Legends of the Lurker Box Set

by Richard H. Stephens

  Smoke billowed from the golden dragon’s nostrils and flitted along his black lips; his bright, ruby eyes surveying those before him. Flea imagined the earth splitting at the sound of the dragon’s voice.

  “Imagine that. Dragons being escorted by wyverns, of all creatures. Have you no shame?”

  The red dragon from Draakval hung his head, but the older, black and white dragons reared up on their hind legs; flames licking between their teeth.

  “The only shame we harbour is the ingrained resentment dragonkind perpetrates amongst itself. Heed my warning as the eldest survivor of Draakval and Wyrm. Allow us to speak with the queen, or die.”

  The gold dragon slammed his front feet to the ground, sending tremors beneath them. “You dare threaten Lightburn, the queen’s guardian? You flirt with death, elder Draakval.”

  The black dragon bristled as if he was about to attack. “Any move on Crystalclaw will die at my feet.”

  Flea stepped back, fearing a violent clash.

  Crystalclaw puffed out her chest. “Ignoring our warning will result in the needless death of Queen Askara and all who follow her.”

  Lightburn kept his eyes on the black dragon. “And who are you, to fly into our territory making such a bold statement? If not for my curiosity, you would never have made it this far into our territory. Your choice to fly with lowly wyverns has piqued my interest.”

  “I’m the last of Demonic’s Claw Maidens.” Crystalclaw answered. She inclined her head toward the black dragon. “And this is Thunderbolt, my mate. I have assumed leadership of the Draakval Colony.”

  Lightburn leaned back as if knocked over by the Claw Maiden’s declaration—the gravity of the situation finally taking hold. He tilted his head, the venom in his tone subdued. “Where is Demonic? What type of treachery have you two undertaken to assume the leadership of your rogue colony?” Pulling his head back, flames roiled at the back of his throat.

  Crystalclaw and Thunderbolt matched his movements.

  Flea spread his wings to shelter Butterfly Soul and Cricket; ducking his head, but the titanic clash never happened.

  Lightburn teetered on the brink of unleashing his firestorm as the white dragon said, “Demonic has been slain by the dark heir. As was Grimclaw before him. We’re all that’s left of dragonkind apart from Queen Askara’s lair. If you can’t fathom the significance of what I’m telling you, the dragon cause is already lost.”

  Lightburn appeared to gag on his flames. He closed his mouth, blowing black smoke through his nostrils, and dropped to his forelegs. “Grimclaw too?”

  Crystalclaw nodded. “He was the first. The Dragon Temple has been plundered. If the dark heir has acquired possession of the Eyes, our time here has flown.”

  Lightburn searched the dragon faces staring at him—pain evident in their eyes. He scowled as he scanned the wyverns, but the confrontational edge had left his features. He looked skyward.

  Although Flea couldn’t hear Lightburn’s next words, he knew the queen’s guardian spoke to the dragons circling like a flock of buzzards waiting to feast.

  One by one, the flying dragons peeled off to land in alcoves at various heights in the façade of the mountainous Draakvuur Colony—their watchful eyes riveted on the odd group trespassing on their territory.

  Lightburn prepared to vault into the air but stopped. “And who do I have the honour of escorting to Queen Askara?”

  Crystalclaw held her chin high. “Inform the queen that Crystalclaw, former Claw Maiden of the mighty Demonic, requests an audience.”

  Lightburn nodded and craned his neck toward the colony before bringing his attention back to those assembled. “Very well. Let it be known that you visit Queen Askara at your peril.” His face transformed into one of disgust. “The rest of you will be led to the commons where you’ll await the outcome of Crystalclaw’s meeting.”

  Thunderbolt growled, his muscles tensing. “She doesn’t go anywhere without me by her side.”

  Lightburn’s eyes narrowed.

  Flea feared the queen’s guardian would refuse him.

  Lightburn’s voice rasped, “Suit yourself, but you do so at your peril.”

  Crystalclaw growled back. “And what of our injured? I refuse to leave them unattended.”

  Flames licked along Lightburn’s lips. His bright-red eyes narrowed. “Typical Draakval. Always making demands. Very well. I’ll send someone to see to their wounds.”

  Sand wafted into Flea’s face in the wake of Lightburn’s takeoff. Lowering his wings, Flea glanced at his sister and her friend. “Stick together. I’m not keen on being separated from Crystalclaw and Thunderbolt. We’ll be at the Draakvuur’s mercy.”

  “We’ll be okay.” Butterfly Soul’s smile looked forced. “We have big and mean Flea to protect us.”

  Flea gave her a skeptical look. “Not sure about the big part, but if they try to harm you or Crystal, they’ll know they’ve been in a fight.”

  Butterfly Soul winked at him. “See? Everything will be fine.” She sprung into the air.

  Flea caught Cricket looking at him.

  “What?”

  Cricket rolled her eyes and followed her friend into the sky.

  His sister was too smart for her wings. She knew of his infatuation for Butterfly Soul.

  Towers higher than small mountains surrounded Flea and his companions; the carved stone rumoured to have been cut straight out of the landscape by dwarf stone masons from Sarsen Rest. The project commissioned by the first Windwalkers to roam the land.

  Cricket and Butterfly Soul, or Fly, as his sister liked to call her, had made themselves busy attending the wounds and ailments of their fellow wyverns. Broken spear shafts and stubborn arrowheads lodged between scales were plentiful. He had escaped unharmed for the most part—a few bruises beneath scales that had withstood the brunt of a dragon slaying spear—more good fortune than anything he had done, but he was grateful. It had left him lucid enough to realize that if Queen Askara were to be informed of the Dragon Scourge’s offensive, someone had to remain alive long enough to deliver the grave news.

  Dragons of all sizes and colours flitted about the reaches of Draak Home; their attention on the large courtyard basked in shadow.

  Crystalclaw and Thunderbolt had been gone for a long time. Flea fretted about their well-being and that admission surprised him. Not that he was overly concerned with how the dragons treated each other, but if Crystalclaw’s audience with the highest dragon in the land didn’t go well, the fate of the wyverns would be sealed. He swallowed and hung his head. It had been his idea to come here.

  The constant sound of claws grasping stone and leathery wings snapping the air abated, filling Flea with dread. He searched for the reason, following the reverent stares of the guardian dragons perched nearest them. A wide alcove, barely visible near the top of the central, northern tower—the highest peak in the valley—commanded everyone’s attention.

  Those around him had noted the change in atmosphere as well. Cricket and Butterfly Soul sidled up to him in anticipation of what was to come.

  An ear-piercing shriek filled the space between the towers, making Flea cringe. So painful and loud, it seemed to go on forever when in reality it lasted mere moments. The sound echoed and faded until the courtyard and the air above fell under the pall of an eerie silence.

  Only the prevailing wind, blowing around the towers’ edges and whistling through gaps in the stone, disturbed the calm.

  Flea almost shouted out in alarm when a lone dragon roared, reverberating off the walls.

  He couldn’t see the one responsible, but Flea recognized Lightburn’s voice.

  “Queen Askara demands your attention.”

  Flea dared to look around. Lightburn’s instruction wasn’t required. Every dragon in attendance waited in respectful silence for their monarch.

  A second voice filled Flea’s mind—its melodious tone spoken as if it was softly sung. “Remember this day, my dragons, for it is a pivotal one in our his
tory. One of epic proportion. It is with great sadness that I announce the passing of the land’s eldest guardian, Grimclaw. Dragon Home has fallen.”

  Flea strained to see the speaker, but the queen’s alcove was far too high for anyone in the courtyard to make out who stood up there. Though he had never met Queen Askara, he instinctively knew the voice belonged to the dragon queen.

  Nothing moved. Not even the wind.

  “As upsetting as this news is to hear, there is more. Demonic, the notorious leader of the Draakval Colony, has also been slain.”

  The queen paused. Hundreds of dragons looked at each other in shock.

  “Demonic’s Claw Maiden, Crystalclaw, and two others from the Draakval Colony are all that remain of dragonkind outside of our territory.”

  The queen paused again. A mumbled voice that Flea couldn’t make out filled in the gap. When it stopped, the queen’s voice took over. “Crystalclaw has informed me there may be survivors from the Draakclaw Colony, but their whereabouts are unknown. They’re rumoured to be searching for the last Windwalker.”

  Flea exchanged glances with Cricket. He could tell she was thinking the same thing. The conversation between the green dragon and the red that day in the mountaintop glen when the blonde-haired human had pointed a sword at them. Could he be the Windwalker?

  Flea recalled the red dragon’s crimson eyes narrowing as he spoke to the green dragon, “You protect a human? Have you not learned the age-old lesson? They aren’t to be trusted? Why do you think the colonies are divided?”

  The green dragon had answered, “This one’s different.”

  The queen’s voice interrupted Flea’s thoughts. “Without provocation, High King J’kaar has waged war on dragonkind. Let it be known, the era of man’s arrogance is about to come to an end. As far as I’m concerned, the Windwalker legacy has ended. It’s time we rid the land of the Dragon Scourge!”

  Flea and those around him cringed, huddling into each other as the assembled dragons burst into a wild display of dragon fire and earthshaking shrieks.

  The desert terrain flew by; peculiar shadows stretching across its unforgiving landscape far below. Hundreds of dragon wings snapping in the wind did little to ease Flea’s nerves, but the thrill of flying with such a massive array of dragonkind left him giddy. Wyverns and dragons working together was a phenomenon unheard of for as far back as his knowledge of history foretold.

  Led by Lightburn, their attack force stretched out of sight in the pale night sky, from the swampland border to their left to the rocky wastelands comprising the eastern borders of the Wilds where the Great Kingdom met the northern reaches of Sarsen Rest.

  They had flown steadily for two days since Queen Askara had announced the Dragon War had officially begun. All available wings were ordered to take part in Draakvuur’s initial offensive. The queen ordered them to hit the king’s forces hard and fast.

  Word filtered back through the ranks that the scouts had returned from the north. It was time to prepare for their attack run.

  Flea and the rest of the wyverns had been relegated to the back of the formation, presumably to keep them out of the way. Their job was to ensure nothing snuck up from behind.

  He had inwardly rolled his eyes when they had been informed of their role—who, other than another dragon, would be able to keep up with their pace. An eagle or hawk perhaps, but they didn’t present a danger. He imagined Lightburn had allowed them to participate in the attack to get them away from Draak Home. He didn’t doubt the dragons cared little if the wyverns made it back again.

  The darkest hours passed them by, moonlight reflecting off innumerable water bodies comprising the endless swampland that buffered the Wilds from the western duchy of Zephyr.

  “Tighten up attack formations.”

  The chatter prevalent throughout the flying mass dropped off as the last of the northern swampland passed beneath them; the horizon dominated by an immense body of water know as the Lake of the Lost. Small in comparison to the Unknown Sea, the enormous body of water marked the approach into the king’s region.

  In the distance on their left, the Altirius Mountains stretched out of sight. During daylight hours, Flea imagined he would be able to see the twin peaks of Mount Gloom and Mount Cinder. There would be nothing left there but the remains of three distinctly different armies, their twisted corpses awaiting the inevitable eruption of the volcanoes to permanently entomb the fallen.

  The quickening of dawn limned the eastern horizon as the northwestern shore of the Lake of the Lost sped beneath the tail edge of the attack wave. Reports of castle sightings reached them, but they were so far back all Flea could see in the twilight was the expansive King’s Wood and the edge of King’s Bay to the north. The darkness of the Unknown Sea sat above the line of brooding mountains further west.

  A peculiar orange glow sparked to life far ahead and quickly grew, brightening their approach. Distant shrieks echoed across the land.

  Diamond formations consisting of twelve dragons each broke away from the massive attack wave, their wings tilting forward and losing height. With each separation a new series of shrieks rent the twilit sky.

  A roadway appeared below them, its course running up from the duchy of Zephyr. Ahead, South Fort came into view, its ramparts and rooftops ablaze.

  “Okay wyverns. Get ready,” Flea ordered, feeling odd. He’d never led anything other than the recent flight from the Wyrm Colony, and that was a desperate act to save himself, Cricket and Butterfly Soul.

  After Queen Askara had proclaimed war, Lightburn had dropped into their midst and demanded to know who oversaw the Wyrm Colony. To a wyvern, everyone had pointed a wingtip his way. Like it or not, Flea had been elected as the official leader of the Wyrm Colony.

  “Follow my lead.” Flea waited until the dragon formations on either side of him banked away before he followed suit, leading a smaller, eight-unit diamond from the wispy clouds drifting in off the sea—one of the original nine wyverns had been too injured to take part in the raid.

  An arrow zipped past Flea’s face. He hadn’t seen it coming until it just missed his cheek. It felt as if his heart had leapt into his throat.

  Most of the castle far below was lost behind a shroud of black smoke, as was the city beyond, but it hadn’t stopped the defenders from launching a hailstorm of arrows and ballista bolts into the sky.

  Through breaks in the smoke, Flea spotted several downed dragons—some motionless, while others backed away from gangs of dragon slayers; dragging a broken wing or bristling with projectiles.

  Heat filled Flea’s throat as he willed his fire into being and prepared to release it. A curious sound whistled past in the wake of a fluttering object thrown from a catapult mounted atop one of South Fort Castle’s tallest towers.

  A shriek sounded behind him, but he was too occupied with his dive to look back. Recoiling his head, he lunged it forward, dispensing a swath of fire along the nearest battlement, his flames engulfing men and women archers defiantly standing in his path, unleashing arrow after arrow.

  Screams of anguish met his attack. Human bodies withered in flames, their arrows no longer harassing the dragon force. Before he pulled out of his dive, he witnessed a wyvern entangled in a great net smash into the walkway along the burning ramparts. Unable to do anything to prevent its demise, the wyvern broke upon the crenelated wall and lay still.

  Adjusting his wing pitch, Flea soared into the sky, trailing after the dragon formation ahead. He reluctantly inspected his ranks, fearing the worst. As selfish as it felt, he was relieved to see the scared faces of Cricket and Butterfly Soul staring back at him. Neither one looked like they had suffered any physical harm, but judging by their expressions, he couldn’t say the same for their mental health. Other than the recent attack by High King J’kaar’s army, none of them had experienced an organized fight before, let alone a full pitched battle where the only acceptable outcome was the annihilation of the enemy no matter the cost.

  The dra
gon group ahead hadn’t taken any casualties. Their perfectly executed flying formation dipped back toward the ground to raze a path of destruction throughout the unprotected city beyond the castle walls.

  In the distance, a second castle illuminated the early morning sky—black plumes drifting over the expansive bay on their right. Flea had never been here before, but he had learned during the long flight from Draakvuur that the castle was none other than Draakhall—the seat of the high king.

  Several arrows zinged through the air around them, one hitting a wyvern flying at the rear of the formation. The arrow’s weak flight did nothing more than startle the affected flyer.

  Flea kept his formation in line with the one ahead—the dragon diamond winging over the shoreline of the Unknown Sea and coming at Draakhall from the west; spiralling around the highest tower of the keep and raining fire across the royal rooftop.

  The air around them was thick with missiles. Flea veered around a dragon who appeared to have hit an invisible wall. Looking over his shoulder, the dragon dropped out of the sky, its chest impaled by a tree-sized ballista bolt.

  Down and along the western ramparts they flew, spewing swath after relentless swath of flames along the ramparts. Men and women and defensive fortifications burst into flame and yet the castle defenders continued to besiege them with killing fire of their own. Long bows and ballistae couldn’t miss the thick layers of dragonkind assaulting them.

  Another wyvern screeched and dropped from the sky, a large projectile piercing its wing near its shoulder, preventing it from flying. Flea cringed as the wyvern’s body broke upon the keep’s stone roof and bounced over the edge to tumble out of sight.

  The dragon attack continued across a massive bridgework and onto the town beyond before Lightburn turned his strike force across the bay to raze the ships anchored there and headed for home.

  On their right, the royal seat of the Great Kingdom burned out of control, its neighbouring fortifications equally damaged. King’s Bay blazed brighter than the rising sunshine breaking across the water from the east. The dragons’ retaliation had inflicted grievous injury on the king’s forces.