Whisper of Suffering
Dragon of Eriden Book 1
Samantha Jacobey
Lavish Publishing, LLC ~ Midland
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
WHISPER OF SUFFERING. Copyright 2018 ©
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Lavish Publishing, LLC.
First Edition
Dragon of Eriden Book 1
2018 Lavish Publishing, LLC
All Rights Reserved
Published in the United States by Lavish Publishing, LLC, Midland, TX
Cover Design by: Alexcia Productions
Cover Images: Lavish Publishing, LLC
ebook Edition
ISBN-13: 978-1-944985-56-1
ISBN-10: 1-944985-56-5
www.LavishPublishing.com
Dedication
For my family and friends who brought this story to life…
Thank you for being part of this project.
Richard, Christopher, Jonathon and Steven
Life is an adventure – work hard, take the risks, and remember to enjoy the time you are given.
Lainey, Mady and Savanah
You are a princess, even when life doesn’t treat you that way – imagine your happiness and work to make it come true.
Melinda, Emma and Kathy
You are all beautiful women who understand how precious life is, and that you are never too old to start a new adventure.
Special thanks to, Carol Harris for our ship name, Kathy for proofreading, Desiree for formatting, Kristin and the Sassy Bitches for the million things you tirelessly do to support me.
Foreword
Hello, dear reader. Welcome to Eriden, a magical kingdom of long ago. This story is a light fantasy written to entertain and inspire the young and the young at heart.
Along the way, you will meet my interpretation of several races and many characters, as well as travel across a mystical foreign land.
To aid you on this journey, you will find a set of maps and character profiles in the back of each of the books.
If you ever feel lost or have forgotten who someone is, simply flip to the back and have a look.
Otherwise, thank you for joining us on this magical adventure and I hope you enjoy.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Child of Woe
Dust to Dust
Ships in the Night
Stowaway
Dark Discovery
Newrock
Stormy Seas
Golden Sun
Dragon’s Fire
The Drift
Dragon Tales
Not Amused
Endless Water
Land of the Sirens
The Kingdom of Eriden
To Walk in Moonlight
Sleepless Nights
Fire and Fury
Jerranyth
Queen Cilithrand
Elvish Desires
Magical Lands
Shadows of Doubt
Enemy of Time
A Queen’s Gift
A Bad Omen
A Hasty Retreat
Running in the Rain
Shadowlands
Esterbrook
Blindsided
Gone
Maps of Eriden & The Rim of Mortals
Characters by Race
About the Author
Prologue
Ziradon’s emerald green eyes stared straight ahead. A large ceremonial fire in the pit before him reflected upon their glassy surface. Bound by fierce dark magic and unable to move, he dug his claws into the cracks in the rocks beneath him.
Snorting, a puff of smoke escaped his deep brown muzzle and curled gently around the light brown horns that protruded twelve inches from his forehead to their sharp points. The rounded tips of his ears flicked back and forth as they pivoted to listen, the cuts in his ancient face burning as the cloud floated over them.
Every muscle in his sleek body tense, he waited. For endless hours, he had fought against his attackers; those who sought to overthrow his kingdom and bring an end to his reign as the Supreme Dragon of Eriden. A title he held for over half a millennium, it was more than just a name bestowed upon him. His reign meant balance and peace in the land for all creatures. In the end, outnumbered, he’d been taken, and his bitter fate lay in the flames that flickered in the cool night air.
“What do you wait for?” the ancient sovereign snarled.
“Patience,” Gwirwen hissed in return.
Pacing calmly around, then between the circle of dragons that lined the shadows of the cliff, the leader of the renegades lumbered through the darkness. Below them, the rumble of the surf vied with the pop and crack of the embers as waves broke against the rocks. His wide, white body swaying as he moved, the stiff spines that lined his backbone creaked ever so slightly, his long tail dragging the ground as it followed.
Restless, he paused, leaning back on his haunches and spreading his massive ghost-white wings so the breeze caught them and stretched the worn skin taut. The claws of his front legs reaching above him, he pawed into the cool blackness. Breathing a hot blast of crimson into the ebony sky, he roared, then returned to his former pacing.
Behind him, Ziradon heard the beat of a full-sized pair of wings landing on the earth and scattering a few stones. His keen ears detecting the quieter flutter of a smaller pair, he flattened them against his head, growling softly, “Who else will be joining your rebellion?”
From out of the black, a lesser female form emerged with a tiny creature ambling along timidly beneath her as the older dragon forced her forward. “I have brought the child,” Ziewen announced to the group. “She was hidden but not well enough,” she added, her voice laced with amusement.
The oldest of the few females in their kingdom, Ziewen had laid the eggs of three of Gwirwen’s followers, so her treachery did not surprise him. “Your sons will be the destruction of Eriden,” Ziradon informed the newcomer. His emerald orbs searched for a glimpse of his precious dragoness, his most recent and only surviving offspring.
“Kaliwyn?” he puffed. He had hoped she would remain concealed, protected by the few completely loyal to him and thereby escape the cruelty of those who stood against him.
The miniature dragon of only a few years measured a mere three feet from nose to tail, about one-seventh of her father’s size, and one-fifth that of the other female. Her three male siblings who had preceded her had died two centuries before, leaving her as the sole heir to her father’s love and legacy. She had been a welcome surprise to him, a new beginning for an old soul, but it appeared to be a mere fantasy, and their end would come much sooner than either of them could have known.
Wriggling herself free of her captor, Kaliwyn found Ziradon’s commanding form and pushed herself against him, attempting to hide beneath his protective wing. However, his binding prevented her from anything more than pressing her shivering golden-brown scales against his as she sobbed. “Father,” she beseeched, her golden muzzle pressed against him as she inhaled his scent.
“Be brave, m
y child,” Ziradon soothed with a gravelly tone. “End her suffering quickly,” he commanded of his long-time advisor. “She should not be made to wait her fate.” He had lost children before; his sons who had died in the Great War. He refused to be broken by those who plotted against them, as groveling would be beneath him. “Let us die together and face the next life side by side.”
Gwirwen’s laughter erupted from a low rumble; in his eyes, the tiny dragon’s fortune had been sealed the moment she drew her first breath. “For many decades have I waited for my turn to sit upon the throne of our kingdom. And with each passing year, you have promised that one day it would be mine. No heir was born to you for two long centuries that I have served, save this one, this one weak dragoness.”
Ziradon blinked his large round eyes calmly. “It is not your destiny to wear the dragon’s crown. Free me and let us continue as fate has determined our course to stand, and my daughter shall grow into her place as queen of Adiarwen and Supreme Dragon of Eriden, as it should be.”
“No!” Gwirwen barked in return, his large body coiling as he faced his prisoner squarely. Flames danced between his teeth, even as he fought the urge to destroy the small heiress. “I choose my destiny. And I determine your fate. Bring her,” he commanded to the others. “We shall imprison her in the body of a human, and Ziewen will deliver her to one of their villages across the sea, among the mortals of the rim.”
“Kaliwyn, my sweet!” Ziradon gasped as she was torn away and dragged a few feet from his bound form. “Do not do this. Kill her now. Spill her blood upon the soil, that she may remain a part of Adiarwen for eternity. Do not send her bones to turn to dust among the mortals.”
“I shall have my revenge,” Gwirwen replied, joining his minions as they formed a ring around the smaller dragon. “Two hundred years of waiting and you will feel each one of them as a thorn beneath your scales,” he promised. Their eyes glowing brightly, the group focused their magic, their lips snarling as they chanted an ancient curse.
“Please, do not do this!” Ziradon begged as he pushed against his bonds, his plea falling on deaf ears. Before him, he could see her between their massive bodies. Her sleek golden-brown scales curled into a ball, her red spikes followed the line of her back from the top of her head to the tip of her tail. “My beautiful child,” he grieved, closing his eyes tightly, as if to shut out the image of her small dragon form as it was replaced by a flimsy human girl.
Still curled tightly, Kaliwyn cried, weeping into her newly formed hands. Shiny, honey-colored locks of hair cascaded over her bare skin, and her shoulders shook with her anguish. Daring to peek, bright green eyes glared up at her father’s nemesis. “You monster!” she spat defiantly, managing to stand on her wobbly legs and clamber the few yards to her father’s giant form.
Once again attempting to burrow beneath him, his rough scales scratched at her pink flesh, and she dragged her pudgy fingers along the width of his chest as his chin pressed down on the top of her head. “Father,” she sobbed once more.
Scarcely able to nuzzle his offspring, Ziradon inhaled the scent of a mortal where a dragon princess had once been. “My sweet Kaliwyn,” he choked, his heart broken at the thought of the miles that would isolate her from her home.
“Take her away,” Gwirwen commanded. “Fly her to Nalen and drop her there.”
“Yes, my lord,” Ziewen agreed. Catching her by the hair and roughly dragging her away, the sharp rocks scratched and cut the girl’s bare flesh. Driven by the scent of blood, the dragon scooped her prey into the pouch on her belly, where any resistance to the transfer would be rendered pointless.
Spreading her giant, yellow wings, which spanned an equal twenty feet to her body, she dove off the cliff and caught a draft coming up from the pitch-black ocean. Soaring above it, she flew due east, covering the miles that separated the magical realm of Eriden from the distant creatures who infested the rest of their world.
Atop the crags of the dragon cliffs of Adiarwen, Ziradon moaned, unable to hold in the tortured groan. “My child,” he huffed. His voice loud, almost shrill, the stones strewn across the cliff reverberated, and the ground shook. Grief poured from his being, deep sorrow at having lost the only possession he had left to cherish.
His eyes smoldering, he thought of Kaliwyn’s mother, Kilawon, his most recent queen. A beautiful young dragon, she had filled his heart with hope and his days with renewed life. But she had been killed in an accident soon after their only child had hatched, and he had raised their dragoness alone.
The night’s events brought her death into question and the depth of his closest advisor’s treachery into focus. He glared at the fire coldly, still hoping for freedom and the chance to right the wrongs that his family had endured.
Amused by his suffering, the group of dragons circled him once more. Marching in a slow line, they used their power to pull the rocks around them into a stone cage, covering the fire and their restrained victim in an unbreakable prison. When they had finished, Gwirwen placed his white muzzle against a split in the stone and blew out the flames before he growled, “A meal will be delivered to you each day, and you will remain here for eternity, a spectacle for all to see. Your daughter will live all the days of her pitiful life in a foreign land, never knowing the feel of the Eriden air beneath her wings.”
Lying motionless, Ziradon stared at the intersection of the rock above his head. Their magical binding released, he flung himself against it in hopes that it would shatter. The magic of his prison strong, his tough hide pounded against immovable stone until he had exhausted his last ounce of energy.
Again, stretched on the floor of his cage, he panted; his wounds oozing fresh bright red blood. The combined power of the others would hold the rock firmly; there would be no escape. No end to the long and empty days that lay before him, or to the torture that would eat at him over the centuries to come.
Child of Woe
“Amicia!”
The girl heard the deep shout of her name float across the meadow, her family’s berry source. She had been there since sunrise, moving along the edge of the woods that ran between the open field and their cottage, and she was almost ready to return home to start the next part of the process.
Ignoring him, she continued to pick the wild berries, the calloused tips of her fingers catching each one and plucking it expertly. Please, not today, she mentally pleaded, hoping he would respect the snub and continue on his way.
Shifting to a new shrub, the hot rays beat down upon her thick golden braid, heating her neck and flushing her skin. Stealing a glance, she could see his tall frame weaving through the rows of bushes. Damn him. They had been friends once; at least she thought they had, but not now. Now, all she wanted was to escape a future she felt powerless to avoid.
Wiping at the sweat beading on her brow with the back of her arm, she pretended not to notice his approach. I can’t deal with this, she fumed. She knew he continued, his resolve strong. He will unhinge me and then where will we be?
“Amicia,” Rupert repeated when he had halved the distance between them.
“I’m still cross with you,” she called in retort, hoisting one of her baskets and turning her back on him. Her pace as quick as she could muster with the load, she dove into the line of trees and followed the familiar path.
“Don’t be cross,” he replied persuasively, taking up her second filled carrier when he reached it and following her through the stand of trees.
The trail well worn, her bare feet pattered on the packed earth, but she could hear his pursuit, even over the rustle of her skirt that floated around her ankles. “How’s your mum?” she heard him call when he had all but caught her, causing a moment of rage to well up within her.
Coming out the other side of the small forest, Amicia’s anger waned, and her heart felt heavy at the sight of the only home she had ever known; a house at the back of the clearing that stood in severe disrepair. Her father had become ill over two years before and had passed away
this last winter, leaving her and her mother alone. Frowning at the thatch, she feared the roof wouldn’t last another year, but she hated the thought of asking Rupert, or anyone else, to see to it.
It was a small two room bungalow in which she still slept in a small bed in the larger room. The front area of it housed a small kitchen with a plain wooden table for dining and preparing meals. The other half of the great room consisted of two straight-backed chairs and a fireplace, with her lumpy bed shoved in the corner to the left of the stone hearth. A small box at the foot of it held everything she owned in the world: three dresses and a few trinkets.
In the smaller room, her mother slept through as of late, night and day. “Same as she was,” Ami replied somberly, dropping her gathered treasure onto a table in their small yard.
Stomping over to the short stone barrier of the well, she fetched water in the drawing pail and poured it into a large bowl. Sloshing as she carried it, she returned to the workbench, where she began washing the fruit in small handfuls, then spreading them on the flat surface to inspect for quality. “Build a fire,” she commanded.
Hiding his scowl, Rupert obeyed, arranging the logs in the pit and skillfully setting them ablaze with the tools from the kindling box. Returning the kit to the shelf, he inquired, “Water to boil?”
“Yes,” she replied stiffly. “Use the big pot, half full.”
Selecting the largest of the three from their hooks along the front wall, he exhaled loudly as he hauled it over to the well and used the bucket to complete the task. Hanging it above the flames, he waited for his next chore.
When she said nothing, he grew uncomfortable at her silence. “It wasn’t a bad idea,” he muttered loud enough for her to hear. “I would take care of the two of you. I swear that I would,” he groveled.
“I’m not going to marry you, Rupert,” she spat, working diligently and not daring to look at him.
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