The Neuyokkasinian Arc of Empire Series: Books 1-3 Box Set High, Epic Fantasy on a Grand Dragon Scale! Kindle Edition

by C. Craig Coleman

  The sergeant wrote down the name in his log, “What’s your business in the city?”

  “We’re farmers from farther south, come to Lake Pundar in search of goods we can ferry down to Olnak. Times are bad. We hoped to make some money to save our farm,” Bodrin said.

  “Well, you heard me tell that other fellow, there’s no extra work in this district just now. I’m not angry with you men, but fighting is prohibited in public places. Leave the city within two days. Now be off with you, and don’t let me see you in here again.” The sergeant looked at Bodrin then over at Saxthor as if to record their faces and impress the threat.

  “Thank you, Sir,” Bodrin said. He turned to leave before the sergeant could change his mind. A short hulk of a soldier stepped forward and returned Bodrin’s knife. Bodrin nodded thanks and re-sheathed it as Saxthor pulled him toward the door. The sergeant didn’t look up again but acknowledged their appreciation and his own sympathy for their plight with a simple grunt. Then the two young men were out the door and back on the street, counting their blessings.

  “We’re late now,” Bodrin said.

  “You know Tournak will be waiting for us, Bodrin. He’ll be angry; we disobeyed his warning.”

  They hurried along the street, careful not to bump into anyone again. When they arrived at the boat, Tournak stood staring, tapping his foot with arms crossed.

  “Where’ve you been?” Tournak asked, his tone gruff. “I can’t leave you two for an hour without you getting into trouble.”

  The two truants moved toward the boat, heads hanging and silent.

  “Ole Tournak will never really be angry with us,” Saxthor said when Tournak’s head turned. “Look pitiful just the same.”

  “We got lost in the city,” Bodrin replied, shuffling toward the boat. They jumped on board. “We’ll stow the goods for being late.”

  That seemed to satisfy Tournak. The younger men began packing away their supplies with Delia wagging her tail, again at Saxthor’s side.

  A solid chirp from Twit and his sudden hopping on the cabin roof brought their attention to the dock. The stranger, with whom Bodrin had scuffled, came alongside. Bodrin saw him from the cabin and came outside to face Hendrel.

  “If it’s trouble you want, we’re leaving. We don’t want to end up in the dungeon. If you still want to fight, we’ll meet you across the river.” His chest puffed, and his face reddened, facing his adversary.

  Saxthor looked at Tournak. The wizard’s frown revealed he knew there was more to the ‘lost in the city’ story, but he kept quiet and listened.

  “I’m sorry for all the trouble … Belbik, wasn’t it?” Hendrel said. “I was in the wrong. The lack of work has drained my resources, and my temper got the best of me this morning.”

  Bodrin deflated. “That’s all right, Sir. These are lean times, and we’re all short-tempered. I also apologize for the incident.” He turned back to his work, but Hendrel spoke again.

  “I guessed the sergeant would send you on your way, too. Do you think I might catch a ride with you since I must leave as well? I can pay a little, and I've got a strong back. I can help with poling the boat.”

  He was a tall man, early forties with thick brown hair and a full, manicured beard. His form filled out his clothes, indicating he worked hard and had the muscles to show for it. His clear brown eyes and pleasant smile suggested he was a good man, if down on his luck.

  Saxthor looked at Delia and Twit for their assessment. Animals sensed things, betrayed by a scent that men couldn’t detect. If Tournak and the animals approve of him, Saxthor decided they could at least help him avoid imprisonment.

  “We’re traveling north, Sir,” Saxthor said. “I remember your telling the sergeant you’re going south down the peninsula seeking work.”

  “Well, it seems I must depart sooner than expected,” the stranger said with a laugh. “If I may travel with you to Botahar, maybe I’ll find work there.”

  His dignity exposed, his need seemed great. Saxthor looked at Bodrin, who nodded his approval. Delia was wagging her tail. Saxthor looked to Tournak.

  “Do you think this man might travel with us to Botahar?”

  Twit had returned to his sunny spot for a nap but opened one eye. He must like birds; he has a nest on his face, he thought.

  Tournak frowned. “Excuse us, Sir; I’d like to speak to these two alone.”

  Hendrel nodded and walked down the dock.

  “Bodrin, how do you know this man? How does he know you? You two haven’t been truthful with me.”

  “We’ve been truthful, Tournak.” Bodrin’s head drooped, his voice faded. “We just didn’t tell you everything for fear you’d worry over nothing.”

  “Uh-huh, over nothing, is it? Well, you’ll have to answer for the man if you two allow him on the boat. I don’t like traveling with strangers. It’s your call, Saxthor.” Tournak lifted Bodrin’s chin, and looking him in the face, said, “You’ll provide a full explanation later as soon as we’re alone, won’t you?”

  “I will.” Bodrin flashed a grin to Saxthor, glanced back at Tournak, and wilted again.

  Saxthor saw Tournak’s look of concern. He turned to Hendrel, “You may ride with us as far as Botahar. Come ahead.”

  A grateful smile emerged on the stranger’s face. He stepped into the boat with his satchel.

  “Where may I put this? I’ll be no trouble, and I’ll sleep on the deck so as not to be a bother.”

  “Stow your gear in the cabin behind the door,” Bodrin said. He stepped to open it.

  The man entered the cabin, looked in and around, before dropping his bag out of sight. When he turned back to the men, he extended his hand and announced his name: “I’m Hendrel of Hador.”

  They all exchanged first names and shook hands. Hendrel’s eyebrows rose, when Bodrin’s name didn’t match what he’d told the sergeant, but Hendrel said nothing. With that, the man took up a pole and stood ready for orders to push the boat off from the dock.

  * * *

  Earwig was scrubbing dried blood off one of Magnosious’ claws when the dragon tensed.

  “What’s the matter with you?” the witch asked.

  Magnosious snorted and stamped his foot, knocking the witch on her rump. He stared behind Earwig. The witch turned to see a black vapor wafting up behind her. She scrambled back against the dragon. Her lip trembled, and feeling betrayed; she bit it. She glanced up at Magnosious, then stared back at the horned creature forming from the vapor.

  “Who, or rather what, are you? What do you want here?”

  The wraith shot into Magnosious nostrils. The dragon stamped about, shorting, setting fire to the stinging nettles around the Earwighof’s unkempt back garden. Magnosious spoke with a raspy voice, not his own.

  “I come from your master, the king of Dreaddrac, in search of an energy source that has attracted his attention. I’ve sensed such a force, that of a wizard, and latent energy I don’t recognize. They were in an inn at Favriana.”

  “Rubbish!” Earwig said. “The only wizard in these parts is that meddlesome Memlatec. He’s here in Konnotan, not far to the north at Favriana. “Be off with you.”

  Magnosious coughed, sending a fireball into a dead bush that exploded in sparks and settled to the ground as ash. The dark vapor slipped away into the night.

  Recovering from her fright, Earwig thought more about what the wraith said. She was livid. It dawned on her; there was another wizard, one lost years before, Memlatec’s assistant. If the wizard’s energy was that of Tournak, then the latent energy could be…

  NO! It couldn’t be; Saxthor is dead, she thought. The heat of rage pulsed through her. After the initial shock, she rushed to the tower and dragged out books on transformation spells. There was no time to lose. The fugitives would again soon slip beyond her grasp if she didn’t move at once.

  She scanned the books, touching this word and that with her long, bony fingers, each fingernail now pinched, hooking into a claw. Her powers had grow
n more menacing over the years. Maintaining control over the things she conjured and the powers she unleashed strained her more each time. Though she was aware the sinister powers and vengeful anger warped her, she surrendered to the evil and came to welcome it through the years.

  “Here it is, the spell to merge and fuse an animal and man into a medrax. A medrax has a predator’s cunning and the man’s intelligence, and its maker controls its will. The cost is high. Again, it requires blood. Poor Minnabec, he’s but a bone of a man now. To take more of his blood will kill him. That’s not a problem as far as I’m concerned, but if he dies, my claim to the throne goes with him. No, I must spare him this time. I must find a way around the blood problem.”

  Earwig sighed, looked up from her ragged spellbook, and contemplated various solutions. Concentrating, she paced the floor. She slammed the book shut and tossed it on her worktable, sending up a dust plume as she stormed out of the workroom.

  “There’s a solution to this wretched problem; I’m just not seeing it.”

  Casting her eye about as she rushed through the Castilyernov Earwighof, her gaze landed on a simple servant cleaning up the meal’s scraps and bones from the great hall’s floor. The vile solution came like a bursting wisteria seedpod. Delighted, she tingled.

  “How simple.” She chuckled. “Whether here to repay debts or held under dark spells, the servants are mine. We care nothing for each other, but they’re a wary lot. I must proceed carefully.”

  “You there! Drop that rubbish and get over here.”

  The poor man stooped further, assumed a submissive posture, and continued working. The pitiful fool’s quivering betrayed him.

  He’s pretending not to hear me, she thought. He’s begging his gods for mercy and desperate hopes I was calling someone else.

  She went and kicked him in the side. “Attend me in the tower.”

  Quaking, the man dropped his tray. He hesitated, glanced at the door, but then withered and followed Earwig. She glanced back to see his labored steps exposed his raw fear. He followed as if going to a gallows. His trudging shuffle must’ve seemed endless to the poor creature. He’d never dared venture near the tower’s base before. Earwig didn’t turn around but listened for each heavy foot sliding onto the next stone tread. When the hapless man entered the tower workroom, the witch slammed the door shut with a bang. The victim jumped. He fell to the floor groveling.

  “Have mercy, Duchess Irkin.”

  The witch snarled, “Come to the table and help me with this heavy cauldron.”

  For a moment, the man perked up and hurried to the table. He struggled moving the heavy iron pot to the huge hearth, not daring to look to the witch for help. She knew he’d do whatever she commanded, thinking he’d escape something worse. She smirked, dominating him completely.

  Rushing to please his mistress, the man tripped and almost dropped the pot. He froze, shrank, then hunched over, covering his entrails. She did nothing but wait. He straightened up, apparently relieved when she didn’t beat him. Another moment without her striking, and he’d convince himself she wasn’t going to hurt him. She thought that sweet, if naive. With the cauldron on the iron hook, the man turned back to his mistress.

  “Will that be all, Madam?”

  She remained silent as a spider. He began trembling again. His sinking face drained, looking at the floor.

  “That isn’t all,” Earwig said. Before he could look up, the witch grabbed his disheveled hair, spun him around to the cauldron, and slashed his throat with her dragon-tooth dagger. As he struggled, gasping his last breath, she calmly collected his blood in the pot. When finished, she released the lifeless body that crumpled to the floor, twitching. She cut out his heart and tossed it into the pot.

  “That’s an inconvenience,” Earwig said, stepping over the heap to the window facing the cave beyond. “Magnosious!”

  In seconds, massive reptilian bulk appeared at the cave entrance. The great dragon leaped into the sky and circled the castilyernov three times before deftly landing on the dark tower’s roof like a bull balanced on an upturned teacup.

  “Mommy has a treat for her precious,” Earwig chirped.

  Magnosious leaned over the side of the tower. His great head peered through the tiny window slit. A flash of delight registered on the dragon’s face; his huge yellow eyes lit up. Tongue dangling and drooling, the dragon extended his massive arm and stuffed his smallest finger through the window. The finger, stuck at first, wiggled in and plucked the lifeless servant through the hole-in-the-wall. A quick look at the treat and Magnosious swallowed him whole, licking his lips but once.

  “Did Mommy’s little boy enjoy his treat? Why, yes, he did. Now go back to your cave and rest. That’s all you get tonight.” Magnosious’ drooling smile and wide eyes dissolved. “Go along, Precious.” With the second command, he reluctantly returned to his lair, where a magical restraint again contained him.

  Earwig turned back to the cauldron and chanted incantations over the simmering blood coagulating around a dried beaver. A black monster slithered out of the cauldron as a smoky essence.

  “Go to Lake Pundar. Stay in vapor form for speed. Your sole purpose is to find and follow Prince Saxthor’s boat – and eliminate him.”

  * * *

  The small vessel creaked, straining against the current as the travelers rowed across the Nhy. It was sunny, but the wind was against them, and without a sail, the crossing was slow. An extra man to rotate on the oars was a big help. When they reached the other bank, they stopped to rest along the rocky shore where the lake flowed into the river.

  “We’ll stay close to this undeveloped shoreline and avoid contact with people on the lake if possible,” Tournak said.

  “You’re worried about the wraith at the inn?” Saxthor asked.

  “There was no way of knowing if it discovered us, something else, or if it sensed our energies for the first time. We’ll stay out of sight in case the thing did identify us. We can make better time by water than overland. The lake provides a good breeze, diluted current to overcome, and easy rowing on the west side.

  We’re passing from Neuyokkasin’s last rich farmlands to the Sengenwha’s dry, rocky upland. At least thick forests line the lake for potential cover.”

  On the third night out from Favriana, a large dark creature swam up the lake near where they’d anchored.

  “Look there… there in the moonlight stream on the lake,” Bodrin said, pointing.

  Coiling a rope, Saxthor looked up. “It’s just a beaver.”

  They watched it swimming toward the boat until it smacked its tail and dove underwater. They thought no more of it. The boys returned to their activities, but Hendrel watched the water – and Tournak watched Hendrel.

  A sudden explosion of spray beside the boat splintered the serene night. The creature shot up, coming over the boat’s side next to Saxthor, working in the bow. The medrax wrapped one human arm around Saxthor’s chest and the other around his throat. The webbed hands, tipped with fierce beaver claws, dug into Saxthor with an iron grip. Staring the creature in the face, Saxthor saw massive fangs that made chips out of aspen trees.

  “Help!”

  Stunned for an instant, Tournak realized the medrax was dragging Saxthor over the side.

  “Saxthor!” Bodrin lunged forward.

  Struggling to hold onto the boat with one hand, Saxthor released his grip on the medrax’s arm with the other and snatched out Sorblade.

  Tournak darted forward behind Bodrin.

  “Slash it!” Bodrin yelled. He waved his knife, but the creature held tight and kept Saxthor between them.

  The medrax’s hind paws and tail thrashed the water, trying to pull Saxthor free. Saxthor whipped the sword across and around his body. Prevented from slashing the monster by his own body, Saxthor flipped Sorblade under his arm, turned the hilt backward, and stabbed the blade back, up, and against his side.

  The creature screamed. His flailing flat tail slapped the water blast
ing spray everywhere. The wound wasn’t fatal, but blood spurted from the creature staining the frothy water.

  “Saxthor is tiring fast. Grab him!” Tournak said to Bodrin. “We’ll pull him free.”

  Bodrin dropped his knife. He and Tournak grabbed and clung to Saxthor’s free arm. The creature jerked back. Losing their grips on the wet one, Tournak and Bodrin fell back into the boat. Again, Saxthor began slipping over the side.

  “We’re losing him!”

  Bodrin scrounged for his knife. “Stab the thing!”

  Tournak jerked his knife out while attempting to stand up. A bolt of cold, blue fire flashed over Tournak and struck the creature’s exposed shoulder with a pop.

  “Cripes!” Saxthor yelled. He jumped free when the medrax recoiled and grabbed its smoking shoulder. The three men stood back, gawking at the squirming monster.

  With a piercing screech, the medrax plunged down into the dark water. Several large bubbles boiled to the lake surface. The men watched as silent, concentric circles rippled over the water that then calmed.

  “Luckily for Saxthor, its witch-creator must’ve used feeble blood in creating the creature,” Hendrel said. “Its attempt to snatch Saxthor, and pull him into the lake was weak and clumsy. That cost it critical seconds. In the struggle, I was able to strike it with wizard-fire and shatter the witch’s spell. It’s disassociated beneath the lake now.”

  The astonished men looked first at Saxthor; then, after a pause, they turned slowly to Hendrel in the stern. The veins in Hendrel’s forehead relaxed as a small, boyish grin sprouted.

  “What was that?” Bodrin asked.

  “The wizard-fire or the medrax?” Hendrel asked.

  Staring, Saxthor asked, “What’s a medrax?”

  “A medrax is half-man and half-animal,” Hendrel said. His tone was matter-of-fact. “It can assume the animal’s guise to avoid discovery. Powerful sorcerers conjure them from time to time as assassins.

  Both boys began to speak at once, turning to each other, nearly upsetting the boat. Tournak studied Hendrel. This was the first attack since returning, their first confirmation that something evil was again hunting them.