Lost Kingdom: Book 1 in the Lost Kingdom Series

by Maggert, Terry

  A second shot rang out, then a third, and this one came from a second shooter. Then a shape fell from the sun—a crossbow bolt shot at an extreme azimuth, piercing the ground forty meters short of Radwill, who shook his head with the disgust of a professional archer.

  Ahead, the terrain fell away from scrub and dust to thin grasses, low bush, and then the tree cover, the thick pale trunks sprouting branches with massive jewel-green leaves, their surfaces nearly mirrored with a waxy substance. As Nolan crept forward, the air split by a thin scream, and a man tumbled from the crotch of a tree some sixty meters to the south.

  “One down,” Avina called. “Knife to the neck. He’s done.”

  Cherry, now less than twenty meters from the nearest tree, dropped to the ground with inhuman speed, and a gunshot rang out a split instant later. The shooter made his—or her—last mistake with that try, as Nolan had a good idea where they were holed up. He cupped his hands and called out, but not to the sniper. “Alive?”

  “I think so,” Cherry said. “Why not?”

  “Good enough for me,” Avina said.

  They were close enough to hear the river now, a background murmur that filled their senses. Between the trees, water shone through, and the scent of wind drops and tangy tree fog made Nolan fight the urge to spit. He bunched his leg muscles, watching, waiting, and edging forward with the grace of a predator.

  Because he was a predator. The sniper wasn’t hunting, but Nolan was.

  Ten meters off the ground, the small, wiry man poked his rifle downward, trying to fix Cherry with his next shot.

  “Come up, bitch. Come eat,” he said, the barrel questing in a hungry pattern, back and forth, back and—

  Nolan streaked forward and leapt, his hand closing around the rifle barrel as he jerked the sniper out into open space, where he fell screaming to the gritty mast that covered every inch of the upper shoreline. With a rich thud, the hunter—now a wheezing victim- tried to right himself, dazed but game. He was tough.

  He wasn’t tough enough for Nolan’s casual left hand. With a jab, Nolan sent four of the sniper’s teeth spiraling away in a gobbet of bloody saliva, and the man dropped, unconscious, to the ground.

  “Down. Clear?” Nolan called.

  With a rustle, Cherry and Avina emerged from some low shrubs, weapons held casually.

  “Clear. One dead, no others. The beach is ours, captain,” Cherry said with a grin.

  “Summon the others. I need them here to ask specific questions when our friend wakes up,” Nolan said, nudging the man with his boot.

  Minutes later, they had a name and little else from the would-be shooter. He was well-fed, grimy from the bush, and missing teeth. Other than that, he was no amateur, with quality weapons. Disarmed, he’d given up two knives, his rifle, a field pack, and something Nolan hadn’t expected—an empty Pox vaccine. That earned raised brows all around, and Cherry palmed the empty vial without a word. She gave Nolan a look that meant later, and then it was time to question Skoron, who was the unfortunate winner of Nolan’s flanking maneuver. For a moment, there was only the distant rush of the river and the creaking of tree limbs in the hot breeze as Nolan and Cherry decided what level of violence they were about to employ, and to his absolute misery, Skoron sensed what was happening. His fate hung in the moment, and things were not good.

  Corra broke the deadlock and stepped forward to kneel before Skoron, who was held in Cherry’s iron grip. “Do you know who I am?”

  A nod, and nothing else.

  “Need to be chattier, lad—” Radwill began, but with a subtle look from Corra, he fell stone silent mid-word.

  “Where is the witch?” Corra asked, her voice low and even.

  “South.”

  Corra smiled, then looked at Nolan. With the speed of a serpent, her hand lashed out to crack Skoron in the precise place where his missing teeth had been. He howled with rage, but Cherry clamped a hand over his mouth and that was the end of his outburst.

  “Didn’t know you had it in you, Majesty,” Nolan said.

  “Nice form,” Avina added.

  “Majesty?” Balant asked, clearly uncomfortable with his charge being involved in violence.

  Corra waved a hand in dismissal, but it was far from unkind. “If I ask others to do violence in my name, what would that make me?”

  “I—well,” Balant sputtered.

  “It is fine, old friend. Skoron and I are reaching an understanding. You see, he fears the witch and her people, but he doesn’t know me. Likely, his mind is poisoned by tales from Vondaar and his ilk, so I am—soft, in his eyes. A girl. A child, really. A North’r who would rule from the rocky heights far beyond and never ever come this way. Not like Rukisa, who is a woman of the people.” Corra’s eyes bored into Skoron, who paled at her attention. “Did you by chance have anything to do with the fire at my wedding?”

  “F-fire? No. I swear it,” Skoron babbled. He was telling the truth, and Nolan knew it, just as he knew Corra was wise beyond her years. She was giving the mercenary a lifeline, even if he couldn’t see it. Yet.

  Corra smiled, warm and forgiving. “Good, good. That, I could not forgive. I’ve already-- seen to-- some of those involved in that event, and as to the rest? Well, you see what’s happening.”

  “What—what is happening? Ah, lady?” Skoron managed.

  “I thought that was obvious. Revenge,” Corra said.

  Skoron said nothing for a moment, then worked his tongue along the hole where his teeth had been. “She does things to people.”

  “Does things?” Corra prompted.

  Skoron nodded, eyes filled with fear. Now, he looked—younger. And tired. “She cuts people with blades that make them bleed out in seconds. She leaves them in the sun, and she collects any and all of the old things we find. But I would rather die. I can’t let her take me. No,” he said, lip stiffened in resolve. “Don’t even know what you want, but I can’t give it to you anyway.”

  “Oh, that,” Corra said, as she casually removed Thirst from her pack. Skoron’s eyes went round as plates, but she put a finger to his lips, shushing him. “Balant, what do we need to know?”

  “How many people does Rukisa have, her weapons, and where she is. For a start,” Balant answered.

  Corra shrugged. “That is what we need. Now, will you tell us? Will you tell me, your queen?”

  “I—no.” Skoron’s lips pursed in a mulish look, and he lowered his eyes.

  “Let him go, please,” Corra said to Cherry.

  “Of course,” Cherry answered over a chorus of questions.

  Skoron stood, a bit wobbly but free, looking around with suspicion. “Just like that? You’re not—”

  “You are free to go. I am no killer, nor am I a torturer. I am the rightful queen of Snow, and the River, and all the lands to the deltas and beyond, should I wish it. But my crown will not be crafted of murder. I am no witch,” Corra said.

  “You’re no killer, but I am,” Nolan growled.

  Corra lifted a hand. “Not in my realm.”

  He held up, then gave a terse nod. “Understood, Majesty.”

  Skoron took an experimental step, uncertain as a young animal born on the plains. Then he took a second, and a third. Vibrating with the urge to run, he stepped quickly away into the brush and vanished in seconds.

  “Got him?” Nolan asked.

  “Yep. He’s loud enough, that’s for sure,” Cherry said.

  “Want me to tail?” Avina asked.

  “Let Radwill do it. Keep the drones here,” Corra said. “Discreetly, of course. We’ll find their first camp, then call for a ride downriver. No need to alert their scouts, I’m guessing?”

  “Exactly so, Majesty. I was hoping you would grasp our—tactic. As to you not murdering people, I don’t think you were acting,” Nolan said.

  “I was not.”

  He smiled—a bleak flash of teeth that never reached his eyes. “Good, because I wasn’t either.”

  “I know you are a kil
ler. I also know you are no murderer, and the two are quite different things, Nolan from the sky,” Corra said.

  “They are, Majesty. Now, shall we, ah—ring the bell?”

  Balant stepped forward, looking down at Nolan’s large boot. “I’ll do it. I’ve seen what you do with those things. We’d best not break the bell.”

  Radwill trotted back up then, skin gleaming with sweat from a short, hard run. “He’s alone, heading south, and judging by his path, he’s scared, but not too scared to warn his master. Or mistress, as the case may be.”

  “Let him,” Nolan said. “Rukisa is a Calabrian agent. She’ll know we’re coming.”

  “How?” Balant asked.

  “Human intel, but most likely—she has drones as well, if not smart ones like ours,” Nolan said. “You’re familiar with that type?”

  Corra cut her eyes at Radwill, who grinned. “My master sniper may have downed one or two drones in the past. So, yes. I am familiar.”

  “Nice shot,” Avina said.

  “It was a clear day,” Radwill demurred.

  Nolan lifted his eyes to peer toward the river, then twitched, as if recollecting something that bothered him. “When we take Rukisa, she’ll have supplies from the Prelate. Do you understand what that means? How it’ll change things?” He spoke to the group, but his gaze was on Corra, who met him as an equal.

  “The Pox,” Corra said.

  “Correct. I’m sure Rukisa will have doses stockpiled, as well as things we haven’t considered—or imagined. What is Ainault’s travel time, now that the message has arrived?” Nolan asked. The day was still ongoing, but their position was about to change if they could find a ride with the River Children.

  “I set him in motion when we left, so his arrival will be close to ours, as he has no doubt gained distance by not going inland to the Clockstones. He is diligent and disciplined. He shall arrive on time,” Corra said placidly.

  “Good enough for me. Shall we go stomp a bell?” Nolan asked.

  “I told you, ruffian. Leave the stomping to me,” Balant said in his rumbling basso, then he flicked imaginary dust from his sleeve.

  Nolan laughed and waved everyone ahead. Heads up on our rear.

  Got it covered, Cherry said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The River Children

  “Can you hear it?” Radwill asked.

  “No, but then, my ear isn’t underwater,” Nolan said, staring down at the massive bronze pan. Radwill trounced the metal three times, then a fourth, and now, the party stood on the reedy bank, waiting for something to happen.

  A tree rolled by in the river and lazily turned before vanishing past them. Its roots were a clawed nightmare, and the entire trunk was longer than most scout ships. There was other, smaller debris, but the water was fairly clear, the current brisk, but not wild.

  “How big is this river?” Avina asked. The opposite shore was invisible, and even the cable island was a mere dot, just at the edge of their sight—except for Nolan and Cherry, who knew the cable station was nearly twelve klicks away.

  “Thirty-seven klicks across at this point, and nearly four deep in the central channel,” Cherry answered.

  Nolan whistled softly. “The scale is just—”

  A small face broke the water less than two meters away, and then ten more, all bobbing in an arc. “You rang?”

  “I guess they were home after all,” Avina said.

  Corra knelt by the water, hand out. “We did, friend. Your pod and name? I am—”

  “Corra, of the flaming barge, and now the Kingdom of Snow. Yes, we know you, queen. I am Taktin, and these are our waters. We are known as the Darters,” he said, his round face beaming with good humor.

  “I am pleased to be friends, then, Taktin. Good currents to you, and safe diving. We are in need, and I won’t play at the reason. We go to war, and now. Can you pull with the current and turn back the sun?” Corra asked.

  “Would that we could do just that, lady,” Taktin said, laughing in his piping voice. “You go south to the witch?”

  “We do.”

  Taktin didn’t hesitate. “Then we will cut a wake for you and yours. You have a hull?”

  “We do not.”

  Taktin made a noise, then turned and spoke to his pod in words so fast that they ran together in a slurry of liquid syllables. After a minute of squeaking and pointing, six of the River Children vanished under the surface, heading north. “Two bays north, a small hull, pushed up in reserve for the next fishing runs. You may use it.”

  “We are most grateful. What can Snow do for the Darters?” Corra asked.

  Taktin eyed her shrewdly, his dark eyes narrowed to slits. “We have heard news that you hold the keeper of waters.”

  “Ferdwick? Yes, we do,” Corra said.

  “Will he be given control of the river again?”

  Corra shook her head. “No. Never again. Janusia is a different place, as of today.”

  Taktin nodded, an impressive feat given his thick shoulders. “That is payment enough. We have lost far too many young in their nets, since the landings.”

  Corra bowed from the shoulders, a gesture of such polish and grace that Nolan wondered if she hadn’t been designed to be a queen. “We are honored. Your pod will be known to us when the wheels are no longer used against you.”

  “Thank you, lady. Your hull arrives.”

  The boat streaked around a rocky point just to the north, carving a wake that raced away until the river reclaimed it.

  “That being pulled by them?” Nolan asked. He was impressed and didn’t bother hiding it.

  “We are fast. Many of us are faster,” Taktin preened.

  Nolan sketched a salute. “The fastest.”

  Now Taktin grinned, and Avina rolled her eyes at both of them.

  “Climb in?” Balant asked as the boat slewed to the shore, held in place by dozens of small, powerful hands.

  “Yes, you go to the witch?” Taktin stated.

  “No other. She’s at—” Balant said but was cut off as the boat heaved into motion, the lead lines going taut in unison.

  “The Fallen Port. She is there, but she is not alone, North’rs,” Taktin said over his shoulder. Only he was above water, serving as a kind of liaison between the two worlds—above and below the surface.

  It was an unusual sensation to go so fast without visible power, but Nolan leaned back, letting the sun hit his face as he breathed deeply.

  “Calm before the storm?” Cherry asked.

  “Sort of. Avina, I’m thinking we should avoid the whole fight-for-a-beachhead thing,” Nolan said.

  Before Avina could speak, both Corra and Balant leaned forward, ears pricked at the discussion of tactics.

  “If not a hard fight, then what?” Balant asked. He was clearly used to being a hammer.

  Nolan patted the air, smiling. “Not saying we don’t need to announce our presence with authority. I’m just saying that we should avoid putting all our assets in one place. Not with what our goal is, anyway.”

  “Which is?” Corra asked, lifting a pale brow.

  “Rukisa. She’ll have underlings—grunts, throwaway soldiers. People like her always do. I don’t want to kill any more of them than we have to, for Corra’s sake.”

  “You have to rule these people afterward, Majesty,” Avina said. “Best to leave them with a good impression. After all, the land will be under a new authority, according to them.”

  Balant grunted, both out of agreement and because the boat turned hard into a current. They were making good time, slewing around a sunken point a half-klick away from the nearest bank. Bluff stone gave way to trees and a gentle decline. In the distance, low shapes began to rise.

  “Cherry, get an eye on that,” Nolan said over the hiss of water. He was peering ahead as well, marking the distance to whatever was rising out of the faraway beach.

  “Nine klicks. See it?” Cherry asked.

  “You can see such things? At that distance?
” Corra asked.

  “We can, lady. I have an eye that is—not human, and as you know, Cherry is more than human. We see low ruins, stone and wood, but they look quite old. Is that what we’re looking for?” Nolan asked.

  “It is. Slow if you please, friends,” Corra said over the side. Though there were no River Children evident, they heard, because the boat slowed to a sedate pace in mere seconds. “Let’s discuss your final plans because they will be our plans as well. You wish to take the witch. You wish to save lives where possible.”

  “So far, so good,” Nolan agreed.

  “Balant, can you kill the witch? In combat of any form?” Corra asked.

  The big man looked away, then back at his queen. “In all likelihood, no.”

  Corra gave a small nod, then put a protective hand on Balant’s massive shoulder. “You are the finest captain I could hope for. And I mean for you to be alive when this is over.”

  “I would like the same, Majesty. I take it that means?” Balant asked, eyes flicking to Nolan.

  “We land short of the target and immediately begin falling back. The witch is arrogant but not stupid. Her people, however, are stupid, and they will attack. Nolan, will you break away and strike the witch from her blind spot?” Corra asked.

  Nolan gave a slow smile. For a young queen, she understood the simplest distance between two points. “I will. Avina and Cherry will provide some cover, then fall back with you. We’ll be under constant surveillance from our drones, though I’m not sure how much that helps when we’re hunting a single target, but—some aerial vision is better than none. As to our goal here? In short, I’ll take Rukisa, and then Silence will be—if not yours, then on the way to being yours. It will certainly be free of the Prelate, because we’re going to send a message as we fight.”

  “What message would you like us to share?” Corra asked.

  Nolan’s answer was simple and immediate. “Anyone associated with the Calabrian Prelate dies.”