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

by Norma Hinkens

  Taking a moment to catch her breath, she clutched the sack to her chest. A salty droplet of sweat trickled down the side of her nose and over her lip. She had to find a better hiding place—and soon. When the battle ended, the victors would come looking for the dark treasure she held in her arms.

  Chapter 22

  The dull clang of metal on metal continued unabated as a cacophony of shouts and screams mingled with the distressed whinnying of wounded battle chargers in Orlla’s ears. She pulled out Davian’s dagger and slashed at the scarlet skirts of her velvet dress, hacking it down to a manageable volume and length. Her best chance of getting out of here alive was to move quickly while the mercenaries and soldiers were still dueling it out. There was no time to waste second-guessing her decision—the slaughter would be swift. She turned and scrambled in the darkness through the brush on her hands and knees until she deemed it safe to get to her feet and run.

  Clutching the sack containing the Onyx tight to her body, she scurried in a half-crouch deeper into the shadowy undergrowth of the forest that lay between her and the Strylieht mountains. The crashing sounds she made as she stomped on rotten logs and thrashed through brambles and groves of leafy ferns were magnified in her mind, even though her rational self told her she was too far from the battle to be seen or heard. The danger would come later when they found her tracks and pursued her. With Davian dead, she suspected it would be Skinner and the other mercenaries who would hunt her down in search of the missing stone.

  As she flew through the forest, hair coming unpinned around her, she wondered what she would do if she heard sounds of pursuit. Other than the dagger, her only weapon was the Onyx, but despite what Lord Davian had said about dragons being protective of those who invoked the forbidden rune, she couldn’t be sure the dark dragons wouldn’t turn on her if she called them up again. The horror of those jagged, leathery wings and that inhuman roar when the dark dragon had snatched up the crown prince in its talons was forever branded on her mind.

  But that wasn’t what disturbed her the most. Despite her mastery of the forbidden rune, she was afraid of the Onyx. There was a certain duplicitousness about it, something about the way it could morph from a deceptively common rock into a polished stone of extraordinary beauty, seductively winking a flushed orange and brilliant red—colors so shockingly arresting they left you breathless in a detrimental way, craving the stone more than life itself. The Onyx was subtle in the confusion it spread, insidious in how it took hold of the heart and left one coveting its latent power.

  Orlla had known the moment she had activated the forbidden rune inscribed on the Onyx that she wouldn’t be able to resist it. She was not well-versed in mental protection runes, and the combinations she had woven had withered in the face of the stone’s power. She needed to be rid of it, but she didn’t dare leave it behind for anyone else to discover. Now, more than ever, she realized the urgency of destroying the dark dragon stone.

  She didn’t stop running until she had left the cover of the forest behind and entered the foothills of the Strylieht mountains. Sinking to her knees, she heaved a deep breath and darted a glance around at the gorse bushes and boulders that offered the only apparent hiding place from anyone hunting her. She peered up at the shadowy hulk of the razor-tipped peaks towering over the valley. The goat herders had talked of tunnels that ran all the way through the Strylieht mountains. If she could find one of those tunnels, she could go just far enough inside to hide without getting hopelessly lost—an equally daunting proposition to being hunted by mercenaries or soldiers. She scrambled to her feet and pushed on. Her lips were dry and cracked, but for now, she was more concerned about finding a safe place to hide than a water source to quench her thirst.

  It wasn’t long before she realized how hopeless the task was in the dark. She was dehydrated and disoriented, walking in circles among the boulders. Everywhere she looked she saw shadows that she imagined were openings into caves or tunnels. But, time and again, when she climbed up to the spot and felt around the boulders, there was nothing beneath her fingers but hard-packed sand and a weed or two. The higher she climbed, the fewer boulders she found to hide behind as the terrain grew increasingly barren.

  Just when she thought she would keel over from exhaustion, the pounding of horses’ hooves reached her ears and she spotted the flicker of torches below. Sweat trickled down behind her ears as shock lit up her veins. They were here already! A moment later, harsh shouts rang out, letting her know they had found her trail up the mountain. She sprang into action, climbing faster than before and with reckless abandon, bloodying her fingers on the sharp rock edges as she dug in for purchase to pull herself higher up. She was hampered by the trailing sleeves of the cumbersome velvet dress and the weight of the stone which seemed to grow heavier as she pushed on.

  Blood pounded like a deafening waterfall in her ears, the sounds of her pursuers charging up through the boulders behind her growing louder all the time. They were moving faster than she was, and it wouldn’t be long before they caught up with her. In desperation, she darted around the side of the mountain along a narrow ledge. Almost immediately, she regretted her decision as the ledge began to peter out. Repressing a frustrated scream, she was about to turn and retrace her steps when a hand popped out from the rock and beckoned her urgently forward.

  She hesitated for only a heartbeat, and then turned sideways with her back to the rock face and shuffled carefully across the narrowing ledge until the hand grasped her and yanked her inside a rocky cave.

  Slumping to the ground as her legs gave out, Orlla blinked around in astonishment at the gleaming eyes of the goat herders in the semi-darkness of the cave. One of them stepped past her and disappeared out onto the ledge with a bucket.

  Yaarlin trod over to her clutching a burning torch.

  “Thank you!” she blurted out, tears of relief welling up. “You saved my life.” She motioned to the mouth of the cave. “What’s your friend doing out there?”

  “Covering your footprints with sand,” Yaarlin replied. “Hopefully it will suffice to fool the mercenaries swarming up the mountain into thinking you fell off the ledge and tumbled to your death.” He held out a hand and helped her to her feet. “If it doesn’t, it won’t take them long to spot this entrance. We must disappear into the tunnels before they get here.”

  Orlla gave a distracted nod. Despite the fact that she was beyond relieved to see Yaarlin, Varon’s death lay heavy on her. Yaarlin hadn’t asked about him yet, which made her think he already knew he was dead. She couldn’t help wondering if Yaarlin blamed her in any way for what had happened.

  Holding aloft reed torches, the goat herders began making their way down a dark tunnel leading away from the cave. Yaarlin glanced curiously at the sack Orlla clutched to her chest, but to her relief, he didn’t ask about the dark dragon stone. She didn’t want to talk about it, or what it had unleashed, and she definitely didn’t want to bring it out of the sack for more curious eyes to peruse. If it proved irresistible to one of the goat herders, she would be forced to flee with it again for their own safety. She pushed down the niggling doubts she had about her own willpower to resist the lure of the stone. She wouldn’t put it to the test again.

  Her rasping breaths echoed around the tunnel as the goat herders kept up a relentless pace along a seemingly endless array of sandstone corridors.

  “Take a break,” Yaarlin said, passing her a waterskin. “We’ll catch up with the others.”

  With a grateful sigh, Orlla leaned her palm against the tunnel wall and took a long, satisfying swig of lukewarm water.

  “Skinner will not stop until he retrieves the dark dragon stone,” Yaarlin said softly. “He promised his men the wealth it would bring, and a mercenary cannot break his word. You must flee back across the sinking bogs to Macobin.”

  Orlla threw him a contemplative look, wondering how much he knew of what had transpired since they had parted company. Perhaps he had a contact inside the fort. “You …
haven’t asked about your brother.”

  Yaarlin’s olive-skinned cheeks twitched in pain. He dropped his gaze. “I know Skinner killed him.”

  After an awkward silence, Orlla asked, “How did you find out?”

  Yaarlin fisted his hands. “They dumped his body outside the gates for us to find.”

  Orlla’s chilled skin prickled. “I’m sorry. I tried to rescue him.”

  “I do not hold you accountable. The stone marked my brother for death the moment he set eyes on it,” Yaarlin said gravely. “It consumed his soul, leaving nothing but an insatiable appetite for the power it promised.”

  Orlla shuddered. She understood only too well what Yaarlin was alluding to.

  He cast a glance back down the tunnel in the direction they had come. “We should keep moving. We need to go deeper into the tunnels to make sure we’re not discovered.”

  Orlla handed him back his waterskin. “How do you remember which tunnels to take? They all look the same to me and I don’t see any markings.”

  A faint smile appeared on Yaarlin’s lips. “We grow up in these tunnels. By the time we are old enough to herd goats, we can run them blindfolded.”

  True to his word, Yaarlin didn’t hesitate as they pressed on, weaving their way through myriad tunnels winding deep into the heart of the mountains. It wasn’t long before they caught up with the other goat herders. They nodded at Orlla but kept to themselves as they walked, conversing in their native language of Choranch, leaving Yaarlin and Orlla to bring up the rear.

  A short while later, the tunnel they had been walking along opened up into a soaring cavern with a gurgling stream running through the center of it. Small matted-haired children dressed in tunics made from animal skins scampered through the cave chasing each other wielding curved goat horns. A group of similarly attired women were gathered around copper cooking pots hung over a fire. The occasional goat leapt from boulder to boulder in the background.

  “Is this where you live?” Orlla asked incredulously.

  “We are constantly on the move to find fresh pasture for the herds, but this is one of a handful of caves we use as a safe camp for the sick and elderly, or the very young,” Yaarlin explained. “It also serves as a central meeting hall of sorts.” He gestured to a seating area where several goat herders lounged on pallets. “Sit, we will eat and talk more. I want to know everything that has happened to you since you left Boar’s Fort.”

  Orlla sank down and pushed the sack containing the Onyx of Darkness out of sight beneath her legs. Yaarlin walked over to the women hunkered over the cooking pots and exchanged a few words with them. He returned a moment later with two steaming bowls of broth. “I have requested the women to bring you something to wear to replace your unsuitable attire,” he said, handing her one of the bowls.

  Orlla supped gratefully, the warm, nourishing liquid going a long way to restoring her strength and sating her thirst.

  “So, you took the stone to trade in the lost kingdoms?” Yaarlin prompted.

  “Yes. Skinner sent a rider on ahead of us to inform Emperor Narlius that he had acquired the dark dragon stone and wished to auction it off to the highest bidder.” Orlla gritted her teeth at the haunting memory of the black dragon ripping the roof from the palace and swooping down to take hold of Crown Prince Harionov. Haltingly, she recounted the terrifying series of events to Yaarlin. “I tried to warn the emperor of the dangers of invoking the forbidden rune on the dark dragon stone, but he wouldn’t back down. He threatened our lives if I refused to comply.”

  “It is no secret Narlius has long had his heart set on acquiring the dragon stones,” Yaarlin remarked.

  Orlla grimaced. “He’s not the only one who wanted to get his hands on the dragon stones. Lord Davian from Hamend’s court in Macobin followed us to Boar’s Fort and infiltrated the mercenaries. Skinner entrusted him with transporting the stone to Ithaton, but he secretly planned to abscond with it.”

  “How did you end up with the Onyx?” Yaarlin asked.

  “Davian and his soldiers stole the stone from the emperor’s guards and broke me out of the dungeon. On the way to the mountains, Skinner and his men attacked our camp. After they killed Davian, I took the stone and fled with it during the heat of the battle.”

  Yaarlin’s brow furrowed with concern. “If the emperor finds out you have fled to Macobin, he will invade the kingdom to avenge his son and reclaim the dark dragon stone.”

  “That’s why I must take it as far as the Angladior mountains without delay. With the help of the other Keepers, I will find a way to destroy it and end this madness.”

  “I can take you to the caves’ most southerly exit and point you in the direction of the sinking bogs, but I will go no farther.” Yaarlin rubbed his brow for a moment or two. “I fear it will be a difficult journey to make alone.”

  “I have no choice. Erdhan is likely on his way back to Macobin, somewhere between here and the lost kingdoms if he is on foot. I have no idea what happened to Akolom. He didn’t show up at the palace as we had arranged. And I haven’t seen Khor since I left Boar’s Fort—Skinner denied his request to accompany us.”

  Yaarlin jumped to his feet when a goat herder came running into the cave. He gabbled something in Choranch, and Yaarlin responded with several questions before dismissing the man. “I believe your friends have been found,” he said. “My men are escorting them here as we speak.”

  Relief cascaded over Orlla. They were safe! Erdhan was safe! She wouldn’t have to carry the burden of destroying the Onyx of Darkness alone after all. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything you’ve done.”

  Yaarlin gave a nod of acknowledgement and then walked off to confer with his men. A young, dark-haired woman brought Orlla a tunic and cloak and pointed to a crevice in the wall behind her before scurrying back to her companions.

  Orlla wasted no time shedding her scarlet dress and donning the attire of a goat herder. She resumed her seat, darting anxious glances around at the various entrances to the cave as she waited impatiently. As the minutes went by, an uncontrollable urge to peek at the dark dragon stone came over her. At first, she shut it down, focusing her attention instead on the children playing at the back of the cave. Soon, the compulsion became too strong to ignore.

  She chewed on her lip in a desperate bid to distract herself, wishing Yaarlin would hurry up and finish his conversation and rejoin her. She needed a diversion of some kind. Despite her best efforts to restrain herself, her fingers eventually found their way inside the neck of the sack. Her brain fogged with a numbing sensation as she tried to reason with her own folly. She would allow herself to touch the stone briefly, but not to look at it. Surely that in itself could do no harm. Sliding her hand fully inside the sack, she ran her fingers over the stone’s surface. Instantly, her blood warmed, and the beautiful flaming tendrils that coursed through the stone’s core filled her mind like an intoxicating drug. She simply had to look at it—only for a moment.

  Just as she was about to pull the stone from the sack, Akolom’s voice cut across the space.

  “Orlla!”

  She leapt to her feet, the potent spell broken. Erdhan reached her first, wrapping her up in a hug so tight she could scarcely breathe. “I was afraid I might never see you again,” he murmured in her ear, his voice vibrating with emotion. He crushed her to his chest one more time and then released her as Akolom came walking up.

  A flicker of disappointment went through Orlla when she saw that Khor wasn’t with them, but it was quickly dispelled by the relief she felt at seeing Akolom alive and well. He kissed the top of her head gently. “Thank the Opal of Light you are safe.”

  Orlla gave a weak smile, trying to mask her shock at how the crepe-like skin around his eyes had puffed up, a network of wrinkles bleeding away from the piercing grayness of his eyes. “I was so worried when you didn’t show up at the palace,” she said.

  Akolom grimaced. “After I healed Shanks, he overpowered me and forced me to vei
l him so he could escape Llanmena undetected. He fled back to Boar’s Fort to alert Skinner and plan an ambush.”

  “By the time I reached the carpenter’s shop, Akolom and Shanks had both left,” Erdhan added. “I snuck out in the chaos after the city gates burned down.”

  Orlla paced in front of them. “We need to leave for the Angladior mountains as soon as possible. We can check on Samten and Franz along the way. Yaarlin says he can show us a safe way out of here, but we can’t leave Khor behind at Boar’s Fort. We’ll have to go in there under veiling runes and rescue him, tonight. We’ll—”

  “Orlla!” Akolom reached for her wrist and halted her. She looked at him, frowning. “I don’t care how dangerous you’re going to tell me it is,” she persisted. “I won’t leave him behind after everything he’s done for us.”

  Erdhan cleared his throat. “Orlla, Khor is dead.”

  Chapter 23

  Khor is dead! Erdhan’s words reverberated around her, but Orlla couldn’t be sure if the echo was in the cave or inside her head. She shot Akolom a tremulous look, shaking her head in disbelief. “No! Tell me it’s not true.”

  Akolom wrung his hands, an anguished look in his furrowed face. “Skinner left his head on a stake at the gate.”

  Orlla clapped a hand to her mouth, but not in time to trap the heart-wrenching sob that escaped her. Erdhan laid a hand on her shoulder and she clasped it tightly until she stopped shaking. Skinner had made it clear what would happen to anyone who tried to escape Boar’s Fort, but in her heart, she had believed Khor would be able to best the mercenaries and shake them off his tail. She had underestimated them.