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

by T. J. Garrett

  Olam chanted the rain prayer to An’gael – the old goddess of the sky.

  “I thought that was supposed to bring rain,” Gialyn said.

  “No, not rain,” Olam said. “It is a prayer for favourable weather. Which, in this case, means no rain, thank you very much.”

  “Chost nort vaird,” Gialyn repeated. He tapped his lips and looked to the heavens.

  Elspeth harrumphed. “Gods do not make the weather; the wind does.”

  “Can you prove that?” Olam asked.

  “No more than you can prove the gods exist,” Elspeth told him.

  Olam smiled. “Very good, Elspeth. And if I can prove they exist, or at least show the Balance is real…?”

  Elspeth raised her hands, then lowered them again. As if his proof would mean nothing to her one way or the other.

  “I’d like to hear your proof,” Ealian said. “That would be most interesting, Olam O’lamb.”

  Olam’s smile slipped. “Maybe later,” he said. Then hitched up Arfael’s sword and quickened his pace a little. Maybe it was those two who had been arguing.

  By midmorning, droplets of rain told Gialyn that Olam’s chanting might not have worked. An’gael teased them for another two hours: rain, no rain, rain… But by noon, there was no doubt – the goddess had not been listening.

  A billowing western front, so often the cause of flooding back in Ealdihain, had saved its watery cargo for the Ambieth, and it was wasting no time letting the marsh have it all.

  Gialyn followed as Daric led the travellers off at a run.

  “Hurry! To that fallen tree!” Daric shouted.

  With the wind so high, the rain was almost horizontal. Bean-sized droplets thrashed Gialyn’s already soaking wet cloak. And where they hit bare skin, the raindrops stung as if they were small pebbles. All around, the deluge stirred up the pools and stagnant waterways, until a thick mist rose over the once-green marsh. The rain beat the grass flat, and mud was seeping up through what now looked like acres of thatched roof.

  “Under here,” Daric shouted.

  Gialyn’s father was standing next to the thick bole of a fallen sycamore – doubtless uprooted by an earlier storm. The upturned roots made a wide dish of tangled wood on one side; on the other, a broad thicket of candleberry bushes made for a fair windbreak. When Daric ushered him under, Gialyn found a makeshift shelter, big enough for all – although it probably was not watertight.

  Gialyn, Elspeth and Ealian had the best of it; they sat in the middle, sheltered back and front by the adults. Daric and Grady stayed upfront, perched at the opening, with their packs adding to the natural windbreak of the candleberry bush. Olam and Arfael sat at the rear, under Arfael’s enormous blanket. The seven of them would look ridiculous to anyone passing by, but it was better than nothing.

  And there they stayed, miserable, under the creaking bole of a moss-ridden tree-trunk, with nothing to do but wait.

  * * *

  Waves of what were now fine raindrops twisted and turned with the wind like flocks of starling, first darting one way and then the other. At this rate, it would not be long before they would need a boat to move forward. The path was long gone, hidden under a river of storm water.

  Two hours had passed before Daric decided to venture across what used to be the path. He was gone a minute, if that. “There is nothing else out there. It is here or the open, I’m afraid.”

  Gialyn joined the chorus of unhappy groans. Two hours crammed together under a fallen tree had all their nerves on edge. Except maybe Arfael, who never seemed to complain. But at least they were dry, for now.

  Daric settled back down in his spot behind the backpacks. “I’ll try again later. This can’t last all day.”

  “Can you see anything?” Grady asked.

  “Barely fifty feet, and that’s only because I know what’s there. The good news: the water is flowing south. We won’t get flooded if we wait here.” Daric pulled the blanket back over his head and resumed his position.

  After two more hours, it stopped. The winds eased to a mere stiff breeze and the rain petered away to a drizzle. The travellers remained undercover for a further twenty minutes before venturing out. Not until they were sure the rain would not just start up again, did they begin to move out from under the sycamore. But covered or not, the damp mist had left them all soaked to the skin.

  The waters had indeed run off to the south. Daric stood in what was the path – now mostly mud – and squinted along the track both east and west. Gialyn did not know what his father could be looking for; maybe he was expecting a wagon to roll by.

  “We are three hours from Am’cherc,” Daric said, “but that’s on a good day. And we only have four hours of daylight left.” Daric eyed them all one after the other. Was he expecting someone to give him an answer? And if so, what was the question?

  Daric continued: “We have a choice, risk Am’cherc or stay here?”

  The travellers looked at one another. No one appeared willing to suggest either option.

  Olam moved forward. “There is another track to the south. It takes us out of our way, but it is only an hour – two at the most – even in these conditions. There are trees there and safe harbour. I’m sure of it.”

  “Is it safe?” Elspeth said, and Gialyn nodded anxiously in agreement. “You know… the Black thing.”

  “Yes, Olam, is it safe?” Ealian repeated the question.

  Again, Olam ignored the boy – yes, they must have had an argument. He directed his answer to Elspeth. “It is too far south for that, child,” Olam said. “Besides, I do not recall there being any rocks about, at least none big enough to hold the Black.”

  Olam looked at Daric, who likely already know the only answer he could give. Nonetheless, he still mused over Olam’s idea for a long moment.

  “As you say, my friend,” Daric said, waving his hand nonchalantly back along the path. “Once more it is up to you to lead the way” He smiled but did not seem pleased by the idea of turning south, moving further away from Am’cherc.

  Olam pulled his cloak around his shoulders. “We will have to go back about a half-mile and then cut south at that large pool. All being well, it will not be flooded over.” He picked up his staff and waited for the others to form a line.

  The travellers readied themselves. None seemed in much of a hurry. But after a few minutes, and with Olam leading, they made their way back along the track towards the pool. With any luck, it was still just a pool and not a lake, Gialyn hoped.

  The path was treacherous under foot. Every couple of steps forward led to a step sideways. They teamed up for support: Gialyn with his father, Arfael and Ealian, Grady and Elspeth, leaving Olam – and his staff – out front guiding them. The Marsh was in a truly dismal state. The grass lay flat and limp after its beating at the hands of the storm. The biting wind, though not as strong, held a northerly chill that weakened their already cold limbs. And partnered or not, their progress was pitiful, one taking three steps forward, then waiting for the other to catch up. Nearly three hours had passed before they caught sight of the trees Olam had promised.

  They were fifty paces shy of the copse when Gialyn heard a shout. “Don’t stand there!”

  He turned to see what was happening. His uncle had a hold on Elspeth’s pack and was trying to pull her away from the water’s edge. She was fighting to regain her footing after stepping on what must have been a slippery rock or hidden pothole.

  Her efforts were in vain. She fell into the pool.

  Gialyn let go of his father’s arm, dropped his pack, and slid over to where Grady was laying on his front, trying to reach Elspeth.

  Gialyn got up on his knees and leaned forward. Using Grady’s cloak as an anchor, he reached over to Elspeth, who was spluttering water and thrashing about. She managed to touch his outstretched hand with her fingertips, but then her head went under the water. She was gone.

  “Elspeth! No!” Gialyn shouted.

  He was about to jump in after
her, when he felt what must have been an ox push him to the side. The next he knew; he was lying face down in the mud. When he turned, he saw Elspeth dangling at the end of Arfael’s massive arm.

  Gods, he could have broken my arm.

  He had never felt such strength. The ease at which Arfael tossed him to the side both frightened and belittled Gialyn. No, not belittled – he felt impotent, useless. He had been ready to jump in; a feeling in his gut had told him to save her, no matter what. But now…? But now…? Well, he did not know how he felt. Angry, maybe.

  Arfael lifted Elspeth onto the path, and Gialyn watched as she hugged the big man.

  “Thank you, thank you, Arfael,” she repeated over and over. Gialyn thought she might reach up and kiss him at any moment.

  I could have saved her. Another few seconds and I would have jumped in.

  He pushed the thought aside. What mattered was that Elspeth was safe, never mind who had saved her.

  Yes, keep telling yourself that, he thought as he struggled to his feet.

  “I’m sorry,” Arfael said while helping Gialyn up. “There was no time to ask you to move.”

  Elspeth waved off the big man’s apology. “No need for that,” she said. “You did what you had to. Another second and you might have had to save both of us.”

  Wonderful, I was ready to risk my life, and she thinks I would have made things worse.

  Grady slapped him on the back. “Nonsense,” his uncle said. “Gialyn was ready to jump in after you. That showed real courage, boy. Well done.”

  Elspeth put her hand on his arm. “Yes, Gialyn. Grady is right. Thank you for trying.”

  She said the words, but Gialyn did not think she meant them. Still, at least she was safe.

  “Are we done?” Ealian asked. “I’d like to get undercover. If it’s all the same to you.”

  “Ealian!” Elspeth whined. “Don’t be so mean. Did you not see what just happened? Arfael saved me.” She gave the big man a wide smile and then reached up and patted him on the shoulder.

  Gialyn turned away. I could have saved her.

  * * *

  Moments later, Gialyn found himself once more under a thick canopy of alder and sycamore.

  The ground was surprisingly dry – the broad leaves of the close-knit trees formed a tight canopy. Only the edge of the wood was truly damp. In the centre, the storm’s effects were hardly noticeable. They had no trouble finding a reasonably large clearing, perfect for a camp.

  “You all know what to do by now,” Daric said.

  Gialyn watched as his father slowly eased his pack from his shoulders and knuckled his back. He pinched at his clothes and pulled the soaking linen away from his skin. “And let us hope there is enough dry wood for a fire.”

  Gialyn dropped his own pack. He was about to sit down for a few minutes when Grady waved him over.

  “You need to find a few large branches, with plenty of hanging room on them. We must get these clothes off and dried or it’s the marsh chills for all of us.” Grady tugged at Gialyn’s wet collar as he spoke.

  “What! All of them?” Elspeth asked. She blinked a half dozen times and rubbed the back of her neck. When Gialyn looked at her, she made a study of her feet.

  “No time to be shy,” Grady said. “Getting the chills in this place could be the death of you. And even a mild fever will slow us down, force us to leave supplies and carry you out.” Grady’s tone was stern and uncompromising. Which was hardly surprising, he had spent a week trapped in the marsh, Gialyn remembered.

  Elspeth shuffled and sighed but said nothing. Her cheeks were red, though, and she kicked at the stones under her feet.

  Gialyn went off in search of branches that might do as a washing line. But he could still hear Grady talking…

  “How much longer until we are free of this accursed marsh?” he asked Olam.

  “My friend, there is one long march between us and the grasslands of Northern Taris. If the way is clear… a full day, maybe seven hours.”

  “Let’s hope it clears in the night, then.”

  Gialyn pulled at a branch that might do. He tugged the dead wood into the clearing, then followed Arfael back into the woods, to search for firewood. Elspeth remained in the clearing, sitting quietly next to her pack.

  * * *

  Elspeth watched nervously as Gialyn and Arfael went off to find wood. Gods, he can’t be serious. I’m the only girl! It’s not right! She sat on the edge of the clearing, knees up tight to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. She nibbled on her thumbnail while watching the men go about their business as if nothing was wrong.

  For ten minutes, she sat. Occasional glances came her way but, strangely enough, nobody asked her why she was not helping. Why would they do that? Are they waiting to see me embarrassed? Maybe I can hide in that bush over there.

  Five minutes later, Gialyn and Arfael came back with a fair heap of firewood.

  She watched as Arfael dropped the huge armful of wood he was carrying. He picked half of it up again and took it to the edge of the clearing, where two small trees made a doorway to a smaller space. He went to his pack and pulled out his enormous blanket, then tied two corners across the small trees, making a perfect partition. He collected some more wood and placed it by the “extra” fire that he had asked Olam to make.

  What are they doing, making a separate camp for themselves? Elspeth wondered.

  Arfael looked around as though checking all was well, then walked over to Elspeth. He stretched out an open hand to her. “For you: a cover and fire.”

  Elspeth was speechless. She stood and hugged the huge man. And with a hint of a tear in her eye, she grabbed up her things and moved to the other side of the blanket, where she could dry her sodden clothes with some dignity.

  Gialyn looked on with an expression that said he wished he had thought of it.

  But you didn’t, did you, Gialyn? The giant knows more about women than you do!

  * * *

  The travellers – the men, that was – sat around their big fire, some choosing to use a cloth or bag to retain their modesty. Behind them, their clothes and blankets were hanging from the limbs of the few large branches Gialyn had managed to drag from the woods. They sat laughing and joking about their predicament. Daric and Grady prepared the last of the fish that had survived the raid by the Salrians. Olam dressed a rabbit that Grady had caught the previous day. Water was on the boil and a broth on its way to warm the bellies.

  All were in good spirits, despite the horrendous day they had endured. At least now, they were warm, dry and fed a hot meal. They began to talk about their travels and adventures.

  Daric, whose mind was full of the things he had learned about Olam and Ealian – the boy watched his sister drowning and did nothing – decided not to speak. And besides, he was not much good at telling stories.

  Instead, he listened as Grady entertained the others with tales of their exploits while serving as guardsmen at the royal palace. Young Gialyn listened intently and appeared moved by Grady’s expressive and passionate storytelling. Maybe he would change his mind about applying for the post. That would certainly please Daric, but probably not the boy’s mother.

  Grady told a tale of his first week in the guards…

  “Daric decided to climb onto the roof and rescue the chicken, just as the Master at Arms walked under the gangway.” Grady could barely talk for laughing. “He threw the chicken down the side steps and asked me if the path below was clear. Now, I saw the Master was approaching, but still gave the all clear. Daric landed right on top of him.” Grady fell on his side in fits, which, to be honest, was funnier than the story he was telling. “And that wasn’t even the funny part. The Master chased Daric around the quad for ten minutes, waving his sword in the air, shouting, ‘Come here, Re’adh. You dented my helmet’!” There were tears in Grady’s eyes. “Dented his helmet. He was a funny man, the Master, and didn’t even know it.”

  Daric was not amused. “I had weeks of kitchen
duty thanks to you. Imagine, an officer cleaning up after his men. I cursed the day Grady joined; the man was a menace.”

  Daric smiled, then raised his mug. “But yes, they were good days.”

  Olam raised his mug, too. “Here’s to good days,” he said.

  “Hear, hear,” Grady said.

  “So, my young friend,” Olam said, turning to Gialyn. “You are thinking of joining the guards, too?”

  Gialyn looked surprised someone had included him in the conversation. “Right now, I’m half-naked, sat in a wood and surround by five half-naked men. All said and done, I’d rather be at home.”

  And Grady fell over, again.

  Olam straightened his back and raised his chin. “If a man is capable of great deeds, then for greatness he must strive. For where would we be if such men sat idle?”

  Daric pondered the wizard’s words. He had heard them somewhere before, he thought.

  “You mean women as well, surely,” Elspeth shouted.

  Daric spat out the wine he was drinking. “Trust you to spoil a rare moment of solidarity,” he said playfully.

  Olam smiled and raised his cup to the blanket, behind which Elspeth was drying off. “Sorry. And great women.”

  “Thank you,” Elspeth answered.

  Daric leaned back and felt the clothes hung on the branch behind him. All but the thick blankets were dry. He stood and dressed himself. Once set, he took his blanket and spread it fully across the branches. The others followed suit. Before long, the blankets themselves were dry and the travellers settled themselves to sleep. Elspeth had re-joined them by now, and all returned to normality after their drenching ordeal.

  * * *

  With the dawn, came the clear skies they were hoping for. Daric was up first. And he and Grady were at the forest’s edge, musing over their chances of clearing the marsh in a day’s march. The shrouded vale of early morning mist still lay on the close horizon. Daric could not make much of the view, not at that time of day, and what he could see was of little encouragement. Where there was grass, now there was nothing but mud. The pools, swollen by the storm, seemed linked in ever-larger numbers, cutting their options from a few to virtually none. Indeed, the prospects of exiting the marsh before nightfall seemed grim.