The Dragon Oracles: Omnibus Edition (The Eastern Kingdom Omnibus Book 1)

by T. J. Garrett

  “Who are the Karakin?” Gialyn asked.

  Toban looked at Kirin before answering; maybe he would rather someone else took up the story from there. Kirin waved him on…

  “The Karakin are the Lost Clan of Alphas,” Toban said. “Wolves that were snared and bound to serve Ash’mael and his followers. Yes, I know your next question, Gialyn. Ash’mael was an Oracle, one of the original six. The other five are Ash’mael’s… uh… disciples, or, at least, he is the first among equals. Together, they serve Diobael. They are as close to true evil as this world has known. Yet they stay within Aldregair. Nobody knows why. Most think they are guarding something. But what it is they are guarding is anyone’s guess. The Karakin are evil beasts, neither alive nor dead, so they say. Just pray to the gods they do not choose to leave.”

  Kirin’thar clapped his hands on the table. “Let’s not concern ourselves with things that won’t happen. Let us deal with what is in front of us.” He filled his goblet with wine and handed the bottle along to Daric. “It was only last night, in that very clearing, the dragon Tor and I were discussing the Kel’madden. The one question we could not answer was from which direction would the Kel’madden attack. Without that knowledge, we cannot plan a counter. You must destroy the map. If they find a means to travel safely through the tunnels…”

  Kirin looked to the heavens in despair. “We will only have three weeks, maybe a month, before they fall on Bailryn – and the palace. Whether we know their plan or not, there is no time to counter an attack through Aldregair. They would be on us too soon.” Kirin looked at each in turn. “There will be no getting them out. The whole east coast, from the Isles to the Raithby Delta, will be under Kel’madden control.”

  Daric stared into his cup. “It may not be all bad,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” Kirin asked.

  “We are on this trek of ours because of the guard recruitment. We think the ceremony may be a ruse to bring able-bodied young men to the capital. The royal messenger delivered the invitations, along with travel warrants and written proofs. Never has a simple recruitment been handled in such a way. In three weeks, Bailryn will become the host to thousands of eager would-be soldiers.”

  “Sneaky,” Kirin said, rubbing his chin, “but…” He shrugged, then leaned back into his chair. “Anyway, you must still travel to the keep at Cul’taris. Whether they know or not, I doubt they will be aware of the army in Northern Barath, or their plans to use the tunnels.”

  “Indeed not,” Daric said. “Do you have horses?”

  “Yes, although they are all Tall Horses. They’ll do for Arfael, but—. Never mind all that, they won’t travel through the Morrdin, and that map is still your priority. I will find horses for you and send them to North Wood. At least your journey will be swift from there: a day’s hard ride to Gieth’eire.”

  “Agreed.” Daric nodded.

  Kirin settled and turned his attention to Elspeth. “And you, young lady, you must go back to the Geddy and get that father of yours to convince the magistrate in Beugeddy to send aid, and as soon as possible.”

  Elspeth sat up, stumbling for words. “My father is only the manager of Rundair. I don’t think he has seen the magistrate since we moved.”

  “No matter, I’ll send scrolls with the seal of Crenach’coi, one for your father and one for the magistrate. They will believe that.”

  “But…” She flung her hands in the air. “I can’t just go back.”

  “We must warn Ealdihain and the other western counties,” Kirin said. “We cannot leave them open to attack. The Kel’madden might be headed for the tunnels, but does not mean some won’t turn west.”

  Elspeth nodded. He shoulders dropped and she sank back in her chair.

  Kirin looked to Arfael. “And now, sir, to you.” He sighed. “The dragons of Aldriegan are in dire need of your assistance. You must travel to Braylair in the Bren’alor valley as soon as you are able.”

  Olam’s looked from Kirin to Arfael and back. “You think us mad?” he asked Kirin. “Did you not see what just happened out there?”

  “I understand that, sir. But the Gan will need him,” Kirin said. “You should call on a girl named Brea. She lives in the Braylair. She will be expecting you. The girl is a Soul Guardian, and very powerful. She will be able to help.” Kirin’thar cupped his hands as though praying. “Please, make no judgement on that which has come to pass today, or on any day until now. It is vital you attend. The entire campaign could very well hinge on your action, Arfael.”

  Arfael looked vacantly at Kirin. He blinked and bowed his head. “Is this my destiny, Cren?”

  “Your destiny,” Kirin’thar barked, “was written one hundred and twenty-three years ago. This is just another chapter; one you alone can read. Do you not know who you are?”

  Olam leaned forward. “Destiny? Are you saying he is the elder brother? That he is, indeed, Arlyn? Nothing we have heard thus far has convinced us of that.”

  Convinced…? The elder brother…? What is the man talking about? “Yes, of course he is. How could you not know this?”

  Toban spoke, “We knew he was one of the three brothers—”

  “Well, he is the Cinné’arth. Arlyn Gan’ifael, the Saviour of Barais’coi, the Destroyer of Eiras’moya, the Third Tribe of Cu’ifael.”

  Silence filled the room. A long, awkward moment followed, where Kirin kept his eyes on the Cinné’arth.

  Then…

  “I know,” Arfael whispered. “I have known since Illeas’den. I understand who I am. I do not understand what I’m supposed to do. I owe nothing to you or your crusade. My duty is my own. I owe nothing to anyone, and I will not be controlled.”

  Kirin’thar waved away Arfael’s speech. “Your duty is not your own. You are Kel’mai. You owe everything to your brothers, and to those who died trying to save this land. And as for being controlled… you are the Cinné’arth, we are yours to control, Arfael, if you should wish it so. Now you just get yourself straight, young man. We need you. We don’t need self-pity.”

  Arfael began to shake. For a moment, it appeared as if he were about to change. His face turned red and his eyes yellowed. Olam and Elspeth both tried to calm him, but Kirin’thar banged his fist on the table. “Leave the Cinné’arth be. It is his choice. He is of no use to use if making the—”

  “That’s enough!” Daric shouted. “I don’t know what he is. I don’t know who he is. But as far as I can see, the man is a soldier, and he has fought his battles. Gods know that’s the truth. You will not force him into anything.”

  “I must go,” Arfael whispered loud enough for all to hear. “Thank you, Daric, but Kirin’thar is right. And even if he were not, I can’t turn my back on all of this without learning more. I will see this… girl… you speak of. I cannot know my next step until I discover more of where I have been.”

  “Well said, my friend.” Olam nodded and patted Arfael’s shoulder.

  All but Elspeth seemed in agreement. “Arfael, you do not have to fight if you don’t know what you’re fighting for.”

  He smiled. “And that’s why I’m going, little one.”

  Kirin stood and bowed. “Finish your food and rest if you can, though I don’t know how you will sleep – I certainly won’t.” He turned to his wife. “Loreanna has prepared cots for you all, and there is a place to wash at the end of the hall. If you need anything else, please ask. Don’t be shy.” Kirin’thar left them to finish while he spoke with his wife.

  * * *

  The travellers sat silent for a long minute. No one wanted to lift their eyes from their plates, knowing it would start a conversation none particularly wanted to have.

  Gialyn broke the silence. “I don’t mean to be selfish,” he said. “But what am I to do in all of this?”

  “You’ll go back to Albergeddy with Elspeth. Someone must see to your mother,” Daric said.

  Gialyn nodded. “Of course; mother. Sorry, I didn’t think.”

  “Well, if you
ask me,” Elspeth said, “If he has to go anyway, then Gialyn may as well take the scroll. I can’t leave. What of my brother? I very much doubt he will be ready to travel anytime soon, even if the Cren have healed him.”

  Daric flicked his head back. “Ealian… gods, I forgot about him. You are right, Elspeth. We will see how things are when we get back to the others. Then we will decide who goes where.”

  Olam took a deep breath. “My friends, I know it is going to be difficult, but I suggest we all get some sleep. I do not think it wise to take on the Morrdin without at least some rest.”

  “You make a good point,” Daric said. “Come on. Sleep or not, we can close our eyes for a few hours.”

  * * *

  The next few hours passed quickly, and after a quick breakfast – if they could call it “breakfast” in the middle of the afternoon – the travellers gathered in the courtyard in front of Kirin’thar’s house.

  “Did you sleep at all?” Kirin asked the group. A few murmurs and bouts of muttered waffling followed. Kirin laughed. “Me neither,” he said. “Anyway, I suggest you all take one of these; use them at Trees of Morrdin.” Kirin passed out cloth bandanas to the group.

  Elspeth took a sniff. “Ah… that’s…”

  “Kalli root,” Olam answered for her.

  “Yes,” Kirin said. “It will clear your mind for the hour you will be among them.”

  “An hour?” Elspeth said.

  Cal approached the group. “Yes, it is daylight. We should get through in an hour. The straight path is only three miles.”

  “Are you coming back with us?” Gialyn asked

  “Yes, I am.” Cal did not seem pleased at the prospect.

  “Cal and Mateaf will travel with you to the Northern Keep, as our emissaries,” Kirin’thar said. “If needed, they will go to the palace. It is passed time we organised ourselves. We must stand together, or not at all.” He waved a finger as if highlighting his point – especially to Cahldien.

  “Are we ready?” Daric asked. All nodded in reply. “And you will send horses to the north, Kirin?”

  Kirin’thar bowed. “All will be waiting at the crossroads, by the sign to Be’olyn and Cul’taris. They will wait as long as necessary.”

  “We’re not going through Be’olyn, are we?” Elspeth asked.

  “No, child. Your path is north.”

  “Well, off we go again,” Daric said.

  Cal led them through the west gate. Kirin watched as, one by one, they disappeared down the bank. “Betting our future on a bunch of Surabhan,” he mumbled. “Tor, I hope you know what you are doing.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Good, Bad and Ancient

  The small Salrian troop had thus far spent six days south of the Raithby River. In all that time, they had found no sign of the Surabhan travellers Si’eth had ordered them to shadow. Jern, their leader, was beginning to think they were wasting their time. They would have been better off staying with Si’eth and the others.

  During those six days, Jern had led his men up and down the riverbank, looking for tracks, travelling as far south as the Eurmac trail. He had thought their task would have been done with three days ago, and yet they were approaching the edge of Crenach’coi for the second time… or was it the third?

  For the most part, they had travelled at night, taking turns to stand watch during the day. They had found plenty of tracks, but none of them human. Jern had hoped to catch sight of a campfire – which was why they were travelling at night – but thus far, nothing.

  Jern’s men had started moaning about the damp, humid condition almost as soon as they left the field next to wolf village. Now, they could not go five minutes without someone saying something. Most complained about the rations; the food they had brought had run out two days back. Berries and the odd raw egg were all they had eaten since. Not that there was not plenty of game to hunt; it was cooking that was the problem. “No fires!” That order was the last Si’eth had given them. But orders or not, they would have to eat soon.

  “Are we crossing this bloody river again?” Uld’eth moaned. Uld’eth had expected to take charge of their party; he was the senior officer. Now, all he did was complain. “This is the second time we’ve crossed and the third time we’ve made camp here. We would do better staying in one place. They could have passed us already.”

  Jern scowled as he turned to answer the old officer’s complaint. “There is more than one path, Uld’eth. If we stayed in the same camp, they would likely pass us by.” He shook his head, then nodded towards the trail. “You are supposed to be looking for tracks, not more reasons to whine.”

  “As you say… sir,” Uld’eth answered.

  His tone put a burr in Jern’s foot; he was beginning to wish Bre’ach had given the older man command. However, Uld’eth was not of their troop, and more experienced or not, tradition dictated that Jern must take the lead. More’s the pity; he would have followed the man on this wasteful errand with no argument. At least then, Uld’eth would be the one explaining their failure to Si’eth.

  Jern formed his men up on the south bank and made ready to cross in pairs to the far eastern corner of Raithby’s Plateau – three miles southeast of the waterfall where Si’eth was supposed to have set his ambush.

  Once over the river, the Salrians huddled for cover behind a line of wildberry and lemonleaf bushes just inside the Crenach’coi boundary.

  They were not particularly quiet about it, Jern noticed; he grimaced as he heard the men kicking about in the undergrowth, making room for their bedrolls.

  They had started behaving this way two nights ago, around the time the food ran out. Slow following orders, talking back, not maintaining cover, arguing aloud with each other: very un-soldier-like behaviour. Uld’eth did not help; the older man’s constant whining was most likely what had started it all. Trusting someone to stand watch all day was going to prove difficult.

  “We will post lookouts in twos,” Jern said, hoping they would be less likely to sleep on the job if there was more than one sentry.

  Moans of malcontent echoed around the bushes.

  “Why would you do that?” Uld’eth protested. “We will have to double up on shifts, two each.”

  Folding his arms, Jern stared at the older man. “Shifts will be three hours. You and I will take the middle one.” The other Salrians smiled and nodded. Of course, for them, three-hour shifts would mean six hours of uninterrupted sleep. Uld’eth, on the other hand, gave Jern smirk that said what he thought of the idea.

  The day passed uneventfully.

  Kipp woke Jern for the second time just as the sun began to dip below the trees to the west. Jern nodded his thanks while rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Wake the others and see to the water.” The lookout nodded half-heartedly, then walked along the line of sleeping Salrians, kicking the bottom of their feet as he went.

  Uld’eth immediately resumed his complaining. “When are we going to call it a day and have done with this nonsense?”

  “Like I said, one more day and we will backtrack. No use looking for Si’eth. We could cause more harm than good. Best we go back the way we came, wait for him at Herann’coi. I do not see another choice, other than walking around in circles.”

  “He won’t be happy, not one bit.”

  Gods, does the man want to go home or not?

  Jern sighed. “We had our orders. We have carried out our orders. The bloody Surabhan could have crawled this far by now. No. They’ve not gone south, and that’s what we were sent to prevent – our job is done.” Jern nodded assertively as though he were convincing himself of his explanation.

  Uld’eth picked a few berries from the bush in front of him while he spoke, “That’s fine with me,” he said. “But if we’re wrong, it is your head, not mine.” He chuckled to himself.

  Jern bit his lip. Stone the fool if he’s not trying to ruin me. “We will go a few hours north, go by that gully. If we can pick up any trails, if there’s any sign of them, the comman
der has dealt with it already – Si’eth would not care about leaving tracks once the southerners are captured. If not, they must have gone another way. What is it? Forty leagues to the wolf village? Six days is far too long, even for the Surabhan female.”

  Uld’eth nodded, not laughing this time. If the Surabhan had slipped by, if they had gone south, Si’eth would be left waiting at the gully – waiting for two days or more. No one would be spared that much anger, not even Uld’eth.

  Night fell while Jern and the other Salrians broke camp. They did not make a much better job of it than the last time they were here. Jern sighed at the broken branches and half-eaten sour apples. He was thankful Si’eth would not be travelling south on their way back home. A child could find this camp.

  The moon rose while a few stray clouds still lingered on the horizon. Jern was glad of the light; the Crenach’coi was no place to spend the night – no place for a Salrian, at any rate. There were few forests in the mountains of An’aird Barath. River, stone, and mud were what they had used to build houses in Jern’s village, not wood. Even the chairs and tables were mostly woven reeds. The tax on transporting wood was so high, only the merchants and noblemen of Barath City could afford it – another reason to hate the bloody Surabhan.

  Jern ordered his men to head back west until they reached the tributary, and then across to the northern path at the base of the gully. They kept to the trees for as long as they could, and then scurried along the base of the ridge. The outlet at the foot of the waterfall’s plunge pool was shallow enough to wade, and half of it could be crossed by hopping stones.

  It was soon apparent – even to the inexperienced Jern – that a fight of some kind had taken place here: tracks, splintered arrows, blood. The Salrians looked about for signs of their commander. Nothing of any note, though some looked curiously at the contents of one of their belt packs strewn among bloodied rags. Someone was injured. Or more importantly, somebody was alive to treat someone who was injured.