Rogue Legacy, Jeffrey L. Kohanek [best pdf reader for ebooks .txt] 📗

Before leaving the manor, Lyra had donned the tunic and breeches she wore when they first met. She found her manner subdued, her mood somber. Cal made numerous attempts at conversation during the hour-long journey, but Lyra’s responses had been half-hearted and those conversations had died quickly.

They crested a rise with the setting sun to their backs, its orange light giving an amber tint to the long dry grass that pervaded the fields. Lyra spotted the Tantarri camp at the edge of the wood and realized one of the wagons was on fire, spouting black smoke as people dumped buckets of water upon it.

Alarmed, she broke into a run. Down the slope, through the thigh-high grass she sprinted toward the burning wagon. Women in their bright colored dresses had formed a line, passing buckets of water from the creek that ran at the edge of the wood. As she neared the camp, she found Flori kneeling beside a prone form. Running past the bucket line, Lyra slowed as she reached the other girl.

Flori looked up with tears streaking down her face, her hands holding Eddrick’s limp hand. The man had a nasty gash in his neck and dark wetness stained the shoulder of his red tunic.

“He’s dead. They killed him and took the others,” Flori sobbed. “My father’s dead, and Gar is gone. My life is in ruins.”

Lyra put her hand on Flori’s shoulder. “Who did this, Flori? Where’s Gar?”

“Soldiers. Soldiers with a circular emblem on their shields. They killed him.” A slobbering burst of sobs emerged, leaving her gasping and heaving.

“Flori. I need you to tell me where Gar is. Where are the other men?”

“He’s gone. They’re all gone.” Numi said from her seat on a nearby log. “The soldiers shackled them and took them away. They set a wagon on fire as a warning to prevent us from following.” The woman shook her head, her face sorrowful. “I never thought I’d witness the day…our leader murdered…our men stolen away. The clan is broken.”

Cal stepped closer, wearing a grim expression. “The emblem you mentioned. Does it look like this?”

He pulled his black cloak from his pack and showed them the symbol sewn on the collar.

Numi nodded. “Yeah. That’s the one.”

His lips press together in a thin line. “It’s the Ministry. They took them. I’m afraid I know why, too.”

Lyra turned back toward Numi. “Which way did they go?”

The old woman pointed southeast, toward a road that lay a half-mile from their camp.

Recalling the pain of watching her own father die, Lyra gave Flori’s shoulder a soft squeeze but had no words to offer as the girl sobbed over the man in her arms.

Turning about, Lyra walked toward the road, in the direction Numi had pointed. Cal caught up to her.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to do something. I have to try.” Lyra didn’t know what to do, but she remained resolute in her decision. “Those men have nobody else. The Tantarri herd cattle for a living and dance for fun. They’re not soldiers. Without help, those men are doomed. Without the men to help these women, life will be hard, perhaps worse than that.” She shook her head. “These people need each other.”

“Well, you’re not doing it alone,” Cal replied. “I’m coming with you. This is my fault. Perhaps not by intention, but surely by deed.”

Lyra wondered what he meant. The man was frustratingly cryptic at times, but she didn’t care. She was happy to have him and his magic to help because they would likely need a miracle.

“How many do you think?” Lyra whispered.

“I think twenty, perhaps twenty-five soldiers.”

Lyra nodded, unsure if Cal could see her response from the shadows.

In the flickering light of the campfire, she spotted four tents beyond the captive men who were sleeping on the ground. There were perhaps twenty-five Tantarri men in total, but they lacked weapons meant for combat. Even if they outnumbered the soldiers, the element of surprise combined with their inability to fight back made them easy to capture. Killing one of them and threatening their women had likely dissolved any attempt at resistance.

Lyra counted a dozen soldiers moving about the camp, watching the captives while the other soldiers slept.

“Will the lute work like it worked with Elias?” she asked.

“I don’t see why not. If you can coax them to sleep, we could just walk the captives out of camp and nobody will get killed.”

Pressing her lips together as she collected her resolve, she slid the lute off her back and emerged from the woods. As she approached, a soldier with a bow became alarmed.

“Who’s out there?”

“I’m just a traveling minstrel,” Lyra called out as she continued toward the man. “I’m heading south to the capital and am seeking a safe place to sleep.”

As the flickering firelight reached her, the man lowered his bow.

“You’re just a girl.”

Lyra’s shackles rose. “Well, I might be a girl, but I can play.”

A soldier with a sword at his hip stepped beside the man with the bow.

“Off with you. Just move along.”

Lyra noticed some of the captives behind soldiers sitting upright as other armed men circled to her side of the fire.

“You’ll leave a girl out here all alone, with bears and monsters out roaming the night?”

The second man chuckled. Others behind him echoed the laugh. “Monsters…”

“I’ll play a quick song, and you’ll see.” Lyra strummed her lute.

The man said something, but Lyra ignored him and began to play. Beginning with a lively riff to catch their attention, she then slowed the tempo.

“The road behind is sad at your passing

The road ahead awaits your coming

The day is long, leaves you weary and lacking