Onyx Dragon (Book 1) (2 page)

  Wrothgaar greeted each in turn. “It is a pleasure to meet you all.”

“We welcome you,” Garret assured him, noting how
well-spoken the Northman was. “The Queen welcomes all, and she is curious as to the reason behind your arrival. You would have been welcome to simply enter the gates. But your unusual custom tells me you are not simply a tourist or pilgrim. Is it aid you seek?”

“Yes,” Wrothgaar answered, appearing anxious. “My people are in danger, and I have traveled far from the North Shore to beg the Queen’s aid.”

“What, may I ask, has happened?”

“I would prefer to speak to the Queen herself if I may,” Wrothgaar answered.

“I understand, friend,” Garret said. “I will inform her of your request. She will meet with you, and I have no doubt she will be sympathetic to your plight.”

“Thank you,” Wrothgaar said. “She is an honorable woman, as was her father. It will be my pleasure to meet her.”

Garret smiled, nodding. He turned to Fergis and his two Lieutenants. “Let us return. Escort Wrothgaar to the waiting hall. I will return to the Queen’s chambers and inform her of the situation.”

He turned to Wrothgaar. “I will see you soon, my friend.”

Garret left the group, returning to the gates and gathering his guards. Fergis held his hand out to Wrothgaar, who grasped it in friendship.

“Follow me,” the Captain said.

The four men made their way to city gates. Wrothgaar was grateful for the warm welcome, and also the fact that they trusted him enough not to disarm him.

These people were definitely honorable, as the shaman had said, and he hoped that after today, any hostilities between their two peoples would be a thing of the past. With a lasting peace, and a strong alliance, both peoples would thrive. He only hoped that the Queen would agree.

Chapter Two

Siobhan waited patiently in the ornate chair at the head of her meeting table. Eamon stood behind her and to the right, his arms crossed. Garret stood to her right, his hands clasped before him in a relaxed posture. The table before them was furnished with a large bowl of fruit and four goblets of wine.

She turned to look as the door was opened, seeing four men enter the meeting chamber. In the lead was Fergis, followed by the Northman, then Fergis’ two lieutenants. The Northman, she noted, bore a striking resemblance to King Ulrich of the North, whom she had met briefly when she was younger.

“My Lady,” Garret began, “may I present to you Wrothgaar, Son of Ulrich of the Tribe of the Wolf.”

Wrothgaar bowed his head in respect. Siobhan smiled and nodded.

“Wrothgaar, this is Siobhan, Queen of the North, and daughter of King Magnus V. At her side is Prince Eamon.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Wrothgaar,” the Queen greeted him.

“Likewise,” Wrothgaar answered. “And may I say you are more beautiful than I had ever imagined.”

Eamon snickered, receiving a questioning glance from Garret. The Queen herself chuckled. “Why thank you, my friend. And may
I
say you are every bit as impressive as your father?”

Wrothgaar nodded in thanks.

“Please sit,” Siobhan said, motioning for him to take the seat at the opposite end of the table. She relaxed in her seat, Garret taking the chair around the corner of the table to her left. Eamon remained standing, but leaned against the right hand corner of the table, eager to hear the Northman’s story. Fergis and his men departed to return to their posts.

“Help yourself to the fruit and wine,” the Queen offered.

Wrothgaar selected a goblet but passed on the fruit, eyeing it disapprovingly.

“What is it that troubles you, my friend?” Siobhan asked softly.

Wrothgaar took a moment to gather his thoughts, taking a sip of the wine.

“Two days ago,” he began, “a neighboring settlement just to the South of the North Shore was attacked. The people, including the women and children, were killed, and the houses were burned to the ground. Not even the livestock were spared.”

Siobhan gasped, leaning in closer to the Northman.

“How did your other settlements not see this attack?” she asked.

“I do not know,” Wrothgaar answered. “The settlements are fairly distant from each other. But I believe the sounds of battle would have carried that far, at least. My tribe was completely unaware of the attack until we saw the smoke rise in the distance. There was also no sign of the attackers.”

Siobhan scowled. “Who do you think these attackers were?” she asked. “Wild men?”

“I do not think so,” Wrothgaar explained. “The islanders would not be so bold as to come to the mainland and attack. They are primitive, and wield weapons of brittle bronze. They would not stand against even the most unskilled warriors of our tribes.”

Siobhan thought for a moment. “Do you have any ideas, then, Northman?” she asked. “I know of most of the inhabitants of this island. The only people I am unsure of are the travelers that have arrived in the Southern Kingdom.”

“I have not heard of these travelers,” he said. “All I know is that my people were attacked by an army capable of being unseen. Many of the women of our tribes think the attackers were witches, or perhaps sorcerers in service to you.”

“Unfortunate,” the Queen lamented. “I would hope that only a small minority believes this.”

“Of course,” Wrothgaar replied, taking another sip of wine. “Old wives will have their tales. But our elders do not believe it. They know something terrible walks the land and that you are not likely to have a hand in it. Your generosity has benefitted our tribes in many ways. And no one of any importance truly believes that you or your mages would wield such terrible magic against them. Magic that not only kills animals and people, but nature itself. The grass was dead, the crops withered, and the bodies of the villagers, what bodies were left, were dried like husks. Their faces were twisted and gnarled, as if they all died in absolute pain and agony.”

Eamon leaned in closer to Wrothgaar. “Were there even any wounds to show that they had been attacked with weapons?” he asked.

“I couldn’t tell. But, no, I do not think so. We burned the bodies after we found them, so there is very little evidence left.”

The Prince looked to his mother, whose face mirrored his concern.

“This is disturbing, indeed,” she remarked. “I do not know what to say. Perhaps my brother, the seer, can provide some answers. He is very wise, and can commune with the Dragon himself. The Dragon may be able to shed some light on this mystery.”

She paused for a moment, remembering the seer’s ability to receive visions from physical objects.

“Did you find anything that could have belonged to the attackers?” she asked. “It may help if he were able to hold something that belonged to one of them.”

Wrothgaar stood, reaching into his pack. He then produced a small leather pouch.

“I have this,” he said. “I do not know what is in it, but the markings are in a language I do not recognize, if they are a language at all.”

Eamon reached out to receive the item, looking it over carefully before handing it to his mother. She studied the pouch for a moment, her brow furrowing in uncertainty.

“These markings are strange,” she agreed. “My brother will definitely want to see this. If this is a human tongue, then he will recognize it. He may also know what it is inside.”

“It’s some kind of pungent herb,” Wrothgaar explained. “But it is something I have never seen.”

Siobhan opened the pouch, pouring some of the herb out into her palm.

Garret was the first to suggest its identity. “It looks like tobacco,” he said. “My father smoked it in his pipe. It is fairly common on the mainland, though. Not many answers there, I would imagine.”

“No,” the Queen said, putting the herb back into the pouch. “But the writings will be telling.” She handed it to Garret, who stuffed it into his tunic.

“I will take this to Maedoc,” Garret said.

“Thank you, my love,” the Queen said. “As soon as he finds some answers, I will come to him.”

Eamon sat finally, taking a seat closer to Wrothgaar. “Tell me of your decision to seek our help,” he said.

Wrothgaar sipped his wine again. “I volunteered to make the journey,” he said. “Most of our warriors do not have the verbal skills to speak with royalty. They are crude and uncivilized. They are warriors, nothing more. I have experience socializing with nobility.”

“And your father approved?” Eamon asked.

“He had no choice. He is sick with fever. He cannot speak, and our shaman does not know if he will survive. His illness is why I chose to come here for aid. I am not able to lead the tribes in battle myself.”

Siobhan interrupted, “If he passes, will you become King?”

“Not necessarily,” Wrothgaar answered immediately. “I must still defeat any contenders in combat to the death.”

“Interesting,” Eamon remarked. “How many contenders are there?”

“Only one that I know of. Cerdic, Son of Ceor the Mighty.”

“Can you best him?” the Prince asked.

“Likely,” Wrothgaar said. “But if I had a choice, I would prefer not to. He is a mighty warrior, and in these times, the loss of such a great warrior would be hard on our people. Losing my father will be bad enough.”

“I am sorry to hear that Ulrich is ill, Wrothgaar,” the Queen stated. “Since he is unable to lead the tribe on a search, I will offer any assistance I can. When my brother discovers the identity of the attackers, I will dispatch whatever aid is necessary.”

“I thank you,” Wrothgaar said. “And we would be honored to have your cooperation.”

Siobhan smiled, recalling the many scuffles the two peoples had engaged in previously, relieved that the lasting standoff may finally come to an end. “Our enmity ended long ago, Wrothgaar, and in light of recent events, we must consider the need to join forces.”

“Agreed. I will accept that offer. I speak for my own tribe, but I will have some trouble convincing the others to accept.”

“What will you have to do?” Eamon asked.

Wrothgaar firmly placed his goblet on the table. “Unite them,” he said. “It is the only way. But I can only do that if I were King. This is why I ask for your help.”

“Very well,” Siobhan said. “I will speak to my brother about the matter at hand. In the meantime, please enjoy my kingdom’s hospitality. My son will show you around the city if you wish.”

Wrothgaar glanced at Eamon. “I accept,” he said. “But may I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“If you have a brother, then why is he not King? Is he younger than you?”

Siobhan laughed. “No, he is older. But his interests lie in philosophy and science, not politics. Had he accepted the throne, however, the kingdom would not have been split between myself and my sister, and her people would enjoy his rule instead of hers.”

Wrothgaar looked confused. “Is she not fit for the throne?” he asked.

“She cares more about her appearance, status, and pleasure than ruling. She is weak minded and cares nothing for her people.”

“Sad,” Wrothgaar lamented. “She must have inherited all of the King’s bad qualities.”

“Our mother’s, actually,” Siobhan corrected him. “She was the same, but she was exiled when we were children. No one has heard from her since.”

“Exiled?” Wrothgaar asked. “To where?”

“Somewhere across the sea. No one really knows where, or whether she is even still alive. But rumor has it that she dabbled in strange magic.”

Wrothgaar said nothing, but glanced at Eamon again, then sipped his wine.

“I take my leave,” Siobhan said. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Wrothgaar.”

Siobhan rose. Her guards followed close behind as she left the room. Eamon stood, motioning for Wrothgaar to rise as well.

“We will see Maedoc soon,” the Prince said. “First we’ll give him time to look over the markings. In the meantime, we will eat.”

“Good,” Wrothgaar said, glaring at the bowls on the table. “I do not care much for fruit.”

Maedoc was in his study when he heard a knock on his door. He was perusing maps of the mainland marked with cryptic symbols that only a sage or seer would understand. It was his pastime, and if there were ever a question as to his whereabouts, he would invariably be found here.

Without looking up he said, “Come in, Garret.”

Garret slowly swung the door open, leaning inside inquisitively. “How did you know?” he asked.

“Come in, I said. And sit down. Hand me the pouch.”

Garret entered, reaching into his tunic to retrieve the item. Maedoc took it, holding it close to inspect it thoroughly. He studied the symbols carefully, then sniffed the pouch.

“Tobacco?” he asked. Garret nodded.

“It was brought to us by a Northman,” Garret explained. “He said he found it in the ruins of a settlement that had been sacked. It was left there by the attackers. I do not recognize the symbols.”

“The writings,” Maedoc began. “Which is what they are, come from a language spoken in the Southeast region of the mainland. They tell me that this belonged to a high-ranking Sheikh. That would be similar to a chieftain, or in military terms, a General. If I am reading this correctly, his name is Khalid.”