Road To Shandara (Book One of The Safanarion Order) (17 page)

“Vaughn,” called Garret as he and Sarik ran up to them from the adjoining street. “Riders approach bearing the black uniform of the High King’s guard. They are accompanied by a member of the Elite Order.” As Garret said the last, the echoes of many horses approaching could be heard.

“Go find Erik and Braden quick. Sarik stay out of site and keep your bow ready,” Verona ordered turning toward Aaron who by now heard the horses and was staying in the shadows as the procession of riders began to pass. He watched Aaron’s face grow grimmer with each passing rider until he saw undeniable recognition followed by a coldness that Verona could feel across the way.

The black riders bearing the silver crest of the High King filled the square and the lively town square hushed to few lowly murmurs. The uniformed soldiers stopped in militaristic precision lining their mounts and surveying the people in the square.

“People of the town, you have among you a stranger who is wanted for crimes against the High Kings guards. We know he came this way and is still here. Turn him out and we’ll be on our way. Harbor him and I’ll order this place burned to the ground. The choice is…”

“Murderer!” Aaron sneered stepping boldly into the street his black cloak trailing behind him like a swath of midnight.

***

“What does he think he’s doing?” Vaughn gasped and Verona could only watch, stringing his bow just the same.

***

“No need to hold the town by the throat to get to me. You harbor a murderer amongst yourselves and he will feel the kiss of my blades before this day is done,” said Aaron drawing his swords stepping boldly forward. A casual breeze toyed with the fringes of his black cloak “Are you man enough to stand before
me
murderer?” Aaron taunted speaking directly to the scarred faced Rider left of the leader.

The leader looked to the rider and then back to Aaron, “You dare challenge us! Who? Form Ranks
now
! To arms men,” their leader barked.

The two figures at his side remained motionless. The men dismounted and drew their swords as one. Two archers remained in the saddle and drew their bows, arrows locked in with deadly precision.

Aaron’s eyes were locked on one of the few men still remaining in a saddle. The man’s surprise betrayed him.
That’s right you bastard, I’m coming for you.
He could still see the man’s eyes that night as he held his mother by knife point and the bold look of determination upon her face as she made her last courageous move to save his life.

None of this was supposed to happen damn it. She should be alive! I should be home!
Aaron’s muscles quaked with anticipation and a subtle irrevocable truth entered his mind.

I have no home anymore.
The thought fanned the flames of his rage.

“By my word, I will order my men to put you down should you not do as I say. Now lay down your swords. We’re not here to kill you.” The leader said.

He could still feel the heat of the fire that took his home on his face. The musky smell of ashes were stuck in the recesses of his nose.
I have no home anymore!
His predatory gaze swept the men arrayed against him and they all wore the same scarred face. They were all
that
bastard who cowardly stayed upon his horse and they would all weep in blood. Seizing the power of the bladesong he hurled out notes of rigid fury.

Arrows heaved from their bows furiously seeking their mark, but Aaron was too quick and swept them aside like toothpicks. With the power of the bladesong in him everything slowed down giving him ample time to react. The rule when outnumbered was to keep moving and keep striking to survive. Movement was life, but it was not survival he sought, but to kill. He cut through three men before they had a chance to counter. In the midst of the other men’s hesitation Aaron saw arrows take down the two archers on horseback and knew Verona was with him. Aaron plunged headlong into the remaining men whirling his blades into a vortex of death and dismemberment. Compared to the power growing within him the unenlightened men were as children and died as easily. The whisperings of countless lives filled him with their knowledge for the soul was an old vessel that could never truly die. With each life he took the fire in his blood roiled in protest. The five soldiers left alive looked fearfully at their fallen companions and threw down their weapons, running past the remaining three on horseback despite their Captain’s screams of protest.

Aaron charged. His eyes locked on the man whose face had been upon all those he had killed this day, the one who was among those that butchered his family. But before he could make contact with his mark he was swept aside by an unseen force knocking him from his feet.

“I will deal with this upstart myself,” a venomous voice rasped.

Aaron could hear mutters of Elitesman from the crowd of onlookers. As he regained his feet he told himself that what stood before him was just another man like himself nothing more and nothing less. When one makes his opponent more that what he seems he has already lost and Aaron would suffer no fear in his heart. The fire inside him yearned for the blood of the scarred man's face, but he knew that he must be wary of these Elitesman.

The Elitesman drew a slender curved black blade that appeared to be a distant cousin of a Japanese Samurai sword. Aaron brought his Falcons to bear and lashed out with a thunderous attack. If he didn't fight with all that he was then he would be dead. He moved smoothly and harmoniously, his Falcons an extension of himself, but each swing of his blades was met by the Elitesman’s blade and so the dance ensued. Banishing thoughts of victory and defeat, survival and death, he focused all his efforts on movement bringing him to a place beyond thought. And in freeing his mind he achieved a greater awareness that turned the tide of this deadly contest with the Elitesman.

Aaron began to gain on his opponent slowly driving him back in a blur of whirling blades. The Elitesman's swordsmanship, like his composure, began to unravel as the pattern of his attack became apparent. With a sudden vicious clash the Elitesman betrayed his own surprise, as a long slash appeared running across his chest. Aaron moved with a deadly patience taking the pose of the waiting dragon with his swords held like giant talons waiting to tear at his prey.

The grim faced Elitesman took his sword with both hands angling the point of his blade directly at Aaron. Blood flowed freely from the deep slash down his chest. For all their tricks he
was
just a man and he was beaten, a fact they both knew and yet he would not yield. An Elitesman embraced death like a waiting lover and charged rushing toward his fate.

Swords clashed with a wild crack of steel and the Elitesman's blade shattered into pieces. Instead of delivering the killing blow he kicked out with his leg sending the Elitesman hurdling off to the side. Aaron turned and bared down on the man whose face had been on each man he'd slain that day. The scarred face regarded him with unabashed fear and the man threw down his weapons crying out for mercy.

“I beg of you. Mercy!” The man said falling down to his knees. “Don't kill me.” He pleaded, his face crumpling in fear.

Aaron stepped forward his blood running like ice through his veins as he regarded this murderer before him. “You ask me for mercy. There was no mercy from you with a knife held to my mother's throat.” He spat and with a quick flip of his wrist a shallow cut appeared on the man's face mirroring the other scar.

“No! No! Please don't kill me. I'm sorry. I was under orders. Mercy!” The man's eyes were wild with fear as tears streamed down his face.

“You are not worthy of
mercy
,” Aaron sneered. “I have come for you as I will to all who have brought this war to my doorstep and stole those I loved.” Aaron said with his swords at the ready. His will was like iron and the vengeance gripping his heart yearned to be unleashed.

“Under whose orders were you so compelled to obey?” Braden asked coming up beside Aaron, his sword drawn as Erik materialized beside him.

The man's eyes were both fearful and defiant at the same time.

“You have but one chance before you die. Who sent you?” Demanded Aaron who was answered with a silent glare of open hatred. This man felt no remorse of which he pleaded for a moment before. Without hesitation Aaron plunged both swords through the man's chest and as the life drained out, he grabbed his shirt holding the dying man up growling as he did so. His withering glare never left the dying man's eyes, “The others will join you soon.” Aaron said coldly and roughly cast the body aside.

He turned his attention to the Elitesman who had regained his feet, if a bit wobbly. Upon seeing his approach the Elitesman plunged his hands into the depths of his robes and brought out a shimmering purple crystal. An aura of light surrounded him and he vanished.

Send my regards to your masters Elitesman.
Aaron thought bitterly.

Aaron surveyed the carnage around him. Dead men littered the street and blood was everywhere. The air stank of it. He had allowed his hunger for vengeance to turn him into a monster. The innocence within him cried out in despair from the dark corners of his mind, but his pain yearned for more. Is this what he had become? Was this the purpose for which he had been trained? His eyes swept all the dead men's faces and he saw them for what they were instead of what his rage demanded they should be. He felt soiled in such a way that no amount of washing would ever get him clean enough. His skin crawled with death. He looked down at his hands still clutching his bloody swords, the once proud blades were covered with blood. He flung them to the earth in disgust. Sinking to his knees he vomited. The rage induced tunnel vision fled and the true perception of what he had done to these men left him disgusted with himself. It was him or them a colder part of himself surmised. No, he would not condone his own actions as a mere act of survival and vowed to himself to face men as men and not what his anger demand they be.

He heard the sound of a bowstring straining with an arrow notched and he looked up from his knees to the leader of the soldiers beginning to take aim at him. Braden and Erik blocked his view by standing in front of him.

“You might want to think that move through.” Called Verona with his own arrow notched ready to take flight.

“I'm quite certain we'll get you first.” Sarik called from the rooftop of the nearest building.

The Leader released his bow and returned the arrow to its quiver. “The King shall hear of this.” He shouted turning his horse and left the town at a full gallop.

Aaron slowly got to his feet. The wave of nausea leaving him and numbness settled in. He nodded gratefully to Braden and Erik who had put their lives in harms way to defend him, a fact he would never forget. The crowd of townsfolk gathered and slowly approached.

“Brave warrior," someone said.

“Took down an Elitesman,” said another in a loud whisper.

“Who are you stranger?” The blacksmith asked.

They were all strangers to the town, but everyone knew to whom that question was directed. Aaron glanced at Verona who regarded him in silence then gave a small nod. Though Colind had strongly advised that he conceal his identity and at one time he conceded the point, but he just could not hide who he was anymore. It was not fair to those who traveled with him, nor did it feel right to himself. Never in his whole life did he have to hide who he truly was and in these dark times he refused to give his enemies that power over him. They would hunt him regardless of who knew the truth.

 
“My name,” Aaron began and the crowd leaned in seemingly of its own accord. “is Aaron Jace. Son of Patrick and Carlowen,” then in a strong voice “grandson of Reymius Alenzar’seth. I am the last of the house of Alenzar'seth of Shandara.” His eyes swept the crowd, but lingered for a moment on each of the men he traveled with, who over a short span of time he counted as friends and hoped they would remain so. Verona gave him an approving nod, but the others looked shocked. Sarik who had raced down from the rooftop turned to Garret who pursed his lips and nodded to himself.

“The Lords of Shandara have returned,” someone gasped from the crowd. “the keepers of the sacred trust have returned.”

Erik and Braden shared a brief look before going down to one knee with a fist over their heart, “By my life or death I pledge myself to the house of Alenzar'seth and the heir of Shandara as was my father's place before me.” They said in unison. “We are decedents of the De’anjard, the Shields of Shandara, our swords are yours.” Their words echoed off a stunned crowd and without exception the onlookers shouted their approval.

The cheering soon died down and Aaron looked down at the two men kneeling before him not knowing what to say.

“Please. Please get up,” Aaron said quietly. Men shouldn’t kneel before other men.

Erik and Braden rose as one and while their warrior like demeanor held a resolve to cope with whatever a harsh life saw fit to throw their way, now their eyes brimmed with hope and purpose as they had not had before. Aaron found himself face to face with Vaughn who looked fearful and shocked as his eyes darted back and forth from Aaron to Verona.

“I want to believe you,” Vaughn began the words failing to come. “Prove it.” He said simply.

It’s a fair request Aaron thought to himself and he could expect nothing less from the likes of Vaughn. He untied the laces of his shirt his eyes never leaving Vaughn’s and the dragon tattoo shimmered dancing amidst the rays of the sun under the medallion bearing his family crest.

“By the goddess,” Garret gasped. “He is Ferasdiam marked. One who is,”

“Marked by fate," Vaughn finished, “And he bears the mark of the house of Alenzar’seth the Lords of Shandara.” Vaughn said in a shaken voice fearing the truth before his eyes. “My Lord, I have wronged you. Please forgive me.” Vaughn said formally.

“No.” Aaron said firmly, “You were protecting that which matters most to you.” Aaron replied. “I would count myself fortunate to have someone such as you looking out for me. Verona kept his silence at my request.” Aaron finished, extending his hand and Vaughn shook it firmly. It was liberating to finally reveal who he was to those he wanted to trust so badly and the darkness within him retreated and even if it was only for this moment, perhaps it would be enough. The others regarded him silently, “We should go. These people are in danger as long as I am here.” Aaron said.