Sisters of the Blade

by Shawn E. Crapo

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2018 Shawn E. Crapo

  All Artwork © 2018 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 author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblances to persons, places, or things in the real world are purely coincidental.

  www.shawnecrapo.com

  Twitter: @SEC_author

  The Dragon Chronicles

  Wrothgaar’s Quest (Prequel Novella)

  Onyx Dragon

  The Ascent

  King of the North

  Into Oblivion

  Eclipsing the Darkness

  Tale of the Scorpion

  Wrath of the Broken One

  The Dark Queen's Pawn

  The Brotherhood of Perses (Coming Soon)

  As Edward Crae

  The Wormwood Dawn Series

  Chapter One

  The valley was veiled in mist and the dim light of dusk. The journey through the caves had taken longer than expected, and Dearg was surprised to see that so much time had passed. When he had departed camp and entered the cave, it was early morning. But now, it seemed that many hours had gone by, though it had only seemed like a few minutes' time.

  The Son of the Dragon stood at the exit overlooking the rocky valley, confused as to what had happened, and why the valley looked the way it did. From the Highlands, it looked like any other valley; rocky, lush, and filled with stone crags and having sloping sides. But now as he beheld the scene from ground level, it was completely different.

  Something wasn't right.

  Hesitantly, he took a step down onto the ground, feeling a sudden wave of warmth. It was as if he had stepped onto a new world; one that was much older and not quite habitable. As he looked up at the sky, he realized that it too was different. The stars were all wrong, he noticed first. The familiar constellations with which his people had navigated the land were gone, replaced by other formations.

  But the stars themselves seemed the same.

  It wasn't until he saw the Moon that he truly knew something had changed. The body hung lower in the sky, or closer. It was three times larger than it was supposed to be, and its surface was blackened and burnt, with oceans of what looked like glowing lava or pools of brimstone.

  "What the hell?" he spoke out loud.

  As he watched, a long and brilliant streak of flame came from over the horizon, striking the surface of the moon with a burst of fire brighter than the many pools of lava around it. He felt his heart race, unsure of anything he was seeing. He felt the urge to turn and run back into the cave. Perhaps if he entered again and re-emerged, things would look the way they were supposed to.

  Though it was against his better judgment, he turned his head to look back at the cave. It was gone, replaced by a flat landscape with a river raging into the valley. There in the distance the landscape continued on, flat and featureless; not rocky and mountainous as he had previously known.

  Bewildered, Dearg put his hands over his face, hoping that the strangeness would go away. But in his heart he knew it wouldn't. He had stepped into a strange world—one of unknown origin—and the only way out was to continue on.

  As he took a single step forward, the valley was suddenly filled with the sounds of battle. Ahead, he could see the tower, strangely different yet somehow similar. It was surrounded by thousands of small structures of stone; primitive yet skillfully carved. Nearby, an entire army of small creatures stood fast; spears and blades in hand. They were dressed in strange clothes, reptilian in appearance, and seemed no taller than children.

  Behind him, Dearg heard a cacophony of deafening screeches. Startled, he turned to see another army advancing on the tower. They were much larger creatures, also reptilian, but horned and naked. They were crude and pale, with translucent skin and glowing red eyes. Dearg knew them. He had fought them.

  Fomorians; unarmored and naked, but Fomorians nonetheless.

  Among them was a taller figure, their leader he assumed. He was twice their height, with spiked plates on his arms and shins, bearing a massive helmet with horns that curved forward menacingly. The giant creature raised his arms in the air and roared, pointing his massive blade forward.

  The Fomorians charged the smaller folk, and Dearg watched, frozen, as the two armies clashed. Though outnumbered by the larger giants, the small folk fought furiously and skillfully, wielding magic that illuminated the battlefield with its brilliant fury.

  Then, another roar came from the tower. Dearg looked up at its peak, seeing the form of a massive dragon perched atop it. Dearg's heart raced again, and his breath escaped him. He was looking upon the Dragon himself, he knew. But this other beast, this god of stone and fire, was unknown to him.

  "By the gods," Dearg whispered, watching in awe.

  The Dragon dropped from his perch, spreading his massive wings as he swooped down toward the enemy force. A jet of brilliant flame came from his maw, engulfing the rear flanks of the giants. They screeched in agony, but their stone-like skin protected them. The giant behind them began to charge, holding his massive blade above his head. The Dragon roared again, landing behind the enemy army, prepared to face the advancing leader.

  The smaller folk continued to blast the giants with their magic as the Dragon reared back to take another deep breath. When the king of the giants came within a few hundred yards, the Dragon let loose again, this time releasing a cloud of white-hot flame that engulfed the giant in its hellish embrace.

  The giant thrashed and flailed, advancing through the flames slowly, preparing to strike. Dearg stood to get a better look, his eyes still frozen on the scene below him. He could feel the heat of the Dragon's flame around him, and held up his arm to shield his face.

  There was another deafening rumble, and Dearg looked up to see a ball of fire fall from the sky. It smashed into the ground, throwing massive chunks of Earth into the air. The Dragon rose into the sky, thrashing his massive tail behind him, scooping up the giants and tossing them into the chasm that had opened up.

  Fire spewed from the Earth, engulfing the giant king as the ground crumbled around him. A wall of rock and debris advanced toward Dearg, threatening to smash him against the walls behind him. His heart stopped, and he fell back, preparing to die in a storm of rock and fire ejected by the impact.

  But then the vision was gone.

  Dearg lay frozen on the ground, his eyes and teeth clenched in terror. All he could hear was his own breathing, and the gentle blowing of the wind. There was nothing else.

  Slowly, he opened his eyes. The sky above was blue again, with wispy clouds that slowly blew across the beautiful blue background. He sat up, seeing that the valley had returned to normal. Even the tower looked the way it did before. There were no more stone structures around it, only the foundations of a circular city in the process of construction.

  He stood, dusting himself off. He was still bewildered, however, and the shock of the scene was still embedded in his mind, never to fade away. He would remember it forever, and he knew it was important. It was something from the remote past, he realized. He didn't know why he knew, but he did. He would never forget.

  Come to me, my son.

  Dearg froze, unsure as to whether he had actually heard the voice.

  Come to me. Do not be afraid.

  "I am not afraid," he spoke out loud. "Not anymore."

  An eagle flew overhead, screeching as it swirled up and over the edge of the cliffs. Dearg smiled, knowing that it was a sign that everything was back to normal—as normal as it could be, at least. Conf
ident, he descended to the dry river bed below, and headed toward the tower.

  As he walked, he got the impression he was being watched. Though he could see nothing around him, he knew there were creatures there, hiding in the rocks, watching him as he passed by. He paid them no attention, knowing that if they were dangerous, they would have attacked by now.

  He hoped so, at least.

  His mind flashed back to the small folk that fought the giants. Could these be those same creatures? They were mighty warriors, he remembered, and he had no desire to battle them. But if they, too, were servants of the Dragon, then they would be his friends.

  Again, he hoped so.

  I have waited for you, my son.

  "I know," Dearg said.

  Do not fear the Druaga. They are my children. They are your brothers.

  "My brothers," he repeated.

  He looked around as he walked, hoping to catch a glimpse of them, at least one of them. He saw nothing, though, only the foundations of the city surrounding the tower. What he felt, though, was something completely different; unmistakable. He truly felt as if he were going home. Home to a place he truly belonged. It was a feeling that warmed his heart so much that he felt a familiar tightness in his throat.

  He began to run.

  "I'm coming," he said between breaths. "I'm coming, father."

  There was a wide avenue, much like those on the three other sides of the tower. Each road led straight toward the tower from the perimeter of the city. He could see all four of them over the tops of the half-constructed buildings. Each of them was exactly the same height, the same level of construction.

  He rounded the city, looking at each side of the tower. Only one side, facing toward the south, had a door. It was a large double door, carved of the same black stone as the tower. It appeared to be obsidian or black onyx, he wasn't sure which, but he had heard the phrase Onyx Dragon from the Alvar…

  "Onyx," he said. "Onyx Dragon."

  He stepped onto the road, looking down at the tightly packed blocks of which it was built. They were perfectly cut, flat, and fitted together with barely enough room to slip a strand of hair between them.

  Around him, he knew the Druaga, his brothers, were watching him. He could feel their presence more than anything. It was not a fearsome presence, however. It was familiar, as if he had felt it his whole life. And indeed he had. Perhaps it was the Druaga who had spoken to him all of those times he stared at the tower, beckoning him to come home.

  "They are my brothers," he said.

  He could hear scraping sounds around him. His hand instinctively went to his blade, but he let his hand hover there instead of gripping it. Dark figures began to emerge from the stones, small and dressed in black cloaks. Their hoods were up, but as Dearg passed, each of them looked up at him, showing the reptilian faces he had seen in his vision.

  Though bewildered and hesitant, he continued on, watching the small creatures line up on either side of the road. He looked ahead toward the doors, seeing a tall man standing there. He too was dressed in a black cloak, and his hood hid his face. The man's appearance caused Dearg's heart to race once more, and his breath became quickened.

  This was the Dragon, he knew, his father.

  "Father," he whispered.

  He picked up his pace, moving faster and faster until he was running. The man turned and walked into the door, going right through the stone as if it wasn't there. Dearg began to sprint, not wanting to lose the vision of what he knew was his father.

  But the man was gone.

  Had he even been there? Had he been seeing things?

  He stopped at the doorway. The double slabs of stone were glossy, and carved with a myriad of strange symbols. In the center, where the two slabs met, there was a circle carved in both slabs, with a disk of stone in its center, carved with a man-sized handprint. He looked at his own hand, seeing it was roughly the same size.

  He looked around for the Druaga, but he saw that they were gone. They had vanished with the strange figure somehow. He looked again at the handprint, holding out his own hand as he approached it. The surface of the stone was cool, but pulsated with life. His hand fit perfectly into the depression, and it felt like placing his hand onto the surface of another world.

  Dol Drakkar.

  He pressed. The stone sank in, clicking loudly as the disk began to turn. He pulled his hand away as it sank into the slabs and slid to the side. He stepped back as a rumbling sound began to emanate from the stone. The two slabs separated, slid back a ways, and then parted fully. A blast of warm air came from the darkened opening, carrying with it the scent of jasmine or sandalwood.

  Come to me, my son.

  Dearg stepped in, startled as the door began to close behind him. There was darkness for a moment as Dearg stood frozen, but then a series of dim red lamps began to glow along the walls, giving the black corridor an eerie reddish cast. The corridor was long, and ended in what looked to be a stairway going down into the darkness.

  Dearg started forward, slowly making his way along the corridor, gazing at the intricately-carved walls as he went. There were strange murals, some of them recognizable as the Dragon and the beast he fought in Dearg's vision, some of them strange and unknown to him.

  One of them depicted a battle between two unknown entities, both of them female. One of the entities was victorious and had cast the defeated into the abyss, swallowing her soul as her body floated lifeless in the void. It didn't take long for Dearg to realize that he was looking at the Earth and the Moon.

  "Interesting," he whispered.

  Come to me, Daegoth.

  He continued forward again, stopping at the top of the stairway. He looked down into the darkness, waiting for the red globes to flare into life. When they did, he saw another door. On either side of it stood a Druaga; cloaked and still. He stepped down, moving slowly down the stairway until he reached the landing.

  The two Druaga reached for the door, pulling it open toward them. Beyond was a short corridor that led to a larger chamber that was built much lower into the ground. It appeared to be lit by a red and green series of globes that lined the curved ceiling. The Druaga motioned for him to enter.

  "Alright," he said. "I suppose you'll be closing the door behind me."

  The Druaga were silent, but motioned again. Dearg stepped through the door and, as expected, they closed it behind him. The corridor ahead was short as he saw before, but there were two branches, one on either side. He passed them, seeing that they were curved and led downward. As he reached the end, he looked down into the chamber. The two corridors to either side led to walkways that lined the chamber down to its floor.

  Dearg descended the black stone steps, feeling that same sense of comfort he had been feeling, but this time it was much stronger. The chamber felt like home, as dark and plain-looking as it was. It was silent, except for a low humming sound; continuous and not entirely unpleasant.

  On the floor was a large grate that spanned almost the whole distance to either side. Below, there was a soft red glow and much warmth that came from the Earth itself. There, at the other side of the grate, was a black dais upon which sat a large and ornate black throne. Like the stone of the tower itself, it was smooth and shining, and carved with strange symbols and ornate designs.

  Two Druaga emerged from the shadows behind the throne and stood on either side. They motioned for him to sit, each of them drawing a small sword and gesturing with the other hand.

  "You want me to sit?" Dearg spoke, unsure of what they would do once he did.

  They are your brothers, the Dragon had said.

  "Alright," he said, stepping up onto the dais.

  He reached out to touch the throne. It was warm, unlike the other stone. The seat was warmer, as if someone had recently sat there. Taking one last look at the two Druaga, he turned and sat down, settling back into the comfortable throne, his breath quickening and his heart pounding in anticipation.

  And then there was blackne
ss.

  Having departed shortly after Dearg, Baleron led the knights eastward toward the southbound roads that cut through the mountains. It would take them several more days to reach Tel Drakkar this way, but the longer trip was worth not having to ride right along T'kar's territory.

  They would follow the roads south, hoping to avoid any enemy troops, and eventually meet Dearg there at the southern tower. Along the way, Baleron knew there were small towns where they could rest, but their odd group might rouse suspicion among some of the people. They would have to choose their stops carefully.

  They reached the southbound road shortly before evening, and Baleron halted them to observe the road itself, looking for any signs of the passing of large troops. He and Odhran both dismounted and began examining the ground.

  "What are you looking for?" Ivar asked, jumping down from his horse.

  "Tracks," Baleron said. "I don't want us to run into any of T'kar's men."

  "We can handle them," Ivar replied, smiling. "Right, Alric?"

  Alric grinned. "Maybe," he said. "But I'd rather not have to. If T'kar knows we're going south, then he'll know why."

  "Do you really think he's that smart?" Freyja jested. "He looked like a troll to me."

  "Aye, he was a pretty one, wasn't he?" Ivar said.

  "Look," Odhran said, pointing at a spot on the road. "We've got wheel tracks here."

  "Caravans travel this road on occasion," Baleron said. "But from where, I'm not sure."

  "It's hard to tell which way they're going," Odhran said. "But if they're going south, they're probably going to Scarcliff."

  "What's Scarcliff?" Ivar asked.

  Baleron sighed. "Nasty little town," he said. "They trade with the Riverfolk sometimes, but it's mostly a haven for undesirables."

  "Undesirables?" Ivar said.

  "Bandits, brigands and the like," Baleron explained.

  "Sounds like we'll fit right in," Alric said. "What are we waiting for?"

  "If the Riverfolk trade with them," Freyja said, "they can't be that bad."

  "It's not the traders we have to worry about," Odhran said. "But wait until we get there. You'll see."

  "On the bright side, they won't care where we're going," Baleron added. "It will be a good place to stop for the night, and maybe find an escort or a new road."