Onyx Dragon (Book 1)

by Shawn E. Crapo

  ONYX DRAGON

  BOOK ONE OF THE DRAGON CHRONICLES

  BY SHAWN E. CRAPO

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. THIS BOOK OR ANY PORTION THEREOF

  MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED OR USED IN ANY MANNER WHATSOEVER

  WITHOUT THE EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE PUBLISHER

  EXCEPT FOR THE USE OF BRIEF QUOTATIONS IN A BOOK REVIEW.

  DEDICATION

  FOR MY FRIENDS AND FAMILY.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN WITH INSPIRATION FROM AUTHORS SUCH AS J.R.R. TOLKIEN, TERRY BROOKS, R.A. SALVATORE, PIERS ANTHONY, AND AS YOU WILL DISCOVER LATER IN THE SERIES, NEIL DEGRASSE TYSON, LEONARD SUSSKIND, AND STEPHEN HAWKING. THANK YOU ALL FOR THE WORDS YOU HAVE WRITTEN.

  The Dragon is the life and soul of our land. When I wield his power, my enemies cower before me. In their eyes, I am death and darkness. To my people, I am the light. I am their savior. I am the Onyx Dragon

  -Daegoth II

  Chapter One

  Prince Eamon rode swiftly along the jagged cliff side, not quite in a full gallop, but in a quick, steady pace. As he rode, he watched over the figure below him that trudged along the road to Morduin. Though the early morning mist clouded the Prince’s view somewhat, he could still clearly recognize the man’s origins. His garb was unusual, not like the commoners of the Northern Kingdom, but more like the tribes that inhabited the North Shore; mostly furs and leathers.

  He was a large man, heavily muscled, but lean. He was in his early twenties, probably about the same age as Eamon himself. His hair was long and blonde, with one braid dangling on each side of his golden mane. He wore little armor, only gauntlets and steel leggings, but Eamon could see a helmet strapped to the man’s back. It was a helmet typical of Northmen; steel crown, with a fur brim, and sporting a horn on each side. He also wore a formidable looking axe tied to his back. An axe that could only be wielded by a man his size.

  The young prince stopped his horse with a sharp tug on its reigns, circling to face the man below. The stranger slowed his pace, glancing upward without stopping. Eamon held up his hand in greeting. Not an aggressive gesture, but formal and neutral. The man did not return the greeting, but continued on, looking back to the road. Again, his pace was quick and with purpose.

  Eamon lowered his hand. He was not offended that the man did not return his greeting, but that probably meant the Northman was on official business. Plus, he was not completely aware of their customs. He may have offended the man with his wave, possibly displaying an obscene gesture. Still, he wondered why the man seemed so determined to get to the castle.

  Urging his horse forward, Eamon resumed his ride at a full gallop this time. He would have to make Captain Fergis aware of the stranger’s approach.

  Wrothgaar saw the rider on the cliff’s edge watching him. The Northman had been aware of his presence for several leagues now, but the wave the man gave him was the first acknowledgement he had seen. Judging by the formal gesture, the man was probably royalty, possibly a theign or noble. Either way, he seemed out of place. He was dressed in black, with leather armor, steel gauntlets and greaves. Most of the natives of this land wore either bright or earthen colors.

  Wrothgaar also noted the color of his hair. It was black, unusual for someone of native blood. The islanders he had seen usually had red, brown, or dirty blonde hair. A black-haired native would be rare.

  The young barbarian put those thoughts out of his mind and continued his trek toward the castle. He could see its gleaming spires in the distance, looming above the crags like a crown of thorns. He saw the layout of the city; a multi-tiered community, with the castle at the top tier, all surrounded in its rocky cul-de-sac by a high, well-protected wall.

  He would approach and make himself known, but would keep his distance, as was his peoples’ custom. He didn’t want to alarm the Queen or any of her guards. If there was anything he learned from his father, it was to always approach those whose aid you wish with humility and respect. He would follow those guidelines to the letter, and present his case to the Queen herself, if possible.

  His people were in danger, and so was the entire Northern Kingdom. Something evil was on the island, and the Queen must be informed.

  She would help. He knew it in his heart.

  Eamon returned to the stables outside the city walls. He dismounted his horse, handed the reigns over to the groomer, and proceeded into the city to find Fergis.

  The Captain stood in front of a half a dozen new recruits, inspecting them and briefing them on their new positions in Morduin’s elite cavalry. When he saw the Prince approach, he gave a sharp salute.

  “Good afternoon, Prince Eamon,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  Eamon returned the salute and gave the signal for all of the men to be “at ease.”

  “There is a man approaching the city,” he explained. “He is armed, but I do not think he is dangerous. He is a Northman, one of our former enemies, and I would advise caution. However, he is to be welcomed when he is ready to speak.”

  “As you wish, my lord,” Fergis replied.

  The Prince considered the situation for a moment. “I’m curious as to why he’s here,” he said. “It would take something very serious for one of his people to come here in person, alone.”

  “Agreed,” Fergis said. “We’ve had very little contact with the Northman since the treaty. They mostly keep to themselves. Perhaps the man is a messenger sent to discuss new terms; to annex more land?”

  “I do not think so,” Eamon replied. “He is definitely a warrior.”

  Fergis, being a lifelong military man, became anxious to see the stranger.

  “I look forward to meeting him,” Fergis said. “The only dealings I’ve had with their warriors were on the battlefield. Meeting one on peaceful terms would be interesting, to say the least.”

  “I’m returning to the castle,” Eamon said. “I will inform Garret of his arrival, and will send him to accompany you.”

  “Understood,” Fergis said. “I will wait for him by the gates.”

  Eamon turned to walk away, then stopped, admiring the new recruits. “That’s an impressive lot of soldiers, Captain,” He complimented. “They will make a good addition to the Mordumarc.”

  “Thank you, my Lord,” Fergis answered. “They are the sons of our veteran soldiers. Their families are quite well regarded in our military, and it makes me proud to see them following in their fathers’ footsteps.”

  “They are as impressive as their fathers ever were,” Eamon remarked, smiling as he continued to the castle.

  Wrothgaar kept his distance from the city gates, being careful to stay in the view of the two guards that stood on either side. The gates themselves were open, giving him a clear view of the city inside. He could see and hear children playing happily, and merchants hawking their wares. All of the buildings he could see were in perfect order. Most of them were well-kept constructions of wood and stone, much like the mead houses of his own village.

  Despite their civilized and orderly nature, he felt a kinship with the natives. They were not a typical imperialized people who maintained control through massive military presence. Instead, they kept order through cooperative efforts and kinship, much like Wrothgaar’s own people. They were a people he could deal with, unlike those of the mainland.

  Though the gates of the city were open, Wrothgaar decided against entering outright. He would simply stand in plain sight, letting the city guards know he was there, and wait to be invited inside. This was the only sure way to attract the attention of the Queen herself. Simply walking through the gates would immediately make him just another traveler. He was not. He had a reason to be here.

  Near the road on his side of t
he gate there was a large flat boulder that stood high enough for the Northman to display himself. He climbed it, still within view of the guards. Both of them eyed him briefly, glanced at each other, and went back to their motionless stance. Wrothgaar sighed, fixed his gaze on the tallest tower, and waited.

  Queen Siobhan stepped out onto the balcony of her lavish bedroom. She stretched in the morning sun, feeling its comforting rays warm her supple skin and long crimson locks. The sounds of laughter, chatter, and numerous birds wafted up from below, washing away her morning haze. She sipped her hot tea, as she did every morning, and looked down at her beloved city. Behind her, Garret, her personal bodyguard, stepped out to join her.

  “My Lady,” he greeted her. “How are you this morning?”

  Siobhan turned to face him. He was wearing his casual uniform, a black and green-trimmed riding cloak, and green tunic that gave him the appearance of a handsome bandit. She batted her green eyes at him provocatively.

  “Good morning, my love,” she replied. “I’m fine. A bit weary, maybe, but it’s a beautiful day.”

  “Indeed it is,” Garret said, staring deep into her eyes, grinning slyly. “A perfect addition to last night’s....festivities.”

  She chuckled, slipping away from him and returning to the railing to look over the city.

  “There is a stranger outside the gates,” he said, changing the subject. “He is from one of the Northern settlements. Prince Eamon followed him here after his hunting trip last night, and informed me of his arrival.”

  “When did he arrive?” Siobhan asked curiously.

  “Less than an hour ago,” Garret answered. “Eamon believes he is a warrior of one of the tribes that inhabit the North Shore.”

  “Where is he?” Siobhan asked, looking out over the city walls.

  Garret approached the railing, and pointed out toward the East, just outside the crags that surrounded the city. Siobhan followed his direction to a small outcropping where, upon a flat rock, the tall, striking figure of a young man stood motionless.

  “What is he doing?” she asked, curious at the stranger’s odd behavior.

  “He is making himself known,” Garret answered. “It is their custom. He is making sure we know that he is there, and that he means no harm.”

  “How polite,” Siobhan chuckled. “How long will he do this?”

  “Until someone goes out to greet him, I would imagine.”

  “Well,” she said. “What are you waiting for?”

  Garret nodded and left. Siobhan gazed at the young barbarian, wondering what this strange visit was all about.

  “Well, my friend,” she said. “Let’s see what you have to say.”

  She went back into her bedroom, leaving the pleasant morning sun behind. She would have to dress and meet the visitor in her conference room. She felt an excitement she hadn’t felt in a while. If a Northman was here to seek an audience, there had to be a good reason. What that reason was, she couldn’t guess. But, as her father once told her, long before she inherited half of his kingdom, If a man has the courage to speak peacefully with a former adversary, his honor shows, and you must hear him.

  Fergis and two of his Lieutenants awaited Garret’s arrival at the city gates. The stranger remained motionless on his perch as they watched him stand as a statue. They would escort the Queen’s bodyguard out to meet him, though they knew it was just a formality. Garret himself was a skilled warrior, having been an assassin for the former King in his early years. He could hold his own in battle, even against such a young and obviously formidable man.

  Fergis turned to the two guards who stood outside the gates. “I do not suspect an ambush or anything of the like,” he said. “But be ready to close the gates if so.”

  The two guards nodded, gripping the hilts of their swords in anticipation.

  “Watch the cliffs, and the crags to the North,” he said to his Lieutenants. “The Northmen do not usually employ archers, but some tribes have been known to have a few marksmen in their ranks. Brynn, be ready with your bow.”

  The young Lieutenant complied, pulling out his bow and keeping watch on the tops of the surrounding cliffs.

  “Why is he just standing there?” Brynn asked.

  “I’m not familiar with their customs,” Fergis shrugged. “It is quite amusing, though.”

  Brynn smiled. “A bit,” he replied.

  A few minutes later, Garret arrived at the gate. He was dressed appropriately; wearing his signature leather armor, dark blue and black cloak, and jewel-encrusted sword at his side. He had two archers with him, both adorned with the Queen’s personal insignia, a white eagle.

  “Alright,” Garret said. “We will meet this stranger and find out his purpose. Stay close to me, and walk steadily. We do not want to alarm him.”

  He then turned to his archers. “Remain here and take position next to the guards. Ready your bows, but keep them lowered.”

  Facing Fergis, he made ready. “Follow me. Walk beside me, and have your men walk on either side of us and behind.”

  Fergis nodded, beckoning his two men to follow.

  Wrothgaar watched the four men approach confidently. They did not appear to be hostile, yet they all retained an air of alertness and mild suspicion. This was expected. He was, after all, a stranger in these lands.

  The young Northman relaxed his posture and calmly stepped off the rock, holding his hands in front of him in a gesture of peace. The man in the lead, a striking older man, probably in his mid-sixties, held up his hand in greeting. Wrothgaar breathed a sigh of relief. The other three men did not greet him, but remained alert, their gazes fixed upon him. Wrothgaar noted the blond hair on the younger guard, who held his bow ready.

  “Greetings, Northman,” the lead man announced. “I am Garret. I speak for the Queen.”

  The man held out his hand. Wrothgaar grasped it in return. “I am Wrothgaar, Son of Ulrich, Chieftain of the Tribe of the Wolf. I am thankful for your welcome.”

  “This is Fergis, Commander of the Mordumarc, Morduin’s elite cavalry. And these are his Lieutenants, Brynn and Dolram.”

  Wrothgaar greeted each in turn. “It is a pleasure to meet you all.”

  “We welcome you,” Garret assured him, noting how well-spoken the Northman was. “The Queen welcomes all, and she is curious as to the reason behind your arrival. You would have been welcome to simply enter the gates. But your unusual custom tells me you are not simply a tourist or pilgrim. Is it aid you seek?”

  “Yes,” Wrothgaar answered, appearing anxious. “My people are in danger, and I have traveled far from the North Shore to beg the Queen’s aid.”

  “What, may I ask, has happened?”

  “I would prefer to speak to the Queen herself if I may,” Wrothgaar answered.

  “I understand, friend,” Garret said. “I will inform her of your request. She will meet with you, and I have no doubt she will be sympathetic to your plight.”

  “Thank you,” Wrothgaar said. “She is an honorable woman, as was her father. It will be my pleasure to meet her.”

  Garret smiled, nodding. He turned to Fergis and his two Lieutenants. “Let us return. Escort Wrothgaar to the waiting hall. I will return to the Queen’s chambers and inform her of the situation.”

  He turned to Wrothgaar. “I will see you soon, my friend.”

  Garret left the group, returning to the gates and gathering his guards. Fergis held his hand out to Wrothgaar, who grasped it in friendship.

  “Follow me,” the Captain said.

  The four men made their way to city gates. Wrothgaar was grateful for the warm welcome, and also the fact that they trusted him enough not to disarm him.

  These people were definitely honorable, as the shaman had said, and he hoped that after today, any hostilities between their two peoples would be a thing of the past. With a lasting peace, and a strong alliance, both peoples would thrive. He only hoped that the Queen would agree.

  Chapter Two

  Siobhan wait
ed patiently in the ornate chair at the head of her meeting table. Eamon stood behind her and to the right, his arms crossed. Garret stood to her right, his hands clasped before him in a relaxed posture. The table before them was furnished with a large bowl of fruit and four goblets of wine.

  She turned to look as the door was opened, seeing four men enter the meeting chamber. In the lead was Fergis, followed by the Northman, then Fergis’ two lieutenants. The Northman, she noted, bore a striking resemblance to King Ulrich of the North, whom she had met briefly when she was younger.

  “My Lady,” Garret began, “may I present to you Wrothgaar, Son of Ulrich of the Tribe of the Wolf.”

  Wrothgaar bowed his head in respect. Siobhan smiled and nodded.

  “Wrothgaar, this is Siobhan, Queen of the North, and daughter of King Magnus V. At her side is Prince Eamon.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Wrothgaar,” the Queen greeted him.

  “Likewise,” Wrothgaar answered. “And may I say you are more beautiful than I had ever imagined.”

  Eamon snickered, receiving a questioning glance from Garret. The Queen herself chuckled. “Why thank you, my friend. And may I say you are every bit as impressive as your father?”

  Wrothgaar nodded in thanks.

  “Please sit,” Siobhan said, motioning for him to take the seat at the opposite end of the table. She relaxed in her seat, Garret taking the chair around the corner of the table to her left. Eamon remained standing, but leaned against the right hand corner of the table, eager to hear the Northman’s story. Fergis and his men departed to return to their posts.

  “Help yourself to the fruit and wine,” the Queen offered.

  Wrothgaar selected a goblet but passed on the fruit, eyeing it disapprovingly.

  “What is it that troubles you, my friend?” Siobhan asked softly.

  Wrothgaar took a moment to gather his thoughts, taking a sip of the wine.

  “Two days ago,” he began, “a neighboring settlement just to the South of the North Shore was attacked. The people, including the women and children, were killed, and the houses were burned to the ground. Not even the livestock were spared.”