The Lords of Valdeon (8 page)

Marianna had stood unpopulated for many centuries. Seafaring vessels could not find a safe haven from the turbulent ocean surrounding the little island. The cliffs were impossible to scale. It was the mastery of air travel that finally conquered the little island's difficult shores.

Many people, tired of the booming population of Cliff Bench on Larkspur, had volunteered to colonize the little island. Haven Bay had hired Seth’s uncle to organize a school just before he'd been born. Fergus had agreed. He'd left Horner Isle with his pregnant sister to colonize the one-town island with the rest of the hearty souls out for a new start.

Tiny lights flickered in the windows of Haven Bay as Seth mounted the last grassy knoll. The residents of Haven Bay were all at their suppers by now if they weren't hiding from the raiders in their homes. He clutched at his rumbling belly. A hot meal and some of Emma's nettle ointment for his cuts would see him right again.

He hobbled down the footpath, passing the Haven Bay School on his way toward town square. It was the only building in Haven Bay made from real stone. Stories still circulated around town about the headmaster and his treasured schoolhouse. Somehow Fergus was able to convince a crew of wayward sailors into chiseling pieces of the cliff side away. He used most of it for the tall building. The rest went to make the Lookout and the base of the airship port.

The school’s solid frame towered over Seth as he hurried around the corner to the Main Row. Its empty windows watched as he passed, judging his worth. Resentment filled his heart. He hated each and every cold stone. The headmaster's office window was dark. His uncle had already returned home . He looked down at his bloodied shirt. Perhaps his uncle would postpone the usual angry tirade once he noticed Seth bleeding? The thought cheered him a little.

His mother would have her own words to say to him. She'd been waiting for him all this time and was probably worried by the alarms. He hadn't wanted to believe her words spoken in anger. The Dagger and his raider friends had changed Seth's mind for him. Passing through the small garden of fading flowers, he jumped over the stone bench and pushed through the little iron rod gate leading to the residential neighborhood. The McCloud home was the last house on the row.

"Mother? Emma?" Seth called, closing the door behind him. No answer. That was strange. Mother had told him she was coming home to pack her things. Perhaps she had gone to the Logan Farm instead?

Seth pushed through the kitchen door to find Emma. She had heard everything and would know what the argument was about. Someone had to explain why his world had suddenly fallen into chaos.

Their well-ordered kitchen was empty. Copper pots rested unused upon their hooks. The kettle sat cool on a dead fire. Seth backed away from it. The world may have been topsy-turvy, but his stomach still expected supper. He pulled day-old bread and cheese from the cupboard. After eating a quick meal, he filled the basin. Soapy water washed away the stench of ash and blood.

Emma's medicines were kept on a high shelf in their pantry. She'd been anxious to keep them out of 'little hands' when Seth was a child. Now they stayed where they were out of habit. He grabbed the jar of nettle ointment and sniffed its contents. Crinkling his nose, he dipped his finger in with a grimace. The ointment stung when he rubbed it into his cuts. They weren’t deep and the bleeding had stopped, but that didn’t diminish their throbbing. Perhaps in the morning someone would actually notice he had been wounded in battle.

He let the satisfied grin come. The struggle had been frightening, but oddly exhilarating. Seth’s daydreams were full of adventurous deeds. Tonight, he had been the hero he had always wanted to be. He couldn’t wait to tell Riley.

Seth climbed the stairs to his bed chamber. Pulling off his tattered clothes, he winced as the fabric brushed against the knife cuts on his chest and arm. Fresh clothes had been laid out for him on top of a traveling trunk. His mother hadn't been idle that evening either. She'd emptied his wardrobe.

Floorboards squeaked down the hall in his mother’s bedchamber. He replaced the board and put the table back. Easing out of his chamber, he tiptoed out into the hallway. A sudden movement cast shadows over the small band of light coming from under her door.

"Mother? Why didn’t you answer me earlier?"

He tapped lightly on the door and pushed it open. Interrupted in her packing, his mother's things had been strewn about in piles of chaotic clutter. Her trunk was open, dresses and her cloak had been scattered upon the floor next to it. Anne McCloud lay on the bed wearing her best gown. Her dark hair streamed across the fabric. The glossy wood of her treasured Valdeonian guitar rested upon her chest. His mother’s face was pale and her lips were an odd blue color. Something was clenched in her cold hand. Seth moved to her side with unsteady legs. His own hand reached for her dead fingers, prying away a tiny glass vile. Eyes locked upon her blue lips, he put the vile in his pocket and sat down in the rocking chair across from the bed.

The bedchamber door slammed shut. Seth turned in a slow daze at the noise. Standing beside his mother’s wardrobe was the Dagger. His thick cloak opened exposing a naked sword. The blade twisted slowly in its master’s hand.

"I underestimated you, boy. You escaped those bumbling idiots with just a few scratches. Let me guess, you rescued the girl as well. Of course you did. It’s in your half-breed blood. You can’t help but play the hero."

"Did you do this to my mother?" Seth managed to stand.

"Your mother married outside her race and then came you." He spat upon the floor between them. "I’ve watched this house for years. Anne grew more unhappy each day. You were such a burden for her."

"No. You're wrong. She loved me." Seth shook his head. "We're leaving together."

"What a fool you are, boy. Do you honestly think either of you would be welcome? Who do you think sent me here? Your family wants you dead." The blade's tip lifted until it was level with Seth's chest. "I have given your mother peace. Now I can finally be rid of you."

Seth yelped when his mother’s dead hand brushed against his own. Anne McCloud had been a kind and loving woman. He had no doubts in his heart about her feelings toward her son. It was the only thing he didn't doubt now.

"I had hoped to make your mother’s death look like suicide, but you’ve necessitated a change to my plans. How shall I finish the job, I wonder? The sword? No, we don’t want that fool of a constable to suspect foul play." The Dagger’s masked face tilted until the white blade was at an awkward slant. "What a tragedy for the crippled old headmaster! He comes home to find his household struck down by a mysterious illness. What a pity. Poor man."

Reaching his gloved hand inside the dark folds of his cloak, the Dagger pulled out a small vial matching the one hidden in Seth's pocket. A sickly green liquid splashed inside as he shook it gently. Such a small concoction, yet it had utterly ruined his life.

"The mastery of poisons is a proud tradition in my family. Century upon century we have developed the skill of assassination to an art form. I am their finest son." He lifted up the tiny vial, examining it fondly like a master craftsman. "This gem is very special. The Tslavian hillside beside my home is the only place this rare and deadly plant grows. It was once called ‘Love’s Bonnet’ until my great, great grandmother discovered its deadlier purpose. She first used it to seek revenge upon her faithless lover. Ah yes, this special plant is now called, ‘Devil’s Cape.’ One simply must pluck the young leaves off the plant before it flowers, mash them, and boil slowly until you have this concoction. Of course the real trick is not poisoning yourself by touching the juices."

The dark mask lowered to fix upon Seth once more. "Your mother was well versed in its use."

Seth’s eyes were irresistibly drawn back to the woman he thought he knew. She had been a tireless supporter of the poor and a friend to every soul on Marianna. The thought of her creating such an awful substance was inconceivable.

"Now drink this like a good boy."

"Never! You’ll have to use your sword, murderer."

"Aren’t we full of ourselves. Do you imagine yourself to be a warrior now simply because you fought off raiders?"

He flew at Seth, throwing him to the floor. Air rushed out of his lungs in a painful burst. Struggling for breath, Seth was helpless to prevent the killer from pinning his arms. The Dagger pressed his knee down hard upon Seth’s chest. He was forced to take a hand away from Seth's arms as he popped the top off the vial. Seth gagged. The poison smelled of dying flower petals and rotting fruit. He clamped his mouth shut and turned his head away.

"Now, be a good boy and open your mouth."

Desperate to break free of the killer's grip, Seth thrust his body upward, throwing the Dagger off balance. He slammed his free fist into his attacker’s side and pushed at the man’s body. They rolled along the cold floor until Seth found himself pinned again.

"One last show of spirit!" He jabbed Seth in the midsection with a lightning blow. His mouth involuntarily opened as he gulped for air. The Dagger's hand slammed Seth's head against the floor and poured the murderous liquid into his mouth. It tasted bitter, almost like berries that weren’t quite ripe. His tongue and throat began to burn. He tried to spit the poison out, but the Dagger held firm. His killer pulled away at last. Seth turned onto his stomach, vomiting the nasty liquid out of his body. The floorboards began to swirl and blur beneath him.

"Try as you might, D’Antoiné, death comes for you and your house."

Power thundered into the room with the force of a savage storm. Its large gray body slammed into Seth's killer, propelling him across the room. The Dagger's body disappeared from Seth’s blurring vision behind the wall of gray. Angry flashes of red and gold hues crackled around the new stranger's body. When he finally spoke, the walls of the room shook under the power of his voice.

"Sandor, you fool! We had an agreement. I need this boy."

"Anne!" Emma's sobs lifted the haze about his heart. It was true. His mother was dead and he would soon join her.

"The boy, woman! See to the boy. Are we in time?"

Insistent fingers pushed at Seth’s throat, then moved to his face. They gripped a clump of his curls, forcing Seth’s head back and a cup to his lips. A nutty fragrance mixed with the scent of dried herbs made his stomach lurch. He tried to pull away.

"Drink it, Seth." Emma forced his mouth open again. He swallowed the bitter liquid. Then he fell back on the floor, coughing as the burning in his throat grew worse.

"Will he live?" the new stranger asked.

"We reached him before the poison stopped his breathing. There’s still a chance he’ll survive."

"How many will thank you, woman?" The Dagger's blurry body came to join them.

"This boy has grown dangerous, though his mother tried to hide it. Don't deny you feel the power radiating about his body. It has drawn out his temper. One can only imagine what he’ll be capable of when he reaches his seventeenth year in a few months’ time." The Dagger turned to the stranger. "I've grown weary of this island, ranger. You cannot expect me to continue to languish."

"Be grateful you still draw breath after betraying me! You will continue to watch over this boy until it is time. I found you once, Pavel Sandor, don’t think I won’t hunt you again. Now do what you do best. We need everyone to believe the raider trash is responsible for this mess."

Strong, rough hands lifted Seth's torso off the floor until he was sitting up. His head fell on his rescuer’s chest. The proximity brought the patch on the man’s uniform into focus. Embroidered into its shape was a golden sword stretching over a bright star. The words “Jalora Legion” had been sewn in crimson. He was a ranger, and someone Emma knew well enough to run to for help. More lies and secrets. What else had they hidden from him? What other dark secrets would he discover about the woman who bore him?

"Mother!" Seth screamed.

"She’s dead, boy," the ranger told him. "You still live."

"Will you summon the Sacred Guard then?" Emma asked.

"No. I will come for him at the appointed time. You must resume your normal lives as best you can until my return."

The ranger lifted Seth over his shoulder as easily as if he were a small sack of flour. His body bounced weakly when they descended the stairs. Emma hurried after them, staying close to the ranger's back. His mother's killer didn't follow.

"You must keep him alive."

"Yes, it will be as you say," she told him.

Seth reached out his hand to her. "Emma, who am I?"

"Hush, boy." she rested her hand upon his head. "You’re very ill. The masked man and the Ranger are only dreams."

Seth shook his head, gripping the ash cloak. They were not dreams. They were nightmares. The image of his mother’s dead face swirled before him. She'd left him with no answers or explanation.

Chapter Six

Riley Logan dug his feet into the ooze. His bright blue eyes glared at the insistent mouths surrounding him. He gripped the pitchfork tighter, trying to keep from slipping on the dung underneath his boots. It was a difficult job to remain standing in the middle of a herd of hungry woolies. The sheep bumped and charged at him as they fought to reach the hay at the end of his fork. Riley pushed through them with a growl.

His dad lectured the family at least once a week about the gratitude they should show the fuzzy creatures. The little island of Marianna had struggled during the first few years of colonization and would have failed if not for a happy accident of nature. A herd of larkspur short-hair sheep, known for their hardiness, mixed in a field with Heidelbreckt country long-hairs. Springtime overcame them, and Marianna was blessed with a new breed of sheep — the Marianna woolie. Softer or warmer wool could not be found in the Grey Cliff Isles or Andara.

"Get out of the way!"

The herd pushed at him even harder. Their superior numbers were more than a match for his temper. He dropped the bale in the middle of the yard and jumped out of their way. With his pitchfork raised in defeat, he scrambled out of the pen and fell on his backside in the grass.