Kill the Dragon (Lake of Dragons Book 1)

by E. Michael Mettille

  The priest removed his hood, but Ymitoth kept his head down, “Maelich has proven quite resourceful and found The Forgotten Forest which houses the city of Druindahl, the city of the dragon. He led me to it, but the dragon is wily and has again placed it beyond my reach. The vile creatures who exist there—too low to call themselves men, even lower than the worms which slither about on the ground—must be punished. Your lord needs you to enforce his law, Ymitoth. You must lead your great army against the evil existing in that forest. Burn it to the ground. Kill every creature, every man, woman, child, and beast. Spare only those women and girls who have not been spoiled by the touch of a man. Those you may keep for yourself or for your soldiers. They will be your slaves. Do with them what you see fit. For the rest, show no mercy. You will leave at dawn. You will know the way. Your lord will be with you.”

  “The city exists?” Ymitoth continued, head down, “I thought it to be myth.”

  “It exists, and my spirit will guide you there.”

  Ymitoth prayed, “Thank ye, great and mighty Kallum, for allowing me to serve ye. Oh, almighty lord, I be not worthy of your grace but if ye be seeing fit, please be blessing the work I be doing in your name. All honor and glory be given unto you. Telos.”

  When Ymitoth raised his head, the priests were gone. His mind was swimming. The book said nothing about him having a role in the prophecy. It was to be Maelich’s task alone. Now, Kallum had honored him with a task for himself. He would march with pride on Druindahl. They would crumble before the might of Havenstahl. At the sun’s first light, he would blast the great horn of Galgooth that belonged to Havenstahl. Hopefully, the other horn would answer and the dwarves of Alhouim would fight alongside the men of Havenstahl.

  By sunrise the next day, the army of Havenstahl was prepared to go on the march. The horn of Havenstahl had blared, and the horn of Alhouim answered. The two armies met at the river. Flags flapped in the breeze high above a great column of soldiers from the two great cities marching off to battle evil in the name of Kallum, motivated by the steady pounding of drums.

  The road was long. Weeks on the trail had passed before the fighting men of Havenstahl crested The Edge Mountains to see The Forgotten Forest sprawling before them in the valley below. Ymitoth knew it instantly when it came into view. Kallum was at work in his heart. He could feel his lord’s presence urging him on. This would be the greatest battle of his life. Generations would honor his memory as the king who brought the foul creatures in service of the dragon low.

  Ymitoth called his army to a halt on the peak, the forest before them forgotten no more. They dug in and built camp, spreading out among the hillside and fortifying their position. The king looked on as men got to the task of carving deep trenches into the earth and fortifying them with rocks and wood. If the battle made it out of the valley, it wouldn’t get past the top of that hill.

  “Dahltaf,” Ymitoth called out to a young soldier, a favorite of his. The lad was strong of body, even more so of mind, quickly moving up the ranks after earning his crest only five years prior. He reminded the king of himself as a young soldier.

  “Highness,” said the brawny lad as he trotted up and bowed to one knee before the king. “What be your bidding? Say the word and see your will done.”

  Ymitoth motioned the boy to rise. For as long as he’d been king, he still couldn’t get used to all the formality of stout men kneeling before him like he was so far above them. In his soul he still felt as one with them, equal and unchanged. Still, as king it was his role to levy the commands, so he did. “Take nine men and ten dwarves—best ye can find, only the stoutest and bravest among ye—and march on into that wood.”

  “Highness,” Dahltaf nodded as he turned and started away.

  “Wait a bit there, lad,” Ymitoth chuckled at the young warrior’s eagerness. “Ye ain’t heard the rest of what I be asking of you.”

  Dahltaf’s cheeks grew almost as red as his wild, flowing hair. “Forgive me, highness. Weeks on the trail be having me ready to get to the business of freeing this world of the wickedness creeping around them trees down there.”

  Ymitoth smiled wide, “Your father would be proud of the lad standing before me now. Ye of the line of Bahlin, each fiercer than the last. I tell ye lad, ye be living up to that name.” Ymitoth’s expression grew serious as he continued, “Marching a big force like this down at that forest would be foolish. We ain’t be doing that. The twenty of ye will slip into that wood and draw them out. Once ye get them out into that valley, we’ll be charging in and helping ye to cut them down.”

  Dahltaf’s emerald eyes sparkled in the sun as he smiled back at his king and replied, “Aye, highness. We won’t be letting ye down.”

  Dahltaf gathered a group of the boldest soldiers and solidas he could find and led them down the hill. Scanning the tree line with eyes so keen his fellow soldiers often joked he could spot a charging fallon at two miles through thick brush without effort. He couldn’t quite match that boast, but he was deadly with his bow and even deadlier with his sword. The group following him toward the dark forest would have followed him anywhere.

  They moved silently among the trees. The folk of Druindahl should have had no idea they were coming, and Dahltaf saw no good reason to alert them. Stealth was the best option. Not a twig snapped. He had chosen his team well. As eager as they all were to spill the blood of the evil lurking in that dark wood, not one did anything to give up their position.

  A swift wind bustled through the trees, rustling the leaves and offering cover to any slight noises being made. The forest grew darker as they advanced, but the darkness was no match for Dahltaf’s sharp eyes. His group would strike first. The city would be taken completely by surprise. They would engage the enemy and draw them out, feigning retreat. Once out of the forest, the full strength of Havenstahl and Alhouim would descend upon Druindahl’s forces. The poor forest folk wouldn’t have a chance.

  A rustling above caught Dahltaf’s attention. It was out of rhythm with the wind. He raised his right fist to halt his men. Scanning the treetops, he focused on that out of place sound. His eyes failed to spot the source, but he trusted his ears. Something large was creeping around up there. Fwip, a bow was fired from high up in the trees. He found the source immediately as the arrow bore down on his group.

  “Scatter,” he whispered as his men and dwarves dove behind trees and then readied their bows. He fired back in the direction from which the arrow flew, stepping to the side at the very last moment before being impaled. A low groan assured him his aim had been truer than his adversary’s. It was followed by the sound of the dead archer breaking upon the forest floor.

  Dahltaf barely had a moment to congratulate himself on his skills with a bow before hundreds of arrows rained down on his group from the trees. The small force did their best to return fire, but they were horribly outnumbered. Maintaining cover became more and more difficult.

  Dahltaf crept back in the trees to a position held by a brute of a dwarf named Ghidaan. The surly brawler didn’t have much love for bows or the little barbs they flung. In fact, he couldn’t stand them. As far as he was concerned, bows were weapons fit for women or young lads. Give him an axe and an army to swing it at. That was a fight. Hiding in the trees and poking your head out to fire little sticks at people was for cowards. Bring on the swords of Druindahl.

  “Damn arrows,” Ghidaan humphed as Dahltaf approached, “this ain’t no kind of battle. Let them worms come out of them trees, and I be showing them a fight.” He ran a thick hand through the mange of light brown hair curling up about his head like a thicket of brush.

  Dahltaf nodded, “Aye, I be betting ye would. For now, slip back through them trees and tell the king we be pinned down. I sense they be advancing, but not as a unit. They be sending one or two to flank us on either side. We can’t advance and we can’t retreat without losing men. Tell him we be needing more men to outflank them.”

  Ghidaan grumbled as he slipped back into the trees
. Despite being quite stealthy for a dwarf, he wasn’t keen on retreating. Even though it was an order given by the leader of his mission, it still felt too much like running away. He fired off a couple of arrows as he stuck to the shadows. As good as his aim was, they probably didn’t have much impact on anything. He fired off a couple more anyway.

  Dahltaf threw his bow over his shoulder and quickly climbed up the nearest tree. Once among the branches, he had a much better view of his enemies’ positions. He fired arrow after arrow. His aim was impeccable. A soldier fell from the treetops every time he fired. It appeared his foes were having a hard time pinning down his location. A few arrows did fly in his general direction, but none close enough to be concerned with. Then he heard a groan from below. He looked down to see a dwarf struggling to breathe as blood pumped from his throat. The poor solida stumbled around tugging at the arrow that had run him through. As he stumbled to the path, three more arrows pounded him. He took one to the leg, one in his belly and one through his heart. He gurgled out something close to a moan and crashed to the dirt. As Dahltaf watched the dwarf fall, it occurred to him he didn’t even know the poor bloke’s name. May Kallum rest his soul.

  The army atop The Edge Mountains stood at the ready, waiting to pounce as Ghidaan burst forth from the trees at a dead run. Ymitoth called the archers to stand at ease. Though the dwarf looked to be fleeing for his life, there wasn’t anyone chasing him. He charged down the hill to meet him.

  Ghidaan was quite out of breath when he finally reached Ymitoth. “Ambush…archers everywhere…in the trees,” he gasped between raspy, deep breaths. “They must have knew we was coming.”

  “Have the rest fallen?” Ymitoth remained stone-faced, not allowing the rage boiling in his chest to show.

  The dwarf shook his head as he tried to compose himself, “No…no, Dahltaf…Dahltaf sent me…he sent me to get reinforcements.”

  Ymitoth turned and motioned up the hill. “A hundred men,” he shouted, “charge that forest!”

  With that, the first wave of soldiers charged down the hill. Ymitoth sent Ghidaan as their guide. Stealth was dropped from the plan as they made haste to the battle. By the time they arrived, three men and another dwarf had fallen. Dahltaf hailed them from the trees. He directed them to move out in both directions into the forest. They spread out. Some took up position behind the cover of the trees while others climbed up into them. They returned fire. Arrows filled the sky flying in all directions.

  Back at the palace of Druindahl, Daritus had received word the archers had met resistance in the forest. A small force at first, but reinforcements had arrived, and their positions were compromised. He mounted up a troop of riders and led them to the battle. Cialia desperately wanted to be among them, but Daritus forced her to remain at her mother’s side. He charged her with protecting the queen.

  The forces of Havenstahl and Alhouim were focusing all their firepower on the treetops from which they were being attacked. The riders of Druindahl knew the forest well and charged at them from all directions. By the time Dahltaf noticed their approach it was too late. The riders bore down on his men on the ground. Most were taken completely by surprise and fell all too easily. Some managed to draw their swords and fight back, but they were confused and unprepared. For the most part, it was a slaughter.

  A few of the force of Havenstahl managed to collect themselves and make an honorable battle out of it. Ghidaan did quite a bit of damage with his axe as well. Terribly outmatched, the heroics of the few who displayed them were no match for the riders of Druindahl. Those who survived fled. Except Dahltaf, he remained hidden in the trees. Once his forces had been pushed back, he ceased firing with his bow. Gritting his teeth as he hid among the treetops watching the vile pack of demons savor their victory. They had won the battle, but the war was just beginning.

  Dahltaf held his position in silence as the sun faded and the forest darkened. The riders of Druindahl were long gone. They had charged back to their holes shortly after the heat of the brief battle had ended. As far as he could tell, the archers hadn’t moved. Then he heard a whistle, short and patterned. It sounded like it could have been made by a bird, but he knew it wasn’t. The whistle was answered after a few moments of silence. It had to be some form of communication. The forest was good and dark by this point. They had to know Havenstahl would never consider attacking an unfamiliar forest during the dark of night. The archers were leaving. It was obvious the army of Druindahl wouldn’t be drawn out of the safety of their forest. He would have to fight the battle their way.

  Once the last bits of light had completely fled the forest, Dahltaf began to make his way through the trees. They were tightly packed, and Dahltaf had no trouble feeling his way through the branches from tree to tree. A lover of the hunt, he felt at home in the forest. Oftentimes, he would go into a hunt with nothing more than a short dagger to test his stealth against creatures with far keener senses than the soldiers he’d hunt on this night. He moved quickly and silently through the trees, following in the general direction he’d watched the riders take when they had left.

  Weariness can prove a challenging adversary at times. After a couple hours of traversing branches, Dahltaf found himself locked in quite a battle with that old foe. He’d caught himself nodding more than once when pausing to collect himself before a move from one tree to another. He had almost given up on his hunt when a dim glow caught his eye. At first, he thought it might be a trick played by a tired mind. However, as he gazed through the darkness, focused on the ghostly, almost imperceptible glow, shapes became apparent. This was no sleepy tomfoolery. These were lights, magnificent lights brilliantly engineered to hide them from the forest floor. He had made it. The mythical hidden city was no myth. It lay within his reach. His pace quickened.

  As he neared the lights, the outline of Druindahl began to materialize before him. His eyes quickly began to adjust. It was immense and amazing, an entire city suspended high among the treetops. Wooden walkways connected building to building from tree to tree. He paused for a moment as he took in the sight with his jaw slack. Once his excitement died down enough for his brain to focus back on his task, he continued.

  Dahltaf was a mere one hundred yards from what appeared to be the very southern edge of Druindahl when he spotted the first victims of his hunt. Two guards occupied a circular platform. They seemed aloof, as if the greatest fighting force of men in all of Ouloos didn’t stand poised and ready to attack at the edge of their forest. The cockiness in their casual demeanor got Dahltaf’s blood boiling. After a quick scan of the surrounding area, he decided they were alone on their watch. Nocking two arrows onto his bow, he silently drew back.

  Dahltaf was an expert marksman, probably the best in Havenstahl, possibly in all of Ouloos. He slowly inhaled. Once his lungs were full, he cleared his head of all thought. He exhaled through his mouth as he fired. With one thwip, two arrows cut through the darkness, separating as they gobbled up the air between them and their targets. They met their marks in unison. The hunter smiled as his first two victims fell in heaps to the platform.

  Dahltaf made it to that platform in mere moments, leaping silently upon it. One of the guards was still twitching. Dahltaf drew his dagger and slipped it in between two of the man’s ribs, easing his suffering. Then he relieved both guards of their weapons. Surveying the network of walkways connecting all the platforms and buildings high among the trees, he marveled at how well-lit everything was considering none of it could be seen from the ground. The good lighting wouldn’t help his cause. Anyone strolling about would see him. Stretching out on his belly, he slipped his head over the side of the walkway. The architects of the fair city had done him a favor. The structure supporting the city would be his path. He slipped over the edge.

  He moved slowly across the beams. It was much like moving through the branches of the trees, except that he had to crawl. Still, it was much better than walking about amongst the guards. This was slower but safer. As he moved along, he not
iced that other paths were moving in toward the path he was under. They came at angles from either side. It seemed all the paths were moving toward some center point. It seemed his most likely destination.

  His assumption proved correct. The paths came together at a massive circular platform. It had to be the palace. He moved toward the edge and peered over the top. He counted three guards and assumed, judging from how they were spaced, there would be seven more hidden from his view. He crept along to the mid-point between the two closest to him. Due to the curve of the structure, there was a good ten feet neither of them could see. He moved to that point and slipped up onto the path.

  Once on the walkway, he pressed up against the wall and drew his dagger. From what he could tell, the palace was a perfect circle, and a guard was posted at each one-hundred-and-fifty-foot interval. He moved to the left slowly, creeping along the wall until the first guard was in sight. There was no cover, so he wouldn’t be able to sneak up and slit the bloke’s throat. He slipped his dagger back in its sheath in favor of a throwing knife. He stepped out and fired the blade.

  The blade sliced the air end over end, silently racing toward its victim’s throat. The guard must have caught the blade’s movement, as he turned toward it and drew his sword. It was too late. Before he could swing his blade or call out an alarm, Dahltaf’s knife was jutting angrily from his throat. His eyes bulged as a look of fear mixed with confusion raced over his face. Blood pulsed and sprayed as his arms flailed. Then he fell. His body twitched twice and then lay still.

  Dahltaf was swift but silent as he charged up to the fallen guard. He retrieved his knife, wiped it clean, and slipped through the door his fallen foe had been guarding. The light wasn’t as good inside. There was just enough to determine he had stumbled into a hallway running the same circle as the path outside. Which way to the king? Left again, back the way he had come. The hunter moved stealthily down the hallway.