Order Of The Dragon (Omnibus 1-4)

by Jason Halstead

  She moved on, intent upon studying the spell and understanding its intricacies when time permitted. Acquiring the necessary materials might prove even more difficult than unraveling the spell's mysteries, but she'd accomplish nothing if she didn't at least try.

  She entered the lower hall and saw a dozen ogres milling about, including two that held up the commander of their troop. He was pale and dirty. She saw blood, mostly dried but some fresh, caked the insides of his legs all the way to his boots. Over his pants, cloth had been wound around his hips and between his legs. She smirked, guessing at the nature of his injury.

  "Grack!" she said, rousing him from his stupor. He lifted his head and blinked the fog from his eyes. She could see a fire burned in them still.

  "Dragon Lady," he growled. He paused as though each word was an effort for him. "We done what you wanted."

  "And this is how you return?" Rosalyn asked. She heard Ketten emerge from the passage behind her. He stood at her side and kept his silence.

  He flinched at her harsh tone. She noted the matching wound on his cheek to the scar on the other side of his face. "One man couldn't be killed. Garrick."

  Ketten stiffened beside her. Rosalyn nodded. Garrick was one of Alto's companions. A mighty barbarian from the north, the giant slayer himself. If he could fight off a band of ogres, perhaps he was as mighty as the rumors claimed.

  "And he gave you a lingering death," she stated.

  "Heal me," Grack demanded.

  "I'm not a priestess," Rosalyn snapped. "The saints do not heed my commands."

  "He must die!" Grack spat. He raised himself up on his own legs and winced. Fresh blood ran down his legs and trickled onto the floor.

  "And so he shall," Rosalyn said. "You may go to sleep knowing that he will be taken care of."

  Grack shook his head. "No!" he demanded. "I must see it."

  "Your will is strong, ogre. I admire that, but I haven't the time, materials, or power at hand to bind your spirit once your body fails. I am no necromancer."

  "Your magic is nothing," the ogre declared.

  Rosalyn stiffened. "Nothing?" she snapped at him. "I can rot the flesh from your bones where you stand! Is that nothing, mighty Grack? My spells can wreak havoc and death, not restore life. Perhaps if you pray hard to the saints, one might answer."

  Grack spat on the floor, the movement shifting him enough that he lost his balance and crashed to his knees and one hand. He looked up at her and met her gaze. Rosalyn was amazed to see no fear in his eyes, only hate. It was hate for her at the moment, but she knew its true source was the barbarian named Garrick.

  Her eyes narrowed as a thought came to her. "You are strong, yes?"

  Grack nodded his head. "The strongest!"

  "I believe you. No other man or beast would suffer such a wound so long. Hold on a little longer, Grack."

  He nodded.

  Rosalyn turned to Ketten. "Fetch some wood to make a small fire and bring some small stones that can be crumbled into dust. The smaller the better. Our large friend here won't last long if I must do the grinding."

  Ketten opened his mouth and then closed it. He shook his head and turned to head off in search of Rosalyn's request. The witch glanced at Grack again and chewed on her lip. She spun away, her skirts whipping about her, and walked up the passage to where her bags rested on the floor above. She dug through them and pulled out two small jars, and then set them aside and retrieved a mortar and pestle, a flask, and a skin of water. She nodded at the ingredients and rearranged her saddlebags so she could fit it all inside of one. She carried it back down and found a suitable place to spread out her alchemical supplies on the stone floor of the passage.

  Ketten returned a few minutes later with sticks and a sack filled with rocks. He dropped it next to her and shrugged when she looked at him. "You didn’t say how many!"

  Rosalyn shook her head and looked at Grack. He was watching her but his eyes had a glaze over them. His hands clutched at his groin. The ogre’s fingers were red with his blood. "Grack, have one of your men smash these rocks and grind them into dust. It will go quicker."

  Grack shook his head and turned. He rumbled in his own tongue and waited while two ogres came over and grabbed the sack. She pointed to a spot next to her and watched as they dumped the rocks out. They grabbed the largest rocks they could find and used them to smash the smaller ones into pebbles against the ground.

  Rosalyn nodded and turned back to her satchel. She fished out her supplies and then took the wood that Ketten had delivered and arranged it in a pile. She began to chant a simple cantrip and after a few words, a lick of flame burst from her hand and ignited the sticks. It spread quickly among the seasoned twigs, earning a scowl from her. "Ketten, more wood; this is burning too quickly."

  He nodded and jogged off in search of more kindling.

  Rosalyn poured some of the powders and herbs she brought with her into the flask, and then shook it gently before she poured some of her water into it. She added more water and shook it again. Using tongs, she held it over the fire and swirled it gently as the heat spread. Ketten returned and added more of the twigs and small branches to the fire, bolstering it and heating the vial until the water began to bubble inside.

  She added a fresh pinch of crumbled leaves from a jar to the mix and yanked her hand back before a burst of dark steam belched out of the bottle. She swirled it again and turned back to the ogres. "That's enough," she told them. Grack repeated it so the ogres would understand and back away. She looked at Ketten and said, "Gather up a fistful of the dust. No pebbles, just dust. Hand it to me."

  Ketten moved around the fire and did as she bade. Rosalyn held out her hand and let him pour the dust into it. She removed the flask from the flames and swirled it until it was moving fast enough she could hold the flask still and pour the ground stone in at an even pace. She finished and continued to swirl it even though the mixture was thickening fast.

  She looked at her mortar and frowned, and then saw a flat rock among the ones that hadn't been smashed to bits yet. She grabbed the rock and poured the flask onto it. The fumes rose as it cooled, smelling of sulfur and spice. She rose and walked over to Grack, and then handed him the rock.

  "Quickly, coat your wound with this. It will stop the bleeding but it will burn."

  "Burn?" he asked as he took it from her.

  "Not from heat, from the plants within. Your wound will be cleaned and burned shut, but the plants are dangerous. A man would die from this, but you're bigger than a man."

  "Stronger," Grack said.

  Rosalyn smirked. "Yes, obviously. Now before it cools and hardens, use it!"

  Grack nodded and pulled off the bandage. Rosalyn grimaced and turned away, having no desire to see his ruined genitals. The brief glimpse she saw of the blood-soaked fabric of his hide pants was bad enough.

  She glanced back when she heard the ogre growl. She focused on his face as he continued to scoop the sludge into his wound. His clenched teeth parted after a moment and he roared, nearly deafening her. He scooped the last of the mixture and smeared it into his wound and then tossed the rock onto the ground. "Done!" he said.

  Rosalyn nodded. "Well—"

  She stopped herself as Grack slumped over onto his side and passed out. The witch smirked and looked to the other ogres. "If any of you can understand me, keep him warm. He must fight the ointment and he is weak. When he wakes, feed him as much as he'll take."

  She turned to Ketten. "Gather my things. I've wasted enough time."

  She swept away while Ketten scrambled to pick up her apparatus. The ogres were shuffling about and looking at Grack and at each other. Ketten sighed and repeated her instructions, this time speaking in the crude tongue of goblins that the ogres could understand.

  * * * *

  "Witch!"

  Two days had passed and Rosalyn felt she'd grown closer to understanding the statue, or at least how to commune with the dragon's spirit that was trapped within. She looked up and
saw Grack approaching her with Ketten a half step behind him. Grack walked using a thick log as a cane. He'd found clean pants as well, she noted.

  "I see you survived," Rosalyn greeted him.

  Grack nodded. "I lived. Little more."

  "I told you I couldn't heal you. I only stopped you from dying," she reminded him. "Something no one else could have—or would have—done."

  Grack nodded. "I have sons. My line will live on."

  Rosalyn smirked. Human or ogre, it seemed all men worried about the same foolish things. "You owe me your life, ogre. How will you pay your debt?"

  His eyes narrowed and he rose to his full height just shy of ten feet tall. "What you need?"

  Rosalyn took in his mighty legs, thick arms, and broad chest. "I need a man who can protect me. You are not like your kin, you speak my tongue, and you think with a clear head."

  Grack nodded towards the statue of Sarya. "I commanded many ogres for her. I learned the tongue of men from the humans."

  "You will be my lieutenant, Grack. The man I rely upon for protecting me and for special projects. Serve me well and you will be there to see Garrick die. His life will be one of many."

  "And after?" Grack asked.

  Rosalyn smiled as she looked around the caldera. "This is hardly a fitting palace for a queen of the north," she said. "I will rule these mountains and the lands around them. A queen needs barons and dukes."

  Grack nodded and smiled a toothy grin.

  "Go now, Grack, and gather your kin. Teach them to fight and tell them that we will have what the humans have. Teach yourself to fight, too, not like a brute but like a thinking lord of ogres that understands when to cut and when to parry."

  The ogre chewed her order over and nodded. He turned and limped away, using his cane as a support. Ketten stayed behind and watched him go. He turned back to Rosalyn and said, "You have bold plans, my lady."

  "I have plans beyond your wildest imaginings," she confirmed.

  "And what will my role in this kingdom be?" he asked.

  Rosalyn smiled, but not because she was pleased with his question or his servitude. She smiled because he believed her. "What do you want, Ketten?"

  The guide glanced around before looking at her and saying, "I got no want for great things. I'm a simple man. A cabin in the mountains free from threats is all I ever wanted."

  Rosalyn's smile faded. She sighed. "When I'm done, you shall be rewarded. I am demanding, but fair."

  Ketten's eye twitched at her self-evaluation but he kept his mouth closed.

  "Now leave me to this. I'm close to a breakthrough."

  "Yes, my lady," Ketten said. He hesitated and said, "Um, about this place. We've bedrolls and all, but there's little for comfort here."

  Rosalyn waved her hand at him. "Do as you must," she said. "I've more important affairs to trouble myself with."

  She saw Ketten bow out of the corner of her eye and then slip away. She was already searching for where she'd left off in the book she was reading. Communing with the spirits was one thing, but trying to talk with the still present soul of a statue was something entirely different.

  Chapter 7

  "I would get lost in this city," Alto said from his seat in the open wagon the people of Mira used for conveyance. Patrina nodded while she stared down the roads of the busy capital of Shazamir.

  "You wouldn't be the first," Namitus said from his rear-facing seat in front of them. "Sooner or later, you find your way, though. That or you walk down the wrong road and you're never heard from again."

  "What? In the city?" Patrina asked.

  Namitus chuckled. "Brotherhoods of thieves and assassins work together here, although killing merchants and public figures is frowned upon."

  "Why don't the lords do something about it?" Alto asked.

  Namitus rubbed his thumb against his fingers. "Look around, my friends. We're surrounded by desert! There's nothing here but people. The Khalalid River brings life to the city and crops along its shores, but there's no true wealth here."

  Alto shook his head. "I saw a lot of wealth in the palace."

  "And what do you see among the common people on the street? The peasant farmer in the north has more than that man selling trinkets or that woman there, carrying a basket full of snakes."

  "Snakes?" Patrina hissed.

  Namitus nodded. "I know; who'd dare to carry such a thing unless the gold was good? My guess is her husband catches them and she takes them to sell them while he looks for more. And they probably fetch less than a handful of silver for the entire basket."

  "So what does that have to do with the city watch ignoring thievery?"

  "Bribery," Namitus explained. "Everyone wants what the nobles and fat merchants have—gold. They'll do anything for it, not realizing that once it's spent, they're back where they were. If they don't get stabbed and robbed for having it in the first place."

  Patrina reached up to her silver necklace with the small jewels set in the pendant.

  The rogue laughed. "You should be safe; we're surrounded by royal guards. That and your champion sits beside you. Don't think word hasn't been spread of his exploits. Few are the men willing to risk the wrath of a dragonslayer!"

  Alto scowled. Patrina reached over to squeeze his hand. "It wasn't a noble fight like the legends speak of."

  "And you think the fairy tales were?"

  Alto stiffened and looked at his betrothed. "I never thought of that."

  She patted his arm. "That's okay. You're big, handsome, and strong. That takes a lot of work. I can do the thinking for you."

  Namitus snickered and earned a glare from Alto. The warrior let the playful jibe pass and said, "I don't understand why so many people are here if there's so few resources? This city alone has more men in it than all northern kingdom!"

  Namitus shrugged. "When you can't afford anything else, what do people do?"

  Alto looked at Patrina and found her just as lost as he was. He shrugged.

  "Why do nobles have so many fewer children than commoners?" Namitus asked.

  Alto's eyes narrowed. "You mean they breed the common people here like cattle?"

  The rogue barked out a laugh. "No! Well, not like that, but the nobles need workers so they can build their palaces and estates. They need men willing to work cheaply, and when there are more laborers than there are jobs, they can dictate the price."

  "That's wrong," Patrina said.

  "What would you do, ban people from marriage? Prevent them from having children? How?" Namitus challenged.

  Patrina snapped her mouth shut and frowned.

  Namitus nodded. "Beneath the surface of this beautiful city is a dark and fearsome world that makes it all possible."

  "And you seem to know it well," Alto pointed out.

  Namitus shrugged. "I wasn't in such robust company the last time I was here."

  They let their friend's claim end the topic and fell into silence while hardy mules pulled them through the city streets. Men dressed in the robes and wearing the loose-fitting layered armor of the royal guards kept beside their wagon.

  "I'm looking forward to getting back home," Patrina said a moment later. "I miss it."

  Alto shrugged. "I don't know, I enjoy the road. And this weather here? It's wonderful!"

  "It's hot!" Patrina said.

  Namitus looked up at the sheet of fabric attached to the poles at the corners of the wagon. It provided them with shade without blocking the wind like a northern coach would. "You're shaded, at least."

  Patrina snorted. "I'm still recovering from the sunburn I received on the voyage down."

  "We'd talked about heading east, to the Havara Mountains where Mordrim's people live. Do we still want to do that?"

  "My friend, you need to leave this place," Namitus said.

  Alto's brow furrowed as he looked at the worldly man. "What? Why?"

  "Your sister just married a minor lord. His valuation has increased because of that. If you were to disappear fo
r a while and be found dead, Caitlyn would be the sole inheritor of your line."

  Alto laughed. "My line? I have no line. I own a farm in the kingdom with fields that aren't tended, nothing more!"

  "You've been named thane of Rockwood," Patrina pointed out.

  Alto scoffed again. "A city that doesn't yet exist and may never, at the rate things are going."

  "And you'll one day be the heir to Holgasford," Namitus pointed out. "Kill one little dragon and the world takes notice."

  Alto opened and shut his mouth. He turned and stared into the busy streets while they rolled inexorably on. "This isn't what I wanted," he said at last.

  "Leave it all behind," Namitus counseled. "Wander the world, as I've done. You meet some interesting people and make great friends."

  Patrina gasped and Alto shook his head.

  Namitus glanced at the princess and admitted, "Well, it would help if Patrina went with you."

  "What of you? Are you still wandering the world?" Alto asked the rogue.

  Namitus frowned. He leaned back in his seat and gazed over the sea of unwashed and sweaty humanity. "I take each day as it comes. The truth of it is I've never met a friend like you and I can't see my life getting boring enough around you to want to move on."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Patrina stared hard at the man she'd once considered a brother.

  Namitus grinned and answered, "It means you and your husband-to-be are lodestones for trouble."

  Alto burst out laughing. Patrina joined him a moment later, signaling that all was well among the friends. They fell silent and enjoyed each other's company until Alto glanced ahead and saw how close to the harbor they were. "So this is it then, we just go home? It's been an eventful trip, just rather dull."