The Lords of Valdeon (4 page)

"I don't understand it, Seth." Charlie shook his head. "You are the very devil on the back of a horse and on the ball field. But get you around a girl and you wilt like a hot-box flower."

“Not to worry.” Riley slapped Seth on the back and gave him a reassuring grin. “You’re better off. Old Alice McKenzie has her nose up in the air.”

Seth gave him a half-hearted shove. His eyes followed Alice’s bouncing blond curls down the row until she was out of sight. Well, he had found the courage at last to talk to her.

“Here comes old Fussbottom.” Riley folded his arms, letting the contempt form on his face. “What is he doing out of his cave?”

Fergus McCloud, Seth’s uncle, was the Haven Bay School headmaster. Coarse gray hair neatly bound in a short tail, black robes impeccably laundered, he was the personification of ruthless order. Seth’s father had died before he was born. Fergus took his mother in while she was still pregnant, but he hadn’t done so gracefully. Each day he found new ways to show them how much of a burden they were.

He stopped before them, hand clasping the handle of his walking stick. Shifting off of his crippled leg, Fergus remained a rigid tower of unpleasantness. The hard glare he ran over each of their number made them shrink back like they were small boys again. Seth's childhood had been spent learning to withstand the iron glare. He lifted his chin and returned the headmaster's contempt with careful indifference.

“Loafing about, are we?” His disapproving gaze landed on Seth. “I hope this doesn’t become a habit. The day when you must fend for your own livelihood comes sooner than you think."

"Yes, Uncle. You've reminded me many times."

"How very much like your father you are. He had an appetite for beauty too. It is unfortunate he allowed his interests to get the better of him. Marry young Alice if you will. Have a litter of pups while your education wastes away. Do not think of coming to me when you can't afford the roof over your heads. I will not support a loafing bum and his offspring.”

Ever the masterful artist of humiliation, his uncle had delivered a strike in Seth's most vulnerable area. He struggled to keep calm. Showing any sort of hurt or emotion to the headmaster would provide Fergus another lever to manipulate. Seth gripped the side of the buckboard and remained silent for his mother’s sake. She would be the one to suffer should he provoke the headmaster.

Fergus left them without another word. Heading toward the academic world he’d built for his own ego, he offered no greeting to his fellow Haven Bay residents in the square. The dark cloud lifted from the market to follow him.

Years of resentment exploded from Seth’s chest. Raw power ran down his arm and into his fist. Pulsing with its energy, he swung at the buckboard with all the impotent rage in his heart. The wagon lifted off its wheels and slammed to the ground, swaying until it stayed upon its side. Bits of shattered wood spilled about his feet.

“Great gulls! How did that happen?” Riley stammered.

“A wind gust?” Stan asked.

“Don’t be daft.” Jamie circled the wagon with the others. “Clearly the wheels or the axles broke, and it tipped over.”

Seth held his hand out, turning it over as he inspected the skin. It was devoid of bruising or marks. The intense feeling of fury had made him feel powerful, as if he could smash the wagon in one angry strike. Reveling in the sensation, Seth grasped at the feeling of invincible strength. For a brief, unsettling moment, he was ready to wound. His fingers gripped the air around an imaginary neck.

Any secret pleasure he held for the sensation of strength disappeared as Seth lifted his gaze. Anne McCloud stood in the row, clutching at her basket of packages. His mother's gentle face wore a trembling frown under the shade of her bonnet. Eyes accustomed to vibrant cheer now held deep sorrow as she looked upon her son.

She walked around the other boys, skirt sweeping unheeded in the dried horse droppings. Seth stayed put as she came to stand before him. His mother dropped the basket in his outstretched arms. The aroma of pastries and herbal medicines mixed into a nauseating blend.

“I’m afraid I’ll need to pull you away, Seth. This basket is much too heavy.”

"Yes, of course, Mother." He waved a hasty farewell to his friends and followed her.

Impatient autumn winds swept upward from the sea. Damp, wispy fingers tugged at Seth’s untidy mass of dark waves. Arms full with bundles of baked goods and medicine, he whipped his head against the wind. The stubborn curls would not behave. Blowing urgently at the strands falling into his amber-flecked eyes, he followed his mother down the Main Row of Haven Bay.

"The McDonald home is just ahead. Come now, Seth. We must help those who are less fortunate than ourselves, mustn't we? Mrs. McDonald has taken ill, and her poor husband has no one to help him with the little ones. We do them a kindness."

"Yes, Mother, but don't you think we should consider looking after ourselves as well?"

"I know it hasn't been easy for you, dearest, but we must stay with your uncle for a little while longer."

"Why, Mother? He doesn't want us living with him any more than I want to stay under his roof. If you'd just let me get work."

"Do you know why I endure Fergus?" She squeezed his arm. "I would do anything to see you with a good education, Seth. Don't you see how much your schooling will aid you in your future? Please, dearest, be patient a little while longer. For me?"

Seth's grip twisted at the basket's handle. He nodded curtly and began to count the thatch roofs and gray-trimmed eaves as they passed to ease his impatience. White was the traditional color marking Haven Bay from any other town in all of the Grey Cliff Isles. Sometimes he had a devilish impulse to paint one of them a fiery red.

His mother opened the little iron rod gate of the next townhouse and held it in place. The sounds of chaos reached them as they walked the short distance to the door. She raised her fist to knock, but the home's inhabitants had seen them coming. Mr. McDonald stepped outside, dragging a toddler on his leg. The newest member of the McDonald household, a tiny baby boy, was crying in his arms.

"Heaven bless you, Mrs. McCloud! Please come in."

The relief was palpable on Mr. McDonald's face. His good wife had taken ill, leaving him to care for their two small children. Unshaven with clothes wrinkled and dirty, he looked utterly defeated.

She turned to Seth with a gentle smile. "I shall be here for a time. We'll have a nice long talk later, just you and I." She kissed his cheek and took the basket from him. "Go on, now."

The little girl, still hanging on her dad's leg, kept her eyes on Seth. Then she gave him a shy smile and waved goodbye as the door closed. He shut his eyes and released his remaining anger with a long sigh. His mother was right to take care of those in need, but he wished sometimes she would show as much kindness to herself. Anne McCloud was a soldier in the battle against poverty. Nothing deterred her commitment to those who sought her care.

In a way, he was relieved her sense of mission was so strong. It would make saying goodbye easier. He'd find his own destiny away from Haven Bay and Fergus McCloud. His thoughts turned back to the strange incident with the wagon. Perhaps life on Marianna was pushing him toward madness? It was plausible. Fury had almost turned him to murder. Seth shoved his hands into his pockets. He had to leave Marianna before he hurt someone. There was no choice now.

Chapter Three

Silent wind brushed at the trampled grasses of the Ghent meadow. Its unrelenting pressure bent the blades over telltale signs of battle. Xavier De Vincente, bearer of the Wolf Ring, knelt beside a cluster of arrows jutting from the mud. The dozen or more distinct boot prints belonged to the airship crew he'd been following. Traces in the mud indicated they had walked the short distance from their landing site to attack the abbey. Yet there was no blood. The abbey's archers had missed their mark.

"It doesn't make sense, Wolf."

Rafael Cristiano — Jalora Legion uniform pressed and perfect — stood at his shoulder, staring across the empty distance at the horizon. The legendary airship captain had the honor of bearing the Fox Ring. Despite their hard journey from Valdeon, he remained the elegant naval officer.

"There's no cover. Leo would have seen the ship's mast long before they arrived. He wouldn't have been taken unaware."

Fox had landed their airship five miles to the south for that very reason. Wolf and his squad of rangers had crossed the distance at a full run, using their skills of camouflage to arrive undetected before the abandoned abbey.

"Perhaps the men sailing in our mystery ship weren't the first to arrive. Look. Their boots step around the arrows or in some cases step upon them. These prints were made after the battle was over."

Wolf came to his feet, hooking his thumbs under his belt. What bangtail mischief was this? Something, an uneasiness, crept along his spine. He lifted his augmented vision to scan the horizon. The Jalora gave its rangers many superhuman gifts. Discernment was perhaps the one he relied upon most. He remained perfectly still, allowing the Jalora's power to reach over the grassy mounds. Others felt his searching and paused in their work.

"What is it, Wolf?"

"The Jalora is unsettled." Wolf shook his head. "I can't quite see…"

A low whistle came to them upon the wind. Berto Mendoza, his second-in-command, was signaling the all clear. Wolf took a strong hold upon his uneasiness. The other rangers were already troubled. No good would come from sharing his fear. Marching across the battlefield, he joined Berto at the edge of the ruined abbey. Unlike the Fox, Berto was a man who was used to rough living. Bearer of the Jaguar Ring, he was an army officer and one of the best trackers the legion had produced. Wolf trusted Berto's judgment. There was no enemy waiting for them in the abbey.

Eager faces watched him from beneath the safety of their camouflage cloaks. The two youngest rangers entrusted to his care were still enamored by the idea of adventure. They hadn't seen battle yet, and if Wolf had his way, they wouldn't for a long while.

"No signs of life, Wolf." Berto saluted with a nod. "Even so, I don't like the feel of this place."

"Agreed. Split up and search the ruins. I'm going to check the building for any clues Leo may have left behind."

Wolf turned to catch the flicker of ash fabric as it rushed by him. Yuli the Otter and Tulio the Rabbit blinked at him with anxious eyes. Between hay and grass, they weren't out of their teens yet. He'd had to use a stern hand to keep their mischievous wanderings checked.

"Stay together. No wandering about on your own. Understood?"

"Yes, Wolf." They gave him careful salutes and darted off to the west.

A single building standing tall against a cloudless blue sky was all that remained of the abbey. Bits of old stone, knocked loose by cannon fire from battle, littered the ground about its base. The abbey was another victim of the last great war. A Jalora Master born in the royal line of D'Antoiné had walked the earth then. Much of Andara had been torn asunder upon his death. A hundred years had passed since the dark day the Jalora Master fell. His descendent, Edmund D'Antoiné the Leo, was feeling nostalgic for old family stories it would seem.

Wolf ducked inside the building, careful not to hit his head on the doorjamb. He and his countrymen were gifted with a height surpassing their Andarian brothers. It was useful in battle, but challenging when visiting neighboring countries. Stretching his senses into the building's shadows, Wolf waited for any sign of supernatural danger laying in wait. Nothing. The abbey was empty.

He walked past several mess kits left behind by their owners. Rotting food abuzz with insect life confirmed his suspicions that the battle had taken place at least two weeks prior. The evidence about him suggested these seasoned men had been surprised in the middle of a meal. Since Leo's disappearance, Wolf had heard rumors of a new enemy from a distant land possessing the power to move about Andara undetected. The Jalora Legion was unable to confirm these reports. Now it would seem they had tentative proof.

Wolf let his frustration bubble to the surface again. Valdeon's Chancellor would not embrace suspicions Julian D'Antoiné had somehow managed to ally with the unknown enemy. The bastard prince had something to do with his father's strange behavior. He was certain of it. The tragic deaths of Leo's other sons had been thoroughly investigated. Julian agreed to be questioned about their deaths. In fact, Wolf had conducted the interrogation personally. Something, however, had blocked Wolf's probing into Julian's mind. Some power he couldn't overcome had protected their primary suspect. It didn't take a great mental leap to follow the logical flow of clues. Julian was after the throne of Valdeon and was eliminating the obstacles in his way. He'd been very careful to hide his tracks. Wolf couldn't accuse the slithering little worm until he had proof.

The fragrance of orange and spices drifted toward a stone stairwell. The distinctive smell was Leo's scent, given to him by the magic of the Altar the day he was anointed king. Wolf climbed the stairs, hunching within the suffocating space. The short climb took him to a second floor hall in which a single chamber had survived the ravages of time. Inside the cramped room was a small cot with a rickety crate next to it. A single candle still stood upon the makeshift table, its wax cascading down through the boards. It wasn't suitable accommodation for a king or a Jalora bishop, but both Leo and Wolf had slept in worse environments in their service to the legion.

He gripped the silver encrusted belt hanging about his waist until the metal dug into his fingers. Releasing the belt again as his frustration eased, Wolf turned his attention to the base of the abandoned abbey. Crafted during the time of their ancestors, it had slowly fallen into rubble. Leo had managed to turn the crumbling ruin into a fortress. He was a gifted warrior and strategist — too gifted to be found unless his hunter had help.

Resting a hand on the brittle stone railing at the edge of the small patio, he breathed in the scent of sweet grass below. Rays of fading light from the setting sun shimmered into the depths of the blue stone upon his finger. The image of a wolf’s head shifted slightly to face the sun and then returned its eternal gaze back upon its ranger. He took a breath and let his hands drop to his side. It seemed all of Andara was waiting for Wolf to find Leo. He was, after all, a Lord of Valdeon and third-in-command of the Sacred Guard. Who but the elite ranger and long-time friend would their missing king turn to for aid?