Seeker (The Source Chronicles Book 1) (23 page)

Dak continued.  “I would offer the courtesy of the barracks to you and your men, but we are under strict orders that all non-military personnel are to be denied admittance.  New security protocols, you understand.”

“Ah, yes, that, uh, is certainly understandable,” the Mayor was wringing his hands once more, but clearly perturbed he may have overstepped his bounds.  “Please, accept these supplies we’ve brought.  Some good brews from my own inn and tavern, the
Landlocked Traveler
.”

“Lieutenant Noros, please see to it as soon as the Lord Mayor and his men are away we bring a squad to retrieve this kind offering,” Dak commanded.

“Yes, sir,” responded Cam crisply.

“My Lord Mayor, your concern is appreciated, and does you credit as the leader of Brivarn,” Dak stated.  “As soon as the opportunity for me to repay your hospitality presents itself, I shall do so with all speed.”

Tru Griturn beamed at the compliment.  “Ah, very well then, Colonel Val-Sharron.  Thank you.”

Dak acknowledged his thanks, and Lord Mayor Griturn ordered his men to stand down, and accompany him back to the village.  All seemed eager to be on there way, and they moved off quickly.

As soon as they were out of sight, and the light of their torches faded, Dak turned to Cam.

“You’re quick on your feet, Cam Murtallan.  Well thought.  I was not expecting you to chime in.”

Cam shrugged.  “Well, what can I say?  A junior officer would be the one to answer such a query, no?”

“Indeed,” Dak replied.

“That was quite the performance you put on for them,” Cam commented, admiration clear in his voice.

Dak looked at him, and chuckled.  “They would have expected no less from an officer.  Condescension and arrogance.”  He paused, seemingly lost in an old memory. 

After a moment, an almost imperceptible quake seemed to run through him.  “Come now, let’s get our extra supplies inside.”

*****

A couple hours before dawn, Lyrra-Sharron gathered the raiders in the courtyard, ready to depart.  The Falcon Raiders had loaded a dozen large wagons with supplies, leaving the barracks’ stores almost totally bare. 

“Alright, keep it down!  I want to express how proud I am of you all!” she addressed them.  “You have done very well indeed.  You have exceeded my wildest expectations, and I could not achieve my goals without you!” Lyrra-Sharron changed the tone of her oration.  “Unfortunately, some were injured tonight, and worse, some have been taken from us, and are now gone.  I would like to have a moment of silence for our fallen comrades, please.”

The Falcon Raiders collectively bowed their heads in silence, thinking about those who would not be returning to base with them.

Lyrra-Sharron cleared her throat to get back their attention, and then continued.  “This is not over yet.  Let us make this simple.  Last group must leave before dawn.”  Lyrra-Sharron proceeded to summarize the exit strategy in detail.  No one spoke, and when she was done, none asked any questions.

“First group, saddle up, mount the wagons, and move out!”

Cam gave instructions, and from atop his horse beside the lead wagon, led his caravan quietly from the gates.  Lyrra-Sharron rode up beside him, as Kallan galloped past to scout ahead.

“You did well today, Cam,” Lyrra-Sharron stated for his ears alone.  “I am proud to have you as one of my people.  And what you did for Andim was very generous.”

Cam was taken aback somewhat.  She’d never been this open with him before.  “He’s a good man.  I would have done that for any of our people, if I could.”

Lyrra-Sharron was quiet a moment, before continuing.  “That is where I am a bit concerned.”  The tone of her voice darkened.  “Cam, we made it a point of not letting the Raiders know what you are.  You said yourself you have barely half your power, still.  I did not explain the torches, and Dak made up something for Andim’s healing, but if you continue this way, you will reveal yourself.”

“What’s wrong with that?  They’re bound to learn the truth in time,” Cam remarked softly, puzzled.

“My father nearly executed you for being what you are,” Lyrra-Sharron explained, a trace of exasperation in her voice.  “He pays handsomely for captured sorcerers.  People still know the old tales, how to block a sorcerer from his power.  I cannot afford to lose any of my people because they come to fear the likes of you.  Give it more time, and you will know when they are ready.”  Her annoyance was clear in her last statement.  “From now on, unless I order you to do so, keep your ‘talents’ to yourself.”

Cam was too weary from the previous day’s march, the battle, and ensuing ransacking of the fortress to argue, and bowed his head once in acquiescence.

“Very well.  I have to ride ahead now.  Lead on, Cam.  We shall speak of this further when we return to base.”

She thumped her horse’s flanks, and galloped ahead.  Cam Murtallan watched her ride away, considering his place, what he was, what he had been, and just where he might be going to. 

Chapter 18

Today was a more tedious affair than a standard royal assemblage, for it was the monthly Sitting of State.  On such an occasion, any could approach the throne and seek an interview, noble or commoner, simply for a blessing, or to ask the most mundane of questions.  No weighty judgments.  It was long and wearisome, but after four hours, it was finally over.

With his Seneschal at his side, as he’d been all afternoon, the King arose from his throne.

“Good gentles, my lords and ladies, his royal Majesty, King Varlock-Sharron of Anduin, hereby concludes this audience.”  Lord Tulock banged his large staff twice upon the dais, and continued.  “King Varlock-Sharron Anduin, glorious sovereign of Sharron, bids all take leave of this place forthwith, a blessing upon your heads.  The next Sitting of State will be convened one month hence, at his Majesties’ leisure.  Thank you.”

Normally, the King and his Seneschal awaited the departure of the assembly.  Not today.  Turning, Lord Tulock left first, followed by King Varlock-Sharron, and a quartet of guardsmen.  They processed from the hall, and out the main chamber doors.

They marched silently to the King’s study, where they removed the robes of state, which were immediately taken by a couple servants.  Additional servants offered spiced wine, bread and cheese.  Both men took this, the King sitting behind his desk.

“The situation is growing worse, Tulock,” he said without preamble, draining half his goblet.  “They bicker and argue, hint and cajole.  Speculations and tall tales running rampant.”

Lord Tulock nodded his head, as he swallowed the bread and cheese he had taken a large bite of.  “Aye.  I’ve not seen court that crowded since the trial of Baron Tilroan’s nephew, Captain Nagriv.  No room for a single commoner, I think nearly every noble in Gara-Sharron was here.”

“Soldiers have been seen marching east from the local garrisons, rumors of the Falcon Raiders are everywhere, and this stack of papers on my desk only gets higher.”

Tulock wore a look of half-mocking sympathy.  “At least you still have a desk, your Majesty.”

A servant entered, and presented a letter to Lord Tulock.  As the Seneschal took it from him, he bowed, then departed.  Tulock broke the seal, read the note, then let out a slow, exasperated breath.  He passed the note to the King.

“Erlonn Broyva has come to Gara-Sharron again,” remarked Tulock, as Varlock-Sharron looked over the letter.  “The Common is concerned with rumors they’re hearing.  For just over the past month, there have been several attacks on various large merchant caravans by different bandit groups.  The merchants are not pleased, and claim the Sharron Army is inadequate to protect them.”

The King set down the letter.  “So it seems they have made contact with the Falcon Raiders, and are using them for guard duty on certain caravans, without Sharron Army knowledge.  And worse, the Falcon Raiders claimed to have ‘vanquished’ a group of bandits, and returned the stolen goods to the people they were bound for.”

“Lyrra-Sharron looks like a hero to the people,” Tulock commented.

“And I look like a robber-baron,” remarked Varlock-Sharron.

“You are The King,” Tulock stated.  “The Army fails, it reflects on you.”

“In the meantime, the people have no idea there is an army breathing down their necks on our eastern border,” growled the King.  “So I look like a criminal, taking away the military presence from the eyes of the people, in order to prepare for a war they do not see coming, and my daughter takes advantage and makes a good standing before the Common.  Damn her!”

Tulock shook his head.  “She’s nobody’s fool.  At this rate, she may win support of the Common.  Baron Nillan told us about the stories he’d heard about you...”

“The tales my daughter tells to win supporters,” interrupted the King bitterly.  “I have heard about that.  They make me sound like a fiend of some kind.  Unless they call me to question, I cannot openly deny them, lest I make them appear to be true.  That daughter of mine!  She does not realize the precarious situation she puts the Kingdom in!”

“We still aren’t getting an accurate count of the military presence Wilnar-Medira is putting forth, and if the Common calls you to question...” Tulock left the last hanging.

Varlock-Sharron leaned back in his seat.  “A bad situation by any means.  I grow weary of this topic.”  The King changed his tone, asking sarcastically, “and what of this brilliant ‘trap’ Bodrir, Garvol and drey-Sharron are continuously working on?”

Tulock just shrugged.  “They say they have nearly got one you won’t be able to rip apart so easily, this time.”

“I have heard that time and again, Tulock.  If it were anyone else, I would have removed them from their office when this began.  It has been almost three weeks since they presented their last ludicrous trap to me, and while I prefer them not bringing me more worthless ideas, I cannot help but grow impatient.  I have always put a great store of trust in these men, as you well know.”  He changed his tone, half serious, half facetious, but by no means joking, “Do they want the Common to request my removal?”

As Tulock opened his mouth to respond, the guards knocked on the chamber door three times.

“Enter!” called the King.

Lady Marna Forkuln, new Foreign Minister, and Sir Garvol Dorran were admitted to the room.  Behind them walked Lady Ara Wiram as well.  All three made a quick bow before the King.

“What is it?” he asked without preamble, clearly still fuming.

Lady Marna cautiously stepped closer.  She was a beautiful woman, not long past eighteen years, a slim, waif-like figure with shoulder length, straight blonde hair.  The opposite of her uncle, both in appearance, and abilities.  Where he was an incompetent, in just a month she had entirely rebuilt the Foreign Ministry with a firm hand that belied her age and appearance. 

“Your Majesty, I am afraid we’ve made an unpleasant discovery,” she stated, her voice soft, but firm.  “Wilnar-Medira of Medaelia is bringing in soldiers from Cordianlott, which we knew about beforehand.  What we’ve just uncovered is a second alliance, between Medaelia and Lirdarra.”

“What is this?” asked the King.

She continued.  “Sir Garvol and I have been shuffling our spies and diplomats, and old reports.  We discovered a discrepancy, and realized not a word had come from Ambassador Ilna-Sharron in Lirdarra, or any of Sir Garvol’s agents.  We looked into it, and found that Lord Mika had passed on the names of two key emissaries in the Lirdarran capitol, and that Ambassador Ilna-Sharron is missing, and has not been seen.”

“Lord Mika should have been brought back here and tortured,” commented The King angrily.  He glanced to the small, open silver box on a corner of his desk, where the late Foreign Minister’s personal rings now resided.  “Though you did well to have him executed as you did, Sir Garvol.  Continue, Lady Marna.”

“We noted some rather odd troop movements throughout Lirdarra, and we finally had a chance for one of Sir Garvol’s people to get information from inside Penkira.”  She handed a scroll to Lord Tulock.  “Wilnar-Medira has forged a temporary alliance with President Von of Lirdarra.”

Lord Tulock made a low whistle, then handed the scroll to the King.  “Very clever.  The Allied Dominion of Lirdarra presents two battalions of soldiers, in return they get to cross Medaelia untaxed to trade with everyone.  Just what they’ve wanted since the fall of Anaria.”

The King shook his head sadly, handing the scroll back to Lady Marna.  “How long do we have until those battalions are in place?”

Lady Marna looked to Sir Garvol, who inclined his head for her to continue.  “No more than three weeks.  Some will be in place sooner, and we’re a little late finding this out.”

“That you found it out at all is commendable in and of itself, Lady Marna,” commented the King.

She blushed slightly at the compliment.  “I had Sir Garvol’s help, your Majesty.”

“Is there anything from the Winsottans?” questioned the King, not hiding the concern from his voice.

“No, your Majesty,” replied Sir Garvol.  “Ever since Monarch-General Nathaniel Arr Endoppa came to power, they’ve remained isolated.  The Gendarme of Winsott hasn’t exported mercenaries in over twenty years, now.  The majority of the Dulvaln Maritime Fleet remains in dry-dock, as it has for over a decade.”

“At least we don’t have to be concerned with Wilnar-Medira hiring them as well,” remarked Lord Tulock.

“The last thing we need is for them to get involved in Eastarian affairs…again,” concurred the Warlord. 

Varlock-Sharron looked at Sir Garvol.  “So, how big an army does that give Wilnar-Medira?”

Sir Garvol presented the King another scroll.  “Too big, I’m afraid.  With a very large force from Cordianlott, and we’re still not sure how large, precisely, unless we march almost our full military and reserves, the numbers could be very even.  Especially with so many units in search of the Falcon Raiders currently.”

The King looked over the scroll.  “Our funds?”

Lady Ara cleared her throat.  “At present, unless we increase taxes, with the reserves coming up, the treasury is under a lot of pressure.  We shall begin to fall short in about two weeks.”

“And of course, if we increase taxes...” Lord Tulock began.

“...my daughter makes a better case for herself, and the Common begins to deliberate my downfall,” concluded the King acidly.  “Wonderful.  Do we have any good news?”

“Actually, yes,” Sir Garvol stated with a rueful grin, “Two things.  First…we have some idea as to when, precisely, we can expect the Medaelian attack.  Second…we finally have a plan to take care of your daughter and the Falcon Raiders.  With your approval, we can have it set to go, and all the necessary pieces moved into place, in two weeks.”

“How do you know when the Medaelians plan to attack?” asked Tulock.  Varlock-Sharron had been about to ask this himself, and looked to his Warlord for that answer.

“My top agent in Penkira,” responded Sir Garvol.  He did not volunteer more…a game that often annoyed Tulock and other members of the Council, and normally slightly amused Varlock-Sharron…but not today.

“Sir Garvol?” the King spoke, his tone making it clear that this was no time for his favorite personal sport.

“Sorry, Your Majesty,” apologized his Warlord.  “It would appear that, given past experiences and his normal paranoia and superstition, Wilnar-Medira will not order the attack before the first of the new year.”

“That is bizarre,” commented Lady Ara.  “What difference does the change in year make?”

“He refuses to attack us during Stillness?” asked Lord Tulock.

Sir Garvol grinned.  “Indeed.”

Varlock-Sharron actually began to laugh.  “It is good to know that some things never change.”

“I do not understand,” commented Lady Marna.

“It’s a matter of past performance,” remarked Lord Tulock, explaining further, “the Medaelians have never won a battle during the Season of Stillness.  Wilnar-Medira’s only military success, the invasion of Anaria, was launched in Prinitidu.”

Varlock-Sharron picked up the rest.  “Every other incursion into Sharron over the past fifteen years has either been launched in Prilentis, Delenti, or Exalentis, and no winter campaign has succeeded.  So that leaves us a little less than seven weeks to be done with the Falcon Raiders, and move the rest of our forces to meet the Medaelians.”

“I would say it would be far better to make that more like five weeks, but only because his allies may grow so impatient, they may not wait until the start of Planting,” concluded Sir Garvol.

“And this plan you, Bodrir and drey-Sharron have to show me?” queried the King.

“As I stated before, Your Majesty, once we have your approval, all the necessary components can be brought to bear within two weeks.”

“How about one week?” asked the King, not as a question.

Sir Garvol didn’t even flinch.  “Right.  Nine days.”

“Eight,” said the King.  He turned to Tulock.  “Call the rest of the Council, right now.  Get them to the chambers in fifteen minutes.  We have work to do!”

“Yes, your Majesty,” stated Lord Tulock.  He went to the door, and began giving orders to the guardsmen.

“I will not allow the Falcon Raiders to remove me from my throne, nor will I stand by while the Medaelians attempt to take apart my kingdom,” Varlock-Sharron stated, in part to himself, and also to the members of his Council still in the room.  He arose as a new thought crossed his mind.  “Tulock!”

The Seneschal turned.  “Your Majesty?”

“Bring Erlonn Broyva into Council as well.  It is time to get the Common back on our side.”

“I’ll see to it, Sire,” replied Lord Tulock.

“My first duty is to defend and protect this land,” Varlock-Sharron pronounced.  “It will be done.  Gather what you need, and get to the Council Chambers.  Know that, even in my frustration, I am aware that you have all done well thus far.”

They started to leave.

“Lady Ara?” the King addressed her.

“You Majesty?” she turned.

He gazed at her in silence a moment, his emotions still conflicting, but his duty demanded he make any necessary sacrifices.  “As head-of-house, you are most familiar with the Laws of Sharron, especially those of Royal Succession.  Research, please, my options.  There is a very good chance I will soon be without an heir.”