Seeker (The Source Chronicles Book 1) (35 page)

“You speak lies!” exclaimed Varlock-Sharron, his eyes growing wide, his nostrils still flared, a mix of anger and concern.  “I have no such power!  You feel nothing of the sort.”

Cam found himself unmoved.  “You lie only to yourself then, Majesty.  You have the abilities, whether you choose to see them or no.  They cannot be given or taken away like any other tool…the power simply is.  And you possess it.”

The King sank slowly into his chair, a look of consternation on his face.  “No.  No, it cannot be true.  I have no such powers.  It is not like that...it cannot be.”

Cam’s expression softened.  Obviously, he had touched a raw nerve.  “You’ve only used it by mistake, haven’t you?  You’ve never intended to make it work for you.”

Varlock-Sharron looked into Cam’s eyes.  “My father was killed by sorcerers.  I was nearly killed the same way.  I stopped them.  I never thought on it again, and I have denied it a long time now…but I stopped them.”

“You used Sorcery against them, didn’t you?” pressed Cam.

*****

Varlock-Sharron looked within himself, and recalled his past through his conflicted emotions.  “It was a long time ago.  Long ago.  I slept in my bed, and felt, no, sensed...something, outside my room.  They came,” he shivered at the recollection of the memory. 

“There were five of them.  They cast spells, sealed my room.  They slowly worked more spells, trying to gag and bind me.  I arose quickly.  I reached my sword, and cut one down.  I was...enraged.  I saw fire.  Suddenly, two burst into flames.  I thrust my sword into the chest of the next.  But the last knocked my sword from my hands, and pushed me down, speaking quickly in a language I could not understand.  I...I was terrified.  I cried out ‘Stop’, and he just froze there.  He collapsed a moment later.  I had stopped his heart.  The room was no longer sealed, so I left, called for guards, and they apprehended the two I had burned.”

Varlock-Sharron’s chin fell to his chest a moment.  “That was long ago.  I was now King, so no one questioned what happened that night, and I vowed I would never let myself touch that again.”  His head came up now, eyes on Cam.  “From time to time I could...sense things.  I could feel things of a Sorcerous nature.  I forced it down, ignored it.  I have felt not a whisper of power for the past dozen years or so...not until you came to Sharron.”

“Some think it a curse,” Cam explained.  “But it is a gift.  I feared it, in the beginning, tried to hide from it when I was young.  I learned what it was, what I could do with it, to accept it, embrace it.  So much so that Sorcery blinded me with arrogance.”  Cam took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.  “Then I overdid it, burned myself out, and your men were able to capture me.  Much has happened since that time.”

Varlock-Sharron stood again, slowly.  He would never have believed any would discover his deepest secret.  Not entirely trusting himself to speak, his voice was barely audible.  “Why have you come to me, Cam Murtallan?  What do you want of me?”

*****

“I want the same thing you do, Varlock-Sharron.  To save this Kingdom.”  Cam took another deep breath.  He had made it this far, and while the revelation of Varlock-Sharron’s secret was stunning, he would need to analyze it another time.  There were more pressing matters in the now.

“I have had...visions.  The Medaelians will strike, and soon.  If you are unready for them, or delayed, dealing with the repercussions of your daughter’s actions, Wilnar-Medira will triumph.  The success of my quest is tied in to the well-being and stability of Sharron.  There is one simple fact I cannot ignore…if Sharron falls, I will fail.  That is my vision.”

“You serve only yourself, in the end, then?” Varlock-Sharron queried with a trace of hostility in his tone.

“You are a learned man…you know the prophecy.  If I fail, t’Thera becomes a dangerously more chaotic place.  It’s already begun.” 

Cam’s eyes grew distant as he voiced his thoughts for the first time.  He had only reached these conclusions since regaining his abilities, and leaving the Falcon Raiders. 

“I have come to believe that it started with the fall of Anaria.  There are many forces of chaos gaining more and more power in the world.  More and more nations have skirmishes, disagreements, increased mortality, greater destruction.  Other agents of chaos are biding their time, gathering their strength, like the Gendarme of Winsott, the Theocracy of Yadim and the Church of the Triad of Truth.  But you, and Sharron, are a force of stability.  Your nation represents Order.  Certainly a needed force of stability.”

Cam took a deep breath, and looked at Varlock-Sharron.  “Most are aware of the
Prophecy of The Source
, but only the academics seem to know of the other, the
Prophecy of Source’s End
::

‘
If the Seeker fails his quest,

To return the Source unto the world,

Wizardry and Sorcery laid to rest,

Eternal darkness is unfurled.

For with the loss of The Source,

War and strife befall the lands,

The world set upon a dismal course,

Out of the prophetic healing hands.

Chaos of Order brings neigh but remorse,

Order of Chaos is the rite of The Source.

Do net let The Seeker fall,

In his doom the world will end,

Heed this warning, hear the call

Or all the lands shall fire rend.

The Source is Knowledge,

and Knowledge is The Source
.’”

Varlock-Sharron raised his eyebrows again on hearing that.  “I have read that one.  It is hard to come by.  Legend holds that it was only copied by the hand of its’ creator, and some of those have been lost.” He looked into Cam’s eyes closely.  “So it is true?” 

“So it would seem.  It is true.”

Varlock-Sharron sat down again, began to rub at his goatee.  “What have you in mind, Sorcerer?  You are on dangerous ground, here. With all that is happening now, I have my own concerns, I do not think I am the one to help you in this.”

“You’re mistaken,” said Cam.  “You can.  You’re the only one who can help me.  Together, we can end this, before Lyrra-Sharron reaches the Common.

“How?” questioned the King, leaning forward, clasping his hands and placing them upon his desk.

“You must meet up with her, before she travels to Mintarn,” stated Cam.

Varlock-Sharron gave a disheartened laugh.  “Impossible.  I could never find her, let alone get close enough to her to speak.  And even if, somehow, I could do so, she would not hear me out.”

“I was one of her officers, your Majesty,” stated Cam, leaning closer, is if letting Varlock-Sharron in on some secret.  “I know where she is gathering her full strength.  I can get you to her.”

“And what would you have me say, Sorcerer?” questioned the King.  His tone was facetious.  “Am I to say something like, ‘Sorry, my daughter.  You wronged me, tried to usurp my crown, started a rebellion, but, you see, we have a bad situation brewing on the Medaelian border, not to mention our interference with The Seeker, so would you please abandon this whole thing, and return to your place as my heir?’”  Varlock-Sharron laughed bitterly.  “No, Cam Murtallan.  I cannot dissuade her this course.  She must be destroyed.”

“You are incorrect in that, Varlock-Sharron.  I believe it is you, and you alone, that
can
change this.”

“And how exactly have you concluded that?” questioned the King.

Cam took a seat, across from Varlock-Sharron.  “Tell me about the deaths of your son, your daughter, and your wife.” 

Varlock-Sharron unclasped his hands, and leaned forward upon his knuckles, an angry look on his face.  “What do you know of that?”

Cam crossed his arms.  “Only what Lyrra-Sharron told me.  I want to hear it from you.”

A look of distant, ancient pain crossed the face of Varlock-Sharron.  “This is none of your concern.  I hardly think on those times any longer.  They are the past, and they are not memories I care to dwell upon.  What do these things matter to the present situation?”

“'These things’ are what drive Lyrra-Sharron, your Majesty,” Cam informed the King.  “It is your involvement in these episodes that your daughter justifies her rebellion upon.”

“That cannot be so,” Varlock-Sharron replied.  “Every one of these tragedies occurred over a decade ago.”

“Time never matters where the heart is concerned, your Majesty,” Cam spoke, nearly startled to hear such issue from his lips.  “Wounds of the heart, real or perceived, take a long time to heal.”

“How does that make this your concern?”

“Your daughter considers you guilty of murdering your own family,” stated Cam plainly.

“How dare you!” exclaimed Varlock-Sharron, incensed, his knuckles turning white.  “That is not at all what happened.”

“Would you care to know what Lyrra-Sharron is telling the leaders of her Falcon Raiders?” queried Cam.  “It’s a rather convincing story.”

“And it has something to do with this rebellion of hers?” Varlock-Sharon asked, clearly seething still.

“Your Majesty, it is the heart or it all,” stated Cam.

“Then tell me.”

*****

              Cam thought back to that afternoon in Lyrra-Sharron’s room, when he had revealed to her his tale.  To his surprise, he remembered it exactly.

Lyrra-Sharron had started her narrative.  “We had all been close, the three of us were virtually inseparable, until at age twelve Karlock-Sharron took up arms.  He began to train in the sword, as our father had.  He grew more distant, uninterested in playing with his young sisters.  Father, at the time, began to focus his attentions more upon Karlock-Sharron than my sister or I.  My brother began to learn the intricacies of the nobility, studied strategy, military history, and trained as a warrior.  He was heir to the throne, after all.”

Lyrra-Sharron paused a moment, her tone shifting again, and continued.  “For the next three years, my brother was seen by my sister and I only at supper, and not always then.  He was distant, closed, never sharing his mind with us, as he had before.  I hardly knew him.  One afternoon, when I was nine, I chanced by my father’s study.  I could not hear the whole thing, but my father and brother argued loudly, about a battle that was going to occur.  My brother stormed out, and my father cried at him ‘Get yourself to the battlefield!  Go, son!’  My brother brushed past me, muttering about how he would show my father.  In the evening, I wanted to see my parents, question father and Karlock-Sharron’s fight.  I heard my mother and father arguing, and I heard them mention my brother’s name several times, though I did not catch exactly what it was they debated.  Mother seemed very angry with my father, and eventually he stormed from the room, completely ignoring me.  Then, during the night, Karlock-Sharron rode out of the palace with a company of Guardsmen.”             

              She stopped, and swallowed, clearly fighting her emotions.  “Karlock-Sharron would never return; he was slaughtered.  My mother wept openly, but my father remained silent, and never spoke of it.  My brother had been fifteen, and my father had ordered him into combat, knowing it would kill him.  He never shed a tear for his son, and was totally somber at the funeral, standing apart from my mother, sister and I, isolating himself.  He has never spoken of my brother since.”

              Lyrra-Sharron stopped a moment, before changing her tone yet again and continuing the narrative.

“The death of Karlock-Sharron only brought Miara-Sharon and I closer.  We studied together, played together, shared everything.  Not long after my brother’s death, I took up the study of the arte of defense under Sir Torin.  Miara-Sharron wanted nothing to do with weapons, so she studied music and poetry and dance instead.  Close as we were, we began inevitably to grow apart, and I soon only saw her at night, when she would usually crawl into my bed.”

Once more she paused, clearly lost in the moment, then continued.  “Over the next many months, Miara-Sharron spoke less and less to me, became withdrawn, seemed very sad, very secretive.  I tried to speak of this to my parents, but Father was involved in some matter of state, and Mother seemed distracted.  Miara-Sharron herself always said she was fine, nothing was wrong, but I knew otherwise.  Clearly, mother’s constant preoccupation, and more, my father’s increasing distance was upsetting her.  He was never seen when she would perform a dance, or a song, or present a new painting.  What little attention he gave to his children, he seemed to give only to my study of rapier and the arts of war.”

Her tone darkened.  “We were eleven when it happened.  In the middle of the night, I felt something, an odd sensation, something out of place, and awoke instantly.  I turned, and found my father, weeping over my sister, a hand upon her forehead.  She lay beside me, cold, dead.”

              She took a deep breath, let it out slowly.  “My father carried her from my bed, saying nothing to me, offering no explanation for his presence, or her death.  He returned to comfort me, but I feigned sleep, and he sat beside my bed a while, before leaving my room.  We never talked about it, and she was buried a day later.”

“But how did she die?” Cam questioned.

Lyrra-Sharron shook her head.  “There was never an explanation, she simply died, and that was all that my father ever made public.  I have become suspicious, now, that he killed her.”