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

by T. J. Garrett

  A loud clattering drew his attention away from the walls. He winced, as one of the ten-span-high wooden posts – those that were to hold up the marquee – fell heavily onto the granite slab courtyard. The four-horse team, tethered to the post, thrashed wildly, dragging their handler as they tried to escape the noise. Tables and trellis’s collapsed, as workers tried to escape the stampeding animals. Great piles of linen, plates and brass-worked candlestick holders were hurdled through the air, as the horses dragged the long post toward the gate. Vierdan shook his head. What a mess!

  The ceremony was supposed to be glorious. The first time in his eight-year reign for this once-a-decade celebration, full of feasting, competitions, dancing and merriment, and not just for the royals, either – it was to be a party for all Aleras’moya. Now it was nothing but a shamble of stampeding horses and wasted preparation. All thanks to Vila’slae and her broken promise of peace.

  The new “Bailryn-Eiras accord” was to be his crowning glory, a fitting accomplishment for his first decade as king – and an answer to his critics. Taking a deep breath through his nose, Vierdan straightened his shoulders and stiffened his jaw. She must think me a fool. Let them come! I will show her the penalty for crossing the House of Eidred…

  …If only he truly believed that. Half the army south of Linieth, barely three thousand guards in the capital, and half of them next to useless: the Kel’madden could walk up and knock on the gate.

  Vierdan stood when the doorman announced Evin Cesim. The First Keeper was a handsome woman, just short of her middle years. She had come to the palace as a kitchen maid of no more than ten. Otto remembered her from when he, too, was but a child, sneaking into the kitchens to steal a midnight snack of sweetroll or honey cake. In fewer than fifteen years, she had worked her way up to Head of House, and only another five before earning the title of First Keeper. Which itself was only a rung short of nobility. There was nothing concerning the Royal Court that Evin Cesim did not know.

  “How much has all this cost me?” Vierdan asked. He didn’t really have to ask; the troubled look on her face and the thick scrolls resting in the crook of her elbow told him enough.

  “Almost four thousand, Your Majesty.”

  He knew she didn’t mean silver. Four thousand Ren and not a single glass of wine poured. “Can we claw any back? The treasury will need that gold to pay for ships.”

  Vierdan knew Vila’slae’s first act would be to cut off the supply run to Redgate… if she hadn’t done so already. That only left the southern road, and whatever they could import from the lower islands. Absently, his mind turned to Ambassador Faelen; he would see that man hung before this was finished.

  “The food won’t go to waste, Majesty. The guards will be eating better than they are accustomed to, but that is all to the good. I think morale will be up, and we won’t need to resupply for a good while. The wine will keep, and we have more chickens, sheep and cows than we know what to do with.”

  Despite his mood, Vierdan had to smile; Evin would always see the good side. “Do we have enough feed?” He asked, sitting back down on the windowsill. “All well and good keeping live animals, but feeding them could take food out of people’s mouths.”

  “We have enough for a month, and more on the way, assuming the Redgate road isn’t blocked.”

  Vierdan nodded. He suddenly felt grateful that the rest of the army were in Linieth; if they were here, too, the food would not last a week. Still, they would be back soon enough, and would bring more supplies with them, he hoped. “And what of the nobles? Are they saying anything? The emissaries; have we heard from Eurmac?”

  Evin bit her lip. “The nobles are in a hurry to visit their country estates, Majesty; all but Lord Breen. He is in the palace, awaiting your pleasure. No message from the Emissaries, yet, but Captain— sorry, Major Re’adh is here, in prison.”

  “Major who? And why is he in prison?”

  “Major Re’adh, Majesty. You remember, I mentioned he had some dealings with the Crenach’dair. He came with a unit from Cul’taris. Lord Breen had him arrested.”

  Vierdan scratched his chin. He could vaguely remember Evin mentioning something about the Cren Woodsmen, but no officer. “Speak plain, Evin; why is he in jail? Or, more importantly, why should I care if he is in prison?”

  Evin curtsied. She knew when to stop running around the houses and get to the point. “Majesty, Daric Re’adh was the Captain of the Guard. He retired from service a few years ago and was travelling back to Bailryn for the festival. On the way, he discovered Vila’slae’s plot and, somehow, managed to pull the Cren Woodsmen under the King’s Banner. I don’t know the full story, yet. I believe he also thinks Faelen was working directly with the witch. I don’t know why Lord Breen has had Daric arrested.”

  Vierdan threw his head back and laughed. “Because Lord Breen is up to his neck in this, too, Evin. I would not be surprised if half the nobles were involved. Idiots; they think Vila’slae will give them their Senate.” He raised his hands in the air. “Why am I telling you this? You likely know more than I.”

  Walking to the little table, Vierdan poured himself some wine, and then gestured to Evin to help herself. As usual, she declined. “Daric Re’adh? Now you mention it, I do remember him. He got married, did he not? Went off to be a farmer or some such. How did he get himself rolled up in this mess?”

  Evin took a step forward and handed him a scroll. “It’s a long story, Majesty and, as I said, I don’t know all of it. You should send for him.”

  Vierdan took the scroll, broke the seal, and unrolled it, all the while keeping an eye on Evin – she was up to something. The script was elegant, but the note short. At the top, a column of signatories, and what looked like a huge paw print. At the bottom…

  I, Kirin’thar, Head of the Crenach’dair Council of Elders, do pledge fealty on behalf of the signatories to His Royal Majesty King Vierdan. We hereby promise aid in the defence of Aleras’moya for the good of all, for as long as the Kel’madden threat remains.

  “The Cren?” Vierdan whispered. “Good to have on our side, no doubting that, and yet, will we defeat the witch just to hand the kingdom over to the Woodsmen?” He looked to Evin for an answer, but nothing. “Bring Major Re’adh here. I must have his thoughts on the matter. If he is a ‘good man,’ then perhaps we can find a better use for him than farming.”

  * * *

  An hour after Evin’s visit, Daric found himself standing in the corridor outside the king’s audience room. Still in his prison rags, he was aware that he smelled like last week’s chamber pot. Still, Evin stood by him, and for a wonder, she didn’t comment. He would not have blamed her if she covered her nose with her kerchief, though.

  The palace looked much the same as it had the last time he was there. Not that he often saw the king, of course. In fact, he could not remember ever coming to the third floor; the king’s own guards patrolled the private apartments. Yet every corridor looked pretty much the same; bland walls, sparsely decorated with old tapestries paintings; brown slate floors matching the corniced ceilings; and every now and then an iron or brass torch holder or stand-lamp, unlit, but ready with fresh wick and oil. Here and there, a nook held pottery or porcelain, usually jars or a bowl, some with flowers. On every landing, the King’s Standard draped from ceiling to floor, mostly on the crosswalks, or opposite a window. They were colourful enough to make up for the lack of décor. In a rich red with blue trim, the banners hung so the King’s Crest – two cranes over a portcullis, all in silver on a field of red – was plain for all to see. But none of that concerned Daric. He focused his attention on the tall dark wood door two paces in front.

  It wasn’t the ideal circumstance under which to meet his king. Still, he tried ordering his thoughts, which was hard – he had no idea how much Vierdan knew, or what his reaction might be to Daric’s plans, such as they were. The king had to accept the Cren’s help, theirs more than any other. The Woodsmen’s presence in the city would send a strong m
essage to the Kel’madden. Sighing, he hoped Vierdan wasn’t the fool he was rumoured to be.

  The door opened, and Daric stood up straight, readying himself for the call to enter.

  The man who exited the room was not the king’s footman, though. Lord Breen sauntered out, hand on sword hilt, and chin raised high. The man stopped when he saw Daric waiting in the hall.

  Breen was a tall man, dark, with an evil look in his eye that didn’t change, despite his attempt at a smile. He looked down his crooked nose at Daric, chest moving in a silent laugh. “You should have stayed on your farm, Captain,” Breen said, raising his chin even higher. Daric thought the man might crick his neck if he tilted his head back any further.

  “That’s Major Re’adh, my lord.” Evin’s tone was polite, and she even curtsied, albeit shallowly.

  Breen shot her an angry glance then smoothed his expression almost immediately. He tilted his head. “My pardon, Lady Cesim. Major Re’adh.” He said the last to Daric.

  Daric could think of a few choice words he would like to share with his lordship, and more than a few questions. But he kept his jaw tight and only stared at the man. His time would come. Right now, Daric was more concerned with what the man had said to King Vierdan. How far did the lord’s scheming go? Was the king involved? He put that thought out of his head as soon as it popped up; the king would not be working with a man bent on destroying the monarchy, if, indeed, that was Breen’s plan. For all Daric knew, his lordship could have something quite different in mind.

  Breen bowed – barely a nod, really – before ushering his guards forward. Four men fell in around him, two in front and two behind. Daric watched as the tall man disappeared around the corner. So intent was he on his thoughts that he didn’t hear the footman calling. Evin poked him in the ribs. “Uh, oh, yes, of course. You should go first.”

  Evin smiled. “Actually, the guard goes first, you are a prisoner, after all,” she said in a wry tone.

  A guard, dressed in the King’s Colours, stood in front of Daric, facing the open door. After a moment, Evin told him to lead on.

  The audience room was plain, too, not unlike the corridors. A lone chair – a regal-looking thing with more curves and carved edges than a Toyan sculpture – stood at the far end of the room on a low dais. On Daric’s right, three arched windows opened to the breeze, with coloured glass panels that rose almost to the ceiling. A table decked with silver candleholders, fruit bowls and a few books stretched half way along the left wall. Two iron chandeliers on wrist-thick chains hung from the vaulted ceiling. The only lavish decoration was the deep red carpet which filled the centre of the room, patterned in the Eurmacian style – likely a gift from the regent.

  Daric didn’t want to stand on the carpet in his dirty slippers, but the king waved them forward.

  A handsome man with deep red hair, King Vierdan was even taller than Breen. He stepped with grace as he made his way towards the middle window. Long slender arms and the casual flick of his hilt told Daric that the man knew how to use the sword on his belt. The king looked regal, yet uncomfortable, in his high-collared coat. Despite the heat, the buttons were done up tight to his neck. Yet, for all his posturing, Vierdan reminded Daric of Gialyn. He was sure the young man, now sitting on the window ledge, would like nothing more than to throw his coat over the chair and lounge in the breeze. Still, he was king! Young or not, inexperienced or not, he made a good show of it.

  “Do you know there are ten thousand wolves heading this way along the Great Western Road? Is that some of your doing, too?” Vierdan asked. He glanced at the wine tray, and then at the footman, before waving a finger in Daric’s direction.

  “Not my doing, Majesty.” Daric tried to keep his voice as conciliatory as possible; no good would come from setting the man on edge. “The Rukin feel threatened by the Kel’madden, too.” He nodded as the footman handed him a goblet of wine. Raising the hammered silver cup, Daric toasted the king’s health before taking a sip.

  The king accepted his salutation. Placing his back against the wide stone riser, he held out his goblet for the footman to refill. “Ten thousand, Major. I did not know there were ten thousand Rukin.”

  Daric met Vierdan’s eye as the king stared over the top of his goblet. The younger man’s words sounded full of scepticism. What did he want Daric to say? Was the man worried about the wolves? Now he thought on it, Daric did not realise there were ten thousand Rukin, either! In fact, he was sure there was not. It must be an exaggeration: travellers’ tales adding a thousand wolves for every new pair of ears. Either that, or Aleban had somehow gathered thousands of Wildlings or Darkin. He knew the Rukin wolves were resourceful, but surely they had not had enough time to assemble that many, never mind gather them at the Great Western Road. “I don’t know, Majesty, but however many there are, they are coming to fight under your banner.”

  King Vierdan peered into his goblet. He chewed at his lip before sighing and looking out the window. “So long as they know their way home, once all this is done. House Eidred has no quarrel with the Rukin, you understand. The truth is, we do better living apart. I don’t know if you have kept up with current affairs, Major, while living on your farm, but a king who opens the city gates to wolves is asking for trouble. Do you have assurance of their fealty?” Vierdan looked at the scroll rolled up on the windowsill in front of him.

  Everything Daric did not miss about living in Bailryn came flooding back. The games, the whispered innuendo, the self-serving agendas; it was all he could do not to groan. Ten thousand wolves coming to fight under the King’s Banner – the man should be skipping around his throne, sending emissaries out to greet them and planning a party for their arrival. But no; as usual, the palace’s only concern was the palace.

  Maybe that was a step too far; maybe the king’s reluctance was understandable – it had only been a few weeks since Daric himself had argued with Olam against travelling through wolf country. Of course, he knew better now. The wolves were not only trustworthy; they were honourable and fair-minded. If only there were time to teach the king such a lesson. “I’m sure they will fight at our side, Majesty, only so long as the threat remains. Their leader, Toban, came to the palace with me. I’m sure he can answer your questions better than I can. I’m sure the Cren feel—”

  Vierdan all but spat out his wine. “A wolf king! In the palace! Where is he?” The young man stood and made a gesture to the footman, who immediately ran to the door. Two guards followed him back in and stood at attention.

  Daric stared at the guards, then at the footman, then back to the king. He fought back the urge to shout, to tell Vierdan to calm down. Before he knew what he was going to say, he took a step forward and raised his hand to the guards. Fortunately, Evin interrupted him before he reached them.

  “Your Majesty, Toban is not a ‘king,’” Evin told him. She took a step forward and placed her hand on Daric’s arm until he put his hand down. “He is an elected official; a representative, no more.” Vierdan scowled at her before sitting down in the gilded chair. Evin continued, “We should pay him the respect afforded a human ambassador.”

  Daric tried not to smile. Then the thought of what he was about to do made him wince – shouting at the king… manhandling his guard… Gods. He could have kissed Evin.

  The king’s colour returned. Leaning back in the chair, he waved the guards away. “Yes, you are right. Bring him here, I should speak to him.”

  Evin blinked and made a small coughing sound. “I’m afraid he left when Major Re’adh was arrested, Majesty, along with the Crenach’dair representative and… and a Salrian – a captain in the An’aird militia – a man called Si’eth Uldmae.”

  Vierdan’s head tilted away. Resting his goblet on the arm of the chair, he stared up at the ceiling. “Where would they have gone?” he asked.

  Daric had to think. Grady would not go to his mother-in-law’s, not if he could help it, and making for the barracks was unlikely. Then he remembered. “The Green Man.”
Vierdan raised an eyebrow. “It is an inn, Majesty, in the Dockland Quarter. Grady knows it well.” Daric couldn’t help a sly grin. For a while, Grady all but lived at the inn. “It’s as good a place to start looking as any. I’ll go myself.”

  “No,” Vierdan said, nodding at the footman. “I’ll send word to have them brought here. I have other work for you, Major Re’adh.” The footman left without so much as a by your leave.

  Daric watched as Vierdan stood and walked to the long table. Rifling through papers, the tall man stopped at a large open parchment. After a quiet moment reading, the king flicked the paper with his finger and waved Daric over. Vierdan handed him the parchment. It was a list of names, addresses and dates.

  Pointing to the list, the king said, “The Black Hand are winding themselves around my feet, Major. They are waiting to trip me up, or force me into a corner. Breen and that fool Faelen are only the start of it. Half the nobles would vote for a Senate, and the others are too weak to do anything but follow. Yet, the one advantage I have is that the people are happy. I am a benign leader: fair, open and generous. As strong as Breen has become, he doesn’t want a riot.”

  “So he trusts Vila’slae to hand him a Senate? I wouldn’t have thought him so stupid.”

  “He’s not; he has positioned his forces to the south and west and holds alliances with Toya and Krasis. The man sits waiting for us to falter, so he can swoop in and save the day. No, he is playing Vila’slae every bit as much as he is playing the palace. Of course, he can only play the hero if we fail. So he will have to make sure of we do. Fortunately, Breen only has a few options. Sabotage the docks, cut off water, destroy the gas supplies for our streetlamps, or maybe poison the food stores. Any of those will suit his goal. But I cannot defend everything. I need someone I can trust to whittle down the options, give me something to aim at.”