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

by Scheppner, Carey

  “Yes,” said Horst. “We were able to intercept one such group and, with the help of Zylor’s minotaurs, were able to destroy the staff controlling our countrymen. Many of those dwarves went home again, but some chose to stay with us and help in our cause. They knew they would become dishonoured for being captured by lizardmen, so they saved themselves the trouble of returning home for nothing.”

  Harran growled angrily. “When I have finished helping Zylor to regain his throne, I’m going to see the king and tell him a few things!”

  “How do you expect to be allowed to see him?” asked Horst. “Dishonoured dwarves are not to be allowed back into the dwarven realm.”

  “Because I have this,” said Harran, showing off his ancient chain mail. “And this,” he added, pulling his ice axe out of its sheath.

  Horst gasped. “You have gotten around, haven’t you?”

  Harran nodded. “This chain mail is the item of the distant past. It belonged to the king’s ancestor. The axe is the item of extreme rarity. With these, I am permitted to confront the king and prove my honour. By offering these items to him, I will gain full honour and status as I once had.”

  “I sure hope it’s worth it for you, Harran,” said Horst doubtfully. “There’s something strange going on in the dwarven realm, and I would personally urge you to be cautious. You never know what the military will do to you if you are caught by them. They might not care about restoring your honour and seize everything you have of value.”

  Harran smiled wickedly. “I won’t let that happen to me. I was a map maker, remember? I know ways to enter the dwarven realm without even being seen!”

  Horst chuckled. “I don’t doubt that!”

  Now the dwarf, warrior, and seven minotaurs stood on the ground just outside the city of Grawn. They waited for Kazin to change back into a mage.

  When the transformation was complete, Kazin asked, “So what do we do next?”

  Zylor looked at the city’s lights in the distance. “We go to Grawn and I will apply for the battle.”

  “In the middle of the night?” asked Sherman.

  Zylor nodded. “A minotaur is appointed to take down the names of the applicants for six days and nights before the event. Customarily, most minotaurs wait until the last possible moment to enter, and do so at night to hide the fact that they are entering.”

  “What for?” asked Sherman.

  “They don’t want to be hassled by spectators or other minotaurs until it is time for battle,” explained Zylor. “Often, in the past, minotaurs have clashed before the event simply because they knew the other was participating.”

  “Reduce the competition, eh?” said Harran.

  Zylor nodded. “That, or simply to prove they are better fighters.”

  “Who’s to prevent you from being seen applying for the event?” asked Kazin.

  “No one,” said Zylor. “The entryway to the application booth is heavily guarded. An underground passageway is available to those who wish to exit the booth incognito. Those who wish to leave by the normal exit may do so. It is generally quite dark all around the booth, so anyone entering or exiting is rarely recognized.”

  “Good,” said Harran. “The last thing we need is for some upstart minotaur to pick a fight with you.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” said one of the minotaurs.

  “Where will we be staying for the night?” asked another minotaur suddenly. “The inns will be booked solid by now.”

  “True,” said a third. “But I have an uncle that will be willing to allow us to stay in his home for the night.”

  “He doesn’t mind that you’re dishonoured?” asked Harran.

  The minotaur shook his head. “He was a strong supporter of Zylor’s father.”

  “Aren’t you going to draw attention to yourselves as outcasts?” asked Kazin. “I thought you were banned from your realm.”

  “What difference does it make?” asked Sherman. “If we don’t say anything, who’s gonna know?”

  “They will know by the notched marks in the horns,” said Zylor.

  “I was wondering about those,” said Sherman.

  “Fortunately,” continued Zylor, “in the week of the election battles, dishonoured minotaurs are permitted to enter the realm to watch or take part if they choose to do so. Many do to regain their honour, but they must reach the top eight to succeed. Anything less and they are sent packing until the next election, or another event where honour can be restored.”

  “And if it is?” prodded Sherman. “What happens to the notched mark?”

  “It is removed by the emperor or a high official using one of the few magical items in the minotaur treasury,” explained Zylor. “It’s a type of wand.”

  Kazin whistled. “I never knew minotaurs had such an item.”

  “It’s from the days of the great wars,” said Zylor. “It was traded by the human mages for an arch mage hostage.”

  “Interesting,” commented the mage.

  “We’d best be going,” urged one of the minotaurs. “Time grows short.”

  The group headed into town (Sherman had his ring equipped and Kazin magically made himself disappear), and Zylor applied at the booth without incident. He applied with his first name only to avoid undue attention. His uncle, after all, had the same last name.

  Even at this late hour, the streets were crowded, but they located the minotaur’s uncle’s hut and spent the night peacefully.

  Two soldiers hefted the body from the gravel shoreline.

  “Another one for the pile?” asked a third soldier.

  “He’s still alive,” said one of the carriers.

  “He’s breathin’ right enough,” said the second carrier.

  “Really?” asked the third man curiously. He bent to listen for the injured man’s breath and caught sight of a talisman around his neck. “What’s this?” He reached to touch it but a blue spark struck his hand. “Yeouch!” he exclaimed, yanking his hand back quickly.

  The first carrier laughed. “That’s what you get for taking what’s not yours!”

  “Har!” laughed the second carrier. “The hand may be quicker than the eye, but it sure don’t fool no magic item!”

  The third soldier growled. “Just get him to a cleric! That druid is just up the hill.”

  “That’s what we were doin’ ‘till you came along and decided to play with somethin’ that didn’t belong to ya,” said the second carrier.

  The third soldier grumbled and stalked off, muttering to himself.

  The carriers chuckled and carried the body up the hill. When they reached the temporary outdoor hospital, they gently deposited the body on the ground and informed the druid.

  “He was just lyin’ down there by the shore,” said the second carrier. “He’s got some magical stuff on him, too.”

  “I’ll check on him in a minute,” said the druid. “Thank you.”

  The carriers departed and Milena finished healing a man’s broken arm. “Don’t put any strain on it for a couple of days,” she admonished.

  The man grinned weakly. “O.K.”

  Milena rose and wiped a grimy hand across her sweaty forehead. There were hundreds of casualties and not enough clerics to deal with them all. She was exhausted, but her determination won out and she continued healing people where ordinary clerics would have collapsed in total fatigue. It was late, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  She wearily trudged over to the new casualty and placed a hand on his forehead without paying any attention to what she was doing. She had done this so many times now that it had become automatic. She looked at his chest and noticed the sheath of knives strapped across it. A torch nearby flared abruptly and she caught sight of a scar beneath the sheath.

  ‘It looks like a smile’, sh
e thought. Suddenly her face went ashen. Slowly, she removed her hand from the man’s forehead and looked down at his face. “Rubin!” she gasped.

  At first she thought she was dreaming. She bent and listened for his breath. It was faint, but there nonetheless. The druid quickly placed her hand on Rubin’s forehead and chanted her healing spell. She could feel her magic flowing through her body into her arms, then her hands, and finally into the sailor’s body.

  There was no response.

  She tried again, putting everything she had into her healing. Magic coursed through her veins as she desperately attempted to heal the sailor.

  “Don’t do this to me, Rubin!” she moaned. Her hands shook with the strain.

  Suddenly Rubin opened one eye, for one eye was all he had.

  Milena didn’t notice. Her healing energy surged into him. Then it stopped abruptly, and she collapsed over the sailor’s body, unconscious.

  Rubin smiled weakly and held the druid close for several long minutes. “Rest now, Milena,” he said softly. “Rest peacefully. I am fine.”

  Chapter 56

  Are you guys still there?” asked Harran over his shoulder.

  “We’re right behind you,” answered Kazin.

  “It’s not easy being invisible in a thick crowd,” commented Sherman. “I’ve already surprised a few minotaurs by bumping into them.”

  “Quiet!” ordered Zylor. “The applicants’ gate is just ahead. Here’s where we’ll have to part company.”

  “We will mingle in the stands and give you support when you’re on,” said one minotaur.

  “O.K.,” said Zylor. “Just remember to neutralize any lizardmages who might want to interfere.”

  “Will do,” said another minotaur.

  “Kazin,” said Zylor, “wherever you are, see if you can get close to Traygor’s lizardmage advisor. He will be a problem when I challenge my uncle to a dual for leadership. The same goes for you, Sherman.”

  “You got it,” answered the big warrior.

  “Just leave my uncle to me,” added Zylor.

  “Of course,” said Kazin.

  “Follow the others into the arena stands,” said Zylor. “From there you will be on your own. Luck be with you.”

  “And you, Zylor,” said Sherman. “Remember what I taught you.”

  “I will,” said Zylor. “Come, Harran. We must prepare.”

  The dwarf followed Zylor through the applicants’ gate and disappeared from view.

  “Let’s go,” said a minotaur.

  “I hope this goes well,” said Kazin doubtfully. “We lost one of our number already. The thought of losing another one worries me.”

  “He will win,” said Sherman confidently. “You saw how he threw that big minotaur around on that ship. Be prepared to see him to it again.”

  “For everyone’s sake I hope so,” said Kazin. “A lot is riding on this. Many lives are at stake here.”

  “Have faith, buddy,” said Sherman. “Have faith.”

  Kazin sighed and thought back to the time the orb had given a short insight into what was contained in the Book of Prophesy. Part of it mentioned something about the ‘horn’. Kazin silently repeated that passage to himself again. It went:

  ‘The horn must hone its skill to fight

  to honourably gain the right

  to suppress the evil with strength and skill,

  and be victorious with a kill.’

  If that applied to Zylor, it meant he would have to be victorious, and he would have to be skilled enough to do it. Was Zylor ready? Kazin hoped so. Sherman was right. He would have to have faith. The mage followed the minotaurs into the stands with his fingers crossed.

  The dwarf and minotaur entered a low hall where an old minotaur with numerous battle scars sat behind a large table.

  Zylor approached the table.

  “Name,” said the old minotaur without looking up.

  “Zylor,” answered Zylor.

  The old minotaur looked up his name. “You are in hole 15.” He looked up and saw Harran standing behind Zylor. “No dwarves.”

  “He’s my servant,” said Zylor.

  “No dwarves,” repeated the minotaur.

  “Tough,” said Zylor. “Come, dwarf.” He turned to leave.

  The old minotaur growled and rose. “I said no dwarves!”

  Zylor boldly stepped up to the older minotaur. He was taller and his horns were considerably larger than the older beast’s. “He comes. When I am through with the emperor, I will come for you next!”

  The older minotaur blinked. “You are actually going to try for the throne and challenge Emperor Traygor?!”

  “Yes,” growled Zylor.

  The older minotaur grinned suddenly. “Many others have tried and failed. If you succeed, I will be the first one to support you. Go—and take the bloody dwarf with you if it helps.” He turned back to his chair and sat down.

  Zylor nodded silently. Even here, true supporters of the emperor were few. The people were not pleased with his leadership. He smiled and headed for hole 15 with the dwarf in tow. He held his head high and strode with purpose.

  Hole 15, and all the other ‘holes’, were simply fenced off areas where minotaurs could stretch and prepare for their battles. A long bench and a bucket of water were the only furnishings. The fenced off opening faced out into the open arena.

  Hundreds of fans were already filling the stands in a semicircle surrounding the arena. Underneath the stands, opposite the holes, was an elevated platform where the officials of the games would sit. They determined the champion in a close duel.

  Above, in the center of the stands, was a cordoned off balcony where the emperor would take his seat. The balcony stretched far over the stands below and had a commanding view of the arena and the holes where the combatants waited to put on a show.

  “He’ll be up there watching,” murmured Zylor. “Good.”

  “What do you want me to do while you’re out there fighting?” asked Harran.

  “Let no one enter my hole,” said Zylor.

  “That’s it?” asked Harran.

  “Use those wrappings and herbs I gave you this morning to treat me, if necessary,” said Zylor.

  “Which reminds me,” said Harran. He withdrew the detox herbs Milena had provided and passed them to the minotaur.

  Zylor took them and stuffed them into a pouch at his side. “Remind me to take them before I start.”

  Harran nodded.

  Several hours passed and the stands became fuller. The day was clear and the sun peeked over the stands on one side to bathe the other side in sunlight. Spectators of all ages pointed excitedly at the minotaurs in their holes.

  “I wonder how many combatants there are going to be,” said Harran.

  “I don’t care,” growled Zylor.

  Harran noticed the minotaur’s gradual worsening of mood. “You’ll do fine, Zylor.”

  “Of course I will,” responded Zylor absently. Then he turned to the dwarf. “I must prepare my mind for the upcoming event. Please remain quiet.”

  Harran nodded. He watched the minotaur as he gradually became more and more disturbed and agitated, but said nothing. Minotaur bloodlust was something even he could not understand.

  The old minotaur came by and informed them they would be starting soon. The balcony where the emperor was going to be seated suddenly had some activity. A few minotaurs in armour made preparations and the emperor entered moments later, seating himself comfortably on his royal chair. His advisor, a sinister green lizardmage, came in after him and stood to the emperor’s right. Even seated, the emperor was taller than his advisor, his horns towering over the magic wielder ominously.

  The emperor scanned the holes, eyeing the contestants to th
e ensuing battles. He paused momentarily when his eyes rested on Zylor, but continued his observation of the others when he saw Zylor’s stare of contempt. When he was finished his scrutiny, he raised a hand to start the proceedings.

  The old mage entered the arena and introduced the applicants one by one, and they each stepped briefly from their holes to wave to the crowd. The crowd cheered for each contestant and applauded.

  When Zylor stepped from his hole during his introduction, his six allies cheered loudly from different parts of the arena and chanted his name, nudging their neighbours and pointing excitedly. Overall, the crowd’s cheers were slightly louder this time. It looked as though they saw Zylor as a potential winner, judging him by his muscles and enormous horns. The emperor applauded as well, but his face was a mask devoid of emotion.

  When the last name was called, a tall, rangy minotaur with horns as big as Zylor’s stepped from his hole. Upon his introduction (he was called Tornado), the entire crowd roared deafeningly and rose to their feet in excitement. Even the emperor rose and applauded. By his smile, it was evident he favoured Tornado to win at these games, as did the crowd.

  “He’s the arena champion,” said Harran.

  Zylor looked at the dwarf.

  “His sketches were hanging on the walls when we entered,” explained Harran.

  “He will be a challenge,” said Zylor unemotionally, “nothing more.”

  Harran nodded. Zylor was in his in his invincible frame of mind. He decided to remind Zylor to take his herbs now while he was distracted.

  Zylor complied, eating the herbs without tasting them while his mind was on the fights ahead.

  A horn blew, signalling the start of the election battles.

  “Combatants come forth!” bellowed the old minotaur from the center of the arena.

  The combatants stepped from their holes into the arena and the crowd roared again. The noise was deafening, but Zylor allowed it to enter his mind and fuel his bloodlust.

  “We will speed up the battles by waging war!” bellowed the old minotaur. “Odd holes—to the left! Even holes—to the right!”

  The minotaurs separated into two groups.