Dragon Flight: Sisera's Gift 3 (Dragonblood Sagas Book 5)

by Robyn Wideman

  With a grumble, Santaal followed suit. Soon, both men had stripped their heavy garments and lashed their weapons to their belts.

  “After you,” Santaal said as he tightened the strap on his satchel.

  Tarak shrugged and jumped into river. The cold water stung his bare chest and threatened to soak into his leggings and boots, dragging him down. He fought his way back to the surface to find that the current had already brought him far downstream. Cursing his lack of forethought, he struggled to keep his head above water, his arm and legs moving wildly as he treaded water.

  “Grab it.” Santaal’s voice came from behind him.

  Tarak turned his head just in time to see a driftwood log float next to him. He managed to grab a stub where a branch had broken off and pulled him up to where he could cling safely.

  “At least one of us was thinking,” Santaal called from the rear of the log where he clung in much the same way as Tarak.

  “Thank you, brother,” Tarak said sincerely as he pushed the water from his nose.

  The river began to grow faster and more violent so the brothers had to work out a way to steer the log or else fall victim to the rocky rapids. After many failed attempts and near drownings, the two men managed to get to shore and pull themselves out having agreed that, though slower, portage was the preferable option.

  After a mile of traversing harsh, rocky shoreline, the river smoothed out and the brothers could resume their trek by water after finding another log to use as a makeshift raft.

  Night was soon approaching when Tarak noticed a length of sturdy rope laying on the shore. The two men swam the log toward the shore then had to backtrack to where the rope was.

  “This is the same rope. She must have come out here,” Santaal said as he coiled the rope.

  The shore was rocky which made it difficult to search for tracks but through patience, Tarak found what he was looking for.

  “She went this way. See there?” he shouted to Santaal, who quickly rushed over.

  In the mud was a human footprint. The two men continued their search with renewed vigor and soon uncovered more tracks leading south.

  “Looks like these belong to only one person,” Santaal said.

  “As long as they belong to the right one,” Tarak said with a shrug.

  The brush began to thicken which left telltale signs that someone had passed through there recently however it also slowed their progress. There seemed like there was no way to avoid being stabbed and scratched by tiny thorns. Frustrated, the two men backtracked to try to find an easier way through. Luckily, they came upon an animal run which greatly aided in the speed of their progress in the right direction but they had lost the dragonblood’s trail.

  After much discussion over the evening’s campfire, they decided the girl was more likely to go south because she knew they were going west and there was reportedly a large city in that direction. Santaal argued that their priority should be finding the mages to the west but Tarak insisted they should chase after the girl.

  “The Brides will not be pleased if we let the Dragonblood live when she was already in our grasp. Their wrath will be much more unpleasant than our current situation, I assure you,” Tarak said grimly.

  “Damn the Brides,” Santaal said, spitting out the words like a bad piece of meat.

  Tarak instinctively placed his hand over the magical amulet that rested on his chest. Although the magical relic lay cold and dormant, he could not be certain if all the magic had gone out of it.

  “Shut your mouth,” he said angrily.

  Santaal’s face took on a grim expression but he just shook his head and complied. He poked at the little fire he had built at the entrance of the cave and sent sparks floating up into the night sky. The two men watched the tiny flames dance upward in silence.

  Late the next afternoon, the two Brothers came to the end of the forest and entered a large, inclining field lined with rows and rows of large melons.

  “Garron be thanked,” Santaal said as he cracked open one of the large fruits with the butt of his dagger. He bit into the juicy red flesh but immediately spit it out. “Not a good taste,” he said.

  The two men climbed to the top of the high but gradual slope and were filled with relief when they reached the top. Stretched out before them was a valley filled with signs of civilization. Thin columns of smoke rose from several small houses.

  Tarak could vaguely hear the sound of someone hammering so they followed the repetitive banging until they found a group of three young men building a section of fence. At first, the men did not see the brothers approaching but when they did, they immediately took up defensive positions to show they were not simple farmers but warriors as well, which Tarak could plainly see from their well-toned statures.

  “Halt there,” one of the men yelled as they approached. “Who are you?”

  Tarak held up his empty palms as a sign of peace. “Travelers lost in the wilderness,” he shouted. He thought diplomacy would be best in their current predicament. “We fell in the river as ways up and now we are lost.”

  The three men talked among themselves. Apparently coming to a decision, all three picked up large hammers and walked toward the two brothers.

  “Where are you from? I don’t recognize your accent,” the spokesman of the group said. He was a big man with thick, corded muscle rivaling Tarak’s own physique. He had long blond hair pulled into a long plait that hung between his broad shoulders and his nose had clearly been broken more than once in his life.

  The primal side of Tarak longed to do battle with this man as he looked like a worthy opponent but logic and reason won out in the end. “Partha,” Tarak said with as friendly a tone as he could.

  “Partha? Never heard of it.” The man’s two equally large companions agreed.

  “It is in the far east, across the Great Ocean,” Santaal said, putting up his hands to follow suit with Tarak.

  The three men were obviously confused which Tarak knew made them more dangerous but he had dealt with men and situations like this before. They were frontline grunts; brave and strong but not the most intelligent thus easy to manipulate.

  “We were doing battle with a powerful sorceress and she used her magic to transport us away. We appeared in a temple up the river, there. We didn’t know what else to do so we walked south. We had a surprise encounter with a boar that ended with my brother falling in the river and me jumping in to save him. We finally managed to swim out of the rapids and broke through the bush to find ourselves here.” Tarak knew that his slight modifications to the story would draw more sympathy from the men than the truth.

  “Ah, I was with a party once that had to battle a wizard. Nasty business, magic is,” one of the spokesman’s companions said. This man had the same build but dark hair and a full beard which helped cover the scars on his face. He looked to be just as young as the other two but Tarak pinned him as the most experienced in battle.

  “Aye,” the spokesman nodded, “one I’ve been lucky enough to avoid. I am Roland. This is my brother, Garlan,” he pointed to the third man, blond like himself, who nodded but remained silent, “and my cousin, Helmut.”

  The three men lowered their hammers and held out their arms in greeting.

  “Tarak. And, this is my brother, Santaal,” the High Priest said, gripping each man by the forearm in the traditional way. Santaal followed suit and the men invited the brothers back to their farm, abandoning their work for another time.

  “This farmstead is a part of Raven’s Crest village. We grow the majority of the food for the population of the community,” Roland said as they walked down the dirt paths that separated different plots of vegetables. “All the farmers work together now and the yields have been incredible.”

  “What do you mean ‘work together now?’” asked Tarak.

  “Raven’s Crest is a collective of six villages from this region. We hit some hard times a few years back and people were starving. Our uncle, who had moved what was le
ft of his family from the east, cousin Helmut here included, had the idea to abandon the villages and work together to create a new home in a much better place. It took a lot for him to convince all the village elders but that effort paid off as everyone is now prospering.”

  “Sounds like a fledgling kingdom,” Santaal said.

  Roland laughed. “Yes, but uncle refuses to allow such a thing. He doesn’t agree with the monarchy and prefers to allow a council to make the decisions. He doesn’t even have a seat on the council so there is no doubt in the people’s minds of his intentions.”

  “He sounds like a wise man,” Tarak said.

  “Very,” Roland said. “He should be in his office at the farm this time of day. He will be most interested to meet you, I am sure.”

  The men traded stories of past battles as they walked along the mile of lanes and fields. They approached a small house but Tarak was informed that this was merely a rest house for the dozens of field workers they had passed along the way.

  “This farm is an impressive size,” Tarak said.

  “It needs to be to feed as many as it does with extras to preserve for emergencies,” Roland said. “Uncle says that war is brewing in the south so we need to be prepared. Most of the warriors work the fields in addition to our training regimens. It keeps us fit and strong.” He gave Tarak a friendly wink as he flexed his massive arm.

  In the spirit of comradery, Tarak reciprocated the move. His angry looking, veiny bicep put the younger man’s effort to shame. The group of men shared a laugh and rowdily continued toward the main farm house.

  When they arrived, the compound was in an uproar. Roland grabbed a teenage boy who was running past and demanded to know where he was going in such a rush. The boy, who addressed Roland as cousin, said “Two women arrived a while ago. They are both in the infirmary. I’m headed there now to help Auntie with the injured one. Apparently, the woman is cousin Raven, returned home from her adventures.”

  As soon as he heard the news, Helmut, the dark-haired warrior, ran off in the direction the boy was heading.

  “Raven is his sister. She was captured many years ago in a raid by eastern invaders. We thought she was dead until we received word that she had been rescued by a king. The letter stated that she chose to remain in the east to repay the life debt she owed,” Roland said as he saw a questioning look on the face of both men. “It is very exciting news that she as returned.”

  We need to get out of here right now, Tarak thought and immediately began to plan an exit-strategy. He shot Santaal a knowing look and received an agreeing nod.

  “Well, we don’t want to be a bother during the reunion. Is there some place out of the way that we could use to freshen up?” Tarak asked calmly.

  Roland nodded in agreement. “You’re right. It is probably best to let things settle first. Since Uncle is gone, I have to see if Father is about. There is a fresh pond just outside of the village that we use for bathing. No one will be around at this time to bother you.” He called to a group of three young boys who were confined to a bench to keep them from getting trampled in the confusion. They ran over and listened intently as Roland gave his instructions. All three happily accepted his orders. Roland turned back to Tarak and Santaal with a wide grin crossing his face. “These are my nephews. They will lead you to the pond by way of the kitchens. I’m sure you are starving after all your adventures.”

  Tarak’s stomach agreed loudly. “Thank you, Roland,” he said and offered his arm. The two men shook and Roland hurried off after Helmut.

  The three boys led the Brothers to the kitchens where Roland’s wife, a young, solid, rosy-cheeked woman by the name of Gurdie, met them with a welcoming smile. She gave the brothers fresh baked cookies to munch on while she packed them a picnic lunch. Both men were ravenous and wolfed down the entire platter of treats, minus the cookies for the boys as their reward, in a matter of moments. This drew no more than a heartfelt laugh from Gurdie and she said she was used to the appetite of warriors.

  With a basket of fruit, fresh bread, cheese, and cold meats, the Brothers followed their little guides to the outskirts of the farmstead to the large pond. The young boys immediately ran off leaving Tarak and Santaal alone to bathe. As soon as the boys disappeared from sight, the two brothers took off into the woods and away from the farm. They ran as fast as the light underbrush of the forest would allow and only slowed their pace to a fast march once they were more than a mile from the farm.

  “You look like a fool running with that basket,” Santaal said once his breaths had slowed enough to speak.

  Tarak laughed and punched his brother in the arm. “I am happy to look like a fool if it means we won’t starve.”

  “And, that I thank you for,” Santaal said with a nod. “So, are we going to try to steal the girl from a group of strong, well-armed northern warriors, where we will most likely face certain death?”

  Tarak could not help but chuckle at his brother’s more than accurate description of their situation. There was no question though.

  He reached into the basket and pulled out a dark red apple. He took a large bite and threw the rest to Santaal who happily caught the fruit. With his mouth still full of juicy apple chunks, he looked at Santaal and, with a smile, said, “Absolutely.”

  27

  “Explain to me how I am a prisoner,” Kai said, risking the wrath of Bastion’s temper.

  The boy groaned. “I already told you, I will tell you later. It is a four-day journey so we will have ample time but right now we need to move,” Bastion said and picked up the pace.

  He was leading them on a twisting path that followed the same river they were on before. The path was level and clear of obstructions which made the walk a lot easier but still, for once in his life, Kai missed traveling by boat. Except for the path, the landscape ahead of them looked natural and wild but when Kai looked behind, the massive temple could still be seen looming in the sky.

  “I just wish he would tell me,” Kai said as he and Aarav picked up their pace as well, to keep up with the boy.

  “I’m sure he has a good reason,” Aarav said.

  “I doubt it. I think he is just doing it to torture me.”

  Aarav laughed. “That seems a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”

  “Is it? I don’t know,” Kai said, feeling exasperated by the whole situation. “Why won’t he just explain it to me and be done with it?”

  “Like I said, I’m sure he has a good reason.”

  Kai nodded in agreement but still retained his scowl. I probably look like the kid right now, Kai thought, slightly amused.

  They made camp in a stone alcove seemingly created for such a purpose. The alcove was big enough for all three to fit inside comfortably. It had a stone fire pit built into the floor which was naturally vented by the shape of the overhang. The floor was stone but there were a number of soft animal pelts hanging on a peg at the back of the alcove that could be laid down for a bed.

  “There are dozens of these along the path to the temple of the Wisps,” Bastion said. “They were built by the Ancients who traveled this road on a regular basis.”

  When they were set up for the night, Kai asked again for an explanation but received the same negative answer. “I will tell you when the time is right,” Bastion said but would say no more.

  On the second day, they crossed a huge bridge that connected the mainland to an island in the middle of a large lake where three rivers met to become one. The bridge was constructed with the same gleaming white stone as the temple at Pal’Rhoc.

  “What kind of stone is this? I have never seen anything like it,” Aarav said as they crossed the beautifully created bridge.

  “The Pyx call it torstone. It was quarried thousands of years ago from a mountain in the Deadlands. The Pyx have no use for it and they are the only ones with the capability to travel through the Deadlands. That is the only place to get it, as far as I know, so no one quarries it anymore.”

  “What
are the Deadlands?”

  “Well, in ancient times there was a civilization that called the heartland of Evresh home. The history scrolls give confusing reports regarding their name. Some say the valley is called Uduk, some say that the lake is called Uduk. The most prominent records, though, refer to the people as the Uduk. The Deadlands is where they once lived. It is called the Deadlands because it is now a putrid, festering landscape of ruins where only evil things can survive. It has been forbidden by the Pyx to travel through the Deadlands but the temple of the Wisps is another example of the lost civilization. It was constructed using torstone, just like this bridge.”

  “Was Pal’Rhoc constructed by the Uduk as well?”

  “No, that was built more recently. There was an incident during its construction that led the Pyx to forbid any from crossing the river to enter the Deadlands.”

  “What kind of incident?” Aarav asked but his question went unanswered as his jaw dropped, any thought of the Uduk or the Deadlands wiped from his mind.

  The group had crossed the small island and arrived at another gleaming white bridge that gapped the river back to the mainland. As they reached the apex of the bridge’s arch, a vast city came into view over the right side. It was not a normal human city but a Pyx city built using their powers to control the elements. It reminded Kai very much of the maze in the Pyx hall in Pal’Rhoc but a lot bigger. The city stretched from the mountain down to the river, a distance that Kai estimated to be two miles or so, and as far as he could see.

  “That is Dolrune. It is the Fairy city,” Bastion said. “No humans are permitted to enter there. What we can see from here is all we know about it.”

  “How many Pyx are there?” Aarav asked, obviously shocked by the grand scale of the city.

  Bastion laughed. “That is like asking how many grains of sand is there on a beach? How many stars in the sky? It is impossible for us to know. I’m not sure even the Pyx know.”

  “Are they happy here on Evresh? Why have they not spread across the world?”