Dragon's Keep: The Complete Dracengard Series

by Christopher Vale

  The knights placed their helmets upon their heads and then turned to face one another and drew swords. They faced off for a long moment, before Terrance made the first move, swinging his sword up and around until it struck the blade of Orrick. Orrick’s sword swung around as well and knocked Terrance’s sword from the knight’s hand as a collective gasp rang out over the crowd. Orrick then lifted his leg and kicked Terrance in the breastplate, sending the knight tumbling backward to the ground. Orrick stepped over him and held his blade to Terrance’s throat and Terrance held up a thumb indicating he submitted. The crowd was stunned at how quickly this outlander knight had defeated one of the finest in the Kingdom. Anne was giddy with excitement. She wanted nothing more than to clap and cheer for her new friend, but desperately tried to hide her excitement as she glanced over at her brother and father shaking their heads in disappointment.

  The next round of the tournament was between Sir Gwillym and Sir Rodrick. The two knights faced the King, Sir Gwillym in his gray armor and Sir Rodrick in his gold. They bowed to the King and to “Ehren” and then turned to face each other, placing their helmets upon their heads.

  Sir Rodrick struck first, swinging his sword around from the right, but was easily blocked by Gwillym who countered with a thrust, parry, thrust. Rodrick spun around and brought his sword across the back of Gwillym, earning him a point. Gwillym shook his head, frustrated with himself for allowing such a simple maneuver to make contact. Gwillym attacked furiously, swinging from the right, then the left then the left again, then the right, and he pushed Rodrick backward, but the Paladin parried the blows and soon went on the offensive. He became over eager though and allowed a thrust by Gwillym to land on his breastplate, earning Ehren’s champion a point. Gwillym then feigned to the left quickly and caught Rodrick completely unawares, bringing his sword down on the right and striking Rodrick in the side, earning himself another point. The crowd erupted in cheers.

  Rodrick backed up and took stock of the situation. He was down two points to one. If Gwillym received another point, he would win. He slowly released a breath and waited for Gwillym to make the first move. Just as the two previous times, Gwillym attacked quickly, attempting to catch his opponent off guard. This time Rodrick used Gwillym’s speed to his advantage and dropped down to one knee, slicing his sword across the middle of Gwillym’s armor, quickly earning another point and bringing both knights even at two. Whoever scored the next point would win.

  The two men circled each other like giant cats readying for a fight, their swords held at the ready. This time Gwillym declined to rush into the offense. Rodrick feigned an attack which caused Gwillym to go on the the defensive, revealing the maneuver he had preplanned in his mind. With Gwillym’s sword raised, Rodrick thrust his own sword forward at the knight’s midsection. Gwillym barely deflected the blow, preventing it from ending the battle. Rodrick spun, bringing his sword in from Gwillym’s right. Gwillym parried, once again barely deflecting the blow in time. This time however, when Rodrick finished his spin, his blade, though blocked, was on top of the two swords and he simply swung upward and slapped Gwillym on the side of the helmet gaining him his third and winning point.

  Gwillym stood stunned. The move had been wonderfully executed and Gwillym was amazed at Rodrick’s skills and in particular his speed. The Paladin was one of the fastest knights Gwillym had ever faced. They both removed their helmets.

  “Well fought, Sir Gwillym,” Rodrick said with a bow of his head.

  Gwillym removed the bloom from his breastplate, lowered himself to one knee, and presented it to the victor. At least there was no shame in losing to a Paladin. “You will make a worthy champion for Ehren,” he said.

  Rodrick smiled as he plucked the bloom from Gwillym’s fingers and crossed the field to the royal box. There he dropped to a knee and held the bloom up to Terrwyn. “I present the bloom of Your Highness’ champion.” Terrwyn reached down and took the flower from him. “And I beg the honor of serving as Ehren’s champion in his stead.”

  Terrwyn smiled and handed him a new blue bloom. “It would be my honor to have such a brave warrior serve as my champion, Sir Rodrick,” Terrwyn said with a smile. Rodrick accepted the bloom and then grasped Terrwyn’s hand in his and placed his lips delicately atop her fingers.

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” he said as his eyes caught hers, making her blush. Rodrick stood, released her hand, and turned back to the field holding the bloom triumphantly in the air to the cheer of the crowd as he walked back to his squires.

  After a brief rest, the final round of the tournament commenced pitting Sir Rodrick against Sir Orrick. Following the customary bows to the King and “Ehren,” the knights donned their helmets and faced each other. Rodrick began to circle Orrick, expecting Orrick to do the same, but Orrick simply stood still, his sword in hand at his side. A few more steps and Rodrick was directly behind Orrick. Rodrick was surprised that Orrick would allow his back to be turned to him, and at first thought it a ploy. He decided to attack anyway and stepped forward thrusting at Orrick’s back. Orrick spun so quickly that Rodrick barely saw him move. He slapped Rodrick’s sword out of the way and then brought his own sword around and across Rodrick’s middle, gaining him the first point. The crowd was too surprised to cheer.

  Rodrick was stunned himself. The speed with which Orrick fought seemed almost unbelievable. Rodrick stepped back in a defensive posture. He decided he would let Orrick make the first move this time. Orrick did, quickly moving in with a swing from the left, then the right, and a thrust in the middle that was much too fast for Rodrick to block, and struck the Paladin’s breastplate, earning Orrick his second point. With both knights of the House Valestead out of the tournament, Anne clapped excitedly for Sir Orrick.

  Rodrick took a breath and released it slowly. Just as the air was almost gone, he leapt forward and thrust at Orrick. The larger man easily jumped out of the way and swung his sword around and struck Rodrick on the side of the helmet with such force that the helmet flew off of his head and Rodrick was knocked unconscious.

  The crowd watched in stunned silence as Orrick slowly walked over to the fallen Paladin, reached down, and plucked the blue bloom from his breastplate just before the squires and a doctor rushed to check on Rodrick. Orrick then walked toward the royal box and removed his helmet just before he reached it. Terrwyn rose as Orrick dropped to one knee, but to everyone’s surprise he did not offer the bloom to Terrwyn, but rather to Anne.

  “Lady Andalynn,” he said. “I present you with the bloom of Ehren’s champion, and beg the honor of being your champion.” It was a complete breach of etiquette and everyone stared at Anne as she reached down to accept the bloom.

  “It would be my honor, Sir Orrick,” Anne said unable to prevent herself from smiling giddily. She turned to see Terrwyn staring wide-eyed at her, but the Princess did nothing more than retake her seat. Orrick stood and held up his arms victoriously as the crowd finally came alive and cheered him. On the field, a groggy Sir Rodrick was helped to his feet by his squires.

  Anne brought the bloom to her nose and sniffed it deeply as she watched the handsome knight bowing to the crowd, but his eyes kept returning to hers. She stared back at her handsome champion. She was completely smitten.

  Chapter 3

  The clank of the wagon was unmistakable as it slowly lumbered along the dirt road through a portion of the Great Forest, traveling from Elophdale to Elwood. The wagon held a large iron cage, so jammed packed with captives from the capital city, that there was standing room only. The captives, like the others shipped to the port city before, were intended to serve as slaves or food for the draks. Drakmere guarded the wagon as it proceeded down the road, with three draks in front, one on each side and then two behind the wagon. Two humans drove the wagon forward.

  Tallah, a ten year old girl who had been captured the first night of the invasion of Elophdale, could barely breathe as others squeezed in on her from all sides. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she c
ried for her mother. Sadly, Tallah was one of the lucky ones, if one could call living through this horror lucky. Most of the children had been eaten by the drakmere and did not make it onto the slave wagons, but by blessing or curse, Tallah still survived.

  Off the road, Erec crouched in the tree line between Alaric and Willem’s uncle, Lord Hansel, watching as the drakmere led the wagon directly into their ambush. Without warning, the draks in front of the wagon halted causing it to stop suddenly behind them. Erec watched the draks as they began to sniff the air, clearly picking up their scent.

  “They know we’re here,” Alaric whispered.

  “Right,” said Erec who immediately leapt to his feet as he shouted at the others to “Attack!”

  Alaric shot Hansel a quick glance revealing his exasperation at his grandson’s impulsiveness, before also rising and joining Erec. The draks were momentarily stunned as the tree line came alive with men and elophim, attacking them from both sides of the road.

  Erec reached the front group of drakmere before anyone else and swung his sword, but the blade was deflected by the drak’s own sword. Erec then found himself standing in the middle of the road, alone, with three angry drakmere. Just as they were about to close in on him, however, a mist of green blood erupted from them and their bodies fell to the ground as Alaric sped through in a blur killing all three before any had a chance to react.

  The other four met quick fates as well and the battle was over in a matter of seconds, with the only casualty for the humans and elophim coming when one of Hansel’s men tripped on a root and knocked out a few teeth when his jaw hit a rock.

  Erec stood in the road surveying the dead draks before him when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Hansel standing there. “I thought I was leading this ambush,” Hansel said.

  “Well, I just thought…” Erec began, but Hansel held up a finger silencing him.

  “I admire your courage, Erec, but at times you are much too brash. It’s going to get you killed one day.” Erec nodded. He turned his head and saw Alaric standing beside him.

  “He is right, Erec. Had I not been here you would most likely be dead.”

  Hansel smiled and then patted Erec gently on the cheek. “You remind me so much of your father, when he was younger,” he said trying to soothe any sore ego he might have caused the young prince. “Come on, let’s meet the prisoners.”

  The prisoners were being freed from the cage as Erec, Alaric, and Hansel made their way around to the rear of the wagon. The prisoners smiled at Lord Hansel, his face easily recognizable to these citizens of Elophborne. “You are safe now, my friends,” Hansel told them and was overcome by the people pressing in to thank him.

  Erec stepped away and found the wagon drivers being held by two of Hansel’s men. The guards pushed the drivers to their knees when Erec approached.

  “All traitors must die, right Your Highness?” one of Hansel’s men asked Erec. “Shall we put their heads on a pike?” Erec looked at him and then back down at the drivers. The men were sickly looking from lack of food and their clothes were ragged and torn. One of them wept uncontrollably.

  Erec turned to get Hansel’s opinion on the matter—for as he had reminded Erec, this was his operation—but Hansel was still busy with the captives. He turned back toward the drivers. “What are your names?”

  “I’m called Dun, Your Highness,” the first one said, using the title the guard had used. “This here’s Jacob,” he said motioning with his thumb, toward the man who wept beside him.

  “Where are you from?”

  “We’re from Elophdale, Your Highness,” Dun said.

  “Why are you transporting prisoners for the draks?”

  “Don’t have much choice,” Dun said. “We either does it or we gets eaten ourselves and they find somebody else to drive the wagon.”

  Erec nodded. He had suspected these men were not traitors, that they were captives and slaves just like the others. But he had a sure fire way to find out. “Let them go,” Erec said. The guards nodded and released the two men who stood, thanking the Prince.

  “Oh thank you, Your Highness,” Dun said.

  “Go join the others,” Erec commanded as he pointed toward the group of captives. After the men walked away he turned to the guards. “The other captives will let us know if they were being honest. If they are truly collaborators, it won’t remain a secret very long. Just keep an eye on them.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” the guards said.

  Erec walked away to join Hansel in welcoming the captives to the Great Forest. They were safe now.

  ***

  Taite was collecting firewood for the stew pot. Mistress Selma had sent her off to do so, as they were expecting a large number of refugees and she wanted to make sure there was plenty to eat. The makeshift camp existed not far from the elophim camp and was made up of refugees from around Elophdale and those from Elwood who actively fought in the resistance against the drakmere. Mistress Selma had been a cook in the castle for decades, but left when the draks took over. She would not prepare food for those who would allow monsters to feed on their people.

  Old and grumpy, Selma ran the “kitchen” at the camp with a firm hand and she didn’t care if Taite was a princess or a scullery maid. The girl would do as she was told or she would get a rap on the hand with a wooden spoon. So when they needed firewood, Selma sent Taite out to collect it. “No use for idle hands, here,” Selma often squawked at anyone not currently engaged in some manner of productivity or another.

  Taite was just a few yards into the trees with two arms full of sticks when she realized Valko had wondered off. Then she heard him. He was speaking to someone. Taite walked a bit further into the woods and saw Valko sitting straight, the lady in the green cloak kneeling beside him, scratching his ears.

  “Hello,” Taite said.

  “Hello,” said the lady.

  “He doesn’t normally like strangers,” Taite said referring to the wolf.

  “I’m not a stranger, am I Valko?” the lady asked as she continued to rub him.

  “She’s a friend,” Valko said and Taite relaxed.

  Taite took a few steps toward them. “I’ve seen you in the forest and around the camp, but I do not know your name,” Taite said.

  The lady opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the voice of Mistress Selma floating through the trees. “Taite!” Selma called.

  “You had better hurry along now before you get into trouble.”

  Taite turned back toward Mistress Selma’s voice and when her head turned back toward the lady in the green cloak, she was gone. Valko trotted over to her. “Where did the lady go?” Taite asked.

  “Home,” Valko replied. Taite watched the wolf quizzically as he pranced back toward the camp.

  Taite and Valko walked out of the woods to see Erec and Lord Hansel leading a large group of refugees into camp. Taite jogged over to the cooking fire, laid the sticks down beside it, and dashed toward her brother before Mistress Selma could send her for more. When she reached Erec, she threw her arms around his waist. Erec patted her head.

  “You’d think I had been gone for weeks instead of hours,” Erec said.

  “I knew you were going off to fight,” Taite replied. “So I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

  Erec knelt down in front of his sister. “Don’t worry, I’m fine as always,” he said with a smile. Then he turned his head and searched through the crowd of refugees until he saw Tallah, standing alone looking scared. “There is a little girl back there. She was being sent off as a slave or food for draks and she’s scared out of her wits. Why don’t you go and make her feel welcome?” Taite nodded and then kissed Erec on the cheek before dashing off to meet Tallah.

  Tallah stood with a timid expression on her face, clearly not sure where to go or what to do. She was a little taller than Taite, being almost two years older. Taite thought she would be quite pretty if she were cleaned up and placed in a proper dress. She wi
shed she had one to give the girl. Taite only had one dress, the green riding dress she had fled Avonvale in, and it was now as dirty and rough as everyone else’s clothes.

  “Hi,” Taite said when she neared Tallah. Tallah did not speak, but took a step backward away from Taite. “My name is Taite.” Tallah’s eyes refused to meet Taite’s. “It’s alright,” Taite said soothingly. “No one is going to hurt you.”

  “I need to find my Ma,” Tallah said suddenly, her eyes leaping up to stare at Taite.

  “Alright. I’ll help. Was she in the wagon with you?” Taite asked as she glanced about the camp, looking for Tallah’s mother as if she would even know who to look for.

  “No,” Tallah replied as she shook her head. “She was sick and I left her in the house to go get food.” Tallah looked down at her feet and kicked a little bit of the dirt up with her bare toe. “I never made it back.” Tallah wiped tears from her cheeks, which left small clean patches upon her face.

  Taite felt bad for her. She had lost both of her parents, but felt fortunate that her brother and sister had taken care of her. “Are you hungry?” she asked. Tallah looked up at her and nodded wordlessly. “Let’s go get you something to eat then,” Taite smiled.

  Tallah let Taite take her hand and Taite led her to the “kitchen,” where Mistress Selma was stirring a large pot of stew. Taite did not know what had been found to place in it and she thought it better not to ask. They found some small wooden bowls near the pot and stepped up behind three or four others who were already being served. Soon Taite and Tallah stood before the pot and held their bowls up to be filled by Mistress Selma. The old cook looked down at Taite and then glanced over to Tallah before cutting back to Taite.

  “And who is your friend, little Princess?” Selma asked.

  “This is Tallah,” Taite replied and then motioned to Selma. “Tallah, this is Mistress Selma. She is in charge of the cooking.”