The Young Shall Inherit: Aerolan Saga: Book 1

  ********************

  Rab'k lay in his tent, remembering the great steppes of his youth. He remembered his own disappointment after Baalsa'n's decision he should go to the South and attend the university at Tariny.

  He thought about the promises given him. The promise he would become leader of the tribe when the elders and the gods felt he was ready.

  He had wanted to stay in his beloved land but he had to obey. He had gone to the university and learned little except how pathetic most of the people of the South were.

  But, as Baalsa'n had suggested, being diligent in his studies and excelling without effort had led him to certain peoples' attention, some of them very important in this culture.

  Most were men of money, owning vast lands, properties, and commercial endeavors. These men were always looking for strong people to attend to their affairs.

  Rab'k could still remember the first time he met Garv’n. The man wasn't a very impressive man, but he was a man of great business cunning and in control of all around him.

  Garv’n liked Rab'k's willfulness he noticed during one of the early discussions and offered to place him in charge of Garv'n's empire as caretaker.

  Garv’n was looking for someone to take the care of the daily dealings with others. He wanted to pursue other interests and felt he needed someone to ensure him his empire would stay in tact and flourish. He asked Rab'k if he would take those tasks.

  Rab'k accepted. This decision was an opportunity that pleased him. He, by proxy, was given control over all within his grasp. He often worked in the guise of a man of means; traveling with the ships to other lands; though discovering those cultures and beliefs took some of his time which he thought a waste. He had rare opportunities to meet with Garv’n.

  Riding about the land and making "business deals" became his specialty - he never failed. His contempt for these people allowed him to have no awareness of wrongdoing.

  Only on those occasions when he traveled with the ships to his homeland was he different, wanting to roam the harbors. He was friendly with those he met, talking in the languages of his youth. Only then did he feel at home and comfortable. Getting back on the ship and leaving only made him more bitter each time.

  Tonight though, Rab'k lay awake amazed this opportunity had fallen into his lap unexpectedly

  The Ahar'n. With that I can return to my home as a hero.

  He tossed about for a while unable to sleep because of the excitement of what lay before him. He made plans to achieve these ends he wanted, knowing success was easy if the plan was carried out methodically. Baalsa'n would be pleased.

  The morning came softly but soon men were noisily breaking the camp. Rab'k and Jond'r sat on their horses silently watching the proceedings.

  As soon as they were ready, Rab'k turned his horse away. He and the group left the camp behind and rode toward Varspree at a fast pace while the wagons lumbered along behind.

  Rab'k had business in Varspree he needed to complete so he wanted to go there while the rest proceeded northward. He knew there would be ample time to catch the wagons later. When they arrived at the fork for the road to Valhonal, he halted the procession.

  "Take the men and wagons and hold them just before your reach Coma't. I have some business in Varspree and I will return later this evening. Find a campsite at dusk and you should be easy to catch," he commanded.

  Spinning his horse about, he rode toward Varspree. The troop and wagons turned northward and traveled slowly along the Valhonal road.

  Rab'k had no time to wait. His was an urgent mission. He intended to discover certain information in town. He assumed Garv’n's men would be visiting there and possibly provide him with information he could use.

  He arrived after a few hours riding. He slowed when he reached the outskirts and rode quietly down a back street on the north of the city. He rode deliberately to a certain bar, the Queen's Ransom, and walked his horse slowly behind the building.

  He stopped, sitting in the dark and listening. His eyes glinting in the moonlight, he watched for any activity. After a while he grinned, stepped down from his horse, letting the reins drop to the ground. The horse would wait.

  Entering the bar through the rear door, he took a seat near the back of the room. Wrapping his long robe about himself to conceal the black uniform he always wore. He waited for some event to lead him to a source who could tell him what he needed to know.

  Several men milled about drinking their ale, talking loudly and picking at the women who hung on them, trying to encourage a little business. The air was smoky and smelled of the ale spilled about as the drunks talked and jostled each other.

  Rab'k was looking for certain men in the crowd and they weren't here as yet, so he waited patiently. One of the barmaids started toward him, but he shook his head at her without speaking and she left him alone.

  Suddenly the door opened with a flourish and several men in uniform came bursting into the room, pushing others aside as they strode to the bar and ordered drinks.

  "Barkeep, we need ale. We must ride hard tomorrow," one of the men commanded, "We need a little brew and some women tonight before we ride into the dark mountains."

  Rab'k knew these men; their uniforms revealed what he had hoped would be true. They were Garv’n's; they had obviously been riding slowly trying to draw no attention on the road.

  Now, of course, the fools were announcing their intentions to everyone else in this hovel.

  Rab'k waited.

  As the evening wore on, Garv’n's men began staggering out of the bar. Rab'k sat until the last man had departed, got up and left the room out the rear entrance, circling through the back alleys until he arrived at a back street hotel where he knew these men were going.

  He stood and waited for them in the alley beside the building they would have to pass. He watched them teeter by. Having counted their numbers in the bar, he knew how many there were, reached out and snatched the last straggler into the alley with him.

  "Whats do you thinks yous doing?" the soldier asked, slurring his words, "I'm one of Garv’n's soldiers and you hadj better be careful." Rab'k smacked him across the face viciously then waited as the soldier began to cry.

  "I need to know who has the map," Rab'k spoke low and harshly, holding the man face close to his own and growling directly into the man's ear.

  "What maph?" The soldier was having difficulty concentrating, but he had already begun to shake in fear. "I don't know noshing about no map." Rab'k slapped him again.

  "Wait, wait," the soldier begged. "Sergeant Vil'n has the papers the Garv’n gives him."

  "I'm not an idiot, boy. The sergeant wouldn't have them on his person,” Rab’k growled at the man.

  "I . . . I don't know," the soldier answered, beginning to sober now, "I don't know."

  Rab'k reached down and took the man's knife from his belt, raised the man's hand above his head, and held the knife to his forefinger. "What did you say," Rab'k was placing emphasis on each word, "tell me now or you lose this finger."

  The soldier knew now there would be no mercy from this man. "By the gods, I don't know," he stammered out, trying not to cry now though just barely able to stand.

  Rab'k sliced off the finger about halfway from the top and caught the tip as it fell. The soldier tried to scream, but couldn't because Rab'k held his throat in his massive hand.

  Rab'k moved to the side and, for the first time, the soldier recognized who his assailant was.

  "You worthless idiot, tell me who has the map," Rab'k had exhausted his patience, tightening his grip on the soldier's neck, "and maybe I'll let you live."

  The soldier nodded his head, grasping desperately at the Rab'k's wrist. Rab'k let him go and he dropped to the ground.

  The soldier lay gasping for breath, but Rab'k was impatient. "Tell me, who has the papers," he snapped at the man, his voice low but containing violence, "tell me now."

  The soldier coul
d make sounds for he was crying again. "My lord, Rab'k, I have done nothing wrong," he sobbed, not knowing what to do.

  "You will tell me who carries the pouch," Rab'k was emphatic, grabbing the man by his clothing, standing him upright, "now!"

  "It is Farns. Sergeant Vil'n's second. He has the papers," the soldier answered, sighing.

  "What room is he in?" Rab'k spat this out, irritated with this stupid game.

  "Top floor. Next to the Sergeant's," the boy mumbled. Rab'k sneered at him, turned his hand only slightly. The boy died in the next instant, his neck snapped. He fell softly to the ground, not knowing he had died.

  Rab'k looked at the dead man. "Fool," he said, turned and walked from the alley.

  As he turned the corner, he almost ran into an old beggar who was stumping along the street moaning, "Alms for the poor. Alms for the poor."

  Rab'k grinned and dropped the soldier's severed finger into the beggar's cup and walked into the night.

  VORAVIA