A long shadow fell across the ground before a small break in the trees. He scrambled over wet rock and driftwood to the spot. Dignity be damned. The shadow brushed at his hand for a moment, and then fell away. Julian mastered his revulsion at the intimacy of the touch. No affection dwelled in the shadow's frozen caress, only a hunger to devour. He forced his eyes downward and scraped moss from the weather-worn stone with the toe of his boot. They’d found the ancient road leading to Sea Point Outpost. His father would be there, hiding like the animal he’d become.
He pushed through the overgrowth as the shadow retreated into the bog. Following its dark blemish upon moss and stone, he forced his way into the inhospitable barrier. The stench of things long dead assaulted his nostrils, making his eyes water. Muggy heat hung about the dead branches. Julian rubbed a strong-smelling balm under his nose. Fresh air was a stranger in North Marsh.
Tearing, scratching, and gnawing at his body, the land fought back until it revealed the secret it had hidden so well. He glared up at the ruined fortress, its skeletal remains stretching helplessly toward the ocean it once guarded. The Jalora Legion had abandoned this stronghold long ago, along with the continent of Andara’s northwest coastline. Now it was nothing more than a rotting corpse slowly fading away into the bogs.
Much like a painful birthing, he pushed through the tangle of limbs and growth to stand upon the dried path. Someone had cleaned off the stone and cut away nature's fingers, leaving an island of rubble. He sneered, absently stroking the talisman upon his finger. It was unlike his clever quarry to be cornered with no means of escape.
"I’ve found you, Leo!" Julian’s shout echoed among the stones. "I can feel the Jalora’s life force pulsing within your Lion Ring. You have nowhere left to hide from my power as long as it is upon your finger."
Dark eyes flecked with fiery amber pierced through Julian from a small gap within the stone wall. Nearly eight hundred years had passed since the Jalora had first put the Lion Ring upon Mikel D'Antoiné's finger. Countless Lions had kept Mikel's oath to protect the people of Andara by bearing the ring. Leo was as blindly dedicated to upholding his ancestor's promise as any of those who had come before him.
"The Jalora will never allow you to bear its sacred talisman," Leo called out through the stone. "Take that thing of evil off your own finger, my son. It will see all that is good in Andara destroyed."
"You remain the Jalora’s puppet to the end." Julian spat upon the ground. "By its word you have abandoned the people of Valdeon, neglecting your duties as their king. Now civil war threatens our homeland. A strong leader must take your place."
"Tell this man to come face us then, bastard prince!" Another voice called to his left. "For it shan't be you."
"Brave words. You may well call me a bastard from the safety of those walls. Come face me directly and we'll see how loudly you can bark!"
Movement from the trees forced Julian to master his temper. His hold upon his unstable allies weakened as he lost concentration. The defenders of this ruined fortress had seen his terrifying army easily take their last stronghold, an abandoned abbey in the middle of a Ghent meadow. They were purposely goading him. Were they so anxious to die?
A single arrow flew from the wall, striking the ground beside his boot. Laughter, coarse and proud, filled the bogs. This last act of defiance was no surprise. From the moment a ranger put the ‘Heart of the Warrior’ ring upon his finger, the Jalora took control of his mind. It was a parasite living off the ranger’s life force, sharing his blood within the crystal mounted upon bands of silver. As a child, Julian had been fascinated by the carnivorous appetite of the crystal. He remembered watching in awe as the host’s blood filled its stony stomach. Sickened with disgust, his gaze fell to the ring upon his own finger. The Sarcion demanded no such sacrifice. It was a partner to its host. He smoothed his finger tip along the surface of the black stone. Of course, it did have its own needs.
"Hell awaits all of you!" Julian raised his hand and sliced it down again.
Nine dark figures, shrouded in midnight robes, poured from the rotting trees and tall grass of the marsh. They moved like wraiths toward him. Their passing made no sound, and their feet left no prints. Sniffing the air as one, the creatures caught their quarry's scent. Their blood-stained teeth began to chatter. A nerve-shattering caterwaul emanated from deep inside their billowing forms. They were the Sarcion's advanced guard and special assassin squad. Those unlucky souls who had heard their terrible song called them the Dirge.
They stopped beside Julian, tense with anticipation and hungry for his command to take the fortress. He watched them, feeding on their savage hatred. They had been men once. The Sarcion had changed them into instruments of death, bound forever to its will.
The man who joins the Lion Ring and the Sarcion Ring will rule not just Valdeon, but all of Andara! The Sarcion whispered within Julian's mind, sending the euphoria pulsing into his body. It was a drug akin to the deepest gratification. The words — as they always had — gave him the courage to push on. For two years, he had patiently orchestrated his rise to power. He had eliminated any competition for the throne of Valdeon. Then the long hunt for Leo had begun. The final element for his victory was at hand.
"I will restore the glory of Valdeon!" Julian breathed in deeply the sensation of his invincibility. "My armies will force all of Andara to cower at my feet!"
Pushing his hunger down, he steadied his emotions. A cool head would see victory this day, not reckless desire. He turned to the Dirge, forcing his gaze to remain fixed on the lifeless orbs hidden deep inside their hooded shrouds.
"Take the fortress. Leave my father alive. I want to see him in his defeat."
The Dirge swept toward the walls, effortlessly dodging the volley of arrows showering down upon them. Agile like predator cats, their movements were quick and sure. Nightmarish forms disappeared and reappeared too quickly to anticipate. They were untouchable. Death's song intruded upon the silence of the marsh. Screams of anguish rose up as the Dirge melted into the gaps of the wall. It was feeding time.
"They move like phantoms," Julian whispered to the Sarcion.
Yes, aren’t they beautiful? The Sarcion vibrated with pleasure upon Julian’s finger. Its bloodlust never seemed to be sated.
The lifeless bodies of the defenders flew over the walls, landing with a sickening crunch upon the crumbled stone. Julian kicked the nearest corpse over. Three slash marks crossed the man's left forearm. He was one of Leo's "Lion Friends." There would be no pleadings for mercy in this battle. In their fanaticism to protect the old ranger, they recklessly threw down their lives for his honor. Julian stood away from the zealot. He didn't recognize the man. Leo had many such nameless worshippers.
Death's music had stopped. It was silent again upon the marsh. Julian followed the slippery stone toward a large, barricaded opening. The wet wood was easily pushed aside now that no one was left to hold the bracings. Bloodied bodies were scattered everywhere. Some were Valdeonians loyal to their old king. The greater majority were men of other nations, those Leo hadn't disappointed. Julian hurried around them, turning his face away as the Dirge munched greedily upon the corpses. They hissed in warning as he passed.
One of the Dirge was waiting for him at the top of a crumbling wall. He struggled up the mossy stone to join its floating visage. As it turned the hooded cowl toward him, gray-blue skin pulled taut over sharp bones in a hideous mockery of a grin. Black orbs took Julian in with calculating hunger. Then the Dirge turned away and pointed a thin finger to the ancient courtyard below. Leo knelt upon the stone floor directly beneath them. Gone was his carefully maintained uniform. The old king had allowed his gray hair to grow long, tying it back in the fashion of a commoner. The Crown of Sorrows, symbol of Valdeon's ruler, hovered upon his brow. Its magic had diminished to a weak glow.
He had once feared the ranger kneeling before him. Now, the mighty Lion — one of the highest-ranking officers in their legion consisting of kings a
nd other nobility — had been reduced to little more than a peasant. It was no easy thing to stand against the power of a ranger — especially the legendary Leo. Julian's contempt for his father gave him the strength to push aside the last of his fear.
The old ranger’s eyes swept down to the oval ring on his left hand. He seemed to be contemplating the lion’s head etched in white within the stone. The Lion Ring flashed soft purple in the afternoon sun. Was it speaking to its human host? Julian's ring stirred in response. For one wild moment, he imagined his father would surrender. Then a dagger flashed in Leo's hand. His amber-flecked eyes ran across Julian's face. With a final cry of defiance, Leo brought the dagger down upon his left hand.
The mighty roar of a lion shook the marsh, throwing them back. Julian fell to the ground, covering his ears. Beside him, the Dirge convulsed in agony. A band of energy within Julian’s mind — his bond with the Lion Ring — snapped, leaving him disoriented. Screaming, he pressed at the hot blood escaping from his nostrils. His stinging eyes stared at the Sarcion Ring pulsing upon his trembling finger. The mental link to the Lion Ring had been lost.
Get up! You must find Leo before he disappears into the marsh. The Lion Ring’s life force has been drained. I can no longer track it now that the Jalora's power has left the stone!
He tumbled down the ruined walls toward the courtyard. The Dirge waited for him at the base of the wall, spotless though they had spilled a great deal of blood that day. Their fury at the Jalora's unexpected attack was evident in the gnashing teeth and vicious sword thrusts into still corpses.
Blood pooled on the ancient stone at their center. The heavy raindrops already mingled with the thickness of Leo's sacrifice. Soon any evidence of his escape would be washed away. The Dirge seemed to sense his intent. They sniffed at the muggy air. One of them brought its face close to the stone and snorted great gulps of air into its nostrils. Howling like a demonic bloodhound, it lurched forward. Julian hurriedly followed. Several drops of blood marked a trail leading toward the back of the ruins. He cursed when the Dirge pushed aside a loose stone. It was an opening to a hidden trail. Footprints led toward clumps of matted grass surrounding a large tributary. Bent reeds and muddied water revealed a boat had been hidden, waiting for Leo’s escape. His old quarry had tricked them again.
Pounding impotently at the mud, he tried to reach out with the Sarcion once more. It was no use. He'd failed. Leo had disappeared and taken his ring with him. Something floated in the water beside the grass. He prodded it over with the tip of his sword. It was a human finger. A nasty-looking oval shape was burned into the skin. Leo had left a piece of himself behind after all.
"We should have anticipated this." He spat at the abandoned flesh. "Leo would cut off his own finger in order to hide the Lion Ring."
Ranger honor. He'd endured it his entire life, along with his father's disappointment. Neither Julian nor his brothers had been chosen to bear the Lion Ring. What was not given willingly would be taken by force.
"I must have the Lion Ring. You well know what is at stake." He held the black ring out before him. "Legends warn none but the bearer of the Lion Ring may touch the throne."
Indeed. The Jackal Emperor will be disappointed at this latest failure. Your contract with him must be fulfilled. The consequences if you fail will be…unpleasant.
Their shared thoughts moved back to his elusive quarry. Leo had lost the powers of a ranger now that the Lion Ring was no longer attached to his body. Even so, they must find him soon. Others would be looking for the ring too. He stared out across the inhospitable marsh.
"There is no one else, Father! I am the last! Your only choice is to give me the ring!" He waited, but there was no reply. Not even the sound of oars moving through the water.
Brilliant white light exploded from the marsh to surround the ruins. Pulsing with unbridled energy, it rose upward in a towering wave above the trees. Then the walls of the abandoned fortress shook violently, sinking slowly to the marsh floor.
Run, Julian! the Sarcion cried inside his mind. If the Jalora's power touches you, death will follow!
He scrambled to his feet and raced back toward the stone path. The Dirge followed. Some were overtaken in the wave of light. Their agonized screams hurried his pace. He dove into the tangles of branches. Hacking desperately with his blade, he propelled his body out of the thicket. He landed hard upon the rocky shore and kept rolling until the light finally faded.
Human hands lifted him to his feet. Several of the crew stood beside longboats, watching the five remaining Dirge warily. Julian shook off the hands and crept carefully back to the stone path. He peered into the dead trees and muddied waters. The ruins were gone. Only the stillness of the marsh remained.
The Jalora was supposed to be a great champion of good. Today it had shown its ruthless side.
Chapter Two
Over the waves and past the horizon, four emerald towers rose above the foaming sea. Formed with solid rock, the Grey Cliff Isles defied time and the elements for centuries before man was able to conquer their surface. They offered a simple life for those hearty souls willing to endure harsh conditions and hard work. The smallest isle, Marianna, could be traveled around by pony in half a day. Difficult to reach from the mainland, it was the farthest point west in the realm of Andara. For Seth McCloud, the little isle may as well have been on the other side of the world.
His amber-flecked brown eyes stared up toward the vast heavens as the hull of an airship floated slowly out to sea. He'd watched airships come and go from the town of Haven Bay's port for most of his sixteen years. One day he'd be onboard a vessel headed for freedom. Nothing could kill his dreams of adventure on Andara, not time or the lack of funds.
A well-placed elbow poked at his ribs. Carrot-colored curls atop a short islander frame bounced along beside him. Bright blue eyes shimmered with impatience. His best friend, Riley Logan, was not one to be ignored.
"I said Stan swears the ribbon and bows will be walking through the market anytime now. We need to pick up our pace. Great gulls, Seth. You've seen airships a thousand times."
"Ribbons and bows" was Riley's pet name for the girls of Haven Bay. He and the other boys from the outlying farms made it a point to be in the market at week’s end. It was their only chance to catch a glimpse of softness other than the fuzzy tails of their woolie herds.
They walked down the little alley separating McTavish’s Mercantile and Old Ned’s Tailor Shop. Haven Bay Town Square opened up before them. Salty air filled Seth’s nostrils as they walked. The soles of his boots pounded upon the stone of the square, scattering a gaggle of seabirds in his wake. Far below, watery fists slammed against the rocks of the cliffs. Everyday sounds of children laughing and men arguing about the cost of feed announced they were entering the market. He leaned his head back, taking in the briny air.
Long rows of chalk-white shops stood like sentries. Windows filled with tantalizing goods beckoned to the ambling crowds of market time. Each gray door sported a shop’s name in bold, white letters. Each letter was in perfect uniformity with its neighbor. He rolled his eyes. Was it too much to ask for a missing letter or two?
“Ho! Seth! Riley,” Charlie McDermott called from the hitching post in front of Morgan’s Stable and Feed.
He brought a large, rough hand to smooth at the tiny bits of fuzzy stubble upon his square jaw. It wasn’t a handsome face, but Seth found it likeable. Jamie Newcastle and Stan McBride stood beside him. One stout and the other pole thin, they were an unimpressive pair in Charlie's massive shadow. The boys nodded their greetings as Seth and Riley joined them.
Seth leaned against the empty buckboard wagon. His eyes drifted up to the thin gray patch of autumn sky peeking over the eaves. Palms sweaty and stomach squirming, he tried to summon an attitude of calm in front of his friends. After months of excuses and hesitation, today was the day he'd walk up to Alice McKenzie and start a conversation. Perhaps they'd talk about harvest? Riley's family threw a big party
every autumn. Imagine if he walked onto the dance floor with the prettiest girl in Haven Bay upon his arm?
“Have you seen them yet?” Riley asked, fingers combing through his untamed curls.
“Tea shoppe’s serving those nasty little powdery cakes today. Alice fancies those.” Stan gave Seth a sideways grin. “I expect she'll be along soon with the others.”
Jamie pointed at Seth's front. "Have you been rolling around in jam, McCloud?"
Cherry filling dotted the front of his best black waistcoat. Seth wiped at the sticky mess, his fingers managing to spread the preserves rather than hide them.
"That's a stain for sure. I was helping my mother pack her baskets this morning."
Jamie grunted and shook his head. "No offense to your mum, but I don't know why she bothers with such things. Your family isn't well off either, and that uncle of yours has a tight fist. Where does she get her money to waste on those who won't work?"
"We can't let the little ones go without."
Seth kept a tight grip on his anger. Jamie was the elder's son. He'd never had to do a hard day's work in his short life. His belly had never been empty nor had he been too cold to sleep. People like him couldn't understand need until they experienced it for themselves.
"Careful, Jamie." Charlie leaned forward, a mean look upon his face. "If not for Mrs. McCloud, Dad and I would have been in a hard place last spring when the feed went bad."
Riley stepped around Seth to stand before the elder's son. Bright blue eyes turned hard as an angry splotch of red formed on his neck. The infamous Logan temper was coming dangerously close to the surface.
"You and your fancy clothes. Seth and I will be rolling in riches when we make our fortune on the mainland."
The Lords of Valdeon Page 2
