"I assure you, madam, there has been no mistake. Darius Giles committed an act of treason and forfeited his life as well as his property," the official coldly replied.
"My husband is dead? You killed him?"
"No, madam. Unfortunately, the traitor escaped My Lord's justice." Celeste let out a sigh of relief, but that relief was quickly replaced by renewed sorrow as the official finished his statement. "He was murdered in his cell by one of his accomplices. Time is running out, madam. I suggest you see to yourself and your son."
Azerick’s knees trembled and his stomach felt like a fish was flopping around inside him. He cried out and ran to hold onto his mother who was also weeping tears of utter anguish.
Celeste consolidated her courage and turned to her son. "Go, Azerick, collect your things, and hurry now."
Azerick’s mother rushed him inside to collect some clothes. Tearfully, Azerick filled a sea bag he took with him on the occasions his father took him out on a voyage. The smell of the bag and the thought of his father brought back fresh tears. He filled the bag quickly, but on an impulse he took half his clothes back out and ran with his half-empty bag to the study.
His heart was tortured on which books to take and which ones to leave behind. He quickly made up his mind and grabbed his favorite books. Some were not the most enjoyable to read, some of those he had to leave behind, but the ones he took he knew he would need so that no matter what happened, he would still be able to advance his education and learn.
As he and his mother returned to the courtyard, the compassionless official had one of the soldiers do a cursory search of their possessions. The guard set aside a small jewelry box of his mother’s. Celeste let out a small cry of protest, but she held herself back from lunging at the man or engaging him in a verbal altercation she knew was hopeless. The guard held up the books Azerick had packed, flipped through them to see if anything was hidden within the pages, and then looked to his superior for instructions.
The small, weasel-faced official took one of Azerick’s books from the guard, read the cover, and seemed to ponder whether or not to allow him to have them. Books, particularly books of this quality, were rather valuable. Azerick did not know what he would do without his books. He was sure that if the man told him he could not have them he would attack him. He swore he would die before living without his books. He looked from the official to the guard and eyed the dagger at the man’s belt. He would snatch that blade and kill this man with it if he could, or with tooth and nail if need be.
Perhaps the man saw the look of potential fury in the young boy’s eyes and did not want to be forced to restrain and possibly hurt him. He was sure the mother would come to the boy's rescue if he had to put hands on him, and that could lead to unnecessary bloodshed. This was distasteful business as it was, family of a traitor or not, and he lacked the stomach for such things. Whatever his reason, Azerick could care less. What was important was that the man tossed his book back to the guard who stuffed it into his sack and returned it to him.
Azerick and his mother were ushered out of the courtyard and onto the streets. Word had circulated quickly for there were already several people in front of the manor. Some wore accusing stares, and scorn was evident on their faces. Others had looks varying from pity to indifference. Regardless of what any of them felt, none spoke up in either condemnation or defense. The last thing Azerick saw was the few servants standing by as the guards inspected their possessions before ushering them out of the gates.
Those who they had called neighbor or friend made no offer of shelter to the widow and her son. Celeste did her best to hold back the tears and be a beacon of strength for her son. She was unsure where to go, but given the small amount of coin they were allowed to keep, their options were severely limited. They soon found themselves in the common quarter where they took shelter at an inn.
***
The Duke’s men worked quickly, and within a few days, nearly every man who sailed into port on Storm Runner that night was brought in for questioning. Unfortunately, the magistrate’s questions produced very few answers. None of the crew claimed to know anything about the secret cargo. Apparently, the Captain had not told a single man on his ship about it, and none of them had seen it brought aboard. Even his first mate knew nothing about it being brought on board much less who was to receive it once they reached Southport.
Duke Ulric promised to inquire further and would send a courier with any news he discovered. Lord Crassus did not envy the crew of the Storm Runner, but that was not his concern. Perhaps it would even turn up some new details. He decided that he had done all he could, called for his coach, and set out for Brelland to report what had happened to the prisoner and his subsequent findings to the King in person.
The magistrate fell asleep in his coach almost immediately, and by the time he woke it was morning again. The city of Southport lay nearly a hundred miles behind him. The trip took just over a very uncomfortable week before he reached the gates of the grand city of Brelland.
Lord Crassus went straight to his home, took a long, hot bath, dressed in his court clothes, and went to inform King Jarvin Ollander everything he had learned, or had not learned. His manor house was thankfully close to the castle and was shortly waiting for his liege in the King’s audience chamber. He started to kneel as King Jarvin Ollander strode into the chamber.
“Please stand, Lord Crassus, it is only us today,” Jarvin insisted.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. I have returned from Southport with as much information as I could gather, which unfortunately is very little,” the magistrate explained. "The ship was carrying the artifact, as was suspected. It was intercepted by your Blackguards, and the Captain detained as ordered. He was kept in solitary confinement, allowed no visitors, and two guards were always posted on the outer door. However, when I arrived, the prisoner had been recently murdered by either an assassin with the assistance of a wizard, or a knife-wielding wizard working alone.”
“A wizard you say? Why say you a wizard?”
“The stone around the doorframe was melted away as if it were made of wax. The man was suspended face down from the roof, his hands and feet completely encased in the stone as if the stone had been molded and baked like clay around them.”
“This is very disturbing, Lord Crassus, very disturbing indeed.”
“I am doing everything in my power to find out who is behind this.”
“Half the nobles in my kingdom are likely behind this, or at least support it. If it were not for the favor of the commoners and the fear of rebellion, they would likely have forgone such trouble and had my head mounted on the walls already.”
“Have your guards brought the artifact to you yet?” the magistrate asked.
The weary king shook his head ruefully. “No, and they should have returned with it days ago. I fear it may be lost again and in the hands of my enemies. As morbid as it sounds, I hope my Blackguards were waylaid and killed. I shudder at the thought of being betrayed by those most sworn to me.”
“All of that trouble, the ship captain, probably an innocent man from everything that I have heard, dead, and we do not even possesses that for which men have died. It is very distressing, Your Majesty.”
Jarvin stared intently at his chief magistrate with his penetrating gaze. “I want you to assemble a team of my own special guard, and send them out on expeditions to locate these artifacts before my enemies do. I want them sent immediately.”
“At once, Your Majesty,” Crassus replied with a quick bow.
***
"Alton, what is the status on the recovery of my missing artifact?" Duke Ulric inquired of his chamberlain.
"Your Grace, I just received a missive from General Baneford. He reports that his mission was successful, although the cost in the lives of his men was quite high. He is waiting for further instructions at the prearranged location.”
“The cost is of no concern. That is what the General and his men are paid to do,” the du
ke replied without remorse or compassion. “I will write the General myself.”
Ulric penned his letter in neat, flowing script, sealed it with wax, and sent it off in the hands of a special courier. He was relieved to know General Baneford possessed the gauntlets. It was the first bit of good fortune he had achieved since he began plotting the over-throw from the day Jarvin’s existence had been declared. It was but one of several pieces of a puzzle he needed, and he would stop at nothing to get the others. The armor was the key to replacing Jarvin and his bloodline without sparking a revolution. Without it, he and his future offspring would always be the target of assassins displeased with the death of the Ollander line.
***
General Baneford was inspecting his men’s equipment at the camp they set up in the woods away from any of the main trade roads when his rider returned with Duke Ulric’s response. He took the missive inside his command tent before breaking the unmarked seal and reading its contents.
He examined the parchment with interest. Crushed grains of crystal glittered in the reflected light of the brazier like hoarfrost upon the frozen ground. The General knew the granulated crystals were part of a magical spell cast upon the sheets that would cause them to burst into flame at the touch of anyone other than the intended recipient. Even with that precaution, the Duke avoided using names or specifically referencing the artifacts.
General,
Congratulations upon the success of your mission. Continue to search for information in regards to that which I seek. I understand that it is likely to take some time to recover the scattered pieces, but do not delay or slacken in your efforts to locate them. You may use the pieces you recover to further aid you in the recovery of the rest. It would not do to have one of the King’s agents find any such items anywhere near my person until it is whole and I make my final move. I currently have other sources scouring archives across the kingdom and beyond, and I will send you any information I believe will aid in your duty to locate what I seek. I trust in your loyalty, discretion, and competence. Do not disappoint me.
General Baneford dropped the message into the brazier’s flames and stirred the ashes. Now his mission had turned into a scavenger hunt with little information to help guide him toward the target of his quest. Missions suffering from an acute lack of intelligence rarely ended well for the men charged with their success. However, he would do his best, just as he always has. Men rarely attained, and never earned, such a vaulted position as his by doing anything less.
***
In the weeks and months following the death of Azerick’s father and their subsequent eviction, his mother waited tables, took in laundry, and performed any menial task she could. She did whatever it took to care for her son; the only family she had left. When Azerick was not reading, he was running with other youths in the streets where he quickly learned how to pilfer quick bites of food he then took home to share with his mother. He was now the man of the house and he would take care of his mother no matter what.
The streets were his life now, and the street children his friends. Not friends precisely, more like cohorts or partners in crime. Azerick did not keep friends much beyond the necessity of the petty thefts that helped him and his mother survive. He was clever and educated, and he quickly took up something of a leadership role scouting targets and devising clever distractions to maximize the gain while minimizing the risk of being caught.
Although his mother worked hard, times were tough for them and she was not paid much. What little she made was just barely enough to pay for their room and board. The fat innkeeper charged his mother an unreasonable fee considering the amount of work she did, and he took part of her earnings to pay for things like broken mugs, plates, and the food she and Azerick ate at the inn.
What Azerick did not know was that sometimes she did not make enough working to ensure there was enough to eat and make the room payment. She sold what little jewelry she had when they were evicted, and when this money ran out she had to offer another sort of compensation to the innkeeper. Fortunately this was not often, and only under the most dire of circumstances. Each time she did, Celeste died just a little bit inside. Azerick saw the changes in his mother, but he thought it was only grief and sorrow. He could never have guessed the truth, and she would die before telling him.
The days, weeks, and months plodded on in seemingly grey monotony. What had once been a world full of color, life, and happiness now took on the dullness of simply existing and scavenging to survive. It was a typical, overcast day in the coastal city, and Azerick was scouting out the crowds and tables in one of the market corners when he spied a familiar face.
“Master Ewen!” Azerick yelled and raced across the square, all thoughts of the day’s foraging forgotten. “Master Ewen, I thought I’d never see you again. Where have you been? Why didn’t you come for us? I thought we were your friends? More than friends. My father called you brother, I know, I heard him say it many times.” Azerick was barely able to keep his voice from cracking.
Ewen glanced quickly left then right before fixing his former protégé with a hard look. “Quick, run over to that alley and wait for me. No questions now go!” Ewen whispered harshly. “Get away from me you little sneak thief!” he yelled at Azerick’s back as the boy ran to do what he was told.
Ewen wandered around the trade booths for a few minutes before slowly making his way toward the mouth of the alley to which he had ushered Azerick off. He looked briefly over his shoulder then quickly ducked inside.
Two buildings three stories tall formed the alley. Its brick and stucco walls cast the narrow passage in a perpetual gloom. Trash heaps were piled along its entire length. A stray dog picked through one pile while a cat chased a rat out of another. About a third of the way down its murky length, Azerick waited partially hidden in the deeper shadows against one wall. Ewen walked down the filth-strewn alley and let out a loud sigh as he looked down at his former pupil.
“What’s going on? Why do we have to stand in this waste-soaked alley to talk?” Azerick asked his old instructor and friend.
“Listen, son, I’m sorry it has to be like this, but you don’t understand what’s going on. Quite frankly, I don’t know either. Please believe me that I tried to find out. I would’a taken in both you and your mother in an instant, I’m sure you know. I went to the constable and demanded to know what was goin’ on. He told me I’d best mind my own business if I knew what was good for me. Well, if I always done what was good for me instead of what I knew was right, I wouldn’t be worth a damn. You remember that, boy. By your father’s honor, you remember that real good.”
Ewen paused and took a deep breath before continuing. “I know damn good and well your father ain’t no traitor to the crown. Fact is he was more loyal to the bastard king than most these high snobby nobles ever were. So I started askin’ around, mostly around the docks where me and your father are well known, and where I knew I could trust some folks. He was taken by the King’s Blackguard after they found some things on his ship, and they stuck him in one of the local jails. Then they sent off for an official questioner from the King’s court. Next thing you know, he’s found guilty of high treason and—and was gone.
“Apparently, word got back to someone that I was askin’ questions, because the next thing you know I’m dragged off to the castle and thrown in a cell. Some muckity muck official and about half a dozen guards came to see me a couple days later, askin’ me if I was in league with your father. They told me I shouldn’t get myself worked up over a traitor or his family, plus a few other less than respectful things about your father. Well this got me pretty riled up I can tell you, and quick as a wink, I snatched a truncheon off one of those lazy-eyed guards. I bet they didn’t expect an old man to have that much gumption or move that quick.” Ewen let out a short bark of laughter at the memory.
“I took that club and bopped that smart court sissy right upside his powdered face. This woke them guards up pretty quick and they came at me, bu
t I was ready for em. I surprised em again by chargin’ right into the mess of them and we went at it for a bit. I gave em hell pretty good, but there were a lot more of them than me, and I fell to their numbers in pretty short order, but I bet at least two of em didn’t feel like comin’ to work the next day! Well that official was screeching like a cat caught in a mousetrap as the guards worked me over real good.
“They left me in that cell a few more days before they came back. Different guards, a couple of them were any way, and the same official. He had a nice shiner still, I can tell ya. He said to me that if I so much as spoke the name of your father or had anything to do with you or your mother, I’d hang for treason or at least conspiracy. My wife, kids, and grandkids would be out in the street just like they’d done to you,” he said, his voice dropping off in to a remorseful tear choked whisper.
“I’m sorry, boy. I’d do anything, give anything for you and your mother, I hope ya know. If it were just me, I’d say to hell with the Duke, his slimy official, and his threats and I’d do as right as I could. But I can’t risk my family. Their lives don’t belong to me to put them in that kind of jeopardy. I hope you understand, son. Please tell me ya do.”
Azerick embraced his friend and former tutor. “I understand, Ewen. I really do. It would not do any good to take those kinds of risks, especially for your family.”
“Here, son, take this,” Ewen said, handing Azerick a small pouch of coins. “It isn’t much, but it will buy a couple meals at least. My loyalty to your father cost me several of my clients, but I’m still gettin’ by. I’m better off without their kind anyway. I wouldn’t work for ‘em for all the gold in the kingdom,” Ewen said and spat on the ground. “You take care of yourself, boy, and take care of your mother. If there is ever anything I can do for ya, you know I’ll do it. I just can’t risk my family.”
The Sorcerer's Path Box Set: Book 1-4 Page 5
