The Troven (Kingdom of Denall Book 1) (37 page)

Chapter 35

“What are you doing here?” Morgin demanded.

Not responding to him, Dune simply raised his hand and enclosed Morgin in an invisible cage of air, then dropped him to the floor.

“Stay there and you should be safe.”

Dune rushed upstairs and kicked in the door to Trae’s room. Trae was tied to a chair. Edgar leaned in at him with a thin, sharp knife while another seeker watched. Dune reached out and wrapped a string of air around the dagger, then pulled it from Edgar. With the dagger in hand he advanced on the two men. Confident in his magical objects more than his skills, the second seeker drew his sword and lunged. Dune sidestepped the attack and struck him on the back of the head with the butt of Edgar’s knife.

Edgar quickly moved to attack with his sword. Despite losing his magical enchantments, the sword was much larger than Dune’s stolen knife and it easily knocked the knife to the floor. Edgar lunged forward in a second attack and his sword stopped in the air inches from Dune.

While Edgar pulled against the invisible force that held his weapon, Dune attacked with his bare hands. He struck Edgar quickly in the gut, neck and face, knocking him out. Dune tied the two unconscious men in thin weaves of air, and with a movement of his hand threw them into the corner of the room.

Dune moved to his friend’s side. “Are you all right?” he asked as he untied his arms and examined his head wound.

“A little groggy, but I’m doing a lot better now.”

“Good, because we don’t have a lot of…” Before Dune could explain, Genea joined them in the now crowded room, followed by her group of seekers.

Genea motioned to one of her companions who walked into the room and stood by Edgar and Han.

“I see Melna was right to send us.”

“Genea, you are not like them, you don’t need to do this.” Dune looked pleadingly at the young woman.

“You don’t understand anything!” she spat. She nodded at the seeker in the corner who quickly drew his sword, and in two quick slashes killed Edgar and Han. “I must obey.” For the first time in their brief encounters Dune wondered if she was as crazed as the other seekers.

“Trevor, how’s that head of yours?” Dune asked as the two men backed up against the wall. Without time to answer, Dune and Trae advanced on the four armed seekers. Trae slipped under the forward thrust of a long sword and drove his elbow hard under the man’s chin. He twisted the sword from the attacker’s hand and drove him to the ground with a solid front kick. With sword in hand he faced the next seeker.

Dune threw a ball of frozen air at one seeker while he lunged forward to grab Genea. To his complete surprise, he passed right through where Genea had been standing and landed hard on the floor. Spinning to stand up, he saw her moving her hands in a familiar pattern and mouthing some very dangerous words. Dune reacted instinctively, creating a protective barrier of water around himself as a fireball shot from her hands. The magic fire met the water in a fit of sizzling and popping, leaving the room a steam bath. Dune had never encountered or heard of a magician seeker. What could be the meaning of this? He wanted to take this seeker alive for questioning.

While the two magicians circled the room, waiting for the other to make a move, Trae had his hands full. Despite handling thousands of weapons in his work as a blacksmith, Trae had never received any formal training on using them. He was lucky to be facing seekers who relied so much on the magical enhancements of their weapons that they too were unskilled swordsmen. Trae moved forward with a wild swing and it was met with an equally untrained block. The two men swung their swords in wide arcs, uncontrolled stabs, and made shaky blocks with the weapons awkwardly held. Knowing of his inexperience, Trae relied on his gift as he pulled strength through the stone and swung with all his power at the man’s torso. In that moment the seekers in the room were all distracted by the activation of the stone as if a flash of sunlight had just blinded them.

While the seekers focused on the flash, Trae’s sword broke through the sword of his opponent and struck him, and Dune reached out with magic to bind Genea. He quickly cast a second spell to block her from touching magic, but it was too late. Just before the spell reached her she vanished. Dune knew that while she was skilled, her natural strength was relatively weak, she could not have teleported far with that spell, and although he regretted it, he had no time to pursue her.

In the room there were three dead seekers, one unconscious from the ice attack, and Trae’s wounded opponent who was now looking up at Trae as he shakily held the sword inches from his face.

“We don’t have much time,” Dune said, addressing the seeker. “Why the new urgency to locate stones? Why is Melna leveraging you with Han’Or?”

The man on the floor coughed out a laugh. “Do you really think I’ll tell you? You must be the greatest fool in all of Denall.”

The seeker shook slightly as he began rising from the floor. His body spun so that he was held suspended in the air inches in front of Dune.

“Your trinkets won’t help you here, and you’ve seen what I’m capable of. I’m going to ask you one more question. Is Mordyar coming to Denall?”

He stared silently into Dune’s eyes, refusing to speak. He tried to spit, but it flew backward, soaking his own face. Unable to wipe it off, he just hung there in silent defiance. Trae stepped forward.

“Let’s try a different approach.” He pulled his stone from beneath his plate armor.

As soon as the seeker saw the stone he began struggling against his invisible prison. He frantically heaved his head back and forth, unable to move anything else.

“Give me that!”

Trae calmly placed the stone back beneath his armor and addressed the seeker. “You are a stone seeker, and now you’ve found the Strength Stone. How does it feel to come this close to your entire purpose in life and know that you will never have it?” The man’s body began shaking violently, his eyes rolled back in his head and unexpectedly he went still.

The two men stood silently looking at the lifeless body, completely dumbfounded by what had happened. Dune lowered the corpse to the floor, then looked at his friend.

“Well that was a different tactic for interrogating.”

Trae raised his hands innocently. “How was I supposed to know that would happen?”

“I don’t know, but how about next time we find a seeker we don’t show them our stones,” Dune said, voice filled with frustration. He began stalking back and forth in the small room, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Good plan,” Trae agreed, then pointing to the remaining seeker he asked, “What about this one?”

Dune looked over his shoulder at Trae as he walked past. “I know of a special place for him.” Dune stopped and crouched next to the seeker and quickly removed all his jewelry and magical items. “Can you tie him up?”

Trae’s face narrowed in confusion. “Why don’t you just tie him up with magic like you did the others?”

Dune sat down on the small stool, his shoulders visibly slouched. “This has been an exhausting day. I need to conserve my energy.”

While Dune sat for a time, recovering some strength, Trae grabbed some rope from the hallway and tied him up, then placed the unconscious seeker in a large grain sack he retrieved from the horse stall.

“I have plenty of energy left.”

“Just be sure not to use your stone for extra strength,” Dune cautioned.

As he tied the sack closed, Trae nodded so Dune could see. “Speaking of which, why could I use the Strength Stone here, but their magical items didn’t work?”

Dune answered thoughtfully, “That’s a really good question.” Then after a long silence he replied. “I’ll have to give that some thought later. For now we need to get moving.” Dune stood up and led the way out of the small room.

In the magic shop Dune approached the counter and looked down at his uncle.

“Morgin, thank you for waiting.” Dune waved his hand and Morgin was released from his invisible prison.

“What evil have you brought here?” he demanded, glaring fiercely at his nephew as he returned to his feet.

Ignoring his questions, Dune addressed the older man. “It is urgent that we leave right away. I have no doubt that you can dispose of the bodies upstairs.” His words were laced with disdain. “We will also be needing funds for our journey.”

“I can give you…”

“You will give me all the gold that you have without a word of argument, or I will leave the magic block on your shop.” Dune’s voice left no room for doubt. He was not negotiating, he was making a demand that Morgin would obey.

In the air next to Morgin a large bag of gold appeared and he reluctantly placed it on the counter. Hoping to gain some advantage from this exchange he spoke.

“Does this settle our scores?”

Dune looked at the man and shook his head, “You will never be welcome back.”

Morgin shook a hand in the air. “No, I know that.” Then he made a downcast glance. “I meant between us.” He slowly looked up until he was looking Dune in the eye. His eyes brimmed with tears.

Dune narrowed his eyes and skeptically scrutinized the older magician. He could see that his uncle was sincere and there was true pain behind his eyes. Unsure whether he could speak any words of forgiveness, he simply nodded his head.

Morgin bobbed his head up and down in gratitude, “I know it’s too late for this, but I am sorry for what happened.”

Ignoring the apology, Dune continued on his business, “I have some magical items of varying quality and usefulness, which I cannot afford to carry any further.” He held his hands out in the air and spread them apart. In the air a small opening appeared. From the opening fell the weapons, armor and jewelry from all the seekers they had encountered in Lexingar. “I’m sure you can find a place for these.”

Morgin’s face lit up with greed as he looked over the loot that was easily worth double the gold he had just turned over. Getting Morgin’s attention Dune continued,

“Remember to dispose of the bodies. More people may come looking for us, so be wary.”

Trae slung the large sack over his shoulder, trying as much as possible to make it look like grain.

“Where are we going now?” Trae asked.

“We need to deliver this seeker.”

Chapter 36

After his victory over Farin in the one-handed sword competition, Mylot had returned to Sir Rodnik craning his neck to look into the crowd.

“She’s gone,” Sir Rodnik said as he patted Mylot on the shoulder.

“I know.” He slammed his gauntlets down on the wooden bench. “It’s so frustrating!”

“You need to focus on the tournaments, and we’ll find her later.”

“After the archery match she disappears. Nobody knows where she goes, or what she does. How can I find a ghost?”

Sir Rodnik took a slow, calming breath before addressing his overly excited trainee.

“Ghosts don’t need gold. She comes to the tournaments each year to win some gold. She must spend it somewhere. We’ll send out word, even offer a reward if needed. We will find the girl.”

Nodding, Mylot replied. “You’re right. She needs to come out of hiding some time. Nobody can magically change gold into food.” Mylot patted his trainer on the back. “Good thinking.”

“Now are you ready to go win this tournament?” Mylot made a determined face and nodded slightly. “Good, then stop playing around with these guys and finish them quickly. Conserve your energy for the other events.”

“Yes, sir.”

He returned with Sir Rodnik to their apartments to prepare.

In two handed sword fighting Mylot had a great advantage. For most warriors, wielding the large weapons was difficult, but as a level five strongarm Mylot could easily handle it. In battle the two-handed sword was effective because the momentum and power of each stroke was deadly. When a soldier swung a two-handed sword full strength, defense was futile. Any weapon raised in defense was cleaved in two or knocked to the ground by the sheer weight and force of the attack. For Mylot, however, he not only had the strength to make brutal offenses, but also the control to maneuver the weapon quickly and skillfully. He could wield the large blade in a single hand, parry an attack, and then counter with an unstoppable forehand or backhand. In two-handed combat he was invincible. Soon after the matches began, he was declared the champion of the two-handed sword combat.

The final event for the day was the jousting. Jousting took place in the large stadium on the western side of the city. The seats were filled with hundreds of people waiting to see the horses and riders charge with their ten-foot lances. King Robert sat on a large throne directly across from the center of the arena where the lances would strike. This year it was announced that the king would be presenting the award to the winner of the joust.

A large man with a booming voice called for attention to begin the competition. “The first contestants will be Gojor from Eaton and Yendys from Horspathe.”

The riders took their places on either side of the arena, horses impatiently prancing as they awaited the sign for them to begin. The judge nodded his head and a squire moved out to the fence that ran the length of the arena which showed the horsemen the line they must ride.

The squire raised a flag above his head and the two riders lowered their lances. When the squire dropped his flag and dashed to get away from the center fence, the riders urged their horses to action.

Hooves pounded on the sod as the powerful warhorses galloped. The contestants held the horses’ reins with their inside shield arm, and their lances in the other. As they closed in on each other, Yendys aimed her lance for Gojor’s chest and Gojor chose the more challenging target of aiming for the head. Yendys drove her lance forward and ducked her head to the side. Yendys’ arm shook with the full impact of the lance striking Gojor’s chest. The lance broke in two and Gojor wobbled in the saddle, nearly losing his seat. Gojor was unable to recover from this strike and after two more passes, he was eliminated and Yendys advanced to the second round. The crowd cheered.

Mylot stood on the ground brushing Gapol’s flanks. Despite the noise, excitement and anxiety, the well trained horse stood still. “I hate this part.” The horse reared his head and whinnied as if to agree. “An hour of waiting for a moment of excitement.”

“Better get used to that, boy.” Sir Theodore walked to Mylot and placed a steadying hand on Gapol.

“It’s wonderful to see you.” Mylot continued to absently brush Gapol while he turned his attention to Sir Theodore.

The older man nodded. “You have been very impressive today. You attracted the attention of the King. If you win, he’ll be sure to have you join his guard.”

“Thank you.” He inclined his head slightly.

Sir Theodore smiled. “Anytime. Anything to increase the pressure on you. I know you work best under pressure.” Mylot shook his head. “You’d better saddle up, you’re up against Thuey.”

“Are you serious? He came back? I thought after his embarrassing display last year he’d give up.” Mylot took a half step so he could look around Gapol. He looked out into the arena, trying to see any sign that Thuey was actually competing.

“You might be surprised.” Sir Theodore kept a straight face as he helped Mylot up into the saddle.

“Still trying to increase my pressure?” Mylot asked with a grin.

“Smart kid.” The knight slapped Gapol on the rump and he began walking out to the stadium.

“Mylot of Tran,” the announcer shouted. Mylot was given a warm welcome as he rode to his starting position. Mylot grasped his lance in his right hand and lowered his helmet visor using his shield hand. Looking down the jousting line he saw that Thuey’s horse was stamping its hooves nervously. Gapol stood completely still, waiting for direction from his rider. While waiting for the flag Mylot tested the weight of the lance. It had good balance, and despite the awkward length, he could manipulate it with ease.

The flag was raised and the lances lowered. When the flag dropped, Mylot kicked Gapol into action. Within a few steps the horse had accelerated to full speed and they thundered toward Thuey. When they were about to cross paths Mylot drove his lance hard into Thuey’s oversized upper body while Thuey’s lance was easily deflected off Mylot’s shield. Thuey bent backward in the saddle and dropped the reins of his horse. His arms flailed wildly to maintain balance as the horse continued to trot across the arena. When he reached the far side where he was to prepare for a second run, Thuey raised his hands in a sign of surrender. The match was ended.

Mylot watched Thuey’s team help him get down off the horse and remove his dented armor. Mylot dismounted Gapol and shook his head as he walked past Sir Theodore. “Happy now?”

“That was jousting,” Sir Theodore said while still clapping.

“Yeah, more like a slaughter.” Mylot walked Gapol in a cool down lap around the paddock before leading him to his stall. “Do you think he’ll come back next year?” Mylot looked back out at Thuey to ascertain his condition.

“Hopefully he’s learned something,” he replied. Then he pointed at Mylot, “And hopefully you have as well.”

“What do you mean?” Mylot asked over his shoulder as he handed Gapol’s reins to a stable hand so he could carry on a more direct conversation.

Sir Theodore placed his hands firmly on Mylot’s shoulders. “Treat each opponent like he could be the one to kill you, give your best every time, don’t hold back.”

“But these men aren’t trying to kill me,” he countered. “It’s just a tournament.” He said, pointing at the injured man. “I think I really hurt him this time.”

“I’m not talking about the tournament. Your training for the King’s personal guard has officially begun, if you accept the post,” Sir Theodore reached out his hand.

In his excitement to share the news Mylot looked around for Sir Rodnik, or anyone he might know. There was nobody. He turned to Sir Theodore and grasped his hand. “I accept.”

“Good, then get Gapol out of that stall and let’s get going,” Sir Theodore turned to leave.

Mylot looked out at the cheering fans and the king, seated to watch the jousting, then back to Sir Theodore, wondering if he was serious.

“What about the tournament?”

“I’m sure someone else will be happy to win,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“I can’t just leave, what about the people who have come to see me fight? What about Sir Rodnik and my servants? What about…”

Sir Theodore turned around and interrupted. “If you want to be part of the king’s guard you need to learn some things. First, I give commands and you take them. Second, you are part of a team now. It’s not about you, and your fans, and your servants, and your victories. It is about working with a team for the good of Denall. It’s your choice. But I promise you one thing. This is your last chance to join with us.” Sir Theodore continued to walk away.

Mylot massaged his temples with both hands as he looked to the crowd, the other men waiting to joust, and finally at Gapol. This tournament had been all consuming for him for so long he hated the thought of just leaving. If he followed Sir Theodore he would never know if he could have won and he would lose face to hundreds of people. Was the loss worth what he would gain? His time was running out, Sir Theodore continued to walk away.

* * * * *

When they were within sight of the caravan, Kaz held out a warning arm.

“Something is not right.”

Farin, trusting Kaz's sight, stepped between Angela and the caravan in an overprotective gesture.

“What is it?”

“I'm not sure -- there is a large crowd at the wagons,” Kaz said, indicating the direction with a movement of his head.

Angela pushed Farin aside with a scowl. “Let me see!” She stood up on her toes and put her hand over her eyes. She turned to Farin and quietly said in an annoyed tone, “You'd better not get all protective on me, or I'll never hold your hand again.” Then to show him she was both serious and tough enough to handle herself, she gave him her hardest punch.

“Ouch!” Farin yelled, drawing curious heads from the tents that were set up around them.

Angela immediately grabbed his arm. “I'm so sorry! I forgot I was wearing the ring.” She tried to comfort him while she nursed his injured arm. She took off the red ring and handed it back to Kaz who was grinning from ear to ear, trying not to laugh out loud at what was happening.

The three walked stealthily as they approached the wagons. When they were within Farin's hearing he began to listen.

“It's safe,” he concluded after listening for several minutes.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Kaz asked.

“Well my, dim-witted friend, that means that there is no danger.” Without another word of explanation Farin walked right to the circle of wagons.

“That's not what I meant,” Kaz protested. “What did you hear?” Kaz followed Farin and Angela as they walked. When he caught up to his friend, he gave Farin a playful punch in his injured arm, this time with the ice ring.

“Wow!” Farin announced. “That actually made my arm feel a lot better, here, do that again.” Kaz lightly pressed the ice ring to Farin's burned arm, stopping when Farin waved his other arm. “Those rings are amazing!” Farin concluded. Kaz made an I-told-you-so look and Farin conceded. “Fine, fine, it wasn't a waste of your money. Let's just get on with this and find out what is happening in there.”

When the three came closer to the caravan, the attention of the crowd turned to them. Some people rushed up to them and shook their hands while others patted them on the shoulders, seeming happy just to touch them. The three slowly made their way through the throng toward Boon and Blade, who were speaking with some people who seemed to have some authority.

“Here they are,” Blade said proudly. “I told you they'd return soon,” then to Angela and Farin he said, “This is Sir Theodore, Blade Master of Norwell, and a recruiter for the king's guard.”

Sir Theodore wore a chainmail shirt under a leather and on his left shoulder he had a solid steel shoulder guard with an alternating pattern of blue and white squares, the crest of the king. Farin and Angela shook hands with the man and then looked back to Blade for some kind of explanation.

Sir Theodore spoke to them both, “I train the sword at the battle barracks in the capitol. I was very impressed with your performances today and want to extend an offer for both of you to return with me to Norwell to train and compete for the honor of defending the king.” His stance looked casual, but also somehow dangerous at the same time.

“I don't understand,” Farin began. “We didn't win.”

The tall knight smiled and responded, “That's true, and you, young lady, were disqualified for poor sportsmanship,” Angela looked at her feet, “but you both showed the makings of blade masters, and I want to take what Blade has started and help you to reach your potential.”

Angela and Farin looked at each other, then they looked at Blade. He motioned as if to tell them it was their choice.

“Can we have some time to think about this?” Angela asked. Several people in the crowd gasped in surprise that they did not immediately jump at his offer.

Sir Theodore nodded his head, “Of course you can. This is a big decision, and probably wasn't part of your plans. But I want to warn you that this opportunity may never present itself again. It is a great honor to be chosen to train for the king's guard.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Farin said.