Order Of The Dragon (Omnibus 1-4)

by Jason Halstead

"Can you help me fight it?"

  The priest shrugged. "I will try, but much of it will be up to you and your will to fight it."

  "No worries there," Alto said. He turned and looked at the rest of them. "Kar, take Garrick and Mordrim and visit your wizards."

  Kar looked at the two men and then back to Alto. "Garrick and Mordrim? Has the poison gone to your head already?"

  "You can fight magic; they can fight everything else," Alto said. "Karthor, do you need to be near Patrina to help her?"

  "Once a day for now, until she weakens," the priest said.

  "All right, then you and Carson come with me."

  "Where do you think you're going?" Kar demanded.

  "I'm going to the palace," Alto said.

  "The palace?" Carson asked. "Why?"

  "That's where Sulim lives when he's here."

  "But he's not here—we already learned that," Kar snapped at him.

  "No, we were told they went on a retreat. For all we know he could be here. If nothing else, Jakar is there and I will make him tell me."

  "How?" the wizard challenged.

  Alto shrugged, the movement painful in itself. "I'll beat it out of him if I have to."

  Kar shook his head and sighed. He gestured for Mordrim and Garrick. "Come along, boys. If I'm to be chaperoned, let's hurry along. Try to keep up with me."

  Garrick snorted. "Talk to the dwarf. My legs are longer than yours."

  "And mind who you're calling a boy." Mordrim reminded the wizard that dwarves live longer than humans.

  "So you're old and short," Garrick mused as they stepped onto the dock and headed towards shore. The dwarf's response was lost as they moved away.

  "Come, the sooner we do this the better," Alto said after he drank another cup filled with warm water.

  "We can wait for them to come back," Carson suggested.

  Alto shook his head. "Patrina can't wait," he said.

  Carson nodded. "For Patrina, then."

  Alto frowned. "Why don't I ever get anyone willing to devote themselves to me like they do her?"

  "You don't fill out a suit of armor quite as well," Karthor offered.

  Alto blinked and then looked at the slight smile on the priest's face. He shook his head and smiled. "I won't argue that. Come, my friends, let's go while I still can."

  The trip through the city was painful for Alto. The heat nearly overwhelmed him at times. When the heat wasn't so bad, he could think straight. He still had to contend with muscles that would cramp up if he stayed in one position for very long. Waiting on merchant caravans and royal wagons would have earned a curse from him if he'd had the strength to utter them.

  It was nearing midday when he staggered up the steps to the palace and strode past the guards who stood beside the main entrance. He turned and walked with as much confidence as he could muster to the wing where Sulim stayed.

  Two large men with bare chests and flowing white pants met them at the entrance to Lord Badawi's rooms. The guards had curved swords at their side, scimitars like Namitus's. It was a common weapon in Shazamir.

  "Jakar is busy," one of the guards told him.

  Alto shook his head. "I don't care. I told him I'd be back to check. I'm here. He said he'd be ready. Find him. Now."

  The two guards looked at each other before the one who had spoken relented. "Lord Alto? Just you. Your friends must wait here."

  Karthor spoke up first. "I don't think that's a good idea."

  "It's fine," Alto snapped at him, afraid he'd lose his chance to question Jakar.

  Carson smiled at one of the guards and then gaped as a beautiful southern woman passed through two archways in the hall, wearing a long flowing loincloth and little else save an ornate necklace across her chest and shoulders. She carried a tray with a pitcher and some fruit on it. "I'll uh, I'll wait for you here. Give us a call if you need us."

  Karthor turned and glared at the woodsman.

  "I'll be fine," Alto assured them. He turned to the guard. "Take me to Jakar."

  The guard turned away and walked down the hall and through one of the archways. Alto passed through a couple of rooms and then an open air garden filled with lush plants that reminded him of the jungle on the island of Britanley, complete with trees laden with bananas, pineapples, and oranges. A few rooms later and Alto was taken into a room with couches filled with pillows. A table in the midst of the couches had a gold platter with a jug and two cups, as well as several ripe fruits sitting around it.

  "Jakar will meet you here," the guard said.

  Alto watched him go through narrowed eyes. For showing up without warning, Jakar seemed to have a plan for how to meet him. He wondered if their long walk through the palace had allowed someone to warn him, or if he'd been suspecting a visit since the attack the night before?

  Alto glanced down at the jug and the fruits. He swallowed, trying to ease the dry ache in his throat. The liquid looked like water or wine; he couldn't tell without getting closer to it. He steeled himself and turned away, not trusting the questionable hospitality.

  Jakar entered the room a few minutes later. Two men, both larger than the ones at the front entrance to the wing, waited outside the open doorway. "Lord Alto, you honor me with your presence."

  "Then you may honor me with giving me word of my sister," Alto tried after clearing his throat.

  "But my lord, I've only sent a messenger this morning. It will take days to get word there and back, perhaps longer," Jakar said. He moved past Alto to the table and sat down. "Come, sit. You sound parched. Drink with me."

  Alto moved and sat on the couch opposite Jakar's. The aide reached for the jug and filled both glasses, and then pushed one towards his guest. Alto took it and stared at it, and then waited for Jakar to raise his and drink from it. Satisfied, Alto sipped at the water and gasped. It had a flavor to it that surprised him, a hint of orange and pineapple. He drank again, taking it deeply and finishing the cup before he set it down.

  "Ah ha, I was right. Heat is a dangerous thing, my young lord. Please drink heavily while you are here or you will find you can no longer sweat. This is the beginning of the end, for your body will overheat and dry out soon."

  Alto nodded but did not move to take the second glass Jakar poured for him. "We were attacked last night," Alto said.

  Jakar jerked his head up and stared at him. "Attacked?" he echoed.

  "Yes, three men," Alto said. "We killed them, but not before they poisoned Lady Patrina."

  Jakar's eyes widened. "Oh my. This is terrible."

  "She sleeps while we search for a cure to the poison," Alto continued, watching Jakar carefully. "My wizard believes he knows where to get it."

  Jakar nodded. "Good. I'm amazed. I've heard that the poisons the Stalkers use have no cure."

  Alto leaned over a bit and said in a slurred voice, "I never said the Stalkers were the ones who attacked us."

  Jakar stood and looked at Alto. He shook his head. "Come now, even a full glass of that juice isn't enough to do that to you."

  Alto looked at Jakar's cup and saw that it was still full. Had the man taken a sip or had he only pretended to? "Poisoned last night," Alto mumbled.

  "Oh really?" Jakara paused and stared at him. He nodded. "That makes more sense then. But what shall I do with your friends? Kill them, of course, but how?"

  Alto shook his head. "Leave. Them. Alone," he managed to say.

  "We can't leave them alone. We were ordered to kill your family and friends. Everyone who means something to you. Ideally you're supposed to remain alive while all this happens, but we've learned that you're a very dangerous man. Killing you is the only safe way to be sure. I thought you should know that your friends will suffer as well."

  Alto stared at the cup in front of him. "Poisoned?"

  Jakar laughed. "Of course, you stupid farmer! You'd need to drink the entire jug to kill yourself, though. A glass will slow you and cripple you enough."

  "Enough?"

  "Yes, enough.
Adamis, Sefano, come and take care of our guest, please. And try not to ruin any of the carpets," Jakar said as he rose up.

  Alto turned as Jakar walked around the couches towards the door. He fell off the couch but managed to catch himself with his hand so he only went to his knees. "Wait!" Alto said. "Sulim? Caitlyn?"

  Jakar smirked and shook his head. "Those fools are in the mountains. Your sister is being taught where her loyalties should lie. In due time, both will serve their purpose, as will you serve yours now by dying."

  Jakar glanced at the two burly warriors that moved past him. "He's all yours," Jakar said. The aide turned and exited the room, moving quickly so as to be elsewhere when news reached him of Alto's death.

  Alto grimaced as a cramp in his stomach stole his breath from him. He straightened after it passed and watched the two men come closer to him. Both had a hand on the hilts of their scimitars. They both came around opposite ends of the couch, the man on the left reaching for Alto while the man on his right cleared the end.

  Alto leapt to his feet and ripped his sword free of his scabbard, slicing the large man on the left from abdomen to shoulder with his blade. He fell back, crying out and clutching at the gash that had grated against the bones in his chest. The other man drew his scimitar and threw a pillow he picked up at the same time.

  Alto knocked the pillow aside with his hand and nearly lost his hand as the scimitar swept across in front of him. He leapt back, the small surge of energy from his Soulsword coursing through his body and driving away the poison for a moment. Even the cramping in his stomach left him alone for a moment.

  The Shazamir guard rushed at him, seeking to keep Alto off balance. Alto deflected the scimitar twice and then punched the man in the face with his left hand. He'd trained against Namitus many times and was prepared to fight against the curved blade. Alto kept backing away, rounding the far couch Jakar had sat on and then he kicked it into the guard's legs.

  The guard grunted and tried to kick it back but Alto had already lunged forward and plunged the broad tip of his blade into the guard's chest. He pulled it back out, allowing blood to burst from the wound and pour down the man's body. He stared down at himself while his legs gave out. He ended up kneeling on the couch and reached up with his free hand to clutch at the mortal wound. When the guard looked up at Alto with pain and confusion on his face, Alto swept his head from his shoulders with his own blade.

  The other guard was gasping for breath between clenched teeth. Blood flowed all over the floor from his savage wound but it was one he could live from, although his left arm would be crippled.

  "I will kill every last one of you," Alto spat at the man as he stood over him. The guard stared up as Alto's sword rose and fell one final time, and then he saw no more.

  Alto turned to the open archway into the room. Jakar had just left. Did he have time to catch him? He looked at his blade in his hand and nodded. Holding it gave him strength and it was strength he needed. He'd tricked Jakar and his guards into thinking he was nearly overcome with the poison.

  Alto turned and doubled over as severe cramping tugged at his belly. He fell to his knees and only kept himself from falling to the floor with one hand. He retched and vomited, spraying out the poisoned juice across the blood-soaked rug. A few gentler heaves later, he climbed back to his feet and gasped. He shook his head and wiped the back of his mouth on his arm, and then lurched forward. His stomach trembled but felt better already.

  Alto's eyes went to his sword where a portion of his life force was bound. It was keeping him alive. The sword helped him fight off the poison, both types. Now he had to make sure he found the cures before even the sword couldn't help him fight anymore.

  "Jakar!" Alto shouted before he took off at an uneven run through the palace halls.

  Chapter 10

  "Did you hear that?" Carson asked a few minutes after the guard returned from escorting Alto to Jakar.

  Karthor lifted his head from where he'd lowered it in prayer. "Sorry, hear what?"

  "I thought I heard somebody shouting," Carson said.

  Both of the guards looked behind themselves and down the hallway. "Check it out," the guard who remained behind the first time said.

  The second grunted and turned away. He stopped when he saw Carson and Karthor rising to stand from the divan they'd sat on. "I'll look into it," he said.

  "I'm a priest of Leander," Karthor said. "I can help if someone's been hurt."

  "We'll send for you if we need you," he stated.

  Another shout echoed through the hallways, this one closer. Karthor said, "That's Alto!"

  "We're coming," Carson told the guard.

  Both guards drew their curved swords. "You'll stay where you are!"

  "I'll handle these two," Carson drew both his swords and said. "You go help."

  "They're between both of us," Karthor pointed out and readied his mace. "Don't be greedy."

  The guards stepped away from the entrance and then waited while Carson approached. The hunter lunged in, swinging both swords and catching the guard on his left off guard. He tried to block both blades but ended up missing both and being cut on both shoulders because of it. The other guard passed on the opening Carson offered since Karthor was stepping into range.

  The priest smashed the scimitar that sliced across at him down with his mace. He kicked the guard, connecting with the inside of his knee and forcing him to shift his balance. Karthor's mace hit him in the shoulder in a backhanded swing that made the guard grunt.

  Carson used first one sword and then the other, striking in a rhythm that kept the guard in a frantic defense as he deflected one strike after another. Carson caught him off guard by stepping in close and driving his knee between the guard's legs. He crumpled forward, curling at the waist instinctively, and received a solid strike to the head with the hilt of one of Carson's swords.

  "Surrender!" Karthor demanded when Carson incapacitated his opponent.

  "You won't survive the day!" the guard spat at him.

  "Drop your sword or you won't survive the minute," Carson said as he stepped behind him and rested a blade on each of the guard's shoulders.

  The scimitar clanged on the floor. Carson clubbed him in the back of the head with his hilt and grinned at the priest.

  "I've never seen anyone fight with two full-sized weapons before," Karthor said.

  Carson shrugged. "I've heard that before. I never knew any better. The animals I fought had claws and teeth they used. It seemed like my only way to even the odds."

  "Come on," Karthor said after accepting his explanation.

  They started down the corridor and, after a few steps, started jogging. They slowed when they realized they weren't sure where to go. "Was it the third or fourth passage he went down?" Karthor asked.

  Carson shrugged. He opened his mouth when they heard a roar and the clash of steel against steel ahead of them. "Neither," Carson said. He pointed and charged ahead, the priest right on his heels.

  Using the noises to guide them, they ran through several hallways and passed servants who looked surprised and fearful. They few guards they encountered were easy to overpower in the chaos.

  They burst into a garden and found a group of southern soldiers pushing their way through the paths in the tropical greenery. They could hear the sound of battle without the echo of walls and ceilings at last.

  Karthor opened his mouth but Carson rush forward, making him pause. The hunter struck out, stabbing one guard in the back of the thigh and smashing a second in the head with the pommel of his other sword. Karthor nodded and went after another one, dropping the surprised man when his mace cracked against his skull.

  The guards figured out in moments that they'd been flanked. Someone cried out from the front of the crowd, distracting them. Carson swept the curved sword from the hands of another guard and jabbed his sword into his shoulder hard enough to feel it grate against bone. The guard fell to his knees and cried out for mercy.

  The
other guards threw down their swords, surrendering. Carson counted their number at eight and frowned. They wouldn't stand for having their heads cracked for long and they didn't have time to tie them up.

  "Alto!" Karthor cried out now that the guards had given up.

  "Here," a ragged response came from the far side of the garden.

  Karthor and Carson pushed their way through the men, being none too gentle when they saw the guards show surprise. Surrendering to three men wouldn't sit well with them for long.

  They found their friend and leader bleeding from several cuts. He was standing and leaning against a wall, though breathing heavily. A fire burned in his eyes that spoke of strength beyond what his body should have had left to give.

  "Jakar ran through this door," he said with a jerk of his head towards the closed door beside him.

  "Well, break it down," Carson said. "Big strong guy like you."

  Alto coughed and nodded. He turned and kicked the door, only to stagger back. He tried his shoulder next and nearly collapsed when the door held. "You want to try it?" he gasped.

  Carson frowned and turned back to the garden. He sheathed his blades and rushed over to where a statue of a large cat sat amid some grass and flowers. "Help me with this," Carson said.

  "Hold a moment, let me tend your hurts," Karthor offered. "You're bleeding a lot."

  Alto shook his head. "No time," he snapped. He squatted down and dug his fingers into the soft dirt underneath it. They heaved together and picked up the heavy statue, and then staggered over towards the door. They swung the stone cat back and forth between them and then drove it into the door. The iron-bound door cracked but held. Two more strikes and it swung open, the iron guides securing the wooden bar falling to the floor.

  A short hallway led to a staircase down, complete with a closed door at the bottom of it. "You should have grabbed your armor," Karthor told Alto as the warrior tried the door.

  "I should have done a lot of things," Alto said. He pushed against the door, budging it but not opening it. He scowled and stepped back half a step so he could kick it open. The door pushed free, allowing a flask to fall from above the doorway.