The Lords of Valdeon

by C. R. Richards

  "Be grateful you still draw breath after betraying me! You will continue to watch over this boy until it is time. I found you once, Pavel Sandor, don’t think I won’t hunt you again. Now do what you do best. We need everyone to believe the raider trash is responsible for this mess."

  Strong, rough hands lifted Seth's torso off the floor until he was sitting up. His head fell on his rescuer’s chest. The proximity brought the patch on the man’s uniform into focus. Embroidered into its shape was a golden sword stretching over a bright star. The words “Jalora Legion” had been sewn in crimson. He was a ranger, and someone Emma knew well enough to run to for help. More lies and secrets. What else had they hidden from him? What other dark secrets would he discover about the woman who bore him?

  "Mother!" Seth screamed.

  "She’s dead, boy," the ranger told him. "You still live."

  "Will you summon the Sacred Guard then?" Emma asked.

  "No. I will come for him at the appointed time. You must resume your normal lives as best you can until my return."

  The ranger lifted Seth over his shoulder as easily as if he were a small sack of flour. His body bounced weakly when they descended the stairs. Emma hurried after them, staying close to the ranger's back. His mother's killer didn't follow.

  "You must keep him alive."

  "Yes, it will be as you say," she told him.

  Seth reached out his hand to her. "Emma, who am I?"

  "Hush, boy." she rested her hand upon his head. "You’re very ill. The masked man and the Ranger are only dreams."

  Seth shook his head, gripping the ash cloak. They were not dreams. They were nightmares. The image of his mother’s dead face swirled before him. She'd left him with no answers or explanation.

  Chapter Six

  Riley Logan dug his feet into the ooze. His bright blue eyes glared at the insistent mouths surrounding him. He gripped the pitchfork tighter, trying to keep from slipping on the dung underneath his boots. It was a difficult job to remain standing in the middle of a herd of hungry woolies. The sheep bumped and charged at him as they fought to reach the hay at the end of his fork. Riley pushed through them with a growl.

  His dad lectured the family at least once a week about the gratitude they should show the fuzzy creatures. The little island of Marianna had struggled during the first few years of colonization and would have failed if not for a happy accident of nature. A herd of larkspur short-hair sheep, known for their hardiness, mixed in a field with Heidelbreckt country long-hairs. Springtime overcame them, and Marianna was blessed with a new breed of sheep — the Marianna woolie. Softer or warmer wool could not be found in the Grey Cliff Isles or Andara.

  "Get out of the way!"

  The herd pushed at him even harder. Their superior numbers were more than a match for his temper. He dropped the bale in the middle of the yard and jumped out of their way. With his pitchfork raised in defeat, he scrambled out of the pen and fell on his backside in the grass.

  "Careful, Little Whiskers." His brother Patrick snorted, lifting his lantern. "Wouldn’t want Mother’s baby hurt."

  "Hurt? He'll wish he'd been trampled to death if Dad finds out he forgot to do the afternoon feed again."

  George, another of the Logan boys, led his younger brothers to gather around the pen. They snickered as Riley hurried to his feet. Mr. Logan had fathered seven sons. Each of them had quick tempers and a smart mouth. Bright copper hair marked the boys as kin. While it was true they did fight amongst themselves, heaven help the fool who picked a fight with one brother. He'd have to face seven pairs of fists.

  "I should hang a bucket of sheep dung around your neck to help you remember." Patrick hung his light on the post beside Riley's lantern. He grinned and leaned on the pen's rail.

  "Come ahead, Patrick, and I’ll show you the business end of this pitchfork!"

  "I’ll take it away from you and smack your bottom with the handle." Patrick pushed away from the pen and started toward Riley.

  "Standing around like lazy bums, eh?"

  Thomas Logan rounded the corner of the barn and marched toward the pen. The copper hair framing his weather-worn cheeks had begun to show signs of gray. Age hadn't slowed Mr. Logan. His iron will and tireless nature had made the Logan Farm Marianna's highest producer of woolie wool. He regarded his brood with naked anger. Riley kept quiet. He'd learned well not to argue with his dad when his temper was up.

  "Do you think I pay to put food in those bottomless bellies of yours so you can lie about all day? I’ll have you all cleaning the barn from top to bottom in a minute. Now, get to the house. Your mum has supper on the table."

  "Aye, Dad!" The Logan boys sang out with better precision than a church choir.

  Riley grabbed his lantern off the post. He followed his brothers, not wanting to tempt his dad’s anger. He'd already had a good tongue lashing today for knocking the weather vane off the barn roof. Thoughts drifting to the coins he had hidden in his waistcoat, Riley mentally counted them until his foul mood subsided. He and Seth were very close to having enough money saved for their journey to the mainland. They'd make their fortunes in one of Andara's rich cities. Riley's days of mucking pens would be far behind him.

  A horse and wagon raced at a reckless pace down the hill and through the stone pillars marking the entrance to their farm. Riley shook his head. His horse must be kicking up enough dust to cover their porch in dirt. And one guess who’d get stuck washing it down.

  "What’s he doing, the damn fool? His horse could break a leg charging about in the dark." George spat out the piece of straw hanging upon his lips. "Mum won’t be fit to live with if the supper gets cold."

  "Aye," Riley told them, waving at the dusty cloud floating under the lamps of the farmyard. "She’ll make us take another wash by the time we’ve made it to the house."

  His brothers groaned under their breaths. Mrs. Logan insisted on keeping them abnormally clean. Insisting they wash once a week. Imagine! The McKenzie brothers only had to wash once a month as was proper. It was Anne McCloud’s doing. Seth’s mother was like family. She was well loved around the Logan Farm, but some of the odd things she did were out of place on Marianna. She wouldn’t let Seth use the Islic brogue — the customary language of the Grey Cliff Isle — or allow him to curse. Mrs. McCloud absolutely refused to allow Seth to leave the island no matter how much he pleaded. Riley felt sorry for his best friend sometimes.

  "McTavish's Feed and Supply" stretched along the side of the buckboard in dark blue letters. Angus McTavish reined in his ponies and stopped in the farmyard close to the house. He was an older man, with no shortage of middle-aged plump about his belly. Struggling off the buckboard, Mr. McTavish leaned breathlessly upon its side. He waved wildly as they approached.

  "Thomas, I have news!"

  The farmhouse door creaked open and Riley’s mum came out on the porch. Drying her hands on a long apron covered in flour, she ran quick fingers across her blonde hair. A few strands had escaped the tight bun she wore upon the top of her head. The omniscient eyes of a mother of seven took them in.

  "What is it, Angus?" She dusted off a bench for their guest. "Come in, have some tea."

  "No thank you, Laura. There's no time." Mr. McTavish shook his head. "I hardly know where to start, so much has happened."

  Riley moved a little closer as the man took a seat on their front porch. He was itching with curiosity. This must be big news indeed. The militia had their share of skirmishes with Amity raiders in the summertime, but little happened to disrupt the boredom of a Haven Bay autumn night.

  "Amity raiders came up to the McKenzie farm and carried off their girl, Alice."

  "Raiders this close to winter? That doesn't make any sense."

  Haven Bay guarded her coastline year around. They'd put in a relay system of alarms to warn their neighbors along the Farm Row. Each alarm was constantly manned during raider season. This time of year, however, the farmers turned their concerns to the oncoming winter months. The ala
rm bells outside Haven Bay remained silent and forgotten.

  Patrick pounded up the stairs. The rest of the Logan boys followed. They circled about their guest, waiting for the story to continue. Mr. McTavish patted his forehead and cheeks with his linen. His eyes sparkled with the glee of a storyteller who'd been rewarded with a free meal. He was clearly pleased by the cries of shock.

  "The McKenzie men with my son Rob, Elder Newcastle, and some of the other local farmers went looking for her. Guess what they found?"

  "Tell us, man." Patrick grunted and got a good whack on the back of his head from their dad.

  "They followed the smoke from a grass fire in the far fields to find Seth McCloud with Alice in his arms. Five Amity raiders were dead at his feet!"

  Riley stared open mouthed at their visitor. Seth had fought and won a fight against five raiders? And stuck-up Alice McKenzie had let Seth touch her? What in the green, green fields had happened to his best friend? Seth McCloud wasn’t a warrior or a lover. He'd barely been able to talk to Alice or any other girl during school. Then again, Mr. McTavish's son Rob was the constable. He'd seen it with his own eyes.

  "Scrawny Seth McCloud?" George stammered. "Riley’s friend, Seth McCloud, fought raiders?"

  "And won." Mr. McTavish tapped his finger tip at George with each syllable.

  "Is he alright? And what about Alice?" Riley’s mum asked. "I must go to the farm. The poor girl is probably in hysterics."

  Mr. McTavish stopped smiling. He stood to face Mrs. Logan. Riley didn’t like the nervous look in his eyes. Something else was wrong. He pushed through his brothers and came to stand beside their mum. Her hand clutched at his arm.

  "Seth is alright," Riley asked. "Isn’t he?"

  McTavish shifted his gaze uneasily away from Riley. "Constable wants you and your boys to help find the murdering raider who escaped, Thomas."

  "Aye." Mr. Logan turned to his boys. "Michael, Stephen, Riley, stay here with your mum. Go into the house, lock the doors, and don’t open them until we've come back."

  "Alice will need looking after, Thomas. A girl needs a mother after such a horrible experience."

  "No, Laura," Mr. Logan told her. The fear in his voice was unnerving. "I want you safe in the house. Don't worry. We'll bring her here if her dad agrees."

  Riley gripped Angus McTavish’s arm. "Seth? What about Seth?"

  "He was bloodied some, but he seemed none the worse for wear. The men who found them said young McCloud, well, they said he seemed changed somehow. He wasn't acting like himself."

  "And they just let him wander off on his own?" Riley pulled away from his mum's grip. "You don't know Seth like I do. He wouldn't show he'd been hurt."

  Fighting off raiders. What had Seth been thinking missing the night bell again? He’d been warned so often, Sergeant Gunn had threatened to make him wash all the uniforms in the militia. This was more serious than a joy ride along the cliffs. Seth was in real trouble. He needed help, and he'd get it whether he wanted it or not.

  Riley raced off the porch and charged at full speed toward the corral beside their barn. Their only horse, Bluebell, drank lazily from the trough. She lifted her head when he threw open the gate, expecting her usual evening apple. He leapt on her bare back and thrust his heals in her girth. She snorted angrily and bounded up the lane toward the Farm Row.

  "Riley Logan!" His dad yelled as he rode past. "You get your pasty arse back here before I beat it bloody!"

  The Logan Farm was to the northeast of Haven Bay. Riley and his brothers could walk the distance into town in under thirty minutes if they cut across the fields. In his haste, Riley had left his lantern behind. There would be no shortcuts this time. He'd have to keep to the Farm Row using the moon's light to guide them. It was a well-traveled road connecting the farms in the far north to the town of Haven Bay at the southern end of the island. Over the years, wagons full of woolie wool and other supplies had worn the soil down to the hard stone beneath. Farm Row's slowly winding path through the farms eventually brought travelers to the Main Row and the east end of Haven Bay. Unfortunately for Riley, the McCloud home was in the southwest end of town.

  Bluebell came to the top of Settler's Hill, allowing Riley a view of the night's chaos. He brought the pony to a halt. The strong odor of gunpowder and scorched grass traveled upon the constant breeze. Torchlights swarmed across the countryside like a luminescent fishing net. Every farmer and militiamen on Marianna must be in those fields tonight or soon would be.

  "Ho, Riley Logan!" Someone called from the field to his right."What are you doing, charging at us in the dark? You could have gotten your damn fool head shot off."

  Sergeant Gunn, leader of the militia, banged the cover of his lantern open. Light circled about him as he lifted the lantern higher. Streaks of dirt and sweat covered his face. He didn't look happy to have a visitor. Neither did the two men walking beside him. Each of them carried muskets, their barrels pointed at Riley.

  "Don’t shoot my dad or he’ll have your head. He and the boys are coming in Mr. McTavish's wagon. I’m looking for Seth."

  "Shoe and stocking. Always together. I’d wondered where you were, Riley." The Sergeant frowned and took a strong hold on Bluebell’s mane. "Does your dad know you’re out here by yourself? I didn’t think so. Off you get. You and this horse are going to stay put with us until your dad gets here."

  Riley slid off Bluebell. "Where is Seth?"

  "You don’t need to worry about him. He fought off those raiders in the first place." The Sergeant shook his head and pointed toward Haven Bay. "Constable said he headed through the fields toward home."

  Riley sprinted into the darkness, ignoring the sergeant's angry shouts. Dodging torch-wielding volunteers, he crossed the small pasture land bordering Farm Row. A waist-high stone wall helped Riley get his bearing. The east end of town was close. Shadows from the church steeple stretched over the iron rod fence surrounding many a headstone. He shivered. They buried their dead in its lonely yard. Old or young. The boneyard didn't care who you once were in life. Death turned everyone back to dust.

  The lights of town were a welcome comfort as he made his way through the empty alleyways of the market place. His work boots hit the ornate stones of town square. Businesses and homes along the square had their shutters tightly closed, hoping to guard against raider mischief. Though the alarm bells were no longer ringing, the residents of Haven Bay remained cautious. Riley didn't blame them. They'd been looted enough over the years.

  The McCloud house stood at the northernmost point of the square. Its windows were dark as if the house had been abandoned. Riley stopped beside the line of benches along the little ornamental fence. Anne McCloud kept a warm home despite being kin to the isle's meanest resident. Tonight its friendly light and the fragrant smells of a busy kitchen were missing.

  Their front door swung open. A huge man dressed in a heavy gray cloak filled the doorway. Seth's unconscious body was hanging over his shoulder. The stranger stopped. His hood lifted as if he were listening. Riley squatted down behind the benches lining the square. Something about the man warned him to stay hidden. The moments clicked by as he waited, motionless and watchful.

  Emma broke the spell over the square when she shut the door behind their visitor. Words, low and quick, passed between them. Then they hurried down the Main Row with Seth's unconscious body. Riley stayed low and followed. Emma was having trouble keeping pace behind the stranger. In truth, if Riley hadn't been able to fix his eyes on Seth's stained white shirt, he wouldn't have been able to see the man at all.

  They stopped before Doctor McFadden's home. The stranger lowered Seth to the garden bench beside the doctor's front door. He exchanged more hushed words with her and then turned in a flourish of gray. The stranger disappeared into the night, leaving Emma alone with Seth. She banged on the door, but there was no answer. Lights blazed on the lower floor in the doctor's surgery. He was either with a late-night patient or preparing for wounded volunteers.


  Riley left his hiding place and joined her on the porch. "What has happened to Seth, Emma?"

  Her cloak flew between them, blocking his vision. The fabric fell away as Emma's hand stopped inches from his throat. Hard eyes held him in place with their intensity. Her hand dropped as recognition came to her face. Riley fancied he saw a glint of steel under the lamplight before her hand disappeared under the folds of her cloak.

  "Why aren't you at home, boy?" She turned from him and pounded upon the door again. "There have been terrible goings-on tonight. Go round to the surgery and tap on the window. See if you can get the doctor's attention."

  He backed away from her. His early memories were filled with Emma baking sweet cakes for him and Seth. She'd been there to kiss hurt fingers and clean skinned knees. The idea of her holding a knife to his throat was completely mental. He'd been mistaken. Emma wouldn't hurt him or anyone else.

  Riley stood on his toes and peered into the surgery window. Doctor McFadden wasn't inside. Two bright green eyes and a head of strawberry hair suddenly appeared on the other side of the pane. He jumped back, nearly falling on his backside again. The window lifted open and Beatrice McFadden, the doctor's daughter, stuck her head out.

  "Why are you peeking in windows this time of night, Riley Logan?" She clutched at the neck of her shawl. Bits of ribbons from her dressing gown popped up over the fabric. Freckles sprinkled on her nose and cheeks made her look much younger than her fifteen years.

  "Well, I'm not here to see you, so you can stop your hinting." Riley tugged angrily on his waistcoat. "I've come for your dad. Seth's ill."

  "Dad's gone around front. You'd best go find him and stop loitering." She slammed the window and stormed away, braids bobbing as she walked.

  Loitering. He wasn't loitering. Beatrice was a little pest. It was lucky for her dad he was the only doctor on the island. Rude greetings from that daughter of his would send the town folk running from his door.