Dragon’s Blood
CURSE OF THE DRAKKU BOOK TWO
Jason J. Nugent
Copyright © 2019 by Jason J. Nugent
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Jason J. Nugent
jasonjnugent.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout © 2016 BookDesignTemplates.com
Dragon’s Blood: Curse of the Drakku: Book Two/ Jason J. Nugent. — 1st ed.
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Families are never what they appear to be.
One
Jor shuddered. The wilderness of southern Tregaron had been her home for three moons since the encounter outside the walls south of Woodpine, and she still was no closer to finding Lailoken. Forced to flee after the dragons destroyed the meeting with the Kull Naga, she and the remaining dragonslayers travelled far from those lands. Deep within her bones, she knew Lailoken was alive. He had to be.
“Jor, are you gonna eat that?” Belthos asked. He sat on the opposite side of the raging fire. The flames flickered, offering light in the early dark of winter. Snow blanketed the land and a bitter wind swept across the barren fields.
When they fled the plain, Jor escaped with the former Magus novice Belthos and the crossbowmen Tozgan and Ori. The four of them barely managed to live off the land far from Tregaron, fearing the Kull Naga Myrthyd had a price on their heads. Food scarcity was difficult for all of them.
“No, go ahead. You need it.”
Belthos had grown exponentially in his magical abilities even without supervision from the Order. His raw talents were improving. It was common to see him off in the distance waving his hands, the stone around his neck glowing. The more time he spent harnessing the powers, the more energy he expended. They had to increase their hunt in order to keep him going and have food for themselves, which was no easy task in winter, especially with decreasing food sources.
Between worrying about Lailoken and what she’d done, Jor wasn’t hungry.
Tozgan sat next to her. He pulled off his cap, twisted it, and put it back on. “Jor, I know you want to make sure he’s got the energy he needs to continue, but what about you? Don’t you need your strength?”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. Really. I know my limits.”
“Sure, but you don’t know when we’ll eat again. You know the hunt has been dwindling. Winter’s heart is upon us and our food grows sparse.”
“I’m fine,” she said in a quiet voice. She rested her hands on her knees and watched the dancing flames leap from the wood in front of her. Frigid winds swirled around them, forcing ashes into the air. The fire crackled, embers glowing and fading.
Lailoken, she thought. I will find you. I have to avenge my actions.
Tozgan gave up trying to get her to eat and the three men finished their meal quietly as Jor stared blankly into the fire.
The night grew darker and the fire died down. The men retired to their blankets for difficult sleep in the frigid night. Jor huddled under her own blanket, hoping to rid her mind of the guilt for what she’d done to her friend. Time did nothing to heal her wound.
But it wasn’t you; it was the Kull, she told herself. No matter how it happened, it was her hands that thrust the blade into his chest. It was her hands that tore the Blood Stone from him and handed it to Myrthyd. Alushia witnessed her father’s downfall at Jor’s hands. No, it wouldn’t be soon that she’d forgive herself. And that’s why she pursued Lailoken. To beg forgiveness and make things right. She’d already lost Darlonn. She’d not lose Lailoken, too.
The dark night gave way to morning’s rays, and Jor stoked the fire, waking the rest of the group. She slept little and worried much, but that was her lot.
“You’re going to need your rest,” Belthos said, stepping next to her. It had only been three moons, but the boy seemed to age by years. He used to be scared and timid, but since Driano’s murder at Myrthyd’s hands and their escape from the fight, Belthos had grown up in front of her. He was a good ten to fifteen years younger than she, but since his continued training with his powers, he matured quite a bit and had an air of a Magus about him, even though he had denounced the Order a while back.
“I’ll take my rest when I’m dead, if Meanos will have me. There’s too much to do now for me to waste it in slumber. If I slept half as long as you three, I’d never get anything done.” She punched his arm and winked.
“Fine; do as you will. I swear, you’re not doing yourself any favors. Rest makes a man strong and wise.”
“Is that what’s wrong with you?” she asked, smiling. He waved a hand at her dismissively and gathered his belongings, clanking pans and utensils. Soon Ori and Tozgan stirred.
It took Tozgan a few moments to get out from under his blankets. Though Belthos had healed him, the boy’s powers in the craft weren’t proficient and the slayer still had lingering pain from his injury. When Belthos tried to heal him again, he flatly refused, wary the boy would do more harm than good.
“Here, let me help,” Ori said extending his hand. At first, Tozgan waved him off.
“Get that away from me! I can take care of myself!” He struggled. Ori waited. Eventually he accepted the offer.
“I hate that I can’t do things like I used to.”
“Let the boy heal you! How many times do we have to go over this?”
“Pah! That boy won’t be touching me unless a limb was hanging from my body, and even then I might think twice about it.”
“Pride will get you killed,” Belthos said, interrupting them. “I can heal you. I’ve been training since I first tried to help. I’m sure I can fix it now.”
Tozgan shuffled back from the boy. “No, no. You keep that power to yourself. I’ll let you know when I decide to let you practice on me. I’ve made it this far, and I’ll be fine a bit longer.”
“Have it your way. I’m stronger in it now. You’ll be surprised what I can do.”
Belthos left them to finish packing. Jor watched it all and wondered how she managed to get saddled with such a misfit group.
The two crossbowmen were hired to join their group with the lure of riches for their duty. Why they continued to stay with her while the prospect of payment vanished with Driano’s death, she’d hadn’t figured out. She understood why Belthos stayed. Where else was he going to go? He broke from the Order and if he hadn’t, it’s not like Myrthyd would have accepted him back. The Kull was intent on killing all witnesses to him obtaining the Blood Stone, especially those of the Order.
“Boys, we’ve got ground to cover. Hurry up and let’s get moving,” Jor called.
Since the events on the plain, she kept them on a straight path westward. “To the dragons!” she called it. It was rumored that dragons congregated in the west just across the sea. If she were to find Lailoken, that was where she assumed he’d be. If not, then at least they were out of Tregaron, and none in the group disputed leaving. One of the last memories she had of L
ailoken was of the giant Garnet dragon carrying him off with its smaller protectors. She’d kill that dragon. Other than rescuing Lailoken, nothing else mattered.
“Jor, we’re never gonna make it across that mountain today,” Ori said. He and Tozgan had gathered their belongings in the bag on their backs and stood next to her. Belthos was behind them, waving his hands as though swatting at invisible insects.
“Why don’t we take a ship instead of going the hard way?” Tozgan asked for the first time that day. When she announced her plan, Tozgan insisted they sail across the sea to shorten their time. Jor flatly refused. She knew land. She knew mountains. They’d cross the Dragonback Mountains and take the long way. It took more time, but she was also more confident they’d arrive safely.
“Then stay here. You know my mission. You know what I plan to do. Go back. Beg for mercy from the Order. I’m sure Myrthyd is a forgiving soul.”
Belthos snorted. “Meanos knows better,” he said quietly.
“Listen to the boy. Myrthyd won’t be kind to either one of you. Don’t you remember the hate in his eyes? He meant to kill all of us. Only Driano knew his fierce anger.” She turned and headed for the base of the mountain ahead of them. Snow swirled around her, the bitter winds piercing their heavy coats.
“Wait up!” Belthos called out and rushed to join her.
Soon, the two crossbowmen followed. Tozgan grumbled, but Jor knew better. He’d come because he sensed adventure. If they were gonna stay with her, they had to follow her lead, no matter how wild it was. The thought made her smile.
The day wore on, winds blowing harshly. Overhead, a black figure crossed the crisp blue sky.
“Look!” Belthos cried, pointing skyward. All eyes went up, watching the dragon circle. Its enormous wings flapped soundlessly. It roared and the sound echoed through the mountains. It spewed a dark mist of acidic vapors.
“I hate those things,” Jor said, reaching back to grasp her sword’s pommel. It was a reflexive action, and when she realized it, she quickly let go.
“Aye, but they may be the source of our salvation from that boy Myrthyd,” Tozgan said. “I saw what happened that day. I’m no fool. Those dragons had every chance to slaughter all of us, but instead, they allowed us to escape.”
“And stole Lailoken away!” Jor retorted.
“True. However, maybe there was a reasonable explanation.”
“Are you turning soft on me? How many dragons have you helped kill?”
“That means nothing. Things are different. People can change. I’m not saying I think they’re noble creatures with pure intentions, but I do question the severity of their evilness, and I wonder if maybe we haven’t been led astray by the Order.”
The dragon roared again, flying off to the west.
“I don’t care what their intentions are or what we’ve been led to believe,” Jor started. “All I know is they stole Lailoken and I doubt it was for something good. The longer we go without finding him, the more worried I am they’ve done something terrible.”
Belthos stepped closer to Jor. “What about his daughter? Alushia, right? She left on a dragon’s back. Was she kidnapped or did she leave voluntarily? It seemed to me she went of her own accord.”
“I have no patience to debate this!” Jor replied. “All I know is Lailoken was taken by the Garnet, and I intend to find him. I will bring him back home where he belongs whether I have to fight an entire horde of dragons or not. Stay here for all I care. I’ll do it myself.” I’m the reason he’s gone, anyway. I owe it to him, she thought.
The day wore on, and the small band of slayers trekked through the snowy mountain passes until the way grew too treacherous.
“There’s shelter ahead. I suggest we stay there for the night and continue in the morning,” Jor called out over her shoulder. She didn’t turn to see if they were behind her. She led them across a small plain until they came to the side of the mountain where the wind had died down.
“Tonight we rest. Tomorrow we continue our quest. I need to know if all of you are still with me.”
One by one, the men nodded.
“Good. We have a long way to go.”
Two
Lailoken only saw blackness. Voices surrounded him, but they were muted and distant. His body ached. It felt worse than his massive hangover the morning after he and Etain were married. Never in his life had he felt so bad. When he moved, angry blasts of misery surged through his torso. His vision was blurry. He willed his arms to move, but they ignored him and remained at his sides.
Am I dead? he thought. The last thing he remembered was standing on the plain outside Woodpine, facing Myrthyd and refusing to hand over the Blood Stone.
Then Jor.
Did she kill me? She stabbed me. Why did she betray me? It couldn’t be true. She was his longtime friend. On more than one occasion, she had placed herself in mortal danger to save him. Why would she harm him now?
The foggy events made it difficult to piece together. Images flashed through his mind like paintings furiously thrust in front of him for only a moment before vaporizing into nothingness.
Driano lay on the ground with a massive hole in his chest.
Tower guards racing to the rest of his men in the forest.
Jor ready to kill him to obtain the Blood Stone.
Dragons.
The largest Garnet he’d ever seen and two other smaller Garnet dragons dropped from the sky. One lonely Garnet approached with a human on its back and a snowcat in its claws.
Alushia? What are you doing with a dragon? he thought. It couldn’t possibly be her. No daughter of his would dare side with the Drakku. It was cause for death. He wondered if these visions were real or imagined. They were so bizarre that they couldn’t possibly be real.
But yet…
“How do you feel?”
That voice. The sweet timbre of the woman he loved. It couldn’t be!
“Etain?” he whispered, knowing it was folly on his part.
“Yes,” she replied. “It is I.”
Without seeing her, without holding her in his arms once again, he forced his excitement down, unwilling to believe it.
“How do you feel? Can you move?”
Lailoken concentrated on moving his hand, the one singular movement his sole focus.
“Don’t strain, my dear. You were gravely wounded. We rescued you and now you are safe. You’ve been sleeping for close to a full cycle of the moon. You’ll heal. Know that my love for you runs deep, deeper than any I’ve ever known.”
He felt a warm presence surround him, similar to the moment on the plain when he spoke with Myrthyd.
“Your injuries are severe, but my power is much greater. It will take time, but trust that you will return to health and I will be here when you do. No longer will we be apart.”
Lailoken tried desperately to open his eyes. For one brief moment he wanted to see the woman he had longed for over the years. He had never given up that she was alive, and now as she spoke to him—if it were truly her—he couldn’t lay eyes on her. The tease was almost too much, his heart weighted down under the agony of not knowing for sure it was her.
“Etain,” he managed to whisper once again.
“I’m here, my love. Always.”
He felt a hand run through his hair. It was such a simple motion, but the touch transported him to the past when Etain used to run her hands through his thick hair, her nails lightly running across his scalp. It had to be her! He strained to open his eyes, but the blackness remained. A deep, dark horrific void surrounded him, weighing on him. If this were Etain, he had to know!
“Sleep now. Your body will heal quicker if you do. No harm will come to you, I promise. You’re in my hands now.”
She stroked his hair again, the touch so long forgotten now forced his mind to believe that the voice speaking to him was his long-lost wife.
Lailoken felt the warmth surround him once again, and soon he fell asleep.
He had a diff
icult time discerning between reality and dream. Sometimes he saw interactions like a spectator to the events, and at other times, he experienced them through his own eyes. Every time, though, he noticed a black dragon circling in the air far in the distance. It never roared and never approached, but was always present. Often as it flew in the sky, thin tendrils of smoke trailed behind it.
When he first noticed it, he wished for his sword, and his mighty dragon-eyed broadsword appeared in his hands. But as the visions mounted and it never drew closer, he put the sword away and only kept a watchful eye on it.
A recurring vision was of Jor.
At one point, she was by his side ready to defend him and Driano. The next, she was acquiescing to Myrthyd’s commands and coming for him with anger and hate in her eyes. He was frozen, unable to defend himself as she plunged her sword through him, the cold steel piercing his flesh and pushing through his soft insides. The pressure of the blade was intense as it protruded through his back. Then he fell to the ground. His breathing grew labored. It felt like he was going to drown as air refused to enter his lungs. Jor stood over him, her eyes distant, and reached inside his coat to remove the Blood Stone. From his periphery, he saw her hand it over to Myrthyd and there the scene ended.
Every time the vision occurred, it’s the same thing. He can smell the burnt flesh from Driano. The winds always blow across his face from the west. Myrthyd’s hair sways just the same every time. Jor’s angry look always maddening. The feel of cold steel piercing through his coat and flesh.
The memory was emblazoned in his mind, never to leave.
He had no idea how many days and nights had passed. It was either darkness or the strange dreams, but they were so intertwined that he had no idea what was real and what existed in his mind. He tried to move, hoping to stand and clear his foggy brain, but then he’d feel a familiar warm sensation envelop his body and he’d slip back into total blackness until wandering into another vision.
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