Rise Of The Dragon King (Book 5)

by M. R. Mathias

  Crimzon came back to help her, after all. When the bright heat finally disappeared, Clover felt one hand let go of her. She spun, twisted, and brought her knee up into her other captor's groin. Then she swung an overhand right into the warrior's helmet. She felt her hand bones shatter from the impact, but she also felt the man's gripping hand fall away.

  The eyes of most of the mercenaries were flash blinded by the dragon's breath. To them the cavern was nothing but bright, splotchy blackness. Since Clover kept her eyes closed, her sight was not as bad. With a little concentration, she was able to make out her surroundings in the dark.

  As Crimzon's bone-chilling battle roar echoed through the cavern, Clover looked around and saw the way she had to go to get out. She bolted up the shaft she had come down. An instant later, shouts, screams, and more blinding blasts of fire filled the chamber behind her.

  All of the young dragon's pent-up rage and his hatred for the men who killed his family came out as he unleashed his fury upon the men. With the mage dead, he didn't have to fear a magical attack, so he let his battle lust take over his senses. With his breath he blasted man after man, and with the crushing force of his long tail, whipped another against the wall. With a swipe of his claw he raked a trio of deep furrows across a man, then snapped his toothy maw shut on another. A sword bit into his scales and opened his flesh, but he gouged the swordsman with one of the spikes on his head and mashed his bones against the cavern wall.

  Clover chanced to look back to see how Crimzon was faring. By the sounds of it all, the men didn’t have a chance. By the look of it, Crimzon already wounded or killed most of them. A few men were fleeing up the tunnel toward Clover. She took this as a sign to move faster, and move she did. It was only about three hundred more paces through open tunnel to get out of the cavern into the valley, but to Clover's frustration, the way was blocked by two more men; men who hadn't yet seen the dragon, and were watching Clover approach through confused and excited eyes.

  The men before her heard the dragon as well as the clash of steel on scale and stone. Instinctively they wanted to run, but to disobey the captain was death, so they held their ground. When they saw Clover wasn't one of them, they quickly moved to block her way.

  Clover reached for her sword but found only the lump of the dragon's tear in her belt pouch. She didn't know why, but she fumbled for it as she charged on. When her fingers finally wrapped around it, the rush of power that filled her nearly dropped her in her tracks. Of its own accord, her broken hand shot forth and a jagged string-thin bolt of sizzling yellow shot from her fingertip into the chest of one of the men blocking her way. The man convulsed and fell trembling to the side, and before this even registered in Clover's mind, the other man was in even worse condition. She didn't even have to slow her pace. She hurdled their bodies in stride and kept running toward the moonlight. When she burst out into the valley bottom, she found another group of men, mostly archers, waiting there. They were as startled as she was. She would have been riddled with arrows had her luck not held true. One of the archers had snuck along a few skins of brandy and the men were half drunk and un-alert when Clover charged through their camp.

  When their comrades came out of the cavern, they went scrambling clumsily for their bows. Several of the men emerging from the cave were torn and bleeding. One was smoldering and missing an arm. Red embers flared on the end of his stumped elbow as he stumbled headlong from the cavern and sprawled onto the ground.

  "The Captain's dead!" A terrified voice called out.

  "The dragon's coming behind us!" Another yelled. "Archers, be ready!"

  Had it been the Captain's voice, they would all have continued scrambling for their bows. Instead they stood there, slack-jawed and shocked as Crimzon came loping out of the cavern. A screeching blast of fire finished off the armless man as well as the man trying to help him. From another direction, a crackling strand of yellow erupted from Clover's finger tip and electrified another man where he stood.

  A few of the mercenaries managed to get to their weapons and fire arrows back at Crimzon and Clover. But after Crimzon snatched up a man with his toothy maw and violently shook him in half, the others turned and fled, leaving everything behind save for themselves.

  Only a single man of the Captain's party remained. He was still down in the cavern. He had hidden in the rocks when the dragon showed up. He found the tiny, crystal-blue dragon's tear Crimzon cried so many months ago. Mistaking it for a jewel, he pocketed it. The rush of power he felt was nowhere near as powerful or intense as Clover's had been, but the man felt it just the same and knew his destiny lay elsewhere. He stole the coin purses off several of his fallen comrades, then quietly slinked away into the tunnel from where Crimzon emerged to surprise them.

  In the valley, after all the surviving men fled, Crimzon lifted his head proudly and let out a trumpeting roar of dominance that curdled even Clover's blood. When he was done, the dragon bowed before Clover and lowered his wing to allow her to mount his back.

  "Comes Clovers, let's hunts them down!" Crimzon hissed vengefully.

  "Do you think it's necessary?" Clover asked, feeling the throb of pain in her hand starting to lessen.

  "They will tellss taless and brings back otherss if we do not!" Crimzon rationalized.

  "Yes," Clover reluctantly agreed, "but this place can't be your…our home forever. There's a whole world beyond these mountains."

  "Yessss, Clover," Crimzon growled. "but climb upon me ands we wills chase them as they go. Theys deserves no easy escapess."

  Clover climbed on and had just gotten situated when Crimzon jumped into the air in a single leaping stride. On powerful surging wing strokes the young red dragon, and a very lucky woman, chased away the bad men. After that was done, they decided to explore beyond the mountains.

  Crimzon and Clover would have many more adventures. Some you might hear about in a tavern or in a bard’s tale like this one. After all, the world is but a playground for a girl with a dragon.

  The End (for now)

  Here is a complete short story from the #1 Bestselling:

  The Legend of Vanx Malic series

  FOXWISE

  The Legend of Foxwise Posy - Thorn

  © Copyright 2013 by Michael Robb Mathias Jr.

  All Rights Reserved

  Author’s note about the timeline of this story:

  This tale starts at about the same time The Legend of Vanx Malic Book Two - Dragon Isle does.

  It can be read at any time during the series, but will serve readers best if they read it before they read book four.

  This story is not part of the main Vanx Malic tale, but the character Foxwise Posy-Thorn is destined to become relevant, if he can survive this ordeal.

  Thank you and enjoy, M. R. Mathias

  ONE

  General Foxwise Posy-Thorn, “Thorn” to his friends, had never been as nervous as he was now standing before Queen Corydalis, and her council of elders, in the Nexus. She was beautiful and her huge, lavender eyes sparkled with the same fractal sheen as her glassine wings. The cherry blossom scent of her breath and the vibrating tingle of the Heart Tree’s magic had him shivering.

  Thorn was the elven delegate of the Pixie Queen’s court, as well as the leader of her Honor Guard, and General of Defenses. He was around the queen often and somewhat used to all the pomp and ceremony, but the way this evening unfolded, he knew he was about to be given a task of great importance. The glorious pixie queen had called him and two other elves into the field generated by the root clusters of the Heart Tree. Inside the shimmering energy of the Nexus they could speak without the scores of sprites, brownies, gnomes, and skorks milling around in the great central cavern hearing. Thorn was trying to read her expression, but he found his nervousness wouldn’t allow him the concentration he needed. Then she started speaking, her musical voice full of great sadness and dire warning.

  “Thorn, Bristle, and Barb, of all my ranks, you are my most loyal, my fiercest, and my sha
rpest of wit.” She nodded at strawberry haired Thorn, his lieutenant, stubble-headed Bristle and the girlish, blue-haired spellcaster, Barb, who could tell you something about everything.

  “You need not know why, other than this. The Heart Tree and the future of the Lurr Forest Fae is at stake. The three of you must cross the Ice Falls and travel to a lake near where men dwell. There you will find Three Tower Island.”

  Thorn tried to concentrate, but the silky metallic flow of the Pixie Queen’s hair threatened his ability to listen. Apparently she noticed this, for she placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed him so hard that it hurt.

  “Under the towers there is a series of hidden tunnels and rooms. You must find them and follow them to Falriggin’s hidey-hole. There should be a small chest there with an assortment of valuable coins, gems, and artifacts.”

  “What do we need with those?” Bristle asked.

  Thorn made to command the insubordinate elf, but the Pixie Queen smiled at the ornery oaf and dispelled the tension.

  “We don’t want those things, Bristle,” she said as she looked deep into Thorn’s eyes. “We want Falriggin’s shard. It is a milky crystal about the size and shape of a carrot. Dire times are coming and there is naught we can do but cast forth a beckoning, and hope that a champion answers the call.”

  “I will be your champion,” Thorn said proudly.

  Barb chuckled and earned a sneer from Thorn, but he didn’t say a word. She was of the same rank as he, but of a different order. He would speak with her in private though, that was certain.

  “You are my champion Thorn. That is why you will take this, and lead these two to Three Tower Island to retrieve the shard.”

  She handed him a cloth—wrapped bundle that he understood to be a sword the minute he was holding it. It was the Glaive of Gladiolus, also know as Witch Bane, he saw when he let the wrapping fall away. He quickly buckled it around his waist and stood that much taller when he was done.

  “Pardon, my queen, but why are you sending three and the Glaive?” Barb asked with deep intelligence twinkling in her bright blue eyes. Thorn only sensed the slightest bit of jealousy from her. “Sounds like a simple task. Are there wards, or guardians, watching over our prize?”

  “Falriggin was as tricky as they come. He sent us missives dozens of years ago, when he was still alive.” Elva Toyon the eldest member of the Troika Sven answered. The other six members of the council were cringing along the inner edge of the Nexus, for they’d seen the Pixie Queen’s look as she was spoken over.

  The Pixie Queen forced a smile over her scowl and touched her chin. “His last message said that only my most loyal, my fiercest, and my most intelligent warriors could retrieve it, and only after he passed on. He knew we would need it, and he didn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands, and now I wish I’d acted sooner, for there is no time to waste. If you’ll place your hands in mine, I will see you off from the Shadowmane at once.”

  Thorn held his breath. He hated it when the queen escorted them up to the Overland. Afterward his skin always felt flaky and crawly. There was a stair and door with an active portal that worked just fine. As it was, he took Barb’s hand and then the Pixie Queen’s. Bristle joined the circle, and there was a brief but intense feeling of being swarmed over by buzzing bees. They appeared in an oval clearing surrounded by a ten-foot-tall bramble shrub that was so prickly and dense that even the smallest birds avoided it for fear of impaling themselves on the thorns.

  As he expected, his skin felt as if it were peeling, but he kept his face solemn. Barb didn’t seem to be affected at all, yet Bristle was scratching at his neck as if there was a red ant crawling on him.

  At one end of the turf-covered oval was the towering Heart Tree. It’s lowest branches were ten feet higher than the top of the wall. It was lush and thick with green, heart-shaped leaves, save for one branch that was dead. Fluttering sprite Medikas zipped about and tended the branch, but it was clear to all that it would have to be cut.

  The tree was sick, Thorn understood. The hoar witch had poisoned it or some such madness, he wasn’t sure, but it was done. Only the fabled emerald eyed champion of lore could take her power from her and save it. Queen Corydalis needed Falriggin’s shard to cast a beckoning to him.

  “We won’t fail you my Queen,” Thorn told her as they neared the passage that would take them through the bramble wall to true Overland.

  “I know you won’t, General Posy-Thorn.” She smiled a smile that threatened to turn his knees to water. “Be careful, but make haste. Barb, Bristle, I expect you to follow his orders. Now go and bring us back the shard.”

  TWO

  Three days and a few hundred miles had passed since they’d left the Shadowmane. Now the group was skirting well around the gargan city of Great Vale.

  “…I’d bet I’m waist high to a man at least,” said Bristle as they tramped along through the snow. “How tall can they be?”

  “Not as tall as a gargan, but almost.” This came from Barb, who always spoke knowingly. She was tiny, with a shapely form, and her voice was thick and husky. Though Thorn would have never said it aloud, he thought quite highly of her and her lineage.

  “Not quite to the waist of a man, I tell ya. You could run ‘tween a gargan’s legs and not touch his dangles, I say.”

  She turned to Thorn as they moved along the edge of a line of cedar and spruce. She brushed her long blue bangs back. “What ‘bout ya Thorn, you ever seen a human up close?”

  “I seen a dead one once.” Thorn gave them both a hard look. “We killed him when he started pissin’ in the mushroom grove.”

  “Killed him good,” Bristle nodded. “I remember.”

  “Killed him for pissing?” Barb asked incredulous. “Really?”

  Thorn was saved from answering when they came around a bend and the land fell away from them in a slow, sloping roll of snow-covered, rock-pocked, magnificence. The lake was out there too, a blue glassine sheen at the bottom of the massive valley. There was an Island in the lake and on the island there were the remains of three old towers. One was mostly crumbled and one was leaning and missing part of its top. The other stood straight, but Thorn thought he could see gaps in the mortar from where they were.

  “Humans.” Barb pointed at a thin trail of smoke rising from a group of buildings on the far side of the lake.

  “How do we get to the island?” asked Bristle. “I don’t see any boats on this side.”

  “First we have to get to the lake,” Thorn said. Bristle had brought up a good question, but they needed rest before they crossed over, and they were still half a day from the lakeshore. “We can row a log over if it comes to that, but if we get down to the water before nightfall we might be able to find something better.”

  “Good thinking,” Barb said.

  They didn’t find much when they finally made it to the bank. It was more of a fracturing ice shelf than a shore, and there was nothing to aid them except a single log about the size of a gargan’s leg.

  They decided to use the log and keep going. It was cloudy but the moon was full and its pale yellow glow found its way through. The water was freezing cold, but Barb promised a hot fire for when they were on the island, so no one complained.

  They were half way across the glass-smooth lake when they saw something circling in the sky. They knew what it was immediately. It was Sloffin, one of the hoar witch’s foul beasts and now it was diving right at them. Part griffon, part mountain cat, and covered in slick gray scales, Sloffin was hard to see in the blustery mountains, but down here he was far more visible. It didn’t matter though. All it meant at the moment was that they could see Sloffin diving at them. There was nothing they could do. They were floating on a log in the middle of a lake.

  “Just dive under the water when it’s on us,” said Thorn. “We can swim while it circles back and eventually we will get over.”

  “Yes,” Barb agreed, as she slipped off of the log so that it was under her arm and she
was mostly in the water.

  “I’ve got it,” Bristle said and Thorn saw that he had drawn his bow. “Dive away now.”

  Thorn had no reason to doubt Bristle’s deadly accuracy, but what happened next churned the meager food right out of his guts.

  Bristle clamped his legs on the log and steadied his aim, then just as Sloffin was on them, he made to loose his arrow. The gut bowstring stretched because it was wet. The arrow flew like a windblown twig. Then a reptilian claw crushed Bristle’s body to a pulp as it snatched both him and the log up and banked back toward the mountains.

  “Oh no,” Barb sobbed. “It squaw—squaw— squashed him.”

  Thorn was suddenly aware of the importance of their quest again.

  “Swim,” he said as he did the same.

  When they finally reached the shore they barely had enough strength left to drag themselves off of the icy cold beach and into the shrubs.

  THREE

  Being elves they needed no light to see, but Barb made a bit of arcane fire to help warm and dry them. Under a thick-leaved sticker bush, Thorn felt fairly well protected. He had no idea what sort of predators inhabited the island but he doubted any of them would prickle their mug to get at them where they were. He was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that Bristle was dead. He’d been a good elf, and had a wife and daughter back in the Underland.