Escape From Pharoah Chapter 1

Chapter 1

         The general was coming. He looked angry and determined. Marcellus spotted an abandoned building and ran toward it. He hid inside the squat building as the general ran past, hoping the door didn’t give him away as he yanked it shut. It squeaked open; the latch on it had broken over a year ago and hadn’t been fixed. He sighed quietly when the general continued past him. He turned away from the door to see what was left.
         The family that had vacated Twilight in a hurry hadn’t left a lot behind. There was a table and a single chair. The matching chair was on its side. The fireplace was cold and devoid of ashes. Turning the chair upright, he made his way to the back of the deserted house where all that remained were a few broken tankards and a smashed keg. A sudden hand on his shoulder nearly made him shout. Turning around, Marcellus frowned at Conner, his good friend and the apprentice of the general.
         “Conner, what are you doing here?” Marcellus hissed. “I think General Williams is looking for you.”
         “Not I, Marc, and you know it, judging by the way you hid from him. Anyway, I came to find you because you’re at the top of our priority list.”
         “What about Twilight?” Marc asked. Everyone in the city knew that the Peacans, from across the ocean, were on a raid. They raided Lagoud’s ocean-cities often. Twilight was often a target because the city did not rest on a cliff, as many other ocean-cities did.
         Conner tossed a bundle of clothes and a kit bag at Marc. “You’ll need these,” he said, avoiding Marc’s question.
         “Why?”
         “Why what?”
         “Why the change? In the past, Twilight’s safety always came first. Suddenly I’m more important? Why? And why the clothes? My tunic and breeches are fine.”
         “One can always rebuild cities with few problems, none of them major; heirs are a bit more difficult to come by.” Matthew was a head shorter than his son. Marc shared his father’s light brown eyes; there was no denying their relationship. “You need to speak with General Williams about the clothes however.”
         “Father, Twilight has always been more important. In the past, you simply put me in the cellar and General Williams fought the Peacans back.”
         Matthew shook his head. “The Peacans have discovered that I have a son, and are coming in larger numbers than normal. I fear General Williams will not be able to hold Twilight. We will likely raze the city before fleeing. They no doubt seek to take Twilight for their own, and establish a city on Lagoud. For your safety, I am sending you north to Grand Master Osric Eldeen.”
         Marc repeated the name with a note of disbelief. “Grand Master Osric Eldeen? Who’s that?” In his head Marc wondered why he had such a long name, or if Grand Master was merely a title.
         “He is a companion of mine; you met him once, although it was quite some time ago. You will be posing as a soldier in training along with fifty swords that the general is sending out.”
         “What of Conner?” Marc took a step closer to his friend.
         Matthew looked Conner up and down. “I am not told all of General Williams’ plans. He has proven decisive and wise in the past, and I let him execute most of his plans without my knowledge. The only exceptions are involving you and myself.”
         “But where is he going to be? You must have some idea.”
         A commanding voice that was familiar to them all made Conner cringe. “That, young Marcellus, is one of the few things that is not up to your father.”
         The narrow door was open. The silhouette of a tall, thin man stood in the entrance. Stepping into the small room, he removed a dark green felt hat and bowed his head to Matthew. The calvous head was tilted at Marc next.
         “Master Matthew, Master Marcellus, Conner.” General Williams frowned at Conner. “Did I not tell you to stay close, to not disappear?” He smacked a thin leather rod on Conner’s shoulder. “Perhaps next time you will follow orders. If the Peacans were not coming in such a force, you would most certainly be on latrine duty.”
         Conner rubbed his shoulder. “Yes, sir,” Conner mumbled. “Sorry, sir, but Master Matthew asked me to find Marc—I mean Master Marcellus.”
         “Well?” Marc demanded. “Where will Conner be?”
         “Conner is to be in charge of the fifty swords protecting you, Master Marcellus. I will be receiving a full report from Commander Rodney after the rendezvous in Phantom. In order to preserve the illusion that you are a soldier, you must wear the garb of one.” The general gestured at the bundle Conner had given Marc.
         “I’ll stay at the head of the line with you,” Marc promised his friend.
         “You will not,” Marc’s father said sharply. “You are to remain in the middle, among those who will defend you in the future. Now, pack your belongings.” Marc’s father turned and strode out. General Williams turned to follow. He stopped when the light formed a dark silhouette.
         “Come, Conner. We had best get ready.”
         Conner followed the skinny general through the door. Conner had no true family left—his parents had both died when he was young—and was training under the general. A number of times, Conner had considered taking the general’s last name for his own. In the end he always decided against it. He half-heartedly waved a hand over his shoulder. Marc returned the gesture and turned around to tackle the task of packing.
         Marc replaced his old tunic with the new one, which was emblazoned with his family emblem: a sun—rising or setting, no one really knew for sure—and three wavy lines to indicate water. It was the same dark green as the general’s hat, though thankfully not made of felt. Tugging off his boots and breeches, he pulled on the new tan breeches and yanked the tight riding boots on. Hefting a new shield engraved with the sun, he strapped it to his back. His carefully folded his sheep’s-wool cloak and he put it in the kit bag that the general had left for him. His old tunic and breeches joined his cloak, as well as looser, more comfortable boots.
         Squirming in his new tunic, he slung the kit over his shoulder where it gave an obligingly loud thunk against his shield. He left the house to find his father and General Williams.