The Quest for the Lost Shards of Power

by F M Andrews

  Hexrick nodded once and then turned to Rantex expectantly. He nodded once before reaching out to give his wife’s hand a squeeze. “We will cope, but we will miss him.”

  “I thank you, and Salassan thanks you, and Feld thanks you.” Hexrick found it hard to say these formal words but they needed to be said. They were the truth.

  It was getting late and they all knew that tomorrow would be an early start. “I will see you at first light.” Hexrick bade them farewell, donned his damp cloak and ventured out into the stormy night again.

  The next morning he felt as if his head had barely touched the pillow before the innkeeper was knocking on his door to raise him for breakfast. As predicted, the storm had gone as fast as it had come. Everything was still dripping and the ground was sodden although the skies were clear, still holding a few morning stars like pinpricks in the dark blue canvas.

  The sun had not yet breached the horizon when Hexrick found himself back at the red door.

  “Bloody Hell, this is hard,” he thought. “I don’t know why, it’s only a kid after all.” Straightening his shoulders and taking a steadying breath, he knocked.

  Lutex’s mother opened the door, her red eyes testament to a night of crying. “Morning,” she smiled sadly. “We are ready.” She opened the door wider to reveal Rantex, one hand clutching a saddlebag and the other on the shoulder of a very small, frail looking boy, Lutex.

  Hexrick knew a ten-turn-old child would be small but this child looked as if he would blow away in a good wind and that you could snap his arms and legs with your fingers. His huge eyes were a dark, liquid blue in his small pinched face and the thatch of blond hair stuck out almost at right angles looking totally untameable, almost as if a wild animal was perching on his head. He was shivering and Hexrick suddenly felt large, rough and scary. What must this child be thinking?

  Squatting down to look less intimidating, he tried to smile and to his surprise the boy smiled back.

  “Hello, my name is Hexrick and I have been asked by the king to seek your help.” He was sure Lutex’s parents would have filled him in on all the details, but he felt it was polite to talk to him directly.

  Hexrick noticed the boy's eyes travelling to Tilda, who was waiting patiently behind him.

  “Do you like horses?” he asked. The boy's face lit up and he nodded.

  “Loves animals,” his mother whispered.

  “Would you like to ride with me?” Hexrick asked quickly seeing a possible way to make this situation easier.

  Once again the boy nodded, his eyes never leaving Tilda. Hexrick was just about to introduce him to Tilda, who was a placid horse, although not over friendly to strangers, when she walked slowly towards the boy and gently huffed into his hair.

  Lutex beamed and tentatively lifted a hand to pat her neck. Tilda lowered her head further and nibbled at his fingers. It was love at first sight.

  “Well, we better get going, the sun is nearly up,” Hexrick said, trying to sound cheerful.

  Rantex handed him the saddle bag muttering, “A few things he might need,” as Lutex’s mother hugged him one last time.

  Hexrick looked at them both. “I promise on my life that we will look after him and bring him back safely home,” he pledged sincerely then he shook Rantex’s hand, bowed to Nesatex, picked Lutex up and placed him on the saddle. Lutex grinned, his eyes dancing, one hand reaching out to touch Tilda’s mane in awe.

  Hexrick mounted behind him, settling the child in and bracing him with his arms. He turned one last time to see Lutex’s parents looking forlorn on the doorstep and tried to think of something cheerful to say.

  “I know that I will certainly be grateful to have some company, now I will have someone other than Tilda here to talk to.”

  To his surprise this quip caused an unexpected reaction as both parents’ faces fell and Rantex walked quickly over to Tilda and looked up at Hexrick with a quizzical expression on his face.

  “You do know that Lutex does not talk, don’t you?”[CL16]

  Chapter Eleven

  Anssan smiled.

  It was amazing how this tale always caused such unashamed, uproarious laughter. Rupssan was howling outright and looked in danger of falling of the log he was sitting on. Trussan was quietly bobbing up and down with mirth, wiping his eyes periodically and Alssan was snorting, as he was prone to do, which in itself caused more hilarity. The night would be chill, autumn was getting old and winter was peeking round the corner. They had built a large fire to keep warm, as they did most nights. Supper was over and the usual drinking and storytelling was well underway.

  Anssan had many tales of his life growing up with Dissan. Tales of childhood adventure, adolescent escapades and adult trials, but the story he had told tonight was his favourite. It was quintessential Dissan.

  The troop had been on the road now for almost half a moon. They had been plagued with a misty drizzle for the first few days but after that the weather had settled into a routine of morning fog clearing to fresh, clear sunshine days, which closed with chill evenings and downright cold nights to follow.

  There were twelve of them, all told, all knights in their own right. They knew each other well as they had been together for several turns now with Anssan as their commander. He was a natural leader and each of them felt a special bond with the troop.

  Anssan smiled as Alssan’s snorting turned to hiccups, something that was so predictable that bets were laid as to how often this would happen per night. It had been an enjoyable journey so far, a journey that had a definite goal and a real purpose. All knew how important it was to bring the girl to Errin; however, no one said they couldn't enjoy themselves along the way.

  They had entered Rill several days ago and tomorrow they would reach the small town of Eastrim. The countryside was beautiful and the land fertile. Plentiful rain and sunshine ensured large crops and wonderful grazing for animals, and Rill was noted for its horse breeding. Large green fields surrounded by majestic oak trees were full of horses grazing peacefully. Roads between were edged with hedgerows of hawthorn and ancient stone walls threaded their way between fields and cottages. Rolling hills gave the feeling of space and from their crests the sky was never ending. Travelling through this rich countryside, it was hard to remember that they were on a mission of utmost importance.

  Money quietly changed hands as bets on Alssan’s hiccups were paid and collected. The subject of this betting being totally unaware of the entertainment he created, eventually mastered them and more money changed hands. There was a little more good natured banter but eventually, one by one, they all began to settle themselves down for sleep.

  The next morning dawned foggy as usual, mist filling up the dips in the ground, thin tendrils weaving between the tree trunks and up into the branches. Pale sunlight illuminated the top of the vapour causing it to glow with an almost urethral light.

  The morning fast was broken and as the mist dissipated, the men began to prepare for the day. Today they would ride into Eastrim and a lot depended on exactly what sort of impact they would make. It was vital that they cause a stir, that they are seen to be the royal knights sent by the king himself. The more pomp and ceremony, the better the impression, the more likely Hezrill’s parents would be to let her embark on this mission and the more likely Hezrill herself would want to be involved.

  Each knight knew exactly what was going to be asked of Hezrill’s family and how difficult it was going to be for her parents to let their daughter face untold, unknown dangers. Yet they also knew how vital she was to the protection of Feld.

  Usually they were a reasonably modest group, not really into flaunting their status, but today would be different. Shields gleamed, helmets were buffed, pennants flew aloft. The horses had been groomed until they shone, tails and manes brushed, hooves polished and beautiful embroidered saddle blankets adorned each animal. Anssan’s stallion wore a polished shaffron, complete with his herald embossed upon it.

  At last, all was ready. Anss
an passed a critical eye over his men before giving the order to mount and was pleasantly surprised at how magnificent they all looked. Hopefully magnificent enough to achieve their goal.

  “You look good enough that you could almost fool people into believing that you all bathed occasionally.” He paused, grinning. “That is, until they get down wind of you,” he finished, laughing as he mounted.

  At first the land was similar to the pasture they had been travelling through the last few days, but gradually the trees grew sparse and more and more cottages could be seen. Pasture gave way to crops and there was a greater volume of traffic on the roads. Side roads began to join the main road, which became wide enough for two wagons to pass each other. People stared and the troop now rode in close, formal file, acknowledging any greetings with a nod and a friendly smile. So far it appeared as if they were making the right impression.

  Eastrim was a sprawling town that draped itself over a couple of rolling hills and looked as if it were eyeing up a third. Graceful spires, glinting in the sun, accentuated the top of both hills and a small, slow river wound its way slowly through the valley between them. Eastrim was a prosperous town, a genteel town, although still rural enough that its people would stop and stare when a troop of the King's Knights rode through its streets.

  Anssan asked directions to the Lord Chancellor’s chambers at the gate and the guard, clearly honoured to be consulted, offered to guide them there himself. As Anssan had expected, they rode towards one of the spire adorned hill tops, gathering a following of children and dogs along the way.

  The town was neat and tidy, clean and lively, with a bustling market full of goods of every kind. People were well dressed and courteous, moving out of the way quickly, often smiling and waving as they watched Anssan’s knights ride past.

  Eventually the guard brought them to a stop outside a large stone building with broad steps leading up to a huge, impressive door, framed by beautifully carved columns either side. The guard leapt from his horse and gestured for Anssan to follow.

  Up on the third floor they were heartily greeted by Hezrill’s father, The Lord Chamberlain, whose name was Chanrill. He was a jolly, rotund man with a ruddy completion and short cropped white hair edging a large suntanned bald pate. He immediately ushered Anssan and Trussan, Anssan’s right hand man, into his elegantly furnished office and sat them down in large, overstuffed leather armchairs. “What can I get for you gentlemen? Juice? Tea? Or something a little stronger?” Anssan swore he almost winked when he said this.

  “Thank you for the kind offer, an ale would be most welcome. I have heard only good things about the famous Rill breweries.”

  Chanrill puffed out his chest until he looked just like a rooster about to crow, and opened the door to call to a man waiting outside it. “Ale for these gentlemen, Fosrill, if you will.” Then closing the door again he came and plopped himself down with a huff, into the last vacant chair, elbows on the rests and hands clasped in front of him, his two index fingers making a steeple with which he tapped his chin absentmindedly as he looked inquiringly at them both.

  “Now, how can I help?”

  Anssan felt it would be best to lead with the royal card. “We have been sent by King Salassan on a mission of utmost importance, in fact,” he paused for effect, “the whole of Feld depends on its outcome.”

  Chanrill nodded, looking impressed. “Go on,” he prompted. Anssan reached into his cloak pocket and produced Salassan’s letter with a flourish. “We have been charged with delivering this letter to you.” He said as he leaned forward to hand it to Chanrill. “And Salassan eagerly awaits your response.”

  Chanrill took the letter reverently in his hands, looking at his name on one side and the royal seal on the other. Eventually he broke the seal and began to read. Quietly Fosrill appeared and placed three tall glasses of amber liquid on the table between them and just as quietly left again, closing the door behind him. Anssan and Trussan who knew the exact wording of the document watched Chanrill as he read, sipping their ale appreciatively.

  A wash of emotions crossed The Lord Chancellor’s [CL17]expressive face: expectation, interest, concern, then disbelief and finally resignation. Lowering the letter he looked up, no longer the jovial man of the moment before, now he was a parent who might possibly be called upon to send his beloved child into danger.

  He looked lost and a little upset. Anssan felt guilty.

  “We do not ask this lightly. My knights and I will escort Hezrill to Errin and then Dissan himself will escort her to the transfer point. Errin has sent her shards of power to places that she feels are safe and she does not anticipate that there will be any problems retrieving them back to Feld. Each one of us would gladly take her place if we could, but unfortunately, we cannot. We do not have her talent.” Anssan paused. “And in all honesty, we are desperate,” he finished, almost in a whisper.

  Chanrill closed his eyes as if to shut out the world and collapsed back into his large, soft chair. After a long moment, he opened them once more to pierce each of the knights in turn, with an icy stare. “It is a heavy burden that has been placed upon my whole family, a burden we can’t put off easily. I know Hezrill would want to go. She could not live with herself if she didn’t do all she could to help save Feld, yet sometimes it is the ones who are left behind who make the greatest sacrifices. I know my dear wife will not rest the whole time Hezrill is away.” He sighed and looked down. “It will be hard on us all.” Looking up again, he continued. “Her older sister is to be wed in spring and Hezrill has been so excited. We may have to put the wedding off till she returns.” Anssan saw a glimmer of a tear in the corner of the big man’s eye and felt like crawling under the rug.

  The task of collecting Hezrill had seemed quite straightforward at first; however, now, faced with the reality of tearing a daughter from a loving family it suddenly seemed anything but.

  Chanrill appeared to gather himself, straightening his robes and squaring his shoulders.

  “You know, a troop of the king's knights arriving in Eastrim will have caused a sensation,” he mused, and then brightened, as if an idea had suddenly occurred to him. “If you could see your way to accompany me to my little house in the country it would cause even more excitement. People will be talking about this for turns.”

  The ride out of town did indeed cause a commotion. The knights flanked Chanrill’s gilded coach as if they were a guard of honour, and the whole procession created a spectacle that drew stares, pointing fingers and the odd cheer. The chancellor lapped it up, waving graciously as he passed. It was as if he was determined to make the best of any situation.

  Chanrill’s ‘little house in the country’ turned out to be a mansion at the edge of town with a sweeping, tree lined driveway that led to an imposing facade and an impressive entrance. It was a rambling, brick structure, covered in ivy from which long windows peeped. A series of mismatched chimneys rose from the steep slate roof and gargoyles perched on the eaves, glaring at all newcomers.

  As the coach approached the house the ornate front door flew open and a young girl accompanied by several assorted dogs came rushing down the front steps. She looked about twelve turns old and, although dressed in a full length gown, which she held up to her knees with one hand, she managed to reach the coach before it came completely to a halt.

  “Papa, you are home!” she squealed, wrenching open the coach door and climbing in. All the dogs followed and the coach could be seen rocking wildly on its wheels. Anssan looked at Trussan and grinned. Chanrill was finding it hard to keep up the impression of pomp and ceremony whilst being mobbed by a young girl and several large boisterous dogs.

  Eventually, one by one, all the occupants of the coach disembarked. Chanrill, holding his daughter's hand, lead her over to Anssan who promptly dismounted and bowed.

  “May I present my youngest daughter, Linrill,” Chanrill gestured towards the wide eyed girl with his free hand.

  Anssan bowed low. “Honoured, my lady; Ans
san of the royal knights at your service.” Linrill smiled warmly and asked in a quiet voice.

  “Are you here for Sevrill’s wedding?” Anssan looked inquiringly at Chanrill.

  “No, no, dear they are just here for a short visit. They were passing through Eastrim and I asked them to come and stay with us for a day or two.”

  “Oh,” Linrill exclaimed and then, whispering loudly behind her hand she asked her father, “Where will they all sleep, there is an awful lot of them.”

  “That won’t be a problem, little one, I am sure your mother has that sorted already,” Chanrill assured her. “Ahh, and here she comes now.” Chanrill’s face lit up as he spied his wife and two older girls making their way elegantly down the steps towards them.

  All three women were poised but you could see the excitement in their eyes. “My dear, this is Anssan, Prince Dissan’s cousin, and the royal knights,” Chanrill pronounced proudly as if he had brought her the most wonderful present ever. “They will be staying with us for a few days. Anssan, I would like to introduce my lovely wife Isrill, my eldest daughter, Sevrill, and my middle daughter, Hezrill.”

  All three curtsied as they were presented and Anssan and his men bowed low to each of them in return. “Enchanted,” Anssan murmured.

  Isrill and Sevrill were so similar it was like looking at one person at different stages of their life. Both with fair hair and cream complexions. Hezrill was tall and slim like her sisters; however, she had long dark hair with mahogany highlights that she wore loose, dark eyes which sparkled with amusement and an olive complexion. She was an interesting mixture of her jovial father and serene mother. Anssan had to admit that she really was quite enchanting. So enchanting, in fact, that his heart missed a beat. At the palace he was an extremely sought after commodity amongst the women of court and he was used to their attention. So far, there had not been a single one whom he found remotely interesting. But here was this young girl, who as yet had not uttered a single word, and he felt drawn to her. Most peculiar, he thought.