Fractured Earth Saga 1: Apocalypse Orphan (21 page)

Wolf, who had dozed off, stood up quickly and then submerged just as fast.

“Jhondra, why are you in here, child?” Onel asked with a chuckle.

The girl was small, not quite five foot tall, with honey blonde hair in a thick braid that extended down her back to her waist. She had thin lips, gray eyes, and was milkmaid white. Like most of the women Wolf had seen in this castle, she was dressed in flowing clothes that hid her body. The girl was very thin and hadn’t blossomed yet.

“Father, I missed you. His Majesty is getting hungry, and I took it upon myself to inform you of our king’s mind.”

“Child, this is the men’s quarters,” Onel lectured with a faint smile. “You must remember that you are a young woman and can’t run in here anytime you like.” Turning to Wolf, he added, “Forgive my child. She is my youngest at sixteen summers—a consummate tomboy who doesn’t realize how attractive she has become.”

Deciding it was time to get dressed, Wolf stood, remaining waist-deep in the water, and retrieved his garments. His movements drew the girl’s attention, and her eyes widened as she noticed his size. She managed a whispered, “Hello, stranger!” She had ignored Wolf when she entered, being intent on talking to her father. Now, she assessed his broad back, long hair, and massive chest. Swallowing hard, she asked, “Is he the one
they speak of, Father?”

“Jhondra, remove yourself, my child. We will talk later,” Onel replied with a sigh.

“Yes, Father. I will see you at dinner.” The girl flashed Wolf a perky smile and added, “You too, large one.”

Speaking to no one in particular, Wolf mumbled under his breath, “What is it with women lately?”

“I heard that, Commander,” Syn hissed in his ear bud, sounding like a jealous female.

Chapter 15

O
nel escorted Wolf down an exquisite hallway of red granite still being decorated by artisans. They stopped for a few moments to watch a talented stonecutter as he chiseled a design in one wall. The man was scraping and tapping a large area into a mural of the hunt, and he had chiseled out a boar-like creature being pursued by dogs. A large tree graced the background, and several men were in pursuit through a half-carved forest.

“This is beautiful,” Wolf said in amazement. “How long has he been carving here?”

“Huran is the king’s master stonecutter. His grandfather carved the castle. He has been working on this scene for less than a month and should finish it in another two weeks. He is truly gifted,” Onel said.

Wolf nodded in agreement, and they continued down the hallway to another massive iron door. Guards in armor stood on each side of the panel. They acknowledged Onel, and one did a quick march step, planted his heel, pivoted, took another quick step, and advanced to the door, opening it for the two men. Onel led Wolf into the chamber. As the door closed behind them, Wolf gazed into the throne room of King Waylan. It was vaulted, with massive arches supported by columns carved into the form of snakes whose jaws clamped on the beams above. Wolf counted twenty dark gray marble columns on each side, spaced about ten feet apart. Guards armed with spears lined the alcoves, standing erect and proud. These men looked older than the guards outside, and Wolf recalled Haakon’s words: “The king is protected inside his castle by the Old Guard, men past their prime but who have vowed to serve the king until death.” Wolf felt respect for such men.

The floor of the exquisite throne room was black marble with white flecks, a stunning contrast from the three different types of rock used to construct this room. Across the room, Wolf saw a man seated on what appeared to be a solid gold throne. Like the thrones of old, it had a high, ornate back with gigantic armrests—but it was the man seated on the throne that caught Wolf’s eye.

King Waylan was the biggest man Wolf had seen on the planet. Even sitting down, his large frame impressed Wolf. He had blue eyes, alert and darting, and a snowy white beard that covered an iron chin. The beard hung from his face like a glacier forcing its way down a mountain valley. Wolf noticed a scar on the man’s face that started by his right eye and pulled the skin down, giving him a squinting gaze. His mouth was full, and he had deep smile lines. He held a massive sword by the crosspiece between his legs in huge hands with deep scars.

Onel walked to the king’s dais and knelt. “My King, I present Wolf, a bold warrior who defeated Jonar’s ruffians and made the Templar Sylvaine retreat in fear. Wolf, I present you King Waylan of Springdale.”

The king rose with dignity. He slowly walked down the three steps of the raised dais to look into Wolf’s eyes. He was a large man, but Wolf still dwarfed him. Extending a hand, he said in a deep bass, “Welcome, bold warrior, to my castle. I hope you will stay for a while so we can become acquainted.” The king’s voice was strong and well modulated.

“Thank you, Your Highness. I commend you on the kindness, bravery, and understanding of the people of your fair land. I also compliment you on your castle’s beauty. It truly is a work of art.” Wolf then asked, “My lord, may I present you with a gift from my land?”

“Please, warrior, no gifts are necessary. You have given us service by slaying Jonar’s ruffians,” the king said.

“My lord, it is a custom from my land. May I?”

“If it is custom, then so be it.”

Wolf pulled his Mylar sack around and opened it. He searched in it and then pulled out the sheathed Bowie knife, presenting it to King Waylan. The monarch pulled the knife blade out and inspected the mirror-bright steel. Its leather-wrapped hilt was finely crafted, and the blade’s balance was precise. The king ran a thumb over the edge and pulled away with a small but deep cut in his skin. “This is superb,” he said. “I have never seen its match in my life. The color of the iron is unusual. It is not painted, yet the color extends throughout the blade. What is this metal?”

“It is called stainless steel, your Majesty. It will not break or rust,” Wolf said.

“An impressive gift,” responded the king, tucking the knife under his belt. “Let us proceed to the feast.” The monarch exited through a door to the right of his throne. Onel and Wolf followed him into a vast chamber with several large fireplaces. The mantels were carved with battle scenes, and the hearths were broad enough to cook a cow from ancient Earth. These were the kitchens, and the hearths warmed the bath waters above. Several large animals turned on spits over the open flames, tended by women who toiled willingly for their king. Copious amounts of fruits, vegetables, wines, and beer had been laid out for the guests.

The centerpiece of the dining hall was a massive table, thirty feet long, carved from a greenish-yellow wood and polished to a glass-like luster. Sixty chairs were arranged around the rectangular base. The king proceeded to the head of the table and sat between two large chairs to each side. Wolf was seated to the king’s right; Onel took the chair next to Wolf. A very old but still attractive woman seated herself to the left of the king, and she was introduced to Wolf as Dedra, the king’s older sister. Onel’s daughter, Jhondra, took the other chair.

Jhondra looked across at Wolf and said, “Hello, large one. You look better with your clothes off.”

Wolf, who was drinking from a chalice, spit up wine at the girl’s precocious remark, and King Waylan slapped him on the back as he coughed. The king’s eyes widened as he felt the rock-hard skin of Wolf’s back.

“Jhondra! Mind your manners,” Onel reprimanded sharply.

“Oh, Father. I am just playing with him. He and I are practically friends,” she pouted.

“Fast little hussy,” Syn hissed in Wolf’s ear.

Wolf regained his composure and said, “Sorry, my lord, it seems I choked.”

“Quite understandable. Please excuse my niece. She is spoiled beyond belief.”

Wolf looked at the king and then at Onel, noticing a resemblance. Waylan caught his back-and-forth gaze and with a jovial laugh said, “Yes, that windbag is my older brother.”

“As you can see, he got the brawn while I got the brains. We had another brother, but Waylan ate him.” Onel grinned at Wolf.

“Fool!” the king laughed. “Onel and I make a good pair. We have campaigned together for years…but enough about us. I’m told you come from far away. Tell me of your people and your land.”

“My people are all dead now, lost to the world,” Wolf said with deep regret. “They were killed in a terrible cataclysm. If any survived, they are no longer like me. I am all that remains of the original stock.”

“I’m sorry for bringing sad memories to the forefront of our conversation,” said the king, studying Wolf with his steely eyes. “My curiosity about you is my only defense. Forgive my rude manners. Tonight, let us eat, drink, and laugh. When we are better friends, you will share more perhaps. Agreed?”

“Your Majesty, we are friends, and someday I may share all,” Wolf answered with a disarming smile.

“Priest, come bless this food before we eat,” Waylan called out, and a man approached. He was dressed in a white robe. The upper portion resembled a turtleneck sweater once popular in Wolf’s time. A one-inch, black, metal band encircled his neck, and a white, conical helmet was perched atop his head. His attire reminded Wolf of an archbishop from the distant past.

Raising his hands, the priest declared, “Jesu, bless this gathering and protect our king and our people.”

“Ame,” murmured the guests seated around the table.

“Partake of the dinner, my friends,” Waylan said with a regal wave of his hand.

When the opportunity arose a few minutes later, Wolf caught the priest’s eye and asked, “Tell me a little about Jesu?”

“Gladly, my friend! Jesu is our lord. He was born of the Blessed One, who we also revere. He is king and the Son of God. We serve him and honor his name in the daily rituals of our lives. He is the bread we eat and the air we breathe. He suffered for us, died for our sins, and arose to live forever. When our lives have ended, we will be with him in everlasting love and peace, and through Him, we will find eternal salvation,” the priest explained in a reverent tone.

“I agree, God is great,” Wolf said, dropping the subject. An idea was forming in his thoughts that he would discuss later with Syn.

* * *

The meal had been in progress for about an hour when a shimmering form appeared in the center of the long dining table. The silver knight Sylvaine materialized out of thin air and announced, “Fools, you sit here feasting with this buffoon. My master is unhappy. He gives you an ultimatum: Surrender this castle, and Jonar, in his mercy, will allow you to live. Resist and you all die. What is your answer, old man?” the apparition demanded.

With a lazy yawn, the monarch replied, “Templar, your powers concern me not. You appear here every so often to spout that drivel. I care naught for your master or his hollow words. If he could have killed me before, he would have. And you are nothing but a shadow…and like any shadow, when the light of Jesu shines, you disappear.”

As Waylan and Sylvaine conversed, Wolf had been busy. The moment Sylvaine had appeared, he raised his hand to his mouth and whispered into his watch, “Syn, full scanner sweep, what is this apparition?” He stood and walked down the table towards the Templar’s shimmering form. It glared at Wolf with contempt and said, “You, buffoon, will die by my spear anon.”

Syn positioned the shuttle outside the castle window to scan using her forward-facing camera as Wolf stopped before Sylvaine and passed his hand through the apparition, declaring, “So, you are not real.” He looked up at the ceiling, and at the same moment, Syn whispered in his ear bud, “Commander, there is a small power source on the ceiling. It’s a primitive projection device with a faint transmission. I can barely pick up its frequency.”

Wolf nodded acknowledgment and said to the king, “Sire, this is a projected image. It has no real power.” The projection winked out suddenly. “Bring me a ladder and I will show you what this thing truly is.”

A ladder was procured and Wolf pointed to the object he wanted brought down from the ceiling. It was a small box anchored to an ornate niche, about the size of an ancient backpack and decoratively engraved. When it was retrieved, Wolf opened the box and found an old projector, a transmitter, and a receiver. He explained the science behind the device to the king, adding that wherever similar apparitions had been reported in the castle, a similar device would be found.

Waylan dispatched guards to the various locations in the castle where apparitions had been seen. Thirty minutes later, twelve more projectors had been found. The question hanging in the air was: Who had placed these projectors? It was obvious that a traitor lived among them in the castle.

“My friend, again you have served us well. We will discover who placed these boxes,” said the king. He called for Captain Lintal, and the soldier stepped forward, kneeling in a fluid motion as Waylan ordered, “You will lead the investigation. Leave no stone unturned. Find this traitor!” Through clenched teeth, he added, “I have always put the needs of my people first. I have no slaves; I permit no one to starve, yet someone among us is unhappy with my rule. How can you remedy stupidity?”

Onel gazed at the boxes in confusion. After a long pause, he asked, “The apparitions have no substance?”

Wolf responded, “No, they are harmless. They are programmed to say certain things, and the device sends your response to whoever is on the other side of it.” Wolf said.