The Dragon Prince

by Rex Jameson

  She shook her head. She didn’t know what was going on either. Belegcam began stringing his bow, but she didn’t follow. She didn’t smell orcs, so they weren’t close. She could move faster without a bow at the ready.

  She ran down the main street of Bowersby, and her lieutenant cursed again as he returned his arrow and string to his pouches. A few dozen elves followed her closely, and then waves of fleet-footed archers only yards behind, each ready to duck behind one of the stone buildings at the slightest sign of trouble in this rich, northern town.

  Frightened humans peered at them through barred windows high above the street. Every Bowersby house was two or more stories and made of brick and stone. Well-armored guards nodded to the elves as they passed the banks, taverns, and other merchant buildings. A few guards on horseback flanked the group to the middle of the town.

  Liritmear hugged a nearby wall and let her men and women pass her. All wore hard leathers with cleats on the sides for gripping. They were better at digging into the bark of trees, but along the sides of these buildings, they worked reasonably well. She ran her hands along the masonry, smiling in approval at the sturdiness of the material and the grooves she could fasten herself to. Belegcam caught up, nodded at her in acknowledgement and then passed. She waved encouragement to the human guards who had slowed, and the well-armed humans picked up their pace. The more men joining with the elves to confront the orcs, the better. She had no idea how big a force she stumbled into.

  The group continued to move through the town in waves, leapfrogging each other as the lead elements drew their bows and covered for the next group’s movement. They reached the edge of town in thirty minutes and lined up against a long, low wall facing Croft Keep.

  Nessamela held up a fist and her battalion filled in the gaps along the wall. Far away were the sounds of metal scraping metal. Possibly battle but without the stench of orcs.

  “Can you see anything?” she asked Belegcam.

  He shook his head, his brown hair coming loose from his bun. “Just the tower.”

  “Up and over,” she commanded, “but approach the keep with caution.”

  She and Belegcam were the first to leap up and tumble along the other side of the sturdy stone wall using her cleats to slow her descent. She heard the soft thumps of hundreds of feet hitting the turf just as a catapult launched a huge boulder from the top of Croft Keep. The rock thwomped into the middle of a group of leather-and-steel-clad troops that she had never seen before. A cacophony of screams and thuds rose over the field as the rock tumbled over dozens of foreign men. The large force seemed to be in a partial phalanx with two rigid sides facing west and another forming up to oppose the catapults of the Keep.

  Belegcam whistled. “Cronos, be merciful! There’s another formation to the south. There’s an ocean of troops out there. Do you see them?”

  Sure enough, the unknown army stretched far across the fields with thousands of troops.

  “Form up!” she screamed. “Croft is under attack!”

  “Those aren’t orcs,” Belegcam said.

  “And they’re not Surdeli regulars either,” she said.

  Three large shapes flew over the tops of the trees. At first, Nessamela thought the foreign troops were hurling their own boulders. However, upon closer inspection, the flying objects had wings. A green one swooped low over the pikemen who had just been crushed. It pulled up and shrieked at the castle as arrows rained down on it. The thin arrows bounced off its thick scales.

  “Captain,” Belegcam said with awe, “I believe that’s a dragon.”

  “Piercers!” she ordered.

  Her well-trained battalion sheathed their normal arrows into their left holster and fluidly grabbed armor-piercing arrows from their right holsters. Her blood pumped with excitement. She hadn’t shot these puncturing rounds outside of competitions in a hundred years. And here she faced a real, armored adversary flying above an army of invaders also clad in plate and chain mail. She would have her challenge today.

  The green dragon shot high into the clouds. She cursed at the thought that she might have missed her opportunity but, she knew the creature would return. Screams of confusion echoed across the battlements of Croft Keep and men shouted, “Where did it go? Do you see it?”

  “To the Keep!” she said. “We’re exposed out here in the open!”

  “We should get back to the walls of Bowersby,” Belegcam disagreed.

  She nodded in agreement. It was a smarter call. In her haste to kill a dragon, the keep seemed like the more obvious choice but it was plainly worse. Just as she was about to reverse her order, the green dragon reappeared directly above the human fortress. The beast dove straight down, screeching in a terrifying crescendo. It opened its maw and a jet of flame poured into the castle. The mythical animal hovered there, bathing the ramparts in fire. Liquid death drained out of the arrow slits along the southern and eastern walls.

  “Orderly retreat!” she screamed. “Back to the wall! Move it!”

  The creature turned and screamed at her, flapped its wings, and swooped toward her regiment. She rammed six armor-piercers into the ground.

  “Belegcam!” she yelled. “Get them back to the wall!”

  “Go, go, go!” he screamed. “Double-time!”

  She watched the creature approach, marveling at this powerful product of nature. It was an opponent unlike any other she had faced. Not an orc running along the plains. Not a deer bounding across the forest, trying to escape. She could see its snarl and feel its determination to bathe her in flames before she unleashed a single arrow. She had no idea if these piercers would cut through that kind of armor, but she knew she had to try. She could smell the oily fire in the wind. She could see its eyes and teeth.

  When it came within range, she didn’t hesitate. With a practiced hand and an expert eye, she yanked each shaft from the ground between three fingers, pulled the shaft back and released. Six arrows loosed from her recurve in the span of seconds. The creature’s eyes didn’t even register danger—like a tiger in its leap. It opened its mouth, ready to consume her in flames just as the first arrow split its eyebrow.

  The green dragon yelped in pain, but the cry was cut short as a series of shafts pierced and protruded from its face. She saw its eyes roll back in its head as it plummeted head first into the ground. It rolled past her before stopping just short of Belegcam.

  The elven archers stopped their orderly double-time retreat and gaped at the twitching, dead creature. It was fully ten seconds before Belegcam raised his fist and screamed defiantly. “Jukkete Gotii!”

  “Dukkoti!” Another elf yelled. “Haaku!”

  Nessamela looked at the dragon. She walked over to it in a ritual, crouched approach that her men and women were all too familiar with. She did it with every creature she killed. She would bathe in its blood, showing it respect.

  “Do it!” Belegcam yelled. “Do it!”

  “Liritmear!” the battalion screamed. “Liritmear! Liritmear!”

  She shared their exultation as she grabbed her knives and reached for the corpse.

  “You were a magnificent beast,” she whispered as she drove a knife into its chest. She struggled mightily against its rib cage and the protective bone over its heart. “I honor you.”

  She reached into its chest and grabbed the organ with both hands. She pulled hard, and it broke free in bloody crimson spurts. She sat down on her haunches as she lifted the heart above her head so her men could see.

  “Liritmear!” the men and women continued to chant. “Liritmear!”

  She bit into the heart and pressed it onto her cheeks and face. The blood drained in a hot, sticky torrent down her chin and into her leather vest. She felt the liquid congealing against her breasts and coursing down her belly and legs.

  She held the heart high above her head again and screamed triumphantly just as another shriek sounded over the castle. She turned to see a black dragon, much bigger than the green one she had just slayed. It barreled
down on her with eyes not excited but determined—like dark vengeance. Atop the beast was a man, and in his eyes was not the cold focus of the reptile but the madness and murder of a man who had lost a lover.

  Arrows flew over her head from her battalion, but she heard the metal heads glance off the hard scales of the beast as she rolled through the grass to where she had placed her bow after the kill. She felt the heat of the dragon’s breath as it vaporized the grass nearby, only a step or two away.

  “Zosa!” the man screamed as the dragon hissed and filled her ears with the roar of a flashfire.

  Liritmear turned back toward her men, and recoiled in horror as a trail of red, orange and black tongues of flame led right to her battalion. Dozens of elves screamed as they flailed about, engulfed in fire. Human guards burned like candles on their horses as the beasts galloped back into the town. The man on the dragon circled the buildings behind her, burning nearby houses as he banked hard back to the elves.

  “Zosa!” he screamed, like a father mourning a child. “Zosa!”

  The dragon opened its mouth again, targeting her line of troops but this time coming at a better angle.

  “Cronos, have mercy!” she begged as she watched more of the elven men and women perish in fire.

  She rammed six more armor-piercers into the ground. She let them fly quickly but expertly. She held her breath as they sailed toward the target. The black dragon banked slightly, and the arrows glanced harmlessly off the side of his armored throat.

  “No!” she screamed just as the flames came down, incinerating two columns of her men and women.

  She dropped to her knees, firing arrows over and over again. Tears streamed down her cheeks as shaft after shaft cracked and shattered against the tougher hide of this creature.

  “You bastards!” the man on the dragon screamed as elves rolled in sticky flames along the ground. “We came to the keep for aid! We were trying to stop the demon lord!”

  The black dragon continued its relentless attack, and she dashed behind whatever stonework she found, releasing arrows until her holsters were empty. No elves were in sight, but she had to believe some of them were still alive—somewhere in the ruins of Bowersby.

  “Retreat!” Liritmear cried finally. “Find shelter! Run for your lives!”

  But there was nowhere to hide from a fire-breathing dragon. She ran north, away from the town, with only a single set of footsteps following her. She looked over her shoulder briefly, just long enough to acknowledge her lieutenant. Coming into Bowersby, he had been an unwelcome distraction from her fantasies of royal princes bending her over fae roots in the woods. But retreating from the horror of a winged vengeance incinerating her entire regiment, she couldn’t think of another person she wanted to see or hear behind her more than sturdy, dependable Belegcam.

  21

  Dragon Fall

  The Blood Lord Julian Mallory smiled as lady luck finally smiled on his master’s forces. The Surdeli garrison at Croft Keep had attacked the Visanthi army, just as he’d hoped, slowing the advance of the pikemen and forcing the dragons to come back to him. The Visanthi prince was a fool to attack the southern towns and then approach their well-provisioned bastion, which had undoubtedly been warned of the razing and murder that was going on.

  Then, Julian watched in awe as Prince Jandhar completely lost his mind, incinerating wood elves and battle-hardened Surdeli garrisons in both the castle and nearby town. The black dragon swooped low over Bowersby, destroying homes and fortifications and pursuing elves and guards into the rubble. Julian scampered up the side of Croft Keep to get a better look. With his sharp fingernails, he hung from an arrow slit like a monkey in the Small Sea markets.

  Behind him, the undead were splintering off in multiple directions—some to engage the rear, which was being harassed by the Perketh pests. Most pursued the Visanthi force, which was in full rout now. Orcus strode into every concentration of disciplined troops he encountered, unleashing diseases into even the smallest of packs. Two or three men fell now in between his massive strides instead of dozens to hundreds. All order had broken down. When they had been packed in, they were easier prey for the demon lord.

  The sun went down in the west at Julian’s back. He turned for a moment to marvel at it and almost called to Jayna, asking her if she saw it too. He kept forgetting she was gone. His sister had been dead for three days. Burned beyond recognition by a white dragon. He watched the albino beast trail the prince and the black dragon. This female was loyal to her brother, like Julian’s sister was to him. But as he watched the white dragon, he noticed her patterns sometimes diverged from Prince Jandhar’s—leaving her alone and vulnerable. An archer let loose an arrow in Bowersby, and she veered off course to punish the culprit. She always came in low—like she wanted to see the fear in her prey’s eyes. He could use this reflex of hers—this overwhelming response to inconsequential nuisances.

  He released his grip on the arrow slit and stumbled down the side of the building. With all fours, he bounded across the field, grabbing men and throwing them hundreds of yards toward the town to attract her attention. He yanked arrows from the earth and tossed them with his superhuman strength too, but they all fell short. He didn’t want to get close enough to attract notice from Jandhar—that would just cause him annoyance and force him to flee until the prince turned his attention elsewhere again. Julian just wanted the rider-less dragon, the one who had killed his lover.

  He grabbed a shard of the stone wall that had been torn off the outer perimeter of Bowersby and hurled it just past her head. She reared up and glared at him. He cheered in excitement as she wheeled about. He ran back toward the closest tower of Croft Keep—something he could scale. He looked over his shoulder a few times and slowed down to make sure she took the bait. She caught him with flame, just as she had Jayna, but he was not the prey here. The dragon was. He had her. She was completely committed now.

  He growled as the skin on his back sizzled, scabbed and shed layers as he ran. She banked left, and he sprinted along the wall. She was close—too close for her own good. He tracked her with his eyes as he looked over his shoulder, claws digging between the masonry and kicking away stones with immense effort. He took aim, crouched against the hard stonework and launched himself like an archer’s missile.

  He saw the blacks of her eyes approaching. Triumph became alarm. Alarm became terror. He could feel her heart beat increasing through the vibrations in the air. Her panicked shriek was like a symphony in his ears. He wrestled with her powerful arms as his momentum shot them both across the killing fields. Before they impacted the ground, he had already torn her jugular with his teeth and opened her belly with his right hand as he passed across and through her tough scales. He kicked free from her as she rolled but only for a moment.

  He was in her body cavity within seconds, devouring her liver and heart before she had even stopped screaming. He felt her strength course through his stomach and into his bloodstream. He laughed with a mixture of his own pain from the searing wounds on his back and triumph over his revenge.

  “Tell Jayna I’m coming for her,” he said, spitting into the albino dragon’s face.

  He snarled as the blood dripped down his bare chest, gathering more of her organs from her gaping cavity. He turned toward the black dragon, and the man who was howling with such despair from high above and far away.

  “Come to me, proud prince,” Julian beckoned, “and join her.”

  “Jasmine!” Jandhar yelled. “My baby! You’ll die for this! You’ll die for this! I swear it!”

  A string of Visanthi curses rolled out of the prince’s mouth, and Jahgo barked his own fierce cries.

  Julian looked back over his shoulder. He could feel Orcus’ presence. He knew his master was there. He could feel the warmth—the exultation of this kill.

  “Yes!” Orcus said, almost purring in his triumphant laughter. “You have done well, my general. I can feel her fading. This one is mine.”

  The dr
agon’s eye slowly blinked twice before turning fiery green, a new recruit for the undead. The white beast rolled to its side leaving crimson trails across its body like tears from its chest draining into the grass. It looked at Orcus. A new slave, ready for orders. Julian could feel the power shifting in the world—away from Mekadesh and toward his own lord. He found himself puffing his chest out and rooting for the darkest side, despite his own revulsion.

  “You are mine,” Orcus told her.

  “No!” Jandhar screamed, and his black dragon echoed with a blood-curdling screech.

  They were upon Julian before he realized what had happened. The wind from the black dragon’s wings toppled him over. By the time he stopped rolling, the dragons were lifting each other into the sky and clawing at exposed bellies and wings. Prince Jandhar hung from his mount pommel, kicking at the white undead dragon as the three ascended high into the sky. The dark dragon bit into her neck, and before Julian knew what had happened, a massive fireball erupted from the entangled pair.

  For a moment, Julian didn’t know what to think, but then the black dragon released the white dragon, and the new recruit fell back to the ground. Jahgo bathed her in fire as she dropped, incinerating most of her body. Orcus was the first to react. He growled low, but to Julian, it was like an earthquake. Every fiber of his body vibrated with his master’s malice, anger, disappointment, and rage.

  The white dragon made a wet thud when it impacted a few feet from Julian. He watched the black dragon flap away to the south. Its scaled wings were shredded, and open red wounds leaked across its yellow belly. Prince Jandhar held tightly to the creature’s back as the dragon practically limped across the sky, flapping erratically.

  Julian looked at Orcus, who acknowledged him only briefly enough to register his extreme disappointment and contempt.

  “You still owe me a dragon,” the demon lord said. “It has to land sometime. Bring it back to me. No more mistakes.”