Richard Tuttle - Star of Sakova

“Don’t bother with me,” Rhodella stated. “I know what is coming and you can do nothing to stop it. I want you two boys to swear that you will stay with Lyra until this is over. She needs your help.”

Although both boys readily agreed, Rhodella was dead before she could hear their answer. Lyra sat and wept while cradling her mother’s head as Syman and Antello quietly left the room.

Syman heard Lyra calling and ran back to Master Malafar’s study. Sliding on the blood soaked floor, he hit the doorway and halted haphazardly. “What is it?” he questioned. “Is something the matter?”

No,” answered Lyra, her muddied face gazing at her dead mother. “I just wanted help getting my mother outside so we can have a proper funeral.”

“Lyra,” sighed Syman, “I’m sorry, but we have no time for that now. Those raiders are coming back here and as soon as they see the one we killed, they are going to be tracking us. We need to get whatever we can salvage and get out of here quickly.”

“We can be ready for them,” chirped Antello from the classroom. “Maybe we can get them as they come in.”

Syman turned and shook his head. “Antello,” lectured Syman, “we would be lucky to fight an even number of those bandits and survive. We’ve had good training, but we have no experience killing people. Those raiders sounded like it was a normal day for them. We need to get Lyra to Alamar. We swore we would do so, even if Rhodella never heard us. I intend to honor my pledge and we shall not do that waiting here for more raiders. Get down to the kitchen and fix us packs for the road. I’m going to scour this place for any useable weapons while Lyra gets her brother’s sword.”

Lyra gently laid her mother back on the floor and nodded. “Syman is right,” she conceded. “Mother’s plan makes sense even if Alamar is hundreds of leagues from here. We have to get someone to help us and Uncle Temiker is a powerful mage. Besides, Mother said he is in danger too. We can tell the villagers about this mess. I know they will provide decent funerals for everyone.”

“But the raiders were going to the village,” cautioned Syman. “We should try to avoid it.”

“I may leave this castle without making my Mother ready for a funeral, but I will not allow her to lie here and rot,” declared Lyra. “We will visit the village before we head off to Alamar. Antello, see if there are any horses left behind while you are downstairs. If the raiders didn’t steal them all, pick three of the best for our journey.”

“I need to get this crud off me before we leave,” announced Syman. “Who knows when the next bath will be.”

Lyra winced as she looked at her two friends and imagined what she looked like herself. “Okay,” she agreed, “but we need to move quickly. I want a long head start on those raiders when they return.”

Lyra stepped over the body of Master Caulder and headed for her mother’s room. Swiftly, she threw herself to the floor and wriggled under the bed for her mother’s chest. She cringed at the feel of her blood soaked tunic as it pressed against her body, but she yanked the chest out and opened it. Sadness filled her heart as she viewed the belongings of her brother, Alfred. Alfred had been killed when Lyra was still young, but she still remembered him well. How proud everyone had been of Alfred when he was chosen to serve with the Monitors, the Katana’s own personal bodyguard. He hadn’t been in the capital more than a year before an assassination attempt cost him his life. The victim of a magical projectile, Alfred never had a chance to defend himself, but his death saved the Katana.

The day the news arrived was the very day her father vowed to never teach offensive magic again and the last day he ever spoke to his brother, Temiker. The assassin was caught and identified as one of Temiker’s former students. Very likely, Uncle Temiker taught the very spell that cost Alfred his life. Father could never forgive him for that.

Lyra looked through the contents of the chest and piled items she would be taking with her on the floor. She added Alfred’s pants and leather vest to the pile and reasoned that she could alter them to fit herself while they traveled. A dark waistband with pouches for Omunga Stars and the Stars themselves were set aside for the journey. Six fine throwing knives with leather sheaths also made the pile. She examined the boots and decided they were too big for her, but smiled when she saw the black cap. She decided that it would do nicely to cover her hair and help to disguise her.

Alfred’s sword was a mean looking double-edged sword, which was considerably heavier than what she was used to, but it also had a well-maintained back sheath and Lyra figured that she would get used to the extra weight of it. Lyra was slim, but she was not weak or frail. In fact, she was quite athletic and in as good a shape as any of the cadets. At the bottom of the chest was a fine bow with three extra bowstrings and a quiver of hunting arrows. Lyra added them to her pile and closed the chest. Gathering up her new belongings, Lyra ran to her own room and started tossing clothes on the bed for her journey. She grabbed the outfit she would wear for today and headed off to bathe.

Lyra pulled off her soiled clothes and threw them in a heap on the floor. She frowned when she realized that nobody would care about her mess or attempt to scold her for her untidiness. There was nobody left to care. Tears rolled down Lyra’s cheeks as she scrubbed the mud and blood off her body, the stiff bristles of the brush turning her skin pink. The Academy had been her home for many years and now it no longer existed. Her tears helped fill her wash tub as she thought about never seeing her mother again. Everything that had happened today seemed like a bad dream to her and she wished she could wake up and find her mother complaining about her missing classes again. Lyra breathed the aroma of the coarse soap and realized that she was not dreaming. Quickly, she finished washing and got dressed.

Before she headed downstairs, Lyra detoured back to her father’s study, carefully avoiding the pools of blood. Stepping over the body of Master Caulder, Lyra averted her eyes from her mother’s body and moved to the wall of bookshelves. Her father, Master Malafar, never let anyone touch his personal library and Lyra had been scolded just for browsing the titles of the books upon it. The Academy had another library that was open to all students, but Master Malafar protected his personal books from student use. Lyra thought she knew why.

Swiftly she scanned the titles, running her finger along the old leather volumes, and had her hunch confirmed. On the very bottom shelf were books dealing with offensive magic. While Master Malafar may have abhorred the use of offensive magic, his love of books would not permit him to discard any, even those, which he would never open again. Realizing the limitations of traveling, Lyra chose three volumes whose titles suggested the most information in the smallest package. Clutching the leather-bound tomes to her chest, Lyra retreated to her room to complete her packing.

Quickly scurrying down the stairs, Lyra found Antello at the bottom with six packs of provisions already made up. “Where is Syman,” questioned Lyra. “Do we have horses?”

“They didn’t take anything but your father,” explained Antello. “Syman has the horses tied out front. He is . . . he is looting the bodies. I can’t believe he is stealing their belongings. It doesn’t seem right.”

Lyra reached down and hefted two of the provision packs, groaning under the additional weight. “What have you packed in here?” she quipped. “I hope it is all edible and not brass candlesticks.”