by J. R. Castle
THE DRAGON KNIGHTS SERIES
THE FLAME DRAGON
THE SHADOW DRAGON
THE STORM DRAGON
For Jamie Samphire,
the deadliest Dragon Knight
Contents
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE: THE LAST DAYS OF THE DRAGONS
CHAPTER 1: THE NEW RECRUIT
CHAPTER 2: THE HIDDEN TRUTH
CHAPTER 3: AN UNWELCOME VISITOR
CHAPTER 4: UP IN FLAMES
CHAPTER 5: THE GARRISON
CHAPTER 6: THE FIRST FIGHT
CHAPTER 7: A MAGIC TOUCH
CHAPTER 8: THE HIGH TOWER
CHAPTER 9: TRAINING DAY
CHAPTER 10: THE BEGINNINGS OF A PLAN
CHAPTER 11: A BID FOR FREEDOM
CHAPTER 12: GOLDEN SCALES
CHAPTER 13: THE BLACKSMITH’S FORGE
CHAPTER 14: A NEW ERA
CHAPTER 15: THE RETURN OF THE DRAGONS
CHAPTER 16: FLIGHT AND FIGHT
CHAPTER 17: THE END AND THE BEGINNING
COPYRIGHT
PROLOGUE
THE LAST DAYS OF THE DRAGONS
Vayn stared across the blackened valley. His hard, dark eyes burned with malice, and his scarred face twisted into a vengeful scowl.
The Black Guard had been gathering beneath the Imperial Castle for days, waiting for his orders. Behind the gates and lining the battlements, the last of the loyal Imperial Guard waited for the inevitable attack. The steep stone walls had never been breached in the castle’s long history.
Until today, Vayn thought, with a tight smile.
Above the castle the Dragon Knights circled, their enormous shadows sweeping across Vayn’s army as both sides prepared to do battle. Vayn hated the Emperor’s protectors – ‘dragonbloods’, born with the power to transform from men into fearsome dragons. They were legendary warriors, but their power had failed them when the Emperor and his family had had their ‘tragic accident’ at Vayn’s hands. It had failed them when Vayn’s armies had taken castle after castle across the Twelve Islands. Now only the Imperial Castle remained. Soon, the Islands of Alariss would belong to him.
Vayn sneered. They won’t trouble me any more.
He raised his arms.
‘Attack!’ he bellowed.
His men bowed and crashed their armoured fists against their breastplates. The sound echoed from the castle walls. His army charged.
Ignus, the Flame Dragon, was the first of the formation to drop from the sky, meeting Vayn’s men in battle. Sunlight glinted from his golden wings. Smoke trailed from his nostrils, whipping back over his crested head. His mouth opened wide, showing teeth as long as Vayn’s arm and as sharp as a sword.
Fire roared from the dragon’s throat, smoke billowing over the army and cutting through their ranks. Men screamed and stumbled. Even from the safety of his low hill, Vayn felt the heat.
The dragon’s claws flashed out, grabbing soldiers and throwing them against the hard fortress wall. Then it was gone, lifting into the sky.
Vayn watched, emotionless, as his army charged the fortress again. He would see every one of his men die if it meant he got his hands on the throne; he could always find more men to fill his army.
A second dragon plummeted down, tucking his wings tight against his sides. Nord, the Storm Dragon, had scales as blue as a summer sky. He left a trail of freezing mist behind him as he joined the fight, and the air around him glittered with tiny frozen crystals.
A jet of icy air rushed from Nord’s mouth, engulfing a group of Vayn’s guards. The dragon’s wings snapped back and forth, sending a cloud of mist across the battlefield. When it cleared, the guards were unmoving, frozen by the blast of arctic air. Frost had turned their black armour white.
Nord swooped over the ice-covered guards and lashed his tail into them. They shattered like glass dropped onto stone. Cheers erupted from behind the walls of the Imperial Castle.
Vayn stared at the castle with loathing. ‘Cheer, you fools … for now.’
Ignus and Nord curved in the sky, joined now by Kyria the Water Dragon; Noctaris the Night Dragon; Taric the Mirror Dragon and Ulric the Shadow Dragon, until all six were circling above the army in a single, close formation. Magnificent wings thumped the air. Once, the sight had taken Vayn’s breath away, but that was before he had begun to hate the dragons for their power and their loyalty to his brother, Emperor Marek.
Marek, also a dragonblood, had wanted to help his people, but Vayn was determined to rule with the fist. Now that he’d destroyed Marek, Vayn was ready to build a new empire in his own spiteful image.
With a cry from above, the winged knights dived.
The Black Guard faltered, raising shields and swords hopelessly above their heads.
But Vayn stayed calm, and began to chant. He might not have been born with dragonblood, unlike his precious brother, but he had learnt to wield something better. He had power – dark power.
Vayn let out a piercing cry and sent forth his powerful sorcery. A thick, black fog spread fast across the battlefield. As the dragons swept down, the fog rose to meet them. Fire, water and wind erupted from the dragons, but Vayn’s magic was stronger.
Wings stopped, mid-beat. The dragons fought, but the fog was too powerful. They couldn’t even flinch. Shrieking, they crashed from the sky onto the battlefield and lay motionless on the churned ground in front of the castle.
‘Now!’ Vayn shouted.
From behind the hill, his second army of Black Guard streamed forward to launch a renewed assault on the castle gate. Without the dragons to guard it, the gate couldn’t hold. Frantic courtiers ran for their lives as the Guard overwhelmed them.
On the battlefield, guards surrounded the paralysed dragons. One by one, they clamped copper manacles around the dragons’ ankles. As the manacles closed, Vayn’s magic was unleashed and the dragons began to change. Scales slipped back and wings folded in, shimmering and then fading. Long tails and necks retracted. Bodies shrank. The knights’ dragonforms fell away, leaving only helpless, ordinary men behind.
Vayn couldn’t help himself. A cruel laugh burst from his lips. ‘At last!’
He strode down to stand over one of the Dragon Knights. The man stared up at him, eyes full of hate and confusion.
‘Ignus, the Flame Dragon,’ Vayn sneered. ‘Why don’t you try to conjure fire now?’
A faint puff of smoke drifted across the battlefield and was gone. Vayn laughed.
Ignus’s face creased with fear as he struggled against his manacles. He looked on in despair as the Imperial Castle was ransacked and people fled – some carrying babes in arms. Vayn had betrayed them all. The tendons in Ignus’s neck strained as he struggled to speak. ‘What have you done?’
Vayn stared down at the stricken Dragon Knight. Slowly, he let a smile spread across his face.
‘I have taken away your power …’
Ignus let out cry of anguish and fury that echoed across the plain.
‘Without the power of the Dragon Knights, Marek’s dynasty is nothing. Nothing!’ Vayn spat. ‘Death would be too kind for the likes of you. Instead, you will come to know what it is to live in this world without dragonblood, tortured by the power you once had. I’ll tell the people how the monstrous Dragon Knights murdered the Imperial Family and they will praise me for removing your menace from the land.’
He raised his voice and shoved the bound knight towards his guardsman. ‘You are banished from the Imperial Isle. Take them away!’
Vayn straightened. The doors to the palace stood open. His Black Guard lined the road leading up to it and the sounds from behind the castle walls had hushed.
Vayn strode into the palace.
He was the Em
peror now, the ruler of all the Islands. There was no one left who could stand against him. No one.
CHAPTER 1
THE NEW RECRUIT
Twelve years later
Summer raged across Yaross, the most southerly island of Alariss. Birds sang in the lush green forests and colourful butterflies whirled through the warm air. The great Floating Mountains hung above the eastern slopes, shimmering pink in the hazy warmth, tendrils trailing lazily towards the ground. In the central plains, where the forest was thickest, heat rose from the ground in waves, and silver rivers slithered their way across the landscape like drowsy snakes.
Beside the timeless flow of the River Yar, a small clearing seemed to push back against the forest. Modest dwellings lined the banks on one side and pushed up against the trees on the other. Only the call of woodland birds happily going about their business could be heard – until an almighty bang nearly shook them out of the trees.
A young boy stomped out of his aunt’s wooden cottage, growling with frustration. Scrawny chickens squawked and scattered out of the way of his gangly limbs.
‘… And don’t slam the door, Quinn!’ a woman’s voice called out.
Too late for that … he thought, marching across the dirt yard. The summer heat and birdsong had done nothing to put Quinn in a good mood.
‘Is it my fault that the cottage is always full of wet sheets?’ he muttered angrily as he strode out into the clearing in front of his home.
He kicked his way over to the woodpile by the side of the dirt road and snatched up the axe, swinging it into a length of wood. The wood split with a satisfying crack, opening like a ripe watermelon.
‘Take that!’ Quinn raged at being in trouble again. He did try to be careful, but the cottage was practically one big booby trap. He hadn’t meant to send a whole morning’s laundry crashing to the dusty floor.
He picked up another piece of wood and placed it on the block.
He was fed up with his life in the tiny village of Rivervale. His Aunt Marta – and most of the village – relied on doing work for the Black Guard; the huge Yaross Garrison was stationed just a few miles from their cottage. Without it, they would never be able to pay the taxes that Emperor Vayn demanded to protect the land from evil dragons. Apparently the Guard ensured ‘peace’ and ‘stability’ … although not everyone approved of their methods.
Regardless of how much work they did, though, they were still poor. Quinn’s only possessions were the clothes on his back and his father’s emerald-handled dagger, saved from the fishing accident that had drowned both his parents. Marta had looked after him ever since the tragedy. She used to earn money from teaching the local villagers to read or selling the odd magic potion, but the suspicious Guard soon put a stop to that – now it was laundry duty, or nothing.
Quinn took aim once more and brought the axe down, smashing the wood into kindling – sweat formed on his pale brow and slowly trickled over his amber eyes.
Lonely Yaross Island was about as far from the capital as it was possible to get without falling into the sea. No one important ever came to visit and they didn’t produce anything anyone wanted. The twelve main islands had everything from the frozen glaciers of Nixia in the north, to the warm forests of Yaross in the south. Some, like The Golden Sun and The Silver Moon, had huge citadels that scraped the clouds or valuable seams of silver that brought endless wealth. Yaross had floating rocks, great mountains of them just hovering in the air with overgrown ivy trailing towards the ground.
They might be beautiful, but who wanted floating rocks?
Quinn glared at the woodpile, hefting his axe. ‘It’s all because of the stupid dragons …’
He dug his axe into the wood. For years he’d been told that the Dragon Knights were evil; that they’d sworn to protect the royal family, but had ended up betraying and killing them. Only the brave Emperor Vayn and his Black Guard had managed to save the kingdom.
His aunt might say the stories about the Dragon Knights’ betrayal weren’t true, but she always wanted to see the best in people. She was just making excuses, like she did for everyone.
‘Two sides to every story,’ she’d said. So why hadn’t she been willing to listen to the other side of his story?
Quinn imagined the woodpile was a dragon staring back at him and he swung his axe over his head, bringing it crashing down. Splinters flew into the air. He smashed the axe into it over and over. The impact jarred the bones in his arms like he’d been whacked with an iron bar. His hands were going numb, but he didn’t stop.
‘Take that, dragon!’ he shouted. ‘And that! And that!’
The wood dragon opened its mouth. Enormous teeth like sharpened fence posts stretched towards him. Quinn slammed his axe into it, splintering the wood into tiny fragments. Sweat stuck his hair to his forehead. He hammered the dragon with his axe, harder and harder until suddenly, the dragon was gone. Quinn blinked, panting hard. The whole woodpile had been demolished.
He paused for a second to catch his breath, when suddenly, a slow hand-clap behind him broke the stillness in the air. Quinn spun round. In front of him, by the edge of his dusty yard, was a pair of creaking black leather boots. He tilted his head back. There, seated on an enormous horse that looked better fed than Quinn, was a Black Guard – and another, just behind him. They were covered from head to foot in the famous, magically strengthened black armour. It glinted in the sunlight, as hard and smooth as obsidian. Only the guards’ pale, stern faces were left visible, glaring down at him. And here was Quinn, staring right back up, not showing the slightest bit of respect.
Damn it! How long have they been there? Quinn dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead into the dirt, bowing to the guards. His anger and frustration soon made way for worry – they must have thought he was a madman, slamming into the woodpile like that.
His heart hammered in his chest as he heard one of the guards dismount, and slow footsteps approach.
The boots came to a halt in front of Quinn. He flinched, expecting a kick.
‘Get up,’ the guard growled.
Quinn gritted his teeth and braced himself for a blow as he clambered to his feet. The guard towered over him, made to seem even bigger by the magical armour.
As if this day could get any worse …
‘Name?’ the guard barked.
‘Quinn,’ he replied.
‘Occupation?’ the other guard demanded. This voice sounded female.
‘Erm …’ Quinn hadn’t really thought about his occupation before. He occasionally went to lessons and he and Marta tried to survive day to day, but that was about it. ‘Washer boy … I suppose. Are you here for the latest batch?’ he asked hopefully.
The armoured man gave a mocking laugh. ‘You think the Guard would waste time on that, boy? We have servants for that.’
‘Of course,’ Quinn said, relieved. Maybe he’d have a chance to put right the work he’d ruined. Although, if they weren’t here for the washing …
The armoured man flashed a grin towards his fellow guard, his lips twisting like a vice. ‘We’re looking for something very different,’ he snarled. ‘Someone who can be of use to us …’
‘Huh?’ Quinn started.
‘That was impressive – with the axe,’ the guard grunted, glaring down at him. The black helmet left the lower part of his ugly face exposed. ‘Wasn’t it, Rowena?’
His fellow guard on the horse threw back her head and flashed her yellow teeth in a malicious grin. ‘Yes, Jarin, for a weed like him.’
Quinn bristled. He was only twelve years old, but he wasn’t that skinny.
‘Though I hope that’s the only dragon he’s seen around these parts,’ the guard continued.
‘It is …’ Quinn replied quickly. ‘I —’
‘Because you would tell us, wouldn’t you? If there were dragonbloods in your village,’ the guardsman hissed, as if the mere mention of dragons was like poison in his mouth.
‘Of course I would,’ Quinn said, be
ginning to feel nervous. He’d heard the stories about what happened to people who concealed dragons. There was one boy, two villages over, who had been born with dragonblood. The villagers had tried to protect him, and they’d paid the price with their lives …
The guard looked him up and down, as if deciding whether or not to believe him. In the end he snorted, as if bored with the encounter. ‘Perhaps you’re telling the truth …’
Rowena gave a mocking laugh.
‘… But that’s not our purpose today.’
Quinn was confused. He was used to being ignored by the Black Guard. The only times he’d been this close before he’d been cuffed out of the way.
Jarin pushed back his cloak. An enormous, curved sword jutted from his belt. Quinn’s breath caught and his mouth turned dry. That sword could take his head right off his neck.
The guardsman reached into a pocket tied to his belt and pulled out a scroll. He threw it at Quinn who caught it instinctively.
‘The Guard needs new blood.’ The man loomed over him. ‘And since you’ve got nothing better to do than hack away at a wooden dragon …’
Quinn stared up at him. ‘What are you talking about?’
The guard swung back up onto his horse. ‘Welcome to the Black Guard, trainee.’
‘Good luck,’ Rowena sneered, as she spurred her horse. ‘A worm like you is going to need it.’
CHAPTER 2
THE HIDDEN TRUTH
The next morning Quinn rolled out of bed, groaning.
Every muscle in his body ached. His shoulders were so stiff he could hardly lift his arms. It felt as though one of the Floating Mountains had come crashing down in the night and flattened him. His hands were covered in blisters from where he’d swung his axe too hard.
He pushed his dark hair away from his face and rubbed his eyes, feeling the early morning light wash over him. Suddenly the thought was upon him again: I’m being enrolled in the Guard. He reached into his shirt and pulled out the scroll the guard had thrown to him. He’d slept on it in the night and it had crumpled, but he recognised the seal of the Imperial Castle and Vayn’s flag with its black fist. No one would dare copy that.