Dragons Blight (Valadfar Book 1)

by Damien Tiller

  “ Bring the messenger to me but for the love of god don’t let that mob inside the keep. Do whatever is necessary.” King Harvey said to the guards standing a few feet behind him and the ladders top. The defeat clear in his voice as he stepped back away from the wall as rocks bounced down off of it. He knew that if the mob made it to his chambers he would be dragged into the street and killed. It was only the fear of how many guards Harvey ‘might’ have inside the keep that had kept them outside the walls as it was. If they knew that he had so few his reign would end in bloody rebellion. As the loyal guards left to collect the man from Briers Hill Harvey headed inside. He made his way up to the throne room and the faded table that had hinted of promise to change the fate of Neeskmouth. Harvey picked up a small wooden figure from the table and placed it into the Scorched Lands. Harvey had been raised by his father to prepare for war. He trained most of his life for it and spent countless hours staring at the table planning his next move but now he was out of ideas. Harvey was a king who in his own way loved his city but he would have been better off as a commander in the army. He hadn’t wanted any of this to happen but he was brought up never to give in. His father had beat him mercilessly as a boy if he submitted in sword training, or sometimes even if he gave the wrong answer while being forced to stare at the map and listen to his father’s plans for war. All the countless battles that plagued Neeskmouth had started long before Harvey’s birth but he had no choice but to continue to fight them. The people didn’t realize that. He could not be seen to be weak and Neeskmouth could not lie down and die at the hands of barbarians. Rubbing his finger against the polished top of the little wooden figurine Harvey spared a thought for the young nobles he had sent to their deaths. Darcy should be deep into the ashen landscape by now searching for the artifact. It -all going well - would be no more than a week before he returned with it, if Darcy had more luck than the others Harvey had sent. Harvey could have told Darcy when he was in the city that he would have to go with the wizards into the Scorched Lands but Harvey had not wanted Darcy to find that out until he opened the letter with the mages away from the possible ears of the city. It had been bad enough having to tell him as much as he had within the echo ridden halls of the keep. Harvey wished his plan had worked out better. If only people trusted in him to lead them out of all this. To the victory of freedom he had been fighting for but he understood why they couldn’t. But if only they had, Raidaridin under siege would return to the Handson Kingdom and the men pulling back from Briers Hill all Harvey had to do was keep order for seven more days and then the heart would save them all. The Poles would be pushed back into the cold grey mountains the Dragons had cast them too centauries’ before and the people would ignore the pirates and the city would be saved. Harvey would be a king of hero’s a name to remember. A statue a hundred feet tall would have been erected in the harbor to honor his name and finally his father might actually be proud to call him son. At least that had been the idea, but the news that was brought to King Harvey was dire indeed. The news that his men at Hallows Fort and Briers Hill had been drawn to the last man fell heavily indeed. Sir Dean had been known as a hero among the people, when a legend falls there is always the call for blood and Harvey feared that it would make people want his even more. The dreams of a statue to honor him crumbled like the walls of his keep.

  Harvey took his hat off and wiped his forehead of the sweat that had gathered on it. His eyes were tired and bloodshot. He could not remember the last time he had actually gone to his bedchamber, had it been a day or two now he had no clue. Harvey felt that his stress was already at breaking point and he felt like just throwing the crown into the gutter and leaving the city to its fate but he couldn’t. That was not who he was. He was the city and he would die here. The Pole army would soon be marching to Neeskmouth it would take no more than three days for them to reach the city. They had rested and were well fed at the expense of the people of Briers Hill. Harvey was a tactician himself and knew all too well how the savage Poles army worked. They would march slowly not to be worn out by the time they reached Neeskmouth. From the accounts given the army would had doubled in size before it had left Briers Hill. They would be a force to be reckoned with for a full army and a ready city let alone a militia of farmers and a handful of underpaid and less than loyal guards and that was only if Harvey could somehow convince the people to fight for him. He could not offer them safety or money, the only other thing people would fight for was his love and Harvey was not naive enough to think that people still had that for him. Harvey pushed his hat back on tight and flicked the feathers back and forth as he often did to calm down. He paced back and forth around the table top staring at the wooden piece that represented Darcy in the Scorched Lands. There was no way that Darcy could be back in time with the heart to stop the Poles. The city was poorly defendable at the best of times. It had not needed huge walls to protect it while the Dragons occupied it as no one in their right minds would have attacked it. The walls around the castle were more for show than anything else. Darcy wished to the creator that he had built walls in the years he had sat on the throne. Instead he had sunk the countries funds into wars, battle after battle and it seemed that it would soon be for naught. He had meant well, he really had. At least Harvey told himself that. There had been no word from the sailing fleet but even if King Harvey could get word to them it would take days for the ships to return to the harbor. They would arrive exhausted and worse, after the Poles. That was if they had not been seized at Raidaridin. For the poor and dying boy had been forced to listen to the propaganda of Annar before he had been sent from Briers Hill that the ships that had been seen travelling along the coast would be sailing straight into an ambush. Harvey hated the idea but there was only one choice open to him. The Handson kingdom must stand free with him as its king or without. He had already lost half the people under the White Flags influence and when word got out that Briers Hill now belonged to the Poles the angry crowd would erupt into an ocean of blame and he feared that not even he could withstand it. His father was obviously right in thinking that he would be a failure. The kingdom was only held together with empty promises as it was and the people would pick it apart like a poorly stitched wound. The only option Harvey could think of as viable was to send word discreetly to the White Flags and hope they could muster enough men, cut throats and brigands as they were, to fight off the Poles. The Handson kingdom would have to deal with one problem at a time and for now that was to survive the week. Monarchy or republic could be battled out later. Harvey was not about to see the kingdom fall under his rule and if it came to allowing pirates to die for his beliefs then it was an easy choice to make.

  Chapter nine – hope across the sea On the White Isle only around twenty five miles as the crow flies from the hardships of Neeskmouth was the town of the pirates, Slickrock. Slickrock was a masterwork of wooden craftsmanship and was build in an odd array of ship looking buildings and piers rather than your conventional town. It had been built on stilts that ran out above the white sandy beach and into the sea. It was a u-shaped multi-storey town of oddities with no two buildings looking the same. Some took on the shape of ships even down to having the figure heads attached to the walls and others looked more like traditional cabins. Some had bigger upstairs than they did down with extensions being built for loading cranes and almost all of them had rigging and rope ladders hanging from window to window. Wooden planks holding walls up with sleeping bags underneath were a common sight in the town. The long piers at either end of the U were the perfect height for boarding the large pirate ships that often added to the horizon. Barrels dotted the promenade and many of them ended up being used as tables and playing cards or empty tankards littered their tops. It was a boisterous town that had more ale houses than Raidaridin or Neeskmouth added together and was around one tenth of the size of the two stone giants. It shared a similarity to the harbor and dockyards of Neeskmouth in that it was often changing. As ships mutinied and captains changed so wou
ld the buildings that had once held that particular crew. The second most common building was the brothel which also doubled as the trade houses for the island. All of this sat nestled beneath the overhanging structure that was William Boatswains residence. The island itself was mostly covered with high cliffs which seemed to be home to half the seagull population of all of Neeska and they often left there tell-tell white glaze on the roofs of Slickrock. The seagulls had grown fat on the gluttony of the island in the same way many of the human inhabitants had. They were some of the biggest birds on Valadfar. If you didn’t mind being harassed by the large cackling birds and could tolerate the strong sea winds then the rocks and caves that covered any area that wasn’t coated in white sands or cliff made the island a smugglers haven. Many of the tunnels that ran through the island were large enough for small boats to sail through and made the inner caves full of hiding holes and lost stashes. As well as these many attractive traits that attracted pirates the island was sat on the only ‘safe’ shipping route out of Neeskmouth. That is safe in comparison to the jagged reefs east of Neeskmouth that ran between the main land and the Alienage isle. They were so sharp and numerous hidden just below the wake that they forced all ships to sail northwest before they could join the open ocean and shipping routes of the White Sea. This detour northwest pushed any trade galleon within a few miles of the beach at Slickrock’s base so the pirates could raid the ships and be back on dry land to sort the loot within an hour or so and the many caves made for perfect places to stash the goodies or disappear from retaliating frigates. The White Isle had always been prosperous for thieves and some historians claimed that it was with loot stolen from the Dragon lords that the Drow of Gologan managed to set up their harbor of Portse in order to escape the fiery retaliation. The risk of the odd Dragon reprisal had been worth the payoff and being able to dive into close by water made the fire breathing giants seem a little less scary and so the many different pirates flourished. This rugged and often deadly way of earning a living had earned the White Isle a deadly reputation and it was not until William Boatswain, the current lord of Slickrock’s father settled there in the winter of 51ab that the beach started to be built up into the thriving and tavern filled port that it was today. Williams’ father had a charisma that had settled the rivalry of the many different pirates that sailed close to the island and brought them all into agreement to sail under one flag and for the most part not openly kill each other. Before his rule the pirates spent as much time killing and stealing from themselves as they did from traders and there are stories that survive to this day of lost loot hidden in forgotten caves from pirates that never returned to collect their plunder. A few drunken pirates had told stories of passing through the caves below Slickrock and seeing hints of gold beneath the waves and ruby’s as big as a man’s head protected by the spirits of the dead captains or worse Dragons’ curses. None of this dissuaded the late Captain Boatswain from building his city and becoming the legend among sea faring folk that he was. When the king of Neeskmouth at the time heard of the city of thieves being built, and the new so called king of the pirates, he had the late captain Boatswain killed without trial. William had been only seven years old when he watched and waited as his father’s dead body was tossed overboard by King Handson’s fleet just outside of the White Isle and washed ashore. That was the moment that the son of the pirate king swore that the Handson family would not keep the throne. William believed that everyone should have a say in how the country they had to live in was run. It should not come down to one man how the coffers would be spent and what law and punishment should be handed out. No man should be killed without fair trial and William refused to rest while bodies like his father’s still washed up on the white sandy shores. The small boy was heir to the town of Slickrock and many expected the pirates to start fighting again to take claim of the land but they didn’t. The boys’ dreams made sense to the freedom loving men and women of the Flags. William was barely ten years old before he commanded several ships that sailed under his ideals and the name of the White Flags. Now at the age of thirty two William commanded more ships than he could count. The way piracy was carried out on the White Sea had changed under his leadership even more than it had under his fathers. Traders could pay a fee weekly or per ship to ensure they were left unhindered and many lives were saved because of it, both pirate and trader. That was the reason most traders actually liked the Flags. It was cheaper to pay the White Flags tax than to hire mercenaries’ to protect the cargo, which more often than not would have still been stolen in the old days. That is not to say that the sea’s around Neeska were completely safe as there was still a few heartless crews that sailed under their own flags but they could be counted on one hand and avoided the White Isle as they were unwelcome. As his empire grew the young William remained true to his beliefs and many years on from his first promise. William now had the power to directly oppose the new king of Neeskmouth openly. Williams navy fleet was larger and better equipped than Neeskmouth’s and his people were more loyal. That was why when William had heard of the riots in Neeskmouth he had sent his best to rally support in the common man. He could have raided the city and forcefully claimed the throne and released it to the vote, but that would cost many innocent lives. So instead he used smarts instead of brawn. With the city in such disarray things could have been done with words alone but William wanted to stamp a lasting mark on the minds of the people. He had emptied half the islands loot from his private reserves and sent it aboard the ships to Neeskmouth. With that money oozing through their muddy fingers victory was almost assured. A risky move on his part as pirates have this odd idea about disliking giving away their hard earned gold, but risk was all part of the pirate lifestyle the island was famous for and William could see the end of his lifetime struggle to liberate the city in sight.

  Late on the evening of the tenth of Nylar word arrived at the port of the White Isle, or more honestly to the wench filled bedroom of William, that Briers Hill had fallen and King Harvey Handson wanted to meet with him. As William laid abreast his bed listening to the report it occurred to him that it could well have been a trap in response to so many households joining the White Flags already in Neeskmouth, King Harvey’s last chance to stop the usurping, but William liked the idea of risk in every aspect of his life. That was why he preferred the married women that lay next to him panting than the far less risky courtesans that waited just outside. ‘What was life without a little excitement?’ That was his motto he had lived by. William left for his ship at once leaving his accumulation of loose women waiting for his return in his red silken fourposter bed. To say Williams’ tastes were flamboyant would be an understatement. He was rich, powerful, and eccentric which he liked to show in his daily life at every opportunity. When William arrived at his ship and took the wheel he was still in his night-time attire of a fine silken robe that draped over him in bright green and extremely extravagant gold trim. It was embossed with gold leaf and looked ridiculously expensive. William would have had time to change into something more suited to meeting the king or for the journey ahead of him. Leather britches or something similar for a start but the sensationalism of strutting up to the castle in his boudoir clothing just added to his excitement, he thrived on people talking about him. What was the point of being a pirate king if you were not on the tongue of the local gossips? William could be quoted as saying more than once. The robe would do for the journey, it was not the flashiest clothing that William owned even though it could make most peacocks turn away in disgust, nor was it the most suited for sea travel but it would do. It was warm enough because of its double breasting and lined with a white woolen shirt that cuffed off at the elbow. It was a lavishness given to William by a friendly trader by the name of Spinks to ensure safe passage for an entire year and was expertly well crafted. William hazarded a guess that with Neeskmouth struggling the way it had been for so long the robe would be far more expensive than anything Harvey might be wearing. William was used to th
e finer things in life and his long black hair was soft and smooth even living in the salty air of Slickrock. He bathed it in fresh coconut milk that he had specially delivered by a rather charmingly beautiful and sun kissed women from some southern island or another in the Greenstone Isles. It would take around twelve hours of sailing against the stormy weather to reach Neeskmouth and that was only if the ship made it over the rolling waves and against the fierce wind, a voyage only the insanely cocky would attempt and that was exactly why William would not wait for the calmer weather. He would rather drown in a shipwreck than have anyone think he wasn’t brave enough to face the huge waves that rattled the very foundations of Slickrock.

  The journey had been a rough one and even the more experienced of the crew felt the effects of seasickness as the ship was tossed from bow to stern. The golden figure at the ships front already weather worn looked even more forlorn than normal as the carved women was dressed in seaweed and dripped with white foam. The waves grew as the night went on and as the moon fell from its highest point and started to make its journey down below the sea. The ship groaned at the hand of waves which reached five to ten meters high and crashed against the deck leaving fish flopping on the well polished hard wood. The ship, Melinda, had a lonely trek across the treacherous ocean alone with her crew who were a rather motley looking lot as you probably expect. She saw nothing but lightning and rain for most of the twelve hour voyage. That was apart from one small two man craft that was rolling on the waves. William watched from behind the ships wheel soaked to the bone and with rope tied around his wrist to hold him to it. Even through the fog of sea foam he recognized the flag of mad Jack, the only captain crazy enough to be out in weather like this in something so small. He was the only pirate William knew that could make him look cowardly and by all rights and reason mad Jack should have died a hundred times over. The little vessel almost crashed into the side of Melinda before a wave grabbed it and tossed it away towards the west. William swore for a moment in a flash of lightning he saw a pointy eared Elf aboard the little boat before it vanished from view. Not a sea fairing Drow but a soft forest dweller. The weather must have been playing tricks on his mind. The black triangular sails of Melinda held taught with rope were stretched to their limits and the ship battled around against the wind. The three square windows at the rear of the ship creaked in their frames and threatened to give way as the spray from the oceans beat against them. The forty men aboard the Melinda sighed with relief when at dawn the clouds begun to fade and the sea settled to a mill pond. William stood at the wheel watching the morning sun light up the pier at Neeskmouth he couldn’t help but spare a thought for the ship and mad Jack the night before. William said a silent prayer to the spirits of the sea that they made safe port somewhere. He had an odd respect for mad Jack and couldn’t picture the day the craziest pirate of the White Seas finally pushed his luck that little bit too far.