Chapter Twenty-Four:
Margaret and Marcus in the Manor
Marcus could not deny that he liked his life at the manor. Every one was nice to him but none of them ever would replace his father. What had happened to him – was it he who died in a puff of smoke and the monster who survived? He stopped all the morbid thoughts like a flicking of his wrist. Things were always bad and they were getting worse. No one in France could go back to a delusional fantasy. He had to write the Lord of Sands and tell him about his father! The two of them lived in his district. The more people in the district the more money the lord got. Surely he would care about the money and the scare it would cause? Peasants were expected to adapt to life without a thought. It was practically part of a farmer's job description.
Marcus would need help if he wanted to even have a hope of defeating a noble. He knew that he would have to think like a noble in order to stop a noble. This letter may look like a simple letter. It was not written with fancy lettering or on fine paper. It was a plain, short letter: sweet and simple…but it was worth more to Marcus (and maybe to the whole of Bantor) than a simple noble would guess – no matter how well they were educated.
Good Noble Sir,
I am a simple peasant living in Beasai, a province under the just and compassionate rule of your hand. My family and I have lived there for generations. Unfortunately, we will not be able to live there much longer. My father has been taken in and forced to join with Don Anthony – the Spanish Don in Louis' Court. My family wants nothing but to live peacefully on your lands – fighting for our father is something we wish to do – but we know that it will be futile…
No peasants could defeat a great noble. Of course, we might have a chance if, in your mercy, my Lord would save our loving father.
You are our only hope,
Marcus SaphireMarcus knew that the message was short but he thought that it said enough to let the Lord know he was truly needed. Hopefully, he would read the letter during tax time and see how low moral was. The Lord was more likely to answer yes to the letter then – when the nobility were at their weakest and felt that all help was good – even help from the peasants. Nobility seem to automatically distrust people – of course Marcus felt the same way… Some people have proven that trust is wasted on them. Anthony had shown that to Marcus and his father. Marcus thought that his father knew what he was doing but the truth was that no one was sure what was going through the aristocrats' head.
Marcus was relieved to learn that not all aristocrats were like the man his father once thought of as a friend. The people who ran the world had the power to do what ever they wanted and Marcus was glad to see that the people who ruled everything did have rules… Even they have to answer to God, he thought to himself, remembering the words his father had said.
That morning in Church seemed so long ago: Marcus was watching his father out of the corner of his eye. Marcus often did this: he wanted to know how grown-ups did things. Their whole world seemed like a mystery to him. Every time he wanted to help an adult would say that he was too young. Adults didn't want children to know about their complex rules until they were old enough to no longer be called children. Marcus decided years ago that it was his job to be the first kid to learn the adults' secrets. He watched all the adults he could and paid extra close attention to the adults who were conducting "business".
Church to Marcus seemed like one of those carts that gave away toys… Only instead of making people pay for something to get a free cart the gift was given to anyone just for coming in. Stained glass windows shone down and reflected bright blues and reds onto the opposite wall. The golden yellow of the sun made the colors look so vibrant that Marcus could hardly see the shapes within it. The building always seemed warm and welcoming.
The clergymen terrified him the first time he went into the church. The priests used to walk up to the pulpit with a stern look on their faces but once they took their places in front of the congregation their faces would suddenly morph into friendly smiles. Marcus was usually suspicious of these types of things: people suddenly changing in those drastic ways usually meant that one of those ways was a lie. A priest would have good reason to want their clergy to think that they were happy, good people.
Marcus had to use all the listening skills he possessed to find the information he needed. Every member of the congregation had thought that the men were good and most of them even had stories about the good deeds of the men. The factory worker, Mr. Jacques, was injured on the job. He had to quit his job because his arm could no longer handle the workload. One of the priests came to Jacques' house every day and gave him a portion of the tithes and even did some small chores for him. If the men did all that they did not need to fake being nice. He was glad that they were truly good. He had seen how little good existed in the world the summer before:
A crowd gathers as the workers, farmers, tradesmen, and everyone in their families all unite to point and laugh at the unfortunate group's expense. There were five people tied together tightly with thick rope. It seemed that someone wanted to make sure that they would not escape…Marcus shivered as he tried not to imagine himself in their place as a shout came from the throng of on-lookers shouting, "Pierre, look at this total drink! No one could look like that and not be a traitor." No one ever wants to be one of those unfortunate people… but that was part of the game: Any one could be next: No one wants to be laughed at and be known for their own naivety. Yes, they had helped placed themselves before the terrible crowd! The condemned group had the wrong friends – the kind of friends who could not save them. They certainly didn't seem to have any friends now!
Marcus usually tried to ovoid seeing the walk of the condemned – it was always so depressing and scary. Today's incident was no exception: he was just on his way inside when he caught a glimpse of the line of the tied people. The face was weathered and old but it also had a kind sparkle in the eyes – even though the man had to know that he was doomed. Marcus was surprised to see a face with such hope in it. Most people in the line and the other lines that had come through before had looked shocked or terrified. Marcus stayed where he was to see the face clearer but immediately regretted doing so. The second to last face was one that he recognized – it was one of the clergymen! The one who helped the poor worker?
The crowd threw this and that at them: Anything from rotten vegetables to bricks was fair game. Marcus squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see anything hit a man who had been so kind to everyone. Why did anyone want to see him go like this? How could such a kind person be a threat to France – or anyone for that matter! Why were these people so intent on his death? There was no reason to hurt a man of god – any one could see that he would not hurt a fly! Markus's mind and heart screamed at him to help the old man but his feet and mouth refused to move – he was so afraid! Marcus stood still as stone until the strong hands of his father lifted him up and carried him back to the loft.
Marcus had not shed one tear on the street but once his feet were firmly placed on the hard floor of the loft the tears flowed like rain. Gasping sobs escaped his mouth as ever-growing tears streamed from his eyes. Carlos wrapped his arms around his son's small body and rubbed his back. Neither of them said a word until dawn when Markus's tears stopped and the clergyman was long dead…
Carlos knew from that moment on that his son needed to be protected. No child should have to watch as some one they knew was dragged to the gallows! Carlos knew that his son was an innocent – he had not lived long enough to deserve any of the hardships he did face: not being able to sleep in a real bed, always being hungry, and now seeing murders before his very eyes – these were not things a child should have to endure. It was Carlos's job to make sure that he didn't need to continue to go through the hardships. He would do anything to keep his son from knowing these horrors.
That's when all the bad things that had happened in Markus's short life started. Carlos started working with the crazy Don and the country of France became the setting of a new kind of war. The nation had seen war before but now brother-fought brother. Fathers gave up sons! It seemed like the world was going crazy and the desperation of the rest of the country leaked into Markus's life as his father's dependence on the Don intensified.
Both father and son immediately began to regret the father's decision to apply to the request for an able-bodied worker. The first assignment had been short and simple but the length of assignments quickly grew, as did their complexity. The kind of people he saw with the Don thrived on the misery and embarrassment of others. Carlos quickly learned this when he saw the "work" they did to the other nobles' homes. Some of the men started rebellions at the homes of propionate court-men. The cruel men employed by the Don would do everything they could to start a problem. Some of them even threatened the servants by saying that they would hurt them or their families if they did not do as they were told.
Don Anthony seemed to generally enjoy scaring people. He would order his men to scare them for him if he was too busy in court. Carlos thanked the Lord everyday for giving the Don other men who would do these cruel things – even after years of service, Carlos never had to threaten or hurt anyone. Carlos was grateful to the Don for both allowing him to provide for his son and for allowing him to work for him without hurting people. The Don made it seem like he thought that it was a privilege to be in his presence and after awhile the people who worked for him viewed it as an honor as well.
The man had a way of hypnotizing people into believing what ever he believed. He could make Carlos think that they were friends. He could make the other court members think that he was a harmless man who would do whatever he was told. Anthony could make the mob of France think that he was a humanitarian who would bring them power. Don Anthony could make anyone think he was what they wanted him to be.
Marcus saw the way the Don changed his mannerisms and moods with each party he visited. The nobles saw one side and the peasants saw another. No one knew the real man and no one saw the real intentions. Marcus knew that the Don should not be trusted because he changed so much. If he were serious about one side, he wouldn't trade sides with each conversation! The Don's goal was whatever goal everyone else had. It was like he couldn't think for himself – if a man with less power or less money had acted the same way, Marcus would have believed that they were simply spineless. Anthony, on the other hand acts with great confidence – he leads men into murders and commands throngs with a few well-spoken words. He knows what he is doing even if no one else does! The Don is changing sides for a reason…it is just that no one knows what that reason is.
Chapter Twenty-Five:
The Dark-eyes in the DarkA dark-eyed man sat on top of his large bed that night. Sleep had eluded him fro several nights now. He had been expecting this. He was in his early twenties but a life of deception added age quickly. His lean, toned body and thin lips had been made up to make him look like a dignified noble. His eyes were the only body part that Francis told the servants to leave alone. Greg waited for his mind to quite and sleep to begin with a worried frown creasing his face. He had just said a load of lies that the nobles all wanted to hear about Spain and foreign relations. It was easier talking to Margaret – she just smiled when he started his usually political speech. In college, standing in the middle of the street and yelling that equal rights were needed and that Americans had the right idea was an accepted action. In court, the action was a death warrant – start out saying what they want to hear, advised Francis. He had been promised that once he rose in the ranks he could say his idealistic speeches to his hearts content. That time could not come too soon!
And what would happen once he did this? Would any of those nobles in court take him seriously? "I should have just gone in and told them what was going on in the streets of France – even Spain can see the turmoil!" he chided himself as he laughed at his own morbid joke. He wanted these people to know the truth – he was sure that if they did things would change. They would have to take him seriously once they saw how dire the situation was. It sounded so simple: setup a background and wait for the king to notice the great things going on and grant you a rank. Then the alliances would come pouring in! In truth, Gregory didn't really believe that any of the "friendships" he made in court were real – it really was all about politics. Facial expressions and body language said feelings more and words. The only person who he felt he could truly believe was the girl – Margaret.
She said the things she wanted to because she didn't have to worry about pleasing the court. She already had Louis' favor and a fortune to her name. There was no need to gain petty friendships and alliances. She could do what she wanted without worry. When she spoke it was evident that she meant and believed what she said. Her eyes sparkled and color rose in her cheeks. The corners of her mouth turned up as her chest rose up and down with greater speed. She never had to lie or live a double life but she also felt for those who did have a hard life. She had told him that she agreed with his ideas about equality with those clear eyes and her dark brows furrowed in seriousness. – No one could fake such sincerity!
No matter how well a person lied, the truth would be written on their life through the friendships they kept. Whenever Greg and Francis were corresponding through letters, Greg was unsure of the man's intentions. Once they met face-to-face Greg could see that the man was serious. Anyone can lie in a letter. The sway of an eyelid or the flush of a cheek cannot give a lie away in a letter. The only sure way to see the truth of the matter was to meet and see the other person's face – mainly their eyes! The eyes are the windows to the soul and to see the depth of a person's soul, one must see their eyes. How could he explain anything to Margaret in a letter or trust any letter she sent.
"I should seal it or send one of the gents as a messenger," he thought sadly. "I could have at least tracked out a location. Then I could arrange a meeting."
Scenes played in his mind over and over. What if one of the Spanish Dons suspected that he was not Spanish and got suspicious? What if they talked and have been intercepting Margaret's letters for months? What if by sending this one letter, he ended up giving up the location of all the "resistance"?
So many things could go wrong… There was so much room for uncertainty but also so much room for possibilities. So many things could happen but what would happen? Why was he suddenly questioning himself? Greg had been in the resistance to help peasants for years. He had done many more dangerous things than sending a letter to a noble.
"Breathe," he reminded himself… "I've been around stiff nobles for too long!"
Chapter Twenty-Six
Margaret Fights the Shadow
Margaret raced to her father's message slot. She hoped that a letter from the new Spanish nephew of the count had written her. They had been through so much together and now it seemed like a day without word could mean anything. He had said he would but she had learned that many men lie about such things. She told herself that she would not be cross with him if he had not written… Still she longed to read a letter and imagine each letter of each word forming as a syllable from his firm mouth.
None of the other men at court were like him. The whole of the court's champers seemed to shake when they laughed and mocked each other like ugly hyenas. Everyone likes to think that it was the very earth's way of fighting against them – that even inanimate objects could see that they were using it for evil. Of course logic told Margaret and her friends that it was only that the giant feet of the servants and men above them stomping. Some people seemed so happy to see someone else get hurt and those types of people seemed to thrive at court. Part of Margaret wanted to leave the madness of court and another part of her said that she could change the way the court acted: Should not a good equal a good? If laughter is contagious than shouldn't someone else's joy bring others joy?
Turning to look over her shoulder, Margaret saw two shadows hurrying to catch up with her. Most people – especially the type of people in court, would have been a little nervous by this. Margaret heard the squished of silk after her own dress' swirl – she was sure that the shadows belonged to her ladies in waiting. They had been visiting the countess' seamstresses with new orders for her father and the ladies of the house. She turned the corner that lead to the box and gasped: a tall man stood before her holding a knife. She opened her mouth to call for help but was unable to as the man quickly dove at her. His hand covered her mouth and squeezed at her cheeks. She tried to kick at her capture but found that she could not even do that. Her dress was wrapped around her legs and made quick movement nearly impossible.
She was terrified and helpless. Nothing could be done to stop this man – she could barely move to stop him. Nor could she call for help. The man covered her mouth and quickly covered her eyes as another man quickly bound her hands. She silently prayed that the shadows really did belong to her ladies – or that they were close and had seen or suspected something… They were her only hope.
After a long and mysterious journey on carriage and horseback, Margaret and her two captures made it to their destination. Margaret was surprised when the men gently removed her bonds and gag. She could finally see her captures: one was short – she stood taller than him in her healed shoes; the other had dark, dark hair. It seemed that the evil in these men jumped out of them before the graciousness that must also seemed to reside in them had a chance to have a glimpse of the outside world. Emboldened by their kindness and the halt of the carriage that allowed her heart to slow down and stopped the panic that surged through her being.
Margaret took three deep, cleansing breaths before she was able to ask, "Where are we?"
The man with dark hair looked at her with fiery eyes. "You are not here to ask questions! Now sit and be quiet! You should be thankful to us – if you had stayed your fate would be much worse." The dark-heard man said all this to Margaret while the short man never turned around to face her. She stretched her neck to try to get a better look. The dark man saw her looking and quickly stepped to the side to block her view. She could tell from his frown that any other attempts would be hopeless. She hated to not know what was happening. If it was better for her hear that they had to be up to something there! What schemes could they be planning in Louis' court?
Thoughts of her father whirled through her head. Would they end up killing him? Everyone in court? Images of her father: Walking by the river as a child… and her friends: Laughing with her ladies in waiting at the court… Images of the count's Spanish nephew ran in her head and stayed there. His smiling face and sparkling eyes looked straight at her. He was frozen in her minds' eye but full of warmth even with the frozen exterior. His eyes were one of the things that separated him from the other nobles – they had feeling and compassion in them. He tightened his face to make himself look hard but the truth was in his eyes. He had a heart and she believed that he let it rule over his mind and the greed for money. She knew that greed was behind this attempt on her life as well. Everything leads back to greed…
How can I be thinking of him when all these other things are happening around me? She knew the answer as soon as her mind had asked the question: Because she hoped that it was he who saved her. She wanted him to hold her in his arms and protect her. This is a natural thing, she told herself. There were only a few people her age in court and he was one of them. He was foreign and had an aura of mystery around himself and attracted many young courtesans. It was nothing she insisted to herself even as the warmth of passion filled her.
A rough push forced her back into the reality of the situation. The shorter captor was apparently trying to tell her to move. Margaret shakily got to her feet. It was hard for her to balance with her hands still bound behind her back. She started to stumble but the man's grip on her arm instantly stopped her from falling. "The walk will help get the blood flowing in your limbs again," he said to her with a strange look in his eyes. Margaret met him look for look.
"Why am I here?"
"Don't worry… Our plan is not meant for you. We only destroy the wicked."
"Who are you going to destroy in the court? Are they all wicked?"
"Soon, we will know."
Margaret allowed the man to lead her to another small shack-like structure in the middle of the field where the other man stood. He saw the two of them and smiled an empty smile. These men claimed to be trying to help her and all of France but them also admitted to wanting to hurt the other members of the court. These men seems very confused like they were not sure what the next step would be, still they seemed very sure of themselves at the same time. It was obvious that these men were unstable… real question was what were they truly capable of doing.
"I am not sure the king even knows of your existence," a figure in black told Don Anthony once he had felt compelled to speak. The Don smiled a smile twice as sinister and vile as the monster's evil grin, knowing that the figure's words were true. He waved his hand and said, "Take this sad excuse for an informant away." Three armed men with Invader insignias on their jargons appeared from around the corner that the tight chains prevented the doomed man from seeing. The men pulled the man in question to his feet and placed a black sack over his head.
The stone-faced captain and his Invader warriors forced the man in black into the heart of the trouble. He was now trapped in a small but deep pool. It would only be a matter of moments before he drowned. Anthony smiled to himself from his high-domed office. The parting had been a sad one for him. The man had almost been useful but the trust was that the man was a coward who would not hesitate to turn the rest of them in if things came down to such.
Chapter Twenty-Seven:
Trackers
Francis and Gregory knew that they had to get back to their mission for all loyal Bantorians. Even though these missions were for the good of the country, they had to be conducted in secret and the woods behind Francis's' manor was the safest place the two of them could think of. The woods were like home now because he was in them so much. The Elfin city seemed weird and strange but the woods could almost be a village in Bantor. That tall pine could be the butcher's shop and the spruce in the back could be farmer Gibbon's place. It felt good for the men to be back in their element! The heroes could lay back and breathe easy. The two men knew where they were, where they were going and what they were doing again. It seemed like ages sense they had so much certainty. The county was at war but Greg had just started to relax when Francis's told them some bad news.
"We started this ceratodus a short time ago with the element of surprise," Francis stated with a serious frown on his face. "This weapon was one of the few we had and now, it is gone." He let out a sigh of irritation before continuing with the second part of his plan. "We all need to be more careful and keep all the advantages we can. Our country and king are depending on us to steal the plans for the king's treasure before the slime Invaders use the treasure against our whole country. In order to do this, we must hide and strike politically unseen like ambushes. We shall travel at night using the darkness as a cloak to seem invisible."
No one could really argue because no one knew of a more logical plan. Francis was a veteran of many battles and knew what he was saying because politics and warfare often collided. He knew firsthand how great of an advantage surprise could be in warfare. Greg tried to rest in a cornfield near to the Don's manor before sneaking in at night but sleep seemed to drift just out of their reach. Many of the servants Gregory had brought with him had been in the Don's prison and did not sleep at all during the time they were in the jail. Even though each of them was exhausted, sleep seemed to elude everyone. The wheels of their minds turned endlessly, making sleep impossible. Although each of the men in the field had a hard time sleeping, no one had a harder time than Gregory.
The youth in silk napes landed with a soft thud on the ground as his mind replayed the game over and over again. Gregory drifted in and out of that sleep-like state in between exhaustion and comas where he dreamed of the game and of scripts. The verse written on the script would appear in his head and he would feel amazed and delighted but then, it would ignite in red flames. A voice in Greg's mind told him it was just a script but his very heart would cry out in anguish when the voice even whispered this saddening thought. The heart knows the truth in all things and the pumping mussel could not be quiet because it knew that the scripts were something more than mere pieces of paper. The words had guided him as he felt them pull at him even now as he tried to sleep. How could something so powerful be just a script? It was like magic with a power stronger than what was merely looked at in the face.
The Negg Elf had said that the scripts were a silly waste of the knowledge the humans had acquired. The army leader made it sound like the scripts were nothing but a waste of the inks and papers but Gregory knew that the scripts held valuable knowledge that came from the True King himself. Still, Greg did not know what the true purpose of the knowledge or the scripts really was. Everything concerning the scripts seemed to be surrounded in mystery. The uncertainty of even the simplest things seemed to be magnified during this journey. Gregory was certain about nothing in life but it seemed like this was the first time any of the confusing things mattered to him. What tutors and royalty had taught him had little value or use in the wilderness. Gregory's mind reeled at the uncertainty his life the lives of every one in Bantor now possessed. Still, he smiled when he remembered the certainty he felt while he was reading the scripts. It was the only time he had no doubt. Even when the tutors drilled an idea into Gregory's head the idea never felt certain. Certainty gave Greg a feeling beyond comfort and there was no other feeling like it. The scripts had a drive to them because the words were certain and Greg was anxious to feel that drive again. He smiled, just remembering it all but then something happened.
Gregory was forced away from memory lane by the sound of a stick braking. He got up and crept towards the noise. He had to go deep into the cornfield before he could see the source of the noise. Two cloaked figures were following them.
"What have you gotten?" Asked the first one in a black cloak.
"Nothing new yet here but the Don lost them because of the Law." The cloaked figure's face was covered but and no emotion showed in the void where the face should be. "I heard that it was not him that lost it but a simple servant like us. The master's not too happy about that." The figure's emotions came through in the pinched aggression that came through in his voice.
"Then you better have good news for him," retorted the first quickly.
"They're far from the treasure. We've got time," answered the second.
"Make sure you do. You know what happens if you don't," hissed the figure in a sly voice.
"I just need some more information." With the Second's last remark the two parted. The First went towards the city the men had just escaped. The Second headed back towards the men's camp. Gregory followed after and mauled him from behind. Then, after memorizing every minuet detail, ran to tell the sleeping servants in the field all that he had heard and seen.
"There are two spies following us," he panted.
"I knew the Don would send someone but I didn't know it would be so soon," said one man named Samuel with worry in his brown eyes. "You should not have gone out alone young master! The Don could have taken you and then what would we tell Master Francis?
"We aren't sure the Don is the one who sent them. Bantor is a great kingdom with many enemies who want to destroy it. Many people from Court come to the Don's home and anyone of them could have been the master of these servants" Samuel turned to Gregory and asked, "How long have they been following us? Do we have time to get in before we are noticed?"
"I'm not sure. They acted like they just fond out about some fairly recent events," Greg said thinking about how they had mentioned the game.
"Give your best guess… You must have suspected something before you went out to look." The man's face looked panicked but his voice remained calm. He just wanted to hear that the spies had not been follow sense the first day of their journey. He just wanted to know that Bantor did have the advantage and that these spies were not his own countrymen.
"What did they look like?" Finished Samuel steadily.
Samuel, who seemed to be the oldest servant, led Gregory away from the group and asked quietly, "Were they human or creature?"
"I think they were human." Greg paused for a moment, trying to remember every picture in its own frame. Had he seen even a glimpse of pale skin or a patch of fur? "They wore long black cloaks. I think saw hands and arms but I couldn't see their feet or faces… They were not over six feet tall and I don't think that they were Invaders." Again Gregory paused trying to remember the lessons the tutors had given him on monsters from distant lands. "The spies could be Negglesses or Monitors or Sheomats… there is no telling what those spies are. They could really be anything."
Samuel looked at Gregory as they both let out long sighs. "This isn't good," said Samuel with slow measure in a voice that spoke so quietly that he himself could hardly hear it. These cloaked spies had to be more then spies… Gregory felt dread rise from the pit of his gut to the top of his throat. These were not spies or soldiers. They were Trackers and Trackers were not normal scouting parties. Trackers were like assassins who were hired not to kill. Assassins would kill a man and be done with the thing quickly and almost humanly. Trackers made the thing keep going. There never seemed to be an end. A Tracker could disappear into the night without leaving a trace of evidence or just make a simple potion to cause a man to sleep for a whole month. The target would be a lot less trouble to capture and move then. Such things very rarely happened of course. With Trackers, it was usually worse than a mere potion.
Samuel remembered his first encounter with the Trackers. It was years ago when Bantor was helping the small village of Amnus get read of some troublemakers. The conflict ended up being more complicated than any of the soldiers could have known. The troublemakers were really princes across the sea. They had runaway from home to enjoy themselves with thievery. If the boys were caught they would have revealed their identities and gotten off with little more than a lecture. Their marvelous plan seemed foolproof but they forgot about one important thing: their father's anger. Their father must have been very mad with them to send Trackers instead of palace guards after them. Trackers were merciless because they had no ruler. The guards would have treated the boys kindly knowing that one day the oldest would be king. Trackers had no such scruples. The boys made it home to their father welcoming his punishment. Even the punishment of an angry father was more merciful and just than the punishment of the trackers. It was sad really for such a thing to happen to young boys. Neither of them was sane enough to be king now! No one really knows what the Trackers did to them and the unknown end seemed even more terrifying than the countless stories Samuel had heard about the Trackers' tactics. He shivered just thinking about it… No one could bare such a thing alone.
Luckily, the group had each other and Samuel tried to sooth away the men's fear with that thought. The Tracker could not get them all at once. They would look out for one another and attack as a team. Every man was hand chosen by the king. Taking responsibility for a team member's life was nothing new to them. Battle called for such responsibilities several times and every the men on the team had been battle tested. Each member could all be trusted. Francis knew that everyone on the quest had to know about the Trackers but he regretted telling them about it just the same. Each one of these men was his friend. Even noblemen like Francis had become close companions to the peasants.
Sure, some people had been acting a little suspicious but Gregory and the others knew that the king trusted each of them and that they could trust each other. There must be good in every man. Still, many great men throughout history have had both bad and good in them. Everyman must also have both just as King Arthur and Hercules did. For this reason, Gregory would watch each of the servants closely. No one knew what type of horrible thing would come out.
That night the group moved with greater speed than they had planned on before. Everyone was in a hurry. The fact that Trackers were among them gave a new energy and urgency to the group. The party walked from the cornfield they had rested at to a small valley in front of a deep forest they would enter the next night. The hills rose and fell with the gentle gale that blew through the corn. The thoughts of the men seemed to be taking the same road as well. Tensions seemed to be at an ever-ascending cascade of the feeling.
Suspicions became a vast mixture of anger and fear that could be manipulated only by the Trackers and those in their making. Trackers were said to have an alley at every turn but an enemy behind everyone…Gregory knew that he could not take too many chances and had two people stand watch at the corners from that first door on. Gregory was about to choose two men for the right corner's watch when a man named John volunteered. The words he uttered were the closest he had come to a conversation sense his capture. The other men spoke for John of the horrors they had seen him endure. They had wanted to include John so Gregory agreed to let him stand watch. It didn't take long for the others to go into the room where Francis's' sources claimed the information would be.
Once inside, the men saw that finding the needed information would be harder than they had originally thought. Papers were strewn about everywhere and stacks of books covered every available surface. The only small detail that separated this room from the struggle of a crime scene was the lack of turned chairs. It would be next to impossible to find anything because nothing was organized in any way. How could any studying be going on here? Nothing could get done in a room like that.
Gregory was glad to know that he had placed men to guard the corners. There would be plenty of time to escape if someone showed up and the odds of having someone show were higher than Greg had planned – this mess would take longer than normal to look through. After hours of looking through a mesh of papers and torn pages, one of the servants found a stone box etched with gold and silver on the trims. This had to be it. Gregory was about to open it when the warning call sounded from the second corner. The group left for the cornfield and back to the manor before the night was over.
The next morning was warm and quiet in the manor. The bugs softly buzzed a lullaby as the crickets chirped in the early light. Gregory was quickly asleep all morning and into the afternoon. He snored softly next to Samuel when a heavy hand fell on Greg's shoulder. Greg jumped awake at the touch to find his mentor standing next to him. "You and I need to talk about what happened last night," Francis said. "The box does not contain what I had imagined. There is a stone but I do not believe it is the stone that we are looking for. I have never seen the monster's treasure though. I assume it is as valuable as Bantor's treasure. Just answer all of my questions and maybe we can find out what this really is." The light of confidence met in Francis's' eyes. He knew what he had to do and to be so close to his goal both freighted and invigorated him. His mouth seemed to move quicker than his words would allow as he asked, "Do you know why we want the treasure?"
"The king wants us to get it as a warning to all the Invaders and the rebels so that they know to leave the rule of the cities to the nobles." Gregory was still tired but didn't have the will or patience to describe the patriotic pull he did not fully understand. He had remembered only a few weeks ago, before he came to court, when he would have dropped everything if the king asked them to make this mission for him. Gregory would have been willing to risk his live for the people of Bantor. He was a patriot then. Now, he was on the quest for a totally different reason: He still wanted to help people but it was more than that now. Francis was a good man and he was doing this mission to help him and Marcus. He was risking his life for his family and for the woman he thought he loved.
"How does anyone even know about the stone?" Asked Gregory with frustration in his voice.
"He must have informants everywhere – especially in the court and in the major cities to rile the populace."
"Did the papers in the office mention anything about informants or the Stone's legion? The servants said that you were in the office a long time."
"I read more than I needed to and found that you have not been completely honest with me. This situation is becoming more complicated," retorted Greg rather indignantly.
"What do you think that you found out?" Asked Francis with the guard he felt in his voice.
"I know that you were working with the scripts yourself before the Don got a hold of them. I know that Marcus's father worked for you before he worked for Don Anthony." Gregory would have continued with the list of things that he had learned in the office if Francis had not left the room.