The Turner Chronicles Box Set Edition

by Mark Eller

  "Nothing fancy," Helen said. "But I got them."

  "Bring them out please. This wine improves with age, but I have a thirst on me now. By the way, these bottles cost our venture two hundred and twelve sovereigns each, but I think the expense is appropriate for the occasion."

  In a few moments Helen brought several wooden cups from her cupboards. Jerry's lip curled involuntarily at their stained appearance, but he fought his reaction back. With a small flourish, he pulled a corkscrew from his inside coat pocket and set it to the first bottle. The cork pulled with a satisfying pop. A slight mist rose from the bottle's neck.

  "Notice the clarity," Jerry said as he poured a liberal amount into a cup. "Sense the bouquet, but be gentle. You don't want to bruise it. I guarantee you will never experience such a fine wine again."

  Vel passed the cup on. Jerry continued filling cups until the bottle was empty. When he finished, every cup held wine except his own. "I guess I get to tap a new bottle."

  Milt downed half his cup before Jerry finished filling his own. Aping her betters, Helen pretended she knew what she was doing as she sipped small gulps with greedy lips.

  "Always bold. " Jerry toasted as he raised his cup. "To us. " Tilting his head back, he tossed the contents down his throat, ignoring his earlier cautions. Most of the others followed his lead. Even Vel. Only Selma still held a full cup. She caught the question in his eyes.

  "I might be pregnant. I don't want to risk harm to the baby."

  "Bloody good stuff," Milt said. "I'll drink yours."

  "I'd rather save it for Paul."

  "Paul?" Jerry asked.

  "He's guarding the mine's near entrance. He doesn't know about the baby. I've been waiting to tell him."

  "The near entrance?" Jerry asked.

  "There's two," Selma answered. "Paul's guarding the near one. Debra has the side entrance."

  "Three hundred and sixty thousand," Helen said wonderingly. "I didn't ask for near that much in my letter."

  Jerry's skin suddenly felt frigid. "What letter?"

  She did not answer.

  "We didn't think the amount Vel said was enough," Selma explained. "We mailed off a letter demanding more."

  Damn the bloody fools to hell. Jerry fought back a curse. They could have ruined everything.

  "Where are the mine entrances?" he asked, keeping all traces of anger out of his voice.

  "One is about five hundred feet behind the house," Selma answered. "I never saw the other."

  "My stomach hurts," George complained. His hands cupped over his barrel belly.

  "Your stomach always hurts. " Milt looked out the window. "There's dust on the road. A wagon, I think. Looks like Crawford. Somebody else is on the seat with him."

  "Home early then," Helen commented as Jerry made his way around the table, pulling the cork free of the corkscrew. "You know, I don't feel so well."

  "You should feel really bad," Jerry told her as Milt sagged. "After all, you drank enough poison to kill a team of horses. " He smiled at Selma. "Sorry about the baby."

  She started to rise, but she was far too slow. With a quick stab and slice Jerry used the corkscrew to rip her throat open. He cursed when blood shot out over his hand and sleeve. The bitch had ruined his clothes.

  Helen's head fell on the table to lie in the pool of Selma's blood.

  "There's only ten thousand in the bag anyway," Jerry told the room. "I needed it to pay off the assassin. Can't kill her, can we. That would be dangerous. The guild would come after the family."

  Whistling, he pulled open the backdoor and made his way down a path leading toward the caves. After dealing with Paul, he would have Swiftstrike kill the girl and Debra, whoever she was. Even so, by the end of this affair he would have killed more people than the professional assassin. He found this ironic. Maybe he should change careers.

  The cave entrance was easy to find. Only a few short shrubs and tall grass blocked the view.

  Just as Jerry expected, Paul was not in sight. He would be standing guard just inside the cave's entrance.

  Still whistling, Jerry gave a cheery wave.

  "Hey, Paul, come on out. Payday is here, and Selma says she wants to see you. By the way, you're going to be a father?"

  He continued on, waiting for an answer, but none came. "Paul?"

  Again, no answer. Puzzled, he covered the rest of the distance to find Paul lying on the ground. Blood decorated the side of the man's head. His chest moved. He still breathed. Shit! Somebody was in the cave.

  "Hey! You there! Stop!"

  Jerry jerked his head around. Double shit! Turner and some other man. Tough luck for them. Neither appeared armed. His sword came out in one smooth gesture.

  "Your daughter is in here, Turner, but you have to get past me first."

  Turner's arm raised and pointed.

  Thunder roared.

  Something slapped Jerry in the side. The blow jerked him around, made him stumble. Jerry faced Turner again. He held his sword ready, but for some reason the tip pointed toward the ground. Looking down, Jerry saw the side of his coat was red.

  He looked up. Turner was closer. He held something metallic in his hand. Paling, Jerry remembered Autumn saying her daddy had once killed a Talent Master. She had frightened him then. Later reflection convinced him the girl lied. She had not been lying. Dropping his sword, Jerry twisted.

  Thunder cracked again from the thing in Turner's hand.

  Neck burning, Jerry knew he had to get out of there. He ran, stumbling because he suddenly felt weak. The muscles in his side did not act right. He had to run because Turner was behind him.

  A swift look showed Turner did not follow. Instead, Turner entered the cave. Slowing to a careful walk, Jerry pressed his right hand to his side. It would take hours to ride back to Galesward. The ride would be tough, but he could make it if he stopped to have his side and neck bandaged. If he were careful, he would be home by midnight. Gwen would be waiting for him. She would make everything right. She always made things right.

  His horse remained where he had left it. It took three tries to pull himself into the saddle. Jerry rode low, bent and hurting, blood staining his coat. With his sword lost, and also his hat, he was not nearly the attractive rider he had been a mere hour earlier.

  * * *

  "The Lady was born in the Ether," Seeker explained to Autumn. "A Being created from the thoughts and desires of the One God. The One God saw what He created and was pleased, calling the new life Her Daughter and Ward. Eons passed and the One God saw the Daughter was like unto Her Father, a being of Power and Vision, and yet She was not a perfect image for unlike the Father, the Lady was not content with the Cosmos."

  "I'm confused," Autumn interrupted, shifting so the chains did not pull at her ankles. "You sometimes call the One God Him, and sometimes Her."

  "The One God is without Gender. Either address is correct. The same is true of your Lord and Lady, but your culture has wrapped them in religious conventions, and so I give them gender," Heralda explained briefly before she continued her lessons. "And so it came to pass that the Lady reached into the Ether to Create another Being like unto Herself, and yet Her strength and Her vision were not so great nor so clear as her Maker's. Her creation began to fail before it was half born. The One God reached to help His Daughter. And thus did the Lord come to be."

  "Okay, but what about us? Where do we fit into the picture?"

  "We don't," Swiftstrike answered. "It's all shit."

  Autumn fought back a quick rejoinder. Things had become less frightening. She saw no reason to say something to aggravate Swiftstrike and make matters worse.

  "Where the One God was pleased to exist with only his Daughter for company, and where the Daughter was content with the presence of Her Lord, the Lord found Himself discontent. His nature was different from Theirs. He had a need, a desire to Create, even as did the Maker and the Daughter. As was the Daughter, He was like but still unlike His Creater. Where the Daughter failed to
finish Her Being without the help of the Father, the Lord could not even begin making His own creation. Eons passed and He was unhappy.

  "Then He had a thought. Not all Beings need be so strong as the Three. He felt excited by this thought and so He considered the things He wanted and the things He could do. Thus did He spin out that thing which is called the universe. Within the universe He created small beings."

  "Sounds like a tall order," Swiftstrike said sarcastically.

  A rumbling crash came to them, faintly muffled by the mine's walls.

  "What was that?" Not the slightest trace of concern showed in Swiftstrikes voice.

  Another explosion. Autumn grinned, hugged her arms to herself, and her breath felt short.

  "Death has arrived," Seeker said. Autumn felt the woman shift.

  "My father," Autumn said. "He's come for me, and that means she's here, too."

  "Death's minion," Seeker said.

  After a long silence, Swiftstrike sighed. "I am sorry. I have to kill you now."

  "I stand between you," Seeker reminded.

  "I am an assassin. I know more than one way to kill. Stay still, child, and you will feel little pain."

  Autumn threw herself to the side. Her movement was answered by the solid clunk of something striking rock. One leg jerked violently against her ankle restraints when she tried to run. Falling, she twisted to the side and something tugged against her clothing.

  The sound of a blow was followed by a curse, and then Autumn lay curled on the rock floor while an almost silent battle took place in the dark. She heard scuffling feet, but only one set.

  "Seeker," she tried.

  "Here, child," the woman answered from nearby. "I shall be your shield."

  A body was flung into the wall.

  "I am Mistress Swiftstrike of the Guild," the assassin called out. From her voice, she stood near the center of the shaft. "Who are you to challenge me? You are one of us. I feel it in your training."

  "I am Mistress Blood," another woman answered. "You will not harm the child."

  "Mistress Blood!" Swiftstrike's laughter was low and humorless. "A journey name? You can not hope to match me."

  "I am Mistress Blood," the voice answered,"and I have killed Master Char."

  Swiftstrike cursed, and another flurry of noise sounded. Autumn pulled herself into a tighter ball. Seeker pressed against her. Something hit the rock wall hard enough to throw off a shower of gravel. Several shards struck Autumn's head. She heard a long drawn sigh. Then silence.

  "It is over," Seeker said. "I am no longer your shield."

  "Are you Autumn?" the new woman's voice asked. "I will be upset if you are not."

  "Yes! Yes! I'm Autumn. " Moisture trickled down her cheeks.

  "Hello, Autumn," the voice said. "My name is Kim. I serve your father."

  "All honor to the Acolyte of the Chosen," Seeker said reverently.

  "I knew you would come," Autumn whispered. "I saw it."

  A hand grasped Autumn's, pulled her erect, and a key slid into the lock of Autumn's leg shackles. "Follow me," Kim ordered after the shackles fell away."

  Wiping at her eyes, Autumn followed the insistent pull. Before long, her feet left rock, pulled against softness, and a slight crinkling sounded beneath her.

  Autumn laughed. The sound exploded from the pit of her stomach and burst from her lips, startling and frightening her. She began sobbing.

  "Child?" Seeker asked.

  "It's the rice paper," Autumn finally managed. "Swiftstrike put it down as an alarm system, but neither of you ever made a noise. Nobody ever made noise but me."

  "The One God sees to my needs," Seeker explained.

  "I make sound only when I desire to do so," Kim added. "The Stone you had Miss Bayne bring me sees to it. Come, Autumn. This is no place for Aaron Turner's child. Come."

  Autumn followed the pull until her eyes saw a glimmer of light. At first, the light was welcome, then it became painful. Autumn closed her eyes against the pain, but her heart sang because she knew who carried the approaching torch.

  "Daddy!" Her voice echoed off the walls. "Daddy!"

  "Autumn!"

  "I have her, Aaron," Kim called, less loudly. "She is safe."

  The light grew stronger. Crying out, Autumn rushed to her father and threw her arms about his neck. Aaron's left arm wrapped around her, a hold stronger and more comforting than any from the Seeker or assassin. When he bent his head and whispered "I've got you girl. You're safe," Autumn's eyes grew damp.

  "Daddy."

  Footsteps sounded behind Autumn, and a hand touched her back. Aaron startled and lifted the torch higher. "Heralda? Is that you?"

  "The One God spoke to me, Aaron Turner," Seeker said quietly. "He has given you a task."

  "What task?" Her father's voice seemed guarded, wary. His arm clutched Autumn tighter.

  "You are to take me with you when you leave. I am directed to serve the Chin Emperor."

  "Oh--oh. " Her father's voice sounded relieved. "Helmet can use you. He's paralyzed, and the vultures are moving in."

  "Helmet Klein is no longer emperor," Seeker said gently. "He passed the burden on to another."

  Seeker's free hand reached out to touch her father's brow. Aaron's head jerked back, almost as if he had been struck. His knees sagged.

  Seeker's voice became gentler, filled with compassion. "All solace to the new emperor."

  "No," Aaron whispered, and his arm fell away from Autumn. "No."

  "My friend, I am so sorry. As I told you before your tasks for Him are not finished. "

  Chapter 27

  David Flintlow contemplated his eggs with displeasure. They were off center and hard. Yolks were meant to be smooth, runny, able to perfectly coat the surface of dipped toast. These eggs were unacceptable. He would fire the cook the next time he laid eyes on the incompetent.

  Gwen chose that moment to enter his private dining alcove.

  "You know better than to interrupt my breakfast," he warned.

  "What did you do!" she demanded. "What did you do to my boy?"

  David set his fork down and shook his head. Amel's death should have made Gwen more cautious, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect. Maybe he didn't need her anymore. Jerry was a reasonably pragmatic lad. Given a few days, he would come to accept reality. Leaning back in his chair, David studied his wife. By the Gods, if there had not been a table between them, she would strike him. Was the woman insane?

  He said,"I have done nothing to Jerry. I gave him a small chore some days past. That is why he has not been home."

  "Your chore," she bit out,"has killed him. You killed our son, David, just like you killed Amel and the others. I didn't mind them. They didn't matter, but now you've gone and killed our son."

  The world stilled. "I'd never harm Jerry. He's my only son. There are no spares, not like with the girls."

  "He's dying," Gwen said. "David, he's dying. He rode to the house, and he's all over blood, and now he's dying, and I have nothing left because you've taken it all."

  "Where is he?"

  "The servants carried him to his room and went after a doctor, but it's too late."

  His eggs were no longer important. The cook did not matter. For the first time in years, David Flintlow rose early from his breakfast, feeling certain Gwen was hysterical, only to discover Jerry truly was dying. He lay in bed, bare to the waist, his side horrible to see. Blood seeped through the new bandaging pressed against his wounds. Bloody clothes lay on the floor, and the sight of them made David want to cry. They were soaked in red. How could one man lose so much and still live?

  Jerry's chest rose in short, uneven breaths.

  "Mamma, Mamma, Mamma, Mamma," Jerry murmured.

  "Here, baby," Gwen answered, kneeling by his side. "Mamma is here."

  Jerry's eyes drifted to her face, rested there a moment, and closed. "I don't want to die. I don't want to…don't want…Preacher. Get me…preacher."

  "One's comin
g," Gwen whispered. Tears ran down her face and fell on Jerry's body, mixing with his blood.

  David couldn't take it anymore. At all costs, dignity must be maintained. "One is not coming. " He made his voice loud so his dying son could hear it. "We don't pay mind to superstitious babble. Jerry, you won't shame me like this."

  He was ignored by everyone.

  Jerry groaned. "Black," he whispered. "My soul…so black…I killed them, Gwen. I killed them, and now hell…calls…and. . ."

  Coughing, Jerry's shoulders rose from the bed, but Gwen laid her hands on his shoulders and gently pressed him down. Other people were in the room. Susan and Emily and two of David's other wives. Three servants.

  David frowned. There were too many people if Jerry was going to run his mouth.

  Jerry's coughing stopped. His breathing settled, and his eyes opened once more. David fought back a curse. He did not want to see his son die, but if the boy was going to die, he should get on with it.

  "Everyone leave," he ordered. "I want to be alone with my son."

  Gwen glared. "He's my son, too!" She pointed at the others. "And their son and their brother. We stay."

  Damn the woman. Could she never do as she was ordered?

  "Mamma, shouldn't ha…killed Amel. Sorry…bout…them all. " Jerry's voice faded, but it was still strong enough to hear. His eyes drifted to his sisters, his other mothers. "Sor-sorry."

  Damn the boy and his runaway mouth. Looking to his other children, David swallowed. Not one sign of grief showed in their eyes. Emily smiled satisfaction. A slight curve touched one corner of Susan's lips. She did not look at her brother. She looked at him.

  "Who did this to you?" Gwen demanded. "Who murdered you?" She shook Jerry's shoulder. "Tell me. Who murdered you!"

  "Tu…Turner."

  Jerry's eyes closed, but his breathing continued. David remained by his son's side when the doctor arrived. There was little she could do. They waited, hour by hour, while Jerry's breathing grew shallower. A priest arrived, but was refused admittance on David's orders. Twilight came, and with the setting sun, Jerry's final breath was drawn.

  Weeping, Gwen was pulled from the room. One by one, the others left. The servants, his other wives, and Emily. Only Susan remained with David and his dead son, the intended recipient of everything he had built in this life.