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

by T. J. Garrett

  Farnok barked out a laugh.

  It had been three hundred years since the partial truce between the Rukin and Darkin saw them fighting together at the Eurmac Canyon. Back then, Sea Folk from the Western Isles and the Ulroch Giants were their common enemy. Aleban knew that much for fact, but he was not sure what went wrong to cause the rift between them to deepen. He certainly had little idea about the events involving the Karakin – some five hundred years earlier. No Rukin knew much about that period of their history, save for the fact that the Karakin were now Spirit Wolves and lived somewhere deep in the bowels of Aldregair. There were hints that the Cren were involved, but only hints. All that was academic, though; he understood why the Darkin were reluctant, and probably angry, and maybe they had every right to be. However… “The Kel’madden are massing to the north, the witch has brought her dragons, and you… laugh!”

  “I’m not laughing at the situation, Rukin. I’m laughing because the only time we ever see your kind is when you are in trouble.” Farnok turned to his kin, who were both sneering.

  “It’s not us who are in trouble, Farnok,” Aleban said, “And as you say, we come to you for help. We don’t sit in the forest and hide!” Aleban suppressed the urge to bite his lip. He knew saying the Darkin hid from danger was going too far, but he didn’t think backing down and apologising would get him what he needed. If the Darkin are so full of honour, then let him answer the question.

  Qiel growled and stood. The young Darkin was about to take a step forward when Goranae nodded him back. Farnok glanced at Renik, and then at Qiel. Standing, he spoke quietly, “I can’t talk to this fool. Come. We are already late.”

  Aleban stood, too, and took a step forward. “That’s it, is it? You’ll just go back to the woods and forget about the Kel’madden?” What am I doing? This is no way to negotiate.

  Renik put his hand up in front of Aleban, stopping him from taking another step – and making even more a fool of himself.

  “The Darkin have already agreed to join the battle, Aleban,” The tall Cren said. “In fact, as the Darkin Council member, it was Farnok’s vote that swung the decision.”

  Aleban’s blinked disbelievingly at the Cren. Sitting on his haunches, he slowly shook his head at Arlec. “Well, that was a waste of nine days,” he whispered.

  “Not a waste,” Renik told him. “You can come with us, be our liaison. From what I hear, the Rukin are already well on their way. It would be pointless you going home.”

  Aleban was about to ask what exactly it was that Renik had heard when Kalina interrupted.

  “Sorry, but I’m not going anywhere but home,” the young woman said. “I did not agree to join this group to end up in a war. For that matter, I don’t remember agreeing to join in the first place.”

  “Of course, Kalina,” Aleban said. “Both you and Sarai should head back to Illeas. Arlec, too, if he wants.”

  Arlec shook his head. “No, if it’s all the same, I’d just as soon come with you,” he said to Renik.

  The Cren nodded. “Every man has the right to defend his home. Far be it from me to deny you. You will be most welcome.”

  Farnok yapped again. “You are too polite, Renik. Better they all went home. They will never keep up.”

  “They will do just fine,” Renik told him. “Arlec will ride and Aleban will have no problem keeping up.”

  Aleban wasn’t so sure. Darkin must be fast runners, if only because their legs were twice as long. “I’ll do my best. In any case, you have no need to wait on me. I know the way to Bailryn.”

  “That’s settled then,” Renik said. “We will sleep a few hours and leave with the dawn.”

  Farnok gave him a look that said he was already making concessions for the “slow” Rukin. Maybe he wanted to leave right away; he did say they were “already late.” He didn’t argue, though. Farnok and the other two Darkin bedded down for the night. Kalina and Sarai spoke for a while, mostly about the quickest way back to Illeas’den – they agreed it would be best to stay with the others until they reached the North Road. Besides, short of doubling back for three days, it was the only place to cross the Raithby River. Arlec, after sorting through his pack, counted his arrows and checked his bowstrings. Aleban spoke with Renik for a short while, before they, too, made ready for sleep. Not that Aleban could sleep. His mind was too full of questions. Not least, how had the Darkin managed to follow them without leaving any trace?

  * * *

  Twenty-one bodies littered the roadside. All but one were strange men wearing unfamiliar armour – black; some with stripes of gold or silver. Of the three carts bound for Brae’vis, two were smouldering wrecks. Allyanne pulled herself up from behind the line of wolfberry bushes. The last groan of the dying faded as she pulled her two children up from where they hid.

  “Put out the fire, Elmrin. Quickly, we must save as many aorand fruit as we can,” Allyanne told her son. He stared at the corpses, eyes wide with shock. “The fire, Elmrin; put out the fire. Hurry now.”

  The boy stepped forward on shaky legs, eyes fixed on his father’s body. Allyanne heard a gasp, and then watched as Elmrin ran towards the only Cren Woodsman lying in a mass of dead strangers. “He’s alive! Mother, he’s alive!”

  Allyanne picked up her skirt and ran to Macief’s side. Her husband’s eyes were open, barely. “Neoli, bring me some aorand, and my bag from the front of the cart. Hurry; your father is bleeding,” she said, sitting down next to her husband.

  Elmrin stood and stared.

  “I told you to put out the fire, boy; now jump to it!”

  Elmrin followed Neoli to the still-smouldering cart, but didn’t rush. Looking back as he walked, he nearly tripped on one of the dead strangers. He picked up a blanket from beside one of the carts and beat out what was left of the fire.

  Before her daughter could return with the aorand, Allyanne saw a small group approaching. A tall Cren, whom she thought she recognised; three Darkin she definitely recognised as Farnok and his kin; a small wolf, likely northern, and three humans: two women and an old man. The three humans and the small wolf all had scarves wrapped around their mouths, Allyanne could smell the kalli root from where she was sitting. The older of the two women – Surabhan, by the looks of her – ran forward, pulling off her pack as she approached.

  Without a word, the older human woman barked instruction at the other. “Water, lint, my bag; hurry girl, we have to stop the bleeding.”

  Allyanne grabbed her arm. “Who are you?”

  “No time for introductions, young lady.” The old woman pulled her arm free. “If you want to help, stay out of my way. Or fetch me some water, preferably clean.”

  Allyanne’s daughter returned and held out a handful of aorand. She didn’t say a word about the new woman, but then the Surabhan was hardly frightening; Neoli was a good hand taller, and she was only nine.

  “And what are they for?” the old woman asked.

  “They are aorand. They are what we use to heal.” Allyanne took the fruit from her daughter, smiled, and tried to push the old woman to the side.

  “Oh, so a little apple is going to close an open wound, is it?” the woman said while staring directly at her. “Would you please get me some water? You can feed him later, if you wish.”

  Allyanne looked up at the Cren stranger. He was smiling, for some reason. She was sure she recognised him, but… “I don’t know who you are,” Allyanne said, “but can you tell your friend to move before I move her myself.”

  “This is Sarai,” the tall Cren said. “She is a wise woman from Illeas’den. My name is Renik.”

  Of course. Renik, the Elder from Renok, I thought he was older. Allyanne bowed. “I am Allyanne. Now, could you please tell this woman to move so I can save my husband’s life? His name is Maceif.”

  The old woman looked shocked, maybe a little ashamed. Backing away, she didn’t utter a word in way of apology. And nor should she; Allyanne certainly couldn’t blame her for trying to help, but why did Surabh
an always try to take charge?

  Crushing two aorand in her hand, she dripped the juice onto the long open wound on Macief’s stomach. Her husband winced, which was hardly surprising. As brave as the man was, the only thing worse that having raw aorand poured on a wound was eating one. She mashed some of the pith between her palms and worked it into the smaller cuts while asking Neoli to squeeze the juice from the others into a cup. He would have to drink some, too.

  “Did he kill all these Kel’madden?” the human male, asked her. “I’m Arlec, by the way,” he added, pulling down his scarf as he spoke.

  “Put that back,” she told him. “No, they killed each other. Macief persuaded them to rest here a while. Lucky for us they didn’t know about the Morrdin.”

  Arlec nodded as if he understood – Renik must have explained how the Morrdin trees force a sense of confusion and desperation upon anyone who walks amongst them. He was likely feeling the effects, too, despite the kalli-infused cloth wrapped around his face.

  “That was good thinking,” Arlec said. “A brave man, your husband. Are you from Renok, too?”

  “Yes, he is brave.” She nodded in gratitude for the comment. “We are from just outside Renok, an aorand farm north of the village.” Allyanne took the cup from her daughter and began to coax her husband into drinking some. The fruit would normally be cooked and mixed with honey; she couldn’t blame him for sputtering. “We were on our way to Brae’vis when this lot attacked us. They drove us north. I heard them say something about the waterfall by the Raithby River. There must be more of them there.”

  “That or a dragon… two dragons.” Renik said.

  Allyanne froze for a moment before resuming. She had heard something of the invasion, mostly mutterings and gossip, but the northern dragons were the topic of every other story. “So, it’s true then, and these are Kel’madden.” She laced their name with scorn and then spat on the ground beside her. “Cowards. Twenty of them to attack one family.”

  Renik took a step forward and knelt by the old woman. He looked at Macief and nodded. “My guess is they came for the aorand.”

  Allyanne felt her brow rise. “Why would they… don’t they know aorand could kill them? The little people aren’t made for it.”

  “I doubt their leaders care. A human soldier with half an aorand inside him will fight twice as long and twice as hard. There’s no reason to think it wouldn’t be the same for these little ones, too.”

  “So, they are poison!” Sarai said. “And you are transporting them.” The old woman’s face turned hard, and her jaw clenched.

  “Poisonous to you, yes. To the Cren, they are medicine and nourishment both. True, if we eat too many, we act like a drunken trader, but it doesn’t harm us.”

  Renik shook his head slowly. “If they are after aorand to feed to their army, there will be more of them, especially when this lot don’t turn up. We must hurry; the border has to be secured.”

  He turned to the old woman and the young girl, both of whom sat staring at Macief’s fast-healing wound. “I’m afraid you will have to come with us after all. It wouldn’t be safe to let you go north alone.”

  The old woman just nodded. It seemed as though she had already figured that out for herself. The younger one looked annoyed but said nothing. Instead, she gazed around at the dead Kel’madden. Allyanne thought the girl was about ready to vomit, but she cleared her throat.

  “We should still clean his wounds,” the young one said. “It can’t hurt to get that dirt out.”

  The old woman nodded. “Yes, like you say, it can’t hurt.”

  Farnok came back into the clearing. Allyanne hadn’t noticed that the Darkin had left to scout around. “There’s no one ahead, at least not within the Morrdin. We should hurry, though, this group will be missed. We don’t need a battle slowing us down.”

  “You’re right,” Renik told him. Surveying the scene, the tall Cren sighed. “This changes everything. We must keep the Kel’madden from acquiring aorand fruit, even if it means leaving half the woodsmen here to defend the border.”

  The small wolf spun to face Renik. “We can’t stop. They will be expecting us in Bailryn.”

  Renik folded his arms. He looked sympathetic. “I understand that, Aleban, but if one wagon of aorand reach the Kel’madden….”

  The wolf slumped to the ground, and the old human moaned. Allyanne didn’t know if it was the Morrdin or the mood, but they both looked fit to cry. “You can talk about that when we are safely on our way,” Allyanne told them, gesturing towards the trees. Renik and the wolf nodded.

  CHAPTER 6

  Daric’s Day

  “If you force me to have any more of that, I’ll throw up what I’ve already eaten,” Daric said as he pushed the bowl of… well, he didn’t know what it was… as he pushed the bowl through the slit in the bars.

  Sitting on the only bench, which also doubled as a bed, Daric curled his lips around his teeth trying to rid himself of the taste. They had taken his clothes, his weapons and his pack, or he would have washed his mouth out with lemon soap. Anything would be better than that foul taste.

  “You need your strength, Daric. You could be in here for a few more days yet.” Evin pushed the bowl back.

  “It tastes like three-day-old fish,” he said, prodding the gruel with the wooden spoon, “and smells worse. Can’t you get me some bread and cheese?”

  Daric looked through the bars at Evin. He could hardly see her, what with the single lamp positioned on the wall behind her head, but what he saw had not changed much in the two years since he had taken his family west to Albergeddy, leaving the palace guards behind. Evin was a friend of the family; more so to his wife, Mairi, but still, Daric liked her well enough. She was not like most of the self-absorbed folk who lived and died by the gossip from the Royal Court. Not that Evin wasn’t privy to a scandal or two; she had just never seemed too caught up in it. Yet, if crossed, she could be a formidable enemy. Daric was glad to see her, though, terrible food or not.

  “Better still,” he said, with a terse smile, “why don’t you go get the key and let me out of here. You have to know—” Daric paused for a sigh. “I was going to say, you have to know the charges are bogus, but then there are no charges, are there?!”

  Evin straightened up on the small, three-legged stool she was sitting on. She sighed, too, before gazing down at the half-eaten bowl of gruel. “I’ll do what I can,” she said, finally, clasping her hands and nodding in response to her own answer. “I have an audience with His Majesty; I will try to broach the subject. But I warn you, he is somewhat tied up with other matters. If I push too hard, he is just as likely to sign the warrant himself.”

  Daric shook his head slowly and peered around at the moss-ridden walls. He knew this was Breen’s doing, Faelen must have sent a pigeon. Of course, he always suspected Lord Breen, but until now, until his charge-less arrest, he hadn’t been certain of the lord’s involvement. Breen was a powerful man, some said as powerful as the king, and a fierce advocate for a Senate of Noblemen – with himself as their leader, naturally. Daric was sure the man did not care a whit for democracy. Breen’s games were simply a means by which the lords could seize more power from the throne. It wasn’t just his influence at court that made him dangerous. Breen led the Black Hand, a company of louts and thugs who amounted to his lordship’s personal army. Daric wasn’t surprised Breen had the power to have an arrest warrant made up. Now, only the king could see to his release. Daric could spit with frustration.

  “Do what you can, Evin,” Daric said. He was surprised at how calm he sounded. “Did you manage to secure the scrolls?”

  Evin nodded. “Yes, they are in my quarters. All of your things are in my quarters. I managed to squirrel away the scrolls before anybody opened them, and there was nothing else of interest in your pack.”

  “It might help if you took one with you when you meet His Majesty. One of the scrolls was for him. It might be enough to focus his mind. With luck, he will hav
e me brought up to explain the… treaty… pact? What do you people call those things?”

  “A ‘pact’ will do well enough,” Evin smiled. “How did you get yourself involved in all this? Does Mairi know anything?”

  “She might do. Gialyn should be home by now. But if I don’t send her a message soon, she’ll likely put herself on the next boat.” Daric turned to Evin. “Could you do that for me? No details, just tell her I am well and will be sending word soon. You know… something to calm her down.”

  “You mean lie?” Evin’s mouth curled into a grin. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to reach out to her family. They are not as powerful as Breen, but Alliandra has some influence.”

  Daric laughed so hard he was nearly sick. “If Mairi’s mother knew I was in jail, she’d likely as not pay the guards to lose me in the lower dungeons.”

  Evin laughed, too. “Alliandra isn’t that bad, and, as a Merchant’s Council leader, she does have the king’s ear.”

  Daric winced at the thought. He knew what Evin was suggesting made perfect sense, but owing his freedom to Alliandra! It almost made him welcome prison. “Fine, I’ll ask her if needs be, but only as a last resort. Let’s hope you have some luck with the king.”

  Evin chuckled. “Very well, I’ll do my best. Speaking of which, I should be going; I have things to do before my audience.” Daric nodded as she stood and reached a hand through the bar to pat him on the shoulder. “Meanwhile, you can leave the rest of that.” She pointed at the bowl. “You’ll either be out by sunset, or I’ll bring you some bread and cheese.”

  Daric smiled up at her. “Thank you, Evin. For everything.”

  * * *

  In a lavish room on the third floor of the royal palace, King Otto Vierdan sat on the wide ledge below one of three large, arched windows, which together made up half of the western wall. Window open, he gazed down into the courtyard, where men with horses were dismantling the marquee; a marquee that should have been one of the centrepieces of the upcoming Royal Guard Recruitment Ceremony. A large banqueting table, ordered especially for the occasion, was already in pieces, ready to ship back to Lord Odermin’s estate. The high walls of the palace grounds, usually so drab and boring, were still draped with colourful banners and bunting. In a little over two days, the banquets should have begun; and in a little over two weeks, the ceremony itself. But as with the rest of the pageantry and partying, the staff were pulling down the banners and bunting, probably for another ten years.