The Dragon God (Book 2) (8 page)

The smell of burnt wood coming from the village dwellings wafted through the dirt pathways. Dilapidated structures resembled playhouses for human children. Repairs to the original wooden homes did not match the original engineering, and time had not been kind to this hidden community. A sense of depression and despair weighed heavily upon entering the area. A group of bone-thin women sat outside weaving baskets, while another group prepared meager amounts of food. Dirt smudges covered their faces and arms, aged feathers were woven in braids of hair, and they wore matted animal hides. When the heroes came into view, the women abruptly stopped their daily duties and huddled together in fear.

“Yep, this is definitely where the child lives. Dirty and sorry folk,” Dulgin grumbled.

“This
was
my home,” Spilf said, “but I don’t see any ordakians.”

“Perhaps someone here knows what happened, Master Spilf.”

“Where are the men?” Bridazak questioned.

Abawken carried the boy. An old woman, with a wrinkled face, grey scraggly hair, and an eye, milky-white with blindness, hobbled toward them.

Her scratchy voice spoke, “What have you done? You have brought us ruin.”

“Look here—” Dulgin began, until being cut off by Bridazak.

“We are looking for the ordakians, like us, that once lived here.”

Abawken held the baby toward the woman, “And we are looking for the mother of this child.”

“What is done is done,” she resigned, and then pointed to a large leather tent, animal hides of various coloring stitched together forming the walls and roof. The shelter loomed before them, and a light pillar of smoke rose from an opening on the top. It was the largest structure in the small village.

Suddenly, the faded orange animal skin at the entrance flapped open and an imposing man stepped out. He paused a moment, his sallow green eyes glaring menacingly at the strange intruders. His frame reached higher than six feet with his large headdress. He wore more clothing than anyone else in the village: a tanned hide wrapped around his waist, with a beartock skin that draped over his shoulders descended to the ground and fur boots with the bones of small beasts dangled from the high tops. Each step he took toward the heroes caused the bones to clack like a wind chime.

Other tribesmen funneled out of the tent behind the apparent leader holding spears and axes. A lone woman emerged, and instantly burst into tears at the sight of the child. She tried to run toward Abawken but she was held back by two strong members of the tribe. All she could do was yell, “Ky!” Her arms were stretched out as she cried.

The village leader barked, “You must take the boy back now before it is too late.”

“Why are you sacrificing your children?” Bridazak asked bluntly.

The man turned his head slightly to see the reaction of his people, but quickly countered, “Our ways are not your ways. You don’t belong here and you bring my tribe danger.”

“Danger from what?”

“We must satisfy the Thaloc. It is ordained by our god.”

“You talkin about this, Chiefy?” Dulgin unslung a large blood-soaked sack he had over his shoulder and flared the content before them. The head of the monster rolled out and landed at the chieftain’s feet. Its black lifeless eyes stared at him. Everyone gasped. The mother broke loose and sprinted to wrap her arms around her son.

The chief shouted, “Defilers! You have angered our god!”

His followers brought their weapons up to bear and stood ready to attack. It was apparent that they were uneasy about the confrontation, as the heroes had just destroyed what none of them thought possible.

Bridazak held up his hands to placate the building anger. “We only want information about the ordakians that once lived here. We don’t mean anyone harm.”

“I know nothing of your kind. You must leave and never return.”

The mother whispered to Abawken, “Take my son. His fate here is to die, but you can save him.” He looked at Bridazak who overheard her plea.

Bridazak addressed the leader, “What is your intention with this boy?”

“It is not your concern. Now leave before more blood is shed.”

Dulgin stepped forward, “That sounds like a threat and dwarves don’t take kindly to that.”

The chieftain brought up his arms and then waved them in a circle. His armed followers began to fan out and encircle the heroes.

“Good, I was getting tired of talkin,” Dulgin said.

“What is our play here, Master Bridazak?”

“Our play is to have a lot of widows,” the dwarf scoffed.

“There are answers we still need to find that are here for Spilf,” he whispered back to Dulgin.

Bridazak was at a loss on what to do next. This misguided tribe’s death was not the answer. He silently prayed for help, and a single word came to his mind—
challenge
.

Just as the custodian of this community was about to order his men to attack, Bridazak stepped forward and shouted, “I challenge your god!”

Everyone froze, eyes widened, and several gasps resounded around the adventurers. The ordakian stunned the overseer and his followers took a step backwards in slight fear of the statement.

“Bridazak, what are you doing?” Spilf whispered.

“What element is your god known for?” he continued without acknowledging his friend.

“Thahaal is a fire god.”

“Then this will be a fire challenge. You will call upon your god and then I will call upon mine.”

“How do you know of our custom?”

Bridazak didn’t respond to his question, “If your god wins, then we will leave and never return, but if my God wins then you will turn from your wicked ways and stop your sacrifices.”

The chieftain squinted his eyes. He walked toward the ordakian and leaned down, face to face. “When my god wins then you will be sacrificed, and your friends will leave never to return again.”

Bridazak looked at his cohorts who were shaking their heads pleading with him to refuse.

He turned toward the tribe leader, “Agreed.”

“T
here she is.
A Pinch of Luck
,” Lufra pointed to the journal sketch and then to the ship before them. The four mast warship, standing tallest amongst the hundreds of various vessels anchored inside the confines of Tuskabar Harbor, bore a long oak bow, which featured a figurehead carved in the image of the legendary Delphin, its spiraled horn projecting out like a spear. The square gallery at the stern and the symbol of the creature of the sea were the most distinguishing features of the mighty galleon. Several men worked on the rigging woven through the spruce pillars, others unpacked supply crates on deck. Sounds of sloshing water slapping against the hull, twisted ropes tightening and loosening in the endless tug of war of the ocean tide, and flocks of white and grey seabirds squawking above, stood second against the unmistakable smell of the salty sea water and gutted fish.

“Impressive,” El’Korr whistled.

Rondee and El’Korr walked to the edge of the wooden ramp and halted. Xan and Raina followed with Lufra right behind them.

El’Korr called to the top of the steps, “Permission to board!”

A dark haired man with a frizzy beard and wearing a sweat stained shirt looked over the side and yelled back, “Who’s askin?”

“I’m El’Korr and we wish to speak with your captain.”

“I’m the captain,” he quickly responded.

Raina stepped forward and snapped, “Maybe someday you will be captain, but not before Elsbeth says so.”

The bearded man’s face reddened and he bit his lip to fight back a rebuttal. At that moment, a female voice called, “Alright, Skath. I will take it from here.”

A woman jumped down from a plank of wood dangling from the side of the ship where she had been working with two deckhands scraping barnacles off the hull; she was half-elven. Her beige leather pants and scuffed black boots showed how hard she worked, but her light green blouse with frilled cuffs, shoulder-length, tied back hair, and dove-like brown eyes only displayed loveliness. She was petite in her five-foot frame, but her walk and mannerisms showed she had experience. A sheathed rapier hung from her belt.

“I heard rumors of your return, Raina, the Sheldeen Mystic.” She brushed a strand of brown hair away from her face.

“Captain Elsbeth, I presume.”

She nodded, “Permission to board granted. Let’s talk in my private quarters,” she motioned them aboard.

Elsbeth gestured for everyone to sit at the mahogany table. Her cabin was stark, compared to the cluttered feel of the rest of the ship, and smelled of rich tobacco. Only a few baubles of interest adorned the walls, one being a painted portrait of Captain Yasooma. His manicured beard and piercing blue eyes stood out prominently, and a peculiar bronze medallion with a symbol of a galleon riding a wave dangled around his neck.

“I would like to introduce you to my crew. This is my first mate, Skath Steel; I believe you all met.” Pointing to a man to her right, she said, “Second mate, Myers. Next to him is Anders, our priest, and last, but not least, Urlin Thoom, our wizard.”

Each one nodded as they were announced by their captain. Urlin stood and stared intently at Raina. The frail, clean shaven young spellcaster seemed nervous. His light brown hair was cut in a bowl shape and his plain tan robe would suggest at first glance that he was a monk.

“Mistress Raina, it is an honor,” he said shakily.

Raina slightly smiled and nodded in acknowledgment of the respect Urlin had shown her.

“Before we begin, I wish to pray, with your permission captain,” Anders the Priest indicated.

“Of course,” Elsbeth responded.

The dark blue robed man bowed his head and began, “Dear God, Creator of the Seas, we thank you for the blessings you provide. The oceans belong to you and we ask for protection and guidance.” He suddenly began to cough violently. His face turned a bright red and his fisted hand covered his mouth as he continued to hack. “Excuse me.” He stood up and hobbled out of the quarters.

“My apologies,” Elsbeth said. “We are honored to have you aboard
A Pinch of Luck
, but we are unsure as to the nature of your visit.”

“We are in search of Captain Yasooma’s ship,
The Wave Rider
,” Raina spoke.

A slight scoff came from the half-elf, “That is impossible. It sank centuries ago.”

“There were items on board that we seek, and we would like you to take us to it.”

“No one knows the location where it went down.”

“No one but you, Elsbeth,” Raina quickly corrected.

There was a pause while the captain stood and turned to look out the back window. She leaned against the sill and spoke softly, “Yasooma was a great man. He helped thousands of people in his life and accomplished much, until he changed, suddenly. He spent the rest of his career in search of fabled elements—a path that I did not champion after his passing. What makes you think that I can show you this location?”

“You were there; you and Yasooma were the only survivors,” Raina’s announcement lingered before she continued, “And you wear his medallion underneath your clothes.”

Elsbeth turned quickly and studied Raina. “You are indeed a powerful mystic,” she took in a deep breath, “and who is this that holds the Captain’s sword?”

“Lufra Yasooma,” the boy answered with pride.

Elsbeth raised her eyebrow and smirked, “Indeed.”

Raina brought everyone’s attention back, “Powerful forces have risen. They have four of the five dragon stones and have most likely acquired the
location of the fifth. We know from his journal that Yasooma had finally gathered the elements necessary to destroy the stones, and that they were last on board
The Wave Rider
. The medallion you wear will show us the location. We are asking—”

Skath interrupted, “Is it true that King Manasseh has fallen?”

“Yes, ‘tis true,” El’Korr answered. “My army attacked Black Rock Castle. His power source was uprooted. We expect war will ravage the North after the other Horn Kings assess the truth. The borders will fall. I would like to get back to my
men
as soon as possible, so we wish to leave immediately,” El’Korr finished, still cranky with Raina for dwarf-napping him.