His father’s raised voice brought him back to the throne room.
“Well?” the king demanded, looking straight at him.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. Say that again.”
The usual hatred the king reserved for him hadn’t lost its venom. With obvious restraint, High King J’kaar repeated, “I said, it seems as if this miscreant received help from someone inside Draakhall. I’ve sent the Inquisitor to speak with the guards who were on duty a few nights ago. We’ll soon know the person’s true identity.”
J’kwaad shuddered. The only person to instil more fear into him than his father was the royal disciplinarian, the Inquisitor. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
The king frowned. “I demand you take this seriously. There is more at play here than we suspect. Of that I’m sure.”
J’kwaad swallowed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He hated his father’s self-righteous attitude. Why should he bother with some stowaway? Let the Watch deal with it. It had nothing to do with his role as royal wizard. He had better things to waste his time on. “Yes, Your Grace. I will see to it at once.”
The king held his stare. “See to it that you do. It’s believed this woman was responsible for Baron Carroch’s misfortune.”
Oh great. A woman. J’kwaad inwardly rolled his eyes, trying not to let his distaste for his assignment show on his face. The king had his nose out of joint over the calamity that had befallen the lecherous cretin, Carroch. Some wench had probably grown tired of the boar’s brutality. It would be simpler to dispense of the baron. “Yes, Your Grace. It will be done.”
A deep-rooted rage threatened to boil over. His every waking moment had been devoted to the king’s campaign to eliminate the dragon threat. Learning new spells and powering his talismans took more out of him than his father realized. “What of the Draakval campaign?”
The king waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing’s changed in that regard. The preparations are being handled like they were for the Draakclaw Colony. The army marches within a fortnight. You will follow with the Elite Guard three days afterward on horseback. That should place you with the army in Cliff Face shortly after the leaves have fallen.”
J’kwaad nodded.
“When you return, I wish to discuss taking the dragon campaign to the next level.”
That was a new development. As far as J’kwaad knew, his father wished his legacy to be known as the king who rid the realm of the dragon threat. After the Draakval Colony, there was only the colony in the far east. True, it was the biggest colony, home to the dragon queen, but he doubted she would be more trouble than Grimclaw.
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
“Excellent. Once the dragon threat has been put to rest, I intend on dealing with the unsanctioned use of magic. Ridding the kingdom of upstart conjurers will go a long way to securing peace.”
J’kwaad couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows.
The king’s scowl deepened. “Don’t look so surprised. I’ll rest easier when I no longer fear the magic guild rising up and razing the kingdom. Rest assured, I will always have use of my own wizard.”
Typical hypocrite. What suited J’kaar wasn’t necessarily what the king thought suited the kingdom. The only problem was that his father had two wizards.
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“That is all. Leave us,” J’kaar commanded.
“Yes, Your Grace.” J’kwaad bowed and spun in a flourish of black robes hemmed with bright gold.
“You too, J’kyra,” the king’s voice echoed in the throne room. “Get cleaned up.”
“Yes, Father.”
J’kwaad awaited his sister. Together, they descended the broad steps leading from the king’s podium to the audience hall below and out through a set of tall, oak doors protected by the king’s personal guard—four of the biggest men J’kwaad had ever laid eyes on.
J’kyra’s lingering eye wasn’t lost on J’kwaad as they passed into a long, open-fronted hallway overlooking the Unknown Sea crashing upon the jagged reefs along the shoreline.
“They’re not worth your time,” J’kwaad mumbled.
J’kyra snapped her attention away from the guardsmen. “Huh?”
“Nothing.”
He ignored the strange look she gave him—fighting to dampen the fury roiling in the pit of his stomach. Imagine that. The second in line to the Ivory Throne, searching for a fugitive out of Thunderhead. What a waste of his talents. Why not dump the task on that useless bag of bones, J’kye? He had nothing better to do than polish their father’s boots with his tongue. J’kye didn’t even take part in the dragon campaign for fear the golden heir might split a hair.
A mischievous grin took hold of his face at the thought of splitting J’kye’s hair. Soon.
J’kyra punched him in the shoulder. “You think father’s funny?”
The smile fell. If anyone else touched him like that, they would find themselves eating his fist. He glared at J’kyra but she grinned, uncaring, her perfect teeth visible—an uncommon trait amongst those born north of the Lake of the Lost.
“Hardly. I was just thinking about what Father asked me to do. That woman left Carroch close to death. I mean to find her as fast as possible so I can shake her hand.”
Muscles She Never Knew
Anvil’s iron grip held Reecah’s feet off the ground.
Musky sweat turned up her nostrils as she struggled to break free. His unrelenting hold prevented her from reaching her sword belt.
Raver cawed continuously from a high branch.
With Reecah in his clutches, Anvil spun to observe the raven. “Shut that damned thing up!”
Flavian unslung his bow. “Yes, Anvil.”
“No!” Reecah squirmed harder. She hammered her heels into Anvil’s shins repeatedly.
Anvil squeezed the breath from her.
Fearing her ribs were about to break, she clawed at his bald head, but her fingers couldn’t find purchase on his sweaty skin.
Bereft of air, she was unable to warn Raver to fly away. All she could do was shake her head in terror as Flavian drew an arrow back and let fly.
Raver squawked louder and jumped into the air—the arrow whistling between him and the branch. Before Flavian notched another, Raver flew past the treetops and out of sight.
Anvil shoved Reecah away. “Damn ya, Flavian. That’s the reason we came out here!”
She landed on her feet and stumbled, but kept her back away from her attackers. Indignant, she asked, “You came out here to kill Raver?”
Anvil exchanged glances with Flavian.
Reecah realized that wasn’t what Anvil meant. She eyed her bow laying behind the brute. She entertained running away but refused to leave her weapon behind. Absently fingering the hilts of her swords, her gaze wandered to the vicious battle-axe strapped across Anvil’s back. Her blades would be useless against the man.
“What do we do now, Anvil?” Flavian asked in a timid voice.
Anvil glowered. “Ain’t nothing to do. Ye just proved GG’s skill with a bow is better than yer own. I can’t think of a single archer in J’kaar’s Elite guard who could’ve dropped me shield from the wall.”
Reecah’s eyebrows scrunched together, her gaze alternating between the treetops and the bare-chested weapon master. “If you’re not here to kill me, why are you here?”
A sadistic grin illuminated Anvil’s face. “To train ya to kill others.”
“I don’t understand. You threatened to throw me off the wall. If you think I’m going back, you’re crazier than you look.”
Flavian gasped, his wide eyes and shaking head imploring Reecah to refrain from speaking to Anvil that way.
Anvil’s bronzed face turned a shade of purple. Restraint registered in his grating voice, “I was perhaps a little hasty in me opinion. I long to know whether ya got lucky or are really that good.”
Reecah lifted her chin with pride. “Toss me my bow and find out.”
Anvil’s heavy
brows knit together. “Ye’d like that, wouldn’t ye?” He reached over his shoulder and pulled his axe free. “Come and get it.”
Reecah held his stare. She hoped her legs weren’t trembling as badly she thought they were. She willed her feet to take the steps necessary to retrieve her bow. As brave as she presented herself, she gave Anvil a wide berth and quickly snatched her bow from the ground.
Flavian strung an arrow and held it slack, but at the ready.
Reecah backstepped toward the edge of the forest. After witnessing Anvil split the shield with his axe, running wasn’t an option. But neither was fighting. She couldn’t take them both out with one arrow. Once engaged, she wouldn’t live long enough to shoot a second. She pulled an arrow from her quiver anyway. “Now what?”
Anvil didn’t appear the slightest bit uneasy about her nocking the arrow. “Now ya prove yer worth me bother. Pick a target.”
To Reecah’s horror, Raver dropped through the canopy and landed on a high branch.
“Ah, praise the kraken. One has fallen from the sky. Flavian, yer first.”
Reecah screamed, “Raver, away!”
Raver didn’t obey. He stared at her, tilting his head to one side.
Flavian raised his bow and drew.
Reecah did the only thing she could think of. Drawing, sighting, and loosing all in one motion, she cringed as her arrow impacted Flavian’s bow above his steadying hand.
Flavian yelped. His bow flew from his hand—the wood split by Reecah’s arrow.
“For the love of the bloody kraken!” Flavian shouted, staring in disbelief at his stinging hands. “You could have killed me.”
Reecah glared at him. “If you ever aim at my friend again, the next arrow will fly between your ears.”
Before Flavian could protest, Reecah strung a second arrow. She debated pointing it at Anvil, but thought better of it. The weapon master stood ready—his muscles flexing. If she missed a killing shot, he wouldn’t.
Anvil’s booming voice startled her.
“Nicely done, GG! Ye couldn’t prove yerself better than that. Against all me reservations, ye’ve convinced me. It’s high time ye began yer training.”
Reecah accompanied Anvil and Flavian to South Fort and commenced her training with the rest of the new recruits.
Anvil paired her with a blonde-haired woman around the same age and height. Catenya, or Cat, as her friends in the group called her, was the dominant personality amongst the two dozen trainees. Her physical appearance reminded Reecah of Cahira, but the similarity ended there. Cat came across as high and mighty—looking down her nose at anyone not in her clique.
Catenya took great joy pummeling Reecah that first day with various melee weapons, but it soon became apparent to everyone in the group that Reecah was not only more proficient with her bow than anyone else, but her stamina outstripped that of even Anvil. Though her swordsmanship lacked any semblance of skill, her endurance while swinging the blade left Cat bent over and panting by the end of the first day.
At Reecah’s request, Anvil remained behind as the sun fell behind the keep. The weapon master agreed to stay back to improve her swordsmanship.
Despite a cool wind blowing off the bay, sweat streamed from Anvil’s face long after the last recruit had left for the common bunkhouse inside the keep’s inner wall. Hands on enormous thighs, a large training sword lying at his feet, he watched Reecah sip from her waterskin. “Are ye not even winded, lass?”
“Oh yes, Anvil,” she said, making sure to include his name whenever she spoke to him. “I don’t think I could lift my sword tip off the ground.”
Anvil shook his head, staring at the drops of sweat staining the dirt between his boots. “Me brother certainly had the right o’ ye.”
Reecah studied the man’s enormous frame—easily the largest man she had ever known. His words puzzled her. He had said as much the first day they met, but she had been so intimidated, their meaning never registered. “I’m confused, Anvil. Who, exactly, is your brother?”
Anvil straightened to his full height, placing his hands on the small of his back and thrusting his thick shoulders forward. “Me brother? Aramyss Chizel.” He spoke as if it were common knowledge.
Reecah scratched at the spot where her thin braid pulled at her scalp above her left eye. “Sorry, Anvil, but I’m confused. I was referred to you by a dwarf. One that I, um, tripped over, a few nights ago.”
Anvil’s tight goatee split with laughter—a sound Reecah wouldn’t soon forget. She’d never seen him smile, let alone laugh.
“That’s a rich one, lassie. Tripped o’er me brother. Ha! I can’t wait to rub that one in.”
“But, you’re not …” She struggled to find a delicate way to phrase it. “Surely, you’re not a dwarf.”
Anvil bent his triangular physique side to side, his corded muscles rippling. “I surely am, Miss GG.”
“B-b-but you’re—”
“A giant?”
Reecah had never met a giant before. From what she had read, giants were taller still. “Well, no. Not a giant. I’m not sure what I’m trying to say. You’re too big to be a dwarf.”
Anvil stared into Reecah’s hazel eyes as if he was looking into her soul. His throat constricted with a swallow. “There’s the rub, ain’t it. Me Mam was a giant, bless her soul. Taken by me father at the end of the Wizard Wars.” A sadness filled his eyes. “I ain’t seen her since I was a wee lad.”
“So, your father was a dwarf?”
Anger replaced sadness.
Reecah prepared to defend herself, but Anvil’s bitter words weren’t directed at her.
“Aye. And a mean one at that. He’s not to return to the Great Kingdom on penalty of death.”
Reecah wanted to know more, but let it drop—the subject clearly upset Anvil. Besides, it was none of her business.
“High King J’kaar holds Aramyss and meself as collateral to ensure our sire adheres to the terms of his banishment.”
Empathy filled Reecah’s heart. She gazed at Anvil with a newfound perspective. She had a sudden urge to wrap the hardened man in her embrace, but lacked the courage to do so.
Anvil must have noticed. “Don’t be getting any thoughts, Miss GG. I ain’t one to be coddled because of me past. Me and Chiz have put it behind us. If I ever hear ye speak of this to anyone, I’ll crush ya. Ye hear me?”
Reecah nodded. “I won’t.”
“Good,” Anvil said and sprung at her, a blunt training sword in hand.
Reecah jumped back and sideways with a squeak, lifting her sword and smiling, despite the fact that muscles she never knew ached like they were being doused with dragon fire. She had longed to learn how to use her weapons for years. She wasn’t about to complain now that she found someone willing to teach her.
Old Attitudes
Jonas Junior was thankful Lurker had agreed to fly with him in full armour. He didn’t welcome the bone-chilling cold that accompanied soaring through the sky.
Their take-off had been anything but smooth, but once in the air, Lurker realized the extra weight wasn’t as bad as he had anticipated.
Following Lasair around the majestic peaks of the Altirius Mountains left Junior’s stomach in his mouth. As grand as the Spine had been, the lofty crags of the northern mountains made the western range pale in comparison.
The wyverns trailed Lurker and Lasair, while Swoop and Silence kept watch overhead. Junior thought about Raver, hoping he hadn’t sent the bird to its death. Arms wrapped around Lurker’s neck, he had to be reminded more than once not to squeeze too hard.
Left to his own thoughts, he couldn’t believe how his life had changed since the time he and Jaxon had stumbled across Reecah in Dragonfang Pass—the hill witch standing over a slain dragonling.
He had gone from being Jonas Waverunner’s natural successor—groomed to lead the dragon hunt one day—to falling out with his family. When word got out he had thrown his lot in with the witch, he would surely become an enemy of t
he crown.
Now he clung to a dragon, flying toward a colony of the fire breathing beasts—creatures who notoriously detested humans. He pondered the merits of his decision to be kind to the only girl who had ever given him a black eye.
Rising through the fog obscuring the mountains, the top of a smoking volcano towered above the surrounding mountain summits—all except the peak directly behind it; also plumed with thick wisps of smoke.
Out of the corner of his eye, the wyverns broke away—flying wide over the Unknown Sea.
“Where are they going?”
Lasair answered, “Cowards. We approach Fire Reach. They’re afraid to get anywhere near Mount Cinder. They fly out to sea to get to their own mountain.”
“Their own mountain?”
Impatience and disgust came through in Lasair’s reply. “I can’t believe I’m explaining this to a human. Fire Reach is the home of the Draakvals. Lowly wyverns call Mount Gloom their home. An aptly named place for their ilk.”
Junior regarded the backside of the massive red dragon, not caring for Lasair’s attitude. Just because wyverns lacked front legs didn’t make them inferior. They were different, that was certain, but to detest them for that reason alone didn’t make sense. The harboured prejudice wasn’t going to help either colony should the high king’s men turn their attention this way.
He thought about saying as much, but shook his head. Who was he to preach to dragonkind? He didn’t know the first thing about the rival colonies. There may be an underlying reason the wyverns had invoked the angst of the Draakval Colony. All he knew was that every wing beat Lurker took brought him closer to a possible hostile confrontation with a dragon named Demonic.
He closed his eyes and shivered. Despite the numbing winds blowing his golden locks behind him, his clothing was soaked in sweat. He fought the urge to shout out in alarm as he opened his eyes to the sound of many sets of leathery wings flapping on the wind. Brown, green, yellow, blue, red, copper, black, and white dragons soared past them—coming from every direction at once. Silence and Swoop dropped in on either side of Lurker, buffering their flight path.
Legends of the Lurker Box Set Page 43