Dragon Quest

by Craig Askham

  Craig Askham

  Dragon Quest

  Portal Hunter Chronicles: Book 3

  First published by White Lite Publishing 2019

  Copyright © 2019 by Craig Askham

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Craig Askham asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Craig Askham has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

  Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

  First edition

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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  Contents

  Dedication

  Newsletter Sign-Up

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty One

  A Message From The Author

  Dungeon Quest: The Blurb

  Dungeon Quest: An Excerpt

  Dungeon Quest: Pre-Order

  Dedication

  For anyone that has a dragon tattoo upon their person. Doesn’t matter where. A good dragon tattoo can save lives.

  Newsletter Sign-Up

  Oh my. You again.

  I’ll be honest with you; at this stage I don’t know whether you’re here for the stories or the feijen. If it’s the former, great! If it’s the latter, I fear for your liver. Seriously, there are no such things as interventions on Vangura (I think), but if there were…well, you’d be a prime candidate, my friend.

  So, you’re back for more. Made it to Book 3, eh? Thank you. Joking aside, I mean that.

  Thank you.

  I mean, I’m just making stuff up and you’re going along with it. Humouring me, if you like. It takes a special kind of person to do that and you, dear reader, are it.

  So, pull up your favourite seat by the fire (have you noticed it’s actually lit this time; the nights are drawing in, you know).

  Be careful, though; I’ve noticed something since you’ve been spending more time here. That chair is starting to look…well worn, shall we say? Slightly rickety, even? I swear to you, it was sturdier than the trunk of an old oak tree before you plonked your backside down on it that first time. I don’t want to cast aspersions, but…that chair should’ve had years of life left in it, and that’s all I’m saying on the matter. Just don’t lean too far back in it.

  Please.

  You can’t sue me if it breaks and you fall on your head, you know, because there are no such things as law suits here on Vangura (I think). You’ll have to head back through the portal and track me down on Earth if you want to do that, and I swear to all the gods you’ll never make it out of this imaginary tavern alive.

  I know people.

  Everyone, in fact. Because I made everyone up. Even you. Don’t doubt me, it’s true. You’re just a figment of my imagination, along with all the rest of them. So sit down (carefully) and we’ll pretend this never happened.

  I’ll bring your feijen over and you can make a start on the book.

  Sign up to the newsletter first, though. Yes, I’m still banging on about that. Believe it or not, some of you haven’t yet. Because you’re weird.

  So click here and we’ll correspond.

  You’ve made it this far, so you know I’m a funny(ish) guy. Well, tolerable, anyway. No? Seriously, I don’t even know why you’re here!

  Fine. Get reading, then. You don’t have to like me. Just like my books.

  Aaaand…turn the page.

  One

  Ben opened his eyes, and finally remembered to breathe. Mount Asahi loomed over him, framed at an angle that would have made a perfect social media snap for anyone with an ounce of artistic flair. Ben wasn’t an arty type, though. He was an idiot, lying on his back with his shoulder blades wrapped around his oxygen tank and his legs folded behind him like a yoga instructor experimenting with a new position. He was afraid to move, wasn’t even sure he’d be able to, but his feet were still bound to his snowboard so staying put all day wasn’t an option his body was prepared to consider. A quick glance to the bottom right of his heads-up display showed him he still had over half a tank of air left, but he knew something had come loose somewhere on his helmet because he could smell the awful fumes being belched out of the volcano he was supposed to be sliding down.

  Without warning, and somewhat ironically, the chorus to an ancient Joe Esposito song started playing in his ears. His first thought was that someone had installed the computer in his helmet with a comedy AI, then half a second later the words Incoming Call - Lydia flashed in front of his eyes.

  “You’re the best! Around! Nothing’s gonna ever keep you down.”

  “Answer.” It came out as a whisper, and his voice recognition software decided not to hear him over the music.

  “You’re the best! Around! Nothing’s gonna ever…”

  “Answer call.” Louder this time. A brief pause, and then Lydia’s tinny voice crept hesitantly into his ears.

  “Ben? You there?”

  “Oh, hi Lydia.” He tried to sound as nonchalant as possible.

  “Excellent. You’re not dead.” Ben pictured her back at the hotel in Tokyo, lying on the bed in her severe white blouse and black pencil skirt, sucking fake coffee through a straw as she flicked away calls from important people with a lazy, perfectly manicured finger. His instructions had been clear; no calls, whatsoever. He was taking some much needed time off, appeasing his inner adrenaline junkie in the aftermath of his latest break-up with Talia. “Why are we doing audio only, Benjamin?” Even playing through speakers, her clipped British tone was suspicious. She knew him too well. As if by magic, the words Enable Video? popped up on his visor. Almost without thinking, he lifted his right arm in front of his face and shooed the question away with his hand. Hell, no. Belatedly, he realised he’d been able to successfully move his arm without setting in motion a chain of events that ended up severing the final threads of his spinal chord. His day was looking up.

  “I’d hate for you to feel guilty because your face caused me to crash into a tree, Lydia. I’m concentrating. You know I’m snowboarding on an abandoned mountain, right?”

  “Illegally, I might add.”

  Ben sighed, then screwed up his face as he tried to push himself up onto his elbows. Mount Asahi still filled his vision, beautiful against the bright blue sky. Not many people were lucky enough, or wealthy enough, to
ever see this view. High above the poisonous smog that blanketed the rest of Japan, the air still wasn’t safe to breathe but at least the view made up for it. He was lucky to be alive, in more ways than one.

  “What part of ‘no calls’ did you not understand, Lydia? Have I gone bankrupt in the few hours since I left you?” A serious thought slipped suddenly into his head, and the question escaped his lips before he had time to stop it. “Is Talia trying to get through to me?”

  Lydia didn’t answer, and Ben imagined iced coffee coming to an abrupt halt halfway up her straw as she tried to think of the tactful route to take with her answer. Ben already knew she would fail, miserably.

  “No, and definitely not.”

  “Great. Thanks for breaking it to me gently.”

  “Not being bankrupt isn’t something I thought needed to be broken to you gently, if I’m honest.” He could clearly hear the amusement in her voice, mostly because her voice was right inside his ears and therefore significantly easier to interpret than it might have been if they were face to face. “Stillwater has been in contact, though.” She spoke those words so nonchalantly that it took a moment for him to process them.

  “Uh-huh…wait, what?”

  “Stillwater. Has been. In contact.” She spoke the words slowly this time, dragging them out as if she was talking to a child.

  Ben forgot all fear of being paralysed, rolled onto his stomach, and pushed himself expertly back to a standing position.

  “Well, what the hell did they want?”

  “To let you know about an excursion they’re putting together.” She paused, and her next words sounded reluctant. Embarrassed, even. “Er…something about a…dragon? Or something. I kind of switched off after that. Thought they were winding me up.”

  Ben grinned, tried a little victory dance, and ended up falling on his backside. His sturdy coccyx protector absorbed most of the impact, but it still hurt.

  “Damnit.”

  “Ben, did you just fall over?”

  “No.”

  “You sure? It’s just that I was worried, so I sent a drone to keep an eye on you. I just watched you fall over. I saw your major wipeout a few minutes ago, aswell. That’s why I sounded so surprised when I said excellent, you’re not dead. Left a bit, dear. Other left. That’s it. Higher…higher…hi, here I am.”

  He looked straight up into the sun, and his visor immediately darkened to protect his eyes. For a long time, there’d been no need to teach children not to look directly at the sun; unless they were rich, the only time they ever saw it was on a television screen. And Ben had definitely not been a rich kid. And there it was, a little black speck in the sky. Lydia’s eyes, paid for by him.

  “Lydia, you’re fired.”

  “What, again?”

  “You definitely said dragon, right?”

  “Somewhat unbelievably, I definitely did.”

  “Where do I need to be, and when?”

  “Stillwater Beijing, in a little over two hours.”

  Ben’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. Oh my God, I’m finally going to see a dragon!

  “Well don’t just lay there drinking coffee, Lydia! Get the jet ready, we’re going to Beijing!”

  “Does this mean I’m no longer fired?” She was trying to sound as bored as possible, but he knew she was just teasing him. He’d been waiting a very long time for this, and she knew damn well that seeing a real dragon, in the scales, was at the very top of his adrenaline-dominated bucket list. He laughed, and was immediately aware it was the most childish sound he’d made since he was an actual child.

  “Get me there on time, and I’ll give you a frickin’ promotion. See you soon, Lids.”

  “Don’t call me th…”

  He ended the call with another giggle, rolled onto his knees, and pushed himself up onto the toe edge of his snowboard. Stretching out his back and marvelling at the complete lack of pain, he cast his helmeted gaze down the deserted piste so that he could plot his course a little more carefully this time. Shifting onto the flat of his board, he leaned his body over his left knee and started gaining momentum over fresh snow. Quickly gathering speed, he moved from toe edge to heel edge and then back again, weaving his way down the mountain with a lazy grace that masked his speed. High above, and completely forgotten, Lydia’s drone kept careful watch.

  Two

  The journey from Tokyo to Beijing was a frustrating fifty minutes, most of which was spent waiting and dealing with bureaucracy. Lydia spent at least thirty seconds on the receiving end of a stern talking to from Ben, barely bothering to look up from her tablet as he prattled on about privacy and spying. Eventually, he threw his hands up in the air and reminded her that he was the trillionaire in the relationship, at which point she glanced up at him over the rims of glasses that were purely for show, and pointedly raised an eyebrow that conveyed exactly what she thought of his little tantrum. He lapsed into silence for ten whole seconds, then gave in to the excitement and swept her up in an embrace.

  “Benjamin!” It came out as a gasp, which he ignored and hugged her tighter.

  “We’re going to see a dragon,” he whispered in her ear. She manoeuvred enough space to slide a hand onto his chest, and gently pushed him away.

  “You’re going to see a dragon, you mean.” Brow furrowing over big brown eyes, the look on her face dared him to argue with her. “As you’re very well aware, I’ve exactly zero interest in coming with you to see a dragon. In fact, the very thought of it is bringing me out in a rash. But you have fun, Ben.”

  He laughed, admiring the fierce set her jaw had taken. She was pretty, of course; he paid her absurdly well, and her surgery-enhanced features reflected her affluence. She was almost as tall as him with her heels on, which was always; the six feet gave her a dominant stance, and was pretty much the only natural thing about her. A staunch brunette in a world of overwhelming blondeness, she stood out amongst her peers. Ben couldn’t remember how old she was, and she never mentioned her birthday, but he was sixty percent sure it was in the region of mid-thirties. He’d glanced at her file once, three years ago when he’d hired her, and that was the only reason he suspected an age that was ten years or so older than she looked.

  “Wouldn’t want you slowing me down, anyway.” He started moving towards the exit, but waved at one of the comfortable beige chairs they’d barely had the time to relax in. “Feel free to kick back and read a book, or something. While I’m on a planet millions of light years away, getting my backside set on fire by one of the most spectacular beasts anyone is ever likely to meet.”

  Again, the eyebrow raise that spoke volumes about her feelings on the matter.

  “I suppose when you put it like that, I might even push the boat out and get a massage. Can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”

  He sighed and headed for the steps from his jet to the concrete floor of the huge, airlocked hangar they’d taxied into immediately after landing. He took the first half quickly, then jumped the second half and landed lightly on his feet. The hangar was well lit, and stiflingly hot. Four more planes, one of them seemingly longer than all the rest put together, failed completely to make the hangar look even a quarter full. None of them were liveried, but Ben had seen the ridiculously long one several times before and knew whose it was. He screwed up his nose in disgust. Sorin Costache. Great. Everything was a competition to Sorin; property, the number of zeroes on their bank balances, cars, planes, charity donations, who could piss higher up the wall, and everything else in between. If there was a way to turn what should be the wonderful, shared experience of dragon-spotting into a game of one-upmanship, Sorin Costache was the man to find it. He was one of life’s winners, even if he did say so himself. And he did. Frequently. He was that guy.

  Lydia appeared at the top of the steps, elegantly framed against the open hatch of the jet that now looked vaguely underwhelming in the company of Sorin’s monstrosity. Ben pointed at it, and Lydia’s eyes rolled when she saw it, as if to say no
t this guy again.

  “Sorry Moustache is here.” He didn’t need to say it, but did so anyway. He liked the way the nickname sounded so immature as it slipped off his tongue.

  “Mr. Hackett?”

  Ben swivelled around at the sound of his surname, surprised that he hadn’t realised his welcome party had already arrived. An Asian man stood at least ten metres away, seemingly unwilling to get close enough that they might be forced to shake hands. He had too much product in his black hair, and the brooding look on his face suggested he would turn around and walk away again if somebody didn’t acknowledge him in the next five seconds.

  “Correct. And you are?”

  “Follow me, please. I will take you to the portal.”

  With that, Too-Much Product turned and walked away, heels clumping against the concrete. With a bemused grin, Ben looked over his shoulder at Lydia.

  “I guess I’m going with this guy, Lids.”

  “Wait!” Her panicked call stopped him in his tracks as he trustingly started to follow Too-Much, who didn’t seem to care whether he was following or not. “You don’t know this guy from Adam, why would you just follow him? And what am I supposed to do?”

  Ben turned from her and settled his gaze on Too-Much’s back, which was making its way towards a dark limousine with blacked-out windows. He had a funny feeling the Stillwater man was going to jump in and drive off, with or without him. Making his decision in the reckless manner that everyone who knew him had come to expect, he broke into a jog to catch up.