by Tiger Hebert
Dragon’s Fire
Beating Back the Darkness, Book I
By Tiger Hebert
Dragon’s Fire
Copyright © 2017 by Tiger Hebert. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of the author.
This novella is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Brightblade Press
Cover Design by
Joana Quilantang and Tiger Hebert
Published in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-0-99778444-2-9
1. Fiction / Fantasy / Epic
2. Fiction / Fantasy / Dark
Map
Prologue
Aurion was never a truly peaceful world, but that needs to be placed within the proper context to allow the right perspective. She already had a recorded history of more than seventy-five hundred years, but some of her parts were a bit younger than the rest. See, while Aurion was home to nearly a dozen continents, two of the largest ones also happened to be historically the most significant. Those continents were Darnisi in the west and Antirri to the east. The larger continent of Antirri had the oldest populated history. So as could be expected, the vast majority of the pages of Aurion’s history were first written upon Antirri’s native soil.
The deeds and deaths that took place there could fill the pages of countless texts, but that alone would be an incomplete narrative. Historically speaking, Darnisi was much younger. Except for a few indigenous races, she was sparsely populated for thousands of years. The dwarves were the first ones to change that, as a mining expedition brought them to the Mar’Kren Mountains at the southern end of Darnisi. No one else followed them for about four hundred years when war and desperation forced the elves to flee Antirri, their escape a seaborne expedition. The tales of that age are better left for another time, but it was then that the recorded history of Darnisi began. Soon various peoples from Antirri would also voyage to the new world, where the promise of a new life awaited them. Just over three hundred years have passed since that maiden voyage.
Considering the cultural differences, it was not uncommon for these races to have conflicts and skirmishes with each other, as well as with the natives. But historically, most conflict remained regional, primarily consisting of territory disputes and border wars. The few exceptions to this were the Goblin Raids, the Rise of the Jendari, and the Betrayal of Jasprita, but compared to the old world, her seven-hundred-year history was relatively peaceful. However, times were changing.
1 Fire on the Mountain
The wind was howling, lashing the sentry with frigid air. Winter often arrived early this far north, sometimes months early, especially up in the Sky Reach Mountains. This was just a part of the life in the king’s guard, so it was nothing the young man was unfamiliar with. In fact, he had it better than most, as his post was on the southern arm of the range, where it is far milder than its northern counterparts.
Because of their history, the people of Storm Vale have made vigilance and preparedness a way of life. Two new generations have come since the great betrayal changed their way of life, but stories of the horrific deed lived on in dirge and tale. To come of age in Storm Vale is to earn a commission in the ranks of the king’s army. Many of those commissions are spent filling the roles of sentries, like this one, throughout the Sky Reach.
The time had come for the sentry to travel down the ridgeline and then climb up to the next snowcapped peak. Neighboring sentries would periodically walk to the post just south of them. The lean sentry pulled his hood down over his head, and he temporarily said good-bye to the smell of the oil-soaked pyre as he set out on his patrol.
Snow had not started to fall yet, but the wind was behaving in true winter fashion, rushing down over the southern arm from the north. The wind was a peaceful storm of silence, muffling out the sounds of the rest of the world. He couldn’t even hear the crash of the great falls in the distance today.
Carefully watching his steps, he focused on the rocky ridgeline path as he descended. He had walked it countless times before, but it was never to be taken lightly, especially with such wind. As he began the short but steep ascent to the next sentry post, he began to chuckle.
“Ole Charlie be asleep again, the lazy lot. Heh, I got somethin’ for you, Charlie.”
Slowly sneaking up the back side of the sentry post, he crested the top of the peak. His eyes ran down the slopes into the valley only to see a horde of dark figures. His heart raced as he turned to wake Charlie from the guardhouse. There rested Charlie, pinned to the outside wall of the sentry post by four massive arrows. There he hung, lifeless and covered in his own blood, his bow and arrows on the ground.
The young sentry’s heart was pounding. Before he even turned around, first one and then a second arrow darted past him into the post. Quickly diving to the ground, he avoided the next two arrows as they struck the ground and ricocheted past him. He tried to blow his ram’s horn to signal the alarm, but the wind refused to cease. His only option was to light the tower beacon. But he quickly realized that lighting this one would do no good if he wasn’t there to light the one at his own post. Reacting quickly, the young sentry scrambled to his feet and darted down the ridge away from the southern post, back toward his own watchtower. Arrows continued to whir and whip past him as they missed their mark.
At least the wind is good for somethin’, he thought.
A rumbling of thunder joined the echoing cries of the wind struck cliffs. The sound’s vibration resonated through his bones as he raced up the trail, but it only grew louder. Looking behind him, terror filled his heart as he realized it was not thunder at all. Hooves pounded the earth as they charged up the mountain toward him. He did not have time to count or identify his pursuers; he must reach the tower and light the beacon.
Just as he started the final ascent up the ridge, his right leg burst into agony, and he crashed to the ground. Blood was spurting from the wound where the arrow pierced him. Attempting to get up, he only stumbled. The thunder was drawing closer. It was his last chance. After pulling a signal arrow from his quiver, he quickly lit it with his flint. He nocked the flaming arrow upon the bow’s string. Aiming it for the top of his sentry tower, he drew back the string.
His pursuers raced toward him with their bows drawn. It was then, with a grunt, that a flurry of arrows was loosed. As the sinews of their bows snapped, the large arrows were hurled toward the scout. Slipping his two fingers off the string, the sentry fired the flaming signal arrow as his body violently absorbed the impact of three arrows. Impaled, gasping for breath as blood poured from his mouth, he watched as his sentry tower became a flaming pyre. His job was done.
2 Floating Shadows
The elven city of Trellion was the first and only elf kingdom in Darnisi. Life had been good to them since they crossed the sea. Their home was safely secluded, nestled in the heart of the woods of the Shaillone Peninsula. They steered far away from outsiders and their problems. Yet this quiet land would come to life at sunset. So every evening was a celebration, and tonight would be perfect.
The sun had drifted down, giving way to a clear sky over the quiet cove. Rising higher into the night sky, the full moon poured its light
across the shimmering waters. Only the hint of a gentle breeze whispered above the gently rolling waves. The cool wind washing their faces was a pleasant reprieve from the fading heat of the day. Night had come, and it was indeed perfect.
“Where are we going?” asked the young elf maiden.
“It’s a surprise,” replied the nearly adult boy. “What kind of surprise?”
“I can’t tell you, or it won’t be a surprise.”
“Just tell me!” She tucked golden locks behind a pointed ear as she pleaded with him.
Quickly the boy replied, “Relax, you can trust me.”
“Trust you?” She giggled. “Oh, you mean like the time my father almost caught us? Or was it the time my mother—”
“If you don’t keep quiet, the whole city will catch us,” he snapped.
The young elven couple snuck down the docks past the guard post. He led her down the nearest set of stairs to the lower docks. It was there that he had a small boat prepared for their voyage. He stepped down into the boat. Then he reached for her hand.
“Careful,” he whispered to the young maiden as he lifted her lithe frame down into the boat.
Untying the boat, he pushed away from the dock. It was only moments after placing the oars in the relatively calm water, and they were quickly gliding away from the docks and out into the wide harbor.
Rowing under the moonlight, he gazed at her delicate elven features. Her blue eyes seemed to sparkle against her fair skin and lovely hair. He was silent as he continued to guide the boat far away from the shoreline. She beamed as he handed her a basket of fresh berries.
“You are quite the romance artist, aren’t you?” she slyly remarked. “Somebody has plans tonight,” she added as her voice trailed off.
He didn’t return her remark, as his attention was lost. His gaze had shifted beyond her, beyond the boat. Squinting, he tried to make out the shapes in the distance. Spinning around, she attempted to see what he was looking at. It was nearly impossible to tell what he was looking at because the untamed Zenari Wilds were on the opposite shore, forming a dark backdrop. But as far as he could tell, there appeared to be shadows on the water on the far western side of the cove.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It…almost looks like a ship, but it can’t be. All ships are in the dock at this time of night,” he reasoned.
“Whatever it is, it seems to be getting bigger,” she replied.
“It’s not getting bigger. It’s getting closer, and fast. We better head back,” he warned as he veered the ship back to the docks.
They both began rowing with a sense of urgency, alternately glancing behind them at the encroaching shadows. Despite their efforts, they were losing ground. It was not a shadow, but a dark vessel atop the water. They did not speak as their hearts pounded in their chests. Rowing more furiously, they sped toward the safety of shore.
Looking back, they realized it was not one ship. There were several black ships gliding across the sea, and they were no fishing vessels. These corsairs were made for a singular purpose—war.
Reaching the lower docks, the youth scrambled out of the boat and raced up the stairs toward the guardhouse on the docks. It didn’t matter, though. The terrifying speed of the corsairs allowed them to descend upon the harbor. A strange horn was blown, with a deep blast that echoed over the waters, and seven horns responded in unison. The night sky exploded into a sea of red and orange as these wicked ships spewed their liquid fire onto the docked ships. This fire raced and splashed its way up the docks. Chaos swirled as the city folk responded to the alarm with confusion and panic. Fiery arrows pierced the night sky. Cries of terror and pain rang out first upon the docks and then throughout the city, as death rained down upon them.
The ships pressed closer until reaching the shoreline, where they threw out their ramps. Men robed in black garments rushed down the ramps and up the shore. The young elven couple was the first to fall victim to the assailants. The assassins’ curved blades hungered for blood. They cut down everyone in sight; men, women, and children alike felt their wrath. The smell of fire filled the air as cries of anguish echoed into the night.
3 Next of Kin
Clang, clang! The hammer beat down upon the steel again and again. Tomar wiped his sweat-covered brow and returned the hammer to its work. The sounds of the smith’s craft rang out through Storm Vale proper as he beat the sword into its final shape. Another long day’s work and another assortment of blades made for the kingdom’s armory. Tomar’s mind shifted toward his wife and son, who would be at home awaiting his return. The crisp air in the vale was a blend of burning fires and dinners being cooked. He was all too eager to put his tools away and close up the smithy for the night. Pulling the cloak over his broad shoulders, he headed out of the square and up the alley toward his home.
Then over the noise of the day came the call, “Fire on the mountain, fire on the mountain!” Quickly turning around, Tomar watched Nikolai, the commander of the king’s army, dash up the stone steps to the top of the city walls. The commander raced to the sentry who called the alarm. Peering in the direction of the sentry’s gesture, Nikolai caught a faint glimpse of a fire burning in the distance below the city.
“We must send the riders! Get the shofar!” barked Nikolai. The sentry handed him the carved ram’s horn. With a deep breath, Nikolai trumpeted the deep blast of the shofar three times, letting it echo among the peaks.
The citizens of the street scrambled about to grab their things and get into their homes as young men hurried to their posts along the city’s walls. Runners scurried to bring supplies of arrows to the top of the walls. “Raise the gate. Quickly!” yelled Nikolai. Then just minutes later, the distant rumble of hooves began to echo down through the heart of the city as the cavalry began their descent down the corridor toward the gate. The sentries in the gate tower had unlocked the mechanism, and it started to rise. Nikolai, staring across the peaks below, watched as another tower fire was lit, and in rapid succession, two more followed suit. With another round of shofar blasts, Nikolai watched as a stampede of riders crashed through the town square and out the gate of Storm Vale proper.
The cavalry darted down the road outside the city toward the outer gate. It was about a two-minute ride on horse before they would arrive. The gate was positioned in a ravine-like pass between the narrow walls of the mountain pass. The massive stone wall stretched across the entire passage, spanning roughly fifty yards. The wall stood at least ten yards high and encased a massive iron door. Because of the door’s incredible weight, it could only be opened and closed in drawbridge fashion. Beyond the safe walls of the outer gate, the road trailed away to the right as it sloped downward, limiting visibility to perhaps only a hundred yards or so down the road.
The detachment of horsemen, comprised of a hundred riders armed with shield and lance, arrived at the outer gate. Rapidly, they dismounted, leaving both gear and steeds behind them as they climbed the stairs to the top of the wall. The outer gate was an impressive structure; its depth alone allowed plenty of room atop the wall for its defense. The soldiers found the top of the wall lined with bows and baskets full of arrows.
A dark-haired captain stood atop the wall and spoke to his troops, “Men, this is what we have trained for—to defend our homes, our families, our way of life. No one will take it from us again. Prepare for battle.”
Silently they watched and waited with their bows drawn as the sky grew darker. A low rumbling echoed up the passage toward them. The sound of hooves pounding the earth resonated through the corridor, growing louder and louder. Faint flickers of light began to glow on the walls of the cliffs ahead. The sound of an army riding upon them cascaded through the passage. The glow from their torches in the distance told Captain Melgrim and his men that these intruders were just around the bend.
The captain took a long deep breath, and it began. The crashing of the hooves and bestial war cries exploded into a thunderous avalanche of sound as the approac
hing army rushed around the corner toward the outer gate. Wide-eyed, Melgrim hesitated, almost frozen in shock at what was before his eyes. It’s true. The beasts of legend are real! The Baalim hunts us once more!
They were under attack. Gaunt beasts that resembled both man and goat surged forward upon two hooved legs. Holding their black and red banner high, hundreds of beasts howled as they charged.
“Fire!” cried Melgrim as he loosed his own arrow. His arrow hit its mark, striking a gray-skinned goatman in the neck. The creature reached for its pierced neck as it crashed to the ground. Melgrim nocked another arrow and let it fly, only slowing another beast down until a second arrow could finish it off. The ravine was flooded with a storm of arrows, but the beasts kept coming.
After hurling a man-sized axe at the archers, a black Baalim reached for its war hammer as it charged the door. After leaping at the iron gate, the bull came down hard with its hammer, denting the door. It continued pounding on the door as other bulls slipped past the flurry of arrows to join in the assault.
Ominous sounds rose from the hammering of the door as the onslaught continued. Another dark beast hurled its great axe, striking an unsuspecting soldier in the chest with brute force.
The deadly shot cut its way deep past the chain mail and bone. His screams were choked out by the deadly wound as he fell off the wall, axe buried in his chest.
“Keep firing until I give the order! We must exhaust their number,” ordered Melgrim as he ducked below another flying axe.
The soldiers continued to deliver their arrows as they whittled down the opposing force. Still the crashing continued as the goatmen and the Minotaur hammered away at the iron door. Even with a couple hundred dead beasts, dozens more charged the wall. Some of the beasts that reached the walls began to climb the stone face. Furious roars continued to dominate the night air as forty or more beasts reached the wall.
