Dragon Lord: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Origins Book 2)

by James Eggebeen

  “Lavatory down the hall. Water’s there. Don’t use it all up. There are other guests.”

  “Understood.” Kelnor took the key and locked the door behind the man. He dropped onto the bed. He felt as if the room were spinning. He let it. It would soon pass. Maybe he would fall asleep and wake refreshed. Or perhaps, he would spend the night recovering from the travel spell and depart in the morning half asleep.

  Kelnor slept fitfully in the strange bed. There were too many questions for him to be able to rest peacefully. Would he be able to find a ride to Radlage? Would the toymaker be there? Could he learn what he needed from the toymaker? What if the man was secretive? What if he refused to help Kelnor? What if he’d died? That bothered him the most. What if the man had died or moved away? What then? He had barely gotten to sleep, when a cock crowed at the rising sun. At least it wasn’t a total loss. In the brief time Kelnor had been asleep, he’d dreamed of the centaur woman coming to life and visiting him in the night. She had reassured him that he would find what he needed and ultimately succeed in his quest. He found that comforting. Most of his dreams were less pleasant.

  He washed briefly and rushed downstairs, hoping he had not missed the service. He poked his head into the commons room. The patrons appeared to be travelers. The faces from the evening before had been replaced with much more serious ones. The inn’s overnight guests. Travelers. He might be in luck.

  “Anyone going to Radlage?”

  A man looked up from his plate. “I am.” The man was dressed as a trader and sat across from a young girl similarly attired. She could not have been more than fourteen summers in age, yet she conveyed the impression that she was much older.

  “Mind if I join you?” Kelnor asked.

  The man gestured to the bench where the girl sat.

  Without looking up, she slid over, making room for Kelnor.

  Kelnor sat and caught the eye of the server, who returned with a plate heaped with sausages, fried tomatoes, and toasted bread, accompanied by a large mug of steaming dark tea.

  “How much you want for a ride?” Kelnor asked.

  “How much you got?”

  “Hardly anything. I walked here. I can walk to Radlage,” Kelnor wasn’t about to let the man take advantage of him. He’d walked to Amedon. He could walk to Radlage.

  “You know how to bargain. I like that. Half a silver.”

  “Three coppers,” Kelnor stated without looking at the man.

  “Can’t see that it’s worth that little.”

  “You’re going anyway. Your team won’t even notice an addition like me. Make it four.”

  “Four it is,” the man said. “Pay the woman.”

  The girl stretched out her hand, still not looking directly at Kelnor. She pocketed his coins and returned her attention to her meal as if he were not there.

  It was going to be a long ride.

  14

  The journey to Radlage was not as unpleasant as Kelnor had expected. The road was more often than not in good repair, with sections paved and well-maintained. The wagon rumbled over the cobbles with a rhythm that soothed him and lulled him to sleep. It was just before midday when they crested a hill and the trader woke him.

  “There she is,” he said, jutting his chin at a cluster of houses nestled close to the road.

  “Not much to look at,” Kelnor said. “I’m in search of a toymaker. He is admired for his intricate work with automata. Perhaps you know of him?”

  “Autowhat?”

  “Automata. Machines that move on their own.”

  “Magical toys? Like those puppets that sing?”

  “No. Not sing. But musical, yes. I’ve heard there is a toymaker in Radlage who crafts the most beautiful of boxes that, when opened, play music and display a dancing figure. They are most prized. That is why I came here. I’m seeking this toymaker. Do you know of him?”

  “That would be Cerad. He’s the one who dabbles in that sort of thing. Never seen one myself, but everyone’s heard of what he makes. Truly a marvel, they say, but he died last summer. Caught the flux and wasted away.” The trader snapped his fingers. “Just like that. One day he was healthy as you and me, the next he was gone.”

  “Dead?” Kelnor sighed. He’d wasted his time. Disheartened, he considered his options. He could return to Amedon from Radlage as easily as anywhere, but perhaps he should spend a bit of time getting to know the town, even if his mission was a failure. Someday, he might wish to return. It wasn’t a total loss. At least that was what he told himself. He was good at rationalizing.

  “Golor took over for Cerad. In my opinion, he’s a better craftsman than his father was.”

  “Where’s his shop?” Kelnor glanced around.

  Since entering the city proper, the buildings had grown closer together, but they were still farther apart than in most towns.

  “We’re going right past it. I’ll drop you there.”

  The toymaker’s shop was right off the main road. When the wagon stopped, Kelnor hopped down and retrieved his pack. The girl glanced up at him, then turned her face away as if avoiding him.

  “Nice to meet you,” he muttered almost out of habit. The girl had not said so much as a word the entire trip. Was she that shy, or was there something wrong with her? He recalled his classes in magical healing. He imagined his hand turning silver, let the silver skin rise from his physical form, and reach for the girl. One quick look. Perhaps if it was something small, he could help her. He was not the most powerful of healers, but he had some skills. It would repay the trader for his kindness.

  As his ghost hand approached the girl, it met resistance. He pressed harder, but something was protecting her.

  He peered at her.

  Was that magic surrounding her?

  A charm?

  The girl scowled at him. “Get your filthy hand off me or I’ll burn you where you stand.”

  Kelnor withdrew the ghost hand and let it fade.

  “I know what you’re going to try,” the girl said. “It won’t work.”

  “What won’t work?”

  The girl lowered her gaze.

  “What won’t work?” Kelnor demanded.

  The girl held her peace.

  “Don’t mind her. She gets like that sometimes,” the trader called back. “Don’t let it bother you.”

  “Is she a sorceress?” Kelnor asked.

  “I said, don’t let it bother you.” The trader snapped the reins. The wagon started to roll and Kelnor had to jump back to keep from being run over. As the wagon rolled away, the girl raised her gaze once more. She locked eyes with Kelnor and gestured a spell of protection between them.

  What a strange girl.

  Kelnor had only met a few sorceresses. They were rare. How then was it that he’d run into one, and why wasn’t she in Amedon where she belonged? He watched as the wagon rolled along the cobble streets and eventually disappeared around a corner.

  He turned to the toymaker’s shop.

  The place was cluttered beyond belief. In the window, toys crowded together almost on top of one another. Inside, it was much worse. Shelves overflowed with puppets, stuffed animals, carvings of ships and wagons, and intricately carved devices the likes of which Kelnor had never seen.

  “Golor?” Kelnor asked of the short little man bent over his workbench.

  “Who’s asking?” The man glanced up. He wore a wire frame that held a lens against one eye. His exposed eye was startlingly blue. In one hand, he held a tiny silver tool that appeared to be an awl, but had a flat end.

  “Name’s Kelnor. I came in search of the maker of the music boxes.”

  The man gestured to a stool beside the workbench. “Sit there. If you have the patience to wait. I’ll show you.” With that, he turned his attention back to the work before him. The device was a rectangular box about two hands long and one wide. It was half a hand in height, fabricated of wood with brass reinforcements on each corner. The lid was open and Kelnor could make out a narrow channe
l carved in it.

  Inside, the box was filled with black iron springs and brass gears.

  Golor picked at the springs for a bit, then reached for a large brass key that he inserted into one side and turned. The box emitted a ratcheting sound as the key turned, once, twice, three times.

  Golor looked up.

  “Prepare yourself. This is not magic. It’s mechanics.” He closed the lid and gestured at a pair of narrow brass pins sticking up through the groove in the cover. “Imagine that this one,” he pointed to one of the pins, “carries the figure of a man, and this one,” he gestured at the other, “carries the figure of his intended.”

  Kelnor nodded.

  Golor pointed at a set of arches that spanned the groove in several places. “These hold the plate together. I’ll decorate them to look like doorways or trees or something. Can’t get by without them, so I might as well make them part of the design.”

  He placed his hand aside the box and looked up at Kelnor. “Ready?”

  Kelnor nodded.

  Golor pressed a button on the side of the box, and the pins began to move. Slowly at first, then picking up speed. The pin representing the intended raced just ahead of the one meant to represent the man. They chased one another around a complex path for several heartbeats before winding down and stopping, the man catching his intended and the two of them dancing a complex dance.

  “It will be much more appealing once I add the flowers, the man, and the woman.”

  Kelnor sat there, mouth hanging open. This was exactly what he needed. How could he have been so fortunate? He had hoped to learn a few tricks from the music box maker and then spend moons figuring out how to craft what he needed. Here before him sat a complete working model of what he sought.

  “That’s amazing,” Kelnor finally said. “Are you sure there’s no magic involved?”

  “I swear it.”

  “How many of those can you make?”

  “How many? This is the first one I’ve tried and it isn’t finished.”

  “I need something like this. Can you make more?”

  “I can. In time.”

  “How much time?”

  “Two, three moons. I takes a bit to get all the gears and springs right.”

  Kelnor groaned. He didn’t have two moons, much less three.

  “Any way I can get you to work faster?”

  “Here you are asking if I can work faster when I haven’t even agreed to make anything for you. You’re kind of full of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “Please.”

  “Even if I didn’t, I don’t have the time. I have a commission I need to get started on.” The toymaker placed the music box on a shelf. “This is my own work. Not for sale.”

  Kelnor left the toymaker’s shop and found himself a room in the Flaming Falconer Arms. Even if the toymaker had agreed to providing the boxes, he was in no shape to travel back to Amedon yet. He needed time to recover. He could use that time.

  He made another attempt to talk the toymaker into providing him a box, but Golor was in no mood to cooperate. On Kelnor’s last visit, Golor had threatened to beat him if he didn’t leave the shop and never return.

  This was not what he’d expected.

  The boxes were the secret. He was an expert at secrets. He’d coaxed the secrets from dusty old scrolls. He should have been able to coax the secret from the toymaker, but he had failed. That meant he would have to resort to other methods.

  He carefully crafted the spells he would need, hoping he would not need them. Every spell he cast, weak as they were, consumed his magic, and that extended his stay, and that increased the risk should he get caught. For what he had planned was less than legitimate, but he was desperate.

  He donned the darkest robe he had with him and stepped out into the night. The sun had set long ago and the moon was low on the horizon. The stars were bright overhead, but the streets were dark.

  Good.

  Dark was what he needed.

  He crept along darkened homes and shops until he reached the toymaker’s shop. He had to be quiet. The man and his family slept above the shop, as most craftsman did. If he made noise, they would catch him, and that would not fare well with his magic still somewhat low.

  He jostled the door. It sported a lock, one of those modern locks that took a key. He sighed. Of course it took a key. A simple latch would be too easy to defeat.

  “Permit ingressum me,” he whispered.

  He felt his magic lift from his fingertips. It entered the lock and flowed around a series of pins that extended into the keyway. Each pin lifted slightly, no two the same height. When all the pins were in the correct place, the cylinder rotated with a gentler click. He pulled on the door, proud of his facility with this complex spell.

  The door pulled open with a loud clang. The toymaker had positioned a bell above the door that was struck by the door being opened.

  Kelnor froze.

  Had they heard?

  He waited, his heart beating loudly in his chest.

  When no one came to investigate, he stepped inside.

  It was dark.

  “Incendio ignius,” he muttered.

  A small flame appeared over his outstretched palm, barely enough to light his way as he searched for the box. The toymaker had placed it on a shelf above the workbench, but it was no longer there. Had he moved it? Was that because Kelnor had repeatedly asked about it? Was he prepared for Kelnor to attempt to steal it?

  “Where did you go?” he muttered.

  A thorough search of the shelves yielded nothing. Was the music box still in the shop? Had the toymaker finished it and sold it? Not likely. If he was going to sell it, why not sell it to Kelnor?

  It had to be here.

  “Quod sit revealare abscondita,” he said.

  At his words, a gentle green flash appeared out of the corner of his eye.

  He turned to it. “Quod sit revealare abscondita,” he repeated.

  Again the flash.

  It came from one of the drawers.

  He grabbed the drawer pull and yanked.

  It was also locked.

  The toymaker certainly was suspicious. Perhaps he’d been too aggressive in his approach. He would have to remember that, if the same situation ever arose again.

  “Permit ingressum me.” He had never tried the same spell more than once so soon after attempting it. There was no assurance that it would work twice.

  He pulled at the drawer once more.

  Still locked.

  Now what?

  Carefully arranged on a board above the workbench were an array of tools that Kelnor was not familiar with, but among them was a mallet and a prybar. He grabbed the prybar and jammed it into the gap between the drawer and the bench. He tapped it with the mallet and yanked.

  The drawer came free with a crack and Kelnor fell on his backside.

  “Who’s down there?” a voice came from upstairs.

  Kelnor grabbed the music box from the broken drawer. Beside the box was a leather pouch that must have contained tools. He grabbed that and ran as footsteps thundered down the steps.

  15

  Kelnor lay back in his room in the Flaming Falconer Arms. The room was small, with little space to navigate around the narrow bed. The spindly-legged chair was jammed against the wall as if never meant to be used, but provided just so the owner could brag of the accommodations. The place smelled of moldy hay, probably from the barn attached to the back wall of the inn. It was cold and damp. The morning rain had ceased, but the clouds hung over the place as if afraid to abandon it, fearful of what the sun might do to the town of Radlage.

  He had figured out how to open the music box but was afraid to dig too deeply into it. If he accidentally disturbed one of the springs, he might never get it to work. He satisfied himself retrofitting the box with a new plate to guide the pins. It was grueling work, and he’d had to start over. When he needed material, he’d paid a boy from the inn to go get them. He dared not
show his face in town.

  His magic was almost restored. Another two days and he could travel the void and return to Amedon. He would be glad to get home. For some reason, he felt that back home, he could risk digging deeper into the box’s secrets. It would be good to get back to his work.

  He had just re-fitted his own plate on the box when a knock sounded at his door.

  “Your morning meal, sire.”

  He glanced up. Here was a mundane who could test his theory.

  He jabbed the pin into his finger, releasing a single drop of blood onto the point. He winced. He was going to have to find a better way than jabbing himself every time he wanted to use the device. It was unpleasant and not something he was prepared to do beyond his initial testing.

  He licked the wound and opened the door to a young boy holding a plate filled with breads, cut meat, and pastries. He had paid the lad to deliver his food to avoid the public room, and the lad was happy to oblige.

  “Put it on the bed,” Kelnor instructed him. “I have another request of you. It won’t take but a moment and there’s a pair of coppers in it for you.”

  The boy placed the plate on the bed and stepped back. He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “What do you need? I don’t do stuff like some folks.”

  “Nothing like that. I just want you to test out a toy for me.”

  Kelnor gestured to the box.

  “There is a lever on the side of the box,” he explained. “Not the big key, but beside that.” He made a gesture as if pressing something. “Just lower the lever and stand back. Tell me what you see.”

  “Will it hurt me?”

  “No. Nothing like that. It does a trick. I just want to see if it will work for you as it does for me. That’s all.”

  “Coppers?” The boy held out his hand.

  “You will do it, then? No running off with my coppers?”

  “I said I’d do it.”

  Kelnor handed the coins to the boy. The lad stepped up to the box and carefully placed his finger on the lever. “Like this?” he asked.