The Dragon Oracles: Omnibus Edition (The Eastern Kingdom Omnibus Book 1)

by T. J. Garrett

  Ealian laughed. “You couldn’t hit a moving target at twenty hands, never mind twenty paces. Officer training, pft, you’ll be lucking if they choose you for kitchen duty. And an apple on my head?” Ealian laughed. “You couldn’t hit a melon if it was stuck to the end of your nose.”

  Elspeth smiled cheekily. “I wasn’t going to try, Brother. But I don’t mind pretending if it will shut you up for a while. Go on!” She waved him away.

  Ealian waved his hand in front of her face. “Twenty hands, Elspeth. I’ll bet you half a krùn you can’t hit a bird on the wing from twenty hands. And I don’t mean a sparrow or a chaffinch; I bet you can’t hit a crow!”

  Elspeth turned on him. For a moment, Gialyn thought she was going to hit the boy – he was hoping she would. But she grunted something inaudible then stomped off, further down the trail.

  Ealian made faces at her back.

  “Why do you do that?” Gialyn asked while giving Ealian his best glare.

  He did not know if his glower would have any effect on the boy. One thing about being an only child, he had had no one to practice his stares on. For all Gialyn knew, Ealian might think he needed to pee.

  “Do what?” Ealian asked.

  “Play around with your sister, upset her. She won the contest fair and square,” Gialyn said. “So maybe she can’t hit a crow on the wing. Shooting birds was not part of the competition. And yes, maybe Vin could have won if he had practiced more. But he didn’t, did he? Your sister practiced, though. Every day. And that is why she won.”

  “And why is this any of your business, Re’adh.” Ealian’s eyes were full of scorn. Evidently, he had had plenty of face-pulling practice.

  Of the two, Ealian was by far the most pompous. His clothes would make a nobleman’s son proud. He owned his own horse and always had plenty of money to throw around – usually at girls, which was why most of the bothered with him, Gialyn thought. Elspeth, on the other hand, seemed not to care for such things. However misguided her motives, she believed in honour and duty… or at least her version of it. Gialyn had always liked that about her. Which was odd, considering his eyes would glaze over every time his father talked about such things.

  “You should stop picking on your—”

  “I don’t recall asking for your assistance, Gialyn Re’adh.” Elspeth interrupted. “I can deal with my brother by myself. Or do you think I’m useless, that I need you to fight my arguments for me?”

  Gialyn squirmed. “Ah… well, no, I was… I was just—”

  “Just, nothing,” Elspeth barked. “If I need your help, Gialyn, I’ll ask for it. In the meantime, I expect you to tend to your own affairs.”

  Gialyn could feel his face redden. It was time to make a study of the trees, again. Gods, why didn’t I listen to my father and keep my nose out of her business?

  “Now you’ve done it,” Ealian said, laughing at Gialyn. “She will be like this for days.”

  “I have not finished with you yet, broth—”

  “ENOUGH!” Daric shouted.

  Gialyn’s father stood ten paces down the trail, feet apart and arms folded. He wore a disapproving scowl which Gialyn recognised; it was the look Captain Re’adh would give his men when then had not done their job properly.

  “Do you think we are going on a picnic?” Daric asked, snarling. “Do you believe this is some weekend camp by the river?”

  Elspeth squared up to him. “We were only—”

  “I know your game, Elspeth Tanner. I played it myself – when I was five!” Daric stepped forward. “At best, this journey will take us five weeks… seven, if we hit bad weather. Either way we are together until midsummer. I tell you now,” he paused and pointed at each in turn, “I’ll not have this childish bickering. It grinds my teeth and burns my gut. I will have your word, or by the gods I’ll send you home and be done with you.”

  For a moment, Gialyn wondered if Daric had meant him, too. If so, it was hardly a threat; he wanted to go home.

  “We’ll take another path,” Elspeth said, nodding towards the south, towards the Eurmac road.

  Surprisingly, Ealian grunted in agreement with his sister. Seems they pulled together when someone other than a Tanner questioned one of them.

  “Go south?” Daric laughed. “A horse could not run the Eurmac Road by midsummer's eve. Why do you think we’re going this way?”

  Elspeth looked puzzled, Gialyn thought.

  No, she did not care about the finer things – clothes, jewellery, rich food – but she was still Elspeth Tanner. Which in Albergeddy, would mean getting her own way. Mostly. Unfortunately for her, Gialyn knew his father was used to dealing with royalty; whatever influence the Tanner family had in the Geddy Vale would mean next to nothing to Daric.

  Taking another step forward, Daric eyed the Tanners as if he had the measure of the pair. “The Salrians are ten miles to the north, the south is blocked, the Rukin are on the border of the Ambieth, and a wrong turn in the marsh will lead to our starvation. You will not become baggage for me to carry. You will help, and you will smile while doing so. Now, do I have your word?”

  “Yes, sir!” Elspeth gave a sarcastic salute.

  Daric sighed but accepted her oath with a nod.

  “And what say you, Ealian Tanner?” Daric asked.

  Ealian shrugged, as though asking what he had done to deserve this.

  Daric walked menacingly towards him. “I’ll have your answer, boy.”

  Ealian took a step back. “Yes… uh… sir, yes!”

  Gialyn suppressed a grin, which quickly twisted into a frown when his father turned his attentions on him.

  “Sorry, Father. I promise.” Gialyn said. He looked down at his boots, and then quickly glanced at Ealian. The emissary’s son seemed too annoyed by his own predicament to poke fun at Gialyn’s apology.

  “Good,” Daric said. “I do not expect to have this conversation again!”

  * * *

  Daric shot one last look at the three children – he would have to stop calling them that; Elspeth was right, they were adults, even if he did not want to admit it – then picked up the pace. It would be getting dark soon, and he knew the Heath was no place to spend the night.

  “I thought that went well,” Grady said. “Did you get the troops in order? Are we in for a court martial?”

  “Don’t you start, Sergeant.” Despite his mood, Daric managed a laugh. “I expected two days to pass before I had to make that speech, not two hours. This is going to be a long trek.”

  “So it would seem, Captain,” Grady said with a grin.

  With order now restored, Daric allowed himself a moment to savour the country air. It was an easy afternoon: warm, but not stifling.

  The grassland of the Geddy Vale rolled south – an ocean of green, peppered with splashes of colour provided by the many islands of quaker grass and knapweed. On the horizon, the Arandor Break, a ridge of grey stone, stood veiled in a blue-grey mist. Pulled from the ground by Ein’laig – or so the locals believed – the Break was neither deep nor high. But it was sheer and long, and why nobody in the Geddy had any good reason to travel southeast.

  North of the track, the patchwork grasslands of the Baralan Heath made up the full measure of land between the eastern road and the northland border of An’aird Barath. The Heath was of little use to anyone, bar the occasional grazing goat. A sparse patch of land, too hard to farm and too rough for cattle, was infested with midges and giant wasps. Which was why making camp on the Baralan Trail was not a good idea.

  In front lay the road – or rather, the track – they would be following for the next three or four days. Sometimes it was the width of a cart, but more often than not, wildflowers and bramble covered the hard-packed dirt, making the track almost indistinguishable from the surrounding countryside. Few people travelled along it. Daric did not think there were more than a dozen farms in the whole sixty miles stretch from Albergeddy to the marsh. It was a peaceful place, and that suited him fine.


  Of course, no sooner had he settled down to the peace and quiet…

  “So why do you think they wanted to join us? Why not just go on their own? It’s not as if they need us for anything.” Grady said.

  “Sorry… who?” Daric was away, daydreaming. “Oh, you mean the big man and his friend. They seem genuine enough to me.”

  Daric had expected more questions. If there were one thing he knew about Grady, the man would not rest until he had learned everything there was to know about their new friends.

  “I don’t know, Daric. True, they helped back there, but…” Grady scratched at his ear, “…but if I’m to travel with strangers, I’d at least like to know what they are. That big man is no Surabhan.”

  “That’s the soldier in you. I choose to take him at his word… until otherwise proven wrong.” Daric squinted along the track. “But I see your point; they are a long way ahead.”

  “Maybe they are sick of the children, too!”

  “Then we would be in agreement with that much at least.” Daric shuffled his pack and took out his waterskin. “It may be just as Olam said, better to travel together.”

  “Yes, but a stranger is one thing, that… Arfael… is something else.”

  Daric took the waterskin from his lips. “There is little of great wonder in Ealdihain, nor much more in the way of mystery in Bailryn, or the rest of Aleras for that matter. But beyond that, the Eastern Isles, Eiras, Toi’ildrieg—” he counted off some of the strange places he knew about on his fingers “—the Northeastern Straits, the Steps of Kunadi… Who knows what might be out there? They say there is a whole new world beyond the Cuanmor. We should not rush to call him peculiar, he may well be quite normal, in some parts.” Daric took another sip of water. “If the truth is known, we know little enough of our neighbours, beyond occasionally fighting with them. Nobody I know has travelled to Barath, or north of the Speerlag, to say nothing of what lays south beyond the Eurmac Canyon.”

  “You have a point,” Grady said. “Still, I’ll be sleeping with one eye open until they earn my trust.”

  “I’ll never tell you not to be vigilant,” Daric said. “Though of the two, I’m more curious about the other. Yes, the big man bothers me, but Olam… Well, he’s a little too sure of himself for my liking. He knew exactly how to act, what to say.”

  “What do you mean? What did he say which was exactly right?”

  “He read me. He weighed up the situation and said what I wanted to hear. He is no mere traveller. He reminds me of royalty, the certainty which comes with power. No, he’s the one I’ll be watching.”

  Daric stuffed his waterskin back into his pack. “Anyway, worry about that later. If we don’t get off this trail soon, those two will be the least of our worries.”

  * * *

  Dusk fell as Gialyn and the others approach the copse of trees Olam had suggested for their first campsite. The sun lay large at their backs; it would soon be touching the crest of the Brion Spur. Yet darkness came slowly in late spring, time enough to set up camp within the small wood of birch and elm.

  Gialyn was tired. His pack had made a deep crease on his shoulders and he was sure he would have blisters on his feet. For all he cared, they could set up camp right there on the path which wound through the trees. He could have slept in a ditch, he thought.

  “Here we are, my friends,” Olam said.

  Gialyn stopped, then watched as their new friends pushed their way past wildberry bushes towards what he assumed would be a clearing of some sort.

  Daric followed. “I think we should go down to the stream, where the ground is flat.” He led Gialyn and the other “Youngsters” to a small clearing and told them to set up their bedrolls near to where the fire would be.

  Elspeth had already started to unravel her bed underneath a small overhanging rock. “If you ask me, we should sleep under here,” she said. “It will keep us dry, if it rains.”

  Daric stared at her. “All right, fine,” he said, waving his hands in the air. “Leave them to it, Daric. Get on with your own bed, Daric,” he mumbled.

  Elspeth kicked her bedroll into shape and pushed her pack underneath the overhang. “You can set yours up here by me,” she told Gialyn, pointing at the area next to her bed.

  Gialyn felt his jaw drop. “Really… me?” he said. Then immediately coughed, as his reply was ludicrously high in pitch.

  Ealian looked up at him, huffed, and slowly shook his head in mockery.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Gialyn asked.

  “The look on your face, Re’adh. Don’t you go reading into things; she suggested you sleep there so the wolves will have you first.” He laughed.

  Elspeth glanced sideways at Gialyn and laughed, too.

  Gialyn noticed he was fidgeting, scratching his head and biting his lip. He stood still, then tapped his foot. “Well… do you want me to sleep there, or not?” He knew it was a stupid, defensive thing to say as soon as he opened his mouth. Gods, that’s twice, now. Treat her like a friend… treat her like a friend. That’s what father said. Oh no, she’s looking at me again, what now…? And what is he sniggering at? Stupid Ealian, camping in a white—”

  “Calm down,” Elspeth said. She stood up with her hands clasped in front of her and a doe-eyed expression on her face. “Would you please sleep by me, Gialyn, protect me from the nasty, scary wolves?” she asked.

  Gialyn felt a wave of relief; at least she was making a joke, even if he was the butt of it. He rolled out his bed and dumped his pack under the rock next to hers.

  “Fool,” Ealian muttered.

  The next hour passed quickly. Everyone attended to his or her duties – as prescribed by Daric.

  The late evening turned to early night. Near darkness fell on their camp beneath the broad leaves of birch and elm. The fire was up and burning well, reflecting an orange glow all about their comfortable grotto. Gialyn, Elspeth, and Ealian sat patiently while Daric prepared their fish supper.

  Daric had brought a lot of fish, nearly a full bag of them. Gialyn could not help but wonder why; they rarely had fish at home. Whatever the reason, the food smelled good. Everybody was hungry after their first long day.

  Grady had brought supplies, too, mostly bread and sweetroll, plenty for the first few days. Gialyn was particularly pleased about the cake. They settled down in front of the fire and ate their first meal together. Life was good, everyone seemed happy.

  Halfway through their supper, Arfael rose from his seat by the fire and disappeared behind the bushes down by the stream – doubtless to answer nature’s call. Gialyn glanced at Olam and then at where the big man had been sitting, and then back at Olam. The newcomer was eating his supper with a bright metal fork which might have been silver, and reading from a book he had balanced on his knee. The book was thin and the letters were tiny. Gialyn had never seen anything like it, not even in the Bailryn Library – the palace library.

  “It is from The Tale of the Nine Circles,” Olam said without looking up from the book. “My brother gave it to me years ago. You can borrow it if you like.” He raised his eyes from the book and gave Gialyn a friendly smile. “Do you read?”

  “Uh… yes… but only common.” Gialyn nodded at the book, “I can’t read old stuff.”

  “It is Lebaran,” Olam said, “from Northern Moyathair, beyond the Barathian Mountains. Most of it is common, sort of. Here.”

  Olam handed him the book, and Gialyn scanned along the first line of text.

  Peour Ddair vot lyht en Erth, Ddair vote n Peddl.

  “Uh, doesn’t look like any common I’ve ever seen,” Gialyn said, handing the book back.

  Olam laughed. He took the book, closed it, and placed it on top of his pack. “You would be surprised. A few lessons and you will read Lebaran as quickly as if it were common. Once you know the rules, that is.”

  “I don’t know about that, sir,” Gialyn said, “I was never that good at common. Mr. Mayrob said I was… uh… Claf Toisan, whatever that means.”
>
  Olam rolled his head back and laughed. “Lazy bones… Ha! Claf Toisan is Eurmacian, it means Lazybones.”

  The others began to laugh, too, and Daric said, “‘Lazybones…’ I’ve been saying that for years.”

  Gialyn wanted to crawl under a rock. He could feel the colour rising in his cheeks; his face would be as red as last night’s sunset.

  “Never mind,” Olam said. “In my experience, there are no bad pupils, just bad teachers. If you like, I will show you how to read Lebaran.”

  Olam picked up the book and handed it back to Gialyn. “Before there was light, there was The Balance… That’s the first line,” he told Gialyn. “Take tomorrow; see if you can tell me which words are which.”

  Gialyn took the book – how could he refuse – but he had no intention of studying it. Maybe he was a Claf Toisan, after all.

  The travellers were still laughing quietly when Grady asked, “Where does your friend come from? Who are his people? Is he from the south?” As usual, he asked three questions at once.

  Gialyn sensed an immediate change in the mood. Silence reigned, as everyone, including himself, looked to Olam for an answer to Grady’s questions. Even Daric, who would normally frown on what he called gossip mongering, put down his plate and hitched up closer to the fire, his eyes firmly fixed on Olam.

  Olam’s shoulders sank. He arranged his fork and spoon just so before looking up at Grady. “My friend, I am sorry, but I cannot answer your question without betraying a trust.”

  Grady looked disappointed. He picked up his cup and leaned back on the tree he had been using as a backrest. “Of course, it is your business, sir. My pardon.”

  “I will say one thing. As far as I am aware, there are no others like him, at least not in Aleras.” Olam said. He picked up his waterskin and appeared to wait for what were bound to be more questions.

  “So where does he come from, then?” Grady asked.

  “East,” Olam replied without raising his head.

  “That’s it… east?” Grady seemed disappointed. Gialyn could not blame him, “East” was not much of an answer.