Dragons of Summer Tide
By Robert Barton
Book One of Dragons of Hwandor
Dragons of Summer Tide
Copyright © 2014 Robert Barton
All rights reserved
Dragons of Summer Tide
By Robert Barton
Prologue:
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Onward:
Prologue:
A thousand years ago the upheaval came; sent from the old gods. Their anger and disgust grew as the ancient wars of the dragons became horrific. Legends say that there were, in those days, dragons still in the Dragon Mountains of the north and people could travel there and some lucky few, of the many who tried, bonded with wild dragons. As old as time, the Dragon Mountains are low and rolling, worn by countless years of wind and winter storms. Some are said to still see dragons over the mountains from time to time but it is just a trick of the light or a trick of a wishful and frightened mind. If there were ever really dragons in the world they have been gone for a thousand years. More likely these are tales that passed for history among our ancestors. Similar to the tales told of ancient elves and dwarves.
Legends claim that a long war was fought between our Kingdom of Hwandor and our ancient enemies of the Empire of Khatstan to the west. The field of war was on the Great Plains that spread south of the Dragon Mountains down to the sea. And great navies clashed on the calm waters of that sea. Then the Khatstansians learned to force bond dragons and were then able to send many thousands of these dragons and their dragon warriors and dragon mages into the war. And so, many dragons and humans poured their lives out in the battles until -it is said - the earth cried out. The Five Fires formed at the edge of the sea and these volcanoes keep the sea nearly impassable now. Also it is told that the Great Plains shattered and the new mountains arose thrusting up as if the ground had sprouted fangs and was biting at the sky. The upheaval was sent by the gods and was followed by a generation of drought and starvation in which most of humanity perished and the dragons were destroyed. The last of the elves retreated into the mountains of the far north and the few remaining dwarves burrowed deep into their underground caverns beneath those mountains. And finally, the great mages lost their ability to touch magic and manipulate the world around them through this mystical force.
When we strip away these quaint superstitions we find the truth of the matter. The facts are simple. Slightly more than a thousand years ago there was a great geological upheaval, perhaps the most massive earthquake ever seen. This upheaval was on the disputed borders between our Kingdom of Hwandor and the Empire of Khatstan. During this event, there rose a massive and jagged looking mountain range which now stands between us and our enemies. In the shallows of the sea there arose five volcanoes and their constant disruption makes that area of the sea impassable. For a generation people struggled to survive and many did not. Yet, in the centuries that followed we rebuilt our kingdom. There are no dragons because there never were dragons. Time and history have known no such creatures as elves and dwarves. Mages have no ability to touch magic because they have never had that ability – magic has never existed.
The facts are direct, if tragic, with no need for angry spirits, mythical beasts or shadowy beings of faery. Sometimes it is just that simple; in fact it is usually that simple. Academia must free itself from the superstition of myths and legends and work with facts, direct and simple. By working with facts we embrace truth and it will light our way to a new future; a future where we are free of magical and wishful thinking.
Malfius S’Delforn
Post Upheaval 1123
History Department Royal University
One
As always at this time of year the early morning songs of birds woke Veer just before dawn and then he could smell campfire ashes and the forest around him. Starting awake the young man looked around, confusion on his face and then he remembered making camp the night before. Knowing that he needed to get home as soon as he could Veer didn’t blow the embers left from last night into a new fire. Hastily he rolled his cloak into a bundle and tied it with a long thong as the northerners do. No time to bother cooking a breakfast, he quickly ate a handful of dried oats and washed it down with a drink from his water skin. Then he poured a bit of water into his hands to wash his tanned and freckled face and smooth back his deep red hair. Standing, he relieved himself on the ashes to extinguish the last sparks of fire and kicked dirt over the ashes to be sure. He picked up his cloak bundle and put the thong over his head and shoulder with the bundle hanging across his back. Next, he picked up his greatest treasure, the bow and arrows that all northerners carry for hunting and protection. Then as the sun started to creep into the sky he set off back up the trail the way he had come the night before. He needed to retrieve the deer that he had left hanging too high for wolves or bears to reach.
“Just a ten minute walk back up the trail, one half mile,” Veer said out loud to no one in particular. “Take down the deer from yesterday and then head home. One league - three miles - and with the deer to carry I should make it before midmorning; way before midmorning.” A look of dread crossed his face. “Now what to tell Mum?” Then with a look of resolution. “Mum, I have fifteen summers and that is old enough to be out for a night.” His face became crestfallen and he said. “Then she slaps me and yells. I’ll just tell her the truth as it is. Mum, I feathered this doe and followed the blood trail. By the time I found her and finished dressing her it was too near night to try to get home. So I hanged her high in a tree away from wolves and bears and camped a half mile away just like Grand-da always taught me too. Then she yells, but not as much, I maybe still get a slap, extra chores and I still have to help Da in the smithy.”
Moving noisily up the trail, talking out loud to himself Veer walked around a bend and recognized the spot where he had hoisted his doe into the trees for safe keeping. Just off the trail he found his prize still hanging untouched and safe. Moving around a tree to where he had secured the rope the evening before he untied the knot and lowered the deer to the ground. He coiled his rope and tied it to his belt with a leather thong. Then with the practiced ease of a young man who had grown up hunting he lifted the deer onto his shoulders and turned to walk back down the trail toward home. Setting a brisk pace Veer knew that the walk home with the deer should take him a little over an hour. Veer began to whistle to himself as he walked.
Veer froze as he heard a loud angry call, part roar and part scream of rage, it rumbled and shrieked at the same time. Having grown up in the foothills of the Dragon Mountains he knew the sound of every animal in these woods and that was nothing like he had ever heard. With one fluid motion he dropped the deer from his shoulders and whipped out a dry bowstring. Like all northern boys he had grown up with a bow in his hand and even at his age he could string a bow quickly. He put the loop of one end of the string around the bottom of his long bow, stepped across and hooked his foot around the end of the bow to hold it in place while he pulled down hard on the top in order to loop the other end of the string around the creaking yew bow. Next he pulled four arrows from the quiver hanging from straps at his hip and nocked one arrow holding it ready to feather the mons
ter that had made such a horrible sound. In less than the time it takes for a slow deep breath, the bow was strung with an arrow ready on the string and three in his hand ready to rapidly follow the first arrow. Veer stood very still scanning the forest around him.
The screaming roar sounded again and this time he could tell the direction from which it had come. Turning to the side of the trail he could see that there was a ridge in front of him and that the sound had come from beyond that. Steep but climbable, the ridge was only about fifty feet high. Then he heard the sound of a hunting horn being blown by a man. Screams began to come quickly now, growing even more enraged and becoming higher in pitch. Joining with the screams were the shouts of men as though a small army was battling a monster.
As the noise grew, Veer started up the ridge climbing quickly and keeping low to the ground as he neared the top. Dropping to his belly, he crept the last few feet to peer over the edge of the ridge and down into the small valley beyond. A shallow stream flowed through the bottom of the little valley and in the middle of the stream there was a large grey pony spinning around and surrounded by seven men. The men were wading through the knee deep water with poles and ropes trying to catch the pony as it lashed out at the men. Then the pony kicked one of the men who then fell back and began to bleed from a gash across his throat.
Veer watched the men and the pony battling and thought to himself that it shouldn’t take seven men to catch one pony. Then the pony reared up on her hind legs, she spread her wings and opened her mouth and a loud roar filled the air as she bared her fangs. Her head darted out on her long neck as she bit through the shoulder of one man while her tail lashed another man from his feet. Right before his eyes, what Veer had seen as a pony was actually - he realized - a dragon. A real living dragon just like the legends described. Veer thought to himself that this was a really strange dream.
After being bitten the man dropped into the water and began to thrash about for a few moments before going still. The man who had been lashed from his feet by the tail of the dragon got back up and rejoined his comrades in the battle against the animal. There were now five men battling the monster. One of the men threw a rope with a loop on the end at the neck of the dragon but didn’t quite get the loop over the darting head of the beast. The dragon jumped at him biting and tearing as she landed on him pushing him down into the water with her weight, the water turning red as it flowed passed where she now stood upon whatever what left of the man. The last four men moved warily around the snapping beast with their poles and ropes. Veer thought that he should help those men against the monster. So Veer stood up on top of the ridge and brought his bow up in front of him with his arrow once again nocked on the string and held against his cheek. Then he steadily pushed the bow out in front of him in the way that a long bow is drawn, sighting his target and ready to release his arrow the moment his arm is extended. As he released his arrow the dragon leaped toward one of the men and the arrow passed just behind her into the water beyond the spot where she had been standing a moment before.
The dragon jumped onto a man who was trying to use his pole to push her away but the pole snapped with a loud crack and she bore the man down under her claws and fangs into the water. As she drove him beneath the surface she let out a long howling scream when the jagged end of the piece of the pole that the man had been holding tore through her until it was sticking up out of her back. Her tail lashed as she made a long angry death howl. Her neck and head lifted toward the sky and her eyes became wide while her wings flapped out in a spasm as she shuttered and collapsed there into the shallow water on top of her last victim.
As Veer stood there unable to believe what he had just seen, the men began to shout to one another. Veer realized that he could not understand the language of the men. Having been taught to be leery of foreigners Veer cautiously lowered himself back to the ground behind the ridge to watch. One of the men walked away from the other two who set about checking the bodies of their comrades removing purses, knives and anything else which might be useful. Veer wondered how these men could steal from the dead, especially men who just been their comrades against a monster.
After about ten minutes the third man returned leading a string of seven horses. As the horses were led near enough to smell the blood they become nervous, looking around wide eyed and panicky. The three remaining men took the three best looking horses aside and they searched through the packs on the other four animals. They removed the saddles from three of the horses and just let them lose and the horses quickly trotted away to escape the smell of death. The men then left the three saddles on the ground as they loaded the things they had decided to take with them onto the fourth horse. Then the men just mounted up and rode away leading the fourth horse. Just like that, leaving behind the bodies of their friends and the dragon.
These foreigners were strange; nothing like the northerners who lived in the foothills. They hadn’t even carried proper long bows just short curvy ones with quivers hanging from their horses. And no northerner would ever leave the body of a friend unburied. And even worse, they left the bodies in the water to foul everything downstream. “We northerners would never act that way, it just isn’t clean.” Veer said to himself.
“I’ll have to take the deer home to the village and tell them what happened, and then I can come back with some of the other men and clear the bodies from the stream so the water doesn’t make anyone sick. I can see them now when I tell them that there is a dead dragon in the stream. They’ll all just believe me and come along to help clear it. More likely mum will beat me and everyone in the village will laugh and think that I was drunk. So I’ll just tell them that there is some large dead animal in the stream and they can see for themselves when we get back here.”
Veer realized that he was standing back at the bottom of the ridge and didn’t remember climbing down. He looked around and found the doe where he had dropped her when he heard the dragon scream. “A dragon - a real dragon - I saw a real live dragon,” he said to himself. He put down his bow and picked up the deer and put her back across his shoulders. As he settled the deer onto his shoulders he realized that his whole body was still shaking. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, he could still feel his heart pounding. After steadying himself for a moment he squatted down and grabbed his bow and stood back up. Straightening himself Veer headed for the village.
Home really was not that far away from where Veer had been hunting. About an hour walking at a good pace would cover the distance. His tiny village was right at the edge of the foothills where the rolling hills start to smooth out into a plain. Not much of a village really just four families farming the fields. Except his family, they had a big kitchen garden which his mother and he tended. Da couldn’t farm since he was lame in one leg and walked slowly and with a limp. But Da was the best smith in this part of the hills and so people came from miles away to buy from him or to have things made or repaired.
Veer was walking toward home thinking about how dangerous having dragons in the area could be, now that he knew that dragons were real. The ridge going along beside the trail slowly got shorter and came to an end at a place where the trail branched off and went back up on the other side of the ridge into the little valley where the battle of the dragon had taken place. He could see the tracks of the horses heading toward him from down the trail ahead and then taking the branch up the little valley. “I guess they came from the direction of home. I wonder if anyone saw them or knows anything about the strangers.”
Still shaken from his morning, Veer walked quickly despite the weight of the doe on his shoulders. He was looking toward home just over a few small hills as the crow flies but the trail was going to wind around the hills. He could see the smoke from the village hearths going up into the air and said to himself. “Just a few more minutes and I’ll be home.” He began to whistle to himself and then thought about how close he was to home. Veer realized that he wasn’t that close to home; actually he was still over a m
ile away. He shouldn’t see chimney smoke that far away in late summer. He looked again and he could see eight columns of smoke going up into the sky. He thought that was strange and said to himself. “I wonder who started so many fires outside. What are they burning?” Then he felt a chill spread over his body and he dropped the deer and began to run. He thought; eight columns of smoke, four houses, three farmers’ barns and a smithy. As he began to smell the smoke Veer started to panic.
As Veer ran down the trail he noticed that the horse tracks were still coming at him and headed up the trail behind him. Those strangers had been through his village. Then he rounded the last hill and came out of the trees and saw it. His village - his home - was now just eight piles of smoking ash and burned wood surrounded by growing fields. Then he knew why the strangers were hunting the dragon, it had attacked his village and the strangers were following it. They had hunted it down and killed that murderous beast. He wished they had gotten it before it burned his village.
Veer walked slowly toward his village wondering where everyone was, the smell of burned wood became nearly overpowering. Surely they had all escaped and hidden when the dragon attacked. Soon they will know that it is safe and will come trickling out of the forest to rebuild. As he passed the first burnt house he started to see just how badly damaged it all was. It was mid summer and everything had been very dry. There was nothing left but ashes and a few pieces of burned logs here and there. Where there had been the conversation of people spilling out of the houses now there was only the crackle of embers and cooling coals. This was going to be hard to rebuild when everyone came back from hiding.
“Boy – boy,” called a weak voice followed by a cough. Veer turned and saw a man on the ground leaning against the stones of the well and a horse standing near him. Veer realized that he was still holding his bow and he nocked an arrow and drew the bow sighting the chest of the man. “Don’t release boy, don’t release.” The man followed his words with a fit of coughing. Veer could see that the man had already been feathered with a small arrow. He had seen a small arrow somewhere before. The foreigners, they had carried short curvy bows and short arrows hanging from their saddles.
Dragons of Summer Tide (The Dragons of Hwandor) Page 1