Refugees

Refugees

  Mud, Rocks, and Trees Series Book 1

  By R.A. Denny

  Copyright 2017 R.A. Denny

  All Rights Reserved

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  CONTENTS

  Title

  Prologue - Gold

  Chapter 1 - Mud

  Chapter 2 - Trees

  Chapter 3 - Mud

  Chapter 4 - Rocks

  Chapter 5 - Mud

  Chapter 6 - Grass

  Chapter 7 - Trees

  Chapter 8 - Mud

  Chapter 9 - Rocks

  Chapter 10 - Trees

  Chapter 11 - Mud

  Chapter 12 - Trees

  Chapter 13 - Rocks

  Chapter 14 - Trees

  Chapter 15 - Grass

  Chapter 16 - Trees

  Chapter 17 - Rocks

  Chapter 18 - Mud

  Chapter 19 - Trees

  Chapter 20 - Mud

  Chapter 21 - Trees

  Chapter 22 - Mud

  Chapter 23 - Grass

  Chapter 24 - Rocks

  Chapter 25 - Mud

  Chapter 26 - Trees

  Chapter 27 - Mud

  Chapter 28 - Rocks

  Chapter 29 - Mud

  Chapter 30 - Trees

  Chapter 31 - Mud

  Chapter 32 - Trees

  Chapter 33 - Grass

  Chapter 34 - Trees

  Chapter 35 - Rocks

  Chapter 36 - Mud

  Chapter 37 - Trees

  Chapter 38 - Rocks

  Chapter 39 - Trees

  Map West

  Map East

  Character List

  Read More

  Also by R.A. Denny

  Copyright

  To my son Ryan who encouraged me to do what I love and patiently helped to make my dreams come true.

  And many thanks to the talented people who kept me believing:

  Ryan, Amanda, Cleve, Drew, KC, Mark, Brian, and Eva

  Prologue

  Gold - Bladar

  Bladar glanced around one last time to be sure he had not been followed. Seeing nobody, he strode the last few feet to the stable door and pushed it open. He was met with the familiar aroma of horse sweat, manure, and hay. As he stepped inside, the horses within began tossing their heads, stamping their hooves, and snorting through their noses, breaking the silent darkness. One rammed her chest against the stall door. Bladar froze. He reached inside his long brown robe, his face still shrouded in the shadow of its hood, and grasped his axe handle as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, and his ears strained for any sound of human treachery. His spies had assured him that only one man had entered the stable, but spies, like any man, can be bought for the right price.

  “Do you always have that effect on horses?” a man’s voice called to him from the back, followed by a chuckle. Bladar relaxed a bit but still clutched his axe under his robe.

  “Never. But I do not cage my horses,” he said.

  Bladar clucked gently to the horses, trying in vain to quiet them. His senses were still on alert as he approached the tall man with the curled beard, who was standing near the back wall where the horse tack hung, cloaked similarly in simple brown wool. It appeared that the man had, in fact, come alone. Bladar pulled back his hood to reveal a distinctive hooked nose on his face and a mane of hair between the closely shaved sides of his head.

  “Or maybe the mares think you’re a stallion,” the bemused Zoltov said to his face.

  Bladar prudently ignored the disguised emperor’s insult. Yet even after all these years, it awoke in him the old desire to bury his axe in Zoltov’s face.

  “It appears that the horses sense some danger of which we are unaware, Your Majesty. Horses are smarter than people.”

  “Some people, perhaps,” the ruler of the Tzoladian Empire retorted. But as he spoke, he lifted his right hand with his fingers apart, making the gesture to combat any evil portended. Another horse snorted and pushed against her stall, oblivious to the ruler’s sign.

  Bladar held out a rolled parchment to Zoltov, who had known him immediately because of his hooked nose, although they had not met face to face for many years. Bladar wondered about the need for such secrecy in this meeting. The two leaders usually communicated through messengers.

  “Here is that which you seek.”

  Emperor Zoltov took the parchment. He quickly tucked it away inside his long coarse robe, without reading its contents, and without saying a word.

  “I await your instructions,” Bladar said. His piercing eyes calmly met those of Zoltov.

  Swallowing hard, the emperor considered for a moment and then retrieved the item he had just put away, slipped the string off, and broke the clay seal. Next, he unrolled the scroll and glanced at the writing.

  “I thought the Society never wrote their secrets,” the emperor commented.

  “I…requested…that he transcribe it for you.”

  The emperor nodded in approval as he raised one corner of his mouth in an uneven grin, then looked back at the scroll and silently read:

  In the last days, when the new star glows in the skies;

  Out of the depths of the rocks we call. Hear our cries!

  As earth’s secrets unfold, he who sleeps will arise;

  Three seals guard the land where the hidden treasure lies.

  Rock soars out of the air; trees float over the seas;

  Every man in the city buried by mud flees.

  So let the Word be spread; so let the Truth be known

  When the son of a duck, the heir, takes the throne.

  Through the bog roll the stones; through the log flows a breeze;

  Build the Kingdom by gathering mud, rocks, and trees.

  Emperor Zoltov tried to hide his shaking hands as he looked up from his reading. The prophecy confirmed his worst fears. The brother he had buried alive, who haunted his dreams, was going to arise from the tomb and claim revenge by gathering together mud, rocks, and trees. Zoltov decided that if he waited to act until after the new star appeared, then it would be too late. “Did you read this?” he asked.

  “No.” Bladar stared into the emperor’s grey eyes, standing straight, with dignity.

  Zoltov surmised that the leader of the Sparaggi had probably never learned to read, even if he had been a royal hostage in Tzoladia as a boy. “Very well. Take proper care of the man who wrote it.”

  “He has already taken care of himself, Your Majesty.”

  “Then he has saved you the trouble. Have the seeds been planted for ‘The Emperor’s Harvest’?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well. Begin the Harvest immediately.”

  “Consider it done,” Bladar said.

  The emperor produced a heavy bag and placed it on the floor between them. “The balance will be based on how many webbed feet you bring me. It’s simple: the more feet, the more gold.”

  It occurred to Bladar that he could kill the emperor now, flee on one of the horses, and set the others free. But he had no desire to settle in the city as the new emperor, and he could think of no one else he preferred on the throne as long as the emperor continued to supply him with gold.

  “It is always a pleasure to serve you.” Bladar gave a quick, almost unperceivable bow and prepared to leave.

  “One more thing,” the emperor said. So there was more. Bladar had thought there would be more.

  “Do you remember Baskrod?”

  “Our old teacher? Not someone easy to forget! Do you think he is still alive?”

  “Find him. There may be a duck boy almost the age of a man with him. If so, capture both of them. If they possess a blue cylinder seal, take it. If not, torture them to find it. Once you have the seal, kil
l them. Bring the seal to me, in person, alone.”

  This was what Bladar had expected. He had to work to keep his eyes from smiling. With a stone face, he lied, “I was rather fond of the old teacher. Why should I do this? What’s in it for me?”

  “Metal stirrups made by the rock men. Enough for all your horses.” The emperor removed a finely wrought set of stirrups from the wall behind him and handed it to Bladar.

  “And my men?” Bladar asked as he admired the stirrups.

  “Enough for their horses too.”

  “Do you want me to kill the old man and the boy quickly or slowly?” Bladar laughed.

  “That’s up to you. Be creative. Just bring me that seal.”

  “You’ve got a deal.” The two childhood enemies shook hands.

  The clandestine meeting was over. Bladar hefted the bag of gold and turned to go. As he walked out, he noticed that all the horses had grown quiet. Yet their agitation lingered in Bladar’s mind. They sensed something, but what it was he did not know.