Dragon's Fire (Beating Back the Darkness Book 1)

by Tiger Hebert

  The shadow drake’s high priest was flanked by Ungbuu the witch doctor and Bogbaan the fallen warrior. The darkened triumvirate watched the black dragon fly off into the morning sky before they led the native warriors through the shadowy jungle. They raced toward battle with reckless speed. Like the jagrel stalks its prey in the night, they would swiftly strike their unsuspecting prey, without mercy. The black wave of the Danji would rush through the streets of Tempour, and the Brotherhood of the Unveiled Eye would be destroyed forever. For that was the will of the black dragon.

  24 Northern Winds

  “Mistress Kiriana, urgent reports have just arrived by falcon and scroll,” panted the young slayer as he tried to catch his breath.

  Extending her open palm, she reached for the tiny scroll.

  “Thank you, Jeren.”

  She unfurled the rolled up parchment and began to read:

  Mistress Kiriana,

  Something is afoot in the jungles. Both the Danji and the An’wari appear to be on the move as their villages and settlements are being reported as abandoned. This just doesn’t smell right. We will move in to scout further. Be on alert. We will also be sending runners in an attempt to intercept Master Kyarl and redirect his company to follow the coast until they are north of the Yaresh before they head further inland. I hope we are not too late.

  Signed,

  Slayer Aden

  The young slayer, who was hardly more than a boy, eagerly listened to the master slayer as she issued her orders. “Tell Marcell to place the guard on high alert and to keep everyone inside the city walls until further notice.”

  Before he could even respond, she had already rushed off in the opposite direction. Her mind raced. She thought of the implications of an attack from the Danji. She didn’t understand why the An’wari were also missing, but none of it would bring about any good. She knew that while the elves did bolster their number, few of them were really combat-capable at this point. And her thoughts also shifted to Kyarl and his safety. She did not know the size of the party he was leading, but they would not go unnoticed through the jungle, and they would hardly be prepared for battle. It was likely that hundreds of the company would be women and children, and she doubted that they would be equipped for battle. She hoped that her scouts would find them before the Danji did, but it may already be too late for them. Rushing through the busy early-morning foot traffic upon the cobblestone streets, she made her way toward the temple. Without delay, she ran up the sweeping ramp-like roadway. Soon she reached the threshold of the old gothic cathedral and rushed inside to find Duncan and the king.

  As she entered into the quiet of the sanctuary, she hurried toward the grand staircase in the far corner. With uncanny grace, she was able to climb the winding stairs while twisting her head back and looking over her right shoulder. How she didn’t come crashing to the ground is anyone’s guess. Yet her movements were so natural, so fluid, it almost appeared that she might float up to the next floor, and she seemingly did as she ascended the staircase. Before Duncan or the king knew it, Mistress Kiriana had eaten up the distance between them with her surprisingly long strides. Pushing the pleasantries aside, the striking woman with fiery red hair got right down to business.

  “Grand Master Duncan, King Tua’Liluon, a situation has presented itself.” And without waiting for their approval or questioning, she continued, “We have just received a message from one of our scouts. The Danji are on the move, and it appears that the An’wari are too. The alert status is being issued as we speak.”

  Duncan broke in, “And of Kyarl’s company?”

  “There has been no word yet. In his correspondence, Aden said he would try to intercept them and redirect them as far around the Danji territory as possible by way of the coastline,” responded Kiriana.

  “Very well, there is little more we can do for them at this point,” answered the grand master.

  “Will you not send an armored escort for your men?” quizzed the king.

  “It would do more harm than good. Even if we had sufficient numbers, which we likely do not, it would only draw undesired attention to our companions. No, it is best that we leave the matter in the master slayer’s hands, which are more than capable indeed,” replied Duncan.

  “So, we just wait here behind the safety of your walls?” asked the incredulous king.

  “You and I will wish for more than just these walls by the day’s end. Make no mistake, my king, the Danji are coming, and they are coming now. The best course of action for us is to make sure that there are walls left for our companions to return to,” fired Duncan.

  “The ones who assailed us on the river?” suggested the king.

  “The one and the same,” affirmed Kiriana.

  “With such fortifications and arms, you fear a rabble of tribesmen?” questioned Tua’Liluon.

  “If our scout’s suspicions are correct and the Danji and the An’wari have aligned themselves again, then there is something much greater than just the hunger for flesh driving this turn of events. The combined force of the Danji and An’wari is not fully known, but it could be thousands upon thousands. And if they are driven by the black dragon’s taskmasters, as I suspect, there is no telling what hell we are about to face,” said Duncan.

  “You suspect that the black dragon is behind this too?” asked the king.

  “He is behind everything,” answered Duncan plainly.

  “What is your plan?” asked the king as he exchanged glances with both the old man and the young woman.

  Taking the lead, Kiriana declared, “We will go into lockdown. They could strike at any time, so we will have a twenty-four-hour watch on rotation. We will not have the benefit of numbers, but we do have the advantage of our fortifications as long as the dragon himself does not fly against us. We will remain on the defensive and allow them to come to us. While the Danji may have us cornered and outnumbered, we can force their hand. They will not have come all this way to sit and wait. They will be overly aggressive, and we can use it to our advantage. Our victory will be a war of attrition as we peel them away layer by layer.”

  Duncan interjected, “As she said, we can only hope that the old temple snake Slayvin is not joining them for the assault.”

  “And if he is?” asked the king.

  “Woe to us,” admitted the old man.

  “I will see to the preparation, my lords,” redirected Kiriana as she bowed ever so slightly before departing the upper level of the cathedral.

  “Thank you, Mistress Kiriana,” replied the grand master.

  “Even if we survive the attack of these…Danji, where do we go from here? Even if a few thousand able-bodied dwarves and men joined our ranks, it surely cannot be enough to stand against this overwhelming tide of darkness,” shouted the frustrated king.

  With a warm smile and a gentle touch, Duncan put his hand on the king’s shoulder and replied, “All is not well with the world, wise king, but all is not wrong with it either. There is still good in this world, and even while darkness is at work, so too is good. There are many happenings far beyond our sight that work for the good even now.”

  “You mean the Frelsarine,” guessed the king.

  “The coming of the Frelsarine is of the utmost importance. It is very real and very near, but there is still some good yet to be found in this world where the kingdoms of man and dwarf and elf stand in defiance against the darkness,” remarked Duncan.

  The king struggled to find the same hope that sparkled in the grand master’s eyes. “What kingdoms? There are no more kingdoms of elves—or even dwarves, for that matter—any more.”

  “According to who?” asked Duncan, as he laughed.

  The king was confused and irritated by the old man’s demeanor, so he snapped, “What is so funny? What do you mean?”

  “I think it is time for you to meet someone,” said Duncan as he nodded in agreement with his own idea.

  “Meet who?” asked the king impatiently.

  “Our
resident historian, Jonus Quillbearer,” replied the little old man matter-of-factly.

  “The Seventh,” corrected a scratchy yet spry voice of a youthful old man. “Jonus Quillbearer the Seventh—you know, VII, the Seventh.”

  King Tua’Liluon spun to around to see the face that went with the voice, and then his eyes found another short old man. This fellow was rather pudgy. He was not large by any means, but his portliness did not compliment his short little frame. Two round little eyeglasses held by a thin brass frame seemed to teeter on the far end of his big, fat round nose. Little scraggles of gray hair shot out of his large nostrils as they paid their respects to his large bushy, unkempt mustache. The hair atop his head was just as unruly and overgrown as the coarse scruff on his face. He stood there beaming at the king and the grand master like a small child who was quite proud of himself, as if he were completely oblivious of, or entirely unconcerned by, his ratty appearance in the face of royalty.

  “Your timing is quite uncanny, Quillbearer,” came the grand master’s words, which were dripping with sarcasm. “It’s almost as if you were stalking us.”

  “I most definitely was,” was the flippant response from the historian as he kept his focus on Tua’Liluon.

  “Greetings, Jonus Quillbearer the Seventh,” replied the king formally with a slight bow of the head and a smile.

  “The Seventh!” he said as he beamed at the king’s proper salutation. “See? He gets it! Kings understand the importance of lineage and legacy. You could learn a lot from this fine young elf lord! Take notes, take notes!”

  “And the Seventh’ll be the last if you keep it up, Jonus!” barked Duncan sourly.

  “Young? Hardly, I am nearly over three hundred years old,” the king answered.

  Jonus quickly responded, saying, “You might be older than any of the current elf lords, but many before them lived another hundred or more years, so that makes you quite young by elvish standards, my lord!”

  “What elf lords?” begged King Tua’Liluon.

  “The lords of the olden cities. By name the lords are Inesuar, Irellion, Ephrii, and Aijole,” answered Jonus as he rattled off the elvish names.

  “I know these names, but that cannot be. Those are names from a long lost age, from before the fall of Girielle and Salios and Elroet,” argued the king.

  “Girielle and Salios, yes, but Elroet, no,” was his rebuttal.

  “What? How can that be?” questioned the king as he tried to process this information.

  “I am glad you asked—” started Jonus before he was interrupted.

  “We do not have time for all that right now! Spare us the historical narrative! Make your long story short, Quillbearer,” snapped Duncan. “You can give your history lesson when we are not about to be besieged!”

  Jonus bristled at Duncan’s impatience but heeded his direction. “When the continent of Antirri was thrust into the Mage Wars three hundred and eleven years ago, the elf kingdoms of Girielle, Salios, and Elroet sat on the frontlines. And as you might imagine, the ravages of war hit them the hardest. After five years of war, Girielle fell to the hands of the Ki’Roten, and Salios quickly thereafter. Elroet was to be next. The final great elf kingdom was set to be besieged, and all hope appeared to be lost.

  “The Ki’Roten army tactically positioned their forces so as to drive a wedge between Elroet and the fleeing survivors. That is when the few surviving elves of Girielle and Salios had to make a choice. Either they could run an apparent suicide mission by attacking the Ki’Roten or flee to safety. They chose what appeared to be the only option—they fled across the sea to the new world of Darnisi in 7291, eventually establishing to the city of Trellion, my king.”

  “But Elroet never fell?” asked the king in disbelief.

  “Nope! An unlikely alliance was formed in those days, when the armies of dwarves and men came to the aid to the elves. They gave the elves strength when they needed it most. Eventually the forces of the Ki’Roten were broken and scattered. They splintered into countless factions of mage clans all across the western half of Antirri,” replied the historian.

  “So the names you mentioned—Inesuar, Irellion, Ephrii, and Aijole—they cannot be the same ones that ruled in those days based on those dates,” quizzed the king.

  With a smile, Jonus responded, “Quite right, my king. They are the grandchildren of Inesuar and Irellion—all of Elroethian birth, but so named after the resting kings and queens of all three kingdoms.”

  “For so many years, I thought that Trellion was all that remained of my people,” said the king as he marveled at the idea of a nation of his kin beyond the sea.

  “King Tua’Liluon, your people do indeed live beyond the sea. You and your line have a large part to play in their future, if they are to have one. But our focus is first on preserving our own future. The Danji are coming, and we will need all of our efforts focused on them,” advised Grand Master Duncan.

  “You are quite right, Master Duncan. What must we do?” asked the king.

  “Our walls, as you know, are tiered, with upper and lower levels. You will command your people to garrison the upper level, and the brotherhood will garrison the lower level. The slayers are well trained and should provide the first line of defense should our walls be breached in any manner,” answered Duncan.

  “What of the…civilians, if you will?” asked the king.

  “The truth of the matter is that very few that live inside of these walls will escape the horrors of battle. Most of the women and children of age will be positioned at various well-defensed ramparts to offer them the highest levels of protection. Only those too old, too sick, or too young to fire a bolt will miss the action. Those that do fit those descriptions will be tucked away safely in the rear tunnel lock,” explained the wise old fellow.

  Another look of curiosity crossed the king’s face as he asked, “Tunnel lock?”

  “Oh, yes, I don’t believe we’ve shown you that yet. At the rear of Tempour, where our backs rest upon the cliffs, there are a series of old mining tunnels. They were established back when the city was founded, used to gather stone and ore, of course. They are not in use anymore, but they do serve as an escape route out of the city if needed. The tunnel lock is just a gatehouse of sorts that was built over the various entrances to the mines to keep the children out of harm’s way,” replied Duncan.

  “Where do the tunnels lead?” he asked.

  “Just to the other side of the cliffs, where they lead out on to the rocky shores of the sea. These tunnels are not magic portals to a kinder or gentler fate. Even if we had to evacuate to the sea, we would have a rough time ahead of us, so let’s hope that is not part of our story,” admitted the grand master.

  “Let us hope not indeed,” agreed the king.

  That ended the discussions that would warrant retelling, so the men scurried off to make preparations for the task that lay before them. Even good old Duncan and Jonus suited up for dark deeds ahead. Soon thereafter, a skeleton crew of troops lined the forward-facing walls of the fortress while many others carried the soon to be needed supplies to the frontlines. The supplies ranged from the buckets of arrows and bolts needed for the different weapons, to the food goods like breads and fruits, to the—unfortunately but surely—needed medical supplies.

  War is a grim affair, only glorious in the stories of heroic deeds but rarely so in reality. And rarely are the true details of pain, suffering, and loss that accompanied such deeds offered up. It is also true that war does not always end with good on the winning side and heroes do not always emerge victorious. What is seldom recognized or understood by few other than historians and scholars is that even when heroes beat back the darkness, they often bear an unpayable price. It is too often that this price cannot be paid in hordes of gold or piles of rubies and diamonds but rather another—a price that is paid with the departure of the soul. Whether that price is due to some dark bargain or simply to the cost of war is unknown to any but those who pay the price thems
elves, but the price is always paid in full.

  Kiriana was young, but she understood this. She spent a great deal of time in study with both Duncan and Jonus in the libraries of Tempour. From her readings, she knew about much of the eternal conflict between good and evil that plagued the world of Aurion, the great battles of Darnisi, and the especially long history of Antirri. She understood that war was seldom triumphant without tragedy. She had only had a small taste of it herself in her dealing with the Zenari and the Danji. Those skirmishes happened more frequently than you might imagine, and they had been fortunate to be on the winning side in every encounter, but it is hard to consider anything a win when lives are lost. She had seen other slayers, those closest to her, snatched away by death. Perhaps the number of people close to her that had been killed was small by some standards, but even the loss of just those two lives left permanent scars. She often tried to override the memories of those final moments with Ari and his sister Elri with older and more comforting images of their smiles and laughter. She tried to silence their cries of pain as they said good-bye, but those memories screamed the loudest—louder than all the good times they shared, louder than the games they played, and sometimes even louder than when he had asked for her hand in marriage.

  Kiriana was forever changed after their deaths. They were killed during a raid on a Zenari encampment. The Zenari had established a camp far beyond the western borders of Karthusa. It was an assassination mission, and the mark had been Ekrin, the black dragon’s high priest. It was a trap, and they were ambushed. Despite the tactics of the enemy, the brotherhood’s small contingent could have escaped. However, Kiriana went for the jugular. She pressed forward for the kill. She was out of position and outflanked. The members of her team rushed to her aid, and Kiriana paid for the loyalty of her companions with their lives. They died to protect her.