The Drake Of Ehknac (The Adventures of Carmen Delarosa Book 1) Read online

  Though vaskrday was rarely a violent occasion, the automatons were not known for their empathy. Even a slightly-riled crowd could activate their sensors, and when that happened...

  She dreaded to think of the bloodshed.

  As the last of the careers were ushered onto the stage, Carmen swallowed a lump in her throat and braced herself for the inevitable.

  After several long, tense moments of silence, a single career stepped forward and tapped a mesh-covered amplifier on the podium. “Hello,” she said, her voice echoing like a rock falling through the mountain as it was projected throughout the square, “and thank you, all of you, for coming. It is with great honor that we stand before you on yet another vaskrday beneath the rule of King Oorin the Twenty-Seventh. Before we begin the inauguration ceremony, during which those of age will become the newest young men and women of our kingdom, I would like to take a moment to address the people of Ehknac: to not only thank them for their continued service and loyalty, but to express our grievances.”

  She should’ve expected it—anticipated it like an hour passing and a dying flame rekindling anew. No event of such scale would’ve gone unspoken, especially not by the careers on the greatest day of the year. Yet no matter how much she tried to fight it—to push back the demons to the darkened recesses of her mind—she couldn’t keep her stomach from constricting and tightening, deep within, like some snarling beast to its unfortunate prey.

  A stone could’ve fallen and no one would’ve heard it.

  Their eyes—so enraptured upon the careers—would never see her plight.

  Unless, she thought, then swallowed as her stomach began to rise in her throat.

  Unless, she was loath to think, they mentioned her.

  “One year ago,” the career continued, “an Ehknacian caravan bound for Dorenborough was ambushed upon Infinity Falls by a monster that rose from the Deep Chasm. Though we have always been aware of the dangers upon this pass—and have always encouraged merchants to seek alternative, albeit-longer routes—nothing could’ve prepared them for the creature they encountered on that tragic day. Out of the thirty individuals present, only one of them happened to survive.”

  The career’s eyes fell upon her.

  How? Carmen thought.

  She’d specifically positioned herself so that she couldn’t easily be seen. So how was it that the career had spotted her—alone, in a sea of people, all the way across the square?

  It didn’t matter.

  Shortly after the woman’s interest was declared, the crowd turned to look at her.

  She felt naked beneath their stares.

  “Carmen Delarosa,” the career continued, “Daughter of Brutus and Madeline Delarosa, is the only Dwarfling in this district that will come of age this vaskrday. We would ask her, as servants of our great king, to step forward and declare her chosen occupation to the people of Ehknac.”

  There was little Carmen could do but stand.

  As she made her way around her table, then between the rows of those flanking her, she waited for the sound of applause that she’d become accustomed to in years past—the crescendo, born from silence, that began with the slow claps of few before escalating into the fevered pitch of many. There was no cheering, she noted, as her feet tread barren ground, nor were there whistles to accompany the grandeur such an occasion should offer. She realized, with each step she took, that she walked amongst a boneyard of wasted futures; and that, in the eyes of many, she was simply a straw fate had drawn too short.

  Magnified under such pressure, it was amazing she didn’t burst.

  Her only relief came when she passed under the cold automatons and ascended the stage without issue.

  “Carmen Delarosa,” the career in gold said, stepping forward to greet her. “Thank you for your attendance this vaskrday, and for your continued perseverance during this difficult time. By the power invested within us by King Oorin, and by the people of our great nation, it is our honor to formally welcome you into the working class of Dwarven society.”

  “Thank you,” Carmen replied, surprised that her voice echoed across the square even though she was nowhere near the podium.

  “As required under Dwarven law, you will now formally declare your intention of service to the people of Ehknac and the Careers of the Southern District.”

  “I’d like—” Carmen started.

  “But first,” the career interrupted, raising a hand to silence her, “a member of the Stonesinger Sisterhood wishes to speak publicly on your behalf.”

  “What?” Carmen asked.

  A flicker of movement appeared in her peripheral.

  No.

  She wouldn’t—not after all this time, and especially not in front of all these people. She—

  Before Carmen could debate it further, Griffa Stonesinger appeared from the darkness—grey hair drawn into an intricate bun, her signature Stonesinger circlet adorning her head. “Hello Carmen,” she said, then made a move to step forward.

  “What are you doing here?” Carmen asked.

  The woman paused. “Why,” she began, obviously desperate to continue, but likely unsure if she should, “it’s customary for a Sister to speak on behalf of her—”

  “I didn’t ask you here.”

  Someone gasped.

  Carmen had to fight to keep from smirking. Such acts of defiance were rarely seen in the presence of such great women.

  Griffa Stonesinger waited for moment before stepping forward. “Carmen,” she said. “I know you’re upset with me, but if you could just give me a moment to explain—”

  “Explain what?” Carmen asked. “The fact that you cut me off?”

  “Tithe is expected within the Sisterhood. You were already made aware of that long before we—”

  “I was grieving,” she cried. “I’d just lost my family. How could you expect me to work? After only one month? And after everything my mother did for you?”

  “I—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Carmen said, turning to face the career with whom she’d spoken. “I’ve already decided my chosen occupation.”

  The career stepped forward, shortly followed by a smaller, stouter Dwarf who held an unwinding scroll of parchment in his hand. “Please state your full name and place of residence,” he said, drawing a golden writing apparatus from within the papyrus.

  “Carmen Delarosa,” she replied, refusing to make eye contact with the Sister, “of the city of Ehknac. Daughter of Brutus and Madeline Delarosa. Born in the year 1694.”

  “Your designated occupation?”

  “Military service.”

  “Carmen,” Griffa started. “Please. Don’t do this.”

  “This isn’t your decision to make. Sister.”

  “Think of your mother.”

  “My mother is dead!” she screamed, whirling to face the woman. “Did you hear me? She’s dead. She can’t think because she’s dead. Just like my father and my baby brother and everyone else in that goddamn caravan who got attacked by that goddamn monster! If you had something to say, you should’ve said it before you stopped helping me, before I had to sell my family’s possessions to put food on the table and keep a roof over my head.”

  “Carmen—”

  “You really think I’m going to listen to you?” she asked. “After all the pain you’ve caused? After everything I’ve been through?” She smirked as the tears rolling down her face turned her unfathomable grief to rage. “No, Sister Stonesinger. I won’t. And I never will. Whatever good my mother saw in you must’ve died and went to the grave with her.”

  The Sister opened her mouth as if to speak, but stopped—strangled, Carmen imagined, by the truth of the words she’d spoken..

  With nothing left to say, Carmen turned and began to make her way down the stage. “Military service,” she said again, as her voice left the radius of the amplifier and began to fade in strength. “Make sure that’s marked down.”

  “Yuh-Yes ma’am,” the little Dwarf said.


  Though she didn’t look back once, she could feel their eyes on her the entire way out of the square.

  - - -

  It was only by luck—and, she imagined, complete and utter shock—that she managed not to cry her entire way home. Aided by silence, and comforted by her decision to leave the vaskrday celebrations early, she weaved throughout the empty streets until she came upon the home she’d grown up in.

  I can’t believe it, Carmen thought, struggling to draw her house key while balancing the glow worm’s jar against her chest. After all this time, and in front of so many people…

  She should’ve known better. To think this would go smoothly was a fool’s gesture at best. She was the pariah—the sole survivor of a caravan of thirty who, despite the odds, had escaped unharmed when most had been left unrecognizable. Of course they would sensationalize her. That kind of humility couldn’t be bought, not even by a woman like Griffa Stonesinger.

  Who only wants to save the world.

  After finally securing her key from her satchel, Carmen inserted it into the lock and let herself inside.

  It was amazing how fast one’s strength could collapse.

  No sooner had she closed the door did tears begin to spill from her eyes.

  Mother, she thought. Father.

  Unable to suppress her emotions, she fell to her knees and let loose a wail that escalated in pitch the longer it went on. Beginning, softly, as though pained and dying, it echoed throughout the house like a banshee’s wail until it became a scream. She tried to refute it—to convince herself that such pain was not worth showing regardless of circumstance—but the harder she tried to stop, the more she cried, and the more she cried, the more snot dammed her nose. At one point she found she couldn’t breathe, and, heaving violently, collapsed on her side—the jar against her chest, the weight of the world now fully upon her.

  Those wounds, still fresh and healing, ripped open as though healed and scarred—it was torture unlike any other.

  How, she wondered, could she even consider it?

  “Was it to make yourself look better?” she asked to silence and nothing else.

  Though no response came, she knew one wasn’t needed.

  She lay there for what seemed like a lifetime—working through the emotions, allowing her sorrow to die, for the tears to run dry and the grief to ball to a manageable size. When finally she felt she could move, she pushed herself upright and parted her hair from her eyes.

  The glow worm—who, until that moment, had been pressed against her chest—pulsed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, carefully righting the jar so the creature had flat ground to stand upon. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. It just... came out.”

  It pulsed again—as if aware of her words—before lifting its body against the glass.

  Maybe it does understand, she thought, pressing a finger against the jar. There’s no way it could know what I’m saying, but maybe... just maybe...

  He always makes me happy when I’m sad, the little girl had said.

  “To light my way when it’s full dark,” she whispered.

  The glow worm pulsed anew.

  Standing, Carmen gathered the jar into her arms and walked the last few feet into the living room.

  There, above the unlit fireplace, lay the only thing that remained of that fateful day—her father’s mace.

  Think of your mother, the Sister had said.

  My mother’s dead! she’d then replied. Just like my father and my baby brother and everyone else in that goddamn cara—

  She blinked.

  Though only one light shone in the small living room, she could’ve sworn the sapphires upon the mace’s crown had reflected the light back at her.

  No.

  That wasn’t possible.

  No light or trick of the eye could’ve produced such an effect. It was too dark. Only one stone was lit. It—

  She paused.

  Slowly, it began to dawn on her.

  It wasn’t a trick of the eye, or her senses, riddled with grief.

  It was a sign.

  After placing the glow worm on a chairside table, Carmen stepped up to the mantle and took hold of her father’s mace.

  The weight in her hand, the reach in her arm—

  She realized, in that moment, what she had to do.

  She had to kill the drake.

  Chapter 2

  The drake hadn’t been seen for nearly a year.

  It was a reality she’d anticipated long before she left in search for information. Given the depths of the mines—and the sheer scale of territory between Ehknac and Infinity Falls—it wasn’t impossible to think that the creature could’ve remained hidden for all this time. The passes were daunting, their scale often measured in only one dimension. The chasm alone was nearly impossible to maneuver with even the most advanced machinery and the surrounding provinces were so riddled with dangers that only the most experienced caravaners wandered them. This, Carmen knew, would be her ultimate challenge—one many would likely expect her to fail.

  It’s like finding a diamond in a sea of sand, she thought.

  No matter how much information she had, she’d still have to sift through it all. She had to consider the possibility that she may never find the drake.

  With that daunting thought in mind, she started for the outer walls.

  - - -

  “You’re sure they haven’t seen anything?” Carmen asked, looking out into the perpetual darkness beyond Ehknac’s stone walls.

  “I already told you,” the grumpy old Dwarf said, running a hand through his blonde beard for what seemed like the thousandth time. “No one’s seen anything.”

  “None of the guards?” she’d asked. “The patrols? Caravans? Anything?”

  “The most we hear about are the spiders that get too curious for their own good,” he replied. “I told you, miss: no one’s seen any drakes, especially not the one that... well... you know.”

  “I know,” Carmen replied, not bothering to implore further. She slid her hands into her pockets and shivered as a cool breeze from the deep chasms greeted them.

  “The most I can suggest is to keep asking around,” the guard said, adjusting his hold on the poleaxe in his one hand. “Sometimes things aren’t declared. The people get spooked, embarrassed—think they saw something and are afraid it’ll get then laughed out of the bar if they mention it.”

  “Does that happen often?” Carmen frowned.

  “More than you’d think. It isn’t easy out there—being in the dark. You’d think you’d get used to it, but after a while your eyes... they start to play tricks on you. We guards are taught to watch only what we can see, but that doesn’t help when you know there’re things out there. Angels, spiders, skitters—you see something out the corner of your eye and you think, Is something out there? Then you start to wonder if it was just that torch flame flickering from a breeze. Doesn’t matter, though. You’re still on edge. Scared. Afraid. And even if it turns out to be nothing, that fear’s still there.”

  “Dwarves are proud,” Carmen said.

  “And stubborn,” the guard replied. “A man’ll sooner take his fear to the grave than speak it to somebody else. We’re all afraid of the dark, in the end.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  She turned and started own the stairs.

  “Miss,” the Dwarf man said when she made it about halfway down.

  Carmen craned her head to look back at him.

  “A caravan just arrived from Dorenborough,” he said. “There wasn’t much to report, but... for what it’s worth...”

  “Thank you,” Carmen said.

  The guard nodded before turning to look back at the darkness.

  Carmen set her eyes on the tavern in the distance.

  That was the first place to start.

  - - -

  Raucous laughter and roaring flames were the first things that greeted her as she entered the tavern. Drawn instinctively by the midda
y feast, the establishment was full—packed to the brim with people from all walks of life. Working men, merchants, common folk, those with class—all loitered about, drinking mead or eating meats. The smells alone were enough to remind her that she hadn’t eaten, and though tempted to succumb to more basic desires, she had to find the caravaners before they moved on.

  Now, she thought, trailing her eyes across the tables. Where are you?

  In theory, they couldn’t be hard to find. Weary faces and dirtied limbs would instantly separate any traveler from city folk. Given the number of people, however, and the amount of activity taking place around her…

  Rather than waste her time searching for something she might not find on her own, Carmen approached the bar and a waitress distributing pitchers of ale.

  “Evenin’ hon,” the blonde woman said, tossing her head and her messy pigtails back. “What can I get for ya?”

  “Information,” Carmen replied, pushing a few coins across the table. “If you’d be obliged.”

  The waitress looked from the coin, to Carmen, then back again before sliding the copper pieces over the bar. “What’re you looking for?” she asked.

  “A guardsman told me that a caravan from Dorenborough arrived not to too long ago. I was looking for anyone who might’ve been a part of it.”

  “Well,” the waitress said, glancing about the serving area. “I’m not supposed to share certain information about our customers, but since you asked…”

  Carmen leaned forward.

  The waitress set an elbow on the bar and nudged a thumb toward the back of the bar. “See that table there? The one with the all the men being really quiet?”

  “Yeah.”

  “One of the fellas there mentioned they’d had a long few days and wanted to get really wasted,” the waitress replied. “Now I’m not saying they’re your men, but considering the state of their clothes…”

  “I hear ya,” Carmen replied, sliding another coin onto the bar. “Thank you.”