The Dragon Gem (Korin's Journal)

by Brian Beam

  The

  Dragon

  Gem

  Book One of Korin’s Journal

  Brian Beam

  The Dragon Gem: Book One of Korin’s Journal

  Copyright © 2011 by Brian Beam

  Written and edited by Brian Beam

  Cover by Jonathan Jolley

  Map by Jonathan Jolley

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events in this book are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  For Miranda,

  My life, my love, my inspiration, my everything.

  You are my world, so it’s only fitting

  I named this world for you.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks are in order for all my family and friends who have supported me in my writing endeavors. You know who you are…and if you don’t, just fake it.

  Special thanks to my awesome son, Jonas, for being such an inspiration in everything I do.

  To anyone reading this right now, thanks for your support and I hope you enjoy!

  Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 17.5

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Gods/Goddesses of Amirand

  Map

  Chapter 1

  Come On, It’s Only A Game

  Brennor let out a rumbling laugh as he slammed his worn, yellow cards onto the wooden table. Dented silver and copper coins that had been piled in the middle of the circular table clinked and spread out at the sudden, violent vibration. Three faded green dragons and two emeralds lay displayed on the cards. Brennor laughed as he swept up a cracked wooden mug from the table with his other hand, sloshing amber colored ale onto the table and the cards as he proceeded to chug the remaining contents.

  With the mug still in hand, Brennor wiped a dirty yellow sleeve across his ugly, bearded face to reveal an arrogant smirk as his bloodshot, half-open eyes met mine. The other four drunken men seated around the table, long since out of the game, let out a collective, if barely coherent, cheer. Obviously, I was not favored to win.

  Aside from the pile of coins, there was no other money on the table, indicating the last hand of the game. However, Brennor had something else I wanted. Something that I was being paid a decent sum to retrieve from him. Something that I was not going to get if he won.

  Unfortuantely for Brennor, luck was on my side. Well, luck and two solid weeks of learning all the ins, outs, and nuances of Dragon’s Hand as well as practicing the game with some of the seediest back-alley gamblers in Geeron. Once you learn how to read the professionals, winning against slovenly drunks isn’t exactly tough.

  However, before we get into the action here, let me introduce myself. My name is Korinalis Karell, Korin for short. Well, that’s the name my adoptive parents gave me anyway. My life is pretty much dedicated to finding my birth parents, but I’ll get to that later.

  I returned Brennor’s arrogant gaze with a self-satisfied smile, narrowing my emerald eyes. I am not an imposing figure at all, so my attempt at looking smug was probably looking fairly ridiculous. My average height, wiry build, and slim, sparsely-stubbled face that betrays my inability in growing real facial hair probably couldn’t intimidate a child, let alone a burly, pig-nosed man surrounded by four equally large men who would take his side in a heartbeat.

  No one wants to side with a dead man.

  Once I laid down my cards, I figured one of three things would happen. First, the self-confidence I was trying to exude could make this rough, bull-of-a-man consider me to actually be someone worthy of being taken seriously and let me go with his money. Second, Brennor could take my demeanor, in addition to his loss, as an insult and beat me until I could no longer protest him keeping the pile of coins. If I proved to be too much trouble for him, his lackeys seated among us would jump in.

  Trying to run in the second scenario would most likely end in failure. There would be no quick escape from the packed tavern. I’d be lucky to survive the ordeal. In a tavern full of drunks, I’d be lucky if anyone even cared enough to help and not just turn a blind eye. It made me wish The Boar’s Pen didn’t have a “leave your weapons at the door” policy. I felt rather naked without my shortsword at my hip and my dagger tucked into my boot. At least that left the boarish man—fitting for this tavern—in front of me with only his hands to attack me. Regrettably, he probably wouldn’t need any more than that.

  Back to the point, Brennor could thirdly do exactly what I was hoping he would do. In short, place the stolen red gem I knew that he possessed into play to continue the game, chalking my win up to youthful luck that he could overcome with one last hand. Given the amount of alcohol that was in his system, I figured that this last option, or the beating me senseless outcomes were the most likely.

  Trying to keep my hands from shaking and thereby letting this man know that my confidence was just an act, I gently pressed the tips of my cards to the table, letting the bottoms snap down into place. My four red dragons and one red knight matched the redness of Brennor’s face, kind of like a kettle left on the burner for just a little too long. His face almost matched the red of his greasy, gray-peppered hair .

  The busy tavern was far from silent, but the speechless men around the table made it seem so to me. I briefly contemplated if the background noises of unintelligible conversation and drunken singing surrounding our bubble of silence would be the last sounds I’d ever hear. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but I have always found myself to be a realist.

  As if from nowhere, just like thunder in a graying sky, Brennor pounded a fist into the table and let out a throaty laugh. Not exactly what I had expected.

  “You got guts, kid,” he slurred in a deep, rough bass.

  “Kid”, he said. I’d spent the last seven years of my life—since coming of age at sixteen—training to fight and traveling Amirand while taking on local guild missions for some of the most influential folk of the continent to finance my search for my parents, yet was still viewed as a kid in Brennor’s eyes. Not very fair if you ask me. I’d probably seen more than this backwoods, middle-aged, yellow-toothed brute had seen in his lifetime. I had to remind myself to keep my face composed as my annoyance grew. Heck, I should be used to the insult; it was far from the first time I’d heard it.

  Pushing aside my irritation and nervousness, I raised my lips into a slight smile. “Must be beginner’s luck,” I said, reaching out with both hands and scooping the coins across the table towards me. The night was not going to turn out well if Brennor did not toss his gem into the game.

  Unfortunately for all involved, Brennor let me stand up from the table as I opened the coin purse at my belt. It was time for plan B. If I’ve learned anything in my travels, it is to always have a plan B.

  “Well boys,” and I made certain to accentuate the word ‘boys’, “how about a round on me?” I figured that with a little more alcohol in Brennor, I could get him back into the game.

  Brennor cleared his throat and leaned forward, his earlier mirth dis
appearing from his face. “Well, to do that, you’d have to spend my money.” At these words, the other large men at the table started pushing their chairs back with a grating screech of wood-on-wood, ready to rise at a moment’s notice. It looked like they had never planned on letting me leave with the money which put a damper on my plan B.

  I would have to be careful to not let the situation turn into the second scenario I mentioned earlier. You know, the one where I would get beaten senseless or killed. I’m quite a skilled fighter. I’m quick. I’m capable with a sword. I’m fairly smart. However, my fists and wits versus five men who reminded me of nothing more than tree trunks with arms and legs wouldn’t exactly be a fair fight. At their size, I was pretty sure the near gallons of alcohol they had consumed between them would hardly have hampered their fighting ability.

  Oh yeah, and did I mention they were professional bodyguards?

  Brennor and the four other men crowded around me were pretty much bodyguards for hire. Most recently they had been hired by Count Galius Firmon, Second to the Lord of the city of Byweather which was two day’s travel by horse to the south of Geeron.

  During the Byweather Centennial Celebration just under three weeks prior, the count had hired extra protection for the many appearances he was expected to make during the festivities. Whether he actually had the enemies to justify it or was just paranoid, I don’t know. Heck, I had only met the guy for ten minutes. One thing I did know was that he had hired the wrong men.

  Galius didn’t even notice the absence of his gem until two days after the theft. He didn’t even have a clue as to who had stolen it. That’s where I had come in. I entered into a one month Activated Contract with Galius to find the gem and return it to him.

  So there I was at the end of week three in The Boar’s Pen, surrounded by the smells of stale pipe smoke, meat cooking on the wood stove in the back room, and various other unidentifiable smells most likely coming from the dozens of patrons present. All I needed was for Brennor to bring the gem into the game, win it fairly, and make the two day trek back to Byweather. The chances of that happening were not looking good at that moment.

  I made a quick peripheral assessment of the tavern to plot the course of my escape. The old, disrepaired tables were placed just far enough apart for two people to sidle their way between them when occupied. Along with the various patrons packed around the wooden support beams dotting the tavern, they would have provided a way out without easily being followed by the large men.

  However, I couldn’t leave without the gem. That meant that I would have to somehow get to Brennor’s side of the table to pickpocket the gem and then escape without the benefit of having the tables or patrons between me and the bear-like men. If only I didn’t have morals.

  See, I have never believed in stealing, hurting, or most of all, killing, if other means to an end were available. Even if I’m after a stolen item such as I was on this night, I can’t justify stealing it back. That’s why I had spent so much time learning Dragon’s Hand when I had only a set amount of time to complete the Activated Contract. A couple days of trailing Brennor revealed gambling to be his weakness and a fair means to getting the gem. I would have much rather gotten the gem fairly. Stupid morals.

  I only had seconds to decide what I was going to do from there. I just didn’t have the time to fail in retrieving the gem that night. I’ll have to explain the whole Contract thing soon for anyone reading this who doesn’t know about them.

  The men all glared at me, seeming all of a sudden sober. Tucking a wisp of my chin-length, chestnut hair behind my ear, I pulled out one last desperate idea. “Look guys, I don’t want your money. Galius wants his property back and I’ve come to get it.” Maybe, just maybe, they’d see me as more of a threat if they knew I had been sent by a count with enough resources to hire the best.

  Instead, they laughed.

  Laughing so hard that I could see beads of spit form on his nasty, red beard, Brennor pulled out a circular, flawlessly smooth red gem from the left pocket of his too-tight brown leather vest. The gem was slightly bigger around than a silver coin and three times as thick. Its color wasn’t so light as a ruby, yet not as dark as garnet. Whatever type of gem it was, apparently Galius found it valuable enough to hire me to get it back.

  “You mean this?” Brennor chortled as he held the gem before him. “He sent you to take this from us?” He gestured to the other four men and burst into another gale of laughter.

  I did feel somewhat foolish as an unimposing, unarmed, lean man in my long-sleeved green shirt with my tan leather pants tucked into dark-brown mid-shin boots. However, I also knew that hidden beneath those clothes was a lean, muscular physique formed from years of training in both swordplay and hand-to-hand fighting that belied my youthful features. Even if I still didn’t feel confident against the five of them, I knew I had at least a flicker of a chance. Also, thanks to Brennor, I knew exactly where the gem was.

  Now that I had revealed my intentions and who I was working for, Brennor was not going to just let me leave. It was time I abandoned my morals. I guess the prior two weeks had been a waste. Oh well.

  Adrenaline began coursing through my body as I tensed my muscles. The men, professionals at their craft, tensed as well, ready to put down what they saw as a minor threat. Brennor lowered the gem, but before his sausage fingers made it to his vest pocket, I sprang into action.

  Before the other four men could even stand, I leapt towards the wobbly table, purposely catching the edge with my front foot and pulling it over as I flew forward. The edges of the table smacked into the chins of two of the men, bringing out curses you wouldn’t say in front of your mother. The front of the table smashed into Brennor’s face with the crunch of a broken nose. Coins flew into the air as I brought my back foot up to the table’s side and pushed myself into a forward leap over Brennor, landing roughly on my ass behind him. Hey, I never said I was graceful.

  Ignoring the pain, the insult to my pride, and the sheer dumb luck that had kept me from hurting myself during my stunt, I flipped around to see the gem dropping to the floor as Brennor’s hands flew to his mauled pig-nose. I swiped the gem before it hit the ground—well, maybe I’m a little graceful—slipped it quickly into my coin purse, and jumped painfully to my feet to make my escape, all in a handful of seconds.

  Before I even took one step, I saw a ham-fisted punch flying towards my face. I barely ducked in time to see a steel-toed boot fly into my stomach. Whatever air happened to be in my lungs came out in a whoosh as I doubled over to the floor. If you didn’t know, kicks to the gut when you’re unprepared for them hurt. Bad.

  Trying to stay on my feet, I rushed under the hairy arm of the man who had thrown the punch, drawing in a gasping breath as I did. I rose from my ducked position to come face-to-face with a wooden support post with various “interesting” pictures, words and phrases carved into it. There were too many people around the post to try and push through, so I spun to meet the gang of bodyguards who could quite possibly be the last people I’d ever see.

  Luck truly must have been on my side that night as I took in what was happening before me. Drunken men from the surrounding tables had swarmed the area as they scraped for the silver and copper scattered across the floor and essentially blocked four of the brutes—including Brennor—from me. Fighting had broken out amongst several of the coin-snatching drunks, making it nearly impossible for the brutes to pass through. All I had to worry about was the fifth man. He had dark curly hair hanging past his ears and weather-worn, tanned skin. More importantly, he was lunging for me with one fist drawn back and ready to strike.

  With the momentum of his forward lunge added to the force of his flying fist, blocking the punch was out of the question. So, I again found myself ducking. This time I rose and planted my own fist into his stomach as his fist flew past my head into the wooden beam behind me. His abdominal muscles must have been tensed as he flew forward because I may as well have been punching a stone wall. H
owever, even if my punch didn’t faze him, the wooden beam he had punched did.

  The brute pulled his fist back with a grunt and balled it into his good hand, his eyes momentarily closed in pain. I took that single moment to rush into the crowd around the beam, forcing myself between the patrons.

  The densely packed group slowed my progression enough to allow the loutish man with the now crippled hand to grab a handful of my hair with a growl and jerk me violently back through the crowd. My feet were literally lifted off the floor. I made a note to myself that it was time for a shorter haircut.

  Releasing my hair, the man let my backwards momentum bring me down to the floor, crashing the back of my head jarringly to the wooden slats. Through the haze of smoke and my now blurry vision, I saw a muddy boot bottom dropping towards my face. With my thoughts slowed with dizziness and pain, I was surprised that I was able to react quickly enough to grab the man’s ankle as his foot dropped and twist it, bringing him down like a great oak. Maybe the whole “the bigger they are” saying had a bit of truth. He went down. Hard.

  Before I even had the chance to feel a little pride for my quick thinking, I felt a small bump against my left hip where my coin purse was attached to my belt. I barely caught a glimpse of the back of a black cloak with the hood raised on what looked to be a slender child disappearing into the group that had unwittingly and uncaringly blocked my escape. I didn’t even need to reach to my coin purse to know that the red gem had been lifted.