The Dragon Writers Collection

by DragonWritersCollective

  “We can’t win, no matter what we choose Zach. All because of that damned contract.”

  “To Hades with that ruddy contract!” Zach said suddenly, knocking his empty mug to the floor. Carym glanced at the man at the next table; the man didn’t even flinch when the mug shattered, trying very hard to look disinterested.

  “Mind your tongue, Zach!” Carym said with a warning in his voice, preparing for a fight. Zach was absorbed in his bitterness. “There’s no use complaining, it will only get us killed.”

  “Your right, there is no use complaining. We need to go on the offensive! Those rotten Arnathians have nearly enslaved us! Our countrymen are impoverished and our family members are disappearing! Where are the missing families now? Slaves on some Arnathian noble’s plantation in Far Karbandom, no doubt!”

  “They have forced our women and children into servitude to work off the debts of their masters! Press gangs force our men into military service on the farthest and bloodiest war fronts. Now the Imperials are threatening to use this city as a staging point for a campaign against our own people in Brythyn!” Zach continued his rant. “I’m just glad I finished my contract with the Fleet long ago. I will not fight against my own people! And, I - will - not - fight - in - their - filthy - games!”

  “Zach, you are going to get us arrested if you don’t quiet down!”

  A glance at the man next to them revealed that he was indeed armed, something bulged at his hip through the material of his cloak. Zach did sit back down, but he wasn’t listening to Carym. The wheels were turning in his mind and Carym knew that a scheme, probably a very risky one, was on the tip of his old friend’s tongue.

  “Life in Hybrand was not always bad after the occupation began,” Carym sighed, wistfully. “But it seems everything has changed. We are not free to speak as we please, anymore. It all seems so hopeless now,” Carym shook his head and downed yet another shot of whiskey, uneasy about agreeing with his cantankerous friend and relieved they had not yet been arrested. Another shot. Maybe that man wasn’t interested in them after all. “Perhaps, you’re right,” he admitted gloomily.

  The suspicious man at the next table stood suddenly and walked over to them. He opened his cloak displaying the badge of the Golden Dragon on an inside flap, the seal of Qra’z on his chest, and held out a stilton. Zach had too often felt the crack of that short staff against his shoulders during his service in the fleet; every officer carried one to keep the men in line.

  “You!” the man’s deep voice carried over the hubbub, as he pointed his stilton at Zach. “You are under arrest for blasphemy, intent to defraud the crown, and association with the rebel gang known as the Spiders! Stand and relinquish your arms!” he commanded.

  “Qra’zim!” Carym said nervously, fear wrenched his stomach. Qra’zim were known to be skilled fighters and some were able to use magic. The swarthy Arnathian’s golden chain mail was noticeable from underneath his commoner’s button-down tunic and a large mace hung at his side. Carym looked back at his friend, concerned because he saw that gleam in his old friend’s eye. The two had been in many campaigns and adventures together, and each was finely tuned to the other’s senses and actions. He sighed, irritated at himself that he had underestimated his old friend. Zach had known exactly what he was doing. No doubt, his friend wanted to skewer the Qra’zim and start a riot, meanwhile Carym had addled his own wits with whiskey.

  “I will show you the might of a Cklathman, you dog!” Zach stood, drew his sword with one hand and concealed a throwing dagger in the other. The Qra’zim warrior smiled wickedly and lifted his mace. Carym reached for a long dagger that he kept hidden in his cloak; he was ready to fight but he hoped they could still avoid it.

  “You cannot escape the Light of Qra’z,” boasted the Arnathian condescendingly. “Lay down your arms and you will not be harmed,” he smirked as he spoke. Clearly this Qra’zim felt as though these men were no match for him. He could have easily shouted for assistance from the guards who had moved to the opposite street corner, their attention still drawn elsewhere...for the moment.

  Zach lowered his sword as though he were going to comply and Carym tensed, prepared to run. The Arnathian laughed and sidled confidently towards the pair. Carym shook his head and sighed, the foolish man did not realize the fight was not over. Out of his peripheral vision he noticed Zach’s hand made a quick movement. With a short gasp, the Qra’zim’s knees buckled and he fell to the ground in a heap; a dagger protruding from his forehead.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Fugitives. Friends.

  Spiders.

  Carym glanced at the corpse. He was dimly aware of Zach’s booted foot on the man’s head, leverage to pull his dagger free. The Qra’zim’s eyes were glazed over now, blood oozing from the dagger wound in his forehead. With a loud crunch, Zach pulled the blade loose and wiped it on the dead man’s cloak.

  Then Carym heard a shuffling sound behind him. When he turned to look, he saw Willam Cheval standing casually, and inspecting his cup in the air; his right foot was resting atop the chest of a very still, very Arnathian looking person. Where did that one come from? Carym thought frantically. Were there more Qraz’im about? Cheval had blocked the view of the guards across the way, for the moment shielding the pair.

  “Come on Carym, it’s time to go! Run!” Zach grabbed Carym by the collar and shoved him onto the street, running as fast as he could. Argus and the councilmen who had shared a table with the mayor had both leaped to their feet and were making haste toward the nearest Arnathian patrol. Carym knew the men were probably going to try to interfere with the guards on behalf of the friends. He only hoped he would live to thank the men.

  The commotion and revelry of faded behind him and were replaced by hard breathing and pounding heart as his feet took him away. He didn’t know where they were going, he only hoped there wouldn’t be any Arnathians waiting for them when they got there. Suddenly Zach ducked into an alley with Carym close behind. Zach reached into a pile of trash and pulled hard on something. Then a wall slid shut behind them, preventing any would-be pursuers from following them into the alley, and they stopped to rest. Carym almost collapsed, his lungs were burning, and he knew he was close to retching. He had been running as fast as he could to keep up with Zach and the effects of the alcohol were making him nauseous.

  Ankle deep in sludge, Carym slumped to the floor. Breathing hard, he cursed at Zach. He was so mad he could not see straight; or was that from the whiskey? Anger began to rip through him giving him strength, his blood rushing; his face became hot. Carym stood and drew his sword. “What have you done?” he shouted at Zach, his sword held level in front of him.

  “I saved our hides from a miserable fate. We were doomed to begin with!” he shouted back. “Roderious sent his church dogs after us and we were cornered. Unlike you, I spotted them in the crowd back at the Cklathball match. What was I supposed to do, let them cut out our hearts in a bloody sacrifice to Qra’z?”

  Anger made his vision blur, his pulse pounding in his temples, and his right eye throbbed in pain threatening to make him fall. Yet, still, he stood. “You knew all along that man was there, and you provoked him?”

  Zach scowled at his old friend.

  “You have ruined us,” he exclaimed, out of breath. “We are done for!” His vision was spinning, but Carym took a swing at his friend. Zach deflected it easily, thumping Carym’s sword hand for good measure. Carym shouted in pain and stumbled, seething.

  “Carym, you had better lower your sword! I have little patience for your pitiful drunken emotions,” he seethed. His longtime friend knew that Carym became violent when he drank, but Carym hadn’t had a drink in a long, long time.

  “Had you been anyone else, I would have killed you already,” he spat.

  Carym did as he was told and lowered his sword, nursing his stinging hand, and slumped to the floor as his rage passed. He was quiet a moment as he tried to regain his composure. He and Zach were probably equals with the swor
d, but Zach could throw a dagger better than anyone he knew. He never really thought about it before, but given the reputation of the Spiders it made sense now. “Forgive me, brother,” he whispered.

  Zach took a deep breath and sat down. “I forgive you, old friend. It has been hard for you since the Vaard killed them,” he paused remembering the wreckage they came home to find that day. “No other man has lost as much and stood as tall as you have since that day. It is only fitting now that we leave all this behind us. We must move on and start our lives anew with our brethren to the north. There, we can continue to support the movement to free Hybrand from Arnathia.”

  Carym nodded but said nothing, resigning himself to the inevitable truth of their demise. As outlaws from crown and church, their only choice now was to flee.

  The shadows from the tall building flanking the alley did not allow the autumn sun’s warming light to reach down to the floor and the pair were getting cold. Zach stood, and brushed himself off. He helped his friend to his feet and the two worked their way down the alley, trying as best as they could to avoid piles of refuse and waste.

  “How did you know that there was a hidden alley here?”

  “A benefit of membership in the Spiders,” Zach said, stopping before a door. “I know where all of the secret alleys are. We had best get moving, someone will give us up if we stay here too long.”

  “Where are we going, Zach?” Carym asked tiredly.

  “We go underground. I have been training with the Spiders for some time now. They will help us escape from Hybrand.”

  “Evil prevails and we trudge through a gutter like rats. In all my life I never dreamed I would become an outlaw,” said Carym dejectedly.

  Zach groaned with a sneer. “We are peasants who are worth nothing to the Arnathians! And Lord Cannath is a puppet whose strings are pulled by General Craxis. He is a worthless lout; he rejected his people for the gold of Arnathia!” Zach spit as he said the lord’s name. “That is why the Spiders have helped to form a resistance movement. With this turn in church policy the resistance movement will surely flourish and Arnathian tyranny will be overcome!”

  “Fairly said, friend,” Carym said rubbing his head. “I am sorry. What are the chances that word of this incident has already spread to Hyrum?” The stinging look on Zach’s face registered somewhere in Carym’s fogged brain and he understood that he had cut his longtime friend deeply.

  “Word will have spread by now, hopefully Argus will see to it they have only inaccurate witness descriptions to go on. We may be able to avoid recognition for now if we try to disguise ourselves. An investigation will follow and not every Cklathman can be trusted to keep his mouth closed, especially those bloody Chevals. I don’t care what they say about Willam, he is still a Cheval and not to be trusted! It will not take long for the rumors to circulate. It is no small offense to kill a Qra’zim, and we can be sure there will be retaliation.”

  “Zach, back at the Inn; I swear, I think Willam helped.” Carym said slowly, having difficulty recalling facts.

  “Willam helps only himself,” Zach snorted derisively. “Sober up, we need to move.”

  “I’m telling you, it looked like he was standing over a limp body, someone who had been seated nearby. And, come to think of it, Rashel was gone.”

  “And I’m telling you, forget it. If Willam had killed somebody, it was probably someone who was trying to help us.”

  Carym nodded, though he remained unconvinced. Changing the subject he said, “If we show up at the temple in the morning we will certainly hang by noon. If we do not show up, the Lord Cannath will connect us to the dead Qra’zim and issue arrest warrants for us,” Carym sighed. It just was not supposed to be this way. “I suppose we have nothing to lose, but I cannot go with you yet. Dryume is an old friend; I want to check on him and ask his advice.”

  “Fine,” Zach said irritably. “Don’t waste time! Meet me in the morning in Hyrum and be ready to travel. I hope to leave for Dockyard City tomorrow!”

  Without waiting for a response from his old friend, Zach turned and led Carym away from the refuse strewn alley. They walked through a series of alleys he never knew existed, and Zach brought him to the edge of Hybrand City. From there the two bade each other farewell. The irritation in Zach’s voice was not lost on Carym and he began to feel guilty for his skepticism toward his old friend; Zach had never failed to support his childhood pal, he’d had always had Carym’s back.

  Zach abruptly turned and went on his way, leaving Carym to set out for the little village of Hyrum and ponder the day’s misfortunes. Hoping to avoid unnecessary confrontation, Carym made the journey by taking small meandering game trails in the forest rather than the main road. Two hours later he arrived at the edge of the forest near Hyrum. Carym drew his cloak tightly about his body and pulled his hood low over his head, the dampness of the forest began to settle in now that the sun was beginning its downward trek. He remained hidden for several moments watching for signs of Imperial troops or anyone else. Finally, he felt it safe enough to continue on to his first destination.

  Quietly, he walked up the path that led to the front porch of his home. It was a small brown cottage with a thatched roof. A large wooden door with an iron ring for a handle led inside. There was a small sitting porch that spanned the front side of the cottage with two comfortable chairs. Stopping for a moment on the porch, Carym wistfully remembered many summers sitting there in the shade of that porch with Ariana. She had been his childhood sweetheart and his best friend. He bit his lip, shook himself, and resolved not to allow his emotions to best him again. It was time for a new beginning; it was time to leave behind the broken memories and heartache of his past and start over. Although, he wasn’t really sure he would be able to take that first step.

  Carym opened the door, stepped inside and hung his cloak on the hook. He took a few moments to clean up and change into some fresh clothes. He sat down on his bed, and put his head in his hands to think. Just when he thought he was really getting his life back together, suddenly everything got complicated.

  Life was supposed to have been better under Imperial rule. Carym was reminded of the bitter lesson learned by his people during the time leading up to Arnathian occupation. Before he was murdered, Thayne Kiernan had warned his people of the evil spirit behind friendly Arnathian faces.

  With the reputation as a staunch Arnathian loyalist, the voluntary repatriation of Cannath Du Val Hyr was a surprise to all, and an unwelcome one at that. For several years he continued to surprise everyone by earnestly trying to better the lives of his countrymen under the harsh leadership of General Craxis. Eventually, however, he had worn out his welcome with Craxis and found there was little he could do. Carym did not envy him. Lord Cannath did not ask to have a traitor for a grandfather. As a fellow veteran, Carym understood what duty meant; the man had little choice but to do as he was instructed. No Cklathman could find fault with the man’s military career; his valor in battle reflected a sense of pride in his fellow Cklathmen, even if that pride was somewhat tempered by distrust. And, he had never served as part of the force that occupied his homeland, his career had taken him to the farthest reaches of the empire and he retired upon earning the rank of prefect. Carym was among a growing number of Cklathmen who were beginning to believe Lord Cannath was not the loyalist his father and grandfather had been.

  Carym knew Zach was right. A rebellion supported by the Thayne of Brythyn might just be the only answer left to save Hybrand from the Arnathian Empire. His days as a law-abiding citizen were over, it was only a matter of time before he was caught and executed. He shuddered as he remembered the horrible sight in the temple square earlier today.

  “Brother Thrayador, why did Ulrych not rescue his chosen disciple?” Carym wondered aloud. I should not tarry, he reminded himself with a sigh, holding a small wooden carving. An old friend made it for him after the Vaard attacked, killing his wife and child. It was the one thing he treasured above all else. He placed the
carving in his pocket and stood. He strapped his Cklath Militiaman long sword to his side and slung his bow and quiver along with some extra strings. He knew it might be a long time before he returned to his village so he grabbed his coat and a small pack filled with traveling supplies and prepared to leave. But he stopped as he reached the door, and faced the wall where his trophy fish had been mounted. He took the four-piece bamboo fishing rod from the wall and slipped the pieces into small sleeves sewn onto the outside of his quiver. Into his pack went a small sack of metal hooks and a spool of horsehair line. Locking his door, Carym stepped out onto the porch for a final look at those comfortable chairs and made a promise to himself that he would return one day for a good pipe smoke.

  Carym looked up and down the dirt trail that served as a main road for his tiny village, but no one was about. He pulled the hood of his cloak low over his face and set off for Blackthorne Forest, all the while feeling as though he was abandoning the memory his wife and his child. He believed in Zuhr, as many Cklathmen did, yet the ways of that old religion did little to comfort him in the tragedy of that dreadful day. Some said a spirit taken in violence was doomed to a tormented afterlife, while others claimed the spirit was tied to the location where it passed, forever. And those were just the words of the followers of Zuhr. The followers of Qra’z had worse to say. To them, a peaceful afterlife was only available to the powerful and elite; the best anyone else could hope for was to become food for the ground worms.

  Carym fervently hoped Dryume would help him face his fear of leaving them behind. He just couldn’t go on knowing that they were here, in Hyrum, in his cottage while he was preparing for a journey. With despair in his heart, Carym set off for Blackthorne forest.