The Chronicles of Amberdrake

by Loren K. Jones

  “Laird Emverson, you are full of surprises. Is there anything else that I can get for you?” Yontcy seemed to be suddenly even more in awe of Drake.

  “No. I think I’ll stroll about for a time. See what this city has to offer.” Drake’s smile set the innkeeper to rubbing his hands in worry. After all, having even a minor Mage angry with you is not a good thing. Drake made a quick stop in his room to drop most of his silver with the rest of his gold and he was off.

  Estwick was a bustling hive of humanity, with almost twenty thousand people calling it home. Drake strolled about confidently. After all, what could happen?

  As he was passing an alley he heard a mewling sound, as if someone was in pain. Without considering the implications, he investigated. A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye was the only warning he had that it was a trap. Pain and a sound like a gourd being cracked open filled his head while the smell of blood filled his nose. He dropped, unconscious before he hit the ground.

  * * *

  “Well, Stanber, this looks to be a good one. Grab his other arm.”

  “I don’t know, Wes. I mean, a laird? We never robbed a laird before.” Stanber grabbed the arm as instructed and helped drag Drake farther into the alley.

  “He looks to be a foreigner. No one will care.” Wes pulled a knife, and Stanber grabbed his arm.

  “No, Wes. We don’t kill. Especially not a laird. They’re too visible.”

  Wes gave Stanber a pitying look. “I’m not going to kill him, Stanber. Just cut away his clothes. Look at those jewels. Do you want to leave them behind?”

  Stanber shook his head and helped strip Drake. His pouch and the jewels at his collar and cuffs made a good haul for a pair of small-time thieves.

  * * *

  Drake awoke to the feel of something gnawing at his leg. Reality struck in seconds and he struggled to a sitting position. Rats scurried away as soon as he moved, and he watched them watching him for a moment. How could I have been so stupid? He had seen that most lairds had at least one guard, and few commoners went unarmed. That meant that this had to be a dangerous place. Yet he had walked into an alley. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

  He made his way back to the White Lilly on shaky legs. Yontcy saw him the moment he entered the door and began calling for help. Within moments Drake found himself up to his neck in hot water while Yontcy and a surgeon checked out his head.

  “Well, Laird Emverson, you have a remarkably hard head. A blow like that would have killed most men. Just take it easy for a day or two, and you should be fine.” The surgeon patted Drake on the shoulder and left him in Yontcy’s care.

  “I tried to warn you, Laird Emverson. This is a rough town.”

  “So I see. I wouldn’t have listened in any case. Sometimes being a Mage can make a man too confident. At least they didn’t get much. Help me to my room, please.” Drake stood uncertainly, and Yontcy guided him. Once there, he laid back to consider his options.

  The loss of the coin and jewels didn’t disturb him as much as the loss of some of his self-confidence. How could I have been so cock-sure of myself? I’m in human form. Frail, weak, easily defeated. Not like Amberdrake.

  He was tempted to just disappear. Become Amberdrake and fly away. But some stubborn part of him made him stay. Bandits, after all, were bandits. Even in a city. But Amberdrake would be too big to explain within the city walls. He needed to be something smaller. Something fast. Something strong. Something deadly. I need to be a daemon.

  The daemons are the basis of a great many human legends of demons. Twice the size of a man, with two arms and two legs, and a heavy, barbed tail, the daemons were fierce killing machines. Shiny black chitin covered their bodies, making them all but invulnerable. Two-inch claws ended each their three fingers, while six-inch claws ended each toe. The head was equipped with massive jaws lined with serrated teeth. Slit-pupiled eyes gave it night vision that would make a cat jealous. It was the deadliest creature on Dracana, with the exception of dragons.

  A little practice over the next three days taught Drake how to remake his body into the body of a daemon. On the night of the new moon, he took to the streets. The thieves had made one major mistake when they robbed him. By taking his clothes, they gave him something to track them by. Something he could never miss: His own scent.

  Making his way back to the alley, he found their trail. It led, unsurprisingly, to the poorer part of the city. Twisting and turning through alleys and across streets, he followed the trail. In one alley a cur growled and snapped at him, and he stopped for a moment. A slash with one clawed hand almost decapitated the dog, and he paused to eat. Daemons, like dragons, are not picky about what they consume.

  Wes and Stanber had taken their booty to a local thieves’ den and were living it up. The silver was still in their pockets, and the jewels had given them almost a year’s credit with the barkeeper. They were enjoying beer and sausages when Drake burst through the door. Screams filled the room as mighty teeth and claws tore into everyone.

  Drake wasn’t being careful about who he killed. Everyone in this filthy sty was a thief, and in his opinion, they all deserved to die. Blood spurted from severed arms and necks while people tripped on their own entrails, trying to escape. But there was no escape. In moments there was only one living being in the room, and Drake stalked through the blood and gore to inspect the two he had come seeking. Wes was missing his head while Stanber was sitting slouched over his mutilated belly. A quick sniff to verify who they were, and he was off. If he was going to fight bandits, he might as well make a full night of it.

  The nighttime streets belonged to the lawless, and Drake had little trouble finding other bandits and thieves to deal with. He left behind a trail of dead and broken bodies as he traversed the city. It seemed that every alley housed at least one thief.

  Morning found him back in his room. Watery sunlight filtered in through the window, and he listened to a cock crowing in the stable yard. Damned bird. How am I supposed to sleep?

  He awoke with a start some time later. Somehow, without realizing it was happening, he had fallen asleep. Sunlight streamed through his window, though he could not tell how late in the day it was. A tailor had visited him the day before to take measurements for more clothes, and there were two new sets clothes laid out at the foot of the bed. How did anyone enter my room to leave the clothes without waking me?

  He dressed quickly and went to the main room. The place was crowded with men and women, and everyone seemed to be excited. Yontcy came to his side as soon as he walked into the room.

  “Laird Emverson, you are finally awake. Tailor Demanthis delivered your clothes this morning and I had Bran put them in your room. She said you didn’t stir.”

  “No, apparently I didn’t. How late in the day is it? And what’s going on?” He knew, of course, but he couldn’t let Yontcy know.

  “It is just before supper, Laird Emverson. There was some sort of disturbance last night in the thieves’ quarter. Something tore through and killed about twenty thieves and cutpurses. And I do mean tore. Tore out throats and guts, tore off heads, arms, legs. I say about twenty because in one place there are just a bunch of body parts.” Yontcy didn’t seem overly concerned with the dead. After all, they were just a bunch of minor thieves.

  Drake nodded and found a table. His adventure of the night before was causing quite a stir. A tankard of beer was followed by a delicious meal of braised venison and vegetables, along with more beer. He found himself still tired, and retired for the night early.

  He repeated his nighttime forays every third night. Thieves began banding together for protection, but that only made it easier for Drake to find them. After a moon in Estwick, the bandits were becoming scarce, and he decided to move on. A horse was an easy purchase to make with his cache of gold and silver. He didn’t buy the fancy horse the stable owner tried to sell him, nor did he haggle over the price as much as he should have, but he only intended to eat the beast anyway.

  Dra
ke left Estwick early one morning and rode out of town in the direction of the Darendian Empire. Once he had left the city and its people behind, he continued for a day before stopping. Discarding his clothes, he transformed into Amberdrake. The horse was quickly consumed to settle his belly, and he flew on.

  * * *

  Back in Estwick, Yontcy’s maid was cleaning Drake’s room and came upon a cache of coins under the mattress. Gold was predominant, but there was silver and copper in abundance, as well as some jewels. Yontcy was at first concerned that Drake might return, so he put it away in a safe place. After a moon he decided that Drake was not returning, and the treasure went into the inn coffer.

  Life in Estwick returned to normal. No connection between Drake’s arrival and the killings was ever made. Yontcy came to the conclusion that the reason Drake never returned for his gold was because he had met with a bad end at the hands of a thief. He had tried to warn the laird. Estwick is a rough place.

  * * *

  “You just left it all?” Saunder asked, leaning forward. “What you described was a fortune. Why didn’t you take it with you?”

  Drake sat back and smiled. “I hadn’t intended to become human again for a long time. I wasn’t too impressed by my actions in Estwick. Daemons are vicious. And I was too new at it to control that aspect of the creature’s personality.”

  “How vicious?” Rochelle asked, remembering the creature that had saved her.

  Mellody answered after she glanced at her husband. “There is nothing in the world that even comes close, Roe.”

  “There is one creature that is close, Mel,” Drake murmured.

  “What?”

  “There is only one other creature I know of that comes close. A creature that kills its own kind. A creature that will wantonly kill, not to eat, but for simply for the pleasure of the kill.”

  “What?” Rochelle asked, looking and sounding terrified.

  Saunder spoke softly as he said, “Man. Only humans kill each other for all of the ridiculous reasons we give.” He looked at Drake and the desolate look in his eyes drew a sad smile from the legendary being.

  “Yes, Saunder. Only humans and Daemons kill for anything but food.” He let his head tilt to the side. “I tried to do better the next time I walked on two legs.”

  Adventure 5

  The Miscalculating Daemon of Port Royal

  SNOW FLURRIES BLEW DOWN THE side of the mountains as Amberdrake glided on the wild currents and drafts. He did not flap his wings to fly. Rather, he rode the up-drafts that were stirred up by the wind swirling about the mountain faces. The mountains were devoid of life this high up. Even the hardy mountain sheep kept to the lower elevations at this time of year.

  Years flowed past for Amberdrake now. He was becoming more of a dragon and less of a man. Though he had the body of a fully-grown male dragon, his personality was still that of an adolescent. And an adolescent human at that. But that was changing with each passing season.

  Walking the world as Drake was taking its toll on Amberdrake. Humans age much faster than dragons. He was gaining the maturity he lacked far faster than might have been expected. He was also gaining knowledge of his original species.

  Humans are, without a doubt, the strangest creatures that inhabit Dracana. A person who professes to be a pacifist might turn and attack for no reason. A vicious barbarian raider might stop and admire a flower. A friend might stab you in the back, and an enemy bandage your wounds. Puzzling.

  It had been ten years since he had left Estwick. Ten years without becoming human. Ten years without the feel of another being close to his skin, touching in a way that dragons do not touch.

  The land to the west of the mountains was lush and verdant in a hundred shades of green. Forests stretched for mile upon mile with bright green meadows scattered about like islands in a dark green sea. People were few in this land, and Amberdrake was somehow relieved. Chasing bandits was getting boring. He needed something new. Something challenging. Something that would get him some simple human companionship.

  Weeks passed before he saw a city. Perched on the banks of a large river near where it emptied into the Antinian Sea, it was among the largest cities he had ever seen. He decided to drop in for a time and live the life of Drake Standralson once again. But first, he needed some money.

  The presence of a large city almost guaranteed the presence of thieves. All he had to do was look. Landing on the edge of the city late in the night, he transformed. He did not, however, transform into Drake. He once again became the daemon. Hunting thieves was not a job for a frail human.

  The city was not walled, which made his entrance easier. Stalking the nighttime streets, he searched for those who preyed on their fellow men. In alleys and darkened dives, he found them, and the slaughter began. Twenty-five men fell to his claws that night, and he casually stripped them of any coin they possessed. The irony of him stealing from thieves was lost on him. Daemons do not have a conscience. As the sun rose, he became Drake. His clothes were not as fine as he was used to, but he didn’t have as much coin in his pouch either. The thieves of this city were not a prosperous lot.

  Traveling to the outskirts of town, he approached an inn. The sign over the door named it the Black Dragon, and he felt his lips pull into a wry grin. Appropriate enough, all things considered. Inside, he found the Dragon to be an altogether disappointing place. Smoke from an ill-kempt fire filled the main room, and smoky lanterns glowed like cloud covered suns in the murk.

  The innkeeper, an emaciated old skeleton of a man in a dirty shirt and apron, approached him as he stood by the door. “What does ye want?” he snarled, looking Drake over carefully.

  Drake studied the man for a moment, then, with a mental shrug, said simply, “A room and something to eat.”

  “Four coppers a day fer a pallet, six fer a room and a bed. Meals is two coppers each. And I don’t haggle.” The man’s nasal twang and foul breath were almost too much for Drake, but he reflected that he didn’t have much money yet. He would have to stay here for a time. At least until the daemon could find some more prosperous thieves.

  He fished eight copper coins from his pouch and dropped them in the innkeeper’s outstretched hand. “The meal first.”

  The man turned away without further comment and waved at a table. Drake seated himself and was soon gazing uneasily at a plate of what the innkeeper had simply described as “food”.

  “What is this?” he asked, his distaste obvious in his face and voice.

  The innkeeper ignored him and walked away, bellowing at a serving girl for being slow. Drake tried the slop in front of him and decided that it tasted better than it looked, though not by much. When he was finished, he asked for his room and was shown to a flea-infested hole with a rotting straw mattress. Once he was alone he invoked an anti-vermin spell and was rewarded with a cloud of creatures great and small scurrying for the exits. He gingerly sat on the bed and leaned his back against the wall. Stretching out his senses, he searched the city for the more successful thieves he was sure inhabited the place. Once he found them, he rested. The night would be here soon enough.

  As darkness fell, Drake left the Black Dragon. No one made any comment as he left. The Dragon was the kind of place where people minded their own business. In an alley he ducked into the shadows and quickly transformed into the daemon. Damn, I feel vulnerable as a human in this city.

  Sliding through the night like a shadow, he traversed the city to the location of a major thieves’ den. The thieves he had encountered the night before had been freelancers. The prosperous thieves were all banded together in clans. Drake had a special clan in mind for tonight. The Draymen. They held the docks, and controlled the flow of goods in and out of the city.

  * * *

  Vundas sat with his back to the wall, and a hand on his knife. Living to a ripe old age in this clan took ruthlessness and cunning, along with a great deal of caution.

  “Someone hit some of the independents last night. Someo
ne nasty. There were twenty and five dead at last count, and the constables aren’t sure they’ve found them all.”

  Cordor shrugged. “What does that have to do with us? They weren’t affiliated, so they were fair game.”

  “It has to do with control. We cannot have someone slicing up thieves at will. We decide who lives and dies in this city.” Vundas cautiously sipped at a mug of mulled wine. “If someone is moving in on the independents, then we might be next.”

  “Now Vundas, just because...what was that?” Cordor stood and moved so he had his back to a wall and a clear view of the room as screams echoed through their headquarters.

  Vundas stood as well and pulled his knife. “Someone is attacking us! Quickly, out the back.” He led the way with Cordor close on his heels. “I told you! Someone is trying to take over.”

  Vundas and Cordor made it to the street and were traveling as quickly as possible toward their secondary headquarters down by the docks when they saw the flames spring up behind them. Looking back, they saw a shape out of their worst nightmares silhouetted against the flames.

  * * *

  Screams echoed through the building as the daemon searched. He knew where the gold and silver were stored, and made his way there with ease. Most of the thieves ran away screaming as soon as they saw him. Those who didn’t were quickly shredded. Once he had acquired the coin and magicked it into a safe place, he went hunting. The building had emptied out remarkably fast, and he found only the bodies of those he had already killed. With a mental shrug, he set fire to the building. After all, it wouldn’t do to let them re-group.

  Drake made his way quickly toward another thieves’ den. This clan controlled the breweries and distilleries in the city. Through them, they controlled the taverns and inns. City law, enacted by pet lords, prohibited the manufacture of any alcoholic beverage without a license. And the licenses went to those who paid.