Dragon Stones (Book One in the Dragon Stone Saga)

by Kristian Alva

  A chubby blonde woman dressed in breeches and a long apron walked in through the back door, carrying a pile of cut firewood. She was a few inches taller than her husband, but otherwise they looked similar. Halda’s hands were large and callused, proof of years of hard work.

  “We have visitors this late in the evening?” she said. Then she saw Thorin and smiled broadly. “By the stars! Thorin, is that you? Why, you haven’t aged a single day!” She hurried over and gave him a peck on the cheek.

  “And you, my dear, are as pretty as the first day we met,” smiled Thorin, winking.

  “Oh stop, you old flirt!” Halda scolded playfully.

  After introductions and a few pleasantries, Halda said, “You must be famished. I’ll get you some hot stew and ale.”

  “That would be wonderful,” said Elias. And he meant it.

  “She’s a good woman, that one,” said Thorin, smiling at Floki and his family.

  Floki’s son returned from the stable and latched the door. Halda set the table with plenty of hot food and ale. They settled down to a hearty meal. Halda nursed the baby right at the table. The food was simple and delicious. Elias ate with relish.

  After the meal, Halda ushered the children out of the living room to prepare them for bed. She closed the door, giving the men some privacy. Thorin gave Floki a brief account of their trip, but he didn’t mention the dragon stone.

  “Jutland seems changed, cousin,” said Thorin.

  Floki nodded gravely, “It’s been worse the last few years, Thorin. There’s more beggars and bandits than I’ve ever seen, and Jutland is crawling with empire soldiers. An army captain took one of my best stallions. He said it was ‘for the empire’—but I didn’t see any payment, and probably never will! Halda and I have thought about moving, but where? Faerroe is even worse, and Gardarshlom already has three other horse breeders. It’s certainly not safer anywhere else.”

  “Well, you know you’ll always be welcome in my house, cousin.”

  “To be honest, we’ve even thought about travelling to Mount Velik. We’d have to sell everything in order to move. The house, the horses—we’d just keep a few for the journey. It’s a terrible time to leave the city. Halda and Parvel can ride well, but the Molly is still nursing. The road to Mount Velik is treacherous. It’s no place for an infant.” Floki shook his head with worry.

  “Aye, you’re right. But I know something that might help you make a decision.”

  “What’s that?” asked Floki, lifting his head from his hands.

  “War is coming, my friend,” said Thorin sadly. “Even as we speak, the emperor is massing his armies in the east. Our king, Hergung, already sent messengers to Parthos with a warning. The dwarves have remained neutral up until this point, but if Vosper attempts to march on Mount Velik, we will join the fight.”

  “Is Vosper powerful enough to capture Mount Velik and Parthos?” asked Elias.

  “Not yet… but he will soon,” replied Thorin. “Vosper instituted forced conscription in the capital. All able-bodied men in Morholt must join the army or die. They aren’t given a choice. The emperor’s necromancers bind the soldiers with magical oaths. If they try to defect, they are killed. Vosper is taking everyone above thirteen years of age. Already all the villages around the capital city have been emptied, leaving only women, old men, and babies.”

  “Blast!” said Floki, pounding his fist on the table. “That means they will take me and my son,”

  “Yes… most likely,” said Thorin.

  “And if we travel to Mount Velik?” asked Floki. “What can we expect there?”

  “You’ll likely be fighting for the dwarves. Either way, you’re stuck. You’ll be forced to fight for one side or the other. There’s no way around it, really.”

  “What about the Death Sands? Do you think we could make it to Parthos?” asked Floki.

  “Honestly? No,” said Thorin. “It’s a brutal trek, even without children. You’ll have to get by Vosper’s soldiers at the border, and then make your way across the desert. You’ll have a better chance reaching Mount Velik.”

  “You have given me much to think about.” Floki sighed heavily. “I must speak with my wife, and we will decide what to do together. Let’s stop this discouraging talk. Now, how can I help you both?”

  “I need a horse,” said Elias. “We’ll be travelling north, to Mount Velik. It’s too far to go on foot.” Elias glanced over at Thorin. He left out the part about visiting the Elder Willow. He sensed it was something he shouldn’t mention.

  “Alright. We’ll choose a horse for you tomorrow. Tonight, both of you are my honored guests. Please make yourselves comfortable. The fire will keep you warm, but there are two wool blankets in the corner should you need them.” Floki pointed near the fireplace, where two grey blankets were stacked neatly on top of a barrel.

  “Thank you,” said Elias. “This sure beats sleeping outside in the snow.”

  Floki retired to the bedroom. A few minutes later, Elias heard Floki talking to Halda in lowered voices. Moments later, he could hear Halda crying. The atmosphere was bleak, but Thorin seemed unfazed by it. He just kept humming softly as usual. He spread out a blanket on the floor and was snoring within minutes.

  Elias couldn’t sleep. He felt a whirlwind of emotions. Then he remembered his grandmother’s journal—he’d almost forgotten about it. Elias crawled over to his pack and dug out the journal. He touched the leather gently, his eyes filling with tears. “I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye,” he thought. The book was wrapped with a thin hemp cord, which he untied. Parchment was expensive, and this little book must have cost Carina a small fortune. The inside cover was decorated with runes that Elias did not recognize. There was a folded note tucked into the spine, and Elias pulled it out and recognized Carina’s spidery writing.

  “My dear Elias, if you are reading this, it means that I am dead, and the time for secrecy is over. Please believe that I only kept things from you for your own safety. I have been working as a spy for King Mitca for nearly forty cycles, well before you were born. You already know that your mother died during the war, shortly after she gave birth to you. Your mother was Ionela. Your father was Chua, a dragon rider. Some believe that Chua was a traitor—that he betrayed the riders during the war and turned spy for the emperor. I never believed it. You will understand that one day.

  I lived among the dwarves for many years. If you ever find yourself with nowhere to go, make your way to Mount Velik. The dwarves will shelter you. They owe me at least that much. This book is my legacy to you. Read it. It holds knowledge of my spells and maps of the land. You have magical abilities—greater than my own. I tried to teach you as best I could without compromising your safety. I wish you would have had a true apprenticeship under an experienced spellcaster, but it was not to be. Study these spells, for the information will likely save your life, or the life of someone you love. Be cautious and trust your instincts above all else. I am proud of you, my grandson.”

  Tears rolled down his cheeks. Elias folded the note and tucked it into his pocket. Then he changed his mind, and opened it, reading it again. “This note is too dangerous for me to keep,” he thought. Although it pained him to do so, he tossed his grandmother’s note into the fire, where it burned with blue light. “I’ll never be as reckless as I was before. Telling that loudmouth Frogar about the dragon stone cost me everything, but I won’t make the same mistake again.”

  He flipped through the journal. There were dozens of healing spells, some of which he already knew. There were also a fair number of defensive spells, illusions, and even a few attack spells. “One of these must be the spell that Carina used against the soldiers,” he thought. He vowed to memorize them all, starting with the first. He fell asleep practicing the spells.

  ***

  Chapter 8: Duskeye and Tallin

  Back in Parthos, Duskeye and Tallin made the final preparations to leave the Death Sands and fly to the east.

  “Are you s
ure that you want to do this?” asked Sela once again, still surprised that Tallin volunteered for this mission. He was fiercely protective of his dragon, and rarely took any risks that put Duskeye in danger.

  “We are sure,” said Duskeye, answering for both of them.

  “Please be careful; we cannot afford to lose you.” Sela put her hand on Tallin’s shoulder briefly. He flinched, unaccustomed to human contact. Sela realized how isolated he must have felt over the years, with only his dragon as his companion. He had forsaken everything—a normal life, friends, children, even a mate, in order to guarantee their survival.

  “Do not concern yourself. We are prepared. We will leave the desert boundary at sunset. We will be concealed by a cloaking spell for our entire journey. The emperor will not discover us.” Tallin tightened the leather saddle and checked his bags. He didn’t need much in the way of provisions. Both of them were accustomed to surviving off the land.

  Duskeye nodded, agreeing with his rider, while scratching his pale belly.

  “Ach! These heavy packs will take some getting used to,” said Duskeye. Usually, Tallin rode Duskeye with a simple camel hide. But for this longer journey, they decided to borrow a proper dragon saddle from Sela.

  The beautiful saddle was old—and of dwarvish origin. The saddle was made from cowhide and beaten silver. The reins were braided leather and horsehair. There was a protective layer of felted wool between the saddle and the dragon, in order to prevent chafing. This saddle was designed for long distances.

  Tallin asked the palace servants to bring a few more mealcakes, which he placed into his saddle pack. He stepped into the reins and mounted Duskeye.

  “I will send a message to you when we reach the eastern border. Once we leave the desert, we will travel only at night. If Chua is alive, we will find him.” Sela nodded. Tallin was a powerful spellcaster. He could hide in broad daylight, and scry at vast distances, something he learned when he lived in the desert. Most of the other dragon riders could scry messages using water, but Tallin was the only one who could scry using smoke, a useful skill when finding a source of water was uncertain.

  “Good blessings, Tallin. You too, Duskeye,” she said, patting the dragon’s leg.

  “Thank you, my lady,” responded Duskeye. “We shall be careful.”

  Duskeye stretched, and then spread his sapphire wings and took flight. Tallin did not look back or wave. He looked straight ahead, staring impassively across the desert sands.

  They flew in silence for over an hour. Tallin took this time to meditate and rest his mind for the cloaking spell. Tallin was adept at conserving magical energy, and he knew that maintaining the cloaking spell for days would be exhausting.

  “Are you ready, old friend?” asked Duskeye.

  “Yes. I am ready. We are almost at the desert’s border. Let us stop at that plateau. I see an overhang that will conceal us. Dusk will fall within the hour, and then we will cross.” Duskeye landed on the plateau and Tallin dismounted. He drank water and relieved himself. Then dragon and rider both sat down in silence and waited for the sun to set. A slight breeze stirred the air, kicking up tiny swirls of red dust.

  Dragon and rider watched the magnificent sunset, the sky streaked with purple and yellow light. The desert sky was beautiful. “I will miss the beauty of this place,” thought Tallin. This would be their first trip outside the desert in decades.

  “We will be back soon, old friend,” said Duskeye.

  “I know,” said Tallin. “Hopefully, we will return to Parthos with another rider. If Chua is alive, we must find him.

  Part Two: The Escape from Darkmouth Forest

  ***

  Chapter 9: The Gates of Jutland

  Elias awoke with a start. He looked around frantically. He had forgotten where he was. The fireplace had puttered out, and there was only ash. He shivered. It was going to be a cold morning.

  Thorin was already awake and dressed, crouched by the window.

  “Brrr… it’s cold in here. Thorin, did it snow again last night?”

  “Shhh! Quiet, Elias!” he said, putting a finger to his lips. “I’m listening to the conversation outside.”

  Elias got up and walked to the window. Two food merchants were chattering right outside the door. He could hear bits and pieces of their conversation. Dwarves had exceptional hearing, so Thorin was able to clearly hear everything they said.

  “Yup, they came to the gate this morning, asking about a boy,” said the first man. “Said the boy was mageborn and Vosper’s lookin’ for him. The reward’s 100 silver coins to anyone who finds him.” The man was short and fat, pulling a cart filled with lemons.

  “That’s a nice sum. Did they post a notice? What does he look like?”

  “That’s the problem. Brown hair, brown eyes, but otherwise nobody knows for sure. He looks like half the bloody boys in town! If here’s here, they’ll find ‘im. They brought a necromancer along.” The man shivered as he said it.

  “Ugh, did you get a good look at ‘im? Are their eyes really all black?”

  “This one was a female—if you could even call it that. I saw her early this mornin’, near Isley’s Pub. Her hair was black, her eyes were black, and her teeth were red—and sharpened into points. She laughed at something, and it sounded like a dying buzzard. She near scared me to death!”

  “The female necromancers are frightening—more frightening than the males!”

  “If you see her, don’t look straight at her. She might freeze you to death, or lay a curse on you. I tell you, those necromancers make my blood run cold.”

  The men continued to talk as they made their way to the city square.

  Thorin looked up. “This is bad news, Elias. There’s no way you can fight a necromancer and win. She would overpower you in an instant. We cannot stay in Jutland.”

  “The emperor sent a necromancer looking for me? But why?” said Elias. “I don’t understand this.”

  “I don’t, either. But it doesn’t matter. We have to leave the city. It’s better if we go immediately. Necromancers are more powerful at night. If we try to leave after sunset, she will find you for sure. We will leave within the hour. I must tell Floki.” Thorin walked to the bedroom and knocked on the door. Elias heard murmured voices, and then a loud gasp. Halda started weeping again, this time more loudly.

  Floki and Thorin walked back out into the living room. “Both of you must go,” Floki said grimly. “The best chance you have is to conceal yourselves. They will be looking for a boy, so you cannot leave the city on mounted horseback. We will load up a cart with hides, and Elias will hide inside the cart. Then you can take the horses and leave the cart outside the city. I will come back after nightfall and tell the guards that I was robbed by bandits.”

  “We have to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and the city,” said Thorin.

  “What can I do to help?” asked Elias.

  “Didn’t your grandmother teach you any concealment spells?” asked Thorin.

  “No—No, not really. But I saw one in her journal. I don’t know how effective it will be.”

  “Well, practice it,” said Thorin. “Your simple spell won’t stop the necromancer, but it may be enough to fool the guards at the gate.”

  “I will start practicing the spell now,” said Elias. His grandmother’s little book of spells was coming in handy already. Elias walked out to the stable, hitting the earthy smell of manure and horses. It was welcoming, and it reminded him of home. Thorin had two beautiful stallions and three mares. Elias sat down in a dark corner, opened the precious journal, and started practicing the spell quietly.

  ***

  Thorin and Floki worked fast. Thorin hummed a song quietly under his breath, packing the cart and the horses.

  “Thorin, use only the light pack,” said Floki. “We want the guards to believe that this is just a daytrip to Gardarsholm.”

  Halda came outside with some corncakes and dried beef strips. The simple food would susta
in them for a few days if they rationed it properly. Her eyes were red from crying.

  “Floki, should I start packing our things?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “Yes. We must leave with the children immediately. Do not tell anyone where we are going. You must be ready to leave when I return. Pack rations and our coin purses. It is too dangerous for us to linger in Jutland any longer.”

  “B-but the baby, Floki…” Halda’s lower lip trembled.

  “It cannot be helped,” he responded, grasping both her shoulders. “The emperor hates dwarves almost as much as he hates dragons, and his necromancer will not hesitate to kill all of us. If we stay here, it is only a matter of time before we are questioned and killed. They will not spare our children, Halda. You know this.”

  Halda nodded, lowering her head. Her eyes streamed with tears. She knew that her husband told the truth. The only safe place for them now was Mount Velik. They had to try and make it there. She didn’t blame Thorin and Elias, but it hurt just the same. They had built a life together in Jutland, and now, to be uprooted with so little warning was painful.

  Thorin cleared his throat and coughed politely, “Floki, sorry to interrupt, but the horses are ready to go.”

  “Alright. Parvel!” said Floki, calling again for his young son.

  “Yes, Papa?” answered Parvel, who came running from inside the house.

  “Go find Elias and tell him it’s time get going. He’s somewhere in the stables. Don’t be too loud, though.”

  Parvel bolted to the stables, calling Elias’ name.

  “This is my chance to test the spell,” Elias thought to himself. He read the runes out loud, carefully, “Hud-leyna!” He saw a shimmer in the air, and then it stabilized. He couched in the corner, in plain sight. The sensation was peculiar—he felt as though he was sitting inside an egg.

  Parvel entered the stable and walked back and forth, calling his name. He walked past Elias twice, just inches away from him. He scratched his head quizzically.