Dragon's Keep: The Complete Dracengard Series

by Christopher Vale

  Andrick sat back in his chair. “I find the chances of Amott dying within the next couple of days very slight,” he said.

  “Do not concern yourself with how he might die, Your Grace,” Oswin said. “The chances might be better than you suspect.”

  Andrick interlaced his fingers and looked at the two men seated across from him. “Tell me Caepionis, why do you intend treason?”

  “It is not treason to protect the kingdom, Your Grace,” Caepionis said. “Those who would allow Libetha to share the fate of the Stromland are the true traitors to us all.”

  Caepionis was much older than Andrick. He had served Andrick’s father and had always been loyal to Warren, so his initiation of this plot had taken Andrick by somewhat of a surprise. Andrick agreed with Caepionis that they stood little to no chance of defeating the Wizard’s forces and that allying with him seemed a much more advantageous proposition, but more than that, Andrick wanted to be king. He had coveted the crown his entire life and hated his brother for possessing it. Now the opportunity was at hand to take the throne, and to save the Kingdom in the process.

  “Very well, gentlemen. If Prince Amott dies before he can leave to deliver the Dracenstone to Dracengard, I shall volunteer to take it myself, but will instead deliver it to the Wizard in exchange for the throne of Libetha.” The others nodded in agreement.

  “And swear fealty to His Imperial Majesty,” Oswin added.

  “Of course,” Andrick replied.

  ***

  The next evening, Prince Amott walked through the halls of his father’s castle. He was not exactly a handsome man—primarily due to his long pointy nose and overly large nostrils, like his mother—but he was not unattractive either. At nineteen, he was arrogant and brash and ready for the mission to Dracengard. He had dreamed of an opportunity such as this to lead a battle against a powerful foe, to arise victorious and to have songs sung about him for centuries. He smiled to himself, eager to begin his journey.

  The Prince turned the corner and knocked lightly on the door of his father’s study. “Enter,” he heard his father’s voice call from inside. Amott opened the door and stepped inside to see his father seated in a comfortable red velvet backed chair. Seated across from him in a slightly smaller chair was Lord Caepionis. Caepionis rose from the chair as the Prince entered and bowed his head respectfully.

  “Good evening, Your Highness,” the old white-haired counselor said.

  “Good evening, Lord Caepionis,” the Prince replied.

  “Please join us, son,” King Warren said motioning to another chair. Amott smiled and accepted the seat.

  “Thank you, Father.”

  Once the Prince was seated Lord Caepionis also sat.

  “Are you ready for your journey tomorrow?” the King asked.

  “Quite,” the Prince said. “We shall have an early start.”

  “May I speak, Your Majesty?” Caepionis asked and the King nodded his consent. “The journey will be through drakmere controlled lands. It shall be difficult to reach Dracengard undetected. His Highness will most likely have to fight his way through much of the journey.”

  “And what do you suggest, Lord Caepionis?” the King asked.

  “I feel compelled to implore you, once more, to reconsider this action, Your Majesty. Your son will be killed and the Dracenstone lost if we send him south into lands the Wizard controls. If that is to be the case, would it not be better to make peace with the man?”

  “And swear fealty to this Beagonian bastard?” the King asked.

  “That is far better than the alternative, Sire.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Prince Amott said. “I took you to be a warrior, Lord Caepionis, but I fear that old age has made you weak.”

  “The young often mistake wisdom for weakness, Your Highness. I was guilty of that myself many times when I was your age.”

  “I am not scared of this Wizard or his drakmere, or even this so-called Black Knight,” the Prince exclaimed. “I shall drive a sword through his black heart.”

  “Enough of this talk, Lord Caepionis,” the King said. “I have made my decision. Amott leaves in the morning.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Caepionis said reluctantly. “Then may I at least pour some wine so that we might drink to the Prince’s safe journey?”

  “Splendid idea,” the King replied, relaxing into his chair and Lord Caepionis stood and slowly walked over to the small buffet upon which sat a bottle of deep red wine and several glasses. Caepionis picked three glasses and pulled the cork from the bottle. As he poured the wine into the glasses, he produced a small vial of white powder from his sleeve and uncorked it emptying the vial into the glass for the Prince. The powder had been given to him by Oswin Astroff and the emissary assured him that it would stop the Prince’s heart and appear that he died naturally.

  Caepionis took one glass to Amott and gave the other to the King. He then returned to the table and poured one last glass for himself. He stood in front of his chair and held his glass up high. “To a safe journey and a quick return. Long may the Prince live and long may Libetha flourish in peace and prosperity.” The three men drained their glasses. “Another Your Highness?” Caepionis asked.

  “No, thank you, My Lord,” the Prince replied. “I must be off to bed. I have an early morning tomorrow.” He stood. “Good night, Father.”

  “Good night,” said the King.

  “Good night, Lord Caepionis.”

  “Good night, Your Highness,” Lord Caepionis replied. The Prince then spun and strode out of the room as Lord Caepionis turned to the King. “If Your Majesty will excuse me, an old man such as myself cannot stay up as late as I used to.”

  The King smiled. “Nor can I, old friend,” he said. “Good night.”

  Lord Caepionis left the room with a bow and walked slowly and calmly back to his apartments wondering when the poison would take effect.

  ***

  Duke Andrick was asleep, a pretty little courtier in the bed beside him, when there was a loud pounding at the door. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. “What is it?” he demanded.

  “Your Grace, I have unfortunate news,” came a voice on the other side. “Please open the door.” The Duke stood and pulled a robe around his body as the courtier began pulling her clothes on.

  “What is it?” he asked his old butler as he swung the door open.

  “Prince Amott is dead,” the butler said gravely. Andrick stared at him silently for a moment. He could not believe Caepionis had actually pulled it off.

  “How did he die?” Andrick asked.

  “He died in his sleep, his heart just stopped,” the old man replied.

  “Come, help me dress,” the Duke said as he moved out of the doorway. He motioned for the courtier to leave and she did so as quickly as she could.

  The Duke dressed swiftly. He wanted to see his brother as soon as he could. He made his way through the castle until he finally found the King and Queen mourning the loss of their son. Andrick walked slowly and softly up behind them and gently placed a hand on Warren’s shoulder. The King turned to see him and Andrick could tell his eyes were red with tears.

  “I am so sorry for your loss, brother,” Andrick said. The King embraced his brother, squeezing him tight.

  “Thank you, Andrick.”

  “I heard his heart stopped,” Andrick whispered in his brother’s ear and he could feel his brother nod. “Sorcery,” Andrick whispered.

  Warren pulled away and stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Wasn’t Amott to take the stone to Dracengard this morning?”

  “Yes,” Warren replied.

  “To fight the Wizard?”

  “Yes.”

  “And last night, the night before he is to leave, this young, healthy, strong lad died in his sleep, his heart simply stopping? That is the Wizard’s evil sorcery, brother,” Andrick concluded.

  The Queen gasped, as did others within earshot.

  “Do you think it could be s
o?” the King asked. Andrick nodded. “Then I shall take the stone to Dracengard myself and we shall destroy this so-called Wizard.”

  “No,” the Queen sobbed. “Please not now.”

  “I must my, dear, who else will go? It must be of our line.”

  “I shall go, brother,” Andrick said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, you are needed here to prepare for battle to protect the kingdom. I shall go south, take the stone to Dracengard and we shall destroy this Wizard and avenge my nephew.”

  Chapter 22

  Dillan bolted upright, awakened by a loud pounding at the door to his room in the temple at Avalon. He glanced over at the bed next to the far wall and saw Willem sitting up as well, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Dillan swung his legs down to the floor and stood, snatching the shirt from the foot of the bed and flinging it over his head before crossing to the door and opening it. Haider stood before him smiling.

  “Lord Metatron has sent for you,” Haider said.

  “What time is it?” Dillan asked.

  “It is four o’clock,” Haider replied.

  “Come back at six,” Dillan said and began to close the door, but Haider placed a hand out stopping it.

  “We have a long journey ahead of us, Your Highness,” Haider said. “I suggest we begin soon.”

  Dillan frowned at him, annoyed that he would be summoned at such an early hour. It had been a long time since he had slept in a comfortable bed and he was not ready to rise and begin another “long journey.” He could tell from the tone of the older man’s voice that he did not have a choice, however. If he was to travel to Dracengard and meet this Metatron, he needed to do it now. “Alright, let us dress and we’ll meet you downstairs.”

  Haider nodded, turned, and walked away. Dillan closed the door and turned to see Willem already out of bed and pulling his clothes on.

  ***

  Dillan and Willem found Ashleen, Terrwyn, Eamon, and Sibilus already downstairs when they arrived. They ate breakfast quickly, which was basically the same meal they had the night before for supper, and were soon joined by Caius who led them to the great hall.

  They stepped into the great hall and, to everyone’s astonishment, saw Haider speaking to a winged seraph. Everyone tried not to stare, but it was impossible. Aura wore a white peplos, a draped garment that hung off of her shoulders by a fibula and covered her body down to her ankles, below which her feet were visible wearing golden sandals. She wore no armor or swords now. Her large white wings were close to her body and her golden hair was braided down her back.

  Aura peered at them over Haider’s shoulder as they stepped into the room. “These are the nephilim?” she asked. Haider turned and saw them.

  “Yes,” he said meekly.

  Aura stepped around him and advanced toward them. The nephilim stared wide eyed at her, having never seen a winged seraph before. Her skin glowed radiantly in the dark hall. “Which of you is the one called Terrwyn?” she asked in the most beautifully melodic voice any of them had ever heard.

  Terrwyn looked at Dillan who only shrugged. “I am Terrwyn,” she said as she stepped forward toward Aura.

  “Greetings,” Aura said. “I have come to inform you that your brother, Erec, and sister, Taite, are safe and with Alaric in the Great Forest.” Terrwyn’s hand went to her mouth. Tears began to flow down her cheeks.

  “Are you certain?” she asked, too scared to believe it was possible that both of her siblings were safe.

  Aura tilted her head to the side and looked at Terrwyn. She found it a very strange question. “Of course I am certain,” she said. “I would not have told you if I were not. I rescued Erec from the shedom myself and have seen Taite in the forest.”

  Terrwyn rushed forward and threw her arms around Aura. Aura’s eyes went wide. She could feel Terrwyn crying against her shoulder. “Do not cry,” Aura said. “This is happy news, is it not?”

  “It is very happy,” Terrwyn said. “That is why I cry.” This puzzled Aura. “May I have your name, please?”

  “I am called Aura,” the seraph said.

  “Thank you, Aura. Thank you so much.”

  “You are most welcome,” Aura replied. “Now I must go.”

  Terrwyn nodded and Aura spread her wings and then flew away so fast it was if she disappeared. Terrwyn turned back to her friends, they were all smiling happily at her. She ran back to them and flung her arms around Dillan. Willem and Ashleen both looked down at the ground uncomfortably.

  After an appropriate amount of time, Haider spoke. “Are we ready to go to Dracengard?” he asked.

  “Yes,” they all said, almost in unison.

  ***

  The journey up the mountain from the temple to Dracengard was a long one. They rode on horseback up the side of a mountain, which took most of the day. They reached the base of the keep in late afternoon and Dillan looked up at the towering spire looming high into the clouds above the mountain. “We’re going up there?” he asked.

  “Yes,” replied Haider.

  “Do not worry, Dillan, it is basically the same as the tallest tower at Caerwynspire. I have climbed those stairs before.” Dillan glanced over at her. The last time he had seen Ashleen she had pushed the pirate captain from the tallest tower at Caerwynspire. Watching the pirate plummet to his death did not do much to quell Dillan’s fear of heights.

  They began the long walk up the stairs which spiraled around and around to the top of the tall tower. There was no handrail and everyone pressed themselves up against the stone wall afraid of the edge. It took all of Dillan’s willpower to force himself to climb the steps. It was a long drop to the bottom, and he refused to look down, instead staring at each step, taking one at a time.

  When they finally reached the top floor, exhausted and out of breath, they were greeted by Metatron. Terrwyn and Ashleen both immediately thought how handsome he looked with his bright skin and long golden hair which fell about his shoulders. He stared at them with sharp eyes and his lips drawn tight.

  The room was round and spacious with large openings on the sides so that one could look out over the world below. There was another large opening in the roof and a very wide staircase descending from it.

  “Why are you here?” Metatron said in a booming voice, without any introductions or other pleasantries.

  This angered Dillan. He had just climbed more stairs than he had ever climbed in his life to speak to this seraph and this was the first thing he said? “You summoned us,” Dillan snapped, the frustration evident in his voice.

  “But why did you journey to Avalon?”

  “You are the Keeper?” Ashleen asked in a much more diplomatic tone than Dillan could possibly muster at the moment.

  “I am,” Metatron answered.

  Ashleen pushed past Dillan to stand before Metatron and then lowered herself to one knee. “We have traveled great distances to find you because our homes have been attacked by an army of drakmere led by a powerful wizard.”

  “And what does that have to do with me?” Metatron asked.

  “A thousand years ago our ancestors were given the Dracenstones and told that if the forces of darkness threatened the Middle Realm again we should bring the stones to Dracengard and the Keeper would teach us how to use them to defeat those forces.”

  Metatron stared down at Ashleen for what seemed to be an eternity. Then he began to laugh boisterously. “Drakmere?” he asked. “You believe that the forces of darkness referred to were brainless reptiles? We referred to the threat of an invasion from the Realm of Darkness.”

  “Darkness!” Terrwyn shouted angrily. She ran past Ashleen to stand right in front of the seraph. “Our homes have been destroyed, our families killed. A shedom leads this army.” Metatron dismissed this with a wave of his hand.

  “A single shedom?” he asked. “He can be killed easily.” He then turned his back on them all and began to walk away.

  Terrwyn was so angry she was about to explode. She grabbed
his arm and spun him back around, much to his surprise. “Look at me!” He did, peering deeply into her eyes and then he had a vision. A vision of pain and suffering of war and death. It only lasted a few seconds, but to him it felt much much longer.

  Once the vision evaporated from his sight Metatron spoke, his tone now less dismissive than before. “Who is the Lady Andalynn of the House of Valestead?” he asked Terrwyn.

  “Anne? She is my cousin. Is she alright? What did you see?” Terrwyn asked, her concern for Anne’s safety lending her voice a desperate tone.

  Metatron shook his head. “Alright?” he asked. “She has a darkness inside of her that will consume the realm.” Terrwyn thought back to the dragon dream she had where she was fighting Anne.

  “What do you mean?” Terrwyn asked.

  Metatron ignored the question. “She is nephilim like you?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Terrwyn muttered.

  Metatron stared at Terrwyn without speaking or even blinking. After a pause, that seemed to Terrwyn like an eternity, he finally glanced away, past Terrwyn and the others toward the sky outside of the keep. “You have each brought your Dracenstone?” he asked. Everyone nodded. “Good, because she is returning.”

  Suddenly they heard a ferocious, screeching roar somewhere in the distance. Then another one which seemed to be growing louder and closer.

  “What is that?” Willem asked.

  “Chaundra, Queen of the dracen,” Metatron answered. Another roar punctuated his statement and then everyone saw her. They ran to the large opening in the side of the tower to watch her as she flew toward the keep. She was enormous with dark red scales and large leathery wings that flapped pushing her faster and faster toward the keep. Everyone began to back up as she flew nearer.

  “She’s coming right at us,” Dillan muttered. They all ducked down as it appeared that she would collide with the tower, but at the last moment she stopped, flapping her wings hard to land on the roof above them. She roared again and this time everyone’s hands went instinctively to cover their ears as the sound was deafening.