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

by T. J. Garrett

  “One woodsman, one Salrian, yes, sir.”

  Turasan stifled a sigh. At least they were not there yet. That, at least, was something to be thankful for.

  After the debacle in the Tunnels of Aldregair, the regulars were fidgety enough. Seeing a line of eight-foot-tall Cren on the Bailryn wall would likely send half of them on their way. Not for the first time, he wished all his regiments were troopers from Toi’ildrieg. These southerners, the Toyans and the Eiras, were a weak-hearted sort—and lazy. At times, he wondered if they wouldn’t do better without them. Thirty thousand of his select troopers would be enough to sack the city, probably. As long as those Surabhan don’t come up with any more surprises.

  “You can go, Captain. Leave these with me,” he told her. Then as she left, “And Captain, get your men in order; their camp is a disgrace.”

  Once she had gone, and the guards had pulled the curtain back, Turasan made his way to the small table in the corner of his tent—his, until Vila came back—and poured himself a drink. As a general, he knew campaigns did not always go to plan, but this invasion had been a farce from the start; nothing had gone right. The ships were six weeks late, the map had been compromised, there had not been enough horses in the Salrian villages to pull all the carts, and best not to dwell on the tunnels: five hundred dead in the western tunnel, and as many deserters in the other. On top of all that, Madam Slae was in Eiras.

  All this should have been finished by now; Bailryn should have fallen a month ago, and he should be back with his wife. Has she had the baby yet? Is it a boy? He hoped so. Oh, he loved his daughters, all six of them, but a boy! Someone to follow in his footsteps. Soldiers should be men, as far as he was concerned, not girls like that… Captain Duran—women made men soft; stilled the hand when they should strike without question; made them think about things they should not. But a boy! Yes, having a son would almost make up for the last few frustrating months.

  He took his wine over to the long table and studied the map while he sipped. If the Cren were coming, they would march from the southwest, from the Oxley Road. With any luck, they would run into Lord Bren’s mercenaries. The Black Hand would be slaughtered, no doubt there, but at least they might buy him enough time to secure the city. The dragons would have to slow any advance from Redgate. If the Salrians were coming, they would be marching from that direction. A few dragons would see to them.

  It nagged at him that he had to spread his forces. If he could bring all to bear on Bailryn, he could take her in a few days. Less, if the ships arrived from Toya on time.

  A few thousand Toyan landing in the harbour would certainly put a stick in the Surabhans’ wheel. Best of all, the fools would probably think the Toyans were coming to help them. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought.

  A guard entering his tent interrupted his mirth.

  “Sir, a dragon, sir, coming from the north. The handlers think it might be Madam Slae, but she’s on her own, sir.”

  Turasan cursed at spilling his wine on the map. “On her own? How can she be on her own if she is on Tulak?”

  “It’s not Tulak, sir. I don’t recognise the dragon she is riding.”

  Turasan hurried to fix his belt, then waved the guard forward. It appeared he would be adding yet another problem to the list of disasters.

  * * *

  The beast Vila rode was unruly. As short as the journey was, it had been an unpleasant one—a battle, indeed, with a barely trained dragon who appeared to want to go anywhere but south. She pulled his harness and directed the skittish beast towards a clearing at the rear of the camp.

  The sight of the camp did nothing to improve her mood. Most of her men were still setting up tents. Why hadn’t the general begun the attack? What was he waiting for?

  He had been given explicit instructions: a day to get through the tunnel, a day to rest, and then on with the battle. There should be siege engines in place, the Highgate should have been destroyed by now. At the very least, the camp should be ready and her troopers pointing in the right direction. Was everybody incompetent?

  Vila landed the dragon with a hard thud that made her teeth chatter. She waved away the handler and slid off the animal’s shoulder. After so much time bouncing around in the cart, she was glad to have both feet firmly on the ground. She looked back at the dragon. He was a handsome beast—dark green with orange eyes; a bit of training and he should prove useful. Not now, though; maybe when she was settled in the palace. She gave the dragon a bucket of water—it was always best to water a dragon yourself—and, while patting him on the neck, directed the handler to bring food. After all, none of this was the dragon’s fault, and it did feel good to be down on the ground.

  The camp was a sprawling mess. From aside the hill, she could see west to the fields beyond the rabble of men, carts, and half-erected tents. It appeared as if they had not been there long. But that couldn’t be right; she had left four days ago.

  Striding down the slope to what looked like the command tent; she noticed Turasan walking up to meet her.

  “I hope you have an explanation, General. I expected to be walking into Bailryn. Or at least arrive to see a battle. What is going on? Why are you just now setting up the camp?”

  “We have had setbacks, ma’am,” the general said, as he fell in beside her.

  They both continued towards the camp, followed by four of her guards. The general gestured towards a gap in the tents.

  “The tunnels were more… troublesome than we had anticipated,” he told her as they made their way between the tents. “There were quite a few deaths, and… uh… more than a few deserters.”

  Vila pushed down her anger. Deserters! Gods, that’s all I need!

  “Were they Toyan?” she asked. And the general nodded.

  She had not expected the Toyans to be as well-disciplined as the Kel’madden, but if they ran from the tunnels, would they stand and fight at the wall? She would have to make sure they had enough incentive to stay at their posts. Maybe a few hangings were in order.

  “A few deaths and a few deserters should not have slowed you down this much, General. How soon before you can begin the attack?”

  The general coughed. For a moment, he looked reluctant to speak. “There are other issues that should be considered, ma’am.”

  “Other issues?” Vila entered her tent, and after a quick look round, waved a guard towards the pitcher of wine on her small table. The guard bowed and moved to pour her a drink. “What other issues? Have the Toyans sent word? Are their ships on the way?”

  “Yes, as far as I know the Toyans are on schedule. It’s another group who are causing an issue.”

  Vila sighed. Turasan was a good man, but he had a habit of eking out news at an annoyingly slow pace. “Out with it, man. I want a full report in as few words as you can muster. Now get to the point.”

  Turasan stood to attention. “The Surabhan have allies. An undetermined number of Cren Woodsmen are travelling from the southwest. An army of maybe ten thousand wolves are camped a few miles along the Great Western Road. They have a dozen dragons—not the three or four we were expecting, and there’s word of a Salrian army approaching from Cul’taris.”

  “A Salrian army…” Vila could not help but laugh. “At best, it will be a rag-tag band of poorly-armed men. Salrian army indeed.” She took the wine the guard offered. Still shaking her head, she continued, “As for the rest, you know about the wolves, and unless they have learned how to shoot a bow, the dragons will do for them.”

  “And what about their dragons? And these woodsmen?”

  What about their dragons and the Woodsmen… she could have kicked the man. Was this why he had delayed the attack? “General, at most, there are a few hundred Cren Woodsmen. As for the Gan Dragons, four of them are too old, three are the female Drin, and one is an infant.”

  The general stared wide-eyed at her. In all the fuss, she had forgotten the general did not know about the other dragons. Or rather, she had not told him abou
t them. He was probably wondering what else she had not told him. Well, he could just carry on wondering. “You pay attention to your duties, General,” she said, “and let me deal with mine.”

  Ignoring his gaping mouth, she waved him towards the door. He bowed before turning away.

  “Oh, and General,” Vila said, as she looked at the curious scrolls laying on the desk in front of her, “You’ll begin the attack at first light. I want that gate down by high sun.”

  She heard the general groan before he turned and left. Insolent man. Would she end up doing everything herself?

  Reading the scrolls, she had to laugh again at the signatures: Si’eth Uldmae… wasn’t that the man Alaf’kan blamed for opening the map. And what was that at the bottom of another scroll—a paw print? It couldn’t be. She laughed so hard she spilt her wine. But the other, the Cren’dair, they were no laughing matter. The general would do more than groan if he knew how many woodsmen there really were, and how efficient the tall men could be. Oh well, no point worrying him. He had best get a move on, take the city before they arrive.

  Yes, he needed to hurry. She still had some time before the girl returned, but not much, a few days at most. Pointless worrying about the Cren, if we haven’t taken the wall by the time she gets back.

  Two days…? Peering into her wine, she wondered for a moment where the young Oracle was; had she left Bhail? Would she travel directly to Bailryn, or stop off at that Valley where the Gan Dragons lived? I should have attacked them first. Damn that Sek, and damn me for listening to him. One way or another, that gate had to fall tomorrow. Even if destroying it meant losing a quarter of her men.

  CHAPTER 5

  Olivia’s Gift

  Olivia rose from her bed at the first nudge from her maid. It usually took three or four attempts to get any movement out of her. Today was different, though; she had to contact Elucia this morning, and she wasn’t going to be late again—not after the last meeting had ended so well. If she kept this up, if she proved reliable, they might let her visit Eiras soon.

  It was still dark out when Chrissa opened the curtains.

  “What are you doing here?” Olivia asked.

  “Oh, didn’t you know we are under siege?” her bodyguard said in a dry voice. “I have my duties, too. The King’s orders were quite clear; you’re not to leave my sight.”

  Olivia felt a flush of panic. How was she going to use the Lier’sinn with Chrissa shadowing her every move?

  “You don’t have to watch me in my room, Lexi is here,”—she gestured towards the maid—“You can wait for me at breakfast. I’m sure you have better things to do than help me dress.”

  “Normally, I would agree with you, but those assassins put an end to ‘normal’ when they killed thirty people inside the palace.”

  “It was only twenty-seven,” Olivia mumbled. “Even so, you don’t have to be in my bedroom. Isn’t there something you could be doing in the parlour? Paperwork, maybe?”

  “Nope, did all my paperwork last night. I’m free all day.”

  The maid had a smile on her face as she glanced at Chrissa. The woman probably thought this a fine joke. Chrissa sat on the lounger, arms folded, gazing out of the window. Olivia knew that look in her eye; she wasn’t going to budge.

  “I heard the King was in a mood last night,” the maid said to Chrissa.

  Chrissa shrugged. “That’s none of my business. Or yours, for that matter.”

  The maid continued anyway, “Yes, heard he was all a dither about those Cren camping outside the city, and not-a-one of them coming to pay their respects. Jona said His Majesty had sent Tolas out to bring their leader to the palace.”

  Chrissa sighed. Pouring herself a cup of water from the jug on the small table in front of her, she said, “As well he should. The Cren should know better than to camp so close to Bailryn without sending an emissary. It’s just bad manners, and never mind the circumstances.”

  It appeared that Chrissa thought it was her business after all. Maybe the maid could keep her talking while she used the Lier’sinn in the dressing room.

  “I’ll do for myself today,” she told the maid. “You can continue out here while I dress.”

  She didn’t allow the maid to answer, although the look on the woman’s face told her what she thought of that idea.

  Once inside the dressing room, Olivia locked the door and cleared space on the table. She fetched the Lier’sinn and the flask, then set them up where they could be hidden by the wardrobe door—just in case Chrissa insisted on peeking in. She emptied the flask into the bowl and pricked her finger. This would have to be a quick meeting, she thought, as she watched a few drops of her blood fall into the silver liquid. The Lier’sinn immediately bubbled up. She put a cloth over it to muffle the noise.

  Olivia made a chore of sounding busy while she waited for the connection. It would take a few minutes. A few minutes, how long does it normally take to get dressed? Maybe she should say something so Chrissa wouldn’t wonder what she was doing.

  “Does this mean we won’t be going riding today?” she shouted through the door.

  The mumbling sound coming from her sitting room stopped.

  “I’m afraid not. His Majesty wants you to stay on the palace grounds,” Chrissa replied, loud enough to carry through the closed door.

  “Not even the Halem Road? They’re not camped to the south as well, are they?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean much to a dragon. If you’re bored later, maybe we can go to the harbour.”

  “Oh no, don’t worry about me. I’ll probably have work to do. You know Miss Paulson, she’s not about to let a small thing like a siege disrupt her lessons.”

  She heard a faint laugh. Good! Maybe she had bought herself a few minutes.

  The Lier’sinn had stopped bubbling. She placed her fingers in the liquid and waited.

  An image of Elucia coalesced on the liquid’s silky surface.

  “Ah, good. You’re on time. Well done,” Elucia said.

  “Thank you, Madam Elucia, but we’ll have to be quick. The maid is outside and I’m hiding in my dressing room. The siege has begun and they won’t leave me alone.”

  “Oh dear,” Elucia said. “That’s unfortunate. We are going to need your help today, child, and we can’t have any excuses. You must do as I say. Victory may very well depend on it.”

  Olivia listened as Elucia explained her plan. Every word made her feel more nervous. When she finished, Olivia stared open-mouthed at the bowl.

  “But I don’t—they’re not going to leave me alone. I can’t possibly stand here for two or three hours.”

  “You’ll have to think of something, child. Everything depends on you. You must not let us down.”

  Olivia heard Chrissa’s voice at the door.

  “Is everything all right, Olivia? Who are you talking to?”

  “Oh nobody, just revising my homework. Sorry, I’ll keep it down.”

  A long moment of silence passed. Then, “You don’t have to be quiet,” Chrissa said, “I just thought—never mind. Hurry up, though; breakfast is in a few minutes.”

  Olivia let out the breath she was holding and turned back to Elucia. “You see what I mean; they won’t leave me alone.”

  “That’s of no concern to me, child. You will find a way. Now go get your breakfast. Contact me in one hour. Be ready, no excuses.”

  The image faded.

  How was she going to do this: hide in the attic rooms… the dungeons? How would she get away from Chrissa? Her head was still spinning when she followed her bodyguard out to the dining hall. What was she going to do? She only had an hour.

  * * *

  Brea fought back the urge to shout at Elspeth. It wasn’t easy; the girl had been ranting and moaning for nearly an hour.

  “He isn’t well enough!” Elspeth insisted—very loudly. “You can’t make him do it. Don’t you care he is injured? This effort could kill him!”

  Brea dipped her head in frustration.
She had tried offering Elspeth some tea, in the hope of calming her down enough so she could explain—yet again—that they didn’t have a choice. That hadn’t worked; the fidgety woman wouldn’t sit down, never mind calm down. Nothing was working. She had given up wondering why Elspeth had thought everything was her fault. In desperation, Brea had suggested she talk her worries over with Elucia, if only to get her to leave. But Elspeth answered that idea with a resentful look and a “That woman is worse than you!” remark. Brea just didn’t know what she wanted her to say.

  “This can’t become our normal state of being, Elspeth,” Brea said, as calmly as she could. “I won’t argue with you every time something has to be done. And you know very well that Gialyn has to open the way through to Arenthenia. We must get back to Bailryn. You must see it for true.”

  Elspeth finally sat.

  They were in Brea’s rooms, or rather the rooms Torani, the First Commissioner, had allocated for her use. It was a simple apartment: two chairs, a table, and small fireplace. A separate area to the right of the square window held a small bed and washstand. Brea thought the rooms would likely be the type a senior servant might have.

  Elspeth continued her rant. “What difference will a day make—two days? Vila’slae is hardly going to attack the moment she arrives. There are bound to be things she has to do. You said yourself, the Shard isn’t a simple device; it must be… uh… tuned?”

  Brea stared down into the cup of lukewarm tea she had picked up from the small table next to her chair. It was bitter, like their conversation. She was sure Elspeth had made the same remark not ten minutes ago. “I’m not answering that again. You know very well what is at stake. Now, come on. They are expecting us. This ‘Olivia’ should be contacting Elucia soon, and we need to be ready.”

  Olivia… and there was an added annoyance: another Oracle! So much for being unique, important, needed—just how many Oracles were there?

  Brea ignored Elspeth’s prattle as she tidied up the table and finished packing. Swinging the bag over her shoulder, she took a last look around before heading out. Elspeth, for all her moaning, had been ready for an hour. Brea didn’t have to check if she was following; the droning voice at her back was proof enough.