The King's Scrolls

  With a shrug, he murmured, “Not much to tell yet.” The men hadn’t been in camp long enough for him to form an opinion of them. At least Josan seemed friendlier than Falcor and Leetra.

  He turned back to the group, and his gaze rested on Kyrin. She poured a cup of coffee and brought it to Timothy, who sat apart from the group as well. They still awaited word of his brother and, ever since arriving in camp, everyone’s interest had become so focused on Josan they seemed to forget all about the quiet young man with him.

  Timothy smiled at Kyrin as he accepted the cup. “Thank you.” He took a sip and shook his head. “I don’t remember the last time I had coffee.”

  “Feel free to help yourself.” She offered him a kind smile in return.

  She might not be a people person, but she was very good at stepping up to help when someone felt out of place and needed it, as Jace knew firsthand.

  Timothy thanked her once again, and Kyrin turned in Jace’s direction. She crossed the short distance between them, bringing her comforting presence with her, and took a seat beside him. “How are you?”

  He’d noticed her concerned looks every time he started coughing since they’d left Dunlow. “I’m fine.”

  Silence followed as she stared at him, her eyes both probing and skeptical. She didn’t believe his standard reply—not that he could blame her.

  “Really,” he insisted. “I’ve been much worse.”

  His lungs did hurt, but no more than after a hard run, and the coughing didn’t leave the tang of blood in his mouth like it had last spring. As long as they stayed away from town, the effects would be gone within a day.

  Kyrin’s face softened in acceptance. If she had intended to say anything more, the conversation at the fire distracted her. Jace shifted his attention to Captain Darq, who addressed Josan.

  “This is difficult to ask, but where’s your brother, Torin?”

  His expression sad, but accepting, Josan answered, “He’s gone. Has been for years.”

  “I’m sorry,” Darq murmured, and the others offered their quiet sympathies. “What happened?”

  “Mining accident. I’m afraid I’ve seen many good men perish in tunnel collapses. I nearly did myself. It took my leg, but Elôm spared my life.”

  Jace winced, his lungs growing heavier at the idea of being buried alive or crushed to death in a mine. Beside him, Kyrin rubbed her arms, and her face looked a little pale. Of course. Mines were just like caves, and to be buried in one would be the worst fate for someone with claustrophobia.

  “Why were you here in the Valley?” Talas asked, drawing them both back to the conversation. At least they’d moved on from the talk of cave-ins.

  “This is where we believed Elôm had called us.” Josan spoke with a certainty that said he still believed it. “The people here live very bleak lives. They yearn for hope, and we came to offer it. Recently, it became more necessity than choice. You’d be hard-pressed to find businesses anywhere that will hire cretes these days, except for the mines. The owners will hire anyone who’s willing to work. Like those families here, it soon became the only way we could survive.”

  “Your father deeply regrets the way things ended between you,” Darq told him. “It will grieve him to learn of your hardships.”

  Josan shook his head. “Then I hope to put his mind at rest. Our hardships were not of his making, but the will of Elôm.”

  His words settled in Jace’s mind, and he contemplated his own hardships. If only he could be as confident as the crete. It was hard to be so accepting when he’d known such evil in his life. He still struggled to find Elôm’s purpose in it.

  “We heard you had a complete collection of the King’s Scrolls,” Darq said, and Jace pushed his thoughts aside so he could concentrate on the matter at hand. “Do you still have possession of them?”

  “I have the copies.” Josan motioned across the fire. Timothy rose and pulled the strap of a worn leather satchel from his shoulder, and brought it to the crete. Josan opened the flap to let them all see the scrolls nestled inside. “Unfortunately, they’ve never been completed. This is less than half of what’s contained in the originals.”

  “What happened to the originals?”

  “I hid them.” Josan closed the satchel and handed it back to Timothy, who hung onto it as if it contained a priceless treasure. “A few years ago, when we began to sense things changing and the danger growing, I believed it too great a risk to keep them in our possession where they might be discovered and destroyed. So I made arrangements with a traveling merchant who is an old friend of mine to have them hidden where the emperor would never think to look.”

  “And where’s that?” Darq asked, voicing the question in everyone’s curious expressions.

  Josan’s eyes roamed the group, but he hesitated to speak.

  “Do not fear,” Darq assured him. “Each person here has been carefully selected. The location will be safe with them.”

  Jace glanced at Kyrin. Good to know Darq had such high confidence in all of them.

  After another moment, Josan nodded. “The Scrolls are hidden in Auréa Palace.”

  For nearly a full minute, the only sound was the crackling of the logs in the fire.

  Echoing everyone’s shock, Darq repeated incredulously, “The Scrolls are hidden in Auréa Palace?”

  “Right under the emperor’s nose.” Josan smiled a little at their expressions. “I disguised them as crete family histories. No sane Arcacian would ever look at them.”

  Darq released a light chuckle. “Clever.” However, his mirth faded. “But it does present a problem if we were to try to reclaim them.”

  More like an impossibility, in Jace’s opinion. None of them would be able to enter the palace. Even if the emperor didn’t know them, the danger would be far too great. Still, the determination on Darq’s face, as well as several others’, disagreed.

  At the faint clacking of pebbles in the rocks below camp, Jace’s attention snapped to Glynn, who stood on watch. The crete looked toward the sound and then turned back to wave an all clear. A few moments later, Trask and the others appeared. Timothy jumped up to meet them, his eyes hopeful, but then his expression fell. His brother wasn’t with them.

  “You didn’t find him?”

  Trask grimaced, regret shadowing his eyes. “I’m sorry, but we believe he’s been taken prisoner. We saw a group of soldiers leading a man matching his description to a small cottage outside of town. Your cottage, we think.”

  Timothy hung his head. “Is there any way we can reach him?”

  “I don’t know. It looks like the whole unit is setting up camp around there. It would be risky to get too close.”

  Josan came up behind Timothy and grasped his shoulder. He looked at Trask, and then Darq. “There must be something we can do.”

  Darq’s intense eyes shifted to his lieutenant. “Glynn, once it gets dark, take Talas and Falcor to see what it looks like.” To Timothy and Josan, he said, “We’ll do what we can.”

  The rope dug painfully into Aaron’s wrists as it jerked tighter. He ground his teeth, glaring at the soldiers, who had no concern for his comfort or his injuries. His bruised and strained muscles ached, but the open gash in his shoulder throbbed most fiercely as it oozed and bled down his sleeve. So much for civility and the soldiers simply wanting to talk.

  Once the knots were so tight he had no hope of working them loose, the soldiers sat him down hard in a chair they’d pulled away from the table. Despite the futility of it, he tugged against the ropes. Though he, Timothy, and Josan had abandoned the cottage, it was still home, and he longed to throw these men out of it.

  The soldiers shoved the table to the side to make room in front of him. They came to attention when Marcus and another, older, man stepped inside. A third man lingered at the door, with a look of hesitation. He briefly caught Aaron’s gaze before the captain came forward. Aaron leaned back in his chair to stare up at him.

  “You could have made this ea
sier for yourself,” Marcus said, his sincerity almost believable.

  Aaron smirked. “Somehow I think I would’ve been sitting here just the same either way.”

  “We’re not your enemies.”

  “No?”

  “No,” Marcus replied firmly. “We’re trying to gain the truth, that’s all. We just want your cooperation. Answer my questions truthfully, and I’ll see about your release.”

  Aaron snorted. He didn’t believe that for a second. They’d haul him off to Valcré and that would be it.

  “Why were you running?” Marcus asked, maintaining his calm and collected manner.

  “I told you, you questioned my brother and were coming to question the man who has taken care of us for years. Your intentions seemed hostile, so we left.”

  “We’re not hostile. We came only to ask questions. Now, just tell us where your brother and the crete went, and we can get this straightened out.”

  “No.”

  Marcus sighed, but even Aaron had to admit he was remarkably patient. “Why not?”

  “Because, Captain, I don’t trust you or your men.”

  “The only reason you would have to fear us is if you were an enemy of the emperor and Arcacia.”

  “I’m no enemy of Arcacia,” Aaron ground out. Half crete or not, he’d been born here. He was every bit as Arcacian as these soldiers. Despite how his opinion of the country’s officials was rapidly sinking, he had nothing against the country itself.

  However, Marcus’s eyes narrowed at his lack of mentioning the emperor, his diplomatic tone becoming very businesslike. “Do you know Taan?”

  “No.”

  Marcus’s jaw shifted as he studied him. Then he asked, “Do you believe in Aertus and Vilai?”

  Aaron hesitated, but let a slight smirk grow again. “Sure, I believe the moons exist. They’re right there in the sky every night.”

  Marcus’s eyes slid closed as if in exasperation, and he shook his head. “I’m talking about the gods. Do you believe in them?”

  Aaron’s heart gave a hard thud against his ribcage in the short silence that followed. Still holding the captain’s gaze, he answered coolly, “No.”

  Something flickered in Marcus’s eyes. Disappointment, maybe? But his expression hardened again. “So you’re a follower of Elôm?”

  Aaron sat up straight in his chair and nodded firmly. “I am.”

  The man beside Marcus let out a menacing grumble and fingered his sword. Had he the chance, he probably would have performed an execution right there.

  “Then you’re an enemy and traitor to both your emperor and Arcacia,” Marcus said, his tone bearing the smallest hint of regret. “And, as we’ve already established, that’s a crime punishable by death.”

  Aaron did not waver. “So be it.”

  Marcus gave his head a shake and frowned down at the floor as if in thought. When he did look at Aaron again, his eyes held a plea that proved he wasn’t as anxious for blood as the man at his side. “Perhaps I can find a way to lighten your sentence if you tell me where your brother and the crete are.”

  Aaron released a hard laugh, but he let his voice go ice-cold. “You really think I’d give them up for a chance to save my own life?”

  A slow sigh slipped out of Marcus.

  “Let me question him, Captain,” the other man cut in, his voice edged with a growl. “I can get him to talk.”

  Marcus’s lips tightened in a grim line. Indecision warred in his eyes. Reluctance followed, but he nodded to the man, who wore an ugly sneer on his bearded face. “See what you can find out.”

  He turned and walked toward the door where the other soldier stopped him.

  “Are you sure about this?” He spoke quietly, but not enough to keep Aaron from catching the uncertain waver in his voice.

  “We need the information. That’s why we’re here,” Marcus replied, almost as if convincing himself as much as the other man.

  Aaron watched the exchange. They were brothers. He could tell.

  Marcus put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and nodded out the door, but before they could leave, Aaron spoke. “Captain.”

  Both sets of brown eyes landed on him. He nodded at the other soldier. “Would you give him up if you were in my place?”

  A grimace flitted across Marcus’s face. He did not speak, but Aaron read the answer in his expression—an unequivocal no.

  Liam trailed after his brother as they passed through groups of men, who were in the process of setting up tents around the cottage. He avoided confrontation at all cost, but something burned inside him that he couldn’t just ignore this time. He didn’t know what to do with it just yet but, as much as it frightened him, much of what their prisoner had said made sense.

  “Marcus.”

  His brother did not check his stride. He tried again, more forcefully this time. Marcus spun around to face him, but his eyes lacked their usual softening toward him. Though he spoke calmly, his stance was rigid, and an underlying air of frustration leaked out.

  “What?”

  Liam hunched his shoulders. Though taller than his brother, he sure didn’t feel like it. His tongue turned to wood in rebellion against the thoughts rolling about in his mind. He could back down—just fade again into the background where he was most comfortable, and let things be—things he had no control over anyway. But he couldn’t do it. Not this time. Forcing his back straight and his tongue to work, he pushed forward.

  “Is this really necessary? Torturing a man?” Just saying it left him sick. Marcus had never given such an order before. That bothered him more than anything.

  Marcus put his fists on his hips. “He’s a traitor and has information we need to find the others who are, no doubt, traitors as well. He may say he doesn’t know Taan, but I strongly suspect the crete they lived with is the man we were sent here to find. How else do you expect me to find him?”

  “Do we really need him?” Liam blurted out before he could second-guess himself. “Why is it so important? What harm could he really cause? If—”

  “Liam.” The tone was much sharper than Marcus usually used with him, and his stomach bunched. His brother went on in the same firm voice, but concern grew in his eyes. “They’re spreading lies. The same lies that nearly got Kyrin and Kaden killed, and still may. We must stop this before it gets out of hand. One person with a voice people will listen to can cause more damage than you think.”

  What if they’re not lies? The question rang loud and clear in Liam’s mind, daring to be spoken. But fear of the consequences kept it trapped behind his lips. He swallowed the words and instead said, “I just don’t want you doing something you’ll regret.”

  Marcus’s jaw clenched, and he stepped closer. His voice dropped to match his deathly serious expression. “My decisions are not open for discussion, nor is it your place to question them.”

  Liam felt the sting of these words like a slap to the face. Before he could scramble together a reply, Marcus continued, this time with a deep plea in his voice.

  “Do not question me in front of the men . . . or I’ll have to take disciplinary actions. Please, don’t make me do that.” He grimaced in obvious distaste over the prospect. His voice lowered even further. “You do not want word of this to get back to the General.”

  Numbing cold flooded Liam’s system. Their grandfather knew precisely how to make his life a living hell. He’d suffered under his demeaning and demoralizing punishments for years as the General tried to transform him into a respectable soldier. Liam couldn’t imagine what might be in store for him should this get out. He swallowed against the pressure that had built up in his throat, and lost all will to utter another word.

  The hooves of the five horses clacked loudly in the crisp, quiet evening and echoed between the mountains. William Altair looked up at the darkening sky. The stars would soon show. His eyes dropped, and he was glad of the not-too-distant lights in Dunlow. The narrow, rocky road would grow treacherous once full darkness set
in. He focused on the campfires casting an orange glow to the northeast, and then urged his horse into a trot. He and the handful of men who had accompanied him had been in the saddle all day, and he was ready to stretch his legs and get some food in his stomach.

  Ten minutes later, they rode into camp. The men along the way saluted him with their fists to their hearts, and he nodded to them. He looked ahead for where Marcus had set up his headquarters and spotted it near a small cottage. He’d nearly reached it when a soldier ducked out of a tent nearby.

  “Father!”

  He reined his horse to a halt and smiled as Liam approached. However, his smile faded upon seeing the overwhelming relief on his son’s face—the same sort of relief he’d seen other times when he intervened in one of the General’s unreasonable demands for Liam. William dismounted and turned to dismiss his men to find food and shelter for the night.

  “What are you doing here?” Liam asked as soon as he faced him again.

  “The General thought my time would be best spent aiding you and Marcus in your search.” Actually, William had hinted at it first. He truly hated to sabotage his son’s mission, but if the man they sought was influential enough for the emperor to send a company of men after him, then it was important to keep him alive and out of the emperor’s hands. “So, what news do you have for me?”

  Liam’s face fell. “Marcus caught a man trying to escape town today. He believes he acted as a decoy. His brother and a crete man got away.” Clear guilt flashed across his face as he gulped, and William suspected there was more behind those last words. Liam glanced at the men nearby and dropped his voice to a low, but desperate, murmur. “You have to do something. They’ve been questioning him to find out where the other two went.”