Wrath of Dragons (Elderealm Book 1)

by Scott King

  Gideon barked orders at the men keeping watch. Several minutes later, they returned with towels and fresh clothing. Edgar, who looked as if he hadn't slept in days, followed them into the room.

  "A runner warned me," Edgar said. "What happened? He was fine ten minutes ago. I only went to use the privy."

  "It's the cost of the magic." Gideon knelt by Owen's side. "Take off his britches. I'll get his shirt."

  Edgar did as told, unbuttoning the pants and sliding them down while Gideon opened Owen's shirt. The old man's skin was a greyish hue, and it felt cold to the touch. "I don't think he can last much longer."

  "This didn't happen last time?"

  "There wasn't an army of dragons pounding on the dome."

  "What do we do?"

  "Dry him and keep him warm." Gideon winced at a dank smell.

  The watch brought agyl-heated water. Edgar and Gideon washed Owen and dried him. When done, they wrapped him in blankets.

  "Can we wake him?" Edgar asked.

  "Only he can do that."

  "So why doesn't he?"

  "Because he would die if it meant buying us more time."

  "Then what do we do?"

  "Prepare for the barrier failing. It won't last."

  "You sure?"

  "Yes, and at this point, we don't know if the kids are coming. We have to be ready for the worst. I'm going to have the men prepare the catapults and weapons."

  "We can't fend off those dragons."

  "I agree. We can't, but it won't stop us from trying."

  On the sixth day, the barrier above Elene flickered, and after one final surge, it faded out of existence.

  Gideon was ready for it. He stood on the walls of the inner ward, waiting. The instant the barrier fell, catapults launched metal spheres with spiked teeth.

  The dragons weren't ready. They, or at least Medrayt, had no way of knowing when the dome would fail, or if it would fail. So they were unprepared for the barrage.

  The spheres found their targets, snagging the necks, limbs, and wings of the dragons. They were like Cooke's wind burs, but more volatile. Each of the soldiers, including Gideon wore a smaller set of them attached to their belts.

  Explosions rocketed through the dragons. Blood and entrails rained upon the city. Dozens of dragons fell from the sky.

  The soldiers along the wall cheered.

  "Don't be stupid," Gideon yelled. "They will regroup and attack."

  The dragons did. They retreated, flying above the grey clouds, and then they came in waves of four.

  The range of dragon fire was limited. At most, it could hit ten parses, which was well within catapult range.

  With only four attacking at a time, the dragons had room to maneuver and they knew to be aware of the explosive barbs. But they didn't know about the arrows.

  "Archers!" Gideon yelled. The soldiers on the wall shuffled, notching long bows. "Fire!"

  Like the barbs, the arrows were agyls assisted. They flew straight, and instead of pointed arrowheads, they were capped with small versions of the explosive barbs. A single arrow, unless perfectly shot, couldn't kill a dragon, but it could do some serious damage.

  The arrows ripped through the wings of the lead dragon. It tumbled and crashed into the outer wall of the city.

  Two more dragons were downed by arrows. A third one, in attempting to fly out of arrow range, got blasted by the catapults. Its neck ripped in half, but didn't fully separate, so it dangled in the wind as it crashed on to the eastern plains.

  Another wave came and then fell.

  The soldiers continued to cheer, and Gideon feared they were growing cocky. All it would take was Medrayt deciding to do a full-out assault, and there would be nothing they could do to stop him.

  A single dragon appeared, dropping below the clouds. On its back was a rider. Gideon couldn't mistake the rider's monkey form. It was Mogul of the Red Hounds.

  Mogul's dragon brought its wings in close and dove toward the city. Its underside became so filled with arrows that it looked like an upside-down porcupine. Still it didn't divert from its path.

  The dragon opened its wings, slowing.

  Mogul jumped off it, and the dragon crashed into the eastern outer wall.

  Stone and men flew in all directions. All five catapults that had been anchored to the wall were destroyed or buried under rock.

  Mogul had landed on the roof of a building on the outside of the city. With his one arm, he drove his bo staff into the slate tiles and skidded to a stop. Flipping, he hopped down the building's side using molding and ledges to slow his descent.

  A new wave of four dragons approached, and the archers turned their focus skyward. Only Gideon continued to watch Mogul. "Watch from below!"

  The monkey-man, skittered up the broken wall, and before the archers knew what was happening, he tore through their ranks.

  The bows were too cumbersome for close range, and the trained assassin had no problem dismantling the entire squad of archers on the east wall.

  Removable wooden platforms spanned the wards of the city. Mogul scampered across one, heading for the catapults nearest the palace.

  Gideon drew his long sword and readied himself to block Mogul's attack.

  "I hoped to meet you again!" Mogul's pupils were dilated so big that the blacks filled his entire eye. "I owe you for what you did to me."

  Gideon couldn't be taunted or provoked. He squared his stance at the end of the platform and readied himself.

  Mogul swung his staff, fast, too fast. Something was off.

  The bo staff smacked Gideon in the wrist. A bone broke. He suspected his left thumb, but he ignored it, pushing back the pain.

  "Playing tough?" Mogul cackled, showing teal-stained teeth. Zewik juice or some other similar concoction. It meant the monkey-man was pumped up.

  Mogul jabbed with the staff. Gideon deflected it. It thudded against the platform, which shook.

  As if for fun, Mogul jammed the butt of the staff against the platform, creating a drumming sound. He laughed, swaying with the beat. "I know something you don't know."

  "What?"

  "I don't want to live, and I'm happy to take you with me."

  Ten dragons fell upon the city. They came in low and from the unprotected eastern side of Elene, sweeping the walls with fire.

  "Goodbye meatbag." Mogul threw himself at Gideon. He wrapped his legs around Gideon's waist and hooked his one arm around Gideon's neck.

  Gideon hacked at the monkey-man with his sword. Chunks of fur, flesh, and blood, filled his vision. Mogul didn't let go. The zewik juice clearly protecting him from the pain.

  It took a head butt and jamming the sword pommel into Mogul's temple before his grip loosened. By then though, the dragon fire had reached the platform.

  Gideon drove his sword into Mogul's gut and jumped.

  Mogul laughed.

  They dropped three stories and out of range of the flames.

  Midair, Gideon flicked his wrist and twisted his arm, splitting Mogul in two.

  Gideon hit the cobblestone street. He rolled. Pain ripped through his shins. Fractured. That was fine. He could push through it.

  There was nothing he could do about the dragons above. He'd have to trust that the remaining archers and catapults could handle the onslaught. The city's biggest vulnerability was the east wall. He'd serve best there.

  He made his way past the burning shops and homes.

  The destruction of the outer wall was worse when viewed from the ground. Stone blocks, bigger than a barn, had crushed the surrounding buildings, and he knew of no masons or agyl masters that would be able to repair it.

  Gideon climbed the wall in time to see two new dragons approach. They either didn't see him or didn't care about him. That was good. He could use that.

  Timing it as best he could, Gideon jumped off the wall. He missed one dragon's wing, but snagged its tail spike.

  The dragon thrashed, trying to shake him off. When it didn't work, the dragon
increased its speed and rose vertically, shooting into the sky.

  Using the dragon's ridges like rungs, Gideon scaled its back.

  The dragon broke into a cloud bank and burst through the other side.

  Gideon squinted.

  Golden sunlight shone down and reflected off the tops of the clouds. Here, he saw, the reserve dragons flew, waiting to be activated by Medrayt. Had they all been sent in at once, Elene would already have fallen. Medrayt, it seemed, truly did want the city as whole as possible. Thank goodness for human pride.

  Gideon pulled a cluster of burs from his belt. Strung together with metal threads, like weights on a fishing net, he twirled the metal spheres. He should have worn more, but he never expected to have an opportunity like this.

  He threw the burs. They spun upward, and streaks of light darted between the spheres.

  A silver dragon with indigo markings on its face caught the baubles with its front claws.

  The air pressure changed.

  Gideon felt it in his ears.

  A spider web of lighting erupted from the baubles. The electricity spread, leaping from one dragon to the next.

  It wasn't enough to kill them, but it was enough to stun them.

  Not all the dragons were in range, but at least forty or so were.

  Those hit with the electricity lost control. Vomit, urine, and feces poured from them and their bodies convulsed. Falling, the dragons became tangles of wings and limbs, dropping into the clouds.

  The dragon Gideon rode snarled.

  Gideon wedged his sword in the dragon's neck. The scales were so tight that he could fit it only a few marks deep, but that was all he needed. He jiggered the blade, working it into the perfect position. He knew he had paralyzed the dragon when it stopped struggling and went flaccid.

  The dragon plunged into the clouds, flipping head over tail.

  Gideon held tight.

  He waited till they were fifteen parses off the ground then removed his sword from the dragon's neck.

  The dragon hissed. It stretched its wings to right itself, but it was moving too fast to stop itself from crashing into the ground.

  Dirt and dust flew into the air.

  The impact threw Gideon off the dragon's back. He hit the ground. More bones broke. His body rolled, and when he came to stop, he knew from his shallow breathing and wheezing that at least one of his lungs had been punctured.

  He was more than five leagues to the east of Elene. It would be a brutal hike, but he could make it. He just needed–

  The dragon roared.

  Gideon had forgotten about the dragon. That was a mistake.

  Teeth slashed at him. He rolled away, springing to his feet.

  The dragon dropped a claw on him, pinning him to the dirt.

  With both front claws, it scooped up Gideon and held him like a child would a captured firefly. The dragon opened its mouth, clearly intending to eat Gideon.

  Gideon thrust his sword upward. Not in a killing blow, but one timed so perfectly that when the dragon bit down, the sword sunk into the soft flesh inside the roof of its mouth.

  The dragon opened and closed its mouth. The pommel of the sword jutted past its lips, and no matter how it moved its tongue or shook its head, it couldn't remove the blade.

  Gideon tumbled to the ground. The pain of all his injuries reverberating with each bounce.

  Dropping to all fours, the dragon spoke. The words were soft, too quiet to hear, and yet Gideon recognized the cadence. He rolled out of the way, barely in time, as a blast of fire surged from the dragon's mouth.

  The pommel of the sword melted in the fire, and the heat traveled up the blade and into the Dragon's maw. Liquid metal boiled out of the dragon's nostrils, and it yelped in pain.

  The dragon wasn't going to survive, and there was nothing Gideon could do to ease its passing.

  "This is not right, Medrayt." Gideon yelled. "I know you are there. End this. Put this poor creature out of its misery."

  The dragon curled into a ball, tucking its head into its belly. It spoke the words for fire. Flames tore through its gut, filling the air with a charcoaled stench.

  Gideon didn't have the stomach to watch the beast suffer. He let out a long groan and limped, turning to start the long walk back to Elene. Every step hurt. Though surprisingly, he had no open wounds. The blood splattered on the front of his armor wasn't his.

  Black and blue bruises covered his chest, streaking down both arms. He could no longer form a fist with his right hand. The bubbling he felt in his chest was without a doubt a punctured lung. He hoped he wasn't bleeding internally, but the chance of that was impossible.

  Gideon heard flapping wings and looked up. Another dragon approached with a rider on its back. He blinked and then squinted, brushing dirt and sweat from his brow. It was Cooke.

  "You took out a whole dragon. That makes you a hero, right?" She looked toward the city. "Or does it make you a failure, 'cause what is one dragon among hundreds?"

  Gideon brought up his left fist.

  "That's right, you aren't one for talking, are you?" She smiled. "I like that. It's an attractive quality."

  Gideon grunted.

  "This is war," Cooke said. "As much as I respect your ingenuity, I can't let it happen again."

  Cooke shoved both her pinkies into her mouth and whistled.

  Gideon heard more wings. Six dragons landed, forming a ring around him and Cooke's dragon.

  "You want to make this easy or fun?" Cooke asked. "I'm ok with either."

  A salty, metallic taste ran across the back of Gideon's mouth. He spit. A wad of blood stained the ground.

  "I'm not in much shape for a fight," Gideon said.

  "I don't care."

  "I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to Medrayt."

  "He doesn't care."

  "He does," Gideon said. "He and I go back, much further than you."

  "The dragons are his. Let's see what difference your history makes. Will he spare you? I doubt it."

  Three dragons sprung on Gideon.

  Gideon's thoughts shifted to Edgar and how he had failed. Elene would fall. The palace, which had stood for hundreds of years, would be destroyed. Gideon's collection of art, slices of history, would be ruined. And his precious instruments would never be played by anyone.

  His thoughts blurred as his mind filled with nothing but pain. Teeth and claws tore at him. His sense of awareness faded.

  Death took him.

  44

  Dragon Flight

  Ulesday, 22nd of Winewen, 1162.111

  Carter was cold. Again. This was after he had put on an extra pair of pants, a jacket, and wrapped a blanket around himself. He didn't complain, though, because Alex wasn't complaining. On the plus side, his butt was hurting less than it had been.

  The flight from Kale to the mainland had been horrendous. They arrived before dawn and stopped in a small town where Alex traded in the last of her coins for blankets and supplies. Doug spent the entire day sleeping while Carter and Alex converted an ollip saddle to fit Doug.

  Before dusk, they woke Doug, fed him, and as soon as the sun set, they were in the air again. That first night flying in the comfy seat had been exciting and magical. Now, seven nights later, he shivered, and his teeth clanked.

  "Do you think we will make it before dawn?" Carter leaned back so that Alex could hear him. She still insisted sitting behind him, even though they both had safety belts in case they slipped.

  Alex peered at the world below. Although dark, they could make out the tops of trees and the reflection of stars in the Nox River. "At worst, I think we have less than fifty leagues. We might be closer. Everything looks different up here."

  They didn't know what they would be flying into. Medrayt's dragons had left Kale hours before the companions had arrived on the island. Unlike Doug, the dragons didn't need to stop during the day, though they would have to break at least for an hour or two. Still, it was impossible for Carter and his friends t
o catch up and it meant that by the time they got to Elene it could be too late.

  "Are you ready?" Alex asked.

  "I don't know." Carter was pleased that she couldn't see his face. "I'm still blocked off from my magic."

  "The Sisters said you didn't need it."

  "The Sisters said a lot of crap."

  "Not all of it was crap." Alex laughed.

  "I said a lot of crap too." He risked turning enough to see her face. "I'm sorry about what I said."

  "I'm sorry too," she said. "I think it hurt that after these past few months you didn't trust me enough to tell me about your magic."

  "I was embarrassed."

  "I didn't know great magicians had such emotions."

  Carter opened his mouth to reply with something snarky, but decided to let it go. He deserved it. He deserved more.

  "I need your help Carter." Alex said it in her real voice. Not the one she used when being tough or bossy, or when she was trying to sound smart. She said it as herself. "I need you to free the dragons. Can you do that, for me?"

  Carter thumbed the pouch on his side. In it was the stone with the spell the Sisters had given him and rolled up with it was the Dragon Lotus petal. "It's not that easy. You can't understand."

  "Try me," she said.

  "You ever make stew?"

  "I loathe stew."

  "I hate stew too, but I still know how to stew a stew."

  "I get the basics. You throw stuff into a pot of hot water and let it sit there."

  "Right," Carter said. "With stew, you put whatever you have on hand into it. There is no finesse or skill. So, let's say you are skilled at making pierogies and–"

  "That's the food they had at the Square Boulder in Hal?"

  "It's questions like that one that make us common folk think royalty are all unpoxed. No one should ever be unsure about what a pierogi is."

  "What does any of this food have to do with you freeing the dragons?" She smacked him lightly on the waist. "I don't need to know how to cook. I need you to free the dragons. Can you do it? Will you do it for me, please?"