THE DEATHSWORN ARC: I
The Last Dragon Slayer
By Martyn Stanley
Edition 1.5
(Faerun on map ren-named to Maerun and Free Sample Chapter of Deathsworn 2 added.)
©Martyn Stanley - 2012
Thanks to everyone at the http://www.sw-e.com writing forum, for inspiring me to write and providing a place to practise.
Special thanks to Jonathan Olfert, and Patrick Jerome for proof-reading and helping to edit and polish the first part of this story.
Extra special thanks to my wife Rachael…
For putting up with me.
A note on the pronunciation of ‘§’
§ is a sound used in elvish and gravian tongues. Whenever one of the human or dwarven characters say this sound, they are trying to emulate it, but probably not getting it exactly right. It is an alien sound, it rolls quickly off the tongue and changes depending on the context in which it’s used. For simplicity think of the sound as a fast, ‘shzchl’ which sort of rolls into one sound and rolls off the tongue. If you feel it should sound different on a particular word, then it probably does - please use your own interpretation.
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Chapters
The Troll’s Head
Execution
Flight from Trest
Another Companion
The Ride to Briem
Bandits
The Town of Briem
The Road to Duramer
Enter the Dragon’s Den
The Troll’s Head
The rain was heavier now. Four horses trudged along the muddy road, riders huddled beneath their cloaks, shoulders hunched against the wind. The horses were packed for travel, their saddlebags bulging. Twilight was setting in, both riders and horses were reduced to shadowy silhouettes, caked in mud, draped in soaked cloth, utterly drenched. They rode on, shuffling towards the dim lights of the town that lay ahead of them. As the town grew nearer, they could see it in more detail. A makeshift wooden barricade surrounded the town, though it looked more fit for keeping wild animals out, than for stopping invading forces. Unlike invading armies, wild animals were an ever present threat in this part of Torea. Beyond the ramshackle wooden ramparts, timber frame houses in varying states of disrepair could be seen, some with glass windows, most with only wooden shutters, soft candle or oil lamp light burning within. By the time the riders were at the heavy set, iron bound gate, darkness had fallen and the gate had been barred. The lead rider leaned forward and thumped his staff purposefully on the gate three times. There was a brief shuffling from the other side of the gate, a few whispers, then a hatch opened. The guard who peered through the hatch looked like he had seen too many winters, he had thin hair, mostly absent. His gaunt face showed a network of boils, warts and scars, and his teeth were yellow, black or simply missing. The guard peered into the darkness.
“Who goes there?”
The lead rider leaned down, remaining in his saddle, “Saul Karza, servant of the Empress, blessed be her name. I demand you open this gate immediately.” His voice rang with sage authority and carried the weight of years and wisdom. The riders didn’t have to wait long before the bars slid back and the great gate was drawn open enough for the horses to pass through. As they rode into the small gatehouse, out of the driving rain, the watchman called up to Saul, “What’s your business in Trest ‘Saul Karza’?” Saul drew back his hood, showing his full grey beard and weathered features, “We are here to seek Silus Mendelson... Would you know of his whereabouts?”
“Aye, that I do... He’ll be where he always is this time of the night... when he has coin in his pocket - the Trolls Head, it’s the large ale house at the far end of Main Street, on the big square, if you’re quick you might even catch up with him before he is so drunk he can no longer speak, or stand up...”
Saul flashed a look of concern at his companions, who were still hiding beneath their rain soaked hoods. Two of them were mountains of men, and the third, broader than the other two but short and stout. They said nothing, but rode on, Saul clicking his teeth and urging his horse after them.
The conditions inside Trest were little better if any, than the muddy, eroded road outside. The streets were narrow and dark with buildings overhanging on either side, as the denizens of this place had built ever larger floor areas on each floor above the ground. The entire road was a quagmire, with mud deep enough that a man could lose his boot in it. In fact as they squelched through the mire, Saul was sure he spotted the brim of a recently abandoned boot. It also smelled distinctly of human excrement and fluids, making it obvious where the chamber pots in Trest got emptied. This was clearly a town that would benefit from a sewage system.
It was late and dark, and the people of Trest chose to stay mainly indoors, huddled by their fires or in bed, waiting for first light. As Saul and his companions rode into the main square thunder cracked in the distance and a solitary line of blue lightning flashed between the fields in the distance and the looming clouds above, then the rain got heavier.
As they neared the ale house it became clear where it got its name from. On a spike above the sign was a weather smoothed, incomplete skull of what looked like a mountain troll, a large specimen by any account. The face was expressionless, having had the flesh weathered off many moons ago, leaving only rain and wind polished bone - but it still looked menacing, its jagged teeth and sullen, deep set eye sockets threatening, despite its long lifeless state. They pulled into the stables beyond the large building and dismounted.
The horses were tied into empty stalls and the short stout figure pulled back his hood to reveal a thick, fully braided, red beard and long red hair, “Master Saul, should we not visit the inn to secure a room for the night before we seek Silus?”
Saul shook his head, “No Votrex... There is little point in staying the night here if Silus Mendelson isn’t to be found... There may be little point in staying even if he is here... From the account of the town watchman, Silus Mendelson may not be in a fit state to join our quest.”
The dwarf grunted, “Hmmph, well, he may have advice for us all the same. A man who is not fit to swing a sword may yet be fit to advise on how to face a Dragon in combat.”
One of the larger men who had been tending to his horse now turned to them, having pulled back his hood, revealing a full head of matted, long blonde hair and a full blonde beard “Even if Silus is an ale rotten vagabond... He is the last known living person to see a Noble Dragon, at the very least he can give us an idea of what we’re up against.”
Votrex nodded, “Aye Harald, that is true...”
Saul started for the back door to the ale house, with his companions in tow, muttering over his shoulder as he walked, “Come, we’ve tarried long enough.”
Having tied up the horses they walked through the interior of the stables towards the back entrance of the ale house, thankful to finally be out of the driving rain. Before they entered, the other larger man, a barbarian, from the far north, by the name of Korhan cast a glance about the stables. He was sure he’d seen a flash of black darting between the stalls, he listened for a moment, but all was silent and there was no sign of movement. Satisfied, he gestured for Saul to enter. As Saul pulled the door open the roaring sound of drinking and merrymaking washed over them in a blast of warm air. It was a rural ale house, with a stone floor covered in a layer of hay. In the centre
of the large room there was a huge fire pit that spanned several feet wide and several feet long. Almost all of the tables and benches were full, most of the occupants looked like peasants or farm hands. It seemed a peculiar place to be looking for a legendary Dragon Slayer, a run down ale house in a town so backwater, there weren’t even proper roads to it. All four of the riders had pulled back the hoods of their cloaks now, Saul led the way through the ale house. In a small rural town like this strangers did not go unnoticed and gradually, the drinkers began to pay more attention to them. Saul, despite being one of the few licensed magicians of the Empire, would attract little more than a passing glance. The two barbarians from the north, Harald and Korhan, might attract a raised eyebrow, but it was Votrex who drew some sniggers and looks of scorn.
Dwarves were rare in Torea; they had been abundant in the past, but for reasons unknown to most, numbers had declined dramatically to the point where seeing a living breathing dwarf was rare indeed. As a race, the dwarves of Torea made up for their short stature in great strength, iron constitution and quick tempers. They were famed for metalwork, complex machinery and for being fearsome warriors, they were also considered possibly the most adept race at enchanting - the imbuing of everyday items with magical powers. Votrex was a proud dwarf, clan chief of the Vanguard and Gorthok of the mine Durgheim Holt. Dwarvish culture was strange to Toreans. Gorthok had no direct translation into Torean, but if anything it meant something like ‘Chief Engineer’ and at the same time a mine was not just a place where minerals were extracted from the ground, a mine was a place where dwarves lived, worked, bred, fed... A Holt was more like an underground city than a mine.
As he followed Saul through the alehouse he became increasingly aware of the hostile glances that were being cast his way. He grunted and fixed his eyes on Saul’s back, not wanting to compromise their mission for the sake of pride. When they eventually made their way to the bar Saul addressed the bar man, a balding man with a pear shape figure. He looked grimy, his apron was a murky beige with streaks of deep brown stain running down the length of it. He had a sadistic gleam in his eye as Saul spoke to him, “Four pints of ale barkeep.”
The man chuckled softly, then nodded towards Votrex, “Wouldn’t that be one ‘half-pint’?” This brought a round of chuckles from everyone nearby - which seemed to egg him on if anything. Saul said nothing, and watched the barkeep fill four earthenware jugs, “That’s eight coppers, I can’t give you credit if you’re short...” This brought another round of laughter, louder this time, but Votrex - proud though he was, bit his lip and feigned amusement at the barkeeper’s jokes.
As Saul handed over the coin he leaned in, “Would you be able to point me in the direction of Silus Mendelson?”
The barkeeper leaned in as well, “Aye... That I might, though hmmm, I just can’t place him at the moment... A silver coin might jog my memory?”
Saul glared at him, “We know he’s here, if we can find him then I anticipate we’ll be enjoying a few jars of your fine ale... If however he isn’t here - then we shall be on our way.”
Saul’s response did not garner a positive reaction from the surly barkeeper. He instead grunted and nodded towards a dark corner, “He’s over there, his usual spot... Trying to drown himself in ale.”
Saul turned, and Votrex and Harald followed, Korhan paused then nodded towards a mighty great sword hanging over the bar. If was rusty and tarnished, and broken in the centre, “Whose weapon was that?”
The barkeep turned to look at it, then shrugged, “Local hero... Name of Hal or so I’m told - they say he slew the troll whose skull is on the sign outside, and in doing so broke the sword. I don’t really know the details; it was before my time... Of course a few coins might jog my...”
Korhan groaned and walked away before the barkeep could finish his sentence. When he caught up with Saul and the others they’d already taken a seat in a cold, dark corner of the room. Sitting opposite was the man he presumed was Silus Mendelson, the fabled ‘last dragon slayer’. The fact was, the man sitting across from Saul, Votrex and Harald did not look like a legendary hero, but more like a gaunt old man, weather-worn and weakened. The years had clearly not been kind to him.
Korhan took a seat, “So, you are the great Silus Dragon Slayer?” The man swirled his earthenware mug and downed it in one gulp.
“As I was saying to your friend here... I don’t feel much like talking, my throat is dry - perhaps a jar of ale or two would help?” Harald looked at Saul who nodded, then Harald got up and headed to the bar.
Votrex spoke sighed despairingly, “What are you doing in a backwater hole like Trest?”
“Hah! I could ask the same of a dwarf... I thought your kind had burrowed their way under the earth never to be seen again.”
Votrex nodded, “Most of them have at that... But that doesn’t explai...”
“You’re all fools; you don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
Korhan butted in at this point, “That’s why we’re here!”
Silus scowled at him, “If you’ve heard reports of a Noble Dragon, then they are probably wrong, you should pray to Ishar that they are wrong, because if you go looking for it and you find it, you will die - all of you.”
Saul noticed Harald slide onto a stool placing two pints of ale in front of Silus. Then he turned back to the dragon slayer, “What exactly happened all those years ago? What can you tell us?”
Silus picked up one of the mugs and took a long drink from it, then wiped his lips, “At the time, it was the first reported Draconis Nobilus in a long time... They were thought to have died out decades ago, but Dragons are strange creatures, born of magic - they can lie dormant for many years... A sort of hibernation if you like. Swamp dragons hibernate over the winter, Noble Dragons can lie dormant for years, decades even. It was thought at the time that the Dragons had wiped each other out, mostly. Dragons, Noble Dragons, are intelligent, and vain... They desire to be worshipped, to be treated as gods by mortals. Other dragons can be seen by them as an obstacle to this... Or so we believed.”
Votrex supped his ale, before wiping his beard with his sleeve, “How did you kill it?”
Silus laughed at this, “You speak as if I slew the beast on my own, if only that were true. Many brave men lost their lives that day...”
Saul to raised an eyebrow, “How many were in the party who rode out to seek it?”
“Two score, a mixture of spearmen, swordsmen, archers and magic users... Most were slain in an instant when the beast left its cave and breathed fire down the marching line. It seemed to know we were on our way, it came out of nowhere, giving us no time to take cover. The heat... The heat from a Dragon’s flames is fearsome... Some of the party were charred to black ashes in an instant, others burned so hot that nothing remained... Even the rocks alongside the path were melted, it breathed fire that was hotter than is possible to achieve without the aid of magic.”
Harald didn’t look fazed, he clicked his mug onto the table, “So, how many made it to the dragons lair?”
“Hah! A handful... Maybe a dozen or so at most... There should have been more, the spell casters had enchanted our armour and weapons to resist fire, but magic has its limitations like anything else...“
Saul leaned forward, “So, the remaining warriors tracked the dragon to its lair - what next?”
Silus was pale now, he looked up properly for the first time, showing his scarred face and missing left eye, “We fought... You’d think the way to fight a dragon was in its lair, deep within a series of caverns, not much room to manoeuvre, the dragon can’t simply fly away if it feels it’s losing... But it was hell in that cave... For a beast so huge it moved faster than you would have thought possible, we ended up separated and on the run quickly. If you did manage to land a blow on the beast, your weapon would simply bounce off, it had scales tougher than beaten steel. I also believe they have excellent night vision, and very few if any true vulnerabilities.”
Harald, Korh
an, Votrex and Saul listened, exchanging concerned glances at every detail which emerged.
Silus smiled as their expressions grew, “And the best thing is, none of that is what makes the dragon truly dangerous. The real danger is the dragons sharp wit and sharp tongue, sharper than any claw, talon or tooth... When it speaks to you, the words form in your head, and it has a mind like no other being... They can see into your mind... Even if it were not so physically difficult to kill a dragon, they would defeat you with their razor sharp wit.”
Votrex sighed deeply, “They speak... But they speak in your head... Hmmm, can you keep them out of our heads Wizard?”
Saul shrugged softly, “I know not Gorthok Votrex, no one does - but if they have the power of speech they may be spell breakers or mages themselves... My magic may be of little assistance in this task... Of course, many trained magic users can invade people's heads; it could simply be that by their nature - dragons are powerful spell casters.”
Korhan rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “So, given all of this - how did you actually succeed in killing this dragon?”
Silus leaned back and shrugged, “Luck... Blind luck... A dragon is a creature like any other - yes they are born of magic and not subject to the laws of nature, but they can still make mistakes. The rest of the group had been killed, either trodden on, bitten in half, swallowed whole, sliced into ribbons by claw or burnt to a crisp. It was mocking me, telling me how futile our attacking it was, and how effortless it had been to defeat us - how could mortals such as we expect to defeat an ancient, ‘king of the skies’ as he? He also told me that even if we had defeated him - the reign of fire is approaching, the dragons will not lie dormant for long... And once they awaken from their slumber, we will bow to down our true masters... Or die... That was when its huge, scaly neck lunged at me, baring its jagged teeth, but one of the dragons long horns caught in a crevice over its head, immobilising itself for a moment. I knew I wouldn’t get a second chance. I’d long been disarmed but another warriors great sword was lying nearby, I rushed over, grabbed it - then thrust it into the beasts skull, right into its brain, before it could free itself.”
Deathsworn Arc: 01 - The Last Dragon Slayer Page 1