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

by Norma Hinkens

  “How much of a head start do the mercenaries have?” Khor asked.

  Yaarlin raised unkempt brows. “Surely you are not contemplating pursuing them?”

  “We have no choice,” Orlla cut in. “We have not traveled this far to give up now. The mercenaries cannot be allowed to keep the dark dragon stone lest they find a way to wield its power.”

  “As the annals warned, the stone has attached itself to Varon,” Akolom mused. “The dark dragon was summoned to protect him. The mercenaries realized as much, which is why they didn’t kill him.”

  “The mercenaries are hires of the rulers of the lost kingdoms,” Yaarlin said. “They will not keep the stone for themselves but will attempt to sell it to the highest bidder.”

  “Then we must act swiftly to retrieve it before they can undertake such a transaction,” Orlla said.

  Yaarlin cast her a skeptical look. “You are too few to go up against the mercenaries who captured Varon. There are ten or twelve of them at least, heavily armed brutes, and they may have additional patrols posted along the way.”

  Erdhan frowned. “Along the way to where?”

  “East, to their stronghold—Boar’s Fort,” Yaarlin replied. “It’s a well-guarded settlement five furlongs from here along the thoroughfare to the lost kingdoms. They will reach it long before you can catch up with them.”

  Orlla looked at Khor. “Any idea how we could get inside the fort?”

  He shook his head. “Not without scouting it out first.”

  “Traders are not permitted past the gates, but it is not hard to gain entry if you wish to sign up as a mercenary,” Yaarlin stated matter-of-factly. “They are always looking for new hires to replace casualties—it’s a treacherous trade.” He threw Akolom a sidelong glance. “You must be able to demonstrate fighting skill, and an ability to wield weapons.”

  “We are all well-trained,” Orlla answered. “Are you certain we can gain access to the fort if we pose as recruits?”

  Yaarlin blinked solemnly at her. “That is not the only way to get inside as a woman.”

  She grimaced. “We will go in as mercenaries, one and all.”

  Akolom rubbed the back of his neck, his demeanor disquieted. “We cannot arrive at the gates together. It would look too suspicious.”

  “What do you suggest?” Orlla asked.

  He thought for a moment. “You and Erdhan can pose as brother and sister—Erdhan as a deserter fleeing the war on the mainland, you as a war widow and his dependent. I will follow later in the day, masquerading as an aging warrior mentor looking for food and board in exchange for training younger recruits. Khor can accompany me as my son—he will serve well to validate my skills. Once we find out where the stone is being housed, we can hatch a plan to steal it.”

  Yaarlin frowned. “What of Varon? Will you rescue him?”

  “He is not our business,” Akolom said. “The mission is already fraught with more danger than we anticipated.”

  Yaarlin’s nostrils twitched. “Varon is my brother. You cannot leave him behind after everything I have shared with you.”

  “We will do our best to bring him out with us,” Orlla said in a grim tone. “You must understand that there is no guarantee any of us will come back out alive.”

  Yaarlin smoothed a hand over his beard. “If you succeed, we can hide you in the mountains. We have caves the mercenaries know nothing of that tunnel all the way through the Strylieht mountain range.”

  Khor nodded appreciatively. “We will have need of a secure escape route.”

  “You won’t have long to find the stone once you are inside the fort,” Yaarlin warned. “The mercenaries will be eager to strike a deal with one of the rulers of the lost kingdoms for the immeasurable wealth the stone will bring them.”

  “We will leave at first light,” Orlla said. “How will we find you again?”

  “We will find you. Our goat herders are a living chain throughout the mountains.” Yaarlin’s expression became strained. “Fare well. Your mission will not be an easy one.” He got to his feet and nodded to his fellow goat herders.

  Orlla watched as they rounded up their flock and disappeared between the boulders like fleeting shadows.

  “Do you believe him?” Khor asked, a deep frown on his face. “He might be paid a bounty by the mercenaries for every new recruit he sends their way.”

  Akolom shook his head. “I used a verity rune on him. There was no deceit in his mouth. But, this greatly complicates our original plan.”

  Erdhan kicked at the dirt. “Locating Varon will be easy. Everyone at the fort will know where the prisoners are held. Retrieving the stone will be the hard part.”

  “Akolom and I will use whatever runes are necessary to secure the stone,” Orlla replied resolutely. “In the meantime, I suggest we get some sleep. There is nothing more we can accomplish tonight, and we have a long day ahead of us.”

  A damp dawn greeted the party when they awoke. They set out in the pale light, hugging their cloaks tight to their bodies, their exhaled breath frothing in front of them as they walked. When at length they began to descend into the eastern foothills of the Strylieht mountains, they spotted Boar’s Fort looming in the distance.

  “Erdhan and I will go ahead from here,” Orlla said.

  “Stick as close to the truth as possible,” Akolom cautioned her. “Speak only of Wilefur and fleeing the war.”

  Orlla twisted her lips. “We have enough firsthand accounts of engaging with Brufus to sound convincing.”

  Khor fingered the hilt of his sword as he regarded her. “You and Erdhan are both skilled with knives. I suspect you will have little trouble persuading the mercenaries to take you on. Most able-bodied men from the mainland are tied up in the war effort.”

  “We’ll look for you two later in the day,” Erdhan said.

  Akolom gave a curt nod. “We won’t be far behind you.”

  Orlla and Erdhan took their leave and soon merged with the trail that led directly to the thoroughfare along which Boar’s Fort was situated.

  “I must admit, this is a disappointing turn of events,” Erdhan said, with a hint of humor in his voice. “You’ve gone from being my betrothed to my sister. How much worse can it get?”

  Orlla smiled, a blush creeping into her cheeks. “So, you preferred the former arrangement, short-lived as it was?”

  Erdhan laughed. “Most certainly. As a sibling you would be intolerably overbearing.”

  She punched him indignantly, but instead of ducking away, he grabbed her hand and held it to his lips. “How do you feel about our former arrangement?”

  A familiar fear clawed at Orlla's innards as she considered the question. The fear of being too reckless, too irresponsible, too frivolous—of living in the moment without regarding the cost. But the world was moving at a faster pace now that eternal youth had been stripped away. Tomorrow was not a guarantee. If her feelings for Erdhan were real, what was she waiting for? “I … the mission comes first, you know that.”

  She could sense his disappointment in the kiss he pressed to her lips. Slipping her hand around his neck, she pulled him toward her, suddenly desperate to show him the truth she found so hard to express, that she wanted to be with him in a world made right. His hand cradled the back of her head and she kissed him hungrily, savoring the strength of him pressed against her as she lost herself in the softness of his lips. Even the thought of every Macobite and Pegonian soldier hunting them down could not taint the sacredness of the moment. When they broke apart, a small breathless whimper escaped her lips. “We should make haste,” she whispered, her skin still quivering from his touch.

  He nodded, planting a kiss on the top of her head before releasing her, leaving her mantled in the musky scent of him, his breath still hot on her skin.

  As they drew closer to the mercenaries’ outpost, it became evident it was aptly named. An intimidating stockade of sharpened tree trunks wedged together formed the outer wall. On either side of the gate, a f
resh boar’s head was impaled on a spike, blood staining the post.

  “A fine greeting early in the morning,” Orlla murmured, recoiling at the sight.

  “That’s one way to winnow out anyone who doesn’t have the stomach for the mercenary trade,” Erdhan responded. “Keep your stride confident, and your head high. We dare not show fear in the face of these brutes.”

  When they reached the fort’s entrance, a hulking guard with a bristling gray beard called down to them from the watchtower that straddled the gates. “State your business.”

  “My sister and I are trained in weapons and wish to offer our services as paid mercenaries,” Erdhan yelled up in a firm voice.

  The guard gave them a sour-lipped once over and then flicked his wrist to someone below. A scraping sound ensued as a bolt slid across behind the gate. One of the large wooden gates swung open a hands breadth. Bloodshot eyes filled with icy indifference greeted them. “What can you offer me to secure your passage inside?”

  “We carry no coin, you money-grubber, we are here to earn it,” Orlla retorted. Without waiting for his reply, she slipped past him through the gate. Erdhan followed, taking the guard by surprise when he closed a hand around his throat. “We don’t appreciate your lack of hospitality.” He tossed him backward and took a hard look around the square.

  A brawny, black-bearded man with thick, scarred arms folded across his chest and resting on his considerable belly grinned across at them from a hitching post he was leaning against. “That kind of entrance smacks of promise,” he drawled.

  Erdhan and Orlla walked up to him and introduced themselves. “We seek employment as mercenaries,” Orlla said. “Who do we need to speak to?”

  The man ran a sharp eye over her before responding. “Tell Madora at the tavern Skinner said to fix you up with a plate of food. I’ll fill you in this afternoon on how things work around here.”

  Before Orlla or Erdhan could get another word out, Skinner strode off with a stooped, bald-headed man who had been leaning against a stack of crates watching the proceedings as he chewed on a stalk.

  “I’m guessing Skinner’s name has nothing to do with his figure,” Orlla said with a wry twist of her lips. She gestured to the building opposite them where most of the noise was coming from. “That must be the tavern.”

  They crossed the square, avoiding a dog that snarled menacingly at them while staying alert for any sudden moves on the part of the men and women who passed them by.

  Inside, the tavern was dark, dirty, and full of loud-mouthed patrons. After asking around, Orlla and Erdhan found their way to Madora, who was busy wiping off a table, and told her Skinner had sent them.

  “New hires, eh?” she remarked, drying her plump hands on a rag draped over her shoulder. She tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear and studied them more closely. “Deserters?”

  Erdhan gave a nonchalant shrug. “We might as well fight for coin as for freedom.”

  Madora twisted a brow upward. “Bitter for such a young man, aren’t you?”

  “My—our parents and brothers were butchered by Brufus’s soldiers,” Erdhan said through clenched teeth. “It doesn’t leave us with a good taste in our mouths.”

  Madora’s face softened at the conviction in his voice. “Sit down over there and I’ll fetch you each a plate.”

  They joined a rowdy group at the table Madora had indicated. After introducing themselves, they posed a couple of casual questions about the settlement, but the group quickly lost interest in them and resumed their heated debate about a goat herder who had been brought in under heavy guard a few hours earlier.

  “Killed one of Skinner’s patrols, I reckon,” one of the men said.

  “Hooked him with his crook,” another man jested.

  The group broke into raucous laughter and the conversation turned to a card game that had sparked a fight earlier in the day.

  When they had finished eating, Erdhan and Orlla went back outside to discreetly explore the settlement. They walked the length and breadth of the main street where the merchants were set up and checked out the bunkhouses where they had been told they would be sleeping.

  “That was Varon the men in the tavern were talking about. Where do you think they’re holding him?” Orlla asked, making sure she wasn’t overheard.

  “The bailiff’s station at the end of the street,” Erdhan answered without hesitation. “It’s the only building with guards posted outside. The only other guards on duty are at the entrance to the fort.”

  They turned in unison at the sound of the gate creaking open again. Orlla’s heart jolted when Khor strode into view. She waited for Akolom to emerge behind him, but, a moment later, the guard pushed the gate shut and slammed the iron bolts back into place.

  Chapter 10

  Orlla studied Khor furtively, her head angled away from the gate so she didn’t draw unnecessary attention to herself. As usual, his face was an unreadable mask, but his hands were fisted at his sides betraying an inner state of readiness. The guard at the gate exchanged a few words with him and then yelled to a man across the street, “Take this one to Skinner. He has some real skills.”

  “Something must have happened to Akolom,” Orlla said.

  “We don’t know that yet,” Erdhan cautioned. “He might have changed the plan for reasons we’re unaware of. We need to find an opportunity to talk to Khor alone.”

  They didn’t have to wait for long. Mid-afternoon Skinner ordered all the new hires to gather in the tavern for an introductory meeting. Orlla and Erdhan filed in with the others; a group of three pinched-faced men who looked like they might be brothers, a tall woman in patched clothes with an impressive bow slung over her back that immediately caught Orlla’s eye, a squat man with a hat pulled low over his scarred face, and an impassive Khor.

  Orlla and Erdhan eased themselves into seats at a table adjacent to Khor’s without meeting his eyes.

  Skinner fingered a heavy gold chain around his neck as he apprised his recruits. Up close, he was a handsome man with tightly curled ebony hair, thick brows and brown eyes that altered emotions in one lightning flick. His tone was beguilingly placid, but Orlla sensed that behind it lurked a brutish will, one that would not be crossed without consequences.

  “I bid a hearty welcome to all,” he began. “For those of you I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet, my name is Skinner and I run this mercenary operation.”

  One of the pinched-faced men growled a greeting in response.

  “You are now in my service and will be fed and clothed at my expense to be hired out to the rulers of the lost kingdoms at my discretion. That means I decide who takes what job, when, where, and how—no exceptions. Some jobs are better suited to the fairer sex, some to the strongest warrior, some to the cleverest mind. A ruler has many enemies and they cannot all be disposed of in the same manner.”

  Orlla shot a quick glance around at the other recruits, but they seemed nonplussed at what was being asked of them. Remembering Erdhan’s warning not to show fear, she schooled her face to neutral and faced Skinner once more.

  “When you are not on assignment, you will be required to pitch in with any work that needs to be done around here. My steward will assign the daily chores.” Skinner’s thick lips curled into a mocking grin. “Any recruit who fails to complete their work before day’s end will be demoted to privy cleaner for as long as I deem fit.”

  Nervous chuckles erupted followed by silence as Skinner’s expression hardened. “You’re free to leave after a year’s service, or if you lose a limb or are blinded on mission. You have until sunrise tomorrow to change your mind and walk out of here. After that, any one of you who leaves Boar’s Fort of your own accord will be branded a deserter and dealt with accordingly.” His eyes rested briefly on Erdhan. “Desertion, as those of you fleeing conscription know, carries weighty consequences if you’re caught. Make no mistake, here at Boar’s Fort we always find our defectors and make an example of them. A deserter’s head wil
l adorn the gateposts for seven full days as a warning to others who might be so inclined.”

  Orlla swallowed a hard lump in her throat. Yaarlin hadn’t mentioned anything about contracts. Either he didn’t know how the mercenaries operated within the fort’s walls, or he had been willing to risk their lives for a chance to save his brother, Varon. She angled her head and studied Khor’s profile for any reaction, but he stared fixedly ahead, a lone muscle twitching in his strong jaw.

  “Those are the terms. Any questions?” Skinner beamed around at them, his tone at once jovial and formidable, addressing them as friends while daring them to challenge a single word he had uttered. He gestured to a stooped bald man standing at the back of the room whom Orlla recognized as the man who had been leaning against the crates watching them in the courtyard earlier.

  “Check in with my steward for your first assignments.” With that, Skinner exited the room and left them to it.

  Orlla and Erdhan hung back until the other recruits had approached the steward, and then looked over at Khor questioningly.

  “They turned Akolom away,” he said softly, keeping his head bent as he got to his feet. “Told him he was too old. We’ll talk later.”

  Biting down her frustration, Orlla followed him and Erdhan over to where the steward was dispensing chores with a flair for ruthless efficiency. He flicked a calculating glance over Khor. “Stockade fortification, back of the settlement. Join the work party already stationed there.”

  The steward dismissed him and turned his attention to Erdhan. “Forge, take a left at the tavern.”

  Erdhan’s fingers instinctively curled around the sword at his hip that he had smithed himself. “How … I mean …”

  The steward’s frown deepened as he inspected Erdhan’s attire more closely. “And stop by the tanner and fix yourself up with a pair of boots.”

  “Next!” the steward said, shooing him away.

  Orlla stepped forward. She opened her mouth to tell him she was a fletcher, but he threw her a scant glance and barked, “Find Madora in the kitchen and tell her you’re there to help with prep.” He whirled and disappeared through the door with a lopsided gait leaving Orlla alone in the room.