“Energy from Akun,” the Kesh wizard stated simply, folding his arms and almost scowling at the cleric, a look of disapproval on his face.
“Nonsense. I command Akun’s power, you perform sorcery, and that foul beast must have been an ancient wizard in lizard form,” Krom said, looking at Kaylor with narrowing eyes.
“It appears the electrical nature of the beast’s attack has affected your mental acuity,” Kaylor stated.
Krom bent over at his waist and coughed and then grabbed the flask and stood up, almost falling again in the process. Finally stabilizing himself, he took a long drink from Alyssa’s flask and smiled at Seth. “I think I need a new shield, and if what that wacky wizard says is correct, I’ll need a new brain, too.”
Seth smiled and slapped the man on his back, eliciting another cough.
“Ahem.” Captain Eiry cleared his throat.
“Ah yes, Krom, are you up to healing our good thief?” Seth asked.
Krom looked from Seth to Alyssa and then back again. “Well, if it keeps me in the good graces of the guild and perhaps a small donation for services performed, I’m sure I can assist. Let me see her.”
Seth kept a steady hand on the man’s shoulder and steered him to Alyssa, who looked ready to pass out. Krom fished around in his pockets and belt and then looked at Seth with confusion on his face.
“Here, let me help,” Seth said, stepping around and pulling Krom’s pack from his back and handing it to the cleric.
“Oh yes, it’s in here,” Krom said. Seth noticed that Kaylor rolled his eyes, and turned to look at the progress of Graz. Graz was continuing to hack away and wiggle his sword back and forth and had made some progress as a violet, icky fluid coated the bright steel blade beneath its hilt.
A quick glance around showed the soldiers helping their wounded and tending to their dead. Abruxus, the Kesh apprentice, had retrieved his staff and was walking around looking for his pack and the small orb that helped conceal their party earlier.
Seth returned his attention to Krom as the small man had taken a jar from his pack and knelt next to Alyssa, applying a gooey green substance to her wound. Where it touched her skin, the color returned, and along her laceration, the skin tightened and the bleeding stopped. He returned the jar to his pack and took out a small vial and held it to her lips. She drank what he gave her, and he stoppered it and returned it to the pack.
Standing, Krom walked past Seth and started to help the first soldier he came to, repeating a similar process. Seth made eye contact with Captain Eiry and saw pain in the man’s eyes. “Go on, Captain, tend to your men. I’ll see to Alyssa. Perhaps you can spare a runner to the Dagger’s Edge and have it sail down here. I doubt we’ll be able to transport this many bodies on our own.”
Captain Eiry nodded his head, stood, and walked over to Krom and a group of his men.
“Aha!” the northern barbarian exclaimed in triumph, holding his huge sword over his head, violet-colored blood from the dragon dripping down the hilt and onto his hand, wrist, and arm. “Graz kill dragon. Graz claim prize.”
Seth watched in fascination as the warrior walked across the top of the dragon’s skull and swung the blade across the nearest horn that was at least three feet long. In one fell swoop, the horn was severed, and Graz held it above his head along with the sword.
The blue dragon was dead.
Chapter 4
Ulatha
Diamedes had watched the Porter set sail after less than twenty four hours in port. It appeared that the goods from the southern realm of Safron had already been off loaded and was waiting at one of the dock buildings for Captain Godfrey. The good captain did not hesitate and loaded his ship and then departed immediately.
Over the next few days, the historian had watched the harbor fill with ships from many lands and realms across Agon. After three days, he was pleased to see the aqua-yellow colors of the Duchy of Ulatha as the large man-of-war entered the harbor and took up a key position at anchor in the bay, reversing course and pointing its bow toward the harbor’s entrance, not bothering to dock.
The small building’s quarters were adequate enough and the view of the tranquil waters of the bay was beautiful, but Diamedes longed for a good book and the company of a fellow Ulathan. Though widely considered the “king’s historian,” the old man was born and raised in Ulatha, a fact that was oftentimes forgotten. So it was on this fine morning that the old man found himself walking down to the main dock to greet the small skiff arriving from the Ulathan ship, along with the king of Tyniria’s so-called ambassador, Master Toray.
“Well, my goodness gracious, they’ll let anybody into Balaria now, won’t they?” a tall man clad in bright clothes said from his perch at the bow of the skiff.
“Good to see you, too, Justiciar Orwell,” Diamedes said from the edge of the dock.
“Interesting,” Ambassador Toray muttered under his breath.
Diamedes arched a brow and looked at the man before returning his gaze to the skiff. The small boat was actually relatively large compared to other smaller transport craft. It held a score of soldiers as well as two aides, two sailors, and a rather large, stern-looking woman clad in white garb with bright steel armor and the golden hilt of a magnificent sword sticking above her belt, gleaming in the sunlight. The emblem of a fist was on her breastplate, indicating she was a warrior from the Order of Astor.
The sailors and a couple of dockhands secured the skiff to the wide dock. The skiff’s sail was unfurled and stowed as if it would stay awhile. Orwell stuck out his hand, and a dock worker grabbed it, pulling the justiciar out of the boat.
“You haven’t changed much,” Orwell said, shaking their hands and nodding. “You’re still wearing those awful rags, I see. Not much for fashion, are you?”
Diamedes looked at his plain light brown robe sashed with a simple rope-like braided belt. He almost always wore simple clothes—white, and light brown in the summer, darker brown in the winter. He avoided red and black, too distracting and much too flamboyant for the simple librarian. Of course, with this group, they couldn’t help but stand out. The precision of movement of the Ulathans coupled with their attractive, tight uniforms made them stand out amongst the normal folk of Balaria. “Fashion has its time and place. I’d rather stay cool in the summer sun.”
“Well, based on your attire in the winter, that argument doesn’t hold up. You’d be overruled if this was an official inquiry,” the justiciar said, giving Diamedes a glance and nod of his head.
“Spoken like a true judge.” Diamedes didn’t miss a beat. “I just hope the duke finds no offense with those of us who are fashionably challenged.”
Orwell started to walk along the dock, seeing that his detachment had all debarked the skiff and were patiently waiting on the wharf. “So, will you stay at our villa, then?”
“What? No introductions?” Ambassador Toray asked, looking behind them as the large group approached the dock’s edge where it protruded from the rocky land.
“No need today, Master Toray. I’d prefer to not discuss things here with so many ears, if you understand me,” Orwell said, looking around.
“Very well, but this is not keeping with proper protocol and my lord is most attentive to these things,” Toray said, hustling to keep up with the long strides of the Justiciar, despite the fact that Diamedes was moving just as quickly.
Orwell looked at the Tynirian representative before speaking, never stopping his walk. “I’m sure King Akula will understand, considering the circumstances, and if not, well, he can take it up with my lord, Duke Uthor. Now where were we?”
“An invitation for Master Diamedes that is not necessary. The king has provided him with a room at our embassy,” Toray said, sounding either flustered or trying to gain his breath from the quick pace they were maintaining.
Orwell didn’t slow when they reached the first road. He turned left and started along the street that ran parallel to the docks and bay. He never looked behind him to see t
hat his entourage was still there, instead looking at Diamedes. “Well, will you stay with the Ulathan delegation?”
Diamedes could hear the brisk sound of boots hitting the cobblestone street in unison as the group continued in perfect order. He didn’t need to look behind, either. “Actually, I think I will take you up on the offer, but I’ve been to the Ulathan’s residence here and it’s quite small. I don’t see how you’ll house such a large contingent, unless you plan on most of them returning to the Hammer?”
Orwell laughed out loud and slapped the historian on his back good-naturedly. “Nonsense. That is just a small place to house our representative. I’ve been here before, and Edwin has secured a villa for us overlooking the bay, up there.” He pointed high above them just below the Balarian complex at a row of expensive villas that were set into the mountainside overlooking the bay.
“I see,” Diamedes said, looking up at the impressive array of buildings and towers that stood perched above the city proper as if disdaining the small and polluting nature of the city center and docks. “So you’ll have more than enough room, I take it?”
“Oh yes, I wouldn’t stay cramped in any of these hovels,” Orwell said, gesturing to the many buildings they passed, laid out one on top of the other, many three and four stories tall with small balconies dotted here and there. “The duke understands as well, and so we needed a more secure place in which to house ourselves. There may well be others in attendance, depending on what the Kesh have in mind. Speaking of which, have you heard anything?”
Diamedes looked down to secure his step as the road started to rise slightly once they reached the edge of the docks. “Nothing specific yet, however the Kesh representative hasn’t been here since I arrived and our good ambassador Toray here has informed me that they went on an expedition with several Balarian champions and a score of soldiers, much the same as you have here. They are overdue, and the local governor is worried.”
“Do you suspect something?” Orwell asked.
“No, the details of the expedition have been kept secret, but then again, isn’t that what Balarians do best?” Diamedes said.
“Indeed they do. That, however, goes contrary to what a good historian does,” Orwell said.
“Or a good justiciar,” Diamedes said, giving the man a long look for good measure. “The point is that we agreed to meet on neutral ground, and we shall soon learn of the conclave’s purpose if the Kesh either return or send a new representative.”
Orwell motioned to a large street that started up at a steep angle toward the many villas located above them now, and Diamedes wondered if the frailer ambassador could keep up. Orwell also looked over at Toray before speaking. “Well, Balaria is hardly neutral, but it’s a far sight better than being in Keshtor or anywhere near the Onyx Tower. We suspect they’re up to something nefarious—they always are—but proving it can be difficult and they have a tendency to bring many of the lesser realms into their sphere of influence, so it’s difficult to confront them openly. Ambassador Toray, do you require a rest?”
The man was sweating profusely now and breathing heavily but managed to take a deep breath and respond while keeping up the brutal pace. “No, I’ll be fine. I’m just not used to a forced march, especially uphill in this heat. You picked a hell of a time to arrive; sunset with a cool evening breeze would have been preferable.”
“Yes, well, time is short and there is much to do,” Justiciar Orwell said, now lessening his pace, and Diamedes sighed inwardly. He was in better shape than the ambassador, but he felt his age and was glad of the small respite. “I also thought it best to secure our anchor before too many other ships arrived, and I wanted to inspect the villa before the landlord changed his mind.”
“He wouldn’t,” Toray said, protest in his voice.
“He would if the Kesh paid more for it,” Orwell said. “Despite our good relations with the owner, I wouldn’t put it past the wizards to try to inconvenience us for forcing the issue regarding the location of the conclave. The Kesh are like that, you know.”
“No need to tell me. They can be the most vindictive and paranoid of people that I have ever encountered. They’ll hold a grudge for a good long time, too, I’ll tell you, oftentimes extracting retribution on an offender’s offspring decades later,” Toray said, concern in his voice.
“Yes, so for that reason, I wanted to arrive and . . . shall we say . . . install ourselves permanently, before they could move against us.” Orwell nodded to another street that cut back at the opposite angle, and the group continued their climb.
“Such petty maneuvering, a colossal waste of time, if you ask me,” Toray said.
“Perhaps,” Orwell responded, “but nonetheless, I want to secure our quarters first and then worry about the conclave second. Ah, we are almost there.” He motioned to a side road cutting back one more time, steeper than the other streets.
“Agon help me, is there no end to this climb?’ Toray said.
“How on Agon do you call upon the governor?” Orwell asked the man, his face a look of curiosity. “The Balarian complex sits higher up, a much longer and more strenuous walk.”
Toray stammered a bit and then pulled out a kerchief to wipe his brow, and Diamedes was tempted to do the same but instead answered for the man. “Our good ambassador doesn’t call on the local governor much, and when he does, he has a carriage sent for him.”
“Ah, that explains the lack of fortitude for our dear Master Toray,” Orwell said, allowing a smile to cross his face, and a gleam took his eye. “There is nothing like a brisk walk to get the blood flowing. I’m sure I can secure a carriage for the return trip, but I’m hoping you’ll both stay till later this evening so we can discuss our preparations for the meeting.”
Toray seemed to like this idea. “Yes, that would be most agreeable, especially if you’ll have some refreshments for our efforts.”
“Yes, indeed, if our man Edwin did his job properly, there will be a barrel of Aquinian wine awaiting us,” Orwell said, reaching the top of the road and standing outside a magnificent set of gates, wooden with large ornamented iron shaped around it and across it, securing it to the villa’s stone walls.
An aide of the justiciar took a wooden stick and rapped on the gate. It opened almost immediately as an Ulathan greeted them from inside. “Welcome. I was most surprised at how quickly you arrived,” the man said.
“So you saw the Ulathans arrive?” Toray asked, putting his kerchief away and trying to gain his breath.
“Yes, the Ulathan man-of-war is unmistakable, even from up here. I watched our good Justiciar Orwell arrive on the docks, and made preparations, but you caught me just before we were about to finish.”
“Well done, Edwin,” Orwell said, stepping into the courtyard and shaking the other man’s hand. “You’ve met Ambassador Toray, I take it?”
“Yes, on several occasions. Good to see you today, Ambassador,” Edwin said, greeting the Tynirian.
Appreciating a fellow politician, Toray smiled and returned the greeting. “Likewise, Ambassador Willis, always good to see you. You’ve met the king’s historian, Diamedes?”
“Not personally, but his reputation precedes him,” Edwin said, shaking the historian’s hand and nodding.
“I’ve invited Diamedes to stay with us and he’s accepted,” Orwell said. His troops were filing in, one row to either side. The tall, blonde woman stood back, overlooking the group and positioning herself so she could observe the villa’s gates as well.
“Excellent, I’ll see to it personally,” Edwin responded. “We have five servants for the duration, more if you plan on hosting any parties during the conclave.”
“I may. It depends on the company involved. I’m not too certain who will be showing up,” Orwell said, motioning for his commander.
“Yes, sir,” the plumed, helmeted soldier said, standing stiffly at attention in front of the justiciar.
“See to securing the villa, Commander, and posting a guard. You know
what to do. Oh, and let me know if you find anything amiss. The Hand will assist you,” Orwell said, nodding to the large armored woman who returned his nod.
“Very well, I’ll report within the hour,” the soldier said, motioning to his men and giving out orders. The soldiers quickly dispersed with two of them closing the gates and taking up positions on either side of it with their spears in their hands.
“This way.” Edwin motioned, and the group walked through the front of the villa’s double doors, stepping across a marbled center area and then again outside through a breezeway and over to a table set with bread, fruits, wine, and cheese. The table sat under a large, leafy tree that swayed in the faint breeze, which carried the scents of the ocean and was cooler than what they had experienced in the city proper.
A servant brought an extra chair for the group, as Edwin had not counted on the historian’s presence. Pouring a glass of wine and offering a plate of fruit, Edwin motioned to the villa and then turned to Justiciar Orwell. “So are the accommodations acceptable?”
“Yes, they are,” Orwell said, taking a long drink of his wine and biting into an apple. “I’ve stayed here once before a couple of years ago during a trade negotiation. I made the mistake of staying at another villa, so that is why I asked you to secure this one. It is more secluded and had more room and higher walls.” The Justiciar chuckled.
Edwin laughed with the man, and Diamedes noticed the slight was lost on Toray, who fanned himself with an empty plate, looking quite out of order with his actions but seeming not to care.
“What if the Kesh don’t return?” Toray asked, continuing his cooling efforts.
“Then I guess the Balarians will have to cancel and set a new date, if at all. I doubt this many realms will gather again anytime soon.” Orwell set his apple core on the table.
“You would think with that much arcane art and knowledge that the Kesh would be able to communicate more effectively,” Edwin said, looking at the bay.
The Blue Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book (Dragon Series 2) Page 4
