Dragon Flight: Sisera's Gift 3 (Dragonblood Sagas Book 5)

by Robyn Wideman

“Petyr was from Solotine,” Tarak said. He hoisted the untouched mug that sat on the table in front of him. “Ah, yes. Nearly identical but this has a crisper flavor.”

  The two men sat at a table in the courtyard of a busy inn in the heart of Amardin, the capital city of Northern Solotine. At least, that’s what they were told by the group of travelers they had encountered on the road.

  Roland’s uncle evidently felt that the he had to bring the two women to the king of the north, a man called Theron Stoneblood, who called the city of Amardin home. Tarak had expected that one who wore such a grand title would have an equally grand palace or mighty stone fortress but it seemed the northerners had better sensibilities than to be so wasteful. King Theron had a large but not overly elaborate lodge where he took residence and entertained guests. This was where Roland’s uncle had brought Raven and Shayla.

  After the brother’s quick escape, they had watched the village from a safely hidden vantage point. Even without being in earshot. it was very clear when one of the two women had told the story of their abductors. All the village’s able men were assembled in the square and split into small groups who ran off in all directions.

  “Hopefully, they are better warriors than they are trackers,” Tarak had said when a search party passed right by their hiding spot without suspecting a thing.

  When the search came up fruitless, the warriors of the village were reassembled to escort a wagon carrying the women. It seemed Roland’s uncle felt they would be safer under the protection of the king. Smart man, thought Tarak. The wagon and the escort also had a pair of rangers that left a few hours before the rest of the group.

  After Tarak made short work of the two scouts, the large group had been very easy to follow at a safe distance. The entourage consisted of twenty northern warriors so there was no hope of overpowering them and the brothers were in unfamiliar territory so the idea of an ambush was quickly dismissed. The best the brothers could do was follow the wagon and wait for an opportunity.

  Unfortunately, an opportunity never arose before the wagon came into sight of Amradin. Being close to such a large center, there was an increased number of travelers in the area. It was an easy task for the brothers to gather information by striking up friendly conversations with passersby.

  Using skills taught as basic training in the Sacred Blood along with what little magic Santaal could perform, the brothers altered their appearance so they would not match the descriptions surely given by Roland or the two women. They also wanted to blend with the local people as much as possible which was made much easier with the clothing provided to them by the dead scouts. Blending in was an easy feat for Tarak as he already matched the average size of the local men but to explain Santaal’s diminutive appearance, they invented a false story to tell should the subject happen to arise.

  The two men entered Amardin without any question from the guards at the gate, who had a description of the two brothers and were carefully questioning all travelers in and out of the city.

  The delay at the gate caused by the diligent guards turned out in their favor as they struck up a conversation with an older woman who was in the line ahead of them. Under the impression she was in conversation with a pair of upstanding northern warriors, the woman was more than willing to tell them all she knew about the city, which included the latest gossip she had heard about two women being delivered to the old king in a wagon.

  Once in the city, it was easy task to find the king’s lodge which was located in the city’s center plaza. The large hall was surrounded by shops and taverns so it was just as easy to find a spot that provided them with an excellent view of the building.

  Tarak was certain the group was inside the lodge as the covered wagon that had transported the woman still sat in front of the hall, still hitched to a pair of chestnut workhorses. He watched the building intently from their table on the balcony of a busy tavern.

  “You know, all things considered, I’ve enjoyed our time here,” Santaal said as he took another pull from the frothy mug. “This has been an interesting experience.”

  Tarak gave his brother a questioning look before turning his attention back to the wagon and the front entrance of the king’s lodge.

  “You know there is nothing wrong with making the best of any situation,” Santaal said. “Besides, it is probably better than being back on Partha. If we had somehow managed to get out of that situation at the Tower and returned to Castle Porneux, we would have to deal with that chaos.”

  Tarak raised a brow but didn’t take his eyes off the wagon. Two warriors had been left behind but were hidden from view until they decided to stretch their legs. “What chaos?” he asked.

  “Of course, you wouldn’t think about it,” Santaal said with a laugh. “Have you forgotten about the council? There is no shortage of capable men to fill the empty roles but none that come to mind have the strength of character to maintain stability in such a grand enterprise.”

  “Nonsense,” Tarak said with a slight inflection in his voice. “You know better than anyone that the Sacred Blood is organized so that a loss of leadership would not be detrimental. The Order has survived a thousand years, it cannot be so easily undone.”

  “Of course, I know that but for the High Priest, you are certainly disconnected,” Santaal said. “I think you’ve spent so much time on your own pursuits that you lost touch with the other factions. Outside of the Church, there are few in the Order who still truly believe in the word of Garron. These days they are more concerned by the production of weapons and acquiring more gold.”

  Tarak gave his brother a look of disbelief but the more he thought about it, he could not mount an argument. It was not because he knew the men to which his brother was referring but because he had simply had no idea who they were.

  “Well, if we made it back there, I would take command,” Tarak said which sent Santaal into a fit of laughter.

  “You would not have the patience for it,” the smaller brother said when his laugher subsided. “Good chance you would kill half of them before the first week was out.”

  Tarak could not help but chuckle. “I suppose that is true,” he said, returning his attention to the surveillance, “But, it’s not really high on my concerns list at the moment. We can deal with that when we get back home.”

  Santaal tipped back his mug and finished off the rest of the contents. He held up the vessel to signal the serving girl to bring him another. A few moments later, a fresh mug was set on the table.

  “Ah, thank you, wench,” Santaal said as he grabbed at the mug. It took him by surprise that the mug of beer was not delivered to him by the busty, young waitress but by a middle-aged, bearded man.

  “Is that how you speak to women?” the wiry man said with an accusing look.

  Santaal recovered quickly and responded, “No. That’s how I speak to prissy boys who don’t know how to mind their own business.”

  Tarak turned to eye up the stranger, in case he took exception to his brother’s reply. The man did not possess the typical look of a northerner. Instead, he was short, about 5’ 8” by Tarak’s estimate, and thin. The man had a thick dark beard that was speckled with patches of gray. What really stood out to Tarak was the man’s leather armor which was obviously well-worn. The armor was dull and covered with nicks and gouges, a clear sign that the man was not afraid to get in a fight.

  “That’s cute,” the man said. “Mind if I join, you fellas?” He pulled a chair to the table without waiting for a response.

  “Whatever you are selling, we don’t want any,” Tarak said, anger creeping into his voice.

  “Selling? No, I’m not selling anything,” the man said with a shake of this head. “My name is Gars, by the way.”

  “OK, Gars,” Tarak said, trying to maintain a calm tone. “Then, what do you want?”

  “Well,” Gars said, with a widening smile. “First, I think that we need to establish some truths. So, the first truth: you two may look the part but it is clear
that you are not from anywhere near to here. Not everyone is as blind to magic as these common barbarians.” He emphasized his point with a wink.

  The two brothers exchanged a look. Santaal’s face spoke of worry but Tarak’s portrayed a sudden lust for violence but he forced himself to remain calm. “Continue,” he said evenly.

  “Second truth: you are agents of the Order of the Sacred Blood.”

  Tarak gripped the edge of table tightly to keep himself from hitting the stranger.

  “Whoa, whoa,” Gars said, putting up his hands. “Don’t worry, I’m a big fan. Weapons crafted by the Order go for a pretty price on Solotine and I have benefitted from that fact on more than one occasion. In fact, I own a villa in Burnt Oak thanks to Sacred Blood merchandise. I have never met anyone from the Order, though, so that’s a big reason why I came over.”

  “You were eavesdropping.”

  “Aye, I won’t deny it. But in my defense, it’s in the best interest of my business to investigate the affairs of strangers,” the man said. “Especially, ones who cloak themselves in weak magic.”

  Santaal wrinkled his nose at the slight to his abilities but he let the comment slide.

  “And what is your business?” Tarak asked, after checking to see that the wagon was still parked in front of the lodge. “If it is weapons you are looking for, we cannot help you. At the moment.”

  Gars laughed. “No, I’m not looking for weapons,” he said. “And, my business is information.”

  It was Tarak’s turn to laugh. “I suppose you are looking for payment to not expose us? You’re a blackmailer.”

  “Oh, you misunderstand me, sir. Although, it is an interesting idea.”

  “So, what is your game then?” Tarak asked before quickly checking on the wagon again.

  “Ah. Truth: there is no way that you will get those two women away from the Stoneblood’s now they are under the king’s care.”

  Tarak had had enough. Before the man could react, the big man pulled a black dagger from his cloak and held it, beneath the table, against the stranger’s inner thigh. With his free hand, Tarak grabbed the man’s wrist and pulled him closer, “Truth: I will cut off your prick if you don’t speak plainly.”

  Gars merely chuckled. “Like I said, my business is information. Those two women were brought here from Raven’s Crest to see the king. An hour ago, the king sent a messenger to Elderwood and that means there is a good chance good old Theron’s grandson will be coming this way, sooner than later. If there is only the two of you, which I’m certain is the case, you have zero chance.”

  Tarak let go of the man and considered what he said.

  “Unless, you have help,” Gars said as he massaged the wrist that Tarak had a hold of.

  “And, you’re going to help us?” Santaal asked.

  “I’m going to assist by introducing you to a man who can possibly help.”

  Tarak eyed the man suspiciously but the High Priest had already assessed their situation as near hopeless so the possibility of assistance could give him some hope of recovering the Dragonblood girl.

  “OK, I’ll bite,” he said. “Where can we meet this man?”

  Gars’ smile widened and he slapped his hand on the table. “Excellent,” he said. “To be honest, he’s not really one to come to a summons so we will have to go to him.”

  “And, where is he?”

  “His fortress is on Korazon.”

  “And that is …?”

  “The Western Isles.”

  Tarak was getting frustrated again. “You were clearly intelligent enough to decipher that we were not from this continent and yet you assume that we know what or where that is?”

  “No need to get in a huff,” Gars said, putting up his hands again. “I will take you there. It’s not close though so it will take some time to travel there. I’m sure time is sensitive so we can leave immediately. My employer owns a stable here and his horses are very fast.”

  Tarak nodded in agreement. “What is the name of your employer?” he asked as the three men pushed away from the table.

  Gars smiled and motioned for the two brothers to lean in closer.

  “Lord Zellox,” he whispered.

  30

  Kai thought he was going to die when the floor closed over top of him. He tried to call for help but sound didn’t travel very well through solid rock. He tried to move but the rock had him so perfectly encased that he could barely even wiggle a finger. He had never felt fear as strong as he did in that moment.

  You’re going to suffocate.

  The thought repeated itself in his mind. He couldn’t think of anything else until, a few moments later, he came to realize that if it was going to happen, that it would have already. Slowly, his breathing relaxed and he began to calm down.

  Magic, of course, he thought. He would have given his head a shake if it could move in that fashion.

  Being forced to remain perfectly still, with all use of his basic senses removed, had an interesting effect on Kai. He could not be sure if he was awake or sleeping, dead or alive. When he opened his eyes, instead of darkness, all he saw was red. Red everywhere he looked. It was like he was swimming or floating through it.

  Redwater. The name came to his mind and, somehow, he knew that was what it was called.

  There were voices in the redwater. Or, sounds that resembled voices. Unintelligible syllables that came from near and far but never close enough to understand. Some sounded afraid but most had an angry tone to them. He tried to decipher what they were saying but without success.

  Kai had no idea how long he floated through the redwater. He had lost all concept of time but it did not matter because there was nothing to do but float.

  Maybe I am dead? Perhaps this is what comes after, an eternity of nothingness.

  He didn’t really believe that but it was beginning to seem likely, at this point.

  Kai could move, at least, he thought that he was moving, but what would be the reason if there was nothing to move toward. He tried to look at his hands but there was nothing but red. Just red.

  Kai thought about Rosalie. He wondered what she was doing and he had a vision of her tending to the wounds of villagers that Kai recognized from the Tower of Kings. In his eyes, she was the most beautiful, thoughtful, caring woman in the world. She would be gone to work in the infirmary or the growing house before he woke in the mornings and often would not return to their quarters until long after he had. She worked tirelessly to help others and did not ask for anything in return, except a little gratitude. She is a strong woman, he thought. She will be fine without me.

  Then, suddenly, a black dot appeared before him so he went toward it. As the dot got bigger, it began to grow in length until it became a line. That line expanded until it became a tear.

  Suddenly, Kai found himself spit out of the floor by a stony mouth. He coughed and shook his head. He found it disorientating to be in his own body and, strangely, he longed for the safety of the redwater which had a certain calming effect on him. Slowly, as he lay on the cold stone floor, his senses returned to him and he became fully aware of his surroundings.

  No longer was he in the wide open, high-ceilinged hall but found himself in a small, cramped, dank room that had the look of a cellar or a prison cell. The room was lit with a single candle that rested on a short, wooden crate. The flame flickered sending shadows dancing across the walls.

  “Welcome back,” Bastion said calmly.

  Kai looked to see the boy sitting against a wall. “What in the hell’s happened?” he asked, sputtering.

  “They took you for testing,” Bastion said but did not elaborate which made the rage in Kai grow.

  “I thought you said you had a plan.”

  “Yeah, didn’t work out,” Bastion said with a shrug. “Sorry.”

  “How long was I in there for?”

  “Two weeks.”

  “Two weeks! How could you let them do that to me?” Kai was somewhere between rage and disbelie
f.

  Bastion stood and brushed himself off. He looked at Kai, who still did not have the strength to pull himself up off the floor, and said, “I came to help you and all you can do is play the blame game. For shame.” He chuckled at his rhyme. “I’ll come back when you’re in a better mood.” The boy pushed on the wall which moved at his touch and sprung open on unseen hinges.

  “Wait,” Kai shouted desperately after the boy.

  Bastion’s head appeared in the open doorway. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry,” Kai said, fighting back the lump in his throat. “Please help me.”

  The boy reentered the room and stabilized Kai so he could move into a sitting position. Kai expected him to be smug or condescending but the boy seemed to be considerate and respectful. For now, Kai thought as he rested his sore body against the wall.

  “Luckily, there wasn’t anything too interesting that came from the testing. They found that Trollseed, when ingested by a human, had restorative and enhancing qualities. You already knew that though. They can track you now, from here. They wove the spell into your blood so there is no way to remove it without killing you. I have never seen or heard of such a thing and it was incredible to watch.”

  “Track me how? Why?” Kai accepted the flask of water that Bastion offered him.

  “I just said it, with a spell,” Bastion’s voice took on the tone he used when he was annoyed. Kai knew it well.

  “They will always know where I am? Is that what you mean?”

  “Yes, yes. And, as for why, it is just to monitor the long-term effects. Nothing to worry about.”

  Kai stared at the wall for a long time before he responded. “Can we go now?”

  Bastion held out his hand and helped Kai to his feet. He slung the older man’s arm over his shoulder for support. “Aarav is eager to go as well. He immediately began preparing as soon as he heard that you were to be released,” Bastion said as he led Kai from the small room and down a large, quiet hallway. The passageway was a long, straight hall that was lined with books stacked from floor to very high ceiling. Many of the books were very large, Kai estimated they were all about two feet wide, almost as if they were made for giants.