The Neuyokkasinian Arc of Empire Series: Books 1-3 Box Set High, Epic Fantasy on a Grand Dragon Scale! Kindle Edition

by C. Craig Coleman

  Tournak hesitated. “I suppose you’re old enough to know what’s behind this. When he ascended the throne, your frail uncle, Minnabec the Third, relied on his wealth and crown to secure a wife. The people of her hometown, Wodin, called Irkin Megla, Earwig, the Pretender of Wodin. Twisted by her obsession to climb in society, she suppressed her conscience until it withered and died. The cold, soulless creature was capable of any unscrupulousness to get what she wanted, the pinnacle of power. Living in obscure exile, she’s embraced dark powers and drew energy to evil purposes to regain the crown or at least get revenge.

  Irkin Megla’s eye fell on the spineless new King of Neuyokkasin, your uncle, whom she determined she could dominate. She thought as queen, she would hold the kingdom’s foremost social position and thus command respect and acceptance among Neuyokkasin’s nobility. Minnabec married the scheming creature for her strength of will, which he discovered he couldn’t control. The marriage of his weakness and her boundless ambition amplified the worst in both. She thought her social position secure, so Queen Irkin lorded her station over everyone, especially those of genuine nobility, whom she resented.”

  Saxthor smashed an insect crawling on the seat next to him. “She cares for no one.”

  “Minnabec put his interests above those of the state, and the kingdom’s financial condition declined.”

  “The kingdom’s financial condition?” Bodrin asked.

  Saxthor glanced at him. “No money.”

  “When the troops’ disdain for Minnabec’s weakness and lack of vision led to their refusal to obey him, your uncle returned to Konnotan in despair. Meanwhile, Irkin, by then referred to as Witch Earwig, had alienated the court and everyday people of the kingdom. The nobles forced your uncle to abdicate in favor of his sister and co-ruler, your mother.”

  “Aunt Irkin imagines Mother stole the throne from them?” Saxthor asked. “She can’t believe they did this to themselves?”

  “No, she’s incapable of facing her own flaws. Far from the court’s vitality, Earwig turned to conjuring dark beings. She’s studied her spells of ancient evil to draw strength from malignant sites hidden in the earth’s bowels. Evil commands the witch. She doesn’t realize her situation yet or doesn’t care. Earwig hates your mother’s ancient nobility. She cannot understand it. The discovery of your power and resulting potential threat it creates has magnified and focused her need for revenge. ”

  Saxthor sat back in silence, pondering what Tournak said. They sailed on through the swamp all afternoon. All kept a vigil on the water and listened for the figurehead’s hiss.

  Bodrin broke the tense silence towards sunset. “I’m getting hungry.”

  “Me too,” Saxthor said when he noted Bodrin was fidgeting.

  Bodrin’s starving, Saxthor thought. Wild bears couldn’t unnerve Bodrin’s calm nature, but we’d better get something to eat soon, or he’ll be cranky.

  “Tournak, do we have any food in the boat? We had some lunch in our other pack from the hike this morning, but we dropped the pack when the water moccasins came at us.”

  “Water moccasins attacked you this morning? Memlatec said Fedra stopped a vulture from attacking you. He didn’t mention snakes.”

  “Yeah, three came at us. I cut off the first one’s head,” Saxthor said. “The other two swam off. Thought we just surprised them, but I guess they were another gift from Aunt Irkin.”

  Tournak slid the chest out from beneath his seat and pushed it toward the boys without comment. When Tournak nodded, Bodrin opened the trunk.

  Bodrin rummaged through the container. “Hey, a jug of cool milk, a loaf of bread so fresh the smell makes my mouth water, and a cheese wrapped in a damp cloth.”

  “Whip out your hunting knife and cut us some bread and cheese,” Saxthor said. “Is it all right, Tournak?”

  “Don’t wait for me.” Tournak accepted some food last, and the feast began. Revitalized, the trio settled back as Twit cleaned up the crumbs. Before dusk, the boat turned to the land and slid onto the bank, where they stopped for the night.

  “The river’s beyond that point, boys,” Tournak said. “We’ll set up camp high on the bluff so rising water won’t surprise us in the dark.”

  “We’re experienced campers ourselves,” Bodrin said. “We’ll make the camp, raise the tent, and set a circle of rocks for a fire.”

  Tournak said nothing but kept a watchful eye on the swamp.

  *

  The next morning Tournak rekindled the flame and wondered what other challenges lay ahead when Saxthor sat up.

  “Hope you slept well.”

  Saxthor yawned, stretched, and rubbed his eyes. “Yes thank you. I love the way the sun shines through the mist rising from the river on chilly mornings,” After a second, he observed Bodrin still sound asleep.

  “How’s your foot, Saxthor?” Tournak asked.

  Saxthor tapped his scratches. “I’m okay. You don’t think the thing will come for me again, do you?”

  “Not that one, but somehow the witch knows where we are.”

  Saxthor stared at the wizard.

  “Better eat and get going,” Tournak noted Bodrin awakened at the mention of food.

  After breakfast, they repacked the boat, and the elfin craft slid from the bank. She turned and moved along the shore to where the swamp merged into the river. They passed into the mist on the Southern Nhy and sailed northwest with no other soul in sight all morning.

  “Lookout for anything unusual,” the mentor said. “Our escape has been too easy.”

  “You call a green monster grabbing Saxthor easy?” Bodrin said.

  Tournak didn’t respond, which made Saxthor skittish.

  Fedra killed the watcher raven at the palace, Tournak thought. He again stopped the black vulture near Vicksylva, but the snakes and the thing in the swamp got through. I must find out how far Earwig is capable of tracking us and sending assassins. She knows we’re somewhere on or around the Nhy. If no one or nothing followed the boys, how were the creatures able to trace them through the swamp?

  “Tournak, it’s midday and hot. Do you think we might stop somewhere and eat?” Bodrin asked.

  Good idea, thought Twit.

  “We’ll pull up ahead at the sandbar,” Tournak said.

  Tournak steered the boat to the bank beneath outstretched willow branches; they stopped where a stream fed into the river. The currents merged and spun eddies in the willows’ shade. Down in the stream’s channel, where the water flushed into the river bottom, lurking fish waited, alert to the flow’s hapless victims swept into their open mouths.

  “Is this shaded enough for your starving selves?” Tournak asked.

  “This works,” Saxthor said.

  Twit cast an eye over the bright sandbar swept clean by frequent rising currents. It lay in sharp contrast before the bank’s dark soil and still green willow branches arching out over the river’s edge. Autumn’s browns, reds, and golds of other trees added contrast beyond. The river water’s warmth had given the willows a brief reprieve from the frost. Nothing was out of place. Twit found nothing of consequence about it, but the boys sure seemed excited.

  The cool richness reminded Twit the last tasty bugs would be scrambling for winter hiding places in the tree branches. Oblivious to getting in Tournak’s way, the wren hopped down from the sternpost and along the steering oar handle. He flew up to the bow for a better view.

  This is shaded enough for me, the bird thought.

  “Twit is sure in a hurry to get ashore,” Tournak said. “You’d think he had a call-of-nature issue.” The boys laughed.

  “Twit never has a problem with that,” Bodrin said.

  If I have to poot, I wouldn’t hesitate to let you know, thought Twit. He flew back and relieved himself on the steering oar.

  “Shoo, you bad bird,” the wizard said. With a cupped, gentle hand, he brushed the little wren off the oar. Twit flitted up to the sternpost bobbing up and down.

  “Fish will be hiding nea
r the mouth of the stream,” Bodrin said. He leaped from the boat onto the sandbar with the rope to tie up. In his hand were fishing poles rigged with components from the chest. “Mr. Twit is funny half-hopping, half-flying along up in the willows looking for bugs.”

  They dig plump, juicy worms but use them to drag those disgusting, slimy, scaled things from the water, Twit thought. People make no sense. They’re not sharing the worms-- I’ll have to catch another moth or starve.

  “I’m fishing for bream; you boys fish for whatever you want,” Tournak said. “I know you’d like to linger here the rest of the day, but I think we need to eat and move on after you’ve each caught a fish or two.”

  Twit returned to the boat’s stern, where he became impatient and fidgeted. A silver cloud edged gold by the sun formed in the distance over the bare forest canopy. The cloud swirled, marbled with charcoal gray, and grew, descending toward the river. Twit was tense for some unknown reason. As a bird, he was sensitive to danger, but he couldn’t place the cause of his uneasiness. It was probably the cloud that troubled him… it would pass.

  -

  Neither boy offered to share the worms, Twit thought. They’ve hurt my feelings, though I’d rather die than have them know it. I don’t want the slimy things anyway. A crunchy bug is tastier than a worm. Still, they might have offered.

  The wren sulked in the sunrays before the growing cloud curtain shut out the warming rays. Twit monitored the river and bank, but half dozed in the warm breeze keeping an eye open as the boys packed. The cloud swallowed the golden orb, and a chill infected the breeze.

  There’s something strange about the dead tree trunk on the bank edge behind the boys, thought Twit only half-awake. I seem to remember how green the willows were when we stopped here.

  Twit bolted up and fluttered. He hopped up and down on the sternpost and chirped his loudest.

  -

  Tournak was collecting their belongings. “Wrens have such strong voices for birds their size. Finish winding up the fishing pole lines and stow the last gear back on the boat. I have an eerie feeling. We need to get going.”

  “What’s bothering Twit?” Saxthor asked.

  Bodrin was admiring the string of fish. “We’ve done something else Twit disapproves of, I guess.”

  Saxthor looked around him and dropped the worm cup. “No, something’s wrong.”

  Tournak glanced at Twit, reached over, and pushed Saxthor toward the boat. Twit flew at Tournak, fluttered in his face, and circled the dead tree without landing. Tournak rushed at the trees.

  “Get aboard, fast!”

  Saxthor was walking with the fishing poles and turned. The huge, rotting tree trunk came crashing down on the bank, where he had stood winding up the fishing lines a moment before. The shattered tree shimmered, then dissolved and began to reform into something unearthly with a head, arms, and legs but formed of bark.

  “Cripes!”

  Bodrin dropped the fish. “What’s that?”

  The thing morphed facial features. Luminous yellow eyes began to form. Before the vision could materialize, it was already drifting, almost walking toward Saxthor with a wavy, gaping mouth.

  “Move!” Tournak yelled.

  Saxthor turned back to the boat, but twisted his foot in a branch and fell on the sandbar.

  “Saxthor!” Bodrin said.

  The materializing thing was almost at Saxthor. Menacing eyes leered down at him. A barked-arm slimmed and extended into a spike. Unable to stand as his ankle swelled, Saxthor crawled backward from the looming menace.

  The branch slammed down at Saxthor, but he twisted. The spike nailed his tunic and him to the sandbar. He scrambled to pull off the shirt as another branch grew out changing, slimming with twigs thickening like fingers. The digit’s cool bark brushed his throat and tried to slip around it. Saxthor slapped at the twigs. “Stop!”

  Tournak hurled wizard-fire, and a shower of sparks exploded, enveloped by smoke drifting out over the river and up into the charcoal cloud blocking out the sun.

  “That was close,” Bodrin stopped racing to Saxthor. He slumped over, arms resting on his knees to catch his breath.

  Saxthor glared at Tournak. “What was that?”

  “Another of the witch’s creatures,” Tournak said. He felt the swollen ankle and started to help Saxthor up. “We need to get away from here, right now. Can you walk?”

  “Not on my own. Is it sprained?”

  “Stick your leg in the cold water when we’re in the boat. It should be all right, no broken bones. What are you carrying that Irkin gave you before we left?” Tournak scanned in all directions as he spoke. The cloud and chill remained around them.

  “Aunt Irkin insisted I wear this oval trinket back when she came to check on me after my friend died in the stairwell. She told me to keep it with me to protect me if I got lost, but anything from her could only be trouble, I guess.”

  “Put the trinket there on the log and draw Sorblade.”

  The boys glared at the bauble when Saxthor drew his sword. The blade’s runes glowed a pale green as the blade passed over the amulet. The center began to darken and swirl. A picture of their surroundings appeared with something denoting location coordinates on the edges.

  “I could’ve sworn the stone was solid,” Saxthor said.

  “Smash the thing with the flat of your sword,” Tournak said.

  The order’s harsh tone startled Saxthor; he wavered.

  Bodrin jumped forward. “Smash it!”

  Saxthor grasped Sorblade in both hands and raised the blade to shatter the device.

  All of a sudden, Twit was again fluttering to Tournak. His chirping alarm distracted Saxthor.

  “Look out!” Bodrin said.

  A scraping moan came from the vines on the bank above them. Another dead tree trunk stumbled down the slope on exposed roots functioning as legs. Twit fluttered in a cacophony of chirps.

  “Duck!” Tournak said.

  The two boys dropped to the sandbar as an upper limb’s wide arc swept at Saxthor. A branch tip swooshed by, scraped his arm, and knocked Sorblade out of his hand. For a second, the raging manifestation shocked him, and he froze. Tournak hurled wizard fire, but the swamp thing dodged and came on at them.

  “Watch out!” Bodrin said again as he rushed toward Saxthor.

  Saxthor hesitated; Bodrin jumped forward, but a tree monster’s limb swept in and bashed him down.

  “Smash the amulet!” Tournak said.

  Startled, but fast recovering, Saxthor swung and smashed the homing stone as the flailing tree got within striking distance. The tree’s limbs collapsed, and the trunk toppled forward beside Saxthor. Stunned, they observed as the monstrous creation dissolved, its residue vapor dispersed in the breeze. The pale glow of Sorblade’s runes faded away with the dissipating cloud.

  Tournak supported Saxthor as he limped-hopped to the boat. He sat with his ankle in the water. Bodrin dropped in the last of the gear and jumped in afterward.

  “Twit is strutting up and down the steering oar,” Bodrin said when they were underway. “An I-told-you-so if ever I saw one.”

  “Thanks for the warning, Twit,” Saxthor said. “I wish you’d be a bit more humble, though.”

  Tournak was frowning. “Earwig knows where we are. We must get away fast in case other demons are on their way here.”

  The refugees resumed their voyage down the Nhy in silence but continued the tense vigil for things that seemed out of place. Twit kept his watch on the sternpost with less bobbing.

  * * *

  Earwig threw a raging tantrum when she stared into her crystal ball. As she watched Saxthor’s flight and directed the swamp monsters attack on the sandbar, a swirling, smoky film displaced the vision of Saxthor as he peered up at the smashing tree. All visualization in the crystal lost, the witch was certain something had happened, but Saxthor wasn’t dead. She still felt his faint energy in the field around her. Her tirade sent Radrac scurrying for cover as things flew agains
t the walls, and shattered shards rained down on the stone floor everywhere.

  “He’s escaped. Somehow, he’s eluded me again. Tournak knows I’m pursuing them; he’s probably intervened. I’ll have to be more careful and hurry before the brat gets away once more.”

  The witch’s voice replaced the smashing sounds of chaos. Radrac stuck his head out from under a cabinet and uttered a faint squeak.

  “There, there, Radrac, did mommy frighten your cowardly wits? Do come out, mommy won’t crush your skull as she’d like to.”

  The rat squeezed his pudgy carcass out from under the cupboard and scrambled over to the worktable where he brushed up against the witch; a flea hopped onto her leg.

  “They must be halfway to Heedra by now. I don’t think I can catch up with them before they reach the town. What I need is something fast that can beat them to Hyemka, fool them as non-threatening, yet have the power to kill the boy before Tournak can recognize and destroy my agent. I need a shape-shifter, but they’re hard to come by these days. Most are gone, victims of their own mental instability. Still, I must try to locate one, if one is living near here.”

  Earwig hovered over her crystal ball. Initially, the crystal’s vision was churning dark ribbons, and Earwig thought the orb defective. She smacked the device several times until the globe rocked on its stand. Frustrated, she consulted the owner’s instructions and scanned the chapter: Problem Diagnosis and Repair. Under ‘Churning clouds,’ it said in bold lettering, ‘STOP SMACKING THE CRYSTAL, FOOL!” Thrown in a backward arc, Earwig slammed the scroll against the wall as the crystal cleared. After several attempts, she was able to locate a lone, panicked shape-shifter in eastern Lemnos.

  Earwig observed a frantic female wolf racing ahead of an irate mob of torch-bearing men. The creature disappeared into an abandoned mine’s gloom. She changed into a huge bat-like form approaching a cringing bat colony. The undulating mass shuffled away from the on-coming monstrosity. The enormous winged-being crawled up the wall near the gathering and hung upside down as if the red-eyed black horror could be inconspicuous in the crowd.

  “Oh, Radrac, this one’s a jewel.”