Escape: The Seam Travelers Book One

by Jason Nugent

  ESCAPE

  THE SEAM TRAVELERS BOOK ONE

  Ray Wenck and Jason J. Nugent

  Copyright © 2019 by Ray Wenck and Jason J. Nugent

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Ray Wenck

  raywenck.com

  Jason J. Nugent

  jasonjnugent.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout © 2016 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Escape: The Seam Travelers Book One/ Ray Wenck and Jason J. Nugent. — 1st ed.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Thanks

  Ray Wenck

  Jason J. Nugent

  Dedication

  Dedicated to Terry, Molly and Angela for loving my kids despite their crazy dad.

  -Ray

  I’d like to dedicate this to my readers.

  It’s been awhile. I hope you enjoy!

  -Jason

  One

  PHETRIX RACED THROUGH the dark stone halls of the castle, his gray woolen robe trailing behind him. The invasion from the usurper Mortas Frost had begun and his duties to the prince and princess were paramount. They must be saved at all costs.

  Shouting men in black armor and dying soldiers surrounded the castle. Flaming arrows streaked the sky and landed inside the castle, striking royal soldiers and igniting wood and clothing. Shouts for medical aid were called to Phetrix, but he ignored them. It pained him to let the injured go unattended. His obligation was to the children. If Mortas Frost gained access to the castle, all hope was gone.

  Phetrix slipped on the cold stone floor when he turned a corner, his sandals losing traction in the fray, and nearly slammed into the wall. He righted himself and hurried to the nursery at the end of the hall.

  “Are they safe?” he asked the guard stationed outside. He was a large barrel chested man named Wibar. Standing stoic with a sword at his belt and the white stag of King Artus on his armor, he dared anyone to cross him.

  “Aye, they’re safe. None have come through here but you. Come, inside quick.”

  He opened the large wooden door to a room decorated in bright paintings of mythical animals. Unicorns and dragons adorned the paintings, most crude interpretations colored by the children Erthic and Elysande, the two-year old twins of King Artus and Queen Gresilda.

  “Erthic. Elysande,” he said breathless, “Come. We need to go.”

  Elysande pouted. “No.” She turned her back to him, facing an image of a griffon.

  “You’ll have time for disagreements later. We leave, now.”

  “No.”

  Erthic smiled, ready to join the fun. “No,” he mimicked.

  “We don’t have time for this.” Phetrix snatched each child into his arms and hurried out the door.

  “Wibar, come. I will need your assistance. We must make sure the children are safe.”

  “I’m yours, mage. Nothing will happen to them as long as I live.”

  Phetrix entered the hall with the children in his arms and Wibar behind him.

  Elysande squirmed and kicked.

  “Cut that out! If you—“

  She dropped from Phetrix’s arms and ran, hurrying for the hallway ahead.

  “Come back! Elysande! Don’t run!”

  He and Wibar ran after her, Erthic giggling at his sister’s escape.

  By the time they reached the intersection, she was gone. “Elysande! Where are you? This isn’t a game! You’re in danger!”

  The girl giggled and stepped out from an open door on the right. She stuck her tongue out at him and ran back in the room.

  “Infernal girl! Come back here now!” He marched toward the door and turning inside, found her with one of Mortas Frost’s men, the large white snowflake adorning his black armor giving him away.

  “Let her go!” he demanded.

  “Ely!” Erthic said, twisting in Phetrix’s arms.

  The mage set him down. “Stay behind me, do you understand?” The boy nodded.

  “I’ll be taking him, too,” the soldier said. “Mortas will pay dearly for these two.”

  “He will get no satisfaction. They’re under my protection. Touch one hair on her head and I will kill you.”

  The soldier laughed. “You? Kill me? With what? Wave of your hand and a magic word?” He ran a gauntleted hand through the girl’s hair.

  “Touch her and die,” Wibar said, stepping out from behind the mage with his sword drawn.

  “I warned you!” Phetrix said. The mage circled his hands in the air as though kneading dough and a bright ball of light appeared. He pushed it forward, enveloping the man’s face.

  “Stop that! I can’t see!” he screamed. He uselessly fought the light.

  “Elysande, hurry! Come quick!” The girl ran to him. “That’s it, let’s go before the spells wears off.” She’d started crying and he held her close. “Wibar, finish this man.”

  The guard stepped around Phetrix and thrust his sword forward into the man’s neck. He howled in agony, clutching at the sword, then let go and fell to the floor, his blood spreading out around him. Wibar wiped his sword on his trousers.

  “He won’t be bothering anyone again,” Wibar muttered. Phetrix turned from the dying man, forcing the children to look away.

  “Erthic, follow me! Stay close and don’t linger!”

  Smoke filled the corridors as Phetrix led them, grumbling about the prophecy. The tapestries on the walls were obscured by the increasingly heavy smoke. The children fell into a fit of coughing.

  “I’m so sorry. We’ll be out of this soon,” Phetrix said. He placed a hand over Elysande’s mouth, hoping to shield her from the smoke. She and her brother needed to survive at all costs.

  Shouts ahead announced danger.

  “There they are! Grab ‘em before they escape!”

  Wibar shoved them aside to get in front, and reached for his sword.

  Black armored men with the snowflake of Mortas rushed them.

  Wibar rushed forward, slicing down with his sword. “For the King and the children!”

  He caught one enemy in the arm, but his armor protected him enough to deflect much of the blow. Wibar’s weig
ht in the blow made him stagger and one of the other soldiers rammed a dagger into his back. The large royal guard cried out, then the rest of the enemy soldiers were on him, swords and daggers piercing him mercilessly.

  The children wailed but it was too late for Phetrix to help the man.

  Reaching inside at the power he held, Phetrix created another, larger ball of light, and forced it toward the men. They shrieked in horror as the light approached and touched them.

  “By the gods,” Phetrix whispered. The men were engulfed in a fiery death, the intense heat from the light incinerating them as it moved forward until it dissipated leaving charred remains of four soldiers and Wibar smoldering on the ground.

  Both children were hysterical, crying and barely able to control their emotions.

  “Dead?” Elysande asked, the word difficult to hear in the chaos of the attack.

  “Gone,” Erthic said.

  “No time. Come children,” Phetrix said, carefully stepping through the blackened bones and burnt flesh. He approached another intersection and on both ends of the hall, black armored enemy soldiers faced him. They were trapped.

  Nordon, the king’s armorer, stepped into the hallway from a door midway between Phetrix and the enemy soldiers on the right, a massive warhammer held tight in his hands. Phetrix noticed a girl in the room where he came from, cowering and shaking.

  “Nordon! Hold them off. I need a moment,” Phetrix said. The large man nodded and grinned as he turned to the soldiers on their right.

  “Let’s do this,” he growled. He raced toward them, swinging his mighty hammer with a deadly force. The sound of men screaming in agony and the hammer crashing through armor followed. The hall was filled with men and Phetrix didn’t know if Nordon was winning or dying. All he knew was that it gave him the time to create the seam.

  Samuel, I hope you’re ready, Phetrix thought. He closed his eyes and focused. Men were dying around him. The serving girl was crying in the room. The children clung to him.

  Phetrix reached deep within himself and conjured the spell he never imagined he’d ever have to use again. It was always a last resort if the castle was ever attacked. It was one of the few places he could perform such a feat.

  When he opened his eyes, the hallway shimmered and distorted. It was like looking through water in a glass. Then sound quieted and motion slowed. He saw Nordon finish the men at his end of the corridor before he turned to run back toward the children. The enemy soldiers on the other side approached slowly, their way obstructed by Phetrix’s powerful spell. Blood ran down Nordon’s arm and his armor was stained with it.

  Phetrix pushed harder and the distortion grew worse.

  Nordon slowed, lowering his bloody hammer.

  “It’s our way out!” Phetrix called, noticing the large man’s hesitation. “Hurry, I can let you pass. Bring the girl!”

  Nordon’s eyes widened.

  “Now!” Phetrix yelled.

  Nordon obeyed. He slid the warhammer into its sheath on his back and lifted the girl from the room, setting her down in the hallway. “This way Nadina,” he said holding out a hand to pull her toward him.

  Phetrix grew anxious. “If I don’t make it, I need your oath Nordon. Swear to protect them. They cannot be found and if they are, they must be protected. The prophecy depends on it. Swear it!”

  Nordon cocked his head to the side in deep thought then finally replied, “I swear.”

  “Hurry into the light, it won’t hold for long.”

  Nadina timidly stepped forward near the bright slash of light.

  “Go with her,” Phetrix said to the children. Erthic grabbed her hand, Elysande stood next to her.

  “Go through. The mage Samuel will guide you. I wish you the best. We will meet again.”

  Erthic walked with Nadina into the blinding light followed by Nordon. Where was Elysande? He thought.

  “Ely! Where are you girl?”

  The enemy soldiers were closing in, two of them entering the light.

  “No!” He screamed. He had to close the seam. The boy would have to be safe with Nordon and Nadina.

  He’d find the girl.

  Phetrix waved his hands and the light vanished, leaving a faint echo in the dark corridor before winking out.

  May the gods save you boy, he thought. He hurried away while the remaining enemy soldiers were disoriented. He had to find the girl before Mortas.

  Two

  THE ATTACK ON THE CASTLE lasted well into the night as did Phetrix’s search for Elysande. If Mortas abducted her, or worse, killed her, their world was in trouble. At least he saved the boy. Saving one of them might have to be good enough.

  Mortas Frost intended on plunging the kingdom into darkness and terror. Murdering the royal family was his only way to secure the outcome.

  When Phetrix was younger, he served Mortas faithfully for close to ten years. The man was a monster.

  Once, when they were on the march against King Artus’s uncle Prince Willem, their army descended on a small village called Whispercross.

  “Plunder all you want, kill any who oppose you. Do what you will with the women. We aren’t staying long and none of them must be left alive,” Mortas commanded them. Phetrix was in horror when he witnessed the brutal slaying of a young boy by one of the soldiers, all because he tried to save his sister.

  That was when he realized the evil Mortas had become.

  He knew the man was loose with his morals, but this was too much. While on the march toward Prince Willem’s castle, Phetrix used a spell known to only a few of the most powerful mage’s of the order and created a traveling tunnel to escape the terror. When he did, he stumbled onto something far more important.

  Phetrix entered the tunnel, an immense blinding light that tore a seam in the fabric of time and space, but instead of finding himself closer to Willem’s castle, he entered a world he’d never seen before.

  Mechanical chariots, impossibly high buildings, and noise greeted him. He stood between two tall buildings with more glass windows than he’d ever seen in his life. People walked past him wearing odd clothing and unusual footwear and they stared at him, pointing and insulting him.

  “By the gods! Another lives!” a man said to him. Phetrix was too stunned to reply. The man had come from one of the tall buildings.

  “Come quickly! Are there more of you? Have you brought the king or Mortas?”

  The man grabbed Phetrix by the hand and led him to one of the large buildings. They entered a door made of material he thought was metal. The man ushered him inside and led him to another door which opened to a small room.

  Furniture unlike anything he’d ever seen before lined the walls. A box on a table caught his attention. Moving pictures flashed across the box, the sound screeching through it.

  “What kind of sorcery is this?” Phetrix asked, pointing a long boney finger at the box.

  “I have too little time to explain. I’m Samuel, faithful servant of King Artus.”

  Phetrix nearly fell over. “You’re who?” He knew the name, the entire Order knew who he was.

  “I thought you were dead? I was told you disappeared on the battle field.”

  Samuel nodded. “In a way, yes. I performed the same spell you did. It brought me here,” he said waving his hands.

  “Where is here?”

  “Another dimension. Another world we never knew existed.”

  “But . . . I don’t understand.”

  “It’s not for us to understand, but to embrace. When King Artus learned of this, he instructed me to silence. He feared Mortas would push his evil across our land and he’d need an escape.”

  “Mortas?” Phetrix asked.

  “Now I ask you again. Do you serve King Artus or Mortas?” Phetrix realized the man held a large dagger ready to strike.

  “I serve—“ He wasn’t sure how to answer. He had been with Mortas, but the only reason he was here was because he’d fled the evil Mortas had become.

  “I am P
hetrix. I serve King Artus.”

  Samuel sheathed the dagger. “By the gods! We will survive this after all! Come, there is much to teach you.”

  Samuel went into the kitchen, banging items together. Once he was done, he produced two mugs of a dark liquid. “Have a seat Phetrix,” he said nodding toward a table. Phetrix, still overwhelmed by his new surroundings, slowly approached the table and sat. Samuel handed him the mug, its warmth radiating outward.

  “What is this?”

  Samuel smiled. “They call it coffee. You’ll like it.”

  Phetrix waited, wary it was a trap.

  “It’s fine, I promise.” Samuel took the mug, sipped, and handed it back.

  Expecting the man to get ill, Phetrix watched him carefully as he spoke.

  “We are in a different world, a city they call Chicago. It’s in a land called Illinois. Quite a loud place too.” Samuel sipped from his own mug and continued.

  “When you crossed the seam, you triggered an alarm. You tripped a spell really. It alerted me to the presence of one like me crossing the seam from our world to this one.”

  “Are you mad?” Phetrix whispered. Samuel chuckled.

  “Mad? No. Cautious and prepared? Yes. I had no idea if that no good Rhoden Noster would discover the spell to cross the seam and I had to know whoever was coming across was friend or foe.”

  “How do you know I’m not an enemy? What makes you so sure I’m on your side?”

  Samuel leaned in close. “Are you? On my side? On the side of King Artus? If you plan on returning home anytime soon, you’d do well to tell me the truth.”

  Phetrix sipped his drink, intent on showing Samuel he trusted him and he meant what he said about serving the King. “I was in the service of Mortas. I thought he was an honorable man. Until . . .” he trailed off, the memory of the looted village fresh in his mind, “Until he ordered a despicable act upon innocent people. I was awakened from my stupor and sought my way out.”

  Samuel leaned back. “So. You served Mortas,” he said slowly, “but yet you claim allegiance to the King.”

  “King Artus is the rightful heir, I know that now. I’ve studied in the Order for years. I understand what’s at stake.”

  “Then you know why it’s paramount we preserve the King and his heirs.”