Legends of the Lurker Box Set

by Richard H. Stephens

  Perhaps his father had been right about the hill witch all along. Aligning with dragons and consorting with Grimelda—a witch who had instilled fear into the populace of Fishmonger Bay for as long as he could remember should have been his first clue that something was different about Reecah.

  He shook his head, not knowing why his thoughts had become so dark concerning the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about. Had she placed him under a spell? He blinked a few times at the absurdity of that and forced himself to listen to Reecah and Flavian.

  Flavian took a step back. “I never said anything about who was killed.”

  Reecah’s face paled. “Huh? Oh. One of the guards knew him. I overheard him talking to his friend.”

  Her explanation wasn’t convincing. Junior feared Flavian would question her more, but Reecah kept talking.

  “I can see how you would think it was me. I promise you, I had nothing to do with his death.”

  “I must admit, it crossed my mind, but when Catenya burst into the bunkhouse in the middle of the night looking like she’d been,” he lowered his voice, and nodded toward Anvil, “beaten for hours by him, I overheard her describe a woman built like you know who, wearing furs, and wielding axes a normal man would have difficulty using. I knew then that it wasn’t you.” He finished, out of breath.

  Their attention was drawn by the weapon master as he pulled a pale, suede leather shirt from behind the stump and pulled it over his head—the fabric barely able to contain his physique. Grabbing a black leather shoulder harness that crossed over his shoulder blades, he attached its ends to his belt. He rose to his feet and expertly snapped his battle-axe into the hardened leather clasps embedded into the cross-piece. How he managed to twist his massive arms behind his back to complete the procedure amazed Junior. Anvil was a physical specimen like no other.

  As the first rays of sun gleamed off the heights of the inner wall, the rest of the trainees began entering the training ground—their eyes immediately falling on Junior.

  Junior offered them a shy smile. It wasn’t lost on him that the young men and women kept together, talking amongst themselves; nobody acknowledging Reecah or Flavian.

  The hushed conversation of the new group was curtailed by the arrival of a blonde-haired, fit woman carrying on an animated conversation with a powerfully built, scruffy youth who appeared younger than the rest. Two more males and a female followed on their heels. As one, they looked at Junior with interest, but their glares settled on Reecah.

  “About time little miss high britches decided to grace us with her presence,” Anvil’s gravely voice boomed.

  Junior thought the weapon master was talking to Reecah, but the brute’s attention lay on the blonde-haired woman who glared death back at him.

  Reecah leaned in. “That’s the Cat. The one I told you about last night.”

  Junior nodded. Reecah claimed Catenya was the daughter of the Viscount of Draakhall and had it in for her.

  Anvil ignored Catenya’s contemptuous glare. “I hope ye’ve got yer marching boots on. Today’s the day we take yer training to a new level.”

  For a reason unknown to Junior, everyone shot Reecah a disgusted look.

  “It’s time to separate the jetsam from the flotsam.”

  Junior frowned, thinking that an odd analogy, but dared not say anything.

  “You’re about to undergo your first, forced march. We leave immediately for Headwater with whatever you have on your back.”

  Stricken faces stared at the weapon master.

  “Don’t look so surprised. If ya ever make it into the king’s service, yer petty issues will be of no concern. When His Majesty gives the signal to march, ya either get yer arse moving or get trampled in the process. To add realism to this lesson, I intend to reach Headwater Castle by full moon.”

  Junior could tell that most of the trainees had no concept of how much time that gave them, but Catenya’s face transformed from irate to incredulous.

  “That’s four days from now,” Catenya said with disgust. “Headwater is a two-day ride from Sea Hold on horseback along the bay road. We’ll have to run the whole way.”

  Anvil hooked his thumbs in his suspender-like leather harness and rocked back and forth in his boots. “We ain’t taking the bay road.”

  Everyone looked at each other, but it was Catenya who said, “You can’t be serious? It’d take a seasoned warrior a week to reach Headwater along the south shore. Much of that route is impassable. Besides, we have no food.”

  Anvil returned Catenya’s stare with a smug grin. “Aye. Won’t the viscount be pleased to hear what a good little hiker and hunter his precious spawn has become.”

  “What happens to anyone who can’t keep up?”

  “They’ll be kicked out of me training and can fend for themselves. Shouldn’t take ‘em too long to find their way home.” Anvil raised his eyebrows. “Not with dragons about.”

  Tracker

  Jaxon nodded to the guard and stepped through the lower door of the Draakhorn. Heights had never bothered him, but looking up, following the imperfect, triangular steps spiralling the inside walls of the lofty tower, he experienced a moment of panic.

  The door banged shut behind him and latched, dropping the steps into murky shadows. Odd, slotted holes were spaced along the tower’s lofty walls, spilling faint light into the silent spire.

  Since he was summoned by the dark heir, he decided it best to swallow his misgivings and get on with the long ascent. A cold wind assaulted him whenever he passed one of the open-air windows. He wondered how treacherous the climb would be in the dead of winter. Blowing snow would render the stairwell impassable.

  So preoccupied with the exhausting climb, he almost forgot about his earlier apprehensions. While breaking his fast in the royal dining hall, he had overheard Princess J’kyra discuss with Prince J’kye about J’kwaad’s imminent departure on the next leg of the dragon campaign. Hearing the dark heir had decided to leave his new lackey behind, piqued his curiosity. He wanted to know more, but he caught the princess looking at him from across the room.

  It wasn’t long after that a pasty-faced messenger delivered Prince J’kwaad’s summons. The dark heir requested Jaxon’s presence without delay.

  As fearful of the high king as he was, nobody instilled a deeper dread than Prince J’kwaad. Magic came with a price. Usually to those on the receiving end of it.

  Jaxon’s thighs burned, screaming at him to rest before he was halfway up the tower. You would think someone might install a few handholds in the blasted place, Jaxon thought as he willed his thighs to recover. Looking up deflated him, but casting his gaze downward left him reeling. He vowed to never do that to himself again. He wasn’t looking forward to the descent.

  In several places, the edges of the steps were darker, as if stained by blood. He couldn’t imagine anyone fighting inside the tower. One misstep would be their last. On one step, about three-quarters of the way to the top, one of the dark stains appeared to contain a clump of scraggly hair. Too nervous to bend down and inspect the blemish, he shuddered and kept climbing.

  The top step, narrower than the rest, slipped under a wooden door. Swallowing his apprehension, he raised a fist to knock, but his knuckles found only air. The heavy door swung open, buffeting him with a blast of warm air.

  Prince J’kwaad’s personal aide ushered him inside—closing the door behind them.

  Jaxon swallowed and nodded to Calor before scurrying to kneel before Prince J’kwaad, bowing his forehead to the flagstone at the dark heir’s boots. “My prince.”

  The prince didn’t respond at first, leaving him prostrated uncomfortably, awaiting whatever fate J’kwaad had in mind. Sweat dampened his armpits more than it had during the climb.

  “Arise, my faithful tracker.”

  Jaxon did as he was bidden but didn’t dare meet the prince’s gaze.

  “Calor and I are about to set off for Cliff Face. As soon as my business with you is complete, in fact.�
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  Jaxon couldn’t help himself from swallowing—the act reminding him of the necessity to breathe. “Yes, my prince.”

  “I won’t require your services on the campaign.”

  The ominous bent of the prince’s words raised beads of sweat on Jaxon’s forehead. Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded, his eyes staring at Prince J’kwaad’s boots.

  “Take a deep breath. You have nothing to fear.”

  Jaxon met J’kwaad’s shrewd stare. There wasn’t any warmth reflected in those brown eyes, but nor did he detect any malice.

  “You have heard me go on about a rather lowly task the king wishes me to see to, I assume?”

  Unwilling to say anything that might upset the prince, especially since he had no idea what the dark heir was on about, Jaxon lied, “Yes, my prince.”

  “Good. Good. It has come to my attention that the miscreant my father so desperately searches for has been sighted in South Fort.”

  Relief flooded Jaxon as he realized what task the prince had been talking about. Some stowaway out of Thunderhead. Out of respect, he said nothing; allowing the prince to continue at his leisure.

  “Her name is GG. She’s wanted for assaulting the baron of Thunderhead. Baron Carroch desperately seeks her capture and return so she can atone for her behaviour. For some reason, known only to the king, we are compelled to oblige.”

  The prince stopped worrying at his many rings and leaned forward. “There is another person who has come to my attention. A man no one has seen before. You can’t miss him. He’s dressed in black with a full suit of chain mail. He apparently knows GG. They’re being trained by a nasty piece of work known as Anvil, the Bone Breaker. What I require from you is to keep an eye on them, her especially, until I return. Track her movements and make a note of anyone else she comes into contact with.”

  “Yes, my prince.”

  The prince held a multi-ringed pointer finger between them and leaned forward. “Heed my warning. Nothing is to happen to her until my return. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, my prince.”

  “Good. I shall be displeased should you lose sight of her.”

  Jaxon hoped his knees weren’t knocking together. Failure meant observing the road leading to Draakhall from the end of a pike. “I understand, my prince.”

  “Very well, Jaxon Waverunner. Don’t fail me in this. There is more to GG than the king comprehends. Do your job well and perhaps you may find yourself attaining rank and privileges unknown to commoners.”

  The prince produced a thin scroll that Jaxon hadn’t seen until this moment.

  “This will grant you the title and all the permission you need to carry on however you feel best. Don’t disappoint me.”

  Jaxon dipped his head. “No, my prince.”

  The tower door creaked open.

  “Leave us.”

  “Yes, my prince.” Jaxon offered Prince J’kwaad a deep bow and hurried away. Not daring to look Calor in the eye, he stepped onto the top step of the spiralling stairwell and nearly fell into the yawning abyss at its centre as the door whapped him in the backside.

  Unable to prevent himself from looking down, he wavered. With two hands against the rough stone wall, he slowly descended the Draakhorn.

  Calor approached Prince J’kwaad, a crooked smirk lifting his mustache. “I wouldn’t doubt the boy wet himself. You honestly think he’s up to the task?”

  The prince studied his rings. After thinking on it, he nodded. “He’s green around the ears, but I sense great ambition in him. He reminds me of you when I found you grovelling in the streets.”

  “I would hardly call fighting for money, grovelling. I made a rather decent living if I do say so myself.”

  J’kwaad flicked a hand out and kept his little finger extended. “Pfft. This ring is worth more than you’d make in a lifetime in that boorish pit. Good thing for you I happened by when I did.”

  “Yes, my prince. I am forever grateful. What of the tracker? If GG, or whatever her name is, is the one who caused the ripple in the magic, she might prove too much for him to handle.”

  J’kwaad looked thoughtful. “Perhaps.”

  “What if he falls for the deception planned to lure the dragons to Sea Reach?”

  J’kwaad raised his eyebrows and shrugged, nodding toward the stairwell door. “Not to worry, my faithful friend. Devius will keep an eye on her. You gave Anvis his orders?”

  “Yes, my prince.”

  “And you found a man and woman to match?”

  “Yes, my prince.”

  J’kwaad leaned back in his chair. A satisfied smile lifted the corners of his thin lips as he nodded at the stairwell door. “If Jaxon fails me in this, his next visit will see him exit via the accelerated route.”

  Sensations

  Reecah purposely kept to the back of the pack as Anvil followed his charges along the King’s Wood Road—the route heading due east toward the arcane town of Arcanium—a nine-day hike away. The pace the lead runners set was an easy trot for her, but she dared not take the lead lest she receive further grief from her peers.

  Staying at the back had the added advantage of allowing her to keep an eye on Catenya and her clique. An unfortunate accident was the last thing she needed in the wilderness. Knowing Anvil, he wouldn’t lose any sleep leaving someone to die.

  Flavian jogged on her right, a light sheen of sweat covering his exposed skin despite the cool temperature. Junior ran on her left. The fact that Junior kept pace in his chainmail hauberk bore testament to his conditioning, though he wore a pained expression. There was no wonder. She doubted she could have run this far, this long, burdened by the weight of the shiny armour.

  Engaging the two in casual conversation throughout the morning helped take her mind away from her dragon friends. Come sundown, Lurker, Swoop, Silence and Raver would be left waiting for her and Junior, wondering what had happened to them. There was no way to get word to them.

  She regretted sending Raver away, but with any luck, tonight’s campfire would alert them to their new location.

  Though Flavian and Junior maintained a civil air, she sensed hostility between them. She couldn’t understand where the dislike for each other had come from. They had only just met. Shaking her head, she muttered, “Men.”

  “What’s that?” Anvil had dropped back to allow the group free reign of its progress—with the underlying threat that if they didn’t reach Headwater in the time he had allotted, there would be trouble.

  Startled, Reecah realized she had spoken her thoughts. “Oh, nothing, Anvil. Just talking to myself.”

  “It’s a shame ya can speak at all. I’m thinking the leaders need to pick up the pace if yer to reach Headwater on time.”

  Those within earshot grumbled at the exchange. Reecah could only imagine the negative things being said about her as a result. Rather than engage Anvil in further conversation, she decided it best to keep her thoughts to herself.

  Anvil allowed them a brief respite at high noon as they crossed a small bridge constructed of natural rocks pieced together. A babbling brook cut a lazy swath through the thick woods, flowing beneath the span—a pretty sight as beams of sunlight filtered through the deep shadows, illuminating the arch.

  Anvil spent his time examining the bridge; adjusting a few of the looser stones to solidify it. Reecah watched him as she bent to refill her waterskin.

  He returned her stare. “Wouldn’t do to have a horse turn a hoof way out here.”

  The afternoon’s pace picked up at first, the strain noticeable on Junior and several others, but it didn’t last. With Catenya and her crew forming the lead pack, Reecah didn’t think they cared whether they met Anvil’s deadline. Catenya probably didn’t. As much as Anvil harped on her, Reecah knew that at the end of the day, he wouldn’t allow anything to happen to the viscount’s daughter.

  Seeing Junior struggling to keep up, she nudged him with her elbow and said quietly, “Let me carry your sword belt.”

  Ju
nior searched those around them and shook his head.

  Typical pig-headed male pride, Reecah thought, but she empathized with him nonetheless. No one else bore half the weight he did. She didn’t know how much training Junior had undertaken over the last few weeks, but she guessed it was nowhere near the amount the rest of them had undergone. If only there was a way to alleviate his burden.

  An aching pang fired through her earlobes. She reached up, afraid her earrings had fallen out, but they remained firmly attached. Without severing the lobes, there was no way they would ever fall out. Great-aunt Grimelda had seen to that.

  She rubbed at the dark crimson stones, and frowned. Was that heat coming from them or was she imagining things. The heat was likely due to them being affixed to her ears.

  The afternoon wore into lengthening evening shadows; the lingering ache from her ears had lessened but it wasn’t forgotten. Daylight hours were getting less and less with each passing day—coinciding with the dropping temperatures. The winter solstice wasn’t far off if she recalled the time of year correctly. If not for the dragon cycle every three years, she would have lost track of her age.

  The group happened upon a flock of wild turkeys as the setting sun lost its hold on the land. Two well-placed arrows—one from Flavian and another by one of Catenya’s groupies—dropped two of the birds before the flock dispersed into the underbrush and were gone.

  Catenya’s decision to run well into the night surprised her. The turkeys were passed around as they ran lest to burden one person. It turned into a fun game of pass the turkey.

  Keeping an eye on Junior, he appeared to have gained a second wind earlier in the day. Reecah marvelled it had lasted this long.