by Franc Ingram
Lorn made it to his bed that night feeling more satisfaction than the food could ever have given him. He felt like he actually did good for the world that day. It was a rare occurrence, even for a King of Euphoria, to feel so connected and useful but he fell into a deep sleep knowing that the people of Hashdid were better off because he came through.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: SEEDS OF REVOLT
Emmaray was looking over the latest batches of silk to determine which ones she wanted for herself and which would be sold. The jewel-toned spools of teal, burgundy, and tangerine shimmered in the sunlight that poured in from the many windows of her palace. The women holding the reams looked familiar to Emmaray, but she couldn't put any names to the faces. She remembered fondly the time when she knew everyone on the island by name. Now all she could keep track of was the Elevated and even that was a struggle.
When one of her lieutenants came running up, it took Emmaray a minute to recall her name. Caliha was breathless and sweaty, her red dreads falling over her face as she slid to a halt.
"Emmaray, may I be granted a private audience?" Caliha pleaded, her dark brown eyes wide with worry.
Emmaray didn't like the interruption but she could tell by the Elevated woman's face that it was important. She shooed the silk girls away with a wave of her hand. "Speak your piece."
Caliha looked around to be sure no curious ears were within range. "There was a disturbance in the city. The outsiders made a move for the new slaves. They escaped."
Emmaray balled her fists so tight she felt her fingernails slice into her palms. Aiding Cornelius was proving to be more of a hassle than he suggested it would be. She wanted nothing more than to live her life in peace, yet she'd made the mistake of being greedy and reaching for more than she needed.
Heat started to build in the center of her chest. It was so intense, Emmaray felt the first sparks of her fire dance along the palms of her hands. It would have been so easy to unleash an angry wave and take out everything within twenty feet of her, but that would have solved nothing. It would have given the illusion that this little hiccup bothered her. Emmaray refused to be swayed by a few outsiders trespassing on her land. She was in control. They, however, were on borrowed time.
She had to take several deep breaths before she felt calm enough to speak without screaming. "Gather the Executioners and send them after the outsiders. Now!"
The Executioners were specifically trained to hunt down fugitives that tried to escape Emmaray's justice. They didn't take prisoners. If anyone was up to the task of rooting out the outsiders, it was them.
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After a rough evening avoiding the Elevated, Lysander and his group stumbled on a village not far from the city of Marsal. It was a tiny place, no more than twenty houses, a well at the center, and a small stable area for work animals. The place was empty. Lysander guessed most of the residents were in Marsal working until night fell when they would return to their meager homes.
Lysander led his group to the well so they could drink, rest, and plan how they were going to rescue the Caledonians from that awful workshop. While the others sat and drank, he paced. The images burned into his brain wouldn't let him relax for even a second.
Before making the trip he'd had these doubts about why he'd pushed for coming to Gaeth. Was he seeking revenge on the people who injured his father and invaded his cities? One look at the people making those nets and whatever reasons he may have had were washed away in a sea of pity. Those people had been there a week and it looked like the soul had been ripped out of all of them. Lysander had to make it right. Nothing else mattered.
The well they sat around was large enough to seat five men on its black rock wall. Daycia operated the crank that lowered the bucket into the well while Zyair gathered water containers from everyone.
"That was a brilliant plan," Jonathan started once his container was full. "Now they know exactly what we're after and are sure to triple the guards around the city." He slammed his container on the rock wall of the well, splashing water on his sleeve. "Even if we manage to get back there, our only advantage of surprise is gone."
"We'll figure something out," Lysander insisted, trying to keep his cool. Jonathan was always kicking up a fit at the wrong time.
"We need to figure out how to get ourselves off this island," Jonathan spat.
"You didn't see those people, the condition they were in. I can't leave them here."
Jonathan shook his head. His frustration and fury showed in the rigid way he held his shoulders, and with the throbbing vein in his forehead. "You're right, I didn't see them but I know that getting slaughtered by the Elevated won't help them. It won't make up for whatever mistake you're trying to atone for. All it will do will leave this war-torn world with one less good leader."
Lysander gripped the handle of his sword. He was starting to believe force was the only thing Jonathan understood, and Lysander was willing to make his point at the end of a sword if necessary. His fellow Rangers picked up on the sudden rise in tension, and they stood up. Jonathan's loyal Darten soldiers eased their way closer to the war dog until it was clear where everyone's true loyalties were.
Daycia stopped the rhythmic motion of the crank, the sudden, painful silence drawing attention to her. "Jonathan, you're so…," she visibly struggled to find the right word. "…infuriating."
"Of course, you side with your little..."
Daycia held her hand up, forestalling any argument. "If you wouldn't say things with such venom and contempt, people would actually be able to see that you make sense."
"What?" Lysander yelled, Daycia's words echoing in his head like a bad dream. "You can't seriously be taking his side."
Daycia sat on the well between the two groups, Zyair at her side. "This isn't about sides. Do I think we should leave? Not without accomplishing what we came to do, but Jonathan has a point." Daycia looked at Jonathan, mild surprise lurking in the widening of her violet eyes as if she couldn't believe what she was saying either. "We’ve been going about this the wrong way, letting our personal baggage weigh us down. We let it cloud our judgment."
Lysander couldn't calm the fire in his belly so easily. "This is ridiculous. He questions us and now you want me to see his side."
"Don't be stupid," Daycia stated flatly. "He called you a good leader because your empathetic, but that empathy can pull you in a thousand different directions. Recognize it and adjust accordingly." Daycia raked her hands through her red hair. "And I succumbed to the problem of pride. Being here hit me harder than I was prepared for, so to compensate I insisted on a plan to prove I knew better than anyone else." Daycia rubbed at her face, the weight of such a long life showing on her face for just a moment. "I'm not saying we don't go back in, just saying we have to do it smarter."
"Well, since I'm too incompetent to make a decision, what's the smart play?" Lysander snapped.
A noise from the nearby stable ended the standoff as everyone turned, ready to defend themselves. Lysander heard a nervous squeal and he caught sight of a woman's head cowering behind a hay bale. Lysander motioned for his men to lower their weapons.
"Sorry, we didn't mean to disturb you." Lysander moved forward keeping his hands in clear sight. "We're not here to hurt you."
The woman stood shakily. She was a teenager, who still had a plumpness to her round face. She moved to step around her shelter when she was blocked by a teenage male. He had the same dark brown eyes, round chin, and thick black hair as the girl.
"Get out of here. Go." He shooed at them without stepping out of reach of the girl, who Lysander guessed was his sister. "We have nothing. Just go."
"We were just taking a break to grab some water. I promise we mean no harm. Where's everyone else?"
The boy looked around panicked. "You can't be here. You'll bring them down on us. Just go."
Lysander realized the boy wasn't so much afraid of them as afraid their presence would attract the attention of the Elevated. It both made Lysander sa
d and gave him an idea.
"We'll leave you be. We don't wish to cause you any trouble." Lysander backed away from them. "Pack it up guys, we're moving out," he told his team.
They were soldiers. It took them no time to get back on the move. They were headed out of the village when the rear guard came running back at them, sword in his hand.
"Elevated headed this way."
Before Lysander could ask how many, a dagger flew through the air catching the rear guard in the shoulder. The man tipped forward, falling against Lysander.
"Take cover!" Daycia yelled as more projectiles sailed through the air.
Zyair helped Lysander pull the injured man toward the side of a barn. The sound of the missiles impacting the hard wood around him made Lysander tense up. How had the enemy gotten so close without them noticing?
"I count twenty hostiles," Jonathan yelled.
Lysander didn't like it. He didn't know the layout of the village and couldn't see where his people had taken cover. There was no way to make a clean, organized exit, and the enemy could easily be moving in on them the longer they waited.
He looked down at the injured guard. The dagger was lodged in the man's back between the shoulder blade and the spine. "Can you move?"
The man nodded, "Not deep. Armor saved me," he breathed through clenched teeth.
Zyair took a quick peek around the side of the barn. "They're moving in."
Lysander had a split second to decide whether to fight or run. Neither option appealed. The enemy had the advantage either way. He remembered the scared teenagers. He'd brought down on them exactly what they feared most. There was no other choice.
"We run," Lysander said.
Zyair nodded. "I'll cover."
Lysander hooked his arm under the injured man's good side. He braced himself knowing they would be running blind and wild, hoping not to get mowed down. He sucked in a deep breath and yelled. "Scatter!"
Without hesitation, Lysander dug his heels into the grass and sprung up as fast as he could, pulling his partner with him. He ran straight, trying to keep a particular tree in the distance in sight. That was his line of safety. If he made it there then he survived the gauntlet.
"Down!" Zyair yelled, and Lysander crouched low, bending at the waist so he could keep on the move.
Something impacted the side of a house off his right shoulder. The injured Ranger pulled Lysander to the right before they straightened back out into a dead run. The road curved back toward the city. They ran straight into one of the Elevated.
Lysander shoved his partner behind him and slammed into the Elevated man, shoulder first. The Elevated man stumbled backward giving Lysander enough space to bring his sword up. He attacked aggressively, going straight for the man's chest.
The Elevated man was fast, backing away from Lysander's jab and dodging under his next swing. Then Lysander saw a spear point coming at his face. He rolled left to avoid losing an eye then spun, catching the Elevated man along the ribs. With his opponent bent over, Lysander reached up to deal a devastating blow to the back of the man's head, but the injured Ranger was there first. He used the back of his sword to knock the Elevated man out.
"Go," Lysander ordered pushing his partner forward.
Zyair came up next to them, bumping into Lysander as they ran. They skirted around a small thatched roofed house before Lysander's tree was back in his sight line. This time the way ahead of them was clear, so they ran as fast and as far as their bodies would carry them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: FABIAN
A high-pitched yell emanating from outside woke Lorn. The early morning sun shining through the curtains nearly blinded him. He stumbled out of bed reaching for the short sword under his pillow, half blind and convinced that Ivar had found them. The nightmare that plagued him crossed over into reality and he was in danger.
Lorn threw back the curtain to get a good look, squinting against the bright yellow sun and trying to pick out where the commotion had come from. His group of ten had been put up in various houses in the village. Tycho went back to the others, taking Mason his promised treat.
The village wasn't exactly set up to accommodate visitors overnight, but it was a neat, clean and comfortable place to stay. They were toward the center of town for protection, but because there wasn't one place big enough to house them all, Lorn was separated from his team and felt exposed because of it. Outside his window several villagers had gathered by the road, many of them still clinging to whatever half-finished task they'd been doing when something arrested their attention. But despite craning his neck to see, Lorn couldn't figure out what was going on.
His bedroom door opened, and the blacksmith that was his host burst in, though his eyes were plastered to the floor as if too worried to actually look at Lorn. "Sorry sire, no mean to disturb you, but there are reports of soldiers headed our way."
Lorn grabbed his boots and headed for the door trying to remember the general direction some of the others went. Last night he was so tired his host could have led him down a dark alley and he wouldn't have had the presence of mind to even try to resist.
"How many? From Failsea?" Lorn asked his mind racing with the possibilities. They had to get away from the town, couldn't put people at risk by staying. "Where are my friends?" The blacksmith, whose name Lorn didn't even have a clue, shook his head.
"I umm, I don't know?" the big man looked comical with the confused look on his face which seemed at odds with his gruff exterior. He sported a bushy black beard, arms as big as trees, and was taller than even Tycho. In a lot of ways, the man reminded Lorn of Ivar, in physical appearance. His demeanor, on the other hand, was miles apart.
Lorn didn't know which question the big man was answering but it didn't matter because once he was outside Paley and Samantha were running up to join him.
"It seems Fabian has come to find us," Paley said.
Lorn didn't really understand what she was saying. He still had one foot half in a boot that was being rather uncooperative. "I don't ..." he started to say.
Saladen came running by, his sleeping cap still atop his head, though rather askew. "Sire, sire," he said becoming more out of breath with every word. "Lord Fabian is coming. We aren't prepared. Oh my, how could this be? The band is still resting. The road is a mess. How could we have known? Two such grand visitors in two days. Oh, my!" Saladen looked on the edge of a full-blown panic attack, his face red, his eyes darting back and forth in a mad frenzy.
"Calm down," Lorn said, getting a grip on the man's shoulder and forcing him to be still. "I'm sure Lord Fabian will understand. How far out is he?"
"Five minutes at the maximum. A couple of our shepherds saw them approaching as they were letting the flock out for grazing."
"Well take the time to get yourself together. I'll gather up my people, and we'll greet him together on the main road."
Saladen nodded. He straightened his cap, then the shirt of his pajamas. "Yes, sire. As you command."'
As Lorn watched Saladen go, Mevra and Kasis showed up, both looking disheveled and worried. "Fabian is on his way in," Lorn explained. "Find the others so we can meet him on the main road in five." They nodded before turning off in different directions. Paley stayed nearby. She was the only one that looked like she'd had time to clean herself up.
"Why do you think Fabian would risk leaving the capitol to come this close to the border with everything going on?" Lorn asked once the two of them were alone on the road.
"The two options that come to mind aren't good for us," she said, arms folded across her chest. "Either he plans to run the battle, confusing the chain of command, or he intends to prevent us from doing what we came to do. For whatever reason, he might not want us fighting at all."
Lorn nodded. He had similar suspicions but wanted to make sure he wasn't just being paranoid. "Let's hope we're just over thinking it and he just wants some time out to explore the countryside."
"Sure, we can lie to ourselves and pretend that's even
a remote possibility." Paley turned and started back toward the houses.
"Or?" Lorn asked after her.
"We can brace ourselves for what's sure to be a fight. Not even the Prince of Darten brings that many troops for a stroll."
Lorn sighed, watching Paley head back to her adopted house. He wondered if Daycia had rubbed off on the younger woman after years of working together, or if the reason she was chosen as an apprentice was because she matched Daycia's pension for being blunt in the face of danger.
Lorn realized he had about two minutes to change into clothes that he hadn’t spent a few days walking in, and then to seal in the funk, slept in. It would have been nice to have an hour to get a bath, brush his hair, maybe grab a bite to eat, but like Paley said, they had to brace for a fight.
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Lorn worked to smooth out the wrinkles in his dark blue shirt. It was the only one that went with the chestnut brown pants and boots he wore. He left his armor back at the blacksmith’s house. There was no need to show up looking aggressive when he had no intentions of fighting.
Mevra and Connor walked on either side of him. They apparently didn't get the peaceful negotiations memo. Their armor was polished to a nice shine, giving them the look of honor guards. Lorn wondered if that made him the young royal who needed protecting. Would Fabian see it that way, just another piece of pomp and circumstance, or would the ruler of Darten take offense? Lorn didn't have time to ask them to change.
Paley and the rest of the squad were already lined up in the road when Fabian and his entourage of more than two dozen men rode up on horseback, the Darten flag waving in full regalia ahead of them.
"We should get a flag bearer," Samantha said, turning her head just enough so Lorn could hear her whisper.
