Kazin's Quest: Book I of The Dragon Mage Trilogy Read online

  “Good idea,” agreed Harran, folding the maps and putting them away. “I can finish this later.”

  After they had eaten, Zylor looked at the nearly dark mountainside. “It should be safe to travel any time now.”

  “Agreed,” said Harran. “Let’s get packed.”

  The two unlikely travelling companions began their trek up the mountainside. Even in the darkness, the dwarf guided the minotaur unerringly up the mountain, never missing a step. They crossed two small streams, the result of spring thaw, and stopped only briefly to fill their water skins. When they finally reached the cave, the mountain was shrouded in darkness, almost as dark as the cave entrance itself. Only the stars were visible. An owl hooted in the distance.

  Harran pulled the light stone from his pack and placed it in an oddly shaped sconce. It glowed with a dim blue-green hue. “Well,” he muttered. “Let’s go.” He cautiously entered the cave.

  Zylor began to follow but remembered something. He quickly opened a bag containing his collection of wildhorn leaves and put one into his mouth. Chewing intently, he entered the cave. After a few steps, he bumped into the dwarf, dropping his bag of leaves. The dwarf turned to reprimand the minotaur for his clumsiness but instead his eyes widened. The minotaur’s night vision was just beginning to work when he realized his mistake.

  The guards in the nearest guard tower were playing a game of dice when they heard it. They both jumped to their feet and knocked over their table, the dice bouncing out of the tower and into the darkness below.

  “What the hell was that?” asked one, the hair on his neck standing on end.

  “I don’t know,” said the other, “but it sounded big and mean!”

  “Aren’t you going to investigate?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  Throughout the mountainside creatures ran, took to flight, or shuddered where they stood, as Harran’s sneeze reverberated off into the night.

  Chapter 8

  Since leaving the mountain’s surface, the companions made good time, (after Zylor hurriedly gathered the spilled wildhorn leaves and tucked them safely away).

  The minotaur was able to keep up with ease due to his improved sight. Harran stopped only a few times along the way to give Zylor the basics on map reading. Otherwise, it was a quiet journey.

  The companions travelled for some time before Harran called a halt. They had reached a widening portion of the tunnel with several small alcoves to one side. Harran held the light stone aloft, scanning the area for danger. Finally he grunted in satisfaction. “We’ll camp here for the night,” he said, indicating one of the alcoves with a wave of the sconce. This resulted in a fluctuation of shadows which danced along the walls of the tunnel.

  Zylor merely grunted in response and threw his pack into a recess in the alcove’s wall. Then he straightened and stretched his aching muscles, reaching up to the ceiling of the tunnel. At least he could stand up straight at this location. Some previous sections of tunnel were so low he was forced to crouch to make it through. Harran mentioned earlier that there would be some tight places but none were impassable. Zylor could only hope the dwarf was telling the truth.

  Harran hacked a piece of coal-like rock from the wall and placed it on the floor in the center of the alcove. Then he reached into his pack and pulled out a piece of flint, striking it against his axe. The sparks jumped onto the black substance and it began to glow a dull red. After a moment it glowed slightly brighter and began to radiate heat. Harran rubbed his hands over the rock, getting the chill of the dank tunnels out of his bones. “Who’s taking first watch?” he asked, looking up at Zylor, who had seated himself with his back to the wall. This was a good question, considering neither one knew if the other could really be trusted.

  “You can have the first shift,” said Zylor. “I’m bushed. Walking with your shoulders stooped all day is tiring over the long haul.”

  This explanation seemed to satisfy the dwarf. Eventually Harran sat down on a tall, flat boulder near the glowing coal. They sat in awkward silence.

  Finally the dwarf could contain his curiosity no longer. “Is there really going to be a war between the minotaurs and humans? The way they were talking when we left, you’d think something big was going on. I couldn’t hear very much, of course, being all wrapped up at the time.”

  Zylor looked at the dwarf and managed a small grin. “It certainly looks that way. They’re recruiting more minotaurs than they usually do.”

  “Why is it that you wanted to leave at a time like this?” asked Harran. “It must be awfully important for you to pass up a chance to join the army and take part in a big battle.”

  “It is,” said Zylor fervently. “I need to hone my skills in peace or I’ll be drawn into the bloodlust of battle and forget about my mission.”

  “What mission is that?” inquired Harran casually, resting his elbows on his knees and putting his chin in his hands. He didn’t want to seem too interested in the answer to that, remembering the minotaur’s reaction the first time he asked a similar question back at the prison.

  “To best my uncle in combat and avenge my father’s death,” answered Zylor.

  “He killed your father?”

  “Yes, and almost my mother. In fact, he nearly killed me, too.”

  Harran looked across the reddish coal at Zylor. “You seem rather large as minotaurs go. Your uncle must certainly be huge if you’re concerned about defeating him.”

  Zylor laughed. “My uncle’s big but that’s not what I’m concerned about. He cheats. He uses poison. If I’m to best him without a weapon, I’ve got to hone my skills to a razor sharp edge.”

  “Why without a weapon?” asked Harran. “If I were you, I wouldn’t hesitate to sink an axe into his chest!”

  Zylor chuckled. “If I challenge Emperor Traygor to a duel, I won’t have a choice.”

  Harran sat bolt upright. “Your uncle’s the Emperor?!”

  Zylor nodded.

  Harran recalled what he could about the Emperor. By all accounts, he’d heard that Traygor inherited the throne from his brother, Trogor, who died of an apparent heart attack at a feast. Evidently this wasn’t so. The implications of this fact were significant. If Traygor murdered his way to the throne and word of this leaked out, it could result in a civil war. Consequently, the war with the humans could be averted, or at least halted, if already begun. In fact, a civil war could all but wipe out the minotaurs, with a unified army of humans coming at them from the east to clean up what was left!

  “Who else knows about this?” asked Harran.

  “No one,” said Zylor, “except Traygor himself, and anyone he may have confided in.”

  “Which is probably no one,” commented Harran. “If he knows what’s good for him that is. Do you know what could happen if word of this got out?”

  Zylor nodded. “That’s why I have to do this the hard way. By taking part in the election duels, I’ll have a chance to challenge for the leadership. By killing my uncle in a duel to the death, any supporters he may have will have no choice but to change their support. That way only one minotaur dies and rebellion is stopped before it even starts.”

  “You realize you’ll have to defeat dozens of other minotaurs before you even have a chance to challenge for the leadership, don’t you? Not to mention defeating your uncle in the end.”

  “Yes,” said Zylor with a sigh. “I know. Like you said earlier; I’m rather large for a minotaur.”

  “I see what you mean,” said Harran, scratching his grey beard thoughtfully. “That’s why you have to hone your skills. You won’t get much peace up on the plateau, though.”

  Zylor looked up. “Oh?”

  Harran looked away, ashamed. “Well, from what I’ve heard, ogres and orcs tend to frequent the plateau from time to time. I didn’t mention it earlier because I, we
ll I…”

  “Perfect!” said Zylor.

  Harran looked at Zylor, startled.

  “I was looking for something to test my skills on,” said Zylor, grinning wickedly. “Ogres and orcs will do just fine!”

  Harran breathed a sigh of relief. This minotaur was easier going than he thought. After a few minutes he asked, “What if you fail?”

  “Then I’ve wasted my time and a murderer rules my people.”

  “Not a very pleasant thought,” said Harran.

  “Nope,” said Zylor, rising and pulling a blanket out of his pack.

  Harran wrinkled his nose. “That blanket needs washing. Badly.”

  “With what?” asked Zylor. “There’s no water here.”

  “We’ll run into an underground stream tomorrow.”

  “It’ll have to wait until tomorrow then. Wake me when it’s my watch.” With that the minotaur went to sleep.

  Harran shook his head. The minotaur trusted him. That much was obvious now. But could he trust the minotaur? Probably. However, he would sleep lightly the next few nights just to be sure. The story the minotaur told was fascinating. If he was indeed the son of the previous Emperor, he had a legitimate claim to the throne. By fighting for the throne in the traditional manner, he was avoiding large scale bloodshed. He was also taking chances. One wrong move in the arena and all was lost. Harran looked at the sleeping form of the minotaur. Would he ever be ready for that challenge? As if in answer, Zylor began snoring loudly, causing Harran to jump. Quickly he rose and began a systematic patrol, keeping his ears tuned to any noise other than Zylor’s snoring. At least he didn’t have to worry about that when it became his own turn to sleep.

  The night (if that was what it was called inside the mountain) passed without incident and after a quick breakfast of dried meat they set out down the tunnel once again.

  They had not travelled for more than a few hours when they reached the underground stream Harran had mentioned. Harran told Zylor that if he refused to wash the smelly blanket, they would part ways right there and then. The minotaur complained but did as he was told while Harran gathered some mushrooms and fungus which grew along the edge of the stream.

  “At least we’ll have a little variety in our diet,” said the dwarf casually.

  “You mean you’re actually going to eat that stuff?” asked Zylor incredulously.

  “It tastes good and it’s good for you,” supplied the dwarf.

  “You’re not gonna make me eat that stuff,” said Zylor firmly.

  “Suit yourself,” said the dwarf, rising and moving to another batch of fungi nearby. “We might need it for medicinal purposes as well.”

  “I’d have thought it would have the opposite effect,” murmured Zylor, too quietly to be heard over the bubbling of the stream.

  Not long afterwards the companions trudged off again, Zylor complaining about the excessive weight of his damp blanket.

  “Think of it as getting into shape for that battle of yours,” said Harran lightly. He was in his own element now and he felt free once again. All he had to do was drop off the minotaur at the plateau and then go home for a much needed rest. Ah, to be home again.

  Suddenly they heard a noise up ahead. They both stopped and listened intently. There it was again. Drawing their axes, they moved forward cautiously. The tunnel gave way to a cavern filled with stalactites and stalagmites in a variety of hues, ranging from dull yellows to light reds. The rustling noise came from the left. Harran signalled and he and Zylor circled around a large stalagmite, one to each side. Just then a small figure came bounding around the corner and bumped hard into Zylor, causing it to fall flat on its back. “Ooof!”

  Zylor quickly reached down and picked up the culprit. “What do we have here?” he growled.

  “Please don’t hurt me!” squealed a tiny goblin. “M-me didn’t take it. Honest!”

  “Take what?” asked Harran, coming up alongside the minotaur to get a better view of the creature.

  With a shaking hand the goblin reached into a small pouch at its side and withdrew a dead rat. “You can have it. M-me can always get more.”

  Zylor turned his head and spat. “You’re a scrawny looking creature, aren’t you? They wouldn’t even be able to use you in the games.”

  “You play games?” said the goblin excitedly. “Me like games! In fact, me—.”

  “What should we do with it?” asked Zylor, ignoring the goblin’s jabbering.

  “It isn’t even worth killing, is it?” said Harran.

  “No kill me!” screamed the goblin. “Enough of us already killed off!” It pointed to itself proudly and said, “Me looking for our new home!”

  Harran became interested. “Who’s killing you off?”

  “Big green things. Hiss!”

  “Orcs?” asked Zylor.

  “Maybe,” said Harran. “But the two races are related. They usually leave each other alone. Besides, orcs don’t hiss.”

  “That’s it!” growled Zylor. “It’s the lizardmen, isn’t it?” he asked through clenched teeth, shaking his prisoner as he did so.

  “Maybe if you stop shaking him, you’ll get as answer,” suggested the dwarf.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  After his head stopped swimming, the goblin managed to speak. “They grin like a lizard and then hiss when they speak. How they do that? Smile and hiss all at once?”

  “You could be right,” mused the dwarf. “By that description they certainly could be lizardmen. But the dwarves chased them well into the tunnels to the north many years ago. They haven’t been seen in these parts for centuries.”

  “They here, they here!” squealed the goblin. “That’s why we have to find new home!”

  The minotaur and dwarf exchanged glances. “We have to talk,” said Zylor. With that he pitched the goblin away like a stone. It rolled head over heels until coming to rest against another stalagmite. It shook its head, rubbed its neck where Zylor’s fingers had applied pressure, and scrambled to its feet. “Me don’t like this game,” it whined, throwing its rat at the companions. Sniffling, it shuffled off into the darkness to get away from the company it was in.

  “What is it?” asked Harran, kicking the rat carcass after its owner.

  “The day we left Manhar,” said Zylor, “we passed by a square where they were recruiting for the army.”

  “I kind of gathered that by the commotion they were making,” said Harran. “But what’s that got to do with lizardmen?”

  “The one in charge of the recruitment was a lizardman.”

  “What?!”

  “What’s more,” said Zylor, “the word is that the Emperor himself is taking counsel from a lizardman. It seems he’s planning to use their magic in the wars with the humans.”

  Harran was speechless. If the lizardmen were returning, the dwarves would have to prepare for another war. If the minotaurs were allied with the lizardmen, the tentative peace between the dwarves and minotaurs could collapse at any time! The king had to be warned! Harran fumed.

  “If I didn’t have to—,” he began.

  The sound of running feet brought their conversation to a halt. Before they could do more than draw their weapons, swarms of goblins began to appear from all sides, armed with knives and spears. There appeared to be at least fifty of them. One spoke. “They no lizard but they still our enemies. Defend our home!” With that he charged forward and the others did the same, howling a war cry at the top of their lungs. The minotaur and dwarf stood back to back and fended off the waving spears and knives. Several goblins fell but the rest pressed on, determined to eliminate the intruders.

  “I have an idea,” yelled Zylor over his shoulder. “If we make a break for the tunnel, they’ll be forced to fight in a smaller area. Then we can defend ourselves better.”


  “They’ll stab us in the back!” objected Harran, chopping a spear in two and then back slashing its owner, who was off balance. “We can’t outrun them.”

  “We can’t hold out here forever,” said Zylor, slapping aside several spear thrusts.

  “What’s your plan?” asked the dwarf.

  Zylor swung viciously at a goblin and stepped back into position. “We’ll surprise them. When I roar, you run like hell. Got it?”

  “All right,” agreed Harran, seeing that standing their ground would be pointless against such overwhelming odds.

  A few seconds later Zylor bellowed in rage. Sure enough, the goblins were startled and backed away just long enough for the companions to make a break for it. The goblins, distraught at having been tricked, set off in pursuit, screaming in rage.

  Harran and Zylor made it to the tunnel with the goblins hot on their heels. Once within the confines of the tunnel, Zylor stopped dead in his tracks and turned, swinging his axe in a wide arc and creating sparks on the walls due to his long reach. The goblins were running so fast they couldn’t stop in time and only a few were alert enough to duck under the swing. The rest of the front line of goblins was mowed down like grass. The next ranks of goblins tried to stop but the ones behind them couldn’t see what had just occurred, thus knocking them into a pile on top of the dead ones. These were quickly dispatched by Zylor’s backhanded swing. Harran, meanwhile, took care of the goblins that managed to duck under Zylor’s lethal attack. Their apparent fortune of surviving Zylor’s attack was short lived when they encountered the business end of Harran’s axe.

  The remaining goblins, seeing their dead comrades in a pile of squashed and bloody body parts, immediately became disheartened and ran away, screaming in terror.

  The companions, standing in a pile of blood and gore, caught their breaths. Zylor grinned. “That was a good fight.”

  Harran glared at him. Then he bent to wipe his axe clean on a goblin’s ragged shirt and noticed a sticky wet patch on Zylor’s leg just below the left knee. “You’ve been hurt.”