Dragon's Blood

by Jason J. Nugent

  The griffons howled loudly, extending their wings, and flung themselves at the slayers. Frendule screamed and let loose a blast of light, and then the fight started.

  Twenty-Nine

  Myrthyd walked slowly through the Black Tower, admiring the tapestries hung throughout. He’d viewed them before, but now they were more meaningful. They were more poignant than before. If all went well, the scenes woven into the fabric along their halls would show him as the savior of Tregaron. His people were suffering and his plan was in motion.

  Two guards at his chamber doors nodded as he approached. One of them opened the door and closed it behind him. Not long after, a soft knock on the door called to him.

  “Kull Naga? Sir, it’s Brindy. I’ve come with Tukra.”

  Myrthyd had been expecting the captain of the Tower Guard for some time now. They had much to discuss.

  “Come.”

  The door creaked open and Brindy entered, followed by a hulk of a man.

  “Tukra, it’s my pleasure to have you. Please, have a seat.” Myrthyd gestured to the table in the room. The chair creaked under his weight when he sat. He was dressed in black leather. His face was twisted and one eye barely poked out from the gnarled skin. His hair was black and thin, exposing a pale scalp underneath. He smelled of body odor and horse.

  “Aye, how can I be of service to you, Kull? This little boy says you need me.”

  Myrthyd sat opposite Tukra and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.

  “Your services are indeed needed. You know of my plans, do you not?”

  “Aye. Bringing Tregaron back from this mess it’s in. I applaud your determination.”

  “You don’t think I can?”

  Tukra grinned. “I’d not say that. You’ve shown your power more than once around here. I don’t doubt you mean to make a good run at it.”

  “Still, you’re not convinced we can?”

  “My duty is to the Order and safety of this Tower. I don’t know enough of outside wranglings to share an opinion.”

  “Well…that is about to change.”

  Tukra leaned back in his chair, the wood underneath threatening to snap. An awkward silence blossomed between them, Brindy obviously noticing it as he went to the other room and returned with two mugs of ale. He placed one before each man. Myrthyd nodded to the boy and sipped his ale. Tukra gulped his down in one drink and slammed the mug back on the table.

  “About to change?”

  “I need you to train an army.”

  Tukra burst out laughing. “No offense, but I’m not capable of training an army!”

  “Indeed, you alone are not. But you are able to train a handful of men, correct?”

  Tukra nodded. “Aye, I can do that.” A massive grin crossed his grotesque face.

  “And they can train a handful of others, who in turn can train—”

  “I see yer logic. But still, how am I to train an army, and more importantly…why me?”

  “You’ve kept the Black Tower in strict obedience to your will. I’ve noticed how the guards respond to you. I trust no one other than you to carry out this task for me.”

  “An army?” Tukra whispered, stroking his stubbly chin. “You seriously want me to train an army?”

  “Not only train it but lead it. The Black Tower will be in charge of the entire operation. Forces from the other Towers will be sent to bolster our own. You will be in charge of the greatest army Tregaron has ever witnessed.”

  Brindy gasped and both men turned to him. “My apologies,” he said bowing.

  “An army,” Tukra said again. He shook his head. “I’ll do what I can to lead what fighters may come. I’ve never backed down from a foe yet. Why start now?”

  “Excellent! I’ve secured property to the south of the city. I can move the Tower resources there to better aid in the cause. You will have a blacksmith, a stable, and enough provisions to keep your forces in good health. The rest of Tregaron may deal with a loss of food, but your forces will not suffer. It’s a sacrifice the rest of us will make in order to achieve greatness.”

  “I appreciate the trust. I will do my best to build our army.”

  “I will send a call out for volunteers. The promise of food ought to gain you plenty of willing soldiers. How good they’ll be…well, that remains to be seen. Your skills in training will be tested for sure. I’ll get you the information about the land for the barracks and expect you’ll have it set up and running within a week. From there, you’ll have complete reign to grow and equip the army. I will support you in any way possible. A group from the Order will join your troops. Our forces will be mightier than anything we’ve ever seen. You stand to be remembered in history.”

  Tukra stood. “I’ll do my best to not let you down, sir. Is that all?”

  “Be ready for anything. The Drakku are devious. We will win. Victory is assured.”

  “I will do my part.”

  “Thank you, Tukra. You may go.”

  Tukra bowed and left the room, wiping his forehead. When the door closed behind him, Myrthyd turned to Brindy.

  “Boy, draft a note for the rest of the Towers. Send it to the Keepers. I must have them here for an important meeting in two days. Their presence is mandatory. Failure to do so will not be acceptable. Their position depends on it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Brindy left to draft the notes and Myrthyd closed his eyes, rubbing his temples. The enormous effort of preserving Tregaron and returning it to its former glory weighed heavy on him. Past Kull Nagas often focused on little beyond their own noses. Here was a chance for him to not only look after the Black Tower, but their whole land. Tregaron had been in such terrible shape for years before his ascension, and now that he was head of the Order, he could do something about their problems and exact vengeance on the Drakku for their interference in human matters.

  Myrthyd clasped the Blood Stone in his hands and allowed himself to fall deeply into a trance, seeking entrance to the void where the night-wraith dwelled.

  Blackness surrounded him. A cold, vast void of nothingness enveloped him.

  “Wraith? Where are you? Your master awaits.”

  The sound of a windstorm grew louder. He felt his hair move with the wind. Still, the darkness prevailed, cloaking everything around him.

  “Wraith! Show yourself to your master. Hide no more!”

  A great torrent of wind gusted and a faint light emerged before him. The light grew in size and intensity. The darkness fell away, and the light illuminated a pink mountain peak, the tip of Dragonfire Peak.

  Myrthyd looked down at his black clad feet in the snow. Cold winds buffeted against him, making his cloak flap madly behind him. Then the night-wraith appeared out of nothing to stand before him, its black, tattered wings enfolding its body. Smoky eyes glared at him.

  “Wraith, I do not expect to be kept waiting. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes…master.”

  “I’ve not had a halfling execution in weeks. I expect you’ve done my bidding and brought them to our cause?”

  “I have added to our numbers…master.” Its voice was dark and angry.

  “You have done well. I do not expect delays. Are they prepared for what’s to come?”

  “They are ready. They are yours to command.”

  “Soon I will call upon them and unleash their fury on the Drakku. The southern lands will be overrun with them. The coming tide will be unstoppable.” Myrthyd wrung his hands. The power he felt at that moment atop Dragonfire Peak with the night-wraith at his service was intoxicating. He’d done what no other Kull had dared to: he began the elimination of the Drakku. Halflings were growing scarce in Tregaron, only because he’d commanded Chepon to devour their dreams and turn them into gray-souls. A slow trickle of the gray people assembled in a secret valley where they now awaited his direction.

  “Wraith, have you located the daughter of Lailoken, that halfling Alushia?”

  Chepon roared, smoke billowing out of her
mouth. “I have not discovered her whereabouts. I seek but do not find. Her essence is hidden from me.”

  Myrthyd glared at the wraith. “You will find her for me. She will be turned in front of a crowd as a warning to all the remaining halflings that have eluded our detection. When they see the daughter of Lailoken be taken from them because of her tainted blood, they will have no recourse. Our time comes. Soon, we shall be victorious.”

  Chepon extended her wings, blue skies visible through the tattered membranes.

  “You may go. I will call upon you soon. Find the girl.”

  Chepon flew into the sky and vanished. The snowcapped mountain disappeared. Blackness surrounded him once again. Soon he felt as though he was flying and when he opened his eyes, he was seated at the table. There was a soft knocking on the door.

  “Kull Naga? I have the drafts, sir.”

  “Come in, Brindy.”

  Though he was young, the boy’s ability to read and write were invaluable. He handed the notes over to Myrthyd who read them silently. When he was done, he nodded.

  “These are perfect. Send them at once. Prepare for visitors. We have a war to win.”

  Brindy scurried off to perform his duties. Myrthyd sat and meditated on his next moves. With the creation of the army underway and the growing number of gray-souls under his control, release from the Drakku curse was imminent.

  Thirty

  None of the slayers slept well in the dungeon. Jor’s back ached and her nerves were on edge. One moment, she thought. Just one moment under Myrthyd’s control has caused all their grief. Without that singular moment, Lailoken would surely be alive and they’d not be facing execution in a small Drakku-allied city.

  It was a sobering thought. How quickly their lives had changed. She’d been on many hunts and had gone all over Tregaron chasing after dragons with little change to show for it. Her entire life was uprooted and sent into disarray in a matter of moments. She’d taken longer to eat meals than she did that day on the plain outside the walls of Woodpine when she pierced Lailoken with her sword and gave the Blood Stone to Myrthyd. She knew her actions were wrong. She knew she was causing pain. She was powerless to stop it. That brief action created a series of events that led her and her slayers to this dank dungeon in a city she’d never heard of, facing execution.

  “Are we gonna let them take us peacefully?”

  Tozgan spoke. Though he’d given up on scolding the young Belthos, he was still in an angry mood.

  “What’s our plan, then?” Ori replied. “I’d like to continue living after today.”

  Jor nodded. “Aye; me, too. We can’t let these people do this to us. We’re not going to let them. I don’t know the plan yet, but we have to try something.”

  She let her shoulders sag and stared at the dirty floor. She really didn’t have any idea how to get out of this. They needed to try something. Freedom and life were worth the risk. Continuing their quest to find their friend was all she had. Her stomach grumbled and she was suddenly aware of an empty pit within herself.

  A loud banging on the bars broke Jor from her thoughts and startled the slayers.

  “Get up, ya lot! It’s time you met yer end,” a large female guard called out to them. “It’s about time to die.” Two more guards joined her, all dressed in red armor and each one just as big as the first. None of the women were the guards from the previous night.

  “I-I’m not ready to die,” Belthos stammered

  “I don’t care what ya are, kid. Ain’t no Magus gonna run around our village. You came to the wrong place to practice your craft,” the guard said. Her short black hair was unkempt and she was bald in places, like she scratched it off her head. She had black circles around her eyes and as she opened the door to their cell, they could smell urine.

  “Don’t you ever wash yourselves?” Tozgan asked. Since their arrest, he’d been angrier than Jor had ever seen him, especially toward Belthos.

  The guard backhanded him, sending him sprawling to the floor. Belthos and Ori rushed to help him up.

  “Stupid foreigners. Ain’t got a bit of sense about ya. It’s gonna be my pleasure to watch you die.” The guard nodded to her companions and they grabbed the slayers, forcing them to the door. Jor followed, not wanting to provoke any of them.

  The slayers were led down a dark hall, passing other cells with prisoners chained to the walls or with similar iron cuffs around their wrists. Jor tried to guess why they were imprisoned, hoping none would face execution like them. Death was becoming an all-too common acquaintance lately.

  The guards forced them outside, where four more guards stood next to the doors. The bright morning sunshine warmed their faces. Together with the dungeon guards, they forced the slayers through a crowded street toward gallows set up nearby. Bloodstained ropes swung in the breeze. The assembled witnesses were quiet as they watched them march closer to the gallows. A young man dressed in fine black trousers and a sleek black coat stood there with his hands clasped behind his back. His chiseled cheeks and deep-inset eyes gave him an air of royalty.

  “Who’s that?” Jor asked.

  Before one of the guards could reply, the man spoke.

  “I, Grymryg, sentence these outsiders to death! They bring the heresy of the Order of Eschar with them, a toxic and terrible blight that must be destroyed.”

  His voice was deep and edged with malice. Instantly, Jor felt anger and hate for the man.

  “Grymryg?” Belthos asked quietly, earning a cuff from one of the guards.

  “Shut yer mouth, scum. When Grymryg speaks, you listen.”

  “But what about your mayor? I thought there was someone else in charge?” Tozgan asked.

  “You mean him?” The guard pointed at pikes around the gallows where a head was mounted. The blood had drained from it and a thin layer of flesh stretched across the bone underneath.

  “Grymryg decided he wasn’t fit for service. Ordered us to take care of it a few weeks back before he destroyed the city. Not a bad trade to save our skins.”

  Jor turned her head in disgust. Who were these people? Why’d they allow the Drakku to have so much control?

  The guards shoved them forward up the rickety steps of the gallows until they faced Grymryg.

  “You’re the dragon that flew across the sky?” Jor asked.

  A grin spread across his face. “What brings you heretics to our lands?”

  “We seek Etain,” Ori replied. He smiled at the rest of the slayers as though he’d done something good.

  Grymryg’s face turned to anger and he peered at Ori. “How dare you say her name,” he said quietly. “She seeks to unite the Drakku with your kind. She’s allowed us to die for you. The Drakku are worth more than weak human hides.” He inhaled deeply and turned to the crowd.

  “These four stand before you accused of bringing the Eschar heresy across the land and confessing to aiding the enemy, Etain. Their sentence is death. If anyone cares to oppose this judgement, speak now.” The silent crowd waited, the tension growing stronger.

  No! This can’t be happening. We have to get out! Jor thought.

  She gazed out to the crowd. From their elevated position she could see far beyond the people in the square, but nothing looked like salvation from their predicament.

  “You. Come here,” one of the guards called out to Ori. The guard wore a black stone around her neck. Jor’s eyes widened and she looked to Belthos, who had seen it, too. It was his onyx stone.

  “No, please. We’re not here for trouble. We were only passing through,” Jor said. “We meant no harm. How can we be sentenced to death for that?”

  Grymryg stretched his neck, turning his head to the side and back. “We don’t allow your horrible way of life to pervade our people. If we allow the enemy a foothold, it’s only a matter of time before they gain more. I’m in charge here. I dictate what happens. Etain and her followers have no say here. She’s flawed. Her leadership is doomed. When I take over the Drakku, the Order will be no more.
Tregaron will be razed to the ground. The Drakku will fly freely over their ancient lands once again.” He made a motion to the guard, who shoved Ori toward the noose swinging in the breeze.

  Ori tried to struggle but the guards were much larger. Belthos waved a hand in a feeble attempt to cast a spell but only managed to create a small ball of light that dissipated when he tried to force it at the guard.

  “Stop this! We’re innocent!” Jor cried.

  “None of you are,” Grymryg said, then turned to address the crowd. “The penalty for disobedience is death. The Drakku serve no one. It is you who serve us. These outsiders are here to confuse you and sow discord amongst you. They shall be an example to you all. Never turn to the wicked Order. Never turn from your duty to me.”

  Someone screamed in the crowd, forcing everyone to turn.

  To their left stood Ulkand and Helni. The little girl glowed and she created a bright red ball of light that hovered above her head.

  “Heretics! We’ve been harboring the enemy!” Grymryg shouted.

  “Now, men!” Jor called out. She rushed at the nearest guard, slamming herself at her. The sudden burst was enough to topple the large woman off the platform into the crowd below. Jor fell on top of her, temporarily losing her breath.

  Shouts from behind her made her turn. The rest of her slayers fought against the remaining guards. Ori head-butted the guard with the onyx stone and blood ran down his face. As he scrambled at the woman, desperately trying to wrench the stone free, Jor was yanked backwards.

  The guard had recovered and struck her in the face. She felt her nose crack and blood splattered on her cheek. Her vision blurred and shocks of pain swept across her. All around was chaos. People screamed and shouted. The guard continued to strike her. Bright red lights arched overhead.

  Suddenly a blaze broke out from the stage, the flames reaching high behind the guard above her. A black beast soared overhead, casting a dark shadow on her. It seemed like she was hyperaware of her surroundings while the guard tried to attack her. Her arms moved in slow motion and never reached her. She felt her wrists break free of the iron rings and she scrambled away from the slow-moving fist aimed at her. Blood ran down her face and her nose throbbed, but she was free and the guard missed her target.