The Dragonspire Chronicles Omnibus 1

by James E. Wisher

  He hauled it up hand over hand until a scaly head appeared just under the water. He bent and grabbed his razor-tipped spear with his right hand and drew it back.

  The gator thrashed and fought. Moz yanked it to the side of the skiff. The instant it stopped spinning he struck. The spear went right through the top of its skull, splitting its tiny brain in half. It shuddered and went still.

  Moz yanked the spear free, tossed it in the skiff, and rolled the gator in over the side. It thunked into the bottom of the skiff. Twelve-footer, a good start to the day.

  He re-baited the steel spike and left it dangling a few feet above the water. Four to go.

  Three hours later Moz had checked all his traps and picked up another ten-footer. He’d hoped for more, but two big ones would bring a good price and please his wholesaler. He spun the skiff around and started poling back towards home.

  Sweat plastered his face and his shoulders burned. Between working the pole and fighting the big gators, he’d gotten a good workout. It felt like he’d fought a real battle. Who was he kidding? The reason he chose this line of work after leaving the rangers was because it was the closest thing he could find to a war. At least he didn’t have to kill people to survive.

  Halfway back, at the edge of the swamp, he caught a glimpse of something white. Moz pushed the skiff closer. From behind a big cypress a little blond girl peeked out. What was a kid that age doing out here all alone? She’d make a good snack for a big gator. What were her parents thinking?

  “You okay, kiddo?” Moz asked.

  She shook her head, sending blond hair flying everywhere.

  “What’s wrong? Where are your mom and dad?”

  “Dead,” she said in a small voice. “Bad men killed them. The little ones told me to run. They said you were a nice man and would help me.”

  Moz blinked. He’d been called a lot of things, but “nice man” wasn’t one of them, not in a long time. “Who are the little ones?”

  She whistled and a pair of hummingbird dragons flew up beside her. The tiny dragons’ wings flapped so fast he couldn’t see them. Moz had never heard of a dragon talking, much less one of the smaller varieties.

  “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Ariel.”

  “Climb in and I’ll give you a ride to town.”

  He held out his calloused hand and she put her tiny one in it, not a hint of fear in her big, green eyes. He looked closer as she stepped over. Her eyes had vertical irises instead of round ones. Just what was this kid? Between the eyes and the way she spoke, Ariel was clearly no ordinary girl. And he didn’t even want to think about the dragons.

  She eyed the dead gators before perching on the edge of the skiff with the little dragons on her shoulders. Moz pushed away from the shore and got moving again.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said.

  She did, haltingly at first then with growing strength. The bad men had killed her parents then chased her. The dragons helped her get away and guided her to the spot where she met him. She sniffed and looked on the verge of tears. Crying little girls weren’t at all something he had experience dealing with.

  Maybe if he kept her talking. “What did the bad men look like?”

  “Five of them were big and scary. The last one looked like a crow.”

  “A crow? You mean he wore black?”

  She nodded. “He shouted at the others and told them what to do.”

  Rondo and his thugs. Miserable bastards. Hopefully Cork was okay. He never should have recommended the kid for their job.

  “What are we going to do now?” Ariel asked.

  Moz blinked again. We? When did it become we? He looked at the little bitty girl and swallowed a sigh. We it was.

  “I know a place you’ll be safe. There are other people there with abilities like yours.”

  “You mean they’re friends with dragons?” she asked.

  “Not exactly. Some are friends with birds or bugs or trees. Some are friends with invisible spirits. They’re called bards. The headmistress is a friend of mine. She’s nice and will protect you from anyone that wants to hurt you.”

  Ariel smiled weakly. “Will you stay with me when we get there?”

  Moz winced. He wanted to be reassuring but couldn’t lie to her. “’Fraid not, kiddo. Only people with gifts like yours are usually allowed to stay. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends.”

  She lapsed into silence, but never cried. Tough kid, no doubt about that.

  Late in the afternoon they finally reached Moz’s dock. He tied up and helped her out.

  “We’ll spend the night here and set out in the morning, okay?”

  She nodded, not seeming to really care one way or the other. Couldn’t blame her. If Moz had seen his parents killed right in front of his eyes when he was her age, he wouldn’t have wanted to chat either.

  Moz looked back into the boat. He needed to get his catch to the dealer before they started to stink…worse. The front door was unlocked and he opened it for her. “You stay in here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She nodded again, went in, and sat on the edge of his narrow bed. The little dragons buzzed around her, maybe trying to cheer her up. He closed the door and hot-footed it over to the warehouse. His buyer had guys to collect the meat once he let them know.

  Round trip to the buyer and back took ten minutes. When he reached his house he spotted a skiff coming down the water’s edge. Cork was poling it and Rondo and his men sat in the front. They shot angry glares at Moz, who glared right back. Bastards. He’d have happily killed them all right then, but he didn’t want to leave Ariel alone any longer than necessary.

  He couldn’t hear them, but Rondo clearly said something to Cork who turned his skiff and put in beside Moz’s house.

  Rondo and the mercenaries climbed out and formed a semicircle in front of Moz. The fighters all had their hands near the hilts of their swords.

  “Find what you were looking for?” Moz asked.

  “We did,” Rondo said. “But there were issues. You didn’t happen to see a little blond girl dressed in white, did you?”

  “That’s an odd question. Why do you ask?”

  Rondo’s lip quirked. “Our estimable guide, a fine recommendation by the way, tracked her to the water’s edge where it appeared a boat picked her up. When pressed, Cork said it was part of your usual hunting grounds. Did you pick her up?”

  “Maybe. What’s it to you?” Moz reached around and put his hand on the hilt of his long hunting dagger.

  “I have need of her skills. If you’d be so kind as to hand her over I would be most grateful.”

  “Do what they say, Moz,” Cork said. “Them five killed the turtle farmer and his wife.”

  Moz narrowed his eyes. “I’m no turtle farmer.”

  “You won’t see reason?” Rondo asked.

  “Oh, I see it clear as day. The gods were kind enough to put a handful of murderers in my path. I know a sign when I see one.”

  Rondo shook his head and turned to Koltin. “Looks like you get your rematch after all.”

  Koltin snarled and drew his sword. His men followed suit. “You surprised me last time. This time I’m going to gut you like one of your alligators.”

  “You talk a lot for a fighter,” Moz said.

  All five came at him in a rush. Moz stepped back and to the right, shoving the man on the edge into his neighbor and sending the lot of them stumbling into each other.

  When they staggered, he closed. His dagger came out and cut the throat of the nearest man.

  He ducked a high slash, closed, and stabbed a second man in the armpit. He collapsed, blood gushing from the severed artery.

  The three still living got themselves untangled.

  Moz gave them no chance to make a plan. He charged the left-side man, spun around his clumsy thrust, and stabbed him through the back of his neck, severing the spine.

  Only Koltin and one man remained. Both mercenaries looked a goo
d deal less confident. Rondo had retreated ten yards down the road. A step in his direction would send the coward running.

  “Don’t just stand there, get him!” Koltin said.

  “You want to fight him so bad, you get him,” the other man said.

  Koltin grabbed his subordinate by the back of the neck and half threw him at Moz.

  The mercenary managed a weak slash. Moz stepped inside his reach, caught his arm and wrenched the man around just in time to get run through by Koltin.

  Quick as a striking copperhead Moz lashed out, stabbing Koltin through the side of the neck and ripping the dagger back, taking Koltin’s throat with it.

  Moz wiped the blood off his dagger and faced Rondo. “I don’t think you’ll be seeing the girl today.

  Rondo pulled a black pellet out of his robes and threw it on the ground. The pellet shattered, releasing a cloud of darkness.

  Moz kept himself poised and ready. Nothing touched him and when the darkness dissipated, Rondo was gone.

  Cork came over as Moz was sheathing his dagger. “Gods’ blood, Moz, you killed them all.”

  “Not all.” He looked back to where Rondo had been standing. That skinny little man would be trouble, Moz had no doubt about that.

  “The little girl?” Cork asked.

  “She’s okay, considering.”

  “I couldn’t stop ’em, Moz.” Cork hung his head. “I didn’t even try.”

  Moz crouched and rifled the nearest body’s pockets in hopes of finding a clue about where they came from. “If you tried, you’d have gotten a foot of steel in your gut. These men were killers, even if they weren’t much in a fight. Don’t beat yourself up.”

  “Wish it was that easy,” Cork muttered.

  Moz knew what he meant, but there were some things a man had to work out on his own. He finished checking each man but only found a few scales and various other junk, nothing that would help him figure out who they were.

  Moz pocketed the money – they weren’t going to need it after all. “Help me get this lot into the water. They’ll be gone by morning.”

  “Sure.”

  Not exactly a proper burial. As the first man sank into the dark water, Moz didn’t figure they deserved any better.

  Chapter 6

  The sun had nearly set when Rondo spotted the Dark Sages’ citadel rising up in front of him. The grim stone building was surrounded by a forty-foot-high and thirty-foot-thick wall. The main keep had scores of rooms, workshops, the grand library, and the central meeting hall where the high sages met every two months to discuss their projects.

  He’d been riding fourteen hours a day since fleeing Gator Alley and his nag was just about dead. The mare had been one step away from slaughter when he bought her. Unfortunately, he’d been in such a rush to put some distance between him and the ranger, he’d failed to conceal his eagerness from the merchant and ended up paying twice the beast’s value.

  He was down to his last three silver scales out of the two hundred he’d been allotted for his mission. The high sages wouldn’t be pleased. Another failure on his record. Rondo would be lucky if any of the masters continued to sponsor him. Losing his membership in the organization meant the end, literally. He knew far too many secrets to walk away alive.

  Running away to the deepest, darkest corner of the world had crossed his mind, but if they had to hunt him down, his death would be far more painful than if he gave himself up. Rondo harbored no illusions about his chances of escaping, so here he was, a dead man riding a near-dead horse to his own execution. If it had happened to someone else he would have laughed. As it was, he barely raised his head when he reached the outer wall’s main gate.

  A guard in mail covered by a black tabard with a crimson scroll centered on the chest eyed him through a closed portcullis. A second portcullis sealed the way beyond him. “State your name and business.”

  “Rondo Tegan returning from a mission to report.”

  The guard consulted a scroll. Even the lowliest servant of the sages could read and write. It was a point of pride for the organization.

  “Welcome back, Master Tegan.” The guard looked over his nag, stained robe, and general lack of loot. “A less than successful venture I’d wager.”

  Rondo made no comment. After all, what could he say? The guard was absolutely correct.

  “You’re in luck,” the guard continued. “The entire high council is meeting for the next three days. You can make your report in front of everyone, even Most High Leonidas Black.”

  Rondo’s throat worked as he tried to swallow the lump that had formed. The most high sage was here. He’d never met Leonidas Black, few members had beyond the high sages and those he chose to serve him directly. The rumors Rondo had heard since joining didn’t paint an image of kindness and good nature.

  Both portcullises finished clanking up and the guard stepped aside, welcoming him in. “I’ve sent word of your return. Someone will come for you when the high sages are ready to hear your report. You’re in room sixteen at the end of the hall in the second-story dorm.”

  Rondo nodded and thumped his nag into motion. She managed a trot, probably smelled the stable and hay therein. No doubt she was eager for a last meal before collapsing. His nag had the right idea. A hot bath, change of clothes, and food would be just the thing. If he was going to die, he was going to do it on a full stomach.

  Three hours later, freshly shaved, washed, and wearing clean robes, Rondo was brought to the tall double doors that led to the central meeting hall. The servant girl that guided him bobbed a curtsy and hurried away. Probably afraid his failure would rub off on her.

  He clasped his hands behind his back and waited for the high sages’ invitation to enter. To amuse himself he studied the detailed carvings that covered the doors. The runes that ran along the outer edge were magical, designed to seal the room should a threat make it this deep into the citadel. Inside the runes someone had carved images from the fallen Dragon Empire. There were dragons of course, castles, a proud man on a throne. Pretty much everything you’d expect from an artist trying to aggrandize the emperor in hopes of a fat purse when the job was done.

  Rondo’s musings were cut short when the doors swung silently in. When they stopped, he walked through toward the black rectangular table around which sat the six high sages. At the head of the table, facing Rondo, was a man that could only be Leonidas Black. The most high dressed in black robes embroidered with gold symbols. A high collar framed a cold, emotionless face. Eyes as hard and black as coal bored into Rondo as he moved closer to the table. It felt like those eyes looked into his soul, and saw and judged every failure.

  Hopefully he was just imagining things. He bowed to the leaders of the order.

  “Rondo,” High Sage Kranic said. “Another failure, I’m told. Disappointing, but hardly a surprise. We’ll hear your report. The short version if you please.”

  Kranic was built like a warrior rather than a sage. A skilled alchemist, the rumors were he’d used his talents to make his body bigger and stronger than a normal man at his peak. Judging from the bull neck, the rumors hadn’t exaggerated.

  “As you command, High Sage.” Rondo outlined what had happened in the swamp, trying to put the best possible spin on his failure. When he finished, Rondo said, “I admit I didn’t return with any treasure, but I did find the tower I sought. If not for the dragon I would have succeeded.”

  Kranic laughed. “If not for the rain it would be dry out. Failure is failure, and this isn’t your first. Someone will see to your punishment.”

  “I will see to it,” Most High Black said.

  Rondo nearly fainted on the spot. The high sages looked at their leader, their faces unreadable.

  The most high twisted his right hand, flashing a black ring with a blood-red gem set in the center. “I trust there are no objections.”

  Rondo’s heart raced. The black ring was nearly as famous as the man wearing it. Called Spelldrinker and Magebreaker, among others, i
t allowed Leonidas to absorb magic, store the energy in the gem, and release it however he wished. It allowed a non-wizard like Most High Black to rule the order when all the other high sages wielded magic of some sort.

  The high sages all quickly rose and took their leave, none voicing a word of protest. Whether from fear or indifference to his fate, Rondo couldn’t say.

  When the others had gone Most High Black stood and came around the table to stand directly in front of Rondo. He was a few inches taller, lean and patrician of bearing. A gray beard lined his jaw, perfectly trimmed.

  “Most High?” The words squeaked out of Rondo and he instantly hated himself for his weakness.

  “Your story intrigued me, Rondo. I wonder if you know what you found.”

  “The tower dates back to the Dragon Empire. The text I discovered indicates it’s magically sealed so the treasures inside should be safe.”

  “Treasures. The tower is so much more than a storehouse for books and baubles. It’s one of four. My servants and I have been searching for them since before I became Most High. We found three. The tower you located is the fourth and final one. What those blind fools see as failure I see as a great success.”

  The knot of anxiety in Rondo’s stomach relaxed a fraction and he dared hope he might live through the day. “I’m pleased I could be of service, Most High.”

  “Lord Black is sufficient. I wonder if you’d be interested in joining my cadre? You are ambitious and reasonably successful. With the proper resources I imagine you’ll be a valuable servant.”

  Rondo’s heart leapt. To serve the most high directly was a tremendous jump in rank. “I would be honored to aid you in whatever way I can, Lord Black.”

  “I thought you would be.” He turned and walked toward the doors. “Walk with me, Rondo. I wish to know more about the girl that speaks to dragons.”

  Rondo fell in beside his new master, his mind racing to provide details beyond what he already reported. “She was the daughter of turtle farmers, her pets were hummingbird dragons, and last I knew she was under the protection of an Alteran Ranger.”