The Dragon Ring (Book 1) (15 page)

“The river current and tide still hold,” the first mate said. He looked up at the captain for orders. “The ship’s rigging is set and the crew ready.”

“Hoist anchor!” the captain barked.

“Aye, sir,” the first mate said. “You men forward there, hoist the anchor. The rest of you forward, raise the foresail.”

Still watching the waterfront, Tournak put his hand on Saxthor’s head. “I know your excitement and curiosity are high. You want to see the harbor sights from the ship, but we mustn’t risk Earwig's spies spotting us if we can avoid it. We can only hope no one noticed us in the skiff coming out to the ship. Stay below until the ship clears the waterfront and is well out to sea. The stranger from the staircase last night was most likely Earwig’s spy. They’ll be watching the docks for our departure.”

Small whitecaps from the harbor’s choppy water slapped against the hull. The ship groaned when she turned into the current. The wind caught her foresail and it snapped taut. At first, the burdened vessel seemed reluctant to respond, but then quickened her pace and cut out into the open water, to the annoyance of several small fishing boats nearby.

“Raise the aft sail,” the captain said. The first mate repeated the order, and shortly, the ship was underway at a good clip.

Tournak noted no more signs of Earwig’s minions out on the open sea. The fair weather would aid their escape and the further they sailed from the mainland, the more he relaxed. On deck, he resumed teaching the boys about the swords Memlatec gave them.

“Why is Sorblade magical?” Saxthor asked after they trained one morning. He wiped the blade with careful, meticulous strokes almost caressing the steel. “We’re out of earshot, or I wouldn’t have asked.”

“Its name is Sorblade, as you know. Were you to pronounce its elfin name, the runes would glow white, according to the story I heard of it. Dwarves forged it in the Hadorian Mountains above the Wizard’s Hall at the beginning of the Third Wizard War. The runes fused into the metal are elfin power spells. They glow in the presence of evil as you’ve seen.”

“And it has its own power?” Saxthor asked.

“Yes. The dwarves and elves gave it the ability to absorb the energy of those it defeats. If that’s so, Sorblade contains the energy of Oxmek, a very powerful lieutenant of the Dark Lord killed in the Third Wizard War.” 

“And no nick in the blade after so long and so many battles,” Bodrin said.

“Metal striking the blade by an evil hand can’t notch the sword, and ordinary powers can’t break the rapier either. Only the rightful owner can activate its power. This is not a toy.”

Saxthor beamed. He withdrew the sharp edge again and turned to Bodrin to show him the sword’s elegant sweep, as if his friend hadn’t seen it often before.

“Bodrin, yours is a respected heirloom sword, too,” Tournak said. “You’re the better fighter and have a more developed build. Your sword depends on your arm and not magic for force. Your uncle was renowned for using it to keep the scallywags at bay when they tried to appropriate his holdings. We’ll spend the days training with the swords, and advanced staffs fighting techniques while on board.”

-

Tournak was thinking they’d sailed for days through calm seas and rested well when Tixos appeared in the distance on the afternoon of the eighth day.

“We’ll sail in on the morning tide and dock in Tixumemnese before midday,” the captain said approaching from behind them. “If this is your first visit, viewing the mountains towering over Tixumemnese in the distance is a sight you won’t soon forget. They’re the Blue Mountains you see there. Those five vertical peaks seem to jut from the sea through a garland of jungle. Tixumemnese is just up the river at their base. Most of the island is rocky except for the isolated, terraced fields the people built on hillsides just beyond the city. The marshy coast is mostly covered with forest and thick undergrowth.”

“No beach, huh?” Saxthor asked.

“Sure looks like jungle down to the sea,” Bodrin said.

“Storms from the north tear up the coast when they roar down the Prertsten Straights between the high mountains of Tixos and Prertsten,” the captain said. “Tixumemnese is the only real city on the whole island. Its success is due to the export of island minerals and timber. Not much agriculture beyond what the inhabitants need.”

“This has been quite an adventure, Tournak,” Bodrin said.

“Memlatec never said why we were to come to Tixos,” Saxthor said.

Tournak checked to see no one was near before responding. He pulled the boys closer to him.

“We hope to escape Earwig’s minions, but also to find old General Socockensmek.”

“Who’s General Socockensmek?” Bodrin asked.

“The general was my great-grandfather’s greatest military strategist when he forged the kingdom,” Saxthor said. “Mother said great-grandfather looked on him like a son or grandson. He was the youngest general in the kingdom’s history.”

“Some said he could’ve been king, but he chose to support Minnabec in carving Neuyokkasin from the surrounding states,” Tournak said. Minnabec the First was the kingdom’s visionary; Minnabec the Second was able to obtain recognition among the neighboring states, but General Socockensmek was the military strategist that made it happen. Though just late middle-aged, Socockensmek retired from the court and withdrew to Tixos to live in seclusion when Minnabec the Second died.”

“You know everything about everybody,” Bodrin said. “So why are we going to visit a retired general who’s too old to see us standing in front of him?”

Tournak frowned at Bodrin. “I don’t know. Memlatec only tells what he thinks you need to know. Don’t be so judgmental about someone you’ve never met.” He then turned to go to his cabin.

“We’re going we don’t know where for some reason we don’t know either,” Bodrin said.

“”Yeah, well better enjoy this voyage,” Tournak said.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I don’t think we’re going to see a general for fun.”

The next morning, the passengers arose early in anticipation of arrival at Tixumemnese. The crew was already up scurrying about the ship making final preparations for docking. Deckhands scrubbed the decks, coiled ropes, and generally tidied up the ship.

“What’s all this activity?” Saxthor asked a sailor.

“Captain likes things sharp when he docks to get an edge on the competition for return cargo.”

Tournak, Saxthor, Bodrin, and even Twit, fluttering in an unaccustomed cage, lined the rail to study the city.

“The Tixosian Mountains rise even more vertically here.” Tournak pointed to the crests.

The captain paused in passing. “Tixumemnese sprouts from the jungle like a tuft of mushrooms there at the mouth of the Tixis River. The Blue Mountains dwarf the city. It stands out like an afterthought with those brightly painted houses and warehouses set against the deep jungle green and the mountains’ muted dark blue.”

“It’s a beautiful sight in the morning sun,” Saxthor said.

“Are those boats coming out to us?” Bodrin asked.

“They tow ships out of the channel to the wharf,” the captain said. “The mountains and jungle cut off the trade winds inside the harbor. Ships can’t maneuver by sail, or fight the river current when docking.”

On the wharf, the workers scurried about loading and unloading ships. The harbor’s vitality was exciting, but Tournak knew it would be hard to spot potential watchers in the crowds.

Bodrin sniffed the air. “I’m going to like this city. Even through the salt air, I can smell breakfast cooking in the waterfront stalls. The smell of cooking sausages, ripe melons, and spices makes me hungry.”

Saxthor laughed. “You always smell food, Bodrin.”

“It’s a good thing it’s high tide or you’d notice the much different smell of the river mud.” Then surveying the crowd, Tournak stiffened. The people were as frenzied as those at Olnak. “We’ll take our leave of captain and crew on docking. We must find Armon the sail maker’s shop.”

“I hope he’s expecting us,” Saxthor said.

* * *

“Welcome to Tixumemnese,” Armon said when they found his establishment.

Saxthor was inspecting the shop front. “Thank you for receiving us.”

As with most of the waterfront buildings, Armon’s three-story shop took advantage of the breeze off the water and conserved the limited space between the mountains and the harbor. The first floors were stone to withstand violent storms.

Armon hurried them into the shop where tightly packed dry goods filled tables and high shelves against the walls. As yet, unpacked barrels and crates huddled beneath the tables. Armon surveyed the room to be sure no others were present, then ushered them up the back stairs to the second floor. Tournak turned to Armon.

“Any news?”

“No news. I’ve been watching for ye since word come from Memlatec of ye’re escape. I’ve food, a map of Tixos, and I’ll be having a burro well packed with supplies afore ye’ve finished yer eating.”

“You’ve seemed nervous since we got here, and now you encourage us to leave for the interior as soon as possible. Are things that dangerous here?”

“Tournak, it be best if ye leave soon lest ye draw attention to yerselves. Should them watchers be looking fer ye, it be best ye be gone before ye’re discovered.”

“Armon is right, boys, we’ll leave as soon as we eat and not venture from the shop until then.”

Saxthor stepped away from the window.

* * *

“You bumbling idiot,” Earwig screeched as she backhanded the cringing, gold-toothed agent from Olnak.

The unrestrained blow sent the messenger flying across the Earwighof’s entrance hall floor. He located his crumpled hat and holding onto an iron table leg, pulled himself up. Shaking his head and dragging a painful leg, he stumbled out the door without a reward. As the door slammed, Earwig smashed dusty knick-knacks in passing. She headed back to Earwighof’s black tower.

“The boy’s luck can’t hold forever. Bodrin Vicksnak’s knife the agent brought confirms Saxthor’s escaped again. Memlatec is hatching some scheme and thinks sending the boys away with Tournak will save them. I’ll not tolerate that potential power rival reaching maturity.”

After she unlocked the windowless door to the dark workroom, her bony hand pushed against the heavy door, whose rusted iron hinges creaked under its weight. Earwig shoved the door knocking Radrac against the wall.

“No one comes up here but me and you my pet.”

Casting a last jerking glance over his shoulder, the dazed rat crept under the worktable.

“The servants won’t come here. The stench doesn’t bother me.”

She chuckled in the moldy gloom, where she enjoyed the acrid smell of stale smoke and foul concoctions she’d burned and brewed over time. She entered and the door clanged shut. In the same instant, a wall torch flashed into flame.

Surveying the chamber, she cackled. “Everything in its place, everything in order.”

She slid the bloody cup on the table and clasped her hands together.

“And there it is, recently arrived.”

A grimace cracked her face as she stooped and dragged the chest to the table. “There’s something choice in this trunk.”

Strained and groaning, she hefted it onto the table where it plopped down, accompanied by Earwig’s resounding grunt. She leaned on the dried leather to catch her breath.

“This is the most special of gifts from Dreaddrac’s king…most special indeed. It’s special enough to change the balance of power across the peninsula.”

10:  Inland to the Highback Mountains

Yamma-Mirra Heedra and the Dragon Ring of Power

Tournak hustled the boys out the door and up the sharp-angled street. They left the bright bustling harbor’s warmth and passed along cool, deserted back streets in the mountains’ shadows. Jungle claimed the land immediately behind the town where the rambling fringe dangled over the winding road and crept up the slopes. The troupe walked in silence beside the burro whose hooves clacked eerily on the cobblestones. Saxthor stopped.

“Were we followed?”

“I don’t think so,” Bodrin said.

“We’ve spent most of the morning hiking up to Blue Mountain Pass,” Tournak said. “From here you get a panoramic view over the landscape between the Blue Mountains and the Tixosian Range in the distance. Can you tell where the weed-blighted road worms its way through the valley’s rocky fields and hillsides? Though slow going, the journey should build up our stamina after the ship’s confinement.”

Erosion scarred the steep hills bordering the basin; few plants clung to the slopes. Loose gravel carpeted the rain-washed hills speckled with groping branches of marginal bushes. Abandoned and toppled remains of ancient stonewalls built to terrace the hillsides for fields in a former age, dotted the landscape.

“Do people farm this area?” Saxthor asked.

“Wonder if something scared them off?” Bodrin said.

Silver-gray scrub dotted the valley floor. Sporadic thorn canes arched triumphant along the dry gullies when rains had given them false hope. In the vale beyond, scattered homesteads soon thinned out as the valley’s haze consumed the view further along.

“Once someone tried to farm on terraced fields?” Saxthor asked.

Tournak scanned the horizon.

“Memlatec said Tixos was settled after the Wizard Wars, first by elves that fled from men encroaching on their mainland forests. Later, people displaced from Prertsten moved here when cold blasts from the Ice Mountains and plagues from the Edros Swamps caused crop failures and pestilence in Prertsten. After the elves left for the west, the Prertstenians wouldn’t keep up the elfin terraces or irrigation canals and all fell into decay. Drought forced the homesteaders to move to Tixumemnese or return to Prertsten.”

“You’d think someone would farm more of the land. Couldn’t they at least graze herds?” Saxthor asked.

“Goats maybe,” Bodrin said.

“Tixos has had a strange history. Stranger still are the creatures inhabiting the island. These people are a suspicious lot from experience. Local legends say even further back in time, the Dark Lord created rock-dwarves in the interior’s high mountains. They mined the rock ores and forged weapons. True or not, the people moved to the coast and abandoned the interior when smoke and fumes drifted down from the highlands. No one knows for sure; they’re only legends these days.”