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

  The perceptive owl blinked, the action close enough to a sign of agreement.

  Twice a year, Memlatec had conjured an ornsmak to update the men. An ornsmak was the only communication device he dared risk. The mechanism carried messages encoded in pure energy attuned to the intended recipient’s resonance. Thus, only the specific addressee could release the contents. Were he to send communications with winged couriers, opponents could shoot them down and obtain the letters.

  Even an ornsmak was dangerous. If the maneuver fell into the wrong hands, it would arouse suspicion as to why Memlatec created such a secretive tool. These days, only Memlatec and possibly one or two other wizards could still create them. The discoverer would know the source. While others couldn’t read the message, the destination would likely be the missing prince. The secretive device would all but confirm both Saxthor was alive, and Memlatec knew his whereabouts. Therefore, the wizard only dared update the exiles semiannually. He hoped the messages got through to Helshia.

  * * *

  Early one morning, some six months before, Tournak was walking on the beach while the boys slept. The wizard enjoyed solitude and peace as birds chirped their territorial claims from the trees behind him. Small, subdued waves toppled into the post-dawn breeze. The early morning was clear, before the rising heat spawned a haze, making the sunrays vibrant.

  As Tournak relished the clear, brilliance, an ornsmak rippled in the sun’s rays in front of him. The wizard considered the apparatus for a moment. Its presence suggested Memlatec might sense trouble. After an apprehensive minute, the magician took the missive, aligned its resonance, and released the holographic message.

  Life here at the Neuyokkasinian court continues to decline since Saxthor’s disappearance. Crown Prince Augusteros remains at the more lavish imperial court of Powteros to the south. Away from his family’s influence, he’s become increasingly self-absorbed, according to the ambassador’s reports. The queen despairs at the loss of both sons and continues to withdraw from public life. Without the queen’s enthusiasm, the nobility have returned to their estates and seclusion. Commerce deteriorates, and with less trade, the people on the land have less incentive to grow and sell additional quantities of agricultural products. Societal order is imploding.

  In this general malaise, Earwig is exploiting the people’s discontent. She expands her knowledge of the dark arts while her despicable husband shrivels more under the weight of his insatiable greed. Their servants report he sits day after day in his vault in Castilyernov Earwighof’s cellar. He counts and recounts the money he steals through his administration of the queen’s estates. His corruption has physically diminished his frail frame until the parasite is little more than skin stretched over bone. Earwig grows more distorted too. Her pronounced, fake smile has become openly sinister. The witch’s vile self-confidence has emboldened her as darkness spreads over the kingdom.

  Neuyokkasin must be in severe decline, Tournak thought. Memlatec fears another crisis looming with Dreaddrac’s growing power. He released the ornsmak’s energy with no reply, having determined he shouldn’t tell the boys the news.

  *

  Memlatec went to his workroom, where he assembled the necessary elements to create another ornsmak. He closed the door before beginning the task he dreaded. He looked to Fedra for solace but found none.

  This year, Saxthor turned nineteen, Memlatec thought, preparing his semiannual message to the exiles on Helshia. The nation’s decline over these last seven years is at its worst. The kingdom’s perilous state and the impending war require me to call Saxthor home before I’d planned to. I must share something of the nation’s poor state of affairs to prepare him. I won’t divulge the extent of the downturn, or that I fear the queen is dying. I hope his character has matured to withstand the strains he must confront. Have his military arts developed to the degree he can survive the forces the Dark Lord or Earwig will send against the kingdom and him? I can delay no longer.

  * * *

  Twit sat watching Saxthor, who was sitting alone by a cave overlooking the sheltered bay where the exiles made a home two days after the dragon encounter. The prince regarded the ornsmak received earlier in the day with trepidation. Sensing his anxiety, Twit flew down on his shoulder and gently tugged at his ear. Saxthor concentrated on the message and with a gentle hand, brushed the little wren away. Twit hopped back and again pulled on Saxthor’s ear.

  “What’s the matter with you, Twit?”

  Twit bobbed up and down. He stared Saxthor straight in the face.

  “Want some attention, huh? Well, I’m busy right now.”

  Glaring at Saxthor, the cocky bird continued to bob up and down. The prince looked away at the ornsmak, so Twit flew up in his hair in a frenzied attempt to make a complete nest in under a minute.

  “Stop that!”

  Annoyed, Saxthor was about to brush the intruder out of his hair when the bird hopped down on Saxthor’s shoulder and again tugged on his ear.

  “You deserve your time, too, don’t you, boy?”

  Saxthor checked to ensure they were alone and slipped his finger under the tiny-feathered breast. Twit bobbed once and hopped up on his digit. Saxthor moved the little wren around in front of him and stroked his feathers. After a moment, Twit seemed calmer. It felt so good; he stopped bobbing. Saxthor brought the bird up to his face and nuzzled the tiny breast with his nose. He put Twit back on the bush from which he’d come. Annoyed, the cantankerous fowl flew up into his fake nest in Saxthor’s hair and dropped a pellet of poop. Saxthor jumped up and pretended to swat him away, flicking off the offending complaint.

  “What did you do that for, you crazy bird? You’re so cranky.”

  Twit flew off in search of breakfast.

  -

  Poor man, thought Twit. He needs to wash his soft, greasy beak. He got oil on my clean feathers. I’ll have to spend the morning preening.

  -

  As Tournak had taught him to do, Saxthor held the ornsmak in both hands. When his energy warmed the supple communiqué, the agitated device began to resonate at Saxthor’s precise frequency. The molecular structure then formed from its plasma state, and the ornsmak crystallized. Saxthor used the Celestial Fire Topaz from his ring to capture and direct full-sunlight into the crystal. The device released Memlatec’s holographic message.

  Memlatec questions the kingdom’s survival, Saxthor thought. Reading between the lines, he was more alarmed. Through the years of training, I’ve honed my extrasensory perception as well as my physical and intellectual skills. Memlatec doesn’t yet know of my natural affinity for the use of a higher energy plane. Saxthor looked at Twit returned from his morning repast, who stared back. He turned again to the hologram and frowned.

  “If the dragon’s discovery of Helshia weren’t reason enough to leave, this message relates Neuyokkasin’s decline far more than previous messages. We must go home. I have to consult with Memlatec and see for myself the state of the kingdom.”

  In the evening, sitting around a fire, Saxthor viewed the message again with his companions. He knew they wanted news of their home as much as he did. Tournak and Bodrin sat silently with their heads down. The prince observed each of them. They rocked back and forth with pursed lips and arms tucked over their stomachs.

  “What do you think?” Saxthor asked.

  “Time to go home,” Bodrin said.

  Tournak looked up. “When we left, Memlatec instructed us to wait.”

  “We can’t sit here while the kingdom collapses,” Saxthor said, “and we need to get away before another dragon comes searching for the dead one.” He stood up to face them and their despair. “We’ll pack and leave for the continent as soon as the weather permits. We’ve trained here for seven years, and whatever strengths we have must be put at Neuyokkasin’s disposal.”

  “Memlatec believed conditions in Neuyokkasin wouldn’t be safe for you to return before you’re twenty-one,” Tournak said. “I suppose this message and the dragon change th
ings.”

  “Tournak,” Saxthor’s tone was authoritative, “we can all read what Memlatec is saying and not saying in the ornsmak. I, for one, cannot sit here while the state of affairs deteriorates at home. Neuyokkasin needs all its resources. I intend to go back and help in any way I can. Though the tone shows reluctance to recall us, Memlatec insinuates we should go home.”

  Tournak shook his head. “In the autumn, storms can come up without warning. Western Tixos has no landing sites before its first beach at the southern tip. If a storm catches us in the old fishing boat, we’ll probably drown before ever reaching land.”

  “Bodrin, what do you think?”

  “I say we go.”

  Saxthor nodded and put his hand on Tournak’s shoulder. “My friend, you’ve raised us like a father, but it’s time we made decisions for ourselves and took risks if need be. We understand your concern for us. You want to abide by Memlatec’s original directives. However, knowing what we know now, we must go back and help where we can.”

  Saxthor stood straight, his chest out with hands on his hips. The willingness to defer to authority was gone, replaced by the band’s confident new leader. They recognized Saxthor’s decision to leave was final. All three men set about preparing without further protests.

  “Check out the boat’s condition after so many years, Bodrin,” Tournak said.

  Bodrin returned from the inspection. “The shelter we built has protected the boat. However, the planks have dried, opening cracks in the seams. I’ll soak the craft in water for a day or so. The wood should swell and close the cracks. We’ll scrape and seal the whole thing with tar.”

  They collected, prepared, and dried foods for the voyage. Meats they cut into strips, and along with some fish, dried in the sun with split fruits. They sealed grains in clay jars to keep out moisture. Ceramic jugs held water since they had no aged wooden barrels. Tournak wove a new sail. Bodrin and Saxthor made ropes from fine strips of ninak vine rich in oil to keep them strong and supple. When the craft was ready, the sailors searched the sky for a favorable time for departure.

  “What if a dragon comes searching for the other one?” Bodrin asked soon after.

  “In a day or so, there will be a new moon. We can use the darkness for cover,” Saxthor said. “Sailing close to land at night, we need to avoid having our silhouette stand out against moonlight on the water. Our voyage needs to be undetected – if possible.”

  The chosen day was clear, though the weather outside the Veil of Helshian Mist was an unknown. With the fishing boat tested, watertight, and packed, the adventurers again set out on the open sea, sailing south along the Tixosian coast.

  *

  To sail again through the misty veil was most exciting, as they hadn’t crossed the barrier since the young men’s childhood. The little boat seemed eager to test the waves. When they sailed into open water, the wind picked up. The sky darkened. The Vortex Virax started to churn. Then, noting the boat was coming from Helshia and not sailing toward the island, the roiling abruptly stopped. The current flowed up the coast of Tixos once more. The wind filled the sail, putting strain on the groaning mast. The ropes held, and the little fishing boat plunged through the whitecaps, sailing south.

  “Good to feel the open sea spray again,” Saxthor said.

  “Yeah, and the warm sun against the autumn chill,” Bodrin said.

  Tournak checked the sky from the steering oar. “If the weather holds, we’ll have a good voyage.”

  Saxthor studied the water surrounding the boat. “Wonder if we’ll see the dragonfish.”

  The young men watched for the sea monster who had assailed them so many years before. The company sailed on south unimpeded, a little disappointed not seeing the magnificent fish again. Once far enough from Helshia, the storm clouds disappeared.

  Bodrin propped against the cabin, facing the open water. “It’s as if the years on the island never happened.”

  Saxthor came around the corner. “We’ve seen no other ships off western Tixos and shouldn’t until we reach the island’s southern tip.”

  Tournak nodded. “Traffic will pick up south of Tixos. The currents and trade winds send shipping east and west between Tixumemnese, Sengenwha, Neuyokkasin, and the ports of northern Powteros. It’ll take many days to cross those trade routes before reaching Olnak again, even if the weather holds.”

  They slept most during the day with one person at the helm. At night, all were on deck collecting flying fish. The channel crossing was a good one, with no ships sailing close enough to identify anyone aboard. When they spotted the peninsula’s western shore, they stayed out to sea to avoid inquisitive passengers on passing vessels. Excitement was high. They knew Olnak was only a few week’s sailing east.

  “No one has seen us or the boat for years. As there’s been little interest to date, let’s sail up the River Nhy as far as the boat’s draft will allow. She draws too much water to continue up the Southern Nhy to Konnotan,” Tournak said.

  “For the present, we need to worry about getting past the customs agents and the watchers who may still be infecting Olnak.”

  “I can’t wait to travel up the Nhy again,” Bodrin said. “I hope to recognize familiar territory and old landmarks.”

  In the darkness, Tournak’s arm drifted in the current beside the boat. A savage burn stung him, and he jerked his hand out of the water. A box jellyfish clung to his wrist. Tournak slapped the jellyfish out into the darkness, but a stinging tentacle stuck to his burning arm. Bodrin rushed over with his hunting knife and flicked the tentacle off, but Tournak’s limb was already inflamed. The wizard grimaced, displaying his gritting, white teeth. “Box jellyfish.”

  “What’s a box jellyfish?” Bodrin asked.

  “Death.”

  Bodrin looked at Saxthor, who came up beside them.

  “What can we do, Tournak?” Saxthor asked.

  Tournak struggled to speak, his voice scratchy. “Sail fast, and hope we get to Olnak in time.” He washed his swelling, inflamed wrist, and collapsed down into the boat. “A brown gigartina seaweed grows in the shallows outside Olnak. I’ve heard a gigartina poultice might neutralize this poison.”

  Tournak closed his eyes.

  Saxthor whispered in Bodrin’s ear. “Can we make Olnak in time?”

  “Tournak is part elf. Maybe elfin magic will delay the toxin. We’ll have to risk the mast breaking. Keep adjusting the sail to catch the wind’s full force. We’ll stay in the stern so the water doesn’t rush over the bow.”

  All through the night, the little boat sailed on smashing through the swells throwing spray to the side in a silvery sheen. Tournak slipped in and out of consciousness, groaning, and squirming. His whole arm swelled, and he shuddered with fever. Bodrin tucked blankets around the wizard and wiped his sweating brow with a damp cloth between glances to Saxthor at the steering oar.

  At daybreak, Tournak appeared pale and drained. Weakened, he moved less and less.

  “Any idea when we’ll reach Olnak?” Bodrin asked.

  “No. It’s been so long since we sailed through here. This far from shore, I can’t recognize any landmarks.”

  Bodrin leaned toward Saxthor. “Tournak can’t fight off the poison much longer. I hope we find the right seaweed for a poultice.”

  Saxthor shook his head then noticed Bodrin was looking past him behind the boat. “What’s the matter now?”

  Bodrin pointed. “That looks like a mighty large bird flying this way.”

  Saxthor glanced behind him and saw a dark figure off in the distance, approaching from the northwest. The wingspan was unusually wide, but Saxthor couldn’t make out more detail.

  “It’s coming from Helshia,” Bodrin said, “and fast too.”

  Saxthor continued to look ahead, steering. “Nothing that large on Helshia. Some bird off course from Tixos maybe.”

  Bodrin stood up in the boat, his eyes squinting. “Saxthor, I don’t think it’s a bird.”

  “What else could it b
e?” Saxthor’s stomach turned, seeing Bodrin’s jaw drop.

  Bodrin mumbled. “There was only one thing on Helshia that large.”

  Saxthor jerked, glaring back at the approaching unknown. He started to stand and sank down on his seat. “It can’t be. I killed him.”

  Bodrin sat beside Tournak. “It’s the dragon, Saxthor.”

  “What’ll we do?” Saxthor asked, staring at Bodrin, who mopped Tournak’s brow. Bodrin’s downcast, glazed eyes, and resigned tone sent a chill down Saxthor’s spine. Bodrin glanced up at his friend. “There’s nothing we can do out here on the open sea.”

  Both stared back at the fast-approaching reptile whose features were becoming clear. The bat-like wings whipped the air with such ferocity that the massive beast jerked up and down, bearing down on them.

  Crackle’s head snorted flames and smoke, glaring at them. The men froze when Crackle screeched an ear-shattering roar. He climbed, spiraling up in the air, and dove down, aiming for the little boat cutting through the swells.

  As if the new terror wasn’t happening, Bodrin dipped his cloth in the cool sea and squeezed it out to mop Tournak’s brow a few last times.

  “Careful, Bodrin, we’re sailing through a massive school of box jellyfish now.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Bodrin said, his low tone even and hollow. He glanced at the diving dragon.

  A tingle shot through Saxthor. He turned facing the dragon as Crackle drew in his wings, increasing his dive speed.

  “Box Jellyfish! We’re not dead men yet! Move Tournak inside the cabin.”

  Saxthor was grinning. He plunged a bucket into the sea and threw water over the boat and men. Tournak winced. Bodrin recoiled. Saxthor doused himself too with seawater. The boat’s contents were all wet when flames fanned out across it.

  Crackle’s head whipped around after the attack. He screamed his victorious screech and circled back around over the steaming craft. The beast shot a quick, intimidating burst of flame.

  This beast savors his invincibility, thought Saxthor. He lusts for torture and the slow kill. The need for revenge has pushed aside caution. I remember his carelessness when he killed the witch.