Kill the Dragon
Being the first part of
Lake of Dragons
E. Michael Mettille
TMR Books
PO Box 510886
Milwaukee, WI 53203
www.themikereynolds.com
Copyright © 2005, 2021 Mike Reynolds. All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
All images provided by Deposit Photos
Cover Artwork – © 2021 L.J. Anderson of Mayhem Cover Creations
Published by TMR Books 05/15/2021
ISBN 978-0-9975571-2-1
DEDICATION
For Shelia…thank you.
Chapter 1
Childhood’s End
Maelich leaned against the mighty oak crowning Keller’s Hill. The spot was a favorite of his, a place to ponder both days gone by and days yet to come. This particular occasion was similar to most. After a full day of rigorous training his mind often had a tendency to chase concepts rather than relive memories or form new ideas. Of all the concepts he mulled over while leaning against the rough bark of the great oak, mother earned the lion’s share of his attention. Of course, he knew what the concept meant. He simply had no experience with one. His died shortly after he was born. All he had were stories, and they were vague at best. There was something about a young woman and a great power. None of it was anything tangible. Nothing more than loose concepts and generic ideals.
“Hey there, lad,” Ymitoth’s voice shattered the quiet. “It be time for your feeding.”
Maelich waved his response, collected himself, and tromped on down the hill. Pink clouds caught his attention, painted by the sun setting behind him. He must have lost track of the hour. His stomach grumbled loudly as if to confirm the idea. He quickened his pace down the hill.
Admiration swept through Maelich as Ymitoth glanced back at him. His stern mentor looked like he had jumped right off a painting Maelich had seen once. It was an image of valiant men standing tall against a horrible dragon. Ymitoth could easily stand among heroic men like that. He was massive, a half-head taller than most and broad about the shoulders. The wind caught hold of his hair. It danced about the breeze glinting like rusty gold in the failing light of the setting sun. He was every bit the hero in Maelich’s eyes. There wasn’t a man who stood mightier.
Then something about Ymitoth’s expression changed. It was odd and unfamiliar. It resembled a smile the way it parted his beard from his mustache and plumped his cheeks out, but it didn’t quite fit, like a dwarf seated on a giant’s throne. Normally the sharp lines of his face looked like something that could cut stone. Accompanying the strange smile-like thing twisting up his beard was an uncustomary wave. The warrior almost looked…happy.
Maelich grinned and quickened his pace all the more. He puzzled only briefly over Ymitoth’s odd behavior as he worked to catch up to the man he had grown to know as father. There was a concept far more readily available to him. Ymitoth had always been very clear about the fact he and Maelich shared no blood. However, as far as Maelich could tell, his teacher, mentor, and trainer accepted him as a son. And, of course, Maelich loved and admired Ymitoth as he imagined any lad would love and admire the one teaching him to be a man. Ymitoth wasn’t one to fall victim to bouts of affection and show anything which might be construed as weakness. There were times, though, times when the rough and tough would crack just enough for Maelich to catch a hint that Ymitoth cared for him. The odd smile combined with the awkward wave equaled one of those times. Those brief moments were enough for Maelich. They had to be.
Every day was the same for him. Rise with the sun, take in the morning feeding, run the pastures with Ymitoth—who seemed to get slower as Maelich grew—and then bathe in Yester’s Pond. All those things were considered by Ymitoth to be, “the warm-up.” After the warm-up came sword training. Sword training always seemed to last forever. By the time it was finished he could barely lift his sword. He didn’t mind too much as he was but a lad of twelve summers and already close to being Ymitoth’s equal. The fact made him feel powerful. Stories of his master’s conquests spread as far as Maelich had ever been.
After sword training was complete it would be time for the midday feast, the nucleus of the day. Every other activity was planned around it, even the short nap that followed. Maelich’s workday ended with his book lessons, when he learned about how the world came to be and how to make your way through, “The great journey of life,” as Ymitoth called it. Once all his daily tasks were complete, Maelich was allowed a bit of time to himself before the evening feeding, which brings us back to where we began.
The warmth of the fire seized Maelich immediately when he entered the hut. He shook the chill from the winds of the hill off himself and took his spot at the table. A large sweet cake sat at the center of it, decorated as if it were meant for some sort of festival. Then he inhaled the savory scent of roast tubberslat, his favorite.
“Are we expecting guests, father?” he asked, confused by the ado over the evening feeding. Normally it consisted of bread and sweet jelly, maybe a little stew but never anything as extravagant as roast tubberslat.
“No lad, just us,” Ymitoth responded with a grin and a slight giggle as if he were enjoying a joke all by himself.
“Why the feast?” Maelich continued, still a bit taken with the great meal placed before him.
Ymitoth laughed out loud at his pupil, “Ah, my lad, you’re still so simple. A bit of roast tubberslat and a sweet cake and ye be having us at a feast. It weighs heavy on me heart, lad, but this day be a very important one to ye, and on this night I be telling ye why.”
Ymitoth’s strange behavior kept Maelich off balance as he continued his line of questions, “What of this day be so special that makes it different than any other?”
“Today be a celebration, laddy!” Ymitoth boomed as he swept Maelich up and embraced him.
“Father, ye be scaring me,” he could barely get the words out. Ymitoth had never acted in such a way. Perhaps the grizzled, old soldier had lost his mind. “What we be celebrating?”
Ymitoth eased his grip and took a step back, still holding onto Maelich’s shoulders. “Today be the end of your twelfth year, lad,” his voice trailed off and he looked as if he might cry. Instead, he continued with bit more strength behind his words, “Today we be celebrating your success.”
Maelich’s head was swimming. He had no idea what had happen to the man who had raised him, taught him and trained him. The jovial fellow standing before him looked almost…
“I be quite proud of ye, lad,” Ymitoth finished Maelich’s thought. “This part of your journey be complete. Tomorrow ye be starting off on a new adventure. On this day, I call ye a man,” Ymitoth’s cheek moistened as a tear raced down it to mingle with the course hair of his beard.
Maelich couldn’t speak. This must be exactly how a father swelling with pride at his son’s accomplishments would act.
After the feast and some fun chatter Maelich was unaccustomed to, Ymitoth said, “Maelich, join me in a pint of ale.”
“Ale?” he couldn’t believe his ears. Ale is what men drink, not young lads.
“Maelich, today ye be a man. Ye’ve trained hard since ye could lift a sword and read a book. Ye’ve finished the first part of your journey. Tonight, we share a few pints. Tomorrow we forget the sun and sleep till our bodies be ready to wake!”
The two men drank and shared laughs about things they had done together over the years. Maelich got to see a side of Ymitoth he never thought existed. Not that Ymitoth wasn’t
a caring father to him, laughter and fun were just not part of the normal routine. Maelich thought it quite possibly the best night of his life.
“Tell me more about me mother,” Maelich said after finishing a laugh about a laugh he had some years back at Ymitoth’s expense. The mighty Ymitoth had been showing him a sword technique used on horseback that required two hands and an agreeable horse. In this particular instance the steed was not so agreeable and managed to lose his rider, Ymitoth, in quite an abrupt fashion. Maelich was unable to contain his laughter. The outburst earned him a harsh scolding and proper punishment for his disrespect. On this night, however, Ymitoth had a great, booming belly laugh at the memory of the incident.
“Ah, your mother,” Ymitoth started with a sigh. “Truth be told, lad, I never did get to meet her. All I know of her are the stories, and those I can share with ye now. They say she was of unrivaled beauty, hair golden like sunshine, eyes deep and brown. The likes of which can enchant a man and have him forgetting his name. They say she had pale, soft skin and her voice was even softer. She’d be singing with song birds of the morning as the sun peeked his head over the mountains. Anyone who ever heard said her song was sweeter than any song a chorus of song birds could sing.” He paused and lost himself in a thought staring into the fire.
“So she was pretty?” Maelich broke in desperately wanting to know more.
“Pretty? Did ye here what I said? Pretty wasn’t the word. They say the word beauty was created only to describe this woman. Though the word itself came long before your mother, she was what that word be trying to describe.”
“What kind of person was she?” Maelich continued.
“Aye she was a kind, gentle lass. They say she never had a cross word for anyone. The type of lass who would listen to a little child’s story as if it be the most important news she’d ever heard.”
“Did she ever marry? What of me father? I mean ye no disrespect, father, but ye’ve said we share no blood. What of me birth father?” He pressed on, prying for more. All of these questions he’d been carrying around and asking but never getting straight answers. Finally, Ymitoth seemed ready to tell him all.
Ymitoth’s smile faded a bit, “That question be a bit harder to answer. Ye see, son,” Maelich was taken a bit by surprise. Ymitoth had always treated him as a son, but he had never actually referred to him as such. The father in him noticed the surprise on the young lad’s face and continued, “Ye’ve had a hard life. Ye wouldn’t know it because it be all ye know. For as long as ye can remember, every day be training. Aside from a few adventures all ye’ve known be…” he paused, searching for the right word, “preparation. It be true, I’ve never called ye son. I be greatly sorry for that. I’ve always thought of ye as me own though,” he paused again.
“I know ye be keeping me in your heart, as any father does,” Maelich helped, prodding him to continue.
“That be true, son, I do. I thought if I didn’t call you me son this day might be easier. I tell ye it ain’t. What about your real father though, that be your question.” He shook his head a bit and made a weak attempt at putting the smile back upon his face, “This may sound a bit confusing, but your mother never knew a man in that way.”
Maelich’s brow wrinkled up as he digested the tidbit. He knew enough about life at this point to know how babies were formed and that a mother needs the assistance of a father to create one. “How could that be?” his words dripped with doubt.
“Ye see, son, it ain’t me place to be giving ye all the answers right now. That task belongs to another. All I can really tell ye about your father, or lack of, is that ye’ve a very important role to play in the shaping of our world. In the very survival of our race, your role is key. Ye…” He stopped suddenly and looked up at the low ceiling of the hut, “Did ye hear that?”
“I didn’t hear a thing,” Maelich replied and then, feeling a bit bold from the ale, added, “I think ye’re dodging me question.”
“No, no lad, there be something on the roof.”
Ymitoth leapt to his feet. He cleared the small table sitting before the fireplace and snatched his sword from the mantel in one smooth motion. His eyes were slits as he cocked his head to one side and listened hard for the noise to repeat itself. Maelich hadn’t heard a thing and thought perhaps Ymitoth was having at him with a prank of some sort. Though a prank wouldn’t fit his usual cold demeanor, he was acting a bit odd being all full of the ale. A slight sneer crept onto Ymitoth’s upper lip. The muscles of his face flexed as he set his jaw tight. The room was completely silent. Ymitoth stared at the ceiling and Maelich stared at him. Maelich jumped out of his chair. This time he heard the noise, a light scratching on the roof. There was something up there trying not to be heard.
“Grab your sword, boy. Time to test your training,” Ymitoth growled through clenched teeth.
Maelich did as his master said without knowing what exactly he would be dueling with. He couldn’t stop staring at Ymitoth who seemed to be getting bigger with every tense breath. He wasn’t, but as he stood hard like stone, ready to face the danger slithering around on the roof, the man looked like a giant. Right at that moment, Maelich felt a great swell of pity for whatever poor creature was about to be slain.
They both strained hard through the silence, waiting for the sound to repeat itself. There was nothing. Suddenly, the door of the small hut crashed in. Splinters filled the room with a large gray shape racing in behind them. Before Maelich could raise his sword, the beast was on him. Mouth open, long, jagged teeth dripped saliva onto black lips. The thing slammed Maelich to the floor yanking his head back by the hair and exposing the soft flesh of his neck. He howled as if a chunk of him were already missing and slammed his fists down against the beast’s head. Then he stretched his own head back trying to get his throat as far away from its mouth and those nasty fangs as possible. Before his fists had another chance to strike, Ymitoth was on the beast. They crashed through the table and rolled across the floor. Ymitoth wound up on top. Without pause, he began pummeling the beast.
The battle lasted only moments. Maelich watched in awe as his master fought like a wild animal. He was an animal. Snarling and grunting, he pounded the beast’s face with his fists, his elbows, and his head. The thing didn’t have a chance. After a few moments, Ymitoth snatched the back of its head with one hand and its chin with the other. With one quick twist, he snapped its neck. A loud groan poured from the thing’s slobbery mouth as the beast twitched, trembled, and then stopped moving completely.
Maelich stood motionless, stunned. He couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed and had no idea what kind of creature the dead thing on the floor might be. His mind raced along without slowing, a series of questions for which he had no answer. As his mind fumbled along trying to make sense of everything, the roof came crashing down with another of the beasts riding the eaves to the floor. Once it hit, it dipped into a deep crouch and then leapt up into the air. Quite instinctively, Maelich slashed at it with his sword and relieved the thing of its head. In one smooth stroke, he deposited that gruesome head into the fireplace and dropped the pale, thin body to the floor in a heap. Maelich gazed at the dying beast for the briefest of moments before leaping away to avoid having his boots saturated in the black ooze pumping out of the thing.
“Congratulations, son,” Ymitoth started, slapping a hand on Maelich’s shoulder. “Ye’ve seen your first real battle and survived. This place no longer be safe for us. We must go.”
Before Maelich could add voice to any of the multitude of questions dancing around his mind, Ymitoth quickly started packing some essentials into horse sacks. Obviously, they’d be in the elements that evening. Maelich stared first at the head burning in the fireplace, then at his blood-stained sword, and finally at Ymitoth. His young mind struggled to process everything he’d just seen along with what he had just done.
“What were those?” his whisper was barely audible.
“Those were amatilazo, me boy, and they
always be traveling in packs of ten or more. These two be scouts. They must have been too hungry to wait for their kin,” Ymitoth replied in his normal matter of fact tone, as if they hadn’t almost been killed.
“What be amatilazo?” Maelich asked. This time he had a better command of his voice.
“The amatilazo be parasites that live on the blood of men. They walk like men but they ain’t a mind for thinking. Their hunger be all they know. Make haste, lad. There will be more,” Ymitoth continued to pack, leaving Maelich to work at getting his wits back about him.
Once all they could carry was packed and loaded on their horses they mounted and rode north into the night. The moon offered ample light for travel. Maelich expected they would make good time through the evening and stop for a nap when the sun rose. His theory proved false when Ymitoth abruptly halted their horses a mere two hundred yards from their hut.
“The pack be near,” Ymitoth whispered, eyes scanning the tree line. “They have our scent and will be giving chase if we try to elude them. Tonight, we hunt. There be ample light. We should be filling our quarry quickly.”
The cool evening and all the action back at the hut had eliminated the fuzziness from Maelich’s head. Along with that, his years of training were serving him well. He was prepared to follow his master’s lead and go on the attack. Ymitoth’s sureness, along with his own instinctive dispatching of the creature in the hut, had his confidence soaring. On this night, his training and his mentor’s confidence would finally be tested.
“Look there, lad,” Ymitoth whispered and pointed with his sword to a small group of trees about one hundred yards to the east of their position.
“Aye, I see them,” Maelich whispered just as quietly, catching sight of two sets of yellow eyes staring at them from behind the brush.
“I’ll be riding straight at them,” Ymitoth began, again whispering, “Ye’ll be following a bit slower, catching any that may be trying to flee to the north or south. They move quick. We’d be no match on foot, but they can’t outrun our horses.”
Kill the Dragon (Lake of Dragons Book 1) Page 1