Road To Shandara (Book One of The Safanarion Order) (12 page)

Well I can’t just leave it here.

He cautiously knelt down and picked it back up. The Runes glowed briefly and then faded. He ran his hands appreciatively up and down the staff, which was a good weight and perfectly balanced. Aaron wondered how long the cloak and the rune carved staff had been there as he retraced his steps back up the passageway. He inserted his medallion into the base of the statue and the stone doorway shut with finality. After taking another drink of water from the fountain he walked outside.

Aaron emerged from the temple entrance, which was nestled on top of a small hill that overlooked a meadow. The path leading to the temple entrance where he stood was mostly overgrown. He hoped the path would lead him to a town and from there perhaps he could find where this Prince Cyrus was that Colind told him about. Where was Colind? Did he know that he made it to Safanar? He was the heir of Shandara. Did that make him some type of lord or a prince he thought with faint amusement. Then with darker thoughts he struck out on the overgrown path. He would seek all those responsible for the murder of his family, but he was starting to wonder if he was paying for things that his ancestors did.
He found himself in the middle of a war where the threat to his life was as real as the air he breathed. A cold shiver ran through him, was the world always this harsh or was it his illusions of the world that had been stripped away?

Being a seasoned hiker he was able to set a good pace and cover a lot of ground and after a few hours he came upon a dirt road. The staff helped. He noticed smoke rising in the distance and decided to set off in its direction hoping to find a town. There was an oddness in the air that nagged at him for a while until he finally realized it for what it was and the simplicity of it made him snort to himself. There was an enduring silence beyond the sounds of nature that he kept expecting to hear and its absence was what itched at the back of his mind. The vacancy of Technology. There were no sounds of cars, trucks, planes or cellular phones. All the things that made up his modern society were gone leaving him wondering what technology was here. Even hiking and camping you brought portable technology with you and could see others with the same.

He went off the road a bit and sat on a fallen tree taking his ease and closed his eyes simply soaking in where he was. The day was growing warm and the shine of the sun peaked through the canopy of trees surrounding him. Zeus pawed at the ground anxiously and then he heard the distant sound of galloping horses upon the road.

So much for technology.

Aaron pulled his hood up and crept towards the road hugging the ground for a better look. The group of riders broke into view and slowed to a stop. All the riders save two wore brown cloaks and sat in their saddle with ease. The remaining two riders that led the group wore dark blue cloaks and it was those riders that had his attention. Aaron could hear some of the men ask why they’d stopped and were answered with contemptible silence as a blue rider held up his fist. The blue-cloaked riders scanned the area and as one rider’s gaze swept his way, Aaron felt a slight graze upon his senses. When the second blue cloaked rider turned in Aaron’s direction a large shadow passed overhead sweeping over them blocking out the sun.

“Dragon!” One of the men shouted and some men drew their swords and readied their bows.

“Hold,” a blue rider shouted. “That is no Dragon. It’s a Ryakul. He’s on the hunt, but not for us. Let’s move out.”

As one, the riders left. Aaron moved on as well, but stayed to the forest following along side the road rather than upon it.
Dragons? Ryakul? What kind of place is this?
Perhaps he would see some winged horses before he was done.

Before he knew it the sun was setting. He found an old campsite, built a small fire and ate some of the food he brought with him, but it wouldn’t last more than a day. He cursed himself for not thinking to bring more than a days worth of food, but at least he had water. Not thinking the food situation through left him wondering what else he hadn’t thought through before charging headlong on this journey.

Zeus had come back licking his chops and settled down close by. Zeus was in his element out in the forest, but this place was still alien to Aaron with different sounds than back home. He laid back and gazed up at the alien sky. The stars and their formations were all different and there were two moons, one reddish in color and the other white like home. It was not his first time sleeping out under the stars, only his first time sleeping under them on another world. His first night on Safanar was filled with a dreamless sleep as if the previous weeks had finally caught up with him, for if he dreamed he was blissfully unaware. He knew that with Zeus there he would be safe enough and if not, he would at least be warned.

The next morning he decided to chance walking upon the road and before lunch he came upon a small town. The town reminded him of the old western frontier towns he had seen pictures of in history books. Broad dusty streets lined with worn, but well maintained buildings with some more elaborately decorated than others. Some of the buildings were made of a type of stone masonry construction rather than wood.

The townsfolk bustled with activity and although a few glanced at Zeus because of his great size no one gaze lingered for long. From under his hood Aaron scanned the people and buildings as he walked by. He turned down the main thorough-fair and came upon the town’s square. A small crowd had gathered, but most were determined to stare straight ahead ignoring the activity of those around them. Then he heard the screams. There was a desperate tension in the air tinged with relief from those who were able to walk away as fast they could.

Aaron was about to make a quiet withdrawal, but decided to press closer gaining a better vantage point. A man plainly dressed in a leather apron was being held by the riders in brown cloaks that he saw yesterday. A gauntleted fist slammed home into the man’s middle and he sagged to the ground gasping for air. Some onlookers cheered, but most looked on with fear silently praying for a quick conclusion. A small boy that couldn’t have been more than ten years of age burst through the throng of people.

“Please,” the boy screamed. “Don’t hurt him, thats my daddy.” Tears of desperation streamed down his face and his eyes searched frantically through the crowd for someone to help, but most people in the crowd wouldn’t meet his gaze and those that did would never help by the look of it.

Aaron’s heart began to beat faster, why doesn’t someone do something? Another brown cloaked rider ran up and launched a vicious kick to the man as he struggled to his feet. Aaron clenched the rune carved staff in his hand. How can this be allowed to go on?

“No!” The boy cried and charged feebly to the man who was about to kick again. The rider spun quickly and lifted the child up by his shirt. The man on the ground screamed struggling to get up, but the other two men pushed him down with their boot heels, while a third grabbed him by the hair pulling his head up.

“This boy needs to learn some respect for the guardsman of the Elite.” The boy’s face paled in fear as the dreaded gauntleted fist drew back. The boy’s father struggled to rise again, but was held fast by the men.

Aaron could watch no longer. “I don’t think so,” he growled and swung the rune carved staff into the face of guardsman holding the boy. The guardsman’s nose exploded into a river blood gushing as he fell onto his back releasing the boy to the ground. The other guardsmen were so stunned that for a few moments they stared at their companion writhing upon the ground and the crowd seemed to hold its breath.

The guardsmen recovered quickly and drew their swords fanning out to face him. These were hard men with a seasoned coldness that accompanied men who had faced death in their lives. The crowd quickly scrambled out of the way and the boy ran to his father’s aid.

Aaron held the staff pointed down to the ground and beckoned with his other hand tauntingly for the men to have at him. The first man lunged and Aaron quickly side stepped allowing the guardsman to overextend, then paid him dearly with several crushing blows. While the other guardsmen were strong and skilled they were no match for Aaron as he weaved in and out between them delivering decisive blows until he was the only one standing. A testament to the training he received from his grandfather Reymius.

He never thought his life would become anything resembling a daily life and death struggle, but it was becoming that way. He had enjoyed the sparring room back home because there it was competition, it was fun and for learning. If a mistake were made you worked to correct it next time, but here if he made a mistake it could be the end of him. He didn’t know why the guardsmen were beating that man, but he couldn’t just sit back and let them hurt a child.

“Well what do we have here?” A voice hissed behind him.

Aaron turned to see one of the blue cloaked riders standing before him with his sword drawn. His sword was single edged with a serrated edge on the opposite side, a vile looking thing such as Aaron had never seen.

“I believe your men were out of line,” replied Aaron frostily.

The man regarded him cooly, “No, no that won’t do at all," He said circling to one side dividing his gaze between the fallen guardsmen and Aaron. “But I cannot tolerate such insolence from one such as you. If I did where would it end?” The man said with the surety as one would squash a bug and the arrogance of it darkened Aaron’s anger.

“I didn’t kill any of your men.” Aaron replied pointedly, “Just taught them a lesson.”

“You dare raise your hand against a guardsmen dispensing justice, a deed punishable by death.”

“Beating a father and son in a town square is what you call justice? What were their crimes?” asked Aaron. “I suppose if I raise my staff against you that also punishable by death?”

The murmuring crowd watched the two of them with a sense of fear and of hope. There was no change in the blue rider’s demeanor except for his body springing into action spinning his terrible blade into an all out attack. Although Aaron was ready for the attack he was pressed backward by the sheer ferociousness of the charge. Aaron remained vigilant in his defense, but at the moment he would rather have had his swords in his hands than this staff. The man he faced was good. He could anticipate Aaron’s movements well and used it to his advantage. Aaron sought the calmness of his inner-core until there was nothing left around him except for the man he was facing. His movements became quicker and more precise. It was here in the boundaries of his own mind where the key to his survival was. The medallion grew warm against the tender skin of his chest and the whispers began to urge his movements. The rune marked staff grew warm in his hands and sparks burst forth as blade met staff. Through his opponents shock Aaron swept the man’s legs out from under him. The remaining people in the town’s square gasped and looked at Aaron in awe, but none more so than the Blue Rider who was lying flat on his back.

“My lord,” said several townsfolk and sank to their knees.

Aaron’s mouth dropped open when he realized they were speaking to him.
Ferasdiam
he heard whispered from more than one person. The Blue Rider erupted from the ground screaming in rage and flailing his blade. Aaron was ready, he became one with the urgings and whisperings that came from within and was able to move with a mastery he had never felt before. The flow of blade and staff resumed until Aaron struck decisively sending the man several feet back in a heap. The blade clattered onto the paving stones out of reach. He gained his feet once more with one hand clutching his chest and the other drawn within.

Aaron sensed the energy gathering within the man in a dark foreshadowing. He brought up his staff as the man shot his hand out sending a cracking blue beam of energy burning towards him. The Rune Marked staff flared to life as a white light encompassed the black staff. The blue lightening glanced off the staff and disappeared into the ground. There was the distinct sound of the snap of a bow string and a shaft protruded from the man’s chest.

“You are either the bravest or the luckiest man I’ve ever seen,” said a mirthful voice.

Aaron looked up seeing a young man smiling down at him from his horse. He wore a dark cloak and a wide rimmed black hat with a rather large feather sticking out one side reminding Aaron of a Musketeer.

“Here I brought this for you.” He said holding out the reins to a second horse behind him. “Not to worry it was his, while you may be handy with a staff I think we should make our way out of here before all this attention becomes a bit overwhelming.” The young man’s mirthful smile vanished as he turned to address the crowd. “Let it be known that the Elite are not as infallible as they would have you believe. There are those who can fight them, spread the tale of this day, but for now please empty this square. I can already hear the other guardsman approach.”

Aaron took the reins and mounted the horse and the young man regarded him for a moment then nodded and extended his hand, “I am Verona Ryder and it is my esteemed pleasure to make your acquaintance, but we must save further introductions for later my friend. The road calls.” And with that he gave his horse a good kick and galloped away.

Aaron turned to see the boy helping his father to his feet. The father looked as if he was about to say something, but Aaron nodded gesturing for him to leave. They waved appreciatively then became lost within the scattering crowd. Hearing the shouts of the guardsman, Aaron kicked his horse into a gallop following Verona Ryder.

***

“You presume much,” The Elitesman said shifting his blue cloak, his disgusted gaze sweeping over the disoriented guardsman still gaining their bearings and his dead companion.

“It is more important that we inform Mactar and the High King.” The old wizard had been on tender hooks since Tye’s unfortunate demise, but Darven suspected it was more a theatrical performance.

“Darven, the Council of Masters must be informed as well. The taking down of an Elite is troubling, even one as pathetic as this one,” he said gesturing toward the dead man. “But do you truly believe that this man is the heir of Shandara?”