prior evening.
Similar to the bowmen on the ramparts bordering the city, two guards dressed in leather armor with orange and white tabards waited beside the gate.
“Hold.” The older of the two guards tilted his spear to block the door. The man had a scar on one cheek, cutting a white path through his dark beard – a lonely valley where hair refused to grow. “What business do you have in the Citadel?”
Cal shared his usual friendly smile. “I must meet with King Tallinor regarding an urgent matter.”
“Sorry, but the king won’t be seeing anyone today. Come back tomorrow at sunrise to add your name to the list of petitioners.”
Cal turned toward Lyra. “Tali, these men appear to be having a bad day. Perhaps a little song will make them feel better.”
Lyra nodded, understanding Cal’s intent. After setting the floating pack down, she stood on the strap to keep the pack in place while she pulled the lute strap over her head.
“We’ve no time for this.” The guard’s green eyes reflected the anger in his voice. “Now, off with you.”
Ignoring him, Lyra began to play. The expression on the man’s face softened as the enchantment took hold. A minute later, Cal and Lyra thanked the two men and entered the castle walls.
Cal crossed the square before the entrance, circling around the bubbling fountain at the center. As he strode up the stairs, a man emerged from the open doors at the top.
Matching Cal in height, the man had an even thinner frame, his fine golden vest fitting him perfectly while complementing his white tunic, black breeches, and black riding boots. The man paused, his focus shifting from Lyra to Cal as he cast a doubtful expression.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Cal stopped two stairs from the top. “Hello, good sir. I’m here on most urgent business, and I must speak with the king immediately.”
The man grunted while stroking his graying black goatee. His gaze landed on the sword at Cal’s hip, and his brow furrowed.
“I’d like to know how you got in here while armed. Visitors are not allowed to possess weapons within the castle grounds.”
Cal glanced at the sword and shrugged. “This sword is a gift of sorts, for one of the king’s men. I don’t know who yet. I haven’t met him.”
The man sighed. “My name is Hamilton Marx. I am King Tallinor’s advisor. I tire of your babble, and I suggest you offer a good explanation before I call the guards to arrest you.”
Cal glanced around, obviously ensuring that nobody else was nearby. He took two steps to reach the top of the stairs and leaned toward the man, who instinctively leaned backward, appearing nervous.
“The Ministry is planning something, and I must warn the king,” Cal whispered. “I have a plan to stop them, but I require help.”
Hamilton’s eyes narrowed. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about a revolution, not just against King Tallinor, but against the rulers of the other kingdoms as well.”
Hamilton grunted. “And if this were true, who are you that you might know of such a thing?”
“My name is Pascal. Pascal Fallbrandt.”
King Tallinor was a tall man and broad of shoulder. His doublet was unlaced to the middle of his chest with brown curls poking through the laces as he paced his private chambers. Lyra’s gaze shifted from the man with the crown to the open window overlooking the harbor. The white sails of two ships, bright in the mid-day sun, drew her attention as they headed out of the bay, one angling north while the other turned south.
“If I am to believe what you’re telling me, this is indeed dire news.” Tallinor stared at Cal, visibly assessing him. His gaze then shifted to the other man in the room. “What are your thoughts, Ham?”
The man who had escorted them to the king nodded. The guards who had accompanied him remained outside the door, along with Lyra’s dagger. Hamilton held Cal’s sword in both hands, his knuckles white as they gripped the scabbard.
“If this man is who he says he is, my agents confirm that his access to the Ministry Council might expose him to their secrets. If he is who he says he is, I suggest we heed his warning and consider supporting his plan.” Hamilton stared at Cal, measuring him. “His story is outlandish to say the least. However, if what he says is true, a direct confrontation with their force would be suicide.”
Tallinor frowned. “You know that I find duplicity distasteful.”
Hamilton nodded. “Yes, Sire. I’m aware. Unfortunately, I don’t make the rules. I merely play the game as it unfolds. In this case, a bit of deception and a fair amount of guile would be the best option.”
Tallinor turned toward Cal, his gaze examining him from head to toe. “How do we know that this man is who he claims?”
Hamilton nodded. “That is the question, Sire. If we can clear up his identity, our path becomes clear.”
Cal nodded. “Very well. If you’ve heard of me, I assume you’re aware of my abilities.”
Not waiting for a response, Cal pulled a small rock from his pocket as he knelt and began scraping lin
es into the stone-tiled floor. When he finished, a large rune marked the floor. Cal stood, pocketed the stone, and closed his eyes. With his breath quickening, Cal’s eyes flashed open and red sparks danced within them. His gaze fell on the symbol and it began to glow, pulsing before fading. The room grew cold as frost covered the floor, white and sparkling from the incoming sunlight. An icy fog emerged above the rune, growing thicker until, miraculously, it began to snow inside the king’s private chamber.
Wonder reflected within Tallinor’s eyes as he held his palm out, watching the falling snow melt as it touched his skin. Bits of white glistened in his thick brown hair, encircled by a crown shaped like the rising sun. The king turned toward Hamilton, who responded with a single nod.
Tallinor stared at Cal, his lips forming a thin line, his face resolute. “What do you need?”
19
Lyra stared at the boulder, so black that it swallowed the mid-morning sunlight, appearing even more dull that the gray ashes surrounding it. Those ashes were all that remained of the two Tantarri and the dead tree. While not a grave as Lyra was accustomed, she found the blackened rock an ominous marker of another nature.
She turned toward Cal and Garrett, the former having just finished relaying recent events to the latter. Despite the outlandish nature of Cal’s tale, Garrett merely nodded. While Lyra had become accustomed to Cal’s magic, his abilities still surprised her. Yet, Captain Pularus behaved as if the use of magic was as common as breathing.
Garrett’s gaze turned west, toward the narrow ravine. “So, you believe they took this trail inland?”
Cal nodded. “Yes. They camped up there,” he pointed to the spot where he and Lyra had camped just two nights earlier. “And I found evidence that the trail beyond the campsite had been recently used.”
“In that case, lead the way.” Garrett nodded. “It sounds like we have little time.”
Cal turned and led them down the floor of the ravine, following the dirt trail worn in the grass and weeds. Lyra glanced backward one last time, toward the shiny black rock as she said a brief prayer to La-Mordai, hopeful that the two men found peace in death.
Rogue Legacy: The Secret History of Issalia Page 11