The Dragons of Bone and Dust (Tales from the New Earth Book 7)

by J. J. Thompson

  “Drink this. You're a little dehydrated from two days of healing sleep. It was necessary after that blow to the head. By the gods, it's a wonder that you didn't die in the hands of those idiots.”

  Simon accepted the glass but just held it as he stared at her.

  “Two days? I've been out for two days?”

  The cleric motioned for him to drink as she answered.

  “Aye, two days. And it's been a chaotic time in the city for that span, let me tell you. When Orrina called the watch to tell them that you had been taken, they informed the king straight away. His reaction was...intense, to put it mildly.”

  She shivered and looked blankly across the room.

  “I've known Shandon since he was very young and I thought that I knew him well. But by the gods, I have never seen that kind of rage in him.”

  She shook her head and looked at Simon.

  “You have a great friend there, sir wizard. He rousted out the warriors of the city and the royal guard as well. And then he did something that I never thought he would do. Amazing. He broke his own rules to find you and, for a stubborn person like the king, that is saying something.”

  Simon handed her his empty glass and watched as she put it back on the table.

  “I don't understand. What did he do? And how did he even know that I'd been kidnapped?”

  She returned and sat down on the edge of the bed again.

  “Oh, the mongrels left a note, of course. A bunch of nonsense about consorting with lesser races and the king bringing shame on the great dwarven nation. Blah, blah, blah. Racist idiotic nonsense is what it was.”

  “Those people don't like humans? But why? We're no threat to them.”

  The cleric patted his hand and smiled at him affectionately.

  “Of course you aren't. And you yourself saved Shandon's life, and his honor, when the dragons attacked our people underground. But I think the fact that we have taken in human refugees has made the hatred for your race bubble up in some people. It's been there, simmering like a foul stew just under the surface, but now the presence of humans inside of the capital itself has brought it spewing out into the open. That such dwarves even exist is a stain on the honor of my people.”

  Simon gave that some thought. Of course he knew that no one could be universally loved. And he'd lived long enough to know that even the best of people had some prejudices. But to take it so far that you attack others? He could understand why Opheilla was so angry at what some of her people had done.

  “So what did Shandon do that surprised you?” he asked her.

  “Oh that. Well, he knew that we had to find you quickly; the kidnappers had given the king only a short time to meet their demands. So he approached our magical community and asked for their aid.”

  He stared at her, wide-eyed.

  “But, aren't spell-casters considered...” he hesitated, not wanting to insult Opheilla's people.

  Her eyes gleamed with amusement as she snorted softly.

  “Second-class citizens? Aye, to our shame, that's true. I've never felt that way about anyone gifted with powers, but unfortunately I am in the minority. Perhaps having the king ask for their help will open the minds of a few of the less hard-headed among us. Maybe.”

  She adjusted Simon's pillows and looked a little sad for a moment.

  “Ah well, baby steps, I suppose,” Opheilla continued with a small shrug. “We dwarves are a stubborn lot, 'tis true, and it might be a long time before mages and wizards can live openly with the rest of our society. The point is that the casters Shandon spoke to were able to use their magic to track you down, my friend. And very quickly too. The royal guard and others from the watch surrounded the hideout of your captors and stormed the place, taking the dogs completely off-guard. They found you in a small closet looking rather the worse for wear, brought you back here and summoned me.”

  She leaned back and patted his hand again.

  “And that is the whole story. I've made you sleep since your return so that I could accelerate your healing and now you're as good as new.”

  Simon was a bit confused.

  “But I just felt you touch the wound a few minutes ago. It really hurt but you took the pain away.”

  “No lad, that was yesterday. Head trauma can muddle the senses. It's true that as soon as I arrived, I healed the worst part of the injury; you were bleeding rather badly and I couldn't wait. But once that was done, I let you sleep and I mended what damage was left much more slowly.”

  She stood up and put her hands on her hips, giving him a stern look.

  “And now, sir wizard, you must be up and about. The king has left standing orders that you be brought to him as soon as you are able, so get up, get cleaned, get fed and get going.”

  Simon laughed as the cleric finished her orders with a wink.

  “Yes ma'am,” he said meekly. “I'll do that.”

  “Good,” Opheilla said through her laughter. “I'll let Orrina know that you're awake and she'll have a meal ready when you come down. See you in a bit.”

  The cleric left the room and closed the door behind her.

  Simon threw back the bedclothes and sat up on the edge of the bed. He took a moment to look down at himself, checking for any damage.

  Naturally he looked fine, thanks to the cleric's ministrations. He needed a bath rather badly but physically he was okay.

  He staggered into the bathroom, still a bit dizzy, and checked his head in the mirror. His hair was matted and had some dried blood caked into it, but there was no wound and no pain.

  The gods really do know their stuff, he thought gratefully as he ran a bath. If I've ever doubted that they exist, which I haven't, this would have convinced me otherwise.

  He could have spent an hour just soaking in the hot water, but Simon knew that they were waiting for him downstairs. He washed up, dried his hair off as best he could and pushed it all out of his face, and got dressed.

  A pale green robe and new leather boots had been left for him and Mortis de Draconis was still leaning against the wall in the corner of the room.

  Simon put on his clothes, grabbed the staff with a feeling of relief and headed downstairs.

  In the dining room, Orrina had laid out a meal for him. Hot stew, fresh bread and a pitcher of cold grape juice was waiting for him and Simon sat down eagerly, feeling emptier than he had in a long time.

  Opheilla sat across from him watching him eat as Orrina bustled in and out of the kitchen. There were a half dozen dwarves seated at the other tables in the room; four men and two women. They were eating and talking quietly to each other. All were armed and wearing armor.

  They had looked up when Simon had entered the room but no one had said anything and they had gone back to their meals after he'd sat down.

  “Business is good?” the wizard asked Orrina as she poured him some more juice.

  The innkeeper looked around and then winked at him.

  “Because of you, my friend. These are members of the royal guard. They're here to escort you to the palace when you're ready. But I insisted they all have something to eat while they waited.”

  She grinned widely.

  “Cook hasn't been this busy in months; she's ecstatic.”

  “Good thing these chairs are sturdy,” Simon said quietly to Opheilla. “That armor looks heavy.”

  The cleric looked at the warriors and smiled.

  “Built for dwarves by dwarves, so they had best be strong. So tell me, sir wizard, how are you feeling now?”

  He swallowed a mouthful of hot stew and had to wait a moment before answering.

  “Fine,” he gasped as he quickly drank some juice to soothe his burning throat. “Great, actually. You really are a life-saver.”

  “Just as long as it doesn't become a habit,” she chided him with a shake of her finger. “Twice is enough. The gods are watching over you, Simon, but even they can only do so much.”

  “I know, Opheilla. I know. And I am grateful to them and
to you. I mean, if you hadn't been here, things could have gone very badly for me.”

  The cleric shook her head in denial.

  “We have other clerics, my friend. Someone would have aided you. I'm pleased that it was me though. And now...”

  She stood up and brushed off the front of her tunic.

  “Now I'm off. I have several patients under my care at the moment and I'm holding services later, so I'll have to hurry to catch up. Ah well, it's always the way, isn't it? Too much to do, too little time to do it.”

  Simon jumped to his feet and extended a hand. The cleric took it in both of hers and clasped it firmly.

  “Thank you again for everything,” he stammered. “I know you'll say that I owe you nothing, but you have my gratitude at least. And if you ever have need of a bumbling, skinny wizard, you know who to call.”

  Opheilla's laugh echoed throughout the room and the other dwarves looked at her, wide-eyed. Apparently clerics were usually less demonstrative in public. She ignored them.

  “I do indeed. And for the sake of the gods, and me as well, keep your head down and your wits about you.”

  She lowered her voice and leaned forward.

  “And except for your friends here, trust no one. Who knows how deep this cancerous hatred of your race runs in my city? It saddens me to say it, but it is the truth. Be careful, Simon.”

  He thanked her again for her warning and watched as the cleric bid Orrina farewell and left the room. Then he say down again to finish his meal.

  “Can I get you anything else?” the innkeeper asked a few minutes later. “More stew? Dessert?”

  “Nothing, thanks. It was amazing. Please give my compliments to your cook.”

  “Oh I will,” Orrina said with a chuckle. “She'll be thrilled to hear you say that.”

  As the woman walked away and Simon pushed his chair back, one of the guards stood up and walked over to the table.

  “Pardon the interruption, sir wizard,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice. “But if you are finished your meal, the king requests your presence.”

  Simon looked into the warrior's black eyes. The dwarf was almost as broad as he was tall and his armor was heavy plate covered in black enamel; the armor of the royal guard.

  The wizard wasn't sure of the significance of the dozens of gold beads woven into the warrior's beard, but they gave him a wild, almost mystical appearance. And made him more intimidating.

  “You are members of the king's personal guard?” he asked as he stood up.

  Towering over the dwarf made him no less imposing and seemed not to bother the guard in the slightest.

  “We are. My lord is taking no chances with your safety. We will take you to him and we will defend your person as we would his.”

  The other warriors stood up as one and all six slammed their fists against their armored chests, making Simon jump in surprise.

  “This we swear on our lives and our honor,” the guardsman finished.

  “Um, thanks,” the wizard said weakly. “Might I ask your name?”

  The warrior's glacial expression thawed a bit and he actually bowed, albeit very briefly.

  “You honor me, sir wizard. I am Braiden Stoneblade, captain of the royal guard.”

  Simon stared at the dwarf in mute surprise. The captain of the guard? Good God, Shandon had sent the best to escort him safely.

  “I am honored to meet you, captain,” he replied slowly, knowing how the dwarves loved ceremony and manners. “And your very presence here has eased my concerns for my own safety.”

  There was a murmur of pleasure from the rest of the troop and Simon knew that he'd said the right thing.

  The captain bowed again.

  “Thank you, sir wizard. And now, shall we go?”

  “Of course. Just let me say goodbye to my wonderful host and we'll be off.”

  Orrina made him promise to come back to the Diamond Inn one day and Simon swore that he would. She patted his cheek in a motherly way, bid him farewell and watched as the guard led him away.

  The escort surrounded Simon as they walked through the streets. He had no idea what time it was in the city, but the streets were quiet and they saw very few pedestrians. Those that they did see were quick to make way for the guardsmen and watched curiously as they went past.

  They had walked for about half an hour when they came to a wide, empty square. The street that they were on widened and opened up and beyond the square in the distance were the spires of the central palace.

  Row upon row of torches and artificial lights lit up the enormous castle as it rose almost to the distant ceiling above them. It radiated power and strength, very much like the dwarven people themselves, and Simon felt some relief when he saw it.

  Maybe I'll get some answers soon, he thought. Not about my attackers but about my people.

  The troop marched on and at one point, Captain Stoneblade asked Simon if he wanted to stop for a moment to rest.

  “Thank you, captain, but there's no need. I've been asleep for the past two days. I'm good.”

  The dwarf seemed to almost smile at his answer. He nodded and they all kept walking. The palace was getting closer by the minute.

  A short time later, as they made a sharp right turn to follow a narrow street, a distant booming sound shook the ground under their feet.

  “Halt!” Captain Stoneblade barked.

  The troop stopped immediately and looked around alertly.

  “Guard positions. Protect the wizard,” the captain ordered and the six dwarves encircled Simon, far enough away that their weapons wouldn't hit him if there was an attack.

  Everyone waited, listening intensely for further sounds of conflict.

  “Do you think that explosion or whatever it was has anything to do with me?” Simon asked the captain quietly.

  “No way to know,” Stoneblade growled, his eyes darting along the street and up at the windows of the buildings above them.

  “But there is nothing in the city that would make that noise, so we will err on the side of caution.”

  They waited for another five minutes or so but nothing happened.

  “Very well,” the captain said to all of them. “Form up and we will advance. We are too exposed on this street. Better to continue our escort toward safety for our guest.”

  The troop moved in closer to Simon and the captain led the way forward, much more slowly this time.

  The street turned into a four-way crossing about fifty yards further on and all of them stopped to look around for any threats.

  Captain Stoneblade scanned the intersection and his eyes narrowed.

  “It may be the middle of the sleep cycle,” he said as an aside to Simon, “but it's too quiet. This is the time when most shops are restocked from the warehouse district, but I have yet to see a single cart loaded with goods. That is suspicious.”

  “Do you suspect the merchants of something underhanded?” Simon asked quietly, looking around as he spoke.

  The dwarf rumbled a dry laugh.

  “No, but they do keep their ears to the ground. Could be they heard of some shady dealings in the works and decided to stay off of the streets tonight. Well, better for us, I suppose. No innocents will be caught in the crossfire, if there is any.”

  There had been no additional sounds of conflict or explosions since the first one, but instead of calming him down, it was making Simon more nervous. It didn't help that he had no access to his powers and no weapon other than his staff.

  He slipped Mortis off of his shoulder and leaned on it, more for comfort than because he needed the support. The captain caught the movement and stared at the staff.

  “Is that not a weapon presented by the king?” he asked.

  “It is, yes. He made it for me himself, the last time I was here. It's a marvelous staff.”

  “Aye, it would be. Can you use it in combat?”

  Simon shook his head ruefully.

  “I have no training in fighting with staves. I use
it to bolster my powers, but I can't use them in the city. Still, I'll do my best to smash someone over the head if they try to grab me again. Seems only fair.”

  Captain Stoneblade chuckled again.

  “I agree with you. But if it comes down to it, let me and the rest of the troop keep you safe, hmm?”

  After a few more slow minutes had passed, the group started off again. It was eerily quiet and the iron soles of the warriors' boots rang off of the stone street and echoed around them until it sounded like the troop was three times its actual size.

  It also gave Simon the nasty feeling that others were stalking them, unseen footsteps mingling with their own. The captain stopped them twice and listened, obviously thinking the same thing, but there were no other sounds.

  “Damn it,” he said after the second time they halted. “This stopping is not helping anyone and the palace isn't getting any closer. Everyone, stay close. We're going to march straight on. If we have to do battle, so be it. But if not, we'll keep going until we reach our destination. Now let's go.”

  The captain led them off again, picking up the pace. They passed doorway after empty doorway, most of them shops. All of them were closed and locked, their windows dark.

  The electric street lights, blue arcs of power encased in globes, were set on high poles along their route. The glow was revealing but the blue color made everything seem cold, flat and sterile. Simon much preferred the torchlight that was prevalent in other parts of the city. At least it felt warmer and less foreboding.

  He listened to the hum of the arc light as they passed by one. The dwarves' technology was impressive but lacked a certain something. But who was he to judge? He was raised with a different sort of tech and it was all gone now. At least the dwarves had based their technology on magic, for all that they claimed to hate it.

  Simon unconsciously shook his head at his thoughts. What a funny people. On one hand, they denigrated magic-users and mistrusted elementals and yet the entire structure of their society was built around the very same power they despised.

  He remembered being told that when the magic was sucked out of the world by the old gods, the dwarves had gone back to using torches and candles for light, growing their fungoid crops differently, heating their homes with coal instead of electricity. They did what they had to, to survive. And now that the power was gradually returning, they couldn't change back to their old ways fast enough.