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

by T. J. Garrett

  The sound made Gialyn shudder. He put his hands over his ears and tightened up into a ball. The last time he had heard anything like it, he was floating down the Raithby River, holding onto his father’s unconscious body. Opening his eyes, he looked to his left, and sure enough, the Cinnè’arth – Arfael’s other self – was standing three paces away. Arfael, who was now half a span taller and wide with it, screeched again. Gialyn winced; the sound seemed to fill his head.

  When he peered back over the thorn bush, Ban and Lyduk were circling the clearing a few hundred paces away. The little dragon was down on the ground, not moving.

  Gialyn looked across at Arfael. The big man had already changed back into his… human shape. Seemed he could change back and forth whenever he wanted to. So that’s why the Kel’mai made that armour stretchy, he thought, looking at Arfael’s armour.

  Brea was already up and around the thorn bush, running as fast as she could towards the dragons.

  “Wait! Brea!” Gialyn shouted, but the girl just kept running. Quickly gathering his things, he followed her. Alacin and Arfael were already ten paces ahead.

  When he reached the dragons, the little one was snapping at Brea. Ban and Lyduk were down, too, standing either side of the Gaw.

  “You should leave him to calm down,” Ban told her.

  As usual, Brea ignored everyone else. “Alacin, talk to him; make him see we are not the enemy,” she said

  Gialyn didn’t think she meant, “talk.”

  Alacin raised his hands and closed his eyes. The little dragon muttered something that sounded like, “If you come near me, I’ll kill you,” but Alacin kept moving forward. He was as pig-headed as the girl. But by the time he laid his hands on the dragon’s neck, the beast was breathing steadily and lying calmly on his side.

  The Gaw had a deep gash above his eye. Arfael’s yell had disorientated it, causing the Drin to crash. Ban and Lyduk didn’t look too steady on their feet, either. It was a good trick, but maybe next time Arfael should warn them he was going to do it.

  “Get the old bread out of the pack, and bring me some water,” Brea ordered. Gialyn spun round, looking for the food pack. It was still on Lyduk’s back. “And the big bowl. Bring the big bowl, too.”

  Gialyn gathered what she wanted and brought it to her. She was kneeling by the dragon’s mouth. A stupid place to sit, Gialyn thought, but telling her that was likely useless. She grabbed the bowl and began mashing up the old bread, mixing it with some water. Once it had turned into the thickness of porridge, she took her dagger and cut her palm. Gialyn winced; she could have given him a warning. The girl sat there for a minute while her blood dripped into the bread-porridge.

  “Is this his only wound?” she asked Lyduk.

  The bemused dragon did his best impression of a shrug. “How would I know?” he asked.

  “Well, you could look. Is he bleeding from anywhere else?”

  Ban and Lyduk looked the dragon over, and Arfael did a slow circle. “Not unless his bones are broken,” Lyduk said. “He has no more cuts.”

  Brea nodded. She looked relieved. She wrapped a cloth around her wounded hand and began massaging the bloody porridge into the dragon’s wound. The dragon grunted a bit, but otherwise stayed still. “Gods, the poor thing isn’t much older than Rek, maybe twenty, if that.”

  “He can talk, so he must be at least that,” Lyduk added.

  “Is this wise?” Ban asked Brea. “What are we going to do with him? He will attack again, once he is well enough.”

  “No, he won’t,” Alacin answered. “He is with us now. I have removed the witch’s block.”

  Brea looked as surprised and everyone else. “Really! Can you do that?”

  “Apparently,” Alacin answered, removing his hands from the dragon’s neck. “If only I could do it without having to touch them.”

  Brea nodded her agreement. “Still, it’s a good skill to have. Can you teach me?”

  Alacin’s eyebrows rose. “I wasn’t aware that you were a Raic, Brea.”

  Brea looked at him with a cheeky smile on her lips. “I’m an Oracle, Alacin. Using the Voice is the least of my talents. Well, not the least. Yes, I can do what you can.”

  Alacin looked up at Arfael and then back to Brea. “Then why am I here?” he laughed.

  “Because I haven’t learned it all yet.”

  An hour later, the little dragon – his name was Karlas – was up on his feet. They were all walking back towards the trees, to a stream. Karlas wasn’t much bigger than Brea’s friend, Rek: maybe half-a-span longer. He had almost the same colouring, too. Small wonder the girl was so protective. Brea was talking to him…

  “…and then turn south. If you follow the river, you will come to a small town, Redgate. My people will be there. They will help you, but remember the signal; you land a hundred paces off and touch your wings above your head. That way they will know you are a friend to the Gan.”

  “I told you, Brea,” Karlas said, “I’m going back to Eiras with you. You have no idea where you are going. Without knowing, you could fly to the temple. They won’t like that! You think Vila is bad, the Circle of Twelve are ten times as powerful.”

  Brea huffed, and not for the first time. The little dragon was proving quite a handful. Lyduk had his doubts that Karlas was even ordered to attack them. He definitely had an attitude.

  “He’s got a point,” Arfael told her.

  “He can draw a map,” Brea said, stomping off in front.

  “Well done, Karlas,” Lyduk said. “It usually takes longer to annoy her.”

  Karlas smiled, a very mischievous smile for a dragon. “You know I’m right. Besides, my family is in northern Eiras. I can’t stay here, and maybe… I don’t know… maybe I can tell them the truth about Vila.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, were I you,” Ban told him. “Whatever hold she has on the dragon is too strong for mere words to dissuade. You could find yourself in deep water, my little friend.”

  Karlas snorted. A small ball of flame popped out of his nose. “Then I’ll help you. I can’t leave my family as slaves to that witch.”

  “You can come with us,” Brea shouted, as she turned back and stomped towards them. “You can come with us, but you stay out of the way and do… as… you… are… told!”

  Karlas blinked. He sat on his haunches. For a moment, Gialyn thought he might be sulking. “Yes, ma’am,” the dragon said. Ban laughed.

  Lyduk stared at the trees. “This is as good a place as any. We might as well rest here tonight.”

  Gialyn rounded on the dragon. “Can’t we catch up to them before they leave? Karlas said they are still at this camp.”

  Lyduk shook his head. “It is dark, and this camp is heavily fortified. Better, we catch them when they are on their own. Now that we know when they are leaving, we might even get to Eiras before them. Besides, I don’t want to fight a Nirad.”

  “But they could—”

  “No, Gialyn,” Brea whispered. “We have a plan; let us stick to it. If we rush in, we might get Elspeth killed. This must be done quietly, and not with dragons.” She eyed Lyduk, and he nodded in agreement.

  What have they been talking about? “If you have a plan, Brea, then you can tell me what it is. Now!”

  “Calm yourself, Gialyn. We will all play our part. You remember what I said earlier?”

  Gialyn nodded.

  “Then trust me, please.”

  Gialyn didn’t like it, but he agreed. He was beginning to get the feeling that all this had been planned, that Brea wanted to go to Eiras regardless of Elspeth or the Shard. Time would tell if he was right. But for now, he simply nodded.

  CHAPTER 11

  Aleban’s Lot: Part Two

  Once out of Crenach’coi, the Ironbridge and Oxley road widened, but not by much. Following the Witham River, the old route west was little more than a hard-packed dirt road. Adequate for a man on a horse, but hell on a cart, especially the huge wagons the Cren had brought with them.
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  The land changed, too. Despite a river running through it, the thirty leagues of southern Aralan grasslands to the small town of Ironbridge were all yellows and browns as far as the eye could see – where there was not dust. There was hardly a tree to be seen. Unless the few stunted paperbarks that grew in small clumps here and there were fit enough to be called trees. Aleban didn’t think so.

  Arlec knew the area well, apparently. After the first morning, he explained how the warm air from Eurmac would dry out the soil, and that local folk were always worried about bush fires. The old archer had spent ten minutes after each meal making certain the cooks had extinguished the campfires properly. The Cren thought him very funny: “We know how to douse a fire, Little Bow,” the cook told him – Little Bow had become Arlec’s nickname, after he had unsuccessfully tried to use one of the Cren’s longbows; he could barely lift the thing. By lunch on the second day, the Cren were all making a game of throwing water over their campfires, just as Arlec approached. They had a strange sense of humour.

  The going had been slow for those first two days. Kirin’thar had decided, before leaving Brae’vis, that the line would stay with the wagons, instead of marching out front and letting the wagons catch up, which was the original plan. It made sense, given the Kel’madden attack on Allyanne’s wagon, but it did mean it would likely take two more days to reach Bailryn. It was annoying – very annoying – but at least Aleban wouldn’t have to tire himself too much trying to keep up with the Darkin. He just hoped they were not too late, and found themselves the wrong side of a siege.

  Now and then, Renik would join the Darkin scouts. It appeared that the huge wolves, bored at the pace set by the wagons, had devised a scouting route between them. On one occasion, Aleban asked if he could join him. He did not ask again. The line of wagons was probably two miles, front to back, and the Darkin’s figure-eight scouting route was eight miles if it was a span. The pace they set was ridiculous; a good horse could not have kept up. It would not have surprised Aleban if Farnok, the Darkin Alpha, had pushed particularly hard, just to prove a point to the Rukin. Whatever the truth, Aleban decided keeping an eye on the horizon was good enough.

  With the land as flat as it was, a Cren standing on the back of one of the wagons could probably see five miles in any direction. Aleban could see for two or three miles just sitting on the ground. Nevertheless, Farnok and the Darkin persisted in their scouting. Arlec wondered if the wolf used it as an excuse to give orders. It was an interesting thought; the big black wolf did look happy barking out his commands.

  On the evening of the second day, Kirin’thar and Renik rode into Ironbridge. Not that they needed supplies, of course; it was more of a “Don’t worry about the army approaching your town,” trip. That, and Kirin’thar wanted to see if there was any news to be had. Not that he was expecting much news, but pigeons were flying overhead, lots of pigeons; someone was talking.

  Aleban had watched the lights flickering in the buildings of the small town for two hours while he waited for their return. It was another hour after he’d given up looking before Renik came back.

  “Where is Kirin’thar?” Aleban asked as the tall man hobbled his horse.

  “Come with me,” was all Renik gave for an answer. He led Aleban further into the Cren camp.

  Eventually, they came upon the circle of tents used by the Cren councillors. Six of them, including Farnok, had joined the army. The other seven were too long in the tooth for fighting, so Kirin had said. Renik ducked underneath the large tarp they were using as a mess and asked one of the aides to call on the others. A few minutes later, the mess was full of councillors and their assistants.

  Tapping a metal cup on one of the tables, Renik said, “Redgate has been attacked by dragons. The Aralan magistrate is in Ironbridge. He wants us to travel north to reinforce the supply routes to Bailryn.”

  Aleban stifled a howl. He knew Renik to be a straightforward man, but he could have softened the blow a bit.

  Durin’maylin took a half step forward. Tilting his head, he looked over Renik’s shoulder. “And why are you telling us this, Jaeve. Where is Thar?”

  At barely seven-feet tall, Durin’maylin was the shortest of those Cren present, but his arrogance made him seems taller. And why was he calling everyone by the second part of their name? Jaeve and not Renik? Thar and not Kirin?

  Aleban had heard Durin’maylin might be a problem. He was one of the six councillors who did not vote in favour of aiding the Surabhan. Worse, three of the others who had voted no did so because Durin’maylin told them to. As far as Aleban was concerned, he was a dangerous man. It would only take two more councillors to agree with him, and the Cren would turn around and go home. The old fool could ruin everything, and all because he had a… problem with Kirin’thar’s leadership. Fortunately, three of those who had voted yes were back in Brae’vis, and Renik, Kirin or Farnok were not likely to change their minds. So even if one of those in Brae’vis did have second thoughts, Durin’maylin probably wouldn’t find out until it was too late to do anything about it. Still, the skinny old man was intent on causing trouble.

  “He is still talking to the magistrate, Maylin. You will appreciate that he wants to gather as much information as possible. Yes?” Renik stood with arms folded, staring at the other man.

  Aleban nodded to himself. The councillors must call each other by their Raic names when in a council meeting. The Raic names, or second part of their names, belonged to the White Raics who shared their minds with the Renik, Kirin and the others. Did that mean the Raics were the ones doing the talking? It was all very confusing.

  Durin’maylin raised his chin, and despite his height, still managed to look down his nose at Renik. “Then we should wait until we, too, are armed with all the facts, Jaeve.”

  Another councillor, a fat man called Dun’rae stepped forward. “Enough petty arguments. We are at war.” Sparing an accusatory scowl for Durin’maylin – he was the other Cren in camp who had voted yes – Dun’rae turned to Renik, and after a friendly nod, he said, “What does Kirin’thar want us to do, Jaeve?”

  Renik seemed pleased. Acknowledging Dun’rae’s questions, he took in all those present with a long, sweeping gaze. “He wants us to prepare to travel across country. Redgate is two days due north, maybe more, with the wagons slowing us down. We will cross the river at Ironbridge and then follow the old road. It will be rough going, and the wagons will need preparing, but Kirin’thar wants us ready to set out by morning.”

  Durin’maylin threw his hands up in the air. With a vexed moan, he spun on his heels and strode back to his tent, followed by his aide.

  Renik sighed at the sight of them. Slowly shaking his head, he turned to Dun’rae. “Inform the smiths and farriers to begin checking axles and horses. Tell the wagon drivers to…”

  Aleban listened while Renik gave out orders. It was already late evening; the craftsmen, wagon drivers and cooks would be working well into the night: loads needed securing, wheels and axles checking for true, horses’ hooves examined and treated where necessary. Despite the hour, the entire camp was abuzz by the time Kirin’thar returned.

  Making a beeline for his tent, Kirin’thar barely had time to acknowledge Aleban, before Durin’maylin accosted him. Remaining silent and probably doing his best to look interested, Kirin listened to the older man’s tirade before assuring him that everything was in order. Durin’maylin disagreed, of course, but, with a little help from his aid, Kirin brushed him off. Farnok wouldn’t be so easily ignored, though. He stopped the Cren leader outside his tent.

  “And what are we to do about dragons?” the huge wolf asked, following Kirin as the Cren leader made for his tent. “No one but the archers have a chance at hurting them. What is the point of taking the Darkin? All we can do is stand and watch, and maybe die.”

  Aleban was about to leave them to it. Farnok was no friend of the Rukin, he had made that clear more than once, but Kirin waved him forward.

  “I need to t
alk to you, Aleban,” Kirin said. “I have news about your kin. Yes, Farnok, I heard you.” The big wolf had growled, doubtless annoyed at Kirin for not answering his question first. “Once we reach Redgate, you and the other Darkin, and probably half the wagons and footmen, will continue on towards Bailryn.”

  The big wolf looked satisfied with Kirin’s answer. He couldn’t help giving Aleban a flash of his curled lip, though.

  Pulling up the flap to his tent, Kirin’thar waved them both through, before following.

  Kirin’s tent wasn’t big enough for the three of them. With a bed, a washstand, and a table already in there, Farnok had to satisfy himself with sitting in the corner. Aleban stood by the washstand and Kirin sat on the only stool.

  Facing Aleban, Kirin began rubbing his neck. He looked hesitant. “I have some bad news, my friend.”

  Aleban gaped. What bad news could he possibly have? It wasn’t conceivable that the Cren leader could know anything about the Rukin; they were days away to the northwest. “The magistrate told me a tale of a friend of yours – Mott…”

  Aleban’s heart sank. He was sure the man was about to tell him Mott was dead, or injured. Although he could not see how. The last time he had seen Mott was the morning Elspeth and Gialyn had set off for home. “What has happened to him?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

  Kirin sighed. “I’ll start at the beginning. Seems your friend has had an interesting couple of weeks. Somehow, he managed to round up an army of Wildlings. No one is sure how, but a few days ago, a throng of ten thousand Rukin and Wildings descended on Redgate. From what I hear, they moved on towards Bailryn; they should be there by now.”

  Aleban raised a brow. “Well that’s good news. Why the long face?”

  “Unfortunately, the night before reaching Redgate they were attacked by dragons, the same three who had torched the town. I can only tell you what the magistrate said, Aleban, but it appears that hundreds have been killed.”