Rage of the Dragon King

by J. Keller Ford

  “Chalisdawn, my lord,” Seyekrad said with a smug smile. “I confirmed it before I used the same spell she used to imprison you beneath Lake Sturtle.”

  “And has she been extinguished?”

  “Yes, my lord. Chalisdawn is burning as we speak.”

  Eric stared at the ceiling, his hands in fists pressed to his thighs. His insides screamed and panic crept into his throat, strangling him. It couldn’t be over. David and Slavandria couldn’t be dead.

  Einar craned his head in Bainesworth’s direction. “What are your plans for this insurgent?”

  Fowl air puffed from the dragon’s nostrils. The fumes bit and clawed at Eric’s lungs. He coughed, his body and head aching with equal ferocity.

  Bainesworth said, “I wish to follow you to the Valley of Tears, my liege, where I beg your permission to dispatch the swashbuckling, swelled headed, Sir Trogsdill Domnall.”

  Einar laughed. “Permission granted, but not until I have killed his prodigy before his eyes. I want him to know what it feels like to lose,” he turned his gaze on Eric, “his son.”

  Eric scuttled backward, his eyes never leaving Einar’s face. “You are delusional, that is what you are. Mad.”

  “Perhaps,” Einar said, “but better mad than dead.” He careened his neck around toward Seyekrad. “I am ready. Let the battle begin.”

  David

  David stood on the southern rim of the Valley of Tears, a narrow stretch of land void of life, the earth cracked and dry. Gertie, Garret, and Twiller, along with at least a hundred meadow gnomes, shime, and centaurs gathered round. High on the ridge to the east, thousands of horses and their riders, dressed in black, waited. On the western ridge, another army gathered, sunlight shimmering off their metal armor.

  Good to the left. Evil to the right. Which would win?

  In the center of the valley, a tree rose tall and strong, its wide, full canopy casting shadows on the ground beneath it.

  David’s heart splattered.

  The Elwood.

  And Charlotte was bound to the festering bark, her chin drooped to her chest, her hair in curtains around her face. To her right, Ravenhawk, in his human form, hung from a tall wooden stake, his body limp.

  So this is how Einar played the game. Bait the prey out in the open.

  David’s muscles tightened and burned. Rage bubbled in his veins, curdling his blood, igniting the fire in his belly.

  He ran toward Charlotte, Garret and Gertie at his side, yelling.

  Thunder came, but not from the sky.

  Hundreds of armored knights and soldiers hurtled over the ledges and charged down the hills. On horses and on foot they charged one another. Arrows flew through the air. The reverberations of the battle surged through David, his heart a pendulum slamming against his ribcage. The ground shook.

  Terror coiled his spine. His feet left the ground in a sprint. He ran harder, faster, his arms pumping at his side.

  Knights of the west and soldiers of the east collided around him. Weapons clanged. Blood splattered. The wounded slipped and fell amongst snaps and groans.

  David leapt, his bow drawn, an arrow knocked.

  An arrow pierced his arm before he could shoot. Agony ricocheted through his bones. He fell where he stood.

  He glanced around. This was it. The dream he had all those weeks ago. Horses reared around him. Blood splattered. Sounds warped and garbled. A face appeared in front of him.

  “You’re going to be all right,” Garret said. “Bite down on this.”

  A cloth was shoved in David’s mouth.

  Garret’s hand wrapped around the lodged arrow.

  David shook his head and put his hand near the arrow. No, no, no, don’t pull!

  Garret counted, “One, two … ”

  “Ahhhhhh!” David yelled, spitting aside the cloth and cursing words he didn’t realize he knew.

  “Breathe,” Garret said, wrapping the wound expertly. “This is your chance to make a change. To leave your mark. Go get Charlotte.”

  Charlotte.

  Garret ran off.

  A soldier thumped to the ground beside him, his eyes open. Vacant.

  Ahh, I can’t deal with this! Please end this. Please let it be over.

  Another soldier fell.

  Breathe.

  David blinked. A dream. It was all a dream. A cacophony of shrieks came from the sky.

  A black cloud approached, hissing.

  Shadowmorths.

  Their black wispy forms swarmed down through the Valley of Tears toward Charlotte.

  Noooo!

  David ran, his hand pressed to his wounded arm. A man wielding a sword shouted his name.

  He turned to look. Trog?

  Icy, electric jolts burst through the air. The shadowmorths screeched and fell into black dust only to reform thicker and stronger.

  David whipped his head to the left. His heart took flight.

  Mirith.

  He was alive. Jesus, he was alive.

  Threads of magic in blue, green, and gold exploded around him. The ground opened, spitting up dried earth and stone.

  Zap.

  Sizzle.

  Crack.

  He caught a glimpse in the corner of his eyes. Lily. Slavandria. Twiller. They were all there. Fighting. Defending.

  Where was Eric?

  He searched, frantic. There were so many. Thousands come to war. Thousands come to die.

  A mass of men dressed in black charged toward him, their swords drawn, their mouths open, yelling.

  David shot one, two, three arrows. The men jerked back and fell. More came rushing toward him.

  Arrow after arrow left his quiver, each one generating another. Endless supply, just as Slavandria had promised.

  His arm trembled, the pain in his arm more than one person could bear. Blood trickled down his arm.

  Gertie leapt around him, her crossbow singing.

  “Get to Charlotte! I’ll cover you!”

  His nerves quivered. His legs didn’t want to move. So much blood. So many bodies.

  Then he saw her face.

  David ran before he lost his nerve. Gertie’s footfalls pounded behind him. Her crossbow sang. Bolts hissed through the air. Bodies cried out, thudded to the ground.

  David swayed, feeling faint. Blood flowed freely inside his tunic, staining his garments a crimson color. He kept on, clinging to the Elwood upon reaching it. She lifted her head and gave him a slight smile.

  “What took you so long?” She sounded weak. Tired.

  David clawed at the knot binding her wrists. “Oh, you know. Stopped and got a burger. Took in a movie.”

  A sudden burst of wind hit him from behind. Charlotte’s face froze in terror. He followed her gaze. A huge shadow blocked the sun.

  Einar.

  The monstrous dragon, so plum purple he was almost black, flew over the field, his enormous mouth open, fangs exposed. Flames bellowed inside his throat. He exhaled. Fire flooded the field. Men screamed as their bodies ignited, their souls consumed in flame.

  David tugged at the rope holding Charlotte, but the knot refused to budge.

  “The dagger,” Charlotte said, “the one on your leg.”

  He reached for it, the pain in his arm intense, and unsnapped the leather frog. “Hurry, David. Cut me loose.”

  A raven cawed, circled, and flew off. Garret and Gertie fled through the carnage of the Valley of Tears, and melded back into the battle.

  David grasped the blade, and sawed Charlotte loose from her bonds.

  A downdraft of wind enveloped them. Einar swept around again. Flames shot from his mouth.

  A wall of energy—bluish lavender and pulsing—formed a sweeping arc over David and Charlotte and absorbed the blaze.

  The beast roared. He soared high in the sky, and dived down again. Tens of smoke-black forms hatched from beneath his wings.

  David gulped. They were here. The t
ime had come.

  Shadowmorths.

  Threads of gold, blue, and green spiraled into the sky.

  Bolts of lightning shot from Mirith’s tail at Einar.

  A hole blasted through his right wing.

  An explosive guttural roar spewed from the Einar’s throat. He flew high, made another pass, and plummeted toward them.

  Mirith volleyed more bolts.

  “Come on, Mirith,” David said, hoping for a connection. “Kill him!”

  Einar dodged the spears of light, veering right, then left. He flew low and plucked Mirith from the ground.

  “No!” David yelled.

  Charlotte gasped and covered her mouth.

  Lightning bolts burst into Einar’s chest, stomach.

  Einar spiraled.

  More bolts bombarded the huge body.

  Electricity lit up the sky.

  Einar wailed.

  He soared straight up. Up. Up.

  A talon unfurled.

  Mirith fell.

  Charlotte screamed. “Mirith! No!”

  Einar rolled and dove toward the speck in the sky.

  He opened his mouth.

  Mirith shot a bolt into the mouth of the beast.

  And disappeared into a furnace of flames.

  “No!” Charlotte screamed. “Oh my God, I’ll kill you myself!”

  A battalion carrying the royal banner of Hirth charged the battlefield.

  Gildore. Trog. Hirth’s best, marching to glory. Marching to die.

  Feather soft black clouds teemed. Like starlings mumurating, so did the Shadowmorths. Beautiful to watch, but deadly. So deadly.

  From their depths emerged Seyekrad, his silver hair a stark contrast to the black leathers he wore. He strode toward them, his pace quick. Determined.

  David stared at his dark eyes now swirling as if overtaken by a storm.

  “You were supposed to die, both of you,” Seyekrad said. “Now I’ll make sure you do.”

  Balls of fiery obsidian shot from his hands. David catapulted backward, and hit the ground, the pain in his chest like a nuclear bomb going off.

  Bright lights erupted all around him, the sounds of the war muffled, as if his ears were full of cotton. Electric bursts surged through his veins.

  Charlotte grasped a sword and swung.

  Seyekrad flicked his wrist.

  She dangled in the air. Her body thrashed. Her fingers grasped at the silver threaded hand gripping her throat.

  David threw his hands in the air in surrender.

  “Let her go, Seyekrad. It’s me you want.”

  Seyekrad laughed. “What a fool you must take me for.” He lowered Charlotte to the ground, but didn’t release his grip. Instead he dropped her to the ground and dragged her over the bodies, through their blood as he made his way toward David.

  Hatred bubbled in David’s gut at the sound of her cries, the kind that made him want to kill.

  “Do you not think I know how important this girl is to you?” Seyekrad asked. “Why would I let her go, knowing I can torture your very soul without ever touching you.”

  “Why?” David asked. “Why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you?”

  “You are what stands between me and ultimate power. You see, once you and the heir are dead, I become king of Hirth by royal decree.”

  “I think Einar will have something to say about that,” David said, cradling his arm to his chest.

  “Oh, Einar won’t be around. You and the heir will kill him today, and then I’ll kill you. It’s quite simple.” He hoisted Charlotte to her feet. Blood and dirt smeared her face, her hands, her hair. Her eyes moved but her essence was gone. It was as if something dark had crept inside and turned off all the lights. “All you have to do is give me the heir and all of this will be over. I’ll let your sweet Charlotte go and everything will be as it is supposed to be.”

  “No. You let her go first.”

  “Do you think I will negotiate with you?” Silver fibers of magic unraveled from his fingertips and into Charlotte. She jerked and convulsed.

  “Okay! Stop! Please. Don’t hurt her. I’ll tell you what you want to know. The heir is—”

  “Me!”

  Seyekrad spun around as Trog’s sword rained down, barely clipping his forearm.

  Trog discarded his helmet. The metal clunked and rolled on the ground. Dark red blotches stained his armor.

  Charlotte collapsed in a heap.

  Seyekrad snarled. “You. You’re the heir?” Laughter bellowed from the sorcerer. “I find that delightfully funny.” He snapped his fingers. “Bainesworth, bring me the runt.”

  The air contorted and pulsed as if a living, breathing thing. A fissure opened in the center. A blond man with broad shoulders stepped through. David gulped. It was the same man who’d taken Charlotte from Kingsport. The same man who’d tortured Eric in the dungeons of Berg castle. Trog’s nemesis. And in his grip was …

  “Eric!” David yelled.

  Trog growled and drew a dagger from his belt.

  “Well, well,” Bainesworth said. “We finally get to dance, you and I.” He tossed Eric aside. A sword hissed from its scabbard. The men circled one another.

  Seyekrad weaved about, his face cocked in a grin. “He tells me he’s the heir, Bainesworth. What have you to say to that?”

  “I’d say I suspected all along, just like I suspected this pup was your son. And now you’re going to watch Einar kill the youngest heir to the throne just as he watched you kill his son.”

  “The hell I will!” Trog swung his sword.

  Bainesworth raised his weapon and charged. Metal clanged. The sound echoed across the valley.

  Trog kicked Bainesworth and brought his blade down, slicing across Bainesworth’s back.

  The knight bellowed, spun around, and jabbed a knife into Trog’s shoulder.

  Trog pulled the weapon from his flesh as if it were nothing more than a splinter. “I have waited far too long for this day, Bainesworth!”

  Bainesworth grinned. “Funny. Most men look forward to living, not dying!” He lunged forward, thrusting his knife.

  Trog leaped to his right. “Is that all you have?” he coaxed.

  The Fauscherian knight charged again. Trog spun to the left and brought his sword down. Bainesworth rolled to the ground then kicked out, knocking Trog off balance.

  Eric picked up a sword and swung at nothing. He was weak, off-centered. He stumbled and positioned himself again.

  Trog flicked a glance at Eric. “Get out of here, son. Get Charlotte and David to safe ground.”

  With a great effort, Eric pressed forward, rage in his eyes. His clothing was filthy, covered in holes and blood, his dark hair wet and matted, his face pale and worn, but his resolve didn’t waiver. He raised his sword.

  “Eric, don’t!” David said.

  Eric swung.

  Bainesworth sucked in his gut, jumped back, and kicked.

  Eric’s blade flew through the air.

  The battle became surreal and time moved in slow motion. David leapt through the air, through a swarm of flying blades, and brought Eric to the ground.

  Trog burst forward, grabbed Bainesworth, and struck him with a vicious head-butt.

  Bainesworth staggered backward, blood streaming from his broken nose.

  A slew of men dressed in black rushed from behind.

  A blade sliced Trog’s side. He gasped in pain, twisted, and swung his sword.

  “Dalvarians!” David shouted.

  Eric flung David aside. “Protect Charlotte! Get her to safety.” He sprung to his feet.

  David stumbled toward Charlotte and grappled her to the ground. Blades and arrows sliced the air over them. Blood splattered the ground, their faces.

  David turned to Eric, to motion him to come on. A boot caught Eric in the chin, toppling him backward.

  Battles surged all around them. He had to get Charlotte ou
t. He stood and yanked her to her feet. “Come on! Head to the southern ridge!” He thought of home, of the Elthorian Manor.

  “Accelero Silentium,” he breathed, sweat dripping from his brow.

  The battlefield remained.

  The wailing of human suffering filled the air.

  “Oh come on. Don’t do this to me. Not now. Accelero Silentium!”

  A jolt of electricity traveled through his body. His legs gave way. Charlotte slipped from his grasp as he fell.

  Seyekrad walked toward him, limping, his features pure and terrible. Red light sparked like fire in his eyes. His clothes hung in tatters. Fragments of blue and green magic still flickered off his shoulders. His own black and silver magic sparked at his fingertips.

  “Still trying to use your tiny insignificant spells?” Seyekrad asked. “Do you truly believe they will work?”

  “What are you babbling about? What do you mean?” David asked.

  “Did you not notice the rutseer is dead? As soon as you used that ball of magic and entered Havendale, all of your mage-given powers kissed the dust. Your magic ring. Your tattoo. All of it. Destroyed by me.”

  David felt along the ground and gripped a rock twice the size of his hand. Anger, hatred flooded every corner of his body with a low, deep burn. “I had to try,” he said. “You understand.”

  Seyekrad chuckled and knelt at David’s side. “Didn’t Lily ever teach you to do, not try? Now you’ll never know what it feels like to win.”

  The sorcerer gripped David’s throat with both hands.

  Charges of electricity sparked through David’s skin, his blood on fire. He gasped, his lungs screaming for air. He reached up and grabbed the back of Seyekrad’s neck. He pulled the sorcerer toward him and said, “But neither will you.”

  He summoned all the strength he could and smashed the rock against the side of Seyekrad’s head. The sorcerer fell over and all magic blipped from his fingertips.

  David clasped his throat and scrambled to his feet.

  Trog and Eric continued to dance over the terrain with Bainesworth, their swords glinting in the sun. They parlayed. They jabbed. Fists connected. Bones broke. Blood splattered.

  Bainesworth grabbed Eric and caught him in a chokehold. A dagger disappeared in Eric’s side.

  “No, no, no, no, no,” David said, panic crippling his entire being.