The Triumphant Return

by N M Zoltack

  The Triumphant Return

  In the Eye of the Dragon Book Four

  N. M. Zoltack

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Epilogue

  Author’s note

  Other Books By N. M. Zoltack

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2019 by N. M. Zoltack

  ISBN:

  Cover Artist: Joewie Aderes

  https://www.deviantart.com/loztvampir3

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  All rights reserved.

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  For all those who believe in the fantastical.

  1

  Garsea

  The relief Garsea felt at having the last of the dragon bones was almost enough to help him forget about the ache in his back, the tightness in his shoulders. While he had, on occasion, slipped out of the monastery for walks around Olac, it had been years upon years since he had ventured far enough to actually exert himself. Like it or not, he was getting up there in age, and his body was frail and fragile.

  Strong enough, though, to return home, to his brethren, to the last of the Keepers of the Flames. No matter what the cost to his physical state, Garsea must return to the monastery. Now more than ever before, the world needed the guidance of the dragons three.

  At least Garsea had yet to come across any truly heinous behavior. In fact, he had seen some small acts of kindness on his long trek from Olac to Cilla.

  Despite this, Garsea could not help being alarmed. A wraith had instructed young children to dig. Upon learning this, Garsea dug for them and located the missing dragon bones. Now, the completed sets of the dragons three were in the possession of the Keepers of the Flames. Long ago, they had tended to the dragons, helping them, assisting them, devoting their entire lives to them.

  But the dragons had had other supporters in the wraiths. Wraiths had, at one time, been a person but one who wandered the dark path. If they submitted to the dragons to avoid death, they became wraiths, whose duties were to haunt and frighten others so that they might return to the true and proper path.

  At first, Garsea thought the return of the wraiths meant that the Keepers were that much closer to achieve their ultimate goal of resurrecting the dragons. The sight of the grim and terrifying entity, though, plagued Garsea, spoiling his normally dreamless rest with chilling and disturbing images.

  Those images had woken him minutes ago. Although the moon hung heavy in the sky yet, Garsea gathered his sparse belongings and hesitated. He had left Cilla behind, but now, he had a choice. He could cut to the west and then south through the Kiamur Jungle or else continue his southern route and climb a few of the Olacic Mountains to return to the monastery.

  On his trek to Cilla, Garsea had chosen to travel through the jungle, and as the strange creatures living there had ignored him, perhaps that would be the quickest route again. Indeed, the thought of climbing the mountains did not sit well with him, and the choice was no choice at all.

  Days passed before he reached the edge of the jungle. His body felt even more fatigued now. He had given up on resting for long periods. Many a time, he felt as if he were being followed or at the very least watched, but he could see no signs of any person there. Was the wraith trailing him?

  It did not rest easy with the Keeper that the wraith frightened him so. His entire life, Garsea had devoted to the return of the dragons, even more so than the other two Keepers—Ximeno and Velasco. He had not ventured close to walking the dark path.

  Yet, his fear remained palpable, his only companion. Just what was he afraid of? Would not the dragons three be thrilled to return to life, to be able to claim the skies and the lands as their domains once more? Garsea did not wish to be lauded for his role in what would surely be their triumphant return. All that mattered was that he lived long enough to bring them back.

  No matter the cost.

  Or perhaps the nagging worry he felt dealt with another aspect of their return, strictly speaking, the ritual that would be required to bring them back. Before, the dragons would resurrect themselves if one should die. The Lord of Light and Darkness had betrayed the dragons, however, many moons ago. He orchestrated for the dragons three to fall at the same time, and this prevented them from returning.

  While the faith of the other Keepers may have dimmed over the years, Garsea knew in his very bones the dragons would return. He longed to see them, and he prayed to the dragons that he would.

  The moment he stepped into the jungle, Garsea began to sweat. The near-constant rain from his previous trek through did not fall now, and he struggled to breathe. The moisture in the air suffocated him.

  A rattling sound drew Garsea’s attention to his left. He was unarmed, of course, and that had not plagued him until now as he spied a man’s face attached to the body of a lion, its mane ruffling in the slight breeze. The tail the creature possessed was that of a scorpion.

  A manticore. A being known for devouring human flesh.

  The various creatures Garsea saw previously stared at him but allowed him to pass safely. Would the manticore do the same?

  Garsea took a step forward. A coldness washed over him despite the heat generated within the jungle, and he swayed, reaching out for the nearest tree to steady himself. Instead, he seized a vine. Garsea stumbled, falling to one knee, the
vine still gripped in his hand.

  Only it was not a vine. It was an asp, a most venomous creature.

  Without warning, the manticore raced over, bearing down on Garsea. His hands trembled as the asp hissed and lifted its head to stare Garsea down.

  The manticore leapt and landed directly in front of Garsea. The man’s teeth were not that of a human’s but huge, jagged weapons resembling blades. Already stained with blood, the manticore’s teeth glistened with saliva.

  No. He had not come this far to fail!

  Without hesitating, later wondering how he came to even think of this, Garsea flicked the asp as if the serpent were a whip. The asp wrapped around the manticore’s neck. The manticore tried to paw off the asp, but the serpent squeezed tighter, coiling more and more around the mane and neck of the manticore. The hybrid’s claws cut into the asp, making the serpent bleed, but the asp continued its coiling efforts.

  While they were locked in their deathly struggle, Garsea stumbled away. A sudden wave of strange coldness washed over him, and Garsea did not bother to look around to see if the wraith followed him.

  The sooner he returned home, the better.

  2

  Councilmember Greta Grantham

  A war. Truly. Greta Grantham never suspected that a war would break out shortly after she had engineered for her daughter to marry the king. The king’s passing had come about quicker than Greta would have liked. The people hadn’t the chance to endear themselves to Sabine yet, and Sabine was not doing herself any favors, unfortunately, but that was her own fault. If she weren’t so bull-headed, she would listen to her mother and know precisely what to do and what not to do, what to say and when to hold her tongue.

  The most straightforward solution would have been to marry Sabine to any one of the Vincanans. The continent to the south was proving rather resilient and dominant, much to everyone in Tenoch's dismay. Even now, there were some of the scoundrels hiding in Tenoch, near Atlan, near the castle. It was only a matter of time before another battle would commence.

  Everything had gone smoothly enough, King Jankin’s early demise notwithstanding. Two gentlemen from Vincana had arrived, and Sabine had done well flirting with them both. Then, one had been knifed in the back, literally, killed while dancing with that dalcop Rosalynne Rivera. She was the eldest daughter of the late king, a queen in her own right although not the ruling one. Thankfully, Sabine maintained that duty because of Rosalynne’s lack of a suitable marriage. Rosalynne was old enough to be wed, however, but the war would ensure that did not happen.

  If only that bobolyne of a Vincanan had been dancing with anyone other than Rosalynne! As much as it pained Greta to admit, her network of spies had not seen the person who committed the act, and she hated being ignorant on any account. Knowledge gave one true power, especially over stupid persons like Rosalynne and fools like the Vincanan who had to die and ruin everything.

  His death was the cause of the war. What was his name? Marcellus Gallus was the one to live, and he fancied himself Prince of Vincana and perhaps even wished to reforge Tenoch Proper into Vincana Proper. As if his much smaller continent would be able to exert enough influence and power to command all of the landmasses that comprised Dragoona. He was as much a bobolyne as his dead friend.

  Ah, yes, Rufus Vitus was the dead one. A pity. If Greta had been younger, she might have gone after him herself.

  She sipped her tea, but, lost in her thoughts, she had forgotten it too long. The amber liquid was far too cold for her tastes. A grimace crossed her face but only for a moment. Greta did her best to maintain her youthful appearance, and most thought her Sabine’s sister rather than her mother when first they would meet.

  Eldric Synder cleared his throat. “Is there something you need, my—”

  “I could use some tea.”

  The guard stepped forward and reached for the pitcher. As there was no maid in the room, he could and should pour for her, but she placed her hand above her cup.

  “Fresh tea,” she demanded.

  “Very well.” He bowed to her, the movement stiff, and departed from the tea room.

  She wrinkled her nose and then settled her features into a cool mask. Greta had no doubt at all that Rosalynne had assigned the guard to spy on Greta for the young queen, but Greta knew how to use men to her advantage. She had ever since she turned thirteen years of age.

  There was, however, one guard that Greta had come to know rather well. His looks left a lot to be desired—pox-faced with constantly watery eyes and mousy hair. He had hated Prince Noll enough that Greta had entertained the notion of casting suspicion on him to ensure none learned her secret.

  She had been the one to kill the prince.

  Oh, Sabine had not been pleased, but she hadn’t the strength and conviction to do what needed to be done. Rosalynne should have been the one to die first, though, Greta mused as she abandoned her tea and left the tea room in search of the guard Tiberius Davis. Sabine would have gained all of the powers as queen instead of this terrible fraction where half, if not more inexplicably, wished for Rosalynne to rule over them.

  Tiberius was whispering and snickering to another guard. When he spied Greta approach, he sent the other away and bowed as one would for a queen.

  Another reason why Greta appreciated the guard. He was loyal to himself, yes, but he recognized who held true power.

  “Tiberius,” she said. “I have need of you.”

  “Anything at all that you require.” He bowed again.

  “Go and make arrangements for Sabine and Rosalynne both to be followed.”

  “Followed,” he repeated, his tone suggesting he understood a hidden meaning there.

  Greta almost smirked. “Either’s death right now would possibly give the Vincanans an advantage, and we must not have that.”

  “Certainly not,” Tiberius murmured.

  No, but after the war, then Rosalynne could join her father and her brother. She had a sister, but Vivian had disappeared after Noll’s murder. If she ever reappeared, Greta would be surprised, but the youngest Rivera could die at any time.

  “I will see to this at once.” Tiberius bowed a third time. “Is there anything else you require of me?”

  “Not at this time.”

  He started to walk away.

  “Oh, Tiberius?”

  “Yes?” The guard shifted to face her once more.

  “Be discreet about this. I do not even wish for the queens to know. If the guards are overt in their watching over their safety, well, that would defeat some of the purpose.”

  “Understood.”

  Greta nodded to herself as she made her way back to the tea room, arriving just in time to reclaim her seat before Eldric returned. The tea was almost too hot now, but she drank it anyhow, enjoying the burning sensation all the way down to her stomach. It was times like these that she wondered why she hadn’t married the slob King Jankin herself.

  In due time, however, she would have all of the power regardless of whether or not the crown touched her blond hair.

  3

  Sir Edmund Hill

  The knight did not think it possible that anything could overshadow his joy at being given his assignment—to spy on the Vincanans. Unfortunately, there was one crucial and critical flaw to this plan.

  He was being followed. Sir Edmund Hill was certain of it.

  For days now, he had been trying to pick up the trail of the Vincanans, but it wasn't easy. So many people were fleeing Atlan and the surrounding area, and he had almost stumbled upon a family fleeing, nearly frightening them to death. It hadn't been one of his finest moments, he had to confess, and he hoped he hadn't startled them too much or instilled a sense of fear in them for the ones meant to defend them. He wasn't a bandit or a rogue or a thief, looking to swipe their last remaining possessions. Edmund also didn't like to think of himself as merely a guard, either. He hadn't earned his shield to be a simple guard.

  Which was why this quest meant so much to him and
why he was bound and determined to do his part by all of Tenoch Proper.

  But his shadow…

  Edmund knew there was a small pond ahead. He headed for it and pretended to drink while he actually removed twin daggers from his belt. Before the would-be attack could strike, he whirled around and promptly dropped one of his weapons.

  “Tatum!” he hissed. “Why are you here?”

  None other than Tatum formerly Whittemore and now Hill, the alchemist at Mermaid's Tears and his brother Dudley's wife, stood before him. She stared at his dagger still pointing at her with her steely blue eyes. He secured it away and seized his fallen blade.

  “I want to help,” she offered.

  Why couldn’t she just remain safe in her store? Or stay with Dudley? Edmund’s brother was no knight, but he did have a hammer he could use if pressed to defend himself or his future wife. Like their parents, Dudley was a shoemaker, although he had aspirations of being an innkeeper one day with his wife by his side.