They found three tree trunks from a washed-out beaver dam and made a raft. After testing, they boarded and poled out through the swamp’s cypress trees into the lake beyond.
Saxthor pointed to a stark hill rising alone in the lake. “Let’s check out the island. My legs are stiff; I need to get out and move around.”
Bodrin nodded. “Good place to eat, too.”
“Bodrin, you’re something else.” Though reluctant, Tournak steered the raft to the isle.
When they approached the hill, the first site was an opening big enough for a man to walk through bent over.
“The landmass is too small to support anything living on it,” Tournak said. “Couldn’t be a burrow anyway, the water table must flood the hole.
Saxthor peered into the cavity. “Something comes and goes through here. The soil’s scratched at the mouth and along a trail.”
“Better move on,” Bodrin said.
Curious, Saxthor looked down into the darkness.
“I don’t see anything, but the water inside doesn’t rise to the lake level. Wonder why?”
Tournak paddled the water, keeping the raft beside the shore. “We should get away from this place.”
Bodrin nodded agreement.
Saxthor ignored them both. He gripped Sorblade’s hilt. “I’ll just take a quick look and be right back. I want to know why that hole isn’t flooded.” He stepped into the opening. “The cavern is dark inside. I can’t make out the water level.”
Tournak shuffled on the raft. “Saxthor’s getting mighty independent.”
“His curiosity is starting to worry me,” Bodrin added.
On his third step, Saxthor skidded on the slick ramp and slid down a smooth incline into total darkness. He was able to stop as his toes dipped in cold, stagnant water. Rhythmic droplets from the ceiling and a musty odor gave the pool an eerie tone.
This should all be underwater,” Saxthor thought. After adjusting to the low light and his surroundings, he attempted to stand and, doing so, splashed the water. A hiss and slithering sounds responded from across the pool.
Saxthor struggled back, slipping on the muddy ramp. He drew Sorblade, whose runes glowed and lit the chamber with a spooky, green light that glistened off the moist walls. The light flickered off ripples. Something was crossing the dark surface. Unable to climb the slick incline, Saxthor backed to the wall beside the ramp with sword held high in both hands.
“Who’s there?”
No response, but the dripping water was chilling. Saxthor’s heart pounded. His muscles tensed as he searched through poor light for the source disturbing the water. The rippling stopped; the water smoothed out. A tense calm was soothing for a second before a long forked tongue whipped out by the ramp, tasting the air.
Whatever is searching, Saxthor thought, it expects to find me on the incline.
Again, the tongue flicked and disappeared. Nothing happened. Stunned in suspense, Saxthor’s body tension eased with the silence even though he knew he wasn’t alone. Intermittent flashes of light reflected from the cave’s wet ceiling, revealing creamy white, partially dissolved bones and the skull of an alligator shimmering below the foul water’s surface no more than a foot from his feet.
“There’s something down here, Bodrin,” Saxthor yelled. “Don’t try to come down; the ramp is too slick.”
The cave swallowed his voice. As he was about to attempt crawling back out, the water exploded, and the head of a gigantic serpent rose from the pool. The dragon’s skin glistened as the water drained away. Saxthor snatched out Sorblade, whose glow reflected from the monster’s yellow eyes. The creature rose up twice the height of a man and reared back, adjusting to the light. Its body swayed, but the massive head stared, sizing up Saxthor. The flicking tongue again tasted his scent.
Saxthor stared back at the monster. His heart raced.
No creature would naturally grow to that size in here, he thought. Someone’s power must keep up this killer and hold back the lake.
The water dragon shot forward and struck at Saxthor. No visible fangs protruded, but rows of teeth displayed, hooked back to catch and hold victims. Saxthor jumped to the side as the creature’s jaws snapped shut, empty. The dragon recoiled in the pool with an angry hiss.
The creature expects me to dash for the opening, he thought. The others will come looking for me soon. The killer waits to catch one unaware. I gotta do something.
He backed up to the cave’s edge and searched the slimy walls for a place to hide. He was getting cold and clammy.
The serpent’s tongue flicked from the water. It had submerged and moved to the incline barely below the waterline.
That thing is going to strike whatever gets on the slick ramp. The snake must grab his food, wrap it in coils, and drag it underwater. They suffocate or drown. If I don’t rush for the ramp, he’ll search for me again.
“Saxthor,” Bodrin called. He stuck his head in the opening.
“Don’t come in!”
Bodrin ignored or didn’t hear him and started down the ramp. “What’re you doing? We need to go.”
The forked tongue whipped the air as Bodrin began to slip.
“No, don’t!” Saxthor said. He startled a wharf rat beside him.
“Cripes!” Bodrin began to tumble down the ramp.
Saxthor ripped off his jacket and threw it, wrapping up the rodent inside. He tossed the throbbing coat on the ramp between Bodrin and the water’s edge.
The dragon exploded from the pool and snatched the wriggling coat.
As the reptile chewed its teeth into the diversion, Saxthor leaped from the niche. Sorblade came down on the snake’s neck and severed the head as Bodrin slid against the blood-spurting stump. The body instinctively recoiled and plunged back into the water, spewing a bloody fountain. The severed head rolled down the ramp with the squirming jacket still in its jaws. Saxthor bolted up the incline, grabbed Bodrin, and using his sword to dig into the cave wall, dragged Bodrin to the opening. He emerged muddy and gasped to catch his breath. Bodrin was right behind him.
Tournak stared at each of them as they leaped on the raft.
“Let’s get out of here,” Saxthor said.
“What happened? Where’s your jacket? Is that blood on you?”
“We’ll tell you later.”
In a flash, the three paddled away from the tiny island. Only when they reached the far shore did Saxthor relate the story of the water dragon.
“We heard the splashing, but we thought you were playing,” Bodrin said.
Tournak looked at Saxthor. “Had enough exploring?”
Saxthor nodded as Bodrin handed him a pole.
“We learn from experience.”
“I hope you live long enough to learn,” Tournak said. “The Dark Lord set the creature in the lake to be sure people stay on the road where watchers can monitor their comings and goings. In the future, we’ll travel a careful course between the road and traps set alongside the path. So did the experience settle your curiosity?”
Saxthor’s face smirked.
-
When the three reached the outskirts of Tixumemnese, they hid just off the lane behind the thick jungle vines that veiled the forest.
“We must get to Armon’s shop where we stopped before,” Tournak said. “We can’t let anyone discover us if we want the dark forces to think we’re lost here. You two stay out of sight here while I make sure it’s safe to go back to Armon’s place. You’re going to listen to me this time, right?”
“Oh absolutely,” Saxthor said.
Bodrin looked at Saxthor, stuck his knife hilt in Saxthor’s ribs, and nodded to Tournak.
Tournak cleared his throat.
“Earwig is still looking for us, but watchers will be expecting three of us. I’ll sneak into town alone.” He cut his beard with Bodrin’s knife and pulled a blanket over his head. He smeared dirt on his trousers and caught a wandering chicken, which he tucked under his arm.
-
; Twit rejoined the group and scrutinized the transformation with disdain.
Why would a stupid person put on such plumage? Yuck, I can understand dust baths if he’s dirty and ant spray if he has lice, but to smear mud on himself, that’s nasty, he thought.
The wren inspected his person with a critical eye, if not an objective one.
My feathers are so handsome.
His tail bobbed up and down.
Perhaps Tournak has been too long in the sun. I’d better keep an eye on him. I wish I hadn’t pooped on the man earlier. Still, that chicken bird has got to go.
-
Looking much like a local farmer taking his poultry to market, Tournak walked into town. He kept to the back street and emerged only at the merchant’s shop. Once inside, he inspected Armon’s goods until a persnickety old woman departed, having wasted Armon’s time. Tournak turned to the shopkeeper, who recognized him on closer inspection.
“We’ll need to hide here until you can arrange passage off the island for us.”
“Ye mustn’t go out into the streets during the day. Strangers are about in the city, watching the harbor day and night since you left. Get ye back to them youngsters with local clothes I’ll get for ye. Bring them back here after dark. Maybe no one will catch sight of ye. Pretend ye be drunk and stumble down the road leaning on the boys. I’ll hide ye above the shop until I can book passage. Things are in turmoil in Tixumemnese. The nightwatchman found General Socockensmek’s manservant murdered near the wharf a couple of days ago.”
Tournak’s stomach sank.
“I wonder if anyone found the letter to Memlatec on the adjutant, or was he able to send the dispatch on? Things will be much more dangerous if the Dark Lord learns we discovered his activities inland.”
“I dun’t know much about the murder,” Armon said. “The ship ye came on sailed before they discovered the murdered man.”
“I’ll have to hope no one noticed the letter.”
With clothing Armon provided bundled under one arm, and the chicken under the other, Tournak slipped back up the inland road. He stopped often, appearing to rest to determine if anyone followed. Feeling safe, he returned to the hidden boys. Dressed as planned, they waited until late in the evening. The trekkers stumbled down the road as they made their way again to the merchant’s house and hid in the attic. Twit kept vigil from the awning outside.
The next day Armon inquired about ships sailing for Olnak. This line of inquiry seemed to draw attention, so the merchant returned to his shop.
“Any luck?” Saxthor asked.
“I tell ye, watchers be all about the harbor,” Armon said that evening in his storeroom. “There was too much interest in me asking about what ships be sailing for Neuyokkasin. Ye must seek passage on a vessel that be going to a destination other than a Neuyokkasinian port to avoid suspicion. A timber buyer and his two assistants returning home to some other kingdom would be less likely to attract watchers.”
The next morning Armon again went to the wharf, this time to book passengers on the next available vessel bound for the continent. The Prince Oikin, a medium-sized freighter, was sailing on the afternoon tide with a cargo of timber for a Powterosian destination. Armon engaged places for three travelers and returned home. As the four planned the course, a stranger appeared at the shop, violently ringing the bell above the door.
* * *
In the grand audience hall of the Neuyokkasinian royal palace, Memlatec monitored a disturbance at court. Crown Prince Augusteros had rushed into the throne room having another tantrum. As usual, he rebelled and demanded to escape the boredom of the kingdom’s court. Queen Eleatsubetsvyertsin was most agitated with the public embarrassment and decided to permit the prince time away from Konnotan.
The young prince is too self-serving to ever rule for the benefit of Neuyokkasin, Memlatec decided. The queen has tolerated the continuing tantrums, and Earwig has encouraged the behavior. The boy has learned that public scenes embarrass Her Majesty, and she relents to stop them.
“We shall send emissaries to Emperor Engwan of Powteros, our cousin, to request His Imperial Highness receive Crown Prince Augusteros at the Powterosian court as a member of our ambassador’s entourage. That will keep the boy in diplomatic circles where he might at least learn something of courtly functions and protocol.”
While he listened to the queen’s strained discourse, the wizard felt a sensational surge in his energy. Acutely attuned to the planet’s energy grid, the powerful, if distant, pulse stunned him, and he stumbled back against the wall.
Memlatec knew an energy flare of that magnitude on Tixos could only come from one source. When he collected positive energy from the wizards of old and formed the energy into Yamma-Mirra Heedra, he had great hope for this day. He’d sent the dragon to the distant Highback Mountains where the living force could feed on dark creatures and reserve his energy for a later date. Prince Saxthor had successfully taken the dragon’s power as the wizard had hoped.
Saxthor’s strength oscillated over the next week. Memlatec feared the boy’s newly implanted power might destroy him before he could master it and develop his potential for the old wizard’s scheme. Withdrawing from the court on grounds of exhaustion, Memlatec retired to his tower to convalesce. Instead, he worked out a plan and sent an urgent message by Fedra, who flew south to hide his destination, then northwest for Tixos. On arriving in Tixumemnese, Fedra flew to Armon’s shop and waited for dusk when traffic was minimal. With his beak, Fedra flew down and rang the bell at Armon’s shop with urgent excess.
* * *
Alarmed, Tournak evaluated the shop’s vulnerability.
Armon’s arms waved, and hands shook. “I should’ve planned an alternate escape route for such emergencies.”
“Who’s there?” The wizard asked.
“I dun’t see anyone.” The merchant unlocked and jerked the door open. Fedra leaped inside, and away from the entry, the tradesman promptly shut the door. “What ye wants, you wild bird?”
Fedra dropped a message in front of the man. After he read the note, Armon took the wizard’s winged envoy to Tournak and the boys. Memlatec’s letter acknowledged Tournak’s missive, by way of the adjutant, had reached him. The sorcerer’s note included other warnings.
“The Dark Lord’s growing power must be behind Earwig’s increasing boldness in assaults on the royal family. The crown prince rejects his dynastic responsibility more and more often. Each day his self-indulgence and unstable behavior increase exponentially. The nobles talk of rejecting him as king, thus Saxthor’s position grows more dangerous. You’ll have to sneak the youngsters away from both Tixos and Neuyokkasin until they reach maturity, and Saxthor is capable of wielding and defending his newly won power. Tournak, my friend, you must not come back to the continent. Instead, sail at once for the Isle of Helshia in the Western Sea.”
In a return letter, Tournak wrote to Memlatec to warn him again of new creatures found on Tixos and of the work done by Dreaddrac’s minions.
“This must be the last time we communicate by written means. The danger of interception is growing. Watchers are everywhere here, as well. Saxthor assures me rock-dwarves are forging weapons night and day in large quantities. Orcs and saber-wolves infest the heartland. The Dark Lord is preparing his return to power and is producing weapons sufficient to do so. With the wizards’ centralized power long gone, little can stand in the way of the evil forces unless the southern kingdoms unite and arm. The Dark Lord’s progress on Tixos has gone beyond even your worst fears.”
12: Creation of Helshia
A gentle breeze blew through Memlatec’s hair as he stood on the western balcony off his tower workroom. He savored the sunset. Fedra drifted down and perched on the balustrade beside the old wizard. The two looked out toward Tixos.
“So peaceful, but turmoil lies right under the surface.”
A rough knock on the sanctum door and wheezing broke the tranquil mood.
“What’re you up to?” po
rtly Aleman, the housekeeper asked. “Are you coming down to eat, or should I chuck your dinner out back for that grand bird on the railing? Maybe I ought to give it to this owl staring at me as if I kicked him. They don’t look like they go hungry.”
“They’re fine, Aleman.”
Memlatec returned to his desk; Fedra remained on the balcony rail. Aleman came in and began to dust and stack various items. A few swipes of the feather duster and the old housekeeper propped himself on the broom handle.
“What you fired up about?”
“Fired up?”
“What was the turmoil you was grumbling about? You sounds like Powteros ain’t stable. You mumbling about war troubles or the land itself?”
“War, but the continent has a violent history, too.”
“How’s that?”
“Powteros came to be when molten rock rose through the sea over eons. A massive explosion blew Powteros apart. The ocean rushed in and formed the Tixosian Sea. Tixos became an island.”
“Explosion? Ash? Sounds like a real mess to clean up. You ain’t expecting another eruption, are you?”
“No.”
Memlatec remembered the story well. It troubled him from time to time. He knew something violent and unsettling lurked beneath Powteros. Though cautious, he’d tapped the power himself to create Helshia.
I’ve followed the development of the kingdoms of Powteros after the Dark Lord’s wars and retreats, Memlatec thought. In my age, the primal beings defeated the darkness, but couldn’t destroy evil. I’ve waited, and he’s rising again, this time to challenge man. I settled here at the Neuyokkasinian court when the seer predicted the Crown of Yensupov’s heir would arise here. I hope Tournak can get Saxthor and Bodrin to safety before the witch, or worse, the Dark Lord finds them again.
Memlatec turned to Fedra. A small gust fluffed the magnificent eagle’s feathers. As always, Fedra was unperturbed. The regal bird acknowledged Memlatec, gave a simple caw as if he understood, and observed the west once more. Aleman fidgeted.
The Neuyokkasinian Arc of Empire Series: Books 1-3 Box Set High, Epic Fantasy on a Grand Dragon Scale! Kindle Edition Page 20