Dragon Mage- Uprising

by Brian Ference

  “It’s a risk to stay out here, Skarlee.” Livis’s smile faded. “We must find some safe harbor, but we’re not going back.”

  A dark shadow loomed over the deck. “What in Kraton is that?”

  All whirled, weapons gripped in knuckled fists as a red dragon with a black robed rider came bounding down on them. The figure on its back gripped a short mage staff of gray witchwood. “Not Kraton, but I, Cyrus, the Dragon Mage,” he thundered. “The one who saved you from that whirlpool.” His dragon landed on the deck, the crew reeling back as it snapped and roared.

  Livis sucked in a breath. “A mage? But you let the Black Claws die.” Her hand gripped the cutlass at her leathered side, frowning in suspicion. “Why would you help us, wizard?”

  “A thousand-shell question.” Cyrus calmed his dragon to stillness with a hand laid on its neck. “Let’s just say I have a vested interest in you. Your father, Captain Serle, has grown very powerful. Some would say to oppose his will means death.” He looked at her askance. “So you’ve finally earned command of your own ship? How does it feel to step out of his shadow?”

  Livis barked out a laugh, her eyes widening in contempt. “Many a captain’s suffered under my father’s lash for too long. I’ll forge them into a fleet and offer them all equal shares in a new enterprise. Enough will jump at the chance.” With a nod to her left, Maquia the harpooner rotated his weapon on the foredeck in the wizard’s direction. “But that is no concern of yours. Best be on your way.”

  Cyrus’s eyes narrowed in amusement. “Why would they believe an unproven corsair such as you—and a woman at that—” he reared back on Valoré with a mocking snarl “—unless you had command of a dragon and the coin needed to build new ships and outfit them for battle?” Four heavy purses filled with gold dropped to the deck.

  “What do you ask in return?” growled Skarlee. The man stepped up, waving his cutlass before the dragon. “I don’t like this one’s smell, Livis, nor the way he keeps his face covered.”

  All the same, Livis seemed to consider the offer. She’d need a great deal of wealth to entice other captains to join her. She turned a cold but inquisitive glance up at the wizard. “What do you propose?”

  Cyrus’s grin returned. “An alliance. Consider my offer and keep the gold as a gesture of goodwill.”

  With a sneering grimace, the mage signaled his dragon and Valoré leapt back into the air. As Livis bent to pick up his coin, Cyrus knew she was his. Now to see about the girl’s father.

  * * *

  The mage watched with curiosity as he neared Serle’s schooner. The captain’s face creased in a grin as he joined the four other pirate schooners bearing down on the lone Black Claw clipper. Heavily outnumbered, their prey was attempting to escape under full sails.

  “Look to starboard! A Black Claw scout!” wheezed the lookout in the crow’s-nest.

  “Send out a dragon rider!” Serle called.

  Cyrus reined his dragon down over the deck and the shouting figures. “Hold!” he cried. “I come in peace.”

  “There’s no peace in our world,” bawled a barrel-shaped rogue. He took aim with a harpoon even as he smoothed his beard.

  Unperturbed, Cyrus dropped Valoré to hover a dozen feet over the deck. “You’ll never catch that clipper. She’s too fast—even your dragon riders would fall short.”

  “She can’t escape us,” cried Serle. “We’ll catch her in time. Now, state your business or we feather you with harpoons.”

  Cyrus shook his head in annoyance, as if he were talking to a large-mouthed sandfish. The man was bold but stupid. Powerful yes, with muscular upper body, dirty blond beard, and mallet fists with thick short brown fingers, but did he have the guile to do what was required?

  “I’ve a proposition for you,” he said.

  Serle laughed. “What can you offer me, who has taken more gold, dragons and ships than any other alive?”

  Cyrus smiled. “Much, if you’d care to listen.” The mage and his dragon landed lightly on the deck.

  The pirate frowned, tugged at his beard. “I’m listening. But be quick about it.”

  Cyrus gave a crisp nod. “Black Claws make tasty morsels. But before you waste your ships on a long chase, why not end it now and look for more profitable quarry?”

  The barrel-shaped harpoon master snorted. “Eh? Speak sense, not riddles.”

  Cyrus inclined his head and stared with curiosity at the man, as if examining a lower specimen. “That ship is fast, but what if she has no wind?”

  Hreg licked his finger and stuck it in the air. “Plenty of wind.”

  Cyrus clicked his tongue in frustration, wondering how simple minds like these sea rogues could even sail a ship. “Ventus morteum!” The wizard raised his staff and the sea went instantly calm.

  The crew stared in goggly-eyed wonder. “What the—?”

  The bosun slapped the harpoon master’s back. “Just a coincidence, Hreg,” he muttered. “This man’s obviously an imposter. Got a bag of parlor tricks larger than Captain Zared’s strongbox. Begone! Even without wind, we would still have to fight that ship tooth and nail. Unless there’s something else that funny little walking stick of yours can do.”

  Cyrus shot him a crafty smile. “And what if your harpoons burned with an unquenchable fire on their ends and could fly even this long distance? Like this…” He lowered his staff, runestones clutched in his palm. A blaze of fire shot out and lit the metal tip of the foremost harpoon. The cannon fired on its own, glowing a faint greenish hue.

  Hreg jumped back a step, even as the ropeless harpoon flew thrice its normal range to land on the enemy deck, igniting their mainmast. The pirate crew cheered a round of raucous laughter as the enemy crew raced about to douse the flames. Cyrus lit another harpoon, this time motioning Hreg to do the honors. Hreg pulled the lever to fire and watched as the second fiery harpoon crashed into the clipper’s sails.

  “A clever shot,” grunted Serle, “but what do you demand in return?”

  Cyrus stared, his yellow teeth glinting. “Consider this a gift, Captain Serle. I’ll give you dragons and forge new weapons for you that will guarantee your victories. I merely ask that you make my enemies your own.”

  Captain Serle’s face snarled in suspicion. “What enemies?”

  Cyrus dismounted from his dragon, soothing it to stillness. “Surely you have dreamed of raiding the Black Claw and Red Claw islands till they bleed. I will make you the greatest pirate warlord ever, if you swear your allegiance to me!”

  “I must reflect on this with my other captains first,” muttered Serle.

  “Very well, but do not delay too long,” Cyrus intoned. “For now, enjoy your spoils. Let us meet at Windbit Isle—say, in three days.”

  Captain Serle strode over and stabbed his sword into the deck planks before the dragon. “Why not join us in claiming this prize, wizard? I share my spoils and would not have the conspirators who won them leave empty-handed.” His mates around him blinked and grumbled.

  “Serle, you impulsive fool!” cried the ship’s carpenter. “You have no idea what this trickster is about. He could turn us all into blinking toads for all we know.”

  Captain Serle waved off the drunken carpenter and stared down his other men. “Let me handle this, Yarl.”

  “You stinking codfish,” cried Yarl. “You’re a bleeding fool. Been into your cups ever since Livis mutinied and can’t think straight.”

  “Have a care with your words. You’re no less into your rum than I.” Captain Serle retrieved his sword.

  “No! I won’t stand idly by while you sell us out to the devil.” The carpenter drew his sword and charged the wizard.

  Cyrus sat motionless on his dragon. As the pirate approached, he lifted a relaxed hand and a green prism appeared, enclosing the charging man and levitating him in the air. The carpenter cried out, slashing with his sword at the magical barrier. To no effect.

  On a word to his dragon, Valoré leapt forward and snatched the man out
of the air. The crew watched in stunned silence as rows of serrated teeth devoured the man in snaps and gulps.

  “I can make you all rich beyond your wildest dreams,” Cyrus said, “but I will tolerate no insolence. Let us turn our efforts to our common enemy.” He raised his staff once again and the stranded Black Claw clipper glowed a sickly green. To the crew’s astonishment, it began to move—backward. “Does anyone else question my power?”

  “Let us kill these wretched Black Claws first,” growled Captain Serle.

  Hreg laughed. He gave the orders to board the ship that backpedaled in their direction while the crew groused over the death of the ship’s carpenter.

  The ensorcelled Black Claw ship was within arrow distance now, curses and yells loud on her decks from the astonished crew. Their captain had the fire under control but the gunners couldn’t draw their port cannons fast enough, distracted as they were by the flames.

  The pirates donned dragon-horned helms and swung across from the rigging as the ship came into range, knocking the defenders back. With cheers and shouts, men clamped grappling hooks down on her gunnels and slid planks across the rails while the rest of them surged aboard the clipper. Two pirate dragon riders swooped in low from the other ships and sprayed the enemy deck with arrows. The pirates stormed over the gunwales on the makeshift gangplanks, slashing with curved blades, intent on making a quick end of things.

  Cyrus watched the battle with a catlike grin.

  Captain Serle and Hreg were amongst the fiercest fighters, swinging blades and rallying their men. They parried Black Claw short swords and ran steel through the howling clot of defenders in a frenzied free-for-all.

  Many of the Black Claws fell in seconds with steel in their bellies. Blood trailed down their whale hide leathers. The lookout tumbled from the crow’s nest, a hurled knife sticking out of his windpipe.

  Serle ducked a high swipe and whirled to dodge a pair of knives flying through the air. Chopping under a flashing blade, he sliced open a man’s gut from navel to armpit. In his other hand flashed a long knife which he slashed across a knife-wielding man’s face. He bulled into his chest with a head-butt and one-handedly took him on his shoulders, swinging him out over the rail to the sharks below.

  Hreg whirled and parried a death-giving blade then kicked a man back into the rail. Soon all the Black Claws lay slaughtered or cowed. Bodies of the dead were thrown overboard. The pirates shuttled the survivors, wrists tied at the back, to The Persephone’s hold to be taken back to Pirates’ Cove as slaves to work the mines.

  The reavers swaggered in with savage glee to loot the hold. Several hairy-armed invaders pulled up barrels of mead, bales of fabric, and crates of salted fish. They stripped the captain’s room bare, taking anything of value: spyglasses, charts, maps, heirlooms, and gold coins. Others took some finely woven rope, halyards, a pair of cleats, and all of the weapons of choice. The ship was still seaworthy, so the marauders assigned a skeleton crew to man it and add to their convoy.

  Cyrus watched with lips compressed, analyzing the fighting skill of the men, nodding from time to time at certain brutal displays. A rare sport watching these seamen carry out their business. A good pick, Captain Serle and his band of reavers.

  With tempers cooled by spilt blood, the men broke open kegs of rum while Cyrus turned and mounted his dragon. An oral agreement would serve, an alliance to which he would hold them.

  With a brief laugh, he vaulted off.

  Serle shouted after him. “Have a care, wizard! See that you keep your promises. I’m not a man to cross.”

  Cyrus tipped his head in a mocking salute. “We meet at Windbit Isle in three days, Captain. From there we plan our first attack and the spoils they will bring—if you are man enough!”

  * * *

  The pirates on The Singing Gull gathered about Livis on the foredeck. “Well, at least, we’ll have some plunder to cap off this day,” Farnoss muttered. “That merchant ship was easy pickings.”

  Livis wrinkled her nose and waved a hand at her navigator. “We’ve lingered long enough, pull the men back from looting.”

  “But mistress—”

  “No buts. You too, Skarlee. Get us out of here. A curse lies on these waters. I can feel it in my bones. We’ll take this wizard’s gold and be done with it. Let’s quit this wretched patch of sea. Only death awaits us here.”

  “Storm gulls and blood,” grumbled the quartermaster “—thrice and tenfold, an ill omen for any sailor, no matter how you look at it.”

  Chapter 8.

  Valkyrie Island

  Darek awoke in a cold sweat, with dawn’s dim glower creeping over his private room in the Rookery barracks. The grumbling of the other trainees had set him off, after trying to explain to them that he expected to be treated like one of the regular recruits. He’d vowed to pass the same tests they had and earn their respect. It seemed that being a Dragon Mage meant he would always be set apart.

  Now he stretched his arms, breathing in thankful relief for the added privacy. His sleep of late had been plagued by nightmares. Every night the same dream: After clearing out the last of the sea serpents from Serpents’ Deep, he rode back with Silver Eye along the arching shadow of the sacred volcano Kraton, only to feel the tug of sinister magic pulling him down into the Devil’s whirlpool. The churning water swallowed him whole, separating him from his dragon and dashing him against the rocks. Try as he might, he could not surface and the current pulled him down deeper. As his last breath expired, he saw Cyrus’s ugly face. His mouth swirled like the whirlpool, gaping wide to swallow him whole.

  He jerked upright in his pallet, wiping the sweat from his brow and shaking off the chilling memory. Cyrus was dead. What did the dream mean?

  “What is it?” mumbled Bree, rousing beside him with a yawn.

  His lips brushed hers in a slow kiss. There were advantages to having a private room.

  “Nothing.” Darek shrugged. “I just need some air.” He threw on some clothes and staggered out to the practice yard where a fine mist spread over the grass. The breeze was just starting to blow off the ocean and the morning sunlight streamed down, erasing the lingering darkness of the dream. The grey fog burned off as he approached the dragon pens. The younger dragons had already left for their morning feeding, while the older ones continued to doze.

  Silver Eye loitered by the pens, looking as hungry as ever. Her dominance over the other dragons and her fighting ability had surprised many of the other riders. She’d established her position among the others in short order. Jace had commented several times on the rarity of a dragon with four wings, but other qualities had marked her as special. She’d continued to grow at a rate faster than normal, her impressive wingspan for one, and now she stood eye to eye with the much-older adults. Her claws and horns had hardened and darkened, making her a menacing sight indeed.

  “Never seen anything like it,” Jace mused after a full examination one day.

  With Darek approaching, he received a loving brush of her large head against his chest.

  “Morning, girl,” he croaked. Then he grinned. “We’re going off on a journey today, aren’t we?”

  The dragon dipped her head, blinking the one good eye. The injury she had taken while saving his life during the Rebirth Ritual had never fully healed. Protective scaly skin now covered the wound, though clear fluid still sometimes leaked from the eye. A low croak rumbled from the depths of her throat as she looked with concern in the direction of Typhoon’s stall. Darek’s grin faded.

  Three days ago, before his nineteenth birthday, Meira had returned from Ravenstoke harbor. She and Briad had clung to the back of the wounded, half spent dragon. In shambles and trembling in shock, Meira had garbled out a story about a monster squid.

  Darek, flying with speed north with Jace and four other riders, had embarked on a frantic search for her father. By the time they arrived, only wreckage and white blood littered the shore. Raithan and the mysterious creature had vanished from the barren
island. They could only assume Raithan had perished on that nameless rock off the coast of Rivenclaw. Upon their return, Meira had been devastated.

  Darek shivered, trying to imagine such a grisly death at the hands of the monster she had spoken of so animatedly. Retreating into solitude to mourn, Meira was of no use to anybody. Not that he could blame her. He was sorry for her loss, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to grieve Raithan’s death—too much had gone unsaid between them.

  Bree sidled up to him, dressed in a light-blue robe and her hair tied back with a coral-green cord. “I said I would go with you to Agrippa’s island, and the offer still stands.”

  Darek turned and flashed her a wan smile of gratitude. “Let’s go then, Bree. Doing something would take my mind off things and no one will notice if we sneak out now.”

  She nodded. “What exactly are we looking for?”

  “Spells and magic items that can assist us, and instructions on how to make new dragon amulets—hopefully Agrippa bothered to write the formula down. Go and get ready. I’ll join you shortly.”

  Silver Eye flew down to the feeding yard to fill her belly with fish while Darek trudged up the nearby knoll known as Dragon Watch and peered over the Rookery wall. Far below, the inhabitants of Cape Spear were just starting to stir by the seaside.

  Workers lay hammer and chisel to the gray limestone taken from the hill quarry to rebuild the town hall. They’d already completed the clock tower and a great many put grit and sweat into the older buildings centered around the town square. In a few more months all sign of the destruction Cyrus’s serpents had wreaked would vanish.

  Would the memories fade as well? Darek did not know. All were still too fresh in his mind. He turned away from the sight with a sigh.

  Bree returned from rounding up her gear. Together they made their way back to the pens and worked on loading up Storm, her new dragon, for the flight. Able to fly for hours at full speed without rest, Storm bit at her harness, a feisty blue-gray beast of pure stock, known for her strength and fidelity.