The Dragons of Bone and Dust (Tales from the New Earth Book 7)

by J. J. Thompson

  The Dragons of Bone and Dust

  Tales from the New Earth: Book 7

  by

  J. J. Thompson

  Text Copyright © 2016 J. J. Thompson

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover Art by Jeff Brown

  (jeffbrowngraphics.com)

  “Death and Life cancel each other out. We either win or we die; it's as simple as that.”

  - Simon O'Toole

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Links and Things

  Chapter 1

  A thick mist hung heavily over the fields and forests. The air was cold, clammy with moisture in the early autumn morning and unusually still, with no breeze to push the fog aside.

  Rising out of the mist, a castle brooded atop a hill, glowering over the countryside like an uneasy giant. No movement disturbed its grim facade; the high walls were still, no smoke rose above it, no sounds escaped its hidden interior. It might have been deserted.

  A small group of people stared up at the silent edifice. No one spoke but most of the faces looked either sad or wistful as they relived memories of better times.

  A deep voice broke the silence and the group turned as one to look behind them.

  Standing next to a strange machine that poked out of the ground near the edge of the forest was a short, thick-set figure. A dwarf.

  He was wearing heavy steel armor as easily as an average man would wear light clothing and his thick gray beard hung down below his waist.

  “I hate to rush ye all,” he called out to the group, “but there be dragons about. Say yer farewells and board the drill, if ye please.”

  A frail-looking young man, wearing a robe as red as clotted blood, frowned at the dwarf. He pushed his fine blond hair out of his eyes and glanced at the woman standing next to him, who met his eyes with a look of faint amusement.

  “What's his hurry? There aren't very many dragons left anymore and we have a cleric with us who can feel a dracolich coming from miles away.”

  He looked at the dwarf again and snorted.

  “And what's with that accent? He bloody well sounds like he stepped out of fourteenth century London.”

  The woman laughed lightly and tucked her short blond hair behind her ears. Her robe was bright green and stitched with intricate designs. She toyed with a metal wand hanging on her belt as she spoke.

  “Easy, Sebastian. Don't take your anger out on Garold Greydon. He's just the pilot of that infernal machine and he has every right to be nervous. The dwarves have been good enough to offer us shelter in their capital, even in the midst of their war against the lords of Chaos, but they couldn't spare any guards for this trip, so he's a little tense.”

  The young man looked at her sourly.

  “You're awfully cheerful, dear sister. Aren't you usually the one who looks on the dark side of things?”

  She sighed and looked back up at the castle.

  “That old place was our home, Bastian,” Tamara said, her voice thin with fatigue. “It was just starting to feel comfortable, you know? Am I angry? You're damned right I am. But what the hell good would it do me to moan about it now? We are lucky to be alive and very fortunate that the dwarves have offered us a safe haven for our people.”

  She looked around at the final group that was waiting to leave. Except for herself and her brother, all of the castle's other leaders were already underground, along with most of the inhabitants. She gestured up at Nottinghill Castle and an expression of brooding hatred darkened her features.

  “I intend to take it back from that monster one day, I swear it. He will die screaming, wishing that he had never crossed the paths of Tamara and Sebastian Forsythe.”

  “I suppose we should be happy that a necromancer's undead troops can't operate in daylight,” Sebastian said bitterly. “And that so many of our people got out during the attack.”

  He glared up at the castle walls, his expression mirroring his sister's.

  “Can you feel him watching us from some shadowed corner up there? I can. He's laughing at us, Tammy. Laughing at us as we run away like frightened children.”

  Tamara turned away from the castle, stepped up to Sebastian and grabbed his shoulders. She gave him a hard shake and stared into his eyes.

  “Not children, Bastian. Leaders. Responsible leaders. Dracoliches are coming; Miriam has felt their distant approach. And unlike the other undead, those monsters are not daunted by sunlight. We have to flee, if only to save our people.”

  She looked back one last time.

  “We will return one day soon though and take our revenge, I swear we will.”

  She gave her brother's shoulders an affectionate squeeze and nodded at the small group watching them.

  “We have to go. Our new home awaits.”

  Sebastian tore his eyes from the castle and smiled sheepishly at his sister.

  “I'm starting to sound as blood-thirsty as you normally do,” he told her.

  She chuckled and nodded in agreement.

  “Depending on the circumstances, that's not always a bad thing. But stay kind, brother mine. Your soft heart balances out my cold one.”

  He raised a silent eyebrow but wisely didn't reply.

  “Now, let's get the hell out of here before I storm back in there myself. Garold! We're ready.”

  “About time, m'lady. Night approaches and I daresay so do those accursed bone dragons.”

  Tamara approached the dwarf, frowning, and he merely returned her dark look with a smile.

  “Why do you speak like someone from the middle ages?” she growled at him.

  Garold laughed and waved the others, who had followed the mage to the transport, into the machine.

  “I took a fancy to the accent when I first heard it on a recording.”

  Tamara's scowl was replaced by a look of confusion.

  “Wait. What? How did you hear a recording of an ancient human language?”

  “My people may have been living deep underground since the days when the old gods withdrew from the world, but we have always kept an eye on your race. Some of our tech may be magic-based, but much of it is machinery powered by electricity. We've had a network of cables and sensors relaying information from the surface for centuries.”

  He grinned broadly.

  “I was going through our library one day when I was a young dwarf and came across this fellow giving a speech. I believe the recording was made about four hundred years ago. At any rate, I found his accent delightful and have used it ever since.”

  “Really? Hmm. Well, it seems to come and go a fair bit,” she said sourly as she walked by him and stepped into the digger.

  “Aye, so it does,” Garold agreed cheerfully.

  He followed her in and pulled the hatch closed.

  “Pra
y, take a seat and strap yourself in, dear lady. The trip is bound to be a little bouncy and we wouldn't want your delicate skin to suffer any bruising.”

  “Keep talking like that and I won't be the one who ends up with the bruises,” Tamara told him ominously.

  She walked away and Garold watched her with amusement as she climbed down the ladder to the passenger area.

  “Promises, promises,” he muttered to himself with a sigh. “Ah well, off we go. Next stop, home sweet home.”

  The capital city of the dwarves, known simply as Kingstone, was a massive place and unbelievably old. It had been dug out of the very bones of the world, close enough to the planet's core to always be warm, but not so close that the temperature was uncomfortable. And except for a few old sages whose duty it was to keep records , no one really knew how big it truly was. Vast sections were quiet and still, deserted in ages past as the dwarven race dwindled.

  Into this venerable but still strong city came the remnants of the human race. An entire neighborhood, long empty, had been allocated to the refugees by Shandon Ironhand, the ruler of the dwarves. His people had willingly swept through the area, cleaning, painting and making the stone buildings as welcoming as possible.

  Tamara, Sebastian and the rest of the inhabitants from Nottinghill Castle were delivered safely to their new, albeit temporary, home and welcomed by the king himself.

  Shandon wasn't one to stand on ceremony and, when he wasn't holding court, wandered among his subjects wearing plain armor and without fanfare. Unfortunately he couldn't go anywhere without his bodyguards; the council had insisted on it after the last king had been assassinated. But they were the only clue that Shandon was anything other than a regular warrior and when the humans were guided to their assigned neighborhood, they weren't quite sure who he was.

  “Welcome, my friends. Welcome,” the king said heartily.

  He was standing in the center of a square, in front of a small fountain that tinkled cheerfully. Its splashing water trickled down over several tiers and the sounds it made were the only noises that broke the silence of the place.

  Shandon was grinning broadly, hands on armored hips, as Tamara led her group into the square. Everyone was looking around wide-eyed and unsure of themselves and the cheerful greeting helped allay their fears somewhat.

  The mage and her brother moved ahead of the others and approached the king. His guards stood several paces behind him and watched the newcomers closely. There were six of them, three males and three females, all wearing black armor and armed with swords and shields. Each one looked equally formidable.

  “Thank you,” Tamara replied stiffly. “Are you the representative of the city council?”

  One of the guards growled deep in her throat and Sebastian jumped.

  Shandon just laughed at the question and shook his head.

  “Forgive my bodyguard. They are all a little more impressed by my position than I am. Allow me to introduce myself; Shandon Ironhand, at your service. Welcome to Kingstone.”

  Tamara's eyes widened and her brother gasped.

  “You're the king?” she asked faintly.

  “Aye. But please, call me Shandon, at least when we aren't at court. Our mutual friend Simon O'Toole always did.”

  At the mention of that name, the air seemed to become cooler and the buildings appeared less welcoming than they had a moment before.

  “Did he? I'm happy to hear that. My name is Tamara and this is my brother, Sebastian. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

  The king forced a smile as he pushed aside old memories.

  “The pleasure is all mine, lady mage. Oh yes, I know you. I've had a full report on all of the leaders of your group. I doubt that that will come as a surprise to you.”

  “It doesn't. It's a wise precaution and something that I would do myself if I was in your shoes. Have any of the others arrived yet?”

  The dwarf nodded, his thick black beard rising and falling. It flowed down and over his belt buckle and the silver clasp glinted as he moved.

  “The crew and passengers from the Defiant have been here for several days. They were living in temporary quarters while my people prepared this area for all of you, and are happily settling into their new homes now. I'll take you to them when you are ready.”

  “And the rest?” Sebastian asked with obvious concern.

  Shandon's expression became somber and he looked at the siblings compassionately.

  “We found very few survivors at the locations your people relayed to us. I suppose that they are lucky that you managed to discover them at all, using your scrying spells, but we weren't the only ones hunting them.”

  “Magic Mirror spells, actually,” Tamara corrected him absently. “You mean they were found by...”

  “Necromancers, yes. Those damned casters have been taught some means of sniffing out the living, probably by their accursed Chaotic masters. Undead dragons and risen troops are scouring the planet, sniffing out what remains of your species.”

  There was a muttered comment from behind Shandon and he cocked his head to listen to it. He growled a replay in dwarvish.

  “I agree with my bodyguard,” he said to the siblings. “The next targets, after the hunt for surviving humans is completed, will be my people. We are already strengthening our defenses, both here in the capitol and in our other cities as well.”

  “Good to know. How many other survivors have you found?” Sebastian asked anxiously.

  The mage's obvious concern for his people seemed to touch the king and he stepped forward and pounded on his armored chest with his fist.

  “I promise you that we will not stop looking, though it jeopardizes our own safety, until all of your people are found, sir mage. As to how many we have rescued so far?”

  He turned and gestured to one of the guards. She reached into a pouch on her belt, pulled out a tightly rolled scroll and moved forward to hand it to the king.

  Shandon unrolled the parchment and peered down at it.

  “So, a hundred and thirty from Nottinghill Castle, fifty-two off of the Defiant, twenty...”

  His muttering switched to the dwarven tongue and Tamara and Sebastian exchanged amused glances.

  “Ah yes, here we are,” the dwarf declared. “Counting all of the small settlements and groups that we have tracked down so far, the total as of right now is four hundred and seventy-eight. For the moment. I'm quite sure that a few more will trickle in before we're done.”

  Sebastian gaped at him while his sister gasped.

  “So many?” Tamara exclaimed, a rare smile of delight crossing her face.

  Shandon's answering smile was gentle.

  “No, dear lady. So few.”

  Her face fell and she nodded.

  “True enough. But these days we count our numbers by the dozens, not the millions. And I haven't seen more than the population of Nottinghill in one place since the world was Changed by the return of the old gods.”

  “Of course, lady mage. I understand. Now,” Shandon clapped his hands together loudly and several of the people behind the mages yelped.

  “Now let us go. Your people are tired, I am sure, and want to begin settling into their new accommodations. Follow me, please.”

  The king turned and led the way, his guards circling him loosely. Tamara and Sebastian waved their people forward and the entire group slowly moved to follow the dwarves. For over a hundred souls, they walked with very little sound and any talking was conducted in whispers.

  “Why do I feel like I'm walking into a church?” Sebastian murmured to his sister.

  Tamara nodded and looked around at the solid stone buildings glowering down at them.

  “Probably because of the setting. I mean, how many of us have ever been underground? I'm not being ungrateful to Shandon and his people, but I think we'll miss the sky and the open air pretty quickly down here.”

  “They may surprise you,” her brother said as he looked back at the large group of nervous people. “A
s a species, we're pretty adaptable. And it is an amazing city. Maybe it's just the brooding age of the place that's intimidating.”

  “Maybe. All I want right now is for everyone to find a place to stay and settle in, especially the parents and kids. They're our hope for the future. When they are safe and sound, I'll rest easier.”

  Sebastian gave her a teasing grin.

  “So much for that 'screw you' attitude I remember so well, dear sister.”

  She glared back and then chuckled reluctantly.

  “Touché.”

  The walk to the area that the dwarves had set aside for the former inhabitants of Nottinghill Castle only took a few minutes. Shandon strode ahead and, when they entered another, smaller square, stopped and spun around. He waited until everyone had bunched up in front of him, beamed at them and spread out his arms.

  “Look around you, my friends. This is your new home.”

  Everyone stared at him in surprise, the abrupt statement catching them off-guard. Then they did as they were told and began turning around and examining their surroundings.

  The square where they were gathered was smaller than the one where they'd met the king, but it too had a fountain bubbling merrily in the center of it. This fount had a statue of a tall woman wearing a simple robe hanging off of one shoulder standing in it, water pouring from a jug she held under an arm.

  “Who is that?” Tamara asked Shandon and nodded at the fountain. “She doesn't look dwarvish.”

  The king looked at the statue and smiled.

  “She isn't. Nor is she human or elvish. That is the Earth Mother. My people are not religious, lady mage, but we believe that our race was created by one of the old gods. We call her the Mother of the Earth, Gaellestra in our tongue. She is greatly revered here.”

  “Gaellestra,” Tamara repeated slowly as she walked up to the fountain and stared at the delicate, unearthly visage of the statue.

  “I like it.”

  “I am sure that she is relieved to hear you say that,” Shandon said gravely.

  He winked when Tamara looked back at him and she laughed. Sebastian did as well but he was more interested in looking around at the buildings that bordered the square.