Legends of the Lurker Box Set

by Richard H. Stephens

  She cringed as Junior’s fake laugh sounded worse than her own.

  Sir Batkin turned to Junior. “State your business in South Fort. Or are you just checking up on your sister? From what I hear, there’s no need. She can look after herself quite well. Giving old Bone Breaker a run for his coin if the rumours run true.”

  Junior looked at a loss.

  Reecah spoke up, “Ha-ha, you’re too kind. Don’t let Anvil hear you talk that way. I’ll try not to let it slip you said that.”

  Sir Batkin’s look of confidence dropped.

  “Not to worry. I wouldn’t do that to my favourite guard.” Reecah winked. “Actually, JJ is a new recruit. Our father couldn’t spare him until the crops were in.”

  She smiled at the guards blocking their way, hoping her fear wasn’t obvious. If they decided to haul Junior in front of the king, there was a good chance he would be noticed by the dark heir—something she wasn’t prepared to let happen. Especially after realizing how much Junior had suffered to keep her safe.

  Sir Batkin mulled over his decision. “Your brother or not, none of us are aware of JJ’s appointment with Anvil. I’m afraid we’ll have to ask the weapon master personally.” He nodded and the three guards with him drew their swords.

  “Wait here while I confirm with the Bone Breaker.”

  Sir Batkin turned to walk away. Reecah grabbed him by the elbow. “Wait.”

  Sir Batkin narrowed his eyes, his dark gaze resting on the hand gripping his arm.

  “Sorry.” Reecah released him. “Do you think it wise to upset Anvil? You know how he gets when someone questions his orders.”

  That gave Sir Batkin pause. Visibly swallowing, he shook his head and said grimly, “Aye. I ain’t looking forward to it but after last night, I have no choice.”

  Reecah’s breath caught. She grasped his arm again, tighter than before. “Why? What happened?”

  “You mean you ain’t heard?” Sir Batkin pulled his arm free, rubbing the spot she had squeezed. “Not sure where you’ve been sleeping, but you can consider yourself lucky you weren’t eaten.”

  “Eaten? By what?”

  “Dragons! Lots of them. I hate to be the one to inform you, but one of your mates was killed last night.”

  “Nooo…” Reecah feigned surprise, which wasn’t hard since she was shocked by how much activity was going on within the walls and upon the battlements. She hadn’t thought of the ramifications of the dragonlings’ sighting, but it made sense. South Fort prepared for an imminent attack.

  “Aye, lass. Seems you may see action sooner than you thought. Especially with the bulk of the army marching south.” Sir Batkin strode under the portcullis and around the corner of the stable toward the training ground with Reecah hard on his heels.

  Rounding the far end of the stable, Reecah hoped Anvil wasn’t in his usual spot. Her heart sank seeing the bare-chested goliath sitting on the stump, honing the keen edge of his battle-axe with a whetstone. The man kept his weapon so sharp, she wouldn’t be surprised if it was capable of severing stone.

  “Master Anvil!” Sir Batkin called out from across the training yard, his long strides shortening.

  Reecah watched as Sir Batkin’s earlier bravado wore thin now that he was in sight of the Bone Breaker.

  Anvil looked up from his work with a scowl.

  Reecah slowed down beside Sir Batkin—the surly weapon master didn’t like surprises.

  Anvil’s eyes found hers. If she didn’t know better, she thought she glimpsed a momentary look of relief on his face.

  His gaze lingered but for a moment before boring into Sir Batkin. Rising to his full seven-foot-five height, the bald-headed weapon master snarled, “If yer here to tell me about one of me trainees, save yer spit.”

  Sir Batkin stopped well short of Anvil. “No, Anvil. Though, I am saddened to hear of his death. Such a waste of—”

  “Ain’t got time for yer sympathy, Batkin. Spit out what ye came to say and be off with ya.”

  “Yes, Anvil.” Sir Batkin licked his lips. “There’s a man at the gate claiming to be a new recruit.”

  “Ain’t expecting no new recruits. Take him before the Inquisitor. Let the serpent will deal with him.”

  “Aye, Master Anvil. At once.” Sir Batkin spun to walk away.

  Reecah grabbed his arm with two hands. “Wait! Let me speak to him. He’s my brother!”

  Sir Batkin glared at her hands, visibly trembling with outrage. He ripped his arm free and snarled under his breath, “If you ever grab me like that again, I’ll cut your hands off.”

  He started past her but a massive hand clamped down on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. He must’ve been expecting Reecah because he raised a long dagger—the point barely missing Anvil’s rippled stomach muscles.

  “M-Master Anvil. I didn’t expect you—”

  Anvil grasped the wrist bearing Sir Batkin’s dagger and turned it over—the guard’s face twisting in pain as the dagger fell to the ground. Anvil leaned his massive head against Sir Batkin’s terrified face, his voice harsh. “Ye’ve forgotten me first rule. Never turn yer back.”

  Sir Batkin said nothing, his body stiff with fear.

  “The next time ye threaten me prized pupil, I’ll use yer lily-livered neck to test the edge o’ me blade. Ya get me, Sir Batshit?”

  Reecah detected the slightest nod from Sir Batkin who looked no more than a child in Anvil’s grasp.

  “Good!” Anvil thrust Sir Batkin backward.

  The guard stumbled. Throwing an arm out to catch himself, he kept his feet under him.

  “Tell GG’s brother I’m waiting. Ye know how kind I take to waiting.”

  “Yes, Master Anvil. Right away, Anvil.” Sir Batkin’s eyes flicked to his discarded dagger, but he didn’t bother to retrieve it.

  Reecah watched Sir Batkin disappear around the stable, feeling sorry for him. He had only been doing his duty. Keeping her back away from Anvil, she eyed the dagger. “Do you mind?”

  Anvil kicked the dagger at her and threw up a hand in disgust as he turned and stomped back to the stump. “Bah! Suit yerself. Yer softness will get ya killed one day. Go and help Batkin find his way back here with yer brother.”

  Reecah nodded and jogged after the guard. The way Anvil had referred to her brother, she knew he didn’t believe her.

  Prince J’kwaad watched on as the bizarre scene in the training ground unfolded. Weapon master, Anvis Chizel, had just tossed a city guard to the ground while a familiar woman watched on. A woman he had seen somewhere recently. He couldn’t put a name to her, but he was sure he hadn’t seen her around King’s Bay. That left Thunderhead or that troll infested, rat hole, fishing village south of Dragonfang Pass.

  Whoever she was, she was more than she appeared. His left ring finger told him that. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was the ripple in the magic he had detected from Draakhorn.

  He turned to Calor, a man almost as large as the weapon master and easily as brash. It would be a good battle if Calor and Anvis ever came to blows. Perhaps that time wasn’t far off. Calor would make a better sibling to Anvis than the weapon master’s spineless brother, Aramyss.

  J’kwaad had great plans for Calor—ascending the Ivory Throne with him as his champion when the time was right. If the man didn’t meet his death before then, of course. A good possibility given the dangerous assignments the prince sent him on.

  Being a wizard’s apprentice was a hazardous occupation at the best of times. Who better than Calor to experiment on in order to better understand the efficacy of his spells?

  J’kwaad tapped his manicured fingers on the waist-high, stone battlement. He had more pressing concerns to worry about than a stowaway woman his father thought he was looking for. Why the king wanted her so badly, he had no idea. There was no way J’kaar knew of her gift. Or was there?

  The dark heir had been summoned to South Fort late last night to investigate a dragon sighting in the King’s Wood. The day before he was to leave
on campaign. An ill-timed request seeing that his father had more than enough slayers at his disposal—even with the recent departure of the main army. Why J’kaar insisted he look into every petty occurrence irked J’kwaad to distraction.

  He sighed. The dire straits of the knight being assaulted by Anvis did little to lift his spirits. “Who’s the poor knave on the wrong end of Bone Breaker’s wrath?”

  “That would be Sir Batkin, my prince.”

  J’kwaad nodded, drumming his ringed fingers with rhythm. “And the woman?”

  “Not sure, my prince. Our informants claim she’s new to the bay area. Her skill with a bow is reportedly uncanny.”

  J’kwaad leaned out over the crenelated wall as the familiar woman turned to watch Sir Batkin scamper away. She wore her hair in a distinct, thin braid that gathered her hair from a point above her left temple. Another indicator that he’d seen her recently, but where?

  The woman bent over to retrieve Sir Batkin’s discarded dagger—her brown cloak parting around her waist to reveal green pants.

  “That’s her! The miscreant.” J’kwaad snapped his fingers and pointed at the training yard. “The woman the spy from the Thunderhead brig spoke of. I’m sure of it.”

  Calor leaned out with him. “The timing fits. Shall I have her detained?”

  J’kwaad fingered the ruby adorning his left ring finger. It tingled with magic not of his making and was much too strong to be Calor’s. If he read the signs correctly, the magic the ring sensed might be stronger than his own. And yet, the woman didn’t carry herself like a magic user.

  Not many witches were adept with bows and other crude weapons used to kill one person at a time. Why would they be? Blades and bludgeons were such sloppy weapons.

  If the woman possessed the gift, she hid it well from anyone not versed in its detection. She deserved further inspection, but with the dragon raid looming over his head, she would have to wait until he returned from Cliff Face.

  The appearance of the dragons in the King’s Wood went a long way to confirm his earlier fears. The ripple in magic was so profound that it could only have been caused by an all-powerful wizard, or worse—a Windwalker. If he was right about this, the time had come for him to ascend the Ivory Throne. Expedience was required if they were to exterminate the dragon threat before the old line of wizards and witches reared their annoying heads and brandished their troublesome staffs.

  “No. Leave her be. I have a better idea.” J’kwaad pushed away from the battlement and strode toward a door breaching the side of the wall tower.

  The man standing guard snapped to attention and opened the door without a word—his eyes not daring to meet the dark heir’s.

  Once inside the tower, J’kwaad descended the worn stairs circling the interior wall with Calor close behind.

  Calor’s deep voice echoed faintly in the enclosed space, “Shall I inform your father?”

  J’kwaad considered the question. The obvious answer was yes. Turn her over to the king and be rid of the problem. But the fact that she possessed the gift intrigued him. Perhaps keeping her hidden from J’kaar might mete out as an auspicious ploy when the time came to deal with the king and the golden heir. With proper nurturing, he might have stumbled upon a way to ascend the Ivory Throne sooner than he thought possible. Perhaps the high wizard might even play a role in the grand scheme of things. If nothing else, the girl was in possession of something he wished to get his hands on.

  “Not yet. Send for the tracker I brought back from Dragonfang Pass and gather together a couple dozen of our best youth fighters. Make sure one of them looks like the miscreant.”

  Precious Spawn

  Junior looked up from where he sat with his legs hanging over the edge of the drawbridge. He gained his feet, expecting the worst, as the tall guard who had accompanied Reecah into South Fort stomped across the drawbridge looking none too happy.

  “You! Come with me.”

  The three guards watching Junior raised their swords but the tall guard glared at them. “That won’t be necessary.”

  Without explanation, Junior was led into a wide bailey between the outer and inner walls. The size of the place mesmerized him—the height and thickness of the walls were incredible to someone who had only been as far as Thunderhead. South Fort was a sight to behold.

  Rounding the stables, he couldn’t believe the number of stalls abutting the high outer wall. A movement at the far end of the long building diverted his attention. Reecah strode toward them, a long dagger in her hand.

  “Sir Batkin.” Reecah handed the blade to the knight. “I’m sorry I caused you trouble.”

  Sir Batkin snatched the dagger from her and wiped the grit from its blade. He pointed it at her. “I always suspected you would some day.” Without another word, he sheathed the dagger and strutted away, turning his shoulder to avoid bumping into Junior on his way past.

  Junior watched him go. “What’s that all about?”

  Reecah shook her head. “Nothing to worry about. He’s actually a nice man.”

  Junior raised his eyebrows. “Seems like it.”

  “Ya, well, come on. Wait until you meet Anvil. You’re in for a real treat.”

  Reecah offered nothing further, so he followed her beyond the far end of the stable into an open area of hard-packed dirt that lay between the inner wall moat, and the outer wall.

  His eyes fell on a behemoth pacing in front of a knee-high stump. A battle-axe leaned against the wall behind a dented bucket, the items barely registering. Junior stared at the bald-headed beast whose expression was anything but inviting.

  Reecah walked straight up to the brute and turned to include Junior. “Anvil, my brother, Junior. Junior, meet Anvil.”

  Junior nodded, inwardly nervous about Reecah referring to him as her brother—something they had contrived last night. He thought about stepping forward to shake Anvil’s hand, but the weapon master’s glare held him back.

  “Yer brother, eh?” Anvil spat on the ground. “I don’t see the resemblance.”

  “Well, he’s not exactly my brother. He’s more like someone who watches over me.”

  Anvil stepped up to Junior. “Judging by yer fancy clothing, I’m thinking ye need no lessons from me.” He gave Junior a thorough once over. “So, yer GG’s protector, then?”

  Reecah answered for him. “Yes. Something like that. I misled Sir Batkin so Junior wouldn’t have to waste time seeing whoever this Inquisitor person is.”

  Junior caught Reecah’s mischievous gaze. She lied so smoothly he almost believed her himself.

  “Humph.” Anvil returned to the stump and sat down. Grabbing his axe, he ran a whetstone along its edge and muttered, “Seems to me, yer the one protecting him.”

  Reecah cast Junior an anxious smile.

  Junior said quietly, “What now?”

  “Now we wait. The rest of the trainees will be eating breakfast. When they get here, we train until the sun goes down.” Anvil smirked. “Or until GG wears ye out.”

  Anvil’s words startled him. He didn’t think they were talking loud enough for the man to hear. Glancing at the hulk, Anvil’s eyes were trained on his axe as he ran the whetstone along its edge.

  Reecah leaned in and whispered, “Let’s go sit against the wall. Make sure your back isn’t exposed or he’ll attack you.”

  Junior frowned.

  “He’s funny that way.” Reecah grabbed his wrist and impelled him to a spot on the wall away from Anvil.

  They no sooner sat on the cold dirt when a broad-shouldered young man with brown hair past his shoulders rounded the corner of the stable and searched the training ground. His gaze found Reecah and a broad smile erased the worry etched on his face.

  “GG! You’re safe.” The man jogged over to where they sat. Junior noticed the newcomer made a conscious effort to keep the weapon master in sight.

  Reecah jumped to her feet and embraced him. “Of course, I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Returning her em
brace, the newcomer watched Junior from over Reecah’s shoulder, his green eyes full of suspicion.

  “Didn’t you hear about the dragon sighting?”

  Reecah stepped away, feigning innocence. “No. Where?”

  The man’s gaze darted from Reecah to Junior.

  “It’s okay.” Reecah smiled. “Flavian Silvertongue, I want you to meet a good friend of mine, Junior Waverunner.”

  It wasn’t lost on Junior that Reecah had omitted his first name. He gave Flavian a once over, not caring for the way his face lit up in Reecah’s presence. Silvertongue, indeed. Already, Junior didn’t like him.

  Flavian stepped forward with an extended hand.

  Like it or not, Junior needed to be pleasant with Flavian. At least in Reecah’s company. His mood darkened as he studied how her face beamed while speaking to Flavian.

  Rising to accept Flavian’s handshake, Junior forced a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

  Flavian crushed his hand. Letting go, Flavian turned to Reecah, grabbing her hands. “The Watch were dispatched last night to the King’s Wood. Three dragons were reported to have landed just inside the treeline. When I heard that, I thought of your campsite. I tried to accompany the Watch, but the gatemen wouldn’t let me leave the city.”

  The concern on Flavian’s face soured Junior’s stomach. An unusual rage burned beneath his skin. Making an effort to steady an onset of rapid breathing, he struggled to concentrate on the conversation.

  “Three dragons? Yes, actually, I did hear the rumours at the gate. Dragons, huh? That’s scary,” Reecah said, flicking a nervous glance at Junior, but keeping her attention on Flavian.

  “You’re not kidding. On top of that, Catenya and her groupies were attacked by a woman in the King’s Wood.”

  Reecah touched her shoulders with her fingertips. “You thought I was the woman who had accompanied the dragons and killed Wirt?”

  Flavian was about to respond but something Reecah said gave him pause.

  Junior noticed Anvil had stopped honing his axe.

  Worried she had revealed too much, Junior couldn’t help himself from dwelling on what had been bothering him about Reecah since finding her again. Her amicable relationship with Flavian topped the list, but there was more. The frightening Tamra Stoneheart’s unexplained appearance in the King’s Wood and her claim that she knew Reecah would come was unsettling. As were her vehement assertions that Reecah possessed magic.