Dragons' Onyx

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “He is the strongest of them all,” asserted Eltar. “His name is Gorga.”

  * * *

  The three stealthy figures halted outside the old abandoned factory in Tagaret. One of them quietly eased the door open and peered inside. After a moment’s hesitation, he disappeared into the dark building. The other two figures silently followed him in. They hesitated inside the building, listening to the restless movement of bodies at sleep and the occasional snore.

  The tallest of the three figures moved cautiously around the factory floor examining the bodies that were sleeping. Finally, he stopped by a sleeping couple. He knelt to examine the face of the man, and nodded when he had verified that it was the one called Wylan. The man’s body began to stir, and the tall figure frowned when he noticed the staff close at hand. He quickly cast a spell on Wylan and signaled to the other two figures.

  The figures moved silently across the factory floor and lifted Wylan up. With the tall figure leading the way, they carried Wylan out of the building. They furtively hurried along the streets of Tagaret to a small leather shop that was closed for the night. They eased into the building and placed Wylan on a bench in the back room. A dark curtain between the shop and the back room was slid into place and a torch was lit. The elves blinked their eyes several times as the torchlight brightened the room.

  “You should hurry, Zalaharic,” prompted one of the other elves. “We must be done before dawn.”

  “I am aware of the time constraints,” nodded the elven mage. “We will be out of here before the shop owner arrives for the new day.”

  The tall elven mage bent over Wylan’s body. He pulled back one of Wylan’s eyelids and peered at the eye. Slowly, he repeated the procedure on the second eye.”

  “What do you think?” asked one of the elves.

  “It might be possible,” frowned Zalaharic. “It appears to be the result of looking into something too bright. I have had some success with that in the past, but many times there is no magic to cure it. We shall see.”

  The mage continued to examine Wylan’s eyes, while the other two elves busied themselves at the leatherworker’s workbench. An hour later the mage sighed and stood erect.

  “That did not sound promising,” said one of the elves.

  “It is a gamble,” shrugged Zalaharic. “Are the patches complete?”

  “Just as you described,” nodded the elf as he held up a pair of eye patches with a intricate painted pattern on them. “Should we carry him back to the factory now?”

  “No,” Zalaharic shook his head. “I will wake him here. He must know what is happening to him. Be ready in case he reacts with typical human arrogance. Extinguish the torch.”

  Zalaharic waved his hand over Wylan’s body and stepped back. Wylan moaned and fidgeted for a bit before he sat bolt upright on the bench.

  “Be careful,” warned Zalaharic is a soft soothing voice. “You are not where you think you are. Quick movements can lead to injury.”

  Wylan’s hands began feeling around as his head swiveled, trying to detect where the speaker was. “Who are you?” he asked, “And where am I?”

  “Two excellent questions,” Zalaharic said. “You are still in Tagaret. As to who I am, I am an elf healer sent to examine your eyes. Can we talk?”

  “An elf healer?” puzzled Wylan. “This place smells of leather. It certainly is not the factory that I belong in. Who sent you?”

  “Prince Garong requested my services,” replied Zalaharic as he became aware that Wylan was seeking to identify his location by the sound of his voice. “I was to examine your eyes and to heal them if that was possible. I was also instructed to do so without the knowledge of anyone else. That is why we are not in the factory you live in.”

  “Healers have looked at my eyes already,” frowned Wylan. “Your story fails to ring true.”

  “Elven healing is much different than that of humans,” insisted Zalaharic. “In any event, I have done as my prince requested. Do you want to know what I found? Or should we deposit you back in the factory?”

  “We?” Wylan questioned with alarm.

  “Yes,” sighed the elven mage. “There are three of us here.”

  “Tell me what I already know,” conceded Wylan. “I do not need any false hopes for restoring my vision. It makes getting on with life unbearable.”

  “Then do not hold out any hope for your eyesight,” shrugged Zalaharic. “In fact, I do not know if my magic will have any effect on you, although I would be interested to know the results when you discover them.”

  “You used healing magic on me, and you don’t know if it worked?” asked Wylan.

  “Your case is a difficult one,” nodded the elf mage. “Let me explain what I have done.”

  “Very well,” sighed Wylan.

  “The magic I used on your eyes will take effect over a period of time,” explained Zalaharic. “My men have fashioned eye patches for you to wear. They are leather patches with a very elaborate design on them. The purpose of the design is more than mere art.”

  “I doubt that I can appreciate the artwork,” frowned Wylan. “Why go through all of that trouble?”

  “Because of the clandestine request made of me,” explained Zalaharic. “I was not able to speak to Prince Garong directly, but I assume that if you do recover your sight, you may not wish to announce it to the world. The therapy calls for wearing the patches as is, at least for now. As your eyes heal, you are to poke small holes in each patch. Very small holes at first. When your eyes become accustomed to the light through the holes, you will make the holes slightly larger. Your recovery, if it is to happen, must be gradual. Too large a hole too soon and you will return to your blindness forever. The busy pattern on the patches is to conceal the small holes that you will punch in them. Do you understand?”

  “Are you saying that your magic may actually restore my sight,” Wylan asked excitedly.

  “It is a possibility,” shrugged the elf healer. “Do not get your hopes up. Your case is a bad one, but what do you have to lose?”

  Chapter 11

  Food for Thought

  General Mobami stood on the wall surrounding Trekum with Sergeant Musaraf, his aide. He gazed out at the massive assemblage of Lanoirian soldiers and shook his baldhead.

  “So,” the general said as his fingers toyed with one of the long handles of his black mustache, “the scout reports were fairly accurate. It is hard to imagine that anyone could put together such a large army.”

  “How can we hope to prevail against something so large?” asked Sergeant Musaraf.

  “That is the question, isn’t it?” the general nodded. “All day they have been arriving, and still you can see them coming in the distance. Their camp will not be setup before the night takes hold. Perhaps they will still be arriving when we rise tomorrow.”

  “At least we have this night to plan before they can attack,” sighed the sergeant.

  “Do not be lulled into a false sense of safety,” warned the general. “There is no reason that Emperor Hanchi must wait for all of his army to arrive before attacking Trekum. In fact, his army is so large that it would be impossible for them to attack all at once. Look,” he pointed, “some of them have already begun building the siege engines. When you have that many men, you can accomplish a multitude of things at same time. The attack could begin at any time.”

  “How long do you think we can hold the city?” asked the aide.

  “That depends on the strategy used by the Lanoirians,” answered the general. “Using our cavalry to harass them would have helped, but I am glad that we did not, after seeing this for myself. There is something gnawing at me in the back of my mind. I would like to talk to Captain Orteka one more time. Fetch him for me.”

  “He is right below us,” replied Sergeant Musaraf. “He is talking to Captain Azule, the leader of the Sarga Mercenaries. I will have him up here in a moment.”

  “Invite Azule as well,” General Mobami instructed as his aide depar
ted. “I respect his opinion.”

  The general continued to gaze upon the advancing Lanoirian army as he waited for the others. Strategies and options whirled through his mind. He had spent the last month thinking of nothing but this coming conflict, yet he continued to search for answers that had evaded him.”

  “General,” saluted Captain Azule. “It is an impressive sight, isn’t it?”

  “It is indeed,” nodded the general as he turned and stared at the two long scars running down the cheeks of Captain Orteka. “I am sure that the Lanoirian’s words are still ringing in your ears, Captain Orteka. Have you thought much about their meaning?”

  “I have thought of little else,” admitted Captain Orteka as his hand involuntarily felt the scar on his right cheek. “Now that I see the emperor’s army arriving here, the words puzzle me even more. I was just discussing them with Captain Azule.”

  “And what do you think?” the general asked Captain Azule.

  “It sounds to me as if the Lanoirians would prefer not to fight us,” answered the Sarga mercenary, “although with such an army, I do not understand why.”

  “Even a great army will suffer casualties in a battle,” offered Sergeant Musaraf. “Perhaps he knows that this battle will be costly. General Mobami is not going to hand over Trekum as easily as the other Sordoan cities fell.”

  “Armies are meant to take casualties,” dismissed the general. “I doubt that Emperor Hanchi cares what happens to his men as long as he achieves victory in the battle.”

  “Unless he needs them for a greater purpose,” interjected Captain Orteka.

  “Which means that Trekum is not what he is after,” nodded the general. “That is what has been gnawing at me. We have heard for some time now that Emperor Hanchi wants to rule the world. It now appears as if he has the army to accomplish that goal, yet he seeks to avoid a confrontation with us. He cannot be fool enough to think that he can afford to bypass Trekum and ignore us. We are the greatest army opposing him. He should want to crush us completely.”

  “We may not be the greatest threat to his plans,” posed Captain Azule. “I have heard of a new country up north. It is called Alcea. It is made up of the old pieces of Targa from before the Collapse. Tagaret is where the king resides.”

  “Targa is a long way from here,” retorted the general. “Emperor Hanchi would have to get through us and then through Melbin before he got to Tagaret.”

  “Tagaret!” exclaimed Captain Orteka. “That was the last thing he said to me. I asked where we should run. He said far, far away, anywhere but between him and Tagaret.”

  “And Melbin is part of this new Alcea,” added Captain Azule. “It appears that there is some conflict between Emperor Hanchi and Alcea.”

  “And we are just in the way,” nodded General Mobami. “Now things begin to make some sense, but how can Lanoir expect to control Alcea if they leave us behind them? They are not exactly neighbors unless Emperor Hanchi rules over Sordoa as well.”

  “If we were to flee,” Sergeant Musaraf pointed out, “controlling Sordoa would not be much of a problem.”

  “But flee to where?” questioned Captain Azule. “If what I heard about Alcea is true, we are caught between two great enemies. There is nowhere for us to go that will keep us out of this conflict.”

  “Perhaps they seek to make us take sides?” questioned Sergeant Musaraf.

  “No,” General Mobami shook his head. “Hanchi would not allow us to join with Alcea if he already considers them more of a threat than us. That might make sense if the emperor has some plan to ensure that we join his side, but I cannot think of anything that would coerce a loyal Sordoan to join with Lanoir.”

  “The chance to live?” posed Captain Orteka. “Do you think that is what Hanchi is trying to do? Leave us with only two options? Join him, or die?”

  “That sounds like something a Lanoirian would say,” nodded General Mobami, “but joining Emperor Hanchi will not happen in my lifetime. I would rather die than serve as a Lanoirian slave.”

  “Lanoirian Rider approaching,” announced Sergeant Musaraf.

  “Let’s go see what he wants,” the general responded gruffly. “You men will accompany me.”

  The general strode briskly and the three officers followed. Captain Orteka felt a moment of apprehension as the large gates were opened and the Lanoirian rider became visible. General Mobami strode out of the gates proudly and the others followed.

  “I have a message for General Mobami,” announced the rider. “Fetch him here.”

  “I am General Mobami,” scowled the general, “and it is I who give orders to these men, not you.”

  “Very well,” responded the rebuked rider. “Emperor Hanchi is issuing you an ultimatum. Surrender Trekum and live. Refuse and die. It is that simple.”

  General Mobami’s first instinct was to draw his sword and cut the rider down to size. He restrained his emotions as he glared at the rider.

  “I will think about Emperor Hanchi’s gracious offer,” the general spat.

  ”Your stalling has been anticipated,” retorted the rider. “You really have no choice. Emperor Hanchi is being gracious in extending you this offer. Should your men try to flee the city at this late date, they will be slaughtered. You have three days to accept this offer. After that, the time for talking will be over, and nothing but complete annihilation of your men will please the emperor. Use your time wisely.”

  The rider did not wait for a response. He whirled his horse about and galloped towards the Lanoirian camp. General Mobami watched the rider depart and then turned and stormed into the city. The gates were closed after the small group was safely inside.

  “It will probably take the emperor a full three days to get his men assembled for the attack,” commented Captain Orteka. “He is not offering us anything but the chance to surrender.”

  “The part about us escaping the city bothers me,” commented Captain Azule. “Did anyone else notice that the Lanoirian army that we saw approaching had no cavalry?”

  “I noticed,” the general nodded glumly. “I suspect that we will find the cavalry to our north and west. If Captain Orteka’s report is accurate, their cavalry is greater than our whole army. They can effectively close off our escape from Trekum.”

  “My report is accurate,” assured Captain Orteka. “Our options may not be good, but they are clear.”

  “Perhaps,” the general responded thoughtfully. “Captain Azule, I want you take a few men out of the northern gate and verify that we are cut off from the world. Get me an estimate of their strength and see if there are any holes in their noose around us.”

  “You are thinking of fleeing?” questioned Sergeant Musaraf.

  “One of my plans was to fight a delaying action here in Trekum while our forces slipped out to the north,” nodded the general. “Most of our men are used to fighting on the run. It is what we are good at. We might be able to hold this city for some time and inflict great damage on the Lanoirians, but our victory could only come from attacking them while they are on the move. Defending Trekum was meant to bloody them badly.”

  “And now it has become a siege,” frowned Captain Orteka. “Can we hope to beat them by defending this city?”

  “No,” General Mobami replied. “Even if we could keep the Lanoirian horde outside the walls, which is problematic, eventually we would run out of food. I fear we may have underestimated Emperor Hanchi.”

  * * *

  King Arik and his small group entered the Council Chamber in the Royal Palace of Tagaret. General Gregor, Prince Oscar, Colonel Nolan, and Larc were standing before a large wall map.

  “Welcome home,” greeted Prince Oscar. “Was your quest successful?”

  “Not quite, Father,” replied King Arik. “I have made contact with the dragons, but I am in pursuit of Gorga, the dragon who has stolen the Dragons’ Onyx.”

  “In pursuit?” questioned Zackary Nolan. “Do you mean that this dragon is running from you?”


  “Actually,” frowned King Arik, “I believe he is leading me to a place of his choosing. Gorga is in league with Sarac. According to the Sword of Heavens, Gorga appears to be heading towards Mount Kalas.”

  “You think he is trying to get you to go to the Dark One?” asked General Gregor.

  “I do,” nodded King Arik. “I am sure that Gorga can fly faster than he has been. He is not fleeing from me, but rather leading me somewhere. I suspect that he is under orders from Sarac to deliver me to Mount Kalas.”

  “Surely, you would not be so foolish as to allow that?” asked Prince Oscar. “Better we should forego the Dragons’ Onyx than have you captured by the Dark One.”

  “Alex always taught me to be unpredictable,” King Arik shook his head. “I will not fall for such a ruse. The Sword of Heavens will always direct me towards the Dragons’ Onyx, so I can afford to not follow Gorga for a while and see what he does. What is the state of my kingdom?”

  “General Gregor and I were just discussing that,” replied Prince Oscar. “The news is disturbing. King Devon has forbidden the use of magic at the Castle of Man.”

  “Forbidden?” echoed the king. “Does he not realize that the very survival of his people depend upon the skills of the people that we sent?”

  “Evidently not,” sighed Prince Oscar. “Bantam says that Alex and Jenneva are depressed. The odds against them are overwhelming even if they use magic. Without it, there is no hope.”

  “Send word to them immediately,” instructed King Arik. “I did not send our people up there to be sacrificed. If King Devon refuses to accept our help, as it has been offered, the Knights of Alcea are free to leave.”

  “I will send word immediately,” offered Prince Midge.

  “Bin-lu has penetrated the Lanoirian camp,” declared Colonel Nolan. “Unfortunately, the Lanoirian army is kept uninformed as to what is happening. He has been unable to turn up any useful information. He is going to try to penetrate the emperor’s inner circle.”

  “Where is Emperor Hanchi now?” asked King Arik.

  “The Lanoirians are massed outside the walls of Trekum,” reported General Gregor. “The battle has not begun yet, but it will soon.”