Quest for Ambition: Traveling Knights

PROLOGUE

T HE PURSUERS HAD BUT ONE thought: the journal must be destroyed.

This knowledge gave swiftness to Rutbar's feet as he fled down the hallway, the pounding on the front door matching the beating of his heart. He had to make it to his study. Only there would the journal be safe. Rutbar had not spent the last year secretly gathering information only to have his work disappear with the lighting of a single match.

New strength surged through him as Rutbar entered his private study and stood before the fireplace. Trembling, he fumbled the ring off his finger and pushed it inside a design in the mantel. With a click! a compartment opened. Rutbar placed the journal inside and, with a final shove, sealed it shut.

Tears of relief escaped his eyes and Rutbar only laughed at the approaching footfalls of the invaders. In the time left, there was nothing they could do to him now. Placing the ring back on his finger, Rutbar gazed at the blazing fire, awaiting the confrontation.

The two heads of the Unity Council, Bellanor and Douglas, barged through the study doors. Rutbar did not acknowledge their presence but continued staring into the flames.

Where is it? Douglas demanded.

Feel free to search. And please, do not put on airs but do as other thieves do; disrupt my papers, break furniture and vases, take what you desire but is not yours. Rutbar laughed, confident of his victory. In fact, I believe you shall forget all about it presently. You already cast the spell, did you not?

Rutbar, Bellanor said in his gentle, elderly tone, advancing towards him, understand that we are not the ones in the wrong; that is you. You have betrayed the Council.

How am I the villain? Rutbar's square jaw set in anger, the flames of the fire set in his eyes as he turned to face them. Did I go about having art and literature destroyed? Did I desire to control the thoughts of not one, but two worlds? Did I decide to keep these plans from the rest of the Council? No, that was the two of you. His index finger pointed accusingly.

For someone who is angry with us for withholding information, why did you not confront us or tell the rest of the Council? Douglas asked, grabbing books from shelves in his search.

And what would they have done? Rutbar spoke forcefully, as if he still needed reassurance. They would have debated on whether or not you were right. Meanwhile, you would have been putting your plan into action, same as I, and the three of us would still have arrived at this encounter. Without telling others, I only had to worry about the two of you stopping me. Better numbers this way.

You overheard us. Douglas was through searching the bookcase and turned his attention to the desk. "Therefore you know our reasons. You know the people are beginning to mistrust one another. The people of Tryale and Earth are on the brink of war. Everyone must forget about the other world and the portals that connect them. Our chance for peace will be destroyed with that journal."

No. Rutbar shook his head. You already put the last part of your plan into action. Who knows how much time is left, but before the sun sets everyone will forget the other world; your world, Douglas. And you shall return there with no memory of ours. The only exception will be me. And do not worry, I can keep a secret.

What did you write in that journal? Bellanor asked. Instead of joining his comrade in tearing apart the room, he kept a rigid stance, never taking his eyes off Rutbar.

Everything, Rutbar bragged. The portals locations. How to open them. The two of you even merited a mention: how you decided to play gods with the minds of men.

Did you include the riots? People being trampled and beaten by mobs? The fights in the streets that ended in blood and death? People banging on the Council doors, begging us to close and destroy the portals? As part of the Council, your duty is to protect the people of both worlds. You know what we are doing is the only option.

Yes, yes. Rutbar waved his hand impatiently. The portals cannot be destroyed. And if we merely block them, well, that is a waste of guards and possible sabotage. How simple a solution then to force people to forget. But, you yourselves are forgetting a very important danger in destroying this knowledge.

Oh, please, enlighten us. Douglas did not look up as he threw out a desk drawer, scattering papers and quills across the floor.

The portals cannot be destroyed, Rutbar stated calmly.

Bellanor sighed. We are aware of this fact. That is why people must be made to forget; the portals cannot be destroyed, but the knowledge can.

"And ignorance shall not keep people out. No one shall be looking for the portals, but that does not mean they shall not be found. Rutbar advanced to Bellanor, imploring him to understand. What of those unfortunate travelers? They will be called mad. They will not know how to return home. Some must know of these portals to guide those lost souls back to where they belong."

And in return, reward their savior handsomely, Douglas spat out.

That will be their choice.

You are not the saint you claim to be. Now, where is it? Douglas pulled out his sword and aimed it at Rutbar's chest.

Fine. Kill me. You shall never find the journal.

At that moment, a sound of thunder outside drew their attention to the window. A sight no one had seen before was quickly approaching Rutbar's house, engulfing everything before it in a red mist. Though they had not known what to expect, they recognized this to be the memory spell Douglas had cast earlier.

Too late, Rutbar crowed.

Douglas shot him a look filled with venom. Without hesitation, he grabbed the oil lamp from the desk and threw it against the bookcase. Rutbar shouted as the flames spread, hungry to consume the papers. He rushed forward to put out the fire, but was pushed back and felt pain across his arm as Douglas' sword sliced through his skin.

Bellanor did not interfere as he was attacking the sparks by beating them with a drape he had torn down. In the distance, Rutbar saw the mist fast approaching, and the ground rumbled in anticipation. The wisps of red smoke slid through the window, surrounding Douglas as tightening vines. Only a scream could be heard from inside the small cloud that had surrounded the Council member, then dispersed, revealing nothing; the spell had transported him back to his world.

Rutbar could not remember the name of who had just left. Had there even been someone standing there moments before? Rutbar saw Bellanor clutch his head and sink into a nearby chair, coughing from the smoke. Rutbar wanted to continue to fend off the flames but found he was unable to move. He went inside his mind, telling himself he knew what was happening.

The spell is trying to make me forget about the portals. The journal. I must remember the journal. The journal will tell me everything. I will not let myself forget. I must remember the journal in the hidden compartment of my fireplace. The journal is....important. I must remember...I cannot forget...the journal.........................I must not forget...........I must not..................... forget..............forget the journal............forget.

CHAPTER ONE

W HAT'S YOUR TYPE OF ADVENTURE? Bridget asked.

Huh? was Connor's awkward reply.

There had not been a single customer in the Vanilla Shak for the past hour. Connor was keeping himself busy by scrubbing down the front counter, not taking the lack of business as an excuse to stop working. Bridget, however, tended to disagree on this point. Lazily, she leaned against the cool metal of the back counter, helping herself to a sample of vanilla custard.

Mine would be going on an all-expense paid trip to the coast, exploring everything the resort offered. Your turn. Bridget was about to scoop out another sample with the same spoon, but Connor caught her just in time.

Use another spoon. And would you stop eating the merchandise?

You didn't answer my question. Denied more custard, Bridget got herself a diet drink from the soda fountain. Come on. Anything in the world you could do, anywhere you could go, what would it be?

Connor shrugged. I'm already doing what I want to do.

Seriously? Come on, there has got to be something you want to do besides scooping out creamy, tasty blobs of lard to kids with runny noses all day.

Connor gave a small laugh. The way Bridget talked made his dream seem a bit lame. But the truth was, he enjoyed nothing more than working at the Vanilla Shak. The place was a second home. Ever since his dad and uncle signed him up for Little League Baseball, the Vanilla Shak had been a part of Connor's life. This was the place the coach brought his team after they had won from the ability of his teammates, or they had lost due to Connor's lack of athletics. Regardless of the game's outcome, Connor was never accepted by his teammates as an athlete, but the Vanilla Shak always welcomed him as a customer. The servers always smiled at him and treated him the same as if he was just as good as the boy who could hit a home run. The Shak was the place his family would go to celebrate his good report card, and many was a hot summer day Connor would come in to cool off with a chocolate malt and magazine.

The manager, Steve knew Connor on sight by the time he entered high school. After a worker had graduated and was about to move out of state to college, Steve offered the open position to Connor, who was only too glad to accept. His training went smoothly, already being familiar with the menu and the shop. The job never felt like work to Connor, and he tried to fit in as many hours as the government and his schedule would allow. Even on his days off, Connor came in to the Shak for his malt and to read.

Connor could not think a better job existed in the world.

Yeah, there are things I want to do, but that can wait, Connor said, taking a small pause from cleaning the counter. "Right now, I got to focus getting through college and then finding a way for Steve to let me open my own branch. Then, after that, I can start opening up a long line of chains, after which I shall be raking in the millions and then, then B, I can take a vacation."

"See, this is your problem. You're talking about graduating from college, and we still have one day to go before we graduate high school. And come on and give me details. Where do you want to go?"

Fine. Someplace with a beach. Connor turned back to scrubbing, aware of Bridget's disapproving gaze. On the east coast.

You're no fun. Bridget made her pouty face, which always managed to get Connor to blush; her lower lip came out just slightly, her head turned to the right, looking down at a small angle meeting her raised right shoulder. But I always seem to forget who I'm talking to. Anyway, just promise you won't forget about me, will you, when you make your millions? You'll still remember your friends?

I don't think I could ever forget you, B. He said with honest sincerity.

Aw, that's so sweet. Hey, baby! Bridget waved as Rock, her boyfriend, walked through the door, the small bell chime ringing through the empty room. Rock gave a smile to Bridget and a small nod to Connor.

The two had an understanding: Rock loved Bridget, and Bridget liked Connor. Bridget would be mad at Rock if Rock beat up Connor. Therefore, Connor was tolerated by Rock.

Give me a kiss. Rock raised his eyebrows in anticipation at Bridget.

You gotta give me a reason. Bridget gave her pouty face.

Well, you just so happen to be looking at the guy who got us invited to Stanley's blowout graduation party tonight where there'll be, Rock's voice trailed off as he saw Steve emerge from his office, nothing happening that should not be. Happening, that is.

Save it, Ronald, Steve said.

Rock winced at hearing his legal name. Although he never said so, Connor was sure Rock's real name was what caused him to join the wrestling team. That, and the guy possessed a talent for pinning people to the floor. Standing at six foot two, genetically born without a neck and built like a tree, the entire high school gave Rock the courtesy of calling him any name he chose.

If drinking so much to make you puke and then get behind a wheel and crash and die is your idea of a good time, I really couldn't care less. Kids these days. Turning to Connor, Steve asked, How long since the last customer?

An hour. But, Connor added quickly, sensing what was to come, there's still stuff to do. Like, get the grout, clean behind Ms. Pacman...

Steve held up his hand for silence. This is an important weekend for you. You know as well as I this place isn't busy around this time. So you and Bridget go home and have some fun.

Bridget let out a whoop and dashed to clock out. Connor trailed behind Steve into the office.

What'd you think of my business proposal?

Which one?

The one about the breakfast menu. Right now, we're only open for lunch and dinner, but I've taken a few surveys from our customers and...oh, come on, Connor pleaded, noticing Steve was losing interest. All the big chains are offering breakfast menus now.

Connor, the Vanilla Shak isn't a chain.

Yet.

No. Sternness crept into Steve's voice. This place will never be a chain. I won't allow it. Chain's become too preoccupied with profits and longer hours. They forget what's important.

They make more money. And I planned everything out if you look at page five, Connor offered.

Exactly. Ignoring what's important, Steve said, ignoring the rest of what Connor said. Now, clock out and enjoy your weekend.

Realizing arguing would be futile, Connor hung up his apron and met up with Bridget and Rock in the entryway, where they were still talking.

Hey, you should come tonight. Bridget said, bouncing up and down.

Huh? Connor asked, totally lost.

Stanley's party. You should come. Scratch that. You are coming. Yes, you are coming, and I am getting you a date.

Oh, no, I'm...I'm...parties are to me like icebergs are to the desert. The mere thought of being in a crowd made Connor's pulse quicken.

No, you're definitely coming. We're going to have so much fun! Now, I better see you there, or Rock and I are coming to get you. The iceberg is gonna melt.

Bridget bounced out the door leaving behind a bewildered Connor.

What does that even mean?

*   *   *

Mercurius favored riding the time of year when the pear trees were just beginning to bloom, their scent filling the air. The trip was so pleasant, Mercurius had only two wishes: he would be riding on his horse instead of in a carriage, and the circumstances were better.

Your Majesty, might we close the window? Lord Winston growled.

A smile tugged on the King's face. A third wish would be for better company. Lord Winston, as much of the other nobles, had no desire to be outside, but preferred to occupy himself indoors as much as possible. If a passerby were to glance in the carriage just then and see the two passengers, the onlooker could easily assume Lord Winston the king and Mercurius a servant. Mercurius had no tolerance for fashion and found all the decorations, patterns, and designs a waste of time and money from the treasury. Lord Winston always demanded the best from his tailor. Apparently, the best meant puffed sleeves at the shoulder with tight fitting fabric leading down the rest of the arm, and puffed pants down to the knees. The rest of his legs were covered by silk stockings, which no doubt were going to be covered in mud should he ever decide to leave the carriage once they reached their destination. All the materials found in Lord Winston's wardrobe was composed of silk, velvet, and any other substance easily torn or hard to clean. The final touch was a pair of heeled shoes to give him the slightest advantage in height.

Mercurius had to keep insisting to his tailor over the years for simple designs. They had finally come to an understanding. Mercurius wore common, more practical materials and the tailor took this as a challenge. He made sure the cuts and designs were elegant and clean, the only ornaments being purposeful buttons. A lightly embroidered cravat was tucked into his tunic, covered by a leather jerkin. His only show of wealth was his signet ring. Now that he was king, two more items came into his possession: the crown and the king's belt.

The crown was saved for special occasions and when he was hearing the petitions of his subjects. Mercurius was never a fan of hats, but knowing that the crown was a responsibility he accepted allowed him to wear it with pride. The belt was not an accessory most people recognized with the crown, but wearing it was an always present reminder of being king. The belt held the key that opened every room in the castle, along with several small pouches that were now empty, save one. The last pocket held several dried leaves from an unknown plant to Mercurius. He had decided to keep the leaves until he knew what they were.

Why did you bring me along on this trip? Lord Winston whined. I am an advisor, yet you only seem to want my company and not advice regarding this matter.

The situation seems straightforward to me. Mercurius leaned back. "Soldiers stole off farmers' carts. The people need to know action was taken and