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

  “I’ve not been up to that dustbin since you last summoned me there when you lost one of your marbles!” Aleman’s stare was defiant, if not challenging.

  “That was a precious, gem-quality crystal and not a marble, you old ninny! If you weren’t blind and feeble, you’d have known the difference. You sure you haven’t been stumbling around up here with that obliterating feather duster you pretend is a wand?”

  “Feather duster like a wand, you say? Why, if I chose to use it as a wand, I’d do a sight better job than you would. I’d clean this dump up to sparkle. Don’t take it out on me if your frog parts get mixed up with your dust and rocks, you cranky old goat.”

  With that, Aleman turned and shuffled somewhere back into the ground floor sanctuaries where the old shaman wouldn’t look for him. Memlatec didn’t respond but went back into his workroom, grinning. He looked up at the owl, just landing back on his perch with a rat dangling from his beak.

  “I thought I told you not to bring rats back inside.”

  The owl flipped up the rat, caught it head first, and choked it down his throat, licking his beak. The rat’s tail tip still protruded. Then the great bird stared at the wizard with what Memlatec took to be a sheepish grin.

  “I’ve gotten the better of Aleman. That old man will stumble his way back to the kitchen where he’ll sip his ale and mumble curses ‘til he falls asleep.” Memlatec chuckled, seeing a mental picture of the grumbling housekeeper. “I’ve wound Aleman up; it’s good to be home. Now, where did I put that book?”

  Memlatec looked behind one of the storage chests where he stuck old books seldom used. He moved a box of books here and searched there, coughing with each new disturbance.

  “Aleman hasn’t been back here since I moved in. I don’t want to count back that far. Finally!” he declared.

  Under a forgotten stack, he found a handful of old textbooks from his days at the Wizard’s Hall. The leather covers were dry and worn, but the musty pages were still sound if yellowed around the edges. At the back of one particular spellbook, the writing was still crisp.

  “Powdered bat bone charcoal was the best ink in those days, and it’s still good after all these years. Now then, now we shall see what we need to make Earwig wish she’d never touched that weakening spell.”

  On the top of the components list, second ingredient: Nails, finger, or toe.

  “It’s as I suspected, I’ll have to get the nails.” Memlatec closed the book, returning it to rest with its old school days companions in the chest. He sat down on the trunk to think. The plan formed.

  * * *

  One of the last servants, an emaciated old woman with stringy, knotted hair and more teeth missing than present, peered down from above to see who was foolish enough to ring that bell. The skittish messenger pulled the rusted bell chain at Castilyernov Earwighof’s service entrance again. His head jerked about like a gazelle smelling a lion. Again, he pulled the chain, and the bell fell, clanging on the paving stones and disappearing under leaves blown up against the seldom-used door.

  “The fool’s nerves are fraying by the minute,” the old woman mumbled, then shuffled down the stairs to the heavy oak door.

  The old hag pulled back scraping iron bolts at the door’s top and bottom. Her teeth gnashed from the strain as the hag tugged open the door on creaking rusty hinges.

  “What do you want here?” the old woman asked. Her lips pinched. The eye squinted as she stared at the messenger. “If you’re lost, you’re more lost than you know. You’ve stopped at the wrong place.” His stare made her self-conscious. She patted her hair, powdered with dust, and felt it bobbing in the gloom.

  “This is the Earwighof?” the wretched messenger asked.

  “This is the Earwighof. Is that what you came here to tell me?”

  She started shutting the door. The messenger stuck his foot in the crack.

  “I’m only here because of the wizard’s threats. He warned me I best not come back without delivering this message. Please give it to your mistress, only to her.” The man scanned all around himself. “It’s important. It’s from the High Court Wizard Memlatec.”

  The messenger shoved the message through the crack and, without waiting for a reply, backed through the broken courtyard gate and disappeared back up the road.

  The old woman bent over with great pain and picked up the message. It was on parchment, neatly folded and sealed with wax and the wizard’s seal.

  “Whatever it is, it must be important if the sorcerer wrote it out, and on such fine stuff too. I want to throw it in the fire, but if the witch found out, she’d send me to ‘the hills’ as the other servants refer to one way visits to that dragon’s lair.”

  “What have we here?” Earwig asked when the servant entered her bedchamber with the message.

  “Messenger said it come from the Court Wizard Memlatec.”

  The old woman hesitated to give Earwig the message, more wanting to run. She carefully approached the witch, as a male spider would a larger female spider. Trying to stay out of arm’s reach, she flicked the message at Earwig with fingertips. The old woman didn’t wait to see if there was a reply or orders; she had gone.

  *

  Earwig checked the seal, then broke it to read the message. She threw on a ragged robe, running through the empty Earwighof and out back to find Magnosious.

  “The wizard, my archenemy, has invited me to confer with him on matters of state,” the old crone boasted, beaming. “Matters of state, did you hear? Now they must admit how vital I am to the kingdom. How it must gall Memlatec to have to ask for my help.”

  “My stick figure of a husband lurks in the cellar, consumed with his stolen gold. I’m the one with real clout. Here’s an invitation to return to the kingdom’s power structure.”

  “Yeah, they need you,” Magnosious said, his tongue hanging. He stretched, poking his claw amid rocks for another cringing criminal.

  Earwig hurried back through the Earwighof to assemble items reflective of her new status. She encountered the old servant.

  “I know somehow it might be a trap, but I just can’t resist the opportunity to secure power through these so-called ‘matters of state.’ Bring me the old trunk of gowns,” Earwig said.

  “You in a gown,” the old woman mumbled through a toothless grin.

  “Get out!”

  The next morning, Earwig struggled into a tacky ensemble straining to contain her corrupted mass. She packed her pitted, leathery face with a thick layer of gummy powder and waxed her lips.

  “There now,” she said, admiring her reflection in a basin of water. “I’m still the flower of youth. Don’t you think so, Magnosious?” The long-gone-to-seed husk turned to the window for approval, but the dragon, just there, had disappeared.

  “Oh… you’re a picture all right,” the old attendant said.

  Earwig had ordered her coach cleaned and polished the afternoon before and now commanded it brought around to convey her to Memlatec’s tower.

  *

  When the witch arrived at the tower, she stumbled getting out of the coach, exposing her dusty backside. She collected herself and straightened her bonnet, resplendent with an eruption of flowers, feathers, ribbons, sticks, and whatever else the billowing structure could support.

  “We’ve been expecting you, Miss Irkin,” Aleman said, swallowing a laugh. He made a token offer of help after the old frump tumbled from the coach.

  “What’re you grinning at, you old drunkard? It’s Duchess Irkin to the likes of you.” Earwig waved Aleman aside and sashayed into the reception hall.

  “Dust, mildew and cobwebs, a nice touch,” Aleman said to the coachman, who also chuckled.

  “We cleaned the outside of this old thing yesterday,” the grinning man said. “It seems we overlooked the inside. In the early morning light, the old hag didn’t notice the interior. What a pity.”

  “Aleman!”

  Aleman went in and led Earwig the long way round so the servants could
get a good look at the outlandish old crone, their entertainment for the week. Earwig strolled through the halls, puffed up and nodding past Memlatec’s smirking servants, who looked at her then to each other.

  Earwig patted the back of her dusty hair and smiled with satisfaction. “Pure admiration.”

  “I’m sure,” Aleman said. He parked the tired witch in the wizard’s study, where her creaking bones fell into a chair with a plop.

  “The wizard will be with you shortly, Your Grace,” Aleman said as instructed by Memlatec. “He’s up in his workroom at present; there’ll be a slight delay.” As he was leaving the room, Aleman added a further inducement to share in the power and glory. “His Highness, Prince Consort Augusteros, will be joining the wizard and you in this consultation.”

  With that, the housekeeper withdrew, closing the door to the study’s sanctuary, which silence then swallowed.

  Earwig sat patiently for half a minute; her triumphant moment was at hand.

  Now they must acknowledge they need me, she thought. I’ll return to the power structure.

  Relishing the thoughts, she rocked back and forth in the chair, patting one hand atop the other.

  Augusteros and the mighty wizard are about to beg, I’m sure of it. I’ll make them beg. They must have my advice on matters of state.

  She chuckled but, catching herself, slapped her hand over her remaining tooth stubble. Time ticked by… She fidgeted and squirmed. Where were they? Anger seeped in, displacing her joyful anticipation. Her usual foul mood reemerged amid the emotional turbulence.

  “How dare the wizard keep me waiting?”

  She groaned, pushing her bulk out of the chair and paced; she paced faster. Then she spied a magnificent wooden box alone on the table in front of the window.

  “That’s not like the other junk in here,” she said, looking around the room. “This other stuff is just the old wizard’s memorabilia.”

  She scanned the room again; no one was watching. She stepped to the table, keeping her eye on the door. The heavily carved box had delicate silver detailing.

  This must have come from the palace and contain the documents, the matters of state, she thought.

  She couldn’t bear it if they caught her snooping. She fidgeted, paused, then touched the box and snatched back her finger. Her head jerked back to the door, then turned back to stare at the box. There were secret documents of national importance in there meant for the monarch’s eyes only, no doubt. Perhaps they pertained to some threat to the kingdom only she, Queen Irkin, could resolve. The high and mighty were desperate, or they wouldn’t be begging for her assistance. She had to know what was in the box.

  Earwig checked the door and waddled back to the table. She touched the box; nothing happened.

  It’s silly to suspect a trick, she thought. If Memlatec and Augusteros need my advice on this matter, I should read it before they arrive so I can give the matter more consideration.

  She grabbed the box with both hands, turned the key, and tried to lift the top. The thing was stuck. She clutched top and bottom and, with clenched teeth, pulled hard, but the top held fast. She shook the box; something rolled inside.

  “Why can’t I get this top up?” She mashed her claws into the crack, held the bottom of the box with her other hand, and pulled with all her flaccid might. The box flew open and snapped back, clamping down tight on her nails. Try as she might, she couldn’t free her fingernails.

  Then she heard the wizard coming down the tower’s steps, talking with someone, presumably the prince consort.

  Augusteros and meddlesome Memlatec will expose me for a snoop, she thought. I’ll never be able to show my face at court if this scandal gets out.

  She jerked her hand up, snapping off her claws but freeing her hand. Fuming, she turned and marched across the study as Aleman opened the door to admit Memlatec and his guest. Earwig glared at the wizard, then knocked each out of her way in passing. She stormed out to her coach, lumbered up the coach’s steps, and flopped down on the seat amid a plume of grime.

  “Make haste for the Earwighof!”

  Having seen her rage when she flung open the front door, the coachman whipped the horses before she even gave her order. She vanished in a flash.

  Memlatec laughed with Aleman and his assistant, who looked remarkably like the prince consort in size and frame – from a distance. Memlatec went to the box, removed the simple spell, and gathered up the fingernails.

  “There’s enough for more than one spell here.”

  He sent his assistant back to the palace, carrying the queen’s box with instructions to thank her sincerely for the loan of it.

  “All in all,” he said, “it’s turning into a good day.”

  The wizard went to his tower and put two finger claws in the stone mortise. Next, he added the old witch’s hair to the bowl, followed by several animal parts, half a dozen wild herbs, and a pair of choice fresh mushrooms picked that morning from a cow pie. Stump hole water was, of course, a staple and even more potent for the blackish slime algae floating in it. Finally, there was the green hedgehog bile.

  “That adds such a special touch.”

  Memlatec ground the dry ingredients for maximum potency, then stirred in the liquids to make a thick, dark green emulsion.

  “How can that hag dabble in such odious things?” Memlatec mumbled. The owl rotated his head to the wall. Memlatec chuckled and put the sludge in a pot to boil. He stood over the green sludge and picked up his yellowed old school book. With a solemn face, he spoke the spell’s ancient words to infuse magic in the brew. The mixture bubbled a bit, splashing the thick goop on the sides of the blackened pot, only to slide back into the glistening slush. Abruptly, the pool of green sludge sparked and turned silver as mercury. When it finished bubbling, Memlatec poured it out on a ceramic plate, where it hardened into a small silver sheet. The wizard hurried to Konnotan and the queen.

  “Forgive me for disturbing you, Your Majesty, but I must ask a favor of you.”

  The frail and exhausted queen lay on the bed, barely able to raise her head.

  “Your requests have never been many or frivolous, Memlatec. If it’s in our capacity to grant your request, we shall be pleased to do so.”

  The wizard opened a beautifully worked pouch with a drawstring closure. He drew out a thin, silvery disk and asked the queen to hold it in both hands and to cough on it, cough as hard as she could, and return it to the sack.

  “This sounds silly, but you’ve your own ways, and we know it best not to question such requests.”

  Prince Consort Augusteros took the plate, placing it in the queen’s hands. She did as Memlatec asked, and returned the plate to the pouch. Augusteros pulled the strings, closing the bag, and handed it back to Memlatec.

  “One further request?” Memlatec asked. “Please send one of your guards with this directly to Duchess Irkin with instructions that only the duchess shall open it.”

  The wizard offered no explanations but bowed and backed out of the queen’s chamber to return to his tower.

  *

  Earwig angrily opened the bag from the queen and took out the plate, certain it was some sort of apology. There was nothing written on it. As Earwig was examining it, it flashed in her face and disappeared. Surprised, she gasped sucking in the vapor. The witch began to feel very weak. She called for a servant to help her to her bed. The poor old woman could barely hold herself up, but she tried to support the rapidly weakening witch to her reclining divan.

  Queen Eleatsubetsvyertsin recovered almost entirely by the next morning. She rose from her bed for the first time in weeks and granted audiences that day for the first time in a month.

  “I can’t believe how good I feel,” Eleatsubetsvyertsin said. “Whatever Memlatec’s mumbo-jumbo was, it was most effective.”

  12: The Road to Hador

  Hadorian Dwarves and the White Diamond of Honesty

  Saxthor and his companions slipped around the Wizards’ Hall ruins in the
sunlight when most of the evil occupants were either hiding in shadows or dormant.

  “Graushdem’s countryside got progressively worse as we came north from Graushdemheimer,” Saxthor said to Tournak. “I hope Hador is more prosperous.”

  “Hador’s a poor country of poor soils and dry weather. The economy is fragile but politically stable due to the duke’s military might. The duke holds power over the strained population by might of arms.” Tournak didn’t look up or change his tone as he walked.

  “You say the duke rules as a warlord?” Saxthor asked. “Isn’t Hador part of Graushdem?”

  “Yes and no,” Tournak said. “The dukes of Hador are nominal vassals of Graushdem, but in fact, they only pay lip service to King Grekenbach. The dukedom is too poor to pay more taxes than it takes to maintain border integrity with Dreaddrac. It’s not worth a war to subdue the province, so King Grekenbach accepts the annual pledge of loyalty and leaves the duke to rule independently. At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

  “Tell me about the dukes of Hador. I’ll need to know more about the country and its duke to travel safely there.”

  “You didn’t pay much attention in the palace school, did you?”

  “Well, I was young – and it didn’t seem important at the time.”

  “In the First Wizard War, a soldier from Hador rose quickly through the ranks to become General Jedrac in the Heggolstockin army. At the time, Heggolstockin included the lands now known as the Duchy of Hador.

  During that war, Prertsten fought with Graushdem against the Dark Lord. Prertsten was the battleground for most of the clashes. The Prertstenians resented the war’s decimation of their lands, while the larger realm of Graushdem remained relatively unscathed. The resentment grew until the Dark Lord convinced the Prertstenians to ally themselves with Dreaddrac against Graushdem. The battleground shifted to Heggolstockin.”

  “And Hador?” Saxthor asked.

  “When it seemed Heggolstockin’s provincial capital was about to fall in a siege, General Jedrac brought his army from the Hador Mountains and drove Dreaddrac’s forces back into Prertsten. For this incredible feat, Graushdem’s king created him Count Jedrac de Hador.”