Kill the Dragon (Lake of Dragons Book 1)

by E. Michael Mettille

  There wasn’t anything in the clearing Maelich considered friend. As far as he was concerned, all five combatants brawling in the fire’s glow were adversaries. The grongs would have to be dealt with first. They were slow and somewhat clumsy in their movements, but they were big and swung their clubs with great force. The dragon warrior looked like he may prove more challenging. Hopefully, he would survive long enough to be questioned before Maelich gave him a traitor’s death.

  Maelich sucked in a deep breath and charged into the clearing. His sudden presence startled every soul on the small battlefield save one disemboweled grong frantically trying to shove his guts back into his gullet while falling toward the dying fire. That made one less soul for Maelich to send to the Lake. He owed the dragon warrior a debt for that, a debt he would repay with his sword.

  One of the grongs took advantage of the brief distraction Maelich had provided and brained the dragon warrior. It was a glancing blow, but it sent the man careening into the trees and left Maelich with three beasts with which to contend. They charged all growls, snarls, and slithery tongues.

  The clubs came faster than Maelich expected. They weren’t nearly as sluggish and slow as they had appeared from the safety of shadows. Still, Maelich danced and weaved around the attacks leaving them nothing to taste but empty air. After a few graceful steps, he had their timing down. The first slash of his blade cut one of the clubs in half. The second relieved the owner of that club of his right leg and sent the brute rolling across the fire picking up sizzling embers as he went. That made two, one for Maelich and one for the traitor he hoped still lived.

  Maelich didn’t pause. As his blade reached the apex of its slash, he lunged and stabbed it into the heart of another grong. A thick ooze of foamy blood gurgled forth from the beast’s mouth. The thing gazed wide-eyed and confused at Maelich who had precious few moments to consider the life he had just taken. He dodged just in time to avoid another club sailing at his head. Instead of cracking open his skull, it smashed into the face of the grong whose chest still held his sword fast.

  Maelich yanked hard at his blade as the beast fell. It came free amid the sounds of cracking bones and sloppy meat. He barely had time to bring it above his head and block another shot from the club he had just dodged. It was a heavy blow, nearly powerful enough to plant his own blade into his skull. After halting the club’s momentum, Maelich jumped back to regroup and go on the offensive. Before he could swing his sword again, another blade punched through the grong’s neck. The creature looked pleadingly at Maelich, gurgled something throaty and inaudible, and fell to the ground. The dragon warrior stood in the thing’s place wiping grong blood from his blade with his cloak.

  The man looked Maelich up and down before saying, “You’re quite handy with that blade,” then smirked before adding, “for a lad.”

  Maelich raised his sword, leveling its blade at the man, “And you’re wearing the crest of the dragon. That is beyond bold standing in the presence of the crest of Havenstahl.”

  The man laughed, full and hearty. He could barely speak, “Bold?” He laughed a moment longer before managing to compose himself and then continued, “You’re a special one, yes, but make no mistake about that crest you bear. That’s a coward’s mark. Bold, you say? Yes, I am that, but this crest is not intended to strike fear in the hearts of my enemies. Oh no, I wear this crest with pride to honor the bravery of those who went before me defending the sweet name of the Dragon. My crest is not like yours. It is no boast of my greatness. We who bear this crest choose to remain humble in our works.”

  The man’s insolence was confounding. “Yes, I say bold,” Maelich spat, “as that crest you hold so dear and wear with such pride will be the reason I have your head!”

  “Ah,” the man chuckled again, “so it is as it always is with the unenlightened of Havenstahl. Fear fuels the men of your city. Your worship of that fiend, Kallum, stinks of it. Tell me this. Do you worship him because of his greatness, or do you worship him because you fear his greatness? Answer what you will. I tell you it truly makes no difference. I know the answer in your heart. The venom that spews forth from your lips can never change what your heart knows.”

  Maelich paused. He really wasn’t sure why he revered Kallum. Ymitoth’s fear of his maker was obvious when they faced the three in the cathedral at Havenstahl. However, he didn’t think he shared his mentor’s fear. It would be hard to know with certainty, given all the anger and adrenaline he had coursing through his veins as those three creatures assaulted the man he revered as trainer, mentor, and father. Truthfully, he had never given it much thought. Kallum was the creator of all things. That alone earned the worship of men. He was the father. Before him was no other.

  After a few moments of wrestling with questions which required much more thought than he could give just then, Maelich decided he’d had enough of the debate. “You worship a demon, and I worship the one true god of Ouloos. That act breaks Kallum’s first law, and your sentence is death. Though I realize you would not grant me the same courtesy, I will treat your corpse with respect and pray for your soul. What do they call you? I would beg forgiveness in your stead and ask Kallum to show you mercy.”

  “Mercy?” the man scoffed. “Your god knows nothing of mercy. Just look at his flock. Look at you. You would spill my blood because I think differently than you. What difference will my name make to you or your god? Do you request the names of all you slaughter in his name? Surely, you’ve slain many. Can you repeat all those names? Do you chant them to yourself to help you find slumber when the dark things in your mind keep you from it? Does the knowledge of your power to indiscriminately take life in the name of some violent infant of a god help you feel safe? I bet it does. I’d wager you charge across this land comforted in the fact that average men quake at the sight of your crest,” the man circled Maelich as he fired off question after question.

  A deep scowl cut its way across Maelich’s face. The more the man spoke, the more he wanted his head. However, something about the vermin intrigued him at the same time, presenting questions and ideas that had never occurred to him before. Maelich checked his rage and pressed on, “You wear the crest of a warrior. A dark warrior, most certainly, but a warrior nonetheless. You handle your blade expertly. There must be years of training behind you. So then, tell me, what is it that separates you and I, aside from the fact I fight for the truth and the light and you fight for darkness and deceit? Is your rank not accompanied by some form of honor?”

  “Ah,” the man nodded, “so there it is. We fight for honor, do we? What honor is there in spilling blood? Your god—the one true god, as you so eloquently phrased it—relies on blood, fear, and death to ensure the obedience of his minions. It is the only way your kind knows. You kill what you don’t understand, and you destroy that which does not share your opinion or fit your plan. You question my blade? My people must learn to wield these weapons of destruction to defend the innocents against killers like you. Never compare the likes of you to the likes of me. I won’t have it. You’re on a path to kill the last Dragon. Isn’t that what your book says? Isn’t that what your precious pack of lies tells you of your role, your destiny? I tell you now, I stand in the way of your destiny.” The man then cocked his head to one side and smiled, “You asked who I am? I will give you that. I am Daritus of Druindahl. Have my head if you can, but know this. There were many hands at work in the creation of this world, and your precious god’s do not bear the soil of the effort.” With that, Daritus raised his sword and struck a defensive pose.

  Maelich’s chin dipped a bit. Of course, the man was evil. Everything Maelich knew about the crest he bore made it obvious. No man in the service of Kallum, the truth, would dream of letting that vile, evil image touch their flesh. However, Daritus had raised some good questions for which Maelich truly had no answer. On top of that, the man was making too much sense. It’s typically rather easy to make your argument when you know what you’re saying is true. The challenge f
or Maelich, just then, was the fact that the words hitting his ears were making more sense than those leaving his mouth. What did he really know about his creator other than what the book recorded? His only first-hand knowledge was that of a frightening, violent, childish god.

  Maelich faced off against the swordsman in the flickering glow of the dying fire, working through everything the liar had said, for what seemed an eternity. Doubt was relatively unfamiliar, but standing in that clearing ready to cut evil down in the glow of smoldering embers, it was coursing through Maelich’s mind like the currents of a fast-rushing river. Finally, Ymitoth’s sure and soothing voice popped into his head, ‘Son, the dragon be deceitful and so be his minions. He’ll be telling ye lies and trying to make ye question your heart. Don’t ye be falling victim to his wiles, lad. Remain steadfast and headstrong.”

  That was all Maelich needed. A warrior’s life is duty, and duty doesn’t doubt or question. Regardless what treachery pours from vile lips, truth is truth. Maelich’s eyes squinted as the sneer returned to his face. Through clenched teeth he growled, “Daritus of Druindahl, in the name of Kallum, the one true god and creator of all things, I sentence you to die.”

  Maelich’s blade sliced the damp, forest air. It arced toward the dragon warrior’s neck, but his opponent was quick. By the time Maelich’s blade reached its mark, the target had moved. Maelich slashed again and again, and again and again, he missed. Doubt returned. This time, it didn’t race into his mind to challenge truth. Instead, it was subtle, slowly chipping away at his confidence in his blade and his ability. The man effortlessly slipping his attacks had yet to raise his blade, and Maelich couldn’t get the edge of his sword anywhere near the man.

  Before doubt could completely conquer him, Maelich wrestled it not quite into submission. It remained, but rather than numbing his limbs and making them heavy, it smoldered in the back of his mind, adding clarity to each input he received from his senses. He paid attention to Daritus’s movements. A slash toward the throat resulted in a duck, while slashes toward the man’s legs earned a flip. With each flip came a grunt, and with each duck a short, sharp exhale. The cool breeze on his skin helped him focus. A slight taste of blood in his mouth alerted him to stop biting his lip with each slash. The smell of glowing embers was pleasant, calming. Relax.

  Maelich remained relentless with his blade. However, instead of randomly slashing and thrusting, using every sword stroke Ymitoth had ever taught him, his attacks were calculated. The result of each attack was logged in his brain. All the while, a plan developed in his head. Once it had finally matured into something he could act on, he did. He feined a high forehand slash and earned the duck he expected. Doubt fled.

  Daritus’s neck looked soft and exposed in the soft, orange glow of the fire. Maelich thrusted his blade at a spot just below the Adam’s apple. He finally gained a response. The clash of the two blades echoed back off the trees of the clearing as they finally connected. One corner of Maelich’s mouth raised up just shy of a smirk as he watched the corners of Daritus’s mouth dip nearly to a frown. The battle began in earnest.

  The blades flashed in the firelight, ringing out loudly as they crashed against each other. Moments melted into minutes before Maelich realized a broad smile had found its way onto his face. This man, Daritus of Druindahl, dragon warrior, was his equal in every way, if not even a wee more experienced with his blade. As Maelich marveled over his opponent’s technique, he hoped the smile gracing Daritus’s face was born of similar admiration. Regardless of whether it was mutual or one-sided, Maelich was quickly gaining a great deal of respect for Daritus. He was also growing concerned he wouldn’t be able to finish the man. Respect or not, this wasn’t training with Ymitoth. The blades crashing against each other had edges meant for slicing flesh, and the man trading those blades with him was better than any he had faced before. One of them wasn’t leaving the clearing.

  The battle raged on long enough for Maelich’s limbs to tire. Each deep crouch brought a burning in his quads, while each slash of his blade left his triceps screaming. Failing to overcome Daritus with his mastery of his blade, Maelich dug deep into his training. Ymitoth had taught him much more than simply how to swing a sword. The greatest swordsman in all Ouloos had taught Maelich how to incorporate his body into his attacks, how to use his opponent’s force against him, and how the body clinging to a sword is merely a collection of auxiliary weapons to be used in concert with the blade.

  Using a technique Ymitoth had spent long hours teaching him, he shifted his sword to his left hand and slashed down at Daritus’s head. As his sword sailed toward the man’s face, he slid his left foot in between his opponent’s feet. Daritus had raised his sword up to protect the top of his head. This left his jaw open, and Maelich hammered it with his right elbow. At the same moment, Maelich lifted his foot just enough to catch Daritus’s foot as the dragon warrior stumbled toward the fire. Maelich didn’t give Daritus a chance to right himself. He followed him toward the fire, slamming the pommel of his sword against the dragon warrior’s temple and depositing him roughly to the ground.

  The battle could only end in death. Maelich knew if he didn’t finish Daritus, the vile wretch would finish him. He quickly flipped his sword over, held it tightly in both hands, and drove down into Daritus’s chest. At least, that was his intention. By the time Maelich’s sword was close enough to cut, Daritus’s dragon medallion had slid directly into its path. Maelich had a new reason to despise the vile symbol of the greatest evil on Ouloos.

  The great clang of metal on metal was nothing compared to flash of light that burst forth from it. It was like looking at the sun without shading your eyes. Maelich was instantly blinded. He barely had time to notice the sensation, as the concussion of the blast flung him through the air. Consciousness fled so quickly, he had a mere moment to consider the evil force contained in the wicked symbol.

  When Maelich finally woke, he felt sore but refreshed. How long had he slept? Based on the light in the sky, though the sun threatened, it had yet to break the horizon. Unless a full day had passed along while he slumbered, he had only slept a few hours. After a long day on the trail, a few hours of sleep shouldn’t be enough to feel as good as he did.

  After a good, long stretch, Maelich’s wits slowly returned. The events of the prior evening trickled in. He suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable. His sword wasn’t in his hand. He quickly scooted back against a tree and scanned the clearing. It was still very dark. Though the sky above was brightening with the promise of a new day, the great trees surrounding Maelich kept any light from reaching him. On top of that, the fire had completely burned out at some point while he slumbered. It wouldn’t be any help either.

  Maelich relaxed and let his breathing grow steady. No matter what may have been sharing the clearing with him, panic would not help him survive it. Pushing back his fear, he listened. A herald of the morning crooned somewhere nearby. Maelich lost himself in the melody. It was a pretty tune for one already awake. It was less enjoyable for one still clinging to sleep. Maelich thought for a moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he heard a herald’s song that didn’t annoy him for that very reason. On this particular morning, it was quite pleasant and helped him relax even further.

  After a time, the clearing began to brighten. Maelich couldn’t tell whether his eyes had grown accustomed to the dim light or if the earliest rays of the morning sun were penetrating the darkness of the forest. It didn’t matter much. The important thing was, all evidence of the scuffle had vanished. Everything in the clearing should have been coated in blood and dead meat, but nothing. No dead grongs, no smoldering fire, and no dragon warrior, the ground was clean and the forest empty. It couldn’t have been a dream. Everything was too real.

  Doubt had nearly taken hold when Maelich noticed a bit of blood and twine on the tree to which Daritus’s horse had been tied. It wasn’t a dream. However, someone had obviously taken great care in wiping away any evidence.

  Mael
ich searched the trees around the clearing in vain. His opponent was nowhere to be found. Why hadn’t the man killed him when he had the chance? He’d been helpless for who knows how long, at least long enough for the dragon warrior to kill him while he slumbered. If the man had enough time to wipe away nearly all traces of the battle, he certainly would have had enough time to kill an unconscious fool. Perhaps it was a warrior’s honor that saved him. Perhaps even warriors in service of the dragon respected some code of ethics in battle.

  Mulling over potential reasons he yet lived and breathed proved a futile effort. He’d probably never know why a vile servant of the dragon would spare him. Perhaps if he ran into Daritus again, he would ask him. If that day ever came, it wouldn’t be the only thing he would ask. The crazy ideas the man had about the dragon and Kallum were so backward. Yet, the way he presented them somehow made them seem less so. It just didn’t make any sense. If only he could simply discount the man as a brute or an oaf, but he couldn’t. He spoke well, and the things he said made sense.

  Doubt was one of the dragon’s greatest tools. That had to be it. Working through an honorable warrior, the dragon was able to trick Maelich into doubting both his quest and his purpose. Perhaps Daritus’s medallion was the key. Maybe it was some kind of tool for control. When Maelich’s blade slammed into Daritus’s crest, the control was broken. The idea seemed a bit far-fetched, but better than anything else he could come up with.

  There was nothing left to be learned in the clearing, so Maelich offered praise to Kallum for his good fortune and moved on. Daritus’s questions continued to gnaw at him. He shoved them aside and focused on Alharin. The little adventure had cost him some time. He’d have to hit the trail hard to get back on schedule.