Escape: The Seam Travelers Book One

by Jason Nugent

  A small camp lay ahead, its fire a beacon in the waning light of day. Worried it was one of Mortas’s search parties, Phetrix approached it carefully.

  He crept closer, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Weaving a spell to enhance his hearing, he listened to the group. There were four men and two women, but they weren’t what he expected.

  “We’ll give Mortas a taste of his own medicine,” one of the men said.

  “Aye, Grynd, we’ll make sure he pays for what he’s done,” one of the female voices said.

  Loyalists? Mortas didn’t kill them all!

  With courage strengthened by the conversations he eavesdropped on, Phetrix revealed himself to the party.

  “Hello! I come in peace!”

  The group clambered to their weapons and held them in a defensive manner against this new intrusion.

  “Who goes there?” It was the man he heard moments before, Grynd.

  “Are you loyal to Mortas or the King?” one of the women asked. She had long red hair and cuts on her arms. Her tunic was torn on the side, a bloody bandage peeking through.

  The two men with Grynd stepped closer, a madness in their eyes which worried Phetrix. They were both taller than Grynd. One had a bald head and the other wore short brown hair. Long beards adorned both their faces.

  Judging by their garb with the white stag embroidered on their tunics, he knew their loyalties.

  “I’m with the King. I’m Phetrix—”

  “The mage?” the red-haired woman Inquired.

  “That I am. I am for the King. Does he live? Have you seen him?”

  The bald man spat. “Would be nice to know, but tis not our luck.”

  “You can drop your hands mage. Make a false move and Matildis will gut you.” The red-haired woman smiled, spinning a knife in her hand.

  “I don’t doubt she will. You can be assured I am not one to cause trouble.”

  “What of the heirs, have you seen them?” It was the other woman. She brushed her long blonde hair to the side, revealing delicate features. Worry flashed across her face.

  Phetrix shook his head. “I have not. I can only hope they were taken to safety. Mortas was determined to exterminate the royal family.”

  The blonde woman sighed and turned, walking to the fire by herself.

  “She was a nanny for the children,” Grynd said in reply to Phetrix’s unvoiced question.

  “This here is Gerbald,” he said pointing to the bald man. It made Phetrix chuckle but the man didn’t seem to see the humor in it.

  “And this is Wymar. The nanny is Ancrett. We found each other in the forests after the attack and banded together. Our intent is to mount a counter to Mortas. You’d be an excellent addition to the cause, if you are who you say you are.”

  Phetrix waved his hands in a circular motion and created a ball of green light. He lifted his hand and it floated upwards, illuminating the camp in a murky-green glow.

  “Does this answer your question?”

  Matildis nodded. “Works for me. If you turn out to be sent by Mortas, no green glob of light will save you from my blade. I promise.”

  “Well noted.”

  “Now that we’re all acquainted, maybe we can share our stories. I’d love to hear what you you’ve gone through, mage,” Grynd said.

  Wymar and Ancrett went to work preparing a meal for the group. The smell of roasted rabbit made Phetrix’s mouth salivate. He hadn’t had a decent meal since the attack.

  While they were seated around the fire enjoying the meal, Gerbald started the conversation.

  “How come none of us know of you, mage? We all worked in the castle for years, serving King Artrus and his family. Surely we would’ve noticed you.” Phetrix noticed several others nodding their agreement.

  “The duty of mage kept me far from most servants. There were several I knew well. Nadina, Nordon, Alyanna, and others—”

  “Nadina? I know her,” Ancrett said. “She and I entered service about the same time.”

  “I knew Nordon. Big fella. He could pound down the ale!” Gerbald said.

  “I saw them in the castle as the attack grew worse. I helped them escape.” The group looked at Phetrix with wide eyes.

  “They live? Where are they? We can grow our company larger with their help!” Grynd said.

  Phetrix shrugged. “I don’t know where they went. It was chaos. The last I saw, they were running from Mortas’s soldiers through the halls. I can only assume they made it to safety. Hopefully, with the King and Queen.”

  Wymar raised a wooden mug of ale. “To the King! Long live King Artrus and Queen Griselde!”

  The rest of the group joined in his toast. Phetrix relaxed. He was among like-minded people intent on making things right again. He wondered if he should tell them about the seam and the other world. Though they might fight for the king, would they understand what he did?

  Fifteen

  GRYND KEPT THE GROUP loose and relaxed. Considering the circumstances, Phetrix was more than fine with it.

  It had been five days since joining the group, and close to three weeks since the attack. Word had spread about a growing rebellion to the north, but that Mortas had also known about it. Whether from Seekers, those black spirit-like entities, or some other means, Phetrix didn’t know. He still hadn’t told the group about the seam and he was anxious to get to the farm, though the group had no intention of traveling in that direction.

  Matildis stepped next to Phetrix who had been lost in thought, wondering what his next move was.

  “Mage, you ever kill a man?”

  Phetrix scrunched his face. “Yes I have. During the attack. I had to protect the heirs.”

  Matildis nodded. “Good. We might need more of that if it comes to it. Grynd got word today that a large group of loyalists have gathered in the forests around Whitemoore.”

  “Way up there? Does Mortas not control all of Chevalon then?”

  “He does, but his hold in the north is weak. Whitemoore has sworn to him, but they look a blind eye at the loyalists. It wouldn’t surprise me if it soon becomes the center of resistance to Mortas.”

  Phetrix stroked his long beard. Convincing the group to join those gathered near Whitemoore might help him get to the seam faster. Each day that passed felt like another day wasted. What if Samuel didn’t have the children? What if their protectors failed?

  The heirs had to live at all costs. Without them, the land was cursed. The prophecy of old dictated their lives, yet Mortas destroyed that. He knew little of what he had done, but Phetrix understood the significance.

  “Are we going north then?”

  Matildis clapped him on his back. “We sure are! We leave in the morning.”

  As day broke and the camp packed up, Phetrix beamed with excitement. He packed his gear and helped the others with their own. When they were ready, Grynd led them to a nearby road heading north.

  “Keep your eyes open. The road should be fine, but the Seekers are out there. All we need is one to spot us and we’d soon be in danger.”

  “Come on Grynd, what are you afraid of?” Gerbald chided. “We haven’t been in a proper fight for weeks. My blade would like to taste blood again.”

  “Ever seen a Seeker? They don’t have blood to spill!”

  Phetrix recalled when he had seen one of those creatures, and Grynd was right. They were ephemeral beings controlled by the whims of their master. Mortas had no reservations in employing them to do his will. They were much more efficient than humans.

  They passed several other travelers on the road, but none seemed to mind who they were. The group had hidden their white stag livery under tunics to help keep their identities hidden. They neared a small village and that’s when Wymar spotted it.

  “Up there, look!”

  The group followed his hand to the sky and there it was, a Seeker. It streaked across the sky scanning the village and all roads into it.

  “Don’t run now, it’ll spot us for sure,” Phetrix sa
id. “Just move naturally. It might not notice who we are.”

  They moved cautiously trying not to draw attention their way when the Seeker swooped low, right above their heads. Wymar ran.

  “No!” Ancrett called out, running after him.

  “Both of you stop!” Grynd cried, but it was too late.

  The Seeker spun in the sky and darted for Wymar. The man foolishly tried to outrun it, but couldn’t. The Seeker flew in front of him, making him fall over.

  Guards from the village came running toward them. The travelers that were nearby scattered.

  Ancrett helped Wymar back to his feet as the guards rushed in.

  Phetrix swirled his hands, readying a spell. It would expose him to the guards but he had no choice. He had to try and save them.

  Phetrix created a ball of white light and shot it forward. It streaked past Wymar and Ancrett, boring a hole through the Seeker before dissipating.

  Grynd, Gerbald, and Matildis rushed toward the guards, weapons drawn and yelling.

  The guards drew their swords and the three of them clashed with the three loyalists.

  Gerbald swung and missed, one of the guards piercing him in his back. Matildis swung down at the guard’s arm, severing it.

  Wymar and Ancrett both produced weapons and joined the melee. Phetrix was unable to do much as the guards were too close to the group for him to accurately strike them with his powers. He moved around the fight, looking for ways to intervene.

  Matildis was thrown to the ground, exposing one of the guards. Phetrix quickly shot a beam of fire at the man. The thin streak of flame pierced the man’s chest and he fell over dead.

  Wymar swung a short sword at a guard, who blocked it and countered, his blade slicing into Wymar’s sword arm. He dropped his blade, clutching at the wound, when Matildis jumped in, knocking Ancrett out of the way. She parried with the guard who looked to be getting the better of her. As she tried to protect Wymar, the guard pushed the fight and nearly pierced her with his sword. Ancrett swung to the side and then lunged at the guard with her knife. She struck him in the side, the blade sinking deep into his flesh. Matildis added her own sword to the man’s body and he fell over dead.

  Grynd was fending off the other guard, though he seemed to be losing ground. The guard was larger and faster than him. Grynd tried to parry the strikes, but his injury made it difficult. Lines of blood ran down his injured arm, spraying on the ground.

  Matildis joined Grynd. “You’re no good with that arm of yours,” she growled, knocking him out of the way. The guard swung his sword at her, not seeming to care who his opponent was. Grynd fell to the ground and Matildis struck at the guard, forcing him back from her injured friend.

  Phetrix raced to the injured Wymar and Gerbald, hoping he could heal their wounds.

  “Ancrett, hold your hand here,” he commanded, placing her hand on Wymar’s wound.

  She did so and he channeled energy into the bloody cut. Soon, it closed enough to stop the bleeding.

  “Now to Gerbald!” They took a few steps over to the other man, but as soon as Phetrix laid his hands on him, he knew it was too late.

  “Aren’t you going to do something?” Ancrett cried.

  “I can’t. Not now. It’s too late.”

  Ancrett pounded on Gerbald’s lifeless chest.

  When Phetrix turned to the remaining guard, he watched helplessly as he fought with Matildis and parried her sword. He knocked her back and turned, thrusting his sword through Grynd who had been on the ground and hadn’t moved quickly enough from the fight.

  “No!” Phetrix cried out. Channeling his energy, he prepared to take his rage out on the guard, but Matildis had been too quick and in her rage, sliced through the guard’s throat.

  When the fighting ended, only Ancrett, Matildis, Wymar, and Phetrix remained. A commotion from the village stole Phetrix’s attention.

  “More guards. Hurry, you need to run!”

  “What, we can’t leave them!” Ancrett cried out.

  Phetrix pointed a shaky hand at the guards coming their way. “They will kill you! Leave now!”

  Matildis pulled on Ancrett. “Come on, he’s right. We can fight another day.”

  “We’ll meet again, I swear.”

  “We better, mage.” Matildis ran into the forest with Ancrett and the others at her side.

  Phetrix wove his hands in a complex pattern then forced a stream of fire at the guards. They lunged out of the way, giving Phetrix enough time to run away.

  Sixteen

  AFTER THE ATTACK, PHETRIX hid from prying eyes. Always with a look to the sky watching out for the Seekers, he roamed the shadows of Chevalon. Too many had died already and still he was no closer to finding the King or venturing across the seam to unite with the heirs.

  Hidden within a cave in the eastern wildlands of Chevalon, he built a small fire, igniting the wet wood with his powers.

  Four weeks had passed since the attack, but the memory burned within him, giving him fitful nights of sleep and anxious waking moments.

  Huddled near the fire under his cloak, he desperately tried to remember the prophecy of the heirs.

  According to ancient legend and secured through the centuries by the order of the Mage, heirs of the first ruler of Chevalon, King Galterius, were the rightful and anointed rulers of the land. For the most part, those rulers have been benevolent and just, ruling with peace and general harmony. There were moments of discord, such as when Prince Hemeri and Princess Ninon almost brought the kingdom to civil war, but Chevalon prospered for much of its history.

  The Order of the Mage kept a secret history, a prophecy unknown to the descendants of Galterius.

  Galterius’s mage Edalf, known within the order as Edalf the Black, cursed the royal family. As Galterius’s mage, he was a trusted advisor and confidant. At the urging of the King, Edalf produced a special blessing for the royal family, swearing that one day, royal blood would produce heirs with the ability to wield magic and when they did, they’d produce a dynasty that would last forever.

  That was as much as anyone knew about Edalf outside the Order. The truth was much darker.

  Edalf had fallen in love with the Queen and Galterius found out. For three days the two fought and argued with Edalf hoping to stay within the King’s service, but the King, fueled by jealousy and disappointment, declared Edalf a traitor and set an execution date for him. The Queen plead with Galtarius to spare his life, and against his better judgement, agreed to banish him from the land.

  Bitter and heartbroken, Edalf amended his blessing and swore that if magical heirs ever lived, they could be killed and the royal line would die with them, the land forever plunged into darkness.

  His first attempt at bringing this to fruition was to pit the son and daughter of Galterius against one another. When Princess Ninon accused her brother Prince Hemeri of trying to steal her prized horse, she gathered a large following intent on crushing him. Edalf orchestrated the entire situation and the Order fought behind the scenes to restore order and reduce the damage caused by him.

  Knowing what Edalf set in motion, the Order kept close to the royal family for centuries until the birth of Erthic and Elysande.

  Phetrix was the first to spot their ability, the memory clear in his mind.

  “What are you doing?” he remembered asking Erthic. The boy had waved his hands, a ball of tightly woven yarn he’d been given to play with spinning in the air above him.

  “Ball!” the boy replied. He was barely able to speak but Phetrix remembered the word and the floating orb vividly.

  “How did you do that?”

  The boy moved his hands, making the ball spin faster. He giggled and lost control, the ball falling to the floor.

  Phetrix kept a close eye on him, watching for more signs, though he didn’t spot any until Eylsande did something similar.

  The little girl was in her crib and Erthic was with her, cooing and squirming. The nanny, Alyanna, had called for the mage becau
se of something she witnessed.

  “Watch, she’ll do it.”

  Phetrix waited, knowing the boy had been capable of wielding magic and was curious about the girl.

  They watched for several minutes before Elysande moved her hands and the blanket wrapped around her slowly rose from the crib and danced. She waved her little fingers making her brother giggle at the display. When she was done, the blanket fell softly on to the mattress.

  “I told you! Did you see that?”

  “Alyanna, say nothing about this! Do you understand me?”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s important none shall know. I must have your word!”

  “Fine, fine. I will say nothing.”

  Phetrix left and a growing knot of dread filled his belly. The prophecy had come true. If Elysande possessed the ability too, then they were in deeper trouble. Both would need protection. As long as one of them lived, he was certain the curse would not come to pass. He swore that day to never let anything happen to the children.

  The fire crackled, forcing his memory to flee, returning to the present. Somehow, Mortas knew about the curse. The Order must have betrayed the King. Someone inside allowed the truth of the curse to escape their lips.

  “Rhoden. Rhoden Noster.” The name dripped evil. He was a rogue Mage that fled the Order and had gone silent for years. The last Phetrix had seen of him, he was at Mortas’s side during the attack. It had to be him!

  Phetrix stood, stretching his legs. It was no good dwelling on the past when all he could control was the present. At least for now, the children were safe with his old mentor Samuel in a land far different than their own. Hopefully they lived and hopefully Samuel could train them in the ways of magic. They’d need it to return and claim the kingdom. Until then, he’d bring the rebels together to create a force to repel Mortas.

  Seventeen

  PHETRIX CLIMBED DOWN from the mountains to the market in the village of Ulti where he frequently begged for food and listened attentively to the gossip of those selling and buying.

  Phetrix hid among the southern mountains, living a life of solitude and contemplation. The black clad, snowflake patrols, as he had begun to call them, had concentrated their efforts to find the King and Queen to the north, making it impossible to find a way through. He didn’t want to risk capture, nor did he wish to inadvertently lead Mortas’ troops to the King. After the attack from the guards and the Seeker outside the village, he didn’t want to get anyone else hurt. The best and safest course of action was no action at all. He found the cave and made it his home until such a time when he deemed it safe to continue his search.