“You are awake,” said a voice tinged with the remnant of an accent Sitrell couldn’t place.
Startled, Sitrell shot upright. A man sat on a chair in the corner of the room. He had almond-shaped eyes, an unusual shade of tan skin, and long, black hair woven into a single braid that rested on his right shoulder. He wore nondescript, peasant’s clothes and lounged lazily, one leg propped up on a low table, his other foot on the ground precariously tipping his chair.
“I know you!” Sitrell said. “I saw you weeks ago, just before we left for Hirath. You were loading a wagon.”
“I was with your army.”
That’s when he saw a Niazeride pistol in the man’s left hand. “Where did you get that?”
The stranger ceased tipping his chair, sitting up as he held the weapon in front of him. “Where do you think I got it?”
The stranger tapped two buttons on the back of the barrel and the device awoke, lights flashing as the weapon produced a loudening electric whine that faded after reaching a crescendo.
“I found it in Hirath,” the stranger said.
Sitrell eyed the man warily, wondering just how long he might have left to live. “I had thought we destroyed all of those,” he said as he began to feel the bed, hands grasping for the hilt of his father’s sword. I lost it! he remembered with a stab of panic.
“You did,” the stranger said, lowering the Niazeride hand unit and placing it on the low table. “I repaired this one.”
Sitrell’s caginess faded as his curiosity rose. “You repaired it?”
The stranger shrugged. “It took a few days to find suitable materials to rebuild the circuitry, but seeing as you were sleeping and I had nothing to do but wait for you to wake.”
“How do…” Sitrell stammered, “Why did―”
“I could tell you how I did it, but that would likely put you back to sleep. As for why, well you’ll just have to trust me when I say that we will need the weapon.” Recollection flashed in the man’s dark, almond-shaped eyes. “Which reminds me.”
Sitrell started as the stranger leapt from his chair and crossed the room to open a closet from which he produced a long object bundled in cloth. He carefully unwrapped it, revealing a tapered sword with an owl embossed on the center of its silver cross guard, its pommel capped by a sapphire.
Enot Trauel’s sword!
“Where did you find that?” Sitrell choked out.
The man presented the weapon to Sitrell, handle first. “You dropped it in Hirath.”
Sitrell snatched Enot Trauel’s sword, rising from his bed while keeping the blade raised.
“Peace, Sitrell.” The man seemed unconcerned by the fact that Sitrell was now armed as he turned his back and walked over to a large satchel on the floor near his chair.
“How do you know me?” Sitrell barked, “Who are you?”
The stranger knelt in front of the satchel, taking the Niazeride hand unit from off the low table and deactivating it. “My name is Etai”―he put the weapon into the satchel―“and I don’t know you. We just met.”
Sitrell took a step toward the man, brandishing his sword. “How do you know who I am?”
Etai glanced back with a flat stare. “Your name is on your uniform.” He motioned to Sitrell’s short-tailed coat draped over the back of a chair set near the bed. “I can read, you know, multiple languages in fact, in which I am also fluent. Have you ever heard the Jidarian dialect of Old Valakyrian? Terribly difficult to master for outsiders, and once considered the most difficult of the world’s known languages.”
Jidarian? Valakyrian? Sitrell had never heard those names.
“You mock,” Sitrell muttered.
Etai rose, flashing a wry smile. “Maybe just a little.”
“What happened to me?” Sitrell asked, “I was wounded, but…”
“That answer is a simple one. I found you half dead on the plains outside Hirath, brought you here, and nursed you back to health.” Etai smiled. “How do you feel, by the way?”
“Better than I should,” Sitrell answered, squinting. Could Etai be like Yuiv, someone with the power to miraculously heal others? “Where is here?”
“Micidian,” Etai answered. “I guessed that was where you were headed. Was I right?”
Sitrell lowered his father’s sword. “Yes. How long since Hirath was…”
“A little over three days.” Etai’s tone carried an undercurrent of grief.
“I thank you, Etai, for your aid and will make certain you are rewarded.” He walked to the chair where his navy coat was draped and started putting it on.
“I have some less noticeable clothes that you can change into,” Etai said as he motioned to a shirt and trousers folded and resting at the foot of the bed. “You put that uniform back on and no one’s going to let us leave the city.”
“Leave the city?” Sitrell snapped. “You just told me that you knew I was headed here. Why would I leave?”
“To save Ashra,” Etai said, without emotion.
Sitrell froze in the middle of threading his arm through his coat’s right sleeve. “How do you know―”
“About the Princess of Amigus?” Etai raised his eyebrows, “Well I would wager that most of the kingdom’s people know her name.”
That explanation conformed to logic, but why had Etai specifically said to save Ashra? Could he know something of Sitrell’s feelings for her? Impossible! But then, over the last six weeks, Sitrell had experienced a number of impossible things.
“That is why I am here,” Sitrell said. “I need to find Governor Tarell and Micidian’s Governor.”
“And do what?” Etai’s tone changed, sounding irritated. “Rally contingents of the Royal Guard, maybe five hundred men in total, and march to siege the capital? By the time you get there, I can guarantee you that it will have already fallen.”
“I…” Sitrell faltered. What was he going to do? He had set out for Micidian because it had been the closest source of help, but what Etai said made too much sense. “Then why bring me here?”
“Because,” Etai grinned, “we need horses.”
“To ride to the capital?”
Etai nodded, walking to the foot of the bed, scooping up the change of clothes and handing them to Sitrell.
“You do realize”―Sitrell gave him a measured look―“that what you are suggesting is even more foolish than my trying to siege the city with less than a battalion of men. Two of us to save Salatia Taeo from the entire Aukasian army?”
Etai shook his head, “Not just us alone, we’d have horses.”
“Who are you?” Sitrell raised his sword and leveled the point at Etai’s chest.
Etai looked unconcerned. “Kill me if you wish.” He spoke in a flat tone, not looking up. “Believe me, you would be doing me a service.”
“Answer my question.” Sitrell grumbled.
Etai sighed. “I have already told you. My name is Etai. And if you want my opinion, your rudeness is a very poor reward for my aid.”
You will soon meet a stranger who will return something precious to you. Sitrell glanced at his father’s sword. Trust him and do what he tells you, for he is a guide.
Those words had come from his father.
“Did you by chance know my father, General Enot Trauel?” Sitrell lowered his sword.
Etai shook his head. “Should I?”
Sitrell sat down on the bed sighing as he laid the sword across his lap. “Tell me your plan.”
Etai smiled. “First we need horses.”
Sitrell changed into the clean, cotton shirt and brown trousers. He put on the long worn overcoat he had taken from Hirath, it serving as a nice finishing touch to his disguise as well as an effective place to hide his sword―something an honest man of the common class would never have in his possession.
They left the second floor room of an inn called “The Journeyman” and descended a flight of wooden steps at the end of the hall, which took them to the ground level. After Etai tipped the i
nnkeeper, a whole silver eagle Sitrell noted, they left the inn and went toward the closest stables. Nearly an hour later, Sitrell stood while Etai dickered with a short, round-faced stableman named Dyrik. At last they settled on eighteen silver eagles for a trio of endurance riders with saddles and bridles.
Three mounts? The third must be for supplies.
As they rode away from the stables, Etai riding a chestnut and Sitrell the midnight black with the second chestnut in tow, Etai smirked to Sitrell, “I think we got the better of him, these three would have sold for at least twenty five silver eagles in Sayel Nen.”
“You sure have a lot of coin for a simple army hireling,” Sitrell said.
Etai shrugged. “I travel a lot, and when one travels he is more likely to find valuables he can sell.”
Sitrell responded with a skeptical grunt.
As they rode through the city, Etai unexpectedly turned his mount south onto Micidian’s main road, a course that would lead them out of the city.
“Aren’t we going to market first?” Sitrell glanced in the opposite direction. “We need supplies.”
“We have all we need.” With that, Etai prompted his horse into a full gallop, Sitrell having no choice but to follow. He didn’t overtake Etai until they were a mile out of the city, some fifteen minutes later. “Hey!” Sitrell shouted as he rode up to Etai’s side. “We can’t keep up this pace for long else we kill the horses.”
“We will be fine,” Etai said without turning to look at him.
Frustrated, Sitrell rode in close, shot out a hand, and stole Etai’s reins from him. All three horses stopped up short, Sitrell turning his mount so as to block Etai from circumventing him. “We go no further until you tell me what you’re planning.”
Etai sighed. “My plan is simple. We ride to Salatia Taeo as fast as we can, sneak into the city by way of a hidden passage that very few know of, we find Ashra, get her out, and spirit her to safety.”
Confused, Sitrell asked, “We are not planning to rescue the city?”
Etai scoffed. “Just the two of us?”
“But you said―”
“Our concern is to find the Princess and get her to safety.”
Sitrell shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
“Ashra herself is in danger, mortal danger.” Etai looked toward Jala Tacia, Amigus’s expansive pine forest forming a wall of green on the horizon. “There is someone with the Aukasian army, a man posing as a Sage and calling himself the Medasylas. He is a very dangerous enemy, the man responsible for arming Aukasia with Niazeride technology.”
“What does he want with Ashra?” A sudden unbearable sense of impotent panic welled up within him.
“Ashra is the keeper of a secret that the Medasylas wants. He will torture her until he gets that information, and then will dispose of her to keep the secret from the emperor.”
“Torture?” Sitrell shouted. “Those light-forsaken whore-spawn! I did not think that even Aukasian dog filth would permit the torture of a woman!”
“Your loyalty to your princess is exemplary, Sitrell,” Etai said, his tone thick with sarcasm. “Are all Amigus soldiers as ‘patriotic’ as you?”
Knowing what Etai was implying, but not sure how the man knew of his relationship with Ashra, Sitrell did nothing more than scowl. “This passage? Where is it?”
“There is an old watchtower twenty miles northeast of Salatia Taeo. In its cellar is a hatch that opens into a tunnel that leads under the city and into the palace.”
“You speak of the Tyaden Passage, the emergency escape built for members of the royal family and high nobility.” Sitrell shook his head. “How does a simple hireling know of this when knowledge of such is held only by the ruling council and high military commanders?”
“How does a mid-level Commander in the royal army know of the Tyaden Passage?” Etai retorted, wearing a sarcastic smile.
“My father was chief general for a time, I learned of it from eavesdropping on him.”
“And I have a lot of extra coin good for important secrets.” Etai smiled. “Now that you know the plan, may we continue?”
Sitrell stared at the dense forest separating him from saving the woman that he loved. His attention was drawn to Etai laying a hand on his horse’s neck, closing his eyes in exertion. He looks like Yuiv did when he healed Jalek. Etai repeated the strange ritual for the other two horses before turning to back to look at Sitrell. “Our mounts will now be able to keep this pace for the night. We do not stop until we reach Draciak Eletar, understood?”
Etai snatched back the reins of his horse, snapped them and galloped toward the pine forest. Sitrell shook himself from his stupor and prompted his horse to follow, the third beast easily keeping pace. They rode in silence for the next hour, Sitrell using the thinking time to add another strange piece to the bizarre puzzle he had been trying to solve since they had first left Hirath. Jalek, Yuiv, his dream, and now Etai. What did it all mean?
His thoughts turned to Ashra and his sense of urgency made him prompt his horse to greater speed. I will not let them harm her. He ground his teeth. In spite of the devastating rejection Ashra had dealt him, Sitrell still loved her and realized he would race across the kingdom to her defense. He would let nothing stand in his way; not Jala Tacia, not the Aukasian army, and not the Medasylas.
He had purpose again. Purpose, and a reason to live.
Although much of the civilized world lay in ruins, Yaokken’s rival kings seemed as drunk with blood and hate as he was, and therefore would not surrender. Not even though they were facing total annihilation.
Chapter 22
Legacy Secret
Kaiden Ekale sat at his sturdy, oak table poring over a worn, leather bound journal. It was late, his waning candle giving way to the darkness of the hour and making his private office dim enough to strain his eyes. Rubbing his temples, Kaiden stood and went to a shelf mounted on the wall for a new candlestick. He removed the melting wax stump of the dying candle, replaced it with the new one and used what little flame that was left to ignite it. It didn’t do much good, the square room lined with bookshelves got only a little bit brighter. Kaiden yawned. Perhaps it was time I was off to bed, anyhow. He stared at the book lying open on his table, considering rest. Deciding his research too important, he sat back down and resumed his study adjusting his spectacles and leaning in closer for a better read.
He traced the right page of the tome with his index finger, muttering to himself as he skimmed the cramped cursive to find where he had left off. The text was heavy reading, large pages filled from top to bottom rife with technical terms that escaped him. His understanding of science and engineering was limited, but it was not the technical details that made this book of interest to Kaiden, it was its author.
Thesis on Ancient Technology and its Various Applications - A dissertation by Rayome Saetala.
Those words were embossed in gold on the center of the journal’s black leather cover. That day, nearly six weeks ago, when Commander Trauel had appeared wielding a working Niazeride hand unit―Dear Creator, it had actually been functional―Kaiden had begun to understand the nature of the threat they were facing. Since then, he had watched the Minister of Science as he experimented with the unit Sitrell had captured. Its destructive power was disconcerting to be sure, but that wasn’t what truly frightened Kaiden. No, for upon seeing the device he had recognized what it was―and who had built it.
Rayome Saetala had been a member of the Ruling Council and minister of science until he was expelled from the kingdom for revealing state secrets. Kaiden had counted Rayome among his friends and was grieved when the man slipped into madness, his mind’s sickness beginning with the untimely death of his wife. At first, Rayome simply had become withdrawn, to which Kaiden responded by trying to empathize with him, he having lost his own wife a few years before. When that failed, he had tried to preach to Rayome, but the man was an avowed atheist and would have nothing of Kaiden’s “Istran dogma.” After
months of sincere working to help his friend move past his loss, Kaiden had left the man to his anguish. After watching Minister Iayasted reduce a twelve foot tall, marble statue to little more than dust, Kaiden could not help but think leaving Rayome to his grief had been a mistake.
A gentle knock came from the chamber door.
“Come,” he said, not paying attention.
The late interruption came as no surprise, for long ago Kaiden had learned that those burdened with leadership kept all hours whether they wanted to or not. However, he was surprised at hearing Ashra call his name.
“Kaiden?”
He looked up to see the princess slip into the room, her burly protector, Gyaden, waiting patiently in the corridor. Her long, auburn hair was brushed down and she wore a white, silk robe over her blue nightdress. Kaiden returned to re-reading a particularly difficult paragraph full of technical terms that made it seem a foreign language.
“You are up late, my dear.”
Ashra approached his table and seated herself on a velvet upholstered chair set in front of it. “I could not sleep.”
“Have Renay warm some milk. That usually works for me.”
“I don’t think that will work tonight,” Ashra said, “Has there been any word, yet?”
Kaiden shook his head trying to decide what an “energy flow regulator” was. “I told you that I would alert you as soon as I heard.”
“I know,” she muttered. “It was just that, I was away all day and thought perhaps something occurred in my absence.”
Kaiden shook his head. “I am sorry.”
After a lengthy lull, Ashra asked, “Should not we have heard by now?”
Kaiden again looked up from the book, repressing a wave of irritation as he read the fear in his adopted daughter’s face. He sighed, leaning back into his chair and removing his spectacles. “Probably.”
Heroes of the Crystal Star (Valcoria Book 1) Page 26
