A Season of Kings: The Tales of Reagul, #1

NOVELS

INNOCENT UNTIL PROVEN GUITY

LEADER OF THE LOSERS

DESTINY

ABSENT WITHOUT LEAVE (AWOL)

DEADLY DECEPTIONS

THOMPSON’S BOUNTY: A SHIP OUT OF TIME

THE AMERIAD

THE TEDDY BEAR CONSPIRACY

SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS

DARKENED PASSAGES

POETRY

LICENSE TO QUILL

SHORT STORIES & NOVELLAS

BETWEEN A LAUGH AND A SCREAM

ALL ROADS LEAD TO PINE BUSH

BURIED MEMORIES

MAPPING THE SILENCE OF DREAMS

THE SHADOW PEOPLE

THE BEAST OF BEGMIRE (A REAGUL STORY)

NONFICTION

NEO REVOLUTIONARY MESSAGES

A Season of Kings-TITLE PAGE

The character and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Text copyright 2014 © Duane Gundrum

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express permission of the copyright holder.

PROLOGUE

It was one of those nights, when the moons of Reagul crisscrossed the sky and illuminated the darkness with shadows and glowing pockets of creeping dimness, only to be replaced by the night’s complete darkness.  It was one of those nights where an overtaxed Sarbonn crept into the room of his apprentices, checking on them much like a father would to his protected children.  This time, it was Walner who was awake, tossing and turning, but giving off a faint sense of relief to see the overseer appear.  Father, he said, even though Sarbonn often felt the use of that word from this child was more a token of perceived acceptance than it was a token of esteem and believing the word to convey the meaning others across the land may have used when invoking it.  When did you know you were coming to this land?

Sarbonn noticed that Chandlin was awake as well, and because both students were equally awake, he also knew that some parlor trick of magic wasn’t going to cause them to avoid pursuing some type of answer from him.  So, as he had come to realize over the years, sometimes you just had to answer the question.

I would like to say that I knew when the rest of them knew, he said, but as you already suspect, that was not the case.

He had the attentions of both of his students now.

The first time I was aware something was amiss came years before when I was a young man, he said.  He managed to allow himself a bit of a guffaw, as the two students gave him that puzzled look on their faces.  Yes, I was young like you two once before.  I wasn’t always the renowned wizard of Reagul.

They let him continue.

When I was your age, I spent a lot of time with my distant cousin, Aula.  He thought to himself for a moment.  Things were much different back then.  In that neck of the world, she and I were to be married one day.  I know what you’re thinking, but she was so far removed from our line that I couldn’t even tell you what number cousin she probably was, and the only reason I knew she was one was that we shared the same crest name in common.  The decisions to marry back then were often decided by the families, and ours had made that decision before the two of us were even old enough to acknowledge one another.

He lit his pipe and continued.  This was many years before the great events that brought us all to this land.  There was much war and killing back then.  I never really knew what the battles were about, although my parents did remain knowledgeable about such things, even though they could do nothing to influence things.  I’ve often thought since then that they wasted their time, as nothing they did made a difference, so paying attention was probably a waste of energy and more stress on them than they should have ever sought out in such circumstances.  To make matters worse, their attention to detail probably was what got them killed when it never should have, but that’s a different story for another time.  You were asking about when I first knew I was coming to this land.

Chandlin couldn’t resist interrupting.  Father, tell us about your parents.  Were they wizards like you?

He laughed.  Of course not.  They were simple peasants, doing the things that people like that tend to do.  You’ve seen it in the villagers near here.  They grow food, they tan hides, they fish, they dream, and they sometimes push themselves to do more than they should ever attempt.  But mostly, they live very simple, unimportant lives.  My parents were that type of peasant family. They never did anything that made an impact on anyone but in simple family circles.  But what you have to understand is that sometimes it’s better that way.  Not everyone needs to be the hero of a saga, the wizard of the realm or the knight who gets the lady.  The world needs, and gets, simple people.

His eyes turned to the window, an inner feeling reminding him that he needed to pull the shade to make sure the morning light did not wake the children.  At that time, I was becoming quite the hunter.  I found small game out near where we lived, and sometimes I would go out for hours, seeking out something to kill or snare.  It was during this time that I saw him for the first time.

Walner’s eyes opened wide.  Who, Father?

The ranger, he said.  I would see him many times after that, and I would never speak to him until so many years later, but while I was out tracking a pheasant, I saw him out there, watching me.  He wasn’t hunting like I was.  He was just out there, watching.

What did he look like? said Chandlin.

Dark, said Sarbonn.  He dressed in all black, had a cloak around his head, and he moved amongst the trees, almost as if he was one of them.  I only noticed him because my eyes were focused on trying to find moving objects against the wood line.  The first time I saw him, he just stopped and stared.  He was far enough away that I couldn’t speak to him, but it was obvious that once I had seen him, somehow a line had been crossed.

What happened? said Walner.

I wandered over to where I saw him, and he was gone.  The next few times I saw him, he was always just far enough away from me that I couldn’t reach him, and whenever I tried, he was gone like a wisp of smoke.

You said you spoke to him, said Chandlin.  What would a man like that say to you?

"Like I said, it was years later.  I was chasing some animal through the woods, and there he was, except he was so close that there was no way he could disappear without me disappearing with him.  Or at least that’s how it felt.  So, I turned to him and asked him what he wanted.  He just smiled and said that I had a great destiny before me, and he was watching to make sure if I was the one.  He didn’t tell me what that meant, but he did say that he was now convinced that I was the one he was looking for.  I saw him a few times more after that, but always far enough away that I couldn’t speak with him again. The next time I did speak to him was the same day that we all came here.  And our lives have never been the same since."

Walner’s eyes steadied on Sarbonn.  What was he?

Sarbonn just stared at him.  What do you mean?

Walner glanced at his brother and then back at Sarbonn.  He obviously had a much bigger purpose than just watching some kid.  What do you suppose he really was?

Sarbonn just smiled.  Some questions aren’t meant to be answered, he said.  At least not until you’re ready to understand the answer.

It was cryptic, but sometimes cryptic was the only answer possible.

Chapter 1

Treveri, 149 BCE

For the simple price of an ale, I would tell you the tale of the once powerful Larsus, who once had the ear of Emperor Claudius Drusus Germanicus, a fiefdom of his own, and the heart of the lovely Muella, formerly the sought after mistress of every wishful bachelor in the realm, slightly before a cursive glance enjoined the two together in ways far better minstrels than I have attempted to capture through the ages. Unfortunately, the tale of Larsus is not one of a happy ending, but a tragedy that should have seen itself coming. For when a man allies himself with the weak, the corruptible, and the slovenly, he befriends fools and becomes the greater one himself. This was Larsus’s curse and one that would haunt him on all of the days he lived in this land.

Where the emperor had once been his friend, he was now his enemy and when one makes an enemy of one so powerful, not even a minstrel can predict the outcome. Had I realized what was to take place in the village of Treveri back then, I probably would have told no man, as I still find it hard to believe today.

But like most great stories, this one began with violence, a death that would forever change both the man and everything he believed in. Soldiers surrounded his castle, yet his mind was on one thing only: Muella.

Muella paced back and forth in the battle chamber, taking care to keep her distance from both her brooding husband on one side of the room and a series of overturned chairs that had been left when his senior staff briskly left to join the battle. Loud booms could be heard every few moments, but she had heard so many of them over the last few days that they no longer seemed to draw her attention.

Muella, he said, his head slowly moving up from its solemn, lowered position, please be still. Your back and forth is jarring my rest.

She curtsied, turning back to face him. Husband, I ache for a simple walk amongst the flowers, to feel grass upon my feet again. We have been enclosed in stone for way too long.

He shook his head. As long as Drusus continues his siege, the safest place for you is within this chamber.

She glanced at the overturned chairs and then picked one of them up, placing it upright. It has been days since we have seen your advisers. Do you not wonder how goes the battle?

Almost in response, another loud boom was heard. It would not surprise me to know that our days are numbered. He lifted his head higher. Muella, come to me.

She walked over to where he was seated on the large wood and stone throne that had been built for him by the most expensive woodcrafters and masons in the known lands. It was the throne in question that the emperor’s adviser had stated was out of place in a kingdom that had no king. Yes, my dear?

He grabbed her blouse and pulled her closer to him. Not harshly, but figuratively enough to indicate what he had to say was of importance. In a very short time, they will break through our defenses. And then they will come for me.

No, Larsus, that will not happen. Your soldiers are brave and strong, and they—

He cut her off. They can be as brave as the gods themselves, but they cannot defeat the power of the emperor’s army. They have time and resources. All we have is land. It is only a matter of time before they defeat the last of my very loyal vassals.

She held back tears, realizing that this was not just another conversation. Tell me what to do, and I shall. Whatever you ask.

The enemy will be here soon, he said. Which means that they will find you and take vengeance upon me by doing all sorts of vile things to you.

Her eyes opened wide.

I wish to save you from that. Tonight, you must slip out of the chamber and into the ranks of what villagers were stupid enough to remain here during the siege. And then, at your first opportunity you must escape to open land. If I somehow survive, I shall find you. If not, become someone new and live the life you most definitely deserve. Unfortunately, I was not to be the man to deliver it to you.

She shook her head and started crying. No. I will not abandon you, my love.

He reached around her shoulders with his massive arms and hugged her. Then he pushed her away gently. Prepare a small bag of things that you can easily carry with you. And tonight you shall escape.

Over the course of a day, the autumn sky transformed from an azure, inviting canvas and then transfixed on a splotchy abyss of dirtied clouds that hinted at storms, offering mizzle and a biting cold that embraced most people unprepared. To an adult, schooled in the often unnatural progression of the world, this might have caused some type of alarm. But to a child of twelve, the ambiguity of the weather was just another stimulus to stack onto a lifetime of unexpected occurrences.

Unfortunately, the weather cares little for the plans of a twelve year old boy. Spurias Scribonius Pullus planned the events of this day long in advance, or at least for someone of his age a period of time that was considered long even though it had only been a period of two days. But he had made plans, making sure that the location was going to be available, that the rations he brought would be properly prepared, and that, of course, Aula Ocella would be present.

Aula Scribonius Ocella had been one of his closest companions since before Spurias could remember first having memories. For as long as he knew her, his father and mother honed in the fact that one day Spurias and Aula would be married, a fact repeated over and over in Aula’s family as well. While it wasn’t something Spurias knew he had to consider for many cycles to come, there was a certain sense of satisfaction in knowing that he already knew the woman who would one day be his wife, even if their courtship consisted of upsetting each other over the types of behavior present in children of their ages.

But like most planned events tend to be, this one didn’t go as intended. The two of them were sitting on the grass way, drinking water that Spurias’s mother had spiked with fruit for flavor, when both of their heads perked up, like dogs do when their ears perceive a sound that is out of place.

Horses, said Spurias.

Aula’s face lit up. Let’s go see!

It was not often horses drove through the village, and when one did, it was often cause for either great rejoicing or the sign of trouble.

Immediately, Spurias suspected something wrong. Maybe we shouldn’t.

Aula caught his tone and without saying a word, she nodded. She had known him long enough to know that he sometimes had premonitions of bad tidings, and experience told her that it was probably best to take him at his warning. What do you suppose is wrong? she said.

Spurias thought about it quickly. There was something odd about the sound of horses, but he couldn’t yet place it. Then it occurred to him. That sounded like a lot of horses.

And that told Aula all she needed to know. If a horse or two was riding through the village, it was probably a visitor. A mob of horses meant something else. And there was really no way to know until whatever was going to happen happened. And then it was usually too late.

Follow me, said Spurias as he grabbed her hand and led her towards the place where the horses could still be heard. The rumbling was simmering down, which told him that the riders had probably reached their destination.

And it sounded very much like the direction of home.

Slipping into the tree line that separated his date place and the town, they moved as silently as they could until they could see the commotion that had just started.

The horse riders wore legion uniforms, and there were dozens of them. Some had dismounted and started moving through the village, grabbing people and shoving them towards where they were already growing a small corral of prisoners. The young couple watched as both of their sets of parents were pulled out of their homes and then pushed into the small barricaded, make-shift enclosure. Without anything to physically fence in the people, the soldiers used themselves as a natural fence, threatening anyone who came close to them with all sorts of harm.

What is happening? said Aula, before Spurias shushed her. He realized that they were close enough to the commotion that they might be overheard, and something told him that was something he didn’t want to happen.

Check each one, said the leader of the contingent of legion soldiers. They must be here. If not, they cannot have gotten far.

The soldiers started going through the villagers who were in the corral, until to Spurias’s horror, they stopped at his mother and father, one of them stating: I think we found them.

The leader walked over to the couple, took one look and then nodded. He didn’t even need to say anything to them to verify they were definitely the people for whom his group was searching. Nice of you to be so easy to find, he said. You have a son. Where is he?

Neither of them said anything. He sighed at the lack of information he received from them. We’ll find him eventually. Just a matter of time. Not so far a boy can go in these woods. Well, not without dying first.

You stay away from— started Spurias’s father before the leader whacked him across the face with a metal glove, blood splattering from his father’s face as he did.

This isn’t a game, Pullus. I’ll make this easy on you. Tell me where to find Indutiomarus, and I’ll let you and your family go back to being insignificant again.

I don’t know, he said. I don’t even know him that well.

The leader turned to his soldiers. Kill them all. And then find the kid, and kill him, too.

Immediately after, the soldiers turned in on the corralled group of prisoners and started slicing through them with their swords. In mere moments, the majority of the crowd was dead, and the few that attempted to run were cut down before they made it a few feet beyond the human stockade.

Spurias stared at the scene with horror in his eyes. No! he yelled as he saw his father and mother killed within an instant of each other’s death. Before he could take it back, he realized he made a serious mistake.

The wood line! Yelled one of the soldiers. Two people! Looks like kids!"

Both Spurias and Aula turned and ran back into the deeper part of the woods, but both of them realized that their chances of putting any distance between themselves and certain death were not great.

Spurias grabbed Aula’s hand and whisked her behind him, zig-zagging around trees quickly, hoping that his familiarity with the area might give them some kind of advantage. He didn’t have time to think about much more than that, but he knew he wanted to live, and he suspected that if they were caught, that might not happen.

Why are they doing this? said Aula.

Spurias had no answer, so he didn’t try to offer one. All he knew was that he was starting to hear horse hoof sounds behind them, and the volume was growing and getting closer.

They made it only a short distance before Spurias felt a crack on the back of his head, not realizing that one of the soldiers had hit him with a small pole cavalry soldiers carried to beat down people not on horses. Spurias tried to turn away from the direction where the blow came and ended up running right into a tree, knocking the wind out of his chest when he did so.

He didn’t see what happened to Aula, but he noticed that when he managed to roll to his side, she was also on the ground but unlike him, she was not moving.

In seconds, there were nearly a dozen soldiers around him. The leader dismounted his horse and walked over to him. I’m sorry you have to pay for the crime of your father, young one, but we have our orders. I shall make this quick.

Spurias looked around, hoping to find an empty spot to where he could escape, but there was none. His future wife was unconscious on the ground near him, and a dozen or so soldiers were surrounding him and planning to kill him. All his future plans really mattered little now; it appeared as if he was going to die, and so early in life, too.

The leader raised his sword and took a step back to get a full swing. As the sword reached its highest point and was about to come slashing back down, the man looked into Spurias’s eyes and stopped dead. Literally.

He fell before Spurias and hit the ground hard. It was then that the young boy saw the crossbow arrow gorged into the back of his neck. He was quite dead.

Spurias wasn’t sure what was happening, but he started to see the soldiers falling off their horses quickly, one by one as crossbow bolts seemed to fly out from everywhere, taking each of them down in almost one quick motion. It was a flash of violence that occurred all around him. And then everything was silent. Spurias got to his feet and looked around at the dozen or so dead soldiers around him.

It was then that a shadowed figure stepped out of the dark from the distance and walked towards him. A crossbow was in his hands, and he was already nocking another bolt into its firing chamber.

Spurias had never been this close to death before. Well, at least not before this day. However, he had seen what this man had done, and he also realized that if he was this man’s enemy, the chances of him coming out of this altercation were beyond slim.

Even though Spurias couldn’t actually see the man’s face—it was shadowed under his cloak—he could have sworn the man smiled. Well, don’t just stand there, young man. Get your girl and run. There are more soldiers out there who are still looking for you. I can’t protect you from all of them.

Spurias just stared at him. Something told him he had no reason to be scared of him, even though he suspected the man was capable of some horrific things. Who are you?

That’s for another time, young Spurias. Run before you cannot run again.

Spurias reached down and nudged Aula. She groggily got up and seemed really confused. What happened?

No time, said Spurias. Run.

He was about to thank the crossbow man, but then realized he was no longer there. However, he did hear the sound of more soldiers and realized his priority was getting the two of them to safety.

And that’s exactly what he did.

The trip back from Rome seemed to be taking forever. Magnus and his wife rode in the cottage with several armed horsemen flanking the horse-drawn carriage. He was not used to an armed guard, but the emperor had sent it as a part of his request to meet with the wizened town elder. Having survived an administration that managed to escape unscathed through the previous uncertainty of the previous emperors, Magnus was taken by surprise when the current one requested an audience and then explained in no uncertain terms that retirement was in Magnus’s future.

The future requires new ideas and new leadership, said Emperor Claudius Germanicus. I thank you for your service and will be sending a new liaison to orchestrate the future of Treveri’s management.

It should not have been much of a surprise to Magnus, considering he was often in conflict with praetors and Roman leaders. Magnus kept telling himself that he was in conflict with them because they didn’t understand the requirements of ruling people, but they were young and with minds of their own. It was not unusual for Magnus to overhear someone recommend the sword as the solution to most of Rome’s problems. It did not go over well with the empire’s leaders that Magnus would often take to responding with and that’s why Rome constantly finds itself being pricked by pricks from within. His wife would say he tended to bring it all on himself, but it didn’t take his wife for him to realize how easily he could derail his own career.

Did you say something? his wife commented as he realized he had been staring out the window at one of the horsemen, marveling at the iron uniform that had become the standard outfit of Rome’s soldiers. The last war Magnus fought, he had provided his own armor, and it had been completely of his own design.

The future was going to be so much different for the future of Rome. And it wasn’t just going to be the uniforms either. The ideas were changing, as were the mindsets of Roman people. He suspected that even the emperor couldn’t guess where Rome was going to be going in the years to come. Magnus also couldn’t determine whether those years would be seen as progress or something other. Something darker.

Nothing, my dear, he said. I was just thinking.

She brushed his arm softly. Rome is fickle at times. You know that. Today, the emperor has no need for you. Tomorrow, he’ll be on his knees begging you to take up one of his problems. Rome needs leaders like you.

You might be right, he said. And then almost under his breath: However, I think Rome is moving in directions that even Rome cannot predict.

She just continued to brush his arm. Sometimes, there really wasn’t anything else to say. Or any reason to say it, even if there was.

Justice was quite swift in the Roman Empire.  Only ten minutes before Lavinnius Marcus Porcius was shoved before the local magistrate, who listened to about twenty seconds of testimony, took a bite out of an apple, shook his head in disapproval and then condemned him to incarceration for as long as he might still have left to live.  From there, Lavinnius was dragged by two burly guards down dirtied stone stairs to the dungeons below, expected to never see the light of day again.  As they dragged him further down the dusty corridors, he pleaded with them to understand that he was innocent, but they did no such thing, the only acknowledgement of his predicament being a swift kick in his side by one of the guards who grew tired of hearing him complain.

Lavinnius was unceremoniously thrown into an overcrowded, dirty cell with six other condemned criminals.  As he slowly pulled himself back to his feet, he took one quick around the dark cell to see where he would be spending the rest of his life.  It was then that one of the other prisoners rushed over, knocking him back to the ground and then quickly kicking him in the face, knocking out his two top, front teeth.  Another man’s fist removed several more teeth with a pounding jar to the right side of his head.  Dazed from the assault, he raised his hands in an attempt to protect his face, only to be hit in the stomach instead.  Falling to the dirt floor, head-first, the last thing he felt was the heel of someone’s boot smashing in his skull.  Fortunately, he died before he felt the next wave of blows rain down on him from above and around him.

The five prisoners who murdered Lavinnius swarmed his corpse and picked it clean of shoes, jacket and trousers.  Anything of his that used to be of any value was now the property of murderers who had only met him seconds before.  The sixth prisoner sat silently in his own corner, cognizant of what just happened but appeared quite uncaring and unconcerned as well.

One of the murderers, still clutching the dead man’s shoes in his bloodied fingers, cast a threatening glare at the unmoving prisoner.  You got a problem with the way of things here?

The rest of the killers immediately took an interest in the conversation as they were now the subject of the exchange.  They were still worked up in a fervor and were not averse to continuing the violence.  Besides, the uninvolved man appeared to have nice enough boots without any obvious holes and a grey wool overcoat with attached hood that might serve a criminal well when trying to conceal one’s identity.  Having stripped the last man of all of his worldly possessions, a new target didn’t seem like so bad an idea.

The man surprised everyone by smiling.  How you conduct yourselves in mixed company is none of my concern.

His words resonated with every prisoner in that cell.  It wasn’t just his words but the tone, dialect and accent that sounded very much like that heard coming from a groomed, Roman citizen.  Not a slave either, but a high born.

The self-perceived leader of the murderers turned and faced the mysterious stranger.  Nice boots you got there.  I’m thinking they might be more comfortable on someone like me rather than on someone like you.

Then you would be wrong, he said.  They are most comfortable on me.

The leader turned quickly to acknowledge that everyone in the cell was on the same wavelength, that the first murder was not necessarily their last.  Their nonverbal responses reinforced his assumption.  This just emboldened him further.

How about you hand over those boots, and we’ll go easy on you.

The man made no overt movements but remained slumped over where he was.  Easy is such a bore, he said.  I prefer things to be much more complicated.

One of the men stepped forward.  Live or die.  Your choice.

This time, the man stood up.  He was tall, but not very muscularly built.  I’m impartial to living.  But killing?  I’m okay with that, too.

Before anyone else could react, the man who stepped forward felt the stranger’s hands quickly reach around him, grasping onto his head and pulling it towards him, cracking the forehead onto the stranger’s knee.  The man fell forward to the floor of the cell and never got up again.

The movement happened so fast that none of the other four men even reacted before the stranger leaped forward, slammed the palm of his fist into the nose of the next closest man and then whirled around, shoving two fingers into the eye sockets of the next man back.

This left the last two men both surprised and horrified at what