Legends of the Lurker Box Set

by Richard H. Stephens

  Not wanting to divulge too much for fear of alienating Flavian for good, she said, “I don’t know if I had anything to do with it. I think it might be my earrings.”

  Flavian’s Adam’s apple convulsed. “Your earrings?”

  “It’s a long story. They were given to me by someone versed in the magical arts.” She reached for Flavian’s ankle. “May I?”

  Reluctantly, Flavian extended his leg.

  Reecah probed what remained of the injury. The dull ache immediately settled into her earlobes—more of a faint twinge than uncomfortable. Concentrating on her hands, she could almost feel something flowing from her fingers into his ankle. She withdrew her touch and looked at her hands, but nothing about them appeared out of the ordinary.

  Pulling his boot on, Flavian got to his feet and tested his ankle. “That’s incredible. You healed me. It feels so good I bet I could run on it.”

  To prove his point, he started up the forest path without Junior or Reecah’s aid—a pronounced stiffness in his gait, but he ran nonetheless.

  “Looks like we’re not needed anymore.” Reecah raised her eyebrows at Junior and started after Flavian.

  Hidden behind a tree, unable to believe his eyes, Jaxon stared hard at the vision of a broad-shouldered man in chainmail and black surcoat. What was his brother doing here?

  His eyes widened. Could Junior be the blonde-haired man the prince sought?

  He was about to step clear of his hiding spot and confront Junior when his breath caught in his throat. A tall, slender woman draped in a brown cloak stepped onto the path, gazing his way.

  The hill witch!

  Jaxon’s knees felt weak. Prince J’kwaad wanted him to keep an eye on Reecah Draakvriend! His brother was bad enough, but Reecah? Judging by the way Junior and Reecah passed each other on the road, they were comfortable in each other’s company.

  He thought of his father. He could only imagine what Jonas would say if he learned that the dark heir had sent his favourite son on a witch hunt only to discover his oldest son in league with Grimelda’s great-niece.

  He searched the thinning treetops, half expecting to witness a motley raven watching him.

  Battling to still his whirling emotions, the dragon sighting a couple of days ago began to make sense. They were Reecah’s dragons.

  He glanced behind him, his horse not visible beyond a bend in the road, and wondered whether he should return to South Fort with as much haste as possible to report what he had discovered. From his brief interaction with Prince J’kwaad, it was obvious the prince hadn’t put it together that the woman he sought was the same one they had encountered during the raid on Dragon Home. The same one who had, according to what he overheard the prince say to Calor, stolen a priceless artifact the prince so desperately sought.

  He ducked behind the tree as Reecah’s head turned his way—a great smile splitting his face. When the prince found out the true identity of who he tracked, J’kwaad was sure to knight him on the spot.

  Reecah retreated to where a third person sat on a log.

  With the greatest of skill, as only a tracker of Jaxon’s quality possessed, he darted amongst the trees and undergrowth without a sound until he was within earshot.

  He expected to recognize the third person as well, but whoever the young man was, he wasn’t from Fishmonger Bay. Reecah appeared to massage the man’s bare ankle.

  Stranger still—she released his ankle and stared at her hands.

  The young man pulled on his boot and got to his feet, staring at Reecah with awe. “That’s incredible. You healed me. It feels so good I bet I could run on it.”

  The man didn’t wait for a reply. He started up the trail toward Arcanium.

  “Looks like we’re not needed anymore,” Reecah said and chased after the man with Junior on her heels.

  The young man’s words echoed through Jaxon’s mind. ‘You healed me.’ How had she done that? With her touch? She was a witch.

  Trying to come to terms with the affirmation of the rumour that had been part of Reecah’s life, Jaxon watched them get smaller and smaller up the trail.

  Another thing bothered him. What would possess his brother to wear their family armour and surcoat? Those were specifically meant to be worn when the duke of Zephyr called his banners—something that hadn’t occurred during his or their father’s lifetime. Not since the wizard war.

  He swallowed. Could they be on the verge of another? Prince J’kwaad was on his way to engage a dragon colony. Perhaps Reecah knew something they didn’t. Something that might affect the outcome of the dark heir’s campaign.

  He glanced back toward South Fort—toward where his tethered horse awaited his return. He thought about riding hard to catch up to the prince to inform him of his findings but if he did that, he would lose track of Reecah and Junior. If their destination wasn’t Arcanium, the dark heir would stick his head on a pike.

  Looking back, his quarry had disappeared in the deepening twilight. He exhaled heavily. The hill witch had a knack of haunting him in the strangest of places. It would be best to abandon his horse to the creatures of the wood. Junior wasn’t a tracker like himself, but his brother would likely catch wind of a horse following them.

  Stepping free of the thick underbrush, Jaxon started up the trail toward Arcanium.

  Elven Intervention

  Flying a dragon above the clouds left Tamra breathless. Up until now, nothing in life unnerved her. She feared no man or beast, not even a full-sized dragon. That was the reason she had been selected above all others by the leader of South March, Ouderling Wys. Her mission: journey north into the Great Kingdom’s vast wilderness to keep track of the comings and goings of High King J’kaar and his heirs.

  Ouderling Wys had been concerned about the upstart king’s malicious intentions ever since his father’s unfortunate accident at sea. J’kaar had ascended the Ivory Throne under a pall of dark accusations from those close to the old king. Rumour had it, High King J’kneaj’s flagship had been lost in the kraken feeding grounds of the southern Unknown Sea, but Ouderling Wys had her suspicions. Tales of deception and betrayal spread like dragon fire throughout the Great Kingdom and beyond—High King J’kaar had orchestrated a coup to murder his father and everyone aboard his ill-fated ship. No doubt the scuttling of J’kneaj’s boat led to a feeding frenzy of the underwater leviathans, but the real serpent had lived on to assume the rule of the largest kingdom in the known world.

  The elves of South March were keen to keep to themselves, not wishing to partake in the petty strife inherent in their close relatives, the humans. Rather, the elves believed themselves superior. As such, if the world around them was bent on its own destruction, South March deemed it prudent to remain a neutral force in the affairs of other races.

  To this end, they were successful, except when it came to dragons. As with every relationship involving sentient beings, the elves believed that the relationship between mankind and dragonkind needed to be nurtured to ensure the survival of both species; of which the elves begrudgingly belonged.

  To facilitate this, they went against their creed and appointed a group of elves to maintain peace between the two species. The Windwalkers. As with all sentient creatures, there were those who would stray from the path.

  Over the centuries, the Windwalker lineage became diluted through cross marriages and wanton greed until the dragon riders had become so weak, they lost touch with their elven heritage and their inherent magic. Thus began the beginning of the end of the magical race of flying serpents.

  Tamra shook her head, as much to clear the tears caused by the rushing wind as to rid her mind of the senseless abandonment of the elven cause. Had she been around during the time of the Great Upheaval, she would have eradicated every known half-elf to ensure the purity of the Windwalker line.

  The weakness of her people shocked her. If someone had had the fortitude to do what needed to be done, their kingdom, and the lives of the larger world, wouldn’t be in the des
perate straits they found themselves in.

  “You’re a hard one, Tamra Stoneheart.”

  If not for her iron grip on Silence’s neck, Tamra would have fallen through the wispy cloud cover to her death along the northwestern coast of the Great Kingdom.

  She searched the skies around her, expecting to see a second dragon rider, but other than Lurker and Swoop, only the raven was visible.

  “You’re choking me,” a strangled voice sounded.

  Tamra’s eyes opened wide, despite the icy winds buffeting her face. “Did you just speak to me?”

  “If you don’t relax your hold, we’ll be meeting the ground much faster than either of us would like.”

  Tamra unclenched her muscles and almost slipped from Silence’s back. She regripped the purple dragon’s neck, taking care not to hold on as tightly as before. “How is this possible? I don’t possess dragon magic.”

  “You possess elven magic. The two are closely related. I have permitted you into my circle of trust.”

  Tamra let Silence’s words sink in. She still had a lot to learn about the world.

  “Your thoughts, though dark, prove you’re worthy of my trust. Your elven heritage runs deep with dragonkind. Forgive our initial distrust. We are overly defensive when someone lifts a blade in Reecah Windwalker’s presence.”

  Goosebumps riddled her skin beneath her furs. “I was right about the Windwalker,” she half said, half asked.

  “According to our recently deceased leader, Reecah is the last. Born to a human mother who possessed the gift. A Windwalker who had died trying to make a difference.”

  “Was killed, you mean,” a second voice sounded, this one male.

  “Lurker?”

  “Aye.”

  “I can hear every dragon?”

  A third voice sounded in her head—a female voice much throatier than Silence’s, “Only those who grant you permission. Unless you’re a Windwalker, you’ll never hear a dragon speak without their consent.”

  “And even that only happens if the Windwalker has been properly trained,” Silence added.

  Tamra thought about her meeting with Reecah two days ago. The young woman had shrugged off Tamra’s claim that she possessed dragon magic, even though, to a trained eye like her own, Reecah exuded the lost magic like a heady odour.

  “Reecah claims she’s unaware of her heritage. Did she say this to deceive me?”

  Lurker answered, “We wish it were that simple.” He went on to give Tamra a brief history of Reecah’s life, including her attempt to impede the dragon hunt and her role at the Dragon Temple. He included Junior’s role as of late and their visit to the Draakval Colony to speak with Demonic.

  Tamra didn’t know what to say. Not one to mince words, she was never without a strong opinion. As a result, most of her kindred had avoided her while growing up.

  She smiled at the recollection. They had good reason to. She viewed the world in black and white—never allowing hues or shades to mar her ideology. From the time she could walk, Tamra either agreed with someone or pummelled them. Long before reaching puberty, she had battled countless elves—most of them older than her. On more than one occasion, she had beaten them to within a heartbeat of their lives before someone else had intervened.

  Once puberty filled out her physique with muscles most men coveted, there wasn’t an elf crazy enough to go against her. As a result, she was shunned by most of her people. All except Ouderling Wys—a clear-headed thinker who didn’t allow the weakness of emotion to muddle her decision making. Ouderling Wys had lived through the Great Upheaval and witnessed first hand the rise of the Great Kingdom.

  “So, your survival depends on someone who has no idea who she really is? One who has never tapped into her gift? That doesn’t sound like a promising future. With Dragon Home fallen and Draakval soon to follow, that leaves only the Draakvuur Colony.”

  “Not necessarily. The Wyrm Colony might intervene,” Lurker said, not sounding like he believed what he said.

  “The wyvern colony? There’s no way wyverns will support them. Not after the way Demonic and his horde have treated them over the years. If I were a wyvern, I would help the dark heir and clean up the spoils after he moves on.”

  “You know a lot about dragons,” Lurker said.

  “I was entrusted to keep an eye on the outside world. My life has been devoted to knowledge.”

  Nobody spoke for a while. The dragons tried to keep hidden above the cloud cover as best they could, counting on Raver to alert them if Reecah’s group deviated from the northerly ocean road between Serpent’s Kiss and the Sect.

  After fretting the first night over why Reecah and Junior hadn’t shown up, the dragons and Raver had returned to the Lake of the Lost and consulted with her. Though she knew the ways of man better than her scaly companions, she couldn’t shed any light on what might have happened to them. In the end, they all flew back to the rendezvous spot and waited—hoping Reecah and Junior had been detained for some reason.

  Tamra had offered to visit South Fort, but Lurker wouldn’t have it. The king’s men would be looking for her as well.

  When night fell and still there was no sign, they took to the skies, risking detection.

  Using the blotchy cloud cover to their advantage the next morning, they soon discovered a large group of people on horseback galloping north along the coastal road.

  Raver had dropped to take a closer look and reported seeing Reecah and Junior amongst the riders. The group followed a bald-headed man who Tamra identified as Anvis Chizel. Raver tried to get closer to the group, cawing a warning to Reecah, but the people fired arrows to keep him away.

  Tamra sensed Lurker’s unease at Raver’s concern. There was no way Reecah would permit someone to indiscriminately shoot at him. “Drop me up ahead. There’s only a score of them. It’s high time for an elven intervention.”

  “I don’t want to endanger Reecah or Junior. If they discover they’re with us, we may not get to them in time.”

  “Can’t you speak to her?”

  “Our range is limited, especially with humankind.”

  Tamra bristled at the term. Humankind included elves.

  Passing over a small break in the clouds, Swoop asked, “Where’s Raver?”

  Lurker’s flight pattern wavered. “What do you mean?” He dropped dangerously low, the bottom edges of the cloud swirling off his pointed wingtips. “He’s gone!”

  Raver’s faint voice reached them. “I’m here. I’m here.”

  The dragons drifted dangerously low, threatening to give away their position, but they couldn’t see their little friend. The damp wisps of cloud prevented Tamra from keeping her eyes open long enough to concentrate on anything but maintaining her grip on Silence

  Lurker asked, “Where are you?”

  “The tree. The…ack!”

  Swoop’s somber remark stunned Tamra.

  “They’ve caught him.”

  Parting Ways

  Trekking through the underbrush, following the unmistakable path taken by Anvil and his group, proved tougher than Reecah would have thought. Back home, she had often strayed off the beaten path to discover newer, faster ways to a destination, but the overgrown groundcover, even hacked apart and trampled by Anvil and his group, was thicker than most places she had hiked through.

  It was fortunate that Flavian’s ankle had healed as well as it had as the path veered off the roadway into virtually impassable underbrush. There was no way she and Junior could have hauled him over the uneven forest floor.

  The freshly hewn swath tracked north for the most part, veering east around unclimbable rock formations and sudden crevices. Judging by the unforgiving terrain, it seemed a miracle they hadn’t caught up with the group already.

  Three days out of South Fort left them sweating profusely on the coldest day yet. Sitting on a flat boulder, taking a much-needed rest, they chewed on the last of Flavian’s beef strips—the oversaturated salt content made Reecah pucker. />
  Sweat poured from Junior’s face, making it appear like he had just breached the surface of a lake. “How much farther?”

  Flavian spoke around a chunk of the chewy meat, “No idea. I’ve only been to Headwater once in my life and we sure didn’t come this way.” He took a healthy swallow from his waterskin. “It’ll depend on whether Anvil points them in the right direction or lets them determine their own course.”

  Junior frowned. “Surely he wouldn’t do that?”

  Reecah rolled her eyes. “With that man, anything’s possible.” She studied Flavian. “How’s the ankle?”

  “Never better, thanks to you. You’re amazing.” He stared longingly into her eyes, a great smile on his face.

  Junior shook his head and grumbled something unintelligible before starting off again.

  Reecah smiled, patting Flavian’s thigh as she slid off the rock. “Come on. I’m thinking we have a long day ahead.”

  The absolute darkness after the sun went down made travel impossible; heavy cloud cover obscured the moon. Before they had a fire going, light snowflakes drifted to the ground.

  Flavian constructed a makeshift spit to hold a wild turkey Reecah had taken down with an arrow shortly before sunset.

  Junior shivered in the flickering light—unconcerned about Anvil’s warning not to build a fire. If the bull-headed man wanted to freeze, that was his problem.

  Reecah sat next to Flavian, plucking the bird with wild abandon—more than once playfully throwing a handful of feathers at the South Fort trainee.

  Junior bit his tongue, his mood darkening. He was tired and sore—the weight of his armour had chafed his neck and armpits. He laid his sword belt and leather shoulder harness beside him, and wriggled free of the hauberk.