Order Of The Dragon (Omnibus 1-4)

by Jason Halstead

  "I was worried for you," she admitted when he said nothing for too long. "Worried you might not find the stomach to do what you must to survive. I love you, Alto, and I'm happier each day that I'm with you."

  Alto turned towards her voice in the darkness, surprised at her words. He smiled, knowing she could see him. "And you never stop surprising me."

  "Jethallin's coming back," Patrina hissed loud enough for everyone to hear.

  They shifted about, straps and buckles creaking in the darkness while scabbards bumped against the floor or walls of the tunnel. Alto frowned when he realized Patrina had seen Jethallin but they could not. "Where's her lantern?" he wondered aloud.

  "In her hand, but there's no light," Patrina said.

  Namitus hissed in the darkness. "I can see a little, but not much. Trina, is there anybody coming up the passage behind us?"

  "You think a trap?" Alto asked him.

  "Everybody has a price," the rogue reminded him.

  "She wouldn't take gold."

  "Nobody said she was offered gold."

  "She's still got Jennaca tucked in her sling," Patrina said after she glanced down the tunnel the other way from the small stairwell they hid in.

  A light flashed briefly down the passage from Jethallin. Alto and Namitus groaned as they were blinded by the light. Patrina grunted and held her hand up to block her eyes. She blinked several times until the magic reasserted itself and let her see the shades of heat in the passage again.

  "We're here," Patrina hissed a few minutes later when Jethallin stopped in the passage and reached out to find the side of the passage. Jethallin nodded and moved forward until her hand was on the open air above Alto's head. She stopped and turned to face them.

  "It's safe, but we need to hurry," Jethallin hissed.

  "How will we see in the dark?" Alto asked her.

  "I'll open my lantern from time to time, but mostly by memory and counting steps."

  "I've got longer legs than you." Garrick tried to lower his deep voice but it only made it sound sinister in the darkness.

  "Then you'll have to listen and be ready to stop if you run into somebody," Jethallin told him. "Everybody in the tunnel. I'll shine the light for a moment and you must remember it."

  "Trina?" Alto asked, conveying with one word his question for her ability to see in the dark and aid them as needed.

  "I'll be fine," Patrina responded. She turned to Jethallin and explained, "I was trapped in a cave a few years ago without any light. Alto found me and I've had a hard time in dark spaces ever since."

  Alto fought to keep the smile off his face. She wasn't lying about any of it, but that didn't mean her implied fear of caves was true. "Let's go. The longer we wait, the worse her chances are."

  "Be ready," Jethallin said before she spun and lit the tunnel. Shadows leapt away from them as the steel slid open and let the light ahead of her. The tunnel stayed lit for a count of three and then plunged into darkness again.

  Alto blinked, expecting his vision to return but it did not. "I'm okay," Patrina repeated a moment later. She reassured him but not for reasons that Jethallin would understand.

  Alto grunted and started down the passage as soon as Jethallin whispered for them to follow her. His right hand brushed the wall of the tunnel to keep him oriented. If only he could use his magical shield and tap the crown over the mountain emblem on the face of it, they'd have light aplenty. He tossed the thought aside. They didn't lack for light if they needed it; they lacked for want of it.

  Jethallin led them through the tunnels for what seemed an eternity. Without any light, time lost all meaning; only steps mattered and Alto found his mind kept wandering and making him lose count. They changed directions twice, with a flash of light at each to warn them of what was ahead, even though each tunnel looked the same to Alto. He heard Jennaca stir or grow fussy three times as they walked, but some quiet murmuring or soft singing from Jethallin settled the baby back down each time.

  Jethallin lit the lantern without warning, blinding them all and causing a few groans and curses as well as three swords to be drawn. Two of them belonged to Carson, the other to Alto. Alto cast a green glow from the light his blade produced along its length.

  "I've heard stories of your demon sword," Jethallin whispered. Her eyes were wide as she stared at Alto's blade.

  "It's no demon sword," Alto growled. "It was made by a friend and contains both the power of Saint Jarook and Saint Leander in it."

  "Enemies of the Light would do well to fear the weapon and the man who wields it," Kar said with a cackle.

  Alto shook his head and asked her, "Do you have any friends who are wizards?"

  Jethallin's brow lowered. "No, why?"

  "No matter," Alto said with a scowl at the grinning wizard. "Is this it?"

  She nodded at the wood wall ahead of them. It looked like many other passages that dead-ended in the Shadows, save for the lever on the ceiling and the iron rung worked into the wall. "The lever locks it. I'll unlock it and let you in, then wait for you."

  "What if we go out another way?" Alto asked her.

  She smiled. "You won't, not if you want to live. The only way out is through the palace and it is guarded. My bet is the guard has tripled since word of your return reached them."

  Alto turned to look at his friends and saw resolution in their faces. He considered offering to let them wait with the beggar but he knew he'd be wasting his breath. "All right, we'll be back as soon as we find her. Do you know where she is?"

  She shook her head. "Happy to say I've never been in the dungeons. Few people visit and return, at least with their heads still attached."

  Jennaca stirred and cried out against her chest. Jethallin shushed her and rocked her in her arms, drawing the baby into an uneasy calm. Everyone looked at her, fearful the baby would cry loud enough to draw attention. As the moments passed, the baby continued to fuss. With the fussing, an odor filled the passage.

  "By the saints, what is that?" Carson gasped and covered his nose with his hand.

  "Jennaca's messed herself," Jethallin said. "Go quickly," she said and she reached up to the ceiling and pulled the lever into the unlocked position.

  Alto turned to the rung but Garrick had already moved up and grabbed it. The barbarian's great sword was in his other hand. Alto sheathed his sword long enough to slip his shield off his back and tightened the straps on his arm. Sword in hand again, he glanced at the others and saw everyone had their weapons at the ready, from Patrina with her axe to Karthor with his spiked mace. He nodded to Garrick and rushed through the door as soon as the northlander pulled it open.

  Chapter 6

  Mordrim fought the urge to glance over his shoulder as he walked through the gate to the Foreign District. The guards let him enter with little more than a glance, but once he was inside, he felt different.

  The road in front of the Foreign District had been open, as though the crowd of people passing by avoided it. That wasn't unusual, he knew, but it seemed as though the people of Mira gave it a wider berth today. Or was it just his nerves getting to him?

  Mordrim snorted. He was a dwarf! His nerves were tested by fire and battle! He reached up and threw back the hood of the cloak he wore and felt the oppressive afternoon sun beat down on his brow. He wanted to shuck the cloak entirely but a dwarf without a shirt was a sight never seen.

  The dwarf walked through the almost empty streets of the Foreign District to the same shop he'd brought his friends before. He opened the door and stepped in, grateful at once to be out of the sun, even if he would never admit it. He loosed his cloak and rose up on his toes to see over the racks and shelves in the shop.

  "A fine day! Welcome to Snord's!" Snord, Mordrim's friend and the owner of the shop greeted him. "I'm Snord himself, at your service!"

  Mordrim walked around a rack and saw Snord behind a table. As he moved closer, Snord's smile faded. "I'm in need of a few things," Mordrim said with a smile.

  "By the s
aints! You're alive!"

  Mordrim nodded. "Cut me and I bleed. I know since I've been cut on a few times of late."

  "Is it true?"

  Mordrim blinked and came to a step on the other side of the table. "Which part? The bleeding part?"

  "No, what I heard whispered. About Havara?" Snord glanced around, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "The splisskin and them flying snake-lovers?"

  Mordrim nodded and patted his hammer. "My hammer was one of the weapons that sent the wyrm over the edge of the cliff."

  Snord's eyes went to the short-handled weapon at the dwarf's side. "And the treasure? Is that true?"

  Mordrim pulled his cloak back enough to reach into a pouch at his belt. He slapped his fist onto the table and straightened his fingers slowly. Snord stared at the glint of light reflecting off of something shiny beneath his hand, and then cackled and bounced on his feet when he saw the small jewels and chunks of gold and silver ore. "It's true. The Order kept it hidden and didn't touch it. There's coins and other wealth down there, too, added to Demroc's hoard by the dragon that ruled the mountains."

  Snord started to reach for the small pile of wealth. He stopped and looked up at Mordrim. "What of the curse? Is it true? I heard something about you knowing firsthand many years past."

  "Aye," Mordrim said with a heavy sigh. "I did. I ran afoul of it, but we wasn't to speak of it. It's gone now, dead with the dragon."

  "It's yours then? You and your friends? Did you take it?"

  "Some," Mordrim admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. "Enough. There's more than a man could dream of spending in a dozen lifetimes down there, between the ore and the dragon's pillaging. We told the dwarves and they rushed to occupy the mountains. Better them than the splisskin or another one of them damned dragons."

  Snord picked up one of the smaller diamonds and stared at the bluish tint deep in the gem. He grinned like a boy and held it up to the light to cast a blue-tinted rainbow across his face and the wall behind him.

  "Keep it," Mordrim said. "And more, but I need help."

  Snord nodded and shoved the diamond into a pocket. His other hand reached out to sweep up the rest of the mound of treasure and add it to the diamond. "What help?"

  Mordrim unfastened his cloak and pulled it apart. "Fresh clothes and armor to start. Then I need to see about convincing the snake-lovers who run this city to mind their own business."

  Snord burst out laughing when he saw Mordrim without a shirt. He clamped his hand over his mouth and nodded, but his grin wouldn't leave his face. "What do you mean, mind their own business? That's what they do best, look after their own interests."

  "I heard tell that there's been some killing of a noble and blame's being pointed up north, at my friends."

  Snord reached up to scratch his bulbous nose before he spoke. "Between that and the rumors of what happened in the Havara Mountains—rumors only, mind you, no one is owning up to them till you got here—there's been a lot of funny things taking place. More guards moving about and orders are up for weapons and armor. Even orders coming my way, which is rare. I had one human admit to me that he preferred dwarven swords because they held up better and kept an edge longer. Soon as he was back with his fellows, he did his best to pretend I didn't exist except to serve him."

  Mordrim grunted. "It's true, then. They mean to go to war."

  Snord shrugged. "I don't know about that—"

  "I do," Mordrim said. He slapped another pebble of golden ore on the table. "Fetch me a shirt and some boots, Snord, and later when I'm gone, have an ale on me. Then tell me where I can find some people aching to give the city guard and their lazy masters sitting in the palace something to worry about."

  Snord squinted one eye while he looked Mordrim up and down and then wandered off to look among the racks of his store. He returned a few moments later with a simple cotton shirt, some sturdy boots, and a leather jack with plates sewn into it.

  Mordrim scowled as he held up the armor. "What's this? Something to keep the chill out of my bones at night?"

  Snord chuckled. "I've got nothing else to fit you. Like I said, the men working for the city have bought most of my armor out. Got so bad they started taking the dwarf-sized mail, too. Fits them well enough, though it's often loose in the shoulders and short at the waist."

  Mordrim snorted and worked his feet into the boots. "I'll be sure to gut a few of them then. Well enough, I suppose. What about talking to someone who might be able to make some things happen around here?"

  "Things?"

  "Aye, things that make the Shazamir anxious about sending their warriors to a faraway land."

  Snord's lip curled up in a grin. "I know just the man! But it'll have to be later before we can see him. Can you wait a bit?"

  Mordrim slipped the shirt over his head and stretched his arms to get it to sit proper on his wide frame. It was nearly a perfect fit. "I expect I can make the time."

  "Have you eaten?"

  Mordrim frowned. "No, not since this morning."

  "Good! Go and buy us some lunch and bring it back," Snord said.

  Mordrim growled at his friend and then chuckled. "Fair enough, but my pockets only go so deep!"

  Snord grinned and waved him off. "There's an inn just outside. Unless you don't mind whatever poor animal's been run over in your stew, I suggest you avoid the special."

  Mordrim raised a bushy eyebrow and nodded. He turned and headed out of Snord's shop and looked to the two men walking down the road towards him. He kept his face free of expression as he passed them, and then turned to watch them. One of them was looking at him while the other stopped at the door and opened it. He barked at his companion, pulling his attention away from Mordrim. They entered Snord's. Mordrim decided he'd best find the inn and quick. He didn't believe in inviting trouble.

  * * * *

  Mordrim use one hand to balance the platter filled with steaming meat and two tankards that had slopped some of their foamy contents around the cups. He opened the door to Snord's with the other and held it with his foot. He stepped in and walked towards the back, his view blocked by the platter he now held in both hands and the tall shelves around him.

  "Snord, the barkeep said they had some boar slaughtered in the south. I saw the remains still on the spit," Mordrim called out. He set the platter down and snatched a slice of the roast pig up to his mouth to chew on it. He grinned around the juicy mouthful of meat and reached for one of the ales next.

  "Snord!" Mordrim called again after he swallowed. "Get out here!"

  When he wasn't answered, Mordrim scowled and shoved the last of the slice of meat in his mouth and then washed it down and stormed around the table to head to the back. He stopped when he saw a rack once filled with metal-shod staves tipped to the side. One staff was cracked in half and three others lay on the floor.

  Mordrim turned and saw other signs of disturbance. A shelf was shifted back with a few cloaks and other garments on the floor or hanging loosely. A table with knives of different shapes and sizes was moved and the weapons scattered across the top of it. Mordrim's eyes narrowed and he pulled his hammer free from his belt.

  "Snord?" Mordrim called again as he turned towards the door into the back of the shop. He stopped when he saw the smear of red on the hardpacked floor of the shop. He knelt down to get a better look and saw that it was still wet. Mordrim lurched to his feet and crashed through the door with a roar. It slammed into the wall and bounced back, but he swatted it aside with his hammer and heard the reassuring crack of it breaking.

  Mordrim looked around the supply room and saw countless trunks and closets, many of them opened. The back room was in more disarray than the front room was. Swords and shields lay scattered, as well as clothing, more boots, and countless other random items a man might need for the road. He found Snord back in a corner, tucked beside a chest that had been tipped over him.

  "Snord! You old fool, you've been robbed," Mordrim grumbled as he pulled the heavy chest away and knelt down
next to his friend. He pushed the dwarf back, his mouth open to berate him again. His jaw hung open, no words coming out. Snord's chest, and now Mordrim's hand, was soaked with blood. The helpful dwarf stared up at the ceiling with eyes that would never see again.

  "Damn," Mordrim cursed. He rose up and looked around, hammer lifted as though his enemies were upon him. He remained the only man in the room with a beating heart. He turned and looked down at his friend and sighed. He could see how Snord's throat had been slashed open and his blood poured out over his chest. "You didn't even land a blow, did you? I'll avenge you, old friend."

  Mordrim turned and looked around again. They'd fought Snord but why? Mordrim had no idea what sort of gear the dwarf had in his shop. Had they robbed him? Or had they come to kill him for another reason? A debt or a deal gone bad? Or maybe they knew Snord had helped Mordrim and his friends. Mordrim cursed.

  He had no idea who to talk to about causing trouble with the guard now. Even worse, if he was found standing over Snord's body, he'd be the first person suspected. Mordrim growled and started away from his friend. He stopped and looked back at Snord, and then shook his head again and rushed back to the man. He went through his pockets and found them empty. Whoever had killed him had taken the dragon treasure Mordrim had given him.

  Mordrim rose just as he heard the door at the front of the shop open and strike the bell that Snord once used to raise him from his naps when he had a customer. He bit down another curse and turned to stare at the door that led to the front of the shop. It wouldn't take them long to find him and he had nowhere to hide.

  Chapter 7

  The wizard limped past a group of warriors bullying a cheap price out of a merchant. He scowled and leaned on the stick he'd acquired to appear as old and infirm as possible. The soldiers ignored him.