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

by T. J. Garrett

“Yes… it is fine.”

  Alacin laughed. “Are you done?”

  Brea couldn’t help but laugh, too. It was a silly argument.

  “How much longer?” Alacin asked.

  Brea felt the sinking feeling in her gut come back. With the distractions, she’d forgotten why they were there.

  “I thought he was close. Maybe I was wrong. He should have been here by now.”

  As if thinking about Sek summoned him, Brea heard the flapping of huge wings coming from behind the cliffs to her right. Rising straight up into the air, Sek lifted himself above the rocks and hovered. The Black Dragon looked around for a moment and then flew slowly forward, landing on the four-span-wide wall connecting the tower to the cliff. The wall was a good three spans lower than the balcony where Brea was sitting, but when Sek turned to look at her, their eyes were level.

  “You called, Oracle,” Sek said.

  As much as Sek resembled Tor, he couldn’t have been more different. The same thick ribbed horns twisted from his temple, sitting like a crown on top of his head. His eyes, though closer to red than orange, were slanted and set deep under ridges of hard bone. The long snout and wide nostrils were the same, too. But Sek’s teeth were crooked, some were cracked, and he had scars on his cheek and over the eyes. Yes, it was Tor’s brother, but this dragon looked… evil.

  Brea could hear the screams from the street below. Men were shouting for others to run and children cried for their mothers. Horses whinnied and galloped off, leaving the clatter of upturned carts in their wake.

  Brea felt like screaming, too. Her heart raced and her mouth was dry—no, not just dry, her throat felt blocked with fear. She didn’t think she could talk if her life depended on it—which it probably did. Her mind was full of the visions of chaos conjured by Sek’s presence. She could feel hatred—not for her, just a deep loathing. The scars of Sek’s face were nothing to what lay within. How was she ever going to reach into that?

  “Hello again, Sek,” Alacin said.

  Brea stared at Alacin. Half-grateful, half-wondering what he was doing, she watched while he casually folded his arms around his knees and turned to the dragon.

  Alacin continued, “I must say, you have changed. Not for the better, I might add.”

  Sek tilted his head to the side, and then slowly spoke. “Alacin’tien… Ha… Well, this is a surprise. I thought you were—no, I know you were dead. That little trick you people do—they finally got around to you, did they? Not to worry, you haven’t missed much; the fun is just about to start.”

  “And what fun would that be?” Alacin asked.

  Brea began to regain her wits. What was Alacin doing? Was he trying to make Sek angry? Then she realised, Alacin, though still sitting, was edging closer to the Black Dragon. Close enough to lay hands on him and removed Vila’s block, she thought.

  “Oh, the usual,” Sek said. “A bit like last time; earth-shattering, life-changing, monumental sacrifices; followed by selfish greed. I’m sure you will remember well enough. How is Tamri Maison, by the way?”

  “Still in the tunnel, last I heard,” Alacin said. “He looks worse than you… if that’s possible.”

  Sek let out a deep droning laugh that made the tower shudder. “I don’t doubt it, after what you three did to him. Is Toran’thar still around. I’d love to say hello to him, too.”

  “I think he’s around, somewhere. But he’s not Toran anymore.”

  Brea gripped her necklace and edged forward. Then froze when Sek rounded on her.

  “Are you going to use that thing?” Sek asked. “Is that why you called me?”

  Brea froze with her hand gripped tight on the Stone pendant. “I… we…” Gods, does he already know? Now what?

  Sek shook his head slowly; he looked disappointed. “I might have expected as much from an Oracle. You are all the same.” He lifted his chin and moved within arm’s reach. “Go ahead, do your worst. You too, Alacin’tien—or whatever you are calling yourself now.”

  Brea hesitated before placing her hand on Sek’s forehead—what if this was a trick of some kind. Alacin had no such reserve; he put his hands firmly on Sek’s neck.

  Brea was not ready for what hit her. Before the curtain fell, she was bombarded by images of battles and fighting. She gasped at a sense of utter loss weaving within the visions. The silver curtain, usually so calm, turned to red and pulsed light then dark, Brea felt a wave of pain flowing through her mind each time the curtain moved. She could sense something underneath all the confusion. But try as she might, the barrier forced her back.

  That must be Vila’s block. She moved her mind in closer until a hair wouldn’t fit between her and the surface of the block. But she still couldn’t see inside. It was like pushing against a wall with a feather. She realised she could move along the outside, and after a while, found what might be a crack. Alacin was already there, forcing his way into the opening. Brea added her strength to his, and together they pried the split open.

  Brea felt as if she had stepped into a void, or fallen into a bottomless well. All around, there was nothing but darkness, a black beyond night, beyond fear. Abruptly, she realised they were inside Sek’s soul.

  “Get out,” Alacin cried. “There’s nothing there.”

  She felt an arm pulling her back, and then suddenly there was daylight again.

  “There’s nothing there,” Alacin repeated. His face was white… as if he’d seen Death himself.

  He was right, and not just about Vila’slae’s block; Sek’s soul was empty. No evil spell was controlling the Black Dragon; everything he did was of his own free will.

  “How can that be?” Brea asked Alacin. “What about the Barrowstone?”

  “I told you, Brea; sometimes dragons are just dragons,” Alacin said.

  He didn’t sound at all surprised. What had happened to him and Sek a thousand years ago? More importantly, why hadn’t he told her sooner…? Then again, maybe he was trying to tell her: all that talk about and Exodus, and dragons killing one another—Alacin knew all along.

  “But Vila thinks she is in contro—”

  Sek interrupted her with a throaty chuckle. “Yes, she does, doesn’t she—pathetic humans.” The dragon tilted his head and stared right at her, “So now you know. I bet you feel the fool, thinking you can come along, waving your magic stone and put the world right again. As I said, typical Oracle.”

  The Black Dragon took a deep breath. “But then you are an Oracle so I won’t kill you—even I have to follow some rules. But you, Alacin’tien, traitor of the Karakin, there’s no rule for you.”

  Sek moved forward. Without thinking, Brea placed herself between the dragon and Alacin. “No, you don’t. You’ll have to kill me, too.”

  Sek chuckled, again. “And what’s to stop me plucking off one of your arms?” he said, “Or breaking your legs. Killing is one thing, maiming is another.”

  Alacin tried to push passed, but Brea stood firm. “I won’t let you, Sek,” Brea growled. “You don’t have to kill him.”

  “Oh… don’t I? Is that what you think? You really should learn more about those you chose to spend time with, Oracle.”

  Brea heard a roar coming from behind. Looking over her shoulder, she was relieved to see Tor flying in their direction.

  Sek sighed. “Oh well, It appears our chat has come to a premature end. I dare say we shall meet again.”

  Sek turned and climbed back up the cliff. He jumped and was gliding north when Tor flew over the tower.

  “You saved my life,” Alacin said, as he spun Brea around by her shoulders. “Are you mad? He would have done it, he would have hurt you.”

  “And what would you have me do, leave him a—”

  She couldn’t say anymore, Alacin had cupped her face in her hands and was now kissing her. Brea’s eyes widened. It was a long kiss, not one of those family ones. Alacin had closed his eyes. He put his hand on the small of her back and pulled her close. She didn’t know what to do. When she finally
relaxed, she managed to put an arm around his neck without making a complete fool of herself. He would have to stop soon, though; someone might see.

  * * *

  Waves crashed against the northern shore.

  Tor followed Sek as his brother flew above the mist. He had to blink away the salty water as the swirling wind twisted the spray away from the cliffs. It made it hard to see, but he had to keep his eyes open; one of those gusts could force him against the rocks.

  For ten minutes, he followed. Until Sek turned east and flew out into the open ocean.

  Where is he going?

  His brother was probably trying to tire him, force him to turn back and abandon the chase. Well, he will be disappointed if he thinks that. After all these years, Tor was not about to give in to tiredness. One way or another, he would end this—today.

  One-hundred and twenty-five years in exile, four-fifths of the Gan murdered because his brother—the mighty Sek—was too weak to fight off the witch’s curse. He had always hated him for that, and any sympathy he might have held had disappeared when Brea had failed to turn him away from Vila. The Oracle had tried, and Sek was about to kill her, too. There was nothing left now, no hope; Sek had to die.

  As the wind rushed by, and he began to gain on Sek, Tor started to wonder if he had really wanted Brea to turn Sek away from witch. What he was doing felt right, as though it were always going to end this way.

  They flew east for what seemed like an age. On the horizon, dark clouds were beginning to roll west towards the mainland. It would be raining again by nightfall. Tor noticed a small group of islands a league ahead. Was that where his brother was headed, somewhere for them to fight without interruption? If Sek had planned this, then so be it; he was not going to turn back.

  Sek angled towards the islands. Tor copied his brother’s movement. He began his descent. Then, on the northernmost cliff of the third island, Tor noticed two dragons jump into flight. They glided round, a few paces from the water, until they were facing him, then beat their wings and began to climb.

  Pulling up sharply, Tor turned south and climbed as fast as he could. Maybe the dark clouds would give him cover, if only he could outrun them long enough to reach the storm front. Those other two dragons were Drin, smaller than him but expert at fighting on the wing. They were probably faster, too, especially in his current state—right now, Rek could probably outfly him.

  Tor cursed himself, allowing Sek to tire him out so a couple of Drin could finish the job! How could he have been so stupid? He had flown right into another of Sek’s traps, very nearly the same trap that had cost him so dearly at the Battle of Barais’gin. If he had stopped to think for a moment, he might have realised all that talk with Brea was for show, an act to lure him away. Tiama had always said he led with his heart.

  There were more islands to the south, a long line of black-rock pillars, stretching up out of the ocean. Some might be wide enough to land on, most were jagged, knife-like. The clouds were too far away; maybe he could slow the Drin down among those sharp peaks.

  The Twelve Sentinels was what the Surabhan called those peaks. They were too small to appear on a map, but high enough for a dragon to fly under some of the overhangs, or through the many wide tunnel-like holes that seemed to have been punched through some of the larger formations. The black rocks looked sharp. He might have a chance; if he could force one of the Drin onto them.

  Tor flew low at first, around the base of the Sentinels. When he thought he was out of sight, he cut in behind one of the larger pillars and immediately flew up. Circling around the top, he looked down and waited for the Drin to pass underneath. If he could get behind them, grab one on them, his strength would be enough to crush a wing or snap a leg. He waited—nothing.

  Ducking, Tor managed to dodge the Drin as it attacked from behind. He folded his wings and fell like a rock—fifty paces, sixty—until he was sure he was clear, and then forced his wings open. Twisting to the right, he managed to fly through one of the wider tunnels. He considered landing—let the Drin try attacking him on the ground—but then he remember Sek wouldn’t be far behind them.

  He burst out the far end of the tunnel. The Drin was waiting, and immediately latched itself onto Tor’s back.

  “I’ve been waiting for this, almost as long as Sek has,” the Drin said.

  It was Geb; Tor remembered the scar on the Drin’s neck.

  Tor didn’t answer Geb’s taunt. Instead, he grabbed the Drin’s wrist and folded up his wings again. The Drin could fight, but wasn’t very strong, and Geb struggled to pull himself free.

  Once separated, Tor heard Geb beating his wings hard to regain height. He unfurled his own wings and let the air pull him back up. Rolling onto his back, he slashed at Geb’s wing, but the smaller dragon dodged out of the way and flew back into the tunnel.

  Tor followed.

  He managed to catch up with Geb before the Drin could exit through the other side. Once alongside, he rammed the Drin into the wall. Geb let out a roar as his wings crumpled against the sharp rocks. He fell to the tunnel floor. Tor could hear him curse as he flew back out into the open. You can insult me all you want, so long as you stay in that tunnel.

  Geb wouldn’t be flying anymore, at least not very fast. Tor had heard the Drin’s wing tear against the rock. It didn’t sound bad, but it would be enough to keep Geb out of the fight.

  Tor flew under the wide overhand of the neighbouring pillar. If Sek were there, he would be flying high, watching. Again, he considered landing. And he might have done so, if he thought he would have the energy to take off again.

  Suddenly, the other Drin appeared right in front of him. Tor turned, but it was too late, they crashed in mid-air. The Drin snapped at his neck. Tor had to move quickly to avoid is teeth. Their wings tangled and they began to fall. The Drin swiped continually at Tor’s face. Tor pushed past the smaller dragon’s assault and butted the other on the nose. The Drin shook his head, dazed. He clawed his back feet against Tor’s stomach, cutting a long gash under his ribs. Tor snapped back at the Drin’s neck. He bit down again and, when he was sure he had a good hold, he unfurled his wings and twisted around until he heard the snap. He released his grip. The Drin fell away, lifeless.

  Tor fought to regain his balance. He was still falling, too. A few spans from the water, he managed to right himself and began the hard climb back up towards cover. He wouldn’t last much longer. The air in his throat burned like boiling oil as he pulled hard for every precious breath. His wings felt as if a thousand needles were prodding them. He felt the blood dripping from the gash under his ribs. It was no good, he would have to land. He made his way to one of the lower pillars—one of the few with a flat top wide enough to land on. He didn’t bother looking back, he knew Sek wouldn’t be far behind, and he needed all of his concentration to land on the small platform.

  Once down, he turned, and saw Sek gliding towards him. His brother didn’t appear to be in a hurry—doubtless well aware that Tor wasn’t going anywhere.

  The top of the pillar was thirty paces across. There wouldn’t be much room if Sek decided to land, too. Tor placed himself in the centre and waited.

  Sek didn’t waste any time talking. He pulled his wings in tight and darted straight at him. Tor hoped to the side and swiped Sek’s back legs with his tail. Sek rolled on the slippery rock, very nearly sliding off the edge. Tor watched as his brother dug his claws into the loose shale. Head down, Sek charged at Tor, aiming his horns at the wound the second Drin had caused. Luckily, Tor managed to grab Sek by the horn and twist his brother’s head violently to the side. Sek roared and snapped at Tor’s arm

  The two circled each other.

  “You knew it would come to this, brother,” Sek said. “You know there can be only one Black Dragon.”

  Tor spat out the blood in his mouth. “That’s a myth,” he growled. “Are you still living by those ridiculous prophecies?”

  “Hardly ridiculous, brother; every last one has come to
true. There will be one Black Dragon to face Diobael, and it will be me.”

  “And where in there does it say all the other Black Dragons must die, Sek? You are mad, you always have been. Forcing prophecy to serve your own ends… you and the witch are a good match.”

  Sek roared and rushed forward. Grabbing Tor’s neck in one claw, the raging dragon bit down onto Tor’s shoulder. Tor let out a roar and tried to snap at the back of Sek’s head, but couldn’t twist far enough. Instead, he crouched down and forced his shoulder into Sek’s gut. Sek twisted around before Tor could force him away, and slashed his talons across Tor’s back.

  Tor fell to the ground. He could barely focus, never mind fight. Forcing himself up, he staggered a few steps before falling. He could hear Sek laughing. This was it, the end, his brother had won—cheated, but still won.

  Sek’s laugh turned to a shout. “NO!”

  Wondering what his brother was shouting at, Tor managed to turn his head east. Two dragons were flying towards the platform. Tor recognised them immediately: Ban and Lyduk, back from Eiras.

  With one last swipe at Tor’s jaw, Sek turned and ran for the edge of the platform. He disappeared for a moment, then Tor saw him rise up into the cloud-filled sky and fly west.

  A few moments later, Ban and Lyduk landed either side of him.

  “I wasn’t expecting you until the morning,” Tor said. He tried not to laugh with joy. The pain was excruciating.

  “Aye, well, the storm gave us a lift. It would have been tomorrow, if not for that,” Lyduk said.

  “I take it things aren’t going well,” Ban added.

  “Actually, things aren’t so bad,” Tor said. “It’s just me who is hanging on by a thread.”

  “Nonsense,” Lyduk told him. “You’re not that bad. Rest a little while and we’ll follow you back.”

  It was almost dark. The storm was coming in fast. A “little while” would have to be very little, if they were going to beat the storm. Tor rested his head on the cold rock. “A few minutes,” he said. “A few minutes to catch my breath, and then we’ll go.”