Barbarian Backlash: Dragon Wars - Book 14 of 20: An Epic Sword and Sorcery Fantasy Adventure Series

by Craig Halloran

  41

  “So, you were a thief?” Grey Cloak asked.

  “I prefer adventurer or opportunist.” Zanna wore a playful look on her face, like she was reliving a wonderful childhood. “It took me a long time to commit to becoming a Sky Rider. I enjoyed myself, but during an encounter with Olgstern, I eventually changed my mind. Jerrik and I decided it was for the best, but it wasn’t easy.”

  Grey Cloak frowned. “I know what you mean. Dyphestive and I were hoping to live our lives on our own terms until Dalsay roped us into this. I can’t say I regret it, but we haven’t had much of a chance to enjoy our youth. If we weren’t shoveling dragon dung in the kennels, we were breaking our backs on Rhonna’s farm. Once we were clear of that, we were on the run again.”

  “I enjoyed it, well, the work on the farm, that is.” Dyphestive slid down off the counter. “And some other things too. Think of all the friends we’ve made.”

  “And all the friends who’ve died too. But we’re going to save them all,” Grey Cloak said.

  Zanna placed her hands on his shoulders and petted the fabric of the cloak. “I miss this fine garment. It’s a creation from a guild of wizards and thieves in Monarch City. They used it to rob the castle treasuries that were guarded by dragons, and it has many clever powers, which I’m sure you’re familiar with.”

  Grey Cloak lifted his brows up and down. “Really? And what powers did you use?”

  “Clever.” She smiled at her son. “You want to know the powers I’ve used that perhaps you haven’t. The truth is, I’m not sure that I’ve experienced them all because the cloak has a mind of its own. Of course, I don’t mind sharing a few, but you mentioned one already. We’ve seen you fall like a feather and absorb the enemy’s blows. It can protect you from dragon fire and lets you breathe underwater. Not to mention the plethora of pockets that you can pour gold into.”

  She’d named all of the abilities that he knew, but he had a feeling she was holding back. “And?”

  “And you’re a natural. You don’t need it. I saw what you did when you fought against the barbarians. They covered you up like mud, but you used wizardry to shed them like a dog sheds water.” Zanna poked him in the chest. “That was impressive. Those are the powers you need to focus on. Those are the powers I’ll teach.”

  Grey Cloak tilted his head to one side. “The Sky Riders in Hidemark told me how to use my magic. What else is there to learn?”

  “Plenty. Tell me, how long did you learn with them?”

  “Not long,” he said.

  “I never learned anything from them at all,” injected Dyphestive. “I only learned from the Doom Riders.”

  “We’ll work on that too. Both of you need to hone your skills. You have plenty of ability and are gifted, even for naturals, but if you aren’t at the top of your game, you’ll never defeat Black Frost.”

  Batram returned and dropped two sets of clothing on the counter. “Suit up, boys.” He set a pair of black-dyed leather bracers on the table. “I think you’ll like those, Zanna. They’re your style.”

  “Thank you.” She put the bracers on. Protruding from the tops were the handles of small knives sheathed in the leather. “You can never have too many knives in a scrap.”

  “Don’t you have to pay or trade something for all that?” Grey Cloak asked. “He always makes me pay.”

  “Zanna has a large line of credit,” said Batram. He patted Grey Cloak on the head. “Perhaps one day you’ll have one too.” He pointed at the clothes on the counter. “That will be thirteen gold pieces.”

  “What?” He reached into his pocket and handed over the gold chips. “Here.”

  Batram leaned on his counter. “Look, Zanna, I’ve enjoyed your company immensely, but you know the rules. You can’t hide in the bartery forever. I have other customers to attend to.”

  “I understand. Get dressed, boys. It’s time to go.” She offered her hand to Batram, and he shook it with his fuzzy spider legs. “Thank you, old friend.”

  “Do you mean to tell me we’re going right back out into that hornet’s nest?” Grey Cloak asked.

  “You’re rested enough, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Do you want me to hold your hand?”

  “No,” he whined. Grey Cloak got a firm grip on the Rod of Weapons and headed toward the door. “Fine, if we need to do this, we need to do this. I’m ready.”

  “Wait for me.” Dyphestive finished donning the same sort of garb—a sheepskin vest and buckskin trousers—that he typically wore. “I was hoping for something in black.” He tugged on his mountain boots. “Ah, but these feel good.”

  Zanna moved in front of them. “Listen to me. This is vitally important. When we abandon this haven, we need to lie low. We’re not going to try saving those who have been lost. We have to avoid them altogether. We are going to hide, and train, until you both return to the time where you last left. That is the only way.”

  “We can’t stand around and do nothing,” Grey Cloak said.

  Dyphestive stepped forward with his sword. “I agree. If we can save our friends now, we need to do it.”

  Zanna shook her head. “No! Don’t be so hardheaded. You’ll ruin everything!” She lowered her voice. “Boys, you are going to have to trust me. It’s the only way.”

  Something about her words bothered Grey Cloak, but he kept his thoughts to himself. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  They moved toward the door and waved goodbye to Batram.

  “Hurry back!” the boar’s-head carpet said.

  The red door opened wide. An unseen force sent them hurtling out of the store and into the street.

  42

  Grey Cloak spit the dust from his mouth. He landed face-first on a dusty road and found himself underneath a blanket of warm sunlight. He sat himself up using his hands. The sky was as blue as a robin’s egg, and the clouds were white and puffy. Birdsong could be heard among the rumbling of wagon wheels.

  “Make way!” a man shouted.

  Dyphestive and Zanna scrambled to one side of the road, and Grey Cloak rolled to the other. He braced himself against the foot of the stairs that led up to the porch of a country storefront.

  A rickety wagon pulled by a single horse rumbled by. The man driving the wagon wore a big straw hat and had a long-stem corncob pipe in his mouth. He lifted his cap and waved it as he rolled by.

  Across the road, Dyphestive’s eyes were as big as saucers, and he had a perplexed look on his face. Zanna stood and started dusting herself off. Behind her was Batram’s Bartery and Arcania. The ancient structure stood cramped between two buildings, and it faded away in the sun, leaving an empty alley behind it.

  “Huh.” That was the last thing Grey Cloak had expected, and he put out the fire that burned on the end of the Rod of Weapons.

  Behind him, people gawked as they walked along the porch. A young lady, dressed in common garb, hurried down the stairs and offered her hand. “Let me help. Are you hurt?”

  He politely took her hand. “I’m well, thank you.”

  The pie-faced younger woman had big freckles and a small gap between her front teeth. She started brushing the dust off his cloak. “Do you need help up the stairs? Did you fall? I see you’re using a cane. I can help you,” she said sincerely.

  “Cane? How old do you think I am?” he asked.

  She became pushy. “Don’t be ashamed. We have a special place for cripples. Did you get lost?”

  Grey Cloak planted his finger over her lips. “I’ll give a piece of silver if you tell me where I am and quickly go away. Agreed?”

  She nodded. A silver coin appeared between his thumb and finger. She gasped. He removed his finger from her lips.

  She caught her breath as if she’d been held underwater for minutes and blurted out, “Portham. You’re in Portham.”

  Grey Cloak flipped the coin high. She caught it with two hands and ran like the devil without looking back.

  “Porth
am.” Dyphestive scratched his head. “I thought it looked familiar.”

  “Batram couldn’t have left us in a better place,” Zanna said. “The people are warm, friendly, and keep to themselves.” She studied the group. “But we do stand out a bit. We might need to dress down a tad.” She gave Dyphestive the most concerned look. “Because there won’t be a lot of people walking around with six-foot-long claymores.”

  “Well, look at you. You’re dressed like a giant black cat,” Grey Cloak said.

  “Clever, I like it.” She patted them on the back. “Don’t worry, I’ll dress it down. In the meantime, how about I buy you both something to eat? It’s time to talk strategy.”

  Portham was the farthest city in the west of the Westerlund territory and north of Havenstock, where Grey Cloak and Dyphestive had lived with Rhonna for years. They had both spent time on the trails between Portham and Havenstock, picking up loads of supplies for the farms. The citizens of the vast farming community were hardworking and easygoing. True to Zanna’s word, they kept about their own business but were more than willing to help. So long as they weren’t lazy, or a thief, people were always welcome in Portham.

  They stopped in a general goods shop and picked out some gear. Dyphestive bought a big straw hat and some burlap to wrap his sword. Zanna bought a cotton shawl sewn with a pattern of dull colors that covered most of her chest and shoulders. Grey Cloak didn’t buy anything, as the Cloak of Legends appeared common enough.

  Similar to most cities in Gapoli, Portham was a network of well-built wood, log, and stone structures, but the roads were made of dirt, not paving stones, and everywhere they went, it smelled like straw and livestock. It wasn’t without its charms, as there were bountiful gardens one could stroll through, and bridges that arched over fishponds.

  The tavern they entered smelled like meat, potatoes, and smoking tobacco. It wasn’t very crowded. Dyphestive’s stomach grumbled so loud it scared an old woman.

  She banged her cane on the floor. “Someone get this boy something to eat.” She offered him a toothy smile. “He’s famished.”

  Once they were seated, the servant girl took their order and hurried away.

  Zanna leaned back on her chair until she hit the wall. “Relax, boys. We can breathe easy for now. We will eat, plan, and enjoy ourselves.”

  Grey Cloak rested the rod against the wall in a spot where only he could reach it. He knew the people of Portham, but he wasn’t about to let his guard down either. He put his elbows on the table and hunkered down. After the fight in Ice Vale, he was still drained. “All right, Mother, here we are. What’s your plan? I’m curious to see if it coordinates with mine.”

  Streak popped his head out of Grey Cloak’s hood. He licked the air with his tongue. “Mmmm… I smell good food. Did you order me something?”

  “Of course. Now get back inside the hood. Dragons, big and small, can spook these people.”

  An imposing man entered the tavern with his sword resting on his shoulder. Grey Cloak crouched out of sight.

  “What is it?” Dyphestive followed Grey Cloak’s eyes and started to turn.

  “Be still!” Grey Cloak whispered.

  Dyphestive froze. “Why? Who is it?”

  “It’s Sash, the leader of the Scourge.”

  43

  There was no mistaking the short, prickly-haired, fish-eyed leader of the Scourge. He strolled in with an air of confidence, and the patrons scooted their chairs out of his path. Sash wore scale mail, and black ribbons hung from his elbows, waist, and knees. He made his way to the bar, leaned on the counter, and ordered a jug of wine.

  Grey Cloak could feel the man’s eyes scanning the room as his heart beat in his throat. Under his breath, he said, “Out of all the places, how does he of all people wind up here?”

  Dyphestive pulled his straw hat down over his eyes and stooped over the table. “Are you sure it’s him?”

  “Is a fish fish-eyed?”

  “I don’t know this man. Should I?” Zanna asked casually.

  The waitress returned with plates of food and set them down on the table. Grey Cloak was able to peek around the woman. Sash sucked on a jug of wine and turned his back to them.

  Grey Cloak answered Zanna. “He’s the leader of the Scourge. Our paths crossed more than once when we joined Talon. They hunted dragon charms the same as we did, and they tried to kill us.”

  “Remember we’re in the past. Have they met you yet?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Assuming Hercullon spoke truthfully about Black Frost wiping out the Sky Riders on Gunder Island, yes, we’ve met. I have no doubt he remembers our faces, and I’m certain he’s not alone.”

  “There’s more?” she said.

  “I hope not, but most likely, yes.”

  “What do you think they’re doing here?” Dyphestive asked.

  Grey Cloak shrugged. “I can only guess that they got wind of some dragon charms in the area. It might serve the greater good to take them out now before they cause more trouble.” He narrowed his eyes on Sash. “We can handle them. And they wouldn’t know what hit them.”

  “Agreed,” Dyphestive said with a mouthful of food. “We’ve come a long way. We were practically children then.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Zanna warned. She started picking at her food with a fork. “Let the inevitable happen. Lay low, eat, and move on.”

  “No disrespect, Mother, but you aren’t in charge. With that said, I’m willing to heed your advice and listen to what you have in store for us.” He took a drink of honey milk served in a carved wooden mug. “I’ve always loved this swill. Rhonna would rarely buy it for us though. When she did, it was a treat.”

  “This Rhonna sounds like a fine person,” Zanna said.

  “She was the mother we never had,” Grey Cloak retorted. “No offense. She wasn’t a joy to be with.”

  “I miss Rhonna. Maybe we can go see her,” Dyphestive suggested.

  Zanna rolled her eyes. “No one is going to see anyone. We have to be discreet and prepare ourselves for the war ahead. We need to exercise patience.”

  Grey Cloak started into his bowl of stew. “Do you mean to tell me we’re going to wait near a decade of seasons before we make contact again?”

  “Yes.” Zanna nibbled on a hot roll. “There’s no other way.”

  “There has to be another way. After all, we’re here. Now. Why don’t we try to take out Black Frost?” he suggested.

  “That’s hardly feasible. Even in his earlier state, Black Frost is too strong. And we don’t yet know how to kill him,” Zanna said. “Think about it. He destroyed the Sky Riders. All who were left. It will take an army to defeat him, a massive one. In the future, that is what we build.”

  Grey Cloak noticed Sash’s gaze swing his way, and he ducked out of view. “I better put my hood on. Ol’ Fish-eyes appears restless.”

  Streak crawled out of his hood and onto his lap.

  “Better.” He put the hood up and shielded his eyes. “Continuing. Since you know where his source of power is, why don’t we sneak in there now and destroy it? Think about it. He recently defeated the last of the Sky Riders. His guard will be lowered, and he won’t see it coming.” He looked for a sign of encouragement from Dyphestive. “We could even free your father at the same time. Black Frost will lose his power and, I don’t know, die eventually or be severely weakened.”

  Zanna chewed on the end of her thumbnail. “I like the idea, but it would be a suicide mission. Even if we cut off his power source, we wouldn’t make it out alive. I’m willing to die for our cause, but I’d need greater assurance as to the outcome. And I didn’t come back to find you so you could alter my plan. We’ve decided that waiting it out is the best course of action.”

  “We who?” Grey Cloak asked.

  “Again—”

  “I know, the less we know, the better.” Grey Cloak sighed. His instincts told him now would be the perfect moment to strike. Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself.
He stirred his spoon in his food. “Let’s finish this and go.”

  Zanna reached over and touched his arm. “It’s a good plan, but the war is won with patience.”

  Dyphestive nodded. “I like it, too, and I want to free my father.”

  “I do too,” Zanna assured him.

  Grey Cloak picked at his meal as the conversation came to a complete stop. Once everyone finished, he wiped his mouth on his napkin. Sash was slouched over the bar, not talking to anyone. His sword rested across his lap, and he drank heavily.

  “It appears now is an opportune time to slip out of here.” Grey Cloak tucked Streak underneath his arm and pushed back his chair. “Let’s go.”

  A huge musclebound man filled the tavern’s doorway.

  “Zooks. It’s Bull.”

  44

  With Bull leading the way, more members of the Scourge filed in, one after the other. Bull was the largest of them, as big as Dyphestive if not bigger. He was as bald as an egg, ugly, and scarred, with lazy eyes. The club in his grip was big enough for two men to carry.

  “Interesting bunch of rogues.” Zanna wore a playful smile. “Tell me about your friends.”

  “They aren’t friends,” Grey Cloak said. “The big one is Bull. He’s every bit as dumb as he looks. The woman with green hair is Katrina. She’s second-in-command. The little ferret-faced woman with the wolf-fur cloak is Squirrel. The tall swordsman is Hawk, and the scrawny one with the gash on his face and more tattoos than skin on his arms is Honzur—a wizard. Obviously.”

  “A fetching bunch.”

  The members of the Scourge one and all bumped forearms with Sash. Their aggressive manners took over the place.

  “Don’t anyone be alarmed!” Sash said in a throaty voice. He offered up his hands in a sign of peace. “We are here to celebrate! It’s been a good day!” He slapped his hand on the top of the bar. “Barkeep, give my friends here all they can drink. A round for present company.”

  “Hear! Hear!” said a heavyset man sitting in the corner by himself.