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

by Araya Evermore

  As the sun rose, it brought with it a sense of safety and confidence she had not felt in the darkness. It was a fake sense of security, however. The undead attacked at any time, just like the Histanatarns, but at least she no longer had to peer into darkness with every shadow making her jump. Sweat trickled down her back and flies annoyed her in a way they had never done before. Now she understood how Marakon must have felt, longing to be cool and left alone by insects; there were definitely less insects in colder climates, she decided.

  The jungle they journeyed through was as she remembered it; teeming with life and filled with flora. In places, she could almost pretend nothing had happened and everything was still right with the world. If she turned south, she’d eventually find her home. Everyone would be there waiting for her. Hai and the Elders would welcome her and consider her one of the Elders for surviving all that she had.

  Lost in her daydreams, her happy musings were shattered when they came upon acres of burnt jungle where the trees were gone and the land razed. Here, the wind lifted grey and black ash and swirled it in eddies. It felt soft and still warm under her feet; she fancied she could still see the ground smoking. She swallowed hard. There, in the corner under a fallen bough, was what looked like the skull of a poor victim, all blackened with soot. Now she’d seen one, she saw others under fallen trees. She dared not look harder and turned away, thankful that the fire had removed all evidence of who had been slain.

  They paused beside a river to eat fruit and nuts and a small portion of her rations, then turned north trying to find a place to ford it. When the sky began to turn pink above the thick canopy, she welcomed the oncoming night and the coolness it would bring.

  It was the stillness of the forest that eventually drew her attention and made her pause. Fenn looked at her.

  ‘We’re close,’ she said.

  Within the hour the jungle became less dense and more spread out and she saw what she had been searching for. Ahead of them was a place she had rarely been to: the Centre. The great stone ball stood proudly between the trees, as smooth and perfect as if it had just been made. Jarlain sheathed her spear on her back and took hold of her staff. The Hidden Ones murmured in her mind and she closed her eyes. They gave her a vision.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Fenn.

  ‘I see Hai, our leader. He is making this staff, and all the peoples of this land—all who remain—are present. There are so few.’

  Tears fell down her cheeks as she watched Hai who was sitting with the staves of all the tribes moulding them into one. Then he was walking to the light. She gasped when she saw great antlers rise, casting long shadows over everything. Doon, guardian of the forest. Then Hai and the light were gone.

  ‘He gave his life to tell me,’ Jarlain whispered, unable to hold back the tears. She wiped them away and looked at the enormous round stone.

  ‘But where are your people?’ asked Fenn.

  Jarlain shrugged. Where were they now? She walked towards the stone, aware of its immense height as it towered above her. Holding Hai’s staff in one hand, she gently laid a hand on it. The jungle faded into a thick mist that glowed white. The circular stone glowed white too and all around stood the tall, impossibly slender, light beings she called the Hidden Ones. They were guarding this place. As one they nodded at her and then turned to leave, their long legs carrying them gracefully away.

  She didn’t understand. ‘Wait, don’t go. Where are my people?’

  But the Hidden Ones faded away, the mist dissipated and the glowing stone dimmed as the jungle reformed itself around her. Then people appeared, hundreds of them. Her people and the lighter-skinned tribes of the north. They stood or sat in groups and then all turned to look in her direction. She gasped, seeing Tarn amongst them and then he was running towards her, pushing between the people, and engulfing her in his arms.

  ‘Great Goddess I never thought I’d see you again!’ he cried.

  Jarlain hugged him back, unable to speak from the emotion that welled within her—that and the fact that her face was pressed into his shoulder. They withdrew. He looked well, if thin and drawn.

  ‘You’re dressed like him,’ he said, tapping her armour.

  ‘He is well and waiting for us to go to him, as warriors,’ Jarlain said.

  Tarn’s face brightened.

  Sharnu hobbled over using a stick to steady herself, a smile spreading over her exhausted features. She had been old before but now she seemed ancient. Without speaking, she embraced Jarlain and both found themselves crying hot tears. Silently, Shufen came to stand beside them, his arm in a sling. One by one, all the people gathered close around her.

  ‘The Hidden Ones, they were protecting you in this place,’ Jarlain explained.

  ‘Hai is gone. He made the ultimate sacrifice to save us,’ Tarn said, his voice low and filled with emotion. ‘We are all that remain. Five thousand, and no more.’

  Jarlain didn’t know what to say. The numbers were beyond her. ‘Hai came to me. If he had not, I would have died. I have so much to tell you.’ She shook her head for all she wanted to say.

  ‘My goodness, you have the staff he made?’ Tarn’s eyes were wide with wonder. ‘He drew those symbols, the history of all our peoples in the Elder’s sacred tongue.’

  She looked at the staff which was now covered in glowing symbols, symbols that had been invisible before. In wonder, she held it up and stepped back so all the people could see.

  ‘This is the staff of our peoples,’ she said loudly. ‘Through the grace of Doon, guardian of the forests, Hai found me and saved my life. I return to you now to lead you away from here. Alone, you cannot survive against the might of the Immortal Lord. But together, united with the free peoples across the Great Sea, we have a chance to save our people and our beloved Maioria from being destroyed utterly.’

  As she spoke she realised Fenn was not by her side. She turned and saw that he’d slunk into a dark patch between two bushes. She almost laughed knowing he was afraid to frighten the people. She motioned for him to come out. Reluctantly, he crept forwards, paw over paw, his head low and eyes glued to the ground. The people gasped and fell back. They had never seen a bear before but they would recognise the animal’s form in their art and ancient carvings.

  ‘Do not be afraid,’ Jarlain said and winked at Tarn, who’d turned white. ‘Deep within, you remember these magnificent beasts, the bears. Hai showed me our ancestors before he passed. Our ancestors from long, long before now. They were advanced and powerful with their minds, and they were called the Navadin.’ Murmurs and frowns of recognition passed across peoples’ faces.

  ‘Yes,’ Jarlain nodded, smiling. ‘You do remember.’ Fenn sat on his haunches next to her and she laid a hand upon him. He lifted his head and sniffed the air, pretending to ignore all the people who were looking at him and trembling with fear.

  ‘I call upon all of you gathered here now to return with me to what remains of the Free World where the people are fighting to end this darkness. This land is lost, as well you know. Up and down the coast, the enemy spreads. Were it not for the Hidden Ones protecting you, you would be dead already. That protection is ended and now you are in grave danger. So I ask you to come with me to a land where we can become what we once were; the Navadin of old.

  ‘Through me, mighty Doon has rekindled the gift of bear-speak and I will give this gift to you, should you wish it. The choice is yours but should you want to join me and secure a future for yourselves, then we must leave immediately before the black dragons come.’

  Just the thought sent the crowd running to gather their meagre belongings; not one stood idly by. Jarlain laughed, despite the gravity of their situation, and let herself sink down to the ground next to Fenn with a sigh.

  ‘I did it, Hai. I found our people. We are safe and we are saved. The Navadin shall live again.’

  33

  Dragon Vengeance

  THE lights of Avernayis flickered in the darkness ahead and far below him.

>   Hidden by magic and flying this high in the sky, Asaph was confident no one would spot him. The birthplace of his father seemed a fitting place to attack.

  Coronos Avernayis Dragon Rider, you probably won’t approve of what I’m about to do, but I need to do it. Foolish, you’ll say, but I know you would have done it yourself once. The time of our greatest trial is before us; either we will fall or we will soar to the skies. I wish you could be here to witness our emancipation and live in a world that is free. I guess you are free now, anyway.

  For a moment Asaph closed his eyes, letting the strange human emotions move through him, feeling the wind rush over his enormous body. He allowed his emotions to turn to anger and let it stoke the fire in his belly. He swooped low to get a better look at his enemies.

  There were no Dromoorai that he could see but there were many heavily armed Maphraxies patrolling the harbour walls and streets between the ugly grey square buildings. Dark dwarves mingled amongst them and at the end of the pier at the entrance to the port were a gaggle of four or five necromancers. He couldn’t see what they were doing but, being magic wielders, they would have to be removed first.

  He wheeled upwards in an arc, took a deep breath, and dropped towards them. Their ugly, pasty faces loomed before him fast. Two looked straight at him, their eyes widening a fraction before they were all engulfed in fire and screaming. Three fell into the water, dousing the flames, one started incanting a spell whilst on fire and the other was incinerated on the spot.

  His magic cloak gone, Asaph angled his wings and shot into the sky again, drawing the Flow to him. The Maphraxies were roaring and scrambling to defence. He dropped back down fast for another attack before more necromancers could form a magical assault. Two were climbing out of the water using the metal ladders attached to the harbour wall. He doused them in flames again, boiling the one still in the water.

  Black fire sizzled harmlessly against his magic shield but blurred his vision, forcing him to dart away. Quickly he returned and grabbed the remaining necromancers in his claws. Their screams were cut short as he crushed them and dropped their bloodied, broken bodies into the sea.

  The necromancers now neutralised, Asaph turned to the new threat.

  Maphraxies lined the wall and were hastily notching their huge bows. Quickly, he swooped past them spraying fire. He laughed aloud as their bowstrings sizzled to nothing. Some of the Maphraxies ignited in flames and fell into the water in a panic, their heavy army making them sink fast, but most were resistant to his flames, only smouldering at most. He would need blue or even white fire to turn their armour to molten metal—if it was even possible to melt given that it had been forged in the fires of the bowels of Maphrax. Such fire was costly. He’d have to make sure he had enough energy left to escape when the Dread Dragons came.

  More bows were gathered and these were swiftly notched with arrows. He came close to give them a target. When they fired he put up his shield and watched the arrows bounce harmlessly off it. With a roar, he descended upon them before they could reload. In each of his four talons, he filled his claws with the enemy and snapped those not fleeing fast enough into his mouth. He came so low his wings glanced off the roofs of buildings, then he was in the sky and heading out to sea. He dropped his load and watched the enemy howl and writhe as they fell hundreds of feet into the ocean to sink to their deaths.

  The Under Flow surged, alerting him to necromancers. Magic smacked into him and the wind keeping him airborne simply disappeared. Like a stone, he dropped towards the ocean as if he had just entered a void of nothing. However, his dragon magic was strong and he pulled wind to him, filling his wings and blasting himself upwards towards the clouds. He pinpointed where the offensive magic was coming from and plummeted towards it.

  In one of the towers, a pale face appeared, hands moving as it incanted its spell. Asaph didn’t pause as he smashed into the tower. Bricks and mortar exploded on impact, crushing anything inside. He circled and hit the tower again, causing it to topple onto fleeing Maphraxies. Again and again he swooped upon the town of Avernayis, breathing blue and white fire on anything and everything, picking up the enemy in his claws and dumping them in the ocean to drown. He let his fury consume him as he rampaged, destroying the port towers, stamping on and crushing entire buildings. Avernayis and his father had been avenged.

  The whole place smouldered and not a single building was left whole when he heard the first screech of a Dread Dragon. Panting with exhausted satisfaction, Asaph roared his might, letting them know what he was and who had done this. He could fight a Dromoorai. He turned and scanned the skies. There, just emerging from the thick clouds, was a black speck. It was followed by four more.

  Asaph growled—he could fight one Dromoorai, but not five—he’d have to flee. Taking one more satisfied look at the smoking ruin of Avernayis, he bunched his muscles and spread his wings. He tried to leap and nearly wrenched his legs from his feet. His claws were glued to the ground. Looking down he could see nothing wrong. Glimpsing into the Flow he saw thick black chains writhing around his ankles.

  A sniggering laugh caught his attention. There, in the rubble, out of reach of his flames, stood the tall thin figure of a necromancer. Gashes of dark red blood smeared its face and it held bloodied hands up commanding the Under Flow.

  ‘All we do is wait for them to take you,’ it said in a nasally, snivelling voice. Asaph reached for the Flow but it scattered. He wrenched at his feet and beat his wings furiously, sending debris into a maelstrom around him but nothing released his feet.

  Dread Dragons screamed, louder and closer. He looked up at the five fast approaching beasts, not quite able to panic in dragon form, but able to rage at his predicament. He roared and flamed the air uselessly then panted smoke. He would tear the necromancer apart.

  The closest Dromoorai came low; he could see the blazing red amulet swinging on its chest. Good, let Baelthrom know he was here. It would complete his mission and divert the Immortal Lord’s attention away from Issa and her armies.

  The Dromoorai pulled its sword free and whooshed past, striking Asaph on the neck as he, in turn, covered it in flames. Asaph flicked out his tail, smashing into the Dromoorai rider and nearly unseating it. Asaph shook his head, feeling blood trickle just under his ear. It wasn’t trying to kill him, just taunting him for fun.

  Well, he’d got this far and he didn’t intend to be captured by them. Fear of death didn’t cross his dragon mind, but he was aware that to the death he would fight. Then again, hadn’t all Dragon Lords fought to the death thinking they wouldn’t be taken? Asaph snorted black soot in defiance.

  The Dromoorai landed behind him some yards away. The rest of them picked their positions around him in the rubble. Asaph racked his brains for a plan, a way out, but nothing came to mind. Slowly the Dread Dragons ambled towards him, their heads lowered and necks snaking, nostrils scenting, eyes alight with the smell of blood and thoughts of food. He snapped at the nearest, reaching further than it expected and catching its muzzle in his jaws. He didn’t have a firm grasp and the Dread Dragon wrenched free with a snarl.

  The one behind him clamped its jaws on his tail. Pain snaked up his spine and he howled and thrashed. His tail was released by a command from its rider.

  ‘You will be one of us,’ rasped the Dromoorai to his right, the sound raking his ears. All their eyes flared red, glowing from the slits of their helmets as they watched him.

  Asaph forced his eyes to the ground. He wouldn’t look at them; he wouldn’t look at Baelthrom. The Under Flow seeped black beneath him, pooling beneath his feet. He tried to lift away from it but his feet remained anchored to the ground. Black smoke billowed around him, thicker and darker. He choked and spat as it filled his lungs and his eyes watered as it rose higher, a slow spinning tornado of black engulfing him.

  Things began to dim in his mind; he couldn’t see clearly and his senses became confused. He thrashed violently, lifting his head above the blackness as much as he could,
seeking breathable air. Was this how he was going to end? He roared and thrashed some more, hunting for the Flow which just wasn’t there. He lashed his tail, hoping to catch one unawares, but they were out of reach. He roared again and again, become more rage-filled at his hopeless situation.

  A roar answered from far away. It could be another Dromoorai, but his ears were too muffled to determine. Beyond the billowing smoke, all he could see were glowing red eyes and amulets. He gnashed his teeth, only to choke as smoke furled insidiously around his fangs. In a flash of gleaming red, he saw long slender jaws close on a Dread Dragon’s throat. An entire sleek body flashed past Asaph’s stinging eyes, still anchored to the other dragon’s neck, and then a flurry of red wings. Asaph blinked and saw the horrific sight of the Dread Dragon’s half exposed throat spraying watery grey blood and gore as it thrashed and threw its rider from its back.

  Roaring filled the air and real dragon minds touched his own. Their rage mirrored his. He roared, a pathetic smoke filled rasp. He shuffled helplessly and, amazingly, found his feet to be free. He leapt unsteadily into the air, shaking the Under Flow from his mind, his great wings trembling with the strain. He stared at the long, sleek shape of Garna as she darted past in a blur and attacked the fallen Dromoorai. She lifted it up in her talons and hurled it into the ocean, black claymore striking at air as it tumbled and disappeared with a great splash.

  The green dragon with the black horns rolled on top of another Dread Dragon. Rust, the large red male, was locked between two. Asaph went to help him as Garna wheeled around to attack the fifth.

  Asaph’s teeth clamped onto the Dromoorai rider which had its sword plunged into the green’s side, and wrenched it off the Dread Dragon’s back whilst remaining airborne. He breathed white fire through his teeth and felt the Dromoorai’s armour soften. He crunched and let the crumpled shape fall to the ground.

  He wheeled up and then dropped out of the sky, landing all of his weight upon the riderless dragon. It collapsed under him and he clamped his jaws onto the back of its neck. He wrenched and bit madly, letting all his rage consume him until the neck gave a satisfying snap. The green finished the other and together they leapt upon Garna’s opponent, locking onto the Dread Dragon as she destroyed its rider.