Erik And The Dragon ( Book 4)

by Sam Ferguson

  “I went with Mackelrow. His mine is the closest, and he was able to cut me the best discount. Even said I could station a few of my guards at his mine.”

  Gilifan cocked his head to the side. “Didn’t you have some of your men at your former supplier’s mine?” the necromancer asked.

  Finorel smirked and raised a thick finger up before his face. “It wasn’t like that,” he said. “It was a natural cave in, and I had no problems with my former supplier whatsoever.”

  The necromancer offered only a disbelieving gaze.

  Lord Finorel chuckled to himself. “It isn’t that I am not capable of such things, but really I had no problem with the former supplier. He was always on time, delivered good product, and charged fair prices. No reason for me to interfere there. The shaft simply collapsed. Killed the operator and thirty or so of his workers. It was a tragedy.”

  “As you say,” Gilifan said. He then looked down to the map on the table. “What about our business?” he asked.

  Finorel leaned over the map and pulled a monocle out from his right pocket. He held it up to his right eye and squinted down at the map. “Here,” he said as he jabbed his fat left index finger onto the map. “This point here is an old orcish fortress. It is all but forgotten now. The entrance is half-buried and the bulk of the remains actually run into the side of the mountain. One way in, one way out.”

  “Temperature?” Gilifan asked.

  Finorel nodded. “It stays hot and humid year round, just like you wanted. There are natural hot springs inside the fortress that prevent the winter’s cold from coming in.”

  “That is good,” Gilifan said. “It will be likely another year before the egg is ready. It will need to be kept warm through the winter.”

  “No worries,” Finorel assured him.

  “How do you propose to protect it?” Gilifan asked.

  “You already met Bergarax, the gray-haired guard.”

  Gilifan nodded.

  Finorel moved his left hand up to his beard and gave it a slight tug. “He is my half-brother. More importantly, he has taken the oath to join with us. He has a group of mercenaries under his command that are securing the fortress as we speak.”

  “Mercenaries?” Gilifan questioned. “Do you think that is wise?”

  “They are good men,” Finorel said with a sharp nod. “Besides, they only guard the entrance. My personal guard will protect the interior of the fortress, and only Bergarax knows what is inside the crate.”

  “What do the others believe it is?”

  “Weapons, gold, the usual contraband, but no matter what they believe, they are my men, and they will not bother the egg.”

  Gilifan nodded. “How far is this from the city?”

  “It is roughly a half day’s journey from here,” Finorel said. “I will have Bergarax pick up the item tonight, and he will march it out to the fortress before the sun rises.”

  “Is there still a curfew in effect?” Gilifan asked.

  “Did you see any on the streets after sundown?” Finorel scoffed.

  “It’s astounding what the people let you do.”

  “The people don’t let me do anything,” Finorel retorted. “But, if I tell them that a curfew keeps them safe and helps me crack down on burglars and thieves in the city, they will go along with it. Fear is a powerful motivator, but you have to know how to employ it properly.”

  Gilifan nodded. “I would agree with that.” He sighed deeply and then extended his hand across the table. “If all goes well, then Tu’luh shall be back for the egg next spring.”

  Lord Finorel took the necromancer’s hand in his own and gave it a hearty shake. “You haven’t mentioned what has become of Master B’dargen, how is he?”

  Gilifan did his best to keep an expressionless face. “He has died, in the service of our master.”

  Finorel frowned. “That saddens me. I had hoped to see him again, when the war had been won.”

  “Worry not,” Gilifan said. “He died well, and I am sure he will be justly rewarded when the master has conquered all.”

  “As you say,” Finorel said with a slight bow of his head. “Is there anything else you require of me? I could offer a warm bed for the night.”

  “No,” Gilifan said. “I should leave now. I have a long way to travel yet, and the Blacktongue waits for me aboard the ship. I should return soon. His kind are useful if well trained and kept in check, but they are somewhat like large, reckless dogs. If you leave them for too long they will chew up the house in their boredom.”

  “Of course,” Finorel said with a shrug. “I have employed a few of them myself, when the occasion warranted such measures. I understand. I will send a pair of my personal guard to escort you back to your ship.”

  Gilifan arched his left eyebrow. “You think I need protecting?”

  Finorel sniggered and shook his head. “No, but with the curfew in effect, it will look strange if you walk freely about the city. Best it look as though you are escorted officially.”

  “As you say.” He turned and went for the door, then paused and turned back to Lord Finorel. “I heard duck has not been plentiful this season, is that accurate?”

  Finorel nodded grumpily. “Very few have returned from the south this year,” he said. “The orcs either suffered a harder winter last year, or their chiefs grew very fat.”

  “Well, then perhaps it is time someone stir them up with something to do. It would be a shame to see the orcs grow fat and lazy.”

  Lord Finorel snorted. “Best of luck to you, my friend. I hope to see you again soon.”

  Gilifan nodded and left as quickly as his feet would carry him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Something slammed into Erik’s foot again. He jerked awake to see the barge master kicking him.

  “We’re here,” the man said, pulling at the ends of his moustache. “Come help me tie off.”

  Erik looked around quickly. Men were busy about the barge, moving to and fro with heavy, thick ropes. They yelled to some others who had already made it to the river bank and were busy wrapping the ropes around thick timbers stuck deep in the ground. The barge master dropped a chain into Erik’s lap.

  “This is for the gang plank,” he said. “Go and hook it up.” The man pointed to the gang plank and Erik quickly got up to help.

  He bent down next to the plank and looped one end of the chain through an iron loop at the bottom end of the plank.

  “Here, boy, toss it here,” one of the crewmen shouted from the bank.

  Erik stood, balled the rest of the chain together and heaved it up and out to the other man, watching the chain unravel like a snake thrown through the air. The chain splashed and jingled as it extended to its full length. The crewman caught the end, quickly jerking his head and face out of the way and then he pointed to the plank.

  “Lift up the bottom end when I tell you,” the man shouted.

  Erik moved into position. He watched the crewman walk the chain around a heavy, sun-bleached timber that had a groove worn around the middle of it. The chain slipped into the groove easily and the man took up the slack.

  “Now?” Erik asked.

  “Aye, now, boy,” the man said. Erik lifted the end of the plank and slid it up to the edge of the barge. “Now I’ll pull and you keep the plank steady so it doesn’t fall in the river before it’s in place.”

  Erik nodded and grabbed the side of the plank.

  The barge master came up then and kicked the top end of the plank with his boot. “Here, lad, come and hold the top.” He hooked a length of rope out from under the plank with the toe of his boot and pointed to it. Erik blushed and ran over to the rope. He bent down and grabbed it.

  “Hold steady,” the man on the bank shouted. Then he began to pull the chain around the timber, drawing the long plank out over the side of the barge.

  “Mind the hooks, boy,” the barge master warned.

  Erik nodded, noting the thick iron hooks on the bottom of the plank, on either si
de of the rope. He peered around to see the slots the hooks slid into and did his best to line them up as the man on the bank continued to pull the chain. He had to take short steps to keep from bashing his knees on the plank, but the work was easy enough. The hooks slid right into place on the first try, ending with a slight click just before the man on the bank reached out and took the bottom end of the plank in hand and set it to the ground. Then the crewman gave the chain a quick yank for good measure before using an iron lock through the links to hold it, and the plank, in place on the bank.

  “Well, if this whole dragon chasing thing doesn’t work out for you, I might take you on as a deck hand,” the barge master said as he clapped Erik on the back.

  Erik smiled politely, choosing to simply acknowledge the comment rather than insult the man by saying how beneath him he thought that work would be.

  Tatev came up then with a serious look on his face. “Actually,” he started, “if he fails, then we will all likely be dead.”

  The barge master’s eyebrows arched up and the man twirled the right end of his moustaches as he frowned down at the short, red haired librarian. “Well, perhaps he could help me navigate the stars then,” he said with a smirking shrug.

  Tatev frowned and pushed the golden spectacles up on the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think…”

  “Give it up, Tatev,” Lepkin called out from behind. He and Lady Dimwater walked through the group and down the gangplank. “Come on,” he said. “We still have a long way to go.”

  “Shall I get the pack mules?” Erik asked.

  “My men will get them,” the barge master said, then he whirled around and walked off barking orders at the crew members still on the barge.

  “Navigate the stars,” Tatev said under his breath as he stepped onto the gangplank. “Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

  Erik knew that Tatev wasn’t really asking for an answer. The man was simply thinking out loud, another one of his more endearing traits that Erik liked about as much as the endless history lectures. He turned and went back to the bench he had been napping on and reached under it to grab his sword and backpack. He fastened the items to himself and then joined the others on the bank.

  “Come, I want to show you something,” Lepkin said. He put a hand on Erik’s back and gently pushed him forward alongside the river.

  Erik could hear the roaring water as it broke around the large boulders in the river to leap off over the edge. He and Lepkin walked right up to the edge, scanning the vast valley before them. Erik glanced behind him, looking at the green forest flanking the river and then turned back to the valley. He couldn’t make sense of it. There were no trees. There were no bushes. He couldn’t even see flowers or grass. Despite the mighty river dropping down into a large, tear-shaped pool and then flowing through the valley itself, the land was dark and barren.

  “Is there no life?” Erik asked.

  Lepkin shook his head. “Not here,” he replied. “Hamath Valley was once a green, lush land with forests, farms, and grassy fields stretching from here to the edge of the Middle Kingdom. Now it is only a wasteland. Seeds unlucky enough to fall here are never able to take root. The soil is tainted with the blood of the ancients, and littered with the bones of men, elves, and dwarves. I wanted you to see this, because this is what we are trying to stop. If Tu’luh has his way, all of the Middle Kingdom would become like this. I know he showed you a vision, and I know that Tatev has been scouring that book of his, but I wanted you to see this for yourself, with your own eyes.”

  Erik nodded and scanned the scene before him. Off in the distance he could see the mountain ranges coming together, each dropping down to meet around a few towers and spires that Erik could only just see. “Is that Tualdern?” he asked.

  Lepkin nodded. “The gate city of the elves. It is what separates the Middle Kingdom from the eastern wilds. It will take us the better part of a day to reach it, if we are lucky.”

  “Lucky?” Erik asked.

  Lepkin crossed his arms. “Hamath Valley is not a place I wish to be caught in come nightfall,” he said grimly. “The land is not only barren, it is cursed. Those who venture into it without the guidance of the sun are never heard from again.”

  “Why?” Erik pressed.

  Lepkin shrugged. “Some say the ghosts of the fallen are doomed to repeat their battle, and claim the lives of those who are foolish enough to venture inside at night. Others assert there is a beast that has made this valley its home. Nobody knows for certain.”

  Erik looked back at the librarian for a moment out of reflex.

  Lepkin shook his head. “No, not even Tatev knows what the true cause is,” he assured him.

  Erik’s eyes widened and he turned back to the valley. “So how do we get down there?”

  “There is a trail, but it is already too late today. We will make camp tonight here on the ridge. At first light we will go down.”

  Erik nodded. A chill ran up his spine. It was as if a pair of eyes were staring at him from somewhere below. There was something down there. He could feel it.

  He and Lepkin walked back to the group and they went about clearing the ground and laying out bedrolls. Tatev and Marlin went to the river bank and began fishing. Lady Dimwater arranged a pair of fire pits and conjured up blue flames to keep the area warm.

  The barge master collected the rest of his payment from Lepkin, bid everyone farewell, and then he and his crew set off up river. Erik watched the vessel, noting that it took almost all of the crew to propel the barge up stream against the current. Only the barge master and two others stood along the deck while everyone else either heaved and pulled against great oars, or helped steer the barge clear of rocks with long poles that they stabbed into the water to move the vessel accurately.

  “Definitely not the kind of work I would want to do,” Erik muttered under his breath.

  “Why is that?” Lepkin asked curtly. Erik frowned and blushed. He didn’t realize that Lepkin was close enough to hear him. “Is it because you think the work beneath you, or because you imagine fighting dragons to be easier?”

  Erik sighed. “I am not judging them,” he said quickly. “I just don’t think I could do that for all the days of my life.”

  “Not adventurous enough for ye, eh?” Lepkin asked with a nod. “I can understand that, but believe you me, they make good money for what they do.”

  “Just seems too confining to me,” Erik mused as he watched the barge steadily lurch upstream.

  “I got one!” Tatev yelled from the bank excitedly. Erik and Lepkin turned to see Tatev pulling a shiny, two foot trout out of the river. “Oooh, he’s a fighter!” the librarian said as he twisted the hand net around the fish and hurried up the bank with it flopping wildly and thrashing its tail about. Tatev pulled a small wooden club out from the backpack at his feet and smacked the fish over the top of its head. A sickening crack was followed instantly by a couple of small, jerky twitches from the fish. Then it was still. Tatev looked up, grinning wide, his deep dimples bookending his up curled lips and white teeth. “Erik, come I will show you how to properly roast a blue trout.”

  “Go on,” Lepkin said with a nudge. “I’ll finish setting up the camp.”

  Erik followed Tatev to the closest fire and Tatev set the fish down in a large pan. He pulled a knife and jammed it into the fish’s belly and started cutting up toward the mouth. He then made a couple of short slices on either side of the fish’s jaw before ramming his finger down the fish’s mouth and pulling hard. The cartilage and bone split as the guts and innards came out in one slimy mess, dangling from the lower jaw. “Here,” Tatev said as he handed Erik the fish. “Run your finger along the spine and squeeze out the rest.”

  Erik took the fish, turned it upside down and ran his right thumb down the spine. The cold meat slimed around him as he pushed out the mucky blood and gunk along the spine. When it was all out, Tatev pointed to the river.

  “Now go rinse it while I get a few sticks to m
ake a spit.”

  Erik got up and went back to the river. He clenched his left hand hard around the tail and tried to hold the head with his right as he swished the fish back and forth in the current. It wasn’t until the fish was back in the water that he realized how slimy it truly was. He almost lost his grip a couple of times, but he managed to keep hold on the fish until it was clean.

  Afterward, Erik went back to the fire and saw Tatev sharpening both ends of a long, thick stick. One end he shoved into the ground outside of the fire pit. When Erik gave him the fish he promptly turned it upside down, so the tail was up, and jabbed the stick through it. He then wiggled the stick until the angle over the fire was just right.

  “It has to be close enough to catch the heat,” Tatev explained. “But, not so close that the flames scorch the outside before the inside is fully prepared.” Erik nodded. Tatev pulled a small leather pouch out of a tin can and dumped a small amount of powder into his hand. “This is a mixture of salt, rosemary, and a hint of cumin.” The librarian licked his lips. “Been a long time since I have had some good trout!” He rubbed the powder onto the outside of the trout and then backed away.

  “Here,” Marlin called out from behind them.

  Erik and Tatev turned to see the prelate carrying a net with three more fish, all of them larger than the one Tatev caught. “Think you can clean them all?” Marlin asked.

  Erik nodded reluctantly and took the net.

  “How did you catch so many?” Tatev asked.

  Marlin pointed to his eye. “I do have an advantage over you, my friend,” he said. “I can see where the fish are hiding.”

  “That’s cheating,” Tatev commented.

  Marlin shrugged. “There is no cheating in fishing,” he replied.

  Tatev sighed and took the net out of Erik’s hands. “Come on, I’ll help you,” he offered.

  Twenty minutes later the entire group was seated around the fire. Each took half of a fish to begin with, which left one additional fish over the fire. Erik and Tatev shared the fish that Tatev had caught because Tatev said his fish would taste best not only because of his special powder, but also because it was caught fairly.