by Jake Adler
THE DRAGON’S CUP
By Jake Adler
Copyright by Jake Adler
Published by arrangement with Kindle Direct Publishing
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior approval and permission of the author. This novel may also not be circulated in any other form other than that in which it was published without similar permissions by the author being granted. Cover artwork is in the public domain by Thomas Cole (1833).
This second book of the Nemedian Trilogy continues its tribute to fans of epic fantasy and those who love Celtic, Norse and Greek mythology.
“Beloved Hrafn, release thy chains. Odin hears your cries and will send forth Huginn and Muninn to turn the tide of battle.”
Book of Dagda, Fifteenth Cycle
TABLE OF CONTENTS
COPYRIGHT
MAP
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
EPILOGUE
GLOSSARY
SPELL CASTER APPENDIX
MAP
PROLOGUE
The darkness of night had fallen upon the city when the demons finally came. Creatures that flew, walked, crawled and burrowed quickly slaughtered the guards on duty, leaving their quivering corpses to empty their blood upon the city’s ramparts. As the demons reached the cobbled streets, they broke their silence.
The city’s inhabitants awoke to a terrifying sound as high and low pitched shrieks formed a cacophony of hell. The creatures began to enter the dwellings, swiftly silencing terrified screams as bodies soon lay broken, many still within their beds. The smell of death quickly filled the air and within a matter of hours, the city lay silent.
The Northern clans then entered the city and began to systematically plunder it of its riches, moving from house to house and then setting each dwelling ablaze. By dawn, the city of Ellington was no more. Angry flames had been replaced by clouds of thick, dark smoke that stretched far into the sky as a blackened shell was revealed by the pale winter sunlight. Then the rain came, huge great sheets of it that washed the air clean.
CHAPTER ONE
The Draugr twitched.
Inside its cold, damp coffin it sensed the presence of something powerful approach. Although it was incapable of feeling fear, it knew better than to interfere. The Draugr was soon left far behind as the caped figure swiftly weaved its way through the labyrinth that lay deep beneath the bowels of the city as it headed up towards the dungeons of Ellington. Upon arriving at the central chamber, the figure paused, taken aback by the glare of torches that now lined the walls.
“Bread and water is too good for them,” growled an overweight prison guard as he jerked his head towards the prison cells. His companion grunted.
The two men sat oblivious to the carnage that was occurring above them and of the being watched as they played cards at a rickety old wooden table.
“Are you sticking or what?” snapped the second guard impatiently.
The overweight man reached down into a cloth sack that contained the food rations of the prisoners, to find that its contents were now empty. “Keep your hair on!” he barked in irritation at his newfound lack of food, “I want another card.”
The shadow moved back towards the gloom and watched. Nothing could be seen of its face inside its cowl except a pair of eyes that reflected the light like mirrors. It wanted to continue forth to identify the scent of magic and death that had so intrigued it but it had no desire to kill the two prison guards. Its gaze rested upon a half drunken bottle of whiskey on the table, causing it to smile. It would not have to wait long.
* * * *
Dawn was breaking as Gizurr stood at the window of his bedchamber to watch the ancient forest of the Fae. A warm southerly breeze caressed the leaves of the trees that changed them from their usual green to flashes of lilac and a deep, azure blue. A faint whisper travelled upon the wind that quickly became lost amongst the many sounds of the forest that shimmered in the early morning sunlight.
Gizurr sighed as his thoughts drifted towards Mistress Inga. The fiery haired young woman had long ago captured his heart and recent events had been a stark reminder of the fragility of life. His mind was now set, once the war was over he would put an end to his bachelor days and marry the lass. Besides he grinned, he would very much enjoy the process of fathering an heir who would inherit his part of the silversmith’s that he shared with his brother Njord and with Drengi, his young apprentice.
He frowned briefly at the thought of the many dangers that now roamed the lands but quickly dismissed his concerns. His people were born from the fires of war and many would have by now taken sanctuary in Takrak or reopened one of the many mining towns that lay deep beneath the Southern reaches. These old mines were virtual impregnable forces that were interlaced with secret tunnels that were hewn out of solid rock to gather and deliver supplies. At the heart of each town stood a temple that housed the offerings to their gods given over many generations. Tradition decreed that these offerings could be reclaimed in times of great need and Gizurr knew that his people would be well stocked and provisioned for war.
The sound of people waking prompted him to shift his thoughts to more pressing matters and he swiftly dressed himself and headed towards the main hall. He found his old friend Ragni already seated at an enormous central dining table that ran the length of the hall. Most of the table had been left barren apart from a small section that was closest to the enormous oak exit doors was partially dressed and laden with a cold selection of meats, breads and cheeses. A row of engraved silver goblets, interspersed with large silver pitchers filled with fresh water, completed the fare.
“Any left for me?” Gizurr grinned as he sat down next to his friend and grabbed a chunk of fresh bread.
Ragni winked and kept on chewing, “I have asked the kitchen staff to give us a couple of sheepskin bags for our journey.”
Gizurr nodded his approval. They both knew the merit of having access to a bag or two of fine ale on a long journey, “Where’s Jetzan?” he asked, blinking in surprise as he realised that this was the first time that he had used the human’s name. He already knew that the human, Baxan Morholt would be staying behind as the Jarl had asked him help to secure the city’s defences.
“He’s with the half Orc and that young Elf woman,” replied Ragni, “I think she’s his fancy bit.”
“Who?”
“The half Orc. The Elf girl keeps looking at him like her pants are on fire,” Ragni laughed at his own joke.
Gizurr turned and his eyes briefly saw Jetzan who seemed deep in conversation with one of the city’s soldiers, but his gaze rested upon the young Elven woman. She was deftly securing the straps that held the armour and weaponry of the dragon that would be accompanying them. Her romantic af
filiations were of no interest to him, but her actions were as her hands expertly moved across the body of the dragon. Within moments, the task was completed and the dragon began to proudly strut about the main hall as his armour glinted in the pale morning sunlight. Gizurr took a moment to admire the creature as he flexed his powerful body. Although still an adolescent, the dragon was almost fully grown and his muscles were clearly discernible beneath his scales that shone in a rainbow of colours that occasionally combined to form flashes of brilliant white light. His head was protected by a highly polished silver helmet that was armed with a three foot long metal spike. His claws were over a foot in length and razor sharp and his thick, muscular tail was equipped with a serrated club like device at its tip.
“There, you’re ready.” Ellaminva put her hands on her hips and stood back to admire her handiwork. Vank’s eyes sparkled with excitement and he breathed in deeply to puff out his chest. She smiled at his antics but was struck by the realization that he had grown quite significantly in the short few weeks that they had been away.
“All set then?” Axcil enquired as he approached her quietly from behind.
Ellaminva turned to face him as she felt her heartbeat quicken. Their reunion the previous evening had been very amorous, “Yes we are,” she responded shyly.
Axcil reached out a hand to gently caress her cheek, “I know you can take care of yourself, but will you promise me that you will try to stay close to me or Vank?”
Ellaminva struggled to keep her emotions under control and just nodded.
Satisfied at her response he turned to face the group, “We leave in two hours,” he announced authoritatively to the room, his gaze resting briefly on each of the companions as he did so. The companions swiftly finished their breakfasts and within a short space of time they were ready to depart. They knew that their quest to rescue the High Dragon from the dark magic that had imprisoned him would be difficult. Their plan was to travel North, beyond the reaches of Lake Diabhal and deep into the Barhal Swamps. They would seek the counsel of one of Axcil’s most trusted and lifelong friends, a Goblin named Folki. This Goblin and his wife had long ago left the streets of Takrak to set up a business that now stood at the very heart of the main trading routes that ran across the territories of the Northern Clans. If anybody had spoken about the origins behind the attack on the High Dragon or about the motives of the mysterious witch that lived inside Cave Mirin, then Folki would have heard about it. He might also know why the Northern Clans had chosen to ally themselves with the demons in the first place.
As the winter sun reached its zenith, the small band of companions, totalling six Dwarves, three humans, two Hesparind, a half Orc and a Dragon set out to begin their long journey North. Vank travelled to the rear of the group, being given permission to only take occasional aerial patrols for scouting purposes and was ridden by Ellaminva. The rest of the companions sat upon one of the most ancient breeds of horse known as the Sorraia. They were dun coloured animals with thick winter coats that had slight barring on their heads and chests that would cope well in the bitterly cold climate that lay ahead of them. A stiff breeze whipped through the trees ahead, causing them to shiver and wrap their cloaks more tightly about themselves as they began their journey Northwards.
They made steady progress and within a couple of days they had left the forests of Findias far behind them and entered the outskirts of Barhal Swamp. Heavy rain had fallen for most of the day, filling the air with a wet, biting chill that seeped deep into their bones. As they entered the swamp, the sun began to dip behind the horizon and the horses instinctively slowed their pace in response to the rising waters. The swamp seemed heavily forested with huge tree trunks that rose hundreds of feet into the air with branches draped in vines that hung down to touch upon the surface of the water that was covered in a thin film of green slime.
Small islands of vegetation littered the swamp, serving as havens against the brackish waters. After a couple of hours of laboured travel and with the daylight now almost gone, Axcil leaned forward in his saddle and pointed towards a large knoll of vegetation, “We will set up camp there for the night,” he immediately dismounted from his horse and began to wade towards it.
The companions quickly followed suit and dismounted. To ensure the safety of their horses, they knew that on the morrow that they would need to lead their mounts by hand as the deeper they went, the more uncertain their footings had become.
Gizurr coughed as some of the swamp water splashed into his mouth, “Damnation to Lake Diabhal that created this cess pit.”
“Let us hope that it only supplied the water,” Ragni responded as he thought of the legends of the dark creatures that lived inside the lake.
“Aye,” Gizurr grimaced.
The companions reached the knoll and found to their relief that it was robust enough to hold both their weight and that of their horses. Jetzan swiftly set about to making a fire, using the dry kindling that he had the foraged a few days earlier. Within the hour, a roaring campfire crackled upon a makeshift bed of flat stones that drew the bite out of the air.
“We’re all going to get foot rot you know,” Ragni stated as he stared forlornly at the pale, wrinkled skin on the soles of his feet as he removed his sodden boots.
Gizurr grunted at him then jerked his head at one of their sheepskin bags, “It’ll be thirsty work tonight drying out our shoes.”
Axcil saw the exchange of glances between the two Dwarves and smiled. Their enjoyment of some fine ale that night would be well earned. They would need to endure the putrid swamp for several days more and any respite from its unpleasantness would no doubt boost morale. He turned his head to the sound of squelching boots to find Ellaminva had approached him, her beautiful face looking drained and ashen as she sat next to him.
“You can sleep with us tonight,” she sighed in fatigue as she nodded towards her sizeable dragon friend who was turning in a series of tight concentric circles to in an attempt to form a compact nest of vegetation for the night.
Axcil shook his head, “I will be the first to stand watch, so I don’t want to disturb your rest.”
The young Elf woman frowned at him angrily, “And what happens when it’s my turn to stand watch?”
The half-Orc shrugged his shoulders, “My point exactly.”
Ellaminva looked disappointed, “I understand.”
Axcil saw her struggle to remain aloof. Since their reunion at the grand council of the Tuatha Dé Danann, their relationship had blossomed and they had become lovers but they had both agreed to put their relationship on hold while they searched for a way to rescue the High Dragon.
“Good night then,” she mumbled as she slowly rose to her feet.
Axcil watched her go and sighed as he forced his gaze away from her to scan the surrounding terrain. The evening was cold and quiet. Even the rain had finally halted as the air settled into a heavy blanket of damp chill that draped itself across the campsite. The night passed slowly and without incident, as each of the companions took their turn to stand watch. As the winter sun finally arose upon the horizon, the grasses sparkled in the dew of the early morning sunlight and the air filled with a gentle mist that rolled across the surface of the waters as beams of sunlight turned it into clouds of pale gold.
A frown creased across Gizurr’s forehead as a putrid scent suddenly filled the air. He glanced around to see a wave of ripples appear to the East of them, “We have company!” he yelled as he quickly scrambled to his feet.
“Form a circle!” Axcil barked as his eyes swept the area to find new signs of disturbance in the water to the West. Whatever had approached, there was more than one of them and they were already beginning to encircle the knoll upon which the companions rested. The horses sensed the danger and began to neigh in fear as they began to struggle against their tethers. Ragni saw the threat and quickly untied the terrified animals from who were tied to a log that lay to the swamp and led them to the centre of the knoll. The animals gave
up little resistance as they were led away from the swirling waters.
Axcil nodded his approval as he saw the waters begin to settle. However, the moment of respite was brief as a putrid scent filled the air once more. Ellaminva cursed and leapt into Vank’s riding saddle and with a swift kick of her heels, they leapt into the air as Vank beat his powerful wings to gain a height of some fifty feet above the companions. His body filled the horizon and shadow draped across swirling waters as his talons flexed in readiness for battle.
Time passed without response and Ellaminva signalled for the dragon to return to the knoll. He landed heavily, causing a powerful wave of vibration that shook the vegetation around them and churned the waters beneath, serving as a warning to whatever lurked inside the swamp that a dragon travelled among them.
The brackish waters ceased to swirl and finally settled as a deathly silence descended upon the swamp. Gizurr grinned crookedly and spat at the water, “Try it again and we will carve you another hole!”
Ragni snorted then remained silent as the group scanned the area for signs of movement. A chill breeze suddenly picked up, bringing along with it the welcome scent of fresh air that blew away the putrid smell that had previously enveloped the swamp. The call of a song bird signalled that the danger had passed and within the hour they had set out to continue their journey Northwards.
* * * *
The winter skies were clear and bright as Ethan stared out of the window of his hotel room. Thousands of crowded chimney stacks littered the skyline, busily melting the morning frosts that caused them to glisten like jewels in the sunlight. He felt the faint warmth of the sun shine through the glass of the window pane and touch his face.
He sighed and padded softly back towards his bed. Talina remained fast asleep in her own bed and he smiled as the sight of a plethora of documents that still remained on the hotel floor as they had spent many hours together the previous evening attempting to learn as much as they could about the City of Light. A lock of long, dark hair had fallen across Talina’s face and he felt a sudden and violent urge to kiss her. The strength and immediacy of his response to the princess and his dismissal of his feelings towards Cara left him feeling dazed and confused. In the few short days that they had known one another, a powerful bond had formed between them and he had felt his resolve begin to weaken as each day passed as a dark shadow of obsession was beginning to form. He held a growing suspicion that something was wrong. He found himself thinking back to the events at the Throne of Vines and of the Treaty to which princess Talina and Master Bedwyr had spoken about. There may be some connection to these events, but it was also equally possible that he might be imagining the whole thing as there was no denying that the princess was stunningly beautiful.
