Sean Wyatt Compilation Box Set Read online

  THE LOST CHAMBERS

  TRILOGY

  THE SECRET OF THE STONES

  THE CLERIC’S VAULT

  THE LAST CHAMBER

  THE LOST CANVAS (BONUS COMPANION STORY)

  ERNEST DEMPSEY

  Copyright ©2012-2015 ernestdempsey.net

  Enclave Publishing

  ISBN: 978-0-9905437-7-0

  THE SECRET OF THE STONES

  ERNEST DEMPSEY

  Copyright ©2012 ernestdempsey.net

  Enclave Publishing

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Copyright Page

  Sean Wyatt Compilation Box Set

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  FOR MY FRIEND ZENA GIBSON.

  “The greatest zeal of man is not for love or money, but for immortality” | -Anonymous

  THE SECRET OF THE STONES | ERNEST DEMPSEY | Copyright ©2012 ernestdempsey.net | Enclave Publishing

  Get two introductory action-packed novellas,

  FOR MY FRIEND ZENA GIBSON.

  “The greatest zeal of man is not for love or money, but for immortality”

  OTHER WORKS BY ERNEST DEMPSEY

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS | Thank you to everyone who has ever supported me and told me to keep writing. My parents, siblings, teachers, and friends, I am grateful to all of you. I’m also thankful for the ones who told me to quit dreaming. Your words have been the fire to push me onward.

  Book 2

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  For my sweet Megan.

  About the Author | Ernest Dempsey lives in Chattanooga, Tennessee in the southern United States. He has a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a master’s in school counseling. He loves to learn about history, especially the unconventional side of it. He is also an avid sports fan. | Be sure to sign up for the newsletter at ernestdempsey.net to receive exclusive updates on upcoming projects and events. And also check out the other books he has written: The Secret of the Stones (paperback or Kindle) and The Lost Canvas (available exclusively on Kindle.) | ernestdempsey.net

  Author’s Notes

  Copyright © 2012 Ernest Dempsey

  DEDICATION

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  SSSSS

  SSSSS

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  SSSSS

  SSSSS

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  OTHER BOOKS BY ERNEST DEMPSEY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  MORE BOOKS BY ERNEST DEMPSEY | FACT OR FICTION | ABOUT THE AUTHOR | COPYRIGHT

  THE LOST CANVAS | ERNEST DEMPSEY | Copyright ©2012 ernestdempsey.net

  The Lost Canvas copyright 2012 Ernest Dempsey | All rights reserved. | Enclave Publishing

  For my mom and dad.

  Wernigerode, Germany

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  FOR MY FRIEND ZENA GIBSON.

  “The greatest zeal of man is not for love or money, but for immortality”

  -Anonymous

  THE SECRET OF THE STONES

  ERNEST DEMPSEY

  Copyright ©2012 ernestdempsey.net

  Enclave Publishing

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  Plus...

  Exclusive VIP deals on new releases

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  Check out more details at the end of the book.

  FOR MY FRIEND ZENA GIBSON.

  “The greatest zeal of man is not for love or money, but for immortality”

  -Anonymous

  Prologue

  Northwest Georgia, 1838

  A young native appeared from a patch of early morning fog, sprinting through the undergrowth of the forest. He recklessly ducked and weaved his way through the trees and brush. Twigs snapped and leaves crunched under his moccasins with every quick step. He was glad that he’d kept some of his old traditional clothing around. The soft breeches and cream-colored tunic were light and made movement considerably easier.

  Despite his excellent conditioning, John Burse was out of breath and stopped to risk a moment of rest against a tall poplar. He squinted his deep-brown eyes as he searched the surroundings for a route that might help him escape. He sucked in the cool spring air in huge gasps; the scent of dry leaves and pine needles filled his nostrils.

  Then, his fears were realized as he heard the sounds of the dogs drawing closer and voices mingling with the howls of the animals. Two hundred feet behind him, a group of a dozen or so men with three hunting dogs came into view through the hazy mist.

  John had known the dangers of what he’d been asked to do during the secret meeting the night before. The tribal council had trusted him with a mission of utmost importance. Being caught not only meant certain death, but could also, ultimately, lead to the downfall of his Cherokee people.

  With a new resolve, he tightened his tan leather satchel and took off again, glancing back occasionally as he made his way through the maze of tree trunks. The group was still far behind him but well within shooting distance. Just as that thought occurred, he heard a familiar popping sound followed by a musket ball smashing into a nearby tree; the shot narrowly missed him by a few feet. The close call made his pace quicken.

  His slender legs burned from the exertion, and his lungs continued to gasp for more and more air. Hunting had kept him in good shape. Often, he and his father would chase down deer for miles after shooting them. Deer could manage to live a long time even with a critical wound from a gun or bow. But today he was the hunted, and the burden John carried made his journey that much more difficult.

  Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll as he crested a small ridge; suddenly, he tumbled over the top and down into a small gulley, where he rolled to a stop at the edge of a large creek.

  He’d been here many times. The expanse was about forty feet across and at the deepest point appeared to be on
ly about six feet deep. He could see the soldiers and their dogs in the distance closing on him fast. The little river foamed and churned as it flowed around a small bend just downstream. The young Indian knew the area well, probably better than even the most seasoned of soldiers. With little hesitation, he decided what he had to do and jumped into the icy, rushing waters.

  The hunting party stopped at the same spot where their quarry had entered the river. A tracker busily inspected the ground near the edge. Footprints stopped there with no sign of them leading anywhere else. The dogs were restless, confused as to what happened to the trail they had been following. To the animal mind, it was as if the Indian had simply disappeared.

  “Clever feller,” a leather-skinned officer muttered before spitting out a slug of tobacco juice. He had a few marks of rank on his dark-blue United States Army uniform and was obviously the man in charge. His matching cavalry hat had a few dirt streaks on it, but the distinct golden tassel still stood out proudly. The week-old stubble on his face was a patchwork of gray and light brown. He scratched his neck while considering the next move.

  “He’s gone into the water, boys,” he said to his men in a matter of fact manner. “Thompson, take three others and the dogs, and cross the creek. Check back two hundred feet upstream along the edge to see if there is any sign he came out. I’ll take the rest of the men downstream. If he’s in the water, he’s movin’ slow.”

  Ten minutes later, the main group from the hunting party came to a waterfall. It was a seventy-foot drop to the bottom, where a shallow-looking pool churned with the falling liquid. A small hill on the left dropped sharply over the edge. There was no way the Indian went that direction. The sheer cliffs meant he had to go to the right. That way led down to the bottom gradually by means of a faint path. A cold spray shot up both sides of the falls all the way up to where the men were standing.

  “Sir, if he went over, I doubt he survived,” a young soldier chimed in, half hoping their running was done for the day.

  The keen leader didn’t buy it. This Indian had been far too smart to come so far and then just fall over a cliff. “He didn’t go over, Private. Men, get down there, and search the area. Someone get into that pool and check every inch of the bottom. Check the ground surrounding it too. If he came out of there, I want to know where. We can’t let him get away.”

  The soldiers took off immediately, heading down by way of the path to the right of the falls. Thompson’s men and the dogs had just finished their check of the other side of the creek and were standing across from the old officer.

  “Find anything, Lieutenant?”

  “No, sir. Not a thing, Colonel.”

  “How far did you check upstream?” The lead officer looked toward the direction from where the water was coming.

  “Three hundred feet, sir, just to be safe.” Thompson’s voice was firm.

  The Colonel frowned then turned his head and spit the other direction. His eyes narrowed, scanning the forest undergrowth. “Good man, Lieutenant. Get back over here, and head down there with the others. He must have gone that direction. Not sure if he jumped, but if he did, we should find him shortly.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The remaining men and the dogs scampered back through the icy water and made their way down the little path. The old officer peered around the surrounding woods but could find no sign of the Indian. Deliberately, he turned and stalked down the trail to join his soldiers at the bottom.

  Crouching in the dark, the Indian waited anxiously. The soldiers chasing him had surely not seen where he had gone. He must have just barely slipped from sight before they arrived at the river. He had moved carefully as he made his way from the water at the lip of the cliffs to the left of the falls. It had been a risky maneuver to lower himself down to an almost unnoticeable rock ledge that led behind the mist to a small cave.

  From his hiding place, he could barely hear the orders of the officer and the confusion of the men below. It was difficult to understand what was being said over the rush of falling water, but there was obvious frustration among the group. Leaning back against the rocks, he took the chance to catch his breath. His only option was to wait and make his way out of the rocks when they were gone. Slowly, he stretched out his legs on the cold, moist stone and tried to relax, a difficult task given the circumstances. He hoped they didn’t notice the hidden ledge on the cliff. Unless one already knew it was there, the narrow path was almost invisible.

  An hour or so had passed, and the soldiers had found nothing. The officer in charge had been barking out orders for the last five minutes and was clearly unhappy about the Indian’s odd disappearance. From behind the mist and falling water, he could make out that the blurry shapes of the soldiers were taking off farther downstream. Apparently, they thought he had jumped over the falls and continued on in the river. Again, he laid his head back on the satchel and let himself fall into an exhausted sleep, confident that the immediate threat was gone.

  The young brave suddenly snapped awake. He must have been asleep for many hours. Twilight had settled into the forest, and soon it would be dark. He figured night was probably a safer time to travel. Dogs could sense him, but men would have a much shorter field of vision. Before dozing off, he had considered what to do with his precious cargo. His mission was to keep it safe from the hands of the army. The United States government was to never learn of its whereabouts or contents. Today, he had nearly failed. If he were to leave his hiding place and try to make it west, he could be caught and lose everything that generations of his people had fought to protect.

  Then he considered the place where he was sitting. Only members of the tribe knew about this little nook behind the waterfall. Indeed, who would even consider climbing out on the slippery ledge? Sitting quietly, he considered the options and risks.

  Closing his eyes, he prayed a quiet prayer to the Great Spirit. There was really only one choice. His orders had been to take the satchel west and do whatever it took to keep it from the United States Army. Now, he was disobeying the council, unsure if it was right to do so.

  He carefully laid the leather bag in the deepest recesses of the cave and untied the straps. His people had known what the United States government wanted. For over a decade, the Cherokee had worked to earn the trust of the government. They’d adopted their way of life, even worn clothes like the white man. But the Cherokee chiefs had always known that, eventually, greed would take over the hearts of the white men. They wanted gold and would do anything to get it. John stared at the beautiful, yellow metal. It seemed somewhat dull in the darkness.

  With great care, he removed two golden bars and placed them in a small stack against the wall. It was difficult to see in the hollow rock, but, just to be safe, he scattered a few loose stones over the bricks to conceal them.

  Climbing from his refuge, he looked back inside to make certain the stash was not visible to the casual eye. Acceptable for now, he thought. Hopefully, his people would only be gone for a year or two and then could return to their ancient lands—only then could he retrieve the gold. For the moment, though, it would be safe.

  He tightly gripped the, now, much lighter satchel. The burden of the gold bars had been cumbersome, but what still lay within his leather pouch was far more weighty.

  With that thought, he carefully shuffled out onto the cliff ledge and made his way back up to the top of the waterfall, backtracking toward his village. If he hurried, he might just make it back in time to blend in with the last migration caravan.

  Several miles away, the search party had set up camp for the night. Sitting alone in his tent with a candle burning, the old officer was busy rereading a correspondence. The letter had been written on parchment and bore the seal of The president of the United States. A younger officer, probably no older than nineteen, stepped into the tent and cleared his throat, awaiting recognition. His uniform looked remarkably clean considering the circumstances.

  “Permission to speak with you, sir?” The you
ng man seemed a bit uneasy about interrupting his commander and stood rigid, awaiting confirmation of his request.

  The colonel finished up what he was reading as if no one was even there then folded up the letter and put his reading glasses down on a small box next to his cot.

  “At ease, Charles,” the officer finally replied. He directed the soldier to a small stool in the corner of the tent. “What is it, Son?”

  “Well, sir, we have been tracking this Indian for three days. I’m not complaining, sir. Don’t get me wrong. I will follow orders no matter what. I’m just curious: What is so special about this one Indian? There must be dozens that escape the relocation caravans every day, all over the South. Why bother with chasing down this one?”

  The old man smiled and looked down at the letter he had been reading, clenching it a little tighter. He was not annoyed by the question. In fact, he would have probably been asking the same thing thirty years ago if the positions were reversed. It did seem odd. And Charles’s point was valid. He decided to tell the lieutenant just enough to ease his mind without spilling the beans altogether.

  “Charles, this is no ordinary Indian. And our group is no ordinary military platoon. You have been chosen to be part of an elite government operation. This entire unit of soldiers was not assigned by random chance. We took the best of the best from the United States Army and were careful to make sure not a single one of you had any family because of the dangerous nature of our missions. You’re an orphan, aren’t you, Charles?”

  “Yes, sir.” Confusion filled his face.

  “Every single man in this group has a similar background and did unusually well during their military training. Each one of you shoots better, runs faster, and has been found to be far more intelligent than the rest of your peers.”

  Charles was still listening. With the kind words from the hard man, pride certainly showed in his youthful grin, but he was still uncertain where the explanation was going.

  “This unit has been put together by the highest office in the land. It was ordered directly by the president himself. We are to protect the national security of the United States at all costs. That boy holds something that is considered a threat to the safety of our government and this country’s future.”