The Dragonspire Chronicles Omnibus 1

by James E. Wisher

  Forgetting about his lunch, Rondo hurried across the room and followed Shade out into the work yard. He stopped dead in his tracks. The ships were floating about six feet off the ground. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, but the scene didn’t change. Flying ships, just thinking it made his brain hurt. He’d never heard of such a thing, even at the height of the Dragon Empire.

  He shook his head and took a couple more steps so Shade could close the tower door. He finally noticed the lone figure standing under the rightmost ship. He or she, Rondo really couldn’t tell from a distance, almost disappeared in the shadows cast by the hull. No matter how hard he tried, Rondo couldn’t seem to bring the individual into focus.

  Instead he tried to puzzle out what the cloaked figure was doing. He had his arms raised and appeared to be attaching something to the bottom of the hull. Probably the cloud generator Shade mentioned.

  “Something, right?” Shade clapped Rondo on the shoulder and guided him toward the central ship.

  There was a rope ladder hanging down and Shade started climbing. Rondo swallowed the lump in his throat and set his foot on the first rung. The ship held steady and after a shaky start, Rondo picked up speed.

  Shade was waiting at the top and helped him over the rail. Rondo took a moment to steady himself then looked around. The layout was basically the same as the other ships he’d been on. The deck was smooth and a square hatch allowed access to the hold. At the rear was a raised area with a helm. Or at least Rondo assumed it was a helm, there was no great wheel to allow steering. In fact, he hadn’t noticed a rudder either.

  “How do they make the ship go where they want?” Rondo asked.

  “I’m no expert,” Shade said. “But from what I picked up it sounded like there were wind spirits bound to the ship and whoever stands up by that raised part in the back can control where the ship goes.”

  Naturally a flying ship would have a magical steering mechanism. “Do the wind spirits hold it in the air as well?”

  “No,” a new voice said. Lord Black flew over from the right-hand ship to join them. “They’re kept in the air by levitation stones.”

  Seeing Rondo’s confusion Lord Black asked, “What are the two unique characteristics that make a dragon a dragon?”

  Rondo tried to think. He hadn’t studied that much about dragons. “Their energy breath and um…”

  “And that they can fly despite being too heavy for their wings to lift them,” Lord Black said. “They accomplish these things via two magical organs, one positioned at the base of their throats and a second in the center of their bodies. After a dragon dies those organs calcify into stones over time. It took seven years to collect enough levitation stones to lift the ships, but we have them now.”

  “Amazing,” Rondo said. “But what’s the purpose of these ships? I can see how they’d be handy, but the time and expense to make them must have been horrendous.”

  “Indeed it was. But with them I have mobile, unassailable bases from which I can work. That’s a huge advantage. Their immediate use will become clear soon enough.”

  Lord Black turned just as the shadowy figure from below flew up on deck. Out in the light it was clear he was wearing a black robe with a deep cowl. Shadows still swirled around him, but they didn’t fully obscure his figure. “It’s done,” he said. The man had a whispery, almost hissing voice.

  “Thank you, Jax. Let me introduce Rondo Tegan. He’s a provisional member of the cadre and will be helping us on this mission. Rondo, this is Jax Umbra.”

  Rondo bowed to him. “An honor to meet you, sir.”

  Jax nodded back. “I’ll be below if you need me.”

  Lord Black waved him off and turned back to Rondo and Shade. “If there’s anything you need to bring aboard, do it quickly. We leave in ten minutes.”

  Rondo had nothing he needed. He had no idea where they were going, but his heart raced to be doing something. No matter what, he would prove to Lord Black that he was a worthy member of the cadre.

  Chapter 17

  Moz had felt guilty as hell leaving Ariel with Callie, but he really didn’t have much choice. Taking her on the road was just asking for trouble. Plus, she needed to learn what only the bards could teach. At least the kid hadn’t cried. She just looked at him with those big, weird eyes and hugged him goodbye. He promised to return and visit her and assuming he survived his investigations he had every intention of keeping that promise.

  That was two weeks and a couple hundred miles ago. The horse Callie provided was a fine dappled mare, with good sense and a calm disposition. She also gave him a dark cloak with a deep hood to disguise his armor and face.

  Moz had been traveling west and a little south from the bard college toward a rough town called The Pit. It was every bit as wretched as the name implied. There was no law to speak of beyond your own sword. Bandits, mercenaries, and outlaws of all sorts gathered there. An old acquaintance of Moz’s ran the weapons shop. Hopefully he could help Moz get a line on Koltin and whether Rondo hired him there or somewhere else.

  Half a mile out, The Pit appeared on the horizon. The town wasn’t built according to a plan. When someone showed up and decided to settle, they threw up a shack out of whatever wood they could scrounge or steal, usually starting with the wagon in which they arrived. One of the reasons Moz assumed the king didn’t bother burning the place down was that the scum living there wouldn’t be out much and could just rebuild somewhere else. At least everyone knew where The Pit was if they had to look into something like Moz did.

  A hundred yards out, the stink of manure, rendering fat, and cheap ale washed over him. The horse snorted and shied, clearly wanting nothing to do with The Pit. Moz knew just how the mare felt, but he had business and stink or not, he was going in. He gave an encouraging click of his tongue and urged her on.

  Before entering the town proper, Moz pulled his hood up and loosened his swords in their scabbards. The first buildings were one-room shacks and even a few lean-tos. One held a passed-out man lying in his own filth, a nearly empty bottle of the local liquor beside him. What passed for whiskey in a place like this was poison anywhere else.

  He moved deeper into the town, leaving the newest shacks behind. The next group of buildings resembled real houses with a few businesses sprinkled in. Moz ignored them and made his way to the center of town. His contact was one of The Pit’s founding fathers. His shop was the only stone building in the entire settlement.

  As he rode, a few of the locals emerged from the left and right to look the newcomer over. The people matched the town perfectly. Most of them had lost their teeth, and had patchy beards clinging to scabby faces. They dressed in threadbare tunics and ripped trousers. Moz met their appraising looks with a hard, defiant glare of his own. He didn’t dare show an instant of weakness. These serpents would smell it and be on him at once.

  However horrible they were, he preferred not to kill anyone if he could help himself. Not that anyone would care how many people he killed. Minding your own business was the first and only law of The Pit.

  Moz finally reined in outside a big stone building with a sign that read Marco’s Fine Weapons. Under the words were a crossed sword and ax. Moz dismounted and tied his horse to the rail. He took his saddlebags off, leaving little for anyone to steal, and walked through the open doorway. Inside were racks and tables filled with every type of weapon imaginable, swords, axes, maces, bows of all sorts. At the opposite end of the shop was a counter behind which the proprietor stood, burly arms crossed, watching Moz the way a cat would a mouse.

  Moz flipped his hood back and walked to the counter. “Been a long time, Marco. Glad to see you’re still alive.”

  “Moz!” Marco leapt the counter, rushed across the room, picked Moz up and spun him around. “What’s it been, ten years? I never thought I’d see you again. I thought you retired?”

  “I did and can you put me down?”

  “Sorry.” Marco set him down and grinned. “So if you’re retired, what in
the world are you doing here?”

  “I’m here because the gods decided I’d had enough rest. A couple thugs led by a guy named Koltin tried to kill me a few weeks back. They were working for a man named Rondo Tegan. Either name ring a bell?”

  “Rondo’s a new one on me, but I know Koltin. Got himself run out of town two years ago.”

  Moz barked a laugh. “What do you have to do to get run out of The Pit?”

  “Rape Tad the innkeeper’s wife then kill the little man when he complains. There aren’t many things we agree on in this town, but everyone liked Tad and his wife. Koltin got out just ahead of a mob intending to draw and quarter him.”

  “I knew he was a son of a bitch, but I didn’t figure he was that bad. Any idea where he ran off to?”

  “Sorry, Moz. Once somebody leaves town, I don’t pay them any mind.” Marco snapped his fingers. “Tad’s wife might know. She was always talking about hiring someone to kill the bastard. If she knows anything, she’ll tell you since you’re the one that killed Koltin. Hell, you’ll never have to pay for room or board at the inn for as long as you live.”

  Moz had no intention of ever eating or sleeping in The Pit, but he nodded like it was a great deal. “I’ll go talk to her.”

  “I’ll join you,” Marco said. “An introduction from a local will make things easier.”

  “Thanks.”

  Marco closed the door behind them and led the way across the street to the inn, no name, just “Inn” spelled out in giant letters over the door. One of a handful of two-story buildings and the only one that didn’t lean left or right, the inn looked nearly respectable from the outside. They mounted the short flight of steps leading to the double front doors.

  Marco opened the left-hand door and waved Moz through. The interior was dim despite being midmorning. Red curtains covering three windows tinted the meager light crimson. The common room was empty and the bar unmanned. Clearly no one expected customers. Hell of a way to run a business.

  The door slammed behind Marco and he started across the dining room, weaving around tables and chairs, and angling toward the door at the end of the bar which Moz assumed led to the kitchen. Not bothering to knock, Marco pushed through into a wave of heat and the first decent thing Moz had smelled since arriving: fresh-baking bread.

  A single woman stood hunched over a table wrist deep in a mound of dough. She wasn’t a young woman, though probably younger than Moz. Her dark hair was gray at the temples and the side of her face visibly sported deep worry lines.

  She looked at them with piercing gray eyes. “How many times have I told you to knock before entering my kitchen?”

  Marco raised both hands. “Sorry Agnes, but I had good news and couldn’t wait to share.”

  Agnes wiped her hands on a flour-covered apron and crossed her arms. “Well, let’s hear it.”

  “Koltin’s dead.”

  A look of mingled joy and relief flashed across her face so fast Moz might have imagined it. Looked like she had a lot of practice hiding her emotions. A useful skill in a place like The Pit. “How?”

  Marco jerked a thumb at Moz. “Tried to kill a retired Alteran Ranger. Not a good move for the best of fighters, much less a piece of slime like Koltin.”

  Agnes nodded at Moz. “I’m grateful, but I doubt you came all this way to tell me that filth is dead.”

  “No, ma’am,” Moz said. “I’m trying to find out more about the man that hired Koltin and I thought he might have done it here. Marco says not, but that you might have some idea where I should look next. Any help you can offer would be appreciated.”

  “As usual Marco’s right. I kept an ear open for any news I could get on Koltin. Kept saying I was going to hire someone to kill him, but it was just a thought to help me sleep at night. Last I heard he was working out of a town called Diamond Point. Know it?”

  Moz racked his brain but came up empty. “Can’t say I do.”

  “No surprise,” Agnes said. “It’s a little mining town up in the foothills west of here. Some idiot years back founded it thinking he’d find diamonds. Needless to say, he didn’t. Lucky for him he did find a streak of copper and iron wide enough to pay. The old name stuck since no one wanted to live in Copper Point.”

  “How do I get there?” Moz asked.

  “Simple, ride dead east on the caravan trail until you reach a heavily rutted wagon track north into the hills. That track leads to Diamond Point. Stay on your guard. There isn’t any more law there than there is in The Pit.”

  Moz nodded. “Much obliged, ma’am.”

  “I’m the one that’s obliged for you killing the son of a bitch. Just wish I’d been there to see it so I could spit on his grave.”

  “I fed his body to the gators, so spitting on it will be difficult.”

  She laughed. “Better yet. If anyone deserves to end up as alligator shit, it’s Koltin. Give me five minutes and I’ll have fresh rolls for you to enjoy on your ride.”

  Moz nodded again and he and Marco went to sit at the bar.

  “That is one strong woman,” Moz said.

  Marco nodded. “You said it. Better yet, her baking is fantastic.”

  Moz grinned. Of all the things he’d expected to get in The Pit, a decent meal wasn’t one of them. Maybe his luck was improving.

  Chapter 18

  Yaz and Brigid had been riding steadily northwest since their encounter with the guildsmen in Sharpsburg two days earlier. The terrain hadn’t changed much, still mixed forest and prairie. He’d decided to avoid the main trade routes and stick to smaller, less traveled wagon trails, really little more than wagon ruts running through the knee-high grass.

  There’d been no sign of pursuit so far which was a relief to Yaz. Hopefully they could find some dragon signs in the central mountains, or at least in the foothills. The mountains themselves were far too tall, jagged, and cold for eggs to hatch. The best part was towns tended to be few, far between and small, too small to interest the guilds, hopefully.

  He flicked a glance over at Brigid. She still sat her horse awkwardly, but she hadn’t fallen off, which, given her lack of experience as a rider, impressed him. Not having to walk had allowed them to cover nearly a hundred miles. She held herself so erect that her back and shoulders had to ache, but she didn’t complain. That impressed him more than anything during their time traveling together. Despite various setbacks she still uttered hardly a word of complaint.

  “How are you holding up?” Yaz asked.

  “Fine. I think this horse is starting to like me.”

  Yaz doubted the horse had an opinion one way or the other, but he just smiled.

  “Think we’ll find an inn anytime in the near future?” Brigid asked.

  “There’s a trading post about ten miles up the road where I hope we can get some supplies, but I’d like to avoid any bigger places if possible. Our last visit to an inn didn’t end so well.”

  “Think the guild is still looking for us?”

  “I hope not actively, but if we run into any of their people, I’m sure word will get around soon enough and we’ll be fighting again.”

  “Maybe we can just buy some soap and find a pond. I’m itching like crazy.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem where we’re going.”

  They rode in silence for the next hour and a half, then the trading post came into view. It wasn’t much really. A big wood-and-thatch building with a pair of smaller outbuildings, one of which was the outhouse. Two piebald horses were tied up at the rail out front. The slick coats and fine leather saddles indicated the owners weren’t poor. Travelers rather than hunters or trappers.

  Yaz slowed as he debated waiting until the others left before approaching. No, they couldn’t hide from the whole world. This would be a good chance to see how people reacted to them. Hopefully, they’d be treated like just another pair of customers.

  “Something wrong?” Brigid asked.

  “Nope, just thinking.” Yaz urged his horse to move faster.


  They dismounted and tied up at the rail. Yaz took his staff and left the rest. They wouldn’t be long and if anything happened, he didn’t want to be burdened by the saddlebags.

  “So what do we need?” Brigid asked as they approached the front door.

  “Food for us, grain for the horses, soap. I guess that’s about it. Why, do you want anything in particular?”

  “No, just curious.”

  Yaz reached for the door pull, but before he could grab it the door opened inward and a pair of men started to step out. Everyone stopped at the same moment. The men, both in their forties and sporting salt-and-pepper beards and bald heads, stepped back into the trading post, clearing the way for Yaz and Brigid.

  “Beg your pardon,” one of them said, flashing a gold tooth.

  Brigid smiled. “No problem at all. Thank you for holding the door.”

  Both men stopped just short of drooling as Brigid moved deeper into the building and started looking at the many heavily laden tables and racks. Yaz caught Gold-Tooth’s eye and whispered, “Word to the wise, she knows how to use that staff.”

  He snapped his mouth shut. “Sorry. Don’t see many pretty girls this far from civilization. Name’s Mal, this is my brother, Tal.”

  “Yaz. That’s Brigid. Nice to meet you.”

  Handshakes were exchanged and Mal asked, “Where you two headed, a homestead?”

  They assumed he and Brigid were a couple off to set up a new household. Reasonable enough given their age and that they were traveling alone together. He’d use that assumption.

  “That’s right. We’re going north to County Cob.” Yaz had read about the rich farmland in that county and how the local lord was giving it to anyone willing to settle and work the soil. “It’s the best opportunity I’ve ever heard about.”

  “If you like digging in the dirt,” Tal said. “We’re hunters. Word is there’s good money to be made in the Vast Swamp hunting gators.”