The Green Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book (Dragon Series 3)

by Salvador Mercer

  “Fine, I’ll let the three of you carry my belongings for now,” Gloria said, not wanting to go through another round of denial and refusal. Also because she started to feel real pain with her exertions. Her adrenaline was weakening, and whatever wood magic that Elly had used on her seemed to be wearing off. She was feeling the pain more and more each hour. Honor would take a back seat to pragmatism this day.

  The three spoke no further until Edric arrived a good twenty minutes later. He had been a long ways down the hillside and literally ran the entire way, at close to a human sprint, in order to reach them.

  The trio allowed the Ranger to catch his breath and didn’t bother him with questions. They knew that he’d speak in his own good time. “The northerners are further to the east. There appears to be a much larger force, and they are heading for the main mountain pass at Eagle’s Peak. The scouting force that pursues us continues to do so, but they are now three hours behind us after a merry chase.”

  “What do you mean by a much larger force?” Gloria asked, looking concerned.

  “I mean, they have a rather large force, as in a small army, and they are marching south.”

  “The ones who pursue us . . .” Gloria pressed further.

  “That turned out to be a scouting force from the main army,” Edric explained.

  “You must be joking,” Gloria said, her voice grave. “There were over a hundred warriors who attacked our caravan. You must be mistaken.”

  “No,” Edric said, breathing rhythmically between his words. “I spent the better part of this morning scouting to the east and along the old northern road. My report is precise.”

  “What does this mean, then?” Gloria asked.

  Diamedes answered, “I think the recent events surrounding the Dragon War have now spilled over and out to all the realms of Agon. There can be no other explanation if the barbarian clans of the north have come together for war. They have not done so in nearly a millennia.”

  “Your history is correct,” Edric said.

  “It should be. He is, after all, the king’s royal historian,” Gloria said.

  “King?” Edric asked.

  “Tyniria,” Diamedes explained.

  “What was that about?” Elly asked.

  “There are many ‘kings,’” Diamedes explained. “I’m sure your protector here simply wanted to clarify which ‘king’ I was working for.”

  “Oh,” Elly said, thinking half a century was not nearly enough time to study all that he needed to learn about the world of Claire-Agon.

  “There is only one king,” Gloria said.

  “Yes, yes, though there are many factions and realms that don’t share the sentiment,” Diamedes said. “Let us focus on the question at hand. Can we walk to the mountain pass, or must we run some more?”

  Edric laughed a deep laugh, tilting his back a bit before answering and placing a massive hand on the smaller historian’s shoulder. “I think we can trot a bit and perhaps walk briskly for now. I think I managed to shake them off our trail long enough that we will reach the borders of Vulcrest before they do.”

  “What then?” Gloria asked.

  “We consult with the Arnen,” Edric said. “Master Greyson will know what to do, and in any event, he must be informed of the northerners’ actions. Vulcrest needs to be warned.”

  A large snow falcon swept from high above, screeching loudly and coming to land on a rock near Elister. Elly walked to the creature and offered it a piece of stale bread from his pack. “There you go, my little friend.”

  “You have a way with Agon’s children,” Edric said, “especially the falcons of the north. They have a keen sense of honor, and take to you easily.”

  “I think the bird is simply hungry,” Gloria said.

  Elly smiled and offered the bird a bit more bread before it flew off. “Yes, it’s hungry and eager to hunt, but it also enjoys companionship as well, and its fellow falcons have shunned it for an unknown reason, so it has come to me more than once.”

  “And how do you know all this?” Gloria asked.

  “Why, it told me so itself,” Elly said matter-of-factly.

  “Can you stand?” Edric asked, ignoring the falcon and banter for the moment.

  “Yes, I can,” Gloria said, taking Diamedes’ hand and using it to get to her feet.

  Edric stepped forward, Diamedes’ pack still on his broad back. “I’ll take your sword,” he said. It was a statement, not a request.

  Gloria looked to Diamedes, who smiled and offered another hand. “And I’ll take that chainmail of yours, if you don’t mind lifting it over your head. Can you manage?”

  Gloria nodded, and in silence, she gave her sword to Edric and managed to pull her chainmail over her head with the historian’s help, doing so slowly enough that she didn’t put any pressure on her sore ribcage.

  Diamedes held the armor for a second and then put it on, using the same belt to cinch it at his waist. Being smaller than the warrior woman, it fit easily over his brown cloak and it hung almost to his ankles.

  “There,” Diamedes said, feeling as if he was carrying two of his packs now instead of just the one.

  “You think you can manage?” Edric asked, his eyes narrowing.

  “I’ll be fine, though you can keep it at a steady pace. No need for all that sprinting,” the historian said, motioning with one hand for the Ranger to take the lead.

  “I’ll bring up the rear. Elly will guide you,” Edric said.

  The group took off, walking along the small, narrow game trail that Elly and Edric had used days earlier. True to his word, Edric did not push them and allowed them to march at a quick but manageable pace.

  “So what brings the king’s historian to the Barbarian Lands?” Gloria asked as they walked single file along the trail.

  Answering from behind her, Diamedes breathed a bit heavier now with the mail draped over his body. “I’ve been scouring the lands for signs of the draconus species—”

  “You mean dragons,” Gloria interrupted.

  “Yes, dragons,” Diamedes said. “There’s quite the controversy in various realms as to their existence and whereabouts—”

  “I didn’t know there was any debate regarding the matter,” Gloria interrupted again.

  “Well, your realm lies far to the south and usually has been spared the occasional sightings and incidents regarding the species,” Diamedes began. “However, up here, far to the north, the lands are known to have been populated with the great creatures, and depending on the land itself, there are various legends, folktales, and lore over the ages that have supported the existence of the draconians . . . ah, I mean dragons.”

  “Have you seen one before?” Gloria asked, and Elly stopped walking for a moment to actually turn and face the small historian, who found himself forced to an abrupt halt.

  “Well, yes, I have.”

  “Where?” Gloria asked rather suspicious.

  “Balaria, actually,” Diamedes answered.

  “Ha, there are no dragons in Balaria,” Gloria said, turning and giving Elly a push to get him moving again, as if ending the debate once and for all. “There are plenty of thieves and assassins there, though, and perhaps you mistook one of them for a dragon.”

  “The historian speaks the truth,” Edric said in a loud, commanding voice from behind them.

  “Not you too,” Gloria said, not bothering to recognize the remark by looking back.

  This time Gloria found herself bumping into the back of Elister, who had turned and stopped, bringing the group to a halt yet again. “They both speak the truth,” Elister said, his tone serious and his face stern, nothing like the jovial, child-like character that she had become accustomed to the last twenty-four hours.

  Elister turned and continued on, leaving the rest of them standing in place. Diamedes didn’t speak and passed Gloria on the narrow trail, following the druid. Edric walked up to her and whispered in her ear. “A dragon killed his family many years ago. He witnesse
d their deaths.”

  “Agon help me, I had no idea,” Gloria whispered back, watching the two men as they walked in front of them. “Please forgive me.”

  “There is nothing to forgive. You did not know. Most do not.”

  Edric motioned, and Gloria took his cue and continued on the trail in silence for the next hour. It took that hour, and another, before they reached the summit and found themselves straddling the hidden mountain pass.

  “What is that?” Gloria asked, pointing far to the south where the Greenfeld lay below them like a carpet of green grass. Smoke was seen wafting up from the horizon, hardly visible but there nonetheless. The sun was already setting, and it cast a golden hue across the land.

  “That is Vulkor, the capital of Vulcrest, at least a two days’ walk from here,” Edric said, coming up last.

  “That looks like the war that our historian was referring to,” Gloria stated.

  The four companions stood for several moments, listening to the sounds of the wild and watching the clouds slowly drift by far overhead, always their focus coming to the small wisps of black smoke at the very edge of the horizon.

  A new sound approached them, very faint but familiar, and it brought a shudder to their souls—the sound of barbarians in pursuit.

  “I thought you said they were a good three hours behind us?” Gloria turned to Edric.

  “They were, but we have taken our time to summit the pass and you two needed your rest, so they have closed the gap to an hour now.” Edric looked back and then pointed down the trail.

  “We’ll never make it to Vulcrest before they catch us,” Gloria said, doom entering her voice.

  “We have already reached Vulcrest,” Edric clarified.

  “I meant the city. What did you call it?” Gloria asked.

  “Vulkor,” Diamedes said, not being able to help himself.

  “Do not worry yourself, Lady Gloria of Giegenstien,” Edric began, speaking formally to her. “You will soon rest safely in the abode of the Arnen.”

  “Where would that be?” Gloria asked.

  “Home,” Elister said.

  Chapter 11

  Siege

  “I’ve spotted them. They are over th—”

  The officer stopped in mid-speech as an arrow penetrated his skull, right in the middle of his forehead. It was a feathered wooden arrow, with a rather small but sharp iron tip that would be made in a small woodland town, not the shoddy mechanical manufacture of a crossbow bolt that the Kesh used.

  “Hit them with your magic,” Solvang urged, taking cover behind one of the wagons loaded with barrels of water.

  The group of Kesh and Ekians was gathered around a few wagons to the north of Vulkan, but they weren’t facing the city that they had surrounded. Instead, they found themselves facing north into a patch of trees from an orchard that belonged to a local farmer. There was an exceptionally gifted bowman that had taken out several of the Kesh military leadership, and this was vexing to them.

  “He’s not alone,” Amsor stated coolly, despite the barrage of arrows that had killed several of his officers. The last arrow that had tried to hit the mage burned to ash in midflight at a mere flick of his wrist, pointing his staff at the missile, and a gently murmured word.

  One of the three wizards approached the group from behind, where he had been stationed to the east side of the city. The Kesh had the capital partitioned and surrounded, one wizard per quadrant, north, south, east, and west. The mage had taken the main gate quadrant, which faced north, leaving the other three quadrants to his subordinates. Now, however, magical reinforcements were being called in.

  “You called, Master?” the wizard asked Amsor.

  “Yes, Kentos. There seems to be an issue with our ring of security around the Vulcrest capital. It is not safe.”

  “The area was swept twice before we fortified our positions.” Kentos leaned toward Amsor, who had yet to look at him, continuing to peer into the grove of trees a hundred yards south of them.

  “Your wizard is correct,” General Gores stated, coming to the wizard’s defense. “We had the area cleared by nightfall yesterday, and this grove was checked again this morning.”

  “Are you sure?” Solvang asked from his hiding place behind a wagon.

  Indeed, most of the group had cover behind some kind of small tree, wagon, barrel, or other solid item to keep them safe from the arrows that seemed to appear from out of nowhere, reeking silent death upon them. Only the two Kesh magic-users stood their ground in the open, appearing unafraid and unconcerned, at least for the moment.

  “I rode the area myself, Solvang,” Prince Egden said from behind a small tree where the prince tried to stand, half-crouching to keep his head down and protected. It was not the most dignified manner in which to be seen for royalty, but it was effective at blocking any arrow from finding a royal mark.

  “This is no Vulcrest soldier, nor a huntsman with a bow,” Amsor said, using his free hand to stroke the beard from beneath his chin. “Kentos, I want you to advance and clear the orchard. Kill any within it and bring me the bowman’s head.”

  “Yes, that is a splendid idea,” Solvang said, also not appearing dignified by sitting on his rear with his backside against the wagon’s wheels.

  “I can call a score of our cavalry to charge the woods,” Gores said, having the luck to be behind a lone tree that stood taller than the man, and the use of a large shield, though he was further to the rear and this did not sit well with the soldier’s honor.

  “No need,” Amsor said. “Kentos will prevail.”

  “Follow me,” Kentos called out behind him, and his entourage of three bodyguards stepped forward with their shields out in front of them and swords at the ready to their sides.

  The group peered tentatively as the Kesh mage walked calmly toward the orchard, looking more than exposed with no shield and no cover. The first arrow arrived much closer to the wizard before his staff shot out a blue beam of light at the missile, turning it to ash in midair. The second arrow was aimed past the wizard at one of his bodyguards, but Kentos did not ignore it and also struck it down, leaving nothing but floating black dust for him to walk through.

  “Impressive,” Solvang said, not minding or knowing if he sounded pandering.

  Then something happened that surprised even Amsor. A woman appeared from around one of the orchard’s trees. She wore a plain brown robe, and her hair flowed around her shoulders and hood of her cloak. She held a wooden staff with a piece of granite rock on top, appearing very much like a poor version of a Kesh mage, though the shiny metallic staves and glimmering gemstones of the Kesh were more awe-producing than this peasant-looking woman.

  Kentos stopped and eyed the woman suspiciously. His three soldiers did the same, looking to their wizard for a sign of what to do next. Kentos spoke. “Yield, woman, or die.”

  His words were commanding, loud and clear, eliciting a response from the prince. “Not a very gentlemanly thing to say to a lady.”

  “That is no lady,” Amsor said, eyes frozen on the woman.

  “Surely she isn’t the archer we’ve been searching for, is she?” Gores asked, stepping out from around his tree, though keeping his shield up in front of him.

  Several other soldiers, servants, and officers started to relax their guard a bit and adjust their positions to watch the event as it unfolded. Even Amsor took two steps forward before catching himself and stopping to allow his wizard to deal with the unexpected woman.

  “By whose hand?” the woman asked, not looking like she intended to yield at all.

  “Do you know who you are facing?” the wizard asked, his tone cool with just a hint of menace in it.

  “I do. You are Kesh,” she said, adjusting her footing and planting the end of her staff deep into the ground.

  “He’s not planning on killing her, is he?” Prince Egden asked the mage, standing completely upright and coming out into plain view to stand next to Amsor.

  “He will if he
has to.” Amsor continued to look at his wizard and the woman.

  “Don’t you think that’s rather dra—?”

  “Not now.” Amsor cut the prince off, holding his free hand out, commanding silence. Solvang didn’t speak but was waving his hand wildly at his prince, motioning for him to clear away from the Kesh mage.

  Kentos leveled his staff, pointing it directly at the woman. “Then yield or face the consequences.”

  The woman showed her first sign of weakness in her response, which sounded almost childlike. “I would like to see you try it.”

  Obviously not the thing to say to a Kesh wizard, and his response was immediate as he murmured the words of a spell and loosed a bolt of lightning right at the defiant woman.

  The lightning bolt hit her staff and was directed into the ground at her very feet. Dirt flew up in all directions, momentarily obscuring the woman from view, though another figure did appear from behind her and off to the side. A large warrior with an immense bow in his hand came from around one of the trees and appeared to want to aid the woman, but he stopped a dozen feet behind her and off to the side.

  When the dirt and dust cleared, the woman waved her hand in front of her and coughed, clearing her lungs. “Is that all you can do?” she asked, smiling at Kentos and motioning for him to come to her.

  The warrior behind her said something inaudible, but her response was clear to everyone, even at a hundred yards away. “I don’t think so, Wulfric. Master Greyson was right.”

  The warrior spoke, again unheard, and the woman responded. “Well, we’ll find out soon enough, but in the meantime, I’d like to give this wizard fellow a taste of his own medicine, if you don’t mind.”

  Kentos stood dumbfounded, having never experienced someone simply grounding his electrical attack before, and worse, acting so nonchalantly about it in the process. It was worse than confounding; it was humiliating for the Kesh wizard. He wasted no time in releasing his second bolt.

  The results were pretty much the same. This time more dust and less dirt floated through the air, and the woman coughed less, seeming more prepared this time for the flying dirt. “He did it again,” she said to the warrior.