by David
The Blood of Logant
by David S. Wells
KDP Edition
Copyright 2012 David S. Wells
Cover Art by Rebecca M. Wells and David S. Wells
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Special thanks to the Georges, the best in-laws a man could ask for.
Thanks also, Kyle Clarke and Josh Wear for believing in this work.
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Table of Contents
Foreword--In Times of Old
Chapter One--The Call of Battle
Chapter Two--The Trapdoor and the Stranger
Chapter Three--The Bully and the Knightly Log
Chapter Four--Razor’s Rabble
Chapter Five--Healing Hands
Chapter Six--A Promise to Swear
Chapter Seven--The Bushubu Spear
Chapter Eight--A Clean Man
Chapter Nine--Lies of Lords
Chapter Ten--The Hall of Heroes
Chapter Eleven--Secret Meetings
Chapter Twelve--Duty before Love
Chapter Thirteen--Hero of the Day
Chapter Fourteen--Under a Banner of Truce
Chapter Fifteen--A Pending Engagement
Chapter Sixteen--Stings: New and Old
Chapter Seventeen--An Acquaintance Renewed
Chapter Eighteen--Kelivoras and His Boy
Chapter Nineteen--Lost and Found
Chapter Twenty--Tangles of Dimwood
Chapter Twenty-One--The Apparition
Chapter Twenty-Two--The Keeper Speaks
Chapter Twenty-Three--The Blood of Logant
Chapter Twenty-Four--Looking For Direction
About the Author
Excerpt from The Fire of Kings
Connect with Me Online
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Foreword
In Times of Old
Perhaps Donigan’s consort, Lady Riana of Landolstadt, foresaw disaster awaiting her lord, when she once again voiced her stern disapproval of meddling with dragons. “My lord, do you wish to be the bellows to the fire by which the whole of Beledon shall be burned to cinders and ash?” was her final desperate plea. “I cannot bear the thought that vile dragons might come to rule this island in your stead.”
Lord Donigan took in his wife’s loveliness, carefully considering his reply to her
condemning question. Her shimmering black hair was long and straight, reaching down to her tiny waist. Within the frame of that shiny mane was a pale-skinned face of fair features. He avoided making contact with the big blue eyes set therein, for he feared their spellbinding power would draw him in and alter his decision beyond his control. High-set cheekbones guarded her crystalline orbs from below, whilst above them, a firm brow lined with thin, black lashes protected them. Directly between them was a narrow nose, bent ever so subtly from a childhood mishap that had also left a faint scar on her rosy upper lip. Donigan barely noticed those trivial blemishes on what he viewed as a perfect face.
The lord tried to win over his lady with his charismatic smile, for exhibition of his finely tuned persuasive techniques was essential to achieving his way. He shared his beloved Riana’s fears, but he clung to the faint glow of hope that beckoned him on to the lair of Faethlenkandur.
If that call was not strong enough to move the young nobleman toward danger, then the prodding spurs of Sturgeon “Storm-Hand” certainly were. The Storm-Hand was Lady Riana’s lord father.
Sturgeon and Donigan had forged their alliance based on fiery passion and steely devotion between the younger man and his wife. Not only did Donigan feel an obligation to pay heed to his spouse father’s advice concerning every matter of import, but also, this idea belonged to Lord Sturgeon of Landolstadt. There was nothing left to debate.
“Riana, my love,” Donigan informed her, “I must meet with this beast, for both his wisdom and his knowledge, without fear of the reputation his kind holds for cruelty and mischief. Only through dealings with this dragon can I obtain the things of legend that we so desperately need to secure our places as King and Queen of Beledon.”
“My lord,” Riana wailed, as though mourning him dead, “this beast will betray you to your doom! Your hope for a united kingdom and great glory will perish with you.”
“Silence!” Donigan’s voice boomed in the terraced hall of Skytower Castle.
Riana wept bitterly.
Donigan reached out to touch Riana, to offer her comfort. The lady’s pride would not allow it. She recoiled from him and snapped, “Unhand me!” Then, in an exceedingly cruel misuse of words, she told him, “The cold stiff fingers of a dead man prickle my skin and seize at my life’s breath.”
The Lord of Highland Home nearly ground his molars to rubble holding back his fury. Riana seemed not to notice as she went on, “If you wish to be a husband to me again, you will tell me that you have canceled the foolish mission on which my father has set you, and you will keep your honor by keeping your word to remain at home.”
Donigan had hurt his beloved badly for her to abuse him so, but he had been over his present circumstances with her a thousand times. He had discussed his plight with his loyal knights and lord councilors. Desperate times called for bold action. Anything less than an act of pure bravery would serve as an admission of defeat capable of sending whole armies running to the high seat of a new lord. Some were already teetering on the brink of bending knees in new courts. This move was almost certain cause for some defections, but to take no action whatsoever would cause him to lose every banner in his service. Then there was Lord Sturgeon. The man was as patient as Donigan could expect from one so advanced in his years, which was to say he was not at all forgiving of delay. If legends spoke truly, the entire island would fall in order beneath one sovereign once he made his peace with dragons. With the integrity of the Highlands-Landolstadt alliance in mind, Lord Donigan felt as though he had little choice but to set aside his trusted wife’s misgivings and carry out his plan to meet with Faethlenkandur. His response to Riana closed all discussion on the matter. Said he, “I have heard your concerns before, my lady, and I have shared them in common with you. However, the time of decision has passed, and the time for action has come. I go now to seek the dragon’s aid. Fare thee well.”
Riana collapsed against a marble pillar. Donigan coiled strong arms about her against her will. She threw half-hearted elbows, but she was unable to fight free of her husband’s hold. She was helpless against his stubbornness. She could not remain aloof from his gaze or his charms.
Riana spoke of herself as one of the lucky ladies who had been joined to a man she could truly love. “Unmerciful Fates,” she cursed her luck as she turned her tear-streaked face toward Donigan to surrender to his embrace.
Riana drew apart from Donigan and looked into his green eyes. They were like two pieces of jade set into an equally smooth and hard face. Thick brown brows, rather resembling leafless shrubs, hung low over those unyielding eyes, which were themselves spaced an even distance apart from his straight, overlong nose. A thick, bristly beard concealed the mouth positioned in the shadows of that olfactory organ and it likewise hid bulging cheeks along each side of it. In the absence of facial hair, his firm jaw and jutting chin would have been fully visible, but Donigan still held to one old family tradition, simply told: A man’s life will be as full as his beard, and his years will be as long in count.
As stubbornly as Donigan clung to that old belief, so he showed Riana that he would hold to his course of action. She made no apology for what she had said in anger. Donigan did not believe in apologies, and Riana believed that you said what you meant. Besides, he knew she would have to lie to offer him concession and lies were the greatest enemy of any leader. Her response was submissive out of respect for her lord husband’s wishes, “I trust your judgment, my lord. Be swift in your
return, for your people need you.” She hesitated, and then she added, “I need you most of all.”
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Lord Donigan departed, leading a flock of sheep into the northern mountains. He presented the animals to the great dragon, Faethlenkandur, as an offering unto him. The human nobleman promised a steady diet of sheep to the black beast if it would aid him in uniting the land, thereby making him King of Beledon.
Faethlenkandur, or the Dragon-Father in Highland dialect, liked the arrangement, for the opportunity to eat without risk of human arrows piercing him. Faethlenkandur readily consented to assist the bold lord of men on the condition that Beledon worship him and his reptilian kindred as patron deities. Lord Donigan agreed to the terms, so the dragon told him, “Show your good faith by returning to me with another offering when the moon is once again full. Then I will present you with a tome to instruct you in your worship to me. I will also give you the greatest shield in all the land. With it, you shall defend your faith as well as your kingdom. Every king needs a shield with which he might protect his boundaries.”
Lord Donigan concealed his smile as he answered, “I shall return when the moon is at the full, even as you say.”
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When the time came, Lord Donigan climbed to the dragon’s den, again leading many sheep.
Faethlenkandur presented the Lord of Highland Home with the items he had promised: The Great Tome of Dragon’s Law, of which temple scribes made many copies, and the Shield of the Dragon’s Eye, which the finest smiths in the land could not duplicate. The dragon instructed Lord Donigan in the use of the shield’s magical properties, and afterward commanded him,
“Begin practicing my laws at once, and then return to me with another offering of sheep when the moon is once again full. If you obey me, I will present you with my final contribution to your kingdom: a sword unlike any other. Men will flock to the banner of the man who bears this weapon. With it, you will carve out your kingdom. I say unto you, Donigan, future King of Beledon, every able ruler needs a sword with which he might extend his landholdings.”
Lord Donigan answered, “I shall enforce the practice of your laws upon my return home. As a man of my word, I swear it upon my kingdom.”
The dragon smiled.
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When Lord Donigan returned home to enforce Dragon’s Law, as it was written in his new book, he was greatly distressed. Hidden within the pages of The Great Tome of Dragon’s Law were articles demanding human sacrifices to the dragons. Donigan was angry at the foolish oath he had made concerning a book of laws he had never bothered to open.
With Lord Sturgeon supporting his cause, the Shield of the Dragon’s Eye on his left arm and the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye in his right hand, Lord Donigan felt that the kingdom would soon be his to rule. Yet, there was still the matter of the dragons, and particularly Faethlenkandur’s deception. When the Lord of Highland Home finally told Lady Riana of his folly, and the oath he had made concerning Dragon’s Law, she cried out, “What devilry is this? The dragon has deceived you! Did I not warn you to be careful when entering into an agreement with
Faethlenkandur?” When her temper cooled somewhat, she demanded, “Husband, tell me that you are not going to follow through with the offering of human sacrifices to this fiend and its kindred.”
Donigan paused, groping blindly for the right words to share his intentions.
When Riana saw by the expression on his face that Lord Donigan was going to remain true to his word in spite of his regret, she said, “Solari help you, and Luminus help us all! This will certainly bring about the ruin of humankind.” She then lashed out once more before she stormed out of the hall, shrieking, “How does it feel, King Donigan, to have purchased a kingdom at the cost of your soul?”
Donigan felt the weight of his burden most when Riana left him alone with his doubts. What the dragon required of him, and his people with him, was for them to open the pathway to the Black Pools. Donigan knew Riana was right. He had purchased his kingdom, but he had forfeited his soul in the bargain. His silence in the face of his ladylove’s accusations had been neither denial, nor defense, but rather, loud testament to his guilt. Dare I drag down the whole of Beledon for my folly? he wondered in his helplessness. My noble title begs me to resolve this matter nobly, by accepting my just punishment for breaking my oath to this servant of treachery, he concluded.
Unable to drop the matter, Riana returned to her lord husband. She resorted to pleading, begging softly, “If you are still the good man that I married, you will not do this evil, nor will you allow it to be done in your kingdom. Please, lord, do not sacrifice humans to this evil beast.
Give back the shield. If you are truly an upright man, you will not allow the sons of your land to be served up to that overgrown reptile and its vile kindred.”
“You know that I will perish for my sin, beloved wife,” Donigan reminded her. “You know that my mistake comes at the cost of my life.”
Riana paused, silenced by a weight greater than the castle foundation. She let out a deep sigh. Then she resignedly asked, “Is there no other way?”
Lord Donigan started, “I am a man of my word, and I must remain true to it, even when I am thus deceived.” He fell silent then, resigned to accept his fate and do his duty for the salvation of his people.
Riana’s face brightened as a fresh idea crept into her mind.
“I sense mischief in you, my lady,” Donigan divined. The firm set of her jaw informed him that she planned to see this deed wrought whatever the cost. “Speak your mind, fair Riana, for I can see there will be no keeping you quiet.”
Lady Riana smiled at her husband’s keen grasp of her mind’s inner workings. She circled his high seat, brushed a titillating finger along his thickly muscled chest, and suggested, “There is an honorable way to get what you want, whilst this beast also gets what it wants.”
Donigan captured her delicate fingers in his hand and pressed them to his lips, saying, “I am listening. Hasten to your point.”
Riana withdrew her hand and lifted her finger, a signal beacon for her lord husband’s one remaining hope, whereby he might avert leading his people into the wicked practices prescribed by The Great Tome of Dragon’s Law. After a purposefully long pause, she began, “My lord, there is another way: a way to appease this monster’s appetite for human flesh, whilst you obtain the rule of all the land. Have we not had a problem with overcrowding in the cells of our dungeons of late? For the time present, we could execute all death sentences as a sacrifice to Faethlenkandur. Our realm has far too many murderers and conspirators against your lordship.
For now we could empty our jails, whilst we fill our gluttonous friend’s belly, and when the whole land is ours, woe to all venomous, wicked, forked-tongued dragons.”
Donigan liked the sound of his lady wife’s plan, but something gnawed at his conscience.
This counter-treachery, while deserved by Faethlenkandur, would most assuredly displease Solari. He opened his mouth to raise his objection, but Riana stopped him with a knowing smile.
“Solari cares not for your negotiations with dastardly dragons, my lord,” Riana quickly assured him, with her smile bubbling into a wickedly delightful giggle. “If you thought She did, you would never have made this ill bargain.”
Donigan had always been a fool for that giggle, for that smile, for that otherwise cool and reserved lady. He especially loved Riana’s twists to his oft-immovable theological viewpoints.
Most of the time, Donigan laughed off her opinions when he disagreed. Sometimes, however, she persisted too stubbornly, forcing him to command her to silence or to send her off. Even then, she had already challenged his views, given him reason to reconsider the wisdom of his beliefs and helped him to amend what ideals he had held in error. Given his alternatives in his present conundrum, the Lord of Highland Home was more than happy to concede this point to his lady wife. There was no need for disagreement over this topic. He could follow the route
to escape Riana had so cleverly found for him and begin the practice of ritual-sacrifice executions, or he could face the dragon. “This plan seems wise, my lady,” he said solemnly.
Riana praised Donigan, saying, “My lord, your judgment is always good. I knew in my heart that you would see the wisdom of this course.”
Donigan was still wrestling with his spirit, which nagged at him contrary to what he had agreed, but he smiled broadly and said, “Riana, beautiful Riana. You have solved the problem at hand and one to which we had not yet attended. Although I am no happier for having to send the miserable souls choking our dungeons to such pitiable deaths, or for feeding a vile creature such as Faethlenkandur, it is the best option we have.”
Riana pointed out, “Were you to take the shield back to the beast, my lord, it would no doubt devour you. Worse yet, it might offer you a more treacherous deal. Let us place you upon your throne, and then let us avenge those we have sent to the dragon’s board. Perhaps by so doing, we can wash their blood from our hands, walk comfortably in the Light of Solari and rest easily under the Light of Luminus.”
Lord Donigan began to have his builders erect large temples with holding cells for prisoners deemed to be of no redemptive worth. Men who were dangerous to others about them and
unwilling to repent of their evil ways would go to those cells to await doom. The Priests of Dragons began offering those spiteful killers to Faethlenkandur and his kindred from their unique centers of worship. The dragons, of course, graciously accepted every victim.
Having done all that the Dragon-Father required of him, Lord Donigan set off once more for the mountain cave Faethlenkandur called home. He presented himself before the enormous winged wyrm and said, “I have done all that you have asked in accordance with The Great Tome of Dragon’s Law, even as I said I would. I have shown you my good faith by keeping my word in deed.”
“So you have,” rumbled the dragon. “Here is the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye, even as I