The Halo Of Vakh (BOOK 1)

DEAD OF NIGHT

The thrill that came with joining the rebels made Lysander feel alive for the first time in a long time. It gave him a purpose; not that he had never had one. The rebels had just put it to the forefront of his mind, making him focus on what was required of him. It was his only hope of salvation and he'd hold onto it with bleeding fingers if he had to. Hope was the only thing he had left in the wreck of his life; along with two annoying brothers. And most of all, he clung to it for them, hoping he could make life better for the two, make their land a place where the only family he had left would be safe. He did it for Thomas so that the boy could find his mother and sister. He did it for Andrew so that the boy retained the happiness he had about him. He would walk through fire and ice, take a trip to the edge of the world to keep the two safe.

"He wants us to steal from Yensrotho's stores," Andrew's voice cut through his mind and he turned around his neck so fast he heard a crack.

"And how many men are going to help us with this?" Lysander managed to say after rubbing away the sting and dizziness. "I hope it's at least three more. We'll be dead meat if we get caught trying to get in those vaults. What does he want anyway?"

"A plan of Yensrotho's defences," Lysander expected that much. "He wants to make sure us rebels have a high ground. Be prepared and everything. He's off his rocker, to be honest. Maybe he was dropped on his head as a baby. Or he's on the cider again."

Lysander snorted at the memory. They had found Donovan belting out gibberish a few days ago and Andrew had concluded the man was drunk.

"I mean, what does he expect fifty or so men to do? And people here aren't specifically stupid to join a rebellion, not when they've got slightly better protection than the rest of the Empire. All of them have perfect little livelihoods. The trade's good. They don't care what happens in the kingdom if their stomachs are full. They don't care that Harfen is a rotten mushroom - or a toadstool more like, mushrooms don't need to be humiliated like that. It's us downtrodden who care about what happens."

Lysander raised his eyebrows at the rant.

"I'm speaking cabbages, aren't I?" Andrew said, lifting his arms above his head and stretching.

"No, for the first time in your life you're making sense," Thomas' voice made them jump. "You're defeating your Sama's baboons with that much intellect."

"When did you get here?" Andrew shot back with a scowl. "I thought the steward needed you at the laundry today."

"He changed his mind," Thomas pulled out a newspaper from the bag slung across his shoulder. "And I thought you'd like to see this."

He threw the paper across the room to them and proceeded to lay down in his bedroll, supporting his head on his hands to look at them. Lysander managed to get to the parchment first and snatched it right before Andrew's fingers touched it. With a grin of victory, he owned the roll. Three faces stared at him from between the rows of black ink; a man who seemed to be in his late forties and two women. The pictures were the only thing that had any colour to them amid their black and yellow surroundings. A price was written under each portrait.

"Who are they?" Andrew turned to Thomas with a frown. "Why are we supposed to be interested in them?"

Lysander merely read the words in a bold loopy font above the pictures, "Convicts smuggled to Nirrin: Who's responsible?"

"They ran off right from Pyropa," Thomas said. "They're VannØrn."

"They ran off from Pyropa?" Lysander was impressed. "But that place has all kinds of regulations to prevent smuggling. How'd that happen?"

Thomas shrugged, "Nobody knows. All they know is that they've gone to Nirrin. Authorities at Nirrin were informed of course, but they've lost all trace of them. And all the dirt is falling on Toluer's shoulders. He knew beforehand. Couldn't get to the harbour in time to stop the ship they escaped on. He was held up. Guess what that means?"