The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4)

by C. Craig Coleman

  “Yes, sir,” said the soldier uneasily stirring the pot.

  “One of you go prepare the catapult to fire at the dragon.”

  Several soldiers dropped their picks and rushed for the door.

  “Only one of you, the rest continue collecting mites,” Hendrel admonished them.

  Over the next two hours, the smirking soldiers collected tiny parasites with their great warrior hands. Carefully, one soldier in charge of the mites dumped them into one large jar until the bottom crawled with the tiny red and brown creatures.

  By then, the brew from the cauldron was cooling on the worktable, and Hendrel was still absorbed in reading three spell books.

  “That’ll do it!” the wizard exclaimed, closing the thick book with a ‘clack’ in the hushed room. The soldiers looked up, caught off guard.

  “See who’s coming up the stairs,” Hendrel said.

  “What’s going on in here?” Duke Jedrac asked, marching into the workroom followed by the chatra, clacking his staff on the stone floor to amplify his importance. “I’m hearing some ridiculous stories that you’re collecting lizards and snakes for bugs. Can this be true at a time like this?”

  “Yes, Your Grace, that’s true,” Hendrel said, buzzing about in the room, intent on his project. “I’m glad you’ve come; I was about to send for you.”

  “Send for me!” the duke repeated, staring under raised eyebrows. “My subjects and servants bow to me when I enter a room, Wizard.”

  “Sorry, Your Grace, there’s no time for formalities.” Hendrel glanced periodically at the duke and continued preparing whatever it was he was making. He kept an eye on the visitors.

  Fuming, the duke looked to the chatra, who pointed to the goop cooling on the table. They looked at the soldiers, who shrugged their shoulders and went back to scrutinizing the last of the lizards for parasites. The duke and chatra last peered into the large jar moving inside with a horde of mites.

  “What’s all this getting to, Hendrel?” the annoyed duke asked. His countenance darkened the more he looked about the room.

  “You’ll see at daybreak, Your Grace,” Hendrel replied, still working on his goop.

  “What’s that soldier copying down over there?” the duke questioned, pointing to a soldier whose sword rattled when his elbow knocked the hilt as he wrote. “My soldiers aren’t scribes.”

  “Well, you did put the men at my disposal. I need spells from three different books. When I use them, there will be little time and none for error, so I’m having the man combine the three spells on one parchment for quick reference.”

  The jittery chatra shuffled about, peering into this and that. He finally glanced up and saw the annoyed duke staring at him. Immediately, the minister rushed over and stood behind his master. Hendrel saw it and grinned to himself. Jedrac is taking his annoyance with me out on that poor little man, he thought.

  “Well, daybreak will come soon enough. I’ll wait here and see what all this is leading to,” Jedrac said. “Are you sure this is going to improve our situation?”

  He’s making no attempt to disguise his skepticism, Hendrel thought. He stopped manipulating the goop, slapped the spatula down on the table, and turned to Jedrac. “Have you something in mind that might drive away Dragon Magwaddle?” Hendrel asked, glaring at the duke.

  The duke and Hendrel stared at each other. The soldiers nervously glanced up at the visual confrontation, then looked back down at the reptiles, now safely back in their cages. The duke broke the standoff and, without a word, sat down to wait for the dawn. The chatra quickly followed, sitting beside the duke in silence.

  Hendrel returned to his concoction. Good thing they prudently decided to back off and allow me the latitude to continue, he thought. It was Hendrel who finally broke the silence. “Shall we go to the tower where the soldiers have prepared the catapult,” Hendrel said all of a sudden.

  The duke practically jumped up from his seat. The chatra almost fell off the stool he’d settled on. The whole room was instantly up and ready to take whatever action the wizard had in mind. Hendrel handed the duke the jar of mites.

  “Carry it with care, and for goodness sake, don’t allow any to escape,” Hendrel said.

  The hesitant duke reluctantly took the jar, but his face scrunched up in a deep frown. Hendrel took the duke’s other hand and wrapped it around the bottom of the jar. “Don’t drop it.” It was a petty vengeance for his treatment when he and the Astorax were imprisoned in the dungeon, but the wizard smiled at the little satisfaction he got from it. He handed the chatra the pot of goop, since he was so quick to point it out when the duke had first entered. The soldier with the parchment followed close behind with his document.

  “On to the catapult,” Hendrel said as he led the entourage out the door behind the soldier that knew the way to the catapult.

  The men hurried through the dark corridors and up the stairs to a lesser tower at the back of the Hadorhof. It housed the remaining catapult not destroyed by the dragon in its initial attacks on the castilyernov.

  In the turret, Hendrel stirred the goop and added a powder. Then the wizard opened the huge jar of mites and poured in a small amount of the black goop. He dusted it with more powdered dragon scale and two liquids no one in the room could identify.

  “Who has the cow’s bladder?” the wizard asked.

  The man stepped forward, handing the fresh organ to Hendrel, who pushed it back at the man.

  “Tie off one end and blow it up tight,” Hendrel said. The man’s face scrunched in disgust.

  “Do as you’re ordered!” the duke bellowed, seeing the man’s hesitation.

  The duke, too, is disgusted, as are all the men in the room, but a soldier is trained to follow orders and hesitation could prove disastrous if allowed to spread, Hendrel noted.

  The sun began to cast its golden rays over the mountain peaks east of the city. As they warmed Magwaddle’s head, he stirred. Hendrel watched and smiled in anticipation.

  “Well, what’s happening?” the duke asked.

  His frustration has built up through the night and here at the moment of truth, he’s about to explode, Hendrel thought.

  “All I can see that you have to confront the dragon with is mites, that nasty goop, and a blown up bladder,” the duke blurted out. He looked at the others in the small tower room. “It looks like this is going to be another horrible day with you angering the dragon further.”

  Hendrel’s simple smile and calm look was just too much when the whole room was about to blow up with nervous energy.

  * *

  Magwaddle lifted his head, stretched his neck, then each wing in turn, and finally his legs so that his back arched like a cat. He felt good as the sun heated his thick scales. The beast looked around at the clear sky.

  Sunny, clear, no problem selecting a tasty breakfast of juicy Hadorians from the plaza as they rush back into hiding this morning, he thought. I’m hungry, one more good back-arching stretch.

  Feeling ready for his meal, Magwaddle leapt into the air and flapped his wings several times to get his great bulk airborne. He glided toward the city with wisps of smoke trailing from his snout. A sharp snap of his wings awakened the city to the approaching terror.

  * * *

  “Tie the rats’ tails together tightly!” Hendrel commanded. “And hurry.” The disgusted soldiers standing nearest the rats sneered, but they did as they were told. The dozen rats were drugged and offered only minor resistance.

  “What’s these rats for?” a soldier asked. He pushed one crawling out back into the basket they lay in.

  “Hopefully, they’ll distract Magwaddle and slow his reactions,” Hendrel replied, not looking up from studying his spell scroll. He moved to the parasite laden jar and read the first spell over it. The hungry mites had eagerly eaten the bloody goop dropped in the jar earlier. They had ingested the dragon scale powder and other ingredients, and the spell acted on them quickly. The mite mass glowed pale amber, and the energy aura
radiated faintly from the jar like candlelight. Hendrel read the next spell, and a green energy rose from the jar’s orifice. Using his wand, Hendrel passed the jeweled head over the jar as he read the second spell, and the colors in the jar rose and fell until they merged and settled back down into the creeping mass. Then he gently poured the drugged parasites out on a board and turned to the soldier nearest him.

  “Coat the cow’s bladder with the goop and gently roll it in these mites until all are stuck to the bladder,” Hendrel ordered, his voice tense. “Be careful not to crush or smother the mites in the goop. Just sprinkle them on the bladder, maybe tap them gently to secure them.”

  The soldier looked at Hendrel with raised eyebrows, then at the duke. Hendrel looked at the duke, then fanned his hands out in a request for support.

  The duke stood back from the wriggling mite board, frowning at the sight, and silently glanced at the chatra. The chatra first looked surprised, then turned and looked at the sergeant standing beside him. They all looked for his men, but the other soldiers had clustered around the tower staircase. Disgust showed on his face, but the sergeant moved up and nodded for the soldier to follow orders.

  Hendrel looked back to see Magwaddle closing on the Hadorhof. He suddenly grabbed the wriggling, if dazed, rat cluster and tossed it into the catapult. “Fire!”

  Without hesitation, the soldier manning his treasured catapult jerked the cord, restraining the lever, and sent the rats flying out over the fortress in the startled dragon’s face.

  *

  Canapés! Magwaddle licked his jaws, snapped up the rat-blossom, and swallowed without chewing. I hope those fools don’t think they can buy me off with that tidbit. The taste of honey and blood delighted the dragon that turned back toward the tower to find something more substantial lurking there. If those rats were supposed to placate me, the fools that offered them will prove a much better meal.

  But Magwaddle suddenly felt woozy, his vision blurred, and he drifted toward the tower in a haze. The spell on the rats acted as a drug, dulling the dragon’s senses and slowing his thoughts.

  *

  As Magwaddle soared close to the window, Hendrel splashed water onto the catapult’s cup and tossed the wriggling bladder in.

  “Fire!” Hendrel ordered. The tensed soldier, standing ready, jerked the cord, releasing the catapult’s restraint.

  ‘Whoosh,’ went the lever, then ‘whack’ as it slammed into the restraining bar hurling the mite covered bladder at the dragon. Before Magwaddle could react, the bladder struck him in the side and burst, splattering the mite covered goop all across the great reptile’s side as he passed.

  Hendrel instantly unrolled his parchment and began to chant the last incantation while casting energy plasma from his wand’s crystal at the passing dragon.

  The duke and chatra stared open-mouthed at the events taking place before them. “After the night’s preparations and anticipation, the best this new court wizard can do is splash teeny-weeny mites and fleas at that massive dragon!” Jedrac said to the chatra.

  Hendrel heard and saw the duke’s face flush red with anger. Jedrac turned and fled, followed by his entourage, down the tower stairs to the dungeon’s safety.

  *

  Magwaddle shivered. How could I be so overconfident and let down my guard, exposing me to attack. Though muddled, he felt no pain. The great beast soared up above the clouds to examine himself for damage. There’s nothing but this nasty, sticky goop.

  Then he looked down and caught sight of the wizard chanting a spell. The sorcerer stopped reciting, let the scroll roll up, and looked up at the dragon.

  Magwaddle felt something irritating under his scales. The irritation grew rapidly into a maddening itching that spread over his body. He looked back to see a fuzzy blanket of wriggling red and dark brown spreading over him! The little mites were growing before his eyes. Each little eight-legged beast had grown to the size of an adult bull frog!

  The enraged dragon screamed. He scratched at the parasites, but when he’d knock one off, more would grow or scamper to cover the spot. To his horror, he saw them pushing up scales and crawling under them where, scratch as he might, he couldn’t dislodge them. They bit hard and deep into soft skin under his scales!

  Whatever those things are, they’re crawling all over me, he thought, staring down his side at a fat red mite as it disappeared under a scale. He shook violently at the sight. They’re growing and crawling everywhere under my scales. All my scales are writhing, sheltering the little monsters underneath. He screamed again from rage, intense itching, and then pain.

  *

  Hendrel watched the maddened dragon thrashing in the air, then repeatedly diving down, smashing his sides into the mountains. He’d shudder from the impact. Rock and rubble knocked loose cascaded down the mountains, but still the dragon flailed uncontrollably.

  “What did you do?” Jedrac asked, coming up beside Hendrel, his eyes fixed on Magwaddle.

  Hendrel looked at the duke, then back up at the dragon’s frantic thrashing. “They’re eating him alive.”

  Jedrac jerked his head to look incredulously at the sorcerer as if to see if he’d heard right. “Those tiny mites… Look how they grow. I can see those monsters scurrying around on Magwaddle from here.” Jedrac stepped back and looked Hendrel in the eye. “Those mite monsters, they won’t get loose here will they?”

  “No, they’ll feed only on dragon.”

  “How did you do that? How did you make those mites grow huge and voracious like that?”

  “The goop with the first spell changed the mites’ taste, already for reptiles, to want only dragon. We wouldn’t want those things loose on the world after they eat Magwaddle. The second spell…that toughened the little parasites.” Hendrel looked at the jaw-hanging duke, staring at him. He grinned, then looked back at the dragon. “That last spell was from an old book, The Wizard Wars Chronicles. Though missing a few key words so as not to be abused, it’s the same spell the Dark Lord used to grow the monster cave crickets Saxthor encountered on the journey to find the Crown of Yensupov’s crystals. It’s grown the critters to gigantic size.”

  “Monster cave crickets?” Jedrac repeated.

  “Oh, well, of course you wouldn’t know about those, but it was a growth spell nonetheless.”

  “No! No, I don’t want to know any more about that.”

  Both men stared at the dragon. Jedrac put his arm around Hendrel’s shoulder. “I don’t know where you came from or what brought you here. I just can’t believe such a powerful sorcerer has been living under my nose. I had no idea.”

  *

  By that time, the growth spells had reached full force; the cat-sized, crab-like mites had developed a taste for, and were rapturously gorging themselves exclusively on, dragon. The mites chomped away on the vulnerable skin and blood under the scales that now shielded them. The dragon’s own scales prevented him from chewing or scratching them off. The arachnids sucked blood and chewed skin as the dragon flailed in the air, trying to dislodge the ravenous parasites. Magwaddle tried everything, but nothing worked. The mites continued to drain the great reptile of his vital fluids, while others gnawed at the beast’s bleeding skin. The dragon screamed as the mites, undeterred, continued to suck and chew, until looking back along his undulating side, he saw scales chewed off at their base, falling like dandruff from his great bulk.

  Totally panicked, the great reptile flew up and west to the Edros Swamps, where he repeatedly dove into the dark waters. Great walls of black ooze shot into the air. Circle after circle of concentric waves radiated out across the deep black inland lake.

  They’re eating me alive, Magwaddle thought. I have to drown the little monsters. The dragon exhausted himself, but still the mites fed on him. Scales and ooze rained down into the swamp, where the scale plates floated momentarily, then sank. In his recognition of doom, the dragon bellowed his deepest guttural roar, spewing fire, smoke, and molten saliva in a spectacular release of his ebbing
energy. Endless pain and anger washed over him. Magwaddle flew back at Hador. The pain and weakness numbed his sense of caution, and he flew straight for the Hadorhof.

  “The city’s inhabitants will pay for this attack. I’ll incinerate the whole city to the last living thing, to the granite the city is built on. I’ll take every last one of them with me.”

  Before he could snort flames and burn everyone in the tower, a single great arrow shot up from the level below where the catapult and Hendrel stood as his target. The arrow ripped through the dragon’s exposed chest and only stopped after shattering organs and bone in the beast. His right wing slumped, the muscles severed, and the dragon lurched to the right.

  Shock rippled through the great body as the stunned creature stared at Hendrel in the tower window. Magwaddle absorbed the magic the arrow contained. Instantly, it radiated out, neutralizing the exhausted beast’s remaining energy. The reptile circled and flapped violently to compensate for the right wing. He flew back to the west out over the Edros Swamps, where, exhausted, he splashed down into the water. Too weak to recover, his death throws summoned endless reptilefish already drawn to his earlier thrashing. They tore off huge chunks of the dying beast as the engorged mites sucked what lay above water. When the dragon was no more than bone, the enchanted mites toppled into the churning water and were consumed by the sea monsters that showed up late for the feast. Only the top arches of the massive rib bones stood out above the black water in the moonlight that night.

  * * *

  The Dark Lord of Dreaddrac gasped and stumbled backward across the room. He grabbed his chest and settled into a chair near the wall.

  “What’s the matter, My Lord?” Smegdor asked. He rushed over to the king’s aid. “Are you all right? Can I get you something?”

  “Shut up, you fool, stop groveling,” the king said, still holding his chest. He swept his free arm in an arc. “Get away from me!”

  The king sucks energy from where it’s concentrated beneath the Munattahensenhov and focuses it to his will, thought Smegdor. His own energy went into creating the monsters he’s unleashed on the Southern forces. When something happens to one of his creatures, he feels the energy loss, pain, and knows of its suffering as it’s part of him.