Quest Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 1)

by Cole Pain

  Copyright © 2014 Revelations

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, transmitted or copied in any form or by any means, electric, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without written permission by the publisher.

  Map completed by Sherry Kitts. Thank you for believing.

  ISBN: 9780991245420

  Chapter 1

  The dragon’s roar shook the stones of the castle. Ren rolled, dodging the poisonous flames by a hair’s width. The dragon watched him rise and back away, its golden eyes gleaming with unprecedented rage. Deprived of all sustenance, the smell of Ren’s sweat and blood tantalized its senses. Long chains dragged the ground as it shuffled forward, still weary from days of drug-induced sleep.

  Soldiers considered it sport to beat the dragon chosen for a dragon match with whips, flails, and other terrifying instruments. Ren hadn’t witnessed this dragon’s humiliation, but he saw the results. Blood marred its golden hide and a patch at its neck had been struck so many times two scales had fallen. Fresh blood still seeped from the wound, coating the creature’s underside and transforming its golden beauty into a hideous monstrosity.

  Ren donned his faith like armor, but the light in his mind flickered incessantly, allowing doubts to infiltrate his confidence. His plans were crumbling like dry leaves in his fingers. The Maker had placed him on trial and declared him guilty. Ren had looked to the Maker’s laws all his life, but now even those laws had lost their power. When they had chained him, they hadn’t chained his body – they had chained his soul.

  He had no sword, no shield, and no protection, but he wouldn’t harm the dragon even if he had the option. Dragons were beautiful, majestic creatures. Not many of them still existed. Destroying it would destroy a part of him.

  The dragon stepped closer, releasing another mind-numbing roar. Ren judged the distance. Another step and he would take the one chance both he and the dragon had at life. It was a desperate attempt, for it would reveal an ability he had kept hidden since he was a child. Years before, the people coveted those who possessed the Druid power of calling. Now, it was never discussed, and those with it were shunned.

  On the balcony, Valor of Crape, the new supreme ruler of Newlan, observed the match with devious eyes, a safe distance from the dragon’s rage. His flaming-red hair matched the fire of conviction in his gaze. Vos and Yov, the king’s twin advisors, stood behind him, gray advisor robes blurring their duality to one. Ista, Valor’s chancellor, rolled a red crystal around in her palm, piercing green eyes watching Ren’s every move. A circular pendant, marking the order of the Collective, hung around her neck. At first glance the delicate swirls of the metal appeared beautiful, but upon closer examination those delicate swirls became snakes, looped head to tail in deceptive grace.

  The Collective’s supporters had multiplied in recent years. A religion that glorified physical pleasure and secular cravings, its hypnotic call had lured many into believing its future promise of magic. The Collective alleged a powerful prophet would soon arise who would bring magic back from the grave and bestow it to those loyal to the Collective’s call. Ren could do little as the apostate religion spread throughout the Lands, but when the Collective started persecuting the priests, his reaction had aroused the Collective’s fury.

  People from all over the Lands surrounded the courtyard, deathly silent as the dragon inched closer. They had come for a ball. Instead, they had witnessed an insurrection. Most didn’t care whether Ren lived or died. He was just a name to them. Ren caught Ramie’s eye. Although the king of the Old Lands didn’t betray his thoughts, Ren could only hope his recent visit to Yor had won Ramie’s trust. If so, what he was about to do might spur Ramie to action.

  Ren’s supporters stood apart from the rest. As Ren feared, Manda and Chris weren’t among them. Ren’s stomach twisted into knots. They had tried to warn him, but they had been too late. Ren didn’t know what Valor would do to them, but he feared for his friends. He sought the triplet advisors, trying to convey his concern, but if they understood his look Lazo, Jasta, and Justin gave no indication. They stood as still as death, emotionless faces pale and fatigued. Ren’s cousins, Paul and Sass of Ketes, stood beside the advisors, Sass’s golden locks a stark contrast to her brother’s dark complexion. Ren’s heart went out to her. His capture had left her questioning her fundamental beliefs. He wished he could reassure her he had no intention of dying that day, but Valor had allowed him no visitors. Quinton stood at the front of the throng, hand on the hilt of his sword, ready and willing to come to his aid. Ren shook his head, warning his captain to keep back.

  Valor’s soldiers lingered across the clearing. Ren quickly found Valor’s captain. Bor was a burly man with a short growth of beard. The keys to the dragon’s shackles hung interwoven through his belt. His hand tapped them every few heartbeats, a crooked grin playing on his lips.

  The dragon took another step forward. Ren tensed, ready. Just as the poisonous flames licked the air, Ren dropped to the ground, lifted his hand, and called to the power he had kept secret for over ten years. The keys at Bor’s belt swayed in response. Ren could feel their weight and shape. He could taste their cold metal and rusted ends. Before a breath had past, Bor’s belt lifted and broke. The keys took to the air, following Ren’s silent call.

  Shock riveted across the crowd as the keys landed in Ren’s open palm. Ren regained his footing and dove beside the dragon’s right talon just as flames licked by him. Luckily, the dragon’s chains were heavy. The dragon couldn’t lift its poisonous talons or Ren would already be dead.

  Ren rolled to his side and jammed the first key into the dragon’s shackles. The dragon heaved a gut-wrenching roar as the shackle imbedded deeper into already broken flesh, but the lock remained closed. Ren muttered an apology as he tried the second key. The lock twisted and snapped open. Ren rolled under the dragon’s belly, tearing the shackle free.

  The air screamed as the dragon’s spiked tail whirred past him and crashed to the ground. Clumps of soil erupted from the earth and rained on the stunned crowd as Ren quickly crawled to the second talon. Before he could insert the first key, the shrill whistle came again. Ren melted to the ground as the spikes sailed through empty air just above his head. Careful to stay low, Ren quickly continued his search. When the final key turned the lock, he jerked on the chain and darted to the dragon’s hindquarters.

  The dragon wailed a victory cry when it realized its front talons were free. As Ren began probing the third lock, he felt the air move in his direction. Risking a glance, Ren found the spiked tail poised beside him, black spikes gleaming wickedly in the morning sun. The dragon’s golden eyes watched him and the heat from its breath brushed past him, but no flames followed. Dragon’s weren’t dumb creatures. It knew what Ren had just done. But it remained leery. Its tail jerked with each twist of the key.

  Over the roar of the crowd, Valor yelled for the dragonhunters to subdue the beast. Ren spun just in time to see a group of hunters rush forward and cock their tainted arrows, but the dragon had seen them as well. It heaved a blast of poisonous flames and coated the men with fire. Ren turned away as the men’s death cries stilled the crowd to silence.

  Ren worked furiously. He only had heartbeats until Valor would send more troops. When the third shackle fell free, Ren darted to the last of the dragon’s restraints. Just as the key slipped into place, a powerful blow fell on his shoulder, knocking him paces away.

  At first Ren thought the dragon’s spikes had caught him, but when he regained his footing he turned to look into Bor’s sienna eyes. Sword in hand, Valor’s captain grinned, but before Ren could react, Bor jerked forward, four black
spikes protruding from his chest. Blood oozed from his open mouth. The dragon flicked its tail, tearing the wound open further, and tossed Bor’s lifeless body to the ground.

  Ren quickly diverted his eyes and knelt beside the final chain. When the shackle snapped free the dragon rose to its full height, muscles quivering with effort, and unfurled its wings.

  The crowd took a step back, ignoring Valor’s demands to subdue the beast and overtake the prisoner. The dragon bellowed in the dawn. Its call was immediately answered by another roar.

  It didn’t take long for Ren to find the second dragon in the sky, slicing the sun’s rays into rivers of golden light. It was an older sire, where age had mellowed its golden scales to a grayish hue.

  Screams echoed in the dawn as people scurried in all directions, desperate to flee the dragon’s wrath. Ren stood transfixed, watching the old sire dive closer, bellowing a warning to those who had captured one of its own, but before the flames could come, the golden dragon answered the sire’s call and took to the air.

  The two dragons quickly rose higher, silhouetted by the rising sun. The courtyard, a heartbeat ago in melee, was now filled with silence. As the dragons broke into clear sky, Ren watched speechlessly as the old sire’s grayish coat glistened against the blue backdrop like stars at midnight.

  Ren blinked in shock. He wasn’t looking at an old sire at all. He was looking at a silver dragon, a creature that had disappeared during the rains of the Dark Ages, over nine hundred years before.

  A shiver crept up his spine as an old childhood legend came rushing back, and when the silver cast its gaze to the ground, its biting blue eyes validated Ren’s deepest fears.

  Magic.

  Ren turned to the balcony. The crowd cowered against the keep, staring over the ramparts at the dragons’ flight, save one. Ista stood where he had last seen her, rolling the red ball over and over in her palm.

  “Dragon Tamer,” she whispered as she met his gaze and smiled.

  - - -

  Markum stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow. It had been very dry of late, and his footfalls hurled dusty clouds skyward, making it impossible to draw a pure breath. Squinting into the sun, his sharp hazel eyes found his destination: the Eye of the Dragon, named for a gap in the mountain’s face that looked similar to a dragon’s eye.

  The formation had inspired The Legend of the Silver Dragon, a popular children’s tale dating back to the Dark Ages. The story claimed the Eye of the Dragon was a gateway to another world, and when a silver dragon entered the Eye in search of a better life, it granted all people the gift of magic. But as the years passed, and people abused their newfound power, the silver dragon decided to return to its own kind in order to abolish magic and rid the world of evil.

  The legend alleged the silver dragon would return one day in the hopes of finding the people willing to regard magic with respect and fear. Written over nine centuries ago, when all trace of silver dragons abruptly vanished, the legend hadn’t gained much popularity until after the Wizard War, when the wizards of the Alcazar destroyed all trace of the Quy.

  No one knew how the wizards had accomplished the feat, but everyone understood the rationale behind it. Barracus, a powerful mage, had betrayed the Code of the Alcazar by creating an army of horrifying creatures to conquer mankind. The wizards of the Alcazar tried everything to stop the beasts, but nothing harmed them, much less killed them. The only solution was magic’s destruction. When the wizards destroyed the Quy, all with magic died, not only Barracus and his creatures but also every living creature possessing the Maker’s gift of the Quy.

  Magic’s annihilation had occurred almost four centuries ago and ever since The Legend of the Silver Dragon had gained in popularity. Although the story was a fable, children continued to look for the infamous blue-eyed, silver dragon in the tale.

  Markum drew a long breath as he studied the Eye. The hollow peered down at him with chilling intellect. The stones surrounding the Eye appeared to form the rest of the dragon’s head, only accentuating the illusion. Markum almost expected hot breath to begin seeping out of the stone nostrils. A breeze whipped through the gaping hole and cooled the sweat on his brow, sending a chill over him even though it was a hot day. After a few breaths the beauty of the Eye became frightful, like the stone dragon was analyzing his worthiness. His heart drummed a steady rhythm as he wiped his brow and tried to regain his senses. It was a beautiful day, and it would be a beautiful view. Besides, the story was just a legend, and the dragon was just a rock.

  Markum forced his legs to start the final ascent, but before he had taken two steps a deafening roar exploded around him. Markum glanced up just in time to see a silver dragon soar through the Eye, bellowing to the dawn. If the dragon’s skin wasn’t shock enough, Markum found himself staring into poignant blue eyes. With a vehement curse, Markum stumbled down the rocky path just as spray of dragon’s fire exploded before him.

  Dragon’s fire wasn’t only searing heat and scorching pain, it was poison. Because the poison was attracted to heat, if not treated with deft speed the poison would spread through the bloodstream, heat the body and quickly explode the heart. Ironically, the only cure was to place a scalding cloth over the wound, forcing the heat, or the poison, to seep into the hotter conduit instead of the body.

  But there was no one around to help, no blanket to scald and no water to heat. He was at the dragon’s mercy.

  Markum dug in his heels and tensed for the inevitable. When nothing happened, he turned.

  The dragon sat below the Eye, staring at him with wild blue eyes. Although smoke still seeped from its nostrils and its mouth was parted to inhale a quick breath, it made no move to attack.

  Then the dragon’s eyes began to change – first to a muted silver, then to a sickening red. Markum feared the dragon’s red eyes more than the threat of attack. They were corrupt, evil. He could almost feel hate oozing from their core.

  With a rising sense of panic Markum bolted down the path, sure the deafening blast would soon follow. But instead of fire, the dragon released a dense black fog.

  Sudden blackness surrounded him, and as it seeped inside his veins he felt himself begin to change. Markum tried to fight it, but the black fog was too strong. Madness crept into his heart and mind. Hate spilled into his veins.

  Markum screamed.

  And woke up.

  It was just another dream.

  Swallowing back his panic, Markum sat up and glanced at the sundial in his window – midmorning. By now his prince would be dead.

  Markum had already cried his fill. He had nothing left but emptiness. Ren had been accused of his father’s murder, and several reliable witnesses had confirmed the ludicrous charge. The triplet advisors were fighting day and night to discover the truth in order to refute Valor’s lies, but they had uncovered nothing.

  Yet the dreams were still coming. This one was even more vivid than most. Markum shook his head and stood, the hollow ache in his chest deepening as he thought of Ren’s execution. Valor’s sense of justice was ironic. The masses christened all Razon kings Dragon Lords due to Zier’s golden dragons, but Ren never participated in the annual dragon hunts. Ren was the first true Dragon Lord because he had fought since birth to eradicate the hunts, much to the chagrin of his father. Ren wouldn’t harm a dragon; everyone in Zier knew it. Yet Valor had placed Ren against something he would never fight.

  Valor had been hungering for the Zier throne for years. Somehow he had killed Wyrick himself, but the advisors couldn’t put the pieces together. Everyone knew Ren and his father had their differences. Ever since Ren had met his uncle, Michel, Wyrick had been unbearable to the prince. Other kingdoms knew the rumors, but they didn’t know Ren. Ren loved his father, despite Wyrick’s rejection. Ren would never harm Wyrick, and he would die before he harmed the Zier people.

  Markum had adamantly refused the triplet advisors requests to stand with them during the dragon match. He just couldn’t bear to see Ren’s death. The adv
isors had tried to give him hope, telling him anything was possible, but Markum knew Ren couldn’t escape.

  Markum rose and threw on his cloak. He needed to find the advisors. Even though Valor would deny Ren a proper burial, Markum had vowed to visit Ren’s grave before leaving Stardom. Markum didn’t know where he would go or what he would do, but he couldn’t stay here, not without Ren.

  After combing his hands through his unruly brown hair, Markum opened his bedroom door and strode into the black marble hallway. Although the reflection of golden chandeliers and candlesticks still wavered in its polished surface, Valor hadn’t wasted any time transforming the hall. Where before rich tapestries lined the walls, filled with Zier’s history and lineage, now the walls were bare. Where before powerful statues of Zier’s great kings towered over entrants, now the hall was empty. It was a stark reminder of recent events.

  Markum was so engrossed in his own sorrow he didn’t see Quinton until Ren’s captain was right before him, grabbing his shoulders. Quinton’s soft gray eyes danced with renewed hope.

  “Ren’s alive, Markum! Praise the Maker, we have another chance to save him!”

  Markum stood, stunned, as Quinton described the events in detail. The golden dragon of Zier, stitched in the center of Quinton’s black uniform, danced with his words.

  “Go to the library. The advisors are waiting.” Quinton slapped him on the shoulder and hurried past.

  “Quinton?”

  Quinton turned, brown hair tousled from worry.

  “Did you say a silver dragon?”

  “Yes. What of it?”

  “Did you see its eyes?”

  Quinton frowned. “For the love of the Maker, Markum, didn’t you hear me? Ren’s alive. To the Abyss with the silver dragon!”

  Quinton uttered a curse before hurrying down the hall.

  Markum stood silently as something nagged his consciousness. It was something Quinton had said – a side note to the miracle, a title given to a miracle worker.