Legends of the Lurker Box Set

by Richard H. Stephens

  They followed Lasair over the lip of the smoking crater and dropped into the heart of the volcano—a blast of heat flushing Junior’s face.

  “Easy, Junior,” Lurker gasped.

  Junior loosened his stranglehold, but only a bit. “We’re flying into a volcano!”

  “Dragons are fire creatures,” Lasair grunted. “It keeps your kind away.”

  Junior tried not to look too closely at where they were headed, but when he detected roiling lava beyond the steam far below, he couldn’t keep his eyes from the approaching lake of molten death.

  “Fear not,” Lurker’s voice sounded as a caressing whisper. “Our scales resist fire. We aren’t impervious to it.”

  Lurker’s words did little to appease his mounting terror. As the heat threatened to singe his fine hairs and sear his skin, Lasair opened his wings wide. Dropping his hind legs, Lasair landed on a large, flat rock projecting from the sidewall of the crater—a platform similar to the Summoning Stone back home.

  Lurker settled down beside him. Swoop and Silence landed between Lasair and Lurker.

  The remainder of the dragon escort settled into numerous alcoves that pock-marked the crater wall—their colourful gazes never leaving Junior and the dragonlings.

  “If you’d be so kind as to get off,” Lurker’s strained voice implored.

  Junior eased his stranglehold but made no attempt to dismount.

  Lurker dipped forward and sideways, spilling Junior onto the platform with a clatter.

  “Hey!” Junior shouted, instinctively pulling his sword free, expecting to be assaulted by the Draakval dragons. He thought about jumping back on Lurker’s shoulders, but the green dragon shuffled around to face him.

  Lurker glared at him, but it was Swoop’s angered voice that spoke. “What do you think you’re doing with that? Put it away before you get us killed.”

  The silence in the volcanic crater was eerie. Other than a distant wind blowing across the open peak, and the hiss and plop of lava far below, not a sound disturbed the interior of Mount Cinder.

  Junior turned one way, then another, his gaze taking in a myriad of uniquely beautiful dragon eyes. The beauty stopped there. Their stares were anything but welcoming. Swoop’s warning echoed through his mind but he couldn’t bring himself to sheath his sword.

  Lasair shifted his bulk to face a large tunnel that lead into the side of the crater at the back of the ledge. Dropping to his chest, his action elicited a deafening chorus of dragon shrieks from those assembled along the rock face—the noise so loud, Junior dropped his sword to the ground and placed his hands over his ears, fearing the dragonsong would split his skull in two.

  Lasair snarled, his words barely distinguishable amongst the cacophony, “Show respect, you fools. Demonic approaches.”

  The dragonlings from Dragon Home emulated Lasair.

  A darkness, deeper than the shadow veiling the tunnel entrance, moved. Led by two white dragons bigger than Lasair, a dragon greater in size than the deceased elder, Grimclaw, scraped his way into the open air. Black wingtips and long temple horns accentuated the dark, dried blood hue of the leader of the Draakval Colony.

  The thunderous din of dragonsong abruptly ceased, its residual roar echoing into the heights of the crater.

  Junior feared the ledge they stood upon would crumble beneath Demonic’s pounding footsteps. He grabbed his sword to stop it from rattling toward the edge.

  Silence nudged him with her snout, her diminutive voice warning, “Put it away.”

  Junior gulped. It wasn’t easy, shaking as badly as he did, but thankfully the sword tip found the opening and the blade slid home.

  Lurker, Swoop and Silence placed themselves between him and the oncoming dragons, but the dragonlings were forced to one side by the white dragons.

  Left in Demonic’s path, Junior unconsciously backed away.

  Demonic advanced until Junior thought the dragon’s next step would be on his head. Looking behind him, he saw the bright glow of the lava beyond the precipice.

  His terrified stare honed in on the flames visible at the back edges of Demonic’s lips as black smoke wisped from the dragon’s nostrils.

  Junior trembled, worried he might wet himself. Being burnt alive, eaten, or falling into a pit of lava struck him as his inevitable fate.

  Rows of black teeth curved between Demonic’s slightly open maw. Dipping his head to the shelf, the height of his smoking nostrils were twice that of Junior.

  An overpowering sulphuric stench turned Junior’s stomach as a deep voice thundered inside his head.

  “You have a lot of nerve coming here, human. Tell me why I shouldn’t eat you?” Demonic craned his neck toward Lasair. “I will deal with you later.”

  Lasair remained still, genuflected as only a dragon of his size could.

  Demonic swung his head back; black leather lips brushing Junior’s raised hands—the heat from his breath intense.

  Junior couldn’t think of anything to say. Stepping backward and falling over the brink seemed like his best choice.

  “We came to save you,” Lurker’s voice interrupted.

  A puff of smoke escaped Demonic’s nostrils; his blood-red eyes regarded Lurker. “You and your unwelcome companions are the ones in need of saving.”

  “Nevertheless, you must hear me out.”

  Demonic shifted his body to face Lurker, his bulk nearly knocking Junior off the ledge.

  “I must do nothing!” Demonic roared.

  Lurker stood his ground. “Then you will die.”

  Junior edged around Demonic’s massive forefoot—carefully stepping over a black, outer claw. He couldn’t believe how calmly Lurker confronted the Draakval leader. He thought for sure that Lurker’s brazen warning would be the end of them.

  Demonic leaned back on his rear legs, opening his mouth wide and spewing a blast of flame overhead. “It is you who is about to die!”

  The angry dragon pulled his head back.

  Junior gaped, but there was nothing he could do. He had seen dragons react this way—just before they released a torrent of fire. His gaze fell on Lurker nonchalantly facing death.

  “Dragon Home is destroyed,” Lurker’s voice sounded through the chaos. “Draakval will soon follow.”

  Demonic’s head shot forward, his mouth wide, but no flames came. He stopped his advance and tilted his head to one side. “What did you say?”

  “The high king dispatched an army to Dragonfang Pass. They obliterated our home. The three of us, and one who remained behind to clean up the destruction and guard Dragon Home from treasure hunters, are all that remain of our colony. J’kaar will turn his sights on your home next.”

  Demonic growled. He pulled his head back, his eyes flicking to Junior.

  Junior stopped moving and held his palms out, hoping to demonstrate to the irate dragon that he didn’t pose a threat.

  Demonic’s eyes narrowed. “And yet you bring one of the parasites into our midst. What treachery is this?”

  “There is no treachery, Elder Demonic,” Lurker answered, bowing his head in deference to the Draakval leader. “We seek to save the last of the Windwalkers.”

  “The Windwalkers are no more. Why else would we live in fear of humankind? Grimclaw should’ve listened to me years ago. Together, we could’ve scoured the filth from the world.” Demonic’s eyes found Junior once more. He swung his head low and audibly sniffed at him. Lifting his head high, he twitched his nostrils in disgust. “You lie. I sense no magic in this one. He is no Windwalker.”

  “I never claimed he was. If we are to have a chance of saving the last Windwalker, we require this human’s assistance.”

  “You insult my intelligence. The last Windwalker died decades ago.”

  “She had a daughter.”

  Demonic lowered his head to confront Lurker, huge breaths convulsing his sides. “Where is this daughter now? Have you sensed the magic within her?”

  “I have not.”

  Demonic�
��s eyes widened in what appeared as surprise, before narrowing with a dangerous glint. He pulled his head back, flames dripping from the corners of his mouth.

  Lurker raised his voice. “Grimclaw vouched for her.”

  Instead of appeasing the Draakval elder, Lurker’s words incensed him further. “Grimclaw? If what you say is true, that fool couldn’t prevent his own death. You don’t expect me to trust the words of a senile lizard?”

  Darkness shrouded Lurker’s expression. “With all due respect, Elder Demonic, you walk on dangerous ground. Grimclaw was my father.”

  Demonic emitted a booming laugh.

  Lurker’s head shook slightly. “Despite the bitterness our colonies have for each other, I fail to see the humour in your impending demise.”

  Demonic stopped laughing. He flicked his gaze between Lurker and Junior. With a barely perceptible nod, he said, “Very well. I will see you two in my chamber.” He cast a stern look at Swoop and Silence, his voice taking on a sarcastic timbre, “You two will remain here, as guests. An assurance against treachery, if you will.”

  The platform shook as Demonic followed one of the white dragons into the tunnel. The second guardian waited until Lurker and Junior passed by before she brought up the rear.

  Deep within the catacombs, the air was thankfully much cooler. Junior admired the shiny, tunnel walls. According to Demonic, the luminescent black rock was known as dragon glass—forged by dragon fire. The iridescent stone cast the voluminous passageway in a soft, amber glow.

  “The main tunnels and byways are lava vents, created during previous volcanic eruptions. A major flareup hasn’t occurred in over a century,” Demonic informed them. “Though, if my scholars are correct, Mount Cinder prepares herself for another blast.”

  Startled, Junior looked back the way they had come. He wasn’t sure how much heat a dragon could absorb, but he was well aware of his own shortcomings. He picked up his pace and scrambled after Lurker, Demonic, and the lead, white dragon. The second, ancient female, sauntered after him—likely ensuring he didn’t get up to anything. The thought made him smile despite his terror. What could he possibly do to disrupt the Draakval Colony?

  An expansive chamber with a black lake at its centre branched off the main tunnel. The lead dragon went in ahead and searched the cavern before summoning Demonic to enter. The Draakval elder’s great wings brushed the vaulted entranceway on his way through.

  Demonic approached the lake and dipped his head—ripples disturbing the tranquil surface as he lapped at the water.

  Junior passed beneath the threshold, its arched ceiling many times his height. He scanned the softly lit cavern in awe, its lofty ceiling sparkling with priceless gemstones.

  “Don’t get any ideas, human.” Demonic followed his gaze. “One of those is worth a small kingdom in your world. Many fools have tried. Be assured, they’re magically warded. Your first touch will be your last.”

  Junior stumbled on the smooth, dragon glass floor. He couldn’t imagine anyone bold enough to attempt sneaking into a dragon colony. Anyone that foolish deserved their fate.

  Lurker placed himself between Demonic and Junior, “We don’t have time to waste if we want to save Reecah Windwalker.”

  “Reecah, is it? Hmm,” Demonic said. “Very well. I’m not convinced that even if a Windwalker has survived, she’ll be able to make a difference in the world of men. Too wide has the schism become for mankind to mend their ways. It has become a kill or be killed world.”

  “That’s exactly the kind of attitude that has brought us to this dangerous cusp.”

  Junior frowned. Listening to Lurker, he found it hard to believe the dragonling capable of such insight and eloquence at his young age. As much as dragons shared many of man’s shortcomings, it was apparent there were distinct differences between the races. Maturity and rate of growth being two of them.

  “What can one person, even fully blessed with the Windwalker gift, hope to achieve in a kingdom ruled by a dictator coveting our extermination. If what you say about Dragon Home is true, the line has already been drawn. I cannot sanction peace with a slayer of dragons.”

  “No one has asked you to,” Lurker said. “All I’m saying is you need to put aside your differences with our wyvern brethren. By presenting a united front, perhaps you can survive the coming battle long enough for Reecah to convince the high king of his folly.”

  “Entertain a truce with the Wyrm Colony? Never!” Demonic growled.

  Junior forgot how insignificant he was in the company of such goliaths. He stepped past Lurker and pointed a finger at Demonic. “Old attitudes like that that will see your colony eradicated from the Great Kingdom. Clinging to idiotic prejudices harboured and perpetuated from a different age will be the death of you. Perhaps there were just reasons for the derision between man and dragon all those years ago, but they didn’t occur in my lifetime. Nor did they happen in my father or grandfather’s lifetime. Why should I…we…” He walked straight up to Demonic, his outstretched hand shaking violently as the foolishness of his action dawned on him. “Yes, you and I, oh mighty elder. Why is this our war? To witness the deaths of our loved ones for the sake of the transgressions committed by our elders? That’s insane.”

  Flames licked along the bottom edge of Demonic’s open mouth.

  The white dragons perked up.

  Junior trembled but didn’t relent. “No! Let me finish. Our ancestors fought and died over something so egregious at the time that they felt justified to send their mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters to their death. That is fine, and we should respect that and honour their sacrifices. But! That was their war. Let it not be ours.”

  “Nicely said,” Lurker whispered, his snout nudging Junior aside. “Now be quiet and get behind me before he eats you.”

  Junior swallowed, lowering his head. He had lost his grip on sanity and overstepped his boundaries.

  Lurker’s voice drew Demonic’s scrutiny from him. “We coerced Lasair into bringing us here. Please, do not hold him accountable for our presence. It was vital that you learn of the tragedy at Dragon Home. How you deal with the information is up to you. You’ll be stronger if you put aside your differences with the Wyrm Colony. The king’s forces will be taken unaware if the wyverns assault his back lines.”

  “That will never happen! We don’t need their help, nor do we desire it. We’ll deal with the king’s men.”

  Lurker bowed his head. “As you wish, Elder Demonic. Don’t underestimate the dark heir. He and a handful of his elite knights were all that was required to overcome Grimclaw. The wizard prince is a force not to be taken lightly.”

  Demonic growled, his tail smashing the ground.

  “With your leave, Elder Demonic, I will remove this human from your home so that we may see to the survival of the last Windwalker. If we’re ever to coexist with humans again, she is the key.”

  Demonic reared to his full height, flames roiling across his tongue.

  Junior feared their journey had come to an end.

  Demonic teetered on the verge of lashing out, his blood-red stare boring into the depths of Junior’s soul. Raising a clawed, front foot, he thundered, “Begone! If I ever lay eyes on the vermin again, I’ll strip the flesh from his bones.”

  Cat Fight

  Training from sunup to sundown wore Reecah out, but she retired to the flea-ridden bunkhouse each night with a gladness swelling her heart. She was finally receiving the lessons she had desperately sought since the day Jonas had told her she wasn’t fit to join the dragon hunt.

  The next fortnight passed in a blur. Up before the dawn to choke back as much gruel as her stomach could handle, and then onto the training pitch to lock swords, swing her quarterstaff, chase around the yard shooting targets, and grapple with daggers and bare hands. Her fair skin had taken on a purple hue—bruises and scrapes welling up overtop of aching muscles. Cat liked to point out she had inflicted the majority of them.

  At the end o
f the fifteenth day, after a particularly demanding session of defending against two knife-wielding attackers using only her bare hands, Anvil stomped over to where Reecah crouched by herself. Without warning, he kicked her in the shoulder, knocking her onto her side.

  Cat and the rest of the trainees laughed.

  Had the brute done so a couple of weeks ago, she would have lain on the ground, nursing a sore shoulder, and whined about the harsh treatment. Not anymore.

  She let her momentum carry her. Rolling backward and bounding to her feet, she bladed her stance in preparation for whatever the seven-foot-five weapon master brought at her.

  Anvil didn’t press the matter, but he appeared angry with her for some reason.

  She half smiled. “What?”

  Anvil’s smoldering eyes surveyed the nervous faces of the trainees sitting against the wall around the stump. His dark gaze came back to Reecah. “What makes ye so happy? The harder we knock ya down, the bigger yer smile. It’s like ye enjoy a good beating. Ye must be suffering.”

  Reecah’s dimples lifted high. “I’m lucky to be standing, Anvil. I’m surprised if I can make it to the bunkhouse every night without assistance.”

  Anvil’s gaze encompassed the rest, but his words were directed at her. “Never have I seen anyone enjoy having the shit kicked out of them day in and day out. Ye put the rest of these slugs to shame. Ye must be a wee bit crazed.”

  Reecah laughed and immediately held her lower ribs. She wasn’t sure, but it felt like she had cracked one earlier in the day on the receiving end of a polearm. She coughed and winced.

  Anvil shook his head. He feigned a step toward her and fell back just as fast.

  Reecah’s right foot shot out, trying to hook his ankle.

  “See? That’s what I mean.” Anvil pointed at the foot she had lashed out with. “What drives ye, GG? Be nice to feed it to the others.”

  Reecah’s smile fell. Unhappy scowls watched her interaction with the weapon master. She didn’t appreciate being centred out in front of her peers—especially when her actions were used to make them feel inferior.