The Black Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book (Dragon Series 1)

by Salvador Mercer

  Uthor swung a wooden shutter across the window and heard it crack slightly; the force of it hitting the stone sill brought him a small measure of comfort, assuaging his anger and frustration. He stopped pacing and looked to his guests.

  His cousin Gemma sat pretentiously on one of the padded chairs that faced his desk. This was not the throne room, but instead his private working quarters in the topmost tower at the center of his castle. The tower itself was very large, and the room, while circular in shape, was quite spacious. Tapestries hung from various parts of the room and helped to muffle the sound that all too often reverberated off the hard stone walls.

  Justiciar Basil stood behind her with his hands clasped behind his back, looking annoyed, as he usually did, especially when in the presence of nobility. Uthor was sure the man preferred to be the senior most figure in any room where he attended.

  Rualf, the Kesh ambassador to Ulatha, sat in the chair next to Gemma, looking blankly at the duke. The man was attended as usual by his apprentice, Amal, who stood to his side, holding several books in his hands and three scrolls tucked under his left arm. Jezebel, Rualf’s personal aide, stood behind him in her silk clothes, gold accoutrements dangling from various parts of her body.

  Jezebel wasn’t young anymore, but her figure was voluptuous and her hair hung over her right shoulder like a waterfall of silk, occasionally glimmering when she moved her head. She wasn’t armored, but she carried a sharp dagger thrust into a golden sheath attached to her belt, which accented her curves. Most of the time Uthor was used to seeing her whispering into the old man’s ear when they attended various meetings and functions, but for the most part, he couldn’t figure out exactly what purpose the woman fulfilled for the Kesh wizard.

  Jezebel stood in stark contrast to his last guests: the Supreme Patriarch of Astor, Torwell, and his aide, the Fist of Astor, Cornelia. Despite it being high summer, Cornelia wore a heavy cotton tunic and pants that covered most her body. She had a breastplate on made from brass, which, while appealing and in fashion, he knew was also very utilitarian as he had witnessed her in combat before. Her sword was secured in a similarly colored bronze sheath, and she had a gauntlet on her right hand, her sword hand. A gauntleted hand in the shape of a fist and crossed swords underneath were etched into her breastplate, indicating her service to Astor.

  Torwell, on the other hand, looked much more like Jezebel in his silk robes and fine cotton cloths. He wore several gold and silver rings on his fingers and two necklaces strung around his chubby neck. He breathed heavily still from his walk up the long flight of stairs to reach the duke’s working chamber in the castle’s tallest tower.

  Finally, in the back of the room near the door to the stairwell, stood Uthor’s bodyguard and friend, Perceval, standing with his hand on his sword, his eyes constantly darting from person to person. Flanking the door were two of the duke’s personal guards, dressed in the duke’s colors of gold and black, armed with short swords, and holding shorter, more ceremonious halberds that they used for presentation.

  Uthor knew that with the Kesh contingent here, there would be more guards in the alcoves flanking the room behind the various tapestries, as well as in the stairwell leading to the roof above them. Ulathans worked with the Kesh, but they did not trust them.

  Gemma spoke first. “Really, cousin, must we suffer your adolescent outbursts?”

  Uthor walked from the window to behind his desk and sat without responding directly to her, which seemed to be more effective than any reply.

  Rualf broke the awkward silence. “If you have news, then perhaps a short briefing would be in order?”

  “Something must be in order! I’m sure you didn’t call us all here for social pleasantries. Well, go on, Uthor—what news?” Torwell said, taking a kerchief offered to him by Cornelia and wiping his sweaty brow with it.

  Uthor made an almost imperceptible nod at Perceval, whose sword blade was now visible, if only an inch of it, peeking from its leather sheath. A look of anger crossed Perceval’s brow at the perceived disrespect being directed at his duke and friend. Perceval understood the gesture and lowered his hand, though his stance remained strained, as if he were ready to pounce. None of the duke’s guests seemed to have noticed the silent communication between duke and bodyguard.

  “The news is not good,” Uthor started, looking from face to face to gauge their reactions. “Three regions in the north have fallen, and it’s been over a fortnight since we’ve had news from Rigal.”

  Uthor watched as the news sunk in. Rualf looked up, and Jezebel whispered in his ear before he said, “My cousin Reefus contacted me not more than a week ago from Rigal proper. The combined armies of Balaria and Kesh have made it to your fellow duke’s noble realm and should even now be defending it.”

  “And I am sure the order is defending the hold even as we speak,” Torwell said, handing the handkerchief back to Cornelia, who quickly tucked it out of sight.

  Gemma leaned forward. “The Ice Hold is too well guarded and fortified to be causing all this alarm and concern, Uthor. Why don’t you tell us what is really bothering you?”

  Uthor leaned back in his chair and placed his elbows on either armrest while bringing his fingertips together, and then sighed before speaking. “My concern isn’t for just Rigal but for the entire kingdom. I am not just thinking of my own Ulatha or just the Kesh.” He nodded to Rualf, who acknowledged in return with a slight nod of his own head. “But there is something much more sinister moving behind the scenes than we know. This isn’t just a war with a few drakes of the north. No, this is becoming something much more serious, much more deadly. Justiciar Basil, have you concluded your investigation in the south?”

  Basil didn’t move. “We found no trace of your quest, my lord. The local prefect had dispatched another larger group led by Commander Fulbert himself, complemented with troops and staff from Tannis as well as a Hand of Astor from the order. We received your summons before the group left, so it’s too early to tell if they were successful.”

  “Why no wizard?” Uthor asked, looking to Rualf.

  “What hand? Who is this hand?” Torwell asked, shifting in his seat to look sideways at Justiciar Basil. “Two of the three hands are now here with me, and that left only Thomas, who is not yet experienced enough to quest.” Torwell motioned for Cornelia to come closer.

  “It was Lady Gemma’s idea,” Basil said as his statue-like stance was broken by his arms now waving in the air, protesting the outburst from the Supreme Patriarch of the order.

  “What idea?” Torwell asked.

  “You have new initiates, Torwell. Stop acting as if you don’t know this,” Gemma said, a tone of exasperation coming through her voice.

  “Acolytes, yes—I knew we were taking in new charges, but a new hand? I would have been told by Master Markus if there was someone ready.”

  “Well, he didn’t have the time,” Gemma scoffed.

  Torwell lowered his eyes to cat-like slits before responding, “What exactly was your idea, Lady Gemma?” The tone was menacing.

  “Nothing to concern your precious order, Torwell,” Gemma said, yet again refusing to use the man’s formal title. “Besides, the new hand there is the prefect’s daughter. Perfectly capable, and she had been an acolyte for quite some time.”

  Torwell’s chubby face turned red, and then he motioned to Cornelia, who had come to his side and leaned over him as he whispered something in her ear. Then she turned and walked towards the door. “Very well, Lady Gemma, I’ll have a discussion with my servant Markus and clarify this situation, but it appears to me that you have had a hand in matters of the order that do not involve you—please do excuse the pun.”

  “Nonsense,” Gemma scoffed. “I simply gave a nudge or two, and things that were meant to be happened sooner rather than later.”

  “Enough!” Uthor said, in a loud commanding voice, even as the door slammed shut from Cornelia’s departure. Both Gemma and Torwell looked at him, jaws gaping at his i
nterruption. “I asked, why no wizard?”

  All eyes turned to Rualf.

  “Lord Uthor, there are no Kesh in Tannis since we lost contact with Ketas weeks ago,” Rualf said.

  “Why did you not send one with my delegation last week, as I had asked?” Uthor questioned, leaning forward, his eyes piercing.

  Rualf was polite but obviously not flustered. “Because we had none to send. There is only myself and my apprentice Amal here in Ulan Utandra.” He smiled.

  Uthor’s gaze moved to Amal, and Rualf finally did not appear so composed and calm. “Your apprentice?”

  “Amal is too young to quest, Lord Uthor. He is not ready, and besides, he assists me in my many ambassadorial duties to Ulatha. You cannot be serious.”

  Uthor paused and looked from face to face, seeing various emotions expressed upon each. Most were negative, but only Jezebel seemed to be enjoying the display. She seemed to stare a bit too long at Uthor, which made him uncomfortable. Perhaps that was her role and purpose, Uthor thought for a moment before he spoke. “So we send a group of my soldiers without a wizard, accompanied by a newly initiated and inexperienced member of the order, to investigate the disappearance of one of my most highly capable and elite group of warriors. Do I understand this correctly?”

  There were no responses. Finally, Basil spoke up. “My lord, I think the members of this latest group we sent were to simply discover any information regarding our missing party of champions. They are not necessarily there to search for the dragon.”

  “You mean creature, don’t you, Basil?” Gemma questioned, arching her eyebrow, though she could not see him standing behind her.

  “I won’t debate the issue with you again, Lady Gemma. Diamedes says there is a high probability that a great drake of the north lies near Tannis, and that was, and has always been, their primary mission,” Basil said.

  “Oh, yes, a hidden drake in the middle of our realm makes so much sense, Basil. One wonders why this drake hasn’t burned down Utandra or killed our livestock the last few years,” Gemma said, unconvinced.

  “Please, both of you!” Uthor motioned with his hands for quiet. “I don’t care if this creature is a drake or a wild boar gone mad with some kind of crazy pig spell.” Rualf looked up, perplexed at the mention of a spell to make swine go mad. “But whatever we were warned about that could be lurking this close, only three days journey from Utandra—”

  “Four days or more, actually, my lord, if you include the time to travel into Kero swamp . . .” Basil said, leaving the last of his sentence unfinished as he saw the look on Uthor’s face. Even Gemma sat forward in her chair and twisted her entire torso around to look him in the eye. “Sorry, my lord—please, do go on.”

  “Four days’ journey from the heart of our realm, and we are woefully understaffed and unprepared if any of what the king’s historian says is true,” Uthor said.

  “I am sure I would have received word if there were any of the draconus species in the area, Lord Uthor. My superiors would have informed me, and if there were a drake in the area, then I’m certain one of us Kesh would be more than capable of handling the foul beast,” Rualf said confidently.

  Uthor leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. “Tell that to your colleague Ketas, Ambassador Rualf.”

  Diamedes sat in silence as his hand rested on the etched brass plates that were laid in front of him. He sat in the Great Library of Ulatha in an alcove at the back, where the plates were kept. Newer books covered the many shelves lined up in long rows in the main arched room, but in the back rooms there were individual tables and shelves from floor to ceiling, with each room catering to a specialty area of written works or exhibits.

  This particular area had brass plates etched with ruins and words that gave some detailed history of certain parts of Ulatha in the extreme past and darkness of ancient history. The plates were used as a way to preserve history many eons ago since paper books and scrolls didn’t last long and were prone to destruction, especially by fire, being fragile as they were. The ancients thought it best to preserve their knowledge when they discovered copper and alloyed it with various other metals, zinc and tin specifically, to make brass and bronze objects.

  The library was quiet, even for a usual day, and only a few people milled about in the main hall, where most of the books and tables were located. Diamedes found himself sitting alone in his alcove, but he knew he was being watched. Oh, he couldn’t see the pair from his current vantage point, and they couldn’t see him from the second-floor balcony, but he couldn’t leave without them noticing, and he was sure they would be there no matter what time he left.

  The question to answer was, for whom were they watching him? At first he thought it was the duke, or one of his agents, and then he fancied there was a connection with the Order of Astor, but they were too clumsy to belong to that organization. In fact, the more amateurish that he thought them to be, the more he pondered that they most likely worked for a private party. A party that was pretentious enough to even do something this audacious, and yet naïve enough to think they could get away with it.

  He came to only one conclusion, and then smiled. But the motive was lacking, and he would have to investigate that soon. His private thoughts were interrupted by what appeared to be a shabbily dressed librarian and a man, no less.

  “Good day to you, sir. Have you found everything you needed in our majestic facility?” he said, a strange tone in his voice.

  “Well, yes, I have found that . . .” Diamedes let the words trail away as the man pushed a book forward on the table.

  “You’ll find the physiology of the area to be quite amazing hereabouts, especially on page twenty three . . .” the man said, with a wink to go along with it.

  “Physiology?” Diamedes responded, wondering at the incorrect use of the word before noticing the wink. “Ah, yes, the physical geology of the area will be a most welcome read—thank you for recommending it.”

  The man nodded, then winked again, and moved off with several books still in his arms. Diamedes grabbed the book, opened it to page twenty-three, and found a folded letter there. He took it and laid it out, discarding the book to the outer edge of the table, and started to read.

  To our esteemed Master Historian Diamedes,

  It is our pleasure to inform you that your request for information relating to the existence and capabilities of the draconus species has been completed. Our society has found no information related to the species outside of the northern incidents that you were already made aware of from prior inquiries.

  The further matter that you alluded to in your request regarding the dissemination of accurate information by governmental agencies was inconclusive as of the date of this missive. We suggest you personally inquire for further clarifications.

  Warmest regards,

  Edward Horwell

  Chief Investigator, Society for the Discovery of Historical Facts

  Day 179 of the Year 197 of the 14th Transit

  Diamedes wondered why the society was using such an untalented actor to deliver this missive. The information was almost more than useless. It basically confirmed that no one knew anything about the draconus species outside of the usual tales that told about death, murder, and mayhem in the north around the time of every transit event.

  His inquiry as to whether the king knew what was happening, or even the duke for that matter, was likewise uninformative. About the only thing Diamedes learned from this missive was that the Society for the Discovery of Historical Facts wasn’t very accomplished at its core mission.

  Diamedes was a lone historian and worked with other individuals and groups, but he himself was not a member of one. His appointment to the position of chief royal historian had more to do with the coincidental facts that he discovered regarding the heroics and exploits of the current king’s ancestors and less to do with any real royal reasoning.

  There was only one thing to do. He had to find out personally what was happening and how it woul
d affect Ulatha, not to mention most of Agon. This, he knew, could be most dangerous.

  Chapter 9

  Temple

  Olivia felt the cold marble beneath her back. She was drowsy and was just now starting to wake, but her limbs felt heavy. As she became more aware of her surroundings, she realized that she was lying on a slab of cold marble somewhere peaceful, but there were voices around her, and she started to focus her attention on deciphering the babble going on outside her ears. Slowly the jumble of sounds started to make sense, and Olivia listened but kept her eyes shut.

  “I don’t know how she got it,” a voice that sounded like Markus said in a loud whisper.

  “Well, Commander Fulbert and others have already told her father. He is furious and wants to know why you gave it to her,” said an unfamiliar nasally sounding voice, also speaking in a hushed tone. “We cannot let him find out about this—”

  Markus interrupted rather harshly. “Are you dense, man! I already told you I didn’t know how she came by the artifact.”

  “The prefect thinks you’re lying and still wants an audience with you. You cannot hide in here forever,” the other voice said, sounding annoyed.

  “I’ll prove it to you! Go ahead—go to her and try to remove the pendant. If that won’t convince you, nothing will.”

  “I have heard what happened when one of the servants tried to remove it. Did you repeat the effort in here?”

  “Yes, of course—my man Thomas attempted it as soon as she was brought in, and he’s still recovering from the shock it gave him. Unnatural it was!” Markus hissed.

  “I thought your order dealt with these kinds of things. Is there not a ritual or procedure for you to remove it? Her father will see it for sure once she awakens,” the other man asked.

  There was a pause before Markus answered, “We have certain . . . rituals that we perform, but they are rather more . . . ceremonial in nature than divine. We don’t know what this is or how it happened.”