Relics and Runes Anthology

by Heather Marie Adkins

  Wesley keeps his hand on the sword. “Cornelius has the real sword.”

  “I am not stupid. And Cornelius is gone, forever.”

  “I realize that. But that doesn’t change the fact that the real sword is in the Vale.”

  Jegorgon steps back. Contemplates it. “You might be telling me the truth. Shall we go then?”

  “Where? I can’t go back in there.”

  “You’re going to take me to where the sword is.”

  Jegorgon drags Wesley out of the cave. He goes over to the lake. “Gresha! Open your damn waters and send us back.”

  Gresha walks out of the water in her human form. “I can’t. Not without my pearl.”

  Jegorgon takes the pearl out of his backpack. “If I give this to you for you to open the doorway, will you return it to me?”

  “No. But you can have a fun time trying to get it back.”

  Wesley laughs. Jegorgon kicks at his back.

  Gresha touches Wesley’s head. A warmth comes over him. She closes her eyes.

  “What are you doing to him?”

  Gresha opens her eyes. “Ensuring that he can’t return. That protective shield he put around himself weakened the power the Vale has on him. But now I returned the power of the Vale.”

  “So you were always powerful without your pearl? I bet you can open a doorway without your pearl.”

  She slinks back into the water. Jegorgon throws a dagger. It nails her on her leg. She screeches and pulls out the dagger.

  “Make the doorway or I’ll throw the next one at your head.”

  She tosses the dagger at him. She goes under the water and turns back into her serpent self. The water turns over itself. The water in the middle is sucked down.

  “Sorry, Wes, you’ll have to sit this one out again.” Jegorgon runs into the water and jumps down.

  Wesley runs after him but the doorway closes. “Damn you, Gresha!”

  Gresha comes out of the water in her human form.

  “You can show your true face, I don’t care.”

  “This is my true face. The curse that I bear is one that I must. Because of my pearl, I’ll wear the serpent’s face.”

  Wesley lays back in the water. “I give up.”

  “I lied to the goblin king.”

  Wesley swims away, lazy and not a care in the world.

  Gresha swims out to him. “I said I lied to the goblin king.”

  “About what?”

  “I lifted your banishment. You can return to the Vale.”

  Wesley turns over. “How?”

  “For the services that I provided the Vale years ago, I was owed a favor. I asked for the favor to be your banishment lifted. The Vale granted it.”

  Wesley hugs Gresha. “Anything I can do for you, name it.”

  “I do get lonely.”

  “Anything but that.”

  “You have to stab the core of the Vale. Seek the Scarlet witch and you will defeat the goblin king. That’s all I can tell you.”

  Wesley swims to the land. “I have no way of getting back.”

  “Your sword. You’ve done it before. You’ve sliced a hole in the Vale to get here.”

  Jegorgon shows up at the swampland. The red hooded woman walks over. “Where have you been?”

  “You have my army.” He raises the daggers. They glow red. The woman is encased inside a red ball. “You shouldn’t have reached so high, my dear.”

  Jegorgon raises his hands to the trees that grow over the road.

  Coming down from the treetops is a man in a black hood and poncho. “Goblin king. Turn around.”

  “Move aside, keeper. I am here for the sword of Wesley Darsmin.”

  “I can’t let you beyond here.”

  “You let that fairy. How else did he get the sword here?”

  “He didn’t bring the sword here.”

  Jegorgon balls up his fist. The trees come crashing down.

  “Wesley has the sword.” The hooded man puts both of his hands in front of Jegorgon. He forces the daggers away from him. He takes the pearl out of his pants pocket. He breaks the pearl in half. A crystalized light comes out of it and encases the goblin king in a crystal ball. “I told Andrea that if you became a problem, I’d fix it. If it became a mistake to give you what you have, I’d correct it. Now, you and your lady in red, are going to have a nice vacation inside the Shattered Vale.”

  Jegorgon tries to break free.

  “Goblin king, you have disappointed us. Relinquish your title and throne.”

  Jegorgon sits down inside the ball. “I will not.”

  “Though we can’t force you because you willingly took the position, we can use other means to persuade you to give it up.”

  Jegorgon waves him on.

  “Perhaps if I just keep you hidden for a while, you can think it over.” He crushes his hands together as if molding something. The crystal ball gets smaller. And smaller. Until it is the size of a marble. The hooded man picks it up and puts it into his pants pocket.

  The hooded man lets down his hood. Grey hair sprouts through his young locks. “Elaine, forgive me.” He goes down the road. The trees spring back up and cover the road. He walks towards a mountain covered in white and black snow. He walks up the mountain trail. To the very top. He looks over the other side of the mountain. Coral Gardens sits below. Vines grow around him. They creep down the mountain.

  To be continued

  Continue The Twin Land series in book two, The Scarlet Vale.

  www.jenniferannschlag.com

  About the Author

  Jennifer Ann Schlag lives on Long Island, New York. She is the writer of the Damien Calla series, The Goval series, and The Life of Rose series.

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  Dragonwar

  Mirren Hogan

  Dragonwar © 2019 Mirren Hogan

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organisations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorised reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Created with Vellum

  Dragonwar

  Choose your side.

  In the four kingdoms of Dargyn, war is looming.

  As a dragonrider, Laynin is increasingly anxious about the part she and her dragon may have to play.

  When news of an invasion to the south reaches the Dragonhall, it brings with it unease. The leader of the dragonriders is determined they will take no part. As war draws near, it becomes clear the dragons may have to go into battle.

  Laynin will have to choose between obeying her leader, and fighting a menace which could enslave them all.

  1

  The dragon's egg cracked.

  At first there was nothing more than a hair near the base of the shell.

  The egg rocked. The crack traveled upward bit by bit, tantalisingly slow. The egg stilled and the crowd held their collective breath. They let it out in cries of surprise as the egg tilted and rolled onto its side.

  "It won't be long now," Zannis Darg remarked, sounding excited. As draakin to Refa, she had good reason. Dragonets hatched rarely, and her dragon, Refa, was dam to these. Her eyes shone with pride.

  Laynin Laithorn tore her eyes away from the eggs to grin at her friend before quickly looking back. Bo
th of the eggs had been wobbling for a while now, but Laynin had been too young to remember the last hatching. She didn't want to miss a moment of this one. Nor did anyone else. The whole Dragonhall had turned out to watch, from the oldest draakin to the youngest of the kitchen staff.

  A chunk of shell broke away from the first egg. The second toppled over. Laynin gasped as a clawed foot appeared, then another. They kicked about in the air, clenching and flexing as if trying to find something to grab hold of.

  Zannis' dragon, and dam of the hatchlings, stepped over to the egg, slow and careful for a creature of her size, and nudged it with her muzzle. The egg rolled and the tiny claws found some stability on the leafy nest where they'd spent the last month.

  Laynin's eyes swivelled up to Risper, who stood on the roof of the annex to the Dragonhall. Her dragon—and sire of the dragonets—was looking on with great interest. Even if they hadn't been his, Risper was curious by nature, as were most of the dragons. Apparently even at a few hundred years old, there were still things to learn and enjoy.

  Any bets on their sex? she asked, her eyes back on the eggs.

  I fear I have nothing to wager, dear Laynin, he replied, his voice in her mind sounding amused.

  Oh, are you worried you'll lose, she teased. He was a telepathic dragon, he could easily look into the minds of unhatched dragons and find out. Come to think of it, he'd probably known for a month. That wouldn't make it a fair bet anyway.

  He merely responded with a thought of amusement and leaned down further into the wide courtyard. A few of those gathered below gave him a nervous glance, but their attention was soon drawn away. An awed gasp accompanied the shattering of one of the eggs.

  Until now, this one had been the least active, but the egg broke into dozens of shards and the dragonet burst out before falling onto its chest in the leaves. It let out a sad little moan and flapped wings too small and wet to be effective.

  As if that was a cue, the other egg split neatly and its inmate stepped clear. Head raised, it waddled a metre or so before tripping over its unwieldy feet and stumbling.

  Zannis picked up a wooden box of whole chickens and set it beside her dragon. She gave Refa's neck a quick scratch before moving back to let her choose and offer birds to her young.

  Laynin was accustomed to the eating habits of dragons, having been a draakin for some five years, but those who gathered in the hope of bonding one of the newly hatched dragonets weren't so conditioned. More than one let out a groan as the dragonets tore into their first meal.

  Zannis chuckled.

  Laynin glanced at her, then swept her eyes across the row of draakin—dragonriders of Dargyn—settling for a moment on their leader, Ara Lucretia, before moving on to the hopefuls. Most were young, mid-third decade like her, but others had been at the Dragonhall for years, hoping for the opportunity. Every time a draakin died, their dragon chose a new human to bond with. Every time, many were left disappointed. Some left altogether, but others either didn't want to give up, or had no alternate lives to return to. That choice was their prerogative, dragons had been known to bond someone in their fifth or even sixth decade.

  Although the hopefuls worked, some draakin complained about their continued presence. The Dragonhall was so heavily populated, the need to build the annex for extra accommodation had arisen some fifty years prior. Being newer, and only single level, Laynin preferred it to Dragonhall, as did many of the younger draakin and hopefuls.

  Today, however, there was little room to move.

  Her eyes settled on a man, a bard, if she recalled correctly. Travil? Tavin? Travin. His unruly, dark hair all but covered one eye, but the other was intent on the dragonets. His lips moved as if he were singing, or perhaps praying one of the dragonets would want to bond him.

  The dragons themselves didn't look like they had any intention of making a decision until they'd eaten their fill. One pounced on a chicken and happily started to crunch on it, feathers and all.

  "I thought they'd be less… ugly." Zannis remarked.

  "They're adorable." Laynin frowned at her. "Just because they have chicken blood and feathers on their muzzles—"

  Zannis smirked.

  Laynin shrugged and looked away. The first dragonet finished eating and started toward the hopefuls. Travin hadn't moved a muscle, as far as she could tell. His eyes looked just as intense, but his lips moved more quickly. She leaned forward, trying to catch a word.

  "Please, please, please…"

  She smiled. Do you think that will work?

  It cannot hurt. Risper sounded just as amused, but I suspect it will not unless the dragonets are receptive already. If desperation and entreaty were all it took, then each dragon would bond many draakin, to appease them all.

  You can't bond more than one person, she pointed out.

  Indeed not. Two boys.

  I beg your pardon?

  You wanted to know their sex? They're both male.

  At this age it was impossible to tell without say-so from the dragons, or the dragonets once they bonded. Later, the males grew to a slightly larger size than the females, but that was the only outward indication of sex.

  That's what I thought, Laynin replied,

  Oh really? I thought I heard you think that they would be one of each.

  It's so unfair that you can do that, she grumbled good naturedly. She could hear the thoughts he sent, but that was all, while he could see her innermost thoughts if he chose to.

  It's fortunate we didn't wager.

  Because you're a cheater?

  I admit to an unfair advantage, he replied, it seems that one has chosen.

  The first dragonet cocked its head at one of the older men, Vurn Karjala, from Eritsa, to the north. His skin was a few shades darker than Laynin's. Brown eyes smiled over a mouth grinning with unfettered delight.

  Refa named that one Zeld, Risper supplied, Karm has yet to decide.

  Karm took his time, looking over the hopefuls, searching each, sniffing at some as though scent played a part in his judgement. He stopped at the young man whose eyes and voice pleaded so eloquently, but he moved on to a small Aarlish girl with golden hair.

  He has decided on Marlia Gul. They will bond their chosen in the morning. This pair was decisive. It took me hours to chose my first bonded. Sleep beckoned, as it does for this pair.

  Laynin smiled. Does it matter how long it takes?

  It does not seem so, but perhaps they didn't wish to keep the hopeful waiting for too long.

  That's very kind. Laynin's smile faded at the look of dejection on the faces of the hopeful whose dreams had been dashed for now. Travin pushed the hair off his face and gave the dragonets a last longing look before he turned away.

  "He's handsome," Zannis remarked, nodding at his back. "Maybe you should go and console him."

  "Before you do?" Laynin teased.

  Zannis shrugged, but gave her a knowing look. "I just might. But first, I'm starving."

  Laynin chuckled. "Me too. Want some help cleaning up the shells?" The nest would be cleared out later and washed down by the remaining hopefuls, but the draakin whose dragon laid the eggs generally removed the shell. Some liked to keep pieces as a memento; several were on display in the Dragonhall.

  "I've heard people pay good braids for ground dragon shell," Zannis said, crouching to pick up a handful of pieces. "They think it's an aphrodisiac."

  "Is it?" Laynin asked with a laugh.

  "No idea, but this will keep me in new clothes for years. The powder other people are trying to sell is probably just chicken eggs, or maybe duck. This is the real thing."

  Laynin hefted a shard in her hand. It was thicker than a chicken egg, almost enough to bore a hole in and wear it around her neck. She turned it around to admire the mottled creamy texture on the outside. "Maybe dragon shell pendants would be worth a braid or two."

  "They might at that."

  Laynin glanced over her shoulder to see Ara standing behind her. Tall and fair, Ara was o
lder than her by at least two decades, but her hair was largely untouched by grey. The lines around her eyes hinted at the burden of responsibility, but Laynin had never known her to shirk it.

  "Would you like this piece for one?" Laynin asked, offering the shard.

  Ara waved it away. "Thank you, but I'll leave that to you. Although, you may leave some for our two new draakin. A piece of their own dragon's shell is to be cherished." She gave a wistful smile, although her own dragon, Nehko, was also hundreds of years old.

  Laynin tucked the piece into her pocket and went on gathering others before putting them in the now empty box that had contained the chickens. It stank of the birds. She wrinkled her nose and moved aside to let Ara toss in some shards before dusting her hands.

  "I think perhaps we should have a celebration following a successful hatching," she declared.

  Laynin grinned at Zannis. The draakin loved to celebrate, and no one was better at organising one than Ara. All of the town of Tsaisa came to these events, leaving a collective hangover in the morning that few people minded.

  "Yes ma'am," Zannis agreed enthusiastically.

  2

  By the time they'd finished, the shadows were long and the shards safely stowed in Zannis' room. Laynin knew she'd be pressed into service grinding them down, but she'd insist on a portion of the takings. Zannis would argue, she always did, but she'd agree in the end. The woman could be difficult, but she was the only other draakin of Laynin's age. As such, they'd developed a firm friendship over the last few years.

  "Thick as thieves," Ara called them, but in her indulgent, almost motherly way. Their leader had never had children, so she treated the other draakin as her dysfunctional offspring, even the ones closer to her age. No doubt she'd be busy mothering the two newest for the next year or so, while their dragons grew.