The Source Chronicles - Seeker
© 2006 M.J. Blehart
Chapter 5
No matter the weather, his duty was never-changing.
When he had first been chosen by his predecessor to become the Baron-Administrator, he had been deeply honored. He was, after all, one of only fifteen in all the city.
Years later, he still wondered if in fact the old man had been punishing him for some long-forgotten slight.
Tonight it was pouring rain.
He walked along with a pair of constables in tow, his usual rounds. His cloak was drawn tightly around him, to ward off the wet and slight chill. He was starting to find inclement weather such as this more and more bothersome as he aged.
The trio reached their destination, a street corner, and the tall encased lantern there.
The Baron-Administrator stepped up to the lantern’s post, while his constable guards kept watch, to be sure none interrupted his duty.
He shook his left wrist, let the chain fall loose, a key on its end. He took hold of the key, and reached for the lock on the lantern post.
He turned the key in the lock, and heard it click. Pulling at it, he heard the small compartment door squeak open, long in need of lubrication. Something else he would have to attend to someday soon, lest it interfere with his duty.
He could nearly perform this activity with his eyes closed, now. He reached to the holster at his right hip, and withdrew the long firestick.
He shifted his weight, and reached the firestick into the compartment with his right hand. He felt the trigger on its top with his thumb, and began to roll it back and forth. In a moment, the tip ignited into a small flame.
With his left hand, he reached into the compartment. Before him was a small circular hole and a fist-sized knob above it. He reached the glowing firestick into the hole with his right, and with his left hand turned the knob clockwise.
As per usual, he heard the whoosh sound of the flame catching, and spreading across the circuit.
He glanced up to the lamp above him, and watched as it began to glow. He turned his head right to look down the street, and watched as each subsequent lantern ignited along the avenue, one by one.
He released the trigger of his firestick, and withdrew it from the compartment. With a despondent squeal, he closed the small door, and turned the key until it again clicked. He removed it from the lock, and shook his wrist to allow the chain to slide up his sleeve.
He had let his hood fall back some when he’d checked the lanterns, and reached up now to adjust it to fully cover his head and face.
The Baron-Administrator sighed audibly, and gestured to his escorting constables. Every night he lit the lanterns, extinguishing them just as unceremoniously every morning. He would go from street to street, until all the lamps in his district had been lit.
This so-called ‘great honor’ became more and more burdensome as they years wore on. Not for the first time, he debated just whom he should ‘honor’ with it next.
******
Dak guided them, his torch providing the only light in this tunnel.
The passage was dark and narrow, the mounts devoid of torches. It was dusty, though occasionally water would drop from the ceiling, leaking from small cracks in the aqueduct above. It smelled of disuse, mildew, mold, and damp clay; not unpleasant, but certainly not inviting, either.
Lyrra-Sharron followed close behind him. She had draped over herself a large but non-descript brown cloak, the hood up. She had severely tied back her curly hair. She carried a bundle over her shoulders, where her rapier was hidden. She was armed only with several knives, and wore a plain dress over her armor.
Next came three of her Raiders, and the two minor merchants from Gara-Sharron, who had met them at the rendezvous point. Each was a firm supporter, having been suppliers of torches, sacks, barrels and other necessities for her bases.
Bringing up the rear were Andim Noros and Kallan Val-Sharron. Dak had been very adamant that she must have personal guards along, and these two were the logical choice.
She had left one of her most loyal soldiers, Nadav Rivarr, in command. He was rather young, a long acquaintance and son of a nobleman. Nadav had spent a year on the road, and caught up her when he’d returned. Thus far he had shown wisdom and experience belying his years, and she wanted to see how well he could manage in her absence. She could always use another trusted second.
As they continued along the passage, her mind drifted some. She recalled how they had come to be known as the Falcon Raiders.
Lyrra-Sharron had not named them, but her original second had suggested they always leave behind a calling card. It was a small favor with the soaring silver falcon on a black field. It had been her late brother’s arms.
The Falcon Raiders had been making a mockery of the army all over the land, and had made enough of a name for themselves to keep every merchant and common brigand throughout the kingdom on guard.
She took a moment to think about her men. Almost all men, she reminded herself, remembering five women in particular. Those five had been the wives of soldiers, but were now the widows of soldiers.
They came from all walks of life. Sailors, merchants, ex-soldiers, criminals, peasants, even a few noblemen, like Nadav Rivarr. They weren’t accepted into their ranks and just sent out on raids and patrols, either. Every man and woman of the Falcon Raiders had spent time being trained in the use of multiple weapons, and hours were devoted daily for drilling and practice bouts. They were well armed and well skilled.
Getting them to join often took very little. Small bribes sometimes, veiled threats, the occasional indecent proposal, but most often it was the story of the simple truths she had learned. Lyrra-Sharron had a purpose and a goal, and nothing would stop her from achieving her objective.
Her mind returned to the passageway as Dak stopped. Lyrra-Sharron held up her hand to halt and silence the others. He passed her the torch, then drew a long dagger. He slowly pushed open the service door, then stepped out.
She waited. This always made her nervous. Moments later, he came back in, nodding his head to affirm it was safe.
He strode out again. She passed back the torch, then did the same.
One by one, they left the service passage, walking into a narrow alley. Dak still had his knife drawn, and looked apprehensive. Andim was the last to come out, leaving the torch inside. Some light came into the alley from the windows above. The rain continued, but was not as heavy as it had been.
Lyrra-Sharron had not been inside the capital city of the Kingdom since she had struck out from it two years ago. The alley stank of rotted foodstuffs and other garbage, but the rain that reached them did cleanse things somewhat.
Everything was more or less as she remembered it.
The merchants came forward. “Are we ready to proceed?” asked one with obvious apprehension.
She ignored his discomfort, and gave an affirmative gesture. “Lead on, my lords.”
Kurr Vangam and Max Parcall showed the way, moving east towards the street. They pulled their cloaks more tightly about them. The rest followed in small clusters, close enough to not lose one another, but distant enough to not seem like a single group.
The party came to the nearest street, which was lit by tall, encased lanterns. Small pipes ran underground in most of the city, and at night oil would be channeled through. Each district of the city had a noble overseer, who would be sure at sunset to ignite the lanterns. It was a very efficient way to keep the city out of the dark.
The capital was new. Gara-Sharron had only been built two hundred years ago by King Gara-Loros Anduin. Its predecessor, also in this place, had been invaded and demolished by the King of Medaelia.
It had been a bloody war, and was the result of several smaller houses taking up arms against the King, which the Medaelians took advantage of. Gara-Loros, after the burning of the capital, was finally able to convince the nobles to cease their petty war, and with their renewed support led an army into Medaelia, capturing its capital, Penkira.
A treaty eventually had been worked out, after months of negotiations. Gara-Loros withdrew his troops, taking with him an eighth of his eastern neighbor’s territory, and the title Second Prince of Medaelia.
He had gone on to spend the rest of his life overseeing the reconstruction of the capital, and after his death it was named for him.
Gara-Sharron was laid out more-or-less along a grid. It was circular and walled, split by several small canals that ran throughout. Recognizing that these canals could not be kept clean, potable water was brought into the city via aqueduct from mountains in the north and west. Gara-Sharron was divided into fifteen districts, each overseen by a Baron-Administrator. Order was maintained by Royal Guardsmen, Sharron Army soldiers, and an independent Constabulary.
To the west, the circle was broken. The municipality was on uneven terrain, and the west end backed up against the beginning of the western mountain range. Rising above the capital itself stood the royal palace, a small city within. Separately walled, the palace was virtually impregnable. But then, no army had made it very far within the borders of the Kingdom of Sharron proper since the time of King Gara-Loros Anduin.
The northern district, Gara-North, was almost entirely residences. Industry labored in the south, making armor and weapons for the military, carving stone and preparing wood for construction, turning wheat into flour, and so forth. Merchants sold their wares all over the metropolis, but were centered around the markets in the East and Center. The Bureaucracy, aristocracy, and courts were in the West, near the palace.
It was only about two hours past sunset, the merchants and laborers were returning home to families and supper. At this time of night, most guards were centered on the labor areas, where they could keep an eye on things as the various businesses were closed for the night. In a few hours, they’d shift back here, to protect the sleeping citizens. This was the safest time to go about the community unnoticed.
As they moved away from the outer wall, Lyrra-Sharron noticed the quality of the buildings increasing. They were coming into a better neighborhood. She was not really concerned, but if anyone recognized her, they would have to flee.
The merchants paused at a street corner, and Dak signaled the others to wait. Lyrra-Sharron moved up beside him, taking his hand. She noted that he seemed almost to freeze up, for the briefest instant, but then was himself again. She decided it was probably her imagination.
The merchants went first. After counting silently to twelve, Dak and Lyrra-Sharron went forward. Counting to seven in her head, Lyrra-Sharron could hear bootsteps as Andim and Kallan came up as well. The others would all be separated as individuals, and a few minutes behind.
As they traveled down the street, a group of three deputy constables were at the corner, mounted. They were chatting quietly, all with identical grey jackets and breeches. Each had a sash across the left shoulder, two dark red and one blue, all with a silver five-pointed star, the device of the constabulary.
“This sword I began to fashion today was incredible,” Dak began as they were walking. “This is probably going to be the finest weapon I have ever crafted. I believe we already have a dozen buyers lined up, so the bidding should really elevate the price.”
Lyrra-Sharron nodded her head casually at Dak’s chatter, though she found it hard not to smile, as this was the most she had ever heard him speak. As they strode a few yards away from the constables, she identified two Second-Deputies and a Gara-North District First Deputy. They appeared to be paying no attention at all to the cloaked figures passing by, the hoods of their own dark grey cloaks pulled up.
If they did look, all they would note was a pair of merchants quietly heading home, and following them a couple, a craftsman and his lady, talking quietly. To the rear of them, a pair of men casually walking and joking around, probably father and son.
As they strode down several more blocks, they encountered only a couple more constables, and no soldiers or Guardsman. Finally, Kurr and Max entered a large house with a painted sign indicated Kurr’s business before it. Lyrra-Sharron and Dak walked around the block, then down the alley. The door was open, and light poured out. Checking first down one way, then the other, Dak and Lyrra-Sharron walked in.
Kurr and Max were hanging cloaks on pegs by the door, a large cooking fire roaring in the fireplace, warming the room. This time of year, the rain was cold, and chilled the air. Several pots hung over the fire, no doubt tea and coffee, and a small cauldron with a pleasant smelling vegetable stew. Dak and Lyrra-Sharron removed their cloaks, placing them on the pegs.
There were several others in the room around a table, two women, the merchants’ wives, and three other men. Their contacts in the city of Gara-Sharron.
“My lords. Thank you,” Lyrra-Sharron said, taking the seat offered her by Kurr. Max and Dak took seats as well, Kurr joining them. One of the women stood, getting a pot and pouring an herbal tea for everyone.
“I shall explain everything when the others arrive. How long till we have everyone here?”
Max checked the clock over the fireplace. Timepieces were expensive and rather rare things. Lyrra-Sharron had almost forgotten about them in her two years out in the country.
“A couple hours. The party was called for nine. We’ll even have our friends, the constables, outside guarding the place. Invitation only, you know. We’re known for throwing private parties, celebrating holidays, extremely good business, hangings, that sort of thing. We’ll have no trouble getting everything into place.”
A short, wiry man Lyrra-Sharron had not noticed before opened the door to the alley, and Andim and Kallan came in.
“That was easy enough,” said Kallan, smiling brightly has he removed his cloak.
Andim made a low noise in his throat. “Getting in isn’t the problem. It’s getting out that’ll be tricky.”
“Will we have everything in place?” Lyrra-Sharron asked, as she accepted a bowl of stew proffered to her.
“I believe so,” Dak replied. “But I am still concerned that this will risk over half our contacts in the city.”
“If we get the Sorcerer, it will be worth it. And even if we do not, the embarrassment we shall cause the King will not be something easily shaken.” She grinned at the lady who had passed her the food. “Thank you, my lady, this stew is wonderful.”
The merchant’s wife made a quick curtsy, blushing. She quickly laid out bowls and spoons for everyone else, serving all. Lyrra-Sharron waited until the others were eating before continuing herself.
“You do realize, that if you get caught in Gara-Sharron, our plans will all be for nothing,” stated Dak, picking up the same argument he’d begun in Tarmollo.
She glanced towards him thoughtfully. “Fair enough. If I am caught, I have failed. But if I succeed here, we finally turn these plans into actions. I know what a risk this is. But it is all for naught if we do not act. It had to happen sooner or later.”
“I would have preferred later,” Dak muttered.
“We are all with you, my Lady,” Kurr murmured, chewing on a fingernail fretfully.
Most of the others around the table indicated their assent.
Lyrra-Sharron observed them. Her soldiers. Following her because they believed in her and what she stood for. It was not an easy burden to carry sometimes.
“I would not let you down. Not a one of you.” Lyrra-Sharron turned to the lady of the house. “Now then, I believe, Lady Areiana, that you have a wig for me? Let us fit it before the party begins. We have a lot of plans to set in motion. Time is short. Let us get this right the first time.”
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6