Dragons' Onyx

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “It is the truth,” nodded Alex. “There are wagons of food entering Toresh as we speak. You will find rice and other staples that are generally not available north of the Southern Mountains. The food is from Lanoir.”

  “The people there,” Za-hong asked hesitantly, “are they being brutalized?”

  “Of course not,” smiled Alex. “King Arik would not allow such a thing. The Lanoirians have been welcomed into Alcea as equals with the other peoples who have raised the banner of Alcea. I suspect that they are better off under King Arik than they were under Emperor Hanchi.”

  “That pleases me,” Za-hong smiled sadly. “Could you have my men escorted to the food please? Many are on the verge of sickness for the lack of it.”

  “Certainly,” nodded Alex as Kaz approached. “I will personally ride with you to lead them.”

  “That will not be necessary,” Za-hong shook his head as Alex was mounting Kaz. “I will not be going with them. Just have my men escorted.”

  Alex frowned and stared at the Lanoirian officer for a while before nodding to Captain Azule. The two Sordoan captains shouted orders to their men. The one hundred Sordoan soldiers mounted and began escorting groups of Lanoirians towards the center of the city.

  “Why are you not surrendering?” asked Alex.

  “I have surrendered,” corrected Za-hong. “Even though it was the right thing to do, I have incurred shame for the act. I shall return to Emperor Hanchi and place myself at his mercy.”

  “Why?” Alex questioned with concern on his face. “There is no shame in what you have done. Your men would die without food. They ceased to be an army days ago.”

  “I have been entrusted with the command of these men,” explained Za-hong. “I have failed that command. If I take responsibility for the decision, no shame can be brought upon others for my actions. It is something that I must do.”

  “Who are you trying to protect?” inquired Alex. “These men will never see Emperor Hanchi again. There is something that you are not telling me.”

  “My brother is a noble in the court of Emperor Hanchi,” Za-hong answered. “That is why I was chosen to lead the cavalry. My failure will mean his life. That is not something that I can live with. While the soldiers can be excused, the emperor has the right to expect better from his officers.”

  “Let me tell you something,” Alex smiled benevolently. “Emperor Hanchi is long dead. He never even led your people out of Lanoir.”

  “What do you mean?” scowled the Lanoirian officer. “I have seen him myself.”

  “What you have seen is a Black Devil,” explained Alex. “There is a spell that magicians use to steal another’s identity. Not only is Emperor Hanchi dead, but all of his bodyguards are as well. They have been replaced by nine Black Devils.”

  Za-hong’s eyes opened wide in understanding as he stared at Alex. “There was a day that Za-chan said that the emperor no longer appeared to be himself,” he mused. “We both dismissed it as Za-chan losing favor with the emperor. If what you are saying is true, I must get word to him.”

  “Think, Za-hong,” reasoned Alex. “If you try to get word to your brother, you risk having him killed. Right now, he is not aware that Lanoir has been betrayed, and he is not likely to find much acceptance for the truth among Emperor Hanchi’s hundred-thousand-man army. You only risk his life by bringing word of the truth to him.”

  “I see the wisdom of your words,” Za-hong said softly after quite a long pause. “It does not please me to leave Za-chan in the dark, but it answers the question of my returning to the emperor’s camp. Please escort me to my men.”

  “With pleasure,” smiled Alex as he started leading the Lanoirian officer to the center of the city.

  “What will happen to my men?” asked Za-hong. “Will they be imprisoned?”

  “No,” smiled Alex. “They will be fed and cared for in Melbin. Those that are fit for battle will be allowed to fight alongside the rest of the Alceans. None will be forced to fight against other Lanoirians. After the war they will be sent back to their families in Lanoir. King Arik wishes no strife with the Lanoirian people. We seek only to end the rule of Emperor Hanchi, as he is called today.”

  “My men will fight,” Za-hong assured Alex. “While it may not be pleasant to fight against our brothers, it is worse to die at our brothers’ hands.”

  * * *

  Wyka glided over the treetops and dropped into the small clearing before Jorgel’s hut. The old man came running out of the building screaming.

  “Do you have to raise the dust every time you move?” berated Jorgel as he waved away the dust in front of his face.

  “If you had the proper pile of metal in front of your hut instead of bare dirt,” retorted the dragon, “there would be no dust at all. Why do humans always think they live better than others?”

  “Welcome back, Wyka,” called King Arik as he stepped out of the hut and interrupted the conversation. “Did you find Gorga?”

  “Of course I found him,” Wyka replied. “I know where he lives. It isn’t really that hard to find.”

  “Then we shall go,” declared the king. “Let me get my weapons.”

  “You need to rest,” the dragon stated. “You will need all of your strength to battle Gorga. Rest for a few days while you have the chance. Once you start to challenge him, there will be no rest until it is over. Tend to your bruises.”

  “He’s right, lad,” nodded Jorgel. “If you plan to fight a dragon, you better be in excellent shape. A few days either way is not going to matter in the long run.”

  “You didn’t tell me that you shot an arrow into Gorga’s eye,” remarked Wyka. “That takes great marksmanship.”

  “I believe that was Tanya’s arrow,” responded King Arik. “She is a good shot with a bow. Does hitting his eye mean anything in particular?”

  “His depth perception will be off,” replied Wyka. “That little bit of knowledge can mean a great deal in a fight. You will need every advantage that you can find.”

  “Why don’t you kill the Ornery One?” asked Jorgel. “Why must this lad do everything?”

  “He is called the Wrong One,” hissed Wyka. “The Ornery One reminds me of you. I am not a combatant in this battle. I may help King Arik in his quest, but it is his task to slay Gorga, not mine. You are also free to help, old man. Shall I deposit you in Gorga’s lair?”

  “I think I forgot something inside the hut,” Jorgel replied nervously. “I better go and fetch it.”

  Wyka chuckled with tiny wisps if smoke puffing out of her nostrils as Jorgel hurried into the hut.

  “You enjoy torturing him, don’t you,” laughed King Arik after Jorgel had departed. “Why are you so mean to him?”

  “Jorgel would make a fine dragon,” smiled Wyka. “He gives as good as he gets. You have no need to worry about him. I will not eat him. Can’t imagine there is much there worth eating anyway.”

  “Alright,” King Arik conceded as he held the Sword of Heavens before him and rotated to find the direction of the Dragons’ Onyx, “I will rest a few days, but you must promise to let me know if Gorga moves. I do not want to lose him again.”

  “He will not be going anywhere,” assured Wyka. “He is waiting for you to come to him.”

  * * *

  The wagon halted at the edge of the plain before the city of Southland. The occupants were nervous as they all crowded under the canvas roof and passed the large casket out the back. Fredrik and Mustar lowered it gently to the ground.

  “You can drop the shield now, Podil,” declared Mustar. “Help me open this, Fredrik.”

  The two men grunted as they broke the seal on the casket and slid the top to one side. Inside the casket was the body of Master Khatama. He appeared to be dead. Balamor jumped off the back of the wagon and bent down to inspect the Mage. He nodded with satisfaction.

  “Give me the tea, Podil,” Balamor said. “Mustar, raise him up so I can get him to drink this concoction.”

  Fredri
k helped Mustar raise Master Khatama to a sitting position while Balamor opened his mouth and slowly poured the tea in. Master Khatama’s eyes popped opened as he sputtered a small amount of tea down the front of his tunic.

  “Don’t waste it,” scowled Mustar. “We don’t have any to spare.”

  “Greetings to you too,” Boris replied sarcastically. “Where are we?”

  “Just outside Southland,” smiled Niki. “Did you have a nice nap?”

  Boris turned and stared at Niki for a moment and then smiled broadly. “I did at that,” he answered. “Help me out of this casket.”

  “Well that seemed to work fairly well,” remarked Podil as the men helped Boris out of the casket. “I must admit that I had my doubts.”

  “Doubts are the bounty of a magical mind,” smiled Boris. “Never leave them behind you. Let’s get into the city. We need to sell this wagon and buy some horses.”

  “You are going to sell your wagon?” frowned Niki. “Why? It just doesn’t seem right to be without it.”

  Boris stopped and stared at Niki again. He looked over at Fredrik and smiled as he nodded his head in answer to some unspoken question.

  “Perhaps I won’t sell it,” Boris grinned as he climbed up onto the seat of the wagon. “Nevertheless, we need to enter Southland right away.”

  Fredrik and Niki untied their horses from the rear of the wagon and mounted them while the rest of the group took their place on the wagon. Boris urged the team forward and they soon entered the city.

  Southland was filled with women and children. They moved through the streets in every direction. The men of the city mostly manned the walls. Boris guided the wagon through the streets and halted it behind an inn. He climbed down off the wagon and entered the rear door of the inn. The rest of his party looked at each other in confusion for a few moments before Mustar shook his head and entered the inn. The rest of the group followed him.

  When they all entered the inn, they found Boris sitting at a table with a plate of food in front of him. He was devouring the food and did not appear to notice anyone else in the room. The rest of the mages sat down at the table and ordered food.

  “I guess he is rather hungry,” Balamor remarked to Podil. “That is an interesting side effect that I would like to study.”

  “You will have to study it some other time,” Boris said as he pushed the empty plate away from him. “We have tasks to accomplish here in Southland, and time is not our friend. Mustar, I want you to find a place to buy horses. I want seven of the finest that you can get.”

  “We have four now,” frowned Mustar. “Why so many?”

  “The four we have are not going with us,” replied Master Khatama as he shoved a small pouch of gold across the table. “I want horses that are sturdy enough to handle mountain trails and energetic enough to travel long days. Can you handle that?”

  “Yes,” sighed Mustar, “I can handle being an errand boy. Why me?”

  “Podil,” continued Master Khatama as he ignored Mustar, “I want you to make up travel packs for us. We will need extra clothing and several pairs of gloves for each of us.”

  “Six packs?” questioned the elf magician.

  “Only four,” Boris shook his head. “Fredrik and Niki will not be coming with us.”

  “I see,” nodded Podil as a frown fell over Niki’s face. “I will do as you wish.”

  “Balamor,” Boris continued as he handed a slip of paper to Balamor, “I want you to find a canvas shop if you can. I have a list here of our requirements. If you cannot find one suitable in the city, then make arrangements to contract with one elsewhere.”

  “Does all of this go to the address on this paper?” questioned Balamor.

  “It does,” nodded Master Khatama. “Time is also critical for what I want. Make sure that the people you deal with understand that. I will not be held back by something trivial.”

  “I understand completely,” smiled the old fisherman. “I will see to it.”

  “What about us?” Niki said angrily. “Are you planning on leaving me and Fredrik behind? After all we have done for you?”

  “Hush, Niki,” Fredrik pleaded quietly. “Master Khatama has a lot on his mind right now.”

  “I don’t care what is on his mind,” Niki said angrily with her voice rising enough to draw attention from the other patrons in the inn. “He can’t just abandon us here in this city. “I will not stand for it.”

  Mustar’s eyebrows rose as he observed Niki’s tantrum. He pushed his plate away and rose to leave. Podil quietly rose and headed for the door. Balamor sat staring at the slip of paper that was given to him by Master Khatama. He did not even noticed when Boris stood and spoke to Fredrik.

  “Bring Niki along,” he said softly to Fredrik. “I have something on my list that requires both of you.”

  Boris walked out the front door of the inn and waited on the street. Fredrik led a stubborn Niki out of the inn and stood alongside him.

  “Where are we going?” Fredrik asked.

  “We need to find a temple of one of the lesser gods,” Master Khatama said as his eyes wandered the streets and the passing pedestrians.

  “Which lesser god?” inquired Fredrik as Niki pouted.

  “The goddess Leda,” answered the Mage. “She is not mentioned much any more by the people, but then they do not understand the gods anyway. I hope she has a temple in this city.”

  “I have never heard of Leda,” remarked Fredrik. “What do you mean that the people do not understand the gods?”

  “They just don’t,” shrugged Master Khatama. “Stories get lost being passed down through the ages. After a while, one would not recognize the original tale. That is of little consequence now. Ask around about the temple of Leda. I will go to the left, and you go to the right.”

  “What about me?” scowled Niki. “Am I just to be left behind like a forgotten piece of luggage?”

  “You may travel with either of us as you desire,” Boris replied neutrally as he strode off to the left in search of the temple.

  Niki watched Master Khatama and Fredrik part ways. She stood in the street, fixed with indecision for several moments. Suddenly, she turned and ran after Boris. She caught up to him and tugged on his tunic.

  “Why are you doing this?” she yelled.

  “You chose me over Fredrik?” questioned the Mage with a puzzled frown.

  “No,” Niki shook her head violently. “I will always be with Fredrik, but I want to know why you are abandoning me. I thought we had a special relationship,” she continued as tears started to roll down her cheeks. “You were like a father to me. How can you just abandon me?”

  “This is not the way I want you to remember me,” Boris said comfortingly. “You must learn to have faith in those you love. Walk with me.”

  In silence they walked through the streets of Southland. They passed temples to several of the gods. Some were modest in size, while others were quite large and obviously used on a daily basis. Boris noticed that the temple of Abuud was marred by fire and vandalism. He shook his head sadly as he gazed at the pitted walls and stained walkways of the temple.

  After about an hour of walking, Fredrik met them. “I could find no temple of Leda,” he announced. “Nor could I find anyone who knew of one. I suspect that Southland does not have one.”

  Boris stood gazing down an alley, seemingly oblivious to Fredrik’s words. Suddenly, he walked away from Fredrik and Niki and headed down the alley. They quickly followed him. Halfway down the alley was a small weathered door with a strange symbol on it. Boris pushed the door open and walked into a small room with a statue on the far wall. Fredrik and Niki followed Master Khatama into the little room. A curtain at the rear of the room parted and an old man hobbled out. He stood staring at the three visitors, but he said nothing. Niki stared at the statue of a young woman with a child at her breast.

  “You are the priest of Leda?” asked Boris.

  “I am,” nodded the old man. “Have you come
to worship?”

  “No,” smiled Boris. “We have come for a wedding.”

  Fredrik and Niki stared at each other with open mouths and wide eyes. Niki wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “There is no better place for a wedding than the temple of Leda,” smiled the old man. “Are you the father of the bride?”

  “For this purpose I am,” nodded Boris.

  The old priest stared at Master Khatama for a long moment before he nodded. He disappeared through the curtains and came back wearing a flowing yellow robe and a towering headdress. Boris positioned Fredrik and Niki facing the statue of Leda as the priest stood behind them.

  Niki stared at the statue as the priest recited the marriage rites. Part way through the ceremony, Niki was sure that she had seen the statue move. She wiped the tears from her eyes and shook her head. She dismissed the notion and concentrated on the priest’s words.

  The ceremony was short. Master Khatama pressed several gold coins into the hand of the priest and the old man passed through the curtains and did not reappear. Fredrik kissed Niki passionately and then seemed to remember that Master Khatama was in the room.

  “I am intruding,” smiled Boris as he hugged Niki and kissed her on the cheek.

  “No,” cried Niki. “You are never intruding. This was so sweet of you, and I have been so mean. Can you forgive me?”

  Boris smiled as he reached into his pouch and brought out a small box. He handed the box to Fredrik.

  “This box is to be given to King Arik,” Master Khatama stated. “Please see that he gets it. I am afraid that I have little to give you to facilitate the start of your lives together, but I give you what I can besides my love. Take my wagon and all that it holds. The spare horses are yours as well. Never lose faith in one another.”

  Boris hugged Fredrik and left the room.

  “Who could have imagined?” cried Niki as Fredrik hugged her. “I want to go with him.”

  “That is not possible,” Fredrik said softly. “This is his way of saying goodbye. He said that he had little to give us, but he gave each of us that which is most important to us. He gave us each other.”