Echoes Of A Gloried Past (Book 2) (11 page)

Aaron stopped in his tracks and held his breath. The end of his staff touched the ground next to his feet, and the runes began to glow faintly. The Elitesman held his blade to the child’s throat. Why do they always go after the children? The energy practically crackled down his arms and legs, eager to be released. Aaron saw something move along the crowd’s edge, and the Elitesman’s sword arm jerked away from the child’s throat. Aaron released the energy built up within him and moved so fast that the world stilled around him as he blurred into action. Grabbing the Elitesman by the scruff of his neck, he launched himself into a powerful jump, clearing the buildings around them. Aaron slammed the Elitesman down upon the roof of a small nearby tower. Before Aaron could deliver the final blow, the Elitesman reached inside his pocket and disappeared. 

Aaron clenched his teeth, looking toward the dark towers in the distance. Then he slowly leaped down to the street below and headed to where Verona and Roselyn would be waiting.

***

“Who was that?” Anson asked, coming to Nolan’s side.

“I don’t know,” Nolan said, grateful for the help of the stranger. “Release them and help them get to safety,” Nolan said, and the miners disappeared into the crowd.

“What about him?” Anson asked, gesturing toward the dead Elitesman.

“Take the body and burn it,” Nolan said. “I want all evidence of it to be destroyed.”

Nolan said a silent prayer to the Goddess, rubbing his hand in a small circle upon his brow in a customary show of respect. Anson, who had caught the gesture, stepped up to him and handed him a leather pouch pulled from the Elitesman’s pocket, which Nolan stuffed into his own. The crowd, which had been an angry mob before, began to dissipate. 

The guards gathered around after carrying out his orders. Most looked shaken by the events that had taken place. Twenty men looked expectantly at him for orders. Nolan looked at them all with a mixture of sympathy and pride. They had stood with him, ready to defy the injustice of the Elitesmen, knowing full well it would bring their wrath. Some, like himself, had families. 

“It was an honor to stand by you on this bloody day, my friends,” Nolan said. Friends they were, for from this day forth they could be nothing else. “I fear that the ire of the Elitesmen will be swift. None of us are safe. The Elitesmen will not stop with us. They will visit their retribution where we live. The lives of our families and loved ones are in danger. The city is not safe for us.”

“Where can we go?” one of them asked.

Nolan looked back at them helplessly. Where could any of them go now? He couldn’t answer the question because he didn’t know himself. Anson cleared his throat and gestured to the ground. In the dirt was a sketching of a dragon cradling a rose, with one clawed hand raised before it.

Some of the guards gasped their protests, while others hastily looked around to see if anyone else had seen. Anson quickly brushed away the image.

Nolan looked at Anson, unable to keep the puzzlement from his face.

“The Resistance. We should seek their aide,” Anson said. “You’re new to the city and don't know how widespread they are."

Judging by the men’s reactions, he could tell that more than a few were quite familiar with them.

“We shouldn’t talk about this here out in the open. Let's meet in fifteen minutes,” Anson said and gave them a location to meet. The guards split into groups of twos and threes and departed.

Nolan looked at his friend, “I need to get my family to safety. Out of the city, if possible.”

“I’m not sure if that will be possible. We should be able to get them into hiding,” Anson said, leading him down a set of streets farther away from the crowded parts of the district. 

They came to an older section of the city where the stonework appeared almost ancient with a lost elegance. Nolan had the distinct feeling that they were being followed, but each time he looked, there was nothing there. Chalking it up to nerves, he kept following his friend. Eventually, they arrived at an old rundown building with a dome-shaped roof that had collapsed in a few places. 

They entered the building, which appeared to be as dilapidated inside as the outside except for the pristine fountain with a statue of a woman standing resolute, her gaze sweeping the entranceway. Anson brought his hand to his forehead and made a small circular motion with this thumb and forefinger. It was just the two of them.

“I had hoped to bring you here eventually. You are different from the other captains,” Anson said, his gaze lingering upon the fountain. “Better.”

Nolan watched his friend. “What are you saying?”

Anson was about to answer him when the other guards began to arrive. After all twenty arrived, Anson called for quiet.

“My friends,” Anson began, “at this point, if you’re here, you’ve accepted that things have gotten so bad that we cannot go back to our old lives. You can, of course, go your separate ways, but after this moment when you learn what you’re about to learn, there is no going back, and it would be a danger for us all to allow it.”

“What do you mean?” Nolan asked.

“I am a descendant of the De’anjard, Keepers of the Watch. Shields of Shandara,” Anson said with his fist across his heart. “We are the heart of the Resistance here in Khamearra. Our main objective is to bring down the Elitesmen and the High King wherever and however we can. Captain Nolan had no knowledge of this and has not participated in any of our activities. He’s simply a good man. One that they will never let live, because of his commitment to the law and to treating people with a sense of decency.”

Nolan’s mouth fell open. The De’anjard were the remnants of the Shandarian Army. Many took refuge into neighboring kingdoms, but to learn that after all this time they had kept fighting in whatever way they could was astonishing.

“We can hide your families and your loved ones,” Anson said.

“At what price?” one of the guardsman barked.

“Service,” Anson said. “To our cause would be ideal, but if you find that you cannot allow yourself to do so, then we will still help you leave the city.”

Some of the guards began to murmur among themselves. 

“Was that one of your people who helped us today?” Nolan asked.

Anson shook his head. “No, while there are some older Elitesmen who indirectly serve our cause, none were present today. How could they be? I didn’t know we would be transferring the miners. I’m not sure why the Elitesmen wanted those miners brought to the Citadel.”

“They wanted to make an example out of me,” Nolan said. “This was about their asserting control, but perhaps you are correct. There may be more to their methods than what we are being led to believe.”

The guards murmured their agreement, but fell silent when Anson spoke again.

“I’m not the leader of the De’anjard, but I do have the authority to speak for them. Time is short. We can help you escape the injustice of the Elitesmen, but I urge you to take up the cause. If not us, then who will stand up and fight for those who cannot fight for themselves? Give voice to those who cannot speak,” Anson leveled his gaze at all of them. “Give shelter to those who wish to escape the storm.”

Nolan raised his hand to his friend. “You have my sword. Just help me get my family to safety.”

Anson shook his hand. Others spoke up, and they agreed to join the Shandarian Resistance in the home city of the High King. For the first time in months, Nolan felt a sense of pride that could only come from hope. He might die in service to this cause, but knowing that his family would be safe and that he could be of service to a good cause was worth dying for.

Anson split them up into groups of four, giving a different set of instructions to each. He gestured to Nolan to come with him to the various groups. Each group was given a passphrase and a specific action to take at a certain location, the purpose of which was to alert others of the Resistance that they were in need of aid. Help would be provided to gather those with loved ones in need, and after the former guardsman of the High King left, it was just Anson and himself in the old temple. 

“Yours will be the riskiest of actions,” Anson said.

Nolan raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“Because we need for you to stay in your current place, serving as district captain.”

“But,” Nolan began.

“Your family will be hidden and eventually smuggled out of the city, but your position as district captain is one we can’t hope to pass up. We can come up with some type of cover story for their absence.” 

Nolan’s mind raced. He could see Anson’s point. “I agree. I’ll help you.”

Anson smiled, clearly relieved. “I’ll be there with you, my friend. We will protect you as best we can. Now, let us go for there is more work to do before this is done.” 

“What about the man that helped us?” Nolan asked.

“That's one of the things we need to find out,” Anson said, with a wink running his hand through his unkempt brown hair.

As they left the temple, Nolan glanced back at the statue of the Goddess and thought of his wife’s words to him when he broached the subject of them leaving the city. 

The Goddess wants us exactly where she intends for us to be. 

With a respectful nod in the statue’s direction, Nolan left the building.

C
HAPTER
8

RETURN TO REXEL

DAWN approached, and the sun began to peek through the clouds. The air was crisp being so close to the mountains near Hathenwood, but since Colind had been released from his prison, he never missed an opportunity to witness the sunrise. The first rays of the sun caressed his craggy old face. Having been deprived of the sun’s warmth for a score of years, it was these small quiet moments that made him feel as if he was being born again. 

He sat on the deck of the Raven with a large bucket to capture the wood shavings from his carving. A good sharp knife and a couple of other tools gave his hands something to do, whittling away the block of wood. Carving wood was something he hadn’t been able to do in a very long time, and it still surprised him how much he missed the simple pleasures in life. He ran his fingers along the fine grain, feeling the density of the old block of wood. Much like himself he mused. He would often whittle wood to think through a problem, and there was no shortage of those. 

His eyes drew east to the horizon where Khamearra was many miles from where he sat. Aaron had occupied much of this thoughts, and despite his preconceptions of the boy, he had grown genuinely fond of him. Boy, he smiled. At Colind's age, anyone younger than fifty was considered a boy. Aaron had shown a remarkable sense of wisdom when dealing with the Hythariam. That’s not to say he thought much of his chances of succeeding in his quest, but he understood and agreed with his reasons for trying. Not that Aaron needed or required his blessing, but he still found himself yearning to go with the boy and lend a hand.

“You’re up early,” Garret said.

Colind looked up at Garret and nodded in greeting. A man well into his fifties, so not a boy. His gray hair had been cropped short, and his eyes were so blue they bordered on silver. 

“I’ve been asleep a long time,” Colind said. “In my imprisonment I was unable to enjoy the shine of the sun.” His tone was friendly enough, but the terror of being pulled from the shadow back into the world of the living was all too real for him. Mactar had trapped his soul, separating it from his body, leaving it slightly out of phase with reality. He brushed thoughts of Mactar aside lest his mind stray into the reckoning that he would visit upon that evil man in a thousand different ways.

“I wonder how they are getting on,” Garret said, glancing to the east.

Colind shifted in his chair. “I’m sure they are fine. They’ve only just arrived in Khamearra and haven’t had enough time to stir up trouble. The boy has quite a following, won’t you agree? Present company included.”

“That he does. To be honest, I found myself wanting to go with them. What are the odds of them succeeding?”

“I wouldn’t bet against Aaron if that’s what you mean,” Colind said. “I’m not sure, to be honest, based upon everything I’ve seen and knowing how the Drake hunted the Alenzar’seth … But as Verona put it, Aaron has a knack for doing the impossible,” Colind said and raised his hands as living proof to validate the claim he just made.

“I see your point,” Garret said. “If there is anyone who can pull off something like this, I believe it’s him. He would have walked to Shandara to find the answers he sought. That is the measure of his conviction. He will do no less for Sarah and probably a great deal more.”

Vaughn joined them. “It’s what he wouldn’t do to save Sarah that concerns me.”

Colind sighed. They had been over this, and still they came to the same subject yet again. “I think we need to accept the fact that Aaron will do what he needs to do. If those actions bring war to this world sooner than we had planned, then so be it. The Alenzar’seth have sacrificed enough. They gave us almost a hundred years to prepare for this. Besides, Aaron makes a compelling argument, wouldn’t you agree?”

Vaughn’s bearing changed. He wrapped his arms around himself. “Indeed he does. I feel foolish for not having thought along similar lines myself, and I know I’m not the only one.”

Colind shrugged his shoulders. “None of us did. A fresh perspective is worth its weight. He managed to convince Iranus, which is a monumental feat in itself.”

Soft chuckles released the tension. They were all frightened by the looming threat from Hytharia and dealt with their fear in different ways. 

“I hope he succeeds,” Vaughn said. “I hope he is able to save Sarah. They were good for one another.”

An unexpected smile appeared on Colind’s face and was mirrored on the others' as well. This was Aaron’s gift, getting people to care. “I never realized you were such a romantic, Vaughn. Can an old dog learn new tricks?”

Vaughn laughed. “Not according to Verona.”

“Those two in Khamearra,” Garret chuckled. “Now if that doesn’t spell trouble for the High King, I don’t know what will.”