Codex I-Chapter 2
The Dragonrider
“I’m surprised that they left as much intact as they did,” Gereon was saying. The sun was just coming up over the horizon, and the group, given the all clear by Kirza, had returned to the outpost. The goblins were long gone.
“Their objective was quite narrow-minded,” said Khaska. He turned to Amara, but looked down at the dirt. “Kirza was not able to see what it was?” Kirza had stayed behind to report on the goblins, able to stay out of firing range and keep an eye on their activities. The remaining ones had split off after hoisting up the bucket from the well and retrieving something. One of the remaining goblins, looked to be a leader of some sort, had a worg nearby. He had ridden off into the night, leaving the other goblins to walk. They had split off into three different groups, just as they had attacked.
“What disturbs me,” said Rynn, looking at the dead bodies in the center of the outpost, “is that I’m pretty sure there were three different tribes. Goblins aren’t that coordinated. Usually.”
“Well, maybe we can ask this one.” Orensland kicked one by the front gate. “It’s still alive.”
Just then, a shadow passed over the outpost. Everybody looked up to see the distant figure of a dragon. Even as high as it was, everybody could hear the sounds of its wings beating. The massive blue figured banked and circled before landing just outside the gates in a blast of dust and rock. On its back were two figures. The front on held the reigns, a human by the looks of him, wearing plate. The other one was a skinny female elf with robes.
The elf stepped down off of the dragon and began chanting immediately. After a moment her eyes began to glow and she looked around the outpost, starting with the charred corpses at the front gate. The human stepped down from the dragon, and everybody could see the pendant around his neck. One of the famed dragon orbs.
“Greetings, in the name of Markus the Noble,” he raised his right hand in a gesture of friendliness. “I am Gerald Reitman,” he looked around at the carnage and dead bodies everywhere, “and it looks like you had an interesting night.”
The group was quite taken aback. The dragon riders of the Knights of the Silver Dragons were renowned the world over. To have one suddenly appear was . . . unexpected, to say the least.
Rynn was the first to speak. “Yes we did. Goblins came here to retrieve something, apparently from the wellhouse. A ‘sacred stick,’ they said.” He smiled, striding forward, his hand extended. “I’m Rynn Fowler, and it’s an honor to meet you, Sir Reitman. What brings you to the Niktean Wastes?”
“Always a pleasure to meet an adventurer,” the paladin smiled, looking around the group. “Adventurers, by the looks of you.”
“I’m not sure about that,” said Khaska. The Maha’i was approaching, as Amara whispered something to Kirza, who flew off the cleric’s horns and landed on her shoulder. Sorceress and familiar spoke quietly to each other. “I am Khaska, of the Mawakhavi Maha’i. And what does bring one of the Knights to our territories?” He slightly emphasized “our.”
“We’re tracking a fugitive, and saw the carnage from above. I thought we could help.” He held out a hand, palm up, in a beckoning manner. “At the very least, let me heal you of your wounds.”
“That,” Orensland said, “would be most welcome.” The paladin muttered words as he touched each of the wounded in turn, his subtle magic mending flesh and sinew. Amara had approached by now, but declined to say anything. Kirza had flapped off to where the elf was now looking at the entrance to the storehouse they had hidden in.
“Find anything of interest?” The familiar asked from the roof, in elven.
The elf snapped upright, looking at the bird, then whirling towards the group, then back to the raven. “Whose familiar are you?”
Sir Reitman stepped back, his hand going reflexively to the sword at his side, loosening it a few inches in its scabbard.
Kirza flapped twice, moving up from her perch on the roof. The elf, eyes still glowing unnaturally, looked at those present, before muttering some more arcane words in the language of magic and touching the sides of her face, by her eyes. Her eyes swept over the crowd, her body tense, fingers out at the ready. Gerald also watched, bending his knees ever so slightly, his face suddenly hard.
The elf relaxed. “He’s not here.”
Gerald also relaxed, his hands dropping to the side, his body straightening out. “Do you know if he was here?”
“I can’t tell.” The elf was already back to looking around with her glowing eyes. “The spell doesn’t work that way. Unless there was something very powerful here for a long time, or a very powerful spell, it’s been too long.” She turned and looked at Rynn. “When did this attack take place?”
“Shortly before midnight.”
“What happened? Tell me!”
“Quilleh!” snapped the paladin. “Be respectful of our friends here.” Then he turned back to the group. “But it would be nice if we knew what had happened last night. We are in this area because we detected magic use that might be from the fugitive.” He turned and gave a slight bow to Khaska. “Time was of the essence. We did not want to wait for permission from your leaders.”
“Not like the Maha’i could keep us out of the skies anyway,” the elf snorted.
“Quilleh!” Gerald’s voice was angrier this time. She hushed up, still looking around the outpost, but jammed her hands into her robes. Again, the paladin turned to Khaska. “I must be frank, though. The reluctance of your people to help the Knights has been a mystery to me. We have ever tried to do nothing but serve the peoples of our world. And I meant no offense in coming here.” He smiled. “Come though, tell me of your battle! How did it begin?”
Jenika stepped forward. “I was the only one outside when the attack started.” As she began to tell the story, even Quilleh stopped to listen. The description of the guard who had fallen over the wall captured her attention.
“Probably dominated,” said the elf.
Gerald turned to her. “Would our fugitive have done that?”
“It wouldn’t fit his profile. He hasn’t done it before to my knowledge. But it is possible.” She looked back at Jenika, who had to glance back at the paladin.
He smiled. “Don’t let Quilleh intimidate you. She’s been recruited by the Knights to help track this fugitive down, but it’s been frustrating. I know she would rather be back in Dreqorun, at the university. Please continue.”
The group huddled around the paladin and the elf, telling their tale bit by bit.
Amara, however, was at the gate, looking at the dragon. The creature stared straight back at her, even baring it’s teeth ever so slightly. But the sorceress was not intimidated. She was fascinated. Being ever so slow, out of reverence, not fear, she edged closer. Her studies in her home city of Eskele had also involved a decent amount of dragon lore. There were only fifty-four Orbs of Dragonkind in existence. The good dragons were all dead. The evil dragons were either in hiding, or had been enslaved by the Knights. She knew all their names by heart. This had to be Ziranethsrana.
“Great and estimable Ziranethsrana, I am honored and awed by the opportunity to behold your majesty and hear your wisdom.” The sorcereress spoke in draconic, using the most formal version of the language, one reserved for ancient dragons, teachers, wizards of extreme power, or great leaders of nations. As she finished the sentence, she bowed low, falling to her knees in front of the huge creature.
The dragon edged its head closer. The two were now mere feet away, the great wyrm, and the white-haired sorceress. She raised her eyes, looking at the large head in front of her. The dragon gave no indication that it would respond, but continued to look at the human woman. It had, however, closed its lips fully. Its teeth were no longer bared.
Amara decided to push on, still in extremely formal draconic. “How do the Knights treat you, great one? I am interested because I have recently discovered a talent for magic. I may have dragon ancestry, and . . .” she paused, unsure how to continue, “you enslaved dragons may be the only ones left with the ability to explain such things to me.”
“Hey! HEY!!” Gerald was running towards her, hand reaching towards the Orb around his neck. The dragon reared back, as if struck by pain. “What are you doing?”
“Talking to your dragon. Don’t hurt him!”
Quilleh laughed, coming behind the paladin, but just walking. “You’re a brave one! Not many would walk up to an evil dragon just to chat.”
“And not many are concerned about the fate of a chromatic dragon,” the paladin said. He held up the orb. “If it were not for this, she would already have devoured you. Remember that. What business have you with a dragon anyway?”
Amara didn’t answer him, but instead turned back to the dragon. “I’m sorry to have caused you pain.”
The dragon bared its teeth again, but this time it was unmistakably a smile. The draconic it spoke was not formal at all, but was also not insulting. “Cherish the gift of your magic, little one, and perhaps some day you may find yourself in a better position to be of use.” The word for “of use” may have alternately been translated as “helpful,” but it was unclear which way the dragon meant it.
“You’re a sorcerer?” asked Quilleh. “Not a wizard?” Amara looked at her, then nodded. The elf smirked, then turned to Rynn. “You were saying? The goblins had begun pushing into the fort?”
“Right. Well, Gereon here thought we should hide in the storehouse, easier to defend ourselves. He went to open it up, and then Elial cast a fireball spell to thin them out a bit.”
“Wait,” Quilleh stopped him, “who’s Elial?”
“Oh,” said Waltheof, “he was a bard traveling with our caravan. Great guy. Just with us for safety. He paid well, and was most entertaining. Great bard.”
“Wait,” the elf said. “He was a bard? And he cast a fireball spell?” She glanced at Gerald. “That’s him.”
“Are you sure?”
“That fits his profile. He would risk detection to do something like that.”
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“To help us?” asked Khaska, his arms folded.
The elf turned and gave him a withering stare, all the more unnerving because her eyes were still glowing. “Don’t be fooled, silly antelope man.”
With that, Gerald finally stepped forward and actually grabbed her arm. “That’s quite enough. I know you don’t follow the code, but while you’re with me you will keep a civil tongue to everybody you meet.” She began to open her mouth, but he thundered back before she could say anything. “Even the Maha’i that doesn’t trust me,” he slammed his chest, his gauntleted hand making a clanging sound, “one of the dragon riders of the Knights of the Silver Dragons.”
She slammed her mouth shut, clenching her jaw. Her fists balled up, she turned back to Khaska. “Don’t be fooled. Appearances are not always as they seem.” She slunk back behind the paladin, who had calmed down, his face no longer flushed.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I shouldn’t have gotten so angry.” He gave a wan smile. “My friends, we are looking for a dangerous rogue sorcerer. This Elial sounds like he might be him. Elven fellow? Long blonde hair? Well, half-redhead I suppose. Some might even call it bronze-like.”
“That’s him,” said Orensland. “He was awfully nervous after the fight started.”
“After he cast the fireball?” asked Quilleh.
Orensland nodded. “Before that he was all for helping us, playing his songs, strengthening us. Afterwards . . . he just wanted to leave.”
“And now he has, what, a ten hour head start on us?” said Quilleh.
Rynn nodded. “That’s about right. His tracks indicated he was headed north, same direction as the caravan.”
Gerald nodded towards the dragon, and Quilleh began moving in that direction.
“Before you go,” said Amara, “were you able to detect anything at the wellhouse? That’s where the goblins found whatever they were looking for. If Elial was behind the attack, would he have known that?”
“I didn’t detect anything, but I don’t have time—”
Sir Reitman interrupted. “You do have time. Your spell hasn’t run out. Your eyes still shine like the sun. Please, find the information they want.” The elf stomped off towards the well. Amara followed.
Khaska turned to the paladin, who was mounting the dragon. “Sir paladin, I will inform the Maha’i leaders of your intrusion.”
The Knight nodded. “I would expect nothing less from you. You all do well to be wary in such times as these. The heart of your sorcereress friend there is a good one, having compassion even for creatures such as these,” he patted the neck of his mount. “Your feeling serve you well. Soon Arkenos and Jenoa will converge and we will do battle for the fate of our world, as Markus the Noble did. Heroes will be needed. But,” he looked pointedly at Khaska, “there must be trust among our peoples. If there is not, I fear that the forces of Arkenos will carry the day. That is something that none of us want. If you are headed to Hammerdine, come to the chapter of the Knights there. I will gladly explain more there to you, Khaska of the Maha’i, but time is of the essence now for us.”
Quilleh and Amara came back, the elf talking quickly to Amara before getting behind Gerald on his large saddle. “Markus be with you all!” the paladin shouted.
“Markus be with you!” shouted Waltheof. Gereon simply raised his hand in farewell. The dragon looked at Amara for a moment, then spread its wings and pumped them, blowing sand and dirt everywhere. The great blue creature lifted off the ground and sailed away towards the north.
The sun was climbing higher into the sky, and the heat of the day was beginning to assert itself.
“Well,” said Rynn, “that was something you don’t see every day.”
“Didn’t expect a dragon rider to take an interest in a random goblin attack,” said Jenika, who turned to head back inside the outpost. The rest of the people followed.
“They weren’t,” said Amara. “Quilleh, between trying to be insulted by the Knight and actually looking at the wellhouse, was able to detect something. She said it felt odd, not a powerful item, but something of magic had been there for a while. A very long while. Its influence had permeated the very well itself.”
“So Elial sent the goblins to get this item?” asked Orensland.
“She was pretty sure Elial could have just killed us all and taken it himself. Oddly enough, the attack and Elial being here appear to be unrelated.”
“Really?” asked Khaska.
Amara nodded. “That’s what Quilleh said.”
“And you trusted her?”
“No. But she was pretty dismissive of the idea that Elial would have needed minions to do his dirty work.”
Orensland broke into a huge grin. “Then I think it’s time we interrogated that goblin!”
“I think moving the goblin bodies out of the outpost should be our first priority, before it gets too late in the day,” said Rynn.
“As long as we get to keep stuff we find on them,” said Orensland. Jenika shuddered.
Rynn was already inside, looking around. “We ought to move this big guy first.”
“Check what’s in that bag at his waist first,” said Orensland.
Jenika glared at him, then moved away. “I’m going to retrieve the dead guard bodies,” she said. “At least we won’t be looting those.”
Rynn untied the sack from around the goblin leaders belt, and opened it up. He peered inside, and then dropped it quickly. “Um, there’s a head inside.”
Everybody stopped, looking at the sack. It was now obvious that the stain on the bottom wasn’t mud or something else.
Rynn again picked it up, dumping the contents out. The head sat in the sand.
Gereon began to laugh. “Dragon riders, evil bards, goblin attacks, sacred sticks, and now the head of Jonathan of the Wastes!”
Khaska perked up. “The bandit?”
“The very same,” Gereon still roared with laughter. “It’s your lucky day. Take that head to Hammerdine, to the Faatin house headquarters, and you could get a substantial reward!”
“I’m all for heading to Hammerdine when we’re done here,” said Amara. Trudging through the desert just to track down random goblins wasn’t exactly what she had come here to do, but the thought of bandit treasure and the curiosity of what this “sacred stick” was had certainly helped her come along. At least now it was getting towards evening their second day out from the outpost. The sun was dipping towards the horizon, and the air was dropping from scorching to merely hot. However, along the way neither she nor Khaska had been able to think of anything in particular that the goblins would be interested in.
Rynn had reminded them, the captured goblin, Rang by name, had spoken of a human that had delivered red leaves to the tribal leader of the goblins. The leader of Rang’s tribe, whose body was now baking in the sun by the outpost, had passed around a pipe with the leaves in it to the members of the tribe. It had been obvious that the goblins had been extra malleable when addicted to this substance, whatever it was. This process had, it seemed likely, been used on the other two tribes. The human was who they were after. It was he was who had sent the goblins to the outpost.
Between the ranger and the Maha’i cleric, food and water were easily found, even in the harsh Niktean Wastes. They had journeyed for a few days, following the goblin tracks. Orensland happily carried the sack with Jonathan’s head. The group had agreed to at least deliver it to the Faatin Merchant House’s headquarters in Hammerdine, to alert them that Jonathan had been killed. As to take credit for the kill . . . that was a matter still being debated.
Kirza alighted on a rock a few yards away. “Camp close. Just over the next hill.”
Rynn turned back from where he was leading. “Well, let’s see what the goblins left us.”
Orensland smiled, and picked up the pace from the back of the pack. Jenika gave him a hard look as he pushed past them to Rynn. “I hope they weren’t too thorough,” he said.
“Is this what you rogues like to do? Steal from dead people?”
“Living ones, too,” he smiled back. But then he grew slightly more serious. “Honestly though, I only steal from those that can afford it. To give to those that are less fortunate. Besides, what a waste to just let the loot sit here in the . . .” they had crested the hill.
The bandit camp lay before them. Bodies lay strewn about, mostly bandits, but a few goblins, probably from Rang’s tribe. They had been in the sun for several days, and a slight stench hit the noses of the party. Amara covered her nose with her sleeve, grimacing.
“. . . sun,” Orensland finished lamely.
It was obvious the attack had been haphazard and sudden. The tents were still standing, though dropping from not being upkept for a few days, and many of the bodies were dressed in what looked like sleeping clothes. Very few of the bandits had armor on. But by one of the tents that had fallen over a large chest could be seen. A sturdy lock kept the lid shut.
“Let’s check out that chest,” Amara said, as she began to walk down the hill.
Orensland grabbed her arm. “Wait!” He pointed towards the far end of camp. A small pack of dogs was feasting on several bodies. She had missed them.
“Danger, mistress!” her familiar cawed. It looked over to their right, into the setting sun, where a vulture was sitting atop one of the tents, gnawing on something.
Rynn looked at the pack of dogs. They had begun slinking towards the group. There were a number of them, but not all were approaching. It was clear they had just eaten, and were not feeling inclined to leave. The lead one bared his teeth, and a low growl came from its throat.
Khaska looked over at the vulture, whispering. “The vulture probably will not leave without a fight either,” he said. “They’re very protective of their finds, and can be quite aggressive.”
Rynn nocked an arrow. “We’d better be . . .”
Orensland cocked his crossbow, aimed at the vulture, and fired.
The shot went wide, and the bird raised its wings in an intimidating manner, shrieked, and began to glide towards them. But Orensland dropped it with another crossbow bolt.
“Careful?” the elf said, grinning as he drew his shortsword and turned on the dogs.
The pack was still slowly advancing, clearly looking for a fight. Rynn drew back his bow and fired. The arrow made a small puff as it hit the dirt just in front of the lead dog. The others in the group also drew their weapons. Jenika stepped in front, hands at the ready, crouched down. Khaska also prepared for melee combat, drawing his scimitar.
The others rained arrows and crossbow bolts down on the closest dogs. Amara dropped a few bolts on the ground and Orensland reloaded them into his weapon. The lead dog yelped, an arrow from Rynn and a bolt from Amara in its side. It dropped to the ground, blood pooling beneath it. But the rest of the pack charged.
The group managed to get another round of shots off as the wild animals came at them. Amara dropped another one, and Orensland buried a bolt in the neck of one, but it kept coming. Khaska stepped forward, making contact as the snarling beasts closed the gap between them. His scimitar bit deeply into its flank, causing the beast to yelp in pain. Several of the animals were attempting to bite the monk and the cleric, but their snapping jaws were ineffectual. Jenika managed to fend one off, but did not land any blows before a fellow dog joined in attacking her.
Amara, Rynn, and Orensland all fired at the dogs still coming up from behind. One of them whimpered and stumbled before lying still. But now the rest of the snarling pack was upon them.
Khaska buried his scimitar in the head of one of the beasts as three of them savaged the Maha’i, drawing blood. He dropped down to the ground. Jenika fought off three of the beasts, as Orensland and Rynn drew their swords and advanced to help. The rogue completely missed, but the ranger managed to connect with his target, killing yet another dog.
Only the three remained that were attacking the monk, but Jenika grabbed one by the neck and twisted with a resounding crack. The lifeless creature tumbled to the ground. The two remaining dogs snarled and barked, but retreated before the group, loping off into the desert, one of them trailing blood.
Rynn nocked an arrow and fired at the injured one. He missed. He fired again, this time connecting. The creature yelped once, and then died. The last dog vanished behind some of the tents of the bandit camp, clearly in retreat.
Khaska was badly wounded, barely able to stay on his feet. The cleric chanted a quick prayer and placed his hand on his chest. Divine magic flowed through him, and his wounds rapidly closed. He was able to breath easier, blood no longer in his throat.
Rynn was there to support him as he straightened up, still slightly shaky. “You all right, my friend? Those dogs gave you a thrashing.”
“Thank you, yes. I believe that I will be alright.”
Orensland was also there to lend a hand.
Kirza was fluttering around the camp, then came and landed on Amara’s shoulder. “Nothing else here,” it squawked in elven.
“The camp is clear,” the sorceress said. “That was the last of them.”
As soon as it was evident that the Maha’i was alright, Orensland immediately went for the chest. Amara was also very interested in that, but the other three seemed to hang back.
The chest was locked. Scraping by the padlock indicated that others had tried to open it by breaking the lock, probably the goblins.
“Well, that’s no good,” the rogue said. Frustrated, he trudged off to see what else he could find. After Orensland went through the clothing of each individual bandit, Jenika began rounding up the bodies and lining them up. This included the headless body of Jonathan of the Wastes. After a moment, the cleric joined her. Orensland was busy going through their pockets and the various tents. Rynn kept an eye out for other animals or intruders, though he doubted there would be others. Amara also looked around the camp, though not nearly as thoroughly. However, it was she that found the toolkit in one of the bandit tents.
“Orensland!” she called. The elf’s head poked out of another tent. “I think these are rogue tools. Could you use it to . . . “
“Pick the lock!” The elf snatched them out of her hands and in a moment was grappling again with the lock.
Everybody crowded around, their curiosity getting the better of them, but the lock snapped right open. The elf looked in amazement at the toolkit. “I think I’ve found a new friend!” he said.
“Well,” said the sorceress. “Open it.”
He stood up and kicked open the chest. Inside was a pile of money and a few other knickknacks. The rogue rubbed his hands together greedily. “Excellent!”
“That’s all you can think about!” Jenika said, hands on her hips.
“What?” the rogue shrugged. “It’s not like they’re going to use it.” He indicated the bandit bodies. “You would rather it just sit here?”
Jenika turned and left to finish collecting the bodies. The group spent the night in the camp, using the available firewood, before pressing on in the morning. While they broke camp, Khaska prayed over the collected bodies, all lined up. Orensland stood by him, strangely solemn, but Rynn pushed them to leave before it got too hot.
The goblins’ trail was still leading them onward, out of the wastes.