Kill the Dragon (Lake of Dragons Book 1)

by E. Michael Mettille

  As he continued to scan the room it occurred to him that the men and the horses had been no dream. Who did they serve? For what house did they ride? Questions swirled about his clouded mind. He needed answers he couldn’t get while lying on his back. As he began to rise out of the bed, he realized his crest was gone. Before his anger had time to rise, his thoughts were interrupted.

  “Not just yet,” a voice from the shadows began, low and monotone. “You were cut deep by amatilazo and you’ve lost much blood. The strength you feel now will quickly fade as soon as your feet hit the floor.”

  Daritus was startled. While he was scanning the room, he completely missed the man who now stepped out from the shadows. “Who are you?” was the first question to pop from his mouth. It just beat out, “Where am I?” as the most important question on his mind just then.

  The old man smiled. He looked old and haggard behind his long stringy tangle of gray hair. Yet his eyes were keen, sparkling with a lifetime of unlocking the mysteries of life. They told a much different story of the old man than the rest of his appearance. “I might ask you the same question, but first I’ll give you an answer. I am Hagen. I’m a healer and have been given the almost detestable task of nursing you back to health. You are in Havenstahl in the guest quarters of King Ymitoth the fury. He has many questions for you, as you have much for which to answer.”

  “Havenstahl?” he all but shouted, “How did I come to be in Havenstahl?”

  “Ah, not yet. I gave you an answer. Now I get to ask a question of you,” Hagen smiled again.

  As far as Daritus was concerned, all in the service of Havenstahl were vermin. However, there was something comforting in Hagan’s tone and manner. Daritus wanted to answer, even felt compelled to. “I am Daritus of the Dragon,” he proudly said, “I serve in her army, charged with the task of her protection. I serve with my life, if necessary.” It was partly truth. He was in the service of the Dragon, but he withheld the part about being the king of the city which worships her.

  “Daritus,” Hagen repeated, “that is a powerful name. It’s amazing you survived The Sobbing Forest. The fact you did tells me you are as powerful a warrior as your name suggests. Those cuts should have killed you. How does a warrior with such might come to serve the dragon?”

  “She is truth. She is peace. She is enlightenment,” Daritus fired back quickly, then paused before adding, “It’s my turn again. How did I come to be here?”

  Hagen answered offhandedly, “Havenstahl received reports from the valley that amatilazo were attacking the villages there. The beasts were hiding in The Sobbing Forest by day and terrorizing the villagers by night. The soldiers drove the forest on a hunt. They found a pack of forty and slaughtered them. Five men were lost in the hunt and many wounded. They happened across your near-dead carcass while they were sweeping the forest for injured soldiers. You were almost left because of your crest. However, it ended up being your salvation when a wise general realized that a live soldier in service of the dragon may prove useful to our cause.”

  “So, I’m a prisoner then?” Daritus’ response was quick and curt.

  The old healer looked thoughtful for a moment, “Somewhat, I suppose. For now, however, you are my patient. Once you are healed, you will be a prisoner. Keeping prisoners isn’t my lot. Mine is to heal. Once you are healed, I will be removed from your service.” He then became more serious and added, “Know this. I know of your cause and your beliefs, and I do not refute them outright. I myself am struggling with my own beliefs. While you are in my care, you will remain safe. I cannot aid you in any way other than healing. I will not hinder you either, but for now you need rest.”

  With that, Hagen offered a rancid smelling purple liquid in a fine chalice and some water. Daritus nearly gagged at the smell. Luckily, the taste of the foul brew didn’t quite match the odor. It wasn’t something he would seek out, but a mild fruitiness dampened an odd combination of metal and sea. Daritus eyed Hagen as he drank down the old healer’s concoction. The old man had honest eyes. Perhaps he could trust him for the time being.

  A warmness radiated out from Daritus’ chest, stretching slowly toward his extremities. It wasn’t uncomfortable. On the contrary, it was like soaking up glorious sun on a lazy afternoon. It may have been his mind playing tricks, but it seemed his strength was returning with the warmth. The sensation was enough to turn up at least one of the corners of his mouth.

  “That’s nearly a smile,” Hagen suggested before offering a wet cloth.

  Daritus graciously accepted the gift, quickly mopping at his hot face. It had grown warm while he drank. It seemed Hagen’s wonderful elixir was locked in battle with whatever infections were rampaging through his body. He barely noticed the old man leave the room just before the world once again went dark.

  Hagen kept the door cracked slightly open and watched until he felt confident Daritus had found slumber. The sleep would do the battered soldier nearly as much good as all the medicine he had just pumped into him.

  Purposeful footsteps echoed through the hall before the door had finished closing. Hagen had been exploring the halls of the castle long enough to identify just about every soul who haunted them. These belonged to a king who desperately wanted to interrogate a prisoner. That would have to wait.

  Hagen turned and bowed, greeting his stern-faced king, “Your highness.”

  Ymitoth’s expression softened slightly as he replied in kind, “Hagen.”

  “You look troubled, my king,” Hagen continued.

  “Aye, I be troubled,” the king began. “For a week that vermin’s been holed up in me palace and I ain’t had even one word with him yet. Has he woke?”

  “Yes, he has, but he is still too weak for questioning. Any technique you may use to try and get information out of him could very well kill him, your highness.”

  “When?” Ymitoth remained cool.

  Hagen thought for a moment as he stroked his chin, “One week. He’ll be strong again…strong enough, I should say, in one week.”

  “Fine,” Ymitoth looked away, failing to mask his disappointment, “but now that he’s woke, I’ll be posting guards by the door.”

  “Wise choice,” Hagen replied as he bowed again. “I leave you to your task, highness.”

  With that, Hagen retreated down the steps of the tower and continued out of the palace. He’d done all he could. Hopefully, Ymitoth could hold off on harassing the prisoner too soon. Killing the man before any information could be attained wouldn’t help anyone.

  Chapter 17

  Cialia’s Quest

  Cialia strolled through the darkness among trees which stretched toward the sky to heights that seemed impossible. Though she clipped along at a steady pace, her legs didn’t seem to be moving. On top of that, she couldn’t feel the packed dirt of the trail beneath her feet. It seemed she wasn’t walking along the trail at all, instead floating just a hair’s width above it. There was no way to confirm it. Thick fog surrounded her up to her waist. It poured onto her path from a source unknown. Her skin appeared ghostly in the darkness, as did the thin, white gown draped loosely about her. It was quite sheer and quite unfamiliar. She was too fond of bright colors to wear anything so boring as white.

  The thin, foreign white gown suddenly gained all her attention. It was so sheer and left her arms completely bare. The damp forest air grew quite cool in the evening. She should have been freezing, especially with a stiff breeze blowing her blonde hair all about behind her like it was. Instead, she was quite comfortable.

  The gown kept Cialia’s attention until she realized she had no idea where she was going. Nor did she have any idea why she may want to visit the unknown destination. She tried to stop but failed. Something other than her own will drove her on.

  Suddenly, she stopped. The fog quickly fled away, and she was standing in a perfect circle of moonlight. There didn’t seem to be a moon at all that night. However, there she stood, bathed in its eerie glow. A looking glass materialized be
fore her. At least, it hadn’t been there a moment prior. It must have come from somewhere. Her face stared back at her from the glass. She had never found it very appealing, but the boys seemed to, even most of the men. They doted over her. The attention always made her uncomfortable. They would always use the same words to describe her, striking beauty, and bottomless, blue eyes. They saw her as a thing not a person, and certainly not an equal. Boys were so immature and unoriginal. Striking beauty, what does that even mean? They could barely put together a cognizant thought.

  As creepy as boys could be, the men were worse. At least the boys carried a bit of innocence about them. She was barely two moons into her thirteenth year, and the men would still gobble her up with their eyes. They probably didn’t even notice hers were any kind of blue, much less bottomless. Whatever that meant. Of course, they had a bottom. Everything ended somewhere. They’d never see it, just look at her bosom and mention the pretty ringlets of her golden hair resting there. Gazing into the glass, she didn’t see what they saw. If only they didn’t.

  Then the face staring back at her changed. It was still her, kind of, but somehow not. It made about as much sense as the fog coming from nowhere and then racing away, or the vast pool of moonlight with no apparent source. She could still see herself in the reflection, but it was no longer a perfect depiction.

  The strange face quickly faded along with the light. Only darkness remained. Then she was moving again. This time, the pace wasn’t easy like a slow stroll as it had been earlier. This time, she was now being thrust into the darkness, into nothing. It surrounded her.

  Again, there was light. As quickly as it had blinked out, it returned. However, this light wasn’t cool and eerie like moonlight. This light burned bright like staring wide-eyed at something even brighter that the sun. Squinting didn’t help, neither did closing her eyes completely. It only made the bright glow red instead of white. Thankfully, it dimmed quickly.

  A few moments passed before she felt comfortable to open her eyes again. By the time she did, the light was no longer unbearable. However, it was all around her. The darkness had fled, as did the trees. It was daylight, and a flat, barren land surrounded her. A massive shape quickly materialized before her. It was massive and silver, a beast like none she’d ever seen. It roared, blowing all about her with its breath as she cowered before it.

  The thing’s voice boomed like thunder, “Cialia, princess of Druindahl, you will travel to Havenstahl. There your father is being held. Your task is to free him. Make haste. His time is short. Though it is not our way, you will find cause to spill blood on your journey. Do not hesitate. Your purpose is great, and those whose blood you must spill will have yours on their hands if they can. Now go!”

  Her inquisitive mind wouldn’t let her obey immediately. Needing answers tended to make her forget her fears at times. She asked, “Who are you? Where is Havenstahl? Why is my father their prisoner?”

  The beast’s eyes closed, “I am your lord! I am the sun! I am Kaldumahn, the great lion who stalks across the skies! You will know the way. Now go. Travel hard and rest infrequently. Go!”

  Before Cialia could ask any more questions, she woke back in her room. Everything was in its place. There were no great beasts assaulting her with hot breath or mighty roars. It was just her, safe and alone in the dark. It had been a dream. Kaldumahn had come to visit her in a dream. Father had been captured on his journey, and she had to rescue him. He was the mentor. If they were able to capture him, how would she stand a chance? He had told her she was ready when he had presented her with the crest of Druindahl, the mark of the Dragon. However, the trial he had given her seemed unusually easy. He had denied it, but she’d always felt he was protecting her. Despite being the best man she’d ever known, he was still a man. There was no way he’d give her a fair trial she might potentially fail and face some sort of peril.

  Doubt is far from a warrior’s best friend, but she’d never been tested, not for real. Still, Kaldumahn himself had given her this task. Perhaps this would be her test. Druindahl boasted some of the fiercest warriors in all the land, and the mighty Kaldumahn had chosen her. Nervous excitement rose in her belly, chasing away all the fear and doubt.

  The excitement brewing in Cialia’s belly slowly began to feel like confidence. After all, she had been trained by her father, the greatest swordsman in all the land. At least, she’d yet to meet anyone who didn’t revere him as such. He had been a harsh teacher. By her twelfth summer, she could trade blades with any man, or sneak about the trees without making a sound. She was ready.

  She gathered her armor together on her bed. It wasn’t big and clunky like the armor worn by some soldiers she’d seen. It was light but effective, part of the gift her father had given her at the end of her twelfth year. Gauntlets, greaves, and a light chest plate accompanied two swords, two daggers, and a short bow. At the time, her father had explained he designed them to perfectly match her style and movements. Except the swords. Those had been a gift forged by Agrimon the Fierce and passed down by her grandmother. She had never met the woman, but the blades—vengeance and mercy—fit her perfectly. Some warriors must rely on bulk and power. Not her. She was quick and moved like a viper, slithering around attacks and striking quickly. Her armor needed to be light to avoid restricting her movements. The two blades allowed her to attack from any angle, and she could wield them both with deadly precision. All the pieces were meticulously etched with designs inspired by Dragon’s fire.

  As Cialia dressed, it suddenly occurred to her this mission was her first. Her trial had been a mission of sorts, but it was controlled and planned. She knew what she would face and what to expect. This would be different. This mission would take her to a foreign land to face foreign soldiers, and she had no knowledge of either. On top of that, the mission was to save the man who served the role of her mentor, teacher, and father. Of course, she knew Daritus wasn’t her natural father. He acted as such, but they shared no blood. She was just beginning her fifth year when he had married her mother, Druindahl’s queen. Though they both knew they shared no genetic bond, it never felt that way. She became his daughter that day, and that was it.

  “Today, I am the luckiest man in all the land,” he had said as he knelt and looked earnestly into her eyes, “Some folks get whatever the great Kaldumahn decides to give them for a family, but today I am fortunate to choose my own. I choose you to be my daughter, Cialia. If you’ll have me.”

  What could she say? He’d brought a smile back to her mother’s face, and he offered something she’d never known, a father. She agreed, and he became that. He raised her as his own, and she never felt like less. Now he needed her. She finished dressing and slipped out of her room, past the guards, and down to the forest floor.

  The city of Druindahl had been built among the trees in the Forgotten Forest centuries prior, when men hunted Dragons in a great campaign that nearly ended all life on Ouloos. It wasn’t called that then, but Kaldumahn realized all would be lost if the last Dragon fell. Ouloos would be completely cut off. He made a covenant with the people of Druindahl. He would protect them, and they would protect the last Dragon from any who would do her harm. The people built the great city in the canopy high above the forest floor, and Kaldumahn cast a spell on the place to hide it from sight. That’s when the place came to be known as the Forgotten Forest. The place would live on in the myths of the cities of men who would do the Dragon harm, but they could never remember where it was. At least, that’s what the stories she’d learned would suggest.

  Cialia stuck to the shadows. The guards wouldn’t hinder her, but they would try to drag her back to her mother to explain why she was wandering about in the darkness dressed in armor. Mother would try to talk her out of it. There wasn’t time for that. It would be much easier to simply avoid detection.

  Despite all Cialia’s ability with blades, stealth was still her greatest weapon. Like all the warriors of Druindahl, she’d been trained to move through the forest withou
t a sound. A warrior who can master that can travel anywhere undetected. She whistled sharp and short. That would get some attention. Luckily, Purity was the fastest horse in Druindahl. A short few moments passed before the mighty, white mare charged out from deep in the trees. They were gone in a whisper. Even if they’d been spotted, they’d be far out of reach before anyone could even attempt to give chase.

  The horses of Druindahl were trained in much the same way as their masters. Even during the darkest hours of night, buried in the deepest depths of the forest, Purity could travel at a full gallop. The horse knew the trails. Cialia gave her a little bump with both heels, and they charged into the darkness.

  By the time the two made the edge of the forest, they were halfway up a mountain range, and the sun was on the rise. The Edge Mountains got their name from their location. They stretched toward the sky at the very edge of all the maps of men. Some maps did not even depict them, as men really had no reason to ever travel that far east. There simply wasn’t anything out there. At least, nothing anyone remembered. Nothing but an old road out of Druindahl and out of the Forgotten Forest.

  The sun rising behind Cialia bathed the mountains in orange and gold. She loved the sunrise. Some mornings she and Boringas, her best friend in the world, would sit on the highest branches of the trees at the very edge of the forest and watch the mountains glow in the rising sun. Boringas would always try to hold her hand, even tried to kiss her a few times. She wouldn’t have it. She was training to be a warrior, an adventurer. The only husband she’d ever take would be the trail, and this mission would be her first romance.