The Dragon Sands Box Set: Books 1 - 3

by C. K. Rieke

  Veranor shifted slightly in his unease. The man obviously was going to die slowly at her hand. And she hadn’t even used her favorite torture yet, poison.

  “That’s what I’ve been doing since we last saw each other, Commander. I’ve been roaming with the people, my people to see what they do, what they are like, and how they worship us.”

  “No one recognized you?” Veranor asked.

  “I wouldn’t walk among the sheep in a wolf’s clothing,” she said with a wry smile. “I made myself to look as they look. I moped like they mope, I complained like them, and I stunk like they stink. It was a sort of fun actually— no— more like a game. A wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  “A wolf indeed,” Veranor said. “Your reputation is quite solid as a hunter.”

  She had a seemingly humble look on her at that comment, as if she liked the compliment, but it was beneath her to take pride in the words of one of the sheep.

  “You care to end it?” Gorlen reached to the back of the wardrobe cupboard and produced a dagger of silver blade and black, stone handle. She flipped it in her hand and held the handle out to Veranor. The man hanging from the hooks, and bleeding slowly onto the floor, looked up at him with the eyes of a man who had reached his limit.

  Veranor took the blade firmly in his hand and inspected it. It was a dagger of the gods, that much was certain. No human hands could produce such a weapon of stone and a metal he’d never seen.

  “He’s going to die,” she said pleasurably. “It can be now or later, you know which I prefer. I like them to feel the long, slow pain of regret.”

  “I—” the hanging man coughed. “I— don’t regret anything.”

  Her eyes flared with a burning hot rage, and her blond hair flew back from her shoulders to behind her head, and Veranor heard a hissing sound come from her. “You’ll regret everything. I’ll burn your lying tongue from your mouth. I’ll burn your children’s eyes from their heads and take their hands and feet as trophies.”

  “You can kill me,” he spat, in a raspy, weak voice. “But it will just further the sheep’s hatred of you. Someday it will be you begging for forgiveness. Someday it will be you . . .”

  A green smoke began to flow out from underneath the knee-length robes of the Witch Queen and Veranor quickly shot back towards the door behind him. A moaning and roar came from the over two-dozen other voices in the room as the smoke crept up towards the hanging man. The room had gone from a dull haze of stagnant terror to room of frantic groans and stirring. It was like something out of a nightmare; bloody coughing, screams of horror, and blood poured to the wooden floorboards in pools.

  Veranor reached behind him and grabbed the latch to the door yet waited. He didn’t want to flee unless absolutely necessary. He couldn’t appear weak in front of her. Instead he turned and watched as the smoke rose up, drifting in the thick air like a long snake upright, ready to strike.

  “Say that one more time,” she dared the hanging man, as he stared back into her cold, blue eyes. “Tell all of these dead souls in here one more time that I’ll ever beg for anything from the likes of you mortals.” After she said that, she let her fingers fly out at him, and the green smoke entered into the man’s mouth, nose, ears, and eyes. His eyes bulged instantly, and he began to shake, not from fear this time, but from the pain. He convulsed, and he started to foam at the mouth. Veranor looked down at the dagger in his hand, he looked up at the hanging man dying in agony, and then he looked up at Gorlen, who stared at the man with a wicked hatred, and pleasure.

  “Long . . .” The hanging man coughed. “Live . . .” He coughed again, and everyone in the room seemed to be hanging on his words. He took a deep gulp, and then yelled out in a voice that shook the room. “Long live the Dragon’s Breath!”

  The Witch Queen let out a screeching roar, that of an old woman wailing. As she screamed on in her fury and rage, Veranor moved swiftly, and feeling the weight of the dagger properly in his hand, he took quick steps. The dagger found its mark and blood poured to the floor. The eyes of the hanging man gave a look of gratitude. Veranor couldn’t help but find respect for the man who’d braved all to defy a god, and as he pulled the dagger from the man’s neck the green smoke dissipated and the man’s body fell limp on the chains.

  Gorlen’s eyes shot over at Veranor in a wild rage. “What did you do? His soul was mine to torment!”

  “I couldn’t let his lies speak to you like that,” Veranor said in a strong tone. “I can’t let his lies permeate your air anymore.”

  She eyed him curiously, and her head perched to the side. Her hand and fingers extended out towards him as she appeared to glide towards him, without moving her legs. He looked down at the bloody dagger in his hand and held it out to her. She grabbed the blade with her bare hand and looking at the blood as it ran down the blade, she turned her back to him, and to what seemed to him as she was licking the blade. Once she turned back around, the blade was as clean as it had been when she handed it to him.

  “You can have it back,” she said. “Go ahead, keep it. Any others speak of that bitch girl, I want you to end their miserable existence too.”

  He took it sloppily from her hand, as he almost dropped it, but caught it before it did.

  “You can go now,” she said, turning her back to him again.

  “What of the others?” he asked, looking around the room, and at the many painful eyes on him. “You wish me to show them the same justice?”

  She slinked back into her bed, and under her sheets. “No, their souls have more cleansing that must be done before they can depart to The Eternal Fires.

  “Very well,” he said. “I’ll take my leave then.”

  “Oh, Veranor,” she whispered from her bed, looking innocent as she appeared to be half-asleep.

  “Yes, Gorlen.”

  “We’re going to kill that girl. I want to taste her fear. She’s all I want. You’re going to help me find her, and then, you’ll have everything you could ever dream of.”

  “I am here only to please the Six. May your will be done,” he said. Then he turned to leave, but paused, and turned back around toward the goddess. “May I ask you a question, goddess Gorlen?”

  She seemed perturbed but feigned and waved her hand in a gesture to insinuate her permission.

  “Why do you come now?” he asked, his voice trying to remain firm, yet calm. “Why send out Lilaci with the others before? Why don’t the Six all just go out after the girl?”

  “The others fear her,” she said. “Does that answer your question?”

  “Yes, it does. Do you not? Not that this girl could ever harm one so powerful as yourself, but I’m just curious.”

  “Oh, you mortals, and your curiosity,” she said with a sigh. “You know what curiosity leads to right? Yes, our prophecy vaguely says the Dragon’s Breath will attempt to raise the dragons, and the others fear the girl herself a danger to us. Dânoz told me to stay back with them, while your best assassin, Lilaci, would bring the girl back. When she did not, I asked Dânoz that I be the one to capture her. In exchange, when I bring her back the castle of Firen-ar, she’d be mine to . . . play with. There’d be no ceremonial kill, no easy death for this one. She’d be mine for a lifetime of pain, and anguish. She’d be my pet of pestilence, my greatest trophy. I’d make the girl suffer a fate worse than you could dream in a nightmare. And as I feed on her pain, my powers will only grow stronger as I live on forever, once the prophecy is dead.”

  “It will be my greatest honor to aid you in this quest,” he said, with a deep bow.

  “You can go now,” she said impatiently.

  He then turned and hastily exited the room. Once he was down the alley, he darted around a corner, and with his back against a wall, he slid down to the sandy cobblestone. He wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked down at the dagger he held, which shook in his quivering hand.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ten days later.

  The Dune of the Last Dragon tore towards t
he sky with an ominous splendor. Lilaci watched it constantly as it grew slowly closer, step by step, in the far distance. It was nothing like the surrounding mountains, they were shorter, and wider receding than its near-vertical cliffs. It was called a dune, but it was nothing of the sort. Along the sheer side that faced them appeared more and more the carving of the dragon. It rolled all the way down its face, snaking delicately down. Its wings wrapped wide around its sides and curved around to the back, and its strong, winding tail hung nearly down to the desert floor. Yet at its top where its true splendor should reside, was an empty space where the beast’s head would go.

  How in the gods could such a thing be made? Those cliffs look nearly unscalable, how could one— or a thousand— go about carving such a massive thing? I’ve never seen anything like it in all my days. The wicked irony is that past it, and out into the sea is Arralyn, home of the gods. An island housing a palace the likes of any mortal should never behold. Its majesty is said to only have been seen by the heroes the gods collect as trophies after their many victories. I wonder now if I would’ve given them Kera, if I’d be one of those statues by now. Now that I think of it, I’ve never appreciated my life like I have now. I was always a weapon, a tool, used by others. This feeling I have for it, it’s different— more exciting— than anything I’ve ever felt before. I want to live, for her, she needs me. We must be getting close now. Or at least I desperately hope so.

  “Nice, isn’t it?” Roren said, marveling up at the Dune. “I wonder how many eyes have seen this marvel in this corner of these barren lands? How long has it stood? A thousand years? One-thousand centuries?”

  “What do your people say?” she asked.

  “They only say its old, and sacred. We don’t know the mysteries it holds, but we’ve had many travel to it over the years. A pilgrimage of sorts.”

  “They find anything interesting? Anything you can tell me about it?” she asked.

  “Well, it's difficult to climb,” he said gruffly. “But I’m sure you can tell that just by looking at it. The other curious thing is the head, or lack of it. It should be on the desert floor somewhere, withering away from the winds, but there’s no trace of it.”

  “Maybe it fell into the sea,” she said. “Not much of a mystery there.”

  “That is possible, yes. If it fell and somehow rolled to the other side of the mountain. What is more curious than that is Kôrran’s Cave, or what we think was his . . .”

  “Or her,” Lilaci interjected.

  “Yes— or her— cave.”

  “Go on.”

  “You see the cave’s entrance is about halfway up on the southern side of the mountain, and a few of our Order made it up to the cave around a century ago. But they could not enter. They told stories of a wind so strong blowing out of the cave they couldn’t set one foot into the entrance of it, it nearly blew them clear off its face.”

  “Wind blowing from the cave?” she asked, with an upturned eyebrow.

  “They gathered three possibilities whilst climbing back down. One— there’s a dragon in there, breathing hard in its slumber— assuredly not the case, as all the dragons are dead. Two— there’s an opening at the back of the cave somewhere else on the mountain that causes an air stream through the cave that blows out to the southern exit.”

  “And third,” Lilaci said. “Magic, right?”

  “Yes, there is a spell protecting the cave from outsiders.”

  “Who would create such a spell?”

  “We have two guesses,” he said. “Care to guess?” He looked over at Lilaci as they walked, waiting for an answer.

  “The gods obviously, but not obviously. They alone have the ability to create an enchantment that would last over a century. But why? If the dragons are dead, what use do they have to protect a cave that's abandoned?”

  “A valid question,” he said. “And rightfully asked. Do you have another guess as to who would set a spell like that?”

  “Other than your Order, not really.”

  “I assure you we didn’t.” He looked back up at the mountain curiously. “I suppose we would have if we found something worth protecting in it, but that was not the case. Their other guess was the dragons themselves placed an enchantment of protection on the cave, hiding what it contains. It is said the dragon’s magic was so potent, so strong, even the gods could not dispel it. Their magics never worked on the other. There is a theory both of their magics were of the same origin, that’s a brain-racker isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, we may not want to go down that rabbit hole, who even knows if there’s an answer to that question we will ever know. Were the gods and dragons made from the same cloth? Unlikely,” she said.

  They continued walking down a corridor-like area in the Gorx. As the region became rockier, they found themselves weaving in and out of massive rocks that seemed to shoot up from the sands. Almost suspiciously, they were walking down a path that held no rocks in it. It was like a pathway to the Dune of the Last Dragon.

  Minutes later, Lilaci suddenly stopped walking, and looked down at her feet.

  “What’s the matter?” Roren asked, stopping himself and looking back at her.

  “Something occurred to me just now,” she said. “If it indeed is a spell protecting the cave— and it was a spell made there by the gods—”

  “Yes?”

  “Then wouldn’t Kera’s magic be able to counteract their magic?” She walked over to Roren eagerly, with wide eyes looking into his. “If they’re hiding something there, Kera can make it through. She can discover their secret in the cave.”

  Roren cupped her shoulders with his hands and smiled. “Yes, we’ve considered that. Theoretically you’re right. But that’s a big risk to take, carrying a young girl up a mountain like that. We lost one of our own back then climbing up it, and one on the way back down, and they were seasoned climbers. It’s always been far too big of a risk.”

  “We wouldn’t need to get her all the way up there, just close enough to dispel their magic, and then we could go inside.”

  “Yes, again, you’re right.” Then he turned to look back at the mountain, at least one hundred miles in the distance. “But look at it, if the cave is halfway up, you’d need to get her nearly halfway up. I wouldn’t risk her life on a chance like that. Would you? If it came down to it?”

  She sighed. “I suppose not. But what are those bastards hiding in there?”

  “We may never know, again, it may be one of the greatest mysteries of our lifetime. Or— there may be nothing in there, and it's just a stream of strong winds blowing through. I’m not sure I want to bet my life on it.”

  Just then Lilaci’s head shot back behind her, and her hand fell to the hilt of her sword. Roren noticed and grabbed his sword.

  “What is it?” he whispered to her, surveying the rocks on both sides of them.

  Lilaci’s keen eyes stared directly down their footsteps in the direction they’d come.

  “We’re not alone,” she whispered back.

  “What? Who? What do you see?”

  She drew her sword from its scabbard, and a sharp ringing sound sang through the air as she did so. He followed her lead.

  “Damn, we’ve been followed,” she said.

  “Well, well, well,” a strong voice called out from behind, followed by a slow clap by thick, strong hands.

  Lilaci watched as a brown-bearded, burly man emerged from behind a rock thirty paces away. He was clapping his hands slowly, and had a scimitar hanging at his side.

  “Stay close to me,” Lilaci whispered to Roren.

  “It feels like it’s been a long time, Lilaci,” the man said. Then another figure sulked out from behind another rock, standing twelve feet to his side. The man was bald, with lean muscles in his arms, and silver piercings hanging from his ears. They’ve finally come for me. I knew the Scaethers wouldn’t let my betrayal go unpunished. I didn’t know they’d send him though. The Scaethers are a bitter lot, and for the one Scaether I kille
d back when I first met Kera— Foro— they’ve sent out his old pack after me, and my former friends and companions.

  “And yet it seems like just yesterday we were all fighting alongside each other,” the pierced man called out, he was angry.

  “That was a lifetime ago,” Lilaci called out. “We were different people.”

  “Wrong!” the bearded man said. “You are different, we are the same.”

  Lilaci scowled at them. “We were friends once, it doesn’t have to be like this.”

  “You killed Foro!” the pierced man yelled in fury, he pointed out his long sword at her. “You killed one of your own in cold blood.”

  “He murdered innocents, he was going to take an innocent girl to be tortured,” she called out. “I know that’s what the Scaethers are, but somewhere inside of you, you have to know that’s wrong. It’s evil. It makes us the bad guys, the ones that people fear.”

  “Doesn’t matter anymore,” the bearded man said. “Your life is forfeit. You need to come with us back to the capital. The queen and Commander Veranor both wish to see you— dearly.”

  “Garenond,” Lilaci said. “We fought together, I know you are a good man, somewhere inside of you. You have to let me go on, there is something I must do. I can help end all of this pain and misery we’ve lived through. We can stop them from harming so many more. Help us; we could use your strength, and your courage. You too Dellanor, let us just talk this through, I can explain everything that’s happened. I can show you what I’ve seen, what the future can look like.”

  “You don’t have a future,” Dellanor said. “This ends right here, right now for your friend, and you’re coming with us Lilaci, even if we have to chop off your feet and carry you.”

  “Garenond, listen to me,” she said. “We have a chance to make a difference in the Arr. We can bring back its former glory. We can make the lands prosperous again, just like the old stories tell, before the gods brought their spite and misery with them. I know I wronged you by killing your friend, but he was going to kill me. I did care for him, it wasn’t an easy thing for me, and I knew the risk. But if you’ll just listen to reason, instead of what they’ve filled our heads with, you may see what I see, and it’s beautiful.”