The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) (3 page)

Earwig jerked her head up, leering at Dreg. “I’m not riding to The Crypt, let alone up the peninsula, in
that
cart!” she said. She pointed up toward the front of the Earwighof. “That’s the manure cart the serfs used to spread stable crap on the fields!”

“Well I washed it best I could. It’s a sturdy cart,” Dreg said. “And Zendor is a good horse. He’s plenty strong enough.”

Earwig took the mushroom lollypop out of her mouth. Her lower jaw dangled. Red spittle in the corners of her mouth enhanced her look of revulsion.

“Sturdy and strong!” the witch exclaimed, rising from the floor. “That nag’s a glue factory reject. If I find out who sold you that walking skeleton, he’ll spend the rest of his days following it with a bucket and shovel.”

“Oh you don’t mean that, Miss Earwig,” the apprentice chuckled through a smile. “Zendor the Magnificent will be a better horse than you thinks.”

Earwig just stared at Dreg, then shook her head. “I must make a mental note not to consider gravediggers in the future, no matter how lean the servant pickings,” she mumbled. She went back to sucking on the mushroom in hopes of comforting her nerves. “I won’t be traveling to Dreaddrac in that manure cart dragged by a beast escaping the glue factory, and that’s final.”

*

After a week of coaxing and seeing the food rapidly running out, Earwig begrudgingly gave in and, groaning, climbed up on the fully loaded cart as if it were filled with fresh manure. After looking over the bulging dray, she settled down and turned just in time to see Zendor the Magnificent lift his tail and break wind.

“Zendor can’t digest his victuals none too good,” Dreg said, blushing behind a bit of a grin.

Earwig glared at the former street urchin, then rolled her eyes. Dreg wouldn’t look at her but spit off the side of the cart. 

“When did you start chewing tackenbeck?”

“Since I was a young’un living on the streets.”

Earwig curled her mouth in a disgusted sneer. “That foul habit just ended; throw that stuff away. So we’re going to ride in a manure cart behind a gaseous horse all the way to Dreaddrac. Is that right?”

Dreg said nothing in response, but continued to stare ahead, waiting for the order to get started.

Zendor broke wind again and the reality she couldn’t bare became painfully clear.

Ignoring the obvious, Dreg smiled and with Earwig, looked back at the bulging mound under the tarp behind them.

“I loaded all your stuff you said you gotta have for the trip,” Dreg said. He turned back to the front and flicked the whip above Zendor.

The horse didn’t lift his head but wheezed, stamping his feet to move the cart. The farm cart creaked and groaned, then the wooden wheels turned slowly under the load. Zendor chomped down on the bit, and they crept forward. At his own pace, he ambled along, dragging the hunchback, witch, and overloaded, junk-filled wagon the best he could. The two riders ignored the trail of tinkling rubble falling off the cart as it rolled at a snail's pace up the road.

“Give me that whip!” Earwig cried. She snatched it. Her chipped yellow teeth gnashed. “I’m not going to be out on the road where someone might see me in this crap cart.”

“Whack!” snapped the whip on the horse’s rear end.

Zendor whinnied, broke wind, and pulled off on the roadside. The cart rolled along an embankment jolting Earwig, who fell over the edge. She hung off the cart’s side with her feet dangling in the ditch’s dark mud. As she struggled, the witch’s flailing feet smashed an anthill, and the ants swarmed over her feet and legs, when she finally got a foothold on the bank.

“That foul beast tried to kill me!” Earwig screamed. She franticly slapped at ants with one hand, holding onto the cart with the other.

“You hadn’t oughta whipped Zendor,” Dreg said. He patted the horse gently. “In his day, he was a great circus horse, so the man said. He’s a proud beast.”

“Vindictive beast is what you mean,” Earwig grumbled, smashing ants spreading over her entire body. “If we get to Dreaddrac alive, that horse is dragon-fodder.”

*

Zendor couldn’t speak of course, but he did understand human language. He was Memlatec’s transformation of a volunteer transmuted to keep an eye on the witch. He was to thwart any further attempts on the king’s life. Zendor duly noted Earwig’s comments. The horse jerked the cart. He caught the flailing Earwig unexpectedly while she swatted ants.

Dreg tried not to look when he heard a ‘plop’ in the mud. He would have to get the hag out of the ditch without appearing to notice what happened. How he was going to do that he’d no idea. It was going to be a long trip to Dreaddrac.

“Has the Admiral of the Seas arrived yet?” King Saxthor asked Chatra Rakmar in the cool, early morning audience. The morning sun streamed through the clearstory, illuminating the private audience chamber behind the formal throne room. The sunlight enhanced the vaulted ceiling’s fresco scene of clouds, undersides of graceful tree branches, and three phoenixes flying overhead. The marble walls and columns seemed to enhance the king’s voice amid the elegant but restrained furnishings.

Chatra Rakmar’s boots tapped the elaborate mosaic floor as he moved closer, bowed to the king, and responded. “Admiral Agros arrived late last night, Your Majesty.”

“Let him sleep, but have him report to us as soon as he wakes. Dismiss today’s petitioners. We’ll be conferring with Memlatec, the admiral, and other military advisors today. We’d like to get the naval plan into action as soon as possible.”

Memlatec entered and approached Saxthor, his long robes muffling his steps.

“Why have you summoned the admiral, Saxthor?” Memlatec asked.

Saxthor smiled and thought. No one else at court would refer to the king by first name alone, except the master wizard, who still sees me as his ward.

“When we were on Tixos, we had a good look into the Highback Mountain’s subterranean fortress. For a long time, the rock-dwarves have been forging weapons for the coming war. It’s our expectation that very soon the Dark Lord will order the cache of weapons and many rock-dwarves to return to Dreaddrac in preparation for the war. To get the dwarves and arsenal to the mainland, Dreaddrac will have to ship them across the Tixosian Sea to Prertsten or Dreaddrac.”

“Your majesty wishes the admiral to intercept the fleet and sink it?” a vice admiral asked.

“If we could sink or capture those weapons, it would force the evil sorcerer to postpone his attack on the South for months, perhaps a year, giving us more time to prepare.”

“How will you know when Dreaddrac’s fleet sails and from where?” Rakmar asked.

The door to the audience chamber opened. The meeting participants immediately looked to see who was there. “The Admiral of the Seas, Admiral Agros,” the chamberlain announced.

“Good morning, Admiral Agros,” Saxthor said, his hand, waving the bowing admiral forward.

“Greetings and best wishes for a long and prosperous reign, Your Majesty,” the admiral said, bowing deeply to the Saxthor, his new king. “I’ve heard of your majesty’s exploits, and admire your bravery, military skills, and the hope your majesty brings for the kingdom’s future.”

“We thank you for your kindness. We were discussing a Tixosian Sea campaign.”

“Excellent!” the admiral exclaimed. “I was hoping to see action soon. I’ve worried the fleet would be restricted to defending Olnak.” Admiral Agros set his plumed helmet on the side table and joined the others at the massive mahogany table. They’d rolled out a map of the peninsula.

“The Highback Mountains here at the north of Tixos hold a huge arms cache made by Dreaddrac’s rock-dwarves,” Saxthor said. “The Dark Lord will want those arms soon for the war. Turmoil in Sengenwha will as least temporarily immobilize the Sengenwhan navy. They won’t be able to challenge Dreaddrac’s fleet.

“Yes, the Dark Lord will move quickly to ship the arms across the Tixosian Sea before the Sengenwhan navy can threaten the Dreaddrac convoy,” Agros added.

“Can your majesty secure information pinning down when Dreaddrac’s fleet will sail?” Admiral Agros asked.

Memlatec ran his finger along the Sengenwhan coast. “I’ve had watchers along the shore since Saxthor verified the rock-dwarves were in the Highback Mountains. No one here can know when or where the fleet will sail from or return to.”

“We must prevent that fleet from landing those arms in Dreaddrac.” Saxthor said.

Admiral Argos pointed to where Prertsten projected farthest out into the Tixosian Sea. “The Dreaddrac fleet will likely sail along Prertsten’s coast to its western most point. That will minimize the fleet exposure on the narrow crossing. If the Dark Lord feels the fleet is threatened, they may sail up the coast and cross from Dreaddrac, where the activities would be less observable and vulnerable to attack.”

The wizard and admiral studied the map for the most likely locations.

Agros pointed to where Tixos jutted out into the Tixosian Sea. “The outer sea current will swirl toward Dreaddrac here. The Dreaddrac fleet will sail west above or below it taking advantage of the current for the return trip.”

“Memlatec,” Saxthor said, “We need your watchers to notify us as soon as the fleet is sighted sailing west to Tixos. Can the watchers go into western Prertsten and let us know the enemy fleet’s movements sooner?”

“It’ll be too late to intercept them once they begin the crossing,” Memlatec said.

“We don’t want to lose the surprise advantage,” Saxthor said. “We want to attack when the ships are returning, laden with arms and the rock-dwarves. Heavily laden and low in the water, they’ll be most vulnerable, least maneuverable, and any ships sunk will take the weapons and combatants out of the war. We sail north when they sail west. While they sail, land, and load their cargo, we’ll learn where to intercept them. The fleet will attempt to land in northern Prertsten just below the mountains border with Dreaddrac.”

“Can you be so certain, Majesty?” Admiral Agros asked.

“They’ll land where they’re heavily protected by the Prertstenians, and the distance to haul the weapons is shortest,” Saxthor said. That will minimize their line of supply into the interior.”

Argos and Memlatec shook their heads in agreement.

“Admiral Agros, prepare your fleet immediately for an expedition up the Tixosian Sea,” Saxthor ordered. “Dreaddrac will expect us to move the fleet up closer to the border with Sengenwha, since the turmoil in that kingdom must not spill over into Neuyokkasin. Anchor at the border and await the signal to sail north. There must be no mention of sailing further than the border lest spies alert Dreaddrac and the king suspects our intensions. Replenish supplies and make the appearance that you are guarding the border. There must be no hint of our planning to advance beyond it.”

“Understood, Majesty,” the admiral said.

Saxthor took a scroll from the far end of the table. He held it up in his hand. “King Calamidese secretly sends us information he receives to help us, help him. His uncle has a sizable force in the central mountains above Sengenwhapolis. He restricts further orc incursions south of the mountains. The grand duke will soon march west and up the coast to secure the northern border with Prertsten. He hopes to cut off Dreaddrac’s support and reinforcement of its forces in the kingdom. Dreaddrac will have to move before the duke’s army threatens Prertsten and frees up the Sengenwhan navy.

“When Memlatec alerts us to Dreaddrac’s fleet sailing west, we’ll send you orders to sail north and rendezvous with the Sengenwhan fleet,” Saxthor said.

“Rendezvous with the Sengenwhan fleet, Your Majesty?” the admiral questioned.

“King Calamidese is sending orders to the Sengenwhan admirals, ordering them to put their fleet under your command. Your combined fleet will attack the Dreaddrac armada as it sails home with the rock-dwarves and arms.” Saxthor pointed to the straights between Tixos and Prertsten, and looked Admiral Agros straight in the eye. “Admiral, you must sink or capture as many of those ships as possible. Depriving Dreaddrac of those weapons will prevent the attack on Heggolstockin, thus delaying the war, and gain us critical time.”

“As your majesty commands!” the admiral exclaimed. He saluted his king with a huge grin, beaming from beneath his thick red mustache. “Are there any further orders, Your Majesty? If not, I beg to take my leave and return to the fleet at once.” The admiral picked up his helmet and bowed.

“Admiral, we repeat, you must take care to say nothing of our plans even to your direct subordinates,” Saxthor said, walking the admiral to the door. “The official explanation is you’re ordered to move further up the coast to forestall incursions from Sengenwha. While in Olnak, prepare your fleet discretely, so the activities will appear routine. Tell no one of your true objective. Dreaddrac has spies everywhere.”

“As you say, Your Majesty.” The admiral turned to leave for Olnak and his coming mission.

The chamberlain entered the audience hall as Admiral Argos withdrew. Following a bow to the Admiral, the chamberlain announced another attendee. “Count Bodrin Vicksnak de Vicksylva”

Bodrin, Saxthor’s closest friend, strode into the room and up to Saxthor and Memlatec. He bowed dramatically to his king, rising with a serious smirk on his face, “Greetings to your majesty, from your most humble servant.”

With a matching grin, Saxthor asked, “Do you think you might face the wall and bow a bit lower so your king can kick your noble posterior across the length of this room?”

The two friends hugged like two old soldiers, as this was their first meeting since Bodrin’s return from his honeymoon with Tonelia.

“How is married life?” Saxthor asked. “Tell me the truth.”

“I can highly recommend it,” Bodrin said. There was a twinkle in his eye. He put his arm around Saxthor’s shoulder. “Of course, you can’t expect her to bring breakfast in bed every morning. That wears off first.” There was a peel of laughter between the two. The rest of the participants sat wide-eyed in silence.

Saxthor caught Memlatec out of the corner of his eye. He must be amused, he though. There’s a twinkle in the old wizard’s eye, perhaps remembering his distant past as well. His arm still around Bodrin’s shoulder, Saxthor led Bodrin to the map on the table.

“I hate to tear you away from your bride so soon, but I need you to go to General Sekkarian at Hoya immediately and train with him there,” Saxthor said. He cleared his throat and looked at the map.

“You’re expecting an attack soon?” Bodrin asked.

“Every day will count now. The Dark Lord has built his forces for years. It’s certain he’ll attack this spring. We’ll need able field commanders. The army and navy have been neglected for many years with the declining economy and no hostilities anticipated. You saw evidence of the enemy’s strength on our journey to secure the crystals. There’s no time to delay now.”

Bodrin’s eyes lost the twinkle and darkened. Worry lines crossed his brow and surrounded the new frown. He gripped his sword hilt and looked at Saxthor then Memlatec. Something passed between Bodrin and the wizard. Bodrin is the veteran soldier now, Saxthor thought.

“I’ll take my leave at Vicksylva right away and go at once to train under General Sekkarian at Hoya. I do ask that you watch over Tonelia for me, Saxthor,” Bodrin said, his tone deepened. He then glanced at Memlatec as well. He picked up his hat and turned to leave.

“Bodrin, take this commission that appoints you to the rank of major,” Saxthor said, handing the official document to his friend. “Sekkarian knows of your coming, but you must give him my letter with further instructions. After you’ve trained with the general, I’ll want you along the border with General Socockensmek. That’s where our border is most vulnerable and the closest to Konnotan.”

“I take my leave of your majesty,” Bodrin said, saluting, and bowing. “Best friends or not, Saxthor, you’re king now. Your exalted station, with all its responsibilities, demands respect and acknowledgement.”

Saxthor hugged his friend again, and then returned the official salute.

Bodrin glanced again at Memlatec, who nodded. “Watch out for him.” He left the room.

Saxthor slumped a bit, watching as Bodrin departed. Affairs of state now direct both our lives, he thought. The king turned slowly to his wizard and the map. Saxthor looked up after a moment. “So goes our youth.”

“Memlatec, dispatch Hendrel to inspect all the frontier fortifications. He may sense any treachery or infiltration of the army ranks?” Saxthor said. “After what we found on our journey up the peninsula, I’m particularly sensitive to spies, infiltration, and treachery.”

Saxthor ordered Chatra Rakmar to expedite a survey of the kingdom’s available resources and to obtain storage facilities for food and arms at fortified towns throughout the kingdom. The rest of the day was spent in meetings with various court officials to assess their capabilities and assign responsibilities in preparation for the coming war. Each official, military, or civilian, passed by Memlatec, who sensed loyalty. Sorblade lay slightly unsheathed on the table by the door; Memlatec watched it for potential glow.

* * *

At the heart of Dreaddrac, eerie light rippled from the glowing energy column in the vile king’s workroom. The light bathed the dust and soot to a yellow-green haze. Energy, radiating through the room, made hair stand on end and drove rodents and spiders out instantly. The sorcerer-king absorbed the energy there. He shuffled across the floor, his boots scraping the dust and rubble, to stand over the chest where his wraith rested. Now, the second night since the Dark Lord conjured and created the wraith, the Evil One pounded on the trunk to summon his creature from its resting place.

“General Tarquak!” the Evil One said. “Come forth this night and do as I, your master command. I have created you and given you this opportunity to remain beyond the Well of Souls, so long as your obedience is total, and your performance is acceptable.” He pounded on the chest again.