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

  When King Calamidese left the throne room, shaken to the core, he returned to his study. He had avoided the little box on the desk as if hoping it might go away on its own. He opened it. It was empty but for a single chunk of partially burned sulfur. The stench of the scorched mineral reached his nose, and he squinted. “The warning of a wraith came too late,” King Calamidese said to himself.

  * * *

  Hidden in the marshes of southern Sengenwha along a stream that defined the border, the orcs spread out among the reeds and bogs so the locals wouldn’t know their true numbers. The orcs hated the marshes. Their short thick legs got stuck in the mud. Their ogre masters hated the reed beds and lack of solid defenses.

  The trolls were gathering there, too. They loved the marsh’s decaying vegetation, but they had difficulty finding places out of the sunlight. They were bigger than orcs but smaller than ogres. Trolls were used to the marshes. They'd set up camps near the reeds, where they found hiding places avoiding the orcs and ogres, eating anything they came across with any nutritive value at all.

  Their favorite delicacies had always been human children. Here in Sengenwha, the Dark Lord had forbidden the trolls to snatch the local farm children - for the present. Their commanders assured them that once across the river in Neuyokkasin, the king would revoke the restriction and permit them to help themselves. Here the trolls and locals had an uneasy truce - for the moment. Still, the trolls were not above snatching a plump, juicy child here and there when they thought no one would connect them to the disappearance. That practice enraged the locals, who hated the ever-growing numbers of strange creatures in the marshes, which their governors told them were their allies. The whole of southern Sengenwha was now a sea of discontent and animosities.

  To this cauldron of seething anger came the Dreaddrac’s second, specially enhanced and empowered wraith. The first phantom was monitoring the situation in Sengenwhapolis and certain to catch the prince. The second wraith was to go among the troops of orcs, ogres, and trolls in the southern marshes and rally enthusiasm. More importantly, it was to ensure the prince didn’t get past him if Saxthor escaped Sengenwhapolis. The wraith’s sulfurous vapor passed along the marshes in the night on a regular pattern. The three super-wraiths’ senses were finely tuned, and this one could smell the air for the scent of man and trace it to its source.

  In its boredom, the wraith would sometimes shoot a fine bolt of wizard-fire into the tail of a marsh crocodile to watch the terrified creature thrash and snap at the air, then scramble away to deeper water, when it found nothing. Then the wraith would resume its vigil, searching for the prince.

  The trolls, orcs, and ogres grew used to seeing the dark vapor, sweeping low over the reeds just after sunset, when the moon first rose. They learned to stay clear of the smoky haze that was more than it seemed.

  The Dark Lord ordered the third wraith to track down the prince if he'd entered Sengenwha. The wraith first went to Prertsten. There, he drifted from village to village, floating above the crowds in pipe smoke at local alehouses. He listened to the chatter and gossip for any strange news that would suggest the prince might have traveled in Prertsten before its sulfurous odor drove the alehouse patrons home early.

  By sheer luck, he was in the Prertstenian alehouse with the farmers that destroyed the orcs in the oasis outside their village. The orcs’ fate was of no concern to the wraith, of course, but that the ogre surrendered to a cluster of farmers was most unusual.

  “That huge ogre whined a lot. He claimed he give up when a fire-bolt shot too close to him,” one of the farmers said. The other farmers laughed. “Of course, we knowed weren’t none of us wizards.” He puffed on his pipe and continued, “It were the ogre scared himself half to death that made him imagine a fire-bolt landed near him.”

  The wraith perked up at the mention of possible wizard-fire. The Dark Lord forbids wizards in Prertsten, he thought. No ogre would show fear so easily. Anyone that knows an ogre knows they’re too stupid and too primitive to imagine anything.

  With the story’s retelling, the wraith drifted out the window and off down the road to the oasis, where the alleged incident took place. In the darkness, the wraith took form and walked around until it caught the faint, stale ogre’s trail. Following it into the wood and down by the pool, the wraith noted another set of scents. It took the specter nearly an hour, but it sorted out the various individual scents. The foul being traced the people up in the bushes to where Saxthor and his band had hidden when the orcs marched into the oasis.

  This band betrayed the ogre, he decided. There was a wizard among them then, if one shot wizard-fire. These men weren’t local villagers. They weren’t the Dark Lord’s subjects either. If there were a foreign prince in Prertsten, he’d have been among these people.

  The wraith followed the cold, sparse trail through Prertsten, down the eastern border, and along the Akkin River. Its enhanced sense of smell detected the saber-wolf tracking the men. When the men and wolf disappeared into the river, it took the wraith a while to track the scent to where the men left the river. The wraith continued to pursue the troupe along the Akkin River until it came upon the group of adventurers some days after they vaporized the wraith in the tunnel.

  Saxthor’s band was sitting around, still mourning Hendrel, and not alert to the translucent presence that had just entered their midst.

  The wraith grew cautious. A wizard among the group might thwart my attacks, he thought. I don’t want to show myself until I’ve determined who was who.

  He hovered back from the fire, but just above the group, listening to what they said, associating the scents it tracked to the individuals. I have plenty of time to destroy them all long before dawn forces me to seek shelter, he decided.

  *

  “Delia wants to know if anyone has a treat for her,” Saxthor said, to those around the campfire.

  Delia was going to each individual, wagging her tail for leftovers from their meal. Sniffing for food, she stopped and whined, returning to Saxthor, nuzzling him.

  “What’s the matter, girl?” Saxthor turned to the others, “That’s unusual behavior for Delia. She didn’t make a sound when pulled up in the tree at the saber-wolf attack.”

  Delia repeated the nuzzling and whimpering. Saxthor petted her. She backed up and growled, then barked. Saxthor watched her. There’s something wrong, he thought. Delia sniffed the air and growled again.

  Still watching Delia, Saxthor sniffed the air, too. He caught a trace of sulfur. It was the same wraith’s odor from the tunnel the day before. He froze; a chill ran through him. I mustn’t let the vile thing know I’m aware of it, he thought. Saxthor’s hand slipped to Sorblade. Then, realizing withdrawing it would alert the wraith he eased his hand away. Delia gave a muffled growl, but Saxthor tapped her. She looked up at him, then stopped but watched his every move.

  Why is it hovering above? He wondered. The other one was lurking, waiting for us, but this one has tracked us. It must have a finely tuned sense of smell to have found us. If it’s tracked us, the Dark Lord knows who we are and is pursuing us now. It’s looking for something more, or it would’ve already attacked. The thing must not know who’s who. If like the last one, it’s looking for us, it’s looking for a Neuyokkasinian prince among us. The Dark Lord is sending wraiths, looking specifically for Saxthor, Prince of Neuyokkasin. If that’s the case, it knows what we’re doing, and it’s looking for the crown elements.

  Bodrin looked at Saxthor and started to say something. Saxthor interrupted him before he could speak, fearing he’d say Saxthor’s name, and they’d all be dead.

  “Let’s observe silence for the others to reflect on their memories, Saxthor said. “Bodrin, come with me over by that tree to discuss what’s bothering you.”

  “Say what?” Bodrin asked. He looked puzzled but walked over to the tree with Saxthor.

  Delia followed close behind with her tail tucked between her legs. She kept looking back over the fire.

  Sa
xthor put his arm around Bodrin’s shoulder and led him away from the camp until the group was between them and the rising moon. He put his finger to his lips. Bodrin nodded. Saxthor pointed to the dark vapor floating over the group against the silver moon. Bodrin’s eyes flashed. His head jerked to look at Saxthor, then to Tonelia. He turned to race back, but Saxthor grabbed him.

  “The only one of us now that has the power to fight a wraith at night is Tournak,” Saxthor said in his ear. “He’s totally unaware there’s a wraith, hovering over him in the smoke.”

  Bodrin turned to Saxthor, his face twisted. “What can we do?” He looked back at the innocents around the fire.

  “The wraith’s lingering to learn something, hoping we’ll reveal it,” Saxthor said. Both men looked at their friends around the fire. “I hope we can think of something before someone speaks what it wants to know.”

  Saxthor then thought of the only thing he had that could affect the wraith. He whispered to Bodrin, “Stay here, just in case.” Saxthor then casually walked back to the others. When he did so, Tonelia looked up at him and started to say something.

  “He’s answering the call of nature,” Saxthor said before she could speak. Our names, they have to be what the wraith’s waiting for, identification within the group, he thought. He went to his pack and pulled out the small, beautifully carved cylinder. When he looked around, Tournak was about to ask him a question, and again, Saxthor spoke. “Let’s observe silence in memory of our friend.” Tournak looked puzzled but respected Saxthor’s request and looked down at the fire.

  Without drawing attention to it, Saxthor removed the case’s little top. Only when he took out the Peldentak Wand did the wraith recognized its significance. Saxthor spun around the wand part of his arm’s straight extension.

  Too late, the wraith started to transform. Saxthor knew where the wraith hovered. He pointed the wand straight as an arrow, as Queen Merritak instructed, and chanted the incantation. His anger and protective instinct for his friends heightened his energy and sent energy from the Dragon Ring to enhance the wand’s power and incantation. A blue fire-bolt shot from the wand, destroying the wraith in a shower of sparks.

  Tournak, Astorax, and Tonelia jumped up. Bodrin rushed back to the group. The blue fire-bolt, the shower of sparks, and ball of smoke that rose from it, all vanished with the breeze.

  Tonelia’s hair frizzed in the charged air. She glared at Saxthor. “How dare you two play practical jokes on us after just losing Hendrel?” She said. “He was our good friend and a good wizard, too. How could you play gags at a time like this?”

  “It wasn’t a joke, Tonelia,” Saxthor said. “You mustn’t chastise Bodrin; he doesn’t deserve it.”

  “I’m ashamed of you, Saxthor. This is unworthy of you. I didn’t think you were the type for practical jokes.”

  “It was a wraith, Tonelia,” Bodrin said.

  Tournak sniffed the air. “I smell the sulfur. That was something with a lot of power to have made that flash and ball of smoke.”

  “It was right over our heads,” Astorax said.

  “Yes, and if any of you had said my name, it would’ve shot wizard-fire and destroyed us all.” Saxthor returned the wand to its case and back in the satchel.

  Tonelia stared at Tournak, glanced at Bodrin, then Saxthor. She looked at the last traces of smoke over her head and fell back in a dead faint. When she recovered, her head was in Bodrin’s lap.

  “Sorry about that, it’s lucky I caught you before your head hit the ground,” Bodrin said. He gently rubbed his hand over Tonelia’s hair. He patted her forehead with a cool, damp cloth. “Lie still a bit longer.”

  “If I’d stood up and stretched my arms, my hands would have gone right through that thing,” Tonelia said. “And I thought that smell was burned beans in the cooking pot.” She smiled, and the others returned reassuring grins.

  The next morning, the adventurers sat in a huddle around the camp, where they dared light a fire behind some rocks. After eating, Saxthor, who was silent during the meal, asked for their attention.

  “I’ve given the latest developments a lot of thought. It seems to me that the Dark Lord now knows who I am, what I’m doing, and roughly, where I am.” He paused and looked around the circle of friends. “It’s me he wants, and he’ll stop at nothing to get me, the crown, and jewels.

  Before these most recent developments, we were in danger, but it was circumstantial danger. Now the Dark Lord is hunting me. The situation is much more dangerous. Hendrel died in a trap set for us. That wraith last night would’ve destroyed us all if anyone had used my name.” Saxthor paused again.

  “I think it’s time for each of you to reconsider going on with me. It’s too dangerous now. Someone, possibly all that travel with me, are going to be hurt or killed. You’ve all been the truest of friends and endured more than anyone could ask a friend to suffer. I’m asking you now to leave and travel another route. I don’t want you hurt because of me. The burden I carry is heavy enough without having to worry about my closest friends being harmed because of me.”

  There was a long silence, and the different group members searched each other’s eyes with long, stone faces.

  “Should we abandon Saxthor to his fate?” Tournak asked. He looked around at the others. “Maybe he can travel unnoticed if he doesn’t have an entourage with him?”

  Saxthor looked around at each of them as they thought about all he’d said.

  “Okay,” Tonelia said, getting up and packing. “Now that we got that crap out of the way, let’s get going. It’s a long walk to Sengenwhapolis, and all the so-called smoke around here is giving me the creeps.” She didn’t look around but continued to pack.

  Saxthor saw grins on the others’ faces and realized he had a lump in his throat. He blinked his watery eyes, cleared his throat. As they packed, as usual, Saxthor sat, head in his hands.

  “You coming?” Bodrin asked.

  “As a child at court, I was alone and unnoticed by everyone except you and Habbernee. Even Habbernee abandoned me later. Now that I’m no one, wandering through the peninsula chased by the evilest of souls, I’ve found the truest of friends. I feel loved more than at any time in my life. You people think nothing of risking your lives to see me through this journey that you don’t even fully understand. I just can’t get rid of you people, can I?”

  “Nope,” Tonelia said. She tossed her knapsack on her back and extended her hand to Saxthor.

  “Better hurry?” Bodrin said as the group moved out. His grin was his response. Saxthor got up, shaking his head, took his pack that Bodrin offered, and followed the others heading south again.

  * * *

  It was impossible to know the extent of the sorcerer-king’s shock when he felt the energy flash and disappearance of his vaporized wraiths. He stumbled backward, losing his balance, and grabbed an iron table, sending it crashing to the floor. The searing pain and loss of energy drained him utterly, and he crumpled to the floor.

  That prince has some powerful friends with him, he mumbled. Those three super-wraiths were as potent as I can conjure. Now the other two wraiths would have to stop the prince, and they’d better not fail.

  The Dark Lord raged in his lair all day. Even the dragons chained by the entrance to the Munattahensenhov cringed at the anger vented below. Tremors rumbled through the mountain rock, setting off gargantuan landslides. In the end, the king regained control of himself and focused. He’d turn up the pressure to find the prince and that precious crown.

  Smegdor stood at the doorframe, watching the storm.

  “Smegdor, where’s that blundering Earwig? She’s bungled every attempt to destroy that boy and managed to mangle herself in the process. She’s made a useless pet out of my magnificent dragon. It’s time Magnosious came to the Munattahensenhov and served a master worthy of his power. Summon another wraith, loafing around the Munattahensenhov. They drain my energy and do nothing. We’ll send it south to bring Magnosious back here, where we can
train him and send him out after the prince.”

  * * *

  The wraith raced on the night winds to the southeast. It took a long time, but eventually, the specter appeared at the crumbling Earwighof and floated around it. Has the witch abandoned the palace, she wondered. This is a dump. No… there’re signs of life or something like it, still in these ruins.

  The wraith took form in the evening and began searching through the rubbish-strewn rooms for the foul witch. The she-wraith transmuted back to vapor, when crumbling plaster broke loose from the walls and ceilings as she passed, some nearly striking her. When she found Earwig, even the wraith was shocked at the corrupted carcass.

  She looked at that thing lying on her soiled bed with scarlet drool dribbling from her mouth. The smell of sour ammonia permeated the bedroom’s stale air. There was a mound of hair-like black fungus growing from the broth in a bowl on the floor. The raspy breathing had to be from lungs long since callused by those caustic fumes. That thing on the bed had to be Witch Earwig. The wraith transformed into a more solid form again and spoke.

  “Dreaddrac’s king sends you his greetings and wishes for a quick recovery,” the semi-translucent form said. She meant nothing in the words but felt she should pretend kindness.

  The strained breathing turned to gurgling; Earwig coughed. The feeble witch stirred on the bed and tried to sit up.

  “Who’re you?”

  “I’m the king’s agent. He sent me to take the dragon Magnosious back to the Munattahensenhov for training.”

  Coughing and wheezing, Earwig struggled to rise. She squinted one eye, trying to see who dared to speak to her with such impertinence. She flashed scarlet, pushing her lumpy body upright like propping up a great sack of potatoes.

  “Who dares to speak to me like that?” More wheezing followed. “No one is taking my dragon from me, do you hear?” She tried to stand, but she was too exhausted and collapsed back on the bed. She looked to the window. “Magnosious! Magnosious!”