Dragon Seed: A LitRPG Dragonrider Adventure (The Archemi Online Chronicles Book 1)

by James Osiris Baldwin

  “Steel,” he said, picking one up. “I’ll give you seventy-five florins apiece for these. You want Alchemy tools, eh? I can set you up with some basics, but this is a prison camp. You want good materials and tools, you have to go to Liren.”

  “I figured.” I watched him, slightly unnerved by his suppressed excitement. And I had to wonder: had I just sold a King’s rebel a bunch of sharp black-market swords?

  Before I had the chance to say anything further, the shopkeep folded the swords into his own personal pocket of hyperspace and came around the end of the counter. “What do you want from us, then?”

  “Uhh…” I recalled all of the tools Kira and Owen had told me about. “Mortar, pestle, muslin rags, grain alcohol, a pot, bottles-”

  We went around, gathering items off shelves. When I was done shopping, we carried them back to the counter and he rang them up. I’d made 1125 Florins off the swords, and the Alchemy setup cost 50 of that – chump change, really. Money and swords definitely seemed to improve the shopkeep’s opinion of me.

  “Not from this land, are you?” He asked, as he bagged up dried herbs.

  “No sir,” I said. “I’m from a place about as far away from here as you can get.”

  “If I were you, I’d run straight back there with me tail ‘tween me legs,” the old man said. “What makes you want to join this pack of traitors?”

  “I want to imprint a dragon more than anything,” I said. “And be careful who you say that to. You’ll end up hanged, or worse.”

  “Bah. I’ve seen sixty-nine summers, and the last three ‘ave been the worst of my life. They can bloody well hang me already.” The man spat onto the floor beside him. “You know what this little visit of yours will cost this village? The granary’s barely a quarter full after last year’s harvest. Witchcraft turned the farmland sour. We grew poisonous wheat in places last year, the kind that turned people’s guts inside out or drove them mad. And why? Because we dared ask questions, is why. We wanted to know why our rightful liege had been murdered in her own bed. That’s all. No rebellion. No mobs. The old Alderman asked a question. He was hung for that, and the ‘knights’ put in Lieutenant Fatso to babysit us.”

  I blinked, stunned into silence.

  “Aye, didn’t know, did ye?” His eyes flashed darkly. “Nor do you know how your lovely dragons came to burn our fields, eat our cattle, and take young men into the sky in their claws and drop them. That happened to the alderman’s son.”

  “I wasn’t here for the civil war,” I said, carefully. “I’m working with the Skyrdon, not for them.”

  He snorted. “Well, now you know. As for me, I have to die of somethin’, and I’ll die on me feet or off the ground, but not on bended knee.”

  “I won’t tell them about you, if that’s anything.” I couldn’t help but feel sympathy. “On my word.”

  “Huh.” The old man stared at me for a long moment, as if deciding whether or not I was full of shit. It was weird as hell to see an NPC do something like that. He wasn’t just selecting from a variable: he was making a decision. “Well, get your dragon and get out of Ilia, I say. Nothin’ to be found here but war and bad blood.”

  “I’ll take it to heart,” I said uncertainly.

  There are times during some video games where you wonder what side you’re really on. I was having one of those moments, dwelling on what I’d seen and what Owen had told me versus what the people in my faction believed and said. I didn’t really have a personal stake in the politics of Ilia yet, but I didn’t like what I was seeing here. War was one thing: poisoning the land and punishing the people for asking questions of their new government was quite another. I went back outside to find Camp Prichard foggy and damp, the air clinging to any exposed skin like cold hands. More recruits were returning – and more riderless hookwings.

  One of the other player characters - a pretty blonde sorceress – sobbed with pain as she was helped down by the two others from her party. Her robes had been torn down the front, baring her body like a bathrobe. It was far from titillating: the girl was trying to hold her guts in with both hands as the others got her down and medics swarmed across to help her.

  Chilled, I scuttled by and went to find a quiet place to build a fire and get started on making medicines. We were going to need them.

  Making a fire in Archemi was just like making one in the Outer World, as I was starting to think of it. You set up the firepit, collected tinder and kindling, and set aside two sticks - one harder, one softer. Once the kindling was ready, you carved a little hole in the softer stick, set it over the tinder, and used the harder one to drill by rubbing it briskly between your palms. After a couple of minutes, hot ash and embers fell out onto the tinder and caused it to smoke. When it caught alight, you fed it onto the fire, and coaxed it to life. Amazing what you learned at boot camp.

  My ‘stove’ was a flat stone set on other stones and placed over the fire. Once I had a pot of water going, I brought up my crafting menus to see what I was able to make. There were enough herbs and other ingredients to be able to attempt several potions. After sorting them into separate piles, I cracked my knuckles and got to work.

  The first couple of potions were foul, as expected, really little more than brown sludge that didn’t help anyone or anything. I went back to making poultices for a while before reattempting the decoctions. It wasn’t until I hit Alchemy 3 that I produced anything useful from the pot, but eventually, I was able to create my first [Moss Tincture], which healed 70 HP over 60 seconds. That single success inspired me to keep mashing, boiling, straining, and brewing. One after the other, I was able to fill bottles with brightly colored solutions.

  [Your Herbalism skill has reached level 5!]

  [Your Alchemy skill has reached level 4! This is the maximum rank you can attain with your current tools and tuition.]

  “Bummer.” Annoyed but resigned, I sat back from my improvised laboratory and beheld the fruits of my labor. I’d managed to make five different potions, some more useful than others:

  Barghest Serum (Poison, FATAL)

  A deadly poison that allows you to see in the dark for 60 seconds.

  Lightning Strike Potion (Poison, FATAL)

  A deadly poison that recovers 10 Adrenaline Points.

  Strong Insect Repellant

  Repels all normal insects for 120 minutes when drunk. Also kills parasites.

  Moss Tincture

  Heal 70 HP over 60 seconds.

  Berry Sauce

  Good over ice cream. Prevents starvation.

  The ‘fatal’ potions didn’t make a huge amount of sense to me. I could guess why they were toxic – these were the brews that contained poisonous herbs, mana-infused monster parts, or both. Magic wasn’t for drinking in Archemi. Still, that they listed effects – other than death – was weird. There was possibly some way to get used to the poisons and withstand their effects to get the benefits of the potion.

  I was out of herbs, so I put out the fire and went into the barn to repair my weapons and armor before returning to the inn. Trial and error taught me that the awl, wire and catgut was for repairing the metal and leather parts, while needle and thread was for clothes. It seemed a little pedantic for a game, but the task calmed me down and let my mind relax. There were a lot of injured, riderless hookwings in the yard now. Nine more people had returned. Thirty-two had gone out, and there were only eleven left.

  I hadn’t taken my first level in Knight yet. Every time I wandered to the Character screen, I found myself feeling gun-shy. When I’d seen the Tuun during character creation, I’d felt the pull immediately. With the Knight class, I was having cold feet. There was no genuine imperative for me to take the Path now. However, I noticed all the other melee characters who’d survived the quest had acquired an opalescent corona and a deepened sense of presence. The magic players had taken their own relevant Paths, I assumed. I was the only one who still had the basic green corona when I emerged from my hidey-hole and joined rank. My hope
had been that no one would notice.

  “Still green, Tuun?” Blackwin brayed, hands on hips. “Saving yourself for the right woman, are you?”

  There was only one way to respond when your sarge trolled you like that. I stiffened and saluted. “Saving myself for Cutthroat, Ma’am! She doesn’t like it when I cat around!”

  “Ma’am! Requesting to be the bridesmaid at the service!” Baldr barked, standing to attention.

  The others - the non-soldiers at least - started laughing.

  “Alright, alright. Nice to see you’re all in good spirits,” Blackwin said. “You lot are the last aspirants standing. Get on your damn birds and let’s get out of this hovel. You’ve a meeting with the captain. And then the Trial starts.”

  “You mean this wasn’t the Trial? Ma’am?” The young, blonde sorceress who’d been disemboweled earlier was back on her feet. She spoke up nervously.

  Blackwin scoffed. “Of course it wasn’t the bloody Trial. If slapping bandits and corpse-eaters around was all it took to join the Order, we’d all be flying dragonback, wouldn’t we?”

  The sorceress blushed. “Yes ma’am.”

  “This was just to weed out the sap-lickers that didn’t stand a chance of making it,” Blackwin continued. “But remember what you did today. You’ll talk about it with the Matriarch of the Eyrie when you visit her to view the eggs.”

  The eggs! My breathing sped a little. Will they let us touch them?

  “Fall out! Get moving!” The sergeant’s voice broke my thoughts - and those of the other candidates. “Go!”

  All of the surviving riderless hookwings ‘packed up’, nipping and squawking at each other as they found their natural pecking order and trailed after the rank. I couldn’t say the same for Cutthroat.

  “Why are you such a fucking hose-beast!” I yelled, as she twisted her long neck and bit me hard on my upper arm. When she started to shake me like a dog, I punched her square in the side of her head. The creature let go with an irritated hiss, whistling with fury when I grabbed a nose rein and yanked it. “You want a piece of me?”

  Hauling on that one rein made her spin in place, turning her around in the rank and sending the beasts behind me into conniptions. Cutthroat drooled, bucked, and then bolted forward as I regained control of all four reins, trying to skittle me off her back and into the hookwings ahead of me. They sensed her barreling toward them, and leaped out of the way with screechy cries of alarm.

  “You cock-sucking- AARGH! I’m going to turn you into a feather duster!” I roared as we thundered past Sergeant Blackwin and the startled mage that accompanied her.

  Chapter 28

  We arrived back at the Fort at night. It was raining, torchlight and moonlight both gleaming off cobblestone and mud in the stableyard. Even with the rain, you could see the moon, Erruku. It was so enormous and so bright that it lit the sky with a weird yellow-gray light. Bright seams of it were visible through the breaks in the clouds. Sargent Blackwin had run ahead, and when we reached the stables, she was waiting for us.

  “Hop to it! Get those animals cleaned up!” She yelled at us as we dismounted, stiff in the legs and back. “Chop chop!”

  As soon as I was on the ground, Cutthroat tried to bite me. Her teeth narrowly missed the back of my neck, but they did miss. I was ready for it, this time.

  “Cut it out.” I grabbed her by the muzzle, and half-led, half-dragged her into the stable as she squawked in indignation.

  Cutthroat settled down once I led her to her stall. The daily delivery of entrails had been deposited there, and it was apparently in a state of perfect ripeness, because she bounced over to the buzzing mess and began snarfing it down. Thoroughly grossed out, I left her to her feast. I wiped down her saddle outside, hung it to dry, and rejoined the others. As I exited the stable door, twin shadows passed overhead, the wind thundering in their wake. Winged shadows.

  I ducked back under shelter and looked up, eyes widening as the pair of dragons curved around a tight spin and backwinged to land behind the row of buildings that separated the stable from the main courtyard. When everyone was out, I hustled there at a jog, arriving to find the two dragonriders already dismounted. I recognized Talenth right away. The huge, graceful white dragon had his head dipped down to Skyr Arnaud’s armored shoulder, sniffing over it delicately as Arnaud absently scratched his chin. The other, smaller silver dragon belonged to Skyr Tymos. Like his rider, the dragon looked old and wiry. As everyone drew closer, we could see the patina on his scales, the chips in his horns, the faint misty glow of his eyes. Both men had pulled out the stops today and were dressed in full ceremonial platemail. The steel was intricately engraved, their white surcoats were spotless, their blue cloaks immaculate. They looked exactly the way that dragon knights should.

  The other recruits gaped at them, men and dragons, and it occurred to me that most of them had never seen a dragon before, let alone ridden one. I was probably the only one to have ever done so.

  “Hail, aspirants.” Skyr Arnaud was every bit as impressive as I remembered. The expression of tenderness left his eyes we clustered together in rank. “Let’s see... ten, eleven of you. Not bad. We’ve had fewer return than that…”

  He trailed off as he spotted me.

  “Skyr Tymos.” The warmth had left his voice. “When did you admit this Tuun?”

  “Only yesterday, Commander.” Tymos replied. “He came with a personal missive from Lady Ru-“

  “Rutha of Vasteau, yes. I’m sure he did. So you admitted him on the word of a knife-ear witch?”

  Now everyone was staring at me, including the dragons. I squared my shoulders, hands folded behind my back.

  “On the word of Warden Scandiva’s court sorceress, Sir,” Tymos replied crisply. “He passed the screening with flying colors. As did everyone else here.”

  “I see. Well. Perhaps we need to review our screening requirements.” The knight-commander sneered, and then he turned his icy glare back onto all of us.

  “You have all passed the basic screening, which means you are ready to take the Trial of Marantha, if you dare.” Arnaud began to stroll along our line. His armor barely made a sound as he walked: no clanking, just the whisper of metal against leather. “I will be both blunt and brief. Most of you will die in the Trial, if you choose to undertake it. The road to becoming a dragonman - or woman - is long, painful, and exceedingly dangerous. We do not administer the Trials lightly. We do not do so in vain. The fact remains that of every twenty candidates we submit, perhaps five make it out alive and hale, without disability or death.”

  No one moved a muscle or said a word as his words faded into the still air.

  “Saint Grigori was the first king of Ilia, and the Emperor of Hercynia some two thousand years ago.” Tymos spoke up, his reedy voice cutting through the cool, damp night air. “Like all humans of that era, he was born a slave. The Aesari enslaved all humans, dragons, Mercurions, and Catfolk under a vast empire that spanned the world. To control us, they commanded great Artifacts, machines fused with magic that cowed the other races into submission. But Grigori was Starborn, and he knew he would rise to a different fate.”

  “When the humans and Catfolk rebelled in the desert lands of the South, Grigori was sent by his Aesari masters to fight the self-appointed Queen of Heaven and Earth, the Starborn Sachara.” Sergeant Blackwin spoke from behind us, her voice keeping the same ritual cadence as the others. The less disciplined among us turned their heads to look back at her, but the other soldiers and I did not. “But instead, he fell in love with her. Sachara inspired Grigori to fight for the freedom of his own people. Rather than oppress his own kind, he turned on the Aesari and led a rebellion that freed him and his followers, including the sorceress Marantha, from the shackles of the Aesari. In the wilds of what is now Ilia, Grigori and Marantha hit upon a plan: convince the dragons to help them in their fight for freedom, and fly with them into battle against the Aesari’s machines.”

  Arnaud took up the story witho
ut missing a beat. “But to fly the dragons was suicide. The Solonkratsu are our world’s most ancient people. Their blood is the very stuff of magic, which Stranges human flesh, sickening us and turning us into monsters. Grigori was able to forge a secret alliance with the Great Matriarch, but to ride her children, he had to transform. With Marantha’s help, Grigori obtained the ingredients for a series of potions and underwent the first Trial.”

  “He came through three days and three nights of sickness, but at the end, he had received the Gifts of the Ordeal,” Tymos said. “The senses of an eagle, lungs capable of breathing thin air, a body strong enough to endure the speed of flight and the mana in a dragon’s blood, a lifespan to match a wyrm’s. Grigori became the first Skyr, bonding with the Diamond Queen, Lirenian. The Trial was dangerous, but Saint Grigori inspired others to dare. Many of our heroes died or were crippled, but when the bond between man and dragon was forged, it was nearly undefeatable. Our dragonriders slew the Aesari in great numbers, cutting through them like a scythe and bringing down their Artifacts and weapons. Grigori eventually joined with Sachara’s force, and together, we liberated humankind from bondage.”

  We were all now regarding the Skyrdon with renewed understanding. Their weird eyes, aura of power, and impressive agelessness – even Tymos, who looked ‘old’, could have been anywhere between fifty and five hundred years old… they were mutations caused by the Trial.

  “There are fewer of us today, but the Trial remains the same.” Arnaud gestured to the distant beacon shining at the top of the Eyrie. “Dragons are the most powerful allies of humanity, but the sacrifice is a greater price than most are willing to pay. Between now and the actual time of the Trial, you may leave with no loss of honor to you or your families. You can leave entirely, or join the ranks of our soldiers, which means you will continue your training with Blackwin in Fort Grigori. If you wish to continue, step forward.”

  There was a ripple of hesitation along the line. Baldr and I stepped forward nearly at the same time: him with his jaw set, his head held high, me with my stomach quaking and my hands fisted by my sides. Lucien joined us, as did the blonde sorceress and one other woman. The others looked down, unmoving.