Jedd grabbed the younger man by the elbow and tried to pull him up to his feet – Wex was sitting on the stern castle steps, mending a net – but the youngster was having none of it.
“I don’t think so, Jedd. You cheat.”
Jedd let out a bellowing laugh. “How can you cheat at stick? You either win, or you don’t.”
Cal had seen them play stick once already. The game involved standing a pace apart and throwing knives at each other’s feet. The one who got closest without drawing blood was the winner. Cal had to agree with Jedd; it was hard to see how anyone could cheat.
“One game, boy, come on.” Jedd waved the lad up.
Reluctantly, Wex gave in and put the net he was repairing to one side. “One game.” He raised a finger. “And I go first.”
“As you like,” Jedd answered.
They both took off their boots and stood in the middle of the deck. Cal, who was sitting a pace away, bent his legs and sat cross-legged with his back against the starboard rail. He looked on with interest – watching one of the Surabhan dance around with a knife sticking out of his foot would certainly relieve the tedium for a while.
Wex pulled his knife and began to make flicks at Jedd’s feet, keeping the blade in his hand, but winding up his throw. “Now, don’t go moving this time, Jedd. Leave your feet right where they are.”
“Wait,” Cal shouted.
He stood, then walked over to Jedd. Bending down, he used the small piece of chalk he kept for easing his bow sight and marked a line behind both men’s bare feet. He could hear Jedd groan, but Wex thanked him for his “Excellent idea.”
Cal sat back down. A hush settled over the deck as Wex began to wind up his throw. Mateaf had put away his fishing line and was sitting on a pile of rope, watching. The third crewman, Nabby, had come up from the Galley and was asking Jedd if he wanted to place a bet. Jedd said nothing.
Indeed, the big crewman was sweating. And not because of the heat, Cal thought.
“Two silver he backs away,” Mateaf whispered to Cal.
“I heard that,” Nabby said. “I’ll take your two silver and raise another krùn on the boy drawing blood first.”
Cal stifled a laugh. What a strange game.
But Mateaf nodded. “As you say, Master Nabby, eight silver it is.”
A krùn, Cal had learned, was also silver, but larger than the coins the crew would use day to day.
Nabby stood between Cal and Mateaf. The three of them watched Wex wind up for a throw.
The young crewman’s hand was poised when the captain’s stern castle door banged open.
Nabby let out a whine, and Wex quickly hid his knife behind his back. Jedd looked relieved – perhaps Wex was none too good with a knife.
Cal could smell the captain from five paces away; the man had been drinking again.
Mella spent hours hiding in his cabin. But, now and then, he would emerge from his stupor and make a show of ordering the crew around. Although, in truth, Mella’s orders rarely made any sense…
“Trim the sail, men, and make your course west. Make for Bailryn,” Mella shouted.
Trim the sail! There was no wind; they had not raised the sail. Cal felt his shoulders drop. For the fourth time in three days, Mella had ordered a course change. Usually, he would order the crew to clean the deck or secure the nets. More recently, the drunkard had become convinced he should warn the king about the Kel’madden army, and that somehow the word of fisherfolk – merchant or not – would force the palace to rally the guards and prepare for battle. Cal could sympathise with Mella’s motives, but a drunken merchant could not persuade a burly tavern girl of this story, never mind a king. Even if it was true.
“Now then, Captain, we had this talk this morning. We are going to Whitecliff, remember?” Cal stood and took Mella by the arm. He tried to turn the captain around, but the man spun free.
“I’m the captain of this vessel, Mr. Calid… Calihi… Cal. I will decide where she goes.”
The crew might have agreed with their captain, but they knew they would not have the second half of their pay if they put them ashore in Bailryn.
Most times, and to Mateaf’s endless amusement, the crew left Cal to deal with Mella’s drunken ranting.
“It’s only a few more days, Captain. You can come back and save Bailryn once we are off the ship and you have the rest of your money.”
Mella slurred something inaudible and allowed Cal to guide him back to his cabin door.
But before they reached the steps, the captain pulled a knife from under his coat.
“This is my ship, I tell you,” Mella said while stabbing the air in front of him. “She goes where I say.”
Cal backed up a step. “Put that away. You will hurt yourself.”
The captain swayed, one hand holding a bottle of the cheap wine he was always drinking, the other thrusting his blade in all directions. “You… you… Cren, you think you can do anything because you’re so big. I tell you again, sir, this is my—”
Cal caught the captain as he fell forward. Jedd slipped his cudgel back into the loop on his belt. The other two took the captain by the arms.
“Come on,” Nabby said. “Let’s get you back into bed.”
Cal slowly shook his head as the crewmen struggled to carry Mella through the narrow cabin door. He wondered how long it would be before the fool tried turning the ship again. Walking from Whitecliff was beginning to sound more and more like a good idea.
“Perhaps we should drop him ashore,” Mateaf said. “He has a point, misguided or not; someone has to warn the Surabhan.”
Cal sighed. Mateaf was right, of course; someone did have to warn them, but a drunken ship’s captain, spouting stories about monsters and dragons, would likely get himself thrown in jail. No, it would be best coming from the Cren Council, even if it took a few more weeks. But that, of course, was assuming the council members were prepared to help the Surabhan. The Cren and the old king had not always seen eye to eye. “He’ll have his chance soon enough. We have to go home.”
Mateaf nodded. He had likely agreed with Cal all along, but it was a Second’s job to play the advocate from time to time, and Mateaf was a more than able Second.
CHAPTER 8
Brea’s Lot: Part Two
Brea had already fetched the milk from Elarie, the farmer’s wife. She had collected double that morning. Tomorrow was the farmer’s day off – in fact, tomorrow was Mia’tirdis, a day off for everyone, except for Lance, the innkeeper; he was at his busiest on Reap Days. She had spent a tiresome ten minutes arguing with the geese about who was in charge of the food bucket, weeded the vegetable garden, brushed down the horse, and brought in the flour Kallie, the Miller, had delivered. She had eaten dinner, helped her mother wash and peel potatoes for supper, and had just walked the mile to Aldrieg Cave.
Brea always tried to visit the cave at least once a day, especially when her beloved was poorly, even if there was nothing to do. She liked visiting Rek. Pausing at the threshold, she placed her pack on a convenient boulder and took out her miniature lantern. It was little more than a small candleholder, protected from the wind on three sides and shiny at the back. She lit the wick with a tupstick, swung her pack over her shoulder, and entered.
She followed the stream the hundred paces up the shallow slope to her table. Before dropping her bag, she fished around the middle shelf for one of the big candles and lit it with the candle from her lantern, then used that to light the other two. She placed all three in a hollowed-out nook next to the table.
With the lantern still in her hand, Brea squinted behind the high rock shelf, towards the tunnel on the right: nothing but darkness; no sign of her friend Rek. Lazy dragon, he must be sleeping in the den. She dropped her pack by one of the carved pillars which supported her table and blew out the lantern.
Now the candles had lit up that part of her cave, she stopped for a moment to take in her little work area. It had become familiar over the years, almost like a se
cond home. But still, it was a constant reminder of the other part of her life, the part she could never share with her friends. Sometimes, that truth made her feel special. But more often than not, it reminded her of how alone she felt, among all the mystical legends of Gan’ifael and the dragons. That she did not know half the dragon’s story only made her feel more isolated. At times, it seemed her only job was to wipe Rek’s nose when he had a cold. A dragon’s nursemaid; hardly a fitting task for the Chosen One!
The Chosen One… Ha!
That was what they had called her on her thirteenth birthday when the village elders had visited her home in the dead of night. “Like your grandmother before you, Brea, you will serve the Dragons of Gan.”
Dragons of Gan… Pft.
Even at thirteen, she had known the elders were not telling her everything, and the five years since had only reinforced her suspicions. Maybe now she had begun to use the Lier’sinn – it meant her powers were maturing, apparently – they would tell her more of what it means to be a Soul Guardian.
Speaking of the Lier’sinn…
Brea pricked her finger and let a few drops fall into the silver bowl. She sighed when the oily liquid reacted to her blood. The first time it had happened, she had been excited. Today, however, it served as another reminder of how different she was. She got that way, sometimes, usually when the other villagers were enjoying their day off, especially those her age. They would be down by the lake, or having a picnic by the stream, or…
“Oh, cheer up, you grump,” she told herself. “It could be worse; you could be a street beggar – alone, hungry, with no family or friends around you.” She stopped and looked around her otherwise deserted cave. “Well… you could be hungry, at any rate.”
Shaking her head, she dismissed the thought. There was work to do, and feeling sorry for herself would not get it done.
To her left, behind the table, a long brown curtain hung across a doorway. The curtain covered the entrance to a small room – more of a convenient alcove – about three spans deep and two wide. Inside, there was a small cot, a dresser, a nightstand and some rickety old shelves. The shelves were full of various-sized jars and an assortment of small boxes.
She took down some of the jars and brought them to her table. After checking the labels, she placed them in line in the order she would be using them, starting with the Kalli Root, because it made everything else smell better – a little better. Ousblud smelled like something the cat killed last week, regardless of how much Kalli she used. Then she went back to fetch the large mortar from under her bed.
Standing at the table with hands on hips, she scanned along the line of jars, mentally ticking off each item. “I think that’s everything,” she muttered. Then she sat, tied back her long light-brown hair, rolled up her sleeves and began scooping out the herbs into small piles, which she arranged in a line across the middle of the table.
Her mother had told her she was “quite the fastidious young lady.” But Brea did not mind; when it came to her potions, everything had to be right, especially when it was for her little dragon.
Once finished, she took a quick glance down the tunnel. No sign yet that Rek would make an appearance.
Dragons… I’ve never known anyone to sleep as much. They’re worse than Mother’s cat.
Brea went back into her alcove and began to tidy. She had a few minutes before the Lier’sinn came to a boil, so to speak, and with no sign of Rek…
She lay down on the bed and closed her eyes. Just a few minutes’ rest. It can’t hurt. She wriggled down to find comfort, flattened her hands under her cheek, and tucked up her knees. There she lay, comfortable, waiting for the Lier’sinn to sound its readiness.
Brea thought of her visions. Things were happening quickly now. The time for idle comforts may soon be at an end. She sighed as she thought of the man in her vision, and of the dragons – her dragons. What’s going to happen? How long do I have to wait? Gods, the thought of my poor Rek fighting in some battle. It is all happening too fast… A few more years…
Of course, worrying about it was not helping. It was coming whether she wanted it to or not.
Or was it…?
She still was not clear on how things would progress. Tor’gan – Rek’s father – liked to keep her guessing; he rarely gave a straight answer. She hoped it was only bravado and not that he, too, was clueless concerning the coming storm. No, he must know what he is doing. He’s a thousand years old! If he can’t come up with something, what hope do I have? Doubt crept into her mind. Lying there, still and quiet, it was easy to allow events to pass over her. Sometimes she felt the whole ordeal was no more than a dream, something otherworldly, something distant which would never affect her. But those thoughts would never last long.
Brea wished she could be more like her mother. Affrair had faith in the future; she was sure all would turn out for the best, certain the answers would come, eventually. Her mother kept Brea’s feet firmly on the ground.
But she’s not the one up here in a cave full of dragons!
At home, when speaking with her mother, the dragons would often seem a lie, unreal somehow, although they were plain enough to see. After all, she was a Soul Guardian! She could reach out and touch them, talk to them, listen to their troubles and even play with them. She supposed it was hard for her to imagine such things as death and war, having never left the valley for more than a few days. Even then she was chaperoned by her mother or Coln Brewen. She had never done anything adventurous. Maybe that was why it all seemed so unreal, so ominous and incomprehensible.
The Lier’sinn began to pop and spit. The sound dragged Brea from the edge of sleep. She rushed through to the table and quickly picked up a cloth. Covering her nose and mouth, she waved the steam away from above the silky surface… and waited… and waited… and—
Please, hurry it up; this stinks. Hurry up!
Eventually, the mist cleared. She immediately recognised where the Lier’sinn had taken her to: the Geddy footbridge, not far from Albergeddy. She had crossed that very bridge not two years ago. She and her mother had gone to Ealdihain with Reagin Vickers to buy goats, some fresh blood for their herd. It had been the farthest she had travelled from home. And a real disappointment: Albergeddy was a dreary little town, full of dirty miners, rude canal workers and—.
Again, she shook her head. Why are you thinking about Albergeddy? What’s so remarkable about that place?
She let the thought go and stared down into the Lier’sinn…
Well, at least we know where you are, Mr. Cinné’arth, or whatever your name is. And, by the looks of it, which way you’re heading, too.
She continued gazing into the Lier’sinn. It focused on a small group of people. “There you are,” she whispered. The big man – the one Tor wanted her to follow – and his older friend were talking with another group which were standing beside a cart with a broken wheel. She watched as they spoke, annoyed the Lier’sinn did not let her hear them, too.
She could not tell if they were arguing, but they were discussing something. A tall girl and another man appeared from out of nowhere. The girl and one of the other men were quarrelling; she was pointing at the big man and waving her arms.
That made Brea’s eyebrows rise. What does she have to do with anything?
After a while, and more talking, the travellers – all seven of them – headed off across the bridge. The picture faded.
Brea stood, swept her hair over her shoulder, and tossed the cloth back on the table. “So… now there are seven.” And one of you is a girl! She pondered the vision for a few moments. “What have we learned…? You’re three weeks west, leaving the Geddy Vale, heading in this direction, and you have five more people with you.” Brea chuckled to herself. Tor’gan is going to love this.
She walked over to the tunnel entrance and shouted, “Rek, it’s time for your medicine!”
A faint yelp of disappointment drifted down from the den.
CHAPTER 9
The sun had dipped halfway to the western horizon when Gialyn and the other travellers reached the border of Arandor, the midpoint to their first campsite. The last few hours had passed by peacefully, with only the odd moan or mumble about chafed shoulders or sore feet. All seemed well. Gialyn was beginning to think his father had worried over nothing – Daric had mentioned travelling with the Tanners may be troublesome. They were not easy people to get along with, that much was beyond doubt, but maybe it would not be so bad; maybe the Tanners were more mature than either he or his father had thought.
However, as with most bouts of wishful thinking, no sooner had the thought crossed Gialyn’s mind…
The grumbling and moaning gathered like a winter storm: a sarcastic smile here, an ill-conceived joke there, followed by a childish rebuttal. For twenty minutes, their teasing continued in that vein. By the time the travellers reached the Serath’alor valley, the Tanners were at each other’s throats.
“Will you stop it? For the love of Ein’laig, just be quiet for five minutes, please!” Elspeth said. It seemed her already limited reserves of patience were exhausted.
“But you wouldn’t have won, not if Vin had spent half the time practicing you did. I bet if he had one day’s practice he would have beaten you.”
Elspeth’s brother had been rambling on about the archery tourney for the past half hour. Gialyn knew the fool’s argument was more for his benefit. Ealian still believed the Hill Climb victory should have been his. But the selfish little twolloc could not face Gialyn, not without his cronies to urge him on and protect him. Coward. So poor Elspeth had to take the brunt of Ealian’s nonsense.
“I’ll gladly prove it to you, Brother,” Elspeth said. “Put that apple on your head and go walk twenty paces in front. I’ll show you how good I am with a bow.”
The Dragon Oracles: Omnibus Edition (The Eastern Kingdom Omnibus Book 1) Page 9
