Seeker (The Source Chronicles Book 1) (20 page)

“You know, I watched a kid once try to pick an Ontseerian’s pocket,” Cam explained.  “This outsider looked so lost, so clueless, so easy.  The kid was a foot and a half away when the man reached out, grabbed him by the wrist, and put a knife to his throat.  I’m sure he’s still rotting in a prison somewhere in Medaelia.”

“Ontseerians are noted for giving nothing away,” Dak commented.  “Which apparently gives more away than it should.”

“Only someone who really watches these things would ever notice,” Cam said.  “Funny, I keep finding all these interesting benefits of my misspent childhood.  My prowess with the quarterstaff, my abilities to read and observe what isn’t obvious about people.  My distrust of pretty much everyone.”

Dak looked at Cam.  “Your parents?”

Cam let his thoughts drift back to his childhood.  “Dead.  My father was killed when the Medaelians invaded.  He never had a chance.  They raped and beat my mother.  When she recovered, she was always sick, and took me to Aldara.  My father had a sister there, but she’d been killed when they took the city.  We were penniless, and my mother died within a month, leaving me to fend for myself.”

“How old were you?” queried Dak, a note of curiosity obvious in his tone.

“About five or so,” replied Cam.  “I ran with the packs for a while, but I was small, so I got beaten a lot.  How I survived to my adolescence I can hardly guess.  Then, when I reached the age of twelve or so, I discovered...my abilities.”

Cam was silent now, as was Dak.  They rode on like that a few minutes, before Dak cleared his throat.

“I was an officer in the Ontseerian Defense Forces.  I joined at fourteen, enlisted.  Became a master of swords at seventeen, an officer at eighteen.  Served long and hard.  I was a Colonel, commander of my battalion.  We were the elite forces.”

Cam hadn’t expected Dak to tell him this, and let him continue uninterrupted.

“We were a leading element of the invasion of Rannora, after King Doliir’s assassination by their ambassador.  His son, King Foliir, ordered us to invade, and burn everything.  He wanted Rannora left a smoldering ruin.”

Dak took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly.  “We came upon a village near the edge of the Sea of Pallantir.  There were no men there, only women and children, in hiding.  They had no defenses.  My men were out of control.  I did everything I could to prevent them from decimating the place.  We left it intact, but my subordinate, Captain Telliin, falsely reported the incident to my superiors.  I was removed from command and arrested.  The Captain took command, and turned around.  They raped and killed most of the women, and razed the village.”

Dak was silent again, and still Cam said nothing.

“When we returned to Ontseer, we left Rannora devastated, the Imperial household eliminated.  It would be years before they’d be able to rebuild.”
              Dak inhaled sharply, the first time Cam had ever seen him really emotional.  He let it go, though, and continued.  “I was brought before the King, and allowed to speak.  Captain Telliin, thinking himself right, just confirmed my story.  King Foliir, appalled, had Telliin arrested, and executed.  It was that incident, I think, that actually led to the peace with Rannora.  I was acquitted, but Telliin’s lies had made me many enemies.  Worse, I had lost the respect of my peers, and embarrassed my superiors.  So to protect my life, and to keep discipline in the military, I was exiled from Ontseer.”

Cam didn’t know what to say.  It was far more than he’d expected to learn from the man.  They rode on a while, before he finally found words.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize...”

“I don’t speak of it much,” Dak stated.  “It happened over ten years ago.  I wandered around the continent, without a purpose.  Then I met Lyrra-Sharron.”

Cam understood.  She did have a way with people, he was loathe to admit.  “She knows?”

Dak nodded his head once in response.  “I was a faceless, nameless raider, til her previous deputy got careless.  She noticed me, pressed me into service as her

Second.  I told her everything, and she still took me.”

“No one in this group is without a past, huh?”

Dak responded solemnly, “Indeed.”

Cam rode wordlessly a moment or two.  Quietly, tentatively, he asked, “Are we friends, Dak?”

“I’ve never had many friends, Cam Murtallan,” Dak responded.  “But I’d count you among them.”

“Thank you, Dak Amviir.”

They rode on in silence.

*****

Nadav couldn’t help but be nervous.  Not only was this a delicate operation, but it was unlike anything he’d had to do before.

He worked on breathing much like Lyrra-Sharron had trained him to, when concentrating before using the sword.  He grimaced slightly as he thought about that.  He was more than adequate with his rapier, but he would never equal his master, Lyrra-Sharron, in ability.

His thoughts drifted back to the last words he’d had with his father.  Angry words, as Nadav was given no choice, and was to go immediately into training in the foreign ministry.  He wanted no part of politics, and had tried to join the army.  But Lord Norvil Rivarr had other plans, and made certain his son could not join up.  Nadav had left, and took his few possessions and began to travel.

Nadav departed when he was sixteen, and had only been a cadet to Lyrra-Sharron as a rapier student for a year.  While only a little more than a year junior to the Princess, he was more than a decade behind her in his study of the sword.  But his father had been a proficient combatant at Nadav’s age, and the departure from training would be perceived as another slight to his sire.

He’d traveled to half the nations on the continent, where he discovered that his unassuming build, reddish-brown hair and green eyes let him blend in anywhere, teaching Nadav the most intricate details about each place he visited. 

When he returned, he heard the stories of the Princess and her Falcon Raiders.  It wasn’t long before he made contact, and joined up.

At first, he’d been just a common soldier.  But he was treated well, and Lyrra-Sharron even consented to continue his rapier training.  Then came the mission that took her and Dak Amviir to Gara-Sharron, and Nadav was given command. 

Assigning Torman to Tarmollo, he’d then found a third location, and left a small contingent of Falcon Raiders there.  For his actions, upon her return Lyrra-Sharron kept Nadav a part of her senior officers.

He returned his thoughts to the present.  Nadav admitted to himself that this plan would just not allow his mind to be still. 

He heard rustling in the bushes beside him, and drew a long knife, but relaxed when Morick came through.

“I see them, Nadav,” he reported.  “Coming south.  About a dozen wagons, and two-dozen Sharron soldiers.  Plus another dozen private guards.”

“Damn.  We are outnumbered.  How long til they get here?”

Morick thought a moment, “Fifteen minutes.”

Nadav considered the odds.  “Okay, we have ten archers, two crossbows, and a bunch of swords.  Take a half dozen, Morick, and get to the head.  Right after we attack, charge.  When you ‘realize’ you are outnumbered, run for it.  Draw them off.  See if you can get clear, then.”

“You’re not gonna be able to take all the carts, Nadav,” Morick pointed out to him.

He sighed, shaking his head.  “I know.  So we burn some.”

“That’s not the plan,” Morick reminded him.

Nadav looked to his second.  “We are supposed to be different from Torman’s group.  They pillage, we pillage and burn.  Same effect.”

Morick bowed his head at that.

“Before you go, tell the others to wait for my signal.  The swordsmen get to take on the private guards.  You set?”

“Yes,” Morick responded.

“Go.  I’ll signal when it is time.”

He was alone again, and now even more unhappy with the plan.

It was a large road, a major thoroughfare between Sharron and An-Quarvan.  The only traffic on the road was the approaching caravan, as civilian travel between the two nations was not a regular occurrence.

The sound reached him first.  In the distance, the clacking of hooves on stones along the dirt highway, the creak of wagon wheels, and the occasional voice could be heard moving towards his hiding spot.

They finally came into view.  Two soldiers in the lead, just ahead of the column.  Then the body of the convoy.  Nadav hoped Morick would take the scouts out before his part of the attack.

The caravan was nearly where the Falcon Raiders planned for them to be.  As they got closer, Nadav noted that the hired guards all wore simple leather jerkins, and appeared tough and scarred.  Brawlers, most likely, not overly skilled professional brutes.  It was the soldiers he was concerned with.

The convoy was right where the attackers wanted them.

Nadav gave the signal, the whoop of a non-native bird, and arrows lashed out at the Sharron Army soldiers.

From just ahead, loud cries as Morick led his group in an attack.  They made an awful lot of noise, and the surviving soldiers eyed them angrily as they came into full view.

They attacking Falcon Raiders came to a halt, and Morick made a point of counting soldiers.  Overacting, his eyes grew wide, and he screamed “Retreat!” and ran down the road, the others pounding after him.

It was a good performance, Nadav had to admit.  Eight soldiers charged after them, as the other survivors eyed the woods, looking for the hidden archers.

Nadav gave the signal again, and his group charged out.

They put up a hard fight, the nine Sharron Army soldiers that remained.  Nadav heard several cries, but could do nothing, faced with a pair of hired thugs.

His rapier was drawn, and his opponents had stout cudgels.  But Nadav was quick, ducking beneath an attack and slicing his assailants’ belly.  He stepped to the side, and ran the second through the chest.

Nadav looked around himself, and saw he had no one left to face.  He turned, and found utter chaos.

The Sharron Army soldiers were dead, some still on horseback, some having fallen to the ground.  He noticed three of his own men, down and not moving.  The merchants and their hired guards were nowhere to be seen.

One of his people, Radoln, staggered up to him, his thigh bleeding from a knife wound.

“They’re on the run, Nadav.  We couldn’t capture ‘em, half the merchants were armed, too.  And we got wounded.”

Nadav cursed, and shouted for the survivors to come to him.

They’d begun with two dozen.  Not counting Morick and his five, they stood now thirteen.

“Alright, move fast.  Get the wounded and the dead on the last three wagons.  Turn them around and get to the dump point.  Gravin, Julonn, Salman, Voriff, Eldan, and Talad, see to it.  Move fast!  The rest of you, burn it.  All of it.”  He looked around.  “We will take the soldiers’ horses and run.  Move!”

While the dead and wounded were loaded onto the northern-most three wagons, flames quickly overtook the rest.  Nadav ran back and forth, making certain they were done and able to get clear as swiftly as possible.

Under cover of heavy smoke, they rode north hard, turning off the road through the woods to a small clearing, chosen as their dump site.

They waited for Morick and his company to return.

Nadav was becoming impatient, and he wanted to go back.  But his duty was to the mission, so he remained, growing more concerned. 

The sun had nearly set, and darkness would come soon.  Nadav could not await Morick much longer.  They’d have to be away.

Of his thirteen surviving, two more had died of their wounds.  Only seven of the remaining Falcon Raiders were un-injured. 

And still, there was no sign of Morick and his men.

As night came upon them, Nadav’s worry turned to anger, and he made ready to order them off. 

A lone man rode into the clearing from the road.  They’d raised their weapons, ready to fight, until they recognized Bormann, one of Morick’s people.

He was clearly weary, and wounded.  He was grateful when Julonn took his horse, and was unsteady as he got to his feet.

“Bormann,” Nadav addressed him.  “What happened?”

“We turned to face them, after almost a quarter mile,” he wheezed.  Someone offered him a waterskin, which he accepted gratefully.  “They were tough.  They got Pangar, Truman and Ven quick.  Morick, Urvil and I fought hard, but we could barely hold them.  Urvil had the last two totally occupied, and made Morick and I jump horses. We saw him run the last one through, as we rode off, but he took a knife to the gut and was slain in the process.” 

He took another drink, and sighed, sinking to the ground.  “Morick was worse wounded than he let on.  Halfway here, he toppled off his horse.  He died in my arms.”  A tear came to the corner of Bormann’s left eye.  “We almost made it back together.  I…I barely made it at all.”

Nadav stood, quietly asking Radoln to get Bormann cleaned up, and ready to move.  He walked to the edge of the clearing.

When he was alone, Nadav swore to himself.  He considered this a failure in his leadership.

He had chosen to take only two dozen, and left Varnon at the base with the remaining eight, the newest recruits among his crew.  Perhaps, even as unskilled as they would have been, the numbers might have made a difference.  But now it was over.