Onyx of Darkness_An epic dragon fantasy

by Norma Hinkens

  “How will you benefit by turning the stone over to them?” Orlla prodded.

  “We will be paid handsomely of course, and Boar’s Fort will be given special status in whatever balance of power the stone brings about—” She broke off abruptly and her head jerked toward the doorway. “I hear the breakfast crowd coming.” She pointed to the bowls piled upside down on a nearby shelf. “Start serving up the gruel and loading the trays.”

  A couple of serving wenches came hurrying into the kitchen, adjusting their caps and wiping the sleep from their eyes.

  “Overslept again, eh?” Madora clucked her tongue at them. “That’ll be extra duties for both of you. Make haste and take the loaded trays out to the dining hall and start setting out the bowls.”

  The rest of the morning passed by in a flurry of activity. Orlla overheard several conversations about the break-in overnight, and the guards’ murder, but to her relief, the consensus seemed to be that the goat herders had come looking for Varon, not knowing the man was dead.

  By the time Madora gave Orlla leave from kitchen duty, her feet and back were aching. She untied her apron and hurried out of the tavern intent on locating Erdhan and Khor to find out if they had pried any information about the dark stone’s whereabouts from the men they had worked with. She headed to the forge first to track down Erdhan.

  “Your hussy’s here,” a bald man with a glistening forehead called out with a mocking twist to his lips.

  Erdhan popped his head out, clutching a sledge against his leather apron. He adopted a mildly irritated expression for the benefit of his companions. “What now, sister?”

  “I need to talk to you in private,” Orlla said in a prim tone that hinted at another dressing down.

  The men sniggered as they hammered and swung, backs bent over their work. “Best get along before she gives you another earful, you cantankerous lout,” the bald man drawled, winking at Erdhan.

  He threw down his sledge with an exasperated sigh, before joining Orlla outside.

  “Varon’s dead,” she said.

  Erdhan jammed his fingers into his hair, a stiff grimace on his face. “Did Skinner kill him?”

  “I don’t know. Either that or he succumbed to the power of the dark stone. Any word on the stone’s whereabouts?”

  Erdhan’s bright blue eyes glinted. “I think Skinner moved it to his personal quarters. One of the men said he posted six guards around the perimeter of his house yesterday. If that’s the case, we’ll never get to it.”

  “We may not have to,” Orlla said. “Madora mentioned that Skinner is planning to auction off the stone to the highest bidder in the lost kingdoms. He’s going to have to take the Onyx of Darkness to them—they won’t come here to a mercenary outpost.”

  Erdhan gave a knowing grin. “And you’re thinking we stage a heist and seize it underway.”

  Orlla nodded thoughtfully. “With some careful planning, and a few well-placed runes, we could pull it off.”

  Erdhan grew sober. “It’s past sunrise now. We missed our opportunity to walk away from our contracts. How are we going to escape Boar’s Fort?”

  “We’re not,” Orlla said. “We simply need to find a way to get ourselves assigned to the party that will transport the stone to the lost kingdoms.”

  Erdhan looked incredulous. “Skinner will never agree to that. We’re newbies.”

  “Newbies with rune weaving skills that will prove very useful in the transport of such precious cargo,” Orlla added in a mysterious tone. A small smile twitched at the edges of her mouth. “He doesn’t need to know that only one of us can actually weave the runes. We will offer our services to veil and protect the stone until it reaches the lost kingdoms.”

  Erdhan scratched his head. “Where does Khor fit in to all of this?”

  Orlla looked pensive. “I can’t pass him off as a Keeper too—we’ve never met him before, remember? He’s going to have convince Skinner that his military skills will be indispensable in the event of an ambush and that he should accompany the stone to help safeguard its passage.” She cast a quick look over her shoulder. “Where is Khor?”

  “Working on the stockade,” Erdhan replied. “He’ll be by shortly for some nails we’re making for him. I’ll tell him about your plan. Meet us this evening in the alleyway and we’ll discuss it further.”

  Skinner was positively jubilant at supper. He raised a mug, ale slopping over the edges and toasted Boar’s Fort. “To the finest outfit north of the Strylieht mountains. And to all mercenaries who hang their longknives here.”

  The room clapped and hollered in response.

  “I have an important announcement to make,” Skinner continued, getting to his feet. “Tomorrow, I am sending a party to the lost kingdoms, along with a writ regarding a trade that is guaranteed to secure us a vast sum of gold. I am not at liberty to divulge the details yet, but I can tell you that when this trade is made, we will become the wealthiest mercenary outpost the length and breadth of the lost kingdoms, and every man and woman here will receive a share of the gold that flows into our coffers.”

  Mercenaries leapt to their feet, clapping each other on the back as they bumped mugs and bellowed their excitement. The raucous celebration continued unabated even after Skinner resumed his seat and fell into conversation with the sharp-eyed steward seated next to him. A long-haired rake of a mercenary in one corner of the tavern pulled out a lyre and began to strum, and a bawdy medley of drinking songs soon reached the rafters. Orlla busied herself refilling mugs and collecting empty pitchers until she got a chance to edge closer to Skinner’s table. “Sounds like you will be transporting something of great value to the lost kingdoms. My brother and I would like to offer our services to help you protect it.”

  The steward tensed, his eyes boring into Orlla, but she ignored him and looked pointedly at Skinner. He narrowed his eyes, his mug hovering below his glistening lower lip. “And what kind of services would you be offering that my own men cannot provide?”

  Orlla reached for an empty pitcher and loaded it on her tray. “The kind that require a private meeting.” She leaned in closer. “If you wish to keep the dark dragon stone under wraps.”

  For a long moment Skinner held her gaze. Then, he slammed his mug down and stood. “Follow me.” He shook his head in warning at the steward when he attempted to rise from his seat, and the man sank back down, a careful crust of calm masking the flash of anger that briefly lit up his face.

  Orlla set her tray down on the table with shaking fingers and trailed Skinner out of the tavern. He led her down the darkened street to his quarters, and pushed open the door, leaving it ajar so the guards remained within view. Wordlessly, he gestured to a chair in front of a wooden desk, before walking around to the other side and seating himself in a creaking rocker. He placed the palms of his hands on the desk and leaned across it. “Which one of my men talked?”

  Orlla frowned and shook her head. “None of them, it’s not what—”

  “Then explain to me how you came to know about the dark dragon stone?”

  Orlla’s pulse thundered in her temples. If she stuck close to the truth as he knew it, he would be more likely to trust her and let her accompany the stone to the lost kingdoms. “We bumped into the goat herders on the way here. They told us about it.”

  The hard lines on Skinner’s face relaxed somewhat. He reached for a flagon on the desk and poured himself a shot of strong-smelling amber-colored liquid. He threw back a mouthful and cleared his throat, his eyes watering from the potent drink. “And you followed my patrols here?”

  Orlla shrugged. “We were on our way here to sign up as mercenaries anyway.”

  Skinner leaned back in his chair catching at his beard with an amused twinkle in his eye. “I dare say you and your brother are hardly capable of scheming to steal the dragon stone from an outpost full of mercenaries.”

  “But there may well be those who will attempt to ambush the stone en route to the lost kingdoms,” Orlla respond
ed, seeking to steer the conversation back to her original offer. “Who knows how many other people the goat herders have told about the stone?”

  Skinner drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair. “And how exactly do you plan on protecting it?”

  Orlla cast a quick glance at the open door. “You might not want your men to see what I am about to show you.”

  Skinner scrubbed a hand across his jaw as though wrestling with his decision, and then strode across to the door to converse with the guards. A moment later, they moved away from the building and took up positions sealing off the street. Skinner returned to the table and sank down in the chair. “Can’t trust any one of them. Shanks and my steward are the only two men worth their salt around here.”

  Orlla raised her brows. “I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Shanks yet.”

  “He’s my right-hand man. He’ll travel with the stone to the lost kingdoms to protect my interests.” Skinner jerked his chin impatiently at her. “What do you have to show me?”

  Orlla lifted his mug and moved it to the center of the table. “Keep your eyes on it.” She breathed slowly in and out and began to mouth a veiling rune.

  Skinner fastened a skeptical gaze on his mug. “What am I supposed to be watching? I’m losing patience with your games, wench.”

  Ignoring him, Orlla pressed on, weaving the layers of the rune together in practiced fashion.

  Moments later, she was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath. Skinner leaned in closer, his eyes glistening with heightened interest. “Where did it go?”

  “It’s still there,” Orlla assured him. “Stretch out your hand—carefully, so you don’t knock it over.”

  Skinner rumpled his brow. He reached forward and waved his hand over the table, missing the mug by inches. Orlla took hold of his fingers and gently guided him to the left until he touched the mug.

  “Runes!” He gave a low whistle. “Where did you learn them?”

  “They were handed down orally in our family to my brother and me.”

  Skinner scrutinized her through half-lidded eyes. “Why are you offering to escort the dragon stone to the lost kingdoms? What’s in it for you, if not to steal it?”

  “Our parents and younger siblings were slaughtered by Pegonian soldiers,” Orlla said quietly. “My brother was conscripted and would most certainly have died on the battlefield if we had not fled Macobin.” She paused for effect, her voice catching. “After we are well-versed in the ways of mercenaries, we will hunt down our family’s killers and avenge their deaths. It is our hope if we serve you well that you will aid us in return one day.”

  Skinner considered her words, twisting his mug around on its base. Orlla couldn’t be sure if he was convinced by her story, but she could tell he wanted to believe it—he coveted her skills to protect the stone.

  “My brother and I will keep the stone hidden from prying eyes and fingers with a combination of veiling and protection runes.”

  Skinner pursed his lips and watched, fascinated, as his mug slowly came back into view. He threw a sharp glance toward the door. “Very well, I will assign both of you to accompany my men. I have sent a rider on ahead to inform Emperor Narlius of the Ithaton Peninsula of the treasure I am bringing to the lost kingdoms. He has long promised great wealth and a battalion of soldiers, not to mention a celebratory feast, to anyone who brings him the dragon stones.”

  Orlla leaned back in her seat and studied him for a moment. “Why not keep such a powerful stone for yourself?”

  “We have no annals to learn its ways.” Skinner’s eyes darkened. “Besides, I want no part of its curse. It takes hold of a man’s senses and leaves him worse off than a barrel of ale does.” His lips curled in a cunning smile. “The wealth it promises will be reward enough for my trouble. I have demanded that all the rulers of the lost kingdoms be in attendance at Narlius’s feast and that the stone be auctioned off to the highest bidder. I believe Emperor Narlius himself will be my most eager patron, but the presence of so many interested parties will drive up the price.”

  “You won’t regret your decision to send us,” Orlla said. “My brother and I are also skilled in all manner of fighting should we encounter a raiding party along the way.”

  Skinner gave a dismissive snort and reached for his mug. “I already have a valiant general to lead the men I’ve selected to accompany the stone to Ithaton. If there’s fighting to be done, he will handle it.”

  Orlla gave a nod of acknowledgement. If Shanks was the only man he trusted, then she would do her best to win his trust and get close enough to the stone to steal it.

  Skinner looked up at the sound of footsteps approaching. “Speaking of the general, here he is now.”

  Chapter 14

  Orlla twisted in her seat and turned to the door. Her stomach clenched at the pockmarked face and hawkish nose that greeted her. A mocking smile curled up one end of his mouth, but his piercing green eyes were careful to betray no recognition as they swept over her.

  “Davian!” Skinner got to his feet and pulled out another chair from the wall. “We were just talking about you.”

  Lord Davian reached for Orlla’s hand and pressed cold, fleshy lips to it, toying with her discomfort. Every nerve in her body recoiled, urging her to flee, but she restrained her loathing of the man and twitched a wan smile in greeting.

  “I have charged General Davian with overseeing the escort of the stone to the Ithaton Peninsula, along with Shanks,” Skinner said, drumming his fingers on the table. “Born a slave in the lost kingdoms, he tells me he worked his way to freedom, has extensive military experience, and even served under Emperor Narlius at one point. He will prove an invaluable asset in negotiating a lucrative deal for the dragon stone.”

  Lord Davian inclined his head, his eyes brimming with barely concealed contempt as his reptilian gaze settled on Orlla. She repressed a shudder, reeling inside at how smoothly and brazenly he had lied to the mercenary overlord.

  Skinner turned to address Orlla. “Our business here is done. The horses will be saddled and waiting by dawn. Be at the gate with your brother with your travel sacks packed.” He waited until she had exited his quarters before resuming his conversation with Lord Davian.

  Heart knocking against her ribs, Orlla stole around to the back of the building and flattened herself against the siding. When her breathing had stilled, she peered cautiously through a crack in the wood to observe the ongoing discussion between Skinner and Lord Davian.

  “You will be two nights on the road between here and Ithaton,” Skinner said. “The girl and her brother will accompany the party.”

  Lord Davian feigned surprise at the news, the jagged scar on his jaw tightening in a wolfish sneer. “Is she a gift for the emperor?”

  Orlla bristled at the contemptuous jab, but Skinner laughed raucously and slapped his thigh. “The emperor has more gifts of the female persuasion than he can house. The girl and her brother are rune weavers—a rare skill that I can use to my advantage.”

  Lord Davian raised sharp brows. “Her brother, indeed?”

  “I have charged them with keeping the dragon stone veiled during transport.”

  Lord Davian locked eyes with Skinner for a fleeting moment. “After which they will have outlived their usefulness.” He lowered his voice. “You cannot risk the rune weavers talking about the dragon stone you sold to Emperor Narlius. Boar’s Fort could come under attack if rumors surface that you harbor the light dragon stone also.”

  Skinner frowned and poured himself another drink. He threw it back in one gulp. “Take care of them as you see fit.”

  “Understood.” Lord Davian rose and adjusted his cloak. He wore a bright smile, but his eyes were cold as ice as he strode to the door.

  Orlla turned and fled into the shadows.

  Once she reached the alleyway, she slid down on her haunches with her back to the wall. Cold drops of sweat trickled down the back of her neck. Skinner had signed their death warrant. But, it sc
arcely mattered. Lord Davian had no intention of taking the dragon stone to Ithaton. He wanted it for himself. What better way to take revenge on King Hamend than to return to Macobin more powerful than the king himself? The only thing he lacked was a way to control the stone. And Orlla had handed herself over to him on a platter by volunteering to accompany the Onyx of Darkness to Ithaton.

  With her rune weaving skills at his disposal, Lord Davian had every chance of succeeding in his audacious plan. He could threaten Erdhan’s life if she refused to help him. Her thoughts spiraled deeper into despair when she considered an even more troubling possibility. With the power of the dark dragon stone on Davian’s side, what was to stop him going after the Opal of Light too? He could force her to lead him to the other Keepers and threaten to slaughter everyone in Macobin—Samten and Franz included—if she resisted.

  Her head jerked up as a hand ruffled her hair. “Erdhan!” she gasped. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

  He gave her a crooked grin. “Good thing I’m your ally.”

  Khor joined them, his face beset with worry. “I saw you leave the tavern with Skinner. Did you persuade him to send you with the transport party?”

  “Yes, after I demonstrated my skills,” Orlla replied.

  “He rejected my offer—told me he’d already recruited a general from the lost kingdoms to manage the transport,” Khor said. “It turned out to be Davian. I told him I was perfectly willing to serve under the general, but he didn’t want the party to become too large for fear it would arouse suspicion that they were transporting something of value.”

  Orlla grimaced. “I just found out that Davian wormed his way into the transport party.”