Seeker (The Source Chronicles Book 1) (30 page)

As night descended, a light rain began to fall.  Cam could not help but feel it was an ill omen of what was coming.

*****

With the rain coming down it was hard to tell when night actually started to fall upon Gara-Sharron. 

Varlock-Sharron was sitting to dinner, along with Lady Ara.  A fire roared in the large fireplace of the hall, and a leg of lamb lay before them.  They awaited Tulock and Lady Marna.

“I still think we should try and find a different resolution,” began Lady Ara, not for the first time.

The King took up his goblet, sipped at his wine.  “What would you suggest, my lady?  Renounce the throne in favor of my daughter?  When war is at hand?” he grunted.  “Lord Tulock was wise to invoke Royal Commission, but I do wish he had awaited my approval.”

Lady Ara let out a saddened sigh.  “There you go trying to change the subject.  Varlock-Sharron, I know you and your daughter have never been close, but don’t you care the least about what may befall her?”

Varlock-Sharron closed his eyes.  “I care more than any could know.”
              “Then change your course,” Lady Ara pleaded.

The King shook his head.  “I cannot.  The welfare of my Kingdom is more important than that of my daughter, my family, or myself, for that matter.”

Tulock and Marna were escorted into the chamber, Tulock bowing his head to the King, Marna curtsying.  Both took seats at the oversized table.

              “I am glad you were all willing to join me tonight,” stated Varlock-Sharron.  “I would have had Sir Garvol and Bodrir with us as well, but the General has ridden to join Sir Portav at Vanntir, and Sir Garvol is away, likely at Mintarn.  But I appreciate that you can be here with me.”

“If, my liege, I may ask, is there a purpose behind this supper you have called us to?” asked Lady Marna.

Varlock-Sharron grinned, though it could not dispel his obvious sadness.  “Indeed, Lady Marna.  Indeed.”

He took up his goblet, had a drink, then set it down again.  He looked to each of the people seated at his table.

“I have been the King of Sharron for thirty-three years, now.  I have had three Seneschals, four Exchequers, and too many Foreign Ministers.  I have fought many battles to keep my kingdom whole, and I admit, I am tired.  But my work is not finished, not yet.  I am a strong king.  I am, I believe, a good king.  Friends are a luxury of the common man, a luxury the wealthiest, most powerful cannot seem to afford.  I was blessed with a family, once, but soon, too soon, that will be but a memory.  I am told, today, that everything is in place, and that my daughter likely knows she has been called to account.  A sad day draws near, when I am to be truly without a family.  But for the greater good of my people, my kingdom, this I must do.”

He raised his goblet once again before continuing.  “I have never been good at showing my feelings to people.  I am a King, I must needs be distant, apart.  But few, a very, very select few, can see me as a man, and not just a King.  I count you three among those few.  Please, raise your glasses.”

The others, not hiding their surprise at the unusual sentiments from the King, took up their wine-filled goblets.

“Tonight, I am, to you, just Varlock-Sharron, sharing a meal amongst good company.  And so I raise a glass, and propose a toast.  To friends!”

“To friends,” the others intoned.  All took a sip, setting goblets down.

“I did not want to eat my meal alone, nor did I want to have a formal dinner, with all the pleasantries and expectations of such.  I wanted nothing more than a meal with the people I can be just a companion to, even if only for a short while.”

              He rang a small bell by his hand, and servants came in, and began to serve, Lady Marna and Lady Ara first, then Tulock, and finally Varlock-Sharron.

They did not speak of business, and affairs of state.  The gossiped.  They laughed.  For hours, they were simply enjoying one-another’s company. 

For those few hours, Varlock-Sharron was not a symbol, not a crown.  For the first time in a long time, he felt content, he did not feel alone.  He let go of his usual facade, and enjoyed the company of the people he could show this side of himself to. 

Tomorrow he would be King again. 

Chapter 23

The events of the day continued to intrude upon Cam Murtallan’s attempts to relax.  His mind would not be still, preventing him from his usual meditation. 

Two things in particular would not cease to intrude.

Dak’s confession explained why the solitary exiled soldier had joined the Falcon Raiders, and what brought him his loyalty to Lyrra-Sharron and her cause.  Cam could not be sure what effect this might have on the situation.  But more than that, he really wished he could do something to help Dak show the Princess his motivation.  Maybe that, in turn, would help her make a more rational choice.

Rational did not describe the Princess currently.  What bothered Cam most was Lyrra-Sharron’s disposition.  In the face of all her Lieutenants questioning the plans before her, she had steadfastly refused to choose any other course.  The way she spoke of the crown and of becoming Queen of Sharron had been almost hysterical, urgent, lustful. 

Cam knew instinctively, right down to his core, that it would be an issue, and wondered what this was leading up to.

Before now, Cam had simply tried to meditate.  But pausing to acknowledge his distractions seemed to make him feel better.  He could not spend all of his time just attempting to regain his power.  He had become, in his months among the Falcon Raiders, a part of the real world, for the first time since his youth.  He no longer cared only about himself…he found that he cared about these people he had come to consider friends.

Cam paused, drank some water.  He’d taken a long enough spell on these recollections.  He now took more time than usual, calming his heart and mind, taking hold of, examining, and then clearing out the intruding thoughts that broke his concentration. 

Finally, more at ease than he had ever remembered feeling before, he sat upon his bed, cross-legged, slowing his breath and his heart.  He concentrated on his breathing.  Soon, he sank into a deep meditation. 

He was here again, before the power within himself.  The glowing sphere of red and orange and yellow and gold, with flashes of all other colors known to mankind.  It pulsed slowly, with the beat of his heart.  Cam was still fascinated by this, barely believing that in all the years he had practiced the art of sorcery, he’d never really examined this, the center of his very soul.

Cam often pondered now if this was unique to only sorcerers, and the great artisans, craftsmen and warriors, or if this was within all.  Why could only some touch this?  Why could only some use it for sorcery?  Why were some only affected by it, and unable to control this mysterious orb that Cam had come to respect, and contemplate every day?

Cam was certain the destruction of this sphere of energy, the core of his soul as he believed it to be, would be his own termination.

He found the webbing, far less than what had been there when he had begun.  A quarter of his sorcerous capacity was unavailable to him still, and the webbing, covering only that quarter, shifted all about, preventing him from grasping it, or furthering its elimination.  So he examined it, tried to find a pattern in its shifting, tried to grab ahold of it, peel it away as he had the rest.

Cam examined the orb closely, touching it occasionally, gently, as he had never done before.  As difficult as the loss of his abilities had been for him, what Cam had gained in the restoration far outweighed the misfortune.

Forced to rely on his body and mind alone, Cam had chosen to train himself physically, using staff and rapier to mold and shape the muscles and body of a man once completely reliant on unseen strength.  Now he had the endurance to fight, to run, and even to perform acrobatic flips, and the strength to wield a weapon for as long as he would choose.

In working his body, he had been able to produce more energy, and thus meditate deeper, sleep more soundly and more restfully, for shorter periods.  He found himself calmer, less frenzied, more able to scrutinize a matter and respond accordingly, rather than catching a glimpse of an issue and reacting impulsively.

Then came his examination of this energy.  Cam had learned to meditate deeply, and to work meticulously and patiently, something he’d not been capable of before.  In so doing, his understanding of this gift had increased a thousandfold. 

Though he was loathe to admit it, although denied his full power, Cam was actually stronger than he had been before.

He had learned an aspect of his talent no other had spoken of previously.  All the books and teachings spoke of the archaic, ancient language required to unleash sorcery.  But Cam had discovered that he could recite the spells in a shorter form, in his own tongue.  In his self-examination, Cam had not simply recovered what was lost, but had received new insights into the essence of his gift.

Through this ordeal, Cam had grown stronger spiritually. His understanding and appreciation of the world around him was far stronger, and better rooted in the present tense than he would ever have thought possible.  Perhaps now, he would be truly ready to take on the task of being The Seeker. 

He looked closely at the sphere, seeing all the colors and hues he had ever known in his life.  It was a beautiful, wonderful thing he’d not truly appreciated before.  It made him want to laugh with enthusiasm and cry with joy. 

As he watched the webbing appear, disappear and shift, he wondered what the orb felt, what caused it to need this protection.   Cam found himself thinking about the energy as a living being unto itself.

A thought struck him he’d not contemplated before.  Up to now, he’d examined the power from without, closely, granted, but only at the surface.  He pondered this, looking at the vortex.  Concentrating harder, he placed his hand upon it, let it sink in.  It was a warm, tingling sensation, not unpleasant. 

Slowing his heart and breathing down as far as he could, Cam allowed himself to come closer to the sphere that represented his power.  As he did, he let himself sink into it.  He closed his eyes within himself, felt it engulf him.  Felt himself become one with the energy.

It was almost an indescribable sensation.  Pain and pleasure, hot and cold, love and hate, wet and dry, stinging and tickling, all at once, then not at all.  He felt himself as this orb, felt the constant flow of color and light and energy that was inside himself. 

For a moment Cam felt fear, fear of being trapped within, unable to return to his body in a small room in the village of Olitarn.  But he realized almost immediately that he was completely safe here, though how this realization came to him, he could not tell, but was absolutely certain none-the-less.

He let the river of energy and light and color flow through him, did not stop it, did not hinder it.  He absorbed it, felt himself completely renewed, more at peace and conscious of himself than he’d ever been before.  And he felt the webbing, a protective entity, almost alive in and of itself, flowing all about him, comforting.

He was able, from within, to hold the webbing, to feel why it protected him.  To understand what it was.  Cam was amazed to find that it was almost like a separate manifestation, a life within life, inside his power.  Even held still, it moved and flowed and shifted, translucent, but taking occasional ripples of color, and added energy.  Cam was completely fascinated by it.

The web was a guardian, a protective shell generated by the orb for its own protection.  Without it, the energy would have disappeared, and with that, Cam’s life as well. 

It also acted as a healer, a bandage for a mortal wound.  And with this knowledge, Cam knew that its task was complete.

He reached to it, stretched it, then let it surround him.  The webbing was warm and cold, fiery and frozen, light and dark, strong and weak all at once. 

Gently, slowly, Cam felt it begin to fade, until it dissipated into the all-encompassing energy that had spawned it.  It became grainy and indistinct, then gone entirely, absorbed back into the fast-flowing current of power and light and color swirling around and through him.

Thoughts seemed to intrude upon Cam that were not his own.  He attempted to catch them, tried to see them, sought to make them comprehensible, but to no avail. 

He found himself momentarily conflicted.  Cam wanted to leave, to see if he’d succeeded, see if the webbing was well and truly gone, if his strength was all his own again.  Yet he was here, and wanted to better understand what this was, unravel its many mysteries, and learn how it worked within him.

Whispers, sounds loud and soft, painful and pleasant.  Feelings as exquisite as a hundred orgasms, and as painful as a million pins stuck into every pore of his body.  The energy within himself was all his own, and yet, at the same time, was a part of something greater.  A thing unseen, but touched by everything in the universe that lived, generated and fueled by everything and nothing all at once. 

Cam tried to understand what he was facing, what he was enduring.  Suddenly, the rippling streams took on a new pattern, and to his shock, an appearance.  A face.  Many faces.  Thousands of faces.  Some familiar to him, swirling about, through, and around him. 

One in particular paused before him, a very old man, long beard, grey hair.  He was engulfed by the energy, and soon the voices, the whispers began to make sense. 

The light was slowly glowing brighter, and Cam recognized the
Prophecy of The Source
, repeating softly, faster and faster, over and over again. 

The light grew more and more frenzied, becoming steadily brighter.  And one last whisper came to Cam, more intelligible than the rest, impossible to ignore, a hiss of air that touched him to his very soul.

“The time is not now.”

A terrific, painful flash of light, and Cam found himself floating in a grey space.  Images, some familiar, passed before him.  Soon, he recognized many as they became clear.  His father waving from the field.  His mother’s sad face.  A fireball tossed from his outstretched hands, throwing a boy down a street.  The library at Aldara.  Various roads traveled over the years from nation to nation across the continent.  Cam realized it was memories of the past. 

The visions seem to come more rapidly now, and he recognized they were approaching the present.  The loss of his power.  His capture.  His torture.  His rescue.  Escape from Gara-Sharron.  Max Parcall being slain, his wife dead at Cam’s feet.  Lyrra-Sharron presenting him his rapier.  The raid on Brivarn.  The entrance of the Baron to the meeting of the officers.  Dak, slamming him into the wall.

The images were all brief, but powerful, with an extraordinary clarity.  They appeared, they wavered, and were replaced.

Another flash of light, and Cam saw himself, shallowly breathing, his heart barely beating, sitting cross-legged on his bed.  The present.  It was dark, save for a lone candle flickering, burning away.  Another flash of light.

The images were many, and varied, all blurry, each with an opposite.  Lyrra-Sharron dead, her head removed, Falcon Raiders strewn all about.  Lyrra-Sharron crowned Queen.  Lyrra-Sharron dead at the feet of a man with a crown upon his head.  Varlock-Sharron beheaded.  The King triumphant.  The Sharron Army overrun.  The Sharron Army outnumbering their adversary five to one.  Dak dead, Lyrra-Sharron imprisoned.  The Princess and former soldier wed.  These were clearly visions of possible futures.

More, blurrier images passed swiftly before him, clear for only the shortest instance.  A dark haired woman Cam had never seen before, but who felt very familiar.  A group of sorcerers sitting around a glowing orb of energy.  A thin, olive skinned blonde sorceress with tremendous power, meditating.  Two armies of unimaginable numbers facing one another across a wide field.  Caves in which Cam sensed tremendous danger lurking, waiting for him. 

Another flash, and Cam found himself returned to his body, in his room, the candle flickering, fading.  He took a deep breath, coming fully awake.

For the first time, he felt it.  Cam paused, feeling within himself, and burst into unbidden tears.  He was complete.  His power was all his again.  Cam Murtallan was a Sorcerer once more.

He continued to cry, feeling the release of agony and torment, feeling a sweetness filling him, and emptiness leaving him.  He was returned to being whole, but far more whole than he’d been when this had begun.  His strength of sorcery was all his for the first time since his error.  No longer missing, no longer broken to pieces. 

As the tears slowed, and stopped, Cam contemplated what this truly meant.  He would not, could not return to the way he had been.  He’d grown patient, he’d matured, lost his arrogance and self-righteousness.  He would strive to remain the stronger, more competent and calm man he’d grown into these last several months.

As his eyes dried, Cam pondered the visions he had seen.  In his heart of hearts, he knew what they meant.  And he knew, with the utmost certainty, that he was correct when he though Lyrra-Sharron’s course dangerous and wrong.  For herself.  For Sharron.  Ultimately, he knew, for Cam Murtallan.

He had sworn to follow her, agreed to be a part of her Falcon Raiders, an officer, no less, a part of her plans.  “
I am with you, Lyrra-Sharron
,” he had assured her.  But what could he do?

Cam wondered where things would go from this point forward.  As a part of the Falcon Raiders, could he help her?  Did it really matter what condition Sharron was in, if Cam departed, continuing his quest for The Source?  Though he questioned everything, Cam already was aware of the answer.