Dragon's Keep: The Complete Dracengard Series

by Christopher Vale

  “He’s mad,” Sir Tomfrey commented.

  “You ride under the banner of Beagonia,” Ashleen said. “Why are you in Avonvale?”

  “To join the King of course,” the man said matter-of-factly.

  “King Alexandeon?” Ashleen asked, confusion evident in her voice.

  Castar laughed. “No. The great Wizard Tamesis, King of Beagonia and Emperor of the Middle Realm.”

  Auberon reached down and grabbed the man’s robes pulling them low to reveal dark tattoos covering his back. “What’s this?” asked Ashleen.

  “He’s a Shebath worshiper,” Auberon said, his disdain clearly evident. The revelation sent a chill down Ashleen’s spine. The ancient legends claimed that Shebath ruled the Realm of Darkness, and Ashleen had heard stories of a cult of people that worshiped him, but had doubted their truth. She stared at the man on his knees in disbelief.

  “Quite right,” Caster chuckled, but then his face grew very serious and very sinister. “The Great Lord of Darkness is coming. He is coming to get you, little Princess, and you will be his slave for all eternity. Your sisters will become concubines of the se’irim!” Castar threw back his head and began to cackle maniacally, but was suddenly silenced when Ashleen drew her sword and removed his head from his shoulders. It fell to the ground and rolled to a stop at Tomfrey’s feet. Caster’s limp body dropped to the dirt.

  Auberon frowned. “It would have been wise to have questioned him further, Commander.”

  “Why? We could not have trusted a word that fell from his forked tongue.” She then turned to Tomfrey. “Put this demon’s head on a pike,” she said as she sheathed her sword. “We must bury our dead quickly, then let us get moving. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

  The Paladin rode south in two columns, through the kingdom of Avonvale upon their white chargers, their golden armor glistening in the sunlight. Ashleen rode at the head of one column, and Sir Auberon rode on her right, at the head of the other column. They had begun the journey with a hundred Paladin in addition to Ashleen, but now numbered around thirty.

  Ashleen, had never seen battle before setting off from Caerwynspire, but now came to expect it as part of her daily routine. She was certainly not the same girl that had left on the Paladin Quest just a few weeks ago. Now she was a warrior. She had always been tough and strong, at least compared to her sisters and all of the other women she knew, but now she was considered so by members of the Paladin, the most elite military order in the Middle Realm.

  Her metamorphosis from princess to Paladin had begun when she took her first step on her quest to recover the Sword of Light. She remembered that day without fondness. She had been allowed to wrap herself in a blanket until she descended the high stone steps from Caerwynspire where the Paladin had seen her off. Her mother, Queen Gwyndalin, had insisted that her daughter not be paraded in the nude in front of hundreds of male warriors. The Paladin agreed to the request and allowed Ashleen to wrap a blanket around her body until she reached the bottom of the steps. There, she would be such a distance from the onlookers that no one could make out any details and she would drop the blanket and continue on the quest, naked like every other initiate. The blanket had been recovered after she had made her way from the city.

  It had been a long, hard journey, walking barefoot through the rocky mountains, and her feet began to ache early on the first day. She had only been gone a couple of hours when she came to a small stream fed by a cold spring further up the mountain. After quenching her thirst, she sat down on a rock and soaked her feet in the cold water. It stung at first, but soon began to numb the pain.

  She had walked along the dirt road for several hours when she saw a carriage approaching. She was so fixated on her aching feet and empty stomach that she forgot that she was naked until the carriage was almost upon her. She quickly scurried behind a large boulder, but not before the driver noticed her. He reined the horses in and shouted to her. “Are you alright?” he asked. Ashleen stuck her head out from behind the rock, and could see the faces of the passengers staring out the carriage window toward her.

  “I am quite alright,” she shouted. “Thank you.”

  The driver ignored her assurances and began to climb down. “You appear to be in some distress,” he said as his boots touched down on the ground.

  “No distress. Just out for a stroll.”

  At that point the carriage door opened and a plump and balding gentleman dressed in the finest and most fashionable clothes climbed out of the carriage. Ashleen recognized the man, though she could not recall his name. He was a well-to-do merchant from one of the southern kingdoms who often did business in Caerwynspire and she had met him once or twice. Ashleen watched him converse with the driver before shouting to her.

  “Young lady, please allow us to assist you,” he called. “Have you been beset by bandits?”

  “No, I am quite alright, kind sir. Now if you would please continue on your journey so that I might climb out from behind this rock, I would be most appreciative.”

  “My dear, we simply cannot abandon you here. I must insist that you allow us to assist you. My wife can cover you with a blanket so as to preserve your modesty,” he shouted and Ashleen watched as a woman, presumably the man’s wife, climbed out of the carriage as well.

  Ashleen sighed. This was getting out of hand. She needed to be on her way. It was against the rules to accept assistance during the quest, and she had to get rid of them. She stood up and stepped out in front of them, apparently devoid of modesty altogether. She watched as all three stood staring at her incredulously. She walked toward them. “I am Princess Ashleen of Caerwynspire beginning a quest for the Sword of Light. Please be on your way, so that I am not forced to inform my father, King Artur, that you gawked at my naked body while I hid on the side of the road. I believe he would be most displeased.”

  She heard the merchant mumble something about recognizing the Princess before he and his wife scrambled back into their carriage, apologizing for any offense caused Her Highness. Soon the carriage was on its way and Ashleen continued her journey chuckling to herself. She knew that the merchant and his wife were simply being kind, but she did not have the time or the patience to argue with them any longer. She did later ask her father to write to the merchant thanking him for the kindness he had been willing to show to the Princess.

  The sun soon set and the cold air chilled her naked skin. She collected some dried sticks and grass and built a small fire. Her belly rumbled from hunger, but she was unsure what—or how—to eat. Ashleen, unlike most princesses, was brought up almost like a prince would be, in that her father would take her on hunting trips and other “manly pursuits” despite her mother’s staunch objections. Thus, unlike most princesses, she had experience building fires, killing animals, and had even assisted in field dressing the first deer she had ever slain. The problem, however, was that she had shot that deer with a bow and steel tipped arrow from fifty yards away, and skinned it with a very sharp knife. So, even if she could find a deer—no easy task—she had no bow and arrow to shoot it, nor a knife to clean it.

  That night, Ashleen watched as the rock rats would cautiously approach the fire. She had no desire to eat rat meat, but she also had no desire to starve to death. She found a small vine and fashioned a loop out of it. She set it a few feet on the other side of the fire and waited for a rat to step into it. It took about an hour to get one to stand just right, but Ashleen snagged it, and crushed it with a rock. She then found a small jagged stone that she could use to skin it, more-or-less.

  The next day she began work on her spear and used that to kill small animals and fish, but she was not fast enough to kill very many and ate barely enough to survive, until she killed the cave bear. That night she feasted. The Paladin Quest had changed her, but the war had changed her more, and she knew it had only just begun.

  Chapter 4

  Eamon was flying. The Prince soared high above the sea, then dipped down to feel the cool, salty mist o
n his face. He knew that he was in the midst of a dream—a wonderful dream—and his awareness of that fact enthralled him for he knew that sometimes, just sometimes, he could control what happened when he knew he was dreaming. Eamon glanced up from the water to see the beach rapidly approaching. He reached the beach and continued to soar above the white sands, turning abruptly to fly northward up the coast.

  Eamon peered down at the sparkling waters and green forests, enjoying the magnificent beauty from the clouds. Soon he saw his home, Ephenee, the island kingdom he was to rule upon his sixteenth birthday. Ephenee was several miles off of the coast, but clearly visible from the mainland. Eamon turned toward the island and flew over the blue ocean waters until he reached it. The main city, not much more than a village by most kingdom’s standards, sat back from the rocky cliffs of the shoreline behind the gray stone castle which stood upon the cliffs positioned to overlook the ocean and island.

  Eamon heard a cry and looked down to the rocky cliffs glimpsing his mother, the Queen Regent, shouting and waving her arms at him. He glanced back up at the island, but it was no longer lush and green. It was black and burnt, and he could smell the smoldering buildings, grasses, and forests. He choked on the smoke as he saw his beloved city and home reduced to ash by red flame. He looked for his mother on the beach, hoping to fly down and save her, but she was gone.

  Eamon grew very angry. How did this happen? Who did this to his home? As his dream turned into a nightmare he began to transform physically. His skin turned to rough, green-colored scales. He glanced down at his hands and saw black talons instead of his fingernails and his fingers extended outward into large claws. He felt his teeth grow longer, sharpening into large fangs as his mouth and nose elongated, morphing into a long snout. As his arms lengthened out to his sides, he grew enormous leathery wings the size of sails from great ships. He squeezed his eyes tight through the pain when his back wrenched as his spine extended into a long tail and grew tall black spikes which ripped through his skin. The pain ceased once the metamorphosis ended. Eamon caught his breath and opened his eyes. He peered down at the ground passing by below him and saw the shadow of a winged dragon where the shadow of a boy had once been. A fierce roar thundered in his ears and Eamon realized it was he who had made the sound. He opened his giant mouth and could taste the fire as flames leapt forth.

  Eamon awoke screaming. He glanced quickly around his room as he tried to calm himself. It was only a dream, yet he could still taste the smoky fire in his mouth. He looked down at his hands to ensure they were still human and, once satisfied that they were, pushed the covers back and stood from his bed. He crossed his room to the window and threw back the curtain. The sun was rising and the castle would be active soon. He began to dress quickly. He wanted to find his grandmother, Sibilus. Surely she would understand the dream and could explain its meaning.

  ***

  The wind blew in from the coast sending a chill up Karissa’s spine. She pulled her dark wool cloak closer as she felt a few drops of water fall from the sky, splashing upon her skin. Karissa was a beautiful woman with long, dark brown hair that was curled into ringlets, secured behind her head in a golden clasp and covered with the hood of her cloak.

  Karissa knelt inside of a large henge within the circle of enormous gray stones standing as pillars atop a green hill, half a mile from her castle overlooking the shores of Ephenee. Karissa was Queen Regent of the island kingdom and would be for three more years. At that time, her son, Prince Eamon III, would turn sixteen and ascend to the throne. Eamon’s father, King Eamon II, had died soon after his son’s birth and thus, Karissa had no other children.

  Karissa turned her face toward the sky, hoping that the rains would hold back for just a moment while she lit a small candle upon an alter built for the great goddess, the one who gave birth to the three realms—the Creator. Karissa had adopted the religious practices of Ephenee when she married her husband. The island people did not worship seraph, though they were certainly high ranking deities, but rather the Creator—the one that created not only humanity, but the seraph and shedom as well.

  Karissa was originally from Caerwynspire, and was a first cousin to King Artur, her mother, Sibilus, being the youngest sister of Artur’s father. Sibilus did not particularly care for what she believed to be the pagan religions of Ephenee and had restored the old seraph temple near the castle and invited a priest of Avalon to reside there, paying his livelihood herself. It is not that the people of Ephenee did not believe in the seraph, they did, probably more than most of the mainland peoples of the realm, but they believed a higher power existed. They referred to the Creator as a woman, primarily since women were the one’s that gave birth, but Karissa, like most, truly believed the Creator to be neither male nor female, but androgynous.

  Karissa knelt watching the flame and prayed to the Creator to help her, to protect her kingdom, and watch over her son. She, like every other sovereign in the realm, had received the Wizard’s demand of fealty following his conquest of Beagonia. She, like every other sovereign in the realm had dismissed him as a lunatic. Recently, however, she had received word of the fall of Riversmeet and Avonvale and, being off of the coast of the Stromland and Beagonia, Karissa feared that Ephenee would soon be attacked as well.

  Karissa wanted nothing more than to protect her son and his right to the crown of Ephenee. For thirteen years there had never been any doubt of his ascendancy. For thirteen years, there had been no threat to his right to rule by forces inside or outside of the kingdom. Only now, just three years away from taking the throne, did an upstart wizard come to threaten his rule.

  Karissa heard the loud beat of hoofs galloping behind her followed by the whinny of a horse as it was reined to a halt. Karissa turned her head slightly to glance over her shoulder catching a glimpse of Lord Tibor, her most trusted counsel, before turning back to face the alter. Tibor had been fiercely loyal to his King and was fiercely loyal to her son now.

  “Your Grace,” she heard Tibor say, and though her back was to him, knew that his head was bowed respectfully.

  “Yes?” she asked without turning.

  “An emissary from Beagonia has arrived,” Tibor informed her. Karissa did not speak or move.

  “He wishes an audience with Your Grace.”

  Karissa remained kneeling silently for a moment before answering. An emissary from Beagonia could mean many things, after all Beagonia was a large trading partner of Ephenee. However, due to the fact that Tibor rode out to inform her of his arrival and request for an audience she knew this particular visit had much more important implications. Still, she needed to demonstrate to this Beagonian that she ruled Ephenee, and that she would not jump at his whims. She was Queen Regent, not him. “Tell him I might be able to see him this afternoon, if my schedule permits,” she said. “Stress to him that I am extremely busy and he shall only have a few moments with me.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Tibor said. He then turned and mounted his horse. He paused, watching her, before leaving. “We shall be alright,” he said confidently, then turned his horse and galloped back toward the castle. Karissa smiled to herself. She hoped Lord Tibor was right, but feared the worst. If the Stromland and Avonvale had fallen, what hope had Ephenee?

  She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and begging the Creator to grant her the strength she required to face her enemies and the wisdom she needed to safeguard her son and her kingdom.

  ***

  Later that afternoon, Queen Regent Karissa sat upon her high-backed, wooden throne elevated upon a dais above the main floor below. She no longer wore a cloak, but wore a long dress, green as the trees in the Great Forest, and a golden tiara upon her head. To her right stood Lord Tibor, dressed in a long brown tunic, the skin of a bear draped over his shoulders as a cape. To her left sat her son, Prince Eamon, who looked every bit the part of Crown Prince in his royal blue tunic and black breeches, a small golden crown encircled his sandy brown hair. He tried his best to appear engaged and not
overly bored, but his face did nothing to disguise his true feelings. He would have much rather been roaming the hills searching for gnomes and other wee folk, than here.

  Upon the floor stood the emissary from Beagonia. He was an odd looking fellow draped in robes of deep plum, a shaved head and long mustache and beard which came to a point just above his chest. Two similar looking men stood some distance behind him. The emissary was announced as “Master Mage Astroff, royal emissary from his Grace, King Tamesis of Beagonia.” The emissary stepped forward bowing deeply at the waist as was the custom.

  “It is a great pleasure to have you in our kingdom, Master Mage,” Karissa said politely.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Mage replied. “However, I would like to make one correction. His Imperial Majesty Tamesis is the Emperor of the Middle Realm.”

  “And to what do we owe the honor of your visit, Master Mage?” the Queen Regent asked, ignoring his comment.

  “As Your Grace is no doubt aware, His Imperial Majesty has now conquered the kingdoms of the Stromland and Avonvale in addition to Beagonia,” the emissary replied.

  “I had received the news, thank you.”

  “I have recently received word that Elophborne has wisely decided to submit to His Imperial Majesty’s rule without a fight. Thus, his Imperial Majesty has graciously allowed the royal family to remain on the throne of Elophborne and no lives were lost.”

  Karissa fought to keep her face expressionless. She had not yet received this news and, if true, it was disturbing news indeed. Elophborne was a very powerful kingdom, and if they believed they were unable to stand up to the Wizard, what hope could the smaller kingdoms such as Ephenee have? The emissary stood, watching her without continuing. “Please go on,” she urged.

  “His Imperial Majesty has authorized me to extend the same offer to Your Grace,” Mage said.