Dragons' Onyx

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “What is he doing?” Mustar whispered to Podil. “Is he really going to sell common wares to these villagers? I cannot believe that he would waste his time on such nonsense in these times of peril.”

  “I have learned not to question his ways,” shrugged Podil as she climbed down off the wagon. “One could easier understand the mysteries of the universes.”

  “My nature is to question everything,” countered Mustar as he climbed down. “I thought I knew what he was about when I joined him in Dubar, but he seems even more distant than before. I am worried.”

  “About him?” questioned the elf magician. “Or about yourself?”

  “About what we are doing,” frowned Mustar. “Leaving my home to battle the demon, Alutar, was appropriate, but there is nothing in this village that I would waste my time examining.”

  “Then perhaps you would miss some of the finer things in life,” retorted Podil. “Not everybody is so focused on a narrow path as you are. There is more to life than a scientific tome.”

  “Not to a great mage,” Mustar shook his head. “Life is short enough as it is. One cannot waste his time on the frivolities of the common man.”

  “Is that how you see it?” inquired Podil. “You place yourself above others merely because you have a talent that they do not?”

  “There is no other way to look at it,” shrugged Mustar. “Someone has to further the arts. Because of our skills, it has fallen to us to do so. Why do you deny it?”

  “I guess in my multitude of years,” sighed the elf, “I have come to learn that life has many faces. Magic is only one of them. Have you never taken time away from your studies to have a family?”

  “I have no time for such nonsense,” scowled Mustar. “Magic is the essence of life and must be studied until it is conquered.”

  “Conquered?” echoed Podil. “An interesting choice of words. Although I have been married before, I tend to look upon magic as I would a mate. Certainly not something to be conquered or ruled over, but rather something to be shared and enjoyed. I wonder how Master Khatama views it?”

  “As a game,” frowned Mustar. “Everything is a game to him.”

  “I suppose,” mused Podil. “And his opponent is the Great Demon, Alutar.”

  “And the rest of us are pawns,” sighed Mustar. “I should not have come on this trip.”

  “You have no choice,” stated Podil. “When the Mage calls, you cannot refuse. Pawns can be discarded, even if they are not in play.”

  “Pawns?” questioned Fredrik as he and Niki dismounted. “Are we to play a game tonight?”

  “I nominate you to take my place,” snarled Mustar as he turned and stalked off towards the beach.

  “What is the matter with him?” Fredrik asked the elf. “I was hoping for some more lessons tonight, but he appears to be in a foul mood.”

  “I think it is my time to teach you tonight,” smiled Podil. “We shall see what your aptitude is for healing.”

  “I have healing skills,” interjected Niki as she tied the horses to the wagon. “I have performed great feats of healing for Master Khatama.”

  “Really?” smiled Podil. “Perhaps I will test you both then.”

  “I have to take care of the horses first,” smiled Niki as she headed for the rear of the wagon.

  Humming to herself, Niki reached the rear of the wagon. Boris looked at her and smiled. He moved away from the rear of the wagon so Niki could retrieve a pail.

  “What spices do you have?” asked a villager.

  “I have what you are looking for,” smiled Boris as he handed a tin to the woman. “Master Khatama carries the finest spices. Here, look through this tin.”

  “You are not the normal merchant who comes this way,” declared another woman.

  “No,” smiled Boris. “It has been many years since I have been this way. Tell me, how are the fish biting these days?”

  “Gets worse every season,” shrugged the woman. “Some say the return of the sun will change that.”

  “And who would that be that would say such a thing?” smiled Boris.

  “A lot of the men,” replied the woman, “but mostly Balamor. Of course, he always manages to catch far more than he can eat anyway. Some people are just lucky that way.”

  “Indeed they are,” smiled Boris. “I could use some fish for the next village. Where might I find this fisherman who catches too much?”

  “Oh, he is a strange one,” the woman replied. “He lives outside of town. Not sure if he would sell his fish. He might give you some, though. He is a generous man. Follow the beach north until you see the stream coming from the woods. You can follow the stream to his house.”

  Boris smiled and turned to see Fredrik watching the villagers. He stepped over to the lad and put his arm around his shoulders.

  “Take care of these villagers,” Boris whispered.

  “You want me to sell your wares?” questioned Fredrik. “I am unfamiliar with your prices and your goods.”

  “Prices do not matter,” smiled Boris. “These villagers deserve inexpensive goods. Be generous.”

  Fredrik stared at Master Khatama, but the old merchant just smiled and walked towards the beach. He spied Mustar examining shells and purposely avoided him. Boris walked to the water’s edge and removed his boots. Leaving his boots on the sand, he waded into the salt water and wet his feet. With a last look at Mustar, Boris turned and began walking northward.

  Fifteen minutes later, Boris came upon a stream flowing into the sea. His eyes rose and saw the Darkness only a few leagues north of where he was. A frown fell over his face as he turned and followed the water upstream. There was a seldom-used path running alongside the stream, but Boris shunned it and walked through the forest. A few moments later, he came upon a small shack in a tiny clearing. He stopped and stared at the hut for a long time without moving.

  Eventually, the door to the shack opened, and a gaunt man with blazing red hair walked out. The man turned and stared at Master Khatama. For several moments, neither man spoke. Without a word, the fisherman turned and reentered his home.

  Boris shook his head and approached the shack. The front door stood open and he walked in. The fisherman was sitting on the floor in front of a small fireplace. His hands moved mechanically over a net, mending tears and worn edges. Boris looked around the shack. There was a small table and one chair to the left of the door. The fireplace was on the right. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a small bookcase opposite the door. Boris walked over to it and bent down to peruse the titles.

  “There is little there that a merchant would desire to read,” the fisherman said without turning.

  “You would be surprised what interests people,” Boris retorted as he picked up a volume on crab recipes.

  “There are times that I doubt that people even know what interests them,” countered the fisherman. “What interests you?”

  “I think you ask questions for which you already know the answer,” replied Master Khatama. “Still, my current interest is in the Darkness which resides not far north of here.”

  “The Darkness is a foul thing,” sighed the fisherman as he placed the net on the floor and picked up another. “The lack of it is good for the people. Already the fish have begun to grow and multiply again. This time next year, the villagers will have enough to eat.”

  “This time next year,” countered Boris, “there may not be a village. Alutar is returning.”

  “The Great Demon,” nodded the fisherman. “I have felt his presence over the years, but that presence has fled along with the Darkness. I think that you chase tails that have no dogs attached to them.”

  “The Darkness is Alutar,” declared Master Khatama, “and it has not been destroyed. It has merely condensed elsewhere.”

  The fisherman laid his net aside and rose. He took a small kettle from the fireplace and poured some liquid from the kettle into a cup that he retrieved from the mantle. He handed the cup to the old merchant.
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  “Have some tea,” offered the fisherman. “It is good for you.”

  Boris took the offered cup. He fought the instinct to sniff the contents and took a sip. He felt a warmth invade his body almost instantly.

  “Who will look after the villagers?” asked the fisherman.

  “Can they not look after themselves after all these years?” asked Master Khatama. “You have said that the fish are returning.”

  “I said that they are starting to return,” corrected the fisherman. “I have an obligation to them.”

  “Then we shall fulfill your obligation, Balamor,” smiled Boris. “Have you a boat?”

  “It is a poor excuse for a ship,” nodded Balamor, “but it will carry two men to sea.”

  “That is all that is required of it,” declared Boris. “This evening, or in the morning?”

  “There is no better time than the present,” sighed Balamor. “How long will I be gone?”

  “Perhaps forever,” frowned the Mage. “This will be a difficult time for all of us.”

  “I expected nothing less,” nodded Balamor. “How did you know of me?”

  “The same way you recognized me,” answered Boris. “There are some things in life that cannot be explained. Lead me to your boat so that we can seed the ocean with bounty for your villagers.”

  Balamor grabbed a cap and walked out of the shack. He did not bother to close the door as he led the Mage along the stream to the sea.

  Chapter 18

  Learning the Game

  Button flew through the forest with acrobatic skill as she darted between small branches and veered around large trees. Her eyes scanned over the gypsy warriors as she soared over the wide road. With an ostentatious flair, she landed on Adan’s shoulder.

  “Tedi says that the caravan is coming now,” reported Button. “Are you prepared?”

  Adan gazed at the large tree felled across the road. He raised his head and scanned the line of gypsy warriors on both sides of the road and nodded his head.

  “How large is the caravan?” he asked.

  “Forty wagons and around a hundred cavalry,” answered the fairy. “Tedi is adjusting his position to match the length of the caravan.”

  “We are ready,” Adan replied. “We shall listen for the signal from Tedi before we attack.”

  “I will report back to him,” announced the little blue fairy as she leaped into the air.

  Button flew slower and lower to the ground on the way back to Tedi. She announced the coming caravan to the long lines of warriors hidden in the forest. The gypsies nodded and waved to the fairy that they had adopted as one of their own. When she reached Tedi and Natia, she fluttered down to land on Natia’s shoulder.

  “Adan is ready,” she reported. “Everyone is ready and waiting for your signal.”

  “I hope I have judged the length correctly,” fretted Tedi. “The last time I almost let a wagon escape.”

  “We cannot afford for a single one of the Lanoirians to escape,” warned Natia. “Should word get back to Lanoir that we are attacking the caravans, the next one may come with an army.”

  “A hundred cavalry is nothing to take for granted,” countered Tedi. “If they get wind of the attack before we want them to, the gypsies could lose a lot of good men.”

  “Your timing has been impeccable so far,” smiled Natia. “I do not worry about it. I do worry about you always thinking of the gypsies as not including you. You are one of us now. You must get used to it.”

  “It is hard for me to imagine,” Tedi chuckled softly. “Let’s be quiet. Here they come.”

  Tedi and Natia ducked lower behind a bush as the caravan came into sight. Two trackers led the convoy, followed by a dozen cavalry. Tedi was not overly concerned about the trackers. From his past experience, the Lanoirian trackers were not that well trained, while the gypsies were experts at hiding their tracks. The cavalry at the beginning and at the end were the worst problems. They would attempt to leap out of the trap, and that could not be allowed to happen. A single message to either Emperor Hanchi or Lanoir could cost many gypsy lives in the future.

  The caravan was moving as fast as the wagons could safely go, which was not terribly fast. Tedi was thankful that he would not have to crouch behind the bush during a long, slow caravan. To ease the wait, Tedi counted the Lanoirians as they passed by. At the end of the caravan were another twelve cavalry. Tedi stuck his head out to see if there were any stragglers. He heard shouts from around the bend towards Adan’s position and knew that the Lanoirians had seen the fallen tree. He moved swiftly, but silently to the edge of the road.

  Tedi kept his eyes on the caravan as he swung his magic staff at a large oak tree. Wood splinters flew as the staff connected with the tree. The mighty oak groaned as it tilted towards the road. Tedi scampered into the woods. One of the riders turned to look back along the trail. He saw nothing to interest him and started to face forward again. At that very moment, the tree snapped with tremendous noise. The rider gazed skyward as the tree tumbled to the ground, shaking the forest floor as it smashed onto the road.

  “Ambush!” shouted the Lanoirian rider.

  The noise of the tree hitting the ground was the signal that Tedi was supposed to send. Immediately gypsies on both sides of the road let fly their arrows. The observant rider was already in motion when the hail of arrows began. He had turned his horse and was charging towards the newly fallen tree. Tedi leaped back into the road and stood waiting. The Lanoirian rider drew his sword and charged.

  Tedi had played this game before. He stood still, holding only his staff. As the rider bore down on him, Tedi fidgeted as if he would run back into the forest on the side of the road corresponding to the riders sword arm. At the last minute, Tedi jumped the other way. As the rider tried to adjust, Tedi swung his staff. The rider’s body flew from his horse and landed on the road. An arrow immediately flew into his already dead body. As Natia came onto the road, Tedi gazed as the caravan. Nobody was moving.

  Tedi and Natia moved cautiously towards the caravan as gypsies began exiting the woods. Somewhere up ahead, around the bend and out of sight, Tedi heard a scream. It ended quickly. Minutes later, Tedi and Natia had reached the head of the caravan.

  “Well done,” congratulated Adan. “You are the best gypsy that I ever got by hitting him over the head. It looks like another rich convoy.”

  “I thought that was Caroom that did the hitting,” chuckled Tedi.

  “Same thing,” shrugged Adan as he laughed. “I wonder why there are only a hundred riders this time?”

  “None of the caravans have returned to Lanoir,” offered Hortice. “They are probably running short of wagons, too.”

  “Which means that they will know something is wrong,” frowned Tedi. “They may not know what is happening, but the lack of returning caravans will tell them something.”

  “Maybe we should send a rider with a message into Lanoir?” suggested Natia as the gypsies began chopping up the felled tree.

  “And say what?” chuckled Mandal. “Please send more wagons.”

  “Sort of,” laughed Natia. “We could make up a nice story that they would swallow.”

  “Do you mean like the wagons that you sent before are being loaded with stolen treasure from the palace in Trekum?” asked Adan.

  “That would work,” nodded Tedi. “I wonder why Emperor Hanchi hasn’t sent any treasure home?”

  “Because he doesn’t have any wagons?” laughed Hortice. “We haven’t let any through in over a week.”

  “I mean before that,” Tedi said seriously. “You have been watching the roads for some time. Have you seen anything that looked like treasure going to Lanoir?”

  “Actually, no,” frowned Adan. “That is something that a gypsy would not easily forget. We did check out some of the returning wagons before we started this, but they were always empty.”

  “So,” theorized Tedi, “either Hanchi does not care about treasure, or he doesn’t plan on going
home.”

  “You have described the Imperial Palace in Ongchi to us before,” Natia said. “Your description certainly rules out the first reason. That means that he does not plan on returning to Lanoir.”

  “That is most curious,” agreed Adan. “That is something to ponder, but not now. We have to get this caravan back to our nest. Soon we will have a wagon for every gypsy.”

  “And a dozen horses for each,” grinned Natia.

  * * *

  The Imperial Bodyguard brushed past the door guards and entered the inner chamber of the palace in Trekum. He walked directly to Emperor Hanchi.

  “Have you found out where all of the Sordoans went?” the emperor snapped.

  “I believe so,” nodded the bodyguard. “From what I can tell, they escaped by sea over a period of nights. That was the purpose of the sandbags designed to look like men along the wall. There is not a ship left in the harbor.”

  “That tells me how they escaped,” scowled the emperor. “What I want to know is where they have gone so that my forces can crush them.”

  “That is a little difficult to be certain about,” responded the bodyguard, “but I think I know. Our cavalry reports large fires to the north of the city. I sent them out to investigate and they found burning fields.”

  “Did they find any Sordoans?” asked Emperor Hanchi.

  “No,” replied the bodyguard. “The fires were so intense that it was not possible to get through them. I believe they are burning the fields to deny us provisions as we move northward.”

  “Then we must attack them at once,” raged the emperor. “We have not been getting supplies from Lanoir. We need the food from Sordoa.”

  “That bothers me as well,” interjected Zorn. “Don’t you find it a little coincidental that they are burning fields at the very time our supply caravans have stopped?”

  “What are you saying, Zorn?” questioned Emperor Hanchi.

  “I do not believe in coincidences,” Zorn replied. “I think both items are connected by design. They are trying to starve your army by denying you any supplies at all.”