Copyright© 2013 A. J. Gallant
All rights reserved
You can view his author page at:
http://albertttt.wix.com/fantasy-books
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
EPILOG
Knights of the Dragon
A. J. Gallant
Copyright© 2013 A. J. Gallant
All rights reserved
No part of this novel may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Purchase only authorized editions. This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, incidents and places are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
You can view his author page at:
http://albertttt.wix.com/fantasy-books
Books by A. J. Gallant
Madman in the Mirror Braeden the Barbarian (New)
Moon Diamond
Dracula: Hearts of Stone
Dracula: Hearts of Fire
Dracula: Hearts of Glory
Dracula: Hearts of Ice
Knights of the Dragon
Knights of the Wizard
Knight of the Sword
The Saucer Club
CHAPTER ONE
It was ten years after the Great War.
The quietness of a beautiful morning shattered like a glass bowl falling from a great height, unexpected and frightening. The scent of fear was again in the air, hearts hammered inside of brave chests that refused to flee even though their minds told them that it was the only way to survive. Shields held together tight like rocks on the shore attempting to stop the ocean, shouts of steady men were heard, and many knew that their screams would be their last. Life was fatal and always would be, many people dying long before their allotted time, war often saw to that. It could also take away the reason for living, pushing aside one’s zest for life.
“Brace for impact!”
A flock of black birds flew off as the soldiers approached, the ground shaking with each step, shields being beaten like drums to frighten the enemy, but it never worked. Even the victors were sure to lose men; only death won in battle. The defending army braced for the assault and prepared to fight to the death because with everything on the line there was no choice, it was do or die. At the very least they would be able to take some of those bastards with them.
“Make them pay!”
Over ten thousand heavily armed soldiers in armor rushed over the hill, screaming their loudest to intimidate the smaller army. With their walls breached they had no option but to fight, three thousand against ten, no alternative but to attempt to defend their homes and families against insurmountable odds, against the bloodthirsty invaders. They had come under the influence of a night spell and weren’t seen or heard until the sun rose over the mountains; even the sounds of them gathering weren’t heard.
“Make them regret the day they were born!”
Brave words in battle were often cut short, a sword through one’s gut tended to do that. Man against man was around from the beginning of origin, never a challenge so satisfying than humans pitted against one another. Never was a slaughter so satisfying than against one’s own, sword against sword, dream against dream, but with such advantageous numbers, it wasn’t a fair fight. Invaders preferred to have the odds on their side, easier to talk their armies into attacking when one was facing a weaker force.
The day before the battle was always the toughest, not knowing if one would survive, but having to put on a brave face because no one would dare admit that they were frightened. Only in the quietness after midnight did those awful thoughts creep in like a fiend from the forest, raking one’s nerves with several possible outcomes of a grisly death. Being dispatched quickly was one thing, but worse would be surviving with no arms or legs and having to endure the agony of a so-called healer, only to succumb in any event. When severely wounded it was best to close one’s eyes and hope that death took them before they were discovered. Surviving without limbs didn’t happen often, but it did happen. Lying on the battlefield badly wounded, hoping that one would die before a healer got their hands on them for amputation or bloodletting, the best one could hope for was a powerful sorcerer to regrow limbs, but even some wizards didn’t know what they were doing when it came to an injured warrior. Rarely did one want to admit that they didn’t know their elbows from their arses.
Swords, spears, crossbows and halberds were the weapons of choice. Behind the attacking army walked a red dragon with a wizard on its back; it had a large leather hood over its head as the sorcerer guided it. The animal was spelled but still appeared to have some conscious desire of its own which was, of course, a great danger to puny humans. It wasn’t necessary for the wizard to get involved this time as they had more than sufficient numbers to do the job. A slaughter in the making, but the sorcerer wanted to watch and besides he was under orders from King Chromos to be on guard just in case Leeander’s wizard attacked them; Adorok was a famous sorcerer indeed. Rumors were that he wandered in this area in defense of his idea of justice, which was different from wizard to wizard, but what they didn’t know was that Adorok was old and failing. The Yurrosy believed that the strongest deserved to conquer, the weak deserved to die, that it was the way of the world. They had over a hundred thousand slaves that pushed their economy; free labor moved their way of life forward.
Swords clashed against shields under the shadows of Raven castle. The soldiers tried hard to defend their small kingdom from the invaders, and battle cries rang out as the Yurrosy army overwhelmed their defenses. Organs pierced and throats slashed, brutal carnage. The attack had come after a week of placing themselves just out of reach of their arrows; they had thoroughly enjoyed the calm before the tempest. It was satisfying for them to know that the world of their ene
mies was coming to an end, and to the Yurrosy anyone that didn’t surrender upon their approach was the enemy. And those that did surrender were cowards. The day endured the death of many, a feast for the crows.
Ackley could taste his blood as a long sword was run through his chest, and with the blade removed the 50-year-old battle tested veteran fell to his knees and toppled over, sacrificing his life valiantly for his family and friends, having managed to take three of the enemy with him. His blood drained quickly like a toppled glass of red wine. One of his sons took the head of the assailant that had killed his father but then he was also sent off to the land of the dead, losing his head in the process. They desperately needed magic to defend against such odds, but they didn’t have it; this day would, unfortunately, be their last. Arms severed, and hearts were stopped, men screamed until they could scream no more.
Gilda was one of Joshuar’s best women warriors, muscular and adept with a sword. She parried the attacker’s sword and ran hers through his neck and then beat another one back with vicious blows knocking him off his feet and running him through. Gilda had to deflect several brutal blows with her shield before letting the big brute’s own momentum knock him off balance and then plunged her sword into his heart. He had been furious that a woman had been his equal; she had been his superior. She wasn’t the prettiest, but she had the biggest heart on the battlefield, it would be difficult to best her one on one, but such was not the way of war. Seeing her fury and her accomplishments five men simultaneously attacked her; she slew three of them before she was finally killed, run through by a broadsword. The odds had been insurmountable. Her death sucked the life out of some, but the battle raged on, no time to mourn lest they perish as well.
“Kill them all!”
Some women fled with their children as best they could, a few managed to escape but most didn’t. Screams of pain and shouts of bravery filled the air. Harsh sounds of sword on sword and halberds cutting into bodies, many soldiers covered in blood. In less than two hours it was all over; the kingdom of Joshuar had been taken. The killed all captured soldiers that refused to pledge their allegiance, and all but one had refused. The only one that had agreed to join them was an old man named Lester that could barely walk; they all had a good laugh as he pledged his allegiance. The old fellow managed to wipe the smiles from their faces before they took his head; he died laughing. He had managed a deadly blow to one of their captains, and he was happy to be sent off with that knowledge, having observed the look on the captain’s face as he realized his wound was fatal.
All the best weapons placed in a pile for inspection; they would be taken with any other valuables that they could find, to be traded when the time was right to kingdoms that were more than a thousand miles to the west. The Yurrosy was all about getting bigger and tougher so that no one would be able to stand up to their might. The Yurrosy king wanted to rule the world before his time was up; he wanted their ways and customs to be the only ways. He saw their victory in dreams and believed that it would be so. They had managed almost a thousand slaves from Joshuar.
For over a week they celebrated their victory even though it had been an unjust battle with the odds overwhelmingly in their favor. On a misty morning with heavy dark clouds, Brock went to the wizard Cynric as the sorcerer was feeding several corpses to the red dragon; dragons would never eat people but under an enchantment they had no choice. Brock was a ruthless leader; he was bald with a scar that went from his left ear to his temple; the long ago wound had gone all the way down to the bone. An infection had set into the gash, and he almost died from it; it would have been preferable had he perished, not everyone deserved the life they were given. Brock lost his only son in that battle and even though he now had three they could not make up for the one he had lost; his child Aldore had been a smaller version of his father in many respects.
The Yurrosy were from the dark lands of Jahor; their Kotacdon mountain so high that it limited the amount of daylight with their mighty kingdom in its shadow. Winter was always early and spring always late, but the harsh climate had made them tougher than most, and where others would freeze they found it invigorating.
“Cynric, we are finished here. Have the dragon burn everything. Nothing is to remain that can be of use to anyone.”
“Yes Lord Brock.”
As the Yurrosy marched off with heavy feet, Cynric took to the back of the dragon and after removing the leather hood, they flew off, climbing over the village as his wings cut noisily through the air. The community that had endured for almost a century erupted in flames as the red dragon repeatedly breathed its fire down upon it, wave after wave scorching the earth. The stone castle would be the only thing that remained; the wooden structures burnt rapidly.
There was a saying that the Yurrosy was like locusts with no mercy or honor. They came as bandits in the night, over the years increasing their numbers as they attacked kingdom after kingdom. When the kingdoms finally banded together, they initially beat them back to their borders but losing so many men that it weakened everyone. Unable to finish them off they left them to lick their wounds, but they had become even more powerful over time, setting their sights on small villages until they had fully recovered, but the other kingdoms had also remained damaged, and they had not recovered nearly as quickly.
CHAPTER TWO
THE REALM OF LEEANDER was one kingdom in a land of a hundred and one, and they knew their time was running out. Word had reached them that the Yurrosy had destroyed Joshuar, which was only about sixty miles to the east. In a way Joshuar had been a sister; they had exchanged food, trade and friendship over the years, and Leeander would have fought alongside them had they known, but the attack came without warning under the cover of magic. Leeander’s first inclination was when they saw the dark smoke rising in the far distance, believing it to be a grass fire caused by lightning but instead it was Joshuar burning. Scouts had reported the attack to Leeander’s King Darius and the destruction of Joshuar, even their castle had been destroyed, most likely by a dark enchantment.
The army of the Yurrosy was huge and growing; they wielded evil magic and once they set their sights on a kingdom nothing could stop them. They were spreading their seed and getting stronger in the process, proud to kill and conquer. They would now crush any kingdom that showed any signs of uniting, raining fire down upon them from their dragons. King Darius had tried to get the kingdom to join with several others, but his words had fallen on deaf ears, not believing the danger that they posed to everyone. Their wizard was an evil dragon master. They should have destroyed the Yurrosy when they had the opportunity but one cannot see the future as clear as they can see the past.
Leeander knew that there were only a couple of other realms between them and the Yurrosy, and they would perhaps take some time with them before moving on, consuming everything in Joshuar and taking every single thing of value. Just about everyone knew that the kingdom of Leeander had an invisible shield and a powerful wizard, but were they also aware that his power was fading? They had tried their best to keep the wizard’s failing health a secret, but there was no way to know for sure if they had succeeded. It was the way of the world that secrets didn’t remain secret for too long.
The next conquest was uncertain as they had several other choices including Leeander and for King Dorian it was an awful feeling knowing that the end of their world was almost certainly approaching; it weighed heavily on him as if he was pinned under his horse with no escape, now a frequent nightmare. The burden of a king was heavier than most.
The dragon was perched high up on the edge of the cliff and stared down at the four young males that marched on the beach below. They were not men yet no longer considered children either; out to test their courage, but it was more like a suicide march should they provoke the wrong dragon. And a boy followed them from a distance with his spear. Their bravado might see their skin turned to ashes if they weren’t careful. A lot of dragons considered humans beneath them, not worth their time, b
ut they could be moody creatures, especially if one were having a bad day. Each of the four carried a halberd and a shield; three of the shields were round, the other rectangular. They all stopped when they realized that they were being watched, slowly turning and looking way up at the black dragon. “We’re coming for you!” the tallest male shouted, shaking his halberd in the dragon’s direction.
“No, you’re not!” Ryxa shouted back down to them. The dragon blew fire into the air to see if it would frighten them off.
“Yes, we are!”
“No, you’re not!”
“Why does the dragon keep saying that?”
The dragon took in a deep breath before exhaling a huge fireball in their direction, not with enough force to burn them but just sufficient for the heat to singe their hair. The odor of burnt hair was most unpleasant. They were fortunate that she hadn’t given it everything she had, which would have burnt them all to a crisp. It was just a warning to get their attention. She liked humans, finding them curious critters. Some days she enjoyed flying over and perusing them from the sky; it was entertaining to watch their antics, a bit like ants running around in circles. She didn’t like to see them fight, but there was usually a skirmish going on somewhere with humans; they didn’t appear to benefit from past mistakes.
The four turned and ran off screaming.
Ten-year-old Marcus had wandered away from the group and was now climbing the rock face; he had always been a climber it was his talent, there wasn’t much that he couldn’t climb. How many times had he been told to stay off people’s roofs? If someone told him that something was impossible to climb, he had to prove them wrong, and just that morning he had been enlightened by Stone that the cliffs where the dragons resided were unachievable, besides the fact that the dragons would eat him. The boy had dropped his spear as he had pursued a foot-long purple dragonfly to the base of the cliff where he had paused and then decided to climb. He was determined to scale the three hundred foot cliff, and his cute face showed the stress of it as he climbed. Jagged rock after jagged rock he ascended, making sure not to look down. His small feet and his light weight made it climbable though just barely. His scalp itched under his shoulder length hair, but he didn’t dare scratch; he had achieved the halfway point, and a fall would now be fatal. Marcus thought that it might not have been such a great idea after all because he had never been frightened before, but now at ten his common sense was rearing its ugly head.
Knights of the Dragon (of Knights and Wizards Book 1) Page 1
