Seeker (The Source Chronicles Book 1) (22 page)

“Move!” Lyrra-Sharron shouted.

Drawing his rapier, Cam ran with Lyrra-Sharron and Dak, ready to face more soldiers.

“Hold them here!  I shall get the gate!” cried Lyrra-Sharron.

Before Dak or Cam could react, she jumped off the wall.  She landed on the roof of a building in the courtyard below, arrows missing her as she ran.  She leapt off the roof, and with an acrobatic flip, she hit the ground of the yard and charged to face the surprised soldiers still at the gate.

“Damn her!” Dak muttered, but soon he and Cam faced a half dozen Sharron soldiers, and became too busy to help Lyrra-Sharron further.

Swinging his sword with both hands, Dak cut a path into the attackers.  Cam was at his side, parrying attacks and riposting, driving the soldiers back, slicing them as they got too close.  He still held the dagger in his left hand, point down.

Soon, he faced a careless soldier alone.  Bringing up the dagger, he knocked the man’s sword to the side, smoothly sliding his rapier into his assailant’s chest.

Both were stunned a moment, and Cam realized he’d easily killed the man, as the soldier slid off his blade to the ground.  Cam stood briefly frozen, looking at the dead man at his feet.

The sound of a blade sweeping in brought him back to reality, and instinctively he ducked, bringing his own sword up to deflect the blow.  Realizing the proximity of his attacker, Cam stood up and stepped in, taking the soldier’s blade off to the side.  Bringing up his dagger, he sliced it across his attacker’s throat.

As the soldier fell, Cam heard another sound.  Before he realized what he was doing, Cam dropped his dagger, and simultaneously grabbed for and caught the speeding arrow before it could hit Dak.

Cam spun around to see where it had come from, and still holding the arrow, he watched the archer fall as a Falcon Raider hit him with a crossbow bolt from behind.

Cam turned quickly, and found Dak looking at the arrow in his hand.  The soldiers were all dead, two missing their heads.

“Thanks,” was all Dak said, sounding somewhat awed.

It was only then Cam comprehended what he’d done.  He wasn’t sure how he’d done it, or even if he could do it again.  Dropping the arrow, he crouched and picked up his bloody dagger, holding is as before.

There were no obvious attackers in his vicinity, Cam hastily observed.  More importantly, Falcon Raiders were down in the yard below, and the gates were wide open.

“She did it!  Come on, Cam!  Let’s find Lyrra-Sharron!” Dak cried, charging for the stairs.  Cam was only a pace behind him.

In the yard, the soldiers and Falcon Raiders were facing off.  To his immense satisfaction, Cam watched as young Alran blocked an attack, then swept his staff around, crashing it against the side of the soldier’s head.   He toppled, finished.

Andim and Kallan had made it, fighting side by side, hand-and-a-half swords flashing.  Kallan fought two handed, and Andim held his sword in his right hand, but his left arm was hanging wrong, and he winced whenever he was made to move it. 

But together, they were an invincible killing machine.

Cam and Dak met no further resistance on the grounds, and soon found Lyrra-Sharron, wrapping a bandage around the upper arm of a wounded Falcon Raider.

“We are all here, now,” she informed them.  “There are not many soldiers left.  Turns out, we had almost two companies here, about a hundred and forty total.  Special training rotation of some sort.”

Cam looked around, breathing hard.  Dak surveyed the carnage as well.

“You had better clean off those blades, Cam, or else the blood will ruin them,” remarked Lyrra-Sharron.

Absently, Cam looked at her.  He noted that she had a look of pride in her eyes.

“Here,” Dak handed him an already bloody rag, part of a tunic from a dead soldier.

“Thanks,” Cam said, as he wiped the blood from his dagger, then sheathed it, and wiped off his sword.

A few moments later, shouts of elation were clear, as the Falcon Raiders rounded up the few soldiers who had surrendered.  The wounded were brought to the center of the main yard, and several raiders began to tend to them.

“I need you to go to your assignments,” Lyrra-Sharron ordered.  “Dak, see to the wounded.  Kallan, I know Andim is hurt, but you need to take your group and make sure we have got them all, that no one is hiding and planning to ambush us.  You can handle it on your own.  Cam, get the gate sealed and get your people on the walls.  We need to make it look like things are copasetic, if any soldiers arrive here, or the townspeople come to pester us.  My group, we have supplies to load onto the wagons.  Dawn is in about seven hours, so we have to work fast, tired or not.  Move out!”

Cam was shocked to find that less than half an hour had passed.  The hours of planning, and when all was said and done, the battle had taken very little time to actually occur.

Cam assembled his group.  Of the twenty-five assigned to him, only eighteen were present.  Quickly, Cam sent them to posts all along the walls.  The torches had died down to a normal glow, and this force was only there for show anyhow.

Kallan and his group routed out about a half dozen soldiers, most of whom had been hiding, avoiding the intense fight.  The prisoners were taken to a main building, where they were bound and guarded by their capturers.

Dak had a dozen wounded, some fairly minor.  Though she’d fought him, he himself treated Lyrra-Sharron’s injury.  Cam checked on them as Dak and a young woman named Tirra were examining Andim’s arm.

“It’s bad, Andim,” Dak was saying.  “The bone is shattered, and the sword stroke has only made it worse.  I don’t think we can do anything for it, except to remove the arm.”

Andim accepted that stoically.  “About what I expected.  We’d better get to it, then.”

“No!” Cam shouted, stepping in.

“There’s
nothing
to be done for it,” stated Dak, emphasizing the nothing for Cam’s benefit.

“He doesn’t
need
to lose the arm,” remarked Cam, stressing the need for Dak’s benefit.

They stared at one another, then Dak acquiesced.  “Tirra, please check on Holmin.  Make certain his arm is well and truly immobilized.”

She nodded to Dak, then walked away.

Dak glanced at Cam, and gestured for him to proceed.

Cam stepped up to Andim.

“Do you trust me?” asked Cam quietly.

Andim looked at the face of the younger man.  “I do, Cam.”

“Then say nothing.”

Cam touched the arm, and concentrated.  Sinking into a half trance, he thoughtfully considered his power.  For the second time that night, he probed along the webbings’ edges.  The previous spell had not lessened what was available to him, at all, and noting what he wanted, he was sure now that he could do it. 

He began to utter the words, slowly, very certain indeed that he understood the meaning of the archaic speech.  Something he meant to explore further at another time.

As he had come to feel so much more clearly, the build-up of his sorcerous energy was reaching its peak.  Softly, Cam commanded, “Mend.”

He felt the surge, felt the energy soak into Andim’s arm.  The grizzled veteran shivered, clamping his teeth shut.  A moment later, the power faded.

The break was healed, nasty as it had been.  The wound from the sword, which had exposed bone, was now a shallow cut.  Cam stepped back, and Dak took his elbow when he nearly collapsed.

Andim tried the arm, wincing only slightly when the muscles pulled on the gash.  He looked to Cam, wonder filling his face.

“On my honor, Cam Murtallan, I’ve never experienced anything of the like before.  I owe you a debt I don’t think I can repay.”

“Just stay strong,” Cam spoke weakly.  “You saved my life at Gara-Sharron.  We’re even now.”

Andim bowed his head once to Cam with profound respect.

Cam was steady again, the momentary weakness passing.  “I’m alright, Dak.  That’s the most I’ve done since...” he simply trailed off, unwilling to face the emotions there.

“Get back to your people, Cam.  I’ll find an explanation Tirra can understand.”
              Cam began to walk away, then turned.  “Perhaps after I rest...”

“No,” Dak interrupted, facing him.  “They’re not ready, Cam.  Not yet.”

Cam sighed, and returned to his own people atop the battlements.

It was late, and time seemed to move slowly. 

Cam and his people were assigned to walk along the battlements, posing as soldiers, and from below and outside the walls none would be able to tell the difference. 

Cam moved all around the top of the wall, making certain his people were rotated, from more visible to less visible locations, and drinking plenty of water.

In the courtyard below, the carts and wagons of the barracks had been brought out, and were being carefully but quickly loaded down with every amenity to be found amongst the supplies of the Sharron Army.

Dry foods, smoked meats, blankets, cloaks, weapons, armor, even a few kegs of ale were being moved via human chain from their storage facilities, across the court, to the transports.  As efficient as they were, it was still slow going.

A couple hours after they had captured the barracks, a cry came from one of Cam’s sentries.  Cam checked it out, then went to Dak.

“We’ve got company,” Cam said without preamble.

Dak was hunched over a water barrel, and had been wiping blood from his hands, having finally finished treating all the wounded.  “What kind?”

“A wagon, about seven people, look like villagers,” replied Cam.  “They’re carrying torches, and are armed.” 

Dak straightened up, and motioned to another raider.  Speaking quietly, the raider ran off, returning only a moment later with a Sharron Army officer’s uniform coat.  Dak quickly pulled on the jacket, tugging at it to make it straight.  A second uniform coat was presented to Cam.

“What’s this?” asked Cam.

“No officer above a Captain is ever without an aide,” said Dak.  “Put on the coat, and walk tall, Lieutenant.”

Cam didn’t like it, but took the coat and drew it over his shoulders.

Prepared, they walked together to the gate.  Dak gestured, and a raider opened it.  He and Cam stepped out, and the gates were closed behind them.

None of the villagers awaiting them looked as though they’d be tremendously proficient with any of their weapons, a mix of clearly seldom used blades, clubs, and staffs. 

One stepped forward, a heavy-set, balding man.  He saluted, and Dak returned it crisply.

“What brings you here?” asked Dak, much more commanding than Cam had ever heard him.

The bald man began to wring his hands.  “We, uh, heard that the barracks was being attacked.  That is to say, a couple merchants on the road reported so when they entered the town, Colonel.  I’m, uh, unfamiliar with you, or your officer, sir.”

Dak rumbled low in his throat.  Cam had never thought of the man as haughty before.  “I’m Colonel Dak Val-Sharron, this is Lieutenant Cam Noros.  We are Redhawk Company, regularly of Gara-Sharron, on special rotation to Brivarn.  I’m ranking officer here.”

“Oh,” remarked the leader of the villagers, hastily.  “Where is Colonel Rolvan?”

“That’s classified, my lord...”

“Lord Mayor Tru Griturn, Colonel.”

“Ah, yes, I should have recognized you from Colonel Rolvan’s notes, though they were not tremendously legible.”  Dak made a dismissive wave.  “No matter.  The whereabouts of the Colonel are classified, as I said.  Suffice it to say, he’s away, and may be for some time.”

“I see, Colonel,” stated Lord Griturn.  “What of the commotion heard hereabouts?  Your gate seems a bit charred.”

              “A large outlaw band, mistaking the barracks for the town,” commented Dak, offhandedly.  “They attacked with a lot of noise and bluster, but we took care of them, and have the remainder detained within.”

“Odd,” remarked the Mayor, “It’s hard to not know the difference.  There’s a sign on the main road, back there, and a city hardly looks like a military barracks.”

“They were Rannoran, my Lord Mayor,” interjected Cam quickly, using a far deeper tone than usual, a slightly less arrogant imitation of Dak’s.  “They are illiterate criminals.  We’d had reports of such brigands raiding from Rannora through the Anar Province and into Medaelia.  Some sort of cross-Estarian crime spree.  Unaware of Kingdom borders, they made a fatal mistake, as many Medaelian towns look like these barracks.”

“Ah,” replied the Mayor, looking relieved.  “With these mysterious Falcon Raiders roaming around we were simply concerned something may have happened.”

“We’re pleased we can set your mind at rest, my Lord Mayor,” stated Dak.  “We are, however, the Sharron Army, and can take care of ourselves.”

The Mayor and his men shifted about on their feet, looking to one-another uneasily.

Noting their obvious discomfort, Dak took a theatrical deep breath, and sighed.  “Please excuse my manners, it was a hard day, and it’s been a long night.”

They were looking slightly less uncomfortable after that.