“I have. This is Kedrick and Lonas,” she said, indicating each man by name. Neither of them moved or offered a hand, as the Tongra had stopped ten paces away.
Kahn Taruk nodded, but said nothing to them, as if they were insignificant. “I have been waiting weeks for you,” he added, his tone still calm even though it was obvious he was irritated.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It has taken me some time to resurrect the Shadows. I am still looking for other members, but we three will have to do for now. How can we be of service?”
“I need you to kill Jarak Dormath.”
Lyra tilted her head, narrowing her eyes as if she hadn’t heard him correctly. “He lives?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know his location?”
“We only know his general location. But we have a seeking stone close to him.”
Seeking stones, like mage stones, were made from the rare stone, torite, which was found to be the best substance for storing aura energy. A strong, high quality torite was nearly as costly as Kul-brite steel. A seeking stone generally worked best the closer it was to the person who created it. But a powerful stone, created by a powerful Aura Mage, could be located hundreds of miles away. A highly skilled Aura Mage could use their talents to weave an intricate pattern around the stone that held a core of power inside, then, using a seeking spell, could locate that core of energy over long distances. The quality of the stone and the skill of the Aura Mage determined the distance over which it could be located.A memory from years ago came to her at the mention of the seeking stone. “Is this the same stone that I made you many years ago?”
“It is.”
That is good, Lyra thought. The extent of her knowledge was that the stone she made was given to a spy years ago, but her knowledge of it ended there and she had not tried to seek it out, afraid of reprisal from Kahn Taruk. The stone she had used to create it was a good one, as the Tongra would accept nothing else, and he had paid handsomely for it. She felt confident that she could find the stone within a fifty mile radius. “If you can get us close to the spy who carries the stone then I should be able to find him. Where was their last location?”
“Kreb.”
“Do you know where they are going and who is with them?”
“We think they are heading west through the pass. As far as the prince’s comrades, we can only assume they are quite adept at killing.”
“Why is that?”
“They slaughtered four torgs and their riders as well as one of my entire scouting parties.”
“I see.”
“You will need help. I am sending with you ten of my personal guard as well as two Soothers. A Schulg tracker will also accompany you. I want you on the road at first light. I have fast horses and provisions ready for you.”
By the sounds of it the personal guard would be needed, as well as the tracker, but the Soothers she could do without. Like the Shadow Riders, they were very rare, and she had only encountered them a few times. But they had unnerved her. Soothers were female Saricon warriors that were gifted with the Tinge, just like the Shadow Riders. This rare and innate ability allowed them to project emotions of their choosing, potentially controlling those nearby. Some were not so powerful, allowing them minimal control of others' emotions. But others were gifted with much stronger powers, giving them an uncanny ability to fully control the emotions of people near them. There was something terribly unnatural about not being able to control one's own emotions, and just the thought of it caused Lyra to clinch the handle of one of the knives at her hip. But she refrained from voicing her fears, knowing that her concern would fall on deaf ears.
“We have not yet talked payment,” Lyra said, shuffling uncomfortably on her feet. In the past the negotiations had been left to Thalon, and even then it had made her nervous. She loathed dealing with the Saricons, especially Kahn Taruk. She knew he was smart and ruthless, and there was something about him that made her feel as if he were constantly keeping a great beast in check, an omnipotent creature that wanted nothing more than to snap her neck.
His wry smile nearly forced her back a step. “How much?”
She knew that Thalon had tested his patience with the last fee, so she thought it unwise to test him again. “One thousand gold dracks each.”
Kedrick looked at her as if he hadn't heard her correctly. And Lonas eased his spear off his shoulder, in case the volatile Saricon attacked them for her insolence. But they had not been privy to prior negotiations, and to Lyra three thousand dracks compared to the five thousand he paid them for one night of work seemed like a good deal.
He shrugged. “Done. But, Lyra, if you fail to kill the prince, do not bother coming back.”
She nodded. “It will be done.” Then she turned to leave, her new recruits just behind her. They were all eager to leave the Tongra’s presence.
***
The march to the ruins took the caravan five days. Typically a traveler could reach the ruins in just over two, but they were an army of over three thousand followed by hundreds of civilians as well as hundreds of wagons and baggage carts. They had to traverse a winding narrow wagon path uphill, gaining thousands of feet in elevation as they trudged wearily through the cold of falling snow.
They had barely left the sight of the burning city when they were met on the road by ten Dygon Guards pulling an empty cart. The column stopped and took a quick rest while Jarak and the others spoke with the guards.
They all dismounted along the road and faced one another, their heavy wool traveling cloaks, lined with furs, wrapped tightly around them to ward off the cold. Jarak was wearing his new armor, and the guard's typically unreadable expressions betrayed them as they could not hide their admiration of such magnificent armor. Brant, Serix, Cat, Endler, Banrigar, Kivalla, Lord Rathiam, as well as Tolvanus, the legendary swordsman and captain of the Chamberlain’s personal guard at Kreb, all stood with Jarak. The two Gyths were near the front of the column with Aldgar, who was fitted for travel but still wearing steel manacles around his wrists.
Tolvanus was in his late forties, with short black hair trimmed closely around his ears and neck, the edges streaked with brush strokes of silver. A neatly trimmed goatee ending in a sharp point adorned his strong chin. His tanned and weathered face had the appearance of wrinkled leather. He too wore silver armor, but instead of House Dormath’s symbol gracing his cuirass, there was an intricate gold key beautifully etched into the steel with graceful flowing lines. The symbol was the official mark of the Chamberlains who ruled Kreb and Tanwen by the king’s grace. He wore a long sword at his hip and a small buckler strapped to his back.
Brant recognized all of the Dygon Guard, having traveled with them several times when he was living with Kulvar Rand. He was happy to see both Dayd and Horst, two warriors with whom he had gradually developed a warm friendship. The warriors said their hellos to those they already knew, and some introductions were made. Kay’il was also with them, and he said nothing to Brant. He only narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he considered Brant's presence in the company of the prince. Kay’il had never taken a liking to Brant, seeing him as an outsider and thinking that he did not belong in the company of the Dygon Guard as he was not of royal blood. He had more than hinted at the idea that Kulvar had only taken him in because he looked like his dead son.
Kay’il spoke for the guards. “My prince, what is this? Why are you here?” The guards had left Kreb a week ago and had not been informed about their recent plans.
Jarak’s face was grave. “I regret to inform you that I am a prince no longer.”
“What do you mean?” Word had traveled quickly to Kreb when scouts had finally arrived with news of Cythera’s fall. But by the time the Dygon Guard had left to deposit more Kul-brite steel in various secure locations, no one had known whether the king or queen had survived the attack.
“My father and mother are dead. They were murdered by Daricon, the king’s brother.” Jarak would no longer use Daricon’s title and referred
to him by name only. “I am now, regrettably, your king.”
Kay’il said nothing for a moment as he digested Jarak’s words. Then he drew his Kul-brite blade, as did the other guards, and knelt before him on one knee, the tip of their blades dug into the snow. Then they recited the oath of the Dygon Guard, transferring their allegiance to Jarak. “We honor the blood of kings, where silver steel forged from faith and deed protects your house and obeys your will. Our life and courage, we give to you freely.”
“Your oath is accepted,” Jarak said as he motioned for them to stand. “And I give you my oath, that together we will take our land back.” The guards stood and sheathed their swords.
“What of Kulvar Rand and the other thirty guards?” Kay’il asked.
“Dead,” Jarak said sadly. The guards stood mute, their tongues suddenly frozen by the suddenness of such impossible news. Kay’il glanced at Brant, his fiery eyes accusatory. “They were trying to take the gate back,” Jarak continued. “By all accounts they killed over four hundred enemy soldiers before being overrun. Where are the other ten guards?”
It took a moment for Kay’il to respond as he was reeling from the news of their comrade’s deaths. “Our other ten are gathering Kul-brite from a mine southwest of here.”
“If we are to take our land back,” Horst interjected, “why are you traveling the pass, my King?”
Jarak looked at each of the men, knowing they were devastated by the loss of their comrades even though their stoic expressions denied it. “I am sorry for the loss of your friends,” Jarak began as he gave them an abridged version of what they had done and where they were heading. The guards maintained their typical deadpan expressions, like blocks of stone, impervious to time and change.
When Jarak finished Dayd spoke first. “What would you have us do?”
“I want you to send a two man team and hook up with the other ten. Destroy all the mines that have not already been captured by the Saricons. Hide whatever Kul-brite you can’t take with you and then join the main army at the Ruins of Tyvis.”
“The ruins, sir?” Kay’il asked.
“The army behind us will be wintering there. I want you to help them build a temporary home. Take whatever Kul-brite you can find and go to Rygar to purchase provisions, weapons, whatever supplies we lack and will need for war.”
“What of the other eight?” Kay’il asked.
“You will be traveling with me and my companions,” Jarak said as he indicated the men and women around him.
“To where?” Dayd asked.
“You will guide us to several secure Kul-brite locations. We will take the steel to Elwyn and secure a mercenary army. Then we will send word to the army here and converge on Cythera. We will take our city back.”
An hour later and the army was moving again. The eight remaining Dygon Guard rode with King Jarak and the others, taking it upon themselves to be the king’s personal guard. Horst and Dayd spoke with Brant, eager for whatever news he could provide. Kay’il rode with them, listening to their conversation but thus far remaining silent.
“Were you with Master Rand when the attack happened?” Dayd asked.
Brant shook his head. “I was not, regrettably.”
“Regrettably?” Horst queried. “By all accounts you would be dead if you were.”
“Perhaps,” Brant said. “But it pains me that I was not with them.”
“Where were you?” Kay’il asked, his tone accusing.
Brant ignored his tone, answering truthfully. “I was walking the city when the surprise attack happened. Luckily I was near the palace when assassins attacked Prince Jarak. It was blind luck that I was close enough to intercede.”
“What happened?” Dayd asked.
A sudden wind blew down the valley, scattering snow like a fine white mist. Brant pulled his warm traveling cloak tighter around him to ward off the chill. The path was just wide enough for several horses at a time, each side of the path lined with sheer walls of craggy stone. Snow caps and drifts covered the rock and the snow was getting deeper, slowing them even more. “I killed them.”
“How many were there?” Horst asked.
“Three. A Merger, and an Aura Mage and his Channeler. I later heard they were assassins known as the Shadows, although I knew not of them.”
Dayd chuckled. “You killed the Shadows and saved the prince?”
“Yes, so I was told. What is so funny?”
“Your ignorance,” Kay’il said.
Brant narrowed his eyes but said nothing, not wanting to provoke the Dygon Guard further.
Horst interjected quickly as he noticed Brant clench his jaw. “The Shadows are legendary assassins. You did well, Brant.”
“And you have been with the king ever since?” Dayd asked.
“Yes. After escaping the city we made our way north to Tanwen. Luckily for us, several of the others had the same idea and we met them on the road. Kivalla was with Banrigar, the big scarred warrior. Serix and Endler had found us earlier. I remember the Aura Mage mentioning something about a seeking stone.”
“Some mages can create them. When the stone is given to someone the mage can use it to locate them,” Horst added. “Jarak must have carried one made by Serix. That would make sense.”
Brant nodded. “We met Kivalla and Banrigar as well as the two Gyths at a small town called Torset. A Saricon scouting party had attacked the inn when we came to their aid.”
“And that is when you captured the prisoner,” Kay’il reasoned.
“It is. Believe it or not, Aldgar, the Saricon, saved the female Gyth during the attack. And now they owe some blood debt to him.”
“Which is why they are here,” Dayd said, making the connection.
“What of this Banrigar?” Dayd asked. “He looks familiar.”
“He was one of the entry guards at the Black Cat,” Brant answered.
Dayd laughed. “That’s why I know him.”
Horst chuckled with him. “Well, someone as ugly as you must spend a lot of time there.”
Dayd's laughing expression turned to a glower that he was not long able to maintain before his smile broke through the false façade. Even Kay’il chuckled with him.
“So where is the nearest Kul-brite location?” Brant asked, curious as to where they would be traveling first.
“From the ruins we will have to backtrack a day and then take the southern pass. We have a large Kul-brite storage facility there, near several abandoned mines,” Dayd said.
“I can only assume,” Horst added, “that we will continue southeast to the Pelm River. From there we will likely follow it into the Forest of Heyrith all the way west to Elwyn. It will no doubt be a grand adventure.”
They rode on in silence, each one of them thinking about the difficult sojourn ahead of them.
***
On the fourth day they saw the first signs that they were close to the ruins. The path had widened to a small valley about a thousand paces wide, both sides flanked by a huge statue, each the size of a castle's tower, carved into the stone walls. The one on the left depicted an armored man holding a great sword before him. He wore an open-faced helm that surrounded his wavy hair, mustache, and beard. The statue on the right was a female, also wearing armor, and holding a sword in the same position. The sheer magnitude of the statures was overwhelming, and those who had never before seen them gaped up at them, awestruck as they rode by.
“Who made those?” Brant asked Cat, who rode next to him.
“I’ve never seen them myself but I’ve heard of them. The statue on the left is King Tyvis who ruled Dy’ain many cyns ago. He was the king who built the garrison where we are heading. On the right was his Queen, Lorneen, who, if the stories are true, was quite a warrior herself.”
“They are incredible,” Brant whispered as he gazed up at them. Just the swords alone were equal in length to eight men stacked on top of one another.
“There is an identical set on the other side. It is said that a thousand
craftsman spent ten years creating them.”
“I can believe it.”
Before them, where the valley widened to its greatest width, were the Ruins of Tyvis, at one time a great garrison protecting the western border of Dy’ain. As they continued forward, a horse and a rider galloped up and slowed next to them. It was Lord Celeren Tandon. Cat knew who he was. She had seen the famous scion forger one time many years ago, but she had never met him.
“Lord Tandon,” she said. “How may we help you?”
“Good evening,” he replied. “I knew your father. He was a great man and I’m sorry for your loss.” Cat tightened her lips, holding back the emotions that came whenever someone mentioned her father. “But I am not here to speak with you, my dear. I would like to speak with your companion, Brant isn’t it?”
Brant looked at him curiously. “It is.”
“Where did you get the sword you are wearing?” His tone was civil, but tinged with something else, curiosity...or accusation.
Brant had forgotten that the blade had been marked with Celeren Tandon’s sigil. He knew nothing of scion forging, but Kulvar had told him that a blade made by Celeren Tandon had no equal. “I’m sorry, sir, but I had forgotten that the blade had been forged by your hands.”
Lord Tandon narrowed his eyes, obviously annoyed that Brant didn’t answer the question. “It was not made by me, but my grandfather. Again, son, how did you come by it?”
“Kulvar Rand gave it to me.”
Lord Tandon’s sour expression immediately shifted to shock. “Kulvar Rand you say? Would you happen to know how he came by it?”
“I do. He challenged a Schulg warrior named Tangar to a bloodrite duel. The Schulg carried the sword and it became Master Rand’s once he defeated him.” Lord Celeren looked thoughtful, thinking about Brant’s words. “Have I done something wrong in carrying the blade, sir?”
The question snapped Lord Tandon from his thoughts. “No, no, I’m sorry if I seemed accusatory. If Lord Rand gave you the blade then you must be worthy of it. It’s just that I’ve wondered what had happened to that sword for quite some time now. I was more than surprised to see it on your hip.”
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