Seeker (The Source Chronicles Book 1) (13 page)

He knew with absolute certainty that it was his to seek.  Although delayed, he still had a purpose. 

Someday, Cam Murtallan, orphan, street urchin, vagabond, now Falcon Raider, would be the finder of the greatest lost relic in the world.  He still lived.  Destiny clearly was still with him.

The prophetic dream he could recall with absolute clarity must not have been mistaken after all.

Chapter 12

King Varlock-Sharron Anduin stood alone in the practice yard.  He was motionless, pausing in his exercise.  He held his sword low, with the tip pointed up in a classic en guarde position. 

Varlock-Sharron often did this, practicing his forms, moving from position to position, challenging strength, endurance, balance and more.  He moved with a fluid grace, the motions of a master swordsman, man and blade as one.

The King used his own weapon, a long sword with a hand-and-a-half hilt, and upward swept quillions.  A fine blade, passed on from generation to generation within his household.  A sense of pride and honor always filled him when he used this weapon.

Of late, Varlock-Sharron made time for these exercises, as well as combat with practice swords against various soldiers.  The King had wanted to do just that today, but yesterday he had cracked two of Captain-General Ov Callan’s ribs with the practice weapon.  His balance had been off, so he chose instead to work alone on technique.

The heavy door to the courtyard opened, and Lord Tulock Oran came through.  A guard closed the entry behind him.  He watched as his King ran through the solo exercises a few more times. 

Varlock-Sharron stepped out of his en guarde position, firmly planting the tip of his blade into the soft earth of the practice court.  He turned to his Seneschal, acknowledging his presence.

“Greetings, Tulock.  What brings you out here?”

Lord Tulock moved towards his King.  “Reports from General Bodrir, my liege.”

The King went over to a table beside a wall.  He lifted up a decanter there, filled with iced water, and poured the cold liquid into a pewter tankard.  He took a long draught, then removed his tunic from a peg on the wall.  He pulled it over his head, began to tuck it into his breeches.  “What news does my Army Commander have this week?”

Tulock handed the King his belt.  “Nothing good, I’m afraid.”

The King walked towards the center of the courtyard.  He took the sword out of the earth, and sheathed it at his left hip.  “Three weeks, Tulock.  She escaped over three weeks ago.  He has searched over half the kingdom, and has found nothing of my renegade daughter?” 

Lord Tulock shook his head.  “No, your Majesty.  She has disappeared, and covered her tracks admirably.  What’s worse, though, is her increased attacks on platoons of soldiers.  She hasn’t killed too many, but she’s taken a lot of equipment, not to mention horses and supplies.  Moreover, she’s providing stolen goods to local villages, especially the poorer ones within the kingdom.  She’s building a supporting foundation among the peasants.”

The King sighed.  “So I look like some kind of robber baron.  I can only supply so much, and now my daughter steals from me, and appears to be the great provider to the people.  She continues to humiliate my Crown, forcing me to give more to these villages myself.  The treasury is taking a beating, and Lady Ara is becoming concerned.  More over, General Sopirr’s reports indicate a growing force on our eastern frontier.”

“Yes,” replied Lord Tulock.  “We’ve got a real problem.  General Bodrir continues to sweep through the countryside, but so far nothing.  Remains of a camp at Tarmollo is all he’s discovered so far, but apart from that, he has nothing else.  He can only cover so much ground.”

The King touched the hilt of his blade, saying nothing, then walked towards the door.  He opened it, and walked into the dim hallway, Lord Tulock falling into step beside him.

“I do have some good news, however.  Varlock-Sharron, Sir Garvol has located Lord Mika,” Tulock continued.  “The bastard son-of-a-bitch is hiding in King Wilnar-Medira’s palace.  He requested asylum.”

The King laughed.  “Is that so?  No surprise there, I guess.  Can Sir Garvol do anything about this?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” concurred Lord Tulock.  “He has a few low-profile sources within Penkira, and the palace.  Lord Mika Forkuln can be taken care of within a week.”

“See to it, then, Tulock,” the King stated matter-of-factly.  “Let it be a lesson to everyone that treason and betrayal will not be tolerated in my staff.  Is his Second adequate as a replacement Foreign Minister?”

Lord Tulock made an indelicate sound.  “Hardly.  I fear his staff is entirely too corrupted.  They haven’t been worth much to us lately.”

The King nodded his head at that.  A guard in front of a heavy door saluted and opened it, admitting Varlock-Sharron and Tulock to a small private library.  The King went to the fireplace, removing his sword and placing it above the mantle.  He took a seat at the large desk before it.  Lord Tulock continued to stand.

“I shall write it up now.  I am releasing the entire foreign ministry.  Give them a couple week’s severance, and send them packing.  I assume you have a recommendation or two for replacements?”

Lord Tulock took a seat in front of the desk.  “I do, but it may surprise you.  I had considered Lord Halron Gam-Sharron, but Lady Ara relies on him too much as her deputy, so she won’t let him go.”

The King paused from the parchment he was writing on, and looked up at Lord Tulock.  “Do you and Ara discuss everything, Tulock?”

His Seneschal grinned impishly.  “Only important things.  Aside from yourself, she’s the smartest person in this palace.  And the most reasonable.”

The King grunted low in his throat, and went back to his work.

“As I said, it was not an easy choice to make.  The foreign ministry is a disaster, and needs to be revamped with all speed.  I think the best candidate is Marna Forkuln.”

The King stopped and eyed his Seneschal.  “Wait a moment.  Is she not related to Lord Mika?  And is she not part of Garvol’s staff?”

“Yes to both,” said Lord Tulock.  “But hear me out.  She is a cousin of Lord Mika, the daughter of his dead uncle, Sir Malav Forkuln.”

“Sir Malav was a great soldier.  He died too young,” stated Varlock-Sharron definitively.  He paused, momentarily reminiscing.  “The House of Forkuln had been a bastion of greatness for a long time.  Many believed if the House of Anduin reached its twilight, the Forkulns’ would be the next to take the throne.  But they faded first.  Lord Wrill was a great man, but his only son has proven to be a terrible disappointment, to say the least.  And Sir Malav had but one daughter.  The Forkuln name will die with Lord Mika.  Which brings up another point.  Marna Forkuln is not much out of her teens, is she?”

Lord Tulock leaned back in his chair.  “I know she is an odd choice, but I have several reasons.  Yes, she only just turned eighteen.  But she’s the one who located Lord Mika.  She also confirmed the alliance between Juron and Wilnar-Medira.  Furthermore, she presented a treatise to Sir Garvol on Intelligence and the Foreign Ministry, and how the two should work far closer to prevent lapses in such knowledge again.  He showed this to me.  She is bold, she’s tough, and she has no pre-conceptions about nobility, politics, or how a ministry is to be organized and run.  If Sir Garvol, Lady Ara and I take her in hand, we could establish an entirely new Foreign Ministry.  One that works.”

The King brushed hair away from his face.  “Interesting.  Very well, bring her to me, Tulock, and I shall question her.  I find myself intrigued, I have to admit.  Besides, a woman as Foreign Minister could cause quite a stir amongst my brother monarchs.  That alone makes the possibility worthwhile.”

“I’ll set up a meeting right away, your Majesty,” said Tulock.

The King leaned over the parchment again, finished, then lit a candle, dribbling wax next to his signature.  He pressed his signet ring to it, then rolled the scroll up and handed the parchment to Tulock.  “There.  Present this to the Foreign Ministry as soon as you can.  Let us get that cleared right now, before they do additional harm.  Anything else?”

Tulock placed the scroll in the pouch at his side.  “The Falcon Raiders?”

King Varlock-Sharron stood, and walked to the fireplace.  He leaned upon the mantle, looking at the sword mounted above it.  “Yes.  Call in General Bodrir and Constable drey-Sharron.  We need to work out a new plan, some way to snare them.  This cannot be allowed to go on any longer.”

Lord Tulock arose.  “Yes, my liege.”

The King turned to him again.  “What of the Sorcerer?  Any word of him?”

Tulock shook his head.  “No, your Majesty.  He’s probably left Sharron, could be halfway across the ocean by now.  It may be just as well.”

The King examined his sword somewhat absently.  “True.  True.  But I do not think he is gone.  He may have stayed to assist my daughter.  Keep him on the wanted criminals scrolls, for now.”

“Aye, my liege.  Not that it ever helps us any.  Up the reward?”

The King glanced at him.  “No.  It does not seem to matter.  Just do not remove him from the list.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

*****

Cam Murtallan could scarcely believe what a change had come about over the past three weeks.  To his own amazement, he had never worked so hard in his life.  It was an interesting, and much to his astonishment, positive experience.

Lyrra-Sharron had made the Falcon Raiders more mobile.  Word had reached them that soldiers were en route to Tarmollo, so she had the base quickly vacated.  Once the army had found the abandoned base and left it, she’d returned part of her forces.  The main group, led by Lyrra-Sharron and Dak Amviir, had moved several times now, never staying in one location for more than a couple days.

Just before Lyrra-Sharron led Dak and Cam back to the main group, Andim Noros and Kallan Val-Sharron rejoined them at Tarmollo.  They had waited for a return to normalcy in Gara-Sharron, and left peacefully through a gate, having taken a merchant’s cart loaded with cloaks and raw fabrics.  They were well received, and were immediately re-assigned as Lyrra-Sharron’s personal guards.

Cam had been asked by Lyrra-Sharron to train some of her people in the use of the staff.  As he worked with them, he discovered his skills with the blunt weapon were just as solid as they had been in his youth, and grew stronger as he trained more and more Falcon Raiders.  No one realized that Cam had been a powerful sorcerer a couple months ago, and he became valued as a teacher and experienced user of quarterstaff.

It was an agonizingly slow process, but Cam worked daily on reviving his abilities.  Every morning for three hours, and every night for three more, he meditated, examining the power within himself, patient for the first time in his life, slowly working with the webbing to open more and more power for himself. 

After three weeks, he had barely opened himself to just over a quarter of the power he’d once been able to use.  He was limited to certain spells, mostly healing, detection, basic illusion.  It was often frustrating, but he came to realize there was something further that he was not comprehending.

Lyrra-Sharron had proven to be quite an asset.  The books she had read while in her father’s palace had included a few accounts of sorcerers who had “burned themselves out”.  It sounded similar to Cam’s situation, though all of them had died shortly after losing their powers.  It was believed their deaths had been suicides. 

Cam came to believe he was the first to even attempt to reclaim sorcery following its loss.  So he continued to explore this new territory on his own, working unhurriedly to regain the strength he had lost.

It was fortunate, however, that Cam had discovered something to live for.  The Falcon Raiders had surprisingly taken to the often aloof, reclusive man who had been a loner all his life.  They treated him as an equal immediately, and had even come to respect him as a chief advisor to their leader.

Lyrra-Sharron had begun to train Cam in the use of the rapier.  He found he had excellent balance, and a keen ability to use the maneuvers the princess showed him.  He was quickly becoming quite adept at the use of the narrow blade, a strength he hand never known he could posses.  Lyrra-Sharron had also been pleased at the speed with which he learned, and advanced his training, working with him for two hours every morning, after his meditations.

So it was they stood alone within the old tavern, practicing footwork together as the rain fell outside.

They faced one another, each holding a rapier, in the en guarde position, feet shoulder width apart, sword held in the right hand, tip pointed at chest level.  The left hand was forward at chest level, in position to defend the body.  Both were perfectly balanced, sixty percent of their weight on the back leg, forty percent on the front.

“Again.  Advance.”  Lyrra-Sharron took a step backwards as Cam stepped right leg first, then followed up with the left.  “Advance,” they did this again.  “Advance right.”  He did.  “Pass-back.”  Cam crossed his right leg behind his left, then his left back, returning to the en guarde position.  “Lunge!”  Cam took a long step forward, his left hand just behind for counter-balance, his blade extended as far before him as possible.  “Recover forward.” He returned forward to the en guarde position.  “Circle right.” They both circled to the right.  “Double retreat.”  Cam did so.  “Reverse lunge!” he dropped back, his left foot out, blade extended.  “Recover back, retreat right.”  He did so, feeling the natural flow of the motion.  “Hold!”

They both paused, feeling the moment.  En guarde, the same distance apart as they had begun.

“Not half bad, Cam.  I must admit, I am impressed,” Lyrra-Sharron said, stepping out of her guard and relaxing.  “You are a quick study.  Of course, it helps that you have excellent balance to begin with.”