Kill the Dragon (Lake of Dragons Book 1)

by E. Michael Mettille

  Maelich thought about drawing his sword as Yfregeof neared, but it was too early to show his hand. Instead his eyes scanned the king intensely like a loquoi gliding along the river searching for fish among the currents. When the king was within five feet of him, he noticed that his right hand was moving to a slight bulge in his robe under his left arm. Maelich threw down Ahm’s spear and jumped backward pulling his head farther away as he went. Yfregeof’s dagger whistled mere inches in front of Maelich’s nose. He gathered himself and leapt further backward still as the king slashed again and again at him. Pure unfaltering hatred gleamed in the king’s eyes as he advanced.

  Maelich timed the attacks as he retreated, finally stopping short and throwing his left arm out to meet the blow. He pounded Yfregeof’s forearm with his own, aiming for the nerve running down it. Apparently, he hadn’t hit it squarely. The king’s grip loosened, but he didn’t drop the dagger. Maelich didn’t bother dwelling on the failure. He balled his right hand up in a fist and fired it at Yfregeof’s jaw sending phlegmy spit and blood all over a guard’s helmet and the king reeling. Immediately after his punch landed, he snapped a kick to Yfregeof’s ribs and dropped him to the floor.

  Maelich drew his sword as Yfregeof’s head pounded against polished marble. He would have preferred to save the vile waste for Ymitoth, but the king forced his hand. He would act as executioner and avenge the death of his mentor’s father. However, Yfregeof proved far wilier than Maelich had given him credit. He didn’t see the king’s dagger flying toward him until it was too late. Despite dodging the assault, he was much too close to get away clean. His heart remained unscathed, but Yfregeof’s dagger sliced deep into his shoulder.

  A wild howl tore through the room. Maelich’s chest and arm burned as if a flaming torch were pressed against them. The blade of his sword dropped to the ground as he stumbled backward, away from Yfregeof. Blood soaked his sleeve as his shoulder pulsed with pain. He maintained his grip on the sword but the pain in his arm kept him from raising it up off the ground. His other hand shot up to the dagger. He had never felt a pain like this before. There was something else he was unfamiliar with, fear. It gripped him as his eyes darted about the room. What would he do next?

  Before Maelich could put together a cognizant thought, Yfregeof’s voice boomed, “Seize him!”

  The guards appeared apprehensive as they approached, but they advanced toward Maelich nevertheless. His head whipped back and forth as he contemplated his new opponents. Doubt filled him. With his own blood freely flowing, he felt none of the invincibility he had felt when facing Ahm. He gave Yfregeof’s blade a yank and pulled it out amidst a sloppy, slurping pop followed by an even stronger stream of blood than had been flowing. The room seemed to tilt slightly as he stumbled while attempting to raise his sword high enough to defend himself against Yfregeof’s guards. He sluggishly moved through his sword techniques, but they were sloppy. They wouldn’t have intimidated a child, much less seasoned warriors. The guards continued to advance. Maelich looked back to Yfregeof who mocked with a sickening grin.

  “Halt!” Ymitoth’s voice filled the throne room with all the strength and authority Maelich remembered from his training. “Place the king under arrest for plotting the murder of his father and mine!”

  Maelich followed Ymitoth’s fiery gaze to Yfregeof’s shocked expression. The king’s guards stopped their advance. Ymitoth was the commander of all the warriors of Havenstahl. They had to obey him. Yfregeof looked to his guards pleadingly while more and more soldiers poured into the room, swords drawn. Even if the king’s guards had wanted to protect their king, they were horribly outnumbered and would surely be slain. Relief swept over Maelich as he slumped to his knees.

  Ymitoth ordered two guards to bandage up Maelich’s wound and then fixed his gaze back on the viper who shared his bloodline. “Treacherous bastard!” he shouted at Yfregeof.

  “No, no, there be no truth to it. The lad lies,” Yfregeof whimpered as he put his hands out before him and shook his head, cowering before Ymitoth.

  The king’s eyes moved from door to door. All of them were blocked. There would be no escape. “Please,” he pleaded. “Ye be me blood. Don’t I be deserving a trial?”

  “Aye,” Ymitoth scowled, “this be your trial. The evidence has been heard and now I be giving your sentence, worm!” His cold stare pierced into Yfregeof’s soul, “String him up.”

  Yfregeof struggled as hands grabbed at him and a noose was fashioned around his neck. He kicked and screamed and cried out, but his efforts were unsuccessful. Within moments his limbs were all tied fast and he was perched on a chair wearing a noose at the end of a thick rope that had been flung over the rafters. He wept as he begged for Ymitoth’s forgiveness and admitted his guilt and sorrow for all he had done before all who watched. The court was unimpressed. The faces echoed their feelings of betrayal at having supported him in the loss of his father. There had been genuine pity for him throughout the kingdom, and it had all been a lie. There was neither love nor sympathy for the great king Yfregeof in that room. None.

  “I won’t be asking if ye’d be liking a blindfold,” Ymitoth’s teeth were clenched tight, “as I be intended to watch your eyes as ye die, vermin.”

  Ymitoth’s foot shot out like a snake as he kicked the chair out from under Yfregeof. The king fell to a spot just inches above the floor. His neck didn’t snap. Ymitoth watched intently as Yfregeof’s eyes rolled wildly around in his head, and his body flopped about on the end of the rope. Torment twisted his face up around a silent scream. The struggle lasted a matter of a few minutes until there wasn’t a twitch left in him. Ymitoth carefully examined the hanging carcass. Then he quickly pulled out his sword and plunged it into Yfregeof’s chest, through his heart, and out the other side. The dead king’s blood spattered his face as he howled and fell to his knees. His roar filled with anger, hatred, loss, and agony. He stayed there for a moment speaking to his father in prayer, asking for his blessing on the vengeance of his name. He took a deep breath, rose, and collected his sword, wiping Yfregeof’s blood off his blade quickly like it were some form of poison. Finally, he felt closure.

  After a time, he ordered the removal of Yfregeof’s carcass. It would be tossed over the side of the mountain, as was the customary way to deal with treason. There would be no honorable funeral. Then he quickly addressed those in the court. He explained the depth of Yfregeof’s treachery, and he accepted the throne amidst the cheers of those who had thought for years that it should be his. Their allegiance to him had been earned long before his father had even been slain.

  Before the day was over, Ymitoth had already begun work on his first order of business as king. He established a delegation to march to Alhouim and repair Havenstahl’s relationship with the great dwarf city. Yfregeof had done much to damage that friendship, but both cities were led by new kings. Things were changing, and he would make sure they changed for the better. He would follow his delegation a few days later. He still had to see Maelich off to start the next part of his journey. That would be a sad good-bye.

  Chapter 10

  Humility

  Maelich lay asleep upon a bed, soaked in the sweat of two days of fever. Hagen, the greatest healer in Havenstahl, arguably the greatest healer in all of Ouloos, watched over him. Yfregeof’s dagger had infected Maelich, and he had been in the grips of a relentless fever for the better part of two days. Hagen had finally managed to break the fever, but the lad was still under the attack of infection. Ymitoth had been in to visit quite often, pacing and worrying over him. However, there was much to do, and there were many seeking an audience with him. Therefore, though the visits were quite frequent, they were brief.

  Maelich began to stir and babble. He tossed and turned, apparently battling some foe in a dream. Hagen looked on with little concern at this point. The lad was healing nicely. It wouldn’t be long before he woke. Then some fresh sheets, water, and perhaps a bit of a meal would have him on his feet again in no time. Stil
l, his obviously violent dream did appear to be taking a toll on him.

  The battle, or whatever was going on in Maelich’s dream, lasted for about a quarter of an hour. When it finally finished, he sat straight up in his bed and howled like he had been stabbed through the heart. His head turned this way and that, as his eyes moved all about the room. His breaths were short and heavy, nearly gasps. Hagen ran to him, held him and wiped his forehead with a wet cloth, reassuring him that he was safe and everything was right in his world.

  After a short time Maelich relaxed. His heartbeat slowed to a more normal pace, and he gained some control of his breathing. Though he had slept for almost two days straight, he felt exhausted. As he calmed he realized he was in the same room where he had spent his first night in Havenstahl. His encounter with the king in throne room rushed back, but the end was missing. What of Ymitoth? What of Yfregeof? His head throbbed. He needed water and answers.

  As Maelich gained a bit of control over his breathing, he considered the fellow caring for him. He had no idea who the man was. Should he feel safe or prepare to defend himself? He had no idea. Equally vexing was the fact he had woken twice in this room with no knowledge of how he’d arrived. It was a lovely room, but he had no idea what it was like to enter it. The simple oddness of that thought kept his mind for a moment.

  When Maelich finally spoke, what he had of a voice came out hoarse and rough. “Who are you?” was the most immediate question on his mind.

  “They call me Hagen. Lay back. Save your strength. I’ll fetch you some water,” Hagen’s replies were short and carried little emotion.

  “Hagen,” Maelich began, still with the gravel in his throat, “how did I come to be in your care?”

  “Ymitoth summoned me to heal you,” he replied as he drew water from a jug on a table across the room from Maelich’s bed.

  If Ymitoth summoned this fellow, then he must still be alive at least. “Where is Ymitoth, and what of the king?” A little excitement had crept into Maelich’s voice.

  “Relax, lad. The two you speak of are one and the same, and that one is tending to matters quite pressing. He has been in and out, but there are many grabbing his ear right now,” the healer’s reply remained monotone.

  Maelich considered Hagen’s statement for a moment and then continued, “So what then of Yfregeof?”

  “Yfregeof is no more,” Hagen had returned to Maelich’s bedside offering water and a fine chalice containing a rancid smelling liquid. “Drink this, then the water. This elixir has a foul smell and an equally awful taste, but it will help you to gain your strength back. Then we’ll see if we can’t get some food in you.”

  Maelich sniffed lightly at the purple liquid. The pungent odor twisted his face up and had him on the verge of gagging. He looked pleadingly at Hagen. All the old healer offered in return was a raised eyebrow and a slight nod of his head. Oh well, Maelich drank. He took it all in one big gulp not wanting to prolong his torture any more than necessary. Oddly, the flavor didn’t match the smell. The taste certainly wasn’t pleasing, but it wasn’t nearly as awful as he expected. Still, he chased it with water as soon as the chalice was empty.

  Whatever was in the drink he had just gulped must have been some pretty strong medicine. He could feel heat radiating out from his chest to the rest of his body. An odd numbness took hold of him. It seemed out of place with the heat, but it brought a dopey grin to his face. It was probably his imagination, but he almost thought he could feel himself growing stronger as the heat and numbness danced their strangely pleasing dance through his body. After a few moments, he decided it had to be more than his imagination. He suddenly had an appetite.

  “What was that?” He beamed.

  Hagen humphed, “Now lad, if I gave away all my secrets of healing, who then would have a use for me? I’d become a door without a handle, completely useless.”

  Maelich quickly forgot he had cared at all about the wonderful elixir as his stomach growled loudly. Quickly shifting to more pressing matters, he said, “Well, how about a meal then? You aren’t protecting any secrets about food I hope.” His smile widened as his aches noticeably diminished.

  “I’ve already sent for a meal. I…” Hagen was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Perhaps it has arrived.”

  Maelich sat up a bit in his bed as the heavy door slowly creaked open. He didn’t see anything that might have been food. Instead, a happy bark rang out a moment before Jom bounded right up next to him. Maelich’s face reddened slightly as he failed to suppress an excited squeal. He thought it something more fitting to spill from the mouth of a little girl than a battle-hardened warrior who had faced down a giant and lived. His embarrassment was short-lived. He threw his arms around Jom who, with tail quickly wagging back and forth, licked his face as if it were a sweet cake.

  “No, no, no, a sick lad’s room is no place for a mangy scrod!” Hagen scolded, but it was too late. There was no way Jom was leaving Maelich’s side.

  “Maelich!” Perrin squealed. The shrill tone sounding much more customary coming from her lips than it had from Maelich’s. “I missed ye!”

  Maelich hardly recognized the angelic girl who skipped into the room. He had never seen her without a good bit of dirt in her hair and on her face. She was a vision with soft, pale skin wrapped around her deep blue eyes. Her golden hair glowing as it draped down around her cheeks and all about her shoulders. He didn’t speak. He just looked upon her for a moment as a parent might look upon a newborn babe.

  Perrin giggled and folded her hands behind her back as she bounced and swayed like someone excitedly waiting for a surprise. “Do ye like me new dress? How be I looking?”

  Maelich thought for a moment, searching for the perfect word. “Breathtaking,” he said and then fell back onto the bed as if he truly had run out of breath.

  Perrin ran to him and hugged him as if she’d been missing him for years. She buried her head in his chest and he wrapped an arm around her, wincing as pain shot out from his wound. He did his best to hide it, and no one seemed to notice. Then Jom nuzzled up under his chin on the other side and he wrapped his other arm around him. He glanced over at Hagen, waiting to be scolded. The old healer just frowned and shook his head.

  “Stolen from death’s grip,” Ymitoth’s voice filled the room with all its deep authority, “here be lying the hero. Maelich, your stubborn refusal to perish be a blessing to us all.”

  “Father,” Maelich did his best to sit up against the weight of Perrin and Jom on his chest, barely noticing the pain in his left shoulder. His eyes widened when he caught sight of Ymitoth adorned in a crown and robe. “You have taken the throne?”

  “Aye, thanks to ye, lad. Havenstahl shall be living in fear no more. I’ll be seeing to that,” he replied with a wink and a broad smile.

  Maelich chuckled, “How many men did it take to wrestle you down and plant that hunk of metal on your head?”

  “Aye, it weren’t no easy thing to be accepting. This damned crown be far heavier than how it be looking. It’s me duty, lad,” Ymitoth replied. The laugh following his statement was less than convincing. He looked at the ground and chewed his lip for a moment before changing the subject, “Now, ye need to be telling me about that giant. I ain’t had no time to get all them details. Let’s be having it then.”

  Hagen watched closely as the group hung on Maelich’s words. The lad recounted his meeting with the mighty Ahm. Perrin jumped when Maelich described the giant’s spear. Ymitoth wore the proud smile of a father reveling in his son’s success. The old healer’s desire to have his patient rest and see his visitors out slowly dissipated. The visit seemed to be helping. The color slowly returned to Maelich’s cheeks as his voice grew stronger. Another soul stolen from the Lake. A few instructions about changing bandages and applying ointments, and Hagen’s work was done.

  As Ymitoth saw Hagen out of the room, Maelich’s meal finally arrived. He tore into it like a starving man. It occurred to him, as he was working over too lar
ge a mouthful of tubber, he was a starving man. He grinned around the mouthful.

  “Have you eaten?” he asked Perrin as he held a forkful of tubber and potatoes out toward her.

  She shook her head, “No, ye be needed all that to be getting your strength back and all. Ymitoth says ye’ve a great journey ahead of ye. He’s been saying ye’ll be leaving me soon.” Her soft, blue eyes misted as she added, “Everybody leaves.”

  Maelich pulled her close as he swallowed hard on the mouthful of meat. Then, in as gentle a tone as he could muster, said, “What did I tell you when we first met?”

  “Ye promised me ye’d be taking me wherever your path might be leading ye,” she replied quietly as she lost a tear down her cheek. Her voice grew even quieter as she added, “Ye be leaving, and I be staying. Was all what ye told me a lie then?”

  Maelich deflated as his own eyes misted, “It wasn’t a lie. You won’t be alone, and I will return. This journey is something I must do.” He squeezed her tighter and continued, “Ymitoth is stern, but he’ll watch over you. You will be safe.”

  Perrin didn’t answer. She just curled closer into Maelich’s chest. He thought of more words he could say, but none of them would ease her disappointment. No matter how he shined it up, he was still leaving. Like she said, everybody leaves.

  ***

  Once in the hall, Ymitoth said, “Thanks for all what ye did with Maelich. I ain’t be needing to tell ye how important he be.”

  Hagen turned and smiled, “You certainly do not. It was an honor for me. I know the lad doesn’t yet fully realize it himself, but Ouloos depends on him.”

  Ymitoth scratched his head, “So then,” he began, “how long until the lad be getting back to the trail?”