The Dragonspire Chronicles Omnibus 1

by James E. Wisher

  “Breakfast, Ranger,” the guard said.

  Moz caught a hand-sized roll as hard as a brick. It had hardly any weight for its size. The guard slid a cup of water between the bars and stalked back the way he’d come without a word. Moz wouldn’t see him again until tomorrow. A different guard brought his supper.

  The guard’s footsteps fell silent and Moz went to work. He broke up the dry roll and soaked it in the water until it became soggy. Next, he balled it up tight until he had a heavy, dense sphere. He drank what water remained and moved to the side of the cage closest to the lantern.

  If he screwed this up he wouldn’t get another chance. A deep breath calmed his racing heart. He stuck his arm out between the bars, drew back, and threw the ball of bread. It sailed in a perfect arc, slamming hard into the lantern, swinging it up to shatter on the wooden floorboards.

  Oil spattered and burst into flame. The wood was old and dry. It quickly caught fire and spread in every direction. Moz got as low as he could to escape the smoke.

  Now he’d see if they wanted him alive as badly as he hoped.

  Seconds later Fatso and a second, younger man came pounding down the stairs. They stopped and stared at the rapidly spreading flames.

  “There was a rat!” Moz shouted. “It hit the lantern and broke it.”

  While Fatso was trying to process that bit of madness, the younger man said, “Let’s get out of here!”

  “Can’t,” Fatso said. “Anything happens to the ranger and Crow will skin us alive. Get some water.”

  “It’s too late,” the young man said. “I’m going.”

  And so he did, running up the stairs as quickly as he came down. Good. Now it was one on one. Moz was pretty sure he could have taken them both if he had to, but this was much better.

  “Let me out of here,” Moz said.

  “Ha!” Fatso looked around for another option, but Moz had done his best to set things up so the only way to keep him alive was to take him out of the mansion.

  “Come on!” Moz shouted. “I don’t want to die here any more than you do.”

  Fatso took a final look around, grimaced, and pulled the brass key to the lock out of his pocket. “Don’t give me any trouble and I won’t bust your head.”

  Moz nodded eagerly. “Just get me out of here before the ceiling comes down on us.”

  He reached for the lock and Moz scrambled to his feet. When the door was open, Fatso grabbed him roughly by the arm and dragged him out, shoving him toward the stairs.

  Moz needed no more invitation. He hurried up the steps with his guard right on his heels.

  When he reached the top, Moz feigned a stumble, caught himself with his hands and mule kicked Fatso square in the chest. The big man went over backwards, tumbled down the steps, and landed with a sickening crunch at the bottom.

  Free at last, Moz looked left and right down a long hall. Where would he find his gear? Smoke filled the air. He needed to hurry before the bucket brigade showed up.

  Would Crow have kept his stuff in the office upstairs?

  Maybe. It was a place to look anyway.

  Moz ran left. Judging from the basement most of the house was that way. He rounded a corner and nearly flattened a woman in a black servant’s uniform. She took one look at his nearly naked form, screeched and ran.

  He caught her before she took three steps. “Where are the stairs to the second floor?”

  She pointed a trembling finger further down the hall. “Next right second left. The house is on fire, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. You should hurry.” Moz let her go and she took his advice, running away as fast as her skirt would allow.

  Following her directions and keeping his head down to avoid choking on the billowing smoke, Moz reached the stairs and ran up them two at a time. At the top he turned right and found the office door open. A large iron-banded trunk had been added to the furnishings since his capture. Giving a silent word of thanks, he flipped the lid open and grinned. His armor and weapons were all there and undamaged.

  He was fully dressed and armed in less than five minutes which wasn’t a moment too soon. There was a crash from below when something collapsed.

  Time to make himself scarce. Rather than go back down the steps, he smashed out the office window. The siding had enough texture to give him hand and foot grips.

  It took almost as long to climb down as it did to put his armor on. The moment his feet hit the grass, Moz ran for the fence. Shouts from the front convinced him that he didn’t escape any too soon.

  Forcing his way though trees and topiary, Moz quickly reached the iron fence, scaled it, and dropped to the street outside. There were a few people on the street, but all of them were focused on the burning mansion.

  Satisfied that no one was paying him the least attention, Moz walked casually out of the district and back to the working-class quarter. He needed to find Crow and repay him for the kindness of his hospitality. Priscilla too. Luckily, he had a good idea where to look for them.

  After buying a real meal with the emergency coins sewn into his armor, Moz found a spot at an outdoor coffee shop across from the library to keep watch. He didn’t actually like the bitter, black brew, but bought a cup just to stop the serving girl from glaring at him. As he sat at his small table and watched the people walk by Moz relaxed, just for a second, and enjoyed his freedom.

  All his years in the rangers and he was never captured, but in retirement he ended up in a cage. He shook his head. If his instructor could’ve seen him in that basement, Moz never would’ve heard the end of it.

  He sighed and choked down a sip of coffee. Time to focus on business. His assumption was that Priscilla had to return to work or people would ask questions she probably didn’t want to answer. The best way to find her was to wait until she left for the day. He doubted it would be hard to convince her to lead him to Crow.

  Moz didn’t have many questions for the pair, but they were clearly not acting in Rend’s best interest. He’d eliminate them before returning to the Bardic College and updating Callie. He couldn’t deny he was a little worried about Ariel too. The kid was just odd enough that he imagined she’d have trouble making friends. Considering everything she’d been through, trust issues were to be expected. Hopefully no one did anything to make her call in a bigger dragon. Burning down the college wouldn’t be good.

  The hours trickled by and people came and went. Moz paid out a couple extra silver scales to hold off the serving girl. When evening came and workers in scholar’s robes emerged from the library he perked up. If she was coming, she should be along soon. He scrutinized everyone as they got closer, but there was no sign of Priscilla.

  But he did see a familiar face. Muttering to himself, he left his spot and made his way toward the girl that had helped him when he first arrived. What was her name? He tried to remember, but finally admitted failure. She wasn’t remarkable enough to stick.

  “Excuse me.”

  She jumped when he spoke. He had to remember to make a little noise to let people know he was nearby.

  “You scared me,” she said. “Did you find the man you were looking for?”

  “I did. Priscilla was a great help. I was hoping to thank her before leaving the city, but I missed her. Did she come in today?”

  “Yes, but she had to leave early. A boy came with a message for her, some trouble at home I guess. The chief archivist wasn’t happy, but what can you do when it’s family?”

  “True, family is important,” Moz said, not believing a word of her theory. Someone must have gotten word to her about the fire. “Do you know where she lives?”

  “I’m sorry. We work together but aren’t really friends. Isn’t that awful? I’ve known Priscilla for six months and still have no idea where she lives. I guess it never came up.”

  “Thanks anyway,” Moz said. “I won’t hold you up.”

  She waved and hurried on her way, leaving Moz to contemplate his options. Swinging by the mansion didn’
t strike him as a great idea. Would Crow be stupid enough to go back to the tavern? He might if he thought Moz was locked up.

  He shook his head. Word would have gotten to Crow by now as well. The Corvine house was most likely. Moz would swing past there and see what was what. If he came up empty again, he’d cut his losses and return to the college.

  Merging with the evening traffic, Moz made his way across the city to the house he’d first seen some time ago. What was it, a week, ten days? His sense of time was messed up after sitting in that cage where hours felt like days.

  As he strolled along, his eyes darted constantly, always on the lookout for any threat. He wouldn’t be taken by surprise again, that was certain. When he finally reached the right neighborhood, Moz slowed and approached the house. The moment he stepped out on the street he ducked back out of sight.

  Two men were dragging Robess toward the Corvine house. Priscilla must have told Crow the ex-soldier had lent him a hand. Now it was payback time. He didn’t want to see Robess suffer for lending a hand, but Moz couldn’t help being encouraged. If they were bringing him here, then Crow might be in residence. Either way, Moz needed to move quickly.

  He peeked around the corner of the building. The thugs were almost to the house. Timing would be the tricky part. He needed to hit them just as the door opened.

  Moz stepped out into the street, crossed to the opposite side, and quick walked down the street, his gaze never leaving the trio as they climbed the short flight of steps to the door. Robess hung limp between them. He wasn’t battered or bleeding, which was probably why more people weren’t paying attention to them. The way they had his arms around their necks it looked like they were simply helping a drunk friend home.

  When the right-hand thug rapped on the door, Moz was directly across from the house. He loosened his swords in their scabbards and tensed.

  The moment the door moved he charged.

  Moz reached the steps and leapt, slamming into the group and forcing them through the door. A fourth man inside ended up on his back as well.

  Moz leapt to his feet, drawing his swords as he went. Three quick slashes ended the thugs before they could recover.

  He slammed the door shut, hopefully before anyone realized what was happening. The city guard didn’t worry him but dealing with them would be another delay. He needed another delay like he needed a second stay in the cage.

  “Keep it down, you lot,” Crow shouted from deeper in the house. “I’m trying to think. Did you get him?”

  “Yeah.” Moz tried to raise the pitch of his deep voice enough to keep Crow from guessing it was him.

  “Well, bring him back here. No one double-crosses me and gets away with it.”

  Moz stomped down a short hall like the heavy-footed bruisers, trying his best to make enough noise for two men. The house wasn’t huge and it didn’t take long to find a partially open door. Through the crack he saw Crow pacing in front of a window.

  He looked towards the door as Moz stepped through. “We meet again.”

  Crow scrambled back until his back was flat against the wall. He looked left and right, but there was no escape. The only way out was through Moz.

  He kicked the door shut and closed the distance between them. The room was a sort of parlor with two short couches on either side of a low coffee table. He crossed his swords and trapped Crow’s neck between their razor-sharp edges.

  “Now, before we were so rudely interrupted, I had a few questions. If you answer me honestly and completely, I’ll cut your head off cleanly. Make this difficult and you’ll be begging me to kill you before I’m done. Understand?”

  Crow started to nod, thought better of it, and said, “Yes, whatever you say, just don’t hurt me. I’ve never been very good with pain, even when I was a child, I’d do anything to avoid it. And about the cage thing, I was only following orders. I’m very sorry.”

  “You certainly are. Let’s start with whose orders you were following.”

  “That would be Most High Black, the leader of the Dark Sages. I send information and receive orders via pigeon.”

  “Why did he want me locked up?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea. I know you sniffing around after Rondo was what captured our attention. He said not to kill you because someone might call your spirit back and learn something of value.”

  This group was clearly as cautious as it was connected. “Who are the leaders in the other cities?”

  “I don’t know. I only know my people and my superiors. It’s set up that way so if someone like me was captured and questioned, we could only give away a limited amount of information.”

  That made sense. If Moz was setting up an organization like this, he wouldn’t let the individual groups know about the others. Limiting who knew what was smart. They often did something similar on ranger missions.

  “Where’s your base?”

  “The leadership meets monthly at a huge stone citadel in the—”

  A crossbow twanged and the bolt pierced Crow through the left eye, silencing him instantly. Moz spun just in time to catch a swirl of dark hair as the assassin fled. He had a pretty good idea who it was. He just needed to catch her.

  Moz sprinted out the parlor door, swords bare in his hand. He looked left.

  Nothing.

  Right, a flash of movement.

  He pounded after her. As far as he knew, there was only one way out of the house and that was the front door. Around the next corner was the hall to the exit.

  Another flash of hair, this time going into the kitchen. What could she be up to? She’d gotten the best of him once and Moz had no intention of falling for a trick this time. He ran through the kitchen door ready for a fight.

  What he wasn’t ready for was an empty room. A quick scan of the kitchen offered few clues. The only place she could be was the cupboard built into the opposite wall. Assuming she wasn’t hiding in the oven. He looked over and dismissed it at once. Small as she was, no way could Priscilla squeeze into the little space.

  “Come out and I’ll turn you over to the city watch.”

  No reply. Probably didn’t trust him. Not that he could blame her considering what he was going to do to Crow.

  “Have it your way.”

  Moz approached the cupboard from the side to avoid any incoming crossbow bolts. He slipped his sword into the crack and eased the door open. There was no food inside. Instead, a hatch in the floor was open and a steep set of stairs led into the earth. It was pitch black down there.

  “An escape tunnel. Terrific.”

  Beside the stove sat a small pile of firewood. He sheathed his swords and made a crude torch from a round stick and a dry rag he yanked out of a drawer full of them. A flint and steel hung beside the stove. A few clicks and a gentle puff of air got the ragged end of the cloth burning.

  Torch in one hand and sword in the other, he eased his way down the steps. The tunnel was roughly carved out of earth and reinforced with timbers every ten paces. Even so it didn’t look nearly stable enough to suit him. Hopefully it didn’t run too far. The sooner he was above ground, the happier he’d be.

  At least the path was straight. The floor was compacted so hard, it would have been difficult to tell which way she’d gone if the tunnel branched. As it was, the passage went on far longer than he hoped. There was no sign of Priscilla ahead of him. Not surprising given the light of the torch nearly blinded him to anything beyond thirty feet.

  His torch was nearly dead when he spotted a shaft of light in the darkness ahead. That had to be the other end of the tunnel. Judging from the distance he’d covered, they were still inside the city wall, but where he hadn’t a clue. He’d find out soon enough.

  Moz tossed the torch away and drew his second sword. He crept along, silent as the wind. He froze just outside the light to let his eyes adjust. When he could see clearly, he found a cylindrical shaft with a ladder running its length. Three-quarters of the way up he spotted Priscilla frantically climbin
g.

  No way could he catch her before she reached the top. But maybe he didn’t have to. Moz grabbed the ladder with both hands, braced his boot against the wall, and yanked.

  It wobbled but didn’t come away from the wall. He pushed and pulled as hard as he could to build up momentum. Above him Priscilla had stopped climbing and instead hung on for dear life.

  With a final heave, Moz ripped the ladder free and slammed it into the opposite side of the shaft. The sides snapped ten feet up and Priscilla came crashing to the ground. She landed with a thump and a groan. Clipped to her belt was a small crossbow designed to fire six-inch bolts. It wouldn’t pierce armor, but it worked fine against a man in a robe. Moz pulled the weapon free of its hook and tossed it across the pit.

  Priscilla groaned again and rolled over on her back. “That hurt.”

  “Looked like it,” Moz said. “You killed Crow before I could finish asking my questions. How about you answer them?”

  “Drop dead.” She winced when she drew a deep breath.

  “Not very ladylike. Looks like you cracked some ribs. Your knee doesn’t look too good either.”

  “My knee feels fine.”

  Moz stepped on her right knee and ground his heel into the joint. She screamed and tried to pull away.

  “How about now?”

  She clenched her jaw and glared. “Gods damn you.”

  “You left knee’s not looking so good either.” He raised his boot.

  “Wait! What do you want to know?”

  “That’s better. Where is the Dark Sage base?”

  “Northeast, beyond Rend and Carttoom’s borders and south of the free city-states. It’s wild country filled with bandits and worse.”

  “Hell of a place for a base.”

  She sneered. “We made it clear what would happen if they messed with any of our people. No one bothers us now. Not more than once anyway.”

  “You’re a tough one, aren’t you? Why’d you join up?”