The Dragon Lord

by E. G. Foley

  Not that dead Noxu could taste very good. Wyvern grimaced and shook his head. The beast was even gulping down the half-troll’s sweaty leather armor.

  That had better not make him sick. Wyvern was a conscientious owner, but in the middle of his coup against Zolond, he did not have time right now for a visit with the draco-veterinarian.

  Every hour counted, for no one could say how long the old, frail, complacent Dark Master would remain away on his much-needed holiday in the Balefire Mountains.

  Unfortunately, Wyvern feared his pampered carriage dragon would be vomiting up Noxu limbs by dawn.

  As a pedigreed Darter, Tazaroc was used to only the best dragon feed on the market—the very blend of dried meats and herbs recommended by the breeder. He preferred meals that tried to escape, of course, but that was not always practical.

  Ah, but every now and then, Wyvern knew, a well-kept dragon had to taste fresh blood.

  Make his own kill.

  They loved the chase.

  Wyvern would play with him sometimes in the castle’s big, empty loading bay—throwing the dragon’s giant version of dog toys and letting him fetch—but it was hardly the same.

  He pressed his lips together with a rare flicker of guilt. This is my fault.

  He’d been so preoccupied lately pursuing his ambitions to seize the Black Crown that it had been months since he’d taken Taz out for a proper hunt.

  Darters in general were known to be a bit high-strung. They required exercise.

  They were one of the smaller dragon species, standing about nine feet tall with all fours on the ground, with a long neck, golden eyes, and a twenty-foot wingspan. In every other respect, however, the Darters were the thoroughbred racehorses of the dragon world: fast and sleek, with elegant lines and high intelligence.

  Temperamental…and expensive.

  Rather like Fionnula, Wyvern mused as he walked cautiously toward his pet.

  In any case, Wyvern had had Tazaroc trained for both saddle and harness, but even he took care to keep that fire collar on.

  A physical restraint infused with magical inhibitors, the collar prevented the headstrong dragon from roasting his caretakers. Tazaroc would never harm him, of course. The clever beast knew his master, understood Wyvern’s commands and always obeyed.

  He didn’t always like it, though.

  “Tazaroc,” Wyvern said firmly as he approached. “No!”

  The Darter was gnawing on a Noxu leg, his tail twitching happily.

  “You heard me.”

  The tail went still. The dragon looked askance at him, wickedness in his amber eye with its vertical-slitted, coal-black pupil.

  “Bad dragon!” Wyvern said. “Put that down.”

  Of course, the words sounded different to the others cowering around the edges of the great hall, for they left Wyvern’s lips in a language no one had ever taught him.

  He’d been able to speak it for as long as he could remember, and the dragon knew perfectly well what he was saying.

  Tazaroc hissed at the order.

  “Don’t give me that! It’s time to go back to your stall. Tazaroc: Come!”

  The Darter gave an unhappy growl, turning his sinuous body to face Wyvern, then pushed up with his front legs to a seated position, the brawny Noxu leg still clamped between his jaws.

  It was all that was left of the half-troll.

  Wyvern pointed at the floor, never mind that the creature towered over him. “Drop it. Now. Bad dragon! What did you do?”

  Tazaroc shook his head no and hissed past his prize while his eyes burned with resentment.

  “Put. That. Down.”

  Still, the dragon resisted. His tail thrashed, his hiss turned to a snarl, and the edges of the fancy flap of skin adorning his neck fluttered dangerously.

  “Don’t make me punish you.” Wyvern reached for his wand.

  At once, Tazaroc dropped the leg with a disappointed look, loosening his deadly jaws and letting it flump down onto the flagstones.

  “You’re a bad dragon! This is unacceptable behavior!”

  Tazaroc hung his head and grumbled unhappily, small puffs of steam rising from his nostrils.

  “Humph!” Wyvern scolded. “You’re happy now, but you’ll be sick by morning. Well, come along, then.” Well aware that the dragon could easily take his arm off if he chose, Wyvern reached up boldly and grasped his dangerous pet by one of his short, back-facing horns.

  Pulling the dragon’s head lower, he began leading him away. “Come on, back to your stall. There’s a good boy. Somebody clean up this mess!” he added over his shoulder to some onlookers as he headed for the wide stairwell down the corridor. “And let the ladies know it’s safe to come in now.”

  “Commander?” Lantz, the navigational officer from outside, ventured after Wyvern, keeping a wary distance from Tazaroc. “Do you, er, have any orders for our next coordinates yet, sir?”

  Wyvern paused halfway across the great hall, considering his options while Taz nuzzled him, nearly knocking him off his feet in an effort to get back into his good graces.

  It was as close to an apology as a dragon ever came.

  Wyvern patted the beast. “Don’t worry, you’re forgiven,” he murmured to his pet. After all, it was only a couple of Noxu. They were disgusting creatures anyway. Supremely expendable.

  Lantz waited for his answer.

  So did Raige. “We have the Order on their knees, Wyvern.” The warrior stared at him. “I say we stay right here and demand their surrender.”

  “And what do we do when their allies show up?” Fionnula demanded in a crisp tone, striding in just then with the Red Queen a few paces behind her. “Try to think beyond typical male bravado, Raige. Any minute now, some Lightrider could open up a portal and bring a regiment of wood elves or giants or who-knows-what through to give us more than we’re prepared to handle.”

  “She’s right,” mumbled Viola, folding her arms across her chest.

  The sea-witch nodded. “We made our point, accomplished what we came for.”

  Raige smirked. “If you ladies are too frightened to proceed, just leave the fighting to us men.”

  Viola bared her fangs and hissed at him.

  The sea-witch propped her hands on her hips and looked expectantly at Wyvern. “Nathan?” she demanded, tapping her foot.

  He didn’t answer for a moment.

  Both his sorceress fiancée and his strongest fighter had made good points. He had accomplished his main goal—simply to strike the Order in a show of strength to demonstrate to all of Dark-kind that he would be a better sorcerer-king than old, frail Zolond.

  But, on the other hand, Raige had an excellent argument as well. Why not launch a second wave of attacks and finish the Order off?

  Unfortunately, Wyvern found himself struggling to make the decision as the three waited. It was most unlike him, but the reason was simple.

  He had a bloody concussion from that final wand blast!

  He’d managed to set aside the dizziness and pain in order to deal with the dragon, but now that Taz was under control, his head was throbbing so badly that he could hardly think.

  “Somebody make that blasted chalk man stop pounding on the walls!” Wyvern snapped. The reverberating booms from Aelfric’s fists echoed through the castle and filled his skull with agony.

  “I’ll enchant him with a song, dear,” Fionnula promised.

  “Good,” Wyvern growled, then glanced at the others, refusing to show weakness in front of his followers. “I’ll give you my decision shortly. First, I must return this creature to his stall. Then I’ll take a short respite in my chambers and see what Shemrazul wishes us to do.”

  It was never a bad idea to seek guidance from his demon father. Besides, Wyvern desperately needed a few minutes alone to refresh himself. His clothes were caked with dried blood, and, in truth, the room was still spinning.

  “In the meantime,” he said to the navigator, “set the coordinates for the Karakum Desert,
but don’t activate the jump unless I give you the order.”

  “Yes, sir!” Lantz saluted him, then hurried off to the control room.

  At that moment, the upper half of the Noxu corpse fell out of the chandelier and crashed to the floor.

  The dragon whipped his head around and eyed the corpse hungrily.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Wyvern warned Tazaroc, then scowled at the blood spattered everywhere. “The rest of you, get busy!” he snapped at the rank and file. “I want this place shipshape by the time I come back!”

  They scrambled to obey, and Wyvern headed off to take the dragon to his stall on the basement level of the ten-story fortress.

  No rest for the wicked. It had been a long night, but it wasn’t over yet. Still, as he led the dragon down the dark stairwell, Wyvern savored his victory.

  His only regret this night was that Jake hadn’t stayed around to see it. No doubt his future son and heir would’ve been impressed…

  Wherever he was.

  CHAPTER 1

  Through the Portal

  At that moment, Jake Everton, the seventh Earl of Griffon, was hurtling down a brilliant tunnel of light that tracked along one of the Earth’s ley-lines.

  Seconds ago, however, he had been standing in the midst of the battle raging back at Merlin Hall.

  Pure chaos had engulfed the palace grounds as the Dark Druids sprang their sneak attack, and Jake was still slightly dazed by all that he had seen.

  Big, tusked, ogre-like Noxu warriors with axes and spears on the rampage.

  Wand duels flashing in the onyx autumn night.

  Billows of smoke choking the air as the great boxwood maze went up in flames.

  One minute, he was standing on the palace lawn with the world burning down around him, the warlocks’ invading forces coming at him from all sides, and his rugged head of security, Derek Stone, bellowing at him to go; that, after the Dark Druids’ prophecy about him, neither mortals nor magic-kind could afford for him to be captured.

  Next thing he knew, he was flying through the Grid.

  As much as he hated being sent away like a child, Jake knew Derek was right. He had to get out of there, or the consequences could be disastrous for everyone.

  Oh, to be sure, if he stayed, Jake knew he could continue inflicting serious damage on the enemy—like what he and his Gryphon had done a short while ago—crippling the fearsome dirigible, The Dream Wraith, to stop the enemy’s air assault.

  But creepy, half-demon Lord Wyvern had already tried once before to kidnap him.

  The Nephilim warlock apparently wanted to claim Jake as his heir, make him the so-called Black Prince of their sinister brotherhood.

  Deep down, Jake was secretly terrified that Wyvern might somehow succeed in recruiting him over to the dark side, for, frankly, he could not say with a hundred percent confidence that he did not have a bit of an evil streak in him.

  Especially right now—moments after one of the sky pirates aboard The Dream Wraith had fallen to his death.

  Jake was trying not to think about the sickening fact that he had just accidentally killed a man.

  A bad one, yes. The airship’s gunner had been aiming to shoot him and Red right out of the sky. But, truly, Jake had not meant for the fool to stumble overboard and fall to his death. He’d been aiming for the swivel-gun!

  Nevertheless.

  When you were only thirteen and had already killed a bloke, it did not bode very well on the moral scale.

  Especially when you had a prophecy hanging over your head, warning that you might grow up to be the most powerful leader the sinister Dark Druids had ever had…

  The mere thought made Jake slightly queasy—and the rocketing speed of Grid travel wasn’t helping much with that.

  Obviously, the best thing that he could do for everyone was to get the blazes out of there, posthaste. He knew the stakes, and understood it was too dangerous to stay.

  Besides, if anything happened to his friends because he was being stubborn, he would never forgive himself.

  His cousin Isabelle was already in extremely bad shape.

  The delicate fifteen-year-old empath was on the verge of passing out, blood trickling out of her ear and nose from all the rage and hatred churning over the palace grounds.

  Prince Janos, their vampire friend (who secretly adored her), had roared at Jake to get Izzy out of there before dashing off with a snarl to go and dispatch more enemies.

  The vampire was right. There was no more time for delay. So Jake went, taking the others with him, including his Gryphon, Red, and his best girl, Dani O’Dell.

  Or rather, Dani was the one taking them.

  For it was she, not Jake, who had recently been chosen to become a future Lightrider—elite agents of the Order, who alone had the ability to open portals and conduct traveling parties safely through the Earth’s innate energy Grid.

  Her trainer, the wood elf, Lightrider Finnderool, had ordered the Irish lass to take Jake and the others somewhere safe. With the Dark Druids pressing the attack, no adult Lightrider could be spared for the task.

  It was now on the shoulders of the dauntless redhead to get them out of there, and she was to choose the place.

  Dani was forbidden to tell anyone what destination she had in mind.

  Wyvern and his minions would not hesitate to torture the information out of any captive taken in battle who might know where Jake and the other kids had gone.

  Whatever happened, Janos had said, they had to keep Jake out of the warlocks’ clutches, or things might get even worse than they already were.

  It was hard to imagine that was even possible, but Dani had her orders, and so did he.

  And now, here he was—warping along through the Grid at unimaginable speeds.

  As per usual with portal jumps, his lean, solid body had dissolved into a loose cluster of shining molecules that somehow managed to keep together in a sort of cloud as he careened toward supposed safety.

  Not even Jake knew where Dani was taking them.

  He just hoped the carrot-head knew what she was doing, because she’d only had a few weeks of training so far.

  Jake knew for a fact that she’d only opened a portal once by herself before—in class, under the watchful eye of the haughty wood elf.

  Since Jake had no desire to be instantly incinerated inside the Grid, he had balked at going. But when the cutest girl in the world begged you to trust her…

  Ah well. He was helpless against those big emerald eyes. Lord knew Dani had trusted him enough times in his mad schemes.

  Even so, Jake could only pray he came out on the other side with all his molecules intact, all his body parts returned to their proper places. He was already enough of a freak with his two talents—telekinesis and the ghost-sight. The last thing he needed was to arrive on the other side of the world somewhere with his blasted arm sticking out of his forehead.

  Well, it seemed he was about to find out. For as the din of battle and the smell of smoke faded behind him, the glowing circle of the terminus came into view ahead.

  Jake gulped in molecule form. Here’s hoping.

  * * *

  If Jake was hoping, Dani O’Dell was downright praying, her molecule-heart in her molecule-throat.

  She’d done a lot of brash, brave things in her many adventures with Jake and the gang, but never before had she been responsible for all her friends’ lives.

  Crikey, she was barely twelve!

  But so be it.

  Guardian Derek Stone (who could be quite scary) had thundered at her to take them away, and Master Finnderool himself had ordered her to do this. If her stern elvish teacher believed that she could do this, then Dani had to think Finnderool was probably right. She had yet to witness any occasion when the princely wood elf had ever been wrong.

  Probably why he’s so arrogant.

  And so, whisking across the miles at the back of the line of portal travelers, Dani waited on tenterhooks to see if everyone would
congeal on the other side with all their bits in order: arms, legs, heads, hands, noses.

  Internal organs!

  She winced at the thought.

  Jake had led the way, thank goodness. If he’d refused, she supposed there was little hope of anyone else being willing to put their lives in her hands.

  But he’d gone; he’d trusted her. That meant so much.

  Red had flown into the portal after his handsome young master, and the aristocratic Bradfords, Archie and Isabelle, had followed, along with Archie’s sweetheart, super-witch Nixie Valentine.

  At the last minute, Dani had also spotted her new friend from class Brian, a young Guardian-in-training, who was as new to his craft as she was to hers. The tousle-headed American boy had been running around on the palace lawn in the middle of the battle, looking bewildered.

  Dani had beckoned to him to join them; she didn’t want to leave her friend in danger. Besides, Maddox had run off to fight alongside his Guardian mother, Rayvn, and every traveling party needed at least one Guardian present; those were the rules.

  Guardians were the Order’s trusty soldiers and bodyguards, gifted with extra-sharp senses and fighting skills.

  Thankfully, Brian had leaped into the portal without even questioning her (unlike certain blond young earls of her acquaintance).

  After all of her Grid passengers had filed into the portal ahead of her, finally, it was Dani’s turn to go.

  With her little Norwich terrier, Teddy, whining anxiously in the satchel on her shoulder, she had stepped into the shining tunnel, closed the entry point behind her, and promptly dissolved into shimmering bits of light.

  And now, here she was, insubstantial as a plume of sparks popping over a bonfire as she raced toward the terminus with her first traveling party.

  Just like a real Lightrider.

  Half of her was proud. The other half was terrified. She could only pray she hadn’t messed up the coordinates.

  Those long strings of numbers representing places were difficult to memorize or recall even under good conditions, let alone in the midst of a battle.

  Mother Mary, she’d been so scared back there that she could barely remember her own name, let alone any numbers.