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Copyright © 2017 Shawn E. Crapo
All Artwork © 2017 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.
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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 (Winter 2017)
As Edward Crae
The Wormwood Dawn Series
Chapter One
Battle cries thundered in the valley as the two armies clashed together. The horsemen armored in black plowed through the enemy lines, throwing their bodies into the air and crushing them under heavy hooves. The tribesmen of the plains were outnumbered and underequipped, and even their ferocity was no match for the advancing army.
They were doomed from the start.
From atop his great horse, Dag T'kar, usurper of the crown, led his army with the demonic rage that coursed through his veins. His eyes shined red as the blood lust engulfed him, and the enemy cowered in his presence. The amber glow of the overcast night sky framed him in its hellfire, and the smoke that billowed from the many fires made his appearance all the more frightening.
With his great axe, T'kar tore a path through the ranks of tribesmen, splitting their skulls and tearing them limb from limb. His hatred for the Northmen drove him on, and his berserker rage made him unstoppable. Never before had the enemy gathered in such great numbers to stand against him, but even then, the sheer power of T'kar's army would prevail. The Northmen would be crushed and driven back, and whatever was left of their forces would be hunted down and destroyed.
This T'kar vowed, on the eve of the birth of his son, his heir, his blood.
"Sorcerers!" he shouted, beastlike, over the deafening roar of battle. "Burn them! Burn them now!"
From behind him, the black-robed battlemages chanted in their dark tongue, releasing a wave of flaming missiles that exploded into the enemies around him. T'kar laughed maniacally as their bodies were blackened into ash, and their cries of agony echoed in his beastly ears. The smell of burning flesh filled the air. T'kar breathed it in, laughing in his monstrous fashion as it drove him into a fury.
"Forward!" he shouted to his horsemen.
Their howls echoed around him, and they charged, renewed and regrouped. They crushed the Northmen in their path, carving a column through their ranks that was quickly filled with T'kar's footsoldiers. With victory in sight, the king focused on finding his one true enemy; the king of the Northmen. It was he who had rallied the tribesmen into one force, and it was he alone who stood in the way of T'kar's conquest of the whole island.
Dragon be damned.
He rode forward, chopping left and right, reveling in the rain of blood that splattered his face. He loved the taste, and licked his lips as he plowed through, his lust growing stronger by the minute. Arrows flew past him in great numbers, raining down on the Northmen and his own men alike. He growled with pleasure as he watched them fall. His own men were expendable; their deaths were inconsequential—as long as the Northmen fell.
He called for his sorcerers to move up behind him and blast the chaotic crowd out of his way. When he saw his path cleared, he charged again, plucking a spear from the ground to finish off those who lay helpless. He skewered them, riding over them to crush them beneath his horse's hooves. The cavalry was close behind him, cutting down those Northmen that dared to re-enter the fight.
It was then that he spotted the largest of the Northmen, the Jarl that had stood against him all of these years, rallying his invading tribesmen to topple the throne. He was Jarl Borg, whose constant attempts to interfere with T'kar's kingdom were a growing nuisance. Ever since King Daegoth had fallen in battle, Jarl Borg had rebelled against T'kar's ascent to the throne. Usurper or not, Eirenoch was his kingdom, and he would destroy all who opposed his rule.
With a howl of rage, he charged. The Jarl's eyes narrowed as he neared, and the giant of a man poised his halberd to strike. T'kar thundered past him, swinging his axe in a deadly arc that would have split the man in two. But the Northman ducked, striking at T'kar's horse from behind.
The king was pitched forward to the ground as his horse rolled to its death. Though landing roughly, his heavily-muscled frame shouldered the impact, and he rolled to his feet, uninjured and ready to pounce. The Jarl charged, chopping downward with his giant weapon. T'kar met the blade with his heavy gauntlet, countering with a horizontal slash of his axe.
"Kronos!" the Jarl growled, calling upon his god for strength as he dodged T'kar's blow.
The Northman leaped back as T'kar's axe swept back around, and he thrust his halberd ahead of him, missing his target and stumbling forward. T'kar bashed him in the back with his axe handle, knocking him to the ground. He leaped after the Jarl, chopping downward with all of the strength his subhuman body could muster.
The stones split where the axe hit, sending chunks of rock into the air, and shattering his axe's blade. T'kar roared as the Northman got to his feet again and turned to face him. He sneered, showing the Jarl his fierce and ape-like teeth and drawing the twin kopesh blades he carried in his belt. The Northman was unfazed, however, and charged again.
T'kar ducked away, spinning low and chopping diagonally with his left blade. He felt the satisfying impact as his weapon cut through the Northman's thigh, severing his leg just above the knee. The Jarl collapsed, his face twisted in terror. T'kar laughed maniacally, crossing his blades for the killing blow. The sound of battle was drowned out, and the only thing he focused on were the horrified blue eyes of his enemy.
"Finally," he growled. "The great Jarl Borg falls."
The Northman tried desperately to raise his weapon, but he knew he was doomed. T'kar could see it in his eyes. He roared into the night, pulling his crossed blades apart as he stepped forward, severing the Jarl's head from his body.
He watched the head roll onto the ground and land face up. The Jarl's eyes focused upon him as their life slowly drained away. T'kar grasped the head by the hair, bellowing with laughter as he brought it to his own face to gloat.
"Your people shall die with you, Borg," he growled. "Go to your Valhalla. I will be there to break down its gates."
He held the head high, howling with lust into the night. The Northmen looked on in horror as they dropped their weapons, falling to the blades of T'kar's forces. They fled to the east, and T'kar's army followed them, cutting them down mercilessly.
"Kill them all!" T'kar roared. "Let none escape!"
As his army rushed past him in pursuit, T'kar picked up Borg's halberd. He thrust it into the ground, driving it downward with all of his strength. With a maniacal laugh, he raised Borg's severed head and placed it upon the broken tip, impaling it there as a warning. He would have the same thing done to all of Borg's people, and would leave their bodies to rot in the sun, marking the borders of his kingdom.
The Northmen would never defy him again.
"A storm closes in," T'kar's court seer said as he threw his blades to the floor of his chambers. "A storm like no other."
"Pay no heed," he said. "A storm is a storm. My victory has caught the at
tention of the gods, and they send me their support."
The seer was silent, and T'kar glared at her, daring her to challenge his words. She did not.
"Has my son arrived?" he asked finally.
"Not yet, my lord," she replied, a strange look of contempt upon her face.
T'kar rushed her, roughly grabbing her by the chin. He forced her to look at him, and she quivered and trembled with his touch.
"What is that look you give me?" he demanded.
He drew pleasure from the terrified look in her eyes, and he grinned with delight.
"It is nothing," she whispered. "I merely look forward to meeting your heir. Surely he will be as great as you."
He released her, shoving her away as he began stripping off his armor. He watched her as each bloody piece fell to the floor, grinning as she looked away from his nakedness. He went to the balcony that overlooked the battlefield, leaning against the railing and bellowing with laughter. Below, he could see his men impaling the bodies of the Northmen outside the city walls. It was a sight that brought warmth to his wicked heart.
"Ah, the beauty," he said.
Behind him, the seer approached timidly. He could hear her whimpering, sulking like some kind of child. He turned to her, grabbing her and forcing her against the railing so she could watch the horrifying scene below. As she struggled to look away he lifted her gown, forcing himself into her. She strained against him as he pressed her into the stone railing, but his strength prevailed.
He released his lust into her with several rough thrusts, growling with delight as he heard her cries and whimpers. He then grabbed her by the throat, forcing her to look into his eyes. He reveled with her terror and humiliation, knowing his dark seed would find its way to her womb.
"Go from me now," he whispered. "And see to the queen. Send me word when my child arrives."
He forced her away, pushing her toward the door. She stumbled to the floor, choking on her own tears. T'kar laughed to himself, returning to the balcony to watch the spectacle below. He gritted his teeth as the smell of the Northmen's blood wafted up, mixed with the scent of burning flesh and defeat.
"My land," he whispered. "My kingdom. My slaves."
A burst of lightning flashed from above, illuminating the black clouds with an amber glow. Though he shielded his eyes, he caught sight of a break in the clouds, where the fire of the sky burned brightly. There, against the golden overcast sky, surrounded by the fleeing black clouds, was a sight that brought his blood to a boil.
The silhouette of a dragon loomed great over the landscape. He could see its massive form floating there in the sky, comprised of dark clouds that began to disperse with the wind. He growled in rage, cursing the Dragon in his heart. Was this some omen, perhaps; a sign of things to come? The thought darkened his heart even more.
"You dare to show yourself over my kingdom?" T'kar raged.
He balled his fists and howled into the night, vowing to destroy all that the Dragon loved; the land, its people, and the cursed followers of this Firstborn. He would reign terror upon them, and destroy all hope they had. All of Eirenoch would tremble before him, and he would see the Great Dragon in chains.
He was king of Eirenoch, and he would rule—whether he destroyed its people or not. A king without subjects was still a king after all.
"Push, my lady," the midwife urged. "The child is almost here."
Queen Fianna groaned with the intense pain, her face reddening with the increasing pressure. The midwives gathered around her, easing her stress with gentle hands, and soft humming.
"Come now, Fianna. One last time."
Cohlein stopped at the door as she entered, gathering her wits and trying to regain her composure after her "encounter" with the king. She hovered behind the midwives, looking on with a racing heart, and a troubled mind. Whatever it was that was about to emerge from the queen had troubled her since its conception.
Fianna, King Daegoth's daughter, had been forced into marriage by the warlord T'kar, and had been chosen as a vessel for his seed. It was a thought that had troubled not only Cohlein, but the other seers, as well. Even Mother Igraina had been reviled to learn of the Beast King's intentions.
"Cohlein," a voice said from the shadows.
She turned, bowing her head as Mother Igraina emerged. The Great Seer herself, dressed in her usual black robes, stepped into the lamplight. She was seemingly eager to see the queen's offspring, yet apprehensive as to whether it would be human, or a beast like its father.
"We should strangle it," Cohlein said, "lest it pass its father's blood to the line of kings."
"No," Igraina said. "Not yet. I do not sense the king's blood. Whatever this child comes to be, it shall not inherit T'kar's nature."
"What is it, then?" Cohlein begged. "Is there hope?"
"There is never hope," Igraina said. "Not for anyone. But we may see an end to T'kar's reign of terror yet."
"I don't understand," Cohlein said. "Who else could have fathered the queen's child?"
Igraina smiled, cocking her head as she stared at Cohlein. It was an expression that made her uncomfortable, for she knew that Igraina cared neither for the people, nor the line of kings. She was ever out for her own selfish interests.
"We shall see, my love," she said, turning back to the gathering.
Cohlein looked over the shoulders of the midwives, hoping in her heart that the child would be beautiful and pure—not the savage, subhuman barbarian that spawned it. There was little hope, however, as she knew the king's seed was strong. Even after only a few minutes of his savage attack upon her, she knew that his seed was coursing through her, making its way to her womb as they spoke. It was a thought that brought chills to her spine; her very soul.
She would die before she brought a beast into this world.
"Here it comes," a midwife announced. "Hair as black as pitch."
Igraina glanced at her with a crooked smile. Cohlein knew why. The king had no hair upon his head. Like all of his ghastly race, his head was a beastly crown for wisps of light fur, like an animal's. Even his brow, thick and strong, was like that of a beast. Did this child possess the same brow?
"He's beautiful," the midwife announced. "One more push, my queen."
The queen gasped again, grunting as she delivered one last attempt to free her child. She cried out one last time before collapsing back breathless. A midwife moved to her side immediately, blotting her face with a wet rag, smiling lovingly at her. That was when Cohlein heard the baby's cry. It was that of an innocent child; not the fowl keening of a dark beast.
"He has blue eyes, my queen," a midwife said. "Blue eyes like the sky."
Cohlein's heart raced with excitement. The child had blue eyes. What could this mean?
"You see, my dear," Igraina said. "All is well. We needn't worry. Not about this, at least."
Igraina placed her hand over Cohlein's belly. She looked at Mother Igraina with horror. She knew!
"Mother…" she began, but Igraina silenced her with a hand.
"Step aside," Igraina said to the midwives. "Give the queen her child."
The queen was handed the child, and she looked down upon it with a loving smile. Cohlein's heart slowed, and a warm feeling came over her. The child, she saw, was beautiful. Its brow was perfect, its hair was soft and jet black, and when it opened its bright blue eyes, her heart sank.
"Meet the new prince," a midwife said.
"He shall be called Daegoth," the queen said. "After his grandfather."
"The king will not be pleased," Igraina said.
The queen's expression darkened. "Please protect him," she begged. "As your queen, I command it."
"There is no need to worry," Igraina said. "His pleasure is not one of my priorities. Not in the slightest."
Igraina turned to Cohlein, pulling her to the side out of earshot.
"Listen to me," she whispered. "As I said before, the king will not be pleased. This child is not of his blood, and we must do ev
erything we can to protect him."
"Why do you say this?" Cohlein asked.
"T'kar's reign must end," Igraina said. "This child is our only hope."
"Your words are confusing," Cohlein whispered. "Has it not always been your ambition to rule? Is this not your chance to take the queen's place?"
Igraina scowled. "I would not sit upon the throne with a monster as my king," she said. "Besides, what good is it to rule a kingdom when there is no one to rule? T'kar would kill every last person who stood against him, leaving the kingdom empty. I would be the queen of nothing."
Cohlein nodded, glancing over at the queen, whose face was frozen with an expression of love for her new child.
"He will execute her," she said.
"Likely," Igraina agreed. "But the child must be made safe."
"How?"
"We will hide him," Igraina said. "And we will tell the king he was stillborn."
Cohlein gasped, backing away and shaking her head with the thought. "No," she whispered. "He will not believe that. Never."
Igraina pulled her back. "Trust me," she said. "I have ways of—"
The door burst open then, and T'kar came inside without any regard for the young women who stood in his way. He shoved them aside roughly, heading straight for the queen.
"My son," he growled. "Show me my son."
Cohlein and Igraina looked at each other in horror. Whatever plans Mother Igraina had in mind were dashed away immediately. They would have to plot something else in order to keep the child safe. Cohlein had faith in Mother Igraina, for she never failed to come up with ideas, no matter how unlikely or seemingly unsuccessful they would be.
"What is this," T'kar demanded. "What is this!?"
To Cohlein's horror, the king drew his dagger. The midwives threw themselves in front of him as he charged forth. Without a moment's hesitation, he slashed the throat of the nearest, and grabbed another by the throat, thrusting his dagger into her gut and throwing her aside.
"My king," Igraina protested, rushing to stand in front of him as he raged like the beast he was. "Don't be so hasty. Ease back and be calm."
"Out of my way, witch!" he growled. "This is not my child. And you are not my queen. Stand aside or I'll slash your throat where you stand."
Dawn of the Dragon Page 1
