Three Quest Deal (Tales of Former Dragons Book 1)

by Rainer Domingo

  “Where’s Raah now?”

  “That battle took place two hundred years ago. He’s probably dead by now. No orc lives to be that old.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Toshen said.

  “What’s a shaman?” Aesus asked.

  “I read they’re spellcasters that manipulate the elements and nature. Not much is known about them.”

  “What’s your best guess of where we can find Raah?” Drakor asked.

  “If he’s alive, which I seriously doubt, you’d most likely find him in the capital of the land of the orcs, Kazzix-Tor.”

  “Why would he be in Kazzix-Tor?” Aesus asked.

  “Because all the grand masters answer directly to the supreme war chief of the orcs.”

  “How many days’ ride is it to Kazzix-Tor?” Drakor asked.

  “I don’t know. All I know is that it’s somewhere south, beyond the land of men. There’s only one way in or out, and that’s through the passage at Barland.”

  “Everyone get some rest,” Drakor said. “We leave for Barland in the morning.”

  CHAPTER 13

  The group awoke early and headed east toward the crossroads. Once there, they headed south for Wessor. Horse- and ox-driven carts traveling north and south dotted the road.

  “This seems to be a major trade route,” Toshen said.

  “So it seems,” Drakor said. “No one seems to be paying much attention to us.”

  “Most merchants worry about bandits,” Tess said, “and since you don’t look like bandits, they’ll just ignore us.”

  “If this is a well-known trade route, isn’t it full of bandits?” Xan asked.

  Tess pointed to some soldiers riding towards them in the distance. “The king’s soldiers patrol the major trade routes. Any bandits caught robbing merchants are beheaded on the spot. That’s more than enough to keep the bandits away.”

  As the group of soldiers came closer, Tess stopped her horse and held up her hand.

  “What are you doing?” Aesus asked.

  “Shush,” Tess replied.

  The lead soldier stopped his horse next to Tess. “How may I help you?”

  “How far is it to Wessor?”

  “Five days’ ride on horseback,” the soldier said. “There are ten rest stations along the way. We’ve had no reports of bandits.”

  Tess bowed her head. “Thank you.”

  The solider nodded, and he and the other soldiers rode on.

  “Did you have to ask a soldier?” Aesus asked. “Why not ask a merchant?”

  “They’re the only ones who can provide reliable information,” Tess said. “I’d be wasting my time asking a merchant.”

  “Ah,” Aesus said. “That makes sense.”

  “You need to learn to trust my judgment,” Tess said. “I’m not as naïve as you might think.”

  “You’re right,” Aesus said.

  The five-day journey to Wessor was uneventful. They stayed at an inn for a night, and departed for Barland the next morning.

  The road to Barland was just as busy as the road to Wessor. The noticeable difference was that all the carts were pulled by oxen.

  Drakor led his horse to ride next to Tess’s. “What do you know about the orcs?”

  “Other than that they’re large, green, and ugly, and smell funny, nothing,” Tess replied.

  “Ugly and smell funny?”

  “You’ve never seen an orc? Not even a painting?”

  “I’ve seen orcs. They’re creatures, just like us.”

  Tess turned her head and gave him a strange look. “Creatures?”

  Drakor took note of the confused expression on her face. “Have you ever seen an orc?”

  “I saw one up close when I was younger,” Tess said, returning her attention to the road. “He was frightening. Orcs don’t like venturing into the land of men. Grandfather says we make them feel unwelcome when they’re around us. I certainly don’t like them.”

  “How do the orcs feel about us?”

  “Grandfather says they’re suspicious of us, but because we’re smaller than they are, they don’t see us as a threat unless we’re attacking in large numbers.”

  “Can we roam freely in the land of the orcs?”

  “No, that’s a really bad idea. I once heard a tale about a group of twenty men who were robbed, beaten, and left for dead out in the wilderness. It’s best we stay on the main roads.”

  After a three-day journey, the group reached Barland. The town was small, but bustling with activity. Ox-driven carts, and their accompanying smell of manure, were everywhere.

  A large mountain range stretched in both directions from east to west as far as the eye could see. From where they stood in Barland, they saw the tall stone wall that separated the land of men from the land of orcs. It spanned an opening in the mountain range and stood one hundred feet tall.

  After eating a quick meal of salted ham at a tavern, they headed south for the border.

  A group of five orcs manned the border gate from a covered wooden shelter next to the road. Each wore a sleeveless black tunic with the yellow silhouette of a falcon on the back, and was armed with a short sword on the belt and a bow across the back. The drivers of four ox-driven carts were waiting their turn to get through the gate. When it was the group’s turn, Drakor and Tess took the lead.

  “State yo business,” the orc said in a deep voice.

  Drakor took in this strange creature. He stood one full head taller than Drakor and had muscles bulging everywhere on his body. His green face sported a goatee that complemented his short, black, Mohawk hairstyle. Large lower cuspids protruded onto his upper lip. On the right of his face a deep scar ran from his forehead to his cheek and a black patch covered his eye.

  “We’re going to Kazzix-Tor,” Tess said.

  “Gonna need more den dat,” the orc laughed. “What yo sellin?”

  “We’re going to see Grand Master Shaman Raah,” Drakor said.

  The orc grunted. He looked at Drakor, Tess, and the rest of the group. “What yo be giv’n to Master Raah?”

  “We just need to talk to him.”

  “Talkin? Talkin. All right.” The orc looked at their mounts. “But no horses. You get’em ox cart like everyone else. Dem da rules.”

  “Where can we get an ox cart?”

  “Yo problem.”

  “All right, thank you,” Tess said.

  The group headed back toward Barland.

  “Do we have enough gold for an ox cart?” Drakor asked Tess.

  “No, not even close,” Tess said.

  “Can’t we just take an unattended cart?” Toshen asked.

  “That would just get us into trouble,” Tess said. “All the carts and oxen are marked. If we had enough gold, we could pay someone to take us to Kazzix-Tor.”

  “How much gold do we need?” Xan asked.

  “For the five of us, probably double what we have now.”

  “Can we sell the horses?” Aesus asked.

  “We’re not selling the horses,” Tess said. “We’ll need them when we get back from the land of the orcs. I’m not walking.”

  As they rode back to Barland, they passed an ox cart at the side of the road. Its owner was sitting in the cart and unwrapping bandages on his left foot. It was badly infected, and gangrene had started to set in.

  Xan pulled up next to Drakor. “Did you see that?”

  “Yes,” Drakor said. “I have the same idea.”

  Drakor turned his horse and rode back to the cart owner. “Greetings.”

  “Greetings,” the man said. He had a large build and a chubby face, and wore a brown shirt and pants, a dark-brown leather boot.

  “I see you’re having a problem with your foot.”

  “It’s getting worse,” the man said as he ran his hand over his short black hair. “I’ll have to have it removed before it takes my whole leg.”

  “Would you be willing to do something in exchange for our healing your foot?”

&n
bsp; The man frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “If my friend can heal your foot, will you take us to Kazzix-Tor, wait for us until we’re ready to leave, and bring us back to Barland?”

  The man looked down. “I would like to keep my foot. The alchemist told me he can’t help me, so if you can heal it, I’ll take you to Kazzix-Tor and back.”

  “There’s one more thing you need to agree to if we heal your foot.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You don’t tell anyone how it was healed or by whom. For if you do and we find out about it, we’ll hunt you down and kill you.”

  The man stared at Drakor for a few seconds and then looked at the rest of the group. He nodded. “I can keep my mouth shut.”

  “Good,” Drakor said.

  He pulled his horse next to Xan’s and whispered in her ear, “Tell him to close his eyes and pour water on his foot as you heal him. Then he’ll think he was healed by something you poured on his foot.”

  “Clever idea,” Xan whispered back.

  She got off her horse, grabbed her water skin, stood next to the cart, and examined the man’s foot. “What’s your name, good sir?”

  “Damon,” the cart owner said. “Is this going to hurt?”

  “It shouldn’t hurt at all. Now close your eyes and look away.”

  Damon closed his eyes as tight as he could and tilted back his head. Xan smiled at Drakor, removed the cork in her water skin, and slowly poured the water while whispering a healing spell. Damon’s foot was fully healed in a minute. Xan corked the water skin and stepped back.

  “You can open your eyes now.”

  Damon opened his eyes and slowly moved his head to look at his foot. “It’s a miracle!” he shouted. He stomped his foot, wiggled his toes, and looked at Xan. “I can’t believe it. It’s a miracle.”

  “Remember our deal,” Drakor said. “No one must ever know of this.”

  “Of course. When do we leave for Kazzix-Tor?” Damon asked as he put on his boot.

  “Do we need provisions?”

  “No, there are rest stops along the way.”

  “Do you know of a place where we can leave our horses?”

  “I have a friend, Caleb. He’s the innkeeper at the Iron Hoof in Barland. He’ll mind your horses while we’re away.”

  “Then we’re ready to leave after we give the horses to Caleb.”

  CHAPTER 14

  King Wolford was sitting in the castle courtyard gazebo eating lunch. The gazebo was raised, with a bed of flowers along its base, surrounded by irregular stone tiles. It was the queen’s favorite place to eat and entertain guests, weather permitting. He was seated at the head of a table large enough for a party of eight, but was the only one dining. Because he couldn’t say what he wanted to eat, the kitchen had prepared various dishes of venison, chicken, pork, fruits, vegetables, and breads in an effort to appease his palate. There was so much food that he didn’t know what to eat next. He put his hand on his stomach and let out a loud belch. “Cedric,” he called.

  Cedric and two others rushed in from just outside the gazebo.

  “I’m done. Take this away.” Wolford grabbed a goblet of wine as the table was cleared. “And less food next time. I’m getting fat.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Cedric said. “Will there be anything else?”

  “That will be all.” In his peripheral vision, he saw someone in a dark-blue velvet robe walk up to the gazebo. “Master Randolph. I hope you’ve eaten.”

  Randolph approached the king and nodded. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Don’t just stand there. Sit.”

  Randolph pulled up a chair. “Are you sure it’s safe to discuss this here?”

  Wolford looked left, right, and then over his shoulder. “Safe enough.”

  “I spoke to Master Garon. He doesn’t remember much about the encounter after he awoke from the madness. He was in an alley surrounded by his granddaughter and three nobles—two men and a woman. One thing he noted is all three wore cloaks with gold trim. One man wore a black cloak. The other, crimson. The woman, a white one. His granddaughter asked about the location of mage Verick’s tower, and he told them it’s in Greffenvale. That’s all he had to say.”

  “Greffenvale? Isn’t there a ruined mage tower inside the southern outpost?”

  “Yes, my lord. The tower burned to the ground long ago. Nothing of value could possibly be there.”

  “And yet they still sought it out. There must be a reason. What do you know about Verick?”

  “He was one of Wolford I’s fire mages. He and some others were ordered to find and kill Baldazar. Baldazar killed them instead.”

  “And what about these three strangers? Are they all spellcasters?”

  “He doesn’t know. Right after he told his granddaughter where to find the tower, they took her away.”

  Wolford grunted. “That’s a bit suspicious, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Indeed, my lord.”

  Wolford leaned back in his seat, crossed his arms, and thought about what to do next. He raised his hand to his face and stroked his beard.

  “A suggestion, my lord?”

  “Go on.”

  “There isn’t anyone I know of who wears gold-trimmed cloaks these days. If we send word out we’re looking for a group wearing those cloaks, I’m sure we’ll find them rather quickly.”

  Wolford raised an eyebrow. “That’s only if they don’t hear we’re looking for them and discard their cloaks.”

  “Well said, my lord. We can limit word to only our spies, but that will limit how many people are looking out for them.”

  “That’s better than no one at all. Send word out to our spies. They are not to ask or tell anyone about gold-trimmed cloaks. Not a word. As soon as one suspects he’s found them, he’s to inform us immediately.”

  “Yes, my lord. And what do we do once we find them?”

  “What do you mean? We’ll ask them to heal Merrim and Karsten.” Wolford waited for Randolph to say something, but noticed he was deep in thought. After an awkward moment of silence he asked, “Why? What were you thinking?”

  Randolph shook his head and focused his attention back on Wolford. “Sorry, my lord.” He looked around to make sure there were no eavesdroppers in the courtyard, leaned forward, and whispered, “I was thinking we need to offer them some incentive to help dissuade them from siding with Lord Callan.”

  Wolford nodded and gave Randolph a shrewd look. “Let’s form an alliance with the mages. Give them land, servants. Build them a tower. That will buy their allegiance. I don’t think Callan will have more to offer them than that. The key is to get to them first. Now go and find them.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Randolph stood, bowed, and excused himself.

  CHAPTER 15

  Damon steered his ox cart up to the gate that led into the land of orcs. It was his first time transporting people to Kazzix-Tor and he wasn’t sure how it would be perceived by the orcs. A drop of sweat trickled down the side of his face and he quickly wiped it with the sleeve of his shirt.

  “State yo business,” the orc guard said in a deep voice. He had a gray beard and gray receding hair tied back into a braided ponytail, and his left arm had been amputated at the elbow. A rectangular mace hung from his belt.

  Damon swallowed hard. “I’m taking these people to Kazzix-Tor,” he said nervously.

  The orc looked at the rear of the cart and noted the five passengers sitting behind Damon. He walked around to the back of the cart and looked at each in turn. “Be dis da first time yo been to the land of orcs?”

  “Yes,” Drakor said.

  “Den be sure da driva explain da rules to yo, so yo stay outta trouble.”

  “Yes, he will do that.”

  The orc walked back to Damon. “Yo can go.”

  Damon nodded. He let out of sigh of relief as he pulled away from the gate.

  Drakor climbed up to the front of the cart and sat next to Damon. “So tell me,
what are these rules he’s talking about?”

  “The rules…” Damon said. “The rules are a code of conduct to make sure men aren’t killed while traveling to and from Kazzix. They’re actually pretty simple. Stay on the yellow marked road. Only stop at the designated rest stops. Don’t travel at night. And if you’re stopped by an orc patrol, do as you’re told.”

  “Have you ever been stopped?”

  “Never.”

  “You seemed nervous at the gate.”

  Damon nodded. “I was. I don’t know what you’re up to. Why are you going to Kazzix?”

  Drakor looked at Damon and then at the road ahead. “We’re looking for an orc named Grand Master Shaman Raah.”

  Damon’s jaw dropped. He abruptly stopped the cart and looked at Drakor. “You’re jesting with me, right? Please tell me you’re jesting.”

  “Is something wrong?” Xan asked from the back. “Why have we stopped?”

  “It’s nothing,” Drakor replied. “We’ll be continuing soon.”

  “Please tell me you’re jesting,” Damon pleaded. “Please tell me you didn’t heal my foot so I can die in Kazzix.” He covered his face with both hands and leaned forward. “I think I’m going to be ill.”

  Drakor grabbed the reins and tapped the tops of the oxen’s backs with a stick, just like he had seen Damon do when they departed Barland. “What are you talking about?”

  Damon sat up and wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. “Raah isn’t just any shaman. Not only is he the most powerful shaman that ever lived, but he’s also the oldest orc that ever lived. If he finds out you’re looking for him, he’ll have you killed just to make sure you don’t kill him first.”

  “What do you mean he’s the oldest orc that ever lived?”

  “Most orcs only live to maybe fifty or sixty years old. I’ve been told he’s more than two hundred years old. They also say he doesn’t look a day older than the day he fought Baldazar the wizard.”

  “Why would he kill anyone looking for him?”

  “No one knows why. What we do know is that any man looking for him usually ends up dead the next morning.” Damon took a deep breath. “I’m all right now. I’ll take the reins. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”