Page 1 of The Oracle's Journey

CHAPTER 1

Ozanna

“Ozanna Black! Is that you?” a voice called across the tavern as I reached across the bar to get the innkeeper’s attention. I intended to close my tab and drop a few copper coins in the tip box, bolted to a post behind the bar. My backside had been the only part of my person visible from the main room, so I wasn’t sure how I’d been identified.

It was midday and residents of Cudcona were starting to trickle into the Hungry Harpy to drink and mingle with the inn’s traveling guests. I scanned the room, searching for a familiar face. Eventually a short, broad hand reached above the shoulders of the milling crowd and waved at me. Unwilling to give up my seat while waiting for the owner of the hand to reveal themselves, I rested a hip on the stool and leaned back on the bar.

The crowd parted as a handsome, young dwarf made his way toward me. His thick, dark hair was tied half up, and his beard short and well groomed, a newer fashion among dwarves his age. Despite the heavy pack on his back, he still had a self-assured swagger in his gait—though his confident steps stuttered when I didn’t respond right away.

“Doramdir Platebrand,” I said, arms crossed over my chest, “did you just recognize me by my ass?” I feigned displeasure, but only for a moment. Just long enough for his mouth to gape open and closed a few times in confusion. Then I smiled.

“Oh, you,” he smiled back. Laughing, he closed the gap between us. “I see your backside in my dreams every night, Ozanna. I’d recognize it anywhere,” said Doramdir, his deep voice rumbling. Like any dwarf I’d met socially, he was gregarious and had a warm demeanor, though he was quite a bit more flirtatious than most. I was very fond of him. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked, setting down his pack. It clanked, no doubt full of the dwarven trinkets he peddles, and straightened his russet-colored tunic.

“Doramdir, I would love to join you, but I have an appointment at the castle, and I can’t be late,” I explained, genuinely disappointed I couldn’t stay to enjoy his company. “And I’m about to check out of the inn entirely.”

“Ah,” he said with a nod. “Then I suppose there’s no point in asking you to join me this evening?” He raised an eyebrow, hopeful. We had been casual lovers many times over the years we’d been traveling the north road. It was the first time I had to turn him down, and he looked more than a little disappointed. Not disappointed in me as much as he was with the timing.

“If you’d have arrived a day sooner, Doramdir …” I started, but the innkeeper tapped me on the shoulder, interrupting my thought. After settling my bill, I gave him an extra silver coin to put toward the tab my friend was about to open. I returned my attention to Doramdir and vacated the stool. “Maybe next time we cross paths. Your next few drinks here are on me, though I know it’s a poor substitute.”

Doramdir situated himself on the stool and caught my hand in his. His thick fingers were rough and warm, the contact pleasant enough to soften the set of my shoulders. He kissed my scarred knuckles, and said, eyes twinkling, “Nothing could ever be an adequate substitute for your company.”

“Your charm is wasted on me, although much appreciated.” I smiled and gave his hand a quick squeeze before moving on. “Where have you come from? Is there any news from the road?”

The innkeeper set a mug of ale down before Doramdir, who quickly gulped a mouthful of the drink and coughed before answering. “Yes! I was about to ask if you know where you’re traveling next. There appears to be a band of elves stirring up trouble along the middle mountains.”

Then it was my turn to gape. The dwarves were the only magic folk that ever truly seemed to mingle with the human population of the southern continent, though they didn’t wander far from the mountain range. It was normally these northeastern towns where one would encounter them. Elves hardly ever strayed from their homeland. The only evidence of their occasional presence was the existence of people like me, the product of illicit encounters with the inhumanly beautiful elves.

“What kind of trouble?” Of course, someone with interesting news would arrive just as I had to leave. It was the only reason I spent any time in the tavern.

“Highway. Robbery. I thought you ought to know with your line of work.”

Protecting travelers on the north road, along the mountains, was my duty. One bestowed upon me by the Order of the Mother. We had little influence outside this region, but the northern roads could be perilous. Someone like me, who had the strength and agility of an elf, was an ideal guardian.I was meant to keep the roads clear of any kind of obstacles, to include highwaymen and natural predators.

“You be careful.” I kissed Doramdir’s broad forehead. “A merchant like yourself would certainly be a target.” I worried because he traveled on his own for the most part.

“Don’t fret over me,” Doramdir said, patting my hand, which he still held as though he didn’t want to let go. “I know how to protect myself. Besides, I’ll be going back that way by a more southerly road then return north once I’m beyond the middle mountains. I’ll have to backtrack some, but maybe I can gain a few new customers along the way.”

“Good,” I nodded, relieved. The thought of something happening to the dwarf made my stomach twist in apprehension. It wasn’t like I was planning to marry him, not that I hadn’t thought about it. But he’d never outright asked for more, and I’d never pressed to see if he would one day. The closest we came to a relationship was his gifting me a small silver ax head meant to be worn on a cord. I had nothing to offer him in return other than my affections. So, he simply remained one of my favorite people.“Take care of yourself, Doramdir.”

“Thank you,” he said with a wistful smile. He no doubt worried about me as well. “You too, Ozanna. It’s a pleasure to see you again, even in passing.”

“You too,” I replied fondly before shouldering my own pack and turning to leave for my audience with King Herment Teague of Kasta.

I anticipated a more intimidating figure when I met King Herment. Over time, he sent packing four of my fellow Order members without explanation. The Order of the Mother’s business aspect revolved around nobility and their absurd ideas about propriety. If they were foolish enough to pay for an extra level of protection so a princess can take a piss without a male guard hovering nearby, so be it. But it funded the Order to patrol the roads and protect travelers—particularly women and children. The Order was widely respected and what this King did by dismissing its members was highly unusual.

King Herment’s face appeared drawn, with dark bags gathered under his hazel eyes, and pallid cheeks. The clothes he wore, a rich embroidered silk tunic and unseasonably heavy fur cloak, seemed too large. The overall effect made him look like a corpse in a green silk sack. There had been a blight on the kingdom’s crops, and many in the city had a similar hollowed-out look about them. Sunken eyes that betrayed empty bellies. But King Herment’s condition looked to be born of illness. Local tavern goers spoke of the king and his lands being cursed, or that his illness and the blight were somehow connected. I didn’t believe it was a curse, though, because coincidence was more likely.

“You are the fifth bodyguard your Order has sent to us,” King Herment said in a wavering tone.

“I am aware, your majesty,” I said. “Though not of the circumstances.”

The King turned his watery gaze upon me. “They simply weren’t the women for the job.”

“Oh,” I nodded, unsure how I ought to react. “Yes. How can I prove to you that I am the right one?” My Order head had been adamant that I find a way to make it work. Matron Disora was livid when she pulled me from my regular patrol, absolutely beside herself with outrage that the King rejected the fourth person she’d sent.

King Herment said nothing but gestured for an attendant to admit a young woman. Had her features been any less mature, I’d have mistaken her as a child for her petite frame. She couldn’t have been older than nineteen. Unkempt waves of sandy blonde hair bounced around her slim shoulders as she pranced into the hall. She carried her slippers in hand, and her bare feet were dirty, as though she’d been walking in a freshly tilled garden.

“Papa,” she said warmly, feet pattering across the stone floor, leaving crumbling trails of dirt in her wake. The king’s stern expression melted into an affectionate smile, and he extended a trembling hand toward her. She took it and placed her cheek in his palm.

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