by Dante Doom
“As you wish, my lords,” Kenwar said, keeping his head bowed. His heart was through the roof right now; if they were upset with him in any capacity, if he’d offended them, they were liable to kill him. He knew that all too well. The fate of the last Manhunter had never been officially disclosed, but everyone knew the truth. He’d mouthed off and then been silenced for good.
“We have a great problem in our midst,” said the elder, “for a Messenger lies dead.”
“How can that be?” Kenwar gasped.
“He was a fool!” croaked another elder with a deeper, almost froglike voice. “He played his hand too quickly and was cocky. He made the mistake of underestimating humans.”
“You speak as if Messengers controlled themselves!” shrieked one of the others in the darkness. She had a feminine voice, but it was bridled with rage. “The elder who controlled the Messenger was toying with the humans. We will find the one whose mind directed that Messenger and they will be punished!”
“Do not speak of Draco matters in front of a human!” boomed another one, his voice far more powerful than the others who’d already spoken. Everyone’s murmuring stopped at his words. “This is not for you to worry about.”
Kenwar just kept his gaze down, not responding to anything that was happening quite yet.
“The one who killed a Messenger is not like the other humans who wander in this world,” the big voice continued. “For she carries within her head a valuable item. She carries the words and wisdom of the Others.”
“The Others? I thought they were just a myth!” Kenwar said.
“You thought what we wanted you to think!” shrieked the rage-filled female. The rest of the room chittered with anger, as well.
“Silence! We will show respect to the Manhunter!” croaked the froglike voice. “For we have chosen him to undertake such a task as this!”
“To respect a human is to respect an ant!” the woman said back.
“Again, I say, silence!” boomed the big voice, and this time there was some kind of force to the way he spoke; it resonated throughout the entire room and it drove Kenwar hunching further toward the ground.
“Manhunter! Listen to my words. There is a woman who holds the key to fighting the Others. In her company is a Dragon. Kill the Dragon, and bring us the woman. We have a spy within her ranks. He has successfully persuaded her and her organization to return to this world in order to learn our secrets. We will not act with an open hand, for we do not know what they have learned yet. You and you alone are the one who is tasked with this job. We shall pretend as if we are not watching their every move. They must feel safe. They must believe they are prevailing over us. Then, you will swoop in and seize her. Under no circumstances can you allow her to die.”
“I see,” Kenwar said as he rose to his feet. “You have nothing to worry about. I shall do as you ask.”
“There is another matter at hand,” said the loudest elder. “There will be in her company a fool of a man. See to it that he is not killed until we say so, for he will be useful to us.”
“Yes, my lord,” Kenwar said as he glanced at the interface. He saw the picture of a ranger and a bard. He analyzed them for a few minutes.
“They will be returning to this world within six weeks, Manhunter. Do what is necessary to prepare for the mission.”
Kenwar bowed deeply. “I am honored to receive such a mission. I will not fail.”
“Oh, we have no doubt that you will succeed. You will not be like our previous Manhunter,” cackled the female. “Unless, of course, you fail! Then you will resemble her in more than one way!”
Kenwar felt a shiver run down his spine as he turned and walked to the exit. He heard the chittering and laughter of the voices behind him.
End of The Star Dragon
Want to immerse yourself in another
Dragon Kings of the New World?
Pre-order Book 2 and Book 3 here:
The Black Dragon
The Iron Dragon
Pssst: Keep reading for an exclusive extract from another fantastic fantasy author, Ava Richardson.
Thank you!
Thank you so much for purchasing and reading my book. If you enjoyed this book, please remember to leave a review!
Click here to leave a review for The Star Dragon!
Find out what Dante is up to next at:
www.DanteDoom.com
www.facebook.com/DanteDoomBooks
For more information on the LitRPG genre, head over the the LitRPG Society Facebook Page.
BLURB
High-born Agathea Flamma intends to bring honor to her family by following in her brothers’ footsteps and taking her rightful place as a Dragon Rider. With her only other option being marriage, Thea will not accept failure. She’s not thrilled at her awkward, scruffy partner, Seb, but their dragon has chosen, and now the unlikely duo must learn to work as a team.
Seventeen-year-old Sebastian has long been ashamed of his drunken father and poor upbringing, but then he’s chosen to train as a Dragon Rider at the prestigious Dragon Academy. Thrust into a world where he doesn’t fit in, Seb finds a connection with his dragon that is even more powerful than he imagined. Soon, he’s doing all he can to succeed and not embarrass his new partner, Thea.
When Seb hears rumors that an old danger is re-emerging, he and Thea begin to investigate. Armed only with their determination and the dragon they both ride, Thea and Seb may be the only defence against the Darkening that threatens to sweep over the land. Together, they will have to learn to work together to save their kingdom…or die trying.
Get your copy of Dragons Trials
(The Return of the Darkening) at
AvaRichardsonBooks.com
EXCLUSIVE EXTRACT
I heard the Dragon Horns blowing on the morning of the Choosing, just like everyone else. However, unlike everyone else I was already up and awake, well into my fourth or fifth hour of the day.
That’s what it is like as a blacksmith’s boy. There’s always ingots to be hauled in, bellows to be primed, wood to be chopped and the foundries to be cleaned. My dad is the blacksmith for Mongers Lane, and I have to be up before the crack of dawn to make sure the forge is ready when he starts work.
Which probably won’t be until midday if he was out at the inn again last night. A twinge of embarrassment and shame warmed my face. My father liked his flagon of ale at the end of a working day. He also seemed to like it in the evening and halfway through the night as well.
Stop that, Sebastian, I chided myself. It’s not right to think ill of your father no matter how much he drinks! I didn’t mind the work. It felt good to be up early and to get everything ready for the other apprentices and junior smiths. I even made time to chop some wood for Old Widow Hu a few doors down. I always tried to do what I could for her because the poor woman was nearly blind, needing all the help she could get.
But the dragons—I loved to see the dragons. All of my short seventeen years I had been dreaming of them— the freedom they knew of flying through the air, above the world and all its troubles, the power of every muscle, the strength of every wiry sinew. They are such beautiful creatures. They offered the steady loyalty, strength and wisdom of a horse, but with the playfulness, speed, and sometimes the temperament, of a cat.
Sometimes we work on the rider’s tack, which was such an honor, but sadly that didn’t happen often enough to please me. The Dragon Riders of Torvald usually got their kit remade and polished at one of the bigger, throne-endorsed smithies. But every now and again, a few small buckles or harness-clips filtered down our way to be seen to.
I would hold them in my hand, imagining which part of a rider’s kit they corresponded to, taking care to re-tool the fine designs etched into their surface, polishing and polishing until they gleamed as good as new. It was one of the few paid jobs that my father let me do by myself, knowing I would put the extra work in just because I loved dragons.
I’d seen a flash of one last year. A bri
lliant scintillating flash of blue and green that soared over Mongers Lane. It moved as fast as a hawk. For a moment, I swore I had looked up past the towering, crowded houses of the street down here and had seen it looking down at me with eyes like the golden green of a summer lake or the first flush of spring leaves. No one believed me of course. They said I was imagining it. That dragons only had eyes and noses for their riders, but it had happened. I knew it had. I’ll never forget it.
This morning, I was working extra hard trying to clear my duties for the day, hoping I might get to finish early enough to see the last few choices of the day. Everyone would talk about the choices for the next five years. How this blue dragon or that white wyrm approached their rider. Did they go on foot? Did they snatch them from their windows?
I moved the final barrow of split logs, seeing a whole collection of end-pieces, scrappy tops and tree-hearts left. It would be too much work to break them down and feed them into the kilns. Besides, they would give an uneven burn, so I loaded them onto a wheelbarrow and decided to take them to Old Widow Hu. She would be pleased for the free firewood, and Father couldn’t do anything with them anyway.
Mongers Lane was a tight little community, more than just a lane really, but not much bigger than one. The poorest district in the city, with people living in makeshift houses next to each other, cheek by jowl, my ma said. I knew it wasn’t much, but I liked living here. The people were honest.
Old Widow Hu had a hovel poorer than most, a collection of mud and brick walls and wooden beams almost leaning against the stronger houses next door. As I neared her home, in the background I could hear the cheers and gasps as the dragons must have swooped overhead. I knocked on her oddly-fitting wooden door and waited as a breeze blew down the alley behind me.
It took a little while for Old Widow Hu to answer her door, but I didn’t mind. When she did, she peered past me and blinked, then looked at my barrel. “Oh, thank you Sebastian, but you’ve already done me such a kindness,” she was saying in a cracked and croaking voice.
“These are free, ma’am. I’d like to think someone might take care of my step-mam if ever she got older and had no one around.” I heaved the wood onto the pile by the side of her door. I was forced to jump back immediately as a few of the tiles fell off her roof above us.
“Oh, dear goodness!” Old Widow Hu was looking up at me.
She must not be able see me, I thought. “It’s okay, Mrs. Hu. It’s just me, Sebastian.”
“N-no, Seb…” her voice quavered. “I think there’s someone to see you.” She hurriedly stepped back into her hovel.
Oh no. It must be Father. He must be annoyed at me for something.
I turned and came face to face with the long, sinuous, muscular neck and the strong snout of a red dragon. It had golden-green eyes, eyes the color of the sun glinting off polished gold or seen through the leaves of a beech forest at midday. She was beautiful.
How do I know it’s a she? I thought, but I knew. I just knew.
She didn’t look like a dragon to me. She looked—she just looked like herself. Not a thing, not a lizard or a beast. I could feel something stirring in my breast, my heart thumping and a lump in my throat as I raised a hand up to her.
She put her snout on the edge of my fingers, letting me touch the sensitive mouth that I knew surrounded her teeth and then huffed a warm breath of pine smoke and coal-dust over me, fluffing my thatch of hair.
You’re playing with me, aren’t you? I smiled, blowing air back onto her snout.
With a sudden sneeze, the dragon shook its head and made a chirruping noise, oddly musical, like a bird.
“Seb! Seb! What are you doing?” a voice shouted, alarmed and fearful—my dad, his drunken gait exaggerated by the alarm and anger in his voice.
The dragon then did something I had been hoping for all my life, but never expecting. It seized me with its front feet, black talons the length of my whole forearm curling gently against me and not even hurting a tiny bit, and launched itself into the air.
“You’ve got the wrong boy!” I heard my father yell, along with the Old Widow Hu’s reply, “no, I think that it’s got just the right one!”
Get your copy of Dragons Trials
(The Return of the Darkening) at
AvaRichardsonBooks.com
