The Lords of Valdeon (11 page)

"I endured your intrusions upon my family’s private business for Anne’s sake. She is dead now, so don’t think your interfering is welcome any longer. If you are concerned about the boy, take him to your home to live in squalor with the rest of the pigs."

"Thomas, don’t!" Riley’s mum grabbed Dad to restrain him. "Perhaps it is best if Seth comes to our home."

Riley pressed against the wall among the shadows as the crippled form of Fergus McCloud limped by. He couldn't recall a man more deserving of an entire island's hatred. Seth was best rid of him.

"His dear mother would want the boy to finish his studies." Emma's voice sounded frail through her tears. "What would she think if I didn’t make certain Seth went to school?"

"Emma’s right, Thomas." Mum clutched at his arm. "I wouldn’t know how to help Seth with his lessons."

Dad nodded, throwing an uneasy look up at the ceiling toward Seth's room. "I suppose it's the least we can do for Anne. You’ll promise to send for me if McCloud gives you any problems at all, won’t you, Emma? My boys and I are a brisk walk away."

"I think we should try to send word to Seth’s father. He must know."

Riley’s ears pricked up. What was Mum talking about? Seth's real dad had died before he was born. He and Seth had made a crude headstone along the fence of the cemetery when they were boys. The small act seemed to have helped Seth cope with his life in the headmaster's house.

His parents joined the others at the table. The doctor poured more liquor into small glasses. They sat in silence for a long moment. Private thoughts kept them silent, pushing Riley's patience to the edge.

"What do you know about him?" Doctor McFadden finally asked.

"Anne didn’t speak much about Seth’s father," Dad told them. "She did tell us once he was in the Andarian Army. Their families didn’t approve of the affair for some reason."

"Foolishness." Mum wiped at her eyes and took a rare sip of spirits. She didn't approve of drink. "Such things mean nothing once the babies start coming."

"Did Anne tell you the father’s name?" the doctor asked. "I know it wasn’t Seth. The night her son was born, I asked Anne if she would name the boy after his father. She said she'd been told to name him Seth."

"It doesn’t matter now. The boy is alone in the world. He needs his father." Dad threw back his glass and downed the liquor in one gulp.

"Very well." Emma nodded. "Anne had a confidant south of the mainland who knew about Seth's father. I’ll send word and hope she can help us."

"Eavesdropping, are we?" Paddy boomed behind Riley on the stairs. He held the scruff of Riley’s neck in his hand as they propelled into the room.

"Here now, boy!" Dad gripped at Riley’s ear. "What did you just hear? Enough, I'd wager. You listen to me, Riley. Not one word to anyone about Seth’s father. That includes Seth."

"Why? He should know his father is alive."

"Not a word to anyone. Use your head. How do you think people like the elder would take the news about Seth's father being alive, and he and Anne never married? Well, just imagine how Seth would take it and right after his mother died? Give me a chance to find out what's what first. We don't even know what manner of man Seth's father is now, do we?"

"Aye, Dad," Riley muttered, seeing the sense in it now.

"I must check on Seth." His mother patted Emma on the hand. "Get some rest. I’m here now."

His dad kept a restraining hand on Riley as his mum followed Emma up the stairs. Grief kept them to a slow pace. They all were saddened by Anne McCloud's untimely death, but Mum had lost her best friend tonight. Things would never be the same again.

"You're to stay here with Seth. Understand? You tell Paddy or the doctor if Mr. McCloud bothers Seth, won’t you?" Dad shook his head and followed his wife up the stairs. "I should have thrown the bastard off the cliff when I had the chance."

Chapter Seven

Legends spoke in quiet tones of the fall of the last great civilization inhabiting Andara. In their obsession to harness the magic of their so-called “technology,” the ancients had split the lands asunder. The world had tilted upon its side, spinning awkwardly around an angry sun. Mankind vanished from their cities as nature rebelled. Then the Creator gave the abandoned world to the Jalora and its rival, the Sarcion, to rule as they wished. Mankind returned, but in the new order their worship was demanded, not offered.

The death of the old world and the rebirth of the new left many inhospitable locations on Andara. Julian had found one such place on the rocky shores of the Northern Buells. Days away from the nearest outpost or village, these shores were safe to speak of treason. He kept his eyes out to sea, ignoring the sensation of being watched. Mighty evergreens lined the shore and stretched hundreds of miles in thick patches of green and snow. Visitors from the south rarely dared to challenge the dangers hiding behind those thick evergreen boughs. Julian and his guests were safe enough as long as they stayed out of the trees.

A massive Jackal airship anchored offshore. None of the usual shouts and scrambling by the crew announced their coming. Stealth rather than fanfare seemed to be the Jackal way. Indeed, it had approached shore without warning to catch Julian relieving himself in the waves. A masterful design in flight, the heavy ship defied gravity. The featureless hull was blanketed in sheets of heavy armor. Great guns waited for battle behind seamless shutters. This was a ship that could take down an armada.

One ebony longboat lifted over the railing of the ship and sunk low to skim over the rough waves. These brutal barbarians from faraway shores held a strange fascination for Julian. They were very different than the spoiled soldiers of Valdeon or the bumbling fools who joined the United Realm Army. One would hope men gathered from all the nations of Andara could acquire better discipline. Instead , UR soldiers spent their service swilling drink and gambling their credits. Jackal warriors, in contrast, covered their body in hard chest armor, never taking it off again until death. Long braids, soaked in the blood of their enemies, fell in twisted strands down their backs. They were fearless and unwaveringly loyal to their commander. Soon he would have an entire army of these unstoppable warriors obeying his every word.

Julian, however, well knew how dangerous it was to disappoint this new ally. His failure to capture the Lion Ring would not be well received. He kept his chin raised and arms still at his side. He was the Prince of Valdeon and the only viable heir to the throne. Justifying his actions to these barbarians was beneath him.

The longboat hovered over the rocks to anchor itself upon the beach. No one moved. Were they expecting a Prince of Valdeon to wet his feet racing to hold the longboat? He folded his arms and planted his feet harder upon the muddy shore.

A familiar blob of bald skin appeared over the bow of the boat. Whisper's impish grin widened across chubby, golden cheeks. Long fingers gripped the side and pulled his pot belly over the rim. Hovering a few feet above the rocks, the Akutarian Emissary approached Julian with excited waves.

He had first met Whisper a few years before, when Leo had still held a stifling grip upon the throne. Julian had been wandering along the coast of Valdeon to escape his father's insufferable judgment when the little creature appeared to him in his tent. Whisper had brought him a very powerful gift. Julian stroked a fingertip over his ring fondly at the memory.

"Greetings, great Prince of Valdeon." Whisper gave him a lavish bow and kissed Julian's Sarcion Ring. "I bring you gifts of welcome and friendship from my emperor."

"I return his greetings and yours, Whisper. It still is a mystery to me how he knows when I wish to meet with his emissaries."

Whisper shrugged its fat shoulders and slapped long fingers over where Julian guessed was its heart. "Think of me as my emperor's thought brought to life, Prince Julian. He created me to travel quickly across great distances to communicate his wishes."

"Your emperor must be very powerful indeed. Will I meet him soon?"

"My master cannot leave Akutar at this time, Prince, but he has sent you a gift." Whisper turned to the longboat and nodded. "He has sent you Akutar's greatest warrior to aid in your liberation of Valdeon."

A man — or at least Julian hoped it was a man — rose slowly from the center of the boat. Covered in a deep plum hood and cloak, he towered above the barbarians groveling before him. Disembarking gracefully from the vessel, he moved across the stone and mud in effortless strides. Julian resisted the impulse to step backward away from the towering stranger as he approached them. Gloved hands threw back the folds of the hood. A sharp cry choked in Julian's throat as he faced the hideous, skull-shaped metal helmet covering the man's head. Bright blue eyes trapped behind steel mesh were the only bit of flesh visible.

"You are Julian D’Antoiné, Andarian?" his gravel voice asked.

"I am. And you are?"

"I am called Lord Gorman, General of our Emperor's Army."

He stretched out a Sarcion ring in the space between them. The depths of the black jewel swayed in chaotic waves as if to absorb the hazy light of a coastal sun. Great power lived within its stone. It hung about the man in a mantel of danger. Murderer was a brand Julian wore with no regrets. He accepted what he'd done as necessary. Being in Lord Gorman's presence made him feel like an innocent again. One killer knew another. This man had taken many lives. Death walked in his shadow. He was indeed dangerous, but it didn't excuse his use of the term “our emperor.” Julian was not a subject of Akutar. It very well may be within a season he would be the new emperor of Andara. The giant before him was a servant sent from Julian's ally. It was best to remind him of the fact at the start.

"Welcome, Lord Gorman. Your emperor is most generous to send you and your men to aid me as I take my throne." Julian stepped back a pace when the steel mesh covering Gorman's eyes flash with anger

"That is not the only reason I have come, Andarian. My emperor is concerned with your lack of progress in obtaining the Lion Ring. He fears your continued failure jeopardizes our conquest of Andara. I have come to guarantee our success." Lord Gorman lowered his metal face toward Julian. "Be warned, Andarian, I have no love of your homeland. If not for my orders, I would separate your head from your shoulders and invade with brutal force. Your overly complex plan does not inspire much confidence."

"But you are under orders, so we'll be doing things my way." Julian stepped forward, coming inches away from the insufferable barbarian.

Whisper came between them in a gust of frigid air. "Come now, my lords, we are here for a common goal. His imperial majesty wants the Andarian Northlands and he is generously offering his aid to our great ally in securing the south. We must clear the way for Akutar's armada. Valdeon must be destabilized before they arrive."

"He's sent his forces? We agreed he would not move until I obtained the Lion Ring." Julian turned an angry glare upon the emissary. The Sarcion had assured him this Jackal Emperor would be a worthy ally, but it had failed to mention how hungry this foreign lord was for Andara's rich resources.

"His hand was forced." Lord Gorman grunted a humorless laugh, guttural and ugly under the mask. "We can no longer wait for your clumsy attempts to find the Lion Ring. Valdeon must be taken by force."

"That wasn't our agreement."

Julian gripped at the handle of his sword, wanting nothing more than to thrust its tip deep into Gorman's heart. Low growls began to circle them. Crimson jackals painted upon chest plates moved in threatening waves. Sword hilts pounded on metal armor as Gorman's men circled around them.

"You must listen to me." Julian slowly moved his hand away from his own weapon. "I know of another way to take the throne without Valdeonian bloodshed. Valdeon may be ruled by another if there is no lion upon the throne. The Regent Medallion gives its bearer the power of a king in the eyes of the people. When the court sees me wearing it, they must unconditionally support my ascension to the throne."

Julian had devoured every word he could find about the legendary Altar of Providence. Despite his searching, little remained from the accounts of the Regent Medallion. Worn only once by a forgotten leader, its power remained a mystery. A single entry mentioned the Crown of Sorrows had allowed this regent to place it upon his brow. It was unclear whether or not Valdeon's throne had allowed the man to touch its golden surface once he obtained the medallion's magic. Julian may never be able to sit upon its golden seat. These jackal barbarians didn't need to know the uncertainties. They were best used and then eradicated from Andara.

"Another fairy tale!"

"You must trust me. I know where the medallion is right now," Julian told him. "Those loyal to me are securing it as we speak. I have absolute confidence that I will be the Regent of Valdeon before the week is out."

Gorman's cold and unmoving metallic face managed to project his disbelief. Julian's confidence wasn't shaken. He knew exactly where this treasure rested. The Regent Medallion had gathered dust in the same cabinet for centuries. It wouldn't be missed right away. Most had forgotten its existence. He would enjoy making them remember, especially the troublesome Lords of Valdeon.

What of the medallion's magic? Have you considered its power, Prince of Valdeon?
The Sarcion whispered in his mind.

It seemed more amused than concerned. Gorman snorted in agreement. The Akutarian lord had heard their exchange. A thread of mistrust began to worm its way through Julian's heart. He stifled his irritation at the teasing.

"You warn me against tales designed to frightened children? I have no fear of ghost stories. You will see. I'll take the throne with the Regent Medallion around my neck. Valdeon will be mine, and I won't have to spill more blood to see it done."

Gorman lifted his hand and motioned behind him. Two warriors brought a bag forward and dumped it upon the sand. Julian staggered back as a man’s head rolled by his feet. The face was Andarian, possibly from one of the southern counties of Valdeon. The man’s dead eyes were bulging wide in terror.