The Lords of Valdeon (42 page)

Leo placed a hand upon his arm, guiding him toward the bench where Dante and Riley waited. His friend was still trembling. What must he have seen when he looked upon the ancient magic? Seth sat down beside him and bumped his shoulder. Riley nodded wordlessly. He kept his eyes on the ground at his feet.

"Do you still want to be my squire?"

"Now more than ever. You need me."

His best friend slid off the bench and kneeled slowly before him. Riley lifted Seth's left hand and lowered his head toward it. He tumbled backward as the lion's head turned to regard him. Then it floated back into its resting position. Seth guessed the animal spirit approved of its new squire.

Riley came back to a kneeling position and pressed his lips against the stone of the Lion Ring. "I swear to serve you faithfully as your squire, my lord."

"I accept you, Riley Logan." Seth smiled down at his solemn friend. "Rise, squire. Rise and serve your lord."

Dante gave a great sniff and nodded with pride. "I knew this day would come, Curl Top. Now, don’t shame me."

Constable McTavish came down from the docks. His uniform was soaked in blood. One of his sleeves had been torn, and the skin beneath it was raw and bruised. Eyes filled with triumph took in Seth standing beside his father. They dropped to the Lion Ring upon Seth's hand.

"We've driven the raiders back to the Sea Steps, Ranger. Thanks to you."

"The Lion is honored to fight in your company, Constable." Leo stepped between them. "You served in the UR Army, yes? I call you to service now. The Lion must be taken to safety. You will tell no one of his whereabouts tonight until we are safely off the island."

"You have my word." Constable McTavish bowed again. An odd sense of devotion rather than fear was in the constable's countenance. He gave Seth a quick grin and then left them.

Devotion or fear. The Lion Ring certainly polarized people. He touched a fingertip to the lion's head within the stone of his ring. He'd hoped all the answers he'd sought would be revealed after he became the ring's bearer. Each answer, however, fostered more questions.

The euphoria of battle faded, leaving Seth drained and somber. The others joined him in his silence as they walked back to the farm. They would be traveling soon, the four of them. Seth had a thousand questions for his father, but they would wait until sunrise. Perhaps he could convince Leo to wait until the morning to leave Marianna. He just wanted to sleep in the comfort of a real home.

The farm was engulfed in rain and darkness when they reached the top of the little hill. A cheery fire and warm food would soon chase the damp out of their bones. They crossed the muddy yard, and Seth hurried up the wet steps onto the porch. He reached for the door. Leo gripped his wrist. He lowered the small beam of lantern light, exposing muddied boot prints disappearing under the door. A stranger awaited them in the dark emptiness of the farmhouse.

Leo's sword pulled free from its scabbard. He nodded, and Dante swung the door open. It struck the wall with a boom. Wet and stray bits of leaves blustered inside. Some of the rolling leaves fell upon a man's boot. A candle flashed to life. Fergus McCloud’s face glared at them in the low candlelight. Raw hatred burned within the headmaster's eyes. Gone were the walking stick and the limp it once pretended to aid. A lean, agile body with two good legs stepped forward to meet them.

"Edmund D’Antoiné, you should have stayed dead."

"Fergus McCloud, so you call yourself now." Leo spat at the headmaster's boots. "Time and weather have scarred you, Pavel Sandor, but hatred has made my vision clear."

"Your slow wit finally serves you."

Fergus's perfect articulation had transformed into a heavy Tslavian drawl. Who was this man Seth had spent his childhood fearing? He'd slept under the headmaster's roof, eaten his food, and listened to him read lessons many a night. How could this same man be a murderer?

"You have put the Lion Ring upon your half-breed finger, I see, whelp." Sandor shook his head. "It was a foolhardy decision, I'd say. The bastard prince will come for you now."

"Speak to my son again without my permission, and they will find the pieces of your flesh scattered in the fields!"

"The famous Lion temper." Sandor let an ugly grin spread across his face. "Do you not have the slightest curiosity which of your loyal rangers turned traitor to hide this boy on Marianna? He is Valdeonian, naturally. I'm sure he'll be in touch soon."

"My son is with his father now. This traitor will answer for what he has done." Leo gently pushed Seth away and lifted the tip of his sword toward Sandor. "Let’s finish this, Sandor, I grow weary of you."

Sandor stood slowly to meet Leo. They stared at each other for what seemed like an endless and bitterly cold age. Then Sandor pulled his sword in a deadly burst of steel. Leo anticipated him and raised his blade to block the death blow.

"Out of the way, boys." Dante gripped Seth and Riley by the arm. "This has been a long time coming."

Dante hurriedly ushered them toward the corner of the kitchen. The old squire put his hand firmly on Seth's chest in warning. He grabbed the kitchen table and overturned it. Riley helped him slide the table to the corner. They placed it in a barrier position. Dante drew his sword and stood between Seth and the fighting men. They were treating him like a helpless child when less than an hour hence he'd sent the Amity raiders scurrying back to the sea.

Steel slammed against wood as another deadly attack from Sandor missed its mark. He was skilled with a blade and nearly a match for Leo. Seth gripped at the stone glistening on his finger. The battle would have been over before it began if the Lion Ring were still upon his father’s finger. Spinning and lunging, their deadly dance drew blood from both combatants. Seth could do nothing but wait for the outcome.

Sandor lunged. Leo twisted into his body, slapping the blade out of his hand. Stabbing his enemy in the shoulder with a short thrust, his father came back into the First Stance. He pressed the sword's tip against Sandor's throat.

"You won’t murder me in cold blood, Ranger."

Leo leaned closer to Sandor. His words were slow, deadly. "I am no longer a ranger."

Terror grew in the assassin’s eyes. Death was coming for him. Seth leapt over the table and pushed past Dante. He stood beside his father and placed his hand carefully on Leo’s sword arm.

"No, Father." Seth moved between them. "I know you have the right to kill him after what he’s done, but he is known as another man here. You won’t find justice on Marianna. I don’t want to lose you again. Let me take him to the constable, or we can see him to the high court in Larkspur ourselves."

"You show your weakness, half-breed filth." Sandor spat at Seth's boot.

"Weakness? No. It's taking every last bit of will I have not to kill you myself, murderer. You took my mother from me, but I won't stand by and let you take my father as well."

Leo’s eyes found his own. The anger and hatred melted. He lowered his sword with a smile. Then he twisted his body with a speed worthy of any ranger and slammed a fist into Sandor's face. The man collapsed to the floor.

"My son has spared your life, thief of my happiness. Surrender, before my sword raises again."

Sandor took his hands away from his bleeding nose and lifted them in surrender. Then, with a serpent's speed, the villain rolled onto his feet and bolted out the door. Seth didn't give chase. The man had helped raise him, kept him fed, and educated him. Sparing his life would be payment in full for his past.

"He won't get far," Leo said. "So much like your mother. You have a good and honest heart."

Leo’s gaze was drawn to something behind Seth's back. He turned, but saw only empty space in the dark window. His father continued to stare out the glass for a brief moment. Deep loss was upon his face. Clearly forcing a smile, he gripped Seth's arm and led him away from the window.

"Dante, we cannot leave Emma in Sandor’s house after all her kindness to Anne and my son. Help Seth fetch her."

"Yes, Edmund, I'll take the Cub in the morning."

"No, you must do it tonight, while Sandor's wounds are still fresh." Leo took Dante's arm with his other hand. "It will be quicker with three. Riley, keep an eye on Seth for me? Make sure he stays safe, yes?"

"Of course, Leo. I promise. Do you think there’s time to stop by the farm and say goodbye to my family, sir?"

"Perhaps on the way back."

His father kissed Seth on the forehead again. Gentle fingers lingered upon his cheek. Something was wrong. Seth’s heart told him so. Despite his foreboding, he found himself on the lane waving goodbye to his father anyway. He chanced a look at Dante, whose lips had tightened in a frown. The old squire sensed it too.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Dung and damp. In all Julian's wild imaginings of his final moments with his father, he'd never guessed the end of their match would come in such a dreary place. A woolie farm was not the setting for a once great King of Valdeon to meet his end. Then again, Leo had chosen his fodder-filled bed. He could die in it.

A head blocked the light in a corner panel of the kitchen window of the farmhouse. His spy sunk back down slowly into a crouch. Julian's finger tapped impatiently upon the hilt of his sword as the man moved silently back through the shrubs toward his waiting entourage. This was it. The end of his searching and the end of the stinging nettle in his heart. Leo's time would soon be over.

The spy, dropping to his knees upon the ground, shifted his eyes to Julian’s boots. "He is there, my lord prince. I could not hear what was said, but there appears to be a disagreement of some sort."

The door of the farmhouse slammed open and a man in black robes staggered out. Julian and his men remained absolutely still as he ran past them toward the backward little town. It appeared some unfortunate woolie farmer had angered Leo and had gotten the worst in the exchange.

Three more figures exited the shack and walked purposefully up the hill. One of them was the Lion’s squire. Faithful to the last. The old fool. He prodded two teen boys up the path before him. One was a fiery haired woolie farmer whose pale skin glowed in the darkness. The other was a taller boy with dark hair. Something in his manner seemed vaguely familiar. He didn't carry himself like a farmer.

"It’s Dante De Vincente, my lord. Shall we kill him and the boys?" Marcellus drew his weapon with hungry glee.

Julian eyed his butchering friend with a sigh. Marcellus’s fetish for bloodshed would bring the entire woolie-dung-infested island to gather at this secluded farm. Nothing must ruin this moment, not after all his planning and pain to stage the raid upon their town.

"No. Dante is nothing. Let him go and settle whatever argument took place tonight. It was most likely a silly disagreement about wages and none of our concern. The Lion's squire will return to their hovel and find he has failed his lord."

Julian stepped out of the trees and onto the path. He didn't bother with stealth. Leo would know he was coming. Motioning for Marcellus and the others to remain where they were, he walked without hiding toward the farmhouse. Years of frustration and waiting had finally brought him to this moment, yet he hesitated at the door.

You lose your nerve now when the Lion Ring is within our grasp? Have you forgotten your desire to bear the crown? Think on your people, Julian. They need their king.

"I have forgotten nothing. You will forgive me for needing a moment. I go to murder my father, after all."

He grasped the handle and threw the door open. Edmund D’Antoiné was standing in the center of the tiny kitchen, sword in hand. The old ranger was still cunning though age had slowed him. Gone was the Jalora's mask of serenity. Raw emotion shone upon his father's face for the first time in more years than Julian had been upon the Erthe.

"Hello, Father." Julian looked around at the tiny farmhouse cluttered with cheap housewares. "Interesting choice of lifestyles. I hadn’t guessed you would pretend at farming, nicely done."

"Do not call me father, bastard child. My true son and heir is beyond your reach. He bears the Lion Ring now."

It was true then. Leo had spawned a half-breed babe with his Tslavian whore, and the Jalora had accepted him. He hadn't wanted to believe such a disgusting lie at the word of the stranger in his chambers. Perhaps the Jalora had gone mad out of desperation. No one would accept such an abomination or allow him to take the Lion Seat. If not for Gorman's incessant talk about invasion, Julian was tempted to allow this young Lion to try taking the Crown of Sorrows. The Valdeonian people would assassinate him before the day was out.

"Where is the unlucky young man? I'm afraid I'm rather in a hurry and will be forced to take the Lion Ring from him."

His father's face was stone. "Many warned me against keeping you, my queen's bastard child. I see now I should have listened to them. You've inherited her dark heart."

Keeping his bitter words in check, Julian moved back to the door. Four hungry Dirge hovered upon the threshold, their song already coming in low tones. His fifth Dirge waited upon their ship, keeping any ambitious Amity raiders from betraying their word.

"Don’t look so unhappy, Leo. You’ll be with your Tslavian cow soon."

Julian hurried out of the farmhouse as the Dirge's song grew louder. Marcellus and his men were waiting for him beside a hovering dinghy. Julian climbed onto the little vessel, turning his face away from the howls inside the farmhouse. Marcellus sat beside him and gave the order to fly.

"You aren’t going to watch, my prince?"

"A young Lion bears the ring. Once I find him, we can return to Valdeon in triumph."

Once the Heir is dead, you mean.

"Precisely."

This half-breed boy wasn't a Jalora ranger yet. He wouldn't receive his full powers until his naming and entry into the legion. The creature was practically helpless. He would be easily defeated. Julian's tension eased a bit. The Lion Ring would be his this time. He'd killed two other brothers. One more wouldn't weigh too heavily upon his conscience.