Princess of Lanfor (Heroes of Ravenford Book 4)

by F. P. Spirit

  Martan ran past the young man and raced up the winding stairwell, the man in blue right behind him. Down below, they could still hear the dragon raging, throwing an oversized temper tantrum.

  “Get back here, you filthy little humans. I will kill you, and eat you, and grind your bones between my teeth, until there is nothing left of you but dust!”

  The blue warrior let out a cold laugh. “Heh. Guess I got under its skin.”

  “You think?” Martan spiked an eyebrow, not bothering to look down as they continued their ascent.

  Lloyd waited impatiently at the top of the stairs with Alana and Elladan. The bard had forced the two of them to stop there, pointing out that Martan and this strange man in blue had already made it safely to the stairwell. Alana appeared as impatient as Lloyd, the lady knight still thirsting for revenge against the dragon. Less than a minute had passed when Martan and the newcomer appeared on the stairwell just below them.

  “Quick, this way!” Elladan urged them. He motioned for Lloyd and Alana to head back up the stairs to the next floor.

  Lloyd glanced at Alana and shrugged. “I guess we might as well.”

  Alana gave him a brief nod, then turned and climbed back up the winding staircase, not stopping until they made it to the room above. The light in this room was rather dim, the only source of light coming from a group of dancing balls that Elladan had cast on their way down. Elladan, Martan and the newcomer in blue soon joined them. Elladan turned to face the duo, still sweaty and somewhat flushed from their encounter with the dragon.

  “Well that looked like fun. Who’s your friend?”

  Martan shifted his gaze to the man wearing the blue tunic. “Sorry, but I never quite got your name.”

  The young man gazed at him with a cold expression. “Cyclone.”

  “Cyclone?” Martan trailed off.

  “Just Cyclone.”

  Martan gave the young man a wan smile, then introduced himself and the others. “I’m Martan. Martan Folke. This is the Dame Alana, Knight of the Rose, Lloyd Stealle, Spiritblade of Penwick, and Elladan Narmolanya, Bard from Kai-Arborus.”

  Cyclone eyed them all wordlessly. Alana, however, seemed impressed with the young warrior. “That was some exchange you had out there with that dragon.”

  Cyclone’s expression remained stoic. “Green dragons are stupidly predictable. Now if that had been a red, it would have been more of a challenge.”

  Lloyd eyed the newcomer curiously. He seemed to know an awful lot about dragons. “That’s funny. Ruka said almost the same thing.”

  Cyclone turned his intense gaze toward Lloyd. “Who is this Ruka? Sounds like she might actually know a thing or two about dragons.”

  Before Lloyd could answer, Elladan cut him off. “You’ll meet her in a bit. First, tell us Cyclone, how do you know so much about dragons?”

  Cyclone spun his gaze toward Elladan, and regarded the bard coldly. “That’s because I’m a dragoon.”

  Lloyd stared at him blankly for a few seconds. “A what?”

  Before the man in blue could respond, Alana answered for him, her voice slightly strained. “He’s a dragon hunter.”

  Lloyd exchanged a worried glance with Alana and Elladan. The bard raised an eyebrow. “Well this could be interesting.”

  Lloyd wasn’t quite sure what to make of this Cyclone. It was just short of amazing how he handled that green dragon below, and saved Martan’s life in the process. Still, he didn’t seem like the friendliest person in the world. Lloyd silently wondered how he would react when he met Ruka. Of course, they didn’t need to tell him what she was, but what if he figured it out?

  Martan was staring all around at the encroaching darkness. “Why haven’t you turned on the lights in here?”

  Elladan stared at the archer as if he were daft. “Turn on the lights? What do you mean, turn on the lights? How are we supposed to do that?”

  Martan cocked his head to one side, his brow furrowed as he looked at the bard. “Just like downstairs, I suppose.” Martan cupped his hands together, and cried out, “Turn on!”

  The room suddenly flared to life, tiles on the floor and ceiling glowing brightly, illuminating the entire room. Lloyd glanced all around, then back at Elladan and Alana. The bard slapped his palm to his forehead. “What do you know? They were there the entire time.”

  Cyclone let out a derisive snort. “You mean, all this time you were roaming around here in the dark?”

  Elladan fixed the dragon hunter with a wan smile. “Not exactly.”

  Martan swept his eyes across the little group. “So where are the others?”

  “Downstairs,” Lloyd answered immediately.

  Martan cocked his head to one side and stared at Lloyd quizzically. The archer then pointed a thumb towards the floor. “Isn’t that in the other direction?”

  Alana answered this time, a thin smile spreading across her lips for this first time this day. “You would think so, but no.”

  Martan slowly shook his head. “I don’t think I’m quite following you.”

  Elladan let out a short laugh. “That’s okay. You must understand Larketh. Nothing is ever straightforward in here.”

  “Lar-who?” Cyclone gave him a dark look.

  “Larketh,” Lloyd answered, waving his hands at the surrounding room. “The Golem Thrall Master. This is his monolith.”

  Cyclone folded his arms across his chest. “Never heard of him.”

  Elladan peered curiously at the young man, a single eyebrow raised. “Never studied much history?”

  Cyclone responded with a curt shake of his head. “No. Just dragons.”

  Elladan arched an eyebrow at the young man. “You know, there’s a lot to be learned from history.”

  Cyclone unfolded his arms and strode past all of them toward the stairs. “Don’t care. I’m a dragon hunter. I hunt dragons. It’s that simple. Now are we going to meet the rest of your friends, or not?”

  Lloyd exchanged surprised glances with Elladan, Alana, and Martan. This Cyclone was definitely not the warm and fuzzy type. Still, he had a point. The dragon should be their first priority. Lloyd shrugged at the others then strode past the young warrior toward the stairs.

  “Follow me.” He motioned to Cyclone, then headed up the stairs toward the top of the monolith.

  The Dragon Master

  A mage who had the power to bend the mightiest of creatures, dragons, to his will.

  Glolindir had finished memorizing his spells for the day, and now sat with Elistra and Aksel, waiting for the others to return. Ruka was still fast asleep on the couch, while Donnie stood guard over by the stairwell. Aksel peered at Glo, his brow creased with deep lines of concern. “Still nothing from Raven?”

  Glo let out a short sigh. He had tried once more to reach his familiar, but still felt nothing. “No. I just hope she’s okay.”

  Elistra placed a gentle hand on top of his. “I’m sure she is.”

  Donnie suddenly called out from the stairs. “Someone’s coming.”

  Glo, Elistra, and Aksel all stood up and turned to face the door. Ruka stirred on the couch. Over at the staircase, Donnie took a few steps back, a hand resting on his sword hilt, until a familiar voice drifted down the stairwell, causing them all to relax. “…and that was the end of the first age, Hai’Valan. Luckily, the dragons won.”

  The corners of Glo’s mouth upturned slightly. Elladan was discussing history, one of his favorite topics. The slight smile faded from Glo’s lips, and turned into a frown, as an unfamiliar voice answered the bard. “Why are you still talking? Did I ask for a history lesson on dragons?”

  A moment later, the bard appeared around the corner of the stairs, a stranger dressed in a blue tunic decorated with sparse pieces of armor walking next to him. Glo cast a quick glance at Elistra,
her eyes widening as she stared at the newcomer.

  “The blue knight,” she murmured under her breath.

  The warrior carried a long, pointed spear with a wicked-looking curved axe-head at the top of the shaft. Glo immediately recognized the weapon—it was a halberd. The combination axe and spear was typically used for fighting mounted soldiers… or large creatures.

  Alana and Lloyd appeared immediately behind Elladan and the warrior in blue. Martan trailed behind them all, his long brown hair a bit disheveled, and his normally close-cropped mustache and beard a bit more ragged than usual. The rest of the companions strode forward to greet them, even Ruka begrudgingly lifting herself off the couch, shuffling over with her blanket still wrapped tightly around her.

  Aksel was the first to speak. “So, what did you find up there?”

  Elladan cast a quick glance at Alana, then slowly shook his head. “It wasn’t good. The camp was gone.”

  Glo’s eyes narrowed, sweeping over Alana, Lloyd, Martan, and the man in blue. The lady knight hung her head in sorrow, while Lloyd’s face flushed with anger. Martan closed his eyes, his expression d. The newcomer’s face remained solidly neutral, though Glo noticed a momentary trace of sadness in his eyes.

  “Gone? What do you mean, gone?” Donnie cried, his eyes wide and mouth agape.

  Lloyd responded through gritted teeth. “Trampled, shredded, completely torn apart.”

  The blood had drained from Aksel’s face. When he spoke, there was a trace of hysteria in his voice. “What about all those people? The cavalry, the squires, Sir Craven?”

  Martan’s voice sounded from the back of the group, thick with emotion. “The troops were all killed… I think it was over before they even knew what hit them. Thankfully, the squires got away, but Sir Craven… he was taken.”

  Elladan, Lloyd, Alana, and the blue warrior all stepped aside as the archer strode forward. Glo was aghast—all those brave men and women gone. Yet he also felt confused. “What do you mean, taken?”

  A deep sigh escaped Martan’s lips. “It’s a long story.”

  Elistra finally spoke up, her voice hushed. “Was it a dragon?”

  The blue warrior shifted his eyes toward the seeress. “An adult green.”

  “I hate greens,” Ruka commented from inside her blankets.

  The man in blue shifted his gaze toward the blanket-wrapped teen, his expression remaining neutral. “You and me both.”

  Aksel waved everyone forward. “How about we all sit down. You can introduce us to your new friend, and then Martan can tell us the whole story.”

  The dour archer gave a nod to the little cleric, a thin smile crossing his lips. “Much obliged.”

  They all adjourned to the couch and chairs that surrounded the fireplace. There was a slight pause in the conversation, as the crystal-blue statue of the elf-maiden came to life, bread, cheese, and water magically appearing on her tray. By now, the companions were used to Larketh’s exotic taste in constructs, but Martan still eyed the creature cautiously.

  Elladan had to take a piece of cheese and pop it in his mouth before the sensible archer would touch any of it. Even then, he seemed reluctant as he grabbed a slice of bread. While they ate, Martan introduced Cyclone to everyone. There was an interesting pause in the conversation when Cyclone explained he was a dragoon—a dragon hunter. Everyone did their best to refrain from looking at Ruka.

  The young teen sat forward in her chair, and eyed the warrior with keen intensity. “A dragon hunter, huh? You must be really brave, going after a dragon with that glorified pig-sticker… or really stupid.”

  Cyclone stared back at her for a moment or two, his eyes narrowing and his expression turning hard. “Yeah, and I’m not the one who’s clearly dying.”

  There was a long silence as Ruka regarded the newcomer. There was a quick flash of amber across the girl’s normally green pupils, and a sudden palpable tension in the air, made even more ominous by the rumble of thunder off in the distance.

  Things could have gone from bad to worse, if Martan hadn’t spoken up just then. “I don’t mean to interrupt…”

  Ruka’s amber-flecked eyes turned on the dour archer, practically burning a hole into him with their intensity. Martan visibly flinched, the blood practically draining from his face, but somehow he found the courage to continue. “…but we would have never gotten past that green dragon… if it weren’t for him…”

  Ruka glared at the archer for a few more moments before responding, her voice filled with barely checked anger. “Go on…”

  Martan hesitated, still appearing rather nervous, but then went into a description of his meeting with Cyclone. He detailed the hunter’s confrontation with the dragon, how it had allowed Martan to slip past, the amazing leap over the dragon, and their mad dash through the monolith.

  When he was done, Ruka spun her gaze back toward the young dragon hunter, and looked him over again with those piercing green eyes. “You… are… nuts…”

  Cyclone glared back at her without batting an eye.

  She eyed him for a moment more, then smirked as she flopped back in her chair. “Fine… he can stay…”

  The tension in the air suddenly faded like the popping of a balloon. Nearly everyone breathed an audible sigh, including Glo. Lloyd, however, seemed far too intrigued with the dragon hunter to notice the sudden change in atmosphere.

  “Sounds like you’re pretty fast on your feet. Are you any good with that halberd?”

  Cyclone’s gaze shifted to the tall warrior, his eyes narrowing. “I can hold my own with it.”

  Lloyd’s eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect of a new challenge. “Maybe we could spar sometime?”

  “Fine by me.” Cyclone’s tone was as impassive as his expression, but the light in his eyes betrayed more than a passing interest in fighting the tall warrior.

  Now that the threat of a confrontation with Ruka was over, Glo had to admit that he was as impressed with the dragon hunter as Lloyd. Cyclone’s outmaneuvering of the green dragon was nothing short of amazing. Sooner or later, their little group was going to have to face that dragon, and when that time came, Cyclone could prove to be a valuable ally.

  With the tension in the room dissipated, Aksel turned back to Martan. “Ahem, Martan, you never did finish your story. What exactly happened last night?”

  Martan’s eyes swept around the gathering, the horror of what he had seen quite apparent in those dark pupils. The dour archer’s gaze came to rest on Alana.

  The lady knight stared back at him, her normally placid features turned stony. She gave the archer a grim nod. “Go ahead.”

  Martan nodded back, and then went into a detailed description of the green dragon’s attack. He described the cloud of gas that had descended upon the camp, how the knights had immediately responded, the large form of the dragon landing in their midst, and the subsequent devastating breath attack. He then explained how Sir Craven had valiantly stood up to the deadly creature, until the greater dragon arrived.

  Cyclone’s eyes narrowed at Martan’s description of the second dragon. He cast a glance at Ruka. “Sounds like an ancient green.”

  Ruka stared back at him and nodded slowly. “Probably.” She said nothing more, but from the expression on her face, it was obvious that a lot more was going through her mind.

  Martan then told them about the dragon’s rider, the black knight. Everyone was astounded that both dragons simply obeyed his commands, yet Glo felt more than just astonishment—he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The elven wizard exchanged a quick glance with Aksel and Elladan. “Could it be?”

  Both gnome and elf gazed back at him with equally troubled expressions. The three of them slowly turned to gaze at Elistra. The seeress appeared as disturbed as they, her violet eyes wide, her mouth partially agape. She resp
onded to their non-verbal question with a slow shake of her head. “I just don’t know…”

  “Care to share what the four of you are going on about?”

  Glo and the others turned as one toward Donnie. The sandy-haired elf sat on the couch next to Alana, gently holding the lady knight’s hand. Glo pursed his lips together as he decided how to best explain the feeling of dread that had suddenly come over him.

  “Remember what Elistra told us when we first met her… that the Thrall Masters might not have been destroyed?”

  Donnie’s eyes widened as the realization of what Glo was implying struck him. “You mean to say, this guy with the dragons could have been a Thrall Master?”

  Glo gave him a short nod. Donnie sat forward, his eyes shifting from Elladan, to Aksel, then Elistra. “And you all think this?”

  The trio exchanged a glance, then turned back to Donnie.

  “Yeah,” Elladan replied.

  “I believe so,” Elistra agreed.

  Donnie sat back in his seat, his expression suddenly grim. Alana, quiet up till now, addressed Martan, her voice just above a whisper. “Thank you for saving Syndir and Lamorn.” She paused a moment, her voice catching in her throat. “Was… was Sir Craven still alive?”

  Martan gazed at the lady knight with keen sympathy. “Yes, I believe so. It looked like he had just been put to sleep.”

  “Thank Cormar…” Alana said with a huge sigh.

  She trailed off, unable to speak any further. Her distress roused Donnie from his dark thoughts, the thin elf placing a comforting arm around the lady knight’s shoulders. No one else spoke for a bit, the fate of Sir Craven playing on all their minds. It was Cyclone who finally broke the silence.

  “What’s a Thrall Master?”

  Glo, roused from his own dark thoughts, arched a single eyebrow, the question catching him by surprise. He thought that everyone knew about the Thrall Masters. Aksel appeared equally astonished. The little cleric stared at the young man for a moment, then turned to Elladan, and motioned toward the young dragon hunter. “Maybe it’s best if you explain?”