Kazin's Quest: Book I of The Dragon Mage Trilogy

by Scheppner, Carey

  Harran was proud of his career. He was one of the best map makers his race had ever seen. His king had personally sent him on quests to find gold and minerals and he had not failed him, making maps to many valuable sites within the mountain. But now he was a prisoner of the minotaurs, all because he had left the mountain at night to replenish his water supply. He knew he was in minotaur territory—it wasn’t his first time—but he didn’t expect any difficulty at night when most patrols were asleep. Who knew they were patrolling so close to the cave entrance? Furthermore, who knew he was so close to the wildhorn plants that caused his allergies to act up, forcing him to sneeze violently? Well, Harran sighed again, that was then and this is now.

  His stomach growled. Where was breakfast? As if in answer, a key grated in the lock. There was a curse, and then more scraping as the key continued its struggle with the lock mechanism. Finally the lock snapped open and a minotaur, still cursing under his breath, entered with a breakfast tray.

  “You should be trading dwarves for decent locks instead of weapons,” said Harran.

  “I’ll be sure to mention it to Karlan,” said Zylor, passing the tray to the dwarf.

  “I’m Harran Mapmaker,” said Harran, stuffing a piece of honey-covered sweetbread into his mouth. At least the prisoners get good food around here, he thought.

  Zylor was taken aback. Carefully, he said, “So you’ve decided to talk.”

  “Yup,” said Harran, stuffing another piece of sweetbread into his mouth. This stuff was delicious. “At least I’ll finally get out of this dump.”

  “Why did you wait so long?”

  Harran looked up at Zylor with scorn and wiped the back of his palm across his honey-covered mustache. “Because I wanted to find another avenue of escape, you dolt, and maybe get some revenge while I was at it! Why did you think I waited—because the food was too good to pass up?”

  Zylor stifled a smirk and pressed on, “Surely it didn’t take you two and a half weeks to figure that out?”

  Harran looked away and sighed. “There’s the matter of honour, of course.”

  Now Zylor was interested. “What do you mean?”

  Harran looked back up at the minotaur. “It is dishonourable to be taken prisoner, especially if the ransom is in the form of superior dwarven weapons. When I return to my kingdom, I will be scorned and dishonoured and my family will be hard pressed to repay the king for the cost of the ransom—especially since I am so valuable as a map maker.”

  “Loss of honour,” Zylor mused. “I can relate to that.” Suddenly an idea occurred to him. “How would you like to get out of here without losing your honour? In fact, you might even gain some.”

  “If you’re thinking of entering me in the arena, you can forget it,” shot Harran. “I’m not interested.”

  “No, no,” Zylor held up a hand. “There’s a third option.”

  Harran’s eyes glittered. “Which is?”

  “I can get you safely out of here with no one the wiser.”

  “What’s the catch?” demanded Harran. He wasn’t about to be snookered into doing something stupid.

  “There’s no—oh—yes, there is a price,” amended Zylor. He took a deep breath. “You have to take me with you.”

  “I thought so—what!?” Now it was Harran’s turn to be taken aback. “Why would you want to come with me? The dwarves back home would roast you alive!”

  “You need only take me to a safe place in the mountains where no one will interrupt me. Your knowledge of the mountains in exchange for your freedom.”

  Harran glanced shrewdly at the minotaur. “What are you running from?” he asked.

  Zylor tensed. “That is my concern.” He hadn’t expected an interrogation.

  “How do I know you’re not going to kill me when you don’t need my services anymore?” pressed Harran.

  “Because I believe in honour,” growled Zylor, “and by my honour I will not kill you unless you give me reason to. Any other questions?”

  Harran decided not to press any further, sensing he was close to the ‘reason’ the minotaur was talking about. Instead, he thought over the proposal and examined it from all angles. If he agreed to the plan, he would be free, his honour intact, his reputation restored. If he refused, he would be freed by a ransom that would have to be paid back and his honour and reputation would be ruined. The choice was obvious. But what to do about the minotaur? Could Zylor be trusted? He gave his oath, and minotaurs respected their honour. Harran knew he would be safe at least until he found a safe hideaway for the minotaur. He would have to lose Zylor somewhere before then. Or kill him. The cold bloodedness of that thought surprised him. Here was the one minotaur he sort of liked; the one who treated him better than any of the other guards; the one who treated his wounds. But most importantly, the one who offered to save his honour and help him escape. So what if Zylor was running from a crime he had committed, or was about to commit? Harran could only wonder about the minotaur’s motives. He would have to make a decision about that subject later.

  “Well?” prodded Zylor.

  Harran spat in his right palm and extended it. “I’m in.”

  The following morning was clear and chilly as the horn sounded for the prison shift change. The sun was already warming the eastern half of the prison yard as Zylor flung his rolled up woollen blanket over his shoulder.

  “Oomph!” mumbled the blanket roll.

  “Shut up!” whispered Zylor harshly. “Do you want to get out of here or not?”

  “Umph,” mumbled the roll again.

  Zylor shook his head and headed for the gate, which was allowing in the fresh guards to replace the night watch. Garad entered and, seeing Zylor, headed over and slapped the blanket roll. “Cold night last night, Zylor?”

  Zylor, amazed at the dwarf’s ability to keep silent, muttered something about cold spring nights.

  “I hear you traded feeding duty to Morlok in exchange for his night watch,” continued Garad, not noticing Zylor’s discomfort. “He’s been aching to bed that young minotaur wench for weeks.”

  Zylor laughed. “I couldn’t refuse the trade. I’d take night watch over feeding duty any day.”

  “Yeah,” smirked Garad, “and we’d give up both duties to be in Morlok’s place.”

  “True enough,” said Zylor.

  “I’d better get to my post,” said Garad. “Karlan’s in a bad mood today and I’d hate to be on his bad side. Especially since the recruiters are coming at high noon today. You better get some rest before they get here. The healthier you look, the sooner you’ll be recruited.”

  “Garad!” shouted Karlan from within a guard tower. “Garad, where the hell are you!”

  “Coming!” yelled Garad, sprinting in the direction of the voice.

  Zylor looked at Garad’s receding form. He would likely never see him again. It suddenly occurred to him that he would miss Garad. It was ironic, but although Garad was annoying and hard to get rid of at times, he was the closest thing to a friend that Zylor had while working at the prison. He chuckled and then marched out the gatehouse toward a new life with a blanket-wrapped dwarf on his shoulder.

  Chapter 7

  Zylor worked his way down the streets of Manhar, avoiding places and people that might recognize him. Passing by the town plaza, he noticed a crowd gathered around a large recruitment booth. In it were several official looking minotaurs with full armour and various weapons, ranging from dwarven forged axes and swords to small but equally potent crossbows of elven design. There was also another figure present; one that seemed to be in charge of the others. It stood about a foot and a half shorter than the minotaurs but they seemed to defer to it. Its scaly hide and leering mouth gave it a somewhat grotesque look, making it appear to be in a constant state of irritation. The lizardman, as they are called, stood calmly behind
a seated minotaur, nodding and shaking its head at intervals. A long line of minotaurs stretched halfway across the plaza, waiting impatiently in line to be examined in the hopes of being recruited into the army. Many were being turned away, obviously too young or too old to be accepted.

  Zylor ducked out of sight. The recruitment was in full swing already. That didn’t surprise him. What bothered him was the presence of the lizardman. How did a lizardman come to be accepted by minotaurs? What’s more, how did it come to be in a position of power like this one was? Minotaurs hated lizardmen; particularly because they used magic. Why did the minotaurs in the booth not slay the beast on sight? Was Traygor now consorting with lizardmen? Was he using them to assist in defeating the humans in battle? It seemed inconceivable that even Traygor would stoop so low. Surely there was no honour in fighting a battle with the help of lizardmen and their magic. Yet here one was, in charge of the recruitment taking place in the plaza. Zylor mulled this over as he crept through the back ways of the city.

  At last he came to a small, winding trail that led out and away from town. There were many trees in this area and they provided adequate concealment, allowing Zylor to make good time. He travelled for several hours before hitting the base of the mountains. The trail ended and the going from here on would be difficult. There was plenty of dense shrubbery and bracken to cut through and not far above that was a sparsely wooded tree line. He looked up and viewed the cliffs above. An eagle soared quietly near the apex of the massive mountain, unperturbed by the sheer cliff face nearby where it was too cold and steep to accommodate lesser vegetation. There was still evidence of snow at the higher altitudes and some of the mountain side was covered in ice. Fortunately Zylor wouldn’t have to go to these great heights to reach the cave entrances, which were located just above the tree line. The vegetation would only provide concealment about a third of the way up. After that he would have to travel in the dark to avoid detection by the patrols. It was a good time to do this, thought Zylor. The patrols tonight would likely be reduced due to the recruitment going on in town.

  With relief he put down his pack containing his blanket roll and its occupant. He unravelled the blanket and out rolled the dwarf, clothes wrinkled and beard askew.

  “Take it easy!” complained Harran. “Do you know how cramped it was in there?”

  “You could have stayed in your cell,” commented Zylor.

  “Very funny,” grumbled the dwarf, standing up and stretching his muscles. “At least I don’t have to breathe through that disgusting smelling blanket anymore. It was worse than unbearable.”

  “You’re still alive,” said Zylor, removing two axes from a holster on his back. He handed the smaller one to the dwarf. “Here, start chopping.”

  “Chopping?!” exclaimed the dwarf. “Chopping what?”

  “This shrubbery. It’ll go faster with both of us chopping a path.”

  “When I agreed to guide you through the mountains, I didn’t say anything about helping to blaze a trail through some shrubbery!” retorted Harran angrily.

  “It’s either that or the blanket,” responded Zylor. “Besides, with both of us working at it, we’ll reach the tree line by sundown. Then we can wait until dark and you can guide us to the nearest tunnel entrance.”

  Harran glared at Zylor. Zylor returned the look. Harran chuckled. Then he laughed. “Nobody can out glare a minotaur. All right. Give me that thing,” he said, yanking the axe out of Zylor’s hand. “The sooner we get out of minotaur territory, the better.” He began chopping at the shrubbery. Then he stopped abruptly and looked at his axe. “Hey! This isn’t my axe! It isn’t even dwarven!”

  “Sorry,” said Zylor. “I couldn’t find out what happened to your original axe so I just grabbed one that looked half decent.”

  “Half decent? This one isn’t even a quarter decent! How are we supposed to save time using this piece of junk?” asked Harran, exasperated.

  “By chopping with it,” retorted Zylor, taking several huge swings with his own axe. As some chunks of shrubbery began to fall, Zylor said, “See. Mine cuts and it’s not made from dwarven steel either.”

  Harran sighed and thought about using the axe on the minotaur instead. He shook his head. If it couldn’t cut mere shrubbery, it certainly couldn’t cut through the tough hide of a minotaur. With another sigh he turned to the shrubbery and attacked it with a vengeance.

  The sun was just setting behind the mountain when Harran and Zylor broke through the dense underbrush. Before them lay a scarcely wooded area with several large boulders strewn awkwardly about, covered in places with remnants of the previous winter’s snow. The wind here was strong and cold.

  Harran wiped the back of his hand across his face. “We’re finally through,” he commented, relieved.

  Zylor re-sheathed his axe. “Now we have to locate the nearest cave entrance.”

  Harran examined the cliffs above and squinted against the sun. It was only late afternoon, but this side of the mountain was already covered in shadow. At last he said, “I can see three different entrances.” His knowledge of the mountains made it easy for him to find the locations of the caves. “There are two more not far from here but they’re not visible from this vantage point.”

  “Which one do we take?” asked Zylor.

  “One of them leads to a large plateau on top of the mountain. There’s plenty of wildlife and berries for you to live on. I assume that’s more or less what you’re looking for?”

  “Exactly. Which cave is it?”

  “It’s one of the ones we can’t see from here,” said Harran. “We’ll have to work our way to the right and get past that small ridge over there,” he added, pointing.

  “Right,” said Zylor. “Let’s go.”

  The companions travelled for about twenty minutes before clearing the ridge that Harran had indicated. They stopped and Harran motioned for Zylor to stay low. “The minotaur guard post is not far away from here,” said Harran. “If we want to reach the cave without being seen, we’ll have to go up from here.”

  “We’re fairly well concealed right here,” said Zylor. “Why don’t we wait until dark before moving on?”

  “Good idea,” said Harran. “In the meantime, where’s the pack with my gear?”

  Zylor pulled a small pack out of his larger one and tossed it to him.

  Harran opened it and examined the contents inside. “Good. Everything’s still here.” He looked up at Zylor. “I’m surprised nothing’s missing. Some of these maps are quite valuable.”

  “We don’t use maps,” replied Zylor. “I don’t think there’s a minotaur alive that can read one; especially dwarven ones.”

  “That explains why they only took my axe,” said Harran with contempt.

  Zylor merely shrugged and looked away.

  “If you want to find your way back from the plateau,” continued Harran, “you’re going to have to learn to read maps. I’ll guide you there but you’ll have to come back on your own. If you don’t follow the map, you’re as good as dead.”

  Zylor turned his gaze back to Harran. “Then show me.”

  “I can’t teach you everything at once,” said Harran. “You’ll have to learn as we go.” He rummaged through the pack and pulled out a selection of maps. Then he peered intently at each one until he found the one he was looking for. “Here it is.” Harran put the rest of the maps back into the pack and pulled out a blank piece of parchment and a pointed graphite stone. He looked around, spotted a moss-covered boulder, sauntered over to it and sat down.

  “What are you doing?” inquired Zylor curiously.

  “I’m making a copy of the map for you. You didn’t really think I’d give you my copy, did you?”

  Zylor shook his head and looked for a comfortable place to sit down.

  Harran looked up from his map making and comment
ed, “One thing you should do before we enter the mountain is gather some leaves from the wildhorn plants in the area. They’ll enable you to see better in the darkness of the tunnels. I’ve got a fluorescent light stone in my pack but it might not be enough to help you to see properly.”

  Zylor hesitated.

  As if reading his thoughts, Harran added, “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Zylor reluctantly agreed and left in search of the plants.

  “By the way,” called Harran after him as loudly as he dared, “keep those leaves away from me. I’m allergic.” Then in undertones added, “That’s what got me into this whole mess in the first place.”

  Zylor knew the dwarf was telling the truth. Not only about staying put—the dwarf was honour bound to do so—but also about the sight-giving ability of the wildhorn plants. As young minotaurs, he and several of his friends would play in the dark. They would chew the leaves and be able to see as if it was still twilight. No doubt the guards in the area were using these leaves to heighten their own vision. He and Harran would have to be careful, even under the cover of darkness.

  When Zylor returned, he found the dwarf in the same position, still drawing. “How big is this map you’re working on, anyway?”

  “It’s not really all that big,” said Harran. “There are only seven levels to it. I’m not finished yet because I like to put in some of the finer details. Call it my trademark, if you like.”

  Zylor groaned. Seven levels. It was going to be a long journey. “We should have some dried meat,” said Zylor, changing the subject.