Dragons of the Dawn Bringer: The Goddess Prophecies Fantasy Series Book 5

by Araya Evermore

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ he said, standing straighter

  Asaph grinned. ‘Just Asaph. We were beside each other stark naked in a dungeon not a day ago.’

  Leaper smiled then wiggled his jaw. ‘And I can still feel where you knocked me out.’

  Sitting on the bed in his old room in Castle Carvon felt odd. Coronos was not here and neither was Issa. There was nothing here for him. Everything lay with the dragons in the north or with Issa in the south. There was no point staying any longer, and with this urgency burning within him he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, despite sorely needing too.

  He pushed himself up, grabbed his pack of water and food, and then took up his sword and left his room. Not really wanting to bump into anyone, he took the quieter corridor down to a back door and slipped out into the lamp-lit courtyard. Seeing light coming through a gap in the smithy door, he headed over to it and went inside.

  Warmth and the red glow of the furnace hit him. Zeb was bent over the workbench working on something Asaph couldn’t quite see, using tools he was unfamiliar with and had no idea what they were used for. The fair-haired man looked up, startled.

  ‘I didn’t think smiths worked this late,’ said Asaph, smiling at the stocky man.

  Zeb smiled and stood, running a hand through his fair hair as he arched his back. ‘I’m usually done by sunset but I know you needed this by dawn.’ He picked up what he had been working on; a scabbard for Asaph’s blade. ‘And it’s Mary’s birthday tomorrow so I was just waiting for this to set.’ He picked up a hand-sized wooden mould within which was a molten silver ring.

  Asaph raised an eyebrow. ‘A blacksmith, weaponsmith, and a silversmith? You are a man of many talents.’

  Zeb smiled. ‘Not really. I’m only good at blacksmithing but I try my hand at the others and earn a bit extra on the side.’

  ‘Well, Mary is a lucky woman. That ring is solidly made,’ said Asaph, admiring its flawless sheen.

  ‘Solidly made, yes, but I’ll need a proper silversmith to inscribe it. I don’t have the knack for intricate detail. Now then, try this for size.’

  The man tossed him the scabbard. Asaph caught it, immediately surprised at its light weight, and began his inspection. It was edged in shining steel and made of some strange black material. Frowning in recognition, he stroked the toughened leather that gleamed metallic black. He took a sharp breath and shot Zeb a look.

  ‘Dread Dragon scales?’

  ‘Aye,’ said the man, his face breaking into a tilted smile. ‘There be a new shop in town. Higglesworth Enterprises. It’s filled with all manner of interesting and exotic items collected from across the Known World. The most precious of which appear to be these dragon scales. So, the scabbard is expensive, but nothing will ever break it.’

  ‘Incredible—and fitting,’ Asaph said, admiring the stunning piece of work. Carefully he slid the Sword of Binding into the sheath and it made a soft ringing sound. As soon as it was in, the skin miraculously tightened around it to fit it snuggly. The weight of the sword in the scabbard was little more than before.

  ‘My,’ said Asaph, amazed. ‘This scabbard is worth gold. All it needs is a good enchantment,’

  The smith nodded, clearly proud of his work. Asaph pulled out gold and silver coins and passed them to him. Zeb’s eyes lit up.

  ‘With that, I can take Mary to Rosie’s Restaurant, and fix my chimney and the stove,’ he said.

  ‘I know where to come when I need any armour or jewellery.’ Asaph grinned, tying his sheathed sword onto his sword frog. ‘Thank you, Zeb.’

  The two men shook hands, Asaph almost wincing in the man’s strong grasp.

  ‘You look after that young missy of yours, she’s a good one,’ said Zeb, his face turning serious. ‘In this world, a woman needs a strong man to look after her. I’ve seen them black dragons in the sky. Hoped I never would…Good luck to you.’

  ‘I will, Zeb,’ said Asaph, ‘and good luck to you too.’

  Asaph left the smithy and stepped out into the night. The greatest task of his life now lay before him. Everything he had dreamed of doing, of becoming, was finally in his grasp.

  28

  Venosia

  THE exhilarating rush of the raven form engulfed Issa and then she was ruffling her feathers in the cold breeze.

  She hopped onto the windowsill and looked across the dark forest. Her sensitive hearing could just pick up the sound of the waves crashing on the shores beyond the trees.

  Ehka squawked from a tree somewhere in the dark. At least she wouldn’t be flying alone. She had considered sending just him but feared for his safety, plus she knew she needed to see the enemy-held lands with her own eyes. She wanted to know what a once beautiful land looked like after Baelthrom had ravaged it. Was it really true what the stories said, that everything was withered and dead? That red clouds scoured the skies and rivers had long since dried up?

  It would be dangerous, of course. But if it took too long to reach Venosia, she could always turn back.

  Before fear and doubt changed her mind, she leapt into the air and spread her wings, letting the joy of flying fill her and shut all else out. She wheeled lazily around the smoking chimney of the tavern, lifting higher and higher. Setting her mind upon Venosia she turned east toward the ocean with Ehka following below.

  The night was mostly overcast but, between the clouds, Woetala shone down. An east wind blew against her but it wasn’t strong and it was said to often change direction at night. She hoped it would change soon and blow her forward. The lights of the South Reach and its harbour came and went. Ahead there was only darkness and an endless sea.

  In her avian body, she didn’t know fear of the future in quite the same way. Yes, she was still her human self, but it was heavily overlaid with her raven self; wild, focused on the moment, and interpreting a world filled more with sounds, sights and smells than ever before. She could smell the sea like never she had, she could make out the white-tipped waves far below, and she could hear the ropes slapping against masts in the harbour, now far away. She could feel where she was in the sky relative to the sea or ground and she instinctively knew which way was north, east, south or west.

  Ehka flew lower and a little ahead of her, keeping a sharp look out for danger. They were swiftly covering a lot of distance in darkness. How slow and cumbersome it was to walk on two legs. Flying was far more effortless. The Flow was different, however. It was there but wilder and harder to grasp and control. It also seemed a little weaker. Perhaps her human self had become adept at using it. Thankfully, it still responded to her will.

  Not wanting to wait for the wind to naturally change direction, she drew the Flow to her, commanding it with her mind since she doubted raven squawks would be as effective as her inner voice.

  ‘Wind be at my back.’

  The wind slackened, then blew from behind. Tilting her wings to catch it, she cawed her joy, thankful for Haelgon’s lessons in Weather Magic. Faster, she made the wind blow until sometimes it was hard to breathe as it gushed past. It was daring, using magic to enter enemy lands, but she counted on being high in the sky and small. Nothing would detect them easily. Besides, it was doubtful any necromancers or Dromoorai were watching for them. What if Baelthrom had already spotted their armies marching to Davono? That thought made her fly faster.

  They flew for over two hours without slowing before she felt a change. Land was near. The scent in the air was different. She sensed danger, too, not a specific threat but more a general, dull sense that she should not go further.

  On the horizon, a black layer appeared. Swiftly it approached and she dropped her control of the wind, focusing the magic on cloaking her and Ehka. Her wings ached and her belly rumbled. She longed to rest on a rock and eat the biscuits in her pocket, but these were enemy-held lands. Her hunger waned.

  Clouds blanketed the sky, concealing the orange light of Woetala and, ahead, they glowed a strange dull red. Glancing down at the ocean, she saw things in the water
around which the waves crashed white. She dropped lower to inspect them.

  Enormous spikes of black rock struck out of the ocean, rising at least twenty feet and angled towards any approaching ship. There were hundreds of them, stretching out for a mile from the coast of Venosia, and north and south as far as the eye could see. Ehka circled the spikes with her and Issa squawked her dismay. No ship could navigate a course through them; they would be skewered and smashed apart.

  The Devil’s Horns. The shipmates had talked about them on the way to Davono. Issa shivered and her hopes dipped. They would halt their army before they even landed. Somehow they had to be destroyed before they reached Venosia’s shores. But how did they do that without eliminating their element of surprise and tiring the wizards aboard?

  Issa flew low over the spikes considering the attack, but no good ideas came to mind. She turned towards the coast. Ahead were mostly tall, dark cliffs, but here and there were long flat coves. Some of them had clusters of small buildings. The old fishing villages, she realised, spying the sad, crumbled rock walls of ancient houses and the lines of terracing that the weather, time or the enemy had not been able to erase.

  Cautiously, she glided up the grey sand beach of a small cove and landed on a wall that was barely more than a line of rocks. Black cliffs loomed above her on either side of the village remains and a narrow pass stretched over the hill beyond. The wind blew and the waves scoured the shore, but there was nothing here. Not even any trees. She sensed no enemy. Some ships could dock here but not many.

  She flew along the cliffs to the next cove and the remains of another village. This one was larger than the previous, and not as hemmed in by cliffs. She didn’t pause but carried on scouting. The next cove was larger still. They could land many ships here and attack, assuming they made it past the black spikes.

  She lifted into the air and climbed the cliff, heading north. A yellow light appeared on a bluff, followed by two more. Danger. She dropped low and hugged the base of the rocks, the waves crashed against it, wetting her feathers. As she rounded the cliff, more lights appeared.

  A huge, smooth rock jutted oddly out from the cliffside. She landed on it with Ehka and stared at it through her claws. It had been carved into perfect, giant fingers and fingernails—each finger as big as her human body. She perched upon a giant, chiselled hand. She looked up to where it might have fallen from but there was just jagged rock. In the ocean below there was a tonne of rubble and huge boulders. Some of them were rounded and may have once been carved, but the sea had pounded them beyond recognition.

  Whatever the hand had been part of would have been gigantic, certainly the largest statue she had ever seen. Statues we no longer make nor know how to make. Now it was nothing but rubble. A relic of a long forgotten age when her race had been skilled and powerful. How far the mighty fall, she thought. We don’t even remember who we are. Everything we had is gone.

  Movement caught her attention. Ahead, a long beach ended in the massive grey wall of a harbour stretching out to sea. Along it burned giant sconces illuminating Maphraxies marching in pairs, their black armour catching the light. She swallowed.

  Adjoining the harbour was a large port. From her position, she could only see part of it but there were many lights illuminating scores of ugly, flat, square buildings. Even though it was night, Maphraxie guards patrolled everywhere. This is dark dwarf land and dark dwarves live underground, she thought. There could be thousands of them living beneath the port.

  Her army would have to attack here first and hope that not too many escaped to raise the alarm in other settlements.

  A tremendous screech cut through the air and she froze, her insides trembling. Ehka cowered and dipped his head. Cold fear trickled down her back. The Dread Dragon screeched again, closer. She didn’t need to see it to know what it was. Surely it could see them it sounded so close. It was a good thing she couldn’t move.

  The Dread Dragon swooped over them, wind blasting past, its huge body snaking through the air, light gleaming off its slick scales. Dropping its hind legs, it landed on the harbour wall and gave another ear-bursting scream. Issa couldn’t take her eyes off it as she flattened herself against the rock.

  Another scream answered from further away. She squinted at the far cliff and saw a black mass moving and more lights. How many Dromoorai were there? Did she dare fly at all with these beasts so close? A part of her had imagined there being no Dromoorai and few Maphraxies. An entire empty coast just waiting for them to land. She laughed inwardly at the foolish thought.

  On trembling wings, she dropped from the rock and flew low across the waves, giving the port a wide berth. She could see it clearly now, the strange, flat, grey buildings stretching back into land and over the hill. It was the perfect place to dock and attack but it was also teeming with the enemy.

  She flew around the cliff, keen to put more space between her and the Dread Dragons. A shallow cave appeared half way up and she darted into it. Breathing hard she rested her wings. Ehka landed beside her. Her stomach rumbled as fear and exhaustion made her feel faint.

  It took a good long moment and lots of convincing for her to release her raven form. Flattening her body against the floor, she sat listening to the crashing waves for some time, expecting for the head of a Dread Dragon to appear at the entrance any moment.

  Nothing happened.

  Reaching into a pouch tied to her belt, she pulled out a couple of sweet oat biscuits she had saved from dinner. She crumbled one for Ehka and chewed on her own as he gobbled it up.

  ‘It’ll have to do until we get back home, I’m afraid,’ she whispered, feeling her own stomach rumble for more. She had no idea flying would be this tiring or that Venosia was so far away. She began to curse herself for doing things on a whim. What a foolish idea coming here had been. Half an hour’s rest and no more. Then she’d go north a little further and head back to Davono.

  Flying north, she found several smaller coves. Only one was inhabited with a small harbour and the same square buildings. There were flaming sconces but less than at the previous harbour. Their armies could easily take the coves and the main port unless there was an entire city of dark dwarves underground waiting for them—then it might not be so easy. It was a huge risk, but after so much had happened they had little choice. It had to be a risk she was prepared to take.

  Lifting high into the air she turned inland and headed back south. A vast swathe of treeless, grassless land spread out before her. It went on and on into the horizon. In every direction as far as the eye could see there was empty, scoured dirt illuminated by the strange, dull red clouds above. It looked like there might be shrub or two here and there but she couldn’t be sure. Perhaps it was just rubble.

  This was once Karalanth land, swathed in ancient forests thicker and deeper than those in Frayon, stretching from the north coast all the way to the south. Now it was nothing and the trees were gone. There weren’t even rivers; the beds had bled dry long ago, leaving empty ruts of rocks scarring the land. Occasionally she passed over huge piles of rubble and what may have been terracing or village walls. This land was lost a long, long time ago. Her raven form shielded her from the anger and sorrow she might have felt.

  Low thunder rumbled above and the clouds became more heavy and oppressive. What made them dark red like that? she wondered. She had the feeling thunder always rumbled here—as if the sky were as sick as the land. Beneath the Flow, she could feel the Under Flow moving in the earth and in the clouds. She didn’t dare focus on the black magic, not wanting to feel it or alert it to her presence.

  A deep sense of foreboding stole over her. She should head back. Coming here was too dangerous. If she were spotted, there was nowhere on this barren landscape to hide. She took a keener angle towards the ocean in the distance. Once she reached the sea, she would be safe.

  A ridge rose ahead, stretching many miles west. She crested it and wheeled back in shock, a muffled caw escaping her beak. Lifting high to hang just be
neath the clouds, she surveyed the scene.

  A great city sprawled below surrounded by a huge wall, thicker and taller than any she had ever seen and lacking any pleasing detail to break up its endless surface. The city was perfectly square and ordered in design, and contained the same flat square buildings that dominated the port. At its centre, a huge obelisk speared up into the sky, at least one hundred yards high. Red clouds clustered more densely above it and silent lightening flared down to meet it at odd intervals.

  Construction was happening at the city walls. Giant blocks of black stone were being placed on top of the flat surface giving the wall a jagged appearance that also sloped inwards. Was the city still being built?

  She turned her attention back to the giant obelisk, banking left to avoid flying too close to it. It wasn’t a single pillar of stone, and there were many lights within it all the way to its top. With a gasp, she saw that what she had thought were turrets were actually Dromoorai, perched one to each corner. They stood so still, like statues. No, they are real, they are just sleeping, she thought, though she knew Dromoorai never really slept and were always ready for battle.

  Long straight streets crisscrossed the city and along these tiny beings marched. Maphraxies, they never sleep either, nor do they even need to rest. She hated them all for that strength, especially now when her wings ached and she wished she were back in her bed. There were more Dromoorai too, positioned on massive square platforms at each corner of the city.

  She racked her brain for any maps of Venosia she might have seen. From what she remembered, this city was far too close to the coast to be the main dark dwarven stronghold Diredrull—a place said to exist underneath the abandoned Tarvalastone city taken from the dwarves of light long ago.

  No, this was a new, different city. Beneath it would be a cavernous realm made by the dark dwarves. How many such cities were there in Venosia? There would be more than one close to the coast. All it would take to alert them to an attack would be a Dread Dragon.