Nexus Moons: Book One of the Tales of Graal

by Ron Root

  Hunter had answered Hagley’s summons.

  Garrison archers fired at this new threat, but their shots fell far short. Jarek felt a familiar surge, followed by an overwhelming lethargy, reminiscent of that he’d experienced upon his arrival to Hunter’s island. Defenders and attackers alike froze in place. All but the Gifted. Still, with their aethers spent, they found themselves unable to cast, totally defenseless.

  The great beast passed overhead. After flying a short distance, it banked and looped back toward them. Zakarah saw it too, and ran for the gatehouse, but Hunter landed in front of him, blocking his path.

  He-who-steals! echoed through Jarek’s mind.

  Zakarah augmented his protective spell, the air around him now glowing a vivid blue. His eyes darted about, seeking a means of escape. It was the first time Jarek had seen Zakarah show fear. Relishing the moment, he decided hubris was in order. “Zakarah,” he yelled, “let me make amends for my earlier discourtesy. Meet Hunter. He’s been anxious to meet you ever since you stole these beasts you brought to my land. Actually, you might say he’s ‘hungered’ for this opportunity.”

  Zakarah cast a venomous glance his way, but quickly returned his attention to the imposing dragon. His lips were moving. He was casting anew. Was he daring an attack or attempting to flee? Bright light shimmered above him. He floated toward it, his image beginning to fade. He was making his escape.

  Jarek countered Zakarah’s spell. An invisible barrier blocked the demon’s ascent. Zakarah clawed at this new barrier to no avail, and cast yet another menacing glare in Jarek’s direction. Hunter reared his head, and let loose a frightening roar that echoed off the buildings and walls. Take prey!

  If Jarek lived a hundred years, he was sure he’d never again see anything as rapid as Hunter’s strike. In the blink of an eye all that could be seen of Zakarah were his legs, frantically kicking from inside of Hunter’s mouth. Suddenly, the squirming ceased, and green liquid oozed from the dragon’s mouth. Hunter snapped his head back, opened wide, and lurched his neck forward. Zakarah disappeared into the dragon’s mouth. Hunter sat back on its haunches, chewing.

  Jarek watched, feeling neither relief nor bliss; just numbness. No one cheered; cast a spell; or as much unleashed an arrow. Those that could move, did not. All simply stared, watching the dragon consume the once mighty demon.

  Hunter spat out a few bones and blinked. Everyone could suddenly move again. Chaos erupted near the gatehouse as the prey pushed and fought one another, desperate to escape the fort. Shafts peppered them. Seeing his prey under attack, Hunter blinked again, and the volleys stopped.

  With a flap of his powerful wings, he leaped airborne, chasing after his panicked prey. Flying just overhead, he herded them out the gate. Those who went east were left alone. The others were hounded until, they too, were heading east. Hunter was shepherding his flock, driving them toward Pembok and Broughton. Jarek smiled. He was herding them back to Hagley’s still open gate, taking home his flock.

  Cheers echoed everywhere as they watched the dragon leave. Soldiers held weapons aloft, shouting and waving. Others hugged; many danced. Jarek took in the scene. Down his own parapet he spotted Vardon, laughing and celebrating with two of his students. Beyond them he spied Goodricke and Caitlyn, hugging and dancing in circles. Gresham and Hagley were locked in an embrace too. He thanked whatever gods that were listening that they’d spare those he held dearest.

  The killing field below was strewn with bodies, human and prey alike. The battle’s toll was almost too great to fathom. Drained, he watched the others celebrate; wishing Lavan could have been here to share this moment.

  Suddenly a laughing Hagley appeared out of nowhere, leaping on Jarek, bowling him over. “I saw you!” he whooped. “You kept Zakarah from escaping!”

  Jarek pushed the lad aside. “We each played our part. Remember, it’s not about me or you, all share credit in our victory.”

  Hagley’s eyes twinkled. “I think I’m finally beginning to understand that, Sir.” He clapped his hands together, unable to contain his excitement. “Hunter heard me after all.”

  “Yes. Think back at how upset you were when you hadn’t closed your gate. If you had, Hunter would never have gotten here. We’d all be dead.”

  “That was my plan all along,” he said, winking.

  Their laughter was disrupted by panicked shouts. People were pointing at the sky. He looked. Hunter was returning.

  Swooping toward the fort, he was flying directly toward Hagley and him, showing no signs of slowing. Something was amiss. He passed over them, circled, then bore down on them, talons extended, clearly after the two of them.

  Falling victim to the dragon was what Jarek had most dreaded since first seeing the beast—and now he was finally coming after him. Heart pounding, he ran toward the nearest stairwell, Hagley at his side, moving far faster than Jarek would guess a man of his bulk could possibly manage. Dread consumed him as he envisioned what had just happened to Zakarah happening to the two of them too.

  Run though they may, the ghastly beat of its flapping wings was closing in on them with frightening speed. They weren’t going to make it off the wall in time. “Hagley, get down!”

  His warning came too late. Hagley let out a terrified scream as Hunter’s huge talons closed around the young magician, his horrified expression bringing back visions of Lavan’s look of dismay when Zakarah had spirited him off to his elsewhere.

  “Hunter! No!” Jarek screamed as the dragon flew off with one last prey clutched in his talons, Hagley’s look of horror forever etched in his mind. “No,” he sobbed, dropping to his knees and cradling face in hands, weeping. The nightmare that was Zakarah had ended, but not without taking one last grievous toll.

  Treason

  Zakarah’s defeat was first met with a dull silence, but realizing their ordeal had likely ended, Gresham heard cheers erupting one after the other from all around the city. But unable to shake the vision of what had happened to poor Hagley prevented Gresham from sharing their joy.

  The townsfolk’s glee turned out to be short-lived. It took but one glance and the death and destruction around them for a melancholy to set back in.

  The ensuing days were spent attending the wounded and removing and burying the dead. The stench of rotting corpses made the task barely bearable. The highborn were interned in individual graves, but the common folk were piled together in a mass grave with but a single headstone commemorating their collective lost lives.

  The ridding of the preys’ carcasses was even more inglorious. Stacked in piles in a field a short distance from town, they were torched, burned and buried over. A strange silence hung over the town the whole time. He’d never heard the town this quiet. What few noises he did hear were too often the sobs and cries of those mourning some loss. It took two days to rid the town of the dead—the worst two days of Gresham’s young life.

  Rayna and Caitlyn filled their hours assisting in the field hospital. Goodricke had suffered a horrific wound, his arm now in a sling. Miraculously, Sully survived his wounds, and was recuperating under Prior Rigby’s watchful eye, and when she could, Rayna’s care too. People pitched in to help rebuild neighbor’s homes and the businesses damaged in the battle. Ever so slowly, the town was coming back to life.

  On the fifth morning after the battle, Gresham received a summons to Marshal Booker’s office. He arrived to find Master Vardon, Mistress Genevieve, Uncle Jarek, and the new Captain of the Guard already there. Nodding a greeting, he took a seat beside his uncle.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering why you’ve been asked to come here,” the Marshal began, once everyone was there. “First off, my special thanks to each of you for your brave efforts defending our town. Without them, we’d never have prevailed. Many of those who sought sanctuary here have already returned home. Still others fear to take to the highways. We’re making them work in exchange for food and water, hoping to encourage their departure.” He looked
at Gresham. “I’m sorry that your magician friend was the battle’s last victim.”

  The mention of the loss of his dear friend brought a flood of tears to Gresham’s eyes. Manly though it might not be, it was beyond him to do otherwise.

  The Marshal sat back. “Now… the reason I called you here is to discuss a matter of State—and before the Inquisitor arrives. He’s due here shortly.” He flexed his fingers. “It’s difficult to know where to begin.” His gaze drifted to Jarek. “Magus, is it true you were instrumental in bringing that demon here?”

  Gresham frowned. What was astir? His uncle should be treated as a hero, not like this.

  “Instrumental exaggerates my role. Although it’s true I was with Headmaster Lavan when he first encountered that devil, his coming here had little to do with any action of mine.”

  “How then, did the demon know of the university’s relics?”

  Before Jarek could respond, a soldier poked his head through the doorway. “He’s coming, Sir.”

  The Marshal stood. “Magus Verity, per my duties, I hereby charge you with High Treason.”

  Gresham started, unable believe his ears. How could his uncle be so accused? Anger roiled through him. This was unjust beyond belief.

  Mistress Genevieve jumped to her feet. “That’s preposterous!” she barked. “I would believe this sort of antic from the One Church, but not the King’s Court. What’s going unsaid here, young man?”

  If her outburst vexed the Marshal, he hid it well. He simply sat there, tapping his fingers. “Mistress, you’re the first one to call me young man in so long I can’t remember who last said it. As to what’s unsaid, I’m not at liberty to divulge the intricacies of Court politics, but I assure you Magus Verity will return with me to Suzerain to face these charges—and soon.”

  What little calm Gresham gained by the Marshals words vanished abruptly when the Grand Inquisitor Kolton burst into the room. Clad in formal purple robes, he was accompanied by four Chevaliers. The Marshal’s aide entered behind them, and at a nod from the Marshal, turned around, departing the room.

  The Inquisitor marched directly to Jarek, and grinning triumphantly, announced. “Jarek Verity, in the name of the One Church, you are charged with heresy!” He motioned his Clerics forward. “Seize him!”

  “Stop!” The Marshal’s shout froze them.

  The aide returned, accompanied by several garrison soldiers, Quinn among them. Outnumbering the Chevaliers at least six to one, they circled the room, hands on weapons.

  Marshal Booker stepped forward, insinuating himself between Jarek and the Inquisitor. He locked eyes with the churchman. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I can’t allow that.”

  The Inquisitor’s face darkened. His jaw went taut. “You can’t allow? What makes a mere ‘Marshal’ think he can interfere in Church matters?”

  “When royal concerns supersede them.”

  The Inquisitor banged his fist on the desk. “His Eminence rules over all lands, no kingdom’s concern supersedes Church Law.”

  The Marshal kept his composure. “True in all cases but one; the Magus has been charged with High Treason.” He snatched a parchment off his desk. “Here is the writ,” he said, waving it in front of Inquisitor Kolton. “That charge, and only that charge, supersedes Church Law. You may consult with your magistrate if you wish, but trust that it’s true.”

  The Inquisitor seemed at a loss for words. “I demand to see his Master’s ring.”

  Gresham started. Had Kolton somehow found out about Lavan’s orbs—that he’d used them to commune with the dead?

  The Marshal shook his head. “His personal possessions are his own.”

  “Let him, Marshal,” Jarek said looking calm, speaking for the first time since these curious proceedings began. “The Inquisitor is welcome to examine it. He likely wishes he had the skill to earn one himself,” he said, handing over his ring.

  The Inquisitor snapped open its bale, removed the ruby, and looked behind it. There was nothing there—the orb was gone. “You were seen wearing more jewelry under your robe. Show it to me!”

  His uncle handed him Lavan’s amulet. A search of its bale produced the same result. Kolton scowled at the Marshal. “This isn’t the last of this, Booker,” he barked, letting both ring and amulet tumble to the floor.

  The Marshal matched his glare. “I’m sorry Kolton, but I’m afraid it is.”

  The Inquisitor wasn’t about to give in. His eyes scoured the room, settling on Quinn. “Cornet Quinn, you were near the Magus during the battle. Was anyone here party to his blasphemy?”

  It was Quinn’s turn to scour the room. Gresham knew his search was feigned, that Quinn would choose him. Question was, where did Quinn’s allegiance lie? Which Quinn would answer; the arrogant Captain’s son who kept company with churchmen, or the compassionate one who’d helped rescue Sully?

  His gaze fell upon Gresham. He smiled. “Smithy, you were there. Did you see anyone aiding the Magus?”

  Whatever Quinn’s game, it exceeded Gresham’s grasp. “I saw nothing of the kind,” he answered, wondering what would come next.

  Quinn bowed to Kolton. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but if the magus committed a crime, he did so without accomplices.”

  “Bah!” The Inquisitor spat, and barged out of the room, his Chevaliers in tow.

  “I want the rest of you to leave too, save for Gresham and Master Jarek,” the Marshal announced once Kolton was gone. His gaze settled on Gresham. “I’ve something to discuss with you and your uncle.”

  Gresham waited for the room to empty. “I don’t understand, how can you charge Uncle Jarek with treason? You should be hailing him the hero he is.”

  The Marshal spread his hands. “I should think my motives obvious. Tell me, what would have happened had I not so charged him?”

  Gresham pondered the question. “The Inquisitor would have arrested him.”

  “Precisely.” He returned to his desk. “Sit,” he demanded. “Fear not for your uncle’s welfare, his work here is done and he’s going home. Rest assured, the charges against him will be dismissed, but only after he’s safely back in Suzerain.”

  “But why? What is it I’m not grasping?”

  “The One Church is forever trying to expand its power. One tactic is to arrest and interrogate the Gifted, to build and enhance their own set of skills. Taking your mother was a prime example. Knowing this, we dare not let them seize someone as talented as your uncle and thus grow stronger through what they glean from him. The Grand Inquisitor has been central to most such arrests. It’s the Court’s goal to quash those aspirations.”

  The Marshal stood. “I’ll leave you two alone now. I’m sure you’ve much to discuss.”

  Gresham waited until the Marshal left the room. “He said your work was done here. What does that mean? Do you work for the Marshal, were you aware of the charges he was about to bring?”

  “Yes, and yes. There is much more to Marshal Booker than meets the eye. He’s the cleverest man I know.” Jarek sat. “I asked that he allow us this time together. As soon as Kolton leaves, which we expect will be soon, I’m to be taken to Suzerain. I’d like you to come with me, to live in the royal grounds where I can help further your arts. I planned to take Hagley too, but…” He grew silent for a bit. “So, what say you? I didn’t come all this way to find family only to be separated again.”

  Live in the royal grounds and be tutored by a Royal Magus! He’d never have dared such a dream. “I’m honored Uncle, more so than you can imagine. But before I commit, there’s someone I’d like to discuss it with first.”

  Jarek smiled, “Ah, yes, the A’rythian girl with the pretty eyes. Of course, go do so.”

  Gresham paused at the parish steps. Sully was inside convalescing under Prior Rigby’s watchful care. It was hard to believe the boy had survived his awful wounds. Knowing how Rayna mothered the boy, he figured this was the best place to find her.

  He w
ent inside.

  “Gresham!” she screeched, rushing to him, throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace.

  He still marveled at the simple joy of holding her. “Is the scamp awake?” he asked, setting her down.

  “Yes, mostly complaining how unfair it was that everyone but him got to see a real live dragon.”

  He laughed. “When will someone other than his favorite healer be allowed to see him?”

  “Soon. But not yet. Prior Rigby insists he’s still too enfeebled for visitors.”

  “I guess I’ll just have to wait then. I’m just thankful he’s alive.”

  She smiled. “Well, since you can’t see Sully, I guess you’ll just have to settle for me.”

  “Actually, you’re the one I’m here to see. I have something I want to discuss.”

  The sparkle left her eyes. “As do I. I’ve been waiting for a private moment to tell it to you.”

  “Really?” He cocked his head, wondering what it could possibly be. “You go first.”

  She took a deep breath, and searching his eyes, brought his hands to her belly. “Nirtae says I’m with child.”

  Given a thousand guesses, he’d never have anticipated this. Gods, he was going to be a father. He spent his life longing for family, but it never crossed him mind he might do so by creating an orphan of his own. His face flushed. “She’s sure? As a man, I know nothing of such matters.”

  “Knowing we’d lain together, she insisted on examining me. She said life is within me, that it was what the magic had demanded. As Mother Healer, her sensitivity to such things is unequalled,” she said, her eyes searching his face.

  Rayna had finally found family of her own, and now his reckless behavior had ruined it. “Did Nirtae insist you leave A’ryth because we shamed her?”