Shard Knight (Echoes Across Time Book 1) (28 page)

Keely stepped backward. “Take it easy.” She took another bite of watermelon as her face writhed in pleasure. “This is good watermelon Danielle. You’ve a real knack for growing this stuff.”

Danielle sighed. “Keely!”

“You’re ring and necklace are next to your pouch and staff. They’re sitting on a desk in the guard’s office,” Keely said.

“In camp headquarters?” Danielle said.

Keely nodded. “Pride and his minions are staying on the second floor.” She dragged a dirty sleeve across her face wiping away a smear of watermelon juice dripping from her chin.

“Can you bring my staff, pouch, and ring?” Danielle said. She’d lost her appetite as the prospect of Pride’s interrogation nauseated her.

Keely stopped chewing and stared at Danielle with a blank expression. “Yes, of course.” She chuckled and shook her head.

Rika swallowed a bite of tomato and accepted a chunk of watermelon offered by Keely. “Have you seen him? Merric Pride I mean.” Rika said.

“Yep. The old bastard is a hundred yards from where we stand,” Keely said.

“Shard knights will surround him. Maybe we should wait until he leaves to make a move on your staff and pouch,” Rika said.

Danielle shook her head. “I can’t take the chance. At worst he’ll kill us outright. At best he’ll steal my staff, pouch, and ring.”

“Guards! Guards coming!” Ferris said. The boy stood with his ear pressed to the cell door.

The colonists tossed tomatoes, squash, and watermelons chunks into the barrel.

Danielle knelt before the watermelon vine. “Take your positions.” She channeled magic into the vine and watched it shrink before disappearing altogether. A single watermelon seed laid at Danielle’s feet as the only remaining sign.

The heavy iron doorknob turned as prisoners scrambled for their seats.

Danielle grabbed the seed and slipped it inside her pocket as the steel door creaked opened. She scrambled across the stone floor lunging into position beside Keely and Rika.

The camp guard entered the cell and stood near the water barrel gazing to his left and right. He narrowed his eyes and sniffed the air scanning the dimly lit room.”

Danielle’s stomach rolled as her gaze halted on a puddle of watermelon juice beside the barrel. She prayed the guard’s stupidity would lead him past the spill.

Around the room, colonists sat huddled in bunches leaning against the wall with stooped shoulders and faces staring downward.

Danielle’s heart raced, and she held her breath waiting for the guard’s next move.

His heavy footsteps echoed as he circled the cell inspecting the matted hair of each prisoner.

As the footsteps grew closer, Danielle thought her heart might pound through her chest.

The guard stopped and glared at Danielle through bloodshot eyes. “You.” He pointed his sausage-like index finger at Danielle.

Danielle shifted her gaze upward and stared at the fat stubble-faced guard.

“The king has demanded your presence at his breakfast table for reasons only Elan can guess.” He tossed a yellow garment at her feet. “Wear this. You can’t take breakfast with the king wearing that flea trap you’ve got on now.” He tossed two more dresses at Keely and Rika’s feet. “He’s asked for you two as well. I’ll come back in ten minutes.”

The guard offered the women a final look of disgust and muttered under his breath as he left the cell locking the door behind him.

Danielle released her held breath, but the anxiety remained. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this Rika.” Her hands trembled as she stood and picked up the dress.

Rika let her colonist’s uniform drop to the floor and stood exposed wearing nothing but her undergarments. “I’ve a long history with that snake Danielle. You’ve done nothing wrong. We won’t leave you alone with him.”

Danielle loosened the buttons on her colonists uniform and slipped it off. “Rika, there’s something I need to tell you.”

Rika froze and traces of worry flickered in her eyes. “I don’t like your tone of voice Danielle.”

Danielle held Rika’s gaze and paused. She knew Rika could live up to her expectations. “Nothing’s wrong, but we need your help with a special request.” She slipped the yellow dress over her head. “In my heartwood staff, I’ve hidden the shard of a guardian we lost inside Salem’s Peak. If I reach my staff, I want you to use the shard.”

Rika shook her head. “Oh Danielle. I can’t. That’s wrong. It’s against Ayralen law, and I haven’t gone through any training.” Rika buttoned her new dress.

“Ayralen law gives a commanding officer authority to direct the use of a shard dropped in combat.”

“But, I don’t know how to channel a guardian’s magic,” Rika said.

“It’s easy Rika,” Keely said. “For a guardian to take a beast’s form, she must’ve already connected with its soul.” Keely finished fastening the last button on her dress.

“There aren’t many beasts roaming inside a Meranthian death camp,” Rika said.

“I know one. Me.” Keely smiled and twisted inspecting her dress. “I rarely wear dresses, but when I do, I sure can pull it off.”

“Rika, if you get a chance to take the shard, just follow Keely’s lead. When she shifts, focus on her eyes, and the magic will find you. Trust it,” Danielle said.

“Depending on your strength, you can alter a beast form making yourself larger or smaller. I love sneaking up on people as a giant rabbit. It’s good for cheap laughs at the autumn festival,” Keely said.

“Rika, the shard is going to waste trapped inside my staff,” Danielle said.

The lock on the cell door rattled, and the heavy steel door swung open. The overweight guard returned entering the room surrounded by a spirit shield’s blue glow. Standing in the corridor, a pair of shard knights stood watching. “Follow me. You whores won’t make the king wait.”

***

As he fell, Ronan pulled on his reservoir of enhancement magic and channeled it through his skin, bones, and muscle.

Carved wooden spikes closed in on Ronan like the teeth of an enraged beast.

He curled into a ball and waited for the unavoidable collision.

A loud cracking sound echoed through the empty confines of the sunken pit followed by a muffled scream.

Tyrell’s voice filled the silence in the moments following impact. “Ronan! Are you okay?” His whispered voice came fast and urgent.

Ronan froze afraid to move a muscle as his heart slammed in his chest. He cracked open his eyes and cried out.

The glassy-eyed stare of a dead mountain lion met Ronan’s gaze inches from his nose. Thick wooden spikes protruded from three different entry points, the last one through the beast’s throat.

Behind the cat, dozens of chiseled wooden spikes provided a latticework of death stretching six-feet across the pit.

Ronan’s stomach churned from the stench of rotting flesh, and his throat constricted as he fought the urge to vomit. He channeled shard magic and deadened his sense of smell.

Beneath Ronan, two sharpened spikes intended for him had, instead, taken the worse of the exchange. The spikes snapped like dry kindling against his shard enhanced body, and he found himself wedged between broken and unbroken spikes.

Tyrell and Kelwin’s silhouettes peered over the edge staring into a wall of thick fog.

Ronan scanned his body for cuts, scrapes, or broken bones. Large gashes appeared in the leather armor near his shoulders and mid-thigh. Jagged tears penetrated the leather but left his skin unmarked. He exhaled with relief. “I’m fine Master Tyrell. Kelwin, can you lend a hand?”

“No problem. Stay put, and I’ll send down a vine.”

Ronan rolled his eyes. “You’re real funny Kelwin.”

Green light flickered off the gray fog, and a thick vine appeared like a rope ladder slapping against the chiseled head of a nearby spike.

Ronan grabbed hold of the vine, gave it a quick pull testing its stability, and shimmied upward. At the top, Tyrell and Kelwin grabbed his shoulders and pulled him clear of the edge.

Tyrell extended a hand. “Glad to see you’re okay.”

Ronan took Tyrell’s hand and pulled himself up. He brushed bits of mud and leaves from his armor.

Scattered across a mile of open ground, mud, pine needles, and dead branches obscured any sign of hidden pits leading to the camp’s wall.

“This looks like a happy jaunt across Merric Pride’s field of fun and surprises. What’s next? A snake pit? Boiling oil?” Ronan shook his head. “I’d rather not volunteer my flesh to every horror lurking across this plain. I’d love hearing ideas.”

“I can help a bit.” Kelwin extended his arm palm facing downward. A green ball of faint light coalesced under his fingertips. With a twist of his wrist, the energy divided into dozens of miniature light streams flying away in different directions.

Several feet away the sound of rustling branches rattled through the heavy fog. The branches moved exposing four gaping pits spread out five yards ahead. “Never let me doubt you Kelwin. Thanks.”

Kelwin smiled. “I can’t have you dirty up your armor. You’ve a reputation to preserve.”

Ronan moved ahead and stopped at the next pit. A shiver ran along the nape of his neck as every few feet a pit stood open like a grave awaiting an occupant. “Only four pits?”

“I’ll uncover them as we go. Just take it slow,” Kelwin said.

Ronan nodded. “Slow and steady. No problem.” He inched his way across the open field as orbs of green light fluttered with abandon flushing out pits and collapsing the brush used to cover them.

As the eastern wall of the death camp loomed ahead, shielded figures patrolled the ramparts.

Fingertips tugged at Ronan’s shoulder, and he paused glancing backward.

“There’s no more pits Ronan. The way is clear,” Kelwin said using a light whisper.

Ronan nodded. “After the guards enter the tower, run hard, and don’t stop until we touch the wall.” He matched Kelwin’s whisper.

Heavy stone bulwarks stood at the camp’s four corners towering above the ramparts of the formidable wooden walls. Atop every tower, archer’s armed with heavy longbows stood guard. Under normal conditions, the bulwarks allowed them to spot the slightest movement a mile away.

As the patrolling guards disappeared inside the northeast tower, Ronan, Kelwin, and Tyrell scrambled up the slope.

At the wall, Kelwin yanked open his belt pouch and pulled free several seeds. He placed a hard red seed in his palm and flattened it against the wall. Seconds later, vines raced from his open palm twisting and weaving upward finding the top edge of the rampart.

Kelwin nodded signaling the go-ahead.

Ronan placed his foot in Kelwin’s vined ladder and hoisted himself skyward. The vines held firm as he raced his way to the rampart.

Tyrell and Kelwin followed and joined Ronan atop the eastern rampart. Kelwin touched the vined ladder with a single fingertip, and it withered falling from the wall.

At the camp’s center a two-story stone building radiated the sole source of light in an otherwise grim camp setting. Next to the camp’s main building a short stone roof extended a few feet from the earth with several small slits gouged out near the top like air holes in a paper sack.

Spreading outward from the main building, dozens of dark wooden barracks housed thousands of dying Ayralen women and children providing the reason for the camp’s existence. The barracks sat silent and bleak offering no music, light, or sign of life. The unmistakable scent of death hung thick and still on the foggy mist.

Outside each wooden building, piles of emaciated lifeless bodies lay stacked in heaps. Near the camp’s western wall, two men grabbed bodies from a pile and tossed them into a horse drawn cart. They flung the corpse of a small child atop the lifeless remains of a young woman that looked like the child’s mother.

Ronan’s stomach twisted in knots. Women and children lived their last days in those dark desolate barracks, alone and forgotten. They’d committed no offense. Wronged no person.

A kernel of rage flared deep in his core. He clenched his jaw and faced Tyrell. “There will be a reckoning for this atrocity.” He clung by a razor’s edge over control of his emotions. “I promise you that.” His whispered voice trembled with rage.

Tyrell’s steel blue eyes held Ronan’s never wavering. Thinly veiled anger shrouded his expression, and betrayed his contempt. “Use the anger Ronan, but don’t let it consume you. Sharpen it like a weapon.”

Kelwin’s mouth hung open, and his face contorted into a mask of horror. He shook his head and turned away from the dead surrounding them. “Why? Dear God why?” His voice trembled, and tears rimmed his eyes.

“We need to move,” Tyrell said in a hushed whisper. He pointed to the stone building at the camp’s center. “That’s the guardhouse.” He pointed to the small flat building dug into the ground. “That’s the prison. It’s the most likely place they’d hold Rika.”

Ronan let his anger simmer, and he focused on the prison’s roof. “We’ll go through the guardhouse. I don’t see another way inside.”

Tyrell nodded and pointed to a small metal door behind the guardhouse. “That door’s our best chance.”