Erik And The Dragon ( Book 4)

by Sam Ferguson

  Al smirked and turned a hard eye on the blushing captain.

  “As you wish,” the captain said.

  “I’ve been stubborn enough to live this long, I can hold out at least long enough for Lepkin to slay the great wyrm,” Mathias added. “And you will see to it that after he is done, he returns to Drakei Glazei.” Mathias pointed an old, thin finger at Al and the dwarf king nodded.

  “I will get him here in one piece,” Al promised.

  “I leave within the hour,” Grand Master Penthal said.

  “I will have my warriors report to you in the morning before sunrise,” Al promised King Mathias. “Then I will take Gorin and Arkyn out to Roegudok Hall. As soon as I am able, I will march my army south to Ten Forts.”

  King Mathias nodded. “Then all is ready. May the gods be with us.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Gilifan stretched his stiff back and walked up the creaky wooden stairs to the top deck. The salty, somewhat foul air assaulted his nostrils as he opened the door. He hated the smell of low tide, like that of rotting flesh and mushrooms mixed with fish. It always seemed to be low tide in Candlepoint.

  “I won’t be but an hour,” Gilifan remarked to the captain as he stepped onto the gangplank.

  “We’ll be ready,” the captain promised. “I’ll have my men pick up some fresh eggs and pickles, and perhaps another crate of oranges.”

  Gilifan left the ship and stepped onto the newly replaced dock. The boards were strong and bright, much unlike the posts sticking up from the water which were dark, smothered in moss and barnacles, and lined with deep cracks that threatened to set the entire dock adrift if left unattended for much longer. The necromancer wasn’t over fond of Candlepoint. The town was old, dark, and dingy. The foul smell hung low in the air even away from the beach. The gutters in the street were lined with brown and black stains and murky, stagnant water that made the low tide smell almost pleasant by comparison. A couple of fishermen mended nets in the street, but otherwise there was very little activity outside until Gilifan made his way deeper into the center of the city.

  Candlepoint was filled with squat, brown houses in ill repair. Many had ivy crawling up the sides, winding and intertwining with loose wall boards or snaking under broken shingles along the rooftops. None of the building were very tall, maybe ten or twelve feet high for the largest of the houses. The shops were about the same, with pitched roofs and large beams sticking out the front with pulleys attached. By the looks of the rusty pulleys and the old, fraying rope, none of the shops had seen very good business in the last decade at least. Then again, Candlepoint was not exactly renowned for its trading.

  The one building that stood out was the lighthouse that gave the city its name when it was founded some three hundred years prior. The lighthouse stood tall, and even from this distance Gilifan could see it was kept in great repair, as it should be. If the lighthouse were to cease operations, then all of the seafarers would bypass Candlepoint altogether, opting to travel around the islands in the north, up past Kuressar and docking in Fisheye, which was only a day’s journey north of Drakei Glazei. The lighthouse, on the other hand, allowed the ships to pass in through the narrow waterway and access Cesvaine and Nurrf, two extremely rich cities that prior to the lighthouse could only be reached by land. Thus, as long as the lighthouse operated effectively, Candlepoint would survive as a community.

  The only problem was that the lighthouse only employed one family, and the community had been planned as a trade hub, but that had failed. The seafarer’s always found better prices farther along their travels, so other than outfitting and rigging supplies the sailors had little use for Candlepoint. When the hopeful merchant entrepreneurs realized this, they too picked up and left the city, leaving their shops for the less reputable businesses that attract sailors on shore leave. Since the erection of several gambling halls, taverns, and the occasional brothel, Candlepoint became a destination for some ships, but it never became the shining community its name might otherwise suggest.

  It was exactly this fact that brought Gilifan here.

  He walked through the dingy streets until he found the Red Rat, a tavern painted bright red with a large, dangling wooden sign hanging above the door in the shape of a rat stuffing its snout into a tall glass of mead. Gilifan pushed the door open and stepped inside. A few of the patrons looked up at him, but they hardly paid him any more notice than to glance at the newcomer. The necromancer looked around, eyeing each table briefly.

  He saw burly, sea-weary sailors playing cards and nursing metal tankards, a group of merchants sitting in the back corner harassing the barmaid, and a mix of others that all seemed as though they probably should be in a cell somewhere rather than out free on the streets. In his quick survey he saw more daggers and knives than he cared to count, but he wasn’t overly worried. He strolled past a large, bald headed man with a patch over his left eye and then snaked between a few of the tables as he made his way to the bar.

  Behind the bar a short, stout man with hairy shoulders stood wiping a mug with a gray towel. The man looked to Gilifan and nodded. “What’ll it be? Room, mead, or company?”

  Gilifan shook his head. “I am here for a meeting,” he said as he slid a small, polished hematite stone across the bar.

  The barkeep looked down and plucked the stone up in his grubby fingers, eyeing the symbol on top before dropping it into his pocket. “Room three, on your left after you go up the stairs around the back.”

  Gilifan nodded and placed a pair of copper coins on the bar. Then he made his way through the smoke filled room amidst the patrons’ laughter, jeers, and shouts. A few feet in front of him an angry man threw a bunch of cards into another man’s face.

  “You’re a cheat!” the first shouted. “No one wins that many times!”

  The second man reached down for a dagger and rose to his feet, but it was too late. The first reached across the table, grabbed the man by his hair and slammed his face down onto the table several times.

  The necromancer paused and waited for the fight to play out before walking by. He knew better than to separate a pack of dogs squabbling over bones. A few moments later a trio of mountainous men grabbed everyone at the table and threw them all out through the nearest window, shattering the glass all over the street out front and sending cheers up from the other patrons in the tavern.

  “Use the door next time!” the barkeep shouted over the din. “That window is coming out of your pay!”

  One of the burly bouncers just shrugged and wiped his hands. Then they all disappeared through a doorway, ducking into a back room until they would be needed again.

  Gilifan smirked and continued on his way around the back of the tavern and up the flight of creaky stairs. He found room number three and pushed the door open. The room was darkened, but he didn’t mind. He had expected as much. He went in, closed the door behind him, and then snapped his fingers. A small orb of light appeared in the center of the room and illuminated the figure sitting behind a large table, staring at him.

  The man was shirtless, but to say he was naked would be inaccurate. Across his upper body were various tribal tattoos. Some weaved into each other, and others stood alone depicting weapons, dragons, or skulls. The man’s head was shaved, except for a thick lock of hair in the center of the man’s head that was neatly pulled back to form a braided pleat that hung down past his shoulders. A pair of scimitars lay on the table before him and he drummed his impatient fingers near the weapons as he leered at Gilifan.

  “So, you are the wizard?” the man asked.

  Gilifan looked to the man’s beady, black eyes and nodded. “I am,” he replied evenly. “And you must be Nerekar.”

  Nerekar nodded. “I was promised thirty gold for listening,” he reminded Gilifan.

  The wizard smiled and produced a purse from the folds of his robe. “I have it with me, as well as the additional hundred gold as down payment for your services, should you accept.”

  Nerekar no
dded and pointed to the table. “Put it here.”

  Gilifan walked to the table and set the purse down. He then pulled a rolled parchment from his left sleeve. The paper was bound with a single brown string, and sealed with a small, round bit of dried wax. “This is my offer.”

  Nerekar took the parchment and broke the seal with his left index finger. Then he unrolled it and read through the contents. “No,” he said flatly as he set the paper on the table before him.

  “No?” Gilifan asked. “I was told the great Nerekar never declines an assignment.” The wizard’s voice showed his displeasure.

  Nerekar shook his head. “No one has ever asked for the head of Gariche before,” Nerekar replied. He pushed the purse back. “Take your money, all of it, and go.”

  A pair of Blacktongues emerged from hidden doors in the wall and leveled bows at Gilifan. The necromancer smirked and conjured a quick spell. His orb of light threw small white bolts at each of the Blacktongues and froze them in place like crystal statues.

  “What is this?” Nerekar said as he rose and took his scimitars in hand.

  Gilifan snapped his fingers and a wave of air slammed into Nerekar, pummeling the wind out of him and making him gasp for breath. “I have little patience,” Gilifan said. “Now, I can still release your comrades, though I should destroy them for even daring to raise arms against me. You and I have a deal, Blacktongue! Your people have a debt to repay, and I will see it paid in full. The master demands it.”

  “You ask too much!” Nerekar said.

  “Is Gariche beyond your reach?” Gilifan asked pointedly.

  “No one is beyond my reach,” Nerekar shot back.

  “Then take his head. He is an obstacle and must be dealt with. You will board the ship with me now, and fulfill your duty as you have sworn to do. Your king promised me his best assassin.”

  Nerekar glared up at him. “I will do this for my king,” he growled. “But you will double my price.”

  Gilifan smiled. “That, I can do,” he agreed. “In fact, I will triple it. Consider the extra a retainer. If you succeed with Gariche, I will have one more task for you.”

  “You question my ability?” Nerekar spat.

  “Well, to be fair, none of your predecessors have fared well so far with any task we have given them. Lepkin and the boy still walk among the living. Add the fact that you just balked at this assignment and no, it doesn’t inspire great confidence.”

  “I will kill Gariche, and then I would kill the boy too,” Nerekar swore.

  “That is what I was hoping you would say,” Gilifan said with a smile. “Gather what you need and meet me at the docks.” Gilifan released his spell from the others and cast a disparaging look their way. “Leave your friends here, I don’t care much for them.”

  Nerekar nodded. In a flash he whirled on his fellow Blacktongues, slitting their throats before they could blink. Then he turned back to Gilifan. “You will not question my resolve again,” Nerekar said resolutely.

  “That was unnecessary, but I appreciate the sentiment,” Gilifan said. He glanced at the two dead bodies and chuckled softly before leaving the room. “Blacktongues are so moody,” he said to himself as he left the building and went back out onto the street, making his way to the ship. He pulled his cloak in tighter around his shoulders and grinned. Nerekar would be fun to work with.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Erik shifted in his saddle and stretched his neck. He felt a bit awkward being the only person on a horse, but Goliath wouldn’t let anyone else ride him and there was no point walking if he didn’t have too. Lepkin reached up and handed him a waterskin. Erik took a drink from the waterskin and coughed abruptly when part of it managed to go down the wrong way. His eyes watered and he handed the skin back to Lepkin.

  “Shouldn’t drink so fast,” Lepkin pointed out.

  “Thanks for the tip,” Erik sputtered with a final cough and a quick wipe across his eyes. “Just my luck, live through battles with warlocks and dragons only to die choking on water while surrounded by allies.”

  Lepkin smirked and took a quick drink himself. Then he pointed ahead. “Grobung is not far now,” he said. “Once we go around this bend in the road, the trees will clear and you will see a dark wall surrounding a lot of buildings. There are some farms there too.”

  As they went around the bend in the road, it happened as Lepkin said. The thick forest on the left was cut away, giving a wide view of green fields dotted with workers and carts going about their business. A few of the farms also had large pens with sheep or pigs inside. The smell of manure hung in the air heavily, but it wasn’t altogether unpleasant. There was something about it that put Erik at ease. Almost like a sense of coming home, though he had never been here before in his life.

  The farms ended at the base of tall, stark walls made of black bricks. The iron portcullis was up, allowing free passage in and out of the city, and only a few guards stood near the gate. Erik started to count the soldiers he saw, but quickly gave up once they passed through the gate. It seemed the town was two thirds soldiers, and only one third villagers.

  “The commander at Fort Drake is the governor here,” Lepkin explained. “The town essentially exists to service the fort. The farms you saw outside the walls produce food for the soldiers. There is a large lumber industry here as well, with a mill a few hundred yards to the south of Grobung.”

  “Smiths are here in abundance as well,” Lady Dimwater added.

  Erik could already hear the ringing hammers pounding away the day’s work, though he could not see any of the shops nearby. He dismounted from Goliath and hitched the horse to a post near the gate and then the three of them walked quickly to catch up with the group. A few of the townsfolk stopped and looked at them, but most paid them no mind. They were busy bartering with soldiers or carrying loads of wood or grains to and fro through the streets. The soldiers hardly looked their way at all, except for a group of younger recruits who pointed at Dimwater and whispered among themselves.

  Erik looked to his left and saw a square building façade with red lamps in the window. “The Alley Cat,” he read aloud as he looked to the wooden sign of a suggestively posed black cat.

  “Keep your eyes over there,” Lepkin said as he reached over, grabbed Erik’s head in his hand and turned it away. “There’s nothing you need to see in that building.”

  Dimwater nodded approvingly and they quickly pushed him along the road until they came to a large inn. Lepkin, Dimwater, and Erik broke off from the group and went inside, while Marlin and the others continued along into the center of the town.

  “Where are they going?” Erik asked.

  “To buy supplies,” Dimwater said.

  “And to send dispatches out to the commander at Fort Drake as well as another to King Mathias,” Lepkin added.

  “Shouldn’t we go with them?” Erik asked.

  Lepkin shook his head. “No, we have something else to do.” The three of them pushed through the doors and the pleasant, savory aroma of roasting lamb washed over them.

  Erik’s stomach grumbled and his mouth started to water almost instantly. “Maybe some food?” he asked.

  Dimwater nodded and led them to a secluded table in a quaint alcove with a bay window overlooking a small patch of garden in the back of the inn. No sooner had the three sat down than a short, older woman came over with a big smile and a small carafe of water.

  “What can I get for you?” she asked as she gave Erik a wink.

  “What’s on the menu?” Lepkin asked.

  “We have roast lamb with scalloped potatoes under melted cheese, or we also have a beef brisket with sweet yams and grilled asparagus.”

  “No pork?” Lepkin asked.

  “No, I’m sorry dear, but the soldiers have taken the last of our roast pig.”

  “That’s too bad,” Lepkin said. He turned to Erik and then pointed out the window. “They have a special pit in the back where they bury the pig and cover it with hot coals where it roasts
for hours with sweet peppers, onion, and garlic. It is to die for, and half the reason I was looking forward to coming here.”

  The woman sniggered. “Well that is half the reason the soldiers come here too,” she said. “Then she looked to Erik and stifled her next sentence. “So,” she said after regaining her composure. “What can I get for you?”

  Lepkin looked to Dimwater. The sorceress looked to Erik and then back to the woman. “We’ll have the lamb.”

  “Alright dear, and what to drink? We have ale, mead, spiced wine, and we have apple cider as well.”

  “I would like the cider,” Erik piped in.

  Lepkin held up a finger. “It’s not like the cider you get at the academy,” he said. “The boy will have water, or plain apple juice if you have that.”

  The woman frowned. “’Fraid we don’t have any juice,” she said. “That isn’t a product we get asked for much, but I can bring another carafe of water for him.”

  “That will do,” Lepkin said approvingly.

  Then the lady turned and walked away, her black and gray pony-tail bouncing with each step.

  “Like I said, this town exists to sell their products and services to the fort and its soldiers. She might call it cider, but it is basically beer made from apples.”

  “Sounds interesting,” Lady Dimwater said. “Perhaps I will ask for a glass.”

  Erik sat back in his chair and looked out the window. He watched a bluebird light on the branches of a birch tree outside, dropping a twig into a nest-in-progress. Then the bird took off, only to return a few moments later with another twig and a bit of spider’s web in its beak. As soon as the new material was in place the bird would fly away for a few minutes and come back with more to work on its nest.