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

by T. J. Garrett

  “Gialyn turned back to her. “Come on, Elspeth. It’s too late to worry about going home. At least this way you might see you brother. And I my father.”

  “Yes, if Ealian isn’t in the bloody woods with his new family,” she whispered.

  With a long sigh, she picked up her feet and caught up with Gialyn. “Go on then. Seems there’s no choice; Bailryn it is.” She laughed. “I wonder if the palace is still recruiting for guards.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Payday

  The first Alaf’kan knew of the dragon’s whereabouts were the noises it made as it trampled through the forest. The crack of a branch, the thud of the heavy footfalls, and, most unnerving, the billowing rasp of the dragon’s breath. Alaf’kan was almost relieved when the beast finally entered the clearing.

  The dragon was much bigger than he had expected. Dark green in colour, it had a fan of sharp quills around its neck, a surprisingly slender body, and a tail that was half again as long. Still, it didn’t seem fearsome at all: more like a big horse.

  However, the man sitting at the base of the dragon’s neck was another matter entirely.

  General Ebon Turasan, still holding the thick leather reins, swung his leg over the dragon’s neck and slid down its shoulder. The leader of the Kel’madden was a huge man – if, in fact, he was a human. Dressed in black, Turasan was a good two hands taller than Alaf’kan. His wide-shouldered armour exaggerated what was already an impressive physique. When he removed his helmet, a full head of almost white hair made the man look otherworldly.

  Alaf’kan hated that; bad enough the man was tall – he loathed having to look up at anybody, friend or foe – but to be built for battle, too. He would have to find a way to get the better of the man: stand his ground. He could not allow Turasan to dictate terms.

  Six more Kel’madden – Troopers, if Alaf’kan remembered the name correctly – dismounted. They climbed down a rope ladder attached to the… the… whatever that thing was on the dragon’s back. It looked like a carriage, but without wheels. The six men quickly formed up behind their general: two lines, three a side. They, too, were dressed in the same over-sized armour, each one as big as Turasan, if not bigger – it was hard to tell under all that chainmail and plate.

  Alaf’kan looked at his own men. It would likely take all forty of them to overcome the six Troopers. And even if they did defeat them, he would still have to deal with Turasan and the dragon. No, forty guards or not, he was still outnumbered. Strength would not earn him the upper hand. He was beginning to wish he had brought more men, an entire regiment.

  Suppressing the dull sense of fear that had started to creep under his skin, Alaf’kan took a step forward. He wanted this meeting over with and General Turasan on his dragon, flying back to wherever he had come from. “Welcome, General.” Alaf’kan gave a shallow bow, as befitting an equal.

  To his surprise, Turasan spread out his palms and bowed deeply. The six Kel’madden followed suit.

  A low mumbling rose within the ranks, as Alaf’kan’s men began whispering to one another. He rounded on them. A stern look was enough to quieten their gossip, but he couldn’t help shaking his head. What sort of example was that to show the Kel’madden?

  Once satisfied that they wouldn’t start whispering again, Alaf’kan nodded to the two regulars standing on his left. They were holding trays. The first stepped forward and offered warm, wet towels to their Kel’madden guests. The other was carrying a tray of drinks. The goblets rattled, as the fool extended the tray towards Turasan. Alaf’kan had to stop himself groaning. Useless fool. Should have used my own man.

  If Turasan noticed anything, he didn’t say. The Kel’madden general accepted a towel, wiped his hands and face, and took one of the goblets of wine from the tray. Predictably, he did not drink from it. Instead, he held the cup out and waited. Alaf’kan waved the tray bearer over. He picked up the first goblet and took a gulp. Turasan grinned, then emptied his own cup in one long draw.

  Alaf’kan nodded back. He doesn’t trust me. Well, I don’t trust him, either. No matter, as long as he’s brought my gold.

  Turasan nodded back, then waved the tray bearers towards his men. “Shall we get on with this, General?” he said in a deep, strong voice.

  “By all means, sir. If you’ll follow me.”

  Alaf’kan could not help but let his eyes flicker toward the head-sized casket carried by one of the Kel’madden Troopers. It looked big enough to hold his five thousand gold pieces. They would be Kel’madden gold pieces, but gold was gold, and that casket held five years’ wages –minus some to keep his guards happy. He could hardly wait to lay his hands on all that money. Finally, he could put his plans into motion.

  It was not far to his tent. He had it pitched there so they would not have to walk past the regulars – which seemed to have been a good idea, judging by the performance of the two he had used. He would have to deal with them later. They would not be getting any gold.

  He wouldn’t have used the regulars at all, were it not for the need to use Si’eth’s men to retrieve the map. Maybe he should order the rest of them north to the Glacier; that would keep them out the way, long enough for him to return to Barath. With this gold, he could pay the mercenaries and take over the Council. He could not help but smile at the thought. Civilian leaders were so weak; if he had been in charge, he would never have signed that mockery of a treaty. The Council will get what they deserve… if I let them live. Fools.

  Alaf’kan entered his tent and quickly rounded his desk. He wanted to be ready, force the Kel’madden to stand before him. His men had orders to keep the Troopers out. It would just be him, General Turasan, and his three best guards – who were already standing behind his desk, lined up against the tent awning, waiting.

  He was beginning to feel confident. Hand over the map… take the gold… what could go wrong? So pleased was he that he even gave his guards a friendly nod. He could have laughed as they looked at each other, unsure how to respond. But that didn’t bother him. Today was a good day; everything was going as planned.

  His smile slipped, though, when Turasan led in all six of his Troopers. Biting his lip, Alaf’kan tried to hide his anger. No good shouting now; he would have words with the guards afterwards. Were they even listening when he gave his order? No matter; a small thing. Just keep to the plan.

  His anger turned to trepidation when two of the Kel’madden took positions at either end of his desk. Both stared impassively at his guards.

  “I can have chairs brought, if your men would like to sit,” Alaf’kan asked.

  He waited for a reply.

  Turasan stood, arms folded, while the rest of his men took up positions within the tent. Alaf’kan watched as one of them peered through the slit in the door.

  “Is everything well?” he asked.

  “Where is the map, Alaf’kan?”

  Alaf’kan blinked, his plan wasn’t working, Turasan was taking control – and in his own tent, too.

  Keeping eyes on Turasan, Alaf’kan flipped the lid of the small ornate chest, sitting on the desk in front of him. The scroll lay inside. He sat back in his chair and gestured open-handed towards it. “There’s your scroll, General Turasan. The Surabhan map of the Tunnels of Aldregair.”

  The Kel’madden’s eyes widened.

  Gods. I’m not supposed to know! Alaf’kan sat still, fighting the urge to gulp down his nerves. You fool; how long have you been doing this? Stupid mistake!

  “And how do you know this?” Turasan’s slow, calm question was menacing as a Timber Wolf’s growl.

  “Faelen told me. Or rather, he told my captain.” Alaf’kan casually waved his hand over the scroll, trying, for all his worth, to appear at ease. “Did you think he would not? You can’t trust the Surabhan.” Yes, blame it on the Surabhan. Just don’t look frightened.

  “Ambassador Faelen told you? How did he know? He was just a courier. We dealt with Lord Breen.”

  Lord Breen? That scum patron of the Black
Hand. “I didn’t know that. In that case, Faelen must have opened the scroll.”

  Turasan let go of a deep sigh. “It’s about what I would expect from mainlanders.” The Kel’madden general raised a finger, then nodded at the two Troopers standing either side of the desk.

  Alaf’kan flinched as the Troopers drew their swords. A few seconds later – it felt longer – all three of his guards were dead, lying sprawled on the floor.

  Alaf’kan sprang to his feet. One of the Troopers pushed him back down. “Are you going to kill me?” Alaf’kan said, ashamed at the timidity in his voice.

  “No. Let this be a lesson.” Turasan nodded at the dead guards. “Now, tell me, who broke this seal? For it was not Lord Breen, nor was it Ambassador Faelen. That only leaves you, unless you know of another.”

  “It was stolen, we had to retrieve it. We found the thieves. I didn’t want to trouble you with the details. Really, there’s no harm done. We have them captive in the quartermaster’s tent.” Alaf’kan gulped again and waited. Thank the gods for those foolish children. Yes, they will deny it, but that’s to be expected. I’ll say I found the map on them. No, I will say Si’eth found the map on them. Damn that fool; this is all his fault.

  “Show me,” Turasan said. “I want to meet these… thieves.”

  Alaf’kan eased his chair back and stepped over one of the dead guards. He pulled down his tunic and stood straight. Pushing down his anger – or was it fear – he made for the door. He hoped most of his men were still outside. He would soon discover if they were worth the money he was paying them. One of the Kel’madden Troopers opened the tent flap for him. Alaf’kan walked out. His heart sank as he took in the scene. Six of his guards remained. They were sitting around a campfire, quietly chatting. So much for that idea; he would have to take the general to the prisoners.

  He walked purposefully towards the quartermaster’s tent, ignoring the looks of his seated guards. They were probably wondering why he had not called them, why he was walking without his own men at his side. He hoped they had the sense to realise something was wrong, and the wisdom not to challenge the Kel’madden without reinforcement.

  Alaf’kan halted abruptly as one of the regulars came running towards him. “Gods, what does this fool want?” he whispered.

  “General, sir, begging your pardon, but three of my men have been attacked, sir.” The weasel-eyed regular made a half-salute, then stood gaping at the Kel’madden.

  Alaf’kan’s head spun. Were they under attack? He could not order his men to arms while Turasan had a knife to his throat – so to speak. Nor could he remain silent. “Who attacked them, soldier?”

  “That’s just it, sir, I don’t know. But… uh… the prisoners are gone.”

  “What!” Alaf’kan shouted.

  Turasan stepped up beside him. “What deceit is this, Alaf’kan?”

  The ignorant oaf did not wait for an answer. Alaf’kan had no choice but to listen while Turasan questioned his man. “How long ago did this happen?”

  The regular gazed open-mouthed at the tall Kel’madden.

  “Answer him, soldier.” Alaf’kan forced the words out, but his mind was not on the man. How could he use this escape to aid in his own troubles? With the children gone, it would look all the more likely the Surabhan were behind the scroll fiasco. This might be good. He didn’t wait for his man to answer. He turned to the guards sitting near the fire and ordered them to start a sweep of the camp. “…and get some men out with the dogs; they can’t have gone far.”

  He ordered the regular away, too. Then waited for Turasan’s response. He must see this is not my fault; he has to.

  “Strange camp you have here, General. I have half a mind to raze it to the ground.”

  Turasan stared at him for a long moment. This was it; the next words out of the man’s mouth would mean life or death. He had no other card to play.

  “We will get them back, General,” Alaf’kan assured him. “And when we do, you will see the truth.”

  “I don’t care about getting them back, Alaf’kan. I want you to track them, then kill every last one, and do it quickly.” Turasan turned and nodded to his men.

  Alaf’kan watched as the Kel’madden headed for the clearing.

  “What about the gold?” Alaf’kan asked.

  “Find your runaways, General. Find them and bring their heads to me. I will be in the Karan Valley. You prove this break in security has ended, and I’ll think about your gold.” Turasan marched away, then stopped short of the clearing. “Oh, and don’t just fall on the first Surabhan find and offer them up as proof. Vila’slae will know if you’re lying. Do you understand me, General? Don’t let her down.”

  Alaf’kan’s gritted his teeth against their chattering. Vila’slae!

  CHAPTER 16

  Careful What You Wish For

  Bre’ach led the two Albergeddians east across the Northern Taris Grasslands and on into the Western Karan at a relentless pace. Gialyn had thought himself fit, after weeks of walking across Aleras’moya, but he was thankful for the dusk, and the chance to rest.

  Despite his pace, Bre’ach was careful. There were no campfires, unless one could be set within a rocky nook. The few they did make were small, made of whatever deadwood they found lying around. Each morning, the Salrian would check over the campsite and groan at every broken twig and upturned rock.

  On the second morning, Elspeth asked fretfully if Alaf’kan’s men were following. Bre’ach said he was only taking precautions, but Gialyn wondered if that were true. He was even more concerned when he realised Bre’ach seemed just as anxious over what lay ahead as he was with who may be following them. Again, Bre’ach said he was “being cautious.”

  The going became rough underfoot. The soft grass of the Taris seemed a distant memory. In its place, the jagged pits and crannies of the Karan Lowlands, with their rough rocks and ankle-breaking crevices, played like knives on Gialyn’s shins and ankles; every step needed planning. The shade of a tree became a rare luxury, and even though they followed the course of the Broan, the river ran between steep banks for much of the time, making it hard for them to refill their waterskins or soak their tired feet.

  It seemed to Gialyn that, despite his haste, Bre’ach took every opportunity to take the long way round. Circling ridges they could have easily crossed, and skirting clusters of trees – the few there were – instead of cutting through. He spoke less, too. Gialyn began to worry.

  Elspeth, on the other hand, was annoyed.

  “Are we going to walk around every rock, Bre’ach?” she asked him. “For every mile east, we are walking two! I swear, we would have arrived at this valley by now, had we kept to the north, instead of trudging through this… this… wasteland!”

  Three times, she asked the same question, and three times, Bre’ach ignored her. He just grunted and pointed to the east, as if that was the answer she needed. Gialyn thought the Salrian was beginning to wish he’d left her behind.

  However, she did have a point…

  “Why are we walking through the rocks?” Gialyn asked.

  Bre’ach flung his head back and growled. “Gods protect me, not you as well.” He stopped and turned to face Elspeth – who folded her arms and lifted her chin indignantly. “Listen, the path along the northern edge of the lowlands is well-used trail; there could be soldiers in front, or behind. This is the safest way; it’s difficult to track over hard ground, and if we see anyone, we can easily hide among the rocks.” Bre’ach spun on his heel and carried on walking.

  Elspeth unfolded her arms and took a quick step to catch up. “And what was so hard about that? Could you not have told us this before?”

  Bre’ach continued walking. “If I had told you before, you would have found something else to complain about. There’s no benefit in telling you anything,” he said over his shoulder.

  Gialyn tried not to laugh; he was beginning to like Bre’ach. Wide-eyed, Elspeth turned her gaze on him. Maybe she was looking for sup
port, but Gialyn agreed with the Salrian. Besides, they were running for their lives; did it really matter whether they walked on rocks or grass?

  Elspeth turned back to Bre’ach. Feet stomping as she walked, she opened her mouth – probably readying another tirade – when the Salrian hushed her. Bre’ach quickly ducked behind a large boulder and waved Elspeth in behind him. Gialyn followed. He found a place to squat at Bre’ach’s side, where he could see what had made the Salrian nervous…

  Up ahead, about a hundred paces, a thin line of grey smoke rose into the air. Gialyn thought he could see movement, too. It looked like three or four men were gathering their belongings.

  Elspeth peered over his shoulder, leaning her chest on his back. “Are they soldiers?” she asked Bre’ach.

  “No; poachers, most likely. But that’s not much better; I doubt they will act kindly if they find two Surabhan this side of the border.”

  “What do we do?” Gialyn asked.

  “Looks like they are breaking camp. We sit tight, see which way they go, then we go the other way.”

  That made sense, Gialyn thought. For once, Elspeth did not argue. In fact, she was hardly breathing, her face had paled. Gialyn felt her shudder against his back. Is she all right?

  “Don’t worry, Elspeth,” Bre’ach said. “They haven’t seen us. We’ll wait here until they’re gone.” His voice, for once, was comforting.

  To Gialyn’s surprise, Elspeth nodded at the Salrian, looking relieved. After all her talk, all her complaining, was that all she wanted? For someone to tell her that everything would be fine.

  Finally, after what seemed like hours – but more likely twenty minutes – the poachers left. Whatever they had been doing, they certainly made a meal of it; Gialyn hadn’t seen anyone pack up camp so slowly.

  Bre’ach cursed under his breath, as the three – it was only three, thankfully – roughly dressed men began to move east. “That’s all we need,” he whispered.