Dragon Sword: Demon's Fire Book 1

by Christopher Patterson

  But now, the fire was gone, as was the man. In the darkness, Erik could just make out cold ash and charcoal sitting within a stone circle. He knelt down, sifting through the extinguished campfire, stirring the remains with a short stick and not a single ember glowed. Wind howled through the forest trees and swirled through the clearing. It picked up ash and dirt and created tiny tornadoes.

  There was another clearing, just through another copse of trees. He passed through there and the open space was empty like the first. The last time he was here, this was where he found the caravan of golden carriages, waiting to carry the dead away. Now there was only darkness and cold silence as the wind dropped once more.

  Erik shivered as he saw a single pinpoint of light at the far end of the clearing. It was tiny at first, a pinprick of silver, but then it quickly grew into a tall oval of blinding brilliance. It was a doorway, and a man stepped through it, cloaked and hooded, but not the hooded man from before. Erik couldn’t see a face, but frail hands emerged from the wide sleeves of the cloak. They formed the shape of a cup, and another pinpoint of light floated above them. The ball of light flashed, causing Erik to close his eyes, balls of light dancing behind his eyelids like fireflies. When he reopened them, the cloaked figure held a sword, long and broad, its steel a golden color. It reminded Erik of the shape his golden-handled dagger took when he defeated her … the dragon.

  The man placed the sword on the ground, and after another ball of light flashed, he held a golden crown. It had a total of five points, and the one taller than the rest was studded with a large diamond, a brilliant gem that emanated its own light. He placed the crown next to the sword, and from one more ball of light, he produced a green stone, an emerald perhaps, that was round, almost in the shape of an egg. He placed it on the ground, next to the sword and the crown. The emerald egg flashed and the sword and crown were gone, leaving it alone in front of the cloaked figure.

  When Erik stepped forward into the center of the clearing, the cloaked man lifted a finger and pointed. Erik looked over his shoulder and saw another cloaked man standing behind him. He looked almost exactly like the first figure, although Erik could see silver runes outlining the man’s hood and sleeves. There was a shadow behind the man, if that was possible in the darkness. The shadow was large and looked like it had horns and wings—the dragon perhaps. But the shadow had two arms and two legs and as it moved, the second robed man moved, the shadow’s puppet. A cackling laugh emitted from underneath the puppet’s hood.

  The first man clapped, and the forest faded away, and Erik was on his farm in the middle of the night. He heard screams as he smelled smoke and the heat of fire caused him to step back.

  Erik stood in the middle of his farmstead and spiders the size of horses ran about him, spraying everything with silver silk and sinking their fangs into faceless victims they had entwined in their webbing. Giant men followed them, killing those who had not fallen victim to the spiders with clubs the size of tree trunks. Soldiers rushed in behind the giants, their skin green, their eyes blank and black, spears spilling guts and swords removing heads. Buildings burned, people screamed, and livestock lay slaughtered as, for the first time in a long while, Erik felt scared in his dreams. That was when the dead came, rising up from the ground, consuming anything still alive and pulling them down into earthen graves. That was when Erik heard distant scream. The earth shook and the fire intensified around him. The dragon.

  But when he turned, there was no dragon. All he saw was a massive shadow, the same shadow that had controlled the cloaked man, only larger. It moved about without any true form, twisting, contorting, and directing the ensuing death. The shadow was over him, above him, all around him, its wings spreading and flapping up hurricane-like winds, threatening to blow him away. The shadow roared, the sound a mix of rage and anger-filled laughter. It reached out with a black, clawed hand and ripped up a whole grove of apple trees by the roots, then a grove of orange trees. The hands crushed buildings that still stood, smashed barns, and carved deep gashes into the soil.

  He saw everyone he loved standing in front of his home—his parents, cousins, sisters, the dwarves … Simone. The shadow breathed a single, fiery breath, fire consuming them, and the moment they were gone, silence descended. The air around him became stale, and he knew what that silence meant. The giant shadow hovered above him, sucking in all the air. It was the same when the dragon showered his brother in fire. He heard laughter, saw fire, felt pain like he had never felt before, and then came the darkness.

  Erik awoke with a start, sitting up quickly in his bed. Sweat poured down his face and chest and back. The bedroom of his and Simone’s new home was dark. Beside him, his wife groaned softly as she turned slightly in her sleep. Erik took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling the beat of his heart slowing in his chest. He shook his head both in disbelief of what he had experienced, and as if to rid himself of the memories.

  He knew he had been dreaming, but as of late, his dreams were just his grassland, his hill, his tree, and the man. He had come to learn that powerful men and women—and powerful creatures—used the Dream Land for communication, to send messages, to intimidate. He saw them, every night.

  Something strong had controlled his dream. Was it the dragon? Was that the shadow? He could still feel it. Even now, awake, he heard anger-filled howling, malicious laughing, and it wasn’t just the memory of his dream. He knew the dragon was somewhere, biding her time. It had to have been her. She desired many things, Erik had learned, but he knew one thing she truly desired was his death, and the death of everything he loved. Was his dream a vision of what was to come? Was she infiltrating his dreams and showing him what she meant to do?

  He nodded slowly. Surely, that’s what it was. But something felt wrong. The giant shadow—could that have been The Shadow? What of the two men? The sword—the Dragon Sword Erik suspected. The crown—maybe a symbol of leadership, for the dwarves or the Lord of the East or someone ancient. But what of the stone? It seemed to have no significance, and, yet, it consumed the other two.

  Whatever the message, he knew it was time to leave, time for him to go in search of this Dragon Sword. Presuming he discovered its whereabouts, he did not know if he would give it to the Lord of the East as he had promised or if it had some other fate. But he could not make any such decision until he found it.

  He rubbed his temples with his index fingers and then pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, hard, trying to get the images of his dream out of his head. He pressed his hands into his face so hard he saw stars and had to stop. He sucked in a deep breath again and ran a hand through his wet, sweaty hair, pulling the last bit just to make sure he was surely awake.

  “Are you alright?” Simone asked, her voice groggy with sleep.

  “Yes, my love,” Erik replied sweetly.

  “Another dream?” Simone asked.

  “Yes,” Erik replied, “another dream.”

  Simone sat up, her night shift hanging off one shoulder. She looked at Erik with half-closed eyes and wiped a clump of matted, blonde hair away from her face. She touched his bearded cheek. Her hands were so soft and always smelled like lavender and mint.

  “I am so sorry, my sweet,” Simone said. “Is there something we can do?”

  “I don’t think so,” Erik replied. “I could drink sweet wine or dream milk, but a wise man—a dwarf—once warned me about doing so.”

  Erik stared at his wife, making out the outlines of her facial features in the darkness of the room, the only bit of light coming in through a small crack near the window. She was beautiful, even in her sleep. His heart raced again but for a different reason, and, for that brief moment, he forgot about his dream and the mysterious shadow. But when he looked away, they were there again.

  “But if it helps you sleep …” Simone began to say.

  “No,” Erik said, gently, grabbing one of her hands, pressing her fingers to his lips, and kissing them. “This is my burden. My dreams have a
purpose, even if I don’t know what they are sometimes. Go back to sleep now; I will be alright.”

  “Are you sure?” Simone asked.

  “I am,” Erik said with a smile, touching his wife’s cheek with the back of his calloused fingers.

  As Simone lay back down, Erik pulled on his trousers and walked out onto his front porch. He looked out over his lands, farmland his father had given him, and to which lands Simone’s father, Brok, had added. Erik could have bought three times the land again; he was a wealthy man and had more coin than any other farmer in their farmstead But that meant nothing to Erik; he had fertile lands, and he had a beautiful wife, but he was about to leave it all behind.

  He stood and opened the bedroom window and stared at the Gray Mountains again, looming like shadowy giants in the dim moonlight. He knew what he had to do. There was no way around it. But what fate awaited him in those mountains? What horrors, in this world and the dream world, had yet to come?

  3

  “I cannot lose another child,” Erik’s mother said, sitting at their kitchen table and staring at the wood with red-rimmed eyes. She couldn’t even look at Erik, tears streaming down her face every time she did.

  Erik’s older brother, Befel, should have been the one to inherit his father’s farm. He was the one that would carry on the Eleodum name. He would be the one to replace his father as a pillar of their community, carry on the family traditions, and bear more boys to carry on their name. But Befel was dead.

  All of Háthgolthane—if not the whole world—believed dragons were gone, extinct by over a thousand years. Some even questioned whether they ever existed. That all changed when Erik disturbed a hibernating dragon in the lost city of Orvencrest. She awoke from a deep slumber and did as dragons do—breathed fire and wreaked havoc on the world. She killed many, but her first victim was Befel. Her fiery breath consumed him as he stood in front of Erik.

  “Mother,” Erik said, patting her hand, “I cannot guarantee that I will survive this ordeal.”

  His mother began crying again.

  “I wish I could,” Erik added. “But know this, if I do not go, if I do not do this thing that the Lord of the East has commanded me to do, he will not only kill you and Father and Beth and Tia, he will burn the whole of our community to the ground. I wish it weren’t so, but it is. He is an evil man, but the Creator is with me, Mother.”

  “But you don’t need to go my son,” his mother sobbed. “If he is evil, we will leave … all of us.”

  “Where will we go?” Erik asked, wrapping his mother’s hands in his.

  “Anywhere,” she replied, the desperation clear in her voice.

  “He will find us,” Erik said.

  “I just …” his mother began to say and then buried her face in her hands and began to sob.

  Erik reached over and hugged his mother, resting his cheek on her shoulder.

  “I don’t want to die,” Erik said, feeling tears coming to his eyes as well. “And I wish I could stay here. You will never know how much I missed home, but I have to do this.”

  Erik, his brother, and Bryon had been gone for over two years. Bryon and Befel left because they wanted nothing to do with taking over their fathers’ farms. They wanted money and fame and power. Erik wanted none of that but was concerned with encroaching feudal lords from Hámon. He thought that, if they did find wealth, his father could use it to pay off these nobles. Erik had missed his home and his family, the farm and the fruits of his hard work, and his love, Simone. He even thought his family dead as he envisioned them, in his dreams, burned or hanged. And now, he was back … only to leave again.

  When Erik had lost this weapon the Lord of the East sought, a scroll that explained how to control and even destroy a dragon, the ancient beast broke free from her dwarvish prison and unleashed her fury upon the world. She even destroyed part of Fen-Stévock, capitol city of Golgolithul. Even though Erik retrieved the scroll, saved the city from the dragon, and returned the treasure to the Ruler of Golgolithul, his future was uncertain.

  Through his black magic, the Lord of the East knew Erik had lost his treasure, and for that, Erik’s life was in the hands of a ruler most of Háthgolthane, Antolika, and Nothgolthane hated. Now, he had to venture into the Gray Mountains, find a lost sword called the Dragon Sword that was guarded by a mad wizard, and return it to Golgolithul. He had a year to retrieve the sword before the Lord of the East unleashed his punishment, and two moons had already passed.

  “The Creator willing, I will be home in less than a year,” Erik said, standing.

  His mother stood too and wrapped her arms around him. He felt like a child again and could have stayed there forever.

  When he walked out of his parents’ home, his sisters were there to greet him. The stalwart and feisty Tia was red-faced with hands clenched. As Erik walked past her, she punched him in the stomach and then, immediately after, wrapped her arms around him.

  “Don’t go, Erik,” she said, burying her face into Erik’s stomach.

  “I knew, somewhere deep down inside, you cared,” Erik said with a smile.

  “Of course, I do, you horse apple,” his youngest sister said, letting go of him, wiping a few tears away, and punching him in the leg.

  “Promise you’ll come back,” Beth said. She composed herself better than she would have just two years ago. She was rapidly maturing, becoming a young woman, and did her best to show the poise that her mother would have shown in public. But her red-rimmed eyes told Erik knew she had shed at least a few tears for him.

  “I can’t promise that,” Erik said, “but I can promise I will do my best.”

  He turned to see his father. The man was as stoic as ever, but when their eyes met, the elder Eleodum smiled, and a single tear leaked from his eye. He extended his hand, and Erik took it.

  “You are a good man,” his father said. “The Creator asks us to honor duty, even when it hurts. I will pray for you daily … for your return, my son.”

  “Father …” Erik began, but his father held up a hand.

  “Say nothing more, Erik,” his father said. “I am proud of you. Proud of the man you have become, the leader, the friend, the brother … and now the husband. You left for your family and returned to us. You will do it again.”

  Erik hugged his father. Rikard Eleodum wasn’t an emotional man, but when he held Erik back, it was the tightest he had ever felt his father squeeze him.

  Erik found Simone standing at their own kitchen table when he walked into their new home. She ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

  “Do not leave,” she said.

  “You know I have to,” Erik replied.

  “I can’t lose you again,” she said.

  “And I can’t lose you,” Erik said. “That’s why I have to go.”

  “You will come back,” Simone said.

  “I can’t promise that,” Erik said.

  “You must,” Simone said. “You must ... for your son.”

  “My son?” Erik said, stepping back with eyebrows arched in surprise. “Are you …”

  He couldn’t finish as tears flooded his eyes and streamed down his face.

  “Yes, my love,” Simone said with a smile wider than she wore on their wedding day.

  Erik’s stomach knotted, his heart quickened, and the arteries in his neck thumped against the collar of his shirt. His hands shook and, suddenly, he heard a baby’s giggle in his mind, felt tiny hands on his face, smelled the smell of a newborn baby, watched a boy or girl—he didn’t care which—take their first steps, say “Papa”, and run to him when he finished working on his farm. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t blink. And then he imagined a child growing up without their father and Simone stretched thin like a tab of butter too small for a piece of bread. He imagined never holding his child, never feeling their arms around his neck, or never watching them smile at him. He buried his face in his hands.

  Simone’s soft, yet strong hands grasped his cheeks firmly, lifting h
is face so that he might meet her eyes. They were wet and, yet, strong and hopeful. It didn’t matter how many fights he had been in, or trolls he had killed, or dragons … Simone was stronger than him.

  “How do you know it’s a boy?” Erik finally managed to ask.

  “I don’t,” she replied. “I just figured you would want a son.”

  “I don’t care,” Erik said, holding his wife tight. “Boy or girl, I don’t care. It will be ours, and it will be healthy.”

  “So, you see,” Simone said, “you have to return.”

  Erik looked down at her and smiled.

  “Promise me,” she said. “Promise me you’ll return. Promise me you’ll come back to your family, to your wife and child.”

  “Simone, listen to me,” Erik said, but Simone grasped his face in her hands again.

  “No, you listen to me,” she said through her tears, “you must come back. Promise me.”

  “Please, listen to me,” Erik said, looking away for a moment and then grabbing her wrists and lowering her hands.

  She didn’t say anything. She just watched Erik.

  “The money from Orvencrest is in the chest under our bed,” Erik said. “It is everything—gold, silver, gems, jewels.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “It is enough to buy a thousand farms,” Erik continued. “If I do not return …”

  “No,” Simone said, looking away and crossing her arms across her chest.

  “Listen to me, Simone,” Erik said, gently gripping her chin and forcing her to look at him. “If I do not return, you are to take that money, take my family and Bryon’s, and head to Waterton. It is a small town situated on the Blue River. You will find a man there named Del Alzon. Tell him you are my wife. Tell him they are my family. Show him the gold. He will take care of you. He will make sure you are safe.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Simone said, “because you will come back to me.”