Rage of the Dragon King

by J. Keller Ford

  No, it wouldn’t be. It would take a paladin, an heir, and a dragon. Before all was said and done, they would have all three.

  And Einar would be toast.

  ***

  It was heavy into night when Eric and Mirith set foot across the Haldorian Bridge in their first quest: to save Charlotte from Berg Castle. But a magical membrane pulsed along the border of Hirth and shadowmorths swarmed like black clouds on the other side.

  They turned and traveled south along the Cloverleaf River, taking the Hidden Path of the Faeries into the Southern Forest instead. The thick canopy of the Southern Forest, however, offered cover and protection he wouldn’t get elsewhere and he and Mirith needed all the protection they could get.

  Palindrakes drifted from tree to tree, sometimes dipping so low and flying so close, Eric could feel their dragons’ breath on his ears. Their chortles and gurgles and curiosity soon became more of an annoyance than comfort, and Eric shooed them the way he would a fly. Even Mirith snorted at their presence, and at one point, arced his tail, and pointed his crackling, sparking tip at the pests.

  “No, Mirith,” Eric said. “Not a good idea, though I agree with your thinking. We don’t need them telling anyone or anything we’re here.”

  But he was almost certain that they already had. It was in their nature to chatter and gossip. They were, after all, messengers of the forest. It would only be a matter of time before word reached the ears of the wrong sort that a young traveler and his dragon wandered the Southern Forest, alone.

  The forest brimmed with the shime, he could sense their gargoylish dragon winged presence now and then, but it only exasperated his fears, not allayed them. He trusted no one, and the sooner he reached Trog and the others, the better off he’d be. After all, the two weapons with the power to kill Einar were trudging side by side on their way to war.

  It did make him laugh, though. His thoughts strayed to Sestian, wondering what his friend would think of the whole revelation of Eric being a dragonslayer and Trog’s son.

  Why, we’re practically royalty, Sestian had once said. If they’d only known then what Eric knew now, how different life would be.

  It was after mid-day when they arrived on the outskirts of Falcon’s Hollow, a hamlet of no more than a dozen stone homes. Eric and Mirith kept off the road, flanking the area. A sinking feeling settled in Eric’s gut. The town appeared deserted, cold, and desolate. Mirith nudged him and gestured to their right. In the woods, three grave markers protruded from the ground. Judging by the size of the mounds, the deceased were children. Innocent victims in a game of war. He wondered what happened to them, where their families went, but Mirith shoved him on.

  They continued over hills, along riverbanks, the palindrakes taking higher to the sky, their interest in the travelers seeming to wane as they flew away. The journey seemed to take forever and along the way, Eric alternated between overwhelming fear and eternal optimism that he would find David and Charlotte and that everything would turn out for the best.

  They rounded a bend in the road and stopped upon a small crest. The view was peaceful, serene. Unusually quiet. Eric’s hairs rose on his arms. Mirith’s scales fluttered. They continued on, trekking downhill, the late afternoon sun casting dark shadows into the tunnel of trees hugging the road.

  Mirith stopped, his body still as stone. A rumble came from his belly that reverberated within Eric.

  “What is it, boy?” Eric followed Mirith’s gaze, peering through the tree line at the top of the rise. The sunset on the ridge behind them turned the forest ahead into a dark tunnel. The air grew still. Stagnant. Quiet. Too quiet.

  Mirith’s tail swished the ground. His scales popped open. His feathers flared.

  Eric pulled his sword, his eyes peeled to the shadows.

  The sound of boots on the forest floor rushed toward them.

  A bolt of lightning shot from Mirith’s tail in the direction of the attack.

  A firebolt streamed toward them.

  Fire ignited the trees.

  More booted footsteps rapidly approached, this time from their left.

  “Run, Mirith! Into the shadows!”

  They crashed through the thick underbrush and veered onto a trail taking them downhill.

  An arrow whizzed past Eric’s head. He ducked and ran, leaping over downed trees, the limbs cutting his face.

  Sounds of pursuit grew louder behind them. Eric looked around for a place to hide, but where does one put a dragon the size of a wine cart?

  Three men dressed in all black ran from the shadows toward them. One had a crossbow, the other a sword.

  Three more emerged from the right, six more from the left.

  Mirith slid to a stop only to spin in a circle. Ice formed at his feet and spread outward.

  The assassins slipped and fell, sliding toward the little dragon.

  Eric swung, slicing two men’s throats in one swipe.

  More assassins converged, killers hidden by the depths of the forest.

  Who were these men? Where are the palindrakes? The shime? Where was the help when he needed it? Mangus, Slavandria, if you can hear me, help me.

  A bolt lodged in his leg, bringing him to the ground. His leg throbbed, the pain unbearable. Burning.

  Mirith opened his mouth and scooped Eric into it as he shot a bolt of lightning into the ice.

  The ground sizzled and sparked as Mirith ran.

  Eric bounced in Mirith’s mouth, his view one of where he’d been, not where he was going.

  More arrows sailed past. Another fireball soared down the hillside.

  “Mirith! Behind you!” Eric yelled, but the warning came too late.

  The dragon wailed a sound that defied nature. Eric covered his ears and spilled to the ground, jamming the bolt deeper into his leg.

  He yelled, the pain unbearable.

  Mirith tumbled over the top of him and rolled off the mountainside. Trees snapped as the dragon plummeted.

  Eric sat up, the smoke burning his eyes. No. He couldn’t be gone. He couldn’t be. How could he fight these bandits on his own? How could he kill Einar without Einar’s heir at his side?

  He folded in half, grasped the one inch of bolt protruding from his leg, and yanked. He could feel the warmth of his blood spill over his leg.

  From the smokey brume a figure materialized. A tall, lithe man with silver hair and a triumphant expression.

  “Well, well. Look at what I found.” He knelt at Eric’s side. “The last of my nemeses.”

  “Seyekrad,” Eric said.

  The sorcerer kicked him, rolling him on his back. Eric yelled, choking back the tears that lingered right on the surface. There was no way he’d let the cretin see his pain.

  He opened his eyes to see at least two dozen assassins standing around him, their weapons drawn. His lungs deflated. He wasn’t getting out of this alive.

  “Go ahead. Kill me,” he said.

  Seyekrad smiled. “Not yet, pup. I want to make sure your master sees your passing. I want him to see my spell enter your body and wrap around your heart, squeezing your life away. It is Bainesworth’s wish.” He shoved his thumb into Eric’s wound. Slow. Deliberate. His eyes turned dark, and fused with malicious joy.

  Eric cried out. He drew in a breath, but his lungs laughed and lied, pretending to expand while collapsing in double time. His limbs tightened and there was pain. His leg was a wildfire, burning from the inside out. He tried to stop them, but the tears came.

  He opened his eyes enough to see the stock of a crossbow hammer as it crashed down on his head.

  David

  David smacked the ground, the wind knocked out of his lungs.

  Breathe. Deep. Breathe! That’s it. Calm down. Breathe.

  He concentrated on the sweet smells around him, the colors, bringing everything into focus.

  Stems of lavender flowers as high as fields of corn towered over him. Wisps of pink clouds stretched and th
inned across an indigo sky, revealing a giant moon. A light breeze whispered through the field.

  Morning. Not quite sunrise.

  A small stout man with unkempt ginger hair and topaz blue eyes appeared above him, his small hand extended, his tufted brows furrowed. “Get up!”

  David’s lungs won the right to breathe. His eyes blinked. His lips parted.

  “Twiller? How? When?”

  “No time to explain, Master David. One does not dawdle in Beggars Field. It is the last place you wish to be stranded while night lingers.”

  “I don’t understand.” David got to his feet. “How did you find me?”

  “You have a rutseer. A very powerful one. I’ll teach you how to use it once we leave this place. Tulipakar is just on the other side of this field. We must hurry. The shadows of night will be moving soon.”

  “Shadows of night?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about so long as we reach the other side of the river in time. Now stop your infernal chattering and move.”

  Panic seized David’s heart. A chill crawled up his spine. A strange feeling, as if being watched, settled over him. The hairs on his arms stirred, his skin prickled as if itched from the inside out.

  “Twiller, I don’t know if you know, but Tulipakar is overrun with shadowmorths and Einar’s army.”

  “I know. Stop jabbering and move.” Twiller broke into a jog.

  David hurried after him. “If you know then why are we going there? Do you know a way in?”

  “Yes. So do you. It’s called ferrying. Now please be quiet and take the energy you’re using to run your mouth to push your legs.”

  “Why can’t we just ferry from here? Why the marathon? Do you people not ever rest in this place?”

  “Not a good time to explain. Run!”

  Twiller took off.

  Rapid movement rushed from behind. David glanced over his shoulder and froze as a giant, neon blue grasshopper, twice David’s height and mottled with numerous green spots, bounded toward him, its bright orange hind wings displayed in full blazing glory.

  “Holy crap. What the freak is that thing?”

  David spurted into track mode. The creature thundered closer, its mandibles clicking and biting.

  “To the river!” Twiller shouted. “Don’t look back!”

  David zig-zagged through the tall lavender. The grasshopper vaulted toward David.

  A hairy leg clipped David’s foot. Its wings buzzed.

  David tripped and fell. He army crawled along the ground, clawing the dirt, gasping for breath.

  Six giant legs stepped on either side. Something wet hit his back. David rolled over, his reflection staring back at him in the insect’s humongous orbs. Mandibles clicked closer, chomping, biting.

  The forlorn whistle of a train sounded in the distance. Closer and closer it came, growing louder and louder. The ground vibrated. The wind whipped and turned. Debris scraped David’s skin. From the corner of his eye, a vortex barreled down upon him.

  “Oh God, I’m going to die.”

  The insect turned its head as the vortex careened into its side, lifting it in the air and jettisoning it on the far side of the field. Seconds later, small footsteps pounded closer. A small hand reached through the stems and flung David to his feet.

  “I told you to shut up. Now move! We haven’t much time before it returns, and the next time it won’t be alone.”

  David held his hand to his aching chest and ran as fast as he could go. Far away, a grasshopper rubbed its legs. Others answered, their chirps loud and deafening. The eerie sound rippled through David like fingernails on a chalkboard. Faster and faster he ran. A body of water, perhaps thirty, forty feet wide, appeared ahead. Wings buzzed behind them.

  “Hurry! To the water!” Twiller plunged into the river and swam.

  David dove in. Behind him, two insects landed on the bank, pinching, their alien eyes watching.

  Arms and legs on fire, David kicked and kicked. He dragged himself onto the opposite bank and collapsed, his chest heaving, his heart beating wildly.

  “What … in the blazing hell … were those things?” David asked between gasps.

  Twiller took a deep breath. “Vorgrants. They protect Beggars Field at night from intruders. The roots of the Vila lilies are said to possess a powerful drug, one capable of bringing the dead back to life. All who have attempted to test the validity of the stories have died.”

  “So why do they attack only at night?”

  “It is the only time of day the plant can be harvested without killing the roots. It is also believed the potency of the drug is the strongest the moment when morn begins to wake. But all of that matters not unless you’re planning on crossing Beggars Field again, which I’m hoping you’re not.” Twiller stood and shook the droplets from his hair. “And to answer your next question, it is the only place where the lily grows.”

  “Thank whatever good luck charms you have here for that.” David wiped his face and shivered. “Tell me why we didn’t ferry again?”

  Sunlight blipped over the horizon. The vorgrants turned and disappeared in the tall flowers.

  “Ferrying leaves signatures, Master David. Do you not retain anything I’ve taught you? If we ferried, we would have alerted the shadowmorths that we are here. Quite frankly, I’d rather take my chance with a vorgrant.”

  “You’ve got a point,” David said.

  “However, you have a rutseer. I do not know where you got it. I do not want to know. But if Slavandria is correct, one word should ferry us without being detected now that we are out of danger.”

  David’s throat constricted. “Wait. You’ve seen Slavandria?”

  “Yes. She told me where to find you.”

  David laughed and it wasn’t happy. “Oh, boy, do I have a few things to say to her. Where is she?”

  “The manor, of course. And might I suggest we get there soon before we are discovered.”

  “Fine. What do I have to do or say?”

  “She wrote it down for me.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment the size of David’s thumb. “She said to picture the manor in your head and repeat that word once forward and once backward.”

  David read the word.

  Gronclesc.

  “You’ve got to be joking. I don’t even know how to pronounce this frontwards, much less backwards. What if I say it wrong? Will we end up somewhere we shouldn’t be?”

  “I do not know, Master David, but I suggest you do something soon. I sense dark forces seeking, hunting.”

  David shook his head. “Okay. Hold on. Here goes nothing.”

  He envisioned the Elthorian Manor in his mind, his room, the fireplace.

  “Gronkless. Selknorg.”

  The rutseer thumped him in the chest then tugged him and Twiller through a hole the size of a peanut and thrust him on a bed. A huge canopied bed. With Twiller on top of him. He shoved the gnome off and got up, his breath still next to the river at Beggar’s Field.

  “Whoa,” he gasped. “That was intense.”

  Breathe out.

  Breathe in.

  Mix.

  Repeat.

  Twiller rolled off the bed and wobbled a bit. He straightened his jacket, smoothed back his hair, and said, “Remind me not to do that again.”

  David nodded. “You got it, Twills. Whew.”

  Twiller opened the door. “I will find Slavandria and let her know we have arrived.”

  “You know what? I think I’m going to go with you. I’ve got some major questions.”

  “And you shall get some major answers,” Slavandria answered, her form filling the doorway. “Twiller, if you will, please go downstairs to the Peacock room and ask our other guests to come here.”

  “Guests?” David queried.

  “Have you forgotten Gertie and Garret?” Her smile was genuine. Triumphant.

  Excitement rippled through David. “They
’re safe?”

  Slavandria nodded. “Very much so.”

  David shook his head, his brow creased. “I don’t understand. How? The last time we spoke you didn’t know how to get here without being seen or detected.”

  She grinned. “It’s actually something you did. I was on my father’s ship, the WindSong, when I detected you in the lair beneath Lake Sturtle. Your rutseer is quite a masterpiece. Finn is a great forward thinker. He knew what he was doing when he placed his magic in that very useful tool.”

  David’s heart skipped. “Finn? Is he okay? Where is he?”

  Slavandria walked into the room and sat on the bed. “I’m sorry, David, but Finn passed away. His injuries from the shadowmorth attack were more than any of the sestras or I could heal.”

  David’s knees trembled as he hung them over the side of the bed. It couldn’t be true. Not Finn.

  Slavandria continued, “However, he lived long enough to relay some information.”

  David sat beside her, his heart heavy. He liked Finn. It wasn’t fair he should die at the hands of a shadowmorth. He was an amazing creature full of crazy ideas and riddled with bizarre idiosyncrasies. He’d saved David’s life. Gave him comfort and shelter. Taught him magic. He was good. Decent. Why did he have to die when jerks like Seyekrad got to live? It didn’t make sense.

  Slavandria touched his hand. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “What sort of information did he give you?”

  “Seyekrad discovered your friendship with Finn. I’m not sure how, Finn didn’t expand, but I believe he may have been hoodwinked. Seyekrad tortured Finn, mind-weaved with him to discover whatever he could about you, but Finn refused to yield. So Seyekrad placed a spell upon Finn to betray you. He then placed a calling spell upon the rutseer. It summons a person or thing to a certain place, in most cases for unsavory reasons. Finn believed Seyekrad wished to entrap you, kill you. But Finn, through his stupor, managed to counteract the spell with some sestra magic, something to protect you and whomever was attached to you. Because of this, Seyekrad’s plan backfired. I can only imagine how angry he became. That’s why it makes sense he imprisoned you beneath Lake Sturtle with the intent of sending you to your grave. But he dropped something that made the rutseer light up like a star at night.”