The Stewards of Reed, Volume 1: The Rise of Fallon

by Wark, RM

  Fallon was so wrapped up in everything that had happened – his dream, the fires, Steward Isaiah being shot with an arrow, the beautiful girl, the leader of the Komanites, the people who lost their lives – that he did not realize Elder Anne had failed to show up for the ceremony. Her husband, Zachariah, held back until the ceremony was over, and then slowly approached the Steward.

  Elder Anne, at the ripe old age of eighty-seven, had died in her sleep earlier that day. She died with the knowledge that Fallon had finally been accepted by the remaining Elders. She died in peace.

  *************

  He had lost thirteen men in the raid, but his mind was primarily on the one person he almost lost. “Wizards be damned, how could you be so foolish? You could have died!”

  Jezebel had never seen her father so angry, and she cowered behind her mother in the dining hall. “I -- I was only trying to protect you,” she finally stammered.

  “You should not have been there in the first place; and besides, I do not need your protection.” Silas was positively fuming, his fists clenched.

  “But he was going to hurt you!” Jezebel pleaded.

  “That boy would not be alive today if you had not interfered,” yelled Silas, pounding the table. “His makeshift sword was no match for my bow and arrow. He just needed to come a few steps closer so I could be certain I would hit my target. Instead, I nearly shot my daughter. My daughter who was supposed to be at home with her mother, not in the midst of a raid.”

  Tears welled up in Jezebel’s eyes and her lower lip trembled.

  Silas stared hard at his daughter. “I am surprised that boy did not hurt you. He certainly had the opportunity.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “In truth, I do not know what stopped him.” His voice was softer now, the anger of his earlier words replaced with a certain sense of fear and sadness that comes with knowing how easily your child could have died, right before your very own eyes.

  “I am sorry, Father.”

  “Go now, go to your room,” Silas said.

  Jezebel took off sobbing down the hallway.

  Through all of this Zahara said nothing. She had been worried sick over the disappearance of her daughter several days earlier, and she was beyond angry at Jezebel for risking her life so foolishly. But she knew that she would only be stoking the fire if she dared to utter a word. She walked to her husband and forced her way into his initially reluctant arms. She held Silas for a long time, until his heartbeat was not so strong, was not so quick. Then she kissed him softly and went in search of her daughter.

  *************

  Gentry spent most of the spring, along with his father and several other men, rebuilding the storage barn in Durham that had been destroyed during the Komanite raid. In truth, Gentry thought the Komanites had done them a favor. The barn had been an eyesore and was falling apart anyway. Nevertheless, Gentry knew these were not the kinds of things you said aloud – especially when lives were lost.

  It was almost summer before Gentry was able to make another trip up to Colton. In the time he had been observing Dennison’s gang from a distance, Gentry had learned quite a bit about his two remaining targets. Clive still lived with his mother, an angry woman with hair as red as her son’s and a mouth that did not stop. Much to Gentry’s annoyance, Clive rarely ever seemed to be alone – he was either walking in Dennison’s shadow, with the gang at the Settler’s Inn or at home with his mother. It would have been one thing if the mother was an invalid or going senile, but this woman was still as sharp as a tack, very much mobile and overly suspicious of every little sound. Getting Clive would not be easy.

  Dennison had a house of his own, and until recently had been living alone. Before the previous winter had set in, Gentry noticed that a rotund woman with small eyes and flat brown hair was spending more and more time with Dennison. When he returned this summer, he found the rotund woman was now a bit on the gaunt side, cradling a small baby in her arms. Dennison was a father.

  This revelation shook Gentry to his core. He could not imagine anyone wanting to have a child with someone like Dennison, and he could not imagine someone like Dennison having a baby. He knew that if he moved forth with his plans, he would be leaving the baby boy fatherless. Was it fair to the child to leave him without a father? Was it fair to the child to leave him with a father like Dennison?

  Gentry grappled with this moral dilemma for some time to no avail. So instead he focused his attention on Clive, the man who had just kicked a dog for no other reason than it had dared to wag its tail at him as he walked towards his mother’s little blue house.

  Gentry continued to watch from a distance. “His day shall come,” he muttered. “His day shall come.”

  *************

  Lady Dinah did not venture from her castle on Mt. Xavier until well after the start of summer. Lady Blythe was still unwell and Lady Dinah had not felt comfortable leaving her, even under the trusting care of Abigail. The poor thing had yet to say a word, although Abigail reported that the wizard cried out in her sleep often.

  Eventually Lady Dinah’s mind wandered back to her mother’s journal and the set spell. She still very much wanted to help Steward Isaiah, but now she was driven by something else – her own curiosity. She wanted to read her mother’s journals; she wanted to learn more about the woman that could be so distant to her, yet so warm to everyone else. She wanted to know what her mother thought about, her hopes, her fears. Most importantly, she wondered if the journals would finally reveal the answer to the question that had been bothering Lady Dinah since shortly before her mother’s death: Who is my real father?

  Once again she prepared to leave the safety of her purple mountain, amid the protests of her loyal helpers.

  “Where are you headed to this time, my lady?” inquired Gordon.

  “Aberdeen. Thorpe, Lucerne and Middleton, to be exact.”

  “But, my lady,” protested Abigail, “it is not safe in those places, so close to Durango. They say there is a war with the East there.”

  Lady Dinah had received some troubling correspondence from Lord Jameson in Cortez, one of the largest villages in Durango, which gave some credence to Abigail’s concerns. But the wizard was undeterred. “I am not going to Durango; I am going to Aberdeen,” she replied. She chose to ignore the fact that two of the villages she was planning to visit were barely a day’s ride away from the Durango border.

  “Please, my lady, let me go with you this time,” implored Gordon.

  Lady Dinah held Gordon’s gaze for some time. She knew this journey would be more difficult than her previous trips to the Laureline Region; the terrain was much more rugged and unforgiving. Having a helper with her might prove useful. “Aye, all right,” she said finally. “But I shall send you back if you end up being more trouble than it is worth.”

  “Aye, my lady,” said Gordon excitedly as he bowed. “I shall be right back with my things.”

  After they picked up a horse and a pony from Otto, Lady Dinah and Gordon set out towards the east and then south across the Stratford border into the high steppes of eastern Aberdeen. It was a barren sort of beauty with rugged hills giving way to large expanses of flat, treeless grassland. They suffered under the intense heat of the midday sun, and shivered under blankets during the night, but they made good progress and before too long they could see the Village of Thorpe in the distance.

  *************

  It had been several weeks since the Komanite raid. The scratch and bruise from the arrow that nearly penetrated the Steward’s skin was gone, the storage barns were being rebuilt with surprising speed, and life in the Village of Reed was slowly returning to normal. Yet the angry calls for raising an army and exacting revenge on the Komanites persisted. The village was divided on this issue. Many argued in favor of an army and the benefits it would provide; many argued against the army and the dreadful prospects of war. One side viewed an army as the only means to save the village; the other side viewed it as the means by which the village would
ultimately be destroyed. The Steward did not know where he stood on the issue, and thus decided to take leave of the village for a short while to clear his head.

  Knowing how much young Fallon was interested in Bartow – and the university in particular –Steward Isaiah planned a special trip. It was part belated birthday present, part “thank you for saving the village and my life,” and it was everything that Fallon had wanted. They crossed over the Main Bridge and the guards waved them through the western gate without even bothering to question them. “This must be our lucky day,” chuckled the Steward.

  Fallon was completely mesmerized by what he saw: towering buildings with elevated walkways; people bustling about between the various outdoor markets; lively music coming from nearby pubs; the energy of it all. “This is incredible,” he said in complete awe.

  “We should head to the inn first. Gentry mentioned the Cornerstone Inn and Tavern was quite nice. I believe it is only a few blocks that way,” said the Steward.

  They checked into the inn, made certain their horses were attended to, and then headed back out into the streets of Bartow. The first day they mostly walked around the town, taking in all the sights and sounds and smells. It was a world apart from everything he had known in Reed, and Fallon was completely enamored.

  The following day the Steward took his bright pupil to the university in Bartow. Elder Tomar had arranged for a special tour with one of his old friends from school, so Fallon and the Steward were able to see areas of the university not typically open to the general public. They sat in on a philosophy lecture, they toured the art and natural history museum in its entirety, they were treated to a rather tasty lunch at the university’s in-house pub – the Toasty Scholar – and they roamed freely in the library for several hours. It was a wonderful but nevertheless exhausting day.

  As they walked back through the streets of Bartow towards the Cornerstone Inn and Tavern, Fallon took notice of a small bookstore. A strange feeling overcame him and he stopped dead in his tracks. He had only felt this way once before – that time he came upon the small cabin in the Cadian Forest.

  “What is it, Fallon?” asked the Steward.

  “I do not know,” he replied, staring at the bookstore.

  “Would you like to go in?”

  “I am not certain,” he said hesitantly, yet he headed for the entrance.

  It was a dimly lit store packed to the ceiling with shelves of dusty old books. The Steward began glancing through a few books that caught his interest near the front door. Fallon continued on, walking deeper into the bookstore. A small spiral staircase leading to a second level was at the back of the store. Without even thinking Fallon began to walk up the stairs, but with each step came a growing sense of fear. Still, he kept climbing.

  The second level seemed to have even more dusty old books, but these were not as well organized; some were haphazardly placed on shelves, some were stacked into towers seemingly on the verge of collapse. Fallon walked through the maze of disorganized books, taking care with each step. He literally froze, unable to move, when he finally laid eyes on the source of his fear. The dark-haired man in a long black coat had his back turned to Fallon and did not notice the boy. Fallon stood there for a few minutes – though it felt much longer – watching as the man lifted up one book, flipped through it, set it down, and lifted up the next. Eventually the man became aware that he was being watched and he turned around quickly. Fallon jumped back a bit, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process, but somehow he regained his composure and stood firm.

  “What are you looking at?” scowled the man.

  Much to his own surprise, Fallon did not flinch; he did not move at all. His heart was racing but he still could not persuade his feet to move.

  The man started walking towards Fallon, stopping just inches from his face. Being a rather tall (albeit skinny) boy, Fallon stood eye-to-eye with the man for a few moments. The man’s deep black eyes were nothing like Fallon had ever seen before…like the darkness of an endless abyss.

  “Fallon, are you up there?” The sound of Isaiah’s voice brought an end to the staring contest.

  The man in black pushed his way past Fallon and headed down the spiral staircase. Shortly thereafter Fallon followed, his body shaking slightly.

  “Who was that?” asked the Steward, staring after the man in black as he rushed out of the store.

  “I do not know,” replied Fallon.

  The man was Lord Cephas.

  *************

  Lady Dinah’s thoughts turned to Lord Edmund. At the suggestion of Lord Clintock, she had sent him on a covert journey the year prior to find out more about what was happening in the East. She had received one cryptic message from him since. It stated only that there would be plenty to discuss at the next Council of Wizards meeting.

  She had not seen Lord Edmund in several years, not since the previous Council of Wizards meeting. She vaguely recalled being embarrassed for him when she learned he lived in a cave just outside the Village of Thorpe in Aberdeen. In truth she found cave-dwelling to be beneath a wizard. Even Lady Blythe managed to live in a cabin, of sorts.

  It had been easy enough to find the Village of Thorpe, but finding the cave was a different story. “We could be out here for months chasing all the shadows that we mistake for caves,” she complained, after spending nearly a week searching for Lord Edmund’s home. “We must make our way into Thorpe if we do not find the cave soon. We are running low on supplies. I am not accustomed to providing for others on my journeys.”

  The dwarf was smart enough not to reply, there was no point in talking to the wizard when she was frustrated. They set up camp for yet another night and Lady Dinah fell into a fitful sleep. At some point Gordon was awakened by the sound of an animal poking around the camp. It took a while before he saw the small shape of a fox sniffing around the edge of the fire.

  Thinking a fox would taste good for breakfast, Gordon dared not move until the animal was closer. The fox continued to sniff around and eventually made his way over towards Gordon’s tent. The animal was just barely out of reach when Gordon decided to pounce. “I have you!” he yelled, jumping out of his tent and on top of the fox with surprising agility. But just as he started to close his hands around the fox’s neck, a big explosion of sorts forced him backwards. When the smoke cleared, the fox was gone, and a rather angry man stood in its place. Gordon edged backwards along the ground, still facing the angry man who appeared ready to strike his foe.

  “Lord Edmund!” cried Lady Dinah, who had been awakened by the commotion.

  The sound of his name was enough to stop the man’s advances towards Gordon. Instead he turned towards the other person who had been sleeping in the camp that night.

  “I thought I felt a wizard nearby,” he said. “How do you do, my Queen?”

  She nodded at his bow and then approached him slowly. “Lord Edmund, this is my friend, Gordon,” she said, directing her hand towards the dwarf.

  “Your friend Gordon tried to kill me.”

  “No, I tried to kill a fox,” replied Gordon, quite confused.

  “Lord Edmund is a wizard of many talents,” Lady Dinah explained. Turning her attention back to Lord Edmund, she said, “My friend did not mean to harm you, I assure you. In fact, we have been looking for you.”

  Lord Edmund raised an eyebrow in surprise. “It was dangerous for you to come so far in search of me, and with only a dwarf for protection,” he scolded. “The Eastern Wizards have been sneaking about lately. Had they found you before I did, they would have certainly killed you.”

  *************

  When Adam arrived at his door one morning in late Pentay, Hammond had assumed he was looking for Gentry. “The boy is not here at the moment, my friend.”

  “It is not Gentry that I have come to see,” Adam replied. “The Steward would like to discuss some important matters with you, Hammond. Is now a good time?”

  In truth, Edith had been planning to cook lamb t
hat evening (Hammond’s favorite) and he was not keen on leaving, but he knew one must never refuse the call of the Steward. A part of him feared it might have something to do with Gentry and his moods. Hammond took a deep breath and sighed. “Let me grab my coat and I shall join you straight away.”

  Later that afternoon Hammond sat in the Steward’s study, where Fallon often sat during his lessons. The Steward patiently explained that the Elders were interested in raising an army to better protect the village against any future Komanite attack. “There was much debate amongst the Elders regarding this matter, but we did eventually reach a compromise. An army shall be raised for defensive purposes only. I have no interest in seeking revenge on the Komanites and perpetuating what I fear would be an endless cycle of violence. I only want to deter them from any further attacks,” the Steward said adamantly.

  “Aye, sir.” Hammond said, his voice somber and contemplative.

  “As the village has never had an army before, we are in need of someone to help us assemble and train one. Your name was mentioned by several as the perfect person to help us with this task. I understand you are well versed in handling many different weapons, and it was suggested that your hunting and outdoor skills might prove useful. Would you be agreeable to such an assignment?”

  “If this is truly what you and the Elders believe is necessary for the village, then I shall be honored to help in whatever way I can.” Hammond tried his best to sound confident, but in truth he was worried. He had been of the mindset that an army would bring nothing but trouble for the village, and yet here he was being asked to raise one.