Dragon's Keep: The Complete Dracengard Series

by Christopher Vale

  Then they all stared in amazement as Chaundra began to descend the stairs from the roof down to the floor. Once down on the floor she surveyed the group of people gathered before her. Metatron walked over to her and stood face to face with her. He spoke softly so that they could not hear. Then Chaundra looked around him at the others and let out a gruff.

  Metatron turned to them. “Queen Chaundra would like to know why you believe the dracen are ready to hatch?”

  “Because we have all dreamed of morphing into giant winged dragons,” Ashleen said.

  “Come and show her,” Metatron said. Ashleen stepped forward. “No,” Metatron said and then pointed to Terrwyn. “Her.”

  Terrwyn hesitated. “Show her?” she asked. “How can I show her?”

  “If you have the ability to be psychically connected to your dracen, then Queen Chaundra will be able to see your dreams as if she were having them herself.”

  Terrwyn glanced at Ashleen who smiled and nodded reassuringly. Terrwyn then walked forward toward the great dracen Queen. Terrwyn was trembling as she approached. She could smell Chaundra’s breath from where she stood and it reminded her of the taste in her mouth after her dreams.

  Metatron held out his hand beckoning her. “Closer,” he said. “Come and place your hand upon her head.” Terrwyn’s eye’s widened, but she stepped closer and slowly lifted her hands, timidly placing them upon the head of Chaundra. Chaundra’s head was massive, at least as large as Terrwyn’s bed back in her room in Avonvale. She could swallow Terrwyn in a single gulp if she wanted to, and Terrwyn hoped that she did not want to. “Think of your dream,” Metatron said softly.

  Terrwyn closed her eyes and thought of the dream where Anne rode her back and stabbed her with a dagger. Suddenly she was dreaming it again.

  Terrwyn flew north to Avonvale. This time, however, when she looked to her left she saw Chaundra flying beside her. Chaundra’s presence was somehow reassuring to Terrwyn. As she flew over Avonvale, she noticed that the blue waters of the Ehren River turned blood red. She saw her father, out in the river and drowning in the blood that flowed there. She flew lower, she had to save him. Just as she was about to reach down and grab his hand, she felt a sharp pain in her back. She turned her head and saw her cousin Anne riding on her back, stabbing her with a twisted dagger. Anne was dressed completely in black, including a flowing black cloak. Her skin was snow white except for her lips which were black like her clothing.

  “Anne!” Terrwyn shouted. “What are you doing?” She heard her cousin cackle as she twisted the dagger. Terrwyn spun around dumping Anne toward the ground and certain death, but Anne did not fall all of the way. Instead, she sprouted large black wings and flew up and up toward Terrwyn.

  Terrwyn grew very angry. Why was Anne doing this to her? As her nightmare grew darker, Terrwyn knew this was the part of the dream where she would begin to transform physically. She closed her eyes tight. Terrwyn caught her breath and opened her eyes. She looked down at the ground passing by below her and saw the shadow of a winged dragon where the shadow of a woman had once been. Then Chaundra’s shadow joined it followed by four other dragon shadows. Terrwyn looked up. She was not a dragon, but rather rode the back of a dragon while holding a sword in her hand. Beside her she saw Ashleen, Dillan, Willem, and Eamon all flying on the backs dragons as well.

  Anne flew into view riding her own dragon, a black beast, slightly smaller than the one Terrwyn rode, but no less ferocious. Anne’s face was twisted into an expression of pure evil as she held a great black lance pointed at Terrwyn. A mass of darkness followed behind Anne and consumed the entire realm. Terrwyn’s dragon let out an ear piercing roar, but it no longer frightened Terrwyn. In fact, now it made her feel safe and confident. Anne’s dragon blew a burst of flame at Terrwyn and then Terrwyn’s eyes opened.

  She stood before Chaundra and the dracen queen looked her in the eyes. “Who was that woman riding the drakon?” Chaundra asked her in a voice that sounded remarkably human. In fact, her voice sounded just like Terrwyn’s mother’s.

  “That was my cousin, Anne,” Terrwyn replied.

  “She will lead the armies of Shebath upon this realm.”

  “No, the Wizard is the enemy,” Terrwyn said confused. “He has killed all of our families. He is leading the armies of Shebath.”

  “I do not know anything about a Wizard,” Chaundra said, “but that woman is the Dark One.” Terrwyn stared at the dragon in amazement. Her cousin Anne, who she had played with as a child, who served her as a lady-in-waiting, who Terrwyn had defended more than once when Anne had suddenly left court for nearly a year and scandalous rumors had reached her ears? Anne was the “Dark One?” “Yes,” Chaundra said and Terrwyn realized that she was speaking telepathically with Chaundra, not with her mouth. Chaundra turned to Metatron, “We must prepare for the invasion. It is time to ignite the stones.”

  Metatron nodded. “As you say,” he replied. “Bring your Dracenstones,” he said motioning to everyone. Each nephilim carried their respective stone over to Metatron. “Place them on the floor before her.” Each gently laid their Dracenstone on the floor in front of Chaundra. “Now, back up,” he said and followed his own advice.

  Once everyone was a safe distance away, Chaundra blew a breath of flame at the stones. The heat from the flame almost singed those watching. The stones burned in the flame, but soon the fire smoldered out and the stones began to crack. Small dracen heads poked out through the broken shells. Terrwyn smiled at hers. Terrwyn’s was garnet, Willem’s was silver, Dillan’s was blue, Ashleen’s was gold, and Eamon’s was green.

  “Your dracen are born,” Metatron announced and everyone stared in amazement. The small creatures climbed out of their shells, as what once were stones began to disintegrate into black ash.

  Terrwyn could not believe how small they were, they were only about the size of a puppy. The baby dracen crawled across the stone floor to their respective nephilim.

  “Can we touch them?” Eamon asked as his dracen neared his feet.

  “Ask the dracen,” Metatron said.

  “May I touch you?” Eamon asked as he bent down to look at the small creature. The green dracen flapped its wings and fluttered up, causing Eamon to straighten and it landed in Eamon’s arms. The other dracen did the same.

  Dillan held his small dracen and looked up seeing everyone with the same expression of wonder on their faces as him. Then he heard Chaundra speak for the first time and he thought her voice sounded exactly like his mother’s.

  “Come,” she said to the baby dracen. “Let us fly.”

  Everyone watched as Chaundra led the small dracen up the steps to the roof. Terrwyn led the way behind them with the others following. Soon they were all atop the tower looking out over Avalon. Even Dillan seemed less nervous of heights, though he clearly had no intention of venturing near the edge. Chaundra flapped her enormous wings and leapt off of the roof and the baby dracen followed. Terrwyn gasped as her dracen fell over the side and out of sight. But then she saw it fluttering up and off after the others.

  Metatron looked at the nephilim gathered before him. “Welcome to Dracengard,” he said. “We have much to do, much training and work to prepare for the coming Realm War.”

  TURN THE PAGE TO BEGIN BOOK FOUR

  Dracengard Book Four

  Chapter 1

  The terrified screams of the people pierced the dark night as hordes of drakmere poured into the city of Riversmeet. The City Guard laid dead in the streets having barely even slowed the assault as the monsters ran them down and quickly overwhelmed them with superior numbers. By the time the Guard’s commander, Sir Bryn, had raised the alarm, it was too late. The small numbers of city guard that responded to the call were slaughtered in minutes by the thousands of draks that crawled out of the river. Now, their bodies were unrecognizable as the monsters, unable to control themselves, fought over the carcasses.

  King Tybalt stood atop the castle keep watching as his beloved city was overru
n by man-eating monsters. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut against the wave of emotions that rose up inside of him, but that did not stop the screams of his subjects from reaching his ears. He slammed his fist down upon the top of the parapet as he watched the city fall, helpless to do anything to save it.

  The commander of Tybalt’s army, General Trapp, had initially sent lancers on heavy horse into the city to run down the draks, but tens of thousands of the beasts easily overcame the cavalry. Archers soon reached the castle walls and towers, loosing volley after volley at the swarming draks, but now they focused solely on defending the castle walls as hundreds of drakmere began scaling them like cockroaches.

  Tybalt was frustrated by his own helplessness. He was sad for those who were dying and those who would soon die. He was scared, knowing that he and his family would likely become a meal for hungry drakmere. But most of all he was angry. Angry not just at this self-proclaimed wizard and his drakmere, though he certainly had a hatred brewing in his heart for them, but primarily at himself for not taking his family south to Avonvale the day before. Tybalt and his wife had originally planned to take the family to Avonvale the day before to spend some time with the royal family of Avonvale prior to their son Dillan’s marriage to Princess Terrwyn. Instead Tybalt had delayed, as he was not especially eager to spend much time in a kingdom that had been an enemy of the Stromland for centuries. Now his wife and children were huddled together in the throne room awaiting the certain entrance of the hungry drakmere instead of safely away in Avonvale. Fortunately, all of his children were not in danger. Dillan, had already left Riversmeet, sailing south after an angry exchange with his father. The King felt some relief at this and he was not blind to the irony that it was his son’s defiance of him that was saving his life today.

  Had Tybalt been told that this day would come, he’d have thought the messenger mad. He never dreamed that brainless drakmere could successfully take Riversmeet, despite the fact that they had heard of the fall of Beagonia some time ago. Beagonia was a small kingdom on the edge of the Great Swamp, not the impressive, fortified city of Riversmeet with its large military forces. Yet here he stood, watching as Riversmeet fell to hordes of primitive lizards.

  Though he had not really feared the fall or even the invasion of Riversmeet, learning of the conquest of Beagonia by this so-called wizard had at least prompted the King to take one precautionary measure, which he was now thankful for. Retired naval Captain Verdid, one of Tybalt’s most trusted military advisers, was given the Dracenstone and told that if Riversmeet were invaded, he was to take any ship he wanted and sail south with it. Unfortunately, Tybalt doubted that any of their ships at port remained with all most likely had been captured or burnt. Still, he had to trust that Verdid had found a way out, that he would make his way south and find Dillan and give the Dracenstone to the Prince. Dillan would avenge his family and retake their kingdom. That was all the hope Tybalt had left as he watched the draks swarm through the city streets.

  Tybalt felt a hand on his arm and glanced up to see his army commander, General Trapp, staring at him. “Your Majesty, we’ve lost. We must try and get you and your family out of the city.”

  Tybalt shook his head. He knew the time for that had passed. He waved an arm out over the city and the rivers. “That is impossible now, General. Drakmere are everywhere.” Trapp nodded. He knew his King was right. Tybalt placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You continue to command the battle from here,” he said. “Hold out for as long as you can.” He then turned and walked away.

  “And where will you be?” General Trapp asked.

  “With my family,” the King said. “Awaiting my fate.”

  The King found his family where he had left them, in the throne room surrounded by one hundred of the royal guard. The guardsmen were an impressive force in their long red capes and shining silver armor. The guardsmen formed three rows, the first row carried long lances and the second and third held their short swords at the ready.

  King Tybalt joined his family as his wife and children threw their arms around him, relieved he was there. The children especially, felt safe with their father, as most children do, like nothing could ever harm them as long as he was there to protect them. They huddled together, waiting, terrified of what was coming. They did not have to wait long. Soon, there was a pounding at the door as battle axes cut into the wood. Chop! Chop! Chop! The royal guardsmen stood ready, lances and swords in hand, and when the doors burst open, met the beasts valiantly.

  The first row charged the draks, assaulting them with their long lances, keeping the beasts at bay for a time. But soon the lancers began to fall to the blood-thirsty drakmere. The second row charged forward to reinforce the lancers in front of them, swords swinging at the assaulting beasts. The third row remained back, waiting to defend the royal family.

  Draks began to pour in by the score and the first two rows of guardsmen were overwhelmed, crushed under the superior strength and numbers of the large monsters as they forced their way forward. The third row stood at the ready as the draks pushed in toward them. Swords swung and shields blocked as the guardsmen fought for their lives and the lives of the royal family against overwhelming odds. It did not take long before all of the royal guard laid dead, their blood spilling along the stone floor. All that remained was the King and his family.

  Tybalt stood in front of his family, gripping his great sword in both hands as his children huddled behind him with their mother. The drakmere stood staring at him, hissing and snapping, but none moved forward to kill him. Then the sea of green-skinned beasts parted and Tybalt’s eyes went wide as he saw the Black Knight standing before him. He looked every bit as terrifying as the rumors and tales had claimed in his long, black cloak and black skull-shaped helmet. A chill ran up Tybalt’s spine as he stared at him.

  “Drop your sword and your family may live,” Rayfen hissed from beneath his mask. Tybalt swallowed hard. He knew he had no chance of survival except through the good graces of the enemy. He did not want to trust this evil knight’s word, but he had no other choice, so he relented, allowing his sword to drop from his hands. Just as Tybalt heard the clank of the sword against the stone floor, he felt the steel gauntlet of Rayfen’s fist slam into his jaw and as he blacked out, the last thought that ran through his head was, “How did he move so fast?”

  ***

  Tybalt awoke to the sharp pain of the claw of a drak’s toe poking him in his ribs. He glanced up and realized he was in his own dungeon lying on the cold, stone floor. “Get up,” the drak hissed at him. Tybalt began to push himself to his feet, but the drak impatiently reached down and yanked him up by his shirt. “Let’s go!”

  Tybalt rubbed his temples with his fingers. His head was pounding and his jaw was so sore he could barely move it. “Where are we going?” the King asked in a quiet voice through clenched teeth.

  “The Wizard wants to see you,” The beast hissed as he shoved Tybalt from behind, toward the door of the cell where another drak waited.

  “Yes,” the other drak cackled. “He wants to see you beg for your life.”

  The draks led Tybalt to the throne room where he found the Wizard sitting upon his throne glaring down at him. The King’s wife and children were huddled together to the side, and the Black Knight stood nearby. The Wizard smiled a creepy smile as Tybalt was made to stop short of the throne.

  “King Tybalt, I sent you a message some time ago, that should you kneel down and swear fealty to me and deliver your Dracenstone, I would spare your kingdom and allow you to remain on the throne,” the Wizard said. “You ignored that message and I was forced to invade and conquer your lands. However, I am just and fair, and am still willing to allow you to remain King of the Stromland in exchange for your fealty and your Dracenstone.”

  Tybalt glanced over at his family, then back at the Wizard. “I would rather die than kneel to a monster who unleashes drakmere upon humanity!” he said firmly.

  The Wizard smiled a c
rooked smile. “Then I shall use your fate and that of your kingdom as an example to others,” he said and waved his hand at the draks surrounding the royal family. Tybalt’s eyes went wide as his wife, daughter, and son were set upon by the beasts. Screams escaped their lips as the draks greedily sank their teeth into their flesh.

  “No!” Tybalt screamed as he frantically charged toward his family, desperate to save them from the monsters. Before he could reach them, the Black Knight moved to block his path. Tybalt did not slow a single step, but bravely charged the sword wielding knight with his bare fists. Just as he reached the Black Knight, he saw a quick swing of his sword and then Tybalt’s world went black.

  ***

  Dillan screamed as he awoke. He could still feel the cold darkness of Rayfen’s blade cutting through his father’s throat, as if it had been done to Dillan himself. His back ached and he felt enormous pressure on his chest and he looked down to see Metatron holding him up in the air with one hand, pinning him against the wall.

  Dillan shook off the dream and realized he was in his room at Dracengard. Willem huddled in the corner by his bed gripping his sword and pushing Eamon behind him protectively. Dillan turned his head and spotted Ashleen and Terrwyn standing in the doorway, shock and fear etched upon their faces.

  “Let me go!” Dillan demanded of Metatron. The seraph held firm as his eyes narrowed on Dillan.

  “Drop the sword,” Metatron replied.

  Dillan glanced down at his right hand and was surprised to find that he held his short sword so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. He released the sword and it clanged against the stone floor. This appeared to satisfy Metatron who slowly lowered Dillan to the floor.

  “What in the Three Realms is going on?” Dillan asked as he slapped Metatron’s hand away once his feet were firmly on the floor.