The Lords of Valdeon

by C. R. Richards

  Seth stretched out his left hand. The Lion Ring shimmered in the dim light, drawing the Logan boys closer. George stretched his hand toward it. His fingers hovered over the stone. Tom slapped his brother's hand. George pulled it away again with a yelp.

  "I’m the ranger from the raid. Pavel Sandor, or the man you knew as Fergus McCloud, murdered my mother." Seth choked on the words. "My father was killed tonight after giving me this ring. The creatures who attacked him want it. Riley and I have to leave Marianna before they can catch us."

  It sounded absurd to Seth, and he wondered if Tom or the other Logan boys would believe him. Tom’s eyes were still transfixed on the ring. His knuckles turned white as they clutched at the handle of the lantern. Then the lion's head turned to regard Tom. He and his brothers stumbled away from Seth.

  "We’ll see you safely along the northern fields above Haven Bay. If we travel quickly, we can make it to the airship port inside an hour."

  "This can't be real." George's stare remained fixed upon Seth's left hand.

  "Aye, it's all true. I served three years at the Citadel. I know a ranger when I see one." Tom gave Seth a small nod. "Rangers never lie. They cannot. Great gulls. I never thought to see the Lion Ring in my life, Ranger. Imagine. The Lion's son has been here on Marianna all these years right under our noses."

  Tom sat back on the hay bale, unaware all eyes were fixed upon him. "I’ll do what I can for you, Ranger, but Riley won’t be going with you."

  "I must go with Seth, Tom. I've sworn an oath as his squire. I must serve my ranger."

  Tom sprang up to pace about the barn. "Do you know what you’ve done?"

  "Aye, I’ve trained these past weeks with Leo’s squire."

  "Did he tell you what war would be like, Little Whiskers? Did he tell you what is expected of you?

  Tom's eyes grew distant. They seemed haunted, as if something scarred his memory. A shiver of foreboding ran along Seth's arm. His future would be full of war and death it seemed.

  "Most squires in the Jalora Legion die or are maimed serving their rangers. If by some miracle they outlast their lord, those squires risk their lives fetching the ranger ring off their dead master’s hand. I’ve seen a squire throw himself before a death blow to save his lord. Another leapt off a cliff to try and reach his fallen ranger, only to have them both die. Did he tell you the truth of war, Riley Logan?"

  Seth looked at his best friend, waiting with the rest for the answer. What had he done? Accepting Riley as his squire seemed selfish now. Rather than following him into danger, Riley could be with his family, safe and sound.

  "Aye, he told me." Riley came to stand beside Seth. "I gave an oath."

  Tom leaned against the barn wall and nodded at last. "Aye, go you must."

  "You can’t be serious!" Patrick spun the eldest Logan brother around. "What if he doesn’t come back?"

  "We’ll come too." George, finally able to tear his eyes away from the Lion Ring, turned to Riley. "That should see you to where you’re going."

  Their anxious, frightened faces flashed before Seth's eyes in images of death. He staggered back as the power left him. More magic, none too pleasant this time. The Logan boys were no match for the enemies hunting him. He couldn't add their deaths to those lost tonight.

  "No." Power surged behind his words. The Logan boys stepped back a little. They looked at him as if he were a stranger. Fear was in their eyes. He couldn't bear seeing it there.

  "Where we go you cannot follow."

  "Then we’ll see you both safely off Marianna at least, Lion."

  Tom pushed the barn door open tentatively. He waved them to follow. The Logan boys surrounded Seth and Riley as they made their way south. The familiar sense of safety Seth normally felt in the presence of the Logan boys was absent as they walked. Creatures with skill enough to murder Edmund D’Antoiné could easily crush farmers. Seth had dragged Riley into danger, and now he had inadvertently endangered his best friend’s entire family.

  "Look." Stephen pointed to the west. "Two more of those creatures."

  Their hulking shadows crossed Farm Row a few moments after Seth and his friends had entered the outskirts of town. How many of those killers had been unleashed upon Marianna to hunt him? Not wanting to find out, he kept them behind the stone wall running along Main Row. They stopped just short of the airship port. It appeared to be deserted. Seth scanned the platforms illuminated in the torchlight. No sign of his hunters.

  "Riley and I must leave you here."

  "You can't risk buying tickets. Best to go up in the cargo lifts." Tom pointed at several bales of woolie wool. "You can stow away. It’s a short trip to Larkspur. You’ll be safe enough in the hold."

  "Listen, Tom," Riley began awkwardly. "Tell Dad and Mum I had to go with Seth."

  Tom gave him a troubled smile. "Of course you had to go, Little Whiskers. Logan men aren’t cowards. We see our duty and we do it."

  "Will you look after Beatrice for me?"

  "Anyone bothers her, we’ll pound them." George nodded with a hard swallow. "I promise."

  No hint of humor laced his brother’s voice. Jamie or anyone else who bothered Beatrice would soon regret it.

  "Ranger." Tom stood before him, looking much like his father in the moment. “Watch after Riley. Promise me."

  "You have my word." Seth gripped Riley’s shoulder. "Ready?"

  "Let’s go."

  Darting across the Main Row, they moved into the shadows of the warehouses. Seth didn't look back as they left their past and headed toward an uncertain future.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Julian adjusted the spyglass until he could clearly see the young Lion's face. Those amber-flecked eyes shot a look directly up at the docks, but he made no reaction. The boy turned back toward his companions, seven farm boys not much older than himself. Julian had guessed right. The young Lion didn't have all his powers yet. He was still vulnerable.

  The very thought of the boy curdled his stomach. Their country's most precious sacred object was upon the finger of a dirty Tslavian. The sacrilege made no difference to Leo, apparently. Of course not. The boy looked so much like their father. No doubt Leo had doted upon his heir, lavishing the boy with affection never spared for his other son.

  The Lion and a curly headed young man, his squire perhaps, leapt over the stone wall and ran toward the warehouses. The rest of their group stayed behind the wall. They must have meant something to the boy. It was unfortunate their loyalty to him would result in their deaths. A handful of armed Jackal soldiers crept low through the fields toward the weaponless boys. While it would be entertaining watching his barbarian allies cut them down, the farmers weren't his concern. He swept the spyglass back to the young Lion. It was time they met. The boy should know why he was about to die. Julian had, after all, faced his other siblings before their lives drained away.

  He snapped the spyglass home in his belt and stood away from the railing. The Dirge could make short work of the Lion of course, but they hadn't returned from disposing of Leo. Julian didn't like to lose sight of them for long. They were difficult to control, but manageable. Perhaps their absence was best for now. He wanted to face this half-breed boy. It was a risk. The Lion Ring may not accept him after he personally killed its bearer, but he was out of time. Gorman was growing impatient.

  A man stepped out of the shadows a few feet away from Julian. Black tattoos covered a bald head. Gold rings pierced his brow and cheeks. It was the Amity raider he'd paid to find Leo and the boy. A hungry smile crossed his painted face. Rings jingling as he moved, the raider gestured toward the warehouses.

  "You see. We have completed our side of the bargain. Now you must pay us."

  "Your payment is aboard my ship. Wait for me there. You'll have your reward once I'm done."

  "I wait for no one. Least of all you, bastard prince." A figure cloaked in midnight emerged from the crates to stand between Julian and the raider. His gloved hand threw off the enormous hood. Turning hi
s masked face toward the faint light of a sulking moon, he made certain Julian saw the white dagger running down its center.

  "Well, I'm honored." Julian eased his hand toward the hilt of his sword. "Does the Tslavian Court despise me so much they would send their most legendary assassin to kill me?"

  "Don't flatter yourself, Valdeonian pig. The prey you hunt is mine." Pavel Sandor grabbed the raider's tunic. "You didn't tell me we were taking money from the sworn enemy of my country. I will not be traitor to my king!"

  A dagger sprung into his hand. The tip drew a deep cut across the raider's throat in moments. Though time had aged Sandor, clearly his skill had remained sharp. He pushed the raider's body over the railing and into the dark void.

  "I endured years looking after Seth, watching the half-breed child of Edmund D'Antoiné grow into adulthood. My blade was stayed by the deadly promise of an unknown ranger. No more. I will have my justice! My blade and not yours shall slit Seth's throat."

  Seth? It was a strange name to give a Lion. And what of this unknown ranger? A great deal of mystery surrounded this boy. No matter. His life would end shortly, and the Lion Ring would be in Julian's hands. The Tslavian scum before him mustn't be allowed to touch it. If he took the Lion Ring to his king, then news of the boy's death would be out. Pavel could prove Julian was behind Leo's death. He had to be stopped.

  Sandor readied his body to strike again. He seemed to be favoring his right shoulder. Julian pulled his own weapon. This was an opponent used to killing and no rules of honor or etiquette would hinder him. Injured, he might prove to be even more deadly.

  "I am his blood relation. That gives me precedent over you, Tslavian scum." Julian lunged at the assassin with his most deadly attack. It was met with a parry, easily deflecting his strike.

  "You have but a distant claim on him, bastard prince." The Tslavian spat with distaste. "I have the tie of blood. His whore of a mother was my cousin. Your king sullied her body and the tainted result of their union runs along the ground below like the pathetic vermin he is." Sandor twisted his sword and disarmed Julian. "It is a matter of family honor, you see. I must kill the boy and take his head to my king. Only then will my family's name be restored."

  The tip of Sandor's sword pressed against his chest, twisting with a hatred which Julian returned. To come so close and be bested by a Tslavian was unforgiveable. He braced for the strike he knew was coming. Then Sandor groaned and fell forward.

  "Did you miss me, Julian?"

  The changeling grinned as it came to stand before him. Two Jackal soldiers stood beside the crates. One had a club in his hand. He licked at the blood his weapon had caused to Sandor's head.

  "Kill him!"

  "We've watched him this night. He is a warrior and deserves a warrior's death. Even barbarians, as you call us, have honor, Andarian." The changeling folded its arms. "Come. Our lord summons you."

  It gestured for Julian to follow with an outstretched finger, while the two warriors dragged Sandor to the side of the dock and pushed him behind a crate. His allies may have saved his life, but they were ruining his chances to take the throne.

  "I will not be summoned like a wayward child!"

  Julian walked around them, heading for the last location he saw the young Lion run. They grabbed his arms and pulled him off his feet. He was dragged like a drunk from a tavern. A lock of sticky, bloodied hair fell onto Julian's face. He turned away, disgusted by the stench. Clearly these barbarians didn't believe in bathing. Not in soap and water, at any rate.

  Struggling against their hold was futile. They were too strong and too disciplined to disobey their lord. Then a sickly gray-blue face appeared beneath them. The Dirge stared for a long moment before drifting toward the warehouses and the young lion.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Fire, hungry and wild, escaped into the night sky, heralding tales of violence in an otherwise calm sea. Xavier the Wolf clutched at the railing of his airship. Was he too late? The ship had raced from Valdeon at full speed, but their journey to the little island had still taken two full days.

  The ship’s hull vaulted past the jagged rocks, sending the birds scattering out to sea. They drew closer to the small airship port resting a little to the side of what apparently was the only town on the island.

  "Take us directly to the explosion, Captain."

  Darkened fields and bleating sheep passed beneath them. They rose on the currents over a cluster of trees and came to an open meadow. It had been a farm once with a tiny house and barn. Everything surrounding the skeletal remains of the farm was aflame. Several men and women were desperately trying to douse the fire. They were fighting a losing battle.

  Take comfort, Right-Hand. The Heir still lives.

  "The launch is ready, my lord." The first-mate saluted. "Shall I have an armed guard escort you?"

  "Let them attack me if they dare. I will have answers."

  Wolf leapt onto the dinghy with his squire following close behind. Basilio took the rudder and sailed the little vessel up and over the railing. Heat from the fire came at them in waves. Basilio banked the dinghy sharply to the left and away from the fire.

  Giving up on the farmhouse, the crowd of islanders stood watching the blaze. Wolf motioned Basilio to land in their center. Cries of shock rose over the sounds of the flames as they hurried out of the path of the dinghy. Wolf stood, letting his presence and power take their full effect.

  A fat, sweaty man dressed in breeches and a coat much too small for him approach their vessel. He was dressed a good deal better than his neighbors. Soft hands with clean fingernails. He was a minor official on the island and no doubt lorded over the others.

  "What is your business here, Stranger?" The chubby little man put fat hands upon his waist.

  Wolf lowered his eyes, examining the puffed up, petty official. The little man wilted under his gaze and stepped back into the crowd.

  "I seek Edmund D’Antoiné and his son." Wolf lifted his voice over the rumble of burning and murmurs.

  Confusion and fear came back to him as he probed the crowd. Their quiet world of woolies and seabirds had been tilted on its head this night. Wolf was another stranger to fear.

  "You call him by the name, Leo."

  A few heads raised. Whispers circled among the islanders. Anyone who had met Leo never forgot him afterwards. Wolf stretched out his senses to the crowd again. It was useless. These people only knew suspicion and fear now. They would not willingly tell him anything, especially after the violence their island had seen in the past day.

  Close your eyes, Right-Hand. Concentrate on the young lion.

  Wolf did as he was commanded, shutting out all sound and emotion. He was not surprised to feel Basilio come to stand between him and the frightened islanders. Eventually his presence too was blocked from Wolf's senses. Then he felt it. A steady beat of power coming from the southeast. It was the young Lion. He was in trouble.

  "Basilio, the Heir is at the airship port! Follow in the launch."

  He jumped out of the vessel, vaulting over the heads of a handful of farmers. Wolf ran at full ranger speed toward the structure in the distance. The grass was wet beneath his feet. In his haste, the drops of dew could not touch his boots. The Jalora stirred within him. It was unsettled and angry. Images of murdered innocents were coming at him in a dizzying frenzy. He kept his focus on the Lion's heartbeat, using it as a compass.

  The small port stood against the dark horizon. He was fast approaching a short rock wall separating field from road when he saw them. Strange soldiers dressed in unfamiliar armor circled about a group of unarmed farm boys. Swords drawn, the soldiers closed in for a tighter circle about their victims.

  "I make necklace from your ears and send to your friend the Lion." Their leader, a hideous-looking man with long, blood-stained braids, tugged at a gruesome necklace of leathery flesh around his own neck. "You see. Just like mine."

  The other soldiers moved in perfect unison, sweeping their swords at the b
oys. These were no mercenaries or common thieves. They were well disciplined and schooled in the art of intimidation. The strange soldiers, however, were not infallible. None of them noticed Wolf standing a few feet behind their line. The stench of their bodies was horrid. Best to have done with them quickly.

  His blade swept through the invader bodies swiftly, not dissuaded by their blood-stained armor. Wolf's Dance of Death didn't stop until he faced the last soldier, the same blaggard who'd made disparaging remarks about the Lion. He flicked his blade twice. The villain's ears fell to the ground. Then Wolf parted his head from his foul shoulders. He wiped his blade upon the man's cloak and sheathed it.

  The islander boys, brothers from their shared copper hair and pale skin, stood in a circle surrounded by blood. Casting worried looks toward Wolf, they seemed to be more afraid of him than they'd been of their armored enemies. He listened intently to their conversation as he examined the bodies of the strange new evil which had arrived upon their shores.

  "I’m telling you, he's a ranger." The eldest of them hushed his brothers. "If he asks us, we’ll have no choice. He'll make us tell him where Seth has gone."

  Wolf crossed the distance in seconds to tower over the shorter islanders. "You will tell me of Leo and his son."

  "Yes, sir." Their eldest snapped a hasty salute. The young man's hair may have grown and his weapons been left behind, but he couldn't be rid of the military training he'd been given. Clearly, he'd served in the UR army recently. Good. It would save time.

  "How do we know we can trust him, Tom?"

  "Shut your mouth, fool! This ranger is a Deacon. He can read your thoughts."

  It wasn’t exactly true. Wolf couldn't read their thoughts word for word, though the legion didn’t go out of its way to correct this common belief. Criminals were more likely to confess if they believed a ranger could read their very thoughts. In truth, an individual's images and memories came to a ranger when he probed a person’s mind. The gift was invaluable. Wolf stared at Tom and began to probe his memory.

  "Why do you reckon this stranger is so interested in Seth?" One of the brothers clutched at Tom's sleeve. "First Fergus McCloud turns out to be Pavel something-or-other, and now this ranger shows up."