Legends of the Lurker Box Set

by Richard H. Stephens

  “Rightful due? Of what?” Reecah asked, confused.

  “Revenge.”

  “Because they asked you to move on? I agree they were likely rude, but killing them seems a bit harsh.”

  Tamra’s eyes narrowed, her arm muscles rippling. “You disagree?”

  Despite the fact Junior had his sword held at the ready, and three dragons separated her from Tamra, Reecah feared they might not be enough to stop the female warrior.

  She attempted to mollify Tamra with one of her smiles. “I’m not saying I disagree with you. I’m not privy to what happened. Knowing them,” she nodded at the dead man, “I can only imagine what they said. However, I’m not prepared to die because someone else told you to move on.”

  Tamra licked her lips. “I won’t kill you. I sense in you something my people believe has left our world.”

  Reecah swallowed. The forest noises fell away—her companions forgotten. It was as if only she and Tamra existed. She shook her head to clear her mind but Tamra’s gaze held her captive. The exotic woman’s next words sent shivers up her spine.

  “In you lies the magic of the dragon.”

  Wizard’s Rat

  J’kwaad paced the chamber high atop Draakhorn, the tallest spire overlooking the jagged shoals abutting Draakhall’s southwest corner. Stepping through a round top door onto the thin balcony encircling the spire’s peak, he grasped an iron spike set into the stone rail and gazed upon the south road. The rising sun burned away the morning mist, revealing the ghostly image of South Fort, many leagues away.

  Earlier in the morning, the king had demanded to know why he hadn’t done anything about the woman who had stolen passage aboard the ship from Thunderhead weeks ago. The brig had been ordered to remain tied off until the king gave it clearance to leave.

  J’kwaad had hoped his father’s request to waste time searching for this woman was nothing more than an impulse and would soon be forgotten. Apparently, he was mistaken.

  And yet, staring at the distant ramparts where the king’s dragon army had recently departed on their trek south, perhaps the king had inadvertently put him on the trail of a troubling new development.

  His scrying bowl had indicated a ripple in the veil of magic. The portent told him that a new source of magic had entered the bay area—one more significant than that of the Maiden of the Wood.

  He ran his tongue over his upper teeth in quiet contemplation. He had wanted to track down the elusive forest maiden earlier in the year, but his father had forbidden it.

  If his intuition served him well—it wasn’t often he erred on matters of the arcane—the Maiden of the Wood would also seek out this ripple. As would one other.

  His white knuckles had little to do with the brisk gusts tugging at his robes and long hair. Smouldering anger at his father’s short-sightedness sent his blood pressure soaring. Should this ripple represent what he feared, the dragon campaign might be in jeopardy.

  He raised his eyebrows. Were the behemoths ever to come together under a united front, they would raze Draakhall to the ground, despite its added fortifications.

  He released the iron spike and bashed it with a clenched fist. Damn his father and his stubbornness. If the man had listened to him, they would have already vanquished the dragons to the history books and old tavern tales by now. They should have pushed the flying lizards over the brink of extinction years ago.

  His personal guard, a man who reminded him of the weapon master, called to him from the doorway. Dressed in a black surcoat and plate armour, the man’s sudden appearance made J’kwaad jump.

  “We have the informant from the tub anchored in Sea Hold, my prince.”

  J’kwaad bit back the angry retort on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t appreciate being caught unaware, but it wasn’t Calor’s fault. The man was merely performing his duty. “Very well, drag him in.”

  Entering the wide chamber and closing the door behind him, J’kwaad strolled to the only chair in the room—a high-backed, cushioned chair with ornate, dark wood arms. He sat down and nodded to Calor waiting by the only other door in the room—the one at the head of a steep, circular stairwell carved into the interior perimeter wall of Draakhorn. Many people had died descending that lofty enclosure—either through careless misstep or being persuaded into the gaping hole the stone steps revolved around.

  Calor pulled the door open, admitting a second guard almost equal to his seven-foot frame; muscles evident beneath his black surcoat and plate. The new guard shoved a wiry, scraggly-haired man in sailor’s garb into the chamber and closed the door.

  Neither of J’kwaad’s men looked to be any worse for having climbed the four hundred-foot tower, but perspiration beaded on the face of their prisoner.

  The scrawny sailor from the Serpent’s Slip stumbled into the room. Catching his balance, he came to a stop in front of J’kwaad.

  The prince gazed into the man’s terrified eyes. “I believe it’s customary for commoners to show homage to those of higher station…Or have the laws changed since the last time I descended Draakhorn?”

  The man’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, yes, my prince…I-I mean, no, my—” He cried out in pain as Calor’s metal boot cracked the outside of his knee. An audible snap punctuated the kick and the man fell to his side, screaming.

  “That’s better,” J’kwaad said evenly, like nothing had happened. “I’m delighted to see the Inquisitor hasn’t left any lasting scars on you.”

  The man stared wild-eyed, struggling to keep from sobbing as he clung to his ruined leg.

  “Now, as I do hate to tarry, pray tell everything you know of this miscreant from the driftwood tub you call the Serpent’s Slip. She is causing me great angst.”

  The man didn’t respond fast enough for J’kwaad’s liking. The prince gave Calor a subtle nod.

  Calor kicked the prisoner in the spine.

  The man screamed, his wet eyes staring death at Calor, but he was wise enough to hold his tongue. Gritting his teeth, he rolled his head to catch J’kwaad’s impatient gaze and said through clenched teeth. “She is a woman, my prince. One I’ve never seen before. Ye know ‘ow they’re bad luck an’ all. I weren’t too ‘appy about ‘er being onboard, I assure you, but…” He trailed off seeing the prince nod at Calor. “No—umph!”

  Calor placed the sole of his boot on the man’s side and applied his considerable weight.

  The prisoner forced words through his agony, “Sorry! Sorry! She’s a young girl—just turned womanly if I got the right of it. Wears a brown surcoat and green pants; all kitted out with fancy weaponry. If’n I ‘ad to guess the right o’ ‘er, I’d venture to say she be ‘igh-born by the way she carried ‘erself.”

  J’kwaad nodded and Calor removed his foot. The prince put a ruby-ringed finger to his lips. “Hmm. High-born, you say?”

  The man nodded. “Yes, me prince.”

  “Interesting. That’s all fine, but searching for a high-born woman in Sea Keep isn’t going to be easy. Other than castle servants and practitioners of the night, Draakhall is overrun with them. Everything you’ve told me, you’ve already mentioned to the Inquisitor. I need something more. Something to distinguish her from the others.”

  The man trembled, unable to break J’kwaad’s stare. When J’kwaad nodded to Calor, the man squeaked.

  “No, Sire! Please! There is more.”

  J’kwaad raised his eyebrows and Calor stood down. “Go on.”

  “Her name is GG.”

  The prince sighed. Perhaps he was wasting his time. “Aye, so you told the Inquisitor. The same woman who embarrassed that pig-dog Carroch to within a hair of his life. Pity she didn’t rid us of the scourge.”

  The man frowned, but said, “Yes, the same person. She ‘ad ‘elp to escape. A female sailor named Cahira brought GG onboard.”

  J’kwaad leaned forward, his gaze darkening. “That’s interesting. Why didn’t you tell that to the Inquisitor?”

  Without warning, Calor’s toe crunched into the m
an’s spine.

  Wailing and twitching in exquisite pain, the man’s reply came as a tiny squeak, “I forgot. Honest.”

  “Is there anything else that escaped you? Think carefully. My gracious hospitality is wearing thin.”

  “Um, um…” The man caught sight of Calor withdrawing his sword, and promptly wet himself. Eyes rivetted on the long blade, he nodded vigorously. “Yes! I do recall something else.”

  “Do tell, good man.”

  “A bird.”

  “A bird?”

  The man grimaced, the sweat from his greasy hair leaving a stain on the flagstone beneath his head. “Yes, my prince.” His words were forced and clipped. “She ‘ad a raven with ‘er. A right peculiar one at that. Missing a few toes, it was. She called to it one day at sea—not long out of Thunderhead. She spoke to it and sent it inland. I ain’t seen it since.”

  J’kwaad considered the man’s revelation. Unless the bird was a homing pigeon from the bay area, he doubted anyone had seen it around Draakhall. It didn’t appear like there was anything else to be gleaned by torturing the man further.

  Leaning back in his chair, J’kwaad intertwined his bejewelled fingers and folded them in his lap. “Very well. I shall bestow upon you a little royal hospitality.” He switched his gaze to Calor. “If you would be so kind as to show our guest the door.”

  Calor nodded. Oblivious to the man’s crippling pain, Calor hoisted him to his feet. The sailor’s legs buckled beneath him, but Calor muscled him to the door.

  The second guard opened it.

  “Enjoy your trip,” J’kwaad said, more to his fingernails than the squirming sailor.

  The wiry spy wriggled in Calor’s grasp, but his broken leg and crushed lower disc were little use in preventing the knight from pitching him into the gaping hole between the spiral stairwell.

  The man’s hollow scream marked his descent. Thumping and bumping off the unforgiving edges of the circular steps, his body broke long before he hit the bottom.

  The door closed, shutting out the cacophony of the man’s inglorious end.

  Calor joined Prince J’kwaad. “It usually isn’t the fall that kills them, My Prince, it’s the abrupt stop at the end.”

  J’kwaad smiled. Something he wasn’t known to do. “What about the other?”

  “Should be here anytime now.”

  As if on cue, a rap sounded at the cellar door. Whoever had been climbing the stairs would have witnessed the sailor’s demise.

  J’kwaad nodded to the guard at the door.

  The door swung open and two more black-clad guards thrust an irate dwarf into the room.

  The stocky man searched the room with squinted eyes—one green and the other brown. “What’s the meaning of this? One would have to be crazier than a boneless skeleton to manhandle the royal blacksmith this way.”

  Prince J’kwaad flashed him an icy glare. The dwarf was being impertinent. Anyone familiar with the workings of the castle knew Draakhorn was the wizard prince’s private tower. “Aramyss Chizel. I’ve been looking forward to this meeting.”

  “Prince J’kwaad!” Aramyss dropped to a knee and bent until his forehead touched the flagstone. “I beg yer forgiveness, me prince. Ain’t had no idea it was ye who summoned me.”

  The door clicked into place behind Aramyss. He looked back to see three guards spread out around him. Sparing Calor a quick glance, he locked eyes with J’kwaad. “I’m thinking this ain’t a social visit. I hope it ends better than it did for the last fella.”

  J’kwaad looked down his angular nose at the kneeling blacksmith. If the dwarf had thought to make him smile, he was sadly mistaken. The dwarf knew full well who had summoned him. “How you exit this chamber is up to you, Master Chizel. Now then, tell me about a certain woman you befriended in Sea Hold. One you escorted as far as the King’s Stagger.”

  Aramyss swallowed, obviously shaken. “I-I don’t know what yer taking about, me prince.”

  “Is that so?” The prince raised an eyebrow at Calor.

  Aramyss dared to look away from the prince, expecting J’kwaad’s personal deliverer of justice to assault him, but the huge man motioned with his finger for a pasty-faced man in king’s livery to step from the shadows at the back of the chamber.

  Aramyss’ eyes bulged at the sight of the messenger who had found him on the King’s Stagger escorting Reecah toward Draakval. His panic-stricken gaze returned to the prince.

  Prince J’kwaad unfolded his fingers and leaned forward. “Aye. Perhaps the messenger’s appearance serves to refresh your memory, hmm? If you wish to retain your position as royal blacksmith, I think it’s high time you audition as the wizard’s rat.”

  Flight

  Tamra Stoneheart’s exquisite eyes never left the dragons as she made her way around the dying fire and stopped in front of a stunned Reecah.

  Reecah held her bow at her side, not the least bit concerned about the wicked-looking battle-axes clutched in Tamra’s fists. “What do you mean? In me lies the magic of the dragon.”

  Tamra leaned an axe against her leg and extended her hand. Reecah bent back, but Tamra’s fingers grabbed hold of her earlobe and rubbed the bloodstone earring; a look of wonder on her face. “It is true.”

  Reecah jerked her head away. “What’s true? Who are you?”

  “Who I am is not important. I’ve waited a long time for this day.”

  Junior walked up beside Tamra; his movement not lost on the strange woman.

  Tamra’s claim to have been waiting for her, reminded Reecah of her great-aunt—the village witch. “You have mistaken me for someone else.”

  Tamra picked up her axe. Ignoring Reecah, she spoke to Junior, “Your presence confuses me.”

  Junior’s brows furrowed. “Me?”

  “You don’t possess the gift. How is it you fly these dragons? You don’t belong here.” Tamra hefted her axes in an aggressive manner.

  Reecah wasn’t keen on his presence either, but Tamra’s words startled her. She hadn’t thought about how Junior had arrived with the dragons. He must have flown one!

  Part of her hoped Tamra would attack Junior, but Lurker had insisted there was more to him than she knew. Nevertheless, the image of the ageless Grimclaw slain outside the Dragon Temple wouldn’t leave her alone.

  The lack of sleep from the night before and the rigours of Anvil’s lessons, coupled with the excitement of finding Lurker and the other dragonlings safe, left her exhausted. There were so many questions to be answered, and now this strange woman had entered the fray—claiming she knew this day would come. Tamra’s assertion that Reecah possessed something called dragon magic had come out of nowhere.

  The last thing Reecah wanted was to get between Tamra and Junior. By the look of the woman, Junior didn’t stand a chance. She nodded toward the slain trainee. “We’re going to have worse things to worry about if Catenya has her way.”

  Everyone gave Reecah a blank stare.

  “Catenya is one of the people you chased off. She’ll be at the city gate by now. I suggest we get far away from here as fast as we can.” She glanced at the dragonlings. “If the Watch saw you land, they’ll be forming a slaying party.”

  “We were careful,” Lurker said.

  “Three dragons drop out of the sky, not more than a longbow’s shot from a castle full of king’s men, and you don’t think anyone noticed?”

  “We saw an army march south yesterday. The castle must surely be empty.”

  Reecah rolled her eyes. “It surely is not.” As she spoke, she remembered the movement of the king’s army. “Now that you’re here, we need to stop the king’s men from wasting another colony!”

  “We aren’t strong enough. If we die, we lose the only chance we have of saving dragonkind from extinction.”

  “And what chance is that?” Reecah asked, but already knew the answer Lurker would throw back at her.

  “You, Reecah. That’s why you’re here. To talk to the high king and change his mind.”

>   Shaking her head in frustration, she gritted her teeth. “And a fine job I’m doing. While I fight with the spoiled children of the upper-class, dragons are about to die.”

  “I am right about you,” Tamra interrupted, casting Reecah a curious gaze. “You’re talking to the dragons, aren’t you?”

  Reecah had grown used to the voices in her head—something she never thought possible until this very moment. She forgot most people weren’t able to hear them. Uncharacteristically, she snapped at Tamra, “Why? What’s it to you?”

  “I can hear them too!” Junior piped up, but the women ignored him.

  Tamra tilted her head, regarding Reecah with a curious stare. “It is as I said. You’re a Windwalker.”

  “People keep telling me that…Wait, how do you know?”

  “I am the Maiden of the Wood. It is my duty to know all things.”

  “Ya, well apparently, my great-grandmother was a Windwalker, but other than possessing the ability to talk to the dragons, I’m afraid I’m not who you think I am.”

  A distant shout sounded from the direction of South Fort.

  “I hate to interrupt this female bonding session but it’s time we were away,” Junior said, running several steps toward the edge of the forest and squinting into the evening darkness.

  Raver squawked twice from high in the treetops as the jingle of tack and thundering hooves reached them on the wind.

  Reecah broke eye contact with Tamra. “Horses! We’ll never outrun them.”

  “Do they have dragons?” Lurker asked.

  “No. Of course not. Why would you ask such a…?” Reecah trailed off. There were three people and three dragons. “Do you think Swoop and Silence are up to it?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Junior’s eyes grew wide, looking from Lurker to Reecah. “Wait a minute. Who’s flying who?”

  Tamra frowned. Not part of the whole conversation, it was obvious she was piecing together Reecah and Junior’s words. Her eyes narrowed regarding the dragons.

  Reecah approached Lurker and hugged him—something she should have done as soon as she saw him. “Oh, my precious friend. I’m so glad you’re safe. I feared some of the king’s men had remained at Dragon Home.”