Theft of an Ancient Dog (The Adventures of Desolation Boxster Book 2), page 1
Book Two
By
Guy Antibes
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Author’s Note
Map of Viksar
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Desolation Boxster Characters
Excerpt from Book Three of the Series
A Bit About Guy
Books by Guy Antibes
Copyright Page
Copyright ©2020 Guy Antibes. All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the permission of the author.
~
This is a work of fiction. There are no real locations used in the book; the people, settings, and specific places are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblances to actual persons, locations, or places are purely coincidental.
Published by CasiePress LLC in Salt Lake City, UT, August 2020.
www.casiepress.com
Cover Design: www.ebooklaunch.com
Book Design: Kenneth Cassell
Editing: Amy Hoffman
Principal Reader: Bev Cassell
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Author’s Note
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With the original Desolation Boxster dead, Trevor Arcwin vows to remember the man who saved his life many times by taking his name. When I wrote this part, I wondered if my readers would accept Des as well as they did Trevor. I hope they can. Theft of an Ancient Dog is different from the first book, and I hope it suits your fancy.
— Guy Antibes
Map of Viksar
Chapter One
~
T revor Arcwin woke from a deep sleep in a tiny room. He blinked his eyes as he fought to remember where he was. The furnishings were a more severe style than what he was used to, and then he knew he woke up in Viksar, a country of magic.
He rose, splashed water into a bowl, and threw it into his face to wake up. The sun was up, and it was time to meet the others to see where they would go, now that they had escaped from Presidon. The water seemed to wash away the vision of his siblings lying dead on a courtyard. Trevor gazed at his blurry face in the polished brass mirror above the dresser.
His eyes went to the amulet at his neck, and his heart sank. Desolation Boxster, whose real name was Prince Rory Pierce, had died only a few days ago. Trevor had promised Boxster that he would redeem the amulet in Brachia at some point. Trevor didn’t know when that point would occur, but he promised to the face in the mirror that he would.
He picked up the identity card the Viksaran border guards had given him. He had adopted a new name, Desolation Boxster, the name of his former mentor. Trevor couldn’t bear the thought of being called Boxster, which was the name he had always used for his mentor. Once Boxster had said his friends called him Des. That was the name Trevor vowed to adopt when he crossed over the border from Presidon to Viksar, and he knew that using that name was his only way to honor the memory of his dear friend and mentor.
Someone knocked on the door. “Time to get up,” the voice said. Des—Trevor reminded himself that he had to think of himself as Des—recognized the voice as that of Win Denton, his childhood friend. Win was a commoner, but he had been Des’s only true friend growing up in Tarviston Castle.
“I’m awake,” Des called as he splashed a few more drops of water on his bare torso.
After admiring his most recent scars, on his shoulder and side, he put on a shirt and a plain tunic and left his room for breakfast.
Mara was absent, but Brother Yvan, the Dryden cleric who joined Des in exile, was there with Win.
“Slept well?”
Des nodded. “I did, and when I woke up, I woke up as Desolation Boxster. Call me Des from now on. Trevor Arcwin has gone to ground somewhere else, and it would feel funny to be called Desolation.”
“I’m all for that, Des,” Brother Yvan said with a smile.
Win frowned. “I’m sure to make a mistake from time to time.”
“Then you make a mistake,” Des said. “If we are with strangers, just find a way to call me Des soon after.”
Win relaxed. “I can do that. What is next?”
Mara joined them just as Win asked the question.
“Yes, what is next?” she said. She was a musician who sang and played using Brachian magic to bring out the emotions of the music. Her two troubadour companions had assassinated Prince Rory, also known as the original Desolation Boxster, just before they entered Viksar. She had only met Boxster twice, and both those times were in Presidon when Des was with his mentor.
“We will need to find an engagement for soldiers of fortune,” Des said. He looked at Yvan. “Weren’t you supposed to be the person to find us things to do?”
Brother Yvan blushed a bit. “This is probably my first day on the job,” the cleric said. “It may take more than an hour or two to find work. Until then, we all have plenty of money to keep us going.”
“Not me,” Win said.
“I’ll cover your expenses,” Des said, “unless you wish to sell that jeweled dagger Boxster gave you when he won the jousting contest. I know you still have it.”
Win frowned. “I can’t part with that.”
Des sat back in his chair. “You’ll have to rely on my generosity for a bit longer.”
Win grinned. “I’ve had a lot of practice doing that, haven’t I?” he said.
“Keep on practicing,” Des said.
“I’d like to get a bit farther from the Presidonian border,” Brother Yvan said. “We can go to Jilgrath, home of a famous magic academy. Perhaps you can find someone who can explain your developing the unique ability to be immune to magic. Maybe they can cure you.”
Des laughed. “I don’t count on that happening, but we have to go somewhere. Can you find a suitable route?”
“We passed a small Dryden church on our way into this village. I’m sure the clerics will help me.”
Brother Yvan, wearing his clerical robe, led Des to the church. There were praying places for no more than forty participants with a single bench in the back for those who couldn’t kneel. A cleric read a book at a small desk toward the front of the church. The place was too small for an office.
“Brother Fenton, lately from Presidon,” Brother Yvan said, using his alias. It wasn’t the name on his card, but he didn’t think the cleric would ask for identification.
“Ah, I can guess what brings you here. I get supplicants daily who have fled from our neighbor to the east. Feel free to pray.”
Brother Yvan dragged Des to a prayer row, and they both knelt and prayed in silence until the local cleric walked over.
“We have a simple question,” Des said. “We are on our way to Jilgrath and want to know the best way.”
The village cleric looked a little concerned. “Could you step outside while I speak to my fellow cleric? I’d like to know if he speaks the truth.”
Des stepped out of the church for a minute and returned when Brother Yvan came to the door.
“Follow the road west out of town and then turn right at the second crossroads. It is a day’s journey from there,” the village cleric said.
“Why did you have me walk outside?” Des asked.
“I’m interested in that, myself,” Brother Yvan said.
The cleric looked nervous, but he cleared his throat. “I didn’t want to be robbed, robe or not.”
“You’ve been robbed before? I wouldn’t think such a thing would happen in a village of this size. What would a thief have to take?”
“I have twice been robbed and beaten by Presidonians seeking refuge in the last two weeks.”
“Did you have anything to give them?”
“I get contributions to Dryden every day. It isn’t much, but I suppose it is ready cash for thieves.”
Des thought about the situation and thought it might be an opportunity to serve. “I will go to the guard office and find out what is going on,” he said to the churchman.
“I can go with you.” Brother Yvan looked at the cleric with sympathetic eyes. “You poor soul.”
Des noticed that his friend didn’t ask any other questions, but they turned around and left the church.
On their way to the guard office, Brother Yvan shook his head. “You won’t make any money on this mi
ssion, Trevor, uh, I mean, Des.”
“We need references or something, I think,” Des said. “We won’t get them for free, only by performing a service.”
Brother Yvan shook his head. “I suppose you are right. Here is the guard office.”
The place looked like a structure jammed in an alleyway. Des thought it might be stretching to say it was ten feet wide and maybe twice as deep with a barred cell taking up almost half of the tiny structure. The office area wasn’t much bigger than the minuscule office he had used at Red Forest Garrison. At least Des could see the guard shuffling some papers in his office through the window. They entered, and the guard lifted world-weary eyes to see who came in.
“You aren’t from the village?”
“Right you are,” Brother Yvan said. “We sought out directions from the local cleric and found robbers have victimized him in the past two weeks. We wondered if we can help?”
The guard put his feet up on the desk on top of the papers. “And why would you want to do such a thing?”
“We have come from Presidon and want to do something productive in the world,” Des said. “I served in the army as an officer, Brother Yvan ministered to the faithful, and we have two others in our little band. We are getting a start and felt we could use a reference or two, so this came up. Anything we do will be for free.”
“I can’t argue for free. Did you pry any information from Brother Larch?”
Des and Yvan looked at each other. “He didn’t come to you, beaten up?”
“Did he look beaten up to you?”
Des sighed. “No, he didn’t.”
“But I’m sure he was oppressed,” Brother Yvan said. “He had to have been victimized. Perhaps the marks don’t show.”
Des furrowed his brow. “What did the two of you have to talk about?” he said.
“He asked me where I serve. I told him Tarviston.”
“And nothing else?” the guard asked.
“Do you have your purse?” Des asked Yvan.
“My purse?” Yvan looked blankly at his friend as he patted himself. “I seem to have misplaced it.” He squinted his eyes as he thought deeply. “No, I didn’t misplace it.”
“You gave it to the cleric,” Des said.
Yvan nodded. “He needed something to replace his collections. I gave him my purse.” The cleric shook his head. “Why did I do that?”
“Because he spelled you. It is what the Viksarans do well. Am I right?” Des asked the guard.
The man got to his feet. “Are you accusing Brother Larch of stealing your money?”
Des thought about his reply. “I am accusing him of ‘persuading’ Brother Yvan to give up his purse.”
“That is a serious charge,” the guard said.
“Not if he agrees he has done such a thing. I’ll talk to him, but I’d like you to listen,” Des said.
They walked back to the church. The guard and Yvan stood just outside the door when Des walked in.
“You are finished with the guard?” Brother Larch said as he put down his novel.
“Not quite, but when we are, we’ll be heading to Jilgrath. Brother Yvan is missing his purse. He didn’t drop it on the prayer cushion, did he?”
Brother Larch looked surprised. “I didn’t see anything,” he said, gesturing with his hands. “You will give me your purse as well, young man. You will forget your friend lost his purse here, and you will give me yours.”
“Not as a donation?” Des asked.
The cleric laughed. “Of course, a donation. A donation to me, just like your friend made.”
Des stood there and called out for the guard and Brother Yvan to come in. “You heard?” Des asked.
“I did,” the guard said. He looked sternly at Brother Larch. “I’m afraid you’ll be spending a few days in my cell while I summon a magistrate. You didn’t think Presidonians would have a charm to keep you from extracting their purses?”
“And you have such a charm?” Des asked.
The guard snorted. “I couldn’t do my job if I didn’t. Imagine if everyone could trick everyone else into giving them stuff. What a place Viksar would be! You are lucky you bought one before you came to our village. You should have gotten one for your friend.”
Des smiled and nodded. “I am pretty numb to persuasion of the magical kind and the mundane kind.”
Brother Yvan forced a smile. “He is indeed. Some would say he is thickheaded, but I wouldn’t say such a thing. It can only help us in our endeavors in Viksar.”
“He is anything but thick. I wouldn’t have thought that Brother Larch would do such a thing. He’s had more than a few Presidonians visit the church as they have passed through, fleeing from the Presidonian unpleasantness.” The guard looked at Des. “You said you were looking for a reference. I’ll give you one since that is a special talent you have.” He turned to Brother Larch. “Give the money back to the cleric before you and I have a little chat at the office.”
Brother Larch gave Des a very un-Dryden-like look as he pulled Brother Yvan’s purse from his desk and tossed it.
“Will we have to stay here until a magistrate comes?” Des asked.
“No. You will have to write a statement while I write out a reference.”
~
Des ended up hiring a small wagon for Mara and buying charms for Win, Brother Yvan, and Mara. She had admitted during breakfast that riding a horse had been a painful experience, and she and Hanna, the other female troubadour in their trio, had always shared the seat of the troupe’s wagon. At this point, the four of them didn’t have much to put into the cart. There were enough villages strung along the way to Jilgrath that they wouldn’t be spending the night in the open, so they decided not to buy camping gear.
They stopped for a break midday. Mara broke out the strange stringed instrument she played and began plucking the strings. Her voice illuminated the crossroads where they had stopped. Win and Brother Yvan drew closer to the wagon and stared with anxious eyes at the woman. Des looked at the scene and laughed.
“No, no, no,” Des said.
Win blinked and looked at him. “What did you say?”
“She is singing and drawing you in. It isn’t that much different than what Brother Larch did.” Des said.
“How can you say such a thing!” Brother Yvan said. “I was the victim in the Dryden church, and I am the blessed one as I stand here listening, rapt with…” He looked at Mara, and then he looked at Des. “Rapt as he instructed me to plop my purse in his palm.” Yvan nodded his head. “It was similar.”
Des stared at Mara. “What were you going to do?”
“Sing,” Mara said, looking innocent. “I do this every time I perform, but I can see your point.”
“I hope so. Is there some kind of charm our two friends can carry that will allow them to keep their heads clear while you sing? The charms I just bought to protect them from Viksarans didn’t work. It might be a useful defense for our projects.”
“Or a useful offense,” Brother Yvan said. “I almost lost myself in Mara’s music.”
“That is the point of her music, my old friend and mentor.” Des looked at the woman again and asked her a serious question. “Have you used this music to profit a bit more than your players’ fee?”
Mara turned red. “I didn’t have that intent just now. You must believe me. I was only practicing.”
“You knew I was immune to your magic?”
She laughed. “Of course I knew. I was with you when you passed the name test using your current name.”
“But you’ve done it in the past.”
She nodded. “I have. Tork was furious if I didn’t.”
Des sighed. He thought the woman was a straightforward person, but now he couldn’t believe her. “What other tricks do you have?” he asked.
Mara pursed her lips. “Do you want me to write them down?” She sounded a bit indignant.
“I do, actually,” Des said. “I don’t want to be surprised by the actions of Win or Brother Yvan when you sing again. That will make it easier for you to burst into any song anytime you wish.”
“A pre-warning?” she asked, becoming angrier.
Des put his hand to his forehead and took a deep breath. He hadn’t expected Mara to become so temperamental. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to accuse. You know all our tricks, as few as there are. I’d like to know more of yours, just what emotions you can control with your singing.”
