Dragon Choir (8 page)

It was getting
late; the wagons he had arrived in were gone and the roadhouse was
quieter than before. Elrin didn’t dare go inside to ask for a room.
Someone would pick him for the bounty and he’d be hauled back to
the Guildmaster before the morning sun rose. The young man had to
get to Rum Hill without being discovered.

He pulled on
his cowl and walked down the road heading east. It had to take him
to the sea eventually, and from there the Hoard Islands
awaited.

CHAPTER SIX

Uighara

The scaphoid on
the blackstone rattled and a dim yellow glow radiated around the
sacrificial bone. The redeemer placed his hands on the polished jet
tablet, knowing who it would be. The fourth time today and less
than half the day had past; it was a waste of a good
carpal.

A delicate
murmur whispered from the ether.

All the bone
of Jando and he’ll sacrifice a distal phalanx to make reach;
parsimonious old dotard. Shuffling in his seat, Uighara removed two
metacarpals and sacrificed them on the blackstone, praying for a
better connection.

“
Almighty Lord, hear my call, take this generous offering and
strengthen the reach of your humble servant’s devotion.”

The glow took
to the additional bones and the voice of the High Priest pressed
from the ether with a sudden, glaring clarity.

“
Brother? Come on then, answer ... Make reach. Is this even
working?”

Uighara
grinned. The old fool could wait.

“
I know you can hear me! I feel you there, damn you! Spit
spat, I’ll have your head for a hat!”

“
Your Grace, I apologise. Your voice was not clear. What say
you about a cat?”

“
I sense your levity. Mark the distance you travel from the
Lord’s path, lest you lose your way. He is ever
vigilant!”

“
Yes, Your Grace, wise words from Oranica’s most sage. You
will assuredly join Saint Jan and Saint Norin beside the Lord’s
golden thro—”

“
Enough of that now; your platitudes are not easily
digested.”

“
Of course, Your Grace. What do you require of me? I do not
wish to waste your time.”

“
That remains to be seen. Have you caught that sinful little
man yet?”

“
The pirate ship we have been tracking was not Kobb’s
ship.”

“
Don’t speak the name of that recalcitrant little
whelp.”

“
Your Grace, surely the greater mission is the capture and
redemption of a more potent sinner.”

“
I’ve given you everything you need to accomplish that,
nothing in my power has been spared.”

“
The armada, your Grace. How went your discussions with the
Lord’s high admiral?”

“
Very well indeed. Such a shrewd man. You could learn a tot or
two from him.”

“
So he’s agreed to send the Armada? Your sainthood is
assured.”

“
Not so.”

“
That will be a problem. Did you not just order him? You are
the Word of the Lord, he must obey.”

“
There is no problem. I quite agree with him. As does the rest
of the Council.”

“
What? You ... I cannot bring you the greatest sacrifice
without the armada. How else will you be blessed a saint! Calimska
will forever be a thorn in the heel of the Lord, halting the march
of redemption. Precipitous sin and sorcery lurk at our very
doorstep. Only one thing can reform this land. We must strike at
the heart of the evil. These wyrms behave as gods unto themselves,
hoarding his treasure, corrupting his power. They forget the
almighty creator!”

“
Calm yourself, dear Brother.”

Uighara wiped
his brow with his white silk sleeve. “My apologies, Your
Grace.”

“
Your fervour will be rewarded, but the Council is in no hurry
for my sainthood. Do not fear, Jando will survive another season
and I will endure. The Council is less concerned with redemption
and more so with pirates and rebels leeching our
strength.”

“
Then I will bring you proof of the pirate lair from the mouth
of our new Commodore.”

“
Yes, that will serve all our interests, Brother. Redemption
is but one of the Lord’s miracles. We must accommodate compassion
for the Lord’s faithful with equal measure.”

“
As you say.”

“
Lord’s blessings go with you, Brother.”

“
Also with you, Your Grace”

The ether
retracted from Uighara’s mind. Three neat white piles, tiny dust
mountains, were all that remained of his sacrifice, the essence now
degraded. He puffed across the blackstone, blowing the dull powder
off its mirror surface. A gentle press and shake of a belt pouch
was sufficient to reveal about a hand and a half remained. That
would serve for the moment. The redeemer pressed another pouch and
tucked his fingers in; both treasures were still there. Pulling
them out one by one, he felt the energetic potential tingle up his
palm. An incisor and a molar; they’d be a godsend if there was an
emergency. He’d not waste them on the blackstone. Bones of the
faithful just weren’t as clear over these distances, though blessed
or not, they would have to do for now.

Removing his
cowl, Uighara lay back in a hammock, enjoying the gentle lull of
the ocean. His shoulders and neck ached from the day’s mental
exertions, there were so many details to arrange, so many powers to
appease; pawns to manipulate.

Considering
the logistics of it all, only a few problems had arisen, all
solvable of course. The greatest of all the Lord’s work would be
done; things were falling into place nicely. The young upstart
Commodore had a whiff of pirate and wouldn’t let up the chase until
he knew the location of the lair. He was no different from his
nit-picking father, always seeking proof to the detriment of faith.
He wouldn’t take Uighara’s word for it, as obvious as it was.

Uighara’s
father was the same, so powerful, yet so weak. He couldn’t grasp
what he had and would surely let another opportunity slip away. The
fool had no idea.

The tide of
sleep came in and Uighara drifted to the deep rest of the
exhausted.

***

A
milk faced undanae with black saucer eyes and a pointed grin stood
by the door. He bent sideways like a waning moon, his head tilted,
eyes devouring all light.

“
How nice to have a nap, yes?”

“
Zarkas,” announced Uighara with a boy’s voice steeped in
innocence long faded. He rocked on a wooden painted horse in his
childhood home. The walls were decorated with endearing pastel
murals, the floor warmed with colourful rugs.

“
Why do I always find you as a boy, hmm?”

Uighara
grasped his lucidity and refurnished the dream. He weaved his
surroundings into a spacious stone walled chamber with blazing
hearth, ornate tapestries, redwood furniture and gilded finery.

“
More to my taste, certainly,” Zarkas enjoyed a wry smile,
deepening the dark wells of his dimpled cheeks. “Though, I must say
the horse is a little small for you now.”

Flustered and
ashamed, Uighara dismounted from the wooden horse. He willed it
gone, but it would not be undone. Dreaming an axe into his hands,
he hacked it to pieces, throwing them to the fire. The angels of
the Lord knew his every weakness.

“
Why do you call?” Uighara dusted his hands off then warmed
them by the fire, watching the lacquer crack and blister the head
of the horse. “Everything is in order.”

“
That perhaps, is your problem. Shall order bring the return
of our Lord?”

“
It is just an expression, our plans proceed without
complication.”

“
Humans make little sense.”

“
The barges are built and armed, our net is ready. I have
already told you this. What do you want?”

“
When, is the question. When do I want?”

“
We await our reserve supply of reagent to be loaded. Once it
is stockpiled and secure at Lord’s Landing we will proceed to
engage the pirates.”

“
Do you have the armada?”

“
No, not yet, the Lord’s High Admiral will not rally the
armada without proof. I will extrac—”

“
You dally when you need speed. The Lord will be
displeased.”

“
Everything will be in its place.”

“
Time is short. If you are incapable, then I will find
another. Perhaps the High Priest would have made a better
choice.”

Uighara
sneered. “That old dolt barely understands the process, let alone
the ritual. You need me Zarkas. You know you do.”

There was no
reply. Zarkas was gone and the room had transformed back to that of
his childhood; his horse burned in the fire, a crippled mess of
charred limbs and broken memories.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Rum Hill

Elrin woke the
next morning to the sun rising over the sea. He had walked through
the night to get there, trudging on until the moon set and fatigue
forced him to rest. In the darkness he hadn’t noticed how close he
was.

Cane fields
filed off beside the worn road, which stretched on to Rum Hill. The
port town was a shamble of buildings strewn around a small harbour.
The town centre nestled against the foot of a grassy hill that
rolled up and out into the ocean, ending in a sheer headland. Elrin
drank in the view of the sheltered bay and breathed in the sweet
scent of molasses.

At the edge of
the town people were busy. Teams of mules turned cane mills and
workers hovered over steaming segmented vats, cooking down cane
juice into rich brown syrup. In the town centre bunkhouses,
storehouses and distilleries lent on each other in a patchwork of
repair and extension; the structures were opportunistic like the
people on the streets. Elrin avoided the drunkards begging favours
and promising friendship, blushed past the barely draped welcome
girls, and made haste to the dockyards.

Elrin knew the
border towns were under Jandan control, but there was no sign of it
through Rum Hill. There were no lawmen or town guards, unless they
were in the pubs and pleasure houses. Elrin’s mother had likened
the border towns to poor orphans abandoned by Jando. His father
said they had the best and the worst of everything in equal
measure. Honest folk with character and spirit worked to feed their
families and shady malefactors schemed and skimmed from the unwary.
Border towns were places to right wrongs and sing songs; heroes
could rise and make things right.

The main road
curved around the base of Rum Hill and descended upon the docks.
The bay bloomed into a vast ocean, more expansive than he ever
imagined possible. As a boy running about Calimska, he thought the
Lake of Tears was the sea. His father’s stories of the open ocean
were incomprehensible until now.

The morning
sun skimmed across a horizon without end. The cool kiss of the
ocean breeze tasted of salt and filled his mind with the romance of
what he could be. He hadn’t lost everything; he had his father’s
dagger and a quest. There was a life of adventure ahead where he
could be a hero and save his father. It was as clear as the summer
sky.

He walked on
in the sunshine and convinced himself that the dead letter against
him was just part of the adventure. It was another verse for the
bards to sing. There was no better tale to tell than one of
adversity overcome.

The bounce in
his step petered out; a niggling doubt lodged in his mind like a
stone stuck in his boot. The bounty hunters who chased him into the
forest were just a taste of the sorts that would spill his blood,
and they were so well-equipped. Elrin began to question how a
dagger alone would serve as an adequate defence in all situations.
He would have to get awfully close to an enemy to strike. If only
he had a sword ... if only he knew how to use a sword. Elrin
polished the shine in the situation, picking up his step again; his
father started out with a dagger and his wits, he could too.

Elrin rested
his palm on the dagger’s black jewelled pommel. The bedtime tales
of his father’s adventures were all he really knew of battle.
Fighting off goblins and giants to take their ill-gotten treasure.
Saving villagers from raiding orcs and recovering the plunder to
give to the poor. Something within the dagger reached out to him
with comfort, making the tales of his father possible for him too.
He was destined for adventure and could learn on his travels; he
didn’t need to waste his years polishing someone else’s steel, he’d
sharpen his own.

“
Watch where you’re goin’ son!” A wiry man grabbed Elrin’s arm
and pulled him back. A stack of planks glanced past Elrin’s head as
a gantry crane moved to load a cart nearby.

“
Sorry.” Elrin held his hands up in apology. “Do you know
where I can find the head dockman?”

“
The what?” shouted the skinny docker.

Elrin waved
him off in apology, his voice would only be drowned out by the
racket. Dockers hollered and whistled at each other positioning
heavy lifts on the gantries while draft horses clattered about
pulling cargo. Gulls squabbled around the fishing boats and the
ships groaned and jostled in their moorings. It was impossible to
have a clear conversation. Dockers used hand signals or whistled to
organise loads. Elrin often had made deliveries to the docks on the
Lake of Tears and recalled yelling there hadn’t been very effective
either.