The Lords of Valdeon (5 page)

Leo had come to him in secret during the darkest hour of the night a year earlier. He'd been injured. Wolf remembered the steady stream of blood dripping in the nursery of his hacienda in San Rudalfo. Angered their king would endanger his family by leading an enemy to their door, Wolf had not greeted him warmly. Leo's mysterious behavior, his long absences, and disregard for his duties had driven a rift between the two of them. Indeed, Julian's unchecked behavior had pushed their families to the brink of open bloodshed.

Wolf and Leo argued, but the king kept his secrets close. Turning to leave, Leo had called Wolf an “Oath Breaker” and disappeared into the orchards surrounding Wolf's home. The Lion had not asked for help after that night. He'd kept his distance from his comrades, hiding in lonely places like this abbey. Wolf lowered his eyes to the rocks below. Guilt and shame were constant reminders of his dishonor. He had spoken to no one of his argument with Leo. Not even his wife, Dulcina.

A flash of ash cloak alerted Wolf the Lords of Valdeon had not been idle while he looked for Leo’s chamber. Impatient youth. Wolf’s mind drifted to the rest of the Sacred Guard. In his early forties, he was the eldest among them and had become their leader in Leo’s absence. The young Lords of Valdeon were impressive in their skills, but at times like these Wolf wished for the company of his old comrades again.

During the time of the first Jalora Master, Mikel D'Antoiné, nine Valdeonian men made an oath to the Jalora. They and their heirs would lay down their lives protecting the Altar of Providence. It had been his deepest honor to bear the Wolf Ring upon his finger. He'd gladly taken up the oath that so many of his forefathers had kept before him.

One among the Sacred Guard had forsaken his duty. Esteban, brother to the king and bearer of the Hawk Ring, broke the code and was banished from Valdeon. His whereabouts were still a mystery. Now Leo had abandoned his people too. Seven of the Sacred Guard remained, but could they save Valdeon from civil war without the Lion?

He turned back into the room to find Cardinal Dragon regarding him from the doorway. Short white hair clung tightly to his sweaty scalp. The neatly trimmed beard contained evidence of his last quick meal. Peppered with mud and filth, the ash tunic and trousers of his uniform reflected the hard travel he'd endured reaching the abbey. Eight hundred years had passed since Mikel and the Sacred Guard had served. Many Heart of the Warrior rings joined their numbers over the centuries to form a powerful force. Seeing the leader of the Jalora Legion disheveled gave Wolf a momentary shiver of foreboding.

"We've found Leo's missing followers. Their bodies had been dumped in an old gravel pit a few miles to the south. They were tortured and then beheaded." Dragon kept his expression perfectly blank. Those intelligent, knowing eyes regarded Wolf with expectation. "We've been able to find Leo thus far, because of the bond you share."

"What are you asking, Dragon?"

"I must know if Leo was taken by these villains. If the Lion Ring is lost, the legion must be prepared for the worst."

"Very well, I will try."

Wolf turned his attention back to the few belongings Leo had left behind. Sometimes the Jalora would grant him insight if he kept his mind peaceful and focused. He rested a hand upon the pillow and closed his eyes. Images and impressions of his missing king began to form. Residual memories of Leo, sharing a meal and conversation with his companions, danced across Wolf’s mind. The images moved faster, finally stopping at a memory of Leo holding a letter. Wolf saw his tears of grief and felt Leo’s intense need to flee. Then the images evaporated, leaving him no closer to Leo’s whereabouts than he had been before.

"The Jalora has shown you something, Wolf." The commander of the Jalora Legion came to join him beside Leo’s cot.

"Yes." Wolf nodded, failing to keep the disappointment from his voice. "Leo was here a few weeks ago. He is still fleeing from those who would take the Lion Ring."

"Why? Why hasn’t he asked for aid from the legion?" Dragon rubbed at his dirtied beard. "If the Lion Ring is lost to evil, our world will crumble. He puts all of Andara in jeopardy."

The Lion Ring was the key to the Jalora's power on Andara. If it was taken and overpowered by evil, then the Jalora's power would fade from the Altar of Providence. Every ranger in the legion would lose his extraordinary skills. They'd be helpless in the face of impending evil. The raw guilt twisted in his heart again.

"The Jalora will not abandon us. We must trust its wisdom. Leo received a letter which caused him to flee this fortress. I can only hope it is the answer to what he seeks."

"A letter," Dragon whispered absently.

The silence erupted in a thunderous roar, reverberating against Wolf's skull like cannon fire. He fell from the cot to his knees, slapping his hands over his ears. Deafening in its intensity and painful in its sorrow, Leo’s death cry shattered Wolf’s being. He cried out in pain and grief. His own cries were soon joined by others sharing his bond. The Lords of Valdeon were the Sacred Guard, bound in body and soul to protect the Altar of Providence. When one of them died, the others felt the pain as well.

Dragon helped him to the cot and took Wolf’s face in his hands. "What has happened? Tell me."

"It's Leo." Wolf sucked in a miserable breath. "He has passed from the world. The Lion Ring is black with death."

"The ring? Where is it?" Dragon gripped his face harder.

He let his hands fall away when Xavier shook his head. Dragon stood away from him. He closed his eyes, but opened them soon after.

"The Jalora will not answer my pleadings." He leaned his back against the wall, turning pale and sick. "Lost, the Lion Ring is lost."

Rafael the Fox fell into the room. His handsome features mirrored Wolf’s own grief and horror. "Sir?"

Wolf stood, projecting absolute confidence to his much younger guardsmen. "Have our ship ready to depart immediately. We must return to San Leonora, before news of Leo’s death causes civil war. And Fox, we don't have four days to waste in the air. Drain the last crystal in the ship's engine if you must. Get us to San Leonora in all haste."

Fox saluted and darted out the door. The other rangers called after him as he ran. Wolf's grip tightened upon the cot. The Lords of Valdeon were still boys. They should not have to carry this burden Leo had placed upon their shoulders. It was up to Wolf to lend them his strength. He kept the confidence wrapped around his being like armor.

"I don’t know why the Jalora remains silent, Dragon, but I still have faith it will not abandon us."

"The legion is at your disposal. Any assistance you need, we will make our top priority."

Wolf nodded his thanks. Forcing his trembling legs to obey, he moved toward the door. Above all else, he must be there to support the Chancellor of Valdeon and protect the Altar. They were weakened now, exposed to their enemies. Edmund's death could not be hidden once the court saw the Orb of Valdeon black and lifeless. Using the magic of the Ancients, the Crown of Sorrow had left Edmund's brow the moment the Lion Ring was severed from his life force. It's silver would be gripped tightly once more in the golden jaws of the lion's head within the throne. Such omens could not be mistaken. Watchful traitors were keen to strike. They'd be disappointed in their treachery. The Lords of Valdeon were duty bound to stop them just as they had been since the first rings were forged.

The weight of his new responsibility settled into a permanent ache at his temple. In all of Valdeon's history, the bearer of the Wolf Ring but served. Now with Leo dead and his worthless brother the Hawk banished from San Leonora, leadership of the sacred guard fell to Wolf. The people of Valdeon looked to him to keep their society at peace and stem the tides of civil war. Somehow he would see his duty done. The Jalora would not abandon them. He had faith its wisdom would see them through tragedy.

He cast one last look at Leo's meager possessions. Why? What could be so important to Edmund D'Antoiné that he'd been willing to risk his life and his country to hide? Wolf turned his back on the mystery. Leo's reasons didn't matter anymore. Their king had passed from the world. He and his secret pain were beyond them now. The Lords of Valdeon had their duty to perform, and they would see it done.

Chapter Four

The tiny island of Marianna stabbed the ocean's surface as if a gigantic hand had thrust it into the waters. No beaches or cheerful harbors gave welcome to visiting ships from faraway places. Sailors delivered supplies to the inhabitants of Haven Bay at its three-berth airship port. They loaded their holds with woolie wool and left again as quickly as they could. No man wanted to be stranded in the middle of a desolate ocean with no escape. Seth sat upon his isle pony at the southernmost point of the island. He understood well the desire for escape. Once free, he'd never return.

The angry ocean struck impotently against the immovable cliff a thousand feet beneath him. Rabid foam swirled against the rock. Its frothy body was quickly sucked under by the dangerous undertows surrounding the island. The chaotic and endless battle perfectly reflected Seth's mood.

"Easy, Nan." He patted the isle pony's neck to reassure her.

The amber within his eyes burned as he stared into the horizon. Endless water met thin gray clouds over an orange sunset. No one knew what waited across the water. Many believed the continent of Andara and its island neighbors were the last inhabitants of Erthe. Seth wasn't sure. Sometimes, when he came to Land's End and closed his eyes, he could hear a voice upon the breeze. It called to him in soft words he couldn't quite understand. Perhaps it was his future calling? Anything would be better than the dull, endless days trapped on Marianna.

He brushed a stray bit of chestnut hair from his eyes. It had escaped the tie of his neatly arranged ponytail again. He let his hair fall onto his shoulders with an impatient tug. Nan shifted beneath him, sensing his stormy emotions. Leather reins circled tightly around his other hand as the animal tried to pull away. He lifted the material under his nose. The long tether had a musky smell.

Seth smoothed his sweating palms on his knee-length trousers. The toes of his boots dug into the stirrups. This was utter madness, but a little madness was what he needed.

"Yah!" he cried and spurred Nan forward.

Creamy white ribbons of fine horse mane streaked on the wind, taking on a silver shine as they caught the light of the setting sun. Seth laced his numb fingers through the white hair and spurred the animal on faster. He guided the pony closer to the cliff’s edge. Mist from the water rose slowly up the base of the perilous cliff. Sometimes if the air was cold enough, the mist could reach up to the grassy fields, making clouds. Today the autumn air held a chill to it, coating the wet grass with a thin layer of frost. Nan’s footing stayed true despite the slickness of the misty ground.

Hair whipping wildly about him, he breathed deeply. The exhilaration made him lightheaded. It was almost enough to chase away intrusive thoughts. Reluctantly, he steered Nan away from the edge and slowed her to a trot. They were drawing nearer to civilization. Paddy's Pub and Inn was up ahead. Beyond its door the Marianna Militia would be standing guard upon the Lookout. Racing along the cliffs was against the law. Seth had been warned before against what the constabulary called “reckless behavior.”

Nan flicked her ears toward the inn. Seth pulled up on the reins, bringing her to a stop. He heard it too. The distant whinnies and jingles of harnesses signaled fellow travelers just ahead. A carriage was parked upon the row next to Paddy's. It was one of Mr. Morgan's rigs. Someone had spent a fair bit of money to take it out.

The inn's door swung open with a boom. Anne McCloud and their housekeeper, Emma, hurried down the steps. His mother's frame was dwarfed under a heavy shawl of green and red. He'd given it to her many years before as a birthday present. She lovingly took care of the hideous garment, wearing it often. In her haste to reach the carriage, she allowed mud to splatter upon the cloth.

Seth's uncle leaned against the carriage, supporting his crippled leg. He banged his walking stick upon the ground with a violent rhythm. As headmaster of the Haven Bay School, his uncle was used to bullying those weaker than himself. Anne and her son had endured years of his angry tirades.

The headmaster grabbed his mother’s arm, pulling her roughly down the hill toward a small grove of trees. Emma hurried after them, her hands clasped together in a pleading gesture. The headmaster's temper and belligerent tone were legend around Marianna. Many claimed they would throw him off the cliffs if it weren't for his popular sister, Anne.

Fergus had struck Seth once when he was a small child. The men of Haven Bay had been bent on killing the brute. Seth had pleaded for his uncle's life that day. His defenders relented, but they did leave Fergus with a warning. His crippled leg was courtesy of their family friend and protector, Thomas Logan.

Spurring Nan forward, Seth jumped down off the pony as soon as they reached the hill. He guided her to an old tree beside the road. Loud voices broke through the thin branches, pulling away his attention. Worried his uncle would forget the circumstances in which he'd gotten his crippled leg, he tied Nan's reins to a branch and hurried into the trees.

Emma stood at the edge of the small grove, sobbing into her apron. Her body leaned weakly against a decaying tree trunk. Strands of gray hair wilted away from the bun atop her head. She cried harder when she noticed Seth. Reaching a hand toward him, Emma's eyes pleaded for him to stop.

He pushed through the branches thick with autumn colors, moving quickly into the small clearing. His uncle loomed over his mother like a black-robed specter of death. Fergus's coarse, gray hair — normally tidy — had come loose to float about him in whipping strands. Wild eyes shifted from his sister to the trees. The rough hands gripping Anne's arms shook violently.

His mother stood in the wet grass, holding a shaking hand to her bleeding mouth. Her long, dark hair had come out of the tight bun. It danced in the wind like a wild horse, freed from the rope of constraint. Anne McCloud wasn’t crying or cowering. She glared back at her tormentor, strong and defiant.