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

by T. J. Garrett

  The three saluted in unison.

  Toban ran to the fore and gazed, ears pricked, to the south and west. “They’re closing,” he said. “We should hurry.”

  Daric gave the order and all nine galloped southwest, following Toban, as he guided them along the safest route between the two approaching riders.

  It was still raining heavily, enough to mist up the horizon. Cal – for all his Woodsman’s vision – could not see more than a hundred paces in any direction. He was glad they could rely on Toban’s ears to guide them. The ground underfoot was still hard, despite the rain. The tall grass lashed at Cal’s feet. It almost hid the wolf completely. Cal was impressed Toban could run through at such a good pace.

  The five soldiers began to bunch up. Daric ordered them back in line. Cal looked over his shoulder at the pale looks on their faces. He wondered if any of them had ever been in combat. Still, they followed Daric’s order and spread out in single file. Grady brought up the rear. Cal could hear the thick-shouldered man calling encouragement to the others. There was no doubt in his mind that Grady had seen a battle or two.

  Before long, Cal saw the farm sprawled out at the base of a tall ridge. It looked a good place to defend; they would not be able to surround it. Daric led them all into the farmyard and straight through the open doors of the barn. He immediately dismounted and moved to one of the barn doors. Cal followed and began to close the other.

  A woman ran from the house toward the barn, her head covered with a woollen blanket for shelter against the rain. “What’s the meaning of this? Who are you?” she asked Daric. Her voice was high pitched. Cal heard fear in her words, although she did well to hide it.

  “Would you be Mrs. Wild?” Daric asked her.

  The woman’s eyes widened when she saw the others and widened even more at the sight of Toban. After seeing the wolf, she barely noticed Cal towering over her.

  “What is all this? Answer me.”

  “Ma’am, is there anybody else here. Where are your daughters?” Daric asked her.

  The woman stood taller and folded her arms. Her expression hardened as she raised her chin to the major. “I have no daughters,” she lied. “You had best answer me before my husband and our five sons come back from town. They won’t be long.”

  “Ma’am, your husband is Etan Wild; he is at Gieth’eire with our other brave volunteers. And you have five daughters. Listen to me, Mrs. Wild.” Daric clasped his hands together, as if praying. “Men are on their way here, bad men. Now, I will ask you one more time, where are your daughters?”

  The woman’s face paled as she brought a hand to her mouth. “Three of them are inside. My two eldest are in Redgate, working at the inn.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wild. Now go round up your children and move to the centre of the house. Paiden!” Daric shouted to the corporal without turning around.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Go with Mrs. Wild and stand guard at their door. Get them under a table and block up the windows. And hurry, we have maybe ten minutes.”

  Paiden saluted before running across the farmyard with Mrs. Wild in tow.

  Daric turned to the others. He looked pleased that the three men he had ordered to take up position at the windows were already there. Grady, Toban, Si’eth and the two other soldiers were standing in the middle of the barn, waiting.

  “Toban,” Daric said. “Where would you do best?”

  The wolf answered immediately. “Outside. At the very least I can spook their horses; give you more time.”

  “Good plan, Toban. Stay out there and cause as much trouble as you can.”

  The wolf left without another word.

  “There are two entrances to the farmyard. I want to see both clear of cover in the next five minutes,” Daric said to the remaining soldiers. “Grab anything they can use for cover and bring it in here. Then get that cart and tip it over in front of the farmhouse door, then stay behind it. We’ll make them wonder where we are. Hopefully, they will come after you, and we can attack them from behind.” The two soldiers didn’t look pleased, but they set about their orders without complaint.

  “Grady, can you run around and check for weaknesses? Si’eth, help the three men up top; guard their backs and spot for them. Cal, you and me need to shore up those windows.”

  Cal was impressed; in less than ten minutes, Daric had secured the farm and yard. There was nothing left to do but wait. He was glad he had forced the kalli root on the major.

  * * *

  Daric sat beneath a window on the first floor of the barn. The horn sounded again. “What is the point of that?” Daric whispered. He was surprised when Cal answered.

  “They’re not soldiers, Daric,” the tall Cren said.

  He was right, of course, when all’s said and done, the Black Hand were just thugs… and city thugs at that. Good at bullying merchants and street urchins, but Daric guessed not a one of them would have a mind for tactics. He was glad of that much, at least.

  He watched as both groups of Black Hand – all twenty of them – rode into the farmyard. Not a one had the sense to give the barn more than a passing glance. The leather-clad riders pulled swords and formed their horses in an arc in front of the upturned cart.

  It would be a pigeon shoot, if it came down to that. Daric, Cal, and the three guards could kill half of them before they realised where the attack had come from. The thought gave Daric pause; he had given a shoot to kill order, expecting some real opposition, but this… this would be a hair short of slaughter.

  Their leader took a step forward. “Re’adh,” he shouted. “Surrender now and you won’t be harmed.”

  Even if Daric believed him, it would make little difference; he couldn’t allow Faelen to stop them, he had to reach the palace and deliver the scrolls. Failure was more than their lives were worth.

  Daric ducked down below the windowsill. “Where is Faelen?” he whispered to Cal

  Cal shook his head. The big Cren had barely managed to squeeze himself under the window. He could probably still look through it if he had lain back on his elbow. “I can’t see him, Daric, but then I can’t see much more than the farmhouse.”

  It would be just like the coward to hide on the fringes while he sent his men in to die, Daric thought.

  This was too easy; everything was going to plan.

  Nevertheless, something was eating at him – a distant thought, stuck in the back of his mind where he just couldn’t grasp a hold of it. Faelen was an arrogant man – as most politicians were – but no soldier. He should be the one standing up front, making demands, playing the mighty leader. If Daric had judged the man right, and he was sure that he had, then this made no sense at all. Where was he?

  Daric heard an almighty cracking of timber and then felt himself falling. The barn floor collapsed beneath him, He and Cal fell through the hole and landed heavily on the barn floor. Daric was stunned. White flecks pulsed in front of his eyes. Almost unconscious, he carefully flexed his wrist, knees and ankles – nothing broken. Cal was already up on his feet.

  “Loose,” Daric bellowed, but the three archers, still at the first-floor window, had already fired off a volley. “Well done, Si’eth,” Daric whispered, as he looked through the now non-existent barn door. Three thugs lay dead in the courtyard. Another volley and three more fell. The rest of the thugs split off in all directions.

  Daric heard a loud crack as four more of the Black Hand kicked down the door at the back of the barn. “Gods, how many are there?” Daric groaned as Cal dragged him to his feet.

  Cal then hurled himself at the four thugs that had rushed in through the back door. Two fell at Cal’s sword before Daric had his own unsheathed. The other two began desperately defending themselves. They apparently had not expected to meet a Cren; both were backing away towards the rear door.

  Two more men ran into the barn from the front. Daric spun on his heel and just managed to parry the lead attacker. He punched the first man square on the jaw, then kicked the
knee out from under the second. Daric watched as the thug fell like a sack of grain, holding his ruined knee, wailing in agony.

  The first got to his feet and stood in a battle stance. The man was young, Daric noticed – not much older than Gialyn.

  “Think about what you’re doing, boy,” Daric said.

  The young man gulped hard; he looked about fit to run. A moment passed before he spoke, “I have no choice. I’m just as dead if I don’t.”

  With that, the young man lunged. Daric easily dodged the feeble thrust and clouted the youngster on the back of the neck. The young lad hit the ground with a thud and a groan; unconscious, but alive.

  Cal killed three and had the other under his sword. The thug was kneeling with his hands behind his head.

  Daric nodded to Cal and then called to the three archers. “Don’t sit up there, you fools; they’re not going to stand in front of you. Come down, and be quick about it.”

  The three scrambled down the wooden ladder, then stood in line with proud looks on their faces. Daric ignored them, for now.

  Outside, all was quiet. From where he stood, Daric could see eleven corpses and three more wounded.

  Fourteen taken care of; that should be enough to see them off, Daric hoped.

  “Where’s Si’eth?” he asked the first of the three archers.

  “He jumped out the window, sir, after two men who were trying to climb the barn wall.”

  Daric sighed. Rolling his eyes, he asked, “What are you saying? He went chasing after them by himself?”

  “No, sir. I think he’s with the wolf, sir. I saw them to the east. I think they were rounding up the enemies horses, now that they have run off.”

  “Oh, they have run off, have they? And what makes you so sure of that, soldier?”

  The soldier said nothing.

  Daric gave him a pat on the shoulder. He was a young man, probably a little too eager to please. “Well, I expect you’re right, but don’t go assuming anything. Now, tie up the prisoners and check our horses,” Daric said. All three moved towards the prisoners.

  Daric pulled the young soldier back. “Not all of you, you stand guard.” The guardsman nodded. He didn’t look much older than Gialyn, either.

  Daric walked out into the farmyard and surveyed the carnage. “Pointless,” he whispered. “Bloody pointless.”

  The two men who were hiding behind the cart came out. They looked nervous as they gazed about. Their swords were clean. Daric wanted to rant at them, accuse them of cowardice, but he thought better of it. What more were they supposed to have done, chased after the fleeing horsemen? They followed their orders, stayed at their post – that would have to be enough, for today.

  “Did any of you see Faelen?” Daric asked them.

  Ialin, the fat one on the right, nodded. “Yes, sir; he was sat atop his horse, over there, with another man.” He pointed to the fence beyond the outer courtyard.

  “Typical. And I suppose he ran at the first sign of trouble.”

  “I don’t know, sir,” the fat one said.

  “Never mind, guardsman. You did well. Who was the ‘other man’?”

  “I don’t know, sir, but he looked important, had on a right shiny broach, and his horse was… well… it looked expensive, sir.”

  “Another man?” Daric whispered. “Who the bloody hell is he?” That all we need; another mystery stalker. “Is that all, Ialin? Did you see any rank insignia? A uniform, anything? Was this other man Surabhan?”

  “Aye, sir; I’m sure he was Surabhan: tall, dark-haired by the looks of it. I didn’t see any rank on him, though.”

  “He was holding a sceptre,” the other guardsman said – Daric thought his name was Danil.

  “A sceptre?”

  “Yes, sir, one of those short things with gold on the top and white around the middle.”

  “That’s a high council sceptre. Well done, Danil. And you, Ialin.”

  Daric allowed himself a smile at Ialin’s grateful expression. And why not? They had won, with little more than a scratch and a sore knee between them.

  Daric looked around for Grady. His friend was supposed to be on the ground floor of the barn, standing ready to fill up gaps in their defence. Where is he? Why isn’t he here? Panic flattened his heart as he thought the worst. Frantically, he looked around at the dead; Grady was nowhere in sight. He pulled his sword and ran for the farmhouse door, all but kicking it down in his rush to get inside. Rounding the hallway, he entered the kitchen and then sighed with relief at the sight of Grady standing next to Mrs. Wild.

  Grady lifted his gaze towards him. There was a sadness in the look he gave that Daric had seen before – too many times. Gods, it must be one of the girls, he thought, taking a step into the kitchen.

  He saw the uniform before he saw the man. Daric took three shaky steps before dropped to his knees. Paiden’s lifeless eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. A familiar cold chill passed over Daric as he slowly, carefully, took the young man by the hand and cradled it in his own. His fingertips were already yellow; he must have lain there for a long minute, fighting for his life.

  Mrs. Wild and her daughters were sobbing. “He saved us,” the mother said. She caught her breath and moaned loudly. “Gods damn you! Why did you come here? Gods damn you!” The three girls joined her as she started wailing. G ushered them through to the next room.

  Daric said nothing. He did not look at the three dead men lying on the kitchen floor; he could not smell the blood pooling under Paiden’s body; he did not hear Grady walk to his side, but he felt his friends hand on his shoulder.

  “Report, Lieutenant,” Daric said.

  Grady immediately stood at attention. “They have retreated west along the ridge, sir, Guardsman Mikha reports seeing nine survivors. Our men are all accounted for, but Si’eth and Toban are still out. We have two injured, but they are minor. The horses are in good shape. There are fourteen dead and three wounded, sir.”

  Daric supposed, for a moment, that he should be happy; fourteen to one was nothing short of miraculous, under the circumstances. Any other commander may have thought this a good day. He raged silently against the emotion that swelled in his throat, threatening to choke him. He’d spent years pushing those feeling deep down in his gut. He left the guards, left Bailryn, to be with his family, even bought a bloody farm, so he wouldn’t have to feel this way again. But there it was, back again, tearing at his heart as if it had never left, choking him. “I swear, before this is done, I’m going to see that man dead.”

  Grady said nothing.

  “See to the men, Lieutenant, get them sat down and get some tea down them. Find some honey or sugar to put in it. Burial duty is in one hour. And you can call Si’eth and Toban back in.”

  “Yes, sir,” Grady said. He about-faced and began to march out of the kitchen.

  “Oh, and, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Use the cart to take the bodies beyond the property line. No separate graves, I want to be in Redgate before sundown.” Daric could almost hear Grady thinking. “We take him with us, Grady. I will not leave him here. We’ll arrange for Paiden to be taken back to the Garrison.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Grady left.

  Daric closed Paiden’s eyes. He brushed a tear from his chin. “I’m sorry, boy,” he whispered. “If you weren’t so bloody good, you’d still be alive.” He brushed Paiden’s hair from his eyes, and then laughed softly to himself. “But then, four women would be dead, wouldn’t they. And you thought you weren’t a hero.”

  * * *

  “‘Three men and a dog,’ Faelen, that’s what you said, ‘Three men and a dog. No mention whatsoever of the half-dozen guardsmen, and never mind that one of them was a Cren and the… the dog was a bloody wolf!”

  Faelen kneed his white mare in closer to Samel. “I told you how many came to Taris, not how many left. And how would I know they would bring the Salrian with them, or that he would fight on their side? I thought he w
as a prisoner. As for the wolf, I told you he was a Rukin; it’s not my fault you don’t know what a Rukin is.” He edged closer. “I wouldn’t complain so loudly, were I you. I fear your men are not in the mood to hear it.”

  Samel turned in his saddle and eyed the nine men following. He cursed silently before facing forward. “Stop making excuses, Faelen; this is your fault. And I will complain as loud as I want,” he said, but not very loudly.

  “My fault?” Faelen’s voice was shrill, angry. “I told you to wait until we get back to Bailryn, we could have avoided all this, could have had him picked up at the gate. Now, we’ll be lucky if we make it back in one piece. Don’t think for one moment that turning west will fool them; they know where we are going.” Faelen sighed as he pulled at his wet cloak. “And since you insisted on bringing the wagon to a fight, we haven’t even got a tent. These are not city folk, Samel; they won’t drop to their knees when you raise a finger. Most of them haven’t even heard of Lord Breen, never mind his lackey.”

  “Don’t mock me; I’m in no mood for your arrogance.”

  Faelen laughed. “You are the last person I worry about, Samel; just because you carry his sceptre, don’t imagine you have his power. Lord Breen will lay the blame on you; it was your men who failed.”

  “They did, didn’t they? Twenty-six of them, and they couldn’t capture one man with less than ten companions.”

  “What are you doing, Samel?”

  “It will be both our skins, Faelen. Would you rather Curran and his men take the blame, or us?” Samel said, very quietly.

  CHAPTER 23

  Mott’s Lot: Part Four

  “If they are going to fight, each wolf will need at least two cups of meat a day,” Mott said as he followed Nacole and her pups into the valley of wolves.

  “Cups? Wolves don’t eat soup, Mott.”