The Dragon Sands Box Set: Books 1 - 3

by C. K. Rieke

  Her body was flat, level with the path as she fell. She was completely sideways, reaching at the wall for something to hold onto, but it all happened so quickly that panic set in. “Veranor!” Then, she felt a strong tug on her collarbone.

  “Kera! Hold on. Grab onto your tunic.”

  She paused in her fall, and her back foot fell from the path, she clutched at the tunic as her feet dangled beneath her. But the tunic had risen from her collar to tightly under her neck, just below the chin. Veranor had grabbed at her tunic’s cape tails, but it was choking her. She tried to get her fingers in between the tunic and her neck, but it was no use, she couldn’t breathe.

  Veranor seemed to sense that. “I’m going to pull you up, hold on tight.” He pulled her up with a couple of strong lifts with his hands, and he took her and lay her on her back, safely back on the path. She let out a gasp for air, filling her lungs again with the murky air. “Breathe, girl, breathe.” He ran his hand over her head. “You’re safe now.”

  Moments later, once Kera’s breath had normalized, and he’d helped her to her feet, Veranor said, “If you don’t mind, I’ll take the lead from here on out.”

  “What are we going to do?” she asked. “Is this the end of the path? Did we make the wrong choice? That turn in the tunnel is hours back now.”

  “I’m not certain,” he said. “Let me think for a moment. Do you still hear the heartbeat?”

  She felt again for it. “It is there,” she said.

  “Then the egg has to be down there,” he said. Kera heard his leather boots squeak and his fingers rummaging around the ground. Then in the darkness, she heard small rocks clicking together as they were collected in one of his hands.

  “Quiet,” he said. “Listen.”

  Her ears perked up, as she heard his boots make their way over to the cliff before them. Then he stood silent, and her with him, yet she didn’t hear anything, until. Far below them, in the crevasse Kera had almost fallen, she heard a tap, tap, tap, clank, and then finally, far, far down a tiny plop.

  “What does that mean?” she asked. “Where do we—?” She heard a surprising sound, the sound of a rock hitting hard ground ahead of them, as it bounced its way down the tunnel. Then another rock hit ahead of them, and then another, then one more, but then she heard a small rock hit another rock wall. That rock clicked and tapped its way down into the pit, eventually landing with a single plop.

  “I believe it’s only a two-meter jump,” Veranor said. “I can make it with both of us.”

  “That’s excellent,” she said. “We can continue down.”

  “The problem is that, though,” he said. “The leap will take us down, and we may not be able to make the leap back up. I’d estimate we’ll be another two meters lower.”

  Both of them stood in silence for a few, brief moments. “Veranor, check with some rocks to make sure there’s nothing above us, but I haven’t come this far to abandon my destiny. If there’s an egg down there, we are going to find it.”

  He did just that, heaving rocks up into the air ahead of them, he threw two of them, both finding only air before scuttling along the ground on the other end of the pit. The third rock struck the top of the cavern, and then landed flat on the other side.

  “We have headroom,” he said.

  “Then let’s go,” she said. She felt his strong hands lift her by her armpits, and he pulled her up to his chest.

  “Hold on tight,” he said, and she wrapped her arms and legs around his chest and torso. He took three strides backward. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Veranor took a deep breath, and they were off. Four strides propelled them forward, and with a final leap, that sounded like a soft kiss on the rock, Kera felt them falling. They were gliding through the air, silently as both of them held their breaths, waiting to find another kiss of rock under his boots. To Kera, it felt as if they were falling too far, for too long, but the air stayed in her lungs, too scared to let it out.

  Then hard rock found its way under his leather boots, and the commander fell onto his side, hard, keeping Kera off the sharp rock floor. Almost all of the air in their lungs rushed out from the impact, but Kera quickly let go of him and lay on the stone on her back.

  “We made it,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “Let’s hope we don’t have to do that again.” Then a heavy silence filled the air. “Veranor?”

  He didn’t respond, but she could hear him lifting himself off the floor with a deep groan, and he paused once he lifted himself up to a knee.

  “Veranor?” she repeated.

  “I’m alright.” He grunted in pain once more as he made it to his feet. “Let’s keep moving.”

  She went and placed her hands on his side he’d fallen on. “What’s the matter? What—” Her fingers told her the answer to her question. “You’re bleeding.” He winced in pain as she touched his ribcage.

  “Fell on a boulder, I’ll be fine, let’s just keep moving, we’ve got to find the egg.”

  He limped down the tunnel before Kera, and grimaced in pain with each step.

  “Lilaci,” Kera whispered to herself. “Where are you? We could use your help right about now.”

  Another hour passed, two perhaps as they continued their walk. Kera could tell Veranor was weakening, and she could hear the blood as it dropped from his wound to the tunnel floor. He’d refused her invitation to stop and rest, or to let her try to bandage his injury. He only held a cloth up to it and persisted that they keep moving.

  Fatigue and worry littered her thoughts as they continued their walk. But she considered herself lucky that they hadn’t run into another pit in the tunnel, yet. Step after step, with each of their fingers gliding along the wall at their side, they made their way deeper and deeper into the mountain. It crossed her mind more than once that perhaps there was nothing down in the depths, that perhaps the heartbeat she’d been sensing wasn’t a dragon’s heartbeat at all, but maybe a monster slumbering ahead, or the mountain’s soul itself.

  But then, a ray of hope appeared in the darkness. Literally, a ray of hope ahead. “Veranor, do you see it? Up there, it’s light.”

  It was as faint as a firefly far out in the pitch-black desert night, but it may as well have been a sunrise, as all she’d seen for the last many hours was the darkness. They walked forward, and with each passing step, the light that appeared before them lit the rocky walls of the corridor, and cast a silhouette of the commander as he limped on before her.

  “You see it?” she asked.

  “Yes, I see it,” he said, his voice trying to sound kind, pushing past the pain. “Stay behind me.” She heard his sword draw from his scabbard, leaving a metallic echo. It was just enough light now that she could make out the entire tunnel, and found no pit before them, and she saw the light was coming from around a corner up ahead. She let her fingers drift from the wall, and she ran.

  “Kera!”

  She ran straight down the center of the cave and turned to run down the turn to the right; the light was getting brighter. It was a warm, golden hue that glistened off the cold, black rock.

  “Kera! Wait!” She heard from behind, but she didn’t wait. She ran, faster and faster. Her heart beat wildly, and her mind was racing with only one thing, as the light got brighter and brighter, only one thing—and then she saw it as she turned one last curve to the left.

  “The egg,” she said.

  Moments later, Veranor made his way around that last turn, and as he collapsed onto his side, heaving breaths from his chest, he finally saw what he’d been hoping for—Kera was embracing an egg. The egg stood her height, resting upon a mound of gold and jewels that flickered in the golden light, casting a shimmering light onto the cave walls from its reflection.

  He watched her caress the egg as it wafted in golden flames, not burning her, but engulfing her in their light. A wide grin went across her face. The egg was pulsing, its heartbeat coursing through the cave. The egg itself—resting atop t
he mound of coins, jeweled rods, and jewelry of every sort—was a pale ivory color with thin red veins that carved their way up like a river split into thousands of canals.

  His eyes then darted to the other side of the egg, for what he’d hoped to find next to the egg—the fountain. The waist-high fountain with cool, clear water that seemed to be what kept the dragon egg alive long enough for Kera to find it. The one that rested next to Herradax when she was still unhatched had cured him once of grave wounds, so he hoped this one would do the same for him—one more time.

  Pushing his way up back to his feet, he lumbered over to the fountain and threw his face into the water, taking two big gulps, and then falling to the ground on his side with a groan. Kera pressed her lips against the side of the egg. She took one step back and waited. Crack . . . Crack. Tiny pieces of the egg fell onto the gold as the egg broke. She saw its nostrils as they broke through the shell of the egg, and its maw opened to let out a high-pitched screech, showing its rows of dozens of thin, sharp teeth. Its head shook violently as it tried to free itself from the egg, eventually piercing its head through the shell, showing its long neck laden with talons all along it. Sharp wings broke through the shell, and the dragon slid from the egg, down the pile of gold, and onto the rock floor. It let out one last loud screeching roar that echoed loud through the corridor, then it gasped for air, thrashing violently on the ground, struggling to breathe.

  “As you once were the greatness that soared the skies,” Kera said, “let the old prophecies come true. Let another age of drakon return. Let your wings soar the skies.” The dragon continued to choke for air. “Let your fire purge the lands of all evil wrought by the gods. Let your fury avenge your lost breed. I will give you life, I will light the way for your vengeance, as I fulfill my destiny. As the prophecy is fulfilled, I bring forth the wrath of the dragons once again in the Arr. For once you are free and returned to the skies, from the prophecy, you will become my second Serpentine Risen.”

  As the dragon, with its glistening red scales, and savage, wild orange and yellow eyes, lost strength and slowed. Kera knelt next to the dragon, with the life fleeting from its majestic, hurting eyes. Placing both hands around its head, she lifted it, its long neck flowing down loosely to its body, wings, and slender tail. The dragon, laying still, was roughly twice as long as Kera, as the last drops of life in its eyes stared into her, and she stared back.

  “I breathe my life into you, great dragon.” She breathed in deeply, pulled the dragon’s head up to her, pressed her lips against its scaly mouth, and blew into it, her breath pushing down into the dragon’s throat and lungs. She pulled her lips back. “Breathe . . .”

  Life slowly crept back into the wild eyes of the dragon as they shot around the cave, at Kera, and at Veranor. The muscles in its neck, back, and wings moved, and its tail swished back and forth, rustling the pile of gold behind it. It let out a low grumbling as it stared at Kera.

  “For the day of your birth,” she said, “I give you a name these lands already will recognize and will learn to fear. For you are the first male dragon to be unleashed on these skies in a long time, I name you Kôrran the II, after your great ancestor. May these lands be yours, and may you fly these skies for many years. You are free, now Kôrran. The Arr is yours.”

  Veranor watched as the dragon made its way to its feet and let out a mighty roar that caused Kera to cover her ears. It made its way down, deeper into the mountain.

  “Follow him,” Veranor said. “He’ll lead us out of here.”

  “Can you walk?” Kera asked, walking over to him to inspect his wound. She touched his side, but he didn’t flinch. “The water, it healed you?”

  In the raising of the dragon, Veranor had forgotten about drinking the water, and felt his side, which had already healed itself. “I can walk, we must go.”

  The dragon was too fast for them to follow, but they could follow its heavy footsteps, and its many loud roars. They ran through the tunnel, with the golden light of the dragon egg fading behind them. As the darkness returned, and the roars of Kôrran faded, they returned to a slow pace. Neither of them spoke much as they walked along, until a moment they realized they were walking up an incline . . . And light appeared up ahead in the tunnel.

  “It appears to be sunlight,” Veranor said. “And that’s unmistakably fresh air.”

  They both ran up the tunnel, with the blinding light of the sun overwhelming their eyes adjusted to the dark. As they turned one last winding curve in the tunnel, they saw the glow of the approaching dusk. In the light of the reddening sun was the black silhouette of a dragon flying through the sky with its wings outstretched.

  “You did it,” Veranor said. “You’ve released a male out into the world, and just increased our odds dramatically if the two can breed.”

  As the dragon faded off into the distance, Kera looked down to find they were perched upon a cave high up in the mountains, with no foreseeable way down. She looked up to Veranor to ask how he thought they would get down, but the commander already had the reed up to his lips.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Worry always crept through the queen’s mind when she knew the gods were at the other end of her journey. Whether it was their upcoming presence within her castle walls—although given to her by the gods themselves—or if she was summoned to them, which was the case this time, worry remained. She’d lost her husband, the king, to their fury.

  Gorlen was dead, not the worst, and not the best of them—Dânoz may hold both those accolades, but at least she, who’d killed King Gofgenden, was dead herself. Now, with the Queensguard pushing the large wooden doors open to her own chamber to meet with the gods, she felt that she may face a similar fate of her husband. Queen Lezeral Serinaas felt little fear for her own life. She felt as if fear was moving more and more distant from her as she grew as a queen in the Arr. Life was such a fragile little thing in the presence of the gods, it was like a doll to an infant for them, able to toss away in a spell of a throwing tantrum if pleased.

  The doors were opened with a prolonged creek to show the vivid and immediate gloriousness of the two gods before her. Dânoz, with his silky white hair flowing down his shoulders, framing his ice-blue eyes, stood at least seven heads taller than the queen in the center of the room before her own throne. Next to him stood Eyr, in golden silken robes that hung flush against her curvy body, hanging just shy of her ankles. She held her golden helmet with the eagle’s wings at her hip, her exotic red hair caressed her coffee-colored skin at both of her shoulders.

  The queen bowed low, looking only at the cracks in the stone at her feet in her own chambers and waited patiently for their beckoning.

  “Get up,” Eyr said. The voice of the goddess was hollow and seemed to be with a great disdain, whether it was meant for the queen or not, Lezeral wasn’t certain. She rose.

  Standing before the two gods, the queen wasn’t sure what to say, so instead she waited for them to usher in their normally insistent and powerful ‘welcome.’ Dânoz seemed to have a great amount of anger, or worry, in his bright blue eyes, an unusual look for the powerful, grand god. Eyr stared at the queen, who tried to busy her eyes elsewhere.

  So, clearing her throat, the queen asked, “You asked for my presence?” Then, she heard a prolonged silence that seemed to perturb Eyr but seemed to not pass into the Great God’s ear. And after a few moments of quiet, she decided to ask, “I may come back later, if that is what pleases you. I too, have much on my mind, and things to attend to.”

  Dânoz’s eyes shot at her like the hungry eyes of a starved sandwolf out in the wilds. “No!” His voice shook the very foundations of the palace at her feet, and the Queen’s Guard momentarily shifted to defensive positions with their spears held out, not even enough to point at the god, but Eyr took the offense quick enough so the Great God didn’t have to. With a loud screech of her rattling voice, the Queen’s Guard flittered off to specks of dust like cremated corpses, or a quick burning leaf on a hot fire
.

  “Come with us,” Dânoz said, and as quickly as her escorts had disintegrated to dust, Lezeral found herself being propelled through a tunnel of brilliant—yet terrifying—white lights speckled with silvers and golds. The rush that swept through her pushed the limits of her body to the extreme. Her organs felt as if they were on the brink of exploding, and the queen thought she may be going into the afterlife. She was wrong.

  Before her, as she was short of breath were not only the bleak, old, and decrepit walls of the interior of the god’s castle of Firen-Ar, but the other royal figures of the Arr. King and Queen Marindírr of Godan stood holding each other next to a hearth of fine ancient wooden design with inlaid turquoise and marble. They seemed to be past the point of ‘royal-fearlessness’, with their old age and the gods Vigolos and Fayell on either side of them. Vigolos stood as half the height of Fayell, and his emerald-green eyes were framed by his long black hair and beard, streaked with silver and the long scar on his face. A fur of white slung across his back. Fayell, who was told to be the splendid beauty of the gods with her pale blue eyes on silky skin with her long, flowing auburn hair rolling down her shoulders and back, held an aged disdain on her voluptuous lips as she looked at Lezeral.

  Just as she had the sense to wonder where the king and prince of Scindír was, they appeared. In a rush of white light with silvers and golds lining their streaking divine tracements, the king and his son appeared in the large room, lit with thin windows above, both of their dark-skinned faces were as pale as Lezeral had ever seen them. Their eyes darted around the room, panic-stricken. Behind them appeared Arymos, possibly after Dânoz the most wrathful of the gods, now that Gorlen had been killed. His one cold-blue eye matched with the pupil-less other, and his fresh-shorn bald held wrecked with coursing veins and aged-drawn wrinkles. Lezeral noticed that the prince was crying, trying to hold in his fear.

  She had a couple of moments to take in what was happening and the surroundings before any of the gods spoke. Dirty, black walls with aged moss and dust enveloped the old stone walls of the lowest parts of the tower they were standing in. Looking up, Lezeral saw the splendor of the encircling staircase as it wound its way up to the divinely high reaches of the top of the castle of Firen-ar on the god’s island of Arralyn. Torches of undying-silver flame illuminated the way up the winding staircases.