The New Age Saga Box Set

by Timothy A. Ray

  “Of course you knew,” Willow spat, “and you did nothing to prevent it?”

  He felt a sense of déjà vu. He was busy processing everything Merlin was saying; about a debt being owed. That couldn’t be true, there had to be a way to dodge such a grisly fate. “You told my father, didn’t you? And he didn’t do anything to stop it?”

  Merlin paused, giving the two encroaching Guardians a curious glance. They seemed edgy, not sure of how to react; he sympathized. Should he be angry? Grieving? He wasn’t sure which. As his heart was breaking; his mind was reeling.

  “I told him while you were resting. That you were supposed to die, that by saving you we had cheated death, and that Death would come to claim another in your place. More than likely your father. He received it with grace, said that he had lived a long full life, and that he had failed you as a father. That maybe, by making this one sacrifice, he could make up for all the wrong he had done by you. Neither of us knew how he’d die, only that the agent would try again. His only hope was that the assassin’s identity would be revealed, and that John would kill the cowardly son of a bitch. That didn’t work. The assassin is still free and moving about the castle.”

  “Who is it?” Preik broke in, eyes narrowing. What was he going to do, return to the castle and kill whoever it was?

  Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea.

  “I don’t know,” the mage said over his shoulder, eyes never leaving them. “He’s shrouded from my sight; shielded by the Phoenix’s evil. What I can tell you is that they must be close to John, because as of this morning, I am wanted for the murder of your father, and the two of you are my accomplices.”

  “You’ve got to be joking,” Willow blurted with astonishment.

  What kind of ludicrous reasoning would John have for suspecting him of his father’s death? “John would never,” he muttered in disbelief. He and his brother had their differences from time to time, but nothing very serious. They fought like any other brothers would, but they always forgave one another. To think that John thought him capable—

  “Oh, he believes the two of you have been coerced, that I am the one to blame. It seems like my meeting with your father didn’t go unnoticed. Someone must have seen and recognized me. They told him that the four of us were in your chambers, that your father refused to let you come with me, and that I must have poisoned him to hide our escape,” Merlin relayed.

  Willow’s grip tightened on his shoulders. Was she trying to suffocate him? “That’s not true, we can attest otherwise. Our word has to count for something!” She looked to him, but he only shook his head; he was still working it through himself. She rounded on Merlin, her brow furrowed. “If this person is shrouded by the Phoenix, then how do you even know what was said?”

  “Jared overheard one of the scouts as they passed through the forest north of us. They were just in range of his telepathy, and he managed to steer them away, but got a whiff of the man’s thoughts as he was doing so. They were told to bring us back alive and there’s been talk of public hangings,” Merlin answered. The others had begun to draw closer; the conversation hard to miss.

  He shook his head, “John couldn’t, wouldn’t, harm me. I know him. He would never allow such a travesty to occur. He’s reasonable and will listen to the truth. When we tell him—.”

  Merlin shook his head, the corner of his mouth pulling lower in a deeper frown. “He’s not himself right now. Your father was just murdered; he watched him die. And a silver-tongued devil is whispering lies in his ears, filling him with unfounded vengeance. He cannot think clearly. If he doesn’t pull out of it in time, I’m not sure he’ll be able to command effectively once the horde arrives.”

  “I have to go back,” he stated, but the look on the Guardian’s faces told him that even they realized the truth of the situation before he did. “Damn it!”

  Merlin continued on despite his declaration, “there is nothing you can do for him. In his mind, he’s already convicted us. Look at the facts. He’s not going to believe some mysterious agent is lurking about the castle, not when he considers the fact that a strange man was in the palace meeting with your father shortly before his death. Then there’s the fact that both of you are gone; that’s an admission of guilt in his eyes. The only thing we can do is carry on and hope that the agent slips up, that John sees him for what he is and rallies himself in time, or Lancaster is truly lost.”

  He appreciated everything the mage was saying, but still his heart insisted he needed to go home; to pay respects to his fallen father, to somehow set things right with his brother. There had to be a way, didn’t there? The truth was on their side.

  “Those weren’t enemy scouts we were dodging this morning, were they?” Willow pushed, already knowing the answer.

  Merlin’s silence said it all.

  Windel and Preik were still standing nearby, but the slump of their shoulders showed that they recognized the futility in returning as well; even they would be suspect. His father had known about the Guardians’ departure, but they had left under the veil of secrecy. Proper channels would have alerted others to the fact that he and Willow were leaving; something his father had not been willing to risk. With him gone, no one other than those gathered here knew that they’d departed with the King’s blessing and would appear just as guilty as the rest of them.

  “That’s why my father was so loving and apologetic when I woke up; he knew his time was up. He kept making references—saying he wished there was more time. I just thought he meant my approaching wedding or his failing health. He knew otherwise, and he didn’t want to tell me,” he groaned with understanding.

  “He couldn’t; you wouldn’t have left. He gave me this,” Merlin said, retrieving a scroll from his pocket bearing his father’s seal and handed it over to him. “As well as armor that he had made as your wedding present. It’s light, so as to not weigh you down, and should serve you adequately until you fill out some.”

  That must have been the large bundle at the mage’s feet.

  “He also gave me this,” the mage continued, unwrapping the clothed object he’d been holding. From within the folds came a shimmer of steel and his heart stopped when he realized it was his father’s sword. It had a hand and a half hilt, meant to be used with either two hands or one hand and a shield. Inlaid at the base was a blue gem, the lion crest carved onto the stone’s surface. Words were written along the blade in Elven, as it had been a gift from Bordin at his father’s coronation. The long sword was well polished and beautiful to look at. Constantine had named the sword Seeker; intending to pierce his brother’s heart for killing his own father.

  Ironic that it now came to him after the death of his.

  “It should’ve gone to John,” he spoke softly, the grief beginning to swell further than his fragile control could handle.

  “He told me to give it to you, to remind you of his blessing and support, a symbol of hope in the darkness ahead. He’d given John so much and you so little, that he saw this as a way to attest to that which really mattered and you always doubted; that he loved you.”

  He reached out and received his father’s sword, the hilt rough but comfortable in his hand. His arm trembled, and he nearly dropped it as he fell to one knee. His emotions were overriding his self-control and tears were flowing freely from his eyes. Vision blurred, he felt, rather than saw Willow before him, her arms wrapping around him and pulling him close.

  “Let’s give them some room,” Merlin told the others and he heard the soft padding of their feet as they withdrew from the grieving couple.

  “I can heal a lot of things, but not this. I wish I could—I loved him too. I’m so sorry,” she whispered in his ear, tightening her embrace.

  Overridden by grief, he let himself go, and sobbed heavily into her shoulder. “I loved you too, Dad.”

  II

  In truth, the mourning period should’ve last seven days, as the Kingdom and friends traveled to the castle to remember and honor his father. As
the High King of the southern regions, the Lords and Ladies of those kingdoms had sworn fealty to his father and were compelled to attend and swear to him as well. But with an army approaching, there was no time for tradition; no way to truly pay respect to the fallen king, nor pledge allegiance to his son.

  He looked upon the assembled populace that’d come to witness his coronation and felt the sting of regret. This was not how he wanted to become king. Had his father passed naturally, then he would be able to mourn and accept that it was his turn to rule, but to be assassinated? And possibly with his brother’s involvement? It was overwhelming.

  He’d spent the morning drinking wine and sobbing into his pillow. He had a bit of a headache when the drapes were ripped open by one of his aides and a cleric was called to help clear his head. Jenna hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before and he let her rest while he went about preparing for what came next.

  She had been conflicted with the disappearances of her sister and his brother. It was not like them to just take off like that, especially under these kinds of circumstances. She refused to even talk about it; ignoring the evidence presented and just shaking her head with pursed lips. She refused to believe that Willow intentionally hurt Constantine, but neither could be sure what their true involvement was, and it wasn’t like they could just ask.

  He sympathized with her emotional state. Though his mind told him that Tristan had been involved somehow with the death of their father; his heart told him there had to be another explanation. Maybe they had been kidnapped? Or maybe the assassination attempt earlier that afternoon had scared them enough to travel to Griedlok and seek Bordin’s protection. How did it happen that Tristan was shot by an assassin that afternoon, then fled after the murder of his father that evening? Were the two related? The first assassin was dead, was this the work of a conspiracy?

  He couldn’t let it go. His mind couldn’t wrap around the circumstances leading up to his walking into his father’s chambers; the timeline for events was just too—it just didn’t make sense. It was completely out of character for the both of them; he knew that he was missing something crucial.

  Once he bathed and cleaned himself up, he had walked out of his bathroom to find an aide waiting for him with reports from the returning search parties. There had been no trace of his brother found; even the trackers were dumfounded. They did, however, sense magic was at work and believed that it had obscured his path; not only out of the castle, but out into the world beyond. They couldn’t even be sure which way they went. There was just no information whatsoever and a slew of possibilities to consider.

  The only thing odd to report was that a dwarf had been found camping near the lake. They’d warned him off about the approaching horde and he had thanked them profusely, telling them he’d be on his way instantly. He couldn’t remember any dwarves that openly traveled outside of the western forest, much less in a more leisurely compacity. Several lived within the walls of Lancaster, but it wasn’t the same as an aimless wanderer just roaming the countryside. What was he doing so far from home?

  He sighed as he half-listened to the clerics as they went through the traditional speeches before the crowning. He was dressed in his finest dress robes, a heavy royal cloak upon his back. He looked to the left at his beautiful wife, her fine bright blonde hair was half way to her waist and lying flat against her flowing, white silk dress.

  He watched as she knelt before the elder cleric Joshua, the man that had attended his father the night before. He placed a golden jeweled crown on her head and when she rose, she became the new Queen of Lancaster. “I present to you your Queen; Jenna of Griedlok is no more. Now and forever to be called Jenna of Lancaster. Long live the Queen!” the cleric proclaimed to all those assembled.

  They roared in response, hands applauding their pregnant matriarch. Aaron crouched by her side, holding onto her right leg, the tears he’d been shedding staining the poor boy’s face. He had been close to his grandfather and almost didn’t come to the ceremony. Aaron had refused to allow them to crown him as the new heir, having not removed his face from his mother’s robes since the ceremony started. He could have interceded, forced the issue, but the truth of the matter was, he wished he could do the same.

  Joshua had come to stand before him, taking a larger, pointed golden crown from a pillow a fellow cleric presented him. There were multiple gems adorning the outside of his father’s crown; his crown now. A large blue gem; the color of their house, was inlaid in the center. Taking a knee, he felt dread within his heart and not the satisfaction he’d always imagined. The weight of responsibility was placed on his head and his shoulders were heavy when he rose once more.

  The crown fit perfectly, a reminder of how similar he and his father had been. He hoped that he also had his father’s strength and good judgment as well. He didn’t hear what the cleric said, but the crowd roaring, “Long live King John!” snapped him back from his inner turmoil. It was a forced bellow his people gave, they were mourning their fallen king as well. No one knew their pain better than their new monarch and he bowed his head in sorrow; acknowledging the fealty sworn in his name.

  “Time for the receiving line, my Lord,” announced Clint, his new aide. Though he had his faults, he had to give the man credit for his quick actions the night before. He had taken charge of the search parties and had personally seen to the investigation of his father’s death. An earlier discussion had revealed that his father had sent a carrier pigeon to Griedlok, but as to its content? No one knew. What had the old man be up to?

  Jenna had sent another that morning, explaining the disappearance of her sister; he was not looking forward to the response. Bordin had also been alerted to the approaching army; so the marching of his army would more than likely have happened anyways. He would just pretend that his father-in-law was coming to give them aid; not because they’d lost his youngest daughter while under the protection of his house.

  On the other front; they had to find and deal with the villain responsible for his father’s death. If the mage hadn’t been behind it, then there could still be an assassin hiding within the confines of the palace. Who knew where he’d strike next?

  The guards had reported that no one had entered the king’s chambers after he had turned in for the night. That meant either the assassin could appear and disappear at will through locked doors. Or, more likely, someone put it in his water before he turned in for the night.

  The Captain of the Home Guard had offered his resignation; taking the king’s death hard. That had been a harsh conversation, the lax in security before his father’s assassination had been a fatal mistake. With the attack on Tristan, the guard should have been doubled around all of them. Not only had the man lost his brother but had failed to act accordingly after an assassination attempt earlier that afternoon. He informed the man that his men were to be absorbed into the training program for the Guardians and that he himself would retire. The man had been with the Home Guard when his grandfather passed and had been nearing the end of his days serving as its commander, yet he still took the news hard. He had a duty and he had failed.

  The conversation with Captain Reyes, Commander of the Guardians, had been more constructive and the man eagerly agreed with the changes proposed. He had been conducting his own investigation and told his new king that traces of magic had been detected in Tristan’s quarters, a leftover remnant of his brother’s guest. How could he protect himself when magic was involved? The clerics had renewed their wards on the royal families’ chambers, but it had done little to save his father.

  Reyes had taken to his new duties with ferocious vigor, and the Guardians’ colors now frequently roamed the palace halls. His wife and child were assigned new guards; which were even now flanking their new charges, hugging the walls to the rear. His own guard had been increased and though he should feel safer with the added security, he still felt vulnerable to attack. The assassination of his father had destroyed his confidence and he knew he’d be shaken f
or quite a while.

  He had seen to the funeral arrangements of his father. He would be burned on a pyre behind the palace the following morning; as was custom with his people. Two coins had been placed over his eyes; the tradition’s origins obscure but still observed. Wood was being collected for the burning and he would be expected to make a speech before ordering his father’s remains set ablaze; sending it on his way to catch up with his grandfather in the afterlife.

  Absentmindedly greeting those that came to see him, he neither wanted nor cared to hear their words of comfort or congratulatory remarks. He made his way through the receiving line, unaware of time as it passed, just focusing on remaining on his feet and getting through it. As it finally trickled to an end, he moved onto the feast that had been prepared in his honor.

  Clint came up beside him and he remembered the hatred he’d felt for the man the night before; how quickly things had changed. He still didn’t trust the man, but there was no one else ready to take his place. He had to rely on the aide to keep him on track and moving; his mind was too wrapped up in everything else to pay close attention to the details. Clint whispered, “the scouting parties are moving further out, but so far they are coming up empty.”

  His anger returned with a vengeance, “how could they just disappear like that, as if into thin air?”

  “Sire, two of the Guardians are missing as well,” Clint added, not daring to respond to John’s heated questions.

  That should have been a comfort, knowing that wherever they were, they were protected. But then, there was no guarantee the Guardians were even with his brother at all; they could have easily been dispatched by the magical stranger that whisked them away. After all, he had no problem killing an old defenseless man, what difference would it make if he killed the two Guardians as well?

  “Captain Reyes is bothered by their lack of communication before departing,” Clint continued on. “The two elves were guests, but they were welcomed into the brotherhood with open arms and should have respected the procedures that had been drilled into them. That is, if they were still alive. He’s begun questioning the other elven Guardians, but so far, they proclaimed their ignorance to their kin’s disappearance.”