Kal Moonheart Trilogy: Dragon Killer, Roll the Bones & Sirensbane

by Rob May

  They crept quietly, inch by inch, alongside the dragon’s body toward its neck, to where they could get out from under its wing. The animal’s torso swelled with each breath, and the inch-thick scales glimmered as the faint moonlight hit them. There were oily patterns in the scales, Kalina noticed, like in a starling’s feathers.

  She paused at the top of the wing, where one long clawed thumb protruded from the point where the outer-wing swept back along the dragon’s body. The long tapering neck was curled around on itself, and the dragon’s head was directly in front of them. The head itself was bigger than a shire horse, the jaws like a cave. The dragon’s breath was hot and strangely sweet. The leathery ears were long and pointed, but the eyes were comparatively small … and they were open.

  Each eye was about twenty inches across and round, like a buckler: a deep orange colour with a thin vertical slit-like pupil. Kalina and Ben held their breath and stood as still as rabbits caught in the gaze of a hawk. Was the dragon looking at them? It was hard to tell. It was still snoring. As they watched, a long and supple tongue slid out from between its teeth and wiped across its left eye.

  Kalina started to breathe again. It must be asleep still. She started to move away, but Ben held her back. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword and nodded at the dragon’s eye. Kalina shook her head emphatically. How fast did Ben imagine that he could deliver a killing blow, before the dragon woke and took them out with one lazy flick of its wing?

  Besides, this close-up the sleeping dragon looked less like a monster to her now, and more like a natural wonder. To be so near to such a deadly predator left Kalina with a heart-stopping sense of awe. Could she even blame it for trying to feed her to its young? ‘Fly away back across the mountain,’ she mouthed to the dragon. ‘There’s nothing for you in these lands but trouble and death.’

  Kalina lingered as Ben walked away as fast as he dared. Eventually, she too turned and left the beautiful creature behind. Five minutes later she had left the village of Refuge behind her as well.

  She would never return.

  V.ii

  Lake of Fire

  Kal woke up feeling sick and confused. Had they drugged her? She couldn’t remember much past being dragged away from Rafe’s body. Now she was naked, lying under thin sheets in a hot room. The sheets were pure white silk, the bed heavy dark wood, and the room tastefully decorated with solid furniture, red wall hangings and white wool rugs. But behind it all was bare rock; she was still under the mountain.

  She swung her legs off the bed and looked around. There was no sign of her old clothes or weapons. On a nearby dresser was a small wooden box. She opened it … then quickly shut it when she saw what was inside.

  There were two thick wooden doors in the room. She opened one and came face-to-face with a guard stationed in the tunnel outside. His yellow eyes dragged themselves down her body with undisguised fervour. Kal slammed the door in his face and leaned back against it; but the guard made no attempt to enter.

  She tried the other door; this one led to a small tiled chamber with a sunken bath. It was full of hot steaming water, and there were towels, soaps and pots of oils standing by ready to be used. Kal lingered by the door for a time, silently cursing at the situation that she found herself in. Then she stepped down into the bath, cursing again at the needling heat, until her whole body was submerged. She held her breath, squeezed her eyes shut and put her head under the water … and tried as hard as she could to empty her mind.

  * * *

  An hour later, pink, scrubbed and oiled, Kal prepared to face up to the trap that she was caught in. In the wardrobe next to the bed she had found an exquisite and expensive black dress. Looking at her reflection in the full-length mirror in the wardrobe door, she had to admit that she had never been dressed quite so well in her life. The dress was satin and sleeveless—cut square and high at the front, but open at the back. It fitted closely to her stomach with barely enough material spare to pinch. The dress was gathered at the waist and fell to just above the knee, and was slit to the thigh on the right side. Kal’s expression was one of controlled fury as she attacked her shoulder-length reddish hair with a fine-toothed bone comb. It was either wear the dress or face her enemies naked.

  She went back to the box on the dresser and flipped the lid again. Inside was a heavy gold and silver necklace adorned with diamonds. There was a note with it, written in an elegant hand: Wear this to dinner. GD.

  The man’s audacious presumption angered Kal no end. Nevertheless, she estimated the necklace to be worth at least a thousand gold crowns, so she draped it around her neck and fastened the clasp. There! Ready to take on this monster at his own game, whatever his game may be. She slipped on the only other items left for her in the room—a pair of simple leather sandals—and opened the door to confront the guard once more. This time he stood to one side and gestured down the passageway. She walked past him, feeling the heat of his gaze on her bare shoulders.

  The tunnel led downwards, deeper into the root of the mountain. A hot wind blew in Kal’s face; it was like walking into the mouth of hell. Guards were posted at intersections along the way to prevent her from straying from the path. She caught glimpses of activity and heard a jumble of sounds: shouting, clanking and banging, and the woosh and thunk of some kind of heavy machinery. At one junction, she had to pause at some tracks to let a minecart past. It was full of sparkling rocks. The gold mine, it seemed, was in full operation.

  But the route that she was on was for her alone, and soon she had left the noise behind her. It got hotter and hotter until Kal could almost bear it no longer. Then the tunnel opened out and the oppressive heat lifted slightly. Kal’s breath caught in amazement. She was at the entrance to a circular cavern that was around two hundred yards wide. The roof was high, but was spiked with stalactites, some of which were over twenty feet long and almost low enough to touch. But what had taken her breath was the lake that filled the cavern: a lake of red molten rock. Flames flickered on its surface, shining orange bubbles rose and popped, patterns of black crust constantly formed and dissolved, and a shimmering heat haze hung over the whole expanse.

  Kal squinted to see better: there was a narrow natural bridge that led out across the lake to a small island at its centre. A boat was moored up at the island, too. But how? Then she realised: it was Gron Darklaw’s platinum-hulled sloop. So that was why he had built it; only the super-resistant precious metal would enable a vessel to float in lava.

  She stepped out onto the bridge. The intense heat forced her to walk fast. When she was halfway across she could see what was waiting for her on the island: Gron Darklaw was there, standing next to a table that was set for two. Next to a domed silver food cover were two goblets and Darklaw’s ubiquitous pitcher of wine. The man turned to face her as she stepped off the bridge, his yellow eyes gleaming in anticipation. He had dressed in a fine black tunic, black hose and boots, and had made some attempt to tame his wild hair; it was slicked back and greasy, and Kal could see the pointed tips of his ears poking out.

  Darklaw attempted a warm smile. As his cruel lips parted, Kal could see his teeth clearly for the first time: they had been roughly filed down, but the vicious incisors were still prominent. How could she have not seen it before; he was one of them—a monster, a fusion of goblin and human, just like the army he commanded.

  The big man pretended to ignore her gaping stare. He was holding two blades: Kal’s shortsword and dagger. ‘This one gave me quite a nasty bite,’ he said, tossing the dagger into the lava lake. ‘I had to stitch myself up with a needle and thread.’ He threw the shortsword in after it. Kal watched with silent regret as the ancient weapons floated for a moment on the lava’s crust, then sank out of view.

  Darklaw moved to the table and pulled out a chair for her. ‘Your mate fought bravely and with honour,’ he said, ‘but the fighting is over now, and I won. So come, let us put it all behind us and eat.’ Kal sat down rigidly in the chair, saying nothing. The table was po
sitioned at the centre of the island, giving some respite from the heat. There was a knife and fork set before her, but the blade was small and blunted: a fish knife. Still, it would serve better than her fingernails …

  Her goblet was filled. Darklaw poured some for himself and tipped it down his throat. He refilled his glass before taking his place opposite Kal. She noticed him wince slightly as he sat, his hand moving to his injured side. ‘Drink!’ he ordered. ‘To my victory yesterday. And to the future.’

  Kal brought the goblet to her lips reluctantly. She took a sip then spat it out straight away. The wine was sugared! What a surprise: Darklaw’s tastes ran vulgar. She tipped her goblet over in protest. Darklaw’s brow creased somewhat, but he plunged ahead and on to the main course. He lifted the silver food cover and revealed two barbequed silvery fish lying side-by-side on a bed of seaweed. Sharpfins: their long jaws gaping open, revealing rows of tiny razor-sharp teeth. They were garnished with lemons and onions and a sweet-smelling sauce. Kal wanted to grab one of the fish and ram it down Darklaw’s windpipe, but her body was telling her to eat. The fish looked delicious.

  ‘There are thousands of sharpfins in the waters around the island,’ Darklaw said proudly. ‘I have been encouraging them to breed by scattering extra food among the corals. Live food of course; the sharpfins only swarm together to hunt. I find them a useful extra ring of defence, and they also provide me with plenty of meat to feed my army.’

  Kal looked Darklaw in the eye. ‘Did you bring me here just to talk about your pets?’ she spat with barely-concealed hatred.

  Darklaw slowly shook his head. ‘No, I brought you here to make you an offer. But first, I will tell you my story …’

  V.iii

  The Tribe

  ‘I was born thirty-eight years ago, in a small village called Fugrun, five thousand miles west of here, in the very heart of the Dark Tundra. It was a brutal life; the winters were harsh, the summers bone-dry, and the wild animal threats numerous. I was taught to kill a sabre wulf with my bare hands when I was eight; every child was, for our own protection. My father was the village chief, and I spent most of my nights having to listen to him implore our god, Zug, to keep the cold away, to keep the goats safe, to aid the hunters … my father prayed all day and all night.

  ‘I used to lie on the roof of our hut, wrapped in the pelt of the sabre wulf that I had killed, just to get away from the sound of my father’s voice. I would watch the moon and the stars. Zug was said to push the moon across the sky at night. But I started to question the convictions of my father and the rest of the village elders. The stars moved also as I watched them; did Zug push them around, too? There were an awful lot of them. My father would deflect my questions about Zug with ever-evasive explanations. Things came to a head one terrible winter when my father decreed that five of our best hunters were to be sacrificed in order to persuade Zug to melt the snows. It was the first time that I ever killed a man.

  ‘I strangled my father with my bare hands whilst the rest of the village watched. I was fourteen years old.

  ‘Under my strict rule, the Dark Claw tribe saw out the winter and thrived again in the spring. We then found ourselves in the unusual position of having a stockpile of surplus goods; the neighbouring villages that we traded with could not keep up with our new regime. They were still held back by their time-wasting superstitious rituals. There was only one thing for it: on a moonless night, I led a band of my best men into the next village and slaughtered their elders. We showed no mercy and killed half of their warriors. To those remaining I offered a choice: submit to my rule, or die by the sword. My tribe gained many new warriors, wives and livestock that night.

  ‘By my twenty-fourth year, all the villages in the Dark Tundra were under my control—over a hundred of them. My horde numbered almost five thousand fighting men. I formed a brotherhood of my twenty best warriors, bound to me by the promise of an equal share of all the gold and all the best horses, goats and women. Together we ruled over all ten thousand habitable square miles of tundra.

  ‘We turned our eyes then to the mountains in the east. There was good building stone and precious gems to be mined from them. My father and all the old chiefs and elders had warned us to fear the gruken—those you call goblins—who dwelled under the mountains. They were Zug’s evil minions, we were told. But my years in the saddle, carving out an empire, had taught me many things about life in this world. The bones and skulls of our ancient forebears are scattered and buried all over the tundra. I had seen skeletons of all shapes and sizes in my travels; enough to deduce that we were once one tribe, divided at some time in the distant past, and then moulded over the aeons by the differing conditions of our respective habitats.

  ‘So we joined our gruken cousins to the tribe; traded food and wood with them for stone and gems. We learned the secret passes through the mountains; we had conquered a once-impassable boundary … and then reached another: the sea.’

  * * *

  Gron waded into the swirling grey surf. He scooped up a handful of seawater and tasted it with his tongue; it was salty, unlike any water he had ever tasted before. He turned back to where his wife and child were standing just out of reach of the tide, and made a show of grimacing, spitting and wiping his mouth. They both laughed.

  Next to him, one of his sworn brothers fingered a long length of seaweed. ‘Do you really want to conquer a land of wet grass and fish?’ he asked his chief.

  ‘No,’ Gron replied, looking out across the ocean to where the sun was rising. ‘I want to conquer the horizon.’

  ***

  ‘But it was to be another couple of years before I got my chance to cross the ocean. I was standing in the foundations of the stone hall that we were raising on the site of my old village, when a messenger arrived to say that a ship full of strange men had landed at the coast. I immediately hurried east to meet these newcomers. This historic first contact between my people and humans was marred somewhat by skirmishes that left many dead on both sides, but when I arrived the captain was more than happy to cease hostilities and talk.

  ‘He was a man as different to me as I am to a gruken; a man of smooth features and slim limbs. I wondered how long ago it was that our ancestors had been split by the sea and changed, century by century, into the two different men that now stood talking on a stony beach. He told me stories of the power of the Senate, the splendour of Amaranthium—the Endless City—and the might of the legions. My thoughts shifted from dreams of conquest to the desire to travel to these strange new places, to learn the ways of civilisation.

  ‘With half his crew dead, the captain was effectively stranded. So we made a bargain: we would sail together, back across the ocean. I took half my brotherhood with me, as well as my wife, my small son, and twenty more of my strongest and cleverest men. We also took goods for trade: chests of diamonds and gold, hand-woven carpets and casks of fermented mares’ milk. My men were just as happy at sea as they were in the saddle, and so a month later we arrived at the westernmost port of the Republic: Balibu.

  ‘This all happened just over ten years ago. Balibu was a small town, but to my eyes it was a wonder. My men were even more excited than I was: they had been promised a tour of the dockside attractions by the sailors, with whom they were now firm friends. My wife was impressed by the hot sun and warm winds.

  ‘The governor of Balibu received us in the inner ward of the fort where the Senate garrison was housed. I stood proudly before him, my men and my family at my side. He listened to the captain’s story; he inspected our gifts and had them carried away; but when I stepped forward to speak, the governor held up a hand. I stopped, not because of the man’s hand, but because of the fifty crossbows that were aiming down from the battlements that enclosed us.

  ‘The governor then condemned us as monsters. He decreed that we were servants of some god he named the Dragon, and that clearly we had been sent on a mission to infiltrate his town and destroy it from within. I had barely time to comprehend wha
t I was hearing: even the rulers of the civilised world appeared to be victims of delusion and superstition! In fury and anger I moved forward again. The governor made a signal with his hand, and the air was suddenly filled with the twang of crossbow bolts …

  ‘Six hours later, under the cover of darkness, I crawled out from under the pile of bloody bodies. My own body had been pierced in many places, but I was still alive. I bade farewell to my dead men and my dead wife and child, and then disappeared, bleeding, into the hot night. I was alone in a strange and unfamiliar world. My authority and ambition had been stripped away, and I was lucky to be left with even my life.

  ‘For five years I wandered the length and breadth of the Republic, earning my living through fighting, manual labour and gambling. I grew my hair to hide the shape of my ears, filed down my teeth and discovered that the juice from a certain plant could temporarily alter the colour of my eyes. I travelled from Balibu in the west to Zorronov in the east; from the Starfinger Mountains in the north to the Auspice Islands in the south; and everywhere I went I saw people clinging to their ancient dead gods, living in fear of the terrible Dragon that haunted their imagination. I was sicker than ever of this new world and soon longed for home.

  ‘One long summer I apprenticed myself to a boat-builder in the Auspice Islands. In my spare time I worked on a vessel that would be sturdy enough to carry me home across the ocean: an oversized kayak with watertight compartments fore and aft. The boat-builder thought that I was mad to attempt a single-handed crossing, but I promised him that he would not hear the last of me. And so began three gruelling months alone at sea, eating raw fish and drinking a mixture of seawater and rainwater. Alone with my dark thoughts, I vowed that I would return to Balibu with my tribe to deliver my vengeance. If the people lived in fear of a dragon, then a dragon they would get …