Son of the Dragon (The Netherworld Gate Book 3) (18 page)

The dragon emitted a soft, throaty growl. “It has been a long time since I have seen one of your order. I had hoped never to set eyes upon you again.”

The man in the green robes smiled and nodded knowingly. “All things move in turn,” he said. “Still, I am not here to discuss that. I came to pay respects.”

“An interesting sentiment, coming from you,” Hiasyntar’Kulai said with obvious disdain in his voice. “Still, if you wish, hospitality is not dead among dragons. I can prepare a feast for you.”

“No,” the man said. He waved his hand and floated up to be at eye level with the Father of the Ancients. He locked his blue eyes with Hiasyntar’Kulai and the two remained silent for many moments as they stared into each other’s eyes. Then, the stranger broke the spell and nodded with a slight smile. “I will be going now.”

“Do you have what you need?” the dragon asked.

The stranger refused to answer as he disappeared like an extinguished flame.

CHAPTER 15

By noon the next day, Talon spied the sandy beach of the mainland. To the north, Talon could see the peaks of the mountains that divided Shausmat and Zinferth. Directly before them was a strip of grassland known as the borderlands. Previously, this had been a much disputed area, with skirmishes occurring frequently.

As Talon took a spy glass from the cabin below and surveyed the grassland around them, he smiled. A few weeks ago, there would have been camps of soldiers visible throughout the grassland. Now, however, there was nothing. Talon’s ploy to ignite war between the two countries had produced the desired effect for his purposes. The border guards were nowhere in sight. The long wooden barricade that had stood as the line of demarcation was now in ruin, hewn down and broken apart.

Talon couldn’t be sure which army had won the land battles, but from what he knew of Governor Gandle’s plots, as well as other political players in the mix, the Shausmatians had been far better prepared, and were the likely winners.

Either way it mattered little to Talon which side was victorious, so long as he could take his warriors north without being seen.

They drew their boats into a small delta where a pair of narrow rivers joined together and then spilled into the sea. This would be the true test of the borderlands, Talon knew.

The rivers had been tamed by several bridges, and each bridge had been manned by a small group of Zinferth guards, as the rivers were to the east of the demarcation line and had been wholly owned by Zinferth. Now the assassin would discover if the war had pulled those guards away from their previous stations.

Talon summoned his gorlung and instructed his warriors to stay with the boats until he could scout the area. The assassin rode his massive, black beast along the west bank. He took the spy glass with him, scanning everything around him while the gorlung ran tirelessly over the ground.

The first bridge was entirely destroyed. The guard house and the bridge itself had been pulled apart and cast into the river. Bits of wood and planks littered the waters. There were no carrion birds or other signs of battle though. It was as if the guards at this bridge had destroyed it in an attempt to slow the enemy advance.

The next bridge, some four miles to the north and half way between the massive mountains and the delta where he had left the boats, was a different scene altogether. Bones littered the banks. The guard building had been razed and burned, but the bridge had been repaired and, by the looks of the new wood alongside the old, widened to accommodate more traffic. Talon saw heaps of clothing and armor still clinging to the rotting flesh underneath. Bees and flies buzzed around the decay while vultures pecked and ripped at the larger chunks.

He studied the area around the second bridge very carefully, looking for any sign of life. When he found none, he decided it best to return to the boats. It was time to get the others.

After regrouping, the warriors unloaded the boats and then hid them as best they could with reeds and magical illusions. The women and children from the village were placed in the center of the group, each carrying as much as they could. The warriors and the male elves from the village carried the bulk of the supplies. Talon led the group while riding his gorlung. They reached the first bridge twenty minutes after setting out from the delta. The second bridge took them another hour and a half, due to the fact that some of the children could not keep pace with the adults. Traversing the remaining four miles to the base of the mountains took even longer. Some of the children needed to be carried, and the distribution of supplies had to be recalibrated. Talon thought of using his gorlung to carry supplies, but he decided it better to sacrifice speed in order to keep his gorlung free for battle should the need arise.

Fortunately, that need never came.

The group made it to the base of the mountains and was able to find a secure place to set up camp hidden behind two of the larger foothills and nestled between two of the great mountains.

The area was not heavily forested, but it did have pockets of pine and cedar trees. The mountains provided shelter from the harsh winds that could sweep over the open plains and deserts of the mainland, and Talon knew there would be antelope and mountain goats for food. True to his word, he and his warriors began erecting a camp for the survivors from the village. The gorlung was set to the task of patrolling the mountains so the group could not be taken by surprise by an enemy force while Talon and his warriors worked.

Even knowing the beast’s great speed and prowess, Talon was surprised when it would run through the camp, a slain antelope in its jaws, and drop the kill before returning to its patrols. It startled one of the women the first time, because it happened so fast, but after she saw the prize left for them, she cried out in thanks as the gorlung disappeared back over another hill.

Soon the smell of roasting meat filled the air as the Tomni’Tai survivors prepared the food. Talon and his warriors made several crude lean-tos for shelter. They weren’t anything compared to a normal house, but they would serve as shelter from the elements for the next week or so while Talon and his warriors continued on their journey.

Fyrik took command of the meal quite quickly. He ordered his people about and had them serving the Sierri’Tai warriors before Talon even realized what was happening. The Sierri’Tai were elated by their meal, talking loudly and gesturing to the meat with excitement. Fyrik had the Tomni’Tai women gather water from a nearby stream and bring it in for drinking.

Talon watched as the patriarch of the Tomni’Tai went far out of his way to extend hospitality to the Sierri’Tai. The gesture was working too. The warriors were becoming more accepting of the Tomni’Tai, and the children were finally free to sit with the warriors without being whisked away by overprotective mothers. The Sierri’Tai, in turn, were very quick to share their portions with the children, not making them wait to be served.

“They have never tasted meat like this before,” Elorien said as she came up behind Talon. “That’s what they are talking about.”

Talon turned and smiled at Elorien, appreciative for the insight. “Are they saying what they did eat back in the Netherworld?”

“They are talking about a four-legged animal called a garut. Apparently it has a thin coat of wool, not entirely unlike sheep, but the meat is purple and bitter, and tough to chew,” Elorien said. They spent the next several minutes watching the happy interactions between the two groups of drow, enjoying the rare moment of rest. “I heard my father talking with you yesterday on the boat,” Elorien said bluntly.

Normally, the assassin would be able to control his emotions, but this time embarrassment got the better of him and his face flushed ever so slightly. He tried to turn away, but she saw it all the same.

“You’re blushing!” Elorien exclaimed.

Talon shook his head. “Perhaps a mild sunburn,” he said quickly. “You should go and get some food.”

Elorien laughed and crossed her arms in front of her. “A sunburn, huh?”

Talon nodded.

“I suppose next you are going to tell me that you weren’t watching the children play?” she asked. “I saw you smiling as they played with your soldiers. Perhaps there is a human spirit somewhere inside that cold heart of yours after all.”

Elorien walked away then, not allowing Talon the chance to rebut her claim or even respond. The assassin watched her walk away from him for the second time in as many days, and couldn’t help but admire her form.

The next several days were quite busy for the assassin. He spent time planning and preparing his men. The Sierri’Tai practiced drills in the day, and then performed stealth exercises at night. Talon was not about to go to battle without assessing his warrior’s strengths. He already knew they were good with magic, but he had to be able to command them efficiently. Once they reached the temple, there would be no room for error.

When they weren’t drilling or sleeping, Talon and his men helped fortify the camp and erect more solid lean-tos than they had the first day. A light rainstorm had rolled over them that first night, exposing several flaws in their shelters that needed to be repaired.

Talon didn’t spend any time talking with either Elorien or Fyrik during that time, but he caught them watching him on several occasions. He could only guess that Fyrik was trying to talk Elorien into a marriage arrangement that Talon assumed she wanted nothing to do with.

On the final night before Talon led his warriors away, he trekked into the mountains for a couple of hours. He used a small stream as his guide, then rounded a large cliff and stopped when he came to a pile of gray rocks covered in orange and white lichen. He hefted the rocks aside and pulled a clay jar out of a hole in the ground. He shook the jar, and smiled when he heard the telltale rattle of the metal box he had hidden there more than five years prior.

Talon raised the jar over his head and then brought it down onto a rock, shattering it to bits. He bent down and picked up the iron box, which was no larger than his palm, and pressed the button that released the latch. The hinge squeaked and Talon saw a tightly folded set of papers.

He pulled them out and then moved to the nearest rock to sit while he read his old notes. A flood of excitement washed over him as he realized the magnitude of this very moment. Only five years before, Talon had sat in this very spot, hiding the notes and clues he had learned over the years about Basei’s High Temple. He had hidden the notes so that no other would find them and take the chance to kill Basei from him.

He had worked for years, nearly all of his life in fact, to compile these notes, checking them against all of the best sources he could find. He had the most complete information about the temple of anyone he had ever encountered. That is to say, he had the most complete
accurate
information. He knew the truth about the temple and its sacrifices. He knew all of the entrances and exits. He knew how many prayer rooms were inside. More than that, he knew how to find the way to the astral plane. He also knew that there were eight extremely dangerous creatures, called seraphim, that wielded powerful magic and had wings of fire.

Five years ago he had intended to use this knowledge to kill Basei, but that was when he had had one more encounter with the demi-god.

Talon took in a deep breath as he remembered his narrow escape.

It was a mid-summer afternoon. Talon was on his way to a shrine in the small hamlet of Gorfin, far to the west of the deserts in Shausmat. Somehow, the priest at the shrine had been warned of Talon’s approach. He had set a trap.

Even now Talon knew he was beyond lucky to have escaped. He and three of his former comrades, men that Raimus had hired, were all inside the shrine when the statue of Basei came to life. The demi-god had disguised himself as stone, lying in wait for the assassin. What had been a simple mission to interrogate one of the oldest known priests about Basei’s weaknesses turned into a very personal lesson. None of Talon’s comrades survived that day. Neither did the priest.

Talon had only escaped because he was thrown from the shrine when Basei caused a massive explosion. The assassin still bore the long scar across his torso where one of the flying shards of stone had torn through the first layer of flesh.

When Talon landed, he had fallen into a fast-flowing river that carried him away from the battle before Basei even knew that Talon was gone. He later heard that the entire hamlet had been destroyed by Basei.

When Talon emerged from that river, drenched and weak from blood loss, that was the moment he knew he would need an army to take Basei down. Not just any army, but one of such cunning and skill that Basei would not be able to crush them with his massive sword or devastate them with his fire magic. That was when he made the trek out to this mountain and hidden his notes. He wanted to keep them safe for the day when he had finally found a method to destroy Basei.

A couple years later is when he had first heard of the Tomni’Tai Scroll while working a job with Raimus, his former partner. What better army to fight Basei then the banished Sierri’Tai? An army of drow that were unmatched in battle and could control fire as easily as Basei could. It was the perfect answer.

Talon smiled at his notes and read them through one more time. Then he made his way back to the camp. The next day, they would set out for the temple.

*****

Talon walked alone on the road to the High Temple. The moon was high in the night sky, and the wind was soft and cool He knew that his warriors were skirting around the dunes to sneak closer to the temple. Talon fiddled with the leather bracelet Elorien had made for him. He fingered the tooth and kept his eyes on the temple. The large, stone building stood like a mammoth in the night, its roof reflecting some of the silvery moonlight.

Even now, Talon could see several pilgrims making their way to the temple ahead of him on the road. An urge welled up within him to stop them, to shake them from their foolish religion, but he stifled that and held it under control. He could not afford to reveal himself now. He had to make his way into the temple.

The assassin was surprised by how nervous he felt. He wasn’t even sure this many knots had been in his stomach when he went on his first assignment, years ago, to complete his first assassination, though he had been more than a little on edge that time as well. As he neared the temple, shielding his face from a sudden wind that kicked up sharp sand and dust, he spied a priest emerging from the building. The pilgrims that had been traveling ahead of Talon were gathered now in a group at the base of the stairs before the temple.