Onyx of Darkness: An epic dragon fantasy (The Keeper Chronicles Book 2)

by Norma Hinkens

  “Better. Akolom applied a healing rune while you were sleeping.” He jerked his chin at Erdhan. “Did Brufus’s soldiers rough you up?”

  Erdhan scowled. “They needed me alive to trade for the stone, so they didn’t do more than smack me around a bit. But, they reveled in telling me exactly how they planned to dismember me once they got their hands on the Opal of Light.”

  “As I suspected, Brufus cannot be trusted,” Akolom observed. “He had no intention of trading you for the stone.”

  “Then let us hope he doesn’t best Hamend, or he will most certainly pursue us,” Orlla said.

  Khor frowned. “We will need to set a watch. I’ll take the first shift.”

  Orlla woke to the sound of birds chirping overhead. She yawned and stretched out her stiff limbs before sitting up and looking around. “Is it morning already?” she exclaimed, shocked to see how bright it was.

  Erdhan cocked an amused smile. “We tried to wake you for your shift but you kept snoring, so we gave up.”

  Orlla gave him a perturbed look. “I don’t snore.”

  “You snore, grunt, and talk all night long,” Akolom said emphatically as he walked past with two full waterskins and proceeded to load them into the saddlebags.

  “Harsh, but a fair review.” Erdhan gave her a sheepish grin and handed her a couple of quail eggs. “Eat up! We’re ready to hit the trail again.”

  The hours dragged by as they rode steadily north, alternating between galloping and cantering, stopping at intervals to water the horses. By late afternoon, the fringes of the woodlands bordering the sinking bogs came into view.

  Conversation lulled as they drew closer. The damp fog above the bogs hung heavy with an ominous silence. Gnarled trees were dotted throughout, their branches intertwining and invading each other’s space like thorns twisting in a primeval dance. An odd mineralized aroma permeated the air like the scent of death. Not a single bird flew overhead. A distant wind howled like a banshee.

  “That’s coming from the Strylieht mountains.” Akolom squinted up at the jagged peaks that loomed on the horizon. He pulled out his crystal lens and peered intently through it.

  “Can you see any dragons?” Orlla asked.

  Akolom shook his head. “They have likely retreated until they are called upon by whomever claims the stone.”

  “We should keep moving,” Khor said, peering around restlessly. “We don’t want to stay in one place too long, not with the risk of mercenaries.”

  Sensing the group’s reluctance to enter the murky woodlands, Akolom dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks and took the lead. As they pushed ahead, the intertwining branches grew thicker and more contorted, and a sickly smell of rot became stronger. Before long, they were forced to dismount and lead their horses single file along a narrow trail that bored through the dense woodlands like a tunnel. The mossy earth beneath cushioned their steps, but even the occasional snort from one of their horses would be enough to give them away to anyone tracking their progress. Orlla eyed the shadowy tangle of branches and brambles on either side of the trail uneasily. It would be impossible to spot an assailant hiding among the close-packed foliage before they struck.

  A strangled scream cut through the dead air. Orlla whipped her head forward, reaching for her weapon. Her stomach plummeted. Akolom hung by an ankle from a gnarled tree branch.

  Chapter 6

  “Draw your weapons!” Khor yelled, adopting a fighting stance, sword at the ready. He circled slowly, his keen eyes panning the misshapen shadows around them for any indication of an impending attack. Heart halfway up her throat, Orlla willed herself to stay composed and do what she had been trained to do. Seconds ticked by, and the only sound forthcoming was the jittery neighing of their horses.

  Erdhan edged closer to where Akolom swayed to and fro below the twisted branches. Without taking his eyes off the surrounding woodlands, Erdhan hoisted the master mentor up by the shoulders and slashed the rope at his ankles. Akolom leapt to his feet and unsheathed his sword. “Did you see anyone?” he muttered.

  “No.” Erdhan’s eyes darted back and forth. “But they could be watching us as we speak.”

  “If a lone mercenary or mad mortal set that trap, they won’t take on a group this size,” Akolom said, his gaze flicking over their misty surroundings.

  “Mad mortals don’t set traps like that,” Khor muttered, keeping his feet braced and ready to spring into action. “Too well executed.”

  Orlla slid another gaze around and then focused her attention on a broken branch to the left of the trail.

  “What is it?” Erdhan asked, picking up on her heightened interest.

  Putting a finger to her lips, she padded over to the brush and cautiously pulled aside a few branches. A tingle of anticipation ran down her spine. A narrow footpath led away from the trail. Someone had gone to great lengths to disguise the entrance, but the muddy path was well-worn. Orlla hurriedly waved the others over. “There’s a footpath here.”

  “Wait!” Khor cast another searching glance around him and then trod cautiously over to Orlla. “If it leads to someone’s dwelling, it will likely be set with more traps. We need to exercise caution and go around it.”

  “Why are we talking about following the path at all?” Erdhan cut in. “Our mission does not lie within these woods. We should continue on and get out of here as soon as possible.”

  “I concur,” Akolom said. “We must press on before the dark dragon stone is discovered.”

  Khor scratched his chin in thought. “Now that we’ve activated a trap, it will alert whoever lives here that someone has passed through. We can’t risk allowing mercenaries to bury arrows in our backs when we least expect it. It would be prudent to investigate the situation and eliminate any potential threats before we go any farther.”

  “I think we should follow Khor’s lead on this,” Orlla said. “We are unfamiliar with the ways of mercenaries, which is why he volunteered to come in the first place.”

  For a long moment the master mentor and the Protector held a chilly gaze.

  Akolom broke the deadlock with a stiff nod. “I will defer to Khor’s judgement.”

  Frustration flickered across Erdhan’s face, but he quickly composed his features. “What about the horses? Someone will have to wait here with them.”

  After some discussion, they agreed to tether their steeds to a tree so that they could move with greater ease through the dense brush that bordered either side of the narrow footpath. Khor led the way and began hacking his way through the foliage.

  They had covered only a short distance when Erdhan spotted a cleverly camouflaged treehouse perched between the canopies of leaves up ahead. A curved, wooden staircase snaked around the trunk of a thick oak tree leading up to the dwelling. At a casual glance, the structure looked like an extension of the tree itself. The mossy roof and sides, draped over with leafy branches, blended seamlessly with the greenery around. A wooden shutter jutted out over a small open window. A yellow-bellied wood warbler perched on the roof, its head twitching in various directions as it twitted and chirped, the first bird they had seen since entering the woodlands.

  “As I feared,” Khor said gravely. “We have stumbled on a well-camouflaged mercenary outpost of some sort.”

  “I might be able to get a look inside if I climb one of those trees near the dwelling and crawl along an overhanging branch,” Erdhan suggested, angling his head as he studied a suitable approach.

  Khor gave a grunt of approval. “Check it out and see how many we’re up against before we decide on a course of action. We’ll wait here and make sure no one else comes along.”

  They settled down in a sea of ferns, concealed from view of anyone walking along the footpath, and watched as Erdhan snuck around to the back of the treehouse. Moments later, they spotted his shadowy form scaling a large oak that overhung the wooden structure. He slithered silently along a large branch that stretched tantalizingly close to the open window in the treehouse.r />
  Orlla held her breath as the branch began to undulate beneath his weight.

  Slowing his progress, Erdhan inched farther along until he was close enough to lift his head and peer into the opening from behind his leafy cover. After a few agonizing minutes, he retreated the same way he had come, and hurried back over to them.

  “How many?” Khor demanded, eyes like steel.

  “Only one.” Erdhan waved dismissively. “He’s not a threat.”

  “In that case, we should leave him undisturbed and keep pushing on through the sinking bogs,” Orlla said.

  Khor grunted his disapproval and did a cursory check of his weapons. “The foe you sell short is the one who kills you. I’ll take care of him.”

  “I told you he’s not a threat,” Erdhan said, emphatically. “He’s an old man, and barely able to get around—dragging one leg behind him.”

  “There could be others,” Khor responded, his throwing knives glinting in his hands. “He might alert them and send them after us.”

  Erdhan shook his head. “He lives alone. There’s only one small cot.”

  Khor’s jaw moved grimly side to side as he eyed the treehouse warily. “I don’t like leaving him without making certain he won’t cause us trouble down the road.”

  “Perhaps we should try another tactic.” Akolom scratched his beard. “Maybe the man will help us if we assure him we are only passing through and intend him no harm. He must know something of what lies ahead on the trail.”

  “He has no reason to lend us assistance,” Khor retorted.

  “Not yet.” Orlla angled her brows. “But we could give him one.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Erdhan asked.

  Orlla looked pointedly at Akolom. “A healing rune. It sounds like he might have injured his leg.”

  “No!” A heavy frown clouded Akolom’s forehead. “We cannot wield the healing runes for the sake of strangers. I fear our power will begin to waver this far from the Opal of Light, and we may have need of it in the days ahead. We must conserve it to confront the dark dragon stone.”

  “But if we help this man, he may give us some advice in return that spares us falling afoul of mercenaries or unknown terrors in the sinking bogs,” Orlla said. “Besides, wasn’t it you who taught me to do things for others not because of who they are, but because of who I am?”

  Akolom regarded her as if she had struck some long-forgotten chord. His perceptive eyes twinkled with a hint of amusement when he spoke. “Wisdom leaks from my aging bones in the absence of eternal youth. I yield to your powers of reasoning. If you wish to offer the stranger a healing rune, I will assist you in its application.”

  Orlla vaulted to her feet and unbuckled her baldric. “I will approach the treehouse alone to avoid unnerving the man. He is less likely to swing a weapon at an unarmed woman.”

  Khor ran a disapproving eye over her. “Unarmed, I cannot endorse. We know nothing of this man’s character, and these woodlands are rife with unsavory sorts. Not to mention his injury may incline him to be more swift to defend himself from intruders.”

  Orlla shot him a bemused grin. “I will only give the appearance of being unarmed and hapless.” She patted her boot. “My dagger will be at hand should it become necessary to defend myself.”

  Erdhan tossed a tangle of curls out of his eyes. “I’ll climb back up on the branch that overhangs the treehouse. If you are in any danger I will be able to launch a throwing knife from there.”

  Khor nodded his approval. “I can go along with that.”

  “I don’t recall asking your permission,” Orlla replied tartly, as Erdhan sped off.

  A troubled look flitted across Khor’s face. “I do not intend to be overbearing but I cannot change my nature. I am and always will be a Protector at heart.”

  Chagrined, Orlla laid a reassuring hand on his arm. “And you do it well. My apologies for my hasty tongue. I appreciate you accompanying us on this mission, more than you know.”

  “Erdhan’s in position,” Akolom said.

  Orlla glanced up at the tree where he lay sprawled like a cat in repose along the overhanging branch—deceptively relaxed except for the outstretched hand that clutched his throwing knife. A fluttering tingled inside her. He wanted to protect her, she had seen it in his eyes—in the worried cast to his face. They hadn’t spoken much, other than perfunctory exchanges, since he had lashed out at her, blaming her in some part for the deaths of his parents and brothers. She wondered if this was his attempt to make it right.

  “Wish me luck,” Orlla said.

  “Don’t use the staircase,” Khor warned her. “It will likely trigger another ambush. Call up to the man from below and let him take stock of you first.”

  Orlla nodded and took a deep breath before slipping out from among the ferns and walking up to the treehouse in plain view. “Kind sire! M’lady!” she called out in a doleful tone. “If anyone’s there, may I trouble you for some assistance?” She angled her face upward, the picture of pitifulness, feet squirming in the half-mulched leaf litter.

  Sensing eyes on her, she studied the mossy treehouse wall more carefully and spotted a peephole to the left of the window opening. She was tempted to call out to the man again but restrained herself, allowing him to appraise the situation at his leisure. If he was indeed crippled, as Erdhan had indicated, he wouldn’t be eager to expose himself to any situation that might endanger him.

  She flinched when a voice suddenly boomed, “Begone! You and your ilk are not welcome here.”

  A moment later, a face appeared in the window opening.

  Words left her as she took in the grizzled man with the protuberant forehead and tufted, gray hair glaring down at her. The left side of his face was compressed around the eye socket giving him a misshapen and slightly terrifying appearance. Swallowing her fear, she gave a polite wave and called up to him. “Sire, I do not wish to sojourn here, only to ask for guidance through the sinking bogs to the Strylieht mountains.”

  The man’s face contorted further in a censuring glare. “What fool travels to the Strylieht mountains? Do you, a mere wisp of a woman, seek to join the mercenaries who serve the lost kingdoms?”

  “No,” Orlla admitted. “But I must reach the mountains without delay, and if you would only spare me a few minutes of your time, I will tell you why.”

  The man flicked his eyes over the surrounding woodlands and then, to Orlla’s amazement, gave a gruff nod. “Wait there.”

  A moment later, a rope ladder unfurled from a trapdoor beneath the house, dangling a handspan from the ground. Orlla picked her way over to it, giving Erdhan a subtle nod in the process to indicate that she was all right. Tentatively, she grabbed hold of the ladder and began to climb, half fearing it was a setup and the old man would pour a pot of boiling oil on her from above. When she got as far as the trapdoor she peered curiously around before hoisting herself inside the treehouse and scrambling to her feet.

  To her surprise, the elderly man was even shorter than he had appeared through the window. A step stool shoved up against the wall beneath the sill explained the illusion.

  He gestured to a wooden chair. “Seat yourself,” he said gruffly before reaching for the step stool and plonking himself down on it. “From Macobin, I take it?”

  Orlla nodded, racking her brains for the simplest story she could relay to him without revealing their true mission. “My name is Orlla and I thank you for your kindness.”

  “Gaunt.” His eyes hardened. “Formerly Gauntollier of Macobin.”

  Orlla slid forward on her seat, her curiosity piqued. “What induced you to leave Macobin for this untamed place?”

  Gaunt sniffed into the sleeve of his jacket. “What’s wild for some is a refuge for others.” He stretched out his hand and whistled. A moment later, the yellow-bellied warbler that had been perched on the roof flew in through the window opening and landed on his finger. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few crumbs. Orlla watched, fascinated, as he fed
the tiny bird by hand before it flew away again.

  Gaunt smiled at her, accentuating his protruding forehead. He interlaced his stubby fingers in his lap, and it struck Orlla that he held no weapon in them, or anywhere at hand that she could see. He shifted in his seat. “Suits me here. It was hard for some in my village to accept the way I look.”

  Instinctively, Orlla fingered the white strands of hair that flowed amid her raven locks.

  Gaunt’s eyes softened in understanding. “I’m guessing you’re fleeing from Brufus’s troops?”

  She raised her brows. “You know that Brufus has declared war on King Hamend?”

  Gaunt gave a throaty chuckle. “You’re not the first one to come through here in the last few days.” He frowned. “Although you are the first woman I’ve seen traveling alone through the sinking bogs.”

  Orlla blinked. Deception would not be a good foundation for building bridges if they hoped to enlist Gaunt’s help. “I’m not alone. We are a party of four heading to the Strylieht mountains.”

  Gaunt shot a quick glance at the window. “Are your companions to be trusted?”

  “Most certainly,” Orlla assured him. “They are risking their lives to help me. We have an urgent matter that must be addressed.”

  Gaunt leaned forward in his stool, his gaze unflinching. “Does it involve the dark dragons?”

  Chapter 7

  Gaunt’s question left Orlla speechless. She flashed him a startled look and then averted her gaze as she considered what to tell him. How did he know about the dark dragons? Had he seen them? Maybe he even knew something about the dark stone’s whereabouts.

  When she got her wits about her again, she made a spur-of-the-moment decision to divulge the truth about their mission to find the dark dragon stone and destroy it. If Gaunt knew about the dragons’ sudden appearance, he may have some helpful information about how to retrieve the stone.

  Contrary to her assumptions, he didn’t seem in the least surprised to learn that the Onyx of Darkness had surfaced in the Strylieht mountains.