by Scott Baron
Dragon King Charlie
The Dragon Mage Book 3
Scott Baron
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter One
“Off with his head, Sire?”
“No, Bob.”
“Impale him on a pike, then?”
“No. Jeez. What is it with you?”
“A king must rule with an iron fist, and as your adviser, I advise you to at least flay some of the skin from his body. Or remove a few fingers. One must keep up appearances, after all.”
“For the last time. No flaying. No bodies on pikes. And no beheading.”
“So, the finger option?”
“And no chopping off fingers.”
The pale man sighed. “Very well. But your reluctance to punish wrongdoers in the manner befitting a king of this planet in this era makes you appear weak. We’ve only been here a few months, now, and your king act is somewhat lacking.”
Charlie pinched the bridge of his nose. It’s going to be a headache kind of morning, isn’t it?
His, friend, aide, and adviser was right, as he often was in such matters. But then the alien space vampire had seen a lot in his day, including more than a fair share of royals in action. Of course, it was natural he’d have been around a lot of royalty, what, with his murdering them regularly during his life as a deadly assassin.
Funny that so dangerous a man, one who had killed silently across the systems of his distant galaxy, would adopt the persona of a meek adviser to the king. But as Bawb knew first-hand, being underestimated often meant the difference between life and death. His life, and those who foolishly took him for a lesser man’s deaths.
It also loosened lips when people felt you were not a threat, and despite the fact he could easily take out anyone in the castle grounds––with magic or without with equal ease––he kept his skills secret. Bawb was merely King Charlie’s unassuming assistant, feared by no one.
“Bob, how about we assign the man to hard labor cleaning the moss from the lower dungeon’s stones. That’s a pretty shitty job, and one that will put him out of sight for a few weeks. By the time he is seen again––exiting the dungeons, no less––people will naturally assume the worst.”
“And if he tells the truth of what happened? That you had a goat thief simply scrubbing stones as punishment––while receiving food and board, I might add––what’s to stop others from taking a cue from him and assuming their king will let them get away with crimes?”
“Because we’ll spread rumors of torture, performed by an expert from distant lands. One that leaves no marks but breaks a man’s will. He’ll look normal and act normal, but everyone will just think he’s putting on a strong face. A nice misdirect, if you ask me.”
The Wampeh assassin–turned royal aide couldn’t help but smile.
“You have been paying attention,” he said with a note of satisfaction.
“Hey, you’ve done this far longer than I have. When it comes to misdirection and subterfuge, why not learn from a pro? And I can’t think of a better teacher than the Geist, the deadliest and most successful assassin for thirty systems.”
“Thank you, Charlie,” he replied with a grin. “And it’s far more than thirty.”
“Okay, so that order of business is taken care of. What next?”
“Now we discuss taxes.”
“Oh, God,” Charlie groaned. “I almost wish we were still on the run from Visla Maktan and his Council of Twenty goons. At least then we were doing something.”
“Yes. Most notably, fleeing for our lives.”
“Well, yeah. But beside that bit, we were doing okay. I mean, the slavery bit sucked.”
“Which you remedied when you shed your restraint collar.”
“And the whole capture by pirates thing was a bit of a mess.”
“Though you befriended them and became a pirate yourself.”
“And then there were the years of gladiator training with Ser Baruud, though I actually rather enjoyed that, despite the bruises and bleeding.”
“True, you excelled in that area, and your spell-casting is more than adequate. And your bond with the Zomoki––“
“Dragon. Use the local terms.”
“Fine. Dragon. It was enough to lead you to Visla Maktan’s attention, and our current situation.”
“Right? So stuff was a pain there, but at least it was an interesting pain. This? It’s great being king and all, but I swear some days I could die of boredom.”
The Wampeh flashed his pointy-toothed grin and laughed. “You wanted to come home, Charlie. You said it was a dream of yours since your ship crashed in my galaxy. And now the rest of us have all been thrown exactly where you wanted to be. Your galaxy. The others and I are now the ones in a strange land, while you are home.”
“Yeah, home all right, but a few thousand years too early. Still not sure how that happened, no matter how many times I go over it.”
“Ara said it was likely the residual origin energy of this world lingering on the equipment you salvaged from your ship. When the Council detonated their world-ending device, that Ootaki-fueled magic, combined with the power of the blue supergiant in that system. With Ara’s panicked attempt to jump clear of the blast, all of that magic blended together, and here we are.”
“It’s a theory, yeah. And Ara’s been working with me to try to devise a spell to not only get you guys back home, but also to move all of us forward to the right time. Like a stretched rubber band returning to its normal state.”
“A lot of work. And even the Wise One has never experienced an event of this order.”
“No, that she hasn’t. She said she felt some strange traces of residual magic when we first arrived, but that’s faded. You’d think an ancient space dragon with a shit-ton of magic flowing through her veins could simply jump home in a snap. So if she can’t do it, I’m not getting my hopes up.”
Bawb stroked his angular chin in thought a moment.
It was true, Ara was a very old, and very powerful dragon. ‘Zomoki’ in his home galaxy. Her inability to solve that problem was more than a little disturbing.
They were settling in to their new lives on Charlie’s home world of Earth, but the people were primitive, even if Charlie explained that was just because they’d arrived a few thousand years before his own timeline.
At least they were living in luxury. Having quickly dispatched the former king upon their unlikely arrival having everything to do with that. Word of the event spread quickly, and nearly no one had made a move against Charlie since the king had fallen that fateful night. Death by burning and eating, courtesy of an enormous dragon, was not an end anyone craved.
And so it was that Charlie became King Charlie. Bawb was his loyal aide, Hunze his domestic servant. And Leila, well, she was his queen, though she was in no way amused at the title being thrust upon her.
“We have to keep up appearances,” he hissed to her when the servants of the castle showed them to their bed chamber.
“No. I am not sharing sleeping arrangements with you, Charlie.”
“I’ll sleep in the anteroom. There’s a couch there. But we must look the part or the natives will talk.”
“Let them talk, then.”
“Come on, Leila. After all we’ve been through? Help me out here. Pretend to be queen and we’ll live in comfort while we sort all of this out.”
She reluctantly agreed, and after a few months of their odd living arrangements, had even grown accustomed to their charade. As queen, she had power, but not the responsibility of the king. Not in this place and this time. Charlie, on the other hand, was busier than he’d been in years. In fact, only designing and building his employer’s space ship had been as demanding. But that was enjoyable work. This? This was mind-numbing. But as Bawb had pointed out, it was better than the alternative. That alternative being slavery, abuse, and likely death.
“What next?” he asked his adviser when they finished going over the taxation records.
“Public requests from your people,” he replied. “Shall I begin showing them in?”
“Just kill me now,” he groaned.
“Excellent. Death by public service it shall be. I’ll fetch them straight away,” Bawb said with a laugh.
Charlie watched his friend exit to fetch the first peasant come to make a request of their liege. “It’s good to be the king,” he sighed, sarcastically.
Chapter Two
Lunch was hearty, consisting of cured meats, some cheeses, and dense bread. For Charlie, access to comfort foods––even if they happened to be a few millennia too early––was a godsend. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed good old-fashioned Earth food until he had stacked a massive amount of goodies between two thick slices of bread, fresh from his kitchen’s ovens.
“Is his Highness certain he would not like a hearty stew instead?” Thomas the head cook asked. “Cold meats like this, it is an unusual meal.”
“Are you kidding?” Charlie said. “A good sandwich is the perfect lunch. Portable, hand-held, easy to eat. And your bread. Oh, man. Kudos on the bread.”
“Kudos, Sire?”
“Uh, it means well done. Slang from my homeland.”
“Ah, I see. Thankee, Sire.”
“Of course. All it really needs now is a good mustard and it’d be perfect.”
Thomas looked pensive.
“What is it, Thomas?”
“Well, it’s just that the burning must is not a popular item in these parts. Far too strong a taste for most folk.”
“Have you tried making a sweet mustard? Maybe with honey or mashed apples. I know the Germans are famous for their Bavarian apple mustard.”
“I admit, I have not. If you wish, I can fetch what we have from the cellar. It is strong, but we do have fresh apples on hand.”
“Excellent. Let’s give it a go.”
Thomas hurried off, returning shortly with a sealed container of incredibly pungent mustard as well as several sound apples.
“Okay, let’s try this,” Charlie said, grabbing a knife and quickly peeling and chopping up a few apples, reducing them to chunks.
He then mashed them and stirred in the thick mustard, stirring until the texture seemed about right.
“Moment of truth,” he said, scooping out a dollop with a piece of bread. “Oh, yeah. Now that’s good. A little strong for my taste, but still, hits the spot.”
“Hits what spot, Sire?”
“Sorry, figure of speech again.”
Charlie opened up his sandwich and spread a layer of the condiment across the bread, completing the creation, then slicing it in quarters.
“Here, try it.”
“It is your repast, sire. I couldn’t take––“
“Oh, just try it.”
“As you wish,” his servant said, reluctantly taking a bite. His eyebrows wavered in surprise as the flavors and textures rolled across his palate and tongue as he chewed. “This––why, this is wonderful, Sire!”
“Told ya.”
“The lettuce with the cheese? And the meats and mustard? I’ve not had its like before. A most excellent creation. I shall tell the others. The King Charlie Loaf shall undoubtedly become popular with the people.”
“Glad you enjoyed it so much. But do me a favor, will ya? Just call it a sandwich.”
“A what, Sire?”
“Sandwich. Humor me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to keep Bob waiting.”
“Of course. Thank you for gracing us with your visit.”
“Always glad to be in a happy kitchen,” Charlie said through a delicious mouthful.
The kitchen visit was a high point of the day for the new king. After lunch, unfortunately, Bawb had tasked him with hearing still more requests of his subjects. And they certainly did love to talk.
Fortunately, the Wampeh had cast a powerful translation spell on each of his friends upon arrival in the strange land. It followed Charlie and the others wherever they went, not only allowing them to understand the locals, but also projecting outward, allowing the locals to understand them as well.
Some days, he didn’t want to hear another word.
Charlie had listened to over two hours of his people’s concerns when a cattleman shouldered his way past Bawb to see the king. The Wampeh was unable to fully hide his musculature, but the meek act was honed to perfection, and this particular man was somewhat of a bully, always seeking to intimidate others, even when it served no purpose.
“Oh, pardon me,” Bawb said when the burly man bumped him in passing.
The rancher knew better than to show open hostility toward the king’s aide, but intimidation was his goal, and from the flustered dandy’s reaction, he felt he had achieved it. Bawb, as always, was silently pleased that his reputation as a pushover was reinforced yet again. Underestimated was always a good thing in the assassination trade.
From their posts at the entrance to the room, Captain Sheeran’s men quietly mocked Bawb, and not so quietly when he was not around. He was the king’s man, however, so to his face, at least, they had to show respect. Privately, was another thing, entirely, and to their delight, this new incident would give them fresh fodder for their amusement when their boring shifts as the king’s guard were completed.
Some might have thought to take advantage of the new king’s reliance on unfamiliar men for protective details to overthrow him. But his enormous beast with its periodic fly-bys overhead quickly put those thoughts far from men’s minds.
Ara was the only dragon any of them had ever actually seen, and she was an impressive specimen at that. They may have been spoken of, but that was always in legend. Until her arrival in their lands, they had been chalked up to long-dead monsters of a bygone age. Mere stories used to keep children in line.
The deep red dragon that protected the king was undeniably far more than just a story, and her affinity for––and apparent connection with––the king was clear to all in the realm.
Sometimes, the king would even fly atop the beast, surveying his lands from great height.
The king never spoke aloud to the dragon––at least not that anyone ever observed––though it was clear it heeded his commands. And if any so much as lifted a finger at him, it was a given they would face the same fate as the prior king.
Namely, being burned alive and eaten whole.
The thing about Ara was she was a very patient creature, having lived as long as she had, and would only speak aloud in the presence of her closest friends, and even then, only when absolute secrecy was assured. And she knew how to apply just the right show of force from time to time to keep the people in line and Charlie safe.
The burly rancher had no interest in challenging his new king. He just wanted reparation for the damages inflicted by the queen’s pet.
Baloo had grown like a weed in the short time they’d been Earthbound, and with his spike in size came a ravenous hunger. He was a good boy, and fiercely loyal to his Mama and those dear to her, but he was nevertheless just barely removed from a wild animal. And a large, deadly one at that.
Charlie directed Bawb to count out some coin from the coffers and sent the man on his way, quietly asking his Wampeh friend to remind him to have another talk with Leila about letting Baloo run free. There was food aplenty, but his appetite for a hunt was getting expensive.
