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

by T. J. Garrett

  Grady broke the seal with his knife and unrolled the scroll.

  He started to read the contents. With every passing second, he felt tension rolling over his shoulders. He shifted around to get more light from the fire, still eyeing up the scroll. Once finished, he rolled it up and placed it back in his coat. “Do you know what’s written on here, Salrian?”

  “I’ve already told you, Surabhan. No, I do not.”

  “You have precious little time, Salrian. Answer me truthfully or, by my oath, I’ll forget I’m a soldier and end you and your child where you sit.”

  “For the last time, I do not know what’s in it! They are sealed orders.” Si’eth spat out his answer.

  “What is it, Grady?” Olam asked.

  Grady sat for a moment, his eyes fixed on Si’eth. The Salrian stared back impassively. He either knew, or he was scared; a captain would not be so deadpan over such a thing, not even a Salrian.

  Either way, Grady wondered whether to answer Olam in front of the prisoner. “The scroll… The scroll contains drawings of the Tunnels of Aldregair: entrances, safe routes, known dangers, accounts from both sides of the border.”

  Olam sat back against the tree. Slowly, he turned to the Salrians. “What do you have to say about that, Si’eth?”

  “Why are you questioning him?” Grady asked. “He has earned no right to speak. ‘Sealed orders’ Ha! We don’t know if he’s involved.”

  “Maybe so, but judging by the look on his face, I am guessing he knew no more than we did.”

  Olam turned back to Si’eth. “Am I right?”

  Si’eth refused to answer.

  “You know what this means?” Olam went on. “There can be but one reason why a Northlander would want a map of the Tunnels of Aldregair: secret passage beyond the border. Your people are planning an invasion.”

  Si’eth sat with his thoughts. Olam was right; he did look shocked by the contents of the scroll. Either that or the man was playing him, and Grady did not think Si’eth was that good an actor.

  “It wouldn’t be us,” Si’eth said quietly.

  Bre’ach’s head spun. “Father! What of your duty?”

  “Quiet, Bre’ach, this is of no concern to you. My duty lies with my people. These orders, this fool’s errand the general has sent us on, is wrong.” Si’eth turned to Grady, “This scroll is for the aid of another, and I have no duty to them.”

  “And what of your duty to orders?” Bre’ach insisted.

  “As I said, this is a fool’s errand.” Si’eth stared at the ground in front of him. He looked like a man who knew what he must do but drew no comfort from doing it. “Alaf’kan, General of the Southern District, personally gave me my orders. I doubt the leaders in Barath know anything about it. Kan’s love of finery is well known. I’d wager a sale for profit was his aim.”

  “So why go to such lengths to retrieve it,” Grady asked, “when you thought it no more than this ‘fool’s’ profit?”

  “It was my hope to be gone swiftly from your land, with the scroll intact and the seal unbroken. Alaf’kan may be a fool, yet he does hold power over me.” Si’eth shook his head. “But this is going too far. I won’t be a party to war. I have had enough of it.”

  Grady took the scroll and opened it again. “This bears the Moya seal from the palace at Bailryn. Did you steal it?”

  Si’eth shook his head again. “No. I collected it from a man in Northwest Aleras, by the Ambieth, close to where my son took your boy. The man who delivered it was Surabhan, an ambassador, a man called Faelen.”

  Grady’s shoulders slumped. He looked vacantly into the fire. “What have we stumbled into?” he said softly. Who wants this scroll? Is Si’eth telling the truth? Is there someone in the palace aiding this mysterious enemy? Someone was playing a game, the game of treachery and deceit. Thinking of the consequences, of who might stand to benefit from such a game, left Grady feeling helpless.

  “The guard recruits…” Olam suddenly piped up. “Of course. The guard recruits…”

  He rushed over and knelt in front of Grady. “The palace knows of this danger, my friend. You said a messenger came to Albergeddy to invite participants. That always seemed a strange errand to me when usually they post such things without ceremony. I think maybe I know why.”

  “Please, Olam, no riddles. Out with it.” Grady’s head was spinning with a thousand troubled thoughts. He could not grasp what Olam was saying.

  “Well… I know what he’s talking about,” Bre’ach said. Everyone, including Elspeth, looked at the young Salrian. “They are recruiting for war. It’s obvious.”

  Grady let out a sigh and stared at the heavens. “Stone me for a fool, of course they are. Damn them.” He kicked out at the fire, sending spirals of burning embers into the air. “Damn them for their deceit.” He stood and started to pace. “Why not just ask? We’re not a country of cowards.”

  “My friend, I would guess they are acting on rumour, which makes this information of vital importance. We may have stumbled on the enemy’s invasion plans.” Olam turned to Si’eth. “Do you know anything of those who would receive this scroll?”

  “No. Only where to meet: twenty leagues northwest of Cul’taris, by the Vale of An’aird.”

  “Then we must make haste,” Grady said. “It is three hard days run to the northern keep at Gieth’eire. We must take this to the commander. When were you supposed to deliver this scroll?”

  “Six days from tomorrow.”

  Grady picked up his shortsword and aimed the point at Bre’ach’s neck. Again, he asked, “When were you supposed to deliver the scroll?”

  Si’eth began to fidget, his eyes drawn to Grady and the point of his blade. “Six days! Six days! I swear it!”

  Grady pushed a little harder into Bre’ach’s neck, the skin creasing under the point. Grady paid no heed; he fixed his eye on the father. Again, he pushed. Bre’ach began to moan.

  “For the love of peace, yes! Six days!” Si’eth cupped his hands at Grady, pleading.

  Grady withdrew the sword. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

  “That wasn’t necessary,” Si’eth moaned. “I was speaking plain and true.”

  “You know well enough what is needed in situations like this, Si’eth.”

  Grady threw down his sword and sat by the fire. He brought his knees up and rested his chin upon them. “So we have six days, maybe seven, if they allow for a delay before they realise something is wrong. And we are a long week from Bailryn, and that’s if the rest of the journey from the Keep is on horseback.”

  Grady pondered a while.

  Then, “The Keep must come first. We will wait for our friends and give Ealian fair chance – but two days only! After then we must make for Cul’taris Pass and the keep at Gieth’eire, regardless of our state.”

  * * *

  Elspeth did not speak of Grady’s plan. Whatever they said, she had no intention of leaving Ealian, whether the world crumbled around her, or not.

  But she did need rest. The past hours had taken a toll; the worrying had left her hollow and in dire need of comfort. She sat as close to the fire as she could, seeking some solace from its warmth. Yet that helped little more than to increase her weariness. She began to rock back and forth, grasping her knees in front of her. Shock and fear were taking hold. Her skin turned clammy, her fingers were the colour of dead leaves. She was about to fall to her side when Olam came with a blanket. As strong as she was, or thought she was, there and then, she needed her father, someone to hold her and tell her all would be well. Olam was not her father, yet she accepted his kindness eagerly.

  “Look, child, I have readied your bedroll by the fire. Take some water and rest now. I will wake you if needs be.”

  He guided her the few feet to the bed and helped lay her down. She pulled her knees up and placed her hands between them, guarding her gut against the sickness she felt within her. Olam covered her with a blanket and kindly stroked the hair away from her eyes.

&nbs
p; “Rest and sleep, child,” he said softly.

  Elspeth would have never asked for it, yet her heart yearned for gentleness. A blessed comfort came over her, and she slept.

  CHAPTER 31

  Tor’s Landing

  Tor had spent nearly two hours on the wing and the excitement of flying again had long since passed. His chest burned with fatigue, his mouth was parched, and his back would twinge, like daggers in his spine, every time he drove down with his great wings. Once he was over the forest of Crenach’coi – and out the way of prying eyes – he began to split his efforts. Five minutes of painful, upward spirals, followed by fifteen minutes of gliding while he recovered for the next rise.

  The tiredness had reached his mind, too. His thoughts were all about survival, about keeping airborne. It occurred to Tor, at around the two-hour mark, he had not paid attention to where he was. Suddenly he panicked, he looked for landmarks. Have I passed the river? His breathing wheezed uncontrollably, a curtain of black breached the edge of his vision. Clearing or not, I’m going to have to land soon. Then he saw the tree – the lone oak on top of the hill that lay north of Brae’vis. He fixed his glide – a slight twist of his left wing – and made for the Grand Oak.

  Oh no! Too fast! Too fast!

  He pulled his legs up and fanned his wings with all his might. But the tree kept coming. He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side. A whack in the stomach and the sounds of boughs breaking greeted his first full landing for a hundred years. Left over right, he clawed at the tree’s thick trunk, frantically trying to steady his fall. But it was no use; he landed flat on his back at the base of the huge tree.

  He lay there a moment, feet up in the air and tail wrapped around the tree trunk, gazing up as leaves fell like raindrops all around him. Pulling in his wings, he rolled onto his side and then clumsily got to his feet. He wobbled for a few steps before deciding to sit and recover a while. He could already hear a commotion down in the village.

  I hope they bring water.

  * * *

  “Dragon!” the villager cried.

  The Cren ran from their huts and houses into the village square. They gathered in a group and gazed up at the beast as it approached the Grand Oak. “Does anyone know who it is?” one villager asked.

  “It’s Tor’gan,” Cal replied. “What, by the gods, is he doing here? Go find Kirin’thar, then bring torches; we must go up and meet him.”

  Kirin’thar buckled his belt as he took the steps from his veranda down into the village green. “I’m here, I’m here. What’s all the…?” He cringed as Tor’gan crashED into the Grand Oak. “Ouch… Tor, you really should not be flying this far from home,” he muttered.

  Kirin’thar wrapped his cloak around his shoulders and grabbed one of the torches. “Come, Cal, let us see what has our friend so concerned he would risk crashing into a tree.”

  Kirin’thar led the way to the base of Grand Oak Hill and started to climb the narrow path. By this time, Tor had regained his balance and was coming down to meet them.

  “We’ll go to the clearing,” Kirin said. “Signal our intent. He can meet us there.”

  Cal waved his torch in the air and then pointed it towards the small clearing south of the hill. Tor gave an exaggerated nod and changed his direction accordingly.

  The clearing was not far, barely a hundred paces along the tree-covered path. Kirin could still hear the chatter from the villagers they sounded excited. They arrived at the clearing first, and after a few minutes, Tor joined them. The black dragon looked exhausted and immediately sat down. His chest was heaving with deep, rasping breaths.

  “Hello, friend,” Tor said in between breaths. “Forgive my… untimely arrival. It’s good to… see you again and… uh… sorry about the tree.”

  Kirin looked behind the dragon, up to the top of the hill. “Never mind the Grand Oak; it looks in better condition than you.” He laughed. “My friend, it is good to see you, too. But what are you doing here? Is it safe for you to fly?”

  “It was unavoidable,” Tor said. The dragon stretched his neck; the bones clicked loudly as he raised his head. “We need to talk, old friend.” He growled the words out while twisting and stretching his back.

  “Strange that you should say that,” Kirin’thar said. He felt an embarrassed grin crease his lips. “I have news of my own. Cal was coming to Braylair at week’s end to tell you of it.”

  Tor lowered his head, probably wondering why he had bothered flying all the way there. “Oh well, I needed the practice.” He stood up and stretched while looking around the clearing. “Can we go to water while we talk?”

  “We’ll go to the village green.” Kirin’thar nodded at Manag and Vaz. “You two run ahead and bring some buckets of water, please.”

  Manag and Vaz gave Tor a bow and then ran off towards the village.

  “Lots of buckets,” Tor shouted after them.

  Kirin’thar waved Tor on. He spoke as they walked, “My news is not good, my friend. A while back, we began to hear rumours, Fisherfolk, mostly, but they all told the same story: ships ferrying men across the Northern Straights. Cal travelled downriver and took a ship up the coast. He found the Kel’madden massing on the eastern shore, near to the old Toi’ildrieg landing grounds. He put their number at seven thousand, but there could well be twice that many.” Kirin glanced sideways at Tor. Sighing, he said, “And the dragons were there.”

  Tor stopped and looked to the heavens “Did you see Sek?” he asked Cal.

  Cal shook his head. “No. There were maybe seven. None was black.”

  “It won’t be long before he’s there, too. He will be with her if she is alive. Have you heard anything?”

  “Not of Vila’slae. But her man, the Kel’madden general, he was there,” Cal said.

  Again, Tor sighed. “I should have finished him last time.” He let out a short burst of flame from his nose. “We must assume she is leading. The dragons would not be there without Vila’slae. Unless they have found another to take her place. And if that’s the case… well, it does us no favours if another witch controls the dragons.”

  Kirin’thar nodded agreeably. “Be it her or someone new, our task has not changed. We must learn of their plans and prepare as best we can. The old alliances must be born anew, and the borders strengthened. And if we are to do this, we must seek council with Eidred’s heir and bring the armies of Aleras to the battle.”

  “And what of the Salrians? They must know of the Kel’madden massing on their flank. Could they be working with them?” Tor asked.

  “I doubt it; they have little love for Eiras or any of the Kel clans. As for the east, the land is sparse. The Salrians dwell, almost to a man, around Barath. Thanks to that ridiculous treaty with the Surabhan, there are only a few small border outposts. I would bet the Salrians know nothing of it.”

  “Then she won’t risk a war on two fronts,” Tor said. “At least not until she has a foothold in the south. And if she can’t go through Taris, then that leaves the Tunnels of Aldregair.”

  Cal laughed. “After what happened to her last time, I doubt she will risk the tunnels. She could come on Taris and pass the Northern Keep before the Salrians can react.”

  Kirin thought a moment. “Yes! They would be at Bailryn before any message could reach the Salrian High Council.”

  Tor growled. “Argh… we are just guessing. She could be attacking from the sea!”

  “No,” Cal said. “They were ferrying troopers from the Eastern Isles. If they had sufficient ships, they would not be staging their assault from one hundred leagues north of the border.”

  “It is clear,” Tor said, “someone will have to go north, see what direction they are heading. Someone who can get there and back in good time… maybe one of the smaller dragons, Ban or Lyduk?”

  Kirin shook his head. “You should not risk exposing yourselves. I can send a man on a fast horse; two weeks, maybe.”

  Tor remained quiet, thinking. He did not look happy; t
wo weeks was a long time. “Yes, I suppose if anyone can spy for us and gather news it would be one of the Cren.”

  “So that’s settled. Not all the questions answered, but it’s the beginnings of a plan,” Kirin said.

  Tor stopped. He pulled a face that said they were not finished yet. “Well, in point of fact…” He hesitated. “There is a little matter…”

  Before Tor could continue, Manag, Vaz and two others came running up from the village, each with two buckets of water.

  “Ah, thank the gods,” Tor said.

  The dragon hunched back and sat on his tail. Grabbing the first bucket, he gulped it down in one and then reaching out for the next. Tor had three more. At the sixth, he asked Vaz if she would not mind throwing it over his back.

  “Ah, that’s better! Thank you all.” Tor got back on all fours and continued walking towards the village.

  “What’s this about a favour?” Kirin asked.

  “Oh, yes… Sorry.” Tor seemed to hesitate for a moment. Then: “The Cinné’arth is right now camped just outside your forest, in what looks like a hollow just north of the Raithby. I’d like you to persuade him to come to Braylair.”

  Both Kirin and Cal stopped dead in their tracks. “You mean the… the… Cinné’arth… is in Crenach’coi?” The two Cren looked at each other with wide-eyed, jaw-to-the-floor astonishment.

  When Kirin had gathered his wits, he continued: “I thought he was dead! Everybody thought he was dead. Now you say he is sitting in a field on the borders of Crenach. How could I go a hundred years and not know of this?” Shaking his head, he scrubbed his fingers through his thick black hair. “Well, this changes everything. What of the other Kel’mai? Are they back, too?”

  Tor shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve only known about the Cinné’arth for a few months. Since Brea, our Soul Guardian, came of age.”