Dragon's Keep: The Complete Dracengard Series

by Christopher Vale

  “I didn’t do anything because of Terrwyn,” Willem shouted back. “I did what I did to fight the Wizard—to save my people and my family.”

  “Save us?” Griselda threw back her head and laughed. “You did not save us! Your boyish pride almost got us all killed. We survived because I begged for our lives. Your mother, the Queen, crawled on her hands and knees in your father’s throne room, in front of your father’s court and kissed the hem of the Wizard’s robe while she begged for his mercy. That is what saved our family and our people, while you and Terrwyn were playing with dragons.”

  Willem gritted his teeth and fought back the urge to say something more. To say what he really wanted to. To scream in her face that Edward, Ella, and even Uncle Hansel were all dead because of her. To tell her that she should have died instead of them. But he did not. He pushed his anger down and simply turned to leave. He opened the door, but stopped in the doorway.

  “The war is over,” he said calmly and without turning. “Ella’s murderer has been executed.” With that, he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Griselda collapsed back into her chair, placed her face in the palms of her hands, and wept.

  Willem calmed himself as he strolled through the grounds of the palace. He finally found Geoffrey and Tallah outside, playing with rackets and ball. Geoffrey hit the ball high into the air and it drifted over Tallah’s head. She back peddled to return it and was able to swat it back to Geoffrey, but as she did so she tripped over the stone edge of a flower bed and fell into the pretty blooms. The ball, nevertheless, whizzed past Geoffrey and out of his reach, scoring Tallah a point.

  Willem laughed boisterously as he clapped his hands. “Well done!” he cried enthusiastically.

  Tallah pushed herself to her feet, her eyes bright upon seeing Willem. “Willem!” she cried excitedly and rushed toward him. He held his arms open and she met him with an embrace. “I missed you,” the girl said.

  “I missed you as well, Tallah,” he replied. Willem glanced up at Geoffrey. “Aren’t you going to greet your brother back from the war?” he asked.

  “Welcome home, Willem,” Geoffrey said, with a pleasant, though somewhat forced smile. Willem was about to ask what was the matter, but thought better of it. He was home now and there would be plenty of opportunities to get close to Geoffrey again and finish breaking the evil spell Anne apparently still held over him.

  Chapter 10

  Metatron stood atop the Keep staring out over the Glass Sea. He barely moved at all these days, standing still as a statue, thinking of Ashleen and the Battle of Caerwynspire. Every day for the past year, he tortured himself remembering his failure to save Ashleen. Every day he wished he had done something, anything, to save her.

  Metatron had little contact with anyone, even Chaundra. The dracen queen could read his thoughts so she knew he blamed her, at least partially, for Ashleen’s death. He had wanted to join Ashleen and Dillan in their fight against the shedom, but Chaundra had told him not to. She knew too, however, that he also blamed himself. He did not have to listen to her. He had agreed with her words, that the nephilim needed to learn to take care of themselves. He could have acted. He did not need Chaundra’s permission to do anything. He was the Keeper of Dracen; she was not the keeper of him.

  As Metatron stared out over the smooth, glistening water replaying the battle over and over again in his mind, he heard the flutter of wings and stomp of boots behind him. He did not turn. He knew who it was. Herja.

  “Greetings, Keeper,” he heard the Valkyrie commander say.

  “Greetings, Commander,” he replied without turning. “What brings you to Dracengard?”

  “We are searching for General Aura,” came another voice.

  Metatron turned to see Mihang’el had accompanied Herja this time. Perhaps she believed that bringing a member of the Father’s Council would convince Metatron to disclose Aura’s whereabouts.

  “I cannot help you,” Metatron said without the slightest sign of emotion. “I have not seen the General since the Battle of Caerwynspire, a year ago.”

  Herja glanced at Mihang’el. “No one has,” Mihang’el informed him. “The last time any seraph saw Aura was when she brought you to Auraehalis to treat you from the wounds you received from a shedom.”

  “Shebath,” Metatron corrected him. “I was stabbed by Shebath himself.”

  “I assure you that is quite impossible, Keeper,” Herja shot back, her jaw set tight, her chin raised high in the air.

  “I know what I know,” Metatron replied.

  “We informed the Father of your concerns, Metatron,” Mihang’el said. “He was confident that Shebath could not have escaped Abaddock.”

  “I have battled Shebath before. It was him. The Father is mistaken,” Metatron retorted.

  Herja’s eyes went wide at this. She momentarily allowed her anger to show. “There is a seal!” she shouted. “The gate is sealed!”

  The smallest smile touched the corners of Metatron’s lips. “Has anyone checked the seal?” he asked her.

  “The seal is unbreakable and no shedom could possibly open it. You need not concern yourself with it,” Herja replied, composure restored. Metatron did not argue, but simply nodded.

  Mihang’el held up his hands as a calming smile spread across his face. “We are worried about Aura,” he said. “The Father is extremely worried about her.”

  Metatron nodded. “I understand.”

  “If you see her, you will tell her to come home?” Mihang’el asked.

  “Of course,” Metatron replied.

  “And inform us as well,” Herja added.

  “I shall, Commander,” Metatron replied.

  “Very well,” Mihang’el said. “Good day, Keeper.” Metatron nodded to them and with a flap of their wings both seraph disappeared into the heavens and the light of Auraehalis.

  ***

  Aura stood in the gardens of Caerwynspire watching the girls play. Queen Gwyndalin was beside her. A cloak covered Aura’s wings as she enjoyed the warmth of the light beaming down upon her. Her daughter ran along with the little princesses, playing and having a wonderful time. The child looked a lot like her mother, though she did not have wings. Her skin shone brightly and her hair was a brilliant gold. Aura laughed as her daughter chased the others. She was as large as the two-year old princess, despite being not yet six months old.

  A flutter of wings and the crunch of boots on stone caused Aura and Gwyndalin to turn. Aura’s hand was on the hilt of her sword. When she realized who it was, she released it.

  “Nervous, General?” Metatron asked as he watched her hand move away from her sword.

  “Just careful,” Aura replied.

  Metatron nodded. “Well, you have good reason to be.”

  Aura narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I received another visit from Herja. She is getting more persistent in her search for you.”

  “Yes,” Aura agreed.

  “She brought Mihang’el with her this time.”

  Aura sighed. “Unfortunately, I feel I can no longer trust Mihang’el and Gavri'el,” she replied. “They are clearly working with the shield maidens.”

  Metatron nodded.

  “Mommy!” a little girl’s voice shouted and Aura turned to see her daughter running toward her. She scooped the child up into her arms. “He’s a seraph like you,” the child said.

  “Yes, darling,” Aura smiled at her. “You are so smart.”

  “This is your daughter?” Metatron asked.

  “Yes,” Aura replied.

  “What is her name?” he asked.

  “Ashleen,” Aura replied.

  Metatron drew a quick breath. Aura noticed tears building in his eyes. He blinked them quickly away.

  “Why don’t you come with me, darling,” Gwyndalin said as she held out her arms. “Let mommy speak to her friend.”

  Ashleen practically fell into “Aunt Gwynny’s” arms. The Queen carried the ch
ild back over to the others and sat down with her.

  Aura turned back to Metatron. He was still watching Gwyndalin and Ashleen. “I did not know what to name the child,” Aura explained. “Had it been a boy I would have likely named him Alaric, but…” she trailed off choking up a bit. “Gwyndalin suggested Ashleen. She told me that she would be honored if I named my daughter after hers.”

  “It is a beautiful name,” Metatron whispered. “She is a beautiful girl.” He turned back to Aura and they noticed the tears in each other’s eyes. The realization made them both laugh. The idea of the General and the Keeper crying two years ago would have been ridiculous.

  “I should be going,” Metatron said.

  “Did you come here just to tell me that Herja and Mihang’el visited you?” Aura asked, curious about his sudden desire to leave.

  Metatron shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I was passing over on my way to inspect the seal over the gateway to Abaddock. It is not far from here.”

  “Shall I join you?” Aura asked.

  “No,” he smiled. “Stay here with Ashleen. Protect her.” Aura nodded. Suddenly, Metatron did something quite unexpected. He leaned forward and kissed Aura upon the cheek. “Take care of yourself, Aura,” he whispered.

  “You too, Metatron,” she said.

  The Keeper took a step back and then flapped his large, feathery wings, propelling himself into the sky and out of sight.

  Chapter 11

  “Andalynn,” Orrick’s voice broke the blackness startling Anne, causing her to jump and spin to face him. “Did I scare you?” he asked, eliciting a quick nod. “Nervous?”

  “Just deep in thought,” she replied.

  Orrick crossed the room, stopping just short of her. He looked her up and down. She wore black armor and her reddish gold hair was in a braid, falling over her shoulder and across her chest. Her skin was as white as snow and her eyes as black as the air around them. “Are you ready?” he asked.

  Anne nodded. “Yes,” she whispered in the darkness.

  Orrick smiled gently at her and then stroked his fingers over the burnt scarring of her face causing her to flinch slightly. She would forever be reminded of the seraph flame that burned her skin there.

  “Remember, I cannot help you this time,” Orrick reminded her. “Trust Asmodeus. He is a skilled general and warrior.”

  “You are certain the seraph shall not interfere?” she asked for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

  “As I have told you, my brother, Hae’lel, will not bring down his armies of seraph unless I join the battle. The seraph have ruled the Middle Realm for thousands of years. It is our turn. Our invasion shall frighten the seraph, allowing Hae’lel to exert more control over them. It seems he has had problems with rebellious subjects.”

  “Then why can’t you lead the army?” Anne asked.

  “Because Hae’lel doesn’t trust me to not keep marching and conquer Auraehalis as well,” Orrick replied with a sly smile. “Besides, I have complete confidence in you.” Anne returned his smile. “You are well trained. You are a fierce and determined warrior. Hold on to your lust for conquest and vengence. Hold in your mind’s eye the image of your cousin kissing your boots as she begs for mercy, just before you slay her.”

  Anne sneered. “It is all I have thought of this last year,” she said.

  Orrick nodded. “Good. And after you have subdued the Middle Realm and once again sit upon the throne as Empress, I shall bring our son to you.”

  Anne drew in a breath as the blackness momentarily faded from her eyes. “Our son?” she asked. Orrick nodded. “You know where he is?”

  “Of course,” Orrick replied. “I have always watched over him, just as I have watched over you.” Tears built in Anne’s eyes. Orrick reached up and placed his palms upon her cheeks, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “Focus Anne,” he whispered. “You will see him again, but only once you have won—once your cousin lies dead and everyone in the Middle Realm kneels at your feet.”

  Anne nodded as the blackness once more appeared in her eyes.

  “Now come,” Orrick said. “Your army awaits you.”

  Orrick led Anne through the darkness of his cavernous lair. After a year in Abaddock, Anne could see in the dark as well as any shedom. As they emerged from Orrick’s lair stepping over the reddish-black rocks, Anne surveyed her army. A hundred shedom and drakons and an army of tens of thousands of se’irim awaited her. She smiled.

  “Your army is capable of covering ground at incredible speeds,” Orrick explained. “An army of drakmere moves much faster than an army of humans, but an army of se’irim is faster still.”

  Anne nodded. She turned and lifted herself up onto her tiptoes to kiss him, but he pulled away with a shake of his head. He did not want his army seeing him kiss her as that would imply they were equals. No one in Abaddock was equal to Shebath. His eyes cut to the ground. She understood and lowered herself to one knee. She then took his hand and pressed her lips firmly against it.

  “I shall not fail you, Your Majesty,” she said loudly enough for all to hear. She then rose to her feet and turned to go. She approached Asmodeus who bowed at the waist and handed her a black helmet that matched the armor she wore. Unlike shedom helmets, Anne’s helmet had no visor and allowed her face to be visible. She stepped past Asmodeus to the large black drakon that stood watching her, its red eyes glowing in the darkness. “Are you ready, Morgan,” she asked. She thought it was fitting to name her drakon after her loving brother who had sacrificed himself for her. At least, that is how she preferred to remember her brother’s death. She would never believe she had murdered Morgan.

  “I am ready, Your Majesty,” the drakon said with a voice in her head that even sounded like her brother though more sinister.

  Anne pulled herself up onto the saddle. “Then let us ride,” she said.

  ***

  The sun was still high when Metatron fluttered down to the mountain beneath which the gates to Abaddock had been buried over a thousand years ago. At the base of the mountain, he found an entrance to a tunnel. Metatron narrowed his eyes as he stared at it. The tunnel should not exist. It was not natural. It had been dug.

  Metatron took a step toward the entrance and heard a snap and crack beneath his feet. He glanced down to see he had stepped on bones. Human bones. They littered the ground. Picked completely clean. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword and he drew the blade from its sheath before stepping into the tunnel.

  His sword shone brightly, illuminating the way as Metatron moved slowly through the darkness of the tunnel. He heard a strange noise, like an animal gorging itself, and quickened his pace. He turned a corner and in the light of his blade saw several drakmere feasting on human flesh.

  The draks leapt to their feet when they saw the light, weapons quickly in their clawed hands. “It’s an angel!” cried one. The others did not even have time to shriek before Metatron swept into the room as a glowing blur slicing the draks to ribbons. He was finished with them all in scant seconds and stood surveying the room, green blood now splattered across his body. When he felt confident no other draks inhabited the room, he turned and continued along the tunnel.

  Metatron soon came to the great seal which had sealed the gates to Abaddock. His jaw fell open when he saw it was broken. He stepped into the anteroom. There he noticed a single beam of light clearly from the sun outside, touching down upon an empty pedestal. “Uriel,” he whispered to himself. “Where are you?”

  Suddenly, the darkness to his right came to life as a shedom sprung at him, his dark blade slicing downward. Metatron spun and quickly deflected the blow. He heard a shriek to his left as another shedom appeared from the blackness slicing at him.

  Metatron spun out of the way and swung his Sword of Light, slicing through the second shedom’s arm. The demon fell to its knees with a hiss of pain and Metatron swept downward removing its head from its body and causing the creature to burst into light.

  The sudd
en light from his comrade’s death caused the first shedom temporary blindness and Metatron used that to his advantage. He moved quickly, rushing toward the demon and thrusting forward. The shedom jerked to the left to avoid the thrust, but Metatron still pierced his shoulder. The shedom fell to the ground with a shriek, writhing in pain.

  Metatron swept downward with his sword, knocking the shedom’s sword from its black gauntleted hand. Metatron stood over the black robed demon and raised his sword to finish it when he was stopped by the sounds of a loud rumble.

  Metatron glanced up and his eyes opened wide as the gate to Abaddock began to open. Metatron could not see into the darkness but a blood curdling roar made him realize a drakon was about to emerge. Metatron turned to leave—to fly away. He had to get to Auraehalis and warn them that the gates had opened. It was too late, however. A burst of flame leapt forth through the gates consuming Metatron. The Keeper let out one final agonizing scream before he crumbled into a pile of ash.

  Chapter 12

  Gwyndalin stood before the fire in her room watching the flames crackle and pop, the warmth radiating against her skin. She sighed as she felt firm hands upon her arms and the touch of lips upon her neck. She drew in a deep breath before slowly turning to face Sir Rodrick. A smile spread across his handsome face as she gazed into his eyes.

  “I love you,” he whispered. “I have loved you since the moment you arrived in Caerwynspire.” Gwyndalin returned the smile as a tear rolled down her cheek. Rodrick’s smile disappeared when he noticed it and he wiped it away. Her eyes left his and fell to the carpet. “I’m sorry,” the knight said. “This is too soon.”

  Gwyndalin’s eyes quickly leapt back to his. “No,” she said firmly. “It has been a year since Artur’s death.”

  “Then what is the matter?” he asked, concern etched upon his face.

  “It has just been so long since I have been happy,” she said as she began to cry. She buried her face in his chest. Rodrick kissed the top of her head as he squeezed her tight. After a moment, she pulled away and looked up at him. She then reached up and placed her hand behind his head, pulling his lips to hers.