Dragon King of Treoir
Page 1
Copyright © 2016, Dianna Love Snell
Electronic EDITION
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Cover Design and Interior format by The Killion Group
http://thekilliongroupinc.com
The Belador series is an ongoing story line,
so you may want to read the books in order:
Belador urban fantasy Series
Book 1: Blood Trinity
Book 2: Alterant
Book 3: The Curse
Book 4: Rise Of The Gryphon
Book 5: Demon Storm
Book 6: Witchlock
Book 7: Rogue Belador
Book 8: Dragon King Of Treoir
Book 9: Belador Cosaint
Tristan’s Escape (novella)
~*~*~
DRAGON KING OF TREOIR: Belador Book 8
The Treoir dragon holds the fate of the Beladors in one hand … and his own in the other.
The Beladors finally have a true leader in Daegan, their new dragon king, but life is far from secure now that they’ve inherited his enemies. As their Maistir, Vladimir Quinn played a risky role in freeing the dragon from the lair of their enemy, the Medb. Quinn now faces a heavy price for his part. The Medb queen is out for blood. Vigilante killings erupt among Atlanta’s secret preternatural community and all fingers point to the Beladors.
The dragon king has his first real test as a ruler when he has to choose between protecting his people and entering a hostile realm full of deities capable of killing a dragon. But as a two-thousand-year-old warrior, Daegan has never shied away from any battle. Quinn, Evalle, Storm and friends race to discover who is trying to turn the entire VIPER coalition against the Beladors before war breaks out. With the clock also ticking down for Quinn, who has been ordered to hand over Kizira’s body to the Medb queen, Daegan reveals an even greater reason the Beladors have to prevent the queen from any chance to use necromancy on that body than secrets Quinn protects.
Freedom is never free. Not when the powerful gods and goddesses poised to decide Quinn’s fate see an opportunity to also destroy a threat to their existence – the last dragon shifter.
“When it comes to urban fantasy stories, Dianna Love is a master.” ~~A. Richards, Always Reviewing
Table of Contents
Dedication
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
Note from Dianna
More Belador Novels by Dianna Love
More Books by Dianna Love
Author Bio
A word from Dianna
Dedication
This book is for readers who share the love of urban fantasy with me. Thank you for joining my world of Beladors.
Chapter 1
The underworld realm of Anwynn
Two thousand years of paying for one mistake.
Two thousand years of pain, every minute of every day.
Lorwerth cursed his thirty-one-year-old body that would not age and could be healed so easily. He begged for death with each breath. Today would be different.
I should be leading a powerful army against my enemies, but instead ...
“The Koovl!” Stomp.
“The Koovl!” Stomp.
All at once, his world spun back into focus. He lost his grip on that place in his mind where he traveled to escape reality.
A loud crack from the forty-foot whip rent the air above his head. Fire danced along the strands, throwing shards of sparkling light across this cavernous den of misery.
None of it touched him.
This time.
Prisoners cheered on Y Cwfl, The Koovl.
Lorwerth’s naked backside and legs had been flayed to pieces, left raw and burning. He tensed, waiting for that next hit, but the bastard flogging him, Y Cwfl, toyed with each prisoner, reaching for emotional abuse as much as physical.
Lorwerth bit down hard, focusing only on the end.
It would come today.
Prisoners of Anwynn shouted their favorite chant, calling Y Cwfl’s name and stomping.
Death would not come. No blessing of eternal sleep for the damned. Not in Anwynn, land of the dead, ruled by the Celtic god Arawn.
Pain fed Arawn’s power. The more his minions suffered, the stronger Arawn and his enforcers, like Y Cwfl, became.
No more. This ended today.
Lorwerth had a plan.
“The Koovl!” Stomp.
“The Koovl!” Stomp.
Lorwerth’s knees quivered.
His body would have sagged if not for his outstretched arms held up by woven iron rope. Spikes along the binding dug into his wrists.
Stinking sweat poured into his eyes. His hair stuck to his head and neck. His back lay in raw agony from a whip split into five lengths, each strip hot as burning coal spun into leather.
The Koovl had paused in striking him.
If Lorwerth’s heart gave out, which it had many times, The Koovl would call his master to bring Lorwerth back to life. They’d dump him in his hole, a circular space ten feet across, and leave him until he’d healed enough to start the vicious cycle over.
Torture came in many forms.
Like waiting for the unknown.
Every time he regained consciousness after healing, he waited in terror for what would come next. It changed constantly, from beatings to perversion to flogging to losing body parts that were later regrown.
Through it all, his mind refused to give way to insanity.
Th
at left him only one choice—force The Koovl to destroy his body beyond the point Arawn could heal it.
Lorwerth had seen The Koovl make that mistake once before, three or four hundred years ago. Arawn had meted out his punishment. Lorwerth shuddered at that memory, even though he should be smiling.
“The Koovl!” Stomp.
“The Koovl!” Stomp.
He smelled his death. So close. He would have his victory today.
Now was the time to take control.
Lorwerth allowed a groan to slip from his cracked lips.
Cheers went up around the room until The Koovl shouted, “What say you, llwfrgi?”
Being called a coward shouldn’t bother Lorwerth, not after all this time. But he’d been a feared warrior in his day. An eternity ago. No person would have dared call him such a name back then and expect to live.
He should never have given Y Cwfl that weapon to use against him.
The first time The Koovl had called him a coward, Lorwerth had foolishly attacked Anwynn’s enforcer. The Koovl had never let him forget his mistake.
“Llwfrgi? Have you nothing to say for your worthless self?”
Remaining silent would lead to being whipped at least three more times. As Lorwerth’s breaths came slower, The Koovl would watch for the moment he could call in Arawn to heal the prisoner.
To succeed at forcing The Koovl to lose control and lash Lorwerth without stopping until the enforcer cut his body in half, Lorwerth had to push The Koovl beyond all reason.
He drew in a deep breath to show that he had plenty of life left in him. A lie.
The whip slapped the air back and forth as The Koovl warmed up for another attack.
Lorwerth mentally prepared himself and yelled, “We are men and will always be men. The Koovl wears a robe to hide that he is a eunuch. That is why he is Arawn’s bitch.”
All the shouting stopped in a flurry of gasps.
Lorwerth would like to see The Koovl’s face. Actually, everyone would like to see the enforcer’s face. That wasn’t happening since it was hidden deep inside a hood.
Rage ripped from The Koovl in a long, feral roar, the sound of a beast threatening to destroy everything in his path.
That’s what Lorwerth wanted. The Koovl completely out of control.
The whipped cracked through the air above Lorwerth with so much power his ears felt as if they’d burst.
That had been a prelude, a taunt meant to drive terror through every corner of a man’s brain. It worked. But that would be The Koovl’s last win over Lorwerth.
He panted fast, gritting his teeth and fisting his hands, ready for that final strike. The one that would rip his body in too many pieces to repair. He shook with anticipation.
Air whistled sharply.
“Cease!” thundered from the only person capable of interrupting Y Cwfl and stopping his strike in midair.
Arawn.
Silence swept the room.
“No!” Lorwerth screamed. “No, no, no!”
Candlewicks burst into flame, sending a red glow over the cavernous room.
Please, no. Not now, with Lorwerth poised to draw his last breath. Tears ran down his face. How could they have known that stopping at this moment inflicted more agony than at any time in the past? He closed his eyes, no longer able to face what came next.
Lorwerth’s bindings vanished.
He dropped hard onto his feet and went to his knees, burning them on the hot stones. Struggling, he wobbled his way back up to stand on bare feet he could no longer feel. Blood streamed along his back and legs, sizzling when it hit the stones. Blisters bubbled and the smell of burned flesh clogged his nose. His head spun. His eyes blurred, then everything came back into focus.
So close, if only he could lose consciousness.
Just give me that.
The damned in this treacherous underworld stomped and cackled. They howled at him with joy.
But he stood with his hands free.
Or was he hallucinating?
Something was off, even for Anwynn. Never had he returned to his hole while able to stand.
Turning to face his persecutors, Lorwerth expected to see Arawn. The ruler was not in sight.
Only the ten-foot nightmare of Lorwerth’s world stood in the center of the room. Two searing red orbs peered out from inside his hood.
Where was the master? Had Lorwerth only imagined the interruption?
What was going on?
Lorwerth’s heart thumped slower and slower. The Koovl stood there, power so strong radiating from him that tendrils of red smoke drifted off of his robe.
Lorwerth dropped his head and closed his mind. The Koovl would rip his chest and genitals apart now, a reminder that anything could be worse. For the millionth time, Lorwerth pleaded to every god he’d known before landing in this dung pit, offering his soul, anything he could in exchange for relief.
No one heard him here.
His head spun. He recognized the blessed end of consciousness. Thank you. Sweet darkness swallowed him. A reprieve? Not possible.
Time passed. Bloody nightmares kept him company.
“Wake up,” a voice close by ordered, dragging Lorwerth back from oblivion.
He cursed at being roused already. His eyelids fluttered, struggling to open, then giving up the battle.
Why should he open them?
“Get up, Lorwerth.”
That wasn’t Y Cwfl. The Koovl had a voice that would raise hair on a corpse.
The master never spoke, not to Lorwerth.
So who was it?
Opening one eye, he squinted at a blurry figure. No matter how long he looked, the tall shape would not come into focus.
“I do not have time to waste, Lorwerth. If you do not rise soon, I will find another.”
In all these years, no one had come to see him.
This wasn’t a place to visit. This was an eternal destination of suffering, and no one risked setting foot here voluntarily.
But unless he was imagining it, he had a visitor.
Sliding his hands next to his shoulders, Lorwerth pushed up on trembling arms. He kept forcing his naked body to move until he stood at his full height of over six feet.
He’d had a commanding profile at one time. He’d been considered a handsome warrior with coal black hair. A man who should be ruling—
Excruciating pain stabbed his heart at all he’d lost.
Some things were far worse than any physical torture. He forced those thoughts back. Memories of a golden life that had been snatched away.
Now standing, he stared at the stranger. The person’s shape remained out of focus. Blinking his eyes didn’t help.
Lorwerth asked, “Who ... who are you?”
“I’m the only person who matters in your world from now on. I’m taking you out of here.”
Shock stole his breath. His lungs cried for air. He clutched his chest, sure that his heart would fail again.
Leave here?
Then reality crashed in. This could be nothing more than an evil game being played by his keepers. The kind of evil that The Koovl would enjoy inflicting, but this was too subtle for the enforcer.
And why now?
Weary to the soles of his blistered feet, Lorwerth wiped his face and scrubbed at his eyes, pausing to peer again at the figure, whose shape wavered.
Foolish man that he was, a tiny flame of hope forced Lorwerth to inquire, “What do you want?”
“To give you your freedom, Lorwerth. For you to live in the current day human world, which has changed much in two millennia.”
His hope died just as quickly.
Who would come here to free him?
“Of course you want to do that,” Lorwerth muttered, mentally preparing for this new phase of torture. He’d been whipped, but hadn’t been bludgeoned in a while.
Why couldn’t they just pound his body?
“I am not
toying with you,” the blurry person said. “You made an error in judgment once. I’ve traded a favor as payment for your mistake.”
Payment?
What had the last two thousand years been? He knew how long he’d been here only because The Koovl enjoyed informing the prisoners every time a year, decade or century passed.
Still, what if this offer was real? What if this figure told the truth? Just who was this person? A man? A woman?
Would that matter?
No.
Lorwerth knew better than to allow hope to take root, but his curiosity, dormant for so long, flickered to life now. If nothing else, he’d find out what trick hid beneath the surface of this offer. “If you take me from here, you would then own me.”
“This is true, Lorwerth.”
“What depravity will you foist upon me?”
“None. I am not here seeking entertainment. I need a warrior. Someone who can lead soldiers. You do recall how to be one, don’t you?”
This could not be real.
Lorwerth reached a hand to pinch his side. Ouch. He was definitely awake. Had one of his many prayers to different gods been answered?
Which god was behind this?
Would that matter? No.
Finally, Lorwerth said, “I will lead an army of demons if you take me out of here, feed me and clothe me.”
“Your soldiers will be far more than demons. You will have what you need to accomplish your duty.”
Lorwerth’s heart tumbled over. Was this really happening? He licked his chapped lips. “I . . . I will need time to return to fighting condition.”
“You will regain the same face, body and skill you possessed the day you were sent here. You will retain the ability to heal yourself and I will gift you with a power for defending yourself. You will be revered among your men. You have but to swear that you will perform any task I require.”
Lorwerth made a scoffing sound. As if there was anything he wouldn’t do at this point? “Name your first task so that I may get started.”
“I want the Treoir dragon brought to me.”
Treoir? Dizziness swept him momentarily. “The dragon-shifter? Do you mean Daegan Treoir? He is alive and free of Tŵr Medb?”