Khandarken Rising, The Last War: Book One: The Last War, #1

By Sylvie Grayson

The Emperor has been defeated. New countries have arisen from the ashes of the old Empire. The citizens swear they will never need to fight again after that long and painful war.

Bethlehem Farmer is helping her brother Abram run Farmer Holdings in south Khandarken after their father died in the final battles. She is looking after the dispossessed, keeping the farm productive and the talc mine working in the hills behind their land. But when Abram takes a trip with Uncle Jade into the northern territory and disappears without a trace, she's left on her own. Suddenly things are not what they seem and no one can be trusted.

Major Dante Regiment is sent by his father, the General of Khandarken, to find out what the situation is at Farmer Holdings. What he sees shakes him to the core and fuels his grim determination to protect Bethlehem at all cost, even with his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sylvie Grayson
• Release date: Jun 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9780993828898

Sylvie Grayson

About the author Sylvie Grayson has published romantic suspense novels, Suspended Animation, Legal Obstruction, and The Lies He Told Me, all full of tension and attraction, about strong women who meet with dangerous odds, stories of tension and attraction. She has also written The Last War series, a romantic sci/fi - fantasy set to be released in 2015. She has been an English language instructor, a nightclub manager, an auto shop bookkeeper and a lawyer. She lives in southern British Columbia with her husband on a small piece of land near the Pacific Ocean that they call home, when she's not travelling the world looking for adventure. Sylvie loves to hear from her readers. You can learn more at her website – http:/sylviegrayson.com or reach her at         [e-mail]

Book preview

The Last War:

Book One

Khandarken Rising

Sylvie Grayson

––––––––

...Ms Grayson has created a fascinating new world with a lot of the same old problems. Sci fi and fantasy rolled into one with a sure hand and enormous imagination...

other books by Sylvie Grayson

Contemporary suspense, romance and attempted murder ...

Suspended Animation

Legal Obstruction

The Lies He Told Me

––––––––

Sci-fi/ fantasy,  suspense, romance and murder...

The Last War: Book One

Khandarken Rising

The Last War: Book Two

The Emperor's Son

Contact Sylvie Grayson at:

www.sylviegrayson.com

[e-mail]

The Last War:

Book One

Khandarken Rising

Sylvie Grayson

Map 2.jpeg

Chapter One

Dante! General Paulo Regiment gazed near-sightedly round the Great Hall, his faded pupils wide and straining. Scribe put a hand on Paulo’s shoulder to draw his attention and pointed across the high-ceilinged room to where Dante stood near the tall windows, dressed in military uniform, talking with a group of men waiting to see his father.

Fetch him. Reginald Scribe laid a sheaf of papers on the corner of the desk and moved smoothly through the crowd to Dante’s side.

Your father needs you. His voice was low, modulated.

Dante nodded to acknowledge the message, shook hands with the men in the group and turned toward the corner where the General of Khandarken held court.

Paulo’s office took up most of one corner of the Great Hall. At its centre sat a heavy hand-carved wooden desk, remnant of some forgotten world, its surface covered by aged dark leather.

It had deep storage drawers, a brass pull held in the mouth of a lion head mounted on the front of each. Massive shelves rose behind him almost to the ceiling, jammed with books and documents, tomes and reference works.

There were wooden file cabinets against the walls and a smaller desk made of metal off to the side, its top covered with some strange ancient fibre, at which Scribe worked.

Paulo’s chair at least was modern. Black rubber-plastic, it moulded to his large frame and cushioned him at the same time. Now he glided back easily on the scaled slides and stood to greet his son.

Dante, sit. That will be all for now, Scribe.

Moving as if on wheels, the assistant retrieved the sheaf of papers from the corner of Paulo’s desk where he’d placed them, and headed toward the door at the far end of the Great Hall.

Respectfully the crowd parted to allow the short well-groomed assistant through. Each of these men was here to see Paulo Regiment. They would wait patiently until the great man made time for them.

Dante turned back to his father. Since the end of the Last War, the General had changed. He was still a big man, swarthy skin, upright and erect in posture, his bushy sideburns full and long. But he seemed to have shrunk a little, lost some weight in his heavy shoulders and sturdy frame, there was more grey in his full head of dark hair.

Paulo had been there at the end, in that final battle of the Last War. He’d been caught in the technical blast and his eyesight had suffered badly. He could still see at close range and was most comfortable conversing with a small group seated within arm’s distance.

His face showed the permanent effect of the blast’s impact, the skin seared on his left cheek, curling a little as if melted. His mouth pulled on that side from the tug of it. He was blessed to have survived, many had not.

Dante seated himself and waited. Frowning, Paulo sat. Straightening the ledgers on his desk, he leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. Dante, I’ve been told some interesting news. I’ve been asked to look into a certain matter but I don’t think I have the whole picture. I want you to investigate for me.

What is it, Father?

Paulo’s face became stern. Simply this. I was asked to look into the situation of a young woman by the name of Bethlehem Farmer. It’s possible she’s living by herself in the Southern Territory. She’s twenty-three, Dante, and single. It doesn’t make any sense to me that she would live alone. The source of the query raises my concern more than the query itself. Why do they know this? How do they know? And what is their interest in the matter?

I know that’s unusual, Father, Dante’s brow rose quizzically. But there are many different living arrangements since the end of the War. It decimated families, left them living in different countries, even made them enemies.

Paulo waved that away. Yes, yes. But normally this kind of request would come from some relative asking after the welfare of a young woman, wouldn’t it? Or even a neighbour who was concerned she was living in unsafe conditions or who wanted her assets. But no, this is someone high up, someone who isn’t usually interested in a common farmer in the territories.

Who’s asking, Father?

Paulo measured him with his gaze. Cownden Lanser’s office, he finally replied, his teeth clamping together on the last syllable. Chief Constable for Khandarken.

Dante frowned. Cownden Lanser is too political to be involved in a matter that should be handed over to a local constable.

Paulo nodded forcefully. So why is he interested? He tugged at a sideburn, his gaze unfocussed.

Is this one of the Farmers from Farmer Holdings on the Southern Highway? If so, that’s a fairly big operation. I’ve passed that site, their land runs for miles along Romeo Road. It isn’t likely she’s living alone.

I thought of that. Paulo glanced nearsightedly out into the hall. Apparently someone caught his eye, because he nodded in acknowledgement, dropped his gaze and spoke softly but vehemently. "I don’t know, is the answer. Tread softly. Just go out there and see what you can find. Then we can decide how to handle the information. My own sources say she’s living with her brother Abram and her uncle, a man named Jade Hawker. I don’t see that she’s alone.

Certainly, her mother is long dead and the father Gregoff Farmer died in the Last War, just before the end. He was a Major in the military. But the records show the farm was left in the hands of the son and daughter. The wife’s brother has traditionally lived with them.

He gave Dante a hard look. Tread carefully. I refuse to be pushed into the middle of something political, nor will I turn in an innocent family for someone else’s purposes. Let me know what you find.

Yes, Father. We should be able to get out there soon. On a different subject, why have you summoned a group of teachers here to see you?

Paulo glanced vaguely in the direction of the windows, but his expression grew darker. I want to talk to them about what they’re teaching in the schools about the Last War. I’ve heard strange things, new politics, and I’m going to put them straight. So, go. He slapped his hand sharply on the leather top of his desk. See what you can find out about Ms Farmer and step with care. I don’t trust Cownden Lanser. He’ll find I won’t be used for his purposes.

Dante stood and saluted.

Paulo broke into a smile. Don’t you salute me, son. I can still tan your hide if I have to.

Dante grinned. What are you talking about? I could take Virgil when I was twelve.

Paulo quickly sobered. Dante, keep this to yourself, not even your brother Virgil or Scribe need know. I don’t want any speculation buzzing about. Take only men you trust, men who won’t talk.

~***~

Abram Farmer waited impatiently in the queue to exit the City, before it grew too dark to go out into the territory, or his Advocate had time to issue a warrant for his arrest. He finally reached the guard at the gates, showed his ident and kicked his scooter into gear. There was a crowd of vehicles, a military transport, some small scooters like his own, even a team of mules with a wagon heading out the Southern Highway at dusk. The traffic soon thinned as he wended his way toward home and he was able to travel faster, although the state of the road made any real haste difficult. The ruts were legendary, the potholes could wreck a wheel or knock it clean off the vehicle.

He settled down to a steady pace as night approached. This trip had been a huge waste of time. Madill Advisor, their father’s attorney had insisted he was to be the trustee of their property, as provided for in Gregoff’s will. However, the will that Abe had in his possession said something quite different. In that document, everything was left to himself and his younger sister Bethlehem. There was no trustee mentioned.

So he’d gone home and searched out his copy of the document. Then he’d travelled back to the City to see Madill Advisor and tell him there was no need for him to step in as trustee. The estate was left to them in its entirety.

But that’s not what your father decided, Abram, Madill had insisted today. He didn’t want you to have the stress and risk involved in running the whole enterprise. Yes, you can manage the farm and the animals, you can even manage Farmerville. But the mine is a nightmare, and the risk is too great.

Abe had listened in growing astonishment. Where was this coming from? What was Madill’s goal here?

Abram, Madill continued, If I’m trustee of the mine, you aren’t exposed to the financial demands in the rest of the operation. You’ll be safe, as will your sister. You have to think about her. It’s what Gregoff told me he wanted, before he went back to war.

Abe had felt himself grow warm. His father died in the final battle of the Last War and they missed him every day. Yet he and Beth had been running things just fine for the last few years while they waited for the legal work to be done that transferred Farmer Holdings to them. Now Madill was saying he didn’t want to do it?

Abe had stood, stopping Madill Advisor in mid-sentence where he was seated behind his crystal and chrome desk. Mr Advisor, that’s not what the will says, and we’re fine without your trusteeship. We won’t need you to act in that capacity. Thank you for your time.

He left in a fury. Now as he travelled along the Southern Highway, a forest of evergreens flashing past on each side, he felt himself cooling off and rational thought taking over. Madill Advisor might have been Gregoff Farmer’s lawyer, but they could find someone else to do the legal work of enforcing the will and transferring Holdings.

He heard a warning siren and turned his head to see the flashing lights of a Constable patrol truck approaching from behind. He slowed and was pulling his scooter toward the side of the road, when a roar sounded to his right and an aerial scooter came out of the trees. It came fast, heading straight for him. If he didn’t move he’d surely be hit. He gunned the small engine and tried to dodge it. From the corner of his eye, he saw another scooter coming at him from the other side. What was going on? He was going to be mowed down if he didn’t get out of the way of these two maniacs. A shot of alarm urged him on. Aerial scooters had much more capability and speed than his solar vehicle.

He was at top speed now, trying to keep himself on the road with no idea where the Constable patrol truck had disappeared to behind him. A flash of laser fire shot across his bow and he automatically slowed. The next flash hit the scooter, and it stalled for a moment before sputtering to life again. He felt a searing pain in his leg and realized his pants were on fire. Stretching with a gloved hand, he batted at the cloth as his skin singed under the heat, the other hand occupied with keeping the scooter aimed down the road.

The scooter frame jolted under the impact of bullets hitting the fender. He felt a strange sense of destiny. A moment ago he’d thought he could be injured when he saw the first aerial coming at him, but now realized he was under attack and may not even survive the encounter.

As suddenly as it started, the scooters backed off and faded into the forest on either side. To his astonishment, they simply disappeared. Then a military transport rounded the corner and came toward him down the Southern Highway. Its lights swept the roadway and showed no one there but Abe on a damaged solar scooter limping painfully toward Romeo Road and home.

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Chapter Two

Mist rose from the ground and swirled around their tires as Dante motioned his driver to pull the armoured military transport to the side of the muddy road. The giant wheels moved easily in the dust and mud, the independent suspension making for good traction in nearly every type of terrain.

The four of them had left the City well before dawn and it had taken hours to navigate the Southern Highway, such as it was. With detours and deep holes, water bogs and obstructions, the highway was the best of the rough rural roads in Khandarken. The Last War had interrupted any kind of maintenance, and the road system had borne the worst of it.

Turning onto Romeo Road, they’d driven many more miles before coming upon the track that led in to the Farmer establishment near the Southern Territory border.

The track looked well used, if dusty and rutted, a single lane that ran in a straight line up through ploughed fields, disappearing over the horizon. In the distance through the rising mist, Dante saw a low range of mountains, the sun glinting on the rock at the summit.

At the entrance to the track stood a guardhouse with a gate that stretched across to bar access. Someone moved in the dim interior. They had obviously been spotted.

Dante contemplated the map mounted on the frontboard of the transport, finally motioning Ooievaar to pull ahead. It looks like quite a ways in. We should be able to navigate.

Like most military men, Ooievaar’s sideburns were long and full. Tall and lean, he possessed great stamina and good judgment. Dante valued these qualities highly in his right hand man. Pulling up to the guardhouse, the driver brought the transport to a halt, his weathered face alert. Dante climbed out, slamming the armoured door closed.

Hello there, he called.

The guard stepped out and faced him squarely, his plasmagun held low but at the ready. What can I do for you? he asked. He was young, not yet twenty, with a sparse black beard covering his chin, his hair wild and unkempt. But the uniform was clean and serviceable enough, his gun shiny with oil.

Dante smiled. He remembered being that young. He’d been in military college at fourteen and out doing patrols at the same age as this young man.

Raising his visor, he pulled out his ident and presented it. I’m Dante Regiment. These are my men. We’re here on official business to see Ms Bethlehem Farmer. Will I find her here?

He watched the young man keenly for his reaction, but he calmly took the ident, read it thoroughly and nodded. She’s here, sir. I’ll let her know you’re coming.

The guard opened the gate and Dante climbed back into the transport. As they rolled forward, he looked in the mirror to see the guard raise his wristlink and speak into it. She’ll get that message on her wristlink receptor screen before we get to the farm, he said to Ooievaar. At least it won’t be a complete surprise that we’re here.

As they bumped down Farmer Track, the fields slowly unfolded on either side, a crop just emerging from the soil in rows of tiny green shoots. Farther away, animals moved in longer grass, the sound of bleating rising in the distance. Red tailed hawks circled in the sky above.

This is quite an operation, Ooievaar observed. Crops already planted, meat animals over there. Llamas, are they? They have a lot of land, wonder how many workers are here?

He fell silent as the house loomed into view and they all leaned forward to get a look. The house was old and substantial, throwing a heavy shadow in the morning light. Tall windows on the first two floors reflected the sunlight, the smaller third floor windows glinting from beneath the eaves. Wings on each end of the building formed the shape of an H.

There was an enchanted feeling to the place, cultured and clipped lawns, pathways and flower gardens near the imposing front of the house that slowly morphed outward into wild grounds and jungle-like shrubbery.

Behind it, far at the back, stood a jumble of buildings, barns and sheds with pieces of farm equipment parked in the yard.

Let’s not get too close. We don’t want to spook anyone. Dante motioned Ooievaar to pull off to the side of the track. Doors slammed as they all got out and stretched their legs. Samuels, Judah, you stay with the transport. Ooievaar, come with me.

Samuels and Judah were Constables, good men, but Dante trusted Ooievaar above the others. He was Regiment and trained from an early age in the ethics and principles of Empire and now Khandarken military.

Dante moved down the track past the fence marking the end of the pasture, through the flowering trees and bushes of the wild garden and onto the manicured pathways leading through low hedges and flower beds.

He moved with a long-legged silent stride, pausing momentarily as he caught sight of movement at the fence line along the edge of a field in the distance.

Squinting, he concentrated. Ooievaar, he said quietly and pointed. They watched a well-dressed young man, lean, with very pale blonde hair, riding a motorized tryke. He moved swiftly but with purpose as he kept close to the trees in the distance before the path dipped out of sight.

Approaching the manorhouse, Dante climbed the wide smooth front verandah steps and knocked on the heavy carved door. They waited, Ooievaar a couple of steps below him surveying the yard and windows above. No answer. Dante hammered again, finally pulling on the bell rope hanging against the nearby post.

They could be out working on the farm. Probably are, this time of the morning.

Dante frowned. It’s not likely the family, especially the daughter, is working in the fields. And there must be staff to keep the manorhouse.

Ooievaar stepped back down the last stair and walked toward the side of the building. I’ll see around back.

Dante moved with him to the corner, shaded his eyes and scanned the mostly empty side yard. The grass was longer and unmowed here, save for the area near what looked like a square-built transport repair shed off to the side of the other buildings. He wondered if someone might be in there working as the grass was trampled by the door. Just then he heard a shout from the back. Ooievaar had clearly found something.

Dante jogged along the stone path through the grass around the side wing and approached the rear. What he saw stopped him in his tracks.

A giant tree lay against the house, sunk into the roof and back wall as if it had sagged into soft mud. The roof was split in an oblique line, clay shingles shattered, scattered in clumps and fragments on the ground.

The upper floor had obviously suffered serious damage, broken glass glittering in a cascading shower across the caved-in structure and down onto the back verandah floor.

Ooievaar threw up his hands when he saw Dante. I doubt anyone is living in there. It’s too dangerous.

Dante nodded. He looked down the length of the tree, a giant oak, some branches still sporting a few leaves. The roots of the great tree were ripped clear of the ground, root balls dangling in the still air.

Must have happened during that last bad storm. Let’s look inside, Dante said softly. I know we can’t by law enter a dwelling where a female is alone without her express invitation. But we don’t know if anyone is here. Someone could require our help. Dante doubted it, but trusted it was a legitimate reason to enter the house.

Ooievaar shrugged and carefully mounted the verandah steps, placing his feet lightly amongst the debris. Reaching the door, he turned the handle and gave a push. It opened easily. The men looked at each other, then with intent toward the entry as it swung wide.

Entering a dim cloak room, they could see directly into a bright cavernous kitchen with large windows down one side. Pots and pans still stood on the heatsurface as if cooking would commence at any moment.

Dante stepped forward, listening keenly as he moved through the space and entered the hallway on the far side. There were rooms opening off to the left and right, a garderobe, a large office with bookshelves and desks, a dining hall, a woman’s solar with a heater on the back wall and a piano near the window.

From the back of the Great Hall he could see the entry at the front of the building with the massive front door and a staircase leading to the second level. With a look he motioned Ooievaar to search further on the main floor as he slowly mounted the stairs, easing his weight onto each step. There was no sound from above.

The second floor consisted of bedrooms, small parlours and luxurious bathrobes. Personal items were everywhere, pictures on dressers, a robe slung over a chair, books lying open.

In what was obviously a woman’s bedroom, the embroidered cover was thrown back as if in haste. Lacy undergarments laid out enticingly on the high backed chair caught his eye and held it for a long moment. He took a deep breath.

At the narrow back stairs to the third floor, he paused. From here the tree was visible, a heavy broken branch speared straight through the ceiling above his head, the sky showing blue and cloudless in the jagged gap around it.

He listened but there was only the sigh of a light wind through the hole in the roof and a rustling sound in a small room to his left. Moving toward it, he wasn’t surprised to see a narrow bed and small chair, a wash basin on a stand and a bird, a little carrow, huddled in the corner with a pile of twigs scattered about it, its crimson crest gleaming in the oblique light. He could report with confidence to his father, there was no one here.

Turning, he made his way back down the stairs. Standing in the long grass of the backyard the men scanned the area, taking note of a number of vehicles - a high-boxed farm truck, probably hydrogen fueled, an ancient and muddy petro car with heavy armour installed and a solar scooter tipped awkwardly against the side of the barn.

Dante pointed. Look at the scooter, the marks along the flank. As they got closer, he ran his finger along the curved line of holes. It’s definitely been hit. And this looks like a laser blast. He rubbed the burned paint.

Someone was in a firefight.

Dante lifted his head. Ooievaar, you comb through those barns on the other side. I’ll look down this side. If you see anything, send me a message. He patted his belt, preferring the silence of the beltlink text message to the need to speak into a wristlink in unfamiliar quarters like this.

Dante loped through the grass in the side yard. He felt he had the answer to Paulo’s question. With the house so badly damaged, Ms Farmer was likely living elsewhere. All he had to do was discover who’d taken her in.

If he didn’t find anything else here today, at least the morning had been pleasant. The birds sang, the sky was a beautiful blue. He wasn’t dealing with insurgents from Jiran infiltrating through the western mountains or armies of the dispossessed causing damage and confusion in the outlying territories. A breeze ruffled his hair, animals moved leisurely through the pasture, crops grew in the fields. Not his usual assignment.

Grinning to himself, he stopped to survey the back of the transport shed. The grass was definitely trampled here around the door. A row of windows took up most of the wall on the south side. As he stepped silently around the corner, a flock of small birds threw themselves into frantic flight away from a feeder hanging from the eave, which swung wildly from the impact of their departure. He leaned forward and cupped his hand against the glass to peer inside.

He had expected to see a workshop equipped with hoists, tools on the walls, perhaps someone labouring over a piece of machinery, but the shed had been renovated to serve as a dwelling. There was a table with a few chairs around it in one corner, a heatsurface and the makings of a small kitchen on the far side. A bed was tucked against the back wall.

Motion by the bed caught his eye. A man leaned there, one hand braced on the mattress as he pulled on his uniform. He was tall and it was a seller’s uniform, Dante noticed absently. Then his gaze travelled back to the bed and was riveted there.

A woman lay naked, limbs motionless. Her head was turned toward the window but her eyes were closed. Her hair spread out around her, a pale blonde shawl that shone in the dim light. The same colour as