Heroes of the Crystal Star (Valcoria Book 1)

by Jason James King

  “What ‘bout my pay?” Yuiv demanded.

  “First I need you to help me open the gate.”

  “That aint parta the deal!” Yuiv snapped.

  Leadren sharply jabbed a finger into Yuiv’s chest. “I set the terms of our agreement and if you want to get paid, you will help me!”

  Though he hated to admit it, Yuiv was very afraid of Leadren and wasn’t about to refuse him. The governor drew in a deep breath and composed himself. “How about this, dog? If you help me open the gate, I will pay you eight silver eagles.”

  “Eight?” he could live for months off of that much money if he was frugal. The feeling of foreboding he felt at discovering he was stealing from an Amigus commander recurred with increased intensity. Oddly, Yuiv wanted to tell Leadren to keep his money and go, but he doubted the governor would let him walk away even if he did forfeit his pay. He could outrun Leadren, the fat man got winded after a brisk walk, but Yuiv couldn’t outrun Leadren riding on a horse and the governor would likely be carrying a flintlock pistol. Summoning all of his will, Yuiv again fought back the internal warning and reluctantly nodded.

  “That’s a good dog.” Leadren turned and hoisted his fat self onto the horse, for which Yuiv suddenly felt sorry. After situating himself in the saddle, Leadren reached down for him. “Come.”

  Yuiv took Leadren’s hand and climbed onto the horse. They rode toward the right side of the Sentinel Gate where a two-story stone gatehouse towered. Leadren reined in at the tower’s door and the two dismounted. The governor anxiously checked a bronze time piece before tying his horse to a metal flag pole. When done, he motioned for Yuiv to follow him, and the two entered the gatehouse.

  A complex series of gears and pulleys filled the wall next to a console of levers with a keyhole made for three oddly shaped prongs. On the floor, in the middle of the room, was a large, wheel-like cog with four protruding handlebars that looked to be for pushing, so as to turn the mechanism.

  “As a security measure, the keys have to be turned in unison before the gate can be unlocked and opened.” Leadren motioned to a metal ladder ascending through a trap door in the ceiling. “Up there, you will find a place to insert your key. I will count to three at which time we will both turn our keys, understand?”

  “Then what?”

  “Then you’re finished,” Leadren again smiled, making Yuiv feel like a mouse playing on the paws of a sleeping cat.

  Yuiv nodded and leapt onto the ladder, scurrying to the loft above. Upon reaching the second level, he heard a continuous muffled murmur that reminded him of the Talanor Day Festival when Lisidra’s entire populace crowded the center of town to enjoy festivities celebrating the arrival of a new year. Yuiv dismissed it, leaping off the ladder and locating another console with a three pronged keyhole. He fished the key out of his coat pocket and inserted it before calling down to Leadren, “Ok.”

  “On three,” Leadren shouted. “One-two-three!”

  Yuiv turned the key hard to the right. “Now what?” he shouted down the ladder.

  “There’s a crank on the wall.”

  Yuiv found the crank mounted on a spool of thick chain. He grabbed hold of it and shouted, “Got it.”

  “Wind it backward until it stops moving.”

  The crank resisted his initial attempt to turn it, and it was only after he threw everything he had into the motion that it began to turn. Yuiv rotated the spool of chain backward, it growing thicker with each revolution. After nearly two minutes the crank would turn no more and Yuiv let go of its handle, several blisters forming on his palms.

  “It stopped,” he called down the ladder.

  “Come back down and help me!”

  Yuiv descended the ladder to find Leadren straining as he pushed against one of the handle bars affixed to the barrel-sized floor wheel.

  “Help me push!” Leadren snarled. His round face was bright red from the physical exertion required to rotate the wheel.

  Once Yuiv joined the effort, it turned more smoothly, though it still offered a strong resistance requiring all of his strength to overcome. They continued like this for close to ten minutes before the wheel refused to turn any more.

  “We done?” he asked Leadren, but the governor didn’t answer. Instead he rushed out of the gate house. Yuiv followed feeling annoyed. He just wanted to go. Couldn’t Leadren just let him leave? He hoped there were no more addendums to their agreement.

  As Yuiv exited the gatehouse he froze. With a cold stab of terror, he finally associated the sound he had heard while up in the tower’s loft. It had been the clamor of a large crowd, no, an army.

  Steadily moving through the open gate was an innumerable host of men with differing shades of the same olive skin complexion. They wore beige colored jerkins fastened diagonally across their chests to the right shoulder and were armed with large curved swords, flintlock pistols, and muskets. A much smaller line of troops at the head of the army wore black, full plate armor and escorted a scarlet horse-drawn carriage decorated with gilded floral patterns. A flag with a golden lion embroidered on it flew over the carriage. Yuiv knew that flag. It was the banner of the golden lion, the symbol of the Aukasian Empire.

  Wild panic filled Yuiv and he turned to run, but Leadren grabbed him and wrestled him into a submission hold before he could get away. Although fat, Leadren’s meaty arms held Yuiv in an iron grasp. The boy’s youthful energy was not enough to counter the mature strength of a full grown man. In spite of the obvious futility, Yuiv desperately fought to break free until he felt the cold steel of a knife press against his throat.

  “Stop struggling!” Leadren moved the knife just enough to draw a trickle of blood which was more than enough to validate his threat.

  Yuiv submitted, but continued to tremble, his heart beating with such ferocity that it felt like it was about to explode. Now he understood what Leadren had been up to, what his conscience had been trying to warn him about. The governor had sunk further than Yuiv ever believed he would. Leadren had betrayed his country to the enemy, and he had helped him to do it.

  Through terrified tears, Yuiv helplessly stared at the imperial army marching though the Sentinel Gate. He clenched shut his eyes, berating himself for his stupidity. Again he had trusted the viperous Leadren, and again he had been bitten by his treachery. What would become of him? Would the Aukasian soldiers kill him? What would happen to the people of Lisidra: to the kind second street chapel priest who always gave him bread, or to the friendly laundry lady who would stop her work just to talk with him, or to the helpless babies sleeping at this very moment in the orphanage where he was raised? Would they all be killed? If so, it would be his fault. He was there. He had helped open the gate and let the enemy in. Yuiv’s stomach soured and cramped as only one thought circled in his mind.

  This is my fault.

  The crown began to speak to him, not to his ears, but inside his mind, and while this frightened Yaokken at first, his curiosity stopped him from turning away.

  Chapter 4

  The Honest Thief

  Screams punctuated by musket fire tore Sitrell from sleep. Disoriented, he sat frozen on his bed listening until the sound of a cannon blast spurred him to his feet. As fast as he could, Sitrell crossed the large room toward a table where he’d placed his sword and flintlock pistol. He’d barely made it to his weapons when the chamber door exploded open and six Aukasian soldiers blitzed the room.

  Sitrell seized the handle of his sword, but before he could strike, five more soldiers broke in through the servant’s entrance and tackled him from behind. They pinned him to the floor, two holding him fast as a third worked to shackle his hands. Sitrell channeled his rage into a scream as his leg shot up, thick soled boot connecting with the jaw of the man attempting to cuff him. A muffled crack told Sitrell that he had succeeded in fracturing the man’s jaw.

  A punishing blow to the back of his head came from the butt of an Aukasian musket, knocking Sitrell into momentary delirium. When he regained
his senses, he found himself shackled and being dragged out of his quarters. Once in the corridor, the soldiers roughly drew him to his feet, the man with the injured jaw taking the opportunity to repay him with a savage punch to the gut. The soldiers laughed as Sitrell doubled over, one man shoving him so that he collided with the outer corridor wall, his head smashing against a window pane. The glass cracked, and a sharp fissure sliced into the skin of his forehead.

  He stayed like that, head pressed against the window with blood running down his nose as he worked to catch his breath. As Sitrell stared out through the cracked glass, he saw a river of flickering torches moving through the street below. Aukasian troops, he realized. But how could they have gotten through the Sentinel Gate? And then it hit him. There had been one who had wanted his key, one who had tried to persuade him to open the gate, one who had been angry when Sitrell had refused.

  Leadren! Sitrell gritted his teeth.

  He could think of no other explanation. Somehow the governor had stolen Sitrell’s gate key while he slept and admitted the enemy army into the country, Leadren’s own country. The governor was a traitor. That was enough to re-ignite his rage, and Sitrell growled as he spun toward the group of Aukasian soldiers. Lunging forward, Sitrell took the Aukasian soldiers by surprise. The one who had shoved him cried out as Sitrell struck him in the face with his shackled hands, the man’s nose spurting blood as he fell to the floor. Before the soldiers could react, Sitrell struck another soldier at his left then leapt on the man and began strangling him with the chain connecting his cuffs.

  Scarcely a few seconds passed before Sitrell was pulled off of his victim by the man’s comrades. They threw him to the floor, one soldier kicking him so hard in the side that it cracked a rib. The Aukasian soldiers laughed as Sitrell writhed on the cold stone floor.

  “This Amigus soldier is brave, no?” Sitrell heard one of the soldiers mock in a sharp, choppy accent.

  “Cowards!” Sitrell hissed. “Why don’t you give me back my sword and we can end this like men!”

  “Stay your tongue!” the Aukasian soldier delivered another kick to Sitrell’s side, cracking more of his ribs and forcing him onto his back.

  “Get him out of here!” the lead soldier commanded and he was lifted from the ground by two men. The barrel of a flintlock pistol shoved into his back forced Sitrell into a walk, his two captors taking him to the end of the corridor and down several flights of stairs. They descended into what Sitrell assumed was the building’s basement and entered a dimly lit hall that looked like the inside of a pipe. After passing through a dozen or so connecting tunnels, the two Aukasian soldiers halted Sitrell in front of a large rust-colored iron door. One of the soldiers took a ring of keys from a peg on the wall before they opened the outer door and marched Sitrell down an aisle lined on both sides by claustrophobic cells. Sitrell’s eyes darted from cell to cell making him sick as he saw that the dungeon’s only occupants were fresh corpses. Executed, Sitrell realized.

  Sitrell’s Aukasian escorts stopped, unlocked one of the cells, swung open the barred door, and shoved him inside. He crashed to the floor, lying prostrate as he heard the door swing close and lock. He stayed like that for a long moment, listening as the dungeon door screamed opened and then closed again. Expecting the soldiers to have left him alone, he was surprised by the sound of leather boots padding against the stone floor, drawing nearer rather than away.

  “Well, look at this” scoffed a familiar voice as the footfalls stopped just outside Sitrell’s cell. “The valiant Commander Sitrell lying on a dungeon floor like a dog in a kennel.”

  Sitrell scrambled to his feet, whipping around to see Governor Leadren leering at him through iron bars.

  “Not so strong and proud now, are we Commander?”

  Sitrell exploded toward Leadren, crashing into the cell bars and screaming, “Traitor!”

  “I’m not a traitor.” Leadren spread his hands in mock innocence. “I’m a devoted patriot.” He chuckled. “Just not an Amigus patriot.”

  “And how long have you been a collaborator?” Sitrell demanded.

  “I’ve been in contact with Emperor Lorta since before the outbreak of the war. I’m afraid, Commander, that he offered me a bargain too good to pass up.”

  “And for what price did you sell the lives of your countrymen?!”

  Leadren smiled looking triumphant. “Emperor Lorta is going to crown me a king. Lisidra, Micidian, and Hirath will all be mine. And best of all, I’ll have to account to no one but the emperor. It’s a great deal more glamorous than overseeing this glorified mining camp on the outskirts of the kingdom.”

  “You opportunistic swine!” Sitrell hissed through clenched teeth. “This invasion will fail, and when it does your fat neck will hang from a gibbet!”

  Leadren clucked his tongue. “So much faith in the Amigus army, faith that I am afraid to say is misplaced. As I tried to warn you, the Aukasians will be well into the interior before anyone realizes it, and last I heard, the majority of the Amigus force is fighting far away to the south. Doesn’t sound to me like there’ll be anyone to repel them.”

  “There are still some thousands in defense of Salatia-Taeo!”

  “Not anything the imperial army can’t handle.” Leadren dismissively waved a hand. “Times are changing, Commander. The era of Amigus’ arrogant autonomy is over. The rightful rule of Emperor Lorta will soon extend to cover all of Valcoria, and I’m going to be a part of that glorious future.”

  “Spare me the propaganda and let’s get to it!”

  “You mean kill you?” Leadren arched an eyebrow. “Why so eager to die?” His face darkened as a cruel smile touched his lips. “Is it because you miss your daddy?”

  Stay numb.

  When Sitrell made no reply, Leadren said, “I thought so.” He turned away from the cell and folded his arms behind his back. “I told you earlier that I was acquainted with your father,” he said. “What I didn’t mention was how Enot Trauel was ever the suspect of my rule. He had me twice investigated by the Ruling Council, and it took quite a bit of doing to escape those inquiries unscathed.” He turned back and leaned in closer to Sitrell. “Your father was an annoyance that I’m glad to be rid of. I do believe I will have to make it a point to thank Emperor Lorta for that when I meet him tomorrow.”

  Sitrell did the first thing that occurred to him, he spat in Leadren’s face. The Governor’s smile disappeared as saliva oozed down his cheek. He looked indignant as he wiped the spittle off with the cuff of a sleeve.

  “I will grant your death wish,” he hissed, “but it will have to wait until morning. Right now, the Aukasian forces are too busy subduing the city to take the necessary time for what I have planned for you.” Leadren’s smile returned. “Your death will be slow and painful, Commander. You are to be fed to the flames, burned alive in this building’s furnace.” His expression turned to mock disappointment. “I do regret that I won’t be there to see it.”

  Sitrell grasped the cell bars. “What’s the matter? Don’t have the stomach to kill me yourself?”

  “Believe me, I would love to watch you burn and hear your screams as the flames consume your flesh, but I have business with the emperor.” Leadren again turned his back on Sitrell. “I go to my glory, Commander, but you―you go to your death.”

  Sitrell thrashed the cell bars and screamed, “Come back here, traitor!”” as he watched the Governor walk away. Upon hearing the outer dungeon door clang shut he sank to the ground and leaned his forehead against the cold metal bars. Droplets of water sprinkled the stone floor as tears fell from his face. The numbness was gone now and three months of repressed anger, fear, and grief overwhelmed him, and for the first time since his father’s death, Sitrell wept.

  “I’as never’d seeda soldier cry before.”

  Sitrell started and turned to see a boy sitting in the corner of the cell. He looked to be in his early teens with unkempt blonde hair and dirty ragged clothes. Sitrell remembered having seen s
omeone in the corner when the Aukasian soldiers threw him into the cell, but had assumed it was just another corpse. He wiped his tears with his sleeve before turning his back to the boy.

  “You thinkee does enemies bad, try bein onea’is friends.” The boy knowingly shook his head. “I’as done’d em a favor, and cuza that I’as gonna die in the mornin, like you.” The boy scoffed, “Say’d was my ‘reward’ for disrespectin em alla time.”

  Sitrell remained silent. The last thing he wanted was conversation.

  The boy scooted forward. “I’as Yuiv.”

  “What do you want?!” snapped Sitrell.

  Looking both surprised and hurt, Yuiv stammered, “I-I’as jes tryin to be nice.”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “But…”

  “I said leave me alone!” Sitrell growled.

  Yuiv slowly nodded as he shrank back into his corner of the cell. For almost an hour, he was able to respect Sitrell’s wishes, but eventually the boy seemed to forget his demand and asked, “How big’as the Auk’s army ya think?”

  Sitrell refused to answer, hoping his silence would remind the boy that he wanted to be left alone. To his dismay, the hint was lost on Yuiv. “I tried guessin when I see’d them come through’d the gate, but there’as too many. I never’d see’d so many people, not ev’an durin Talanor.”

  Sitrell turned. “What did you say?”

  “I neved see’d so many people…”

  “No, before that.”

  Yuiv hesitated a moment before saying, “I see’d the Auk’s come through’d the gate?”

  “You were there?”

  “Yeah,” Yuiv said.

  Sitrell rounded on the boy. “Why? Who else was there? Did you actually see the governor open the gate? How did he get two keys?”

  Yuiv bowed his head, refusing to meet Sitrell’s eyes. “I-I, it’as, he…” he stammered.