The Stewards of Reed, Volume 2: The Dungeons of Cetahl

by RM Wark

  “Beyond those mountains,” Fallon replied, nodding towards the peaks of the distant Atlian Mountains. “I had a dream. I think Casper was trying to warn me that it was time to leave, or that you were in danger – perhaps it was both. I do not know. But in this dream, there were different mountain peaks – unlike any that I have seen before – surrounded by a deep ravine with a pale green lake. Jezebel wanted me to go there for some reason.”

  *************

  When his guards returned the next morning without the prisoners, Silas knew his hand had been forced. Though Zahara tried to talk him out of it, Silas knew he must call upon the ranger. Time was of the essence.

  Silas never cared for the ranger much. The man had stumbled upon Koman more than a decade prior, but he had done little to integrate into their community. He never married, and he did not seem to have any friends. He mostly kept to himself. If it were not for the spectacle the ranger made of himself every winter solstice – when he would drink himself into a stupor and need to be carried off from the pubs – most Komanites would not even know of him.

  Silas would have demanded that the ranger leave long ago had it not been for his navigation and tracking skills. Such skills had been especially useful during the previous two raids on Reed. The ranger could lead a team of horses across the most difficult of terrains in complete darkness. But he demanded a high fee for those services, and the Komanite coffers were never very plentiful.

  His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. “Aye?”

  Len opened the door. “I have brought the ranger, Minister. As you requested.”

  “Good. I should like to talk to both of you.”

  Len’s eyebrows darted upwards at the unexpected request, but he quickly recovered and motioned for the ranger to enter the dining hall.

  “Good morning,” Silas quipped to the man with broad shoulders and a blank stare.

  The ranger just nodded in reply.

  Silas tried his best to ignore the man’s rudeness. “Forgive me. I do not believe I ever learned your proper name,” he prompted.

  “Most folks around here call me Ranger. But my given name is Derek.”

  “Have you a preference?”

  “No.”

  “I see,” said Silas with a frown. “Has Len apprised you of the situation?”

  “Aye.”

  “And would you be willing to track down our missing prisoners and see to their safe return?”

  “Perhaps,” replied the stoic ranger.

  When the ranger failed to elaborate, Silas was forced to press him once more. “What are your concerns, Ranger?”

  “I am only one man. It may be difficult for me to bring back both alive—”

  “That is why Len shall go with you.”

  The ranger glanced at Len. “No,” he insisted. “I work alone.”

  “Not this time. You shall need help, and Len is our best guard.”

  Len smiled at the unexpected compliment, but in truth, Silas thought little more of the man than he did his other guards. Silas only knew that he did not fully trust the ranger – that he would feel more comfortable if a loyal guard were also involved in the search. Len just happened to be the guard readily at hand.

  “Fine,” the ranger replied, his face expressionless. “But the gold must be worth my time … especially if I must hold your guard’s hand while I hunt down your prisoners.”

  “And how much gold would make it worth your time?” Silas made it clear he was irritated, but the ranger seemed oblivious.

  “Five hundred gold pieces,” the ranger replied casually.

  “Wizards be damned! Five hundred!” That amount was double what Silas had expected.

  “Aye.”

  Silas stared at the ranger for some time. He had learned from his previous experience with the ranger that the man was not one to negotiate.

  “All right. Five hundred gold pieces … if you capture the prisoners and return before the winter solstice. However, your reward shall be ten gold pieces less for every month thereafter that it takes to apprehend them.”

  Len opened his mouth as if to speak, but the only sound that came forth was a choking cough.

  The ranger nodded in his direction. “I shall not share my fee with your guard.”

  “Do not worry,” Silas said with a sigh. “I shall pay Len separately. Five hundred gold pieces each.” Silas had not wanted to part with that much gold, but he needed to be sure his guard was motivated. The sight of Len’s dropped jaw was proof enough of that motivation.

  The room fell quiet once again. Silas could tell that the ranger was deep in thought.

  “And what if it becomes necessary to take a prisoner’s life? Shall I still receive my fee?”

  “I care not what you do to the larger Reedite, but I would prefer that the smaller prisoner, Fallon, be taken alive if possible. Alas, I understand that things … happen,” replied Silas. “I shall require proof of death,” he continued. “The larger Reedite has a distinct scar on his face. Fallon has a special marking upon his chest.”

  If the mention of a special marking was of interest to the ranger, he gave no indication. The ranger looked once more at Len before returning his gaze to Silas. A few uncomfortable moments passed before the ranger extended his hand.

  “Aye, Minister. I shall hunt down your missing prisoners.”

  *************

  The mountain path brought them to the Stockton Bridge, and soon they found themselves on the outskirts of the Village of Colton. Much to their relief, they had not seen a single Komanite on their journey. Nevertheless, Fallon was ill at ease.

  The chill in the night air was particularly savage, and Gentry set about trying to get a small fire going while Fallon searched for more wood. The fire eventually took hold, and Gentry nursed it to life with his breath.

  “It is going to be a long, cold night, my friend,” remarked Fallon, drawing his knees up to his chest as he watched the fire.

  “Aye.” Gentry looked towards Colton. He knew the small brown shack that Luca once called home was only an hour’s walk away. It would provide some shelter from the cold, but Gentry could not bring himself to return there. The memories were still too painful. So instead he poked at the fire.

  A coyote howled in the distance.

  “Perhaps I should go searching for some long sticks we might fashion into spears,” said Fallon with a frown. “I would feel better if we had some way to protect ourselves.” His eyes scanned the surroundings and then focused again on the fire.

  “We have this,” offered Gentry as he pulled out his knife from his stocking.

  “How did you manage to get that?”

  “I am not certain how the Komanite guards missed it,” Gentry replied. “It has been in my stocking this entire time.”

  Fallon frowned. “Well, it is better than nothing, but I would still like to find a large stick of sorts.”

  “Do you really believe you would be safer wondering around in the dark searching for a stick?” Gentry chided. “Stay by the fire, Fallon. It shall keep the wild animals away. And besides, I am rather handy with a knife. We shall be all right.”

  “Aye. All right. But I do not think I shall sleep much tonight.”

  “Neither do I.”

  The men sat in silence for some time before Fallon spoke again. “How long would it take to get through the Colton Gap?”

  Gentry looked up, surprised. “Why do you ask?”

  “I was thinking I would follow the Cook Mountains north into Stratford. Perhaps those mountain peaks with the pale green lake are up that way.”

  “I would not risk the Colton Gap this time of year,” cautioned Gentry. “Besides, I have traveled that way before, and I do not recall any deep ravine with a pale green lake. Perhaps you—”

  But before Gentry could finish his thought, the conversation was interrupted by the sound of something approaching. Both men jumped up. Gentry brought forth his knife, and Fallon grabbed a piece of wood that h
e had set aside for the fire.

  A coyote emerged from behind a tree and growled at them.

  “He is foaming at the mouth, Gentry. This one is rabid.”

  They watched as the coyote paced back and forth. Without warning, the coyote leapt towards Fallon. From the corner of his eye, Fallon saw Gentry charge towards them, and then there was a blur of movement.

  The coyote yelped and fell to the ground, an arrow sticking out of its chest.

  Wide-eyed, Fallon looked towards Gentry, who had stopped short, his knife still in hand. Fallon was filled with an odd sensation he had not felt since his encounter with the strange man in the old bookstore in Bartow years ago.

  They heard the footsteps of someone approaching. Before long, an old man stepped out from the darkness beyond their campsite. It was a face Gentry knew well.

  “Wizards be damned. What are you doing here?”

  Fallon turned from the old man to Gentry. “You know him?”

  “Aye, he does,” answered the old man. “This is not the first time I have had to come to his rescue.”

  “And who might you be?”

  The old man frowned at Fallon. “Unappreciated, it seems.”

  “Thank you, sir,” mumbled Fallon sheepishly. “But—”

  The old man cut him off. “Enough with these questions. Let us eat and get some rest. We have a long journey tomorrow.”

  “We do?” Fallon and Gentry said in unison.

  “Aye.” The old man pulled out some bread and hard cheese from his sack. “Are you hungry?”

  Gentry smiled. “It is all right, Fallon. This is the man who saved me from the thieves, and now he has saved you from a rabid beast. And – more importantly – he has food.”

  *************

  When Zeke awoke, he found the Steward asleep in a chair by his bedside. The Steward seemed thinner, the lines of worry upon his face much deeper. He looks much older than I remember.

  Zeke had no recollection of how he came to be in his bed. His last thoughts were of rocking Holley. The memory of his dog brought tears to his eyes, and he moved to wipe them away.

  Steward Isaiah opened his eyes at the slight sound of Zeke’s movement.

  “You are awake!” the Steward said, his relief obvious.

  “Why are you here? How did I get here?” Zeke asked, slowly pulling himself up into a sitting position.

  “Careful. You have been sick and feverish for almost two weeks now,” the Steward explained.

  Zeke struggled to make sense of it all. “Two weeks!” He felt a bit light-headed. I must have caught a fever from the cold.

  “Your father is here.”

  “He is?” Zeke asked, surprised.

  The Steward was frank, and his tone somber. “We were not certain you would ever wake up.”

  It was only then that Zeke fully appreciated how sick he had been.

  “I should let your father know that you are awake now. Elder Catherine has been caring for you. She shall want to see you as well.”

  Isaiah patted Zeke on the shoulder and stood up. Zeke noticed the Steward now walked with a cane, and that his movements were slow and unsteady. When the Steward opened a door, a dog darted into the room and jumped onto Zeke’s bed. The dog proceeded to lick the boy all over his face.

  “Did we get another dog?” asked Zeke, confused. The dog reminded him a little of Holley, but its fur was pure white.

  “We shall discuss the dog a little later, Zeke. First, I must find your father and Elder Catherine.” Steward Isaiah turned and disappeared down the hall.

  *************

  Jezebel sat in front of a vanity as her mother diligently combed through her hair. The young woman was wearing a beautiful yellow dress, but her eyes were puffy, and everything about her exuded a desperate sadness.

  “I do not want to marry Dirk, Mother.”

  Zahara pressed her lips together. “You must. Your father and I insist.”

  “But I do not love him.”

  “That does not matter,” Zahara replied. Her tone was calm yet cold.

  “How can you say that?” snapped Jezebel, her despair giving way to anger. “You and Father are always talking of the importance of love.”

  Zahara stepped back and stared at the reflection of her daughter in the mirror. “Do you know what your father shall do to you should you refuse to marry? Do you know what your father shall do to Dirk – the guard who slept while the Reedite escaped?”

  Her mother’s questions stung. “He only slept because of the tea I gave him,” Jezebel said, but her mother already knew that.

  “And your father only forgave him because you are carrying his child.”

  It had been her mother who had first thought of the story. It was a logical way to explain Jezebel’s condition, and it might actually help Dirk. “Your father cannot so easily punish the sleeping guard when he discovers that you are in love with Dirk,” her mother had noted at the time.

  Despite her initial reluctance – “But I do not love Dirk, I love Fallon!” – Jezebel ultimately conceded to the wisdom of her mother’s plan. In the end, Jezebel could not bring herself to admit to her father that she was carrying a Reedite’s child.

  I shall tell the truth when Fallon returns, she had thought. I shall be stronger then.

  Fortunately, Dirk had readily gone along with the lie. “I would do anything for you, Jezebel,” he had said when she begged him to pretend to be the child’s father so that she might escape her father’s wrath. “I have always loved you. I still do. And I shall love the child as if it truly were my own.”

  Dirk never asked her to name the true father of the unborn child. He never questioned her about the tea that had made him sleep. And though he was clearly disappointed, he did not argue when she informed him that she was not interested in marriage.

  Her father was of a different mind, however. Despite her protests, he had insisted that she marry Dirk.

  “The daughter of the Minister shall not have a child out of wedlock!”

  And so it was.

  “I should have run away with Fallon,” Jezebel moaned, her eyes welling up with tears.

  Zahara’s face contorted in anger. “I cannot believe that you – the daughter of the Minister – fell in love with a Reedite. Have you no shame?”

  “Fallon is a good person,” Jezebel insisted. “And if other Reedites are anything like him, then I know they are not as evil as Father claims.”

  “Foolish child, you know nothing.”

  “I know all about how the Reedites banished Minister Seth – but that was over five hundred years ago! Is it not time to make peace? Have we even tried?”

  Zahara sighed impatiently. “It is not that simple, Jezebel.”

  “Why not?”

  *************

  Why not?

  Zahara had asked the very same question of her husband long ago, before they were married. She watched the tears pour down Jezebel’s cheeks and her own heart broke a little at the sight of her distraught daughter.

  “It is time you knew about your father’s gift, Jezebel.”

  “He is an alchemist. I know this already, Mother.”

  Zahara shook her head. “No, my child. That is not his gift.”

  Zahara sat down in a chair next to Jezebel. She collected her thoughts and began to recount the tale that Silas had told her when they first fell in love.

  “Five hundred years ago, twin successors to the Steward of Reed were born: Soren and Seth. They both proved worthy of Stewardship. However, Soren’s mark was the same as every other Steward before him, whereas Seth’s was not. Seth’s mark was like your father’s, and for that reason – and that reason alone – Steward Elijah elected to banish him.

  “Not everyone agreed with the decision. They did not understand why there could not be two Stewards; they did not understand why Seth, who had done nothing wrong, could not be permitted to remain within the Village of Reed. So scores of Reedites followed Seth into exile. He became
their new Steward, or ‘Minister’ as they called him.

  “They settled down here, in what is now Koman, as it was one of the few places in the Laureline Region that went unclaimed, and Minister Seth was not keen on inciting conflict with the neighboring villages. But life in Koman proved difficult, especially given the infertile soil.

  “Some of the Komanites decided to return to Reed to collect the livestock and other provisions they had initially left behind, so as to make life in Koman more bearable. But their families who had remained in Reed refused to part with anything – they refused to honor the Komanites’ rightful claim.”

  Jezebel sighed. “I know all this, Mother. And so the Komanites began to raid that which was rightfully theirs, and such is the life that I know today.”

  Zahara shook her head.

  “That is not all, Jezebel. Seth attempted to reason with Soren on several occasions regarding the matter, but the discussions did not prove fruitful. The brothers began to quarrel, and the Komanites were forced to raid.

  “When Seth learned that Steward Elijah had passed on to the next life, he decided to confront his brother once more, thinking perhaps his brother would prove more reasonable without concern over their predecessor’s judgment. But Soren was as obstinate as ever. He accused Seth of returning for the sole purpose of claiming Stewardship of Reed. A horrible fight ensued, one which both brothers were lucky to survive.”

  Jezebel listened attentively to her mother. This was part of the story she had never heard before.

  “After that, Seth and the Komanites traveled south to Quintara and settled near Sandoval for some time. It is a pilgrimage that every new Minister now makes. It is how I came to meet your father. But Quintara never felt quite like home, so Seth and the Komanites eventually returned to the Laureline Region. For more than a decade, they managed to eke out a meager existence in the foothills of the Cook Mountains.

  “But another harsh winter set upon the village, and many Komanites died – including the boys’ father. Seth returned to Reed once more to inform Soren of their father’s passing. He had hoped that the anger from their previous altercation would have dissipated with the passage of time. He had hoped that his brother would show compassion for his kin – in honor of his beloved father – and offer some food or fertile land. He had hoped that the rift between the Reedites and Komanites could finally be mended.