Rogue Powers (3 page)

In any event, Anson’s newfound ability came in very handy at times, providing an extra measure of security in an otherwise hostile world.

***

Much to his own surprise, Anson actually found himself enjoying basic training in the military camp on the outskirts of Brenlaw. Quartered in a large tent with five other boys, they would wake up at five o’clock for a morning run, followed by parade drill and other calisthenics. After lunch they practiced with swords, pikes, and other simple weapons, along with a healthy dose of hand-to-hand fighting.

Actually, out of the 102 new recruits in camp, Anson quickly excelled in unarmed combat. As a weeding out exercise, all the boys were paired off in a contest called the Summit. Two opponents would confront one another on a hundred square foot wooden platform about four feet off the ground. If you wrestled the other recruit off the platform while remaining on it yourself, you earned two points. If both boys went tumbling to the ground, each gained one point. Punching and slashing weren’t allowed. This was merely a test of strength, balance, and fighting spirit. After two days, Anson had the third-highest point total in camp.

The drop to the earth was high enough to smart or even injure, if the boy landed the wrong way. By the middle of the first week five recruits had been disabled with broken bones, and another seven had refused to compete after rough bouts. While the honorably wounded were treated and eventually returned to camp, the shirkers were sent into Brenlaw itself for six months duty as drudges and ditch diggers. Henceforth, their families would be taxed an extra five percent to compensate for their sons’ lack of military usefulness.

“Can you imagine that?” Jaron asked during mess one evening. The same youth who’d almost discovered Anson’s talent six years before, the two were now part of a four-recruit contingent from their home village. “An extra five percent! And that’s on top of the 30 percent in crops and profit the King collects already!”

“Keep your voice down, lad.” Conger was a strapping youth from the lowlands area nearer Brenlaw and the coast. “I know you’re all from the north, but you never know who may be listening in these parts.”

Smiling, Jaron sat back. “Are you speaking of the Demons?”

A dead silence descended on the table, everyone staring at Jaron in disbelief.

“Are you mad?” demanded Rogen, a tent-mate of Anson’s. “Don’t talk of such things!”

“Why not?” Far from acting chastened, Jaron laughed. “All the Demons care about are devils hiding in our midst, as if they aren’t children of the Dark Master themselves. I say...”

“Shut up!” Conger hissed, grabbing Jaron’s arm. “Do you want us all to be arrested? Or worse?”

“Oh, relax.” Taking another bite of steak, Jaron shrugged. “Hylen is a Royal-loving village. We don’t have any devils there. Why should I be afraid to speak of such matters?”

“Jaron.” Anson spoke calmly, yet forcefully. “Let’s change the subject.”

“I don’t know what you’re even talking about,” Conger mumbled, quickly scooping up his tray and stalking off. Several other boys quietly resumed eating, trying to pretend nothing was amiss. Giving Jaron a warning glare, Anson began a robust analysis of the pike-wielding practice held that afternoon.

But somebody must have said something. The next day, at the mid-day meal, a strange, hulking man in the red of a Royal officer sat at the end of the table, barely within listening distance of Anson’s messmates. Without question, he was a Demon. Anson could clearly sense the man’s muffled, yet potent mentally energy, which in turn tripped his own inner warning system.

Anson soon became so flustered he could barely think. Blaring panic pulsing throughout his head, Anson tried to joke with the other boys throughout lunch, desperately pretending nothing was amiss. For his part Jaron said little, occasionally casting worried, sidelong glances in the stranger’s direction.

Jaron didn’t join them for afternoon exercises. In fact, it was two weeks before he returned to camp, sullen and withdrawn, a far cry from the happy youth they’d all remembered. Obviously he’d been beaten, his face bruised and misshapen. From then onward, no one dared speculate as to the possible existence of the King’s empowered secret police.

Though occasionally sensing him in the general area, Anson never saw the Demon again during basic training. Oddly enough, he couldn’t even remember what the man looked like, his features refusing to settle within his own mind. Possibly this was the Demon’s talent, mentally confusing others as to his own appearance or location.

On reflection, Anson realized that would indeed be a very useful power for a Demon to have.

***

Halfway through boot camp, the top twenty recruits were invited to meet the King in person. Called into the Commandant’s tent the night before the coveted castle ceremony, Anson was brusquely informed he was one of the chosen few having earned the right to meet the monarch.

Clearly, the Commandant was on edge, and for good reason. Just that afternoon word reached Brenlaw of an incursion from the Outlands. Two hundred Karden bandits had reportedly attacked an outlying military post, killing a dozen soldiers and sending fifty more fleeing eastward. The Kardens had then raided a few nearby villages, burning crops and retreating back into the Outlands with hostages.

Though as stunned by the Karden onslaught as everyone else, Anson had far more immediate concerns. Entering the castle itself, in the direct presence of numerous other empowered people, was a tremendous risk. Though very skilled at muting his own mental projections, the chances of detection and capture would increase greatly within the royal palace.

But what could he do? There was no way he could refuse to see the King. Happily thanking the distracted Commandant for this tremendous honor, Anson beat a hasty retreat back to the tent.

Laying in his bunk that night, idly listening to the other boys excitedly discuss both the Karden raid and royal ceremony, Anson wondered if it was time to run. He could slip out of the tent now, steal a horse, and just ride off. By the time his tent-mates awoke in the morning and realized something was amiss, he’d have a half-day head start.

All right. And then what? He’d live some kind of indigent life, slipping from village to village, fearing arrest at every turn? Surrounded to the west and north by the Outlands and the east and south by the vast, endless ocean, there was no way to completely escape the Kingdom. Eventually he’d be caught.

But he did have advantages other people lacked. Maybe if he could travel through the Outlands, escaping Karden detection...

“What’s on the other side of the Outlands?” he suddenly demanded of his tent-mates, joining the conversation for the first time.

“What do you mean, the other side?” Conger asked. “There’s just the Outlands, that’s all.”

“But there must be something beyond them,” Anson persisted. “I mean, they can’t go on forever. Can they?”

There was a momentary pause, each boy contemplating this new and radical idea.

“Why do you care?” a boy finally asked.

“I’m just asking,” Anson mumbled.

“Well, maybe there is something beyond the Outlands. I don’t know.” Yuron was another one of his tent-mates. “But my father told me anyone who goes more than a few miles in never returns. They just disappear.”

“Yeah, we can travel a short distance into the Outlands. In large numbers,” Conger added. “Beyond that the risk of Karden ambush is too great. Yuron’s right. No scouts have ever returned. Not a single one, ever. It’s a suicide mission.”

“It’s the Dark Master. Don’t you guys know that?” yet another recruit said. “All those storms and lightning you see over there? That’s the Dark Master’s power on display. If his Kardens don’t get you, the Dark Master himself just snatches away any God-fearing man who strays too far from the Kingdom!”

A general silence greeted this remark. Religious views varied widely in camp, opinion generally split as to whether the Kardens were supernatural servants of the Dark Master, or just annoying trolls needing a good thrashing now and then.

But to Anson, one thing seemed abundantly, and depressingly, clear. Escape from the Kingdom through the Outlands wasn’t an option.

CHAPTER THREE

T
HE NEXT DAY ANSON, Conger, and eighteen other youths went to the castle. Ushered in a side entrance generally used by servants, they all waited in a small, windowless room near the Throne Hall itself for the King to see them. Uncomfortably hot in their heavy red tunics, all twenty were soon loosening collars and fidgeting with their ceremonial swords.

Yet having regained his customary confidence, Anson was the most relaxed of the group. They’d encountered no royals so far, and keeping himself hidden within the cavernous, bustling Throne Hall should be easy. Feeling almost jaunty, Anson gently chided himself for the previous evening’s panic attack.

Thus, it was something of a shock when a Demon entered the room with them.

She was a lowly drudge, with shuffling gait and old, faded clothes. Anson’s internal warning clarion shrieked out ten seconds before the door swung open, the middle-aged woman carefully peering in.

“Would it please you gentlemen if I collected the trash?” Almost mumbling, the Demon’s power pulsed strongly within the enclosed space.

“By all means.” Sighing, Conger sat back on the stone bench, ignoring the Demon. Obviously, he and the other recruits thought her a simple cleaning lady.

Trying not to physically squeeze his eyes shut, Anson desperately ramped down his own mental output as much as possible, almost gasping as the empowered woman brushed against his leg while reaching for the trash. Just as they touched, Anson felt the Demon react, as if suddenly struck by the presence of one like herself.

Slowly exhaling, Anson’s only option blazed before his mind. He had no idea what the Demon’s power was, but if he flung her aside and raced out of the castle itself...

“Gentlemen!” Bursting through the half-open door, Prince Tenen surveyed the recruits. The prince’s undisciplined mental aura drenched both Anson and the Demon, instantly blocking either one’s ability to sense the other.

“My Lord!” barked out the other recruits. Leaping to their feet, one of the boys knocked the Demon-drudge away from Anson. Hesitating only a second, Anson rose to stand beside Conger.

“Are you ready to meet your King?” the prince demanded. Also in blazing military red, the young royal seemed even more haughty than when Anson had last seen him at the burning church so long ago. “You have certainly earned such an honor with your hard work in boot camp!”

“Yes sir!” they all replied.

“You! Get out!” Tenen snarled at the Demon. “These are young warriors, the best of their class, set to meet their King!” Laughing, Tenen grabbed the drudge by the shoulder, hauling the empowered woman to her feet. “You have no business in their presence, unless you wish to personally serve them as they so richly deserve!”

Though his terror, Anson managed to laugh at the prince’s bawdy remark along with the other boys. The drudge, her face drawn into a careful mask of servitude, looked down.

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” she mumbled. “I did not know...”

“Get out!” Tenen roared.

And so saying, the royal slapped the woman on the rear, the fabric of her dirty cleaning smock erupting into flame. “I would not dream of forcing these young warriors to gift you with their fighting spirit!” Laughing, Tenen then bodily flung the Demon out the door into the passageway beyond. “They deserve much better than the likes of a dirty cleaning woman!”

A few of the boys laughed, though all were stunned at the prince’s vicious, gratuitous assault on the simple cleaning woman. For his part, Tenen appeared entirely unrepentant.

Outside the door, the Demon could be heard shrieking in pain, soon followed by a muffled curse.

“A Lady in distress!” Tenen cried out in mock concern. “By the King, my Lady, let me come assist you!” Winking, he then motioned the boys to follow him from the small room. Deliberately, Anson let the other recruits proceed him into the outer passageway.

But his caution was unnecessary. The Demon was gone, only the partially burned rags remaining on the hard, stone floor.

***

Bored, the teenage princess plucked a rose from the vase beside her. Twirled between Lydia’s fingers, the flower emanated a bright inner light, oscillating between lovely hues of pink, green, and blue.

“Show off.” Smiling, Lydia’s friend Belle appeared at the door separating the outer sitting room from the rest of her family’s individual royal residence. “Shall we go?”

“Finally!” Putting the rose back into the vase, the flower instantly returned to its natural, unlighted form. “I thought we’d never leave.”

“Well, my dear.” Giggling, Belle grabbed Lydia’s hand, leading her through the guarded outer door of the royal apartment into the castle passageway beyond. “I needed to look my finest today. After all, the new recruits are here to meet the King!”

Both 16 year olds wore sparkly dresses, their hair held back with bright ribbons. And indeed, Lydia’s couldn’t help noticing a slew of appreciative glances from the male functionaries and military personnel they passed by.

But Lydia wasn’t in the mood for her friend’s boy-crazy antics that morning. “I thought we were going down to the market!” she protested. “The wagons came in yesterday with all the new scarves from the eastern flat lands.”

“There’s plenty of time for that.” Belle stepped around an old woman shuffling down the center of the stone hallway. “But the recruits will only...” The princess paused, frowning in concentration. “Oh, Lydia! You’re needed downstairs. There’s been an accident.”

As an empowered royal, Belle received mental “flashes” from any agitated group of people watching the same thing. It was a completely passive ability, and didn’t often come into play, particularly in the castle itself. Yet if Belle thought her friend would be of use, it could only mean one thing.