Dragon of Eriden - The Complete Collection

by Samantha Jacobey

  “Oh,” the king scowled, aware of the implication. “Where will we find it?”

  “He’s in the great hall. We had almost made it out when he was bitten,” the group’s leader explained.

  “Well, I’ll see to it a few of our men are assigned to take care of him. Gather his remains so he can be given a proper memorial,” Baeweth offered.

  Studying him, Piers rubbed his chin. “Thank you. I didn’t think it would matter to you.”

  “Of course it matters,” the king scoffed, offended at the jab. “We dwarves are not beyond honoring the dead.” Realizing a moment later he hadn’t been very hospitable the last time they were there, part of the blame for the boy’s death lay on his head. “I guess things could have gone differently…”

  “Don’t trouble yourself,” Piers grunted. “We all make choices. Sometimes they turn out to be more important than we thought they were, that’s all.” His eyes misty, he knew all about that.

  A short time later, the barrier to Asomanee had been torn down. Lighting torches, each group of dwarves was given a section of the halls to search. The trolls and their friends would come in behind, along with a few more soldiers from the king’s garrison. From there, they would push their way through to the marshes and prepare to make their way up the mountain to engage the elves.

  All going surprisingly well, considering they were hunting down venom filled daemons, the caverns and chambers had been swept in a matter of hours. True to his word, a special trio of dwarves had been assigned to collect Baldwin’s body, and he was placed in a plain wooden box before the rest of his party were allowed to enter. Carrying the crate back the way they came, they assured it would be placed in a private place for safe keeping until it was decided when and where he would be laid to rest.

  Tears in his eyes as they walked past, his best friend swinging between them, Rey thought of Amicia. God, I hope we haven’t lost her as well. He had reached out in random intervals, still hoping at some point she would reply, but he had not heard anything.

  “Thinking of Bally?” Animir asked, clamping him on the shoulder.

  “Ami, actually,” he sighed.

  “Don’t worry,” the elf grimaced. “There’s still hope. For now, we have a battle to win.”

  Making their way through the last section of tunnels, Animir paused at the final slope. Kneeling, he rested his hand upon the magical markings that had preserved his life. A cynical grin on his lips, he stood and marched to the surface above.

  In the daylight, the sun had passed overhead and hung in the west, darkness only a few hours away. “I think we should camp here tonight and march over at first light,” Animir observed, “but I don’t think the gnomes will like it.”

  “Why not?” Piers sneered. “They said we could stay.”

  Coughing a laugh, Rey pointed out, “I’m sure they didn’t mean for us to invite friends over while we did, especially trolls and dwarves.”

  Rolling his eyes, the Mate didn’t care. He had had about all the gnome logic he could stand. Locating Baeweth, he offered, “Our camp is over there against the tree line. This valley runs for quite a ways in both directions, and I think it would make a good place to call it a night. We get a good night’s sleep and climb the mountain tomorrow.”

  “I agree,” the old king sighed. “Somewhere along here is the original entrance to Asomanee.”

  “Oh,” Hayt gasped, “it’s this way.” He curled his fingers for him to follow. Leading the way to the north end of the valley, he presented the statues with an open hand. “We cleaned them after we found them. They were covered in growth. The entrance is over behind, but it’s in rubble, probably caved in by the elves ages ago.”

  Making his way through the stone garden, tears touched the old king’s eyes as his fingers traced the feel of the rocks. “You have honored our heroes, restoring them to the light.”

  “Aye,” the Mate agreed, joining them. “Perhaps it’s fate that we get this second chance to know each other,” he grinned.

  “Even in these dark circumstances, I have to agree. For now, I’m going to go see the gnomes and alert them to our presence. You have the men make camp so we can get some rest. We want to be fresh for the fight,” he instructed his nephew before he headed across the clearing and into the woods.

  “Well, this feels strange,” Piers mumbled to his wife as they took to their bed.

  “What, being back here after leaving only yesterday?” she deduced, lying against the back wall with him between her and the opening.

  “Aye,” he chuckled. “I’m surprised the gnomes allowed the trolls and dwarves to stay.”

  “They were allies, or at least the dwarves were,” she pointed out.

  “That was a long time ago,” he grunted. “Still, I’m glad they will honor it. Tomorrow is going to be one hell of a fight.”

  “Goodnight, love,” she whispered, turning on her side and drifting off to sleep.

  “I find it odd as well,” Animir spoke up, sitting on the rock in front of their shelter.

  “Good night, Animir,” Piers replied, dismissing him to his own bunk.

  Shaking his head, Rey joined him, indicating the dragon curled around his rocks with a wave of his hand, “Lamwen says the elves are grouped for the night as we are. I don’t think they have any idea what we have planned, or that we know they are there.”

  “How could they?” Animir snorted. “They think access to this side is blocked.” His mind on the trapped dark elf, he stood, searching for Ami’s bag. “Good. She didn’t take it with her.”

  “Take what with her?” Zae asked, joining them in front of the fire.

  “Her pack. She put the hamar gem in here.”

  “So? You can’t let that thing out,” Rey scowled.

  “I don’t plan to,” the elf agreed, “but it wouldn’t hurt to have her handy in case we needed her in a pinch.”

  “We don’t plan to be that desperate,” Piers groaned, his face pressing into an open palm.

  “I thought you were going to sleep,” Animir observed, locating the stone and holding it up to admire it.

  “Who can sleep with all your chatter?” the Mate countered, noting that Meena actually did. Gently extricating himself, he climbed off the mattress and joined them on their oversized seats. Holding out his hand, he waited for the stone to be placed in it.

  Handing it over, Animir coerced, “I promise I won’t pull her out unless we need to.”

  “Aye,” he growled, still studying the gem. “I worry she won’t attack her own kind and would probably turn on us.”

  “Well, let’s hope we don’t have to find out,” Rey observed.

  Hearing loud voices carrying from the north end of the valley, Piers sighed, “They are a rowdy bunch. Even the trolls don’t make so much noise.”

  “Yes,” Animir agreed, accepting the trinket and adding it to his collection in the pouch at his waist. “Let us hope they fight as well as they play.”

  “We should really get some sleep,” Piers concluded, shooing each to their beds. Retaking his, he closed his eyes, willing his mind to relax. “Amicia,” he reached.

  Silence.

  “Amicia, my love, we’re looking for you.” They weren’t really, but they were still hoping at any rate. “We take on the elves on the morrow, as you wanted. We’ve brought the trolls and recruited the dwarves. It was a good plan, love,” he sighed, tears touching his eyes.

  No reply came to him.

  Breathing deeply, he went over what he hoped would happen with the coming of the sun as he drifted off to sleep.

  Awakening

  As soon as the group of warriors left the Crimson Caves, Ziradon had set out on his own private endeavor. Hardly content to lie in the darkness and call out to his missing heiress, the old dragon intended to find her.

  She’s the only possession I have in the world, he lamented as he reached the beach on which they had walked hardly a few days before. Flying over the burned cabin and boat, tears fill
ed his tired eyes.

  They had built a home there next to the waves. Loving and kind, he fumed. That’s all she has ever been.

  Turning south, he trailed the edge of the coast. Reaching Abolia, he paused, landing on the edge of a vast graveyard. The mortals of the rim had been banished from their kingdom long before he was hatched, but he knew of their story.

  His eyes sharp, he scanned the waving grass, picking out the markers that stood taller than the rest. “Heads of families,” he grumbled. The mortals were weaker than Eriden’s magical inhabitants, but that did not make them any less important. My daughter understands this, he recalled with pride. I taught her well in the short time I held her in my care.

  His mind drawn to the night she was cursed into mortal form, he sighed. Where would she go? There had to be a clue. “She is in a dark place,” he repeated. That’s what they were told by Thirac. He knew the old gnome, one of the few inhabitants of Eriden older than himself. A trickster, to be certain.

  It had bothered him that his daughter and her friends had chosen to trust the gnomes, but he had not spoken of it. Any advice he could have offered would have been in hindsight, as the alliance had already been formed by the time she came to him, winning his freedom.

  Somewhere dark. Thinking again of the Shadowlands, he flapped his massive wings and took to the air, once more trailing the western edge of the continent. Woods and coastline stretched for miles, until he came to the northern wizard village of Heewan.

  “If only I could walk among them, as she does,” he considered, making a few passes to observe their streets and courtyards. Spying a large plaza in the center, he flew low so that his shadow would be detected, turning their worried faces up to him. “Fear me,” he growled, puffing bits of flame and smoke into the air, scattering the weakest of the lot.

  Spying none that resembled his target, he moved on.

  Again, moving south, he felt less drawn to the next village, and then the next. She would have no cause to visit such a place, he surmised. Turning east, he took to the sands of the desert, the waves of hot air rising to scorch the bottom of his wings as he skimmed the surface. He approached Whitefair, flying low in hopes of avoiding detection.

  “This is a dark place beneath the brightest of suns,” he observed, recalling the trade that thrived there. “Murderers and thieves, a den of inequity in the heart of the desert.”

  Looming over the adobe walls, he scoured the narrow streets and passages, those who walked them paying him no mind. These were accustomed to dragons flying overhead and thought nothing of it. Sorely tempted to vent his frustration upon them as flame, he took to the sky, beating his wings fast and hard as he climbed.

  Reaching the thin, cooler air, he leveled out and turned a slow circle, taking in the wide desert sands for miles around the oasis. To the south, a dark blanket lay across the sand, and his heart raced. His distance above sufficient, he knew he could observe the object unseen and flew in its direction to have a closer look.

  “Elves,” he muttered to himself, noting they made camp on the edge of the shifting sands. The mountain met the empty void there on the eastern side, and a grassland had formed. On one side, rivulets fed small springs where the snow melted and ran down to the sparse foliage below. On the other, the sun burned away nearly all that lived, leaving only bright yellow sand.

  In the line along the two, a garrison of Lady Cilithrand’s finest made camp, perhaps awaiting their orders. Squinting against the glare, the old dragon estimated their numbers. Thousands of wretched souls.

  It burned his heart that the elf queen had such grand visions. She would depose the dragons if it were within her grasp, and from their sheer numbers, it most likely was within her grasp.

  “I have no time for this,” he scowled, noting the group of minions were not marching and simply lay in wait. Deciding he would return and investigate them further, he continued south, flying over the foreboding forest, aware that the place was filled with goblins and haunted trees.

  He knew instantly she was not inside. It might have been a dark place, but his daughter would have no reason to visit such a cursed land, for the creatures therein would serve no master; not even the Supreme Dragoness.

  More forest and trees passed below him, but of the normal variety, and he could see the glen in the distance to the right. Thinking of the nymphs and the satyrs who protected them, he felt certain that was not her location either. Esterbrook is neither dark nor would its inhabitants be blinded by the tricks of the Lady Cilithrand.

  To the left, he glared at the deeper, darker woods of the Shadowlands. The place I have suspected all along. Taking to the upper atmosphere once more, he circled in the failing light, slowly descending for closer inspection. Each opening in the trees a clearing on the ground, he would search them all until he found that which he was looking for.

  Her eyes flickering, Amicia stared up into the light. Her body stiff, she moved with great care. Remembering her torn shoulder, her fingers snaked across her clothing, drawing them to inspect the wound.

  Finding her shirt torn, the blood had dried into a crust embedded in the material. The flesh beneath it did not ooze and felt firm to her prodding.

  Tracing the puckered flesh with the tips of her fingers, she thought of the scar that forever marked the Mate’s chest. A healed wound touched by a special magic that would forever remain a part of him.

  Uscan’s large head brushing against her, she turned her gaze to find him lying next to her, his massive body stretched as she languished in its warmth. “How long have I been here?” she croaked, her mouth dry.

  “A day or two,” he replied evenly.

  “And yet I still live,” she chuckled softly. “Or did you want me conscious when you tore my soul away from my flesh?”

  “There will be no tearing, my queen,” he growled, raising his eyes to indicate their visitor.

  Turning slowly, as the ache persisted, she focused on a large dark form. The edges taking shape, she gasped, “Oh, father!”

  “Rest, my daughter,” Ziradon commanded.

  “But how did I –”

  “We are sworn to secrecy,” Uscan informed her, “so you needn’t bother to ask. You are healed, for the most part, but your strength will only return over time.”

  Nodding, she didn’t argue. Her eyes leaping around her, she noted she remained in the same location as the attack, in the clearing where they had first met. “Can I get a drink?” she asked, fumbling to sit up.

  Next to her, a flask of water had been provided. Lifting it, she drank greedily from the cool liquid. On a flat rock that acted as a table, a selection of dried meat, bread, and cheese also awaited her. Food. They couldn’t have done this.

  “Who’s been here?” she demanded, a little more forcefully.

  “We are disinclined to share,” Ziradon replied in a toying manner. “Eat and regain your strength.”

  Her empty belly rumbling, she tasted the meat, noting it to be tender and deliciously spiced. The cheese reminded her of Rey, and her head swam. “Where are my friends? Can you tell me that?” she asked, her fingers trembling as she searched for her orb in her pocket.

  Emptying the contents, she found it, along with her shield stone and the crystal from the Crimson Caves. Snatching the red rock first, she clenched it and peeked inside the home of the trolls.

  “Oh, no,” she gasped. “They went without me.”

  In the great hall, the trolls that remained in their mountain mourned. She could see the bodies being prepared for their rituals, as they would be burned and returned to the cycle of life there among the inhabitants of the northern forest.

  Dropping the crimson glass, she switched to the orb and scoured the land, coming to the dwarf mountain. Many were still inside the maze of halls and chambers, but mostly women and children. “The dwarves joined the fight,” she assumed with a small grin.

  Expanding her vision, she located her friends atop the mountain, their swords singing as they were whipp
ed through the air and flung against the elves. At their side, the trolls used long spears to extract their own blows, and the dwarf swords and axes glinted with sunlight that appeared to be fading with the dusk.

  “A great battle,” she breathed. “I must get to them!”

  “You must rest, Kaliwyn,” Ziradon replied. “You are in no condition for travel.”

  “You don’t understand,” she argued. “I am their leader. It is my duty to be there, to guide them, and to fight with them.”

  “Lamwen has taken on the charge of leading the battle,” the old dragon explained.

  “It’s not the same!” she spat, leaving the remainder of her meal and forcing her shaky legs to stand.

  “Ami, listen to me,” Uscan agreed with the dragon. “You are in no condition to leave. Sit and finish your rations. If you can walk afterwards, perhaps your father will agree to spirit you to the north, but you must be rested and ready before you face the dangers of combat.”

  Scowling, she sank to her knees. Taking the food in eager bites, she hardly chewed it, then washed it down with large gulps of water. When she had made it all disappear, she snapped, “Satisfied?”

  “Sleep, my dragoness,” Ziradon implored. “I promise I will take you to them at first light, but for now you must rest.”

  Blowing flame into a collection of wood, he lit the fire that would keep her warm as she lay beneath the stars and followed his command.

  Shadow Warriors

  “This is insane!” Reynard shouted, Animir and Piers both close enough to hear. “We’ve been slaughtering them all day, and yet they still come!”

  “Not all day,” the Mate chuckled wryly. “Only since noon,” he teased, his shield holding as an unwary elf took a swing and was smacked down by blue light. “I love Amicia,” he quipped. “Her charms are exquisite.” Sinking his blade into the throat of the attacker, he pulled the steel free, and the elf’s bright red blood gurgled from the wound, coating his flesh and the ground beneath him.