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

by T. J. Garrett

  “And yet you protect this land, don’t you?” Elspeth asked.

  Yes, she could be very annoying at times, Olam thought.

  “We call this ours because it puts line to paper in the minds of your leaders. In truth, we have no border. We stay because it is safe. Your leaders have no need of this land of grass and rock. Yet, mark me, if there were aught of any value in those rocks they would be on us like flies on a day-old kill. We would have to move on. Wolves we may be; fools we are not. One thing we have learned since the Age of Enlightenment, there’s always another field, another forest. We do not have your need to own the land beneath our feet.”

  Olam nodded in agreement. “Wise words, sir.”

  Toban stood and turned towards the trees. “We will drink from the stream, and then we must be off. You should come to Illeas’den while we figure the plans of these neighbours of yours.”

  Olam looked at Daric, Grady and the others. Everyone nodded in agreement. “We accept your gracious offer, sir.”

  “Good. We will leave as soon as you are ready.” Toban laughed to himself. “This is going to be… interesting.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Illeas’cu

  It was barely mid-morning. And yet, to Gialyn, the day already felt old. Thus far, it had been another anxious morning – frightening, really – with more drama on what was supposed to have been an uneventful journey. And it was not over yet, they were on their way to a village full of talking wolves! More than once, he had wondered if he was still asleep, dreaming it all.

  The travellers followed Toban north along the shallow edge of the valley. The climb was not steep, and walking in the shadow of the Illeas Ridge was a welcome relief from the sun’s heat. It was going to be another hot day. Before long, the soft grass gave way to hard shale. The wolves broke from encircling the travellers and lined up in single file to climb the last steep rise.

  Gialyn followed at the rear of the pack. Best to keep out of the way of the elders, he thought. It looked like his father and the others were in deep conversation over some point or other. It might have been interesting, but more likely not. So Gialyn ambled lazily at the back of the line, and chatted – yes, chatted – with one of the wolves.

  Mott appeared younger than most, but how could you tell? Apart from a little grey around Toban’s chin, there was no real sign of age among any of the wolves.

  The young wolf was happy to point out landmarks. Gialyn could not help but smile at Mott’s laid-back, matter-of-fact prattle. The wolf spoke like any other young adult. He could be talking to someone back home in Geddy, for all the difference it made. Gialyn felt a small stab of shame that he might have expected any different. The wolves clearly did not see themselves as a curiosity. Gialyn resolved to treat Mott and the others like any other “person.”

  “That’s Illeas’coi,” Mott said, nodding his head towards a clump of trees on the far side of the rise, “or at least the start of it. It follows the Cu round to the south and along the bottom of Ambieth, then joins with Herann’coi. We do our hunting there. But hunting is mostly ceremonial now.”

  “Why is that?” Gialyn traced the path with his eyes, following the Cu – the grassland – south until it disappeared behind the western rift. “I wonder why we did not just follow that instead of going through the marsh?” he mumbled, not expecting the wolf to answer.

  “Because of the Raithby,” Mott said, “or the Am’firth, whatever it is called east of the marsh. There’s no bridge at Ambieth. The nearest is on the Southern Road, almost at the Eurmac Canyon. It would add weeks to your journey. As far as the hunting goes, we farm now, or at least our Surabhan cousins do. We have goats and pigs and cows, just like anyone else.”

  Gialyn felt his brow crease. The idea of wolves farming seemed somehow stranger than wolves talking. “How… uh… how do you manage that, if you don’t mind me asking?” A vision of wolves planting seeds with their teeth came to mind. No, that can’t be right.

  Mott laughed. “I suppose it does sound strange at that. We share duties where we are able. Guarding the flocks against Wilders – foxes, badgers, hawks and such – are our primary responsibility. Some of the wolves are big enough to pull carts, and four together can turn a plough well enough. Course, we’re not as big as Darkin, but we do all right.”

  “Darkin?”

  “Yes. The Darkin are our southern cousins. They are much bigger than Rukin and mostly black. They are the real Battle Brothers. Rukin were scouts and runners, Darkin were fighters. I don’t think they pull carts or farm. They live at the southwest corner of Crenach, almost at the Eurmac Canyon. From what I hear, they have not calmed down much since the last war. We hear, too, that they are bigger than ever, though how that happened is a mystery. They are the first Battle Blood clan, and they stayed separate long after the Enlightenment. You are lucky you did not stumble upon their territory, Gialyn.”

  The thought of wolves bigger than Mott and the others made Gialyn gulp. He had never seen a wolf bigger than Toban. Standing straight on all fours, the Alpha’s head almost reached Daric’s shoulder, and Gialyn’s father was by no means a small man. “Oh, well, must remember to keep away from there. Southwest Crenach, you say?”

  Mott laughed. “Do not worry; they’re not killers, not anymore. At least I don’t think they are. They are just… unfriendly.”

  With that admonition, Gialyn stopped. They had reached the top of the bank, and nobody was moving. Daric, Grady, and the others stood shoulder to shoulder across the narrow path at the very top of the hill. They were all looking down into what must have been another valley. Gialyn edged his way to the side to see what all the fuss was about. What he saw was no disappointment. Illeas’cu made for a remarkable sight.

  Vivid patchwork blankets of serene farmland spread fully to the northern horizon, hedged in an unnatural order with straight lines of arbour and bramble. The pale-green lines of the early corn and the solid yellow hue of oil seed quilted the base of the valley. Well-spaced orchards dotted the lower edge of the ridge where the ploughs could not reach. In the centre, a lake of crystal blues and greens lay at the mid-ground, edged up against an arcing rock face running along the northern shoreline, cradling the lake with enormous stone hands. Speckled lines of birch and maple and oak flirted with the ridges of grey-white stone that lay to the west and northeast, their form reaching out beyond the horizon as though framing an extraordinary picture. The entire valley, as far as the eye could see, looked like an immense well-ordered garden.

  The travellers followed Toban and Aleban down through tree-lined paths that stretched east towards the lake. The broad-leafed canopy was so complete it was as if they had wandered into a tunnel. At its end, bramble and thicket took the mantle of the border, as the path wound around eastwards along the outer face of the lake’s rocky scarp. A gently sloping lane rose northwards for another half mile until, eventually, they came to the southern gate of Illeas’den.

  Gialyn and the other travellers stood for a while at the entrance. Expressions of wonder and bewilderment covered their faces as they gazed at the wide courtyard. Children and wolf cubs played on a small green. Mothers, both wolf and Surabhan, gossiped by a well. Old men in rocking chairs and grey-chinned wolves chatted on verandas. Wolf and cart carried produce along the wide streets while men – labourers most likely – shared food with their wolf workmates. All went about their daily routine with no thought of how strange a union they held.

  Toban turned to the travellers, especially Arfael. “If you please, follow me to the Hall of Wolves. It is big enough for all. The only other meeting place is the inn, but it’s a bit early for that. You are likely to cause a bit of a fuss, my friend.” He gave a nod to Arfael.

  Aleban looked at Toban and scoffed as if his leader had just made a monumental understatement… or a wolfish joke.

  Toban continued: “Please, keep walking. And don’t worry.”

  As it was, Toban appeared to be the only one worrying: Daric and Grady sniffed and
looked at each other; they seemed puzzled by Toban’s manner. Olam did not look as if he had heard anything; his eyes darted from one scene to the other and his mouth was open wide enough to catch corn flies. Arfael just nodded.

  Elspeth… Elspeth was standing next to the big man. She seemed oddly protective of him all of a sudden. Gialyn wondered how that had happened. Maybe the night they all got soaked had something to do with it. Is that all it takes? Make a girl a fire and throw a blanket over a tree? I could have done that. Ha! And she wants to be a palace guard? Strange how she will act the damsel when it suits her. Gialyn suppressed the thought. You’re only angry because you didn’t think of it first.

  Ealian picked his fingernail with a twig.

  Toban took the centre route on their way to the large, ornate building at the far end of the village. He was in no hurry – dawdling, as if he wanted everyone to see who was with him. The townsfolk – the wolves, too – stopped and stared. Excited whispers, gasps of surprise, and what Gialyn thought might have been disapproving growls, came from the onlookers. It seemed not all of the wolves were as happy to see a Kel’mai as Toban had been.

  Despite all that, Toban seemed almost proud to be leading Arfael through the courtyard of the Hall of Wolves. He strode in front with head held high, bowing to those of his kin standing aghast at the sidelines. A fair old procession had tucked in behind the travellers as they passed the shallow pool in front of the steps. Near twenty Surabhan, and twice that number of wolves, walked slowly behind as they approached the hall.

  Although he wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, Gialyn could not help but catch some of the Rukin’s whispers. “Kel’mai” and “Arlyn” were the most common. However, by far the most puzzling was, “Has he come back?”

  Toban climbed the steps of the Hall of Wolves and waited while the travellers filed in behind. The veranda was deep and high, and supported by elaborately carved colonnades of dark, polished oak. The columns reached the full two storeys to the roof and stood a good three paces from the front of the hall. The entrance was a large arched door, similarly carved in polished oak. The thickly shorn wooden walls, painted in pale shellac, contrasted the bright-white trim. The windows were sash with eight panes in each, fit enough for the best Beugeddy manor house. The Hall of Wolves looked more like the town hall. Another question for later maybe, Gialyn thought. If someone else asks it.

  Toban turned to address the followers. But barely managed a word before the baying and howling started. Shouts came from every quarter. “Have they returned?” some would say. And from elsewhere: “Is that Arlyn?” More than one person – or wolf – asked, “Did you know about this, Toban?”

  Toban bowed and waited for silence, occasionally raising a paw at those who persisted. After a long moment, he spoke. “I know you all have questions. I, myself, am barely a few hours into this tale. I will be talking to the elders shortly. When I know more, I will speak of it. Please be patient.” With that, he turned and led the travellers into the hall. Muffled, agitated murmurs followed them inside.

  Several wolves and a few Surabhan stood just inside the entrance. They must have heard the fuss and come to meet their guests by the door. The wolves amongst them bowed low as Arfael passed, then immediately looked to Toban for answers. He nodded in acknowledgement of their query and carried on, saying nothing. Politics was a game of all sorts, so it seemed. Gialyn certainly got the impression that Toban was enjoying himself.

  The high, panelled entrance hall was plain enough. Indeed, it looked like a cloakroom; brass pegs lined up neatly on the left-side wall and there was a bench for boots underneath. Two more wolves and another Surabhan were waiting in the anteroom.

  Toban walked directly to the woman standing on her own in the centre of an intricately woven circular rug. “Could you prepare food for our guests and make ready the rooms behind the kitchens: bedding, blankets and water? Please, Sarai. You know what to do.”

  Sarai was a Surabhan woman. A little beyond her middle years, she appeared handsome rather than pretty. She reminded Gialyn of his Aunt Maddie from Bailryn, especially the grey hair that touched lightly at her temples and added an air of authority to her look. If it were not for the apron, Gialyn might have guessed she was in charge. By the way she scowled and snorted at Toban, she was nobody’s servant.

  “What is all this?” she asked. “All this fuss, baying, howling, folk shouting questions in the courtyard. You have brought me trouble haven’t—” Sarai’s eyes widened as Arfael ducked into the anteroom. Unfolding her arms, she unconsciously began straightening her apron.

  Toban smiled. “I think you have an idea, my old friend. I know you have seen inside the Sanctum. You must recognise our guest.”

  Sarai nodded. “Yes. I will… uh… I will see to the rooms.” She quickly gathered up two of her fellow Surabhan and herded them towards what must have been the kitchen.

  Gialyn watched Sarai vanish through one door while Toban led the others through another. The short corridor opened directly into the great hall. Gialyn waited patiently as, one by one, everyone else in his group stopped at the threshold to admire the room. Even Ealian paused. Gialyn did not think Elspeth’s brother cared about anything. Usually, when Ealian came across something impressive, he would make an offhand remark. It’s not as good as so and so, or, The one in Beugeddy is better. The Tanners had lived in Beugeddy before their father became Emissary to Albergeddy. Ealian could write a book about the things in Beugeddy that were better.

  The ceiling was the first thing Gialyn noticed. The room took up both floors of the building and, with the open apex, the ceiling was at least twelve paces above the floor. Eight pillars of solid oak supported thick polished beams, carved in the same style as the colonnades. Two balconies, again of dark oak, ran the length of the hall on each of its longest walls. Access to the balcony was by way of a pair of elaborately worked spiral staircases, each twisting around the corners before meeting at the centre of the floor at the far end of the hall. Above that, three large windows matched the door arches for scale, each filled with fine leaded glass.

  Tapestries adorned the walls in between the columns. Depicted in fine, but slightly faded, thread were images of old unions, and what Gialyn assumed were long-since forgotten battles. A magnificent table, maybe eight paces long and three wide, took pride of place. Again made of oak, the table was as highly polished as the beams, if not more so. The same feathered-leaf carving covered the table legs. At closer inspection, Gialyn realised the carvings were supposed to be of leaves. For two copper, he would have agreed it looked more like scales. Beyond the table, at the opposite end to the stairs, a grand stone hearth cradled an open fireplace laid beneath a thick granite mantel. A tapestry representing the family tree of the “Alphas of the Age of Illeas” hung above the fireplace. According to the swirling script, the roots traced back some four hundred years to the founding of Illeas’cu and the Clan Rukin.

  Toban turned to the travellers and, after a brief welcome to the Hall of Wolves, he explained, “When Sarai comes back, she will show you to rooms where you can wash and rest. If you have need of anything, please ask any of the kitchen staff. Sarai will see to your clothes and blankets – she will have them cleaned or mended, as needs be. While you are waiting for your washing, you can wear Rukin robes. They’re not very fashionable, I’m afraid. Most of our young will only wear them on feast days – and then only to please their parents.” He glanced apologetically at Elspeth. “We will eat early this afternoon. Until then, it would be best if you remained in your rooms or in this hall. As you may have gathered, your arrival has caused some excitement. Please allow me to control the rumours and introduce you properly.”

  Daric took a pace forward. “Toban, I speak for all when I say thank you, but if you wouldn’t mind answering a question… What is going on?”

  Toban grinned – as much as a wolf could. “The return of the Kel’mai is foretold. Your friend’s presence stirs old memories. No, that is not the right word. Nobody al
ive witnessed the battles of Barais’coi and Blai’nuin. Our stories of the deeds of the Kel’mai are folklore. Many of us will be wondering at the omen and whether or not it is good or ill.” Toban scratched his ear. He looked a little nervous as if he was speaking out of turn. “It is a long tale. For now, please rest and see to your needs. We will talk later – after dinner, maybe.”

  Daric bowed. “As you say, Toban. But we will need to talk.”

  Toban nodded.

  Sarai returned to the hall with her two Surabhan friends. Both carried piles of robes in their arms. “Please take these,” Sarai said, after a short curtsy. “Leave anything that needs cleaning or mending in the basket outside the door to your room. There is one basket each.” She paused a moment while waiting for everyone to take a robe. “Now, if you will follow me, I will show you to your rooms.”

  She gestured back the way she had come. Once everyone began to move, she led the travellers through the kitchen, past the cooking tables and fires, and through another doorway leading to a covered passage connecting the hall with a smaller building.

  Sarai talked as they walked. “There are only four rooms, I’m afraid, but each has two beds. Please use them as you see fit. The room on the end is the largest.” She looked at Arfael. “I suggest our Kel’mai guest uses that one. We can extend the bed to suit your needs, sir.” She blushed through a faint smile when Arfael nodded in agreement. Sarai stopped at the end of the corridor and, after the travellers took turns in thanking her, she said food would be ready soon and left them to find their own rooms.

  The guest rooms were clean and welcoming.