by Sam Ferguson
The Dragons of Kendualdern:
Ascension
By
Sam Ferguson
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE DRAGONS OF KENDUALDERN:
ASCENSION
Copyright © 2015 by Sam Ferguson
All Rights Reserved
Other Books by Sam Ferguson
The Dragon’s Champion Series:
The Dragon’s Champion
The Warlock Senator
The Dragon’s Test
Erik and the Dragon
The Immortal Mystic
Return of the Dragon
The Netherworld Gate Series:
The Tomni’Tai Scroll
The King’s Ring
Son of the Dragon
The Dragons of Kendualdern:
Ascension
Other Novels:
Dimwater’s Dragon
Jonathan Haymaker
Short Story Anthology:
Tales from Terramyr
For the latest updates, follow Sam’s Author Page, Blog, Twitter @Author_SamFerg and Facebook
This book is dedicated to Rachel, Robbie, Dan, and Joe.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
About the Author
Chapter 1
Algearon pulled his polishing cloth up and wiped the smudge from the newly laid egg. The blood and mucous slid away as he poured the bucket of water over the shell and then worked in a circular motion with his cloth. He whistled an ancient tune, one taught to him by the former Nursery Master, Folger Aptien. The tune was supposed to sooth the unborn form still inside the shell, or so Folger had said.
A bit of the warm blood clung to Algearon’s hand, but he didn’t mind. He just wiped it on the front of his leather apron and continued cleaning the egg. The creamy, white colored shell began to sparkle before him after he put a bit of extra elbow grease into clearing the muck from its surface.
“Another common,” Algearon sighed. He tossed his cloth on the top of the egg and whistled out to the nearest nursery worker. “Come and take this one,” he said without waiting to see which worker it was he had called. He descended down the ladder and moved on to the next egg. As Nursery Master, it was his responsibility to reveal the eggs, which in turn would show what kind of dragon lay inside. Most of the time the eggs were white, or perhaps a pale yellow or very light tan. These were the common dragons, those that would be born to serve the others.
He found three more common eggs in the batch of seven and began to lose hope.
“Still no spots?” Gorwyn asked from below as Algearon cleared the muck from another pale colored egg.
Algearon shook his head and wiped his brow, almost hitting his face with the wretched afterbirth clinging to his wrist. “Doesn’t look like it.”
“The king is getting old,” Gorwyn said. “Perhaps he is beyond his prime. The Aurorean knows the high queen is certainly past hers.”
Algearon shot the young dwarf a sharp look. “You will keep such opinions to yourself!” he said harshly. Gorwyn nodded and blushed. Algearon moved his ladder to another egg. “It could be anything,” he said. “Perhaps it is poor diet, or perhaps just ill timing on the part of the queen.” The Nursery Master planted his ladder next to an egg so covered in muck that it almost looked more like a sickly stalagmite, with a thick base of ooze that thinned near the top.
“Forgive me,” Gorwyn offered.
“Bah,” Algearon grumbled. He poured the hot, steaming water from his bucket to the top of the new egg and went to work clearing away the red and pink layers of ooze. “You are likely right,” he said under his breath. Instantly he realized what he had allowed to escape his mouth and he shot another glare toward Gorwyn, as if she had been the one to force the words out of his mouth.
The young dwarf shook her head and drew a finger across her lips, swearing secrecy. Algearon nodded and went back to clearing the gunk from the egg. A nasty bit of crusted blood was caked on the shell. Algearon scrubbed vigorously, pouring his water over the top every so often. The smudge didn’t break or lessen. “Get me the bucket of lemon juice,” he said with a grunt. “This one is going to be tough.”
Gorwyn ran to the entrance of the large, cavernous den and pulled a potent, acidic bucket of lemon juice out from a large stone chest. She bounded back, spilling a bit of the juice onto the ground as she went.
“Be careful!” Algearon shouted. “It isn’t easy to make a bucket of that stuff, you know!”
“Sorry,” she said as she slowed and carefully lifted the bucket up to Algearon, who took it quickly from her as a father might pull an arrow or knife away from a toddler.
“Someone has to go all the way down into the valley to harvest the lemons,” Algearon complained. “It isn’t like drawing water from the geysers and wells inside the mountain. It takes time, it takes…” his words trailed off and the bucket fell to crash upon the ground, splashing Gorwyn in a wave of gray juice.
“Hey!” Gorwyn hollered out as she spat the sour taste from her mouth and tried to wipe it off her face.
“Go,” Algearon said in hushed tones. “Go and sound the bell.”
Gorwyn sucked in a breath. “What is it Master Algearon?”
“A spot,” he said faintly. He rubbed his hands over the red patch he thought to be crusted blood. “We have a spot.”
“Are you sure?” Gorwyn asked. “I don’t want to be the one to ring the bell and have it be a false alarm.”
“Go child!” Algearon said more forcefully. His hand slid the muck and slime away from the area to reveal that the red patch was indeed a spot on the narrow top of the egg, surrounded by bright white. “By the Aurorean, we have a spot. We finally have a spot.”
Gorwyn’s mouth fell open and she stood staring for a moment. Then she broke off into a sprint. Algearon traced the rim of the red spot with his finger. A smile crossed his plump lips and his beard quavered as his eyes twinkled. “A spot.”
Chapter 2
Algearon sat upon his chair, nose in a book and blowing the steam away from a mug of mulled wine. A fire crackled in the hearth nearby. He peered up over the brim of the book with his bespectacled eyes, carefully checking the spotted egg. He smiled to himself and took a sip of the deep burgundy wine. He could feel the heat flowing through him as he swallowed. For a moment, he wondered if a dragon felt something similar when it breathed fire, or if it was something it did without feeling or thought.
It had been months since the eggs had all been brought to the nursery. Algearon passed the time keeping the nursery, and the eg
gs, clean and safe from filth and intruders. Although he was only a dwarf, the Nursery Master had a special office, and even held sway over some of the lessor dragons in the kingdom –when it came to the nursery, that is.
Loud, lumbering footsteps echoed through the hall without the nursery. Algearon stuck his leather page holder in the book and set it atop the small, rectangular table on his left. He rose from his chair just as Cleravel, one of the lessor female dragons, stuck her white head through the entryway. She turned her eye and nodded reverently to the Nursery Master.
“I have come to replenish the heat,” Cleravel said.
Algearon smiled and gestured with his hand for her to come in. He walked across the stone platform and picked up a dusting cloth as Cleravel carefully picked her path through the eggs. She went to the spotted one first, as was the tradition. The white dragon lowered her sharply angled head and flared her nostrils as she took in a deep breath. Her ribs expanded and she held her wings out to the sides, cupping the air around her. Then, gently, she parted her snout and sent a stream of fire at the rocky floor beneath the spotted egg. The stone hummed and started to glow ever so slightly. Cleravel broke the stream and looked to Algearon.
The dwarf quickly went over and placed a hand midway up the egg shell. It was warm to the touch, but not excessively. He nodded with a grin back to Cleravel and pointed to the other eggs. Then he went to work dusting the bit of soot and dirt from the base of the spotted egg. Thus the two continued to work for the space of about two hours. Cleravel would heat the stone floor beneath an egg, and Algearon would clean the shell afterword. When all of the eggs had been warmed, they began anew with the spotted egg, and completed many cycles before Cleravel finished her assignment and left the nursery.
Algearon then returned to his chair on the platform overlooking the nest and picked up his book again. He read for several hours, keeping watch over the eggs. Just an hour before sunrise, another dwarf entered the nursery and waved to Algearon. The thick-necked, pot-bellied dwarf smiled wide with a big-toothed grin and waved at Algearon.
“How went the night?” Bildruf asked.
Algearon set his book down lazily and rubbed his eyes. “I must have read that last page a dozen times,” he announced.
“Ah, so the night was boring,” Bildruf stated with a curt nod. “Well, that is good I suppose.”
“Better than having a challenger, or an egg thief,” Algearon replied quickly.
Bildruf grinned his big, toothy grin again and patted the axe hanging from his belt. “No egg thief is getting through here, Nursery Master!” The dwarf’s left hand went into a pocket and pulled a hunk of yellow cheese out. He picked off the lint, kicked his boots off, and laid on the warm floor next to a white egg.
“Are you a dwarf, or a rat?” Algearon asked. Bildruf only mumbled incoherently through a mouthful of cheese. Algearon shook his head and left the nursery, casting a foul look Bildruf’s way as the rotund dwarf began picking at the grime between his toes.
The Nursery Master walked through the main corridors, winding through the depths of the mountain, until he came to a dwarf-sized passageway. He slipped into the smaller hall and was all too happy to reach his bedchamber a few moments later. He pulled a stone key from his pocket and unlocked the round door. He pushed it open, creaking and protesting against the force of his arm, and stared happily at his bed. “Hello, friend,” Algearon said with a smile. Barely stopping long enough to kick his boots off he entered, closed the door, and flopped down onto his fur blankets.
He closed his eyes and let his thoughts wander for the last few conscious moments before he slipped into sleep’s warm embrace.
A bell sounded and someone ripped the door open, shouting and yelling at Algearon. The Nursery Master opened his eyes and jumped to his feet. He saw Sniften, one of the guards, standing in the room.
“Come on!” he shouted. “We have to move!”
Algearon sprinted out after Sniften, running out from the dwarf hall and down the large dragon corridors. Dwarves were all around, shouting and clamoring with swords and spears drawn. Algearon wasn’t sure whether the majority were trying to run out of the tunnels, or farther in. He recognized most of them, and could now finally recognize the tolling bell as the general alarm.
“Have we been attacked?” Algearon shouted after Sniften.
“Worse,” Sniften shouted out over his shoulder. “An alarm sounded from the nursery. A unit of guards and drakes has already been sent to respond.”
Algearon felt his heart stop as he realized the spotted egg may have been destroyed. The dwarf sped up, his bare feet slapping against the stone. He rounded the corner and dashed into the nursery. He had only gotten a few yards inside when he slipped on a thick slime that sent him crashing to his rump and sliding across the floor to bump against a broken dragon egg. Algearon looked on in horror, afraid to see what he already knew to be true.
A mutilated, unborn dragon lay on the stone next to the egg. The yolk and mucous membrane had been splattered across the floor, creating a sulfuric stench that could choke even the staunchest of dwarves. Algearon grabbed onto the jagged edge of the broken shell and pulled himself up to his feet.
“Bildruf,” Algearon called out. “Bildruf, where are you?”
Sniften reached him by then and tapped his right shoulder. “Over there.”
Algearon turned and his shoulders slumped. “By dragon’s beard,” he sighed. He could see a blood streaked ball of cheese on the floor next to a dismembered hand, still holding an axe. There were no other remains to be found.
“They fought well,” Sniften said as he pointed around the egg.
“They?” Algearon echoed. “Someone else was here beside Bildruf?”
Sniften nodded. “Minean, one of our new patrolmen, was going to spend the shift with Bildruf to see what it was like before starting his regular patrol duty. He had his horn with him, and he was the first to sound the alarm.” Sniften shook his head and frowned sourly. “No sign of him now though, so I am sure the atorats got here before the rest of us came to clear the monsters out. A couple of drakes and a few of my guards were able to route the atorats. It is still unclear how the atorats entered, or where they came from. There is a bit of Minean’s foot over there. Or at least, there is a remnant from his boot.”
Algearon slowly moved around to see bits of gore and flesh strewn about the floor. From what he could tell, there had been several atorats, large beastly rodents which prey upon eggs. Algearon picked his way through the blood and found a severed head, the snout frozen in a hideous snarl and the tongue hanging loosely over its bottom fangs.
“This one here is still breathing!” Sniften cried out.
Algearon moved around another pair of eggs to see Sniften raising his weapon over the animal’s neck. “Wait!” Algearon shouted.
Sniften paused and his shoulders slackened. “Are you demented? If this beast wakes it will tear us apart!”
Algearon shook his head. “It’s out cold,” he noted. “Besides, atorats haven’t been seen in our forests for three centuries. Something drove them here, and I want to know what.”
Just at that moment a loud, lumbering step entered the chamber. Algearon turned to see Silverak, a great beast of a dragon with an angular snout and sharp, curved fangs that hung down below its jaw. The dragon narrowed its red eyes on Algearon and slowly edged into the nursery.
“Take this to Hummenger,” Algearon said, pointing to the unconscious atorat.
The dragon snorted and a puff of smoke popped into the air before it, but it did as Algearon asked. It scooped the beast into its mouth, making it seem like nothing more than a field mouse in a dog’s maw by comparison. After the dragon left, Sniften came up whistling through his teeth and shaking his head.
“I would not like your job,” he said.
Algearon shrugged. “The lesser dragons are easy enough to deal with,” he replied. Then he looked to the mess around him and rubbed his face.
“You h
ave to tell him don’t you?” Sniften asked.
“We have a slain unborn dragon, and at least one more egg that has a crack so large the yolk has already burst. Two dragons and a dwarf have died today.” Algearon put his hands on his hips. “Call the other nursery workers to come and clean this up. I will go and address the king.”
Chapter 3
Algearon made haste back to his room. He knew the king would want the full report, but he also knew that it would be offensive to approach the king only half dressed. He washed his hands and feet and then he quickly put on clean clothes. As soon as he was ready, he left his room and walked farther into the mountain. Soon he came to a tunnel that required a key. He pulled a necklace up from under his tunic and slipped it into the keyhole. The lock popped open and the iron grate swung loosely.
Algearon pushed in and closed the gate behind him. He rounded a corner and then ascended up a spiraling staircase carved from the very mountain. The red and black veins in the stone shimmered under the magical light from the arcstones set in brass sconces upon the wall. It was quite a climb, even by dwarf standards, to reach the top of the stairs. King Geldryn’s chamber sat in the upper reaches of the peak.
When he finally arrived, Algearon stopped for just a moment to catch his breath. He looked back down at the spiraling stairs and shook his head. He then moved forward and put his hand on the iron ring in the door before him. He sucked in a deep breath and then pushed. The door struck a bell on the other side, ringing and echoing sharply through the hall.
Fire along the walls lit the tunnel in this part of the mountain, fueled by a never-ending trough of natural gas and oil from deep within the mountain. Algearon closed the door. The bell rang again. He turned and walked down the hall, ignoring the glittering rubies and sapphires set in the walls beneath the troughs of oil. His feet fell upon stones of jasper and emerald, echoing softly down the tunnel. The twinkling diamonds in the arching ceiling above him reminded him of the stars, something he rarely got to see during his lifetime as nursery master.