“Yes, my king.” J’kwaad absently heard the words pass the king’s lips. His mind lay elsewhere. He had been so close to claiming the Dragon’s Eye. He had great plans for the coveted talisman. It was integral to his rise to power. A dream that had evaded him ever since the high wizard had revealed the advantages of a rare artifact coupled with a well-wrought staff forged from the spirit of a powerful spellcaster.
“Are you even listening?” High King J’kaar boomed, his voice echoing within the throne room. Not one of the many observers dared to breathe.
J’kwaad blinked twice. Forcing a contrite smile, he lowered his head. “Aye, my king. I’ll prepare a strike force forthwith. Providing the mild winter holds, we should be ready to leave as soon as the supply trains have been replenished.”
“The army hasn’t returned from Mount Cinder yet! If you hadn’t sent them after the Wyrm Colony, we wouldn’t be waiting on their arrival. Honestly, J’kwaad, what were you thinking? If the Windwalker seeks out the dragon queen, you can bet her retribution will be swift.” High King J’kaar’s baleful glare fell on Prince J’kye, the golden heir, and shook his head.
Prince J’kye, the blonde-haired, boot licker, rolled his eyes, affirming their father’s right to be displeased.
“With regard to the Wyrm Colony, it seemed the logical course of action seeing that we were right there. Once Demonic fell, they posed little threat to our forces.”
“Logical! Since when did logic ever enter that thick skull of yours?” The king stormed over to put his purple face in J’kwaad’s. “Even that slut we loosely refer to as your sister has more logic in her mead-soaked brain than you possess.”
J’kwaad welcomed the retort he knew his sister, Princess J’kyra, had on the tip of her silver tongue. Unfortunately, she possessed the wherewithal to keep it to herself, though her angry scowl would have proven the death for almost anyone else.
“Yes, my king. I shall endeavour to do better next time.”
“Next time?” the king screamed, visibly shaking. “There may not be a next time!”
J’kwaad didn’t flinch. He returned his father’s glare with a stoic look.
The high king breathed heavily, not blinking—the menace of his stance daring J’kwaad to say anything to the contrary. “If the dragon queen is roused, she will rise up and lay waste to Draakhall.”
J’kwaad blinked several times before his father stormed to the Ivory Throne and plunked himself within its embrace, looking every bit the spoiled, pouting man who ruled above all others.
Young Princess J’kaeda hung her head near the throne; on the verge of tears as she backed away from their father.
J’kwaad motioned her to him.
J’kaeda’s large, brown eyes darted between their father and J’kwaad. Ever so slowly, she side-stepped to her brother, gratefully accepting his bejeweled hand on her slight shoulder.
The action wasn’t lost on the king. J’kaar looked at the two of them for a moment but looked away again.
J’kwaad caught J’kaeda’s eye and motioned for her to leave through the main doors. The throne room was no place for a child when J’kaar was in one of his moods.
Nobody spoke until the sound of the large, wooden doors creaked open and shut—the clinking of the knight guarding the interior of the door resounded throughout the great hall.
J’kwaad struggled to keep his composure. He didn’t have time to listen to the idle ranting of his deranged father. He had dangerous people to track. Reports out of Castle Svelte, far to the south, claimed dragons matching the description of those from Headwater Castle had been spotted making their way into the Muse.
He didn’t relish tracking dragons within that stretch of desolate, mountain terrain, but those particular dragons were the key to finding the Windwalker.
“And what of Devius Misenthorpe?” His father’s clipped words broke into his thoughts.
J’kwaad lifted his head. “I’m sorry, my king.”
J’kaar’s eyes narrowed, but he kept his voice in control. “The high wizard. Where is he? He better not be with her.”
“I don’t believe so. There was a great battle fought on the wizard’s grounds, but of Devius or his cat, there is no sign.”
“Damned magic users,” J’kaar grumbled.
The inference wasn’t lost on J’kwaad. His father had always been suspicious of those with the gift. Probably because he lacked it himself, but J’kwaad would never say that to the king’s face. The man controlled the vast army of the Great Kingdom. Even Devius feared the high king’s wrath.
“Send word to our people in Arcanium. See that he hasn’t ended up there.” A look of deep thought grasped J’kaar’s features. “Once the dragons have been dealt with, it’ll be time to refocus our energy on the arcane threat. We’ll no longer have need of their ilk. When the dragons are exterminated, I shall rid the world of magic.”
J’kwaad took two deep, deliberate breaths to still his anger.
“I want Devius tracked down and brought before me.”
That was a scenario J’kwaad refused to entertain. If the king killed Devius, his plan to seize control of the kingdom would be dashed. “I don’t believe that’s wise, my king. A wizard of Devius’ prowess can only be handled by someone of equal or greater arcane ability. He should be delivered to me to deal with.”
J’kaar smacked the ivory armrests in anger. “I care not what you believe! When I give an order, I expect it carried out!”
“Yes, my king.” J’kwaad would have to find a way to deal with that eventuality if it arose. “And what of the last dragon colony?”
The king’s face darkened. “You worry about Devius. I’ll see the army is refitted and ready to go…If they make it back.”
“Yes, my king.” J’kwaad bowed and made to follow in J’kaeda’s footsteps.
“I’m not finished!”
J’kwaad stiffened. It was all he could do not to launch a fireball at the throne. The knowledge that he would be riddled with dozens of arrows before he had a chance to escape kept his temper in check. He hoped his tingling fingers resisted the urge to spark to life in flames. He kept a strained look on his father, but said nothing.
“This Windwalker. I want her found before she causes me any more trouble.”
J’kwaad swallowed his revulsion. What did the old fool think he had been doing? His every waking moment had been devoted to finding the nettlesome witch from Fishmonger Bay. Since her appearance, sleep was a privilege he rarely allowed himself. “Aye, my king. I hope to have word of her whereabouts shortly.”
J’kaar jumped from his seat, but thankfully only pointed. “That’s the trouble with you, J’kwaad. You hope! Hope is for the weak. Get it done and let’s get on with ridding our realm of the dragon scourge.”
“Yes, my king.” The term dragon scourge wasn’t lost on the dark heir. It was the term of endearment the dragons had labelled High King J’kaar. “With your leave?”
The king glared at him for a long time before waiving a dismissive hand. “Bah! Be gone with you. And take your sorry sot of a sister with you. Honestly, you two are your mother’s revenge.”
Time of Need
Tamra inspected the dragon statue on the edge of the ruins. Startled by a strong sense of magic she knew neither the dragons nor Reecah exuded, she looked up. Raver burst into the sky, followed closely by Reecah emerging from beneath the ground, a large, golden object in her hands.
Junior rushed over to relieve Reecah of the object; both of them carefully navigating the rubble.
The new magic emanated from whatever Junior clutched in his arms. Though Tamra had no idea what it was, she sensed it contained an ancient, elven magic.
As strange as it was to discover the magic’s appearance in a backwater community, it made perfect sense. Coupled with Reecah’s explanation of who her relatives were, the remote village nestled close to Dragon Home was an ideal place to find links between the dragons and their human caretakers.
Ta
mra blocked Junior from stepping free of the debris. “Let me see that.”
He cast Reecah a questioning look. She nodded.
Holding the brass bowl in her hands, Tamra closed her eyes. Vestiges of elven magic intermingled with a strong human presence. Curious that the two were in evidence in one place. She wished Ouderling Wys were here. She’d know what to make of it.
“You know what that is?” Reecah asked, stepping clear of the rubble and brushing herself off with one hand while grasping a staff in her other.
“It radiates magic of a long-ago time. It’s a powerful artifact if I have the right of it.”
Reecah raised her thin eyebrows. “According to Devius, two of these scrying bowls were forged by the first Windwalker and the first wizard.”
“First wizard?”
Reecah shrugged. “That’s what Devius said.”
Tamra turned the bowl in her hands, reading the runes etched into its eight, flat lipped edges. Large, individual runes stood out in relief along its deep sides. “Do you know how to use it?”
“Kind of. Well yes, but Devius gave me hell the last time I invoked its magic. Besides, I’m not sure what he filled it with.”
Tamra frowned.
“The bowl must contain a magical solution. It’s used to conjure images of places…or people the spellcaster chooses to view. At least, that’s the extent of what we did with it. I’m sure it has a greater purpose.”
“Like a way to communicate over long distances?”
“Perhaps. Makes sense. We just looked at things, but who knows. I never had time to learn much.”
Tamra held the heavy bowl with ease. “I can carry this for you.” Not waiting for permission, she pulled a burlap sack from a leather rucksack and stuffed the bowl inside. Ignoring the burden, she nodded at Reecah’s staff, noting the crimson gemstone imbedded in its top. “What’s that?”
Reecah licked her lips, as if debating her answer. “If I’m not mistaken, this is what’s left of my great-aunt.”
Tamra frowned and inspected the staff. It was too long to be a spine unless Reecah’s aunt were a giant. “I don’t understand.”
“To tell the truth, I don’t either. The last time I saw Grimelda, she was preparing to perform what she called a transfiguration spell. She made me leave, but not before having me promise to find this gemstone at the Dragon Temple and bring it back here.” Reecah shook her head. “I know it sounds crazy, but I believe my aunt transfigured herself into this staff.”
Tamra held Reecah’s hazel gaze. She didn’t sense anything but truth in the Windwalker’s eyes. “If that’s what you believe, I’m prepared to agree with you. A strong dragon magic radiates from the top of the staff and the rest of the wood speaks to me of human magic.”
“It speaks to you?”
“Elves are magical by nature. Not spellcasting, wizardly types. Our magic is a symbiosis with nature. We feel the underlying energy everything possesses, whether it’s alive or dead. In you, for instance, I sense dragon magic mixed with equal parts elven and human magic. Most of mankind—elves, humans, giants and dwarfs—only possess one type of magic, if they possess anything at all. Only Windwalkers are known to command all three.”
“You say Windwalkers like they’re a race.”
Tamra thought back to something Ouderling Wys had told her over a century ago and nodded. “That’s correct. Windwalkers are different from others. Your unique ability separates you. The term Windwalker is a respectful way to let others know who is in possession of dragon magic. Most Windwalkers drop their inherited last name, but not all.”
“So, back in the days of the Windwalkers, people might have referred to me as, Reecah Draakvriend Windwalker?”
Tamra smiled. It wasn’t often she saw the joy in a situation—her analytical brain constantly figuring in every outcome of a situation, both good and bad. “That would be most suitable. Draakvriend means, dragon friend.”
Reecah looked stunned. “Of course! I never thought of my last name that way. It’s just a name I’ve always had.”
“Oi! Lasses!” Aramyss’ stout form waddled around Scarletclaws, crunching the gravel beneath his heavy boots. “I hate to break up yer magic lesson, but I think we’ve worn out our welcome.”
Tamra’s axes jumped into her hands. “Why. Who’s coming?”
“Easy lass. Ain’t to be no one yet.” He puffed on his long-stemmed pipe and pointed with it at the large building fronting the shoreline. “There’s a group forming around yonder building. From the looks of ‘em, they ain’t keen on the company we be keeping.”
Everyone stared at the building in question.
Junior nodded. “Aye. That’ll be the women in my family rousing the village. We’d best be away before they become bold enough to come after us.”
“Bah!” Aramyss hocked and spat. “We gots ourselves four dragons, the Maiden of the Wood, and Reecah. I say let ‘em come.”
“These are my people. Reecah’s too. They might not care too much for us anymore, but I don’t wish them any harm.”
Reecah nodded.
Lurker’s head swung to Reecah. “Have you got everything you came for?”
Reecah thumped the end of her staff on the bottom step of Grimelda’s Clutch. “I believe so. It’s time to fly.”
Lurker’s gaze lingered on Reecah. “Is that what I think it is?”
“The staff?”
“It’s not an ordinary staff. You melded the Dragon’s Eye into its essence. You have combined Dragon Magic with—”
“Human and elven magic, if what I’m learning is true.”
Lurker nodded. “We need to get away from here before it falls into the wrong hands.”
Everyone mounted their dragon without much difficulty except Aramyss. The dwarf struggled to get his short legs up and over Scarletclaws’ shoulder.
Scarletclaws shook her head as he slid back to the ground on his third attempt. “Seriously? Why do I have to carry the runt? I’m a red dragon.”
Reecah came to the dwarf’s defense. “Aramyss may be the smallest in stature, but he has the biggest heart.”
“Ye got that right, lass. An’ the fiercest!” He grabbed onto the edge of one of Scarletclaws’ scales and hoisted himself behind her neck.
Tamra bristled. If the dwarf thought he was fiercer than her, he was in for a rude awakening. Patting Silence’s neck, she growled, “To the sky.”
Silence crouched low and sprang into the air—the village of Fishmonger Bay becoming smaller with each flap of her great wings.
Tamra was sure Silence felt bigger beneath her legs. The beasts were growing at an alarming rate.
Swoop soared by. Junior hung on for dear life as she rose and dropped in her usual, erratic way.
Tamra’s keen hearing picked up Junior’s high-pitched question.
“Where to?”
The question on its surface seemed a moot point. They were to head east to the Wilds and search out the Draakvuur Colony, but the flight from the Muse had sparked an awareness in the back of Tamra’s mind. Perhaps not a sane idea, but one that merited further discussion if they had any chance of making a difference in the dragon’s plight.
Tamra raised her voice above the wind, “What about touching down at Castle Svelte?”
Scarletclaws flew calmly by. Aramyss had his face buried in her neck, but turned a shocked face in her direction. “Ye’d have to be crazier than a boneless skeleton, elf woman! The duke of Zephyr owes his allegiance to the high king!”
“Do you know the duke?”
“Can’t say that I do. Seen him at court on many occasions, but never had the pleasure.”
“You speak wise for a half-man. The duke is indeed a pleasure. I know for a fact he doesn’t share J’kaar’s vision of a dragon-free world.”
“Share it or not, he’s the king’s appointed man. He’d not dare oppose the Ivory Throne, or I’m a horned owl.”
Reecah flew Lurker in beside Swoop—the two dragons smiling at each
other. “You really think he’d help us?”
“Hard to say. Aramyss probably has the right of it, but it can’t hurt to feel the man out. Aside from Kraidic, Zephyr is the Great Kingdom’s largest duchy. If we can convince the duke that what the king is doing is wrong, you never know what might happen in our time of need. Perhaps it’s time the kingdom had a new monarch.”
Reecah nodded, deep in thought. Her eyes widened at what Tamra insinuated. “What about the dragons? We can’t just land them in Carillon and hope for the best.”
“Aye, lass. There ain’t much for leagues around the city to hide their approach. The Plains of Lugubrious surround the city’s walls and a large body of water forms the castle’s eastern flanks.” Aramyss nodded and tried to point—the gesture nearly unseating him.
Tamra flashed them both a knowing look. She had met with the duke on several occasions. Lower Zephyr abutted South March’s northern border. Dialogue on common interests had taken place, independent of the crown, for centuries.
Tamra adjusted the bulging sack set before her. “Leave that to me.”
Castle Svelte
Reecah stood beside Lurker on the dust swept plains of Lugubrius, a league from Carillon’s gate—the city’s walls clearly visible across the flat ground. Farmlands comprised the southern and northern horizons, but where the group had landed, nothing but barren ground separated them from the capital city of the duchy of Zephyr. Visible between Scarletclaws and Swoop, a cloud of dust rose up from the edge of the city, slowly approaching their position.
“Steady now,” Lurker cautioned. “People aren’t used to dragons any more. We don’t want to put Tamra in danger.”
Aramyss slapped his axe handle in his palm. “They’d be asking for a quick death, if’n they so much as ruffle the lassie’s fur. Ye keep yer mind to keepin’ Reecah safe.”
Junior’s sword slid from its sheath as he and Aramyss walked toward whoever was coming. “They’ll feel the edge of my sword long before they can get to Reecah.”
Grateful for everyone’s comradery, Reecah held her staff before her, the gemstone dull in its new environment. Raver perched atop the staff’s twisted head staff, a place he had taken to prefer over her leather forearm covers. She understood his love for the length of wood that had been Grimelda, but in her hands it was just a gnarly staff. If it possessed magic of its own, she couldn’t sense it.
Legends of the Lurker Box Set Page 64