Chapter 34
Zed blew his displeasure and tossed his head, but continued up the hill as Drogan pushed for extra speed. “Just over the rise there, Zed. We’ll stop for water on the other side.” He patted his horse’s neck and although the horse snorted again, his gait strengthened.
At the summit, Drogan gave Zed that much-needed breather. He dismounted and led his horse through a field of sweet grass and clover to Ram’s Gate Bluff, overlooking Kyrmak bay.
Below, a patchwork of prize farmland and old-growth forest stretched back from the bay. To the northwest, beyond this fertile valley cradling the Port of Kyrmak, lay his father’s kingdom, Kiylorone.
He shook his head as if that alone would keep speculation on the political maneuvering his family found themselves in at bay. Glad he was not a part of it any longer, he still could not help but worry about how what was happening in Bondra might affect his family. The kingdoms between Sedd to the east and the dragon’s backbone mountains to the west had worked to form an amicable alliance known as the Free Provinces of Kiylorone, with his father leading it against the encroaching monster of Sedd. A monster now straddling both the east and west continents.
Drogan took a deep breath, dismissing thoughts of court intrigues and double-dealing. There would be time enough to entertain those if the Echoing Notes requested he deliver the reports to his father. Right now, he had better things to think about. The weight of the artifact shifted in his pouch, drawing his mind to the key… to what he wondered.
She said it would reveal itself when the time was right. Although the artifact looked old, Drogan couldn’t help but wonder if chasing the other half of the puzzle might cost him more than it's worth.. The contract was not what he thought it would be and the payment had come much too easily and right now he needed to focus on what lay ahead of him.
Jayf and most probably Marley, although the hag did not mention him, was shipwrecked and held captive by academy men somewhere between here and the Kverka Shoals. That, she said, was a sure deal. He scanned the tree line bordering the far side of the bluff, looking for any wisp of smoke or wink of flame signifying a camp.
With a sigh, he mounted. “It’s never easy, is it Zed.” Drogan softly flicked the reins and Zed picked up his pace as they headed toward the stream tumbling over the cliffs that marched down to the port city.
Surprised Tenebre Creek ran so high this late in the year, Drogan spent the next handful of hours looking for a place to ford. It wasn’t until they came upon what looked like an old logging camp that they could cross.
Wet and somewhat disgruntled, Drogan made camp on the far side of the stream. He sat on his bedroll, allowing his damp boots to dry, while he examined the small burnished gold pendent the hag gave him to deliver to the girl Kestrel. Shaped like a stylized Wista blossom, the delicate flower dangled from a fine gold chain.
Along with it, he carried a fold of parchment sealed with a mound of scarlet wax with the single letter K etched into it. Another puzzle to add to his growing list. Drogan wrapped the necklace and letter in the swatch of fabric and, with a sigh, slipped them back into their carrying pouch and then into his pack.
Twilight flew in on swift wings and the overcast sky gave way to an evening beset by mist and shadows. Drogan finished a meal of cheese, travel bread, and jerky. He stretched out on his bedroll and closed his eyes, thinking of the first time Jayf insisted he at least learned the basics of mind-speech. He had been more than a little surprised when he finally picked up on the fundamentals of it, although Jayf said almost anyone could as long as they opened their minds to the possibilities.
Clearing his mind as Jayf had taught him, Drogan focused his thoughts on the dragonkin. He took deep, steady breaths and let his awareness expand.
It had taken nearly a year to just figure out how to do that. He was impressed with the dragonkin’s tenacity and belief that he could break through the barrier. Until he began his stint with Marley and Jayf, he never felt the want or need to have anything to do with weavings and essence and such.
But the idea of communicating in such a secretive way in their line of work slowly brought him around. Not that he was much good at it by dragonkin standards. Even so, he heard the mind-speech better than he could speak it. Suddenly he felt someone nearby, also searching with their mind.
Jayf? Is that you? He mind-spoke to the other presence, hoping Jayf would pick up on his question.
Who speaks that name? I want to know. And should I count them as friend or foe?
Drogan’s brow wrinkled, confused, and somewhat taken aback by the answer. He contemplated what to do next when they spoke once more.
Is the dragonkin Jayf a friend you know? And the great rune-weaver Marley also be so.
With a snort, Drogan once more used his mind-speech. I know them, although I have never heard Marley described as such.
He wondered how his snort translated into mind-speak and if this was neither Jayf nor Marley, who in the name of The Fate’s dice was he mind-speaking with.
He felt the change of pressure in his small camp perimeter and opened his eyes to find a large golden squirrel curled up on his bedroll next to him. “For the love of the Creator and the Wista-Nem, please don’t tell me I am mind-speaking with a squirrel,” he said aloud, drawing his sword. “I’ve heard squirrels are a tasty dish with wolfberry sauce.” He used the tip of his sword to flick the squirrel’s tail as it uncurled and hopped off the blanket to scurry up a tree.
From a branch out of reach of hand or sword, the squirrel stood chittering, his small arms waving, his hand-like paws doubled. A sadder welcome there might be, but the horse’s arse is not me.
The words dropped like little pebbles on the surface of Drogan’s mind and he thought about picking up a rock and tossing it at the rodent just to let him know that to be called a horse’s arse by a chittering overgrown rat with a frou-frou tail was not something he took seriously. Instead, he put his sword away. He needed to concentrate on what was important; this squirrel knew Jayf and Marley somehow and it could communicate through mind-speech.
I apologize for my roguish behavior. I overreacted to the… strangeness of this meeting. Drogan strained to make his thoughts heard.
Perhaps to think before you speak and not threaten to make them something to eat.
With a chuckle, Drogan mind-spoke, Well and fine, then my little friend, well and fine. What should I call you?
Mek, my friend, is my name and now will you tell me the same?
Drogan glanced sideways at the squirrel, unsure what response he would get. “Do you know you speak in rhymes?”
Indeed, my words will end in rhyme. But they speak the truth and waste not your time.
“My name is Drogan,” he said aloud, his head aching with the strain of projecting his words into mind-speech. “Marley, Jayf and I work together. I recently came upon information that suggested they were shipwrecked and taken captive. I am here to help. Do you know where they are?”
The weavers have Jayf tied up tight. They will not give him up without a fight.
Drogan banked the fire and lay back on his bedroll. “The night will slip by unannounced, so sleep while you can. We will leave at first light and hope we see them first.” Although he closed his eyes, he knew full well that sleep would be a long time coming.
The thicket Drogan huddled in dripped with morning dew as tendrils of mist snaked along the ground and up through the trees surrounding the campsite. With practiced ease, Drogan slipped through the thick brush and up behind the sleeping Rsakmorg guard. His blade flashed across its throat, and Drogan faded back into the morning mist.
He counted three academy men, two nilmorg and Jayf. Jayf was tied hand and foot, and Drogan figured some sort of essence-weave kept him from using his powers. He looked around for Mek, finally spotting the squirrel in the tree Jayf was roped to.
He nodded, knowing it didn’t matter if Mek could see, for the squirrel’s thoughts were next to his. Over the past handful of days traipsing after their captured friend, stories were exchanged and Drogan found himself enjoying the odd companionship of this half-giant in a squirrel’s body with the mind of a poet.
One of the nilmorg rose from where he bedded near a fire. He stumbled sleepily toward the camp perimeter and met Drogan there. The nilmorg crumpled to the ground, his blood mingling with his pee as Drogan faded back into the shadowed trees.
Only one nilmorg remained, along with the three academy men. Mek scurried down to the rope holding Jayf against the tree and bit into it with a vengeance. As Mek’s teeth gnawed into the rope, it seemed to Drogan as if everything went into slow motion. The rope wreathed and hissed like a serpent, tightening about Jayf’s waist, trying to tangle the squirrel. Jayf’s mouth opened in a silent scream.
The three sleeping men, startled awake by the essence-wove alert of the rope, rose from their bedrolls. Two cast about for their swords, while the last one started chanting. He rubbed a chain of colored gems in his hands. One of Drogan’s throwing knives suddenly bloomed between his eyes before he spoke a handful of the archaic words. The weaver crumpled.
With the death of the weaver, the weave holding Jayf fell away and the rope was again just a rope. Mek quickly chewed through the knots, releasing Jayf’s wrists. And while the dragonkin renewed the circulation in his hands, Mek made fast work of the knots at his feet.
Drogan lost sight of the last nbilmorg as both of the warriors charged him. He glanced toward Mek and Jayf just as the dragonkin disappeared on the Paths only to appear a moment later next to him.
“Nice to see you, old friend. Let’s catch up later,” Drogan said with a wink. “You take the one on the right and I’ll take the other one.”
Jayf nodded and disappeared again.
Drogan slid his blades out of his scabbards and tipped a salute to the warrior. The warrior slowed and glanced around, looking for his friend. Panic took over his limbs as he realized his friend lay behind him, his life’s blood staining the ground.
The warrior stumbled back for a moment. A look of resolution firmed his stance and he said, “Better you than Lord Zamphere,” before continuing his charge.
Drogan ducked as the academy guard swung his blade in a chopping cut. He spun to the side, parrying the guard’s heavy hand and slipping inside the warrior’s defense. He held his short blade to the academy man’s heart. “Tell me about Zamphere and I will give you quarter to depart in peace.”
“Do you think there would ever be peace for me if I betrayed him?” In a swift move, he threw himself against Drogan’s blade. A warm puff of breath touched Drogan’s cheek as the guard’s head fell forward, and Drogan shoved him back and off his sword.
He looked up, wondering where the last nilmorg hid. Turning to the sound of a random thumping, he found Mek in a tree, pelting a crouching nilmorg with hard young pinecones. And even in the middle of a killing field, the absolute silliness of the situation drew a chuckle from him. Mek paused his attack, glancing at Drogan and the nilmorg, took the opportunity to scurry into the underbrush and off through the still shadowed trees.
“That is all of them, I think,” Jayf said, stepping around the body of the dead weaver. He carried two pouches, both plump with enticing bulges.
Drogan turned back to the guard that lay a few paces away from him. With a practiced eye, he scanned the warrior for any valuables they might use or sell to help their endeavors. He quickly spotted an odd-looking pendant on the guard’s neck. He slashed through the leather tie the gem dangled from, taking it with him, to the center of the academy camp where Jayf now rummaged through the stores they collected.
Drogan held the pendant out to Jayf. “Did any of the others wear one of these?”
“Indeed, they were each adorned with one of those blasted pendants…,” he paused. “Here,” he said, rummaging through the things he gathered. “Look, each is a different gem, not one of the ancient vale shards needed to contain a spirit. This one is the only true spirit stone. These others are,” Jayf frowned. staring at the gems. “These are scrying stones possibly or perhaps they have cast some sort of location weave upon them.”
Drogan snatched up the two pendants and placed them along with the one he held on a fire pit rock, and smashed the jewels into glittering shards and dust. “They are all destroyed, whatever their purpose.”
From within the debris, a faint shimmering form drifted up and wavered there before them for a moment before disappearing in the morning light.
“Let the air guide you to peace,” Jayf murmured “That soul had been captive a long time, there was but the barest essence left to find that peace.” Drogan used the toe of his boot to push the shards into the embers and ash of the fire. After one more glance around, he put two fingers to his mouth and whistled.
“Have you had any luck discovering where and how these stones are being made?” Jayf asked as Zedd trotted into the camp.
“The pendants have been showing up with a lot more frequency in both East and West Sedd. And as for origin, your guess is probably better than mine, although, I think we could do worse than to look to The Eternal Order of Sangryl’s Light.” The cult’s name felt like clotting blood in his throat. Drogan spit and shoved Jayf’s spoils into Zed’s saddlebags. “Which way?”
“Kyrmak lies to the east. We washed ashore south of there, outside a small fishing village. The academy men recovered quicker than I and I woke trussed up with a silence weave placed upon me.”
Drogan frowned, antsy to be off, but not wanting to ride out blind. “Do you know where the Rsakmorg and his cohorts came from?”
Jayf shrugged. They kept me drugged the whole time so I could not mind-speak. But it seems like a couple of days after they pulled me out of the fisherman’s hut, the essence-weaver left at dawn and when he returned, sometime after moonrise, he had those with him.”
Drogan snorted, a derisive tone crept into his voice, “Wouldn’t ya just go figure. The academy men would be cozied up with ‘morg-bog scum and wearin’ the fine jewelry of the Sangryl’s Light cult. Ride with me awhile Jayf, so we can catch up and you can regain strength before taking to the Paths.”
Jayf took Drogan’s hand up and landed behind him with barely a thump. “Thank you. I am still feeling the effects of the potion they used. So to Kyrmak and a message to the guild first?”
“Indeed, you are one step ahead of me as usual, Jayf. Unless Marley is within shorter rescue distance.”
“Nay, I will tell you of Marley and the ragtag lot we have gathered as we go. For it is a tale I believe you have a part in, Drogan Thane.”
“We shall see what we shall see. The runes are tossed and though one has fallen, it takes five to make a ship of fools,” Drogan said, as he encouraged Zed to pick up the pace.
Jayf filled Drogan in on the group’s adventures during the long, winding ride down to the port city of Kyrmak. Mek added his poetic comments in mind-speak to the dragonkin’s lyrical narration, but when he spoke of Kestrel and the death of her mother, the harper pulled up on the reins, stopping the big stallion.
He turned in the saddle, scrutinizing his small friend, and asked. “This Kestrel,” he paused, not wanting to sound crass of the feelings he heard in the dragonkin’s voice. “Was Moira her natural mother?”
Jayf frowned, a look of confusion flitting across his face as he answered. “No, they found the girl as a toddler somewhere north of Urias crossing.”
Drogan nodded thoughtfully, turning back to the trail and encouraging Zed to resume their descent. The heat of Jayf’s curiosity burned into his back, but Drogan felt the need to mull over this new information and wait until Marley joined them before he said anything of his newest client and their agreement. It seemed the Ladies rolled the runes once more and for once they appeared to be smiling.