Dragon Choir by Benjamin Descovich Read Free Book Online Page A

of the vapours. The
after effects of the blaze must have been giving him
hallucinations, for it was all too strange. No sooner had he begun
to grasp what was happening than the song drifted away, as if borne
by a river flow.
    The canvas
opened and Elrin kept still, hidden amongst the crush of barrels.
It was secured shut again and all was silent except for the
occasional birdcall.
    The wagon
shook into motion, leaving Elrin wondering if he had slept through
his chance to escape. He could have been asleep for an hour, or a
day, and had no idea where the wagons were going; the canvas was
too thick to see out. He wouldn’t risk lifting it open or the
guards would spot him. It wasn’t worth getting caught just for a
peep; that was a lesson he’d not soon forget.
    Propping
himself up against a barrel, Elrin ruffled through the satchel
hopeful that Kleith had sent him away with some decent food. There
were several broken biscuits and a hard cheese wrapped in cloth. It
wasn’t a great deal for a long journey, but he was ravenous and
devoured the lot, down to the last crumbled carcass of a biscuit
which he scraped up and pinched into his mouth. His appetite
petitioned for more, so he uncorked the water skin and drank
deeply. The cool liquid tasted of home, refreshing his body and
fooling his stomach.
    After a brief
stop the wagon changed direction then jostled along at a fresh
pace. Elrin braced against the weight of the barrels, which
shuffled across the floor, squashing him in with every bump and
divot.
    He had no idea
how he would escape if the wagon kept on going. It didn’t matter so
much, as long as it was away from the Guildmaster. He hoped his
mother was safe from the trouble he caused. Kleith would look after
her, but Elrin craved her comfort for himself. Just a word of
reassurance would give him strength. It was a ridiculous fancy.
He’d never be able to return home; not until he found his father,
or this Dragon Choir; whatever that was.
    There were
ships at Rum Hill and the traders or fishermen might want extra
crew. That would be the best way to begin his quest and work his
way down to Jando. They might be overly fanatical about their
almighty Lord down south, but they controlled the sea, and Kleith
said he had to get to the Hoard Islands. Surely they all weren’t so
bad, maybe someone there would know of the Dragon Choir too.
    He couldn’t
recall if Kleith mentioned which one came first. Should he look for
the Dragon Choir to get to the Hoard Islands or was it the other
way around? A local in Rum Hill would know more. Some old salt at
the docks would steer him in the right direction for a favour or
chore. Elrin was not ashamed of honest work, he’d laboured his body
for shine and he’d do so for shell. Whatever happened he had to get
to the Hoard Islands before the season broke.
    The wagon
stopped after several hours had passed. Elrin’s muscles ached from
holding the barrels back from crushing him. The wagon guards began
to chat together. It was the first time he had heard them since he
woke up. Their absence had almost convinced Elrin he was aboard a
ghost caravan carting the dead to the afterlife. Maybe he had
arrived. At least Nathis would recognise him wearing the garb of a
humble herder.
    Muffled
cheerful banter seeped out of a building; a tavern, maybe a
roadside inn. A female voice called out and the men beside the
wagon trailed off towards the music and laughter. The woman’s voice
was familiar. He waited for it again, but there was nothing; she’d
gone. Elrin was left with an occasional snort from the horses for
company.
    Elrin dared to
move in the silence. It was difficult; his stiff back and aching
joints slowed him down, though he fancied that it improved his
stealth. He pressed his ear to the canvas searching for any
movement of a guard nearby, then knelt down and peered through the
canvas flap.
    There was no
one guarding the rear of the wagon, so he eased himself out and
peered around the