The Awakened Book Two (5 page)

She waited, listening intently for another sound to tell her whether or not she was in danger. Then, the face of a young Resistance guard peered through the trees.

“M’lady,” he whispered.

“Yes. I’m coming back.”

“He’s already at the camp.”

“Who? Thaddius?”

“Yes, m’lady.”

Maeryn got to her feet once again and struggled up the hill, knowing that questioning this guard any further would not tell her why Thaddius hadn’t come by the agreed route. She decided to save her questions for Thaddius himself. Letting the young man take the lead and the task of clearing a path, Maeryn followed, making much better time than she had on her own.

A half hour later, Maeryn and the guard crested a small hill and descended into a sparsely wooded valley. Hundreds of slaves and dozens of Resistance soldiers were gathered in a clearing near a cluster of boulders. Mothers were hugging their children. Fathers were crying tears of joy. And the soldiers stood around the perimeter of the clearing, their emotionless faces a direct contrast to the situation, though Maeryn understood perfectly why these men weren’t rejoicing as well. They knew, as she did, that their journey had only begun.

“Where is Thaddius?” she said to the nearest soldier as they neared the camp.

A guard pointed to the right side of the camp where Maeryn could see a waving arm. Apparently Thaddius had already spotted her. Maeryn raised her hand in acknowledgement and pushed past the crowds toward him. When the two met, Maeryn sensed his excitement. His face had a tense, but lively expression.

“Why didn’t you come by the road?”

“I had intended to, but I had no choice. The barbarians attacked from the west as well.”

Maeryn’s eyebrows went up. “Your farm?” she asked.

“They burned it,” he said flatly. “We barely escaped. We had to wait in the foothills for hours before it was safe to move. So…” He nodded toward the group of slaves and soldiers that had been his traveling companions. “Here we are.”

Maeryn looked around and caught sight of Aelia pushing her way past a group of men with tears in her eyes. Ajani was close behind. She turned back to Thaddius and opened her mouth to speak, but the white-haired man interrupted.

“Maeryn, I must tell you that I am very much relieved by your decision to continue with the plan. As unfortunate as this disaster is for many, it was brilliant of you to recognize the opportunity within the situation.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, distracted by the sight of Aelia. “Excuse me for a minute please,” she apologized.

Turning away, she came face to face with her crying daughter. “What’s the matter?”

Aelia turned to Ajani and the slave stepped forward. “M’lady. Mother has not arrived yet.”

Maeryn looked into the eyes of the severely scarred young man and saw the determination that had become as distinguishing a part of his person as his wounds. “Go find her, but be quick. We will be leaving soon.”

“Thank you, m’lady,” the slave replied, running away as fast as he could.

Actually
, Maeryn corrected herself,
he’s no longer a slave. He’s a free man.
With Aelia comforted at her side, Maeryn turned back to Thaddius who had been waiting patiently. “So, are we still planning to march north?”

Chapter 4

Dacien Gallus, Captain of the Guard for the city of
Bastul
, leaned against the side of a stone building in the heart of the Market District, or what was left of it. Only the stone structures still remained; everything made of wood had been reduced to ashes the previous night. Dacien and his standard bearer were all that was left of a contingent of cavalry that had been roaming the streets of
Bastul
, cutting down any barbarians in their path. But something had gone wrong. The barbarians had organized themselves and set an ambush for the soldiers, trapping them in an alleyway before chopping the legs of their horses from underneath them. Most of the soldiers were slain in the alley as well. Two more were picked off during the retreat. And now, the Captain and his standard bearer, who was bleeding from a fatal wound to his abdomen, found themselves trapped against a building, surrounded by five barbarians. In a matter of minutes, he would be alone.

They were howling like dogs, pounding their weapons on the street to intimidate the soldiers. Dacien had long ago lost the strength to lift and swing his sword, though he was doing his best not to show his weakness. He had been fighting since midnight, and the sun had risen over an hour ago. The sound of their guttural noises had turned from frightening to annoying and Dacien was about to make his last desperate attempt to leave this world fighting.

Unexpectedly, the savage on the Captain’s right side fell forward to the cobblestone street, a battle-axe lodged in his back. Dacien risked a quick glance to see who had thrown the axe and the angry barbarians looked as well. Twenty yards away stood a man who could have been mistaken for one of the savages at first glance. His blonde hair fell well past his shoulders and his beard was gathered into a thick braid which reached a handbreadth past his chin. He wore loose fitting trousers and a tunic, both of an indistinct color, giving him a foreign look, but much different than the savages who turned to face this new enemy.

Dacien watched as one of the barbarians ran toward the stranger, raising his double-bladed axe. As the savage approached with a level swing, the man stepped inside of the blade’s arc and grabbed the handle of the axe, pivoting on his right foot. The barbarian, bested by his own momentum, lost his grip on the axe and tripped over the stranger’s outstretched leg, falling backwards to the street. The man turned quickly and buried the head of the axe into the barbarian’s chest.

With two of the five dead, Dacien began to hope that his luck had changed. The Syvaku, however, were enraged by this new threat. Another barbarian, the largest of the group, shouted a few harsh commands and the trio immediately split. Leaving only one man to deal with Dacien and his companion, the other two began to stalk their new enemy, spreading wide to cover each flank.

Dacien tightened his grip on his sword and prepared for his own confrontation, but the barbarian in front of him was clearly more concerned about his fellow raiders. Returning his gaze to the stranger now standing in the middle of the street, Dacien watched in fascination as the man calmly waited for the barbarians to approach.

Suddenly, the man burst into action, springing to his right to pull a spear out of a soldier’s dead body.

Within seconds, the barbarian leader closed the distance, but the stranger whirled the spear around his body and struck the butt of the weapon against his enemy’s knee. An audible crack sounded as the barbarian’s shattered kneecap forced him to his knees. In an instant, the stranger darted past the kneeling enemy, running the blade of his spear across the man’s throat before spinning around to confront the next.

The barbarian in front of Dacien, who had been growing more uncomfortable by the minute, turned away from the wounded soldiers and began to run down the street in the opposite direction.

Dacien smiled at his new-found freedom, but was startled when the retreating barbarian was struck in the back with a spear and fell to his face on the cobblestones. Dacien turned back to the skirmish on his right, surprised to see the stranger facing his bloodthirsty enemy unarmed.

The barbarian circled, swinging his crude sword from side to side as he closed in.

The stranger waited patiently, stepping backward with caution. Then he burst into motion and rushed the barbarian, striking quickly with two kicks. The first struck the barbarian’s hand, dislodging his weapon. The second collided with his face, knocking the large man back a few steps.

The barbarian quickly shook off the pain and growled like a dog. His fury empowered him as he dropped his shoulder and ran toward the stranger, yelling at the top of his lungs.

But the barbarian’s agile enemy sprung from the ground, driving his knee into the man’s face.

Dacien’s jaw dropped as he watched the large man stumble backwards with blood gushing from his nose. The stranger didn’t hesitate for even a second as his foot struck out like a snake, crushing the barbarian’s windpipe.

After falling back to the street, it didn’t take long before the savage stopped his gasping.

“Are you men alright?” the stranger called to Dacien.

Looking down to his standard-bearer seated against the building, Dacien was disappointed to find the man’s head slumped forward. He turned back to the blonde-haired stranger. “I’m afraid it’s too late for my friend, but I’m alive thanks to you. Tell me how I can repay you.”

“Just answer one question,” said the stranger. “Where can I find the Governess?”

“The lady Maeryn?”

“Yes.”

Despite the man’s actions, Dacien couldn’t help but feel distrustful of this stranger as soon as the question was spoken. “If I knew for certain, I wouldn’t tell you. But since I don’t know, there is no harm in telling you that the lady and her daughter disappeared from their estate sometime last night after the Syvaku attacked us.”

“I’m sorry…did you say ‘daughter’?”

“Yes. Miss Aelia,” Dacien replied, watching the stunned look on the man’s face.

“Was it the Syvaku?” the stranger asked.

Dacien hesitated, but could see the concern in the man’s face. “We don’t think so. The lady had a visitor late in the evening, a man delivering something she purchased earlier in the day at the market. We only allowed him inside at her request. An hour later they were reported missing. We think they may have been taken by the Resistance.”

“I have to find them,” the man stated simply, turning to look up the hill to the east.

“There are no clues in the mansion, no way to track them. I had several men searching all evening and they found nothing,” he offered, hoping to save the man the trouble.

“I must go,” the man replied, turning to walk away.

“Wait,” called Dacien. “What is your name?”

“Ka…Caleb,” the man answered, turning around.

“Well, Caleb, my name is Dacien Gallus. I am Captain of the Guard. I’ve never seen anyone who can fight like you. If you don’t find what you are looking for, I could use your help. The remainder of the Syvaku are retreating to the farmlands north of here and I need every able-bodied man.”

The stranger nodded and turned away, heading for the Governor’s estate at the top of the hill.

Dacien smiled, while rubbing the muscles in his right arm. He noticed the man’s hesitation when he asked for his name. He thought the man almost said
Kael
. Dacien remembered hearing stories many years ago of the Governess’ son and his confrontation with Lemus. But the child had been put to death. Dacien’s curiosity was peaked, but he would have to save his questions for the next time he crossed paths with the man. And he had a feeling it would be soon. Watching him fight the barbarians had been like watching a choreographed dance.
He won’t find anything at the mansion. And when he realizes that his searching is in vain, he’ll come looking for a fight.

* * * *

The crunch of Ajani’s footsteps on the gravel of the courtyard was a lonely sound. His plan was to check all the outlying buildings first and then head to the mansion. However, after checking the storehouse, tool shed, and the soldier’s quarters, he was beginning to think the estate was deserted. He made his way to the stables and could immediately hear the buzzing of flies. His stomach cringed at what he might find. Walking through the open doors, he could see blood flowing from the stalls on either side of the room, pooling in the dirt walkway that divided the building in half. He continued on, glancing briefly in each stall, only to find the same sight. The horses’ throats had been slashed by the barbarians, the animals left to die in the very cells in which they slept.

He pressed on, making sure to be thorough in his search. Entering the last stall on the left, Ajani fell to his knees, unable and unwilling to stop the tears that poured down his face. A primal scream emanated from his throat and escaped his mouth, shattering the air. The sound was almost completely unfamiliar to him. He could only remember one other time in his life that he had reason to scream the way he did now. But the scars on his face and body, evidence of that incident, seemed insignificant to what lay before his eyes.

The sight of the tunic, the familiar and unmistakable fabric, covering the form lying face-down in the straw, gripped his heart. The clothing was torn, her skin cut and bruised.

BARBARIANS!

Her hunched posture told the story of unspeakable acts, her failed attempt to crawl away from their cruelty. He took in the scene through a flood of tears and approached the body. Kneeling solemnly at her side, he gently lifted and turned the lifeless form. Grief caught in his throat as he mouthed, “Oh Mama…” But no words came, no sound escaped his lips. His roughened fingers traced lightly over the bruises and disfigurement as he lowered his lips to kiss her forehead. With great reverence he slowly laid her back on the straw. He crossed Zula’s arms upon her chest and, in a futile attempt at dignity, covered her with the remains of her garment.