A door opened and a servant came in with a tray that held two decorated cups and a metal carafe.
“Ah, can I offer you some wine, Mister Stryk’ard?” said Lord Algirio, pouring himself a cup.
“Thank you,” said Raylan. “And would you please just call me Raylan? Mister Stryk’ard makes me feel like my father.”
“If I’m not mistaken, your father is a well-respected smith in our kingdom’s capital and nothing to be embarrassed about,” replied Lord Algirio, to Raylan’s surprise. He offered the cup. “However, if you wish, I will be happy to oblige…Raylan.”
Raylan took a large gulp of the red, sweet wine. The drink slightly numbed his tongue, warming his throat and stomach on the way down. Why did he feel like he was being prodded into a corner right now? Did Lord Algirio already know more than he had led them to believe? Certainly a man of his position had his ways of gathering information. But this information was only known to their own tight group, so chances were slim it had leaked out.
“Let us not dance around things any longer,” said Lord Algirio, who noticed Raylan’s change in awareness. “I’m certain you and your group have a lot of information that could prove useful to a man in my position. However, I respect the order of things, much like your leader, Lieutenant Brand. I have no wish to upset the balance of our kingdom. It’s not good for trade.
“No, I’m a collector. Peace and beneficial trade relationships make my life that much more interesting—and easy. So I will not force you to tell me everything you know, Raylan. And so long as the king keeps Aeterra stable and prospering, the crown can count on the full support of the Thyraulos bloodline.”
Lord Algirio emptied his cup and poured himself a new drink.
“My proposal is much more personal. Like I said, I’m a collector. The world’s novelties capture my interest, and it so happens that you possess one of the most novel things in existence,” continued Lord Algirio. “What I would like to discuss is that you give Galirras to me.”
Chapter 13
Collection
Had Raylan not been mid-swallow, he would have sprayed his wine through the air like a blood fountain from a high-pressured wound. Instead, he went straight into a coughing fit when Lord Algirio made clear the intentions behind his invitation.
“You can’t be serious,” was all Raylan could manage as he tried to clear his throat. “How many times must I explain to people that Galirras is not a thing? I do not own him, and if I did, I wouldn’t even think about giving him to some random person. No offense.”
That last bit he added quickly in a failed attempt to stay polite, even as anger and frustration flared up inside. Raylan remembered Sebastian’s and Richard’s warnings that an insult might cause unforeseen and unnecessary troubles later.
“None taken, my dear man. I am quite accustomed to my wishes being met with bewilderment. But in addition, it seems I have insulted you, which was never my intent,” Lord Algirio said politely. “I fear I may not have made myself entirely clear, so allow me to elaborate. Please follow me, if you will.”
Lord Algirio walked over to a double door on the far side of the room. It was made of dark oak wood, held together by a wide banded steel frame. With some effort, the lord of the castle pushed the decorated door open and stepped inside. Reluctantly, Raylan followed him in.
The room Raylan entered was poorly illuminated until his host opened the heavy curtains. The air felt dry against his lips. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the sudden light, but once they did, he had a hard time accepting what lay before him.
“You see, Raylan, I do not want Galirras from you now,” said Lord Algirio. “I want him after he is dead.”
Everywhere Raylan looked were bones and skeletons. The servant girl’s words back in the tailor's shop echoed through his head. There’s a room filled with bones. From the tiniest birds to larger mammals. A few were even larger than a horse. Skulls hung from the walls, while smaller skeletons were spread out on a small plate, like a complicated jigsaw puzzle. A few were articulated and standing in the room, bones tied together as if someone had just ripped off its skin and taken away all the flesh and muscles.
The sight made Raylan sick to his stomach. This man expected that he would give permission for Galirras’ remains to end up in this morbid chamber, should the dragon be so unfortunate as to perish? Who would even suggest such a thing?
“I can see from your reaction that you are not so pleased with the chosen chamber decorations. Do not worry; I can tell you that few people are. However, I assure you it is not as distasteful as you imagine. I merely fulfill my curiosity of how things work in this world. With so many living creatures on these lands—and seas as well—I marvel in the differences that can be seen in their build.”
The lord walked over to one of the larger skeletons in the corner.
“For example, notice here that this grazer—a cow-like animal from wet, warm lands—has wide-spread hooves, in order to easily move through the swamps' soft ground? Compare that to the claws of the more local mountain cats near Shid’el, how the foot is built to provide flexibility and power in their jumps. There is so much to learn from everything around us, even after they die.”
Raylan frowned. He was not unfamiliar with the inner workings of living things. He had hunted, seen battle wounds, and anyone who stayed around Galirras for a prolonged amount of time would encounter bits and pieces of the dragon’s meals. But not in a thousand years would he have thought to display it like some prized collection.
“You’re insane,” whispered Raylan under his breath.
“That’s a common misconception by those who do not share my natural curiosity,” said his host, overhearing. “But I assure you, the opposite is quite true.”
Lord Algirio slowly walked over to a closet full of ancient books. He took one of the books from the shelf, its binding a deep blue. As his host carefully turned the pages, Raylan saw drawings of different animals in great detail. Some showed the coloring of feathers, while others were rough sketches of the skulls Raylan saw on the wall. All of them were alternated with drawings of flowers and plants.
“Raylan, as you might imagine, a man of my position has the ability and influence to make a person's life very easy—or difficult. I could offer that person more gold than most would probably see in a lifetime—or perhaps remind him that his friend is relying on my care to get back to full health.”
Harwin, thought Raylan. The image of the old soldier from the ship flashed through his head.
“However, my father—may his soul rest in peace—made it a point to have integrity in his trade arrangements. Some said he was honest to a fault, straightforward and often rude. I tend to disagree; he was always very clear about what he wanted, but he always kept some knowledge up his sleeve, held back some piece of information in case the other party needed a little more incentive. He knew very well that there is always something that someone needs. If not now, then later. Find that need and they are bound to trade whatever it is you desire for it.”
Lord Algirio closed the book with a cloud of dust. He carefully put it back on the shelf and strolled over to a stumped Raylan.
“I try my best to preserve that trade integrity of the Thyraulos family name. Besides, I dislike dabbling in other people’s lives. It is messy, and frankly I detest those who dabble in mine. So I find other ways to occupy myself, lest I get bored. I do not judge other people’s interests and expect to be treated in a similar way.”
Silence followed those last few words as the lord looked at Raylan.
“What I offer here is not meant as an insult, nor a threat; just a simple trade suggestion to satisfy my curiosity, however long that will take. And in the end, my father had it right. There is always something a person needs. The question is, Mister Stryk’ard, what is it that you need?”
Raylan’s thoughts raced around inside, but he could think of no polite way to decline the offer. He hated all this double talk, behind-the-back motives
and wiggling power plays. It might be that Lord Algirio spoke the truth, or perhaps he only wished to bring doubt to his decisions. Raylan considered himself to be honest and straightforward. It did not always make him look smart—or subtle—but it was his own version of integrity. An integrity he did not so much choose, but more subconsciously followed. So he decided to speak his mind and not hold anything back.
“No.”
“No?” said Lord Algirio, surprised.
“No. I don’t wish to trade,” Raylan spoke through clenched jaws. “I’m sure you have plenty to offer that could make my life very different, but I don’t want it to be different.”
In the back of his mind, a little voice spoke up. Did he really not want things to be different? Did he not miss his brother? Was Corza not still hunting them? Was his connection to Galirras all that mattered to him? Above anything else?
“Everyone believes they can own Galirras, like he’s some kind of horse. Free to change hands when needed. Well, they’re wrong,” said Raylan. “He is his own. If anything, you should be asking him. But no matter what the world offers, or threatens me with, I will never allow him to be taken away from me against his will. And with any luck, he’ll outlive us all.”
Raylan's blood boiled. Why could these people not get it through their thick heads that Galirras was not to be owned, stolen or enslaved? First Corza and the Stone King; now a lord from the kingdom he called home, who “merely” wished to study him after he was dead. If he had not been so baffled, Raylan might have said something he would truly regret.
“Now, can we please drop the subject? There are more pressing matters to discuss. Matters that I feel you need to be aware of, so the citizens of Azurna have a better chance to—”
A polite cough interrupted Raylan.
“Milord, apologies for the interruption, but Lord Baltor from Tal’Kabur is here to discuss his shipment with you.”
“Ah, of course. Please, join us,” Lord Algirio said to the man standing calmly behind the servant. “You are a little early, but you know what they say; the early bird catches the worm.”
“Brenton?” said Raylan in surprise as the man approached them.
“Oh, you gentlemen have met before?” asked Lord Algirio.
“We ran into each other at a local establishment during the festivities late last night,” explained Brenton.
“Ah yes, indeed. I heard it was quite the party that was thrown there, chairs and all,” said their host with a smile.
“Your family’s name is Baltor? As in King Baltor—the Iron King?” said Raylan, perplexed.
He could not help but notice that lately his days were filled with meeting royalty.
“Prince Baltor here is the oldest son of the Iron King—and an experienced merchant, I might add. He has successfully made many a trade agreement between our two kingdoms.”
“Many of which I’m sure benefited you greatly, Lord Algirio,” laughed Brenton.
The two of them laughed heartily, until their host noticed that the servant still lingered on the edge of their conversation.
“Anything else?” asked Lord Algirio.
“Milord, I just wanted to let you know your delivery has arrived. It’s awaiting your inspection in the Hall of Sculptures.”
“Wonderful! It’s about time. If you two gentlemen would allow me to indulge my curiosity right away, perhaps you can accompany me to the hall? Apparently, the statue in question is of a very unique design.”
The Lord of Azurna took both men back through the corridors. Raylan let out a sigh when he spotted Galirras through one of the windows.
“It appears I’ve lost the opportunity to speak with Lord Algirio in private,” he said to the dragon in his head. “I’m going to be a while longer.”
“Take your time. I am in pleasant company,” he heard back. “I did a quick check when Lady Leandra asked me to show off my flying skills. Not a black sail in sight.”
That was a relief to hear. Perhaps Richard was right; maybe the Stone King had no intention of invading Aeterra after all. But that also meant that providing Lord Algirio with the details became even less easy to do. What if Lord Algirio made arrangements and panic broke out in the streets for nothing? What if people got hurt? Was that not precisely what he was trying to prevent here? Besides, it was one thing to inform one of the noblemen in their own kingdom, but he was hesitant to lay his cards bare in front of a different kingdom’s representative. It was like ignoring Richard’s direct order was more shameful with another person present—although it had been Brenton who told him that cowards run away while strong men take the lead.
Raylan found himself pondering the issue at hand all the way down to the Hall of Sculptures. He had not paid much attention to the pleasantries being exchanged between the Prince of Iron and their host. He caught the last part of it as Lord Algirio broke open a large wooden crate that waited in the center of the hall.
“…my collector says it is unlike anything he has ever seen. Very rough and powerful. And I’m told the stone is as black as the night.”
With a loud bang the front of the crate fell to the floor. The sound shot right up Raylan’s spine and into his brain, as if a warning shot had been fired within him. His eyes grew wide as he ran the last few steps and slid around the front of the box to look inside it.
Black as night…
Raylan saw two dim blue lights as the statue’s eyes flared up and the ghol’m started to move.
“Move!” shouted Raylan, tackling both men with all his might.
A heavy, black stone fist slammed into the floor where the noblemen had stood a mere moment before. The stone cracked under the impact, leaving a small dent and some gravel as the ghol’m pulled back its fist. It let out a hollow scream that bounced around the hall.
All three men scrambled to their feet. The ghol’m—which stood slightly hunched over to fit in its container—put its hands on the sides of the crate and pushed it apart.
“How is this possible?” said Lord Algirio in wonder as the ghol’m drew itself up to full height.
“I can explain later,” yelled Raylan. “Right now, we need to get out of here. There’s no way we can fight this thing without weap—”
Brenton let out a war cry and swung a morning star he ripped from the wall into the stone giant’s leg. One of the weapon’s points stuck directly in the black stone. Raylan already knew it would not harm the ghol’m at all; Brenton found out a moment later. The ghol'm's punch sent the Prince of Iron sliding along the floor to smash into the far wall. Fortunately, his official Talkarian armor took at least some of the impact.
Raylan pulled the highly inconvenient, awestruck Lord Algirio with him on his way to the downed Prince of Iron. In the middle of the hall, the ghol’m removed the last pieces of the crate from itself and launched in pursuit.
On his knees, Brenton steadied himself by putting a hand on the wall, and coughed. He shook his head and was back on his feet just before the others reached him.
“Go! Run! It’s too strong for us,” called Raylan, pushing both Brenton and Lord Algirio forward.
All three men set a course for the large doors at the end of the hall. From behind them came the sound of scraping stone and a large crash. Raylan threw a brief glance over his shoulder to see the ghol’m had slammed into the wall, knocking over a decorative metal armor set.
In front of them, the doors to the hall flung open. Azurna guards rushed in, attracted by the ruckus of the fight. They immediately moved in to protect their lord, but found their swords and spears ineffective against the ghol’m’s stone build.
They screamed as the ghol’m crushed their heads against the wall. It threw the men away like rag dolls. Raylan heard a man’s flesh and tendons rip as the ghol’m grabbed the soldier’s arm and swung him against the others until just the limb hung bloody in the black, stone hand. By the time Raylan, Brenton and Lord Algirio ran through the doors, none of the four guards were left alive.
Additional
men rushed around the corner, but Lord Algirio had finally returned to his senses.
“Back! Everyone back. Do not engage it directly,” he yelled.
Most of the guards pulled back, but a few of them ignored their master’s order, hurrying to close the doors behind them. Raylan and the others ran down the hallway. As they rounded a corner, the sound of splintering wood made it clear that the guards' attempt to slow down their stone pursuer had been futile.
“We have to get back to the plateau. Galirras might be able to fight it,” shouted Raylan as they ran through the corridors.
“Up here,” said Lord Algirio as he shot up a small servants' stair. “It will not be able to fit through here.”
Raylan, bringing up the rear of their retreat, was only eight steps up the stairs when the ghol’m smashed into the tiny opening behind him. Its arm swiped back and forth as it tried to wiggle its way into the stairwell, but their host had been right; their attacker did not fit.
Raylan heard shouts from guards further down the hall and groaned about the futility of fighting their enemy directly. Unless they could immobilize it and find something heavy enough to smash the head, none of them would be able to win. They needed Galirras, but they were still too far away for Raylan to feel his connection with the dragon.
At the top of the stairs, the men stopped to catch their breath.
“I wish I had my swords,” said Brenton, panting heavily.
Raylan shook his head.
“It wouldn’t do you any good. Only the heaviest weapons can damage it. The rest just bounce off harmlessly.”
“What the hell is it, anyway?” wondered the Prince of Iron.
“We call it a ghol’m. Listen, we don’t have time for this. It will find a different way up. We’ve got to keep moving and get outside so that Galirras can help us.”
Wavebreaker_Book II of the Stone War Chronicles_Part 1_Trickle Page 25
