The Titan's Tome

by M. B. Schroeder

  Armagon edged along the darkness, his body blending with the earth and shadows. The eggs rested on a mat of decaying leaves and flora. The scent was sickly sweet and warmth radiated up from the pile. He moved to the far side of the eggs, away from the chaos, and began slicing them open. His sword silent as it ripped through the leathery shells.

  There was a rumble that shook the ground, and the loose mounds of mud along the sides of the pit began to break free. Armagon cursed and ducked, trying to avoid the cascade. The other dragons began flying and clawing their way out, frightened that he was loose amongst them.

  A clod of dirt, half as large as him, crashed into Armagon, smashing him to the ground and igniting a new flare of pain along his ribs. Breath was knocked from his chest, and he struggled to force his lungs to work. The dragons roared and called out into the night about the assassin. Their frantic exit damaged the walls and they gave way. Armagon could only look up in desperation as it rained down on him.

  He fought to work his way toward the body of the female he’d killed, the falling debris kept him from spreading his wings and flying out. It was coming heavier and faster, and he barely made it to the cover of her massive wing. He waited under the dark leather, wheezing each breath as the avalanche stormed down around him. After the rain of earth ended, Armagon tested the walls of his new prison. He stabbed at the dirt and mud, but could not find a way out.

  The plan had failed. Worse than that, DraKar wouldn’t flee to save himself. He never had.

  ***

  DraKar had expected to see Armagon near the shore by now. The blue dragons were near the ocean, living in the caves scratched into the cliff. DraKar and Armagon had planned on striking there last so they could make an easy escape.

  The whole island was in uproar, and the screams about assassins made it clear his brother had been seen. While the dragons he’d drawn to the skies, were beginning to wear on him.

  He drew his sword and began dispatching the flying menaces in close combat, trying to reserve some power for when Armagon appeared. Dragons fell from the sky, some plunging into the ocean, others crashing into the island. There was no longer any need to keep them occupied; to give them hope that if enough rallied against him, they could overwhelm him.

  DraKar circled closer to the blue dragons’ caves, searching for Armagon, hoping his brother would fly up next to him soon, as he had before the battle. He saw a dozen of the blues in flight near the cliff. The warnings from the other colors had most of them guarding their eggs instead of moving to fight above them.

  Something had slowed Armagon down. DraKar could finish their planned destruction of the eggs himself, and if his brother hadn’t appeared by then, he would find him.

  In the rock face was a large cavern, carved out by claws and magic, with smaller personal caves that pockmarked the cliff around it. DraKar whipped and dodged between the last three dragons who ventured close enough to engage him. It was little effort for him to break their shields. Being smaller and faster he could get close to their throats and heads, and bury his sword in them. Showers of blood spilled off his shield of magic.

  DraKar didn’t have infinite stores of power, and some of his strongest magic instructors had been dragons. He’d been honed into a specialized weapon, and knew how to conserve his strength and use it to maximum effect. But he had been trying to draw attention and even his vast reserves of energy were dwindling.

  The largest blue, a male missing the tip of his tail, flew in a loop nearby and caught sight of the sarpand diving through the sky. He turned with a hiss of warning, as DraKar rammed his sword into the dragon’s gleaming yellow eye. He wrenched the sword up through the socket, cutting and breaking bone.

  The other blue dragons turned on their attacker, as DraKar kicked away from the dead one. He flew through the entrance of the cavern as spells pelted his shield. The cave was massive, large enough for several of its crafters to enter, but it would still hinder their movements. DraKar counted on that to slow the dragons coming after him.

  He landed and took in the dark emptiness that surrounded him, realizing with a sinking dread, that the eggs had already been moved. A rumble shook the rock around him, and he turned back to the entrance as it was caved in, the same magic and claws that had created the opening, destroyed it. With a roar of defiance, he tried to escape, but the tumbling boulders crashed down in front of him, sending a shower of dust and sharp stones rattling across his shield.

  DraKar slid to a halt, his claws scraping along the stone floor to keep from being buried by the collapsing walls and ceiling. He gave an angry snarl at the sound of the last rocks clattering to a stop. His chest heaved as he caught his breath in the darkness. Rage flared fresh in his blood, and he formed a spell to break through the cave-in, but was met with resistance from the dragons outside. Their own magic was shielding the exit, along with the collapsed rock.

  He could fight through their shield, but it would take the last of his reserves to battle that many dragons focused on a single spell. Deflecting spells powered by a single dragon was something he was trained for, but the brute strength of the magic being focused by several dragons, would be difficult to break at best.

  A thick weaving of magic sought him out, tendrils of several sources wrapped together and coiled around him. DraKar didn’t stir from where he stood, the magic wasn’t meant to hold him in place, but to keep him from using his own. When the fighting had been chaotic, the dragons hadn’t coordinated to lock down his abilities. Now they had time, they were working in unison. He couldn’t win against their combined strength.

  A silent snarl pulled his lips up in the dark. He’d fallen for the trap. It was likely the dragons had gotten in contact with Tiamat, and she would want her prize kept alive. With the dragons blocking his magic, DraKar couldn’t stop them from crafting a spell to hold him in place. He could only hope Armagon had gotten away.

  Chapter 17

  310 Br.

  “Money changers are the thieves in the sunlight. The dictation of the value of coins between the kingdoms falls to this unsupervised lot of despots. They are the border raiders protected by the guards. I spit on them, and their seed, blight take them all!”

  -Caravan Master Rosh’s Commentary on Border Crossings

  M orkleb stood and stretched his back, staring at the new, thick, wooden shutters installed on the windows of the temple. They were closed now, blocking the sight of the demons outside in the night. It helped further muffle their howls, but he doubted there was anywhere in the city they couldn’t be heard.

  “How are you, my boy?”

  Morkleb looked over his shoulder and greeted the man who had brought him into the temple. “Master Len.” For being the master cleric of the temple, Len didn’t put on any airs of expecting better treatment. If anything, the man was humbler than some of the servants who served alongside Morkleb.

  Morkleb gestured to the shutters. “Only took three months.”

  “I should have thought to have them put up before.”

  Morkleb shook his head. “This temple has been here three hundred years. No one had ever tried to break out of it during the night.”

  “A twisted sorrow had hold of her,” Len said and gently laid a hand on Morkleb’s shoulder. “But you would think in all that time, that one of us masters would have thought to shutter the windows at night.”

  “I read they made the windows big so everyone would see the temple of Thesda had no fear of demons entering. That never again would a demon set foot on Thesda’s holy ground.”

  “You read like a shark eats chum.”

  Morkleb couldn’t help but grin. “They don’t eat the chum, Master. It just attracts them.”

  Len snorted. “Some master I am.” He clapped his hand against Morkleb’s shoulder and smiled to show he took no offense. “I heard you were asking to take the test to become an acolyte. Most need at least a year of study. But you’re welcomed to take the test as soon as you feel ready. Thesda teaches not to put f
alse limits on anyone.” Len guided Morkleb to turn around and look over the three other servants moping, dusting and putting new candles up. “Are you doing it to avoid servant’s duties?”

  Morkleb’s ears twitched back and then straightened. He shook his head, the thin chain on his right ear jingled softly. “No, Master. I’ll clean as an acolyte if you think I should. I understand the year of service to the temple and people is meant to make you humble. I don’t believe I’m better than anyone. I just read fast and can remember it.”

  Len quirked a dark brow at him. “Everything?”

  Morkleb shrugged. “Nearly. I don’t always recall the exact words.” A sharp screech from a demon outside made him startle. No one else jumped from the noise, they were all used to it.

  “You’re all right, my boy.”

  Morkleb’s ears dipped to either side. “I’m a coward.”

  “Fear of those beasts isn’t cowardly. It’s what you do with the fear that determines your bravery. And you chose to stay here, in this cursed city.”

  “Then not returning to the Nightbane was cowardly,” Morkleb grumbled.

  “You said it was because you wanted to become a cleric. That the ship reminded you of Jarah.”

  “Yes.”

  “That isn’t cowardice, my boy. That’s grief and wanting to do something constructive with it.” Len turned to face him and grasped his shoulders, locking eyes with him. “Morkleb, I don’t think you know how to be a coward.” He thumped a finger in the middle of the icren’s chest. “Your soul isn’t the cowardly type. Your aura doesn’t shrink back from difficulties. If anything, you become stronger from them. It’s a rare thing for someone to truly persevere like that. Many people say they learn or get stronger from their mistakes, but not in their soul.”

  Morkleb gave a weak smile and nodded.

  “Most would be vindictive toward Brother Kal for not being able to heal Jarah. Some would even blame Thesda and never return.”

  “Brother Kal’s inexperience isn’t his fault.” All clerics of Thesda were granted the same powers. The only difference was how the cleric handled it. Tears welled in Morkleb’s eyes, and he didn’t bother to hold them back. Grief wasn’t something to be ashamed of or hidden. To push it away meant it might fester and become something worse. “Thesda gave him the power to try. Jarah…”

  “You said she would sometimes hide to cry, and drink to dull her pain. Some people can go years with that darkness in them, eating at them, and some just a short while. You did everything you could for her, you wouldn’t let her battle that doubt and fear alone. I know you don’t blame her for losing that fight.”

  “But she ran out to the demons,” Morkleb took a sharp breath and choked, fresh tears coursed from his eyes. “Would Thesda welcome her after that? Is that…?”

  “She didn’t take her life with her own hand.” Len sighed. “I won’t lie to comfort you, my boy. I don’t know how Thesda would view what she did.”

  A little whine of despair clawed up Morkleb’s throat. “She… she could be damned to the Hells then?” He felt his knees go weak, and Len tried to hold him, but Morkleb went to the floor.

  Len knelt with Morkleb and held him, letting him cry. “Oh my boy, we can’t know if she was.” He didn’t rush Morkleb’s mourning, but when the icren had settled he said, “Pray to Thesda, ask your questions. If the answers are truly needed, they’ll be given.”

  Morkleb nodded and sat back, wiping the remains of his tears away.

  “All right, my boy. You come to me for your studies this week. I’ll help prepare you for the acolyte test.”

  ***

  The southern continent was made up of hard red earth and sandy desert. There were spires of red stone that reached into the sky like a forest. Giant oceans of sand that shifted with the winds. Canyons that held fetid, poisonous pools of water that had soured ages ago. There were few marks of civilization, only the oases.

  Most were little more than mud brick hovels, built near stunted trees and shrubs. Often a well had to be dug to reach the water. The people who controlled those precious waters ranged from small families to groups of thugs, but everyone demanded a high price. Seal had stolen enough gold from the coffers of the Red Skulls to see them all the way to the border of the northern continent if needed.

  “It would be better if we go north with a caravan,” Seal said as they rested in the shade of a cloth lean-to, letting the heat of the day pass. “Since we’re going north anyway, might as well get paid for it.”

  “You mean hire on,” Kharick said.

  “Aye,” Seal answered in imitation of his voice. “With a giant, I think we’ll get hired pretty quick.” She jabbed a thumb at Madger “And a mage besides.”

  “Hardly a mage,” Madger corrected.

  “Show them your little light orb and a fireball or two, and we’ll be fine.”

  Madger frowned. “I don’t know how to make a fireball.”

  Seal sat up from her reclined position. “Don’t know or aren’t powerful enough?”

  “Oh, she’s powerful, lass. Scared some mages just to look at her.”

  Seal looked to Kharick in surprise, then back at Madger. “Not trained, then.”

  “I can do other things,” Madger said and crafted a spell that pulled Seal’s daggers from their sheaths at her hips.

  Seal snatched her weapons out of the air, and Madger let her, ending the spell. “Don’t do that.” She put them back away and looked at Madger again. “At least, don’t do that to me. It should work to convince a caravan master to hire us.”

  “I’ll try and make a fireball.”

  “No!” Seal screeched. “Didn’t anyone tell you not to make a spell you haven’t been trained in?”

  Madger shrugged. “I learn faster doing it that way.”

  “The mage we used to live with—”

  “Gerran,” Seal said.

  Kharick nodded and continued, “He said she was good at figuring out magic.”

  “Infinite,” Seal muttered and ran a hand down her face. “Fine, but be careful.” She pointed at Madger. “And we need to start training you to use that ax.”

  Madger agreed. If there was a way to die, to have a death worthy of the Ancient’s attention, it would likely require her to fight against steep odds. If there was no such fight available, she could avenge her clan’s death, but Seal had said it would take several months to reach the northern continent. She hadn’t asked about getting to the Black Mountains. She still had no idea what might have slaughtered them, and she wasn’t willing to talk about it with Seal or Kharick. It was simply too painful and she rather it stay buried as much as possible.

  The nightmares still came, less frequent now, but she made sure not to sleep too close to Seal and Kharick, since she tended to thrash in her sleep. They had given up asking her about them, about what she cried out in her native language, she never answered them.

  It took almost a month from the time they left Neosho to reach one of the larger oases. It was like a thriving garden had sprung up in the middle of the hard packed, sandy ground. Tall skinny trees with crowns of broad green leaves ringed the pool of water. A variety of grasses and shrubs clung to its edge. On the eastern side, well-tended fruit trees and vegetables were guarded by several veiled men with spears.

  Camped on the southern and western edge, were a group of nomads and two caravans. On the northern side was a group of squat, mud-brick buildings where the owners and guards lived.

  Seal managed to sway the northern bound caravan master to let them show him they were worth hiring. It only took her, then Kharick knocking his guard captain to the ground, to convince him they were skilled enough. Madger made a little display of a swirling fire in her hand, and they were hired.

  An easy working relationship had developed between the three companions. They learned each other’s strengths and weaknesses, when to support, and when to back away. Kharick was adept at close fighting, but if anyone was at range he had little in his arse
nal to combat them. While Seal could handle close or a longer distance attack with her throwing knives, she didn’t have the same brute strength as Kharick or Madger. Madger’s magic gave the greatest reach, she’d learned how to knock someone down with a spell and had a better command of using fire at a distance, but if needed, she knew how to wield her dual headed ax. The other two had learned to stay clear of her swinging arcs, because once she began spinning the weapon nothing was safe near her, she still hadn’t mastered finesse.

  They practiced together in the late evening coolness when the caravan stopped, teaching each other how to counter their own attacks. It proved useful the two times a small band of thieves thought they could steal from the caravan. The first had been during the night at one of the oases. The raiders hadn’t seen Madger sleeping on the far side of the wagons. Once she stood, looking over the top of the curved roof of the wooden vardo, most of the thieves rode away, screaming into the night. The second had proved more of a fight, one of the caravan guards was killed, another lost his hand, but only three of the attackers managed to flee.

  It was winter when they reached the border city of Nox’Len, of the northern country bearing the same name. A great stone wall, over fifty feet high, made of the granite of the mountains that marked the country’s northern border, spanned the narrow strip of land that connected northern and southern continents. On a map, the continents appeared stretched apart, like a piece of molten glass pulled to breaking point. For eight miles the wall stretched, ending at the oceans at either coast and no one could breach it. No army had conquered it and no thief had slipped past it.

  The caravan master paid their way through the massive iron gate, and they entered the city that seemed ready to burst with the mass of people on the other side. They moved through the congested arteries of Nox’Len to the open-air bazaar in the eastern section. The caravan master had to pay again at the entrance for a place for his nine wagons. In the bazaar, a multitude of booths and wagons of various sizes and some outlandish designs, everything from simple box vardos to great constructs made to look like giant animals were in their ranks.