Kill the Dragon (Lake of Dragons Book 1)

by E. Michael Mettille

  The dragon was all but on top of Daritus, when the terror tormenting his mind became too great. He slammed his eyes shut, but the horrifying image remained. The wind pounding down on him from those powerful, leathery wings offered no reprieve. He lay helpless beneath them, ready to die. A deafening roar raised up above the thunderous flapping. It left his ears sore and ringing. He wasn’t sure if it had come from the Dragon or the beast upon its back, but it didn’t really matter. Either way, it was menacing.

  Of course, he hadn’t died, not in that moment or any time since. Instead, just as he reached the most hopeless point he could remember in his entire life, everything stopped. He suddenly felt as if he were floating, gently swaying on a relaxing current. He opened his eyes to find himself in a boat surrounded by water. There was no land as far as he could see in any direction. The light rocking of the boat soothed him, slowly calming his nerves. Then he noticed he wasn’t alone. The great, silver beast was with him, but without the blinding quality about its fur. It looked at him with eyes that were the absence of color.

  “You will go to Havenstahl,” the beast spoke like a man. “You will find the lad who seeks the crest, and you will follow him. Do not disturb him. Do not reveal yourself to him. Watch him, and your master will be well served.”

  Daritus found his voice, “Who are you?”

  “I am your Lord, Kaldumahn!” the beast boomed. “I am the lion! I am the sun! I govern the skies of day. See to your task, and I shall shine on you with glory!”

  The dream ended there. Daritus had all but forgotten the details until this man in the cave spoke to him. His voice was the same as the beast in his dream. With the revelation came the realization that the man addressing him was none other than Kaldumahn himself. Daritus quickly cowered to his knees, bowing before his Lord.

  “Forgive me, my Lord,” he sniveled, “Maelich in his ability is much more than a lad. I sought only to protect myself from the fury of his blade. He does not worship you. He worships Kallum and wished to kill me for my service to you.”

  Kaldumahn still bore no expression, “Why didn’t you flee? When that grong struck you and threw you into the trees you could have escaped while Maelich was busy dispatching those grongs. Furthermore, you were instructed not to be seen by him. How is it he managed to come upon you as you slumbered? Then, instead of fleeing when he did find you, you engaged him in a discussion of your theological differences. Do you know of the brain?”

  Daritus remained silent, not realizing Kaldumahn expected an answer.

  Kaldumahn asked again, “Well, do you?”

  Stuttering a bit, he answered, “Yes…yes I do.”

  “Good,” Kaldumahn boomed. “Then you understand its purpose is not strictly to keep your skull from collapsing on itself. You have failed me. Still, you have served me well in the past. When you wake, you will find yourself in a dark forest far from Druindahl. You will be quite lost. If you survive and find your way home, you will have paid your penance to me. Now sleep.”

  Daritus lost consciousness with Kaldumahn’s last words echoing in his ears.

  Chapter 15

  Rebellious Pupil

  The world blazed in brilliant glory as Maelich’s eyelids first fluttered then snapped open. It couldn’t have been much before or after midday. He blinked a few times before scrunching his whole face up, as if the added weight of his cheeks or brow would help to protect his sleepy eyes from the glaring sunlight. When he opened them again, they were no more than slits, barely wide enough to let even the essence of light in. It was enough. Mere moments passed before he could open them wide to let the light in.

  His head wasn’t nearly as bright as the sky just then. The sun did wonders to chase away the fog, that slow grogginess typically saved for early mornings. It lingered like the last lonely bloke left at the pub, dreading his return to real life, clinging to the security of his near-empty pint the barkeep refused to refill. A few deep breaths fully chased the sleep hangover away, and Maelich’s senses finally began registering reality.

  Even with his senses functioning at full capacity, it still felt he was trapped in a dream. The sun blazed mercilessly above him, cooking him like a thick slab of meat over a fire. Though he felt the intense heat burning his exposed skin, it wasn’t uncomfortable. Not a drip of sweat clung to him. A light breeze, barely notable, blew about the heat. As faint as it was, he could feel every hair on his arm moving. Each individual hair gently danced in the light breeze, and he felt every movement. More than that, the glory of the bright sun, which had nearly blinded him moments prior, faded to something more akin to the smoldering remains of a dead torch. Everything was just as bright as it had been, but it no longer hurt his eyes. All his senses seemed to be in overdrive, yet something was protecting them from extremes.

  Once Maelich accepted that the sun wasn’t burning him—even though it should have been—he realized in what an awkward position he had woke. He was curled nearly in half with his right shoulder twisted up so it rested on his left knee. He prepared to move his head. The thought seemed a bit silly. However, the way his body was twisted, he knew it was going to hurt. Bracing himself, he turned his face toward the sun. It didn’t hurt at all. No lightning flashes of pain raced through his shoulders or down his spine. A grin slipped onto his lips. He wasn’t stiff at all. In fact, he felt completely refreshed.

  A quick glance around chased away his joy as quickly as it had come. The altar beneath him was unfamiliar, but the rest was as fresh as the cool, mountain air. Brerto, Jom, everything flooded back in. Alharin spread out around him. However, the beautiful garden he remembered was now scorched and dead. His eyes quickly scanned the area, searching for Jom’s carcass. It was gone, but the memories of what that old bastard had done to him remained. Validus had run off and was nowhere to be found. Maelich suddenly felt very alone.

  The fact that the paradise he had found with Jom and Validus was now a barren waste didn’t matter. It was just scenery. He had no one. It was difficult to determine if rage or hopelessness were the greater of his emotions. If he could get his fingers around Brerto’s throat just then, he would squeeze and squeeze until one of them died. As powerful as the old wizard was, Maelich knew he probably couldn’t kill him. At the same time, he wanted nothing more than to lie down on the charred ground beneath him and cry. He would have done that too, if he thought it would solve anything. It wouldn’t, and he couldn’t stay there. Jom’s face lingered in every burnt thing on the mountain top. He had to get away from that place. He would have to trudge back down the mountain through the deep snow.

  Suddenly, the blackness of the ground began to give way. The greenery he remembered before the…event was returning. He remembered the burning. There had been so much smoke as his clothes smoldered around him, but he hadn’t burned. His hands quickly shot to his cheeks, rubbed them, examined the skin there. His flesh remained perfect, unscathed. Yet, he clearly remembered the flames licking past his face, burning as hot as his rage for Brerto. Perhaps the old wizard was dead, a victim of his fire. That was the last thing he remembered, his anger finally growing to a point where he could no longer contain it. The flash had been so bright and hot. Could anything have survived? How had he survived?

  Before long, the mountaintop looked just as it had when Maelich first arrived. The charred remains of his rage had fully given way to the lush, green paradise he remembered. The fire was still confusing, but it was a riddle which would remain unsolved. He didn’t have any answers for it. The only thing he was certain about was it came from him, or his rage. Either way, he had something in him which could make fire from nothing. Ymitoth had never prepared him for anything like this. Had he known?

  “That was quite a mess you left for me to clean up, Maelich,” Brerto interrupted, his voice just as powerful as the first time Maelich had heard it.

  Maelich scanned the mountaintop. The old wizard was nowhere to be seen. “Show yourself, coward!” Maelich growled. “I had hoped you were dead, burned
in the flames of my fury!”

  Brerto laughed full and hearty, “Foolish child, you are powerful but rough and unrefined. Your little tantrum was a magnificent display of raw power, but quite expected. In fact, unlocking that little burst is exactly the reason behind the death of your scrod. Honestly, I’m quite fond of scrods. Unfortunately for you, when you challenged me on behalf of that scrod, you unwittingly accomplished two tasks. First, you sparked my ire. That is something no man, even one as special as you, should ever endeavor to do. Second, you exposed your deep emotional attachment to him. That weakness is a trait you get from the blood of men which courses through your veins. The attachment to worthless animals, other members of mankind, and silly trinkets are all are very human weaknesses. These weaknesses make the race of men an easy exploit. I used the attachment you felt for the animal to fuel your rage. That rage is what allowed the fire which burns inside you to escape. In time, I will teach you to summon and control it. Before I could do that, it first had to be released. Now that it has, your training can begin.”

  Unable to mask his bewilderment, Maelich fired back, “Do you honestly believe I would stay here on this mountain and train with you after everything you’ve taken from me? You are a heartless monster. I shall find my own way, but only after I send you to your grave.”

  The rage returned, that burning. It started in his gut, nothing more than a small flame. Rather than try to control it, Maelich let it come. It grew quickly, fueled by images of Jom tromping through tall grass juxtaposed against images of Jom struggling as that bastard squeezed the life out of him. Flames quickly began burning all over Maelich’s flesh. The hotter his rage burned, the hotter his skin became. His fists clenched tightly as he curled himself up and prepared to release his flame and burn Brerto, burn the mountain, burn everything.

  Suddenly, Maelich was on his back, tossed to the ground like a child’s toy during a violent tantrum. Pain radiated out from his sternum like he’d been clubbed across the ribs, but there was no one around. He quickly rolled and regained his feet. The flames had subsided when he hit the ground, fleeing with his focus. Scanning his surroundings for Brerto’s vile smirk, he couldn’t regain the fire. Smack, he was blasted in the jaw. Something more powerful than anything he’d ever felt had hit him harder than he’d ever been hit, yet there was nothing near him capable of doing it. He swung wildly at nothing just before being hammered in the gut by that same invisible thing. He stumbled and swung again, but there was nothing to fight.

  Finally accepting he couldn’t hit something that wasn’t there, Maelich stopped swinging. He calmed his mind and circled slowly, trying to anticipate from where the next attack may come. The answer came quickly enough when a strike to the back of his head sent him sprawling to the ground. The world spun before him while little white dots danced in front of everything else. Bile raced up the back of his throat in response to the dizziness. Years of training with Ymitoth helped him navigate the pain and maintain control of himself. His breathing grew steady and the urge to vomit passed.

  He had almost made it back to his feet when pain gripped his chest and held him fast in place. This pain was different than the strike he had felt earlier. That was a blow like someone had hit him. This felt like something had reached into his chest, grabbed hold of his heart, and squeezed. Both his hands clutched at his chest as he choked and gurgled on saliva, which quickly began to taste like blood. It suddenly occurred to him that this must have been what Jom was feeling as he died.

  “Exactly, Maelich,” Brerto’s voice was calm and sure, “what you are feeling is exactly what Jom felt when I killed him. You will learn to obey! I have much to teach you. Whether you want to learn it does not concern me. You will train, or you will die.”

  The pain suddenly fled, and Maelich fell in a heap. Struggling to catch his breath, he began crawling. He didn’t know to where, but he needed to get away. Blood filled his nostrils and throat before trickling down his chin. He coughed and snorted, trying to clear the thick congestion clogging his sinuses.

  Brerto continued, “Feel free to take your time in deciding. I am eternal. You will find you can travel to the edge of the snow but no further. Your path was laid long before you came to be, Maelich, and I will not attempt to trivialize your importance. You must complete your journey. However, you must first learn to obey.”

  Maelich continued to lie on the ground, even after he sensed Brerto’s presence leave the mountaintop. There didn’t seem to be a compelling reason to do anything. If the old bastard could be trusted, he didn’t have a choice but to submit.

  Ymitoth had been hard, stern. Of the all the words Maelich could think of to describe his training under Havenstahl’s greatest swordsman, cruel wasn’t one of them. Everything that man did had a purpose. Brerto was an entirely different story. Killing a defenseless animal isn’t a lesson. It’s violent and hateful and, above all else, unnecessarily cruel.

  Maelich lay there for a long while lamenting, debating with himself whether he should submit to the monster on the mountaintop. Luckily, the pain the old brute had caused faded quickly. The healing quality of the mountaintop was uncanny. Perhaps it affected his mind as well as his body. Despite all the rage he felt for Brerto, an odd sense of understanding slowly crept into his awareness. It wasn’t blatant or obvious, but it was there lying somewhere deep beneath the hatred and fury.

  Everything that had happened to him since he left the hut he had shared with Ymitoth was proof he was who Ymitoth said he was. Surely, his role in Ouloos’ future was more important than his relationship with Jom. Brerto was ancient and enlightened, and apparently not bound by the same attachments which shackle men to this cause or that. Perhaps cruelty was not the fuel for Brerto’s rage. Maybe it was purpose. Like most beings Maelich had encountered on his journey, Brerto knew more of him than he himself did. Jom’s loss hurt, and it probably would for a long time, maybe eternity. It didn’t, however, change Maelich’s purpose or his fate.

  It wasn’t long before Maelich’s strength completely returned. He couldn’t just lay there forever, so he wandered the mountaintop instead. He explored every area except Brerto’s cave. Maybe he’d be able to face the old wizard again someday, but he wasn’t ready yet. Though a part of him had begun to justify Jom’s loss somewhat, he wasn’t quite ready to accept it yet. Nor was he ready to submit. Instead he ventured to the edge of the green space, the garden, as Brerto called it. Apparently, the old wizard thought of the entire mountaintop as the garden. Maelich decided to explore it all.

  The entire mountaintop, or garden, wasn’t more than a few acres which consisted mostly of grass. At its center was a slight hill marking the entrance to Brerto’s cave. Directly to the West was a pond and just South of that a stone path led under a vine-covered archway into what Maelich would consider a proper garden. More than proper, it was amazing. The place boasted a bounty and variety like nothing he had ever seen. All forms of fruit grew in abundance on vines and trees. Things he had never seen or tasted. There were big round, red ones and orange ones, long, curved yellow things, purple things and green things. There were even small, brown furry things. None of them looked to belong together, but they all grew in and around each other, exploding in a juicy, ripe spectacle. Beneath all of this, more varieties of vegetables than he had ever seen sprang right out of the ground. Foods he never knew existed seemed to burst forth from everywhere. Surrounding all of it, fragrant flowers filled the air with the sweetest perfume.

  Maelich suddenly found it difficult to fuel his anger for what Brerto had done to poor Jom. He reached up and grabbed a juicy, orange orb from one of the trees. Its skin was thick, so he stuck his thumb in and peeled it away. Juice ran down his arm as he bit into soft sweetness. It was impossible, like eating a dream. Food just didn’t taste like that. He bit into the thing again and laughed as juice ran down his chin. The pure serenity of the place was easing his pain and filling his mind with reminders of more pleasant memories.

  Despite the assa
ult the place had on Maelich’s senses—the colors, the sweet and foreign tastes, and all the wonderful scents dancing among the gentle breeze—a part of him remained skeptical. The voice grew smaller and quieter with each passing moment, a hushed scream begging him to turn and flee the enchanted place before losing himself completely. He finally decided to listen to that voice before the place eroded away his good sense completely.

  Maelich held up what was left of the delicious orange orb in his hand and threw it to the ground. Then he spit the mouthful he’d been savoring out onto the ground. It seemed a shame to waste it, but that voice—as small as it was—would not relent. It quietly shouted that none of it was real, not the green paradise at the peak of a snow-capped mountain, not the smells, not the delicious fruit bursting in perfectly ripe sweetness from the trees. It was all an illusion meant to trap him without realizing he was in a prison. A man can break free from strong arms holding him in place. However, a man who wants to be somewhere has no reason to attempt escape. This magical place was nothing more than a very attractive cell concocted to erase his desire to leave.

  Brerto was widely known as the greatest wizard in the history of Ouloos, more of a force of nature than a man. Bending nature to his will didn’t seem outside the realm of possibility. Neither did the possibility that the top of the mountain was covered with as much snow as the rest of it, and he had merely convinced Maelich otherwise. The result was the same either way. It was all a grand fakery.

  There was only one real answer. It was obvious Maelich couldn’t get his hands on the wizard. His might, his sword, and his lifetime of training to use them both in battle wouldn’t do him any good. All he could really do was walk away.