“Of course I shall, Mommy. You point him out. I won’t even crack a bone, but swallow him whole for you.”
“Such a good boy, run along and play. Avoid The Crypt for a few days in case some nosy courtier should go searching for evidence against you at your playground.”
“All the more reason to play at The Crypt, Mommy. Another tasty morsel and they’ll stop intruding on our toy box. Or, if you’d like, I could eat the entire population of Konnotan in a week if I stuffed myself, and you’d be done with the annoyance.”
“No, no Magnosious, it would do Mommy no good to be the queen of a smoldering, depopulated wasteland. I must have a profusion of obedient subjects to show their adulation at the crack of a whip.”
“Oh, alright, I’ll sup on herds of beasts and the occasional loner until you’re queen again. Then you can send all the prisoners to me for justice by digestion.”
*
Deep under the Highback Mountains, Zelda labored under the rock-dwarves’ supervision for seven years. With a hand pressing her aching lower back, the witch straightened up one day on a stolen momentary break from her endless, mundane routine. Zelda looked at her shovel and hatched a plan to escape.
* * *
In the far north, the Dark Lord was holding court under the Munattahensenhov. An orc messenger from General Bor, commander of the rock-dwarves on Tixos, came before the throne in the audience chamber. Glancing side to side, he crept up the main aisle, hesitating every few paces, until he stood before the king. The bowlegged soldier fell on his knees and bowed low.
“What news from the general?” the king asked.
“Merciful King, I comes to report the Witch Zelda has run away.” The trembling orc collapsed, face to the floor even as his last words escaped his lips.
A pulse of anger shot through the Dark Lord, but though his yellow eyes turned red, he restrained his temper. “Escaped?”
“Where would she escape to? Northern Tixos is nothing but rock, scrub, and demons. Are there not orc cohorts and sufficient dwarves in the Highback Mountains to locate the witch without troubling me with such a minor issue?”
The king smiled and scanned the hall. Courtiers glanced at each other with twitching faces. One giggled. The others shot looks to the monarch who laughed, too. One here, two there joined in with rare, nervous laughter almost unheard of in Dreaddrac.
“Smegdor, we’ll send that scrappy little dragon, Crackle, to find the witch. Attend to it at once. Command Crackle to bring her back alive, he’s not to eat her, not yet.”
16: Return of the Exiles
Happy to be free of confinement and on a mission, Crackle flew west to Tixos and the Highback Mountains to begin his hunt. The orcs and rock-dwarves remained inside the subterranean complex while the dragon soared overhead looking for any movement around the area. The beast expanded his search until he found Zelda as she scrounged for roots near the western edge of Tixos. He landed nearby, out of sight, and snuck through the scrub to block her escape route back into her rock crevice-hiding place. Zelda looked up into a sinister grin on the leering dragon’s face.
“You’ve been a naughty girl,” Crackle said. Toying with her, he nodded as she trembled in front of him.
Frozen in fear at first, Zelda recovered and straightened up, facing the dragon with both hands on her hips. “What do you want?”
“Defiant for one so small and boney, aren’t you?” The dragon’s foot slammed down one-step closer, but Zelda didn’t break and run as expected.
“I’m done with your kind and the fiend who sent you,” Zelda said. “I’m not returning to that subterranean nightmare again. Kill and eat me if you will, but I’ll not go back.”
“The king wishes to speak with you. I’m to take you home to the Munattahensenhov at once.”
“No doubt he wishes to torment me further himself for escaping. Well, I won’t permit him that pleasure.”
Zelda began to chant the still vivid spell she remembered, which had caused her downfall but changed the word for ground to air. Crackle reached out and snatched the witch as the refrain trailed off. He slapped her onto his back, where she grasped a scale’s edge as the nimble dragon leaped into the sky. The wind currents started to spin and whip about with the Who. The gathering storm sucked Crackle into its swirling airstream. Torrential rain shot through the blackened clouds. Ice formed on the dragon’s wings as the storm swept Crackle higher in the vortex. He thrashed about in the tempest to no avail. Exhausted from fighting the elements, he began to tumble as the relentless storm swept them out over the western sea. When the squall extinguished itself, the dragon expended his last energy to break his descent and crash-landed, smashing on Helshia’s eastern shore. Zelda was thrown off at impact but was first to recover.
“Where are we?” the sorceress asked.
The cold, trembling dragon shook himself, throwing off a shower of sand and rock.
“How should I know? You conjured the thunderstorm and almost killed us both.” Crackle stumbled and whipped out his wings to stabilize his balance, head still spinning. Wisps of smoke seeped from his nostrils. He glared down at the witch, backing away with enormous eyes locked on the her. “One little snort and you’re ashes.” Crackle could smell the shaking morsel’s fear.
As she turned to run, Zelda stumbled over a rock and fell back on the sand. “You…you dare not kill me. You said yourself the king commanded you to bring me back alive.”
“The king will understand I had to eat you lest your incantations again damage his war preparations in Dreaddrac. You’ve just demonstrated you’ve no reservations about casting such dangerous spells.”
Crackle lumbered forward. His lips curled. A drop of spittle fell from the corner of his mouth as his focused eyes narrowed. Zelda stopped and shot a fire spell. The electric flame smashed into Crackle, splashing sparks, and knocking off three shield-size scales on his side. The burn seared a large circle on the reptile who drew aside, licked the inflamed skin, and turned back to the witch.
Zelda stood facing the beast with hands on her hips. She locked stares with her tormentor. “Leave me alone.”
The defiant act appeared to bolster her confidence for an instant. The show didn’t intimidate the dragon for a second. Crackle glared and again lumbered toward Zelda, head lowered, feeling the heat of rage in his eyes. Zelda’s nerve broke; she began backing up the beach.
“No! No!” Zelda turned to run, but twisted her ankle and fell. Crackle moved closer. The witch crawled backward. Groaning, she faltered but rose and ran. “Have mercy! I’ll cast no more spells.”
“No, you won’t. I’ll make sure you don’t.”
Flames shot over Zelda. Her running, charred bones toppled, blanketed by ash on the gravel. The rhythmic sound of low waves crashing on the shore was her eulogy.
Satisfied, Crackle sniffed the ash and savored his revenge. He licked his enflamed side, and then smashed the witch’s remains into the sand.
*
In the shelter the Neuyokkasinians built on Helshia, Saxthor was first to catch a glimpse of Crackle’s wingtips as they shot up over the rocky outcrop protecting their lodging from the sea and storms.
“Look over the top of the barrier!” Saxthor pointed to the flapping wings.
“A dragon,” Tournak said. He dropped the net he was repairing and stood up. “Stay back.”
“What’s a dragon doing here?” Bodrin asked. “Do you think the Dark Lord has discovered us and sent the beast to kill us?”
“I expect Memlatec would have warned us if he sensed the Dark Lord suspected our whereabouts. We’ll stay out of sight and try to discover the monster’s purpose and intent.”
“Here to find us, or blown by the gale, the dragon’s aware Helshia exists now,” Saxthor said. “We’ll not be safe here any longer unless we kill the beast.”
“You can’t slaughter a dragon, Saxthor,” The wizard said. “You’re all of nineteen, and while skilled, you’re not proficient enough to take on such a be
ast. We can’t use extraordinary powers to confront the creature, either. The Dark Lord would sense an unexplained power flux in the energy fields and discover us here all the sooner.”
“Well, we can’t let him get away to tell the king about this place,” Bodrin said.
“Stay out of sight until I can think of what to do,” Tournak said.
Saxthor and Bodrin peeked over the rocky outcrop at the monster sniffing Zelda’s smoldering bones. The beast jolted and froze. A curl of smoke trailed from his nostrils. He spun round, scanning and sniffing the breeze. The glaring yellow eyes scrutinized the island’s interior. His head turned left and right then fixed, eyes locked on the crag where the boys watched him. Saxthor pulled Bodrin back down behind the crest, where they gaped at each other.
A snort sounded. The ground trembled. The terrifying thwacks of massive, stamping feet approaching from the beach struck Saxthor’s ears… several steps and everything fell silent.
“What’s he doing?” Bodrin asked.
Saxthor peeked over the stone’s rim. “Sniffing the air… he’s caught our scent.”
Bodrin stiffened. “He’s coming?”
“He doesn’t know the scent’s origin… yet.”
“Well, he won’t take long to trace us, and then he’ll come here. Where’s Tournak?” Bodrin started to rise.
Saxthor grabbed his shoulder. “Tournak can’t take on such a monster. There is no hiding once he knows we’re here. A dragon can wait us out.”
Bodrin slammed his fist against a boulder. “All this time, and now we’re undone by a freak storm.”
“Not undone yet, he’s going up the beach.”
“The boat! He’ll find the boat in the cove,” Bodrin said. “If he finds and flames the boat, we’re stuck here unless we can build another one. Before we could build another boat, the beast will find us knowing someone came here.”
The thunderous sound of dragon feet smacking the beach preceded the jolts through the ground beneath the refugees. Pebbles and rocks tumbled down around them. All of a sudden, the beast stopped. Again, the head sniffed the air, and Crackle turned to their rocky outcrop.
“He’s found us.” A spray of sand pummeled Saxthor as Bodrin scrambled for their dwelling to find Tournak.
Alone, Saxthor squatted behind the rocks and peeked through a crevice. Crackle was lumbering up the beach less than thirty yards from where Saxthor was hiding. He snorted flame between sniffs, following the scent trail. Bodrin rushed back to Saxthor.
“Tournak said for us to come fast. We’ll make for the rock caves behind the hut and hope the dragon will lose interest. Maybe he’ll leave us alone after he burns the hut and finds no one charred to eat. He may think we’re already dead.”
“The dragon won’t depart until we’re dead or captives to take back to his master. He can smell us. He’ll realize we’re still alive.”
“You don’t know for sure.” Bodrin grabbed Saxthor’s arm, but Saxthor pulled Bodrin’s hand free and nodded back toward Tournak, waiting for them. “Go on; I’ll be right behind you in a second.”
Bodrin’s face scrunched, looking quizzically at Saxthor. He hesitated then raced back to the hut. Saxthor turned again to the rocks. One eye peered through the crevice as hot, smoky breath came over the outcrop in his face. He jerked back.
“Saxthor!” Bodrin called out.
Saxthor glanced back at his friend, whose mouth gaped. Bodrin’s enormous eyes pleaded with him. Tournak stood beside him at the cave entrance. The wizard started racing down the slope, shadowed by Bodrin, but then both froze in a horrified stare.
At least you’re safe, my friends, thought Saxthor.
A monstrous, yellow-brown claw smashed the stones behind Saxthor. He spun around. Rocks tumbled down and pummeled him, accompanied by the hot stench of charred and decaying meat. A claw’s sharp edge sliced just beside him. A taloned foot crunched down on a boulder as the monster shot over the outcrop, charging toward Bodrin and Tournak.
The grating claws scraping the rocks drowned out the singing metal as Saxthor snatched Sorblade glowing green, from its scabbard. A deep breath and Saxthor thrust Sorblade up between scales into Crackle’s gut. A quick jerk back freed the sword, trailed by spurts of acidic dragon blood steaming on the rocks.
His lunge halted, Crackle tumbled forward onto the beach. He screamed a blood-curdling roar and thrashed about. The creature rolled on his side, kicking and knocking gravel in the air, which showered the beach beyond.
Saxthor crawled backward to avoid the flailing limbs and caustic blood spreading over the outcrop. Crackle’s head whipped back to the rocks. His huge golden eye gawked at his assailant. Saxthor scrambled over the boulders to the beachside as flames shot over the crest, searing the rocks and vaporizing any organic matter around where Saxthor had previously hidden.
“Who are you?” Crackle croaked.
“Prince Saxthor Claremendak Calimon de Chatronier, a Prince of Neuyokkasin, Master of Sorblade, and I’m told Lord of the Crown of Yensupov,” Saxthor said from behind the protective crag. He slipped further along the ledge and into a crevice with Sorblade behind him to hide the glow.
“The Crown of Yensupov no longer exists. The crown is a mere legend, but you’ll not live to search for it, Prince Saxthor.”
“You’ll not live to tell anyone about anything.”
Saxthor heard the groaning dragon’s deep, gasping breaths. The ground rumbled as the beast turned his hulking frame back to the rocks. Snorting came closer. Crackle’s horned, scaly head shot over the rocks. Flames fanned out where Saxthor had announced his titles. He squeezed further back into the fissure. Cold stone seemed strange in contrast to the hot, rank breath gushing around him. The fingers of both hands massaged Sorblade’s handle, tightening his grip. He drew back to stab at the predator and waited for the attack. Seconds seemed like hours, but the enraged beast didn’t appear.
A deafening whoosh, a shower of sand, and Saxthor witnessed the wounded dragon burst into the smoky air over his head. Steaming blood trickled from the reptile’s wound as he flapped inland toward Helshia’s highest mountain. Saxthor stepped over the outcrop as Tournak and Bodrin rushed up. The men beheld each other as if surprised any were still alive.
“Your staying here to face the dragon wasn’t an accident, was it Saxthor?” Tournak asked.
“No. I had to kill him.”
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” Bodrin asked. “Faced a dragon.”
“Yes.”
Tournak turned to Bodrin. “What do you mean he’s done this before?”
“His dragon ring... It’s still glowing.”
“You want to tell me something, Saxthor?” Tournak asked. He thrust his sword in the sheath, a clack the voice of frustration.
“Another time perhaps,” Saxthor said. “Now I think we must prepare to leave the island. I gave the beast a mortal wound. He’ll not return to Dreaddrac, but it’s time to go. Should the Dark Lord send another dragon to find this one, and if the beast should find the island, we’d not likely escape again. The dragon would find this young beast’s bones and surmise someone killed it.”
* * *
In the Wizard’s Tower in Neuyokkasin, Memlatec paced the floor of his workroom. The sound of huffing and puffing beyond the open door interrupted his analysis of signs in the northern energy fields.
“How long are you going to muddle around up here?” Aleman asked, propped against the doorframe. He entered and set down a food tray. “I’m good mind to let you starve.”
“I’m sorry, Aleman. I was caught up in a puzzling problem and didn’t hear you. Time flies. You can leave the tray; I’ll bring it down later.”
Aleman’s feet scraped over the dusty floor as he shuffled to Memlatec’s desk, scanning the cluttered room with harsh, furrowed brows.
“Ain’t nothing you can’t fix later?”
“I fear the Dark Lord’s war preparations have recovered and progressed to a dangerous level again. I can
’t delay calling home the exiles any longer. The boys are still too young to confront the evil here and in the north, but time has run out.”
“Poor little Saxthor.”
“He’s not little anymore. He has the power I sent him to find. I can only hope it’s sufficient to counter what’s ahead.”
“Well, eat something and send for him if you got to. It’s been seven years, time the boy came home.”
“Time indeed, time indeed.”
* * *
Far to the north under the Munattahensenhov, the Dark Lord fumed.
“Where is that Crackle with the witch? I shouldn’t have sent a juvenile dragon on such a mission. He’s loose and playing around, no doubt. Still, there was that unusual storm on the west coast of Tixos tinged with energy magic could have sparked. I hope that vindictive witch didn’t play with spells she doesn’t understand again.”
“Perhaps the storm caught them, and the sea swallowed them,” Smegdor said.
“It was quite a storm. I wonder if it could overwhelm a dragon.”
“Shall I send another dragon to find them?”
“No, I need the dragons here for the war. I can’t waste my ultimate weapons searching for a bungling witch and a disobedient, rebellious dragon when the war preparations are reaching critical mass. We’ll wait and see. The storm may have blown the reckless young dragon off course. He may still return.”
17: Decline of Neuyokkasin
Return of the Prince
On the Wizard’s Tower high balcony, Memlatec viewed the valley below to Konnotan, sad to reflect on the city’s general decline. The queen’s grief had spread across the kingdom like the setting sun before him. Already, the cool shadows of dusk slipped over the city while the sunset still warmed the old man’s face. Back inside the workroom, Memlatec fretted. He noted the great horned owl that followed his pacing.
I must inform the exiles of the situation here, at least to the extent they can handle the news, he thought. I can’t keep everything from them.
The Neuyokkasinian Arc of Empire Series: Books 1-3 Box Set High, Epic Fantasy on a Grand Dragon Scale! Kindle Edition Page 24
