Dragonlands, Books 1 - 3: Hidden, Hunted, and Retribution

by Megg Jensen

  Malachi lay dead on the ground, his head cracked open and his brains splattered across the green grass.

  Elinor pushed past Jarrett and sank to her knees. She checked Malachi over quickly, her head shaking. "He's dead." The words choked in her throat and tears filled her eyes. "Where are the eggs?" She stood and wiped her hands on her cloak.

  "We can bury him," Bastian offered, his hand on her shaking shoulders.

  "No. He's a traitor, and he died as one," Elinor said with a half-hearted shrug. "He's my father. It is my decision. I say we move on and find the eggs."

  Jarrett put his fingers to his lips. The others quieted down. He waved his hand to the left, motioning them to take cover next to the boulders. Jarrett tiptoed around the boulders, finding an opening to an underground cave. "Maybe they're in here. There's only one set of footprints, which look to be Malachi's. Maybe the eggs are hidden in here and whatever killed him didn't touch them."

  It was a lot of guesswork, but no one could offer a better suggestion. The group stepped forward toward the opening together. A high-pitched keening broke the silence.

  "It's a baby dragon," Connor said, his eyes lighting up. "At least one of them is alive." He pushed past Jarrett and crawled into the opening.

  Jarrett dropped to his knees and followed behind Connor, propelling himself with his forearms. He couldn't see farther than Connor's shoes as they descended down the dirty tunnel. Finally the ground leveled out again and they crawled forward.

  They emerged into a cavern filled with light from a series of glowing braziers. Cracked eggs lay scattered all over the floor, their shells in a multitude of pieces. In the far corner of the room, the dragons played with each other, rolling and tumbling across the rocky floor.

  Connor did a quick count. "They're alive! We only lost the one!" He smiled and clapped Bastian's back just as Elinor emerged from the tunnel behind him.

  Jarrett watched the little dragons. He'd never seen one so young before. They were cute. Like puppies. All tongues and feet and playing in an awkward jumble. He drew his sword and walked toward them.

  "What are you doing?" Bastian called from behind him.

  He paid Bastian no heed and continued to make his way to the passel.

  "Jarrett!" Connor called out.

  Jarrett heard feet scrabbling from behind. He heard his friends’ calls. Yet he continued, picking up his pace, his sword thirsty for dragon blood.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jarrett raised his sword above his head and struck down, the blade slicing through the first dragon. The head rolled off, the tongue hanging out the side. He heard the screams of rage, but he did not falter. He swung his sword again and again. Blood splattered in the air, in concert the whistle of his sword.

  Flesh clung to his blade, mingling with that of another kill. Someone grabbed his arm, but he fought it off, his mind set only on one thing: slaughtering the baby dragons. His mind clouded over. His vision had only one target. The hatchlings screamed and squirmed within his reach. One coughed as if it were trying to summon dragonfire. Jarrett knew it was too young. He had no fear of reprisal. Not from the dragons. Not from the humans trying so desperately to stop him.

  He raised his sword one last time, the smallest dragon cowering in the corner. It didn't even bother to fight. He took a deep breath, preparing to take the final life and complete his mission. His sword swung down, but struck something else. He blinked and saw what was in front of him.

  A woman. Blond. Covered in blood. His sword sticking out of her chest. Her arm outstretched. Her mouth lips forming a plea.

  Jarrett shook his head. "Gods! Elinor!"

  Bastian ran to her side, taking her in his arms.

  "Don't move the sword," Elinor gasped through bubbles of blood. Her arms hung limp at her sides.

  Jarrett didn't have a chance to apologize. A fist met his face. Again and again and again until he couldn't open his eyelids. He lay on the ground, taking the beating, not fighting back.

  Eventually the fists went away, leaving him in a bloody pulp on the floor. He listened to Bastian and Connor's choked sobs. He could hear their voices in his head.

  Their grief surrounded every inch of his mind, squeezing, choking.

  Then it all winked out and Jarrett found himself back in the room with the Keeper.

  "You have done well, my son. You have proven your worth to me. Soon you will be the next Keeper. You will fight to keep the dragons from our treasured island. You are the greatest champion, having slain more dragons than any of us combined. Stories will be sung about you."

  Stories, Jarrett thought bitterly. Yes. Everyone would hate him throughout the Dragonlands and anywhere else in the world the stories might be carried. Bards would demonize him. Children would cower in their beds, fearing he would visit them in the dark of the night. He would become the beast the world would come together to fear.

  He would be their common enemy.

  Jarrett rolled over and threw up, leaving a mottled mess on the pillows.

  "Stump will clean that up. Unless you'd prefer to eat it." The Keeper laughed and laughed, slapping his knee. "I am disappointed you didn't bring me back any dragon flesh. Oh well. I will have to send Stump to get the body of the man he killed. We shall feast on human flesh tonight, my son!"

  Jarrett's memories, which had been so fuzzy and confused only moments ago, thrust back into clarity. Tressa. Oh gods, Tressa. What would she think of him now? He wept into the pillow, his hands balled and his nails driving into his palms. He wanted to die. He deserved to die for what he'd just done.

  "Why?" he asked the Keeper, his voice hoarse.

  "Why do we kill dragons?" the Keeper asked.

  Jarrett nodded.

  "Filthy creatures. I hate them. Therefore, I kill them if they dare to step foot on my home." The Keeper picked at his teeth with his long pinky nail. The rest were bitten down to stubs.

  "That's all?" Jarrett asked, waves of sickness crashing over his stomach.

  "Aren't they ugly? But their flesh tastes so good." The Keeper smacked his lips together. "Stump, go now. Collect the dead man. We shall feast tonight!"

  Stump nodded and took his leave down the dark tunnel.

  Jarrett struggled to sit up. "I want no part of this." Using the little strength he had left, he lunged at the Keeper. Instead of landing on the Keeper, Jarrett hung suspended in the air. He floated, his hands grasping and reaching for the little man. "What is this?"

  "Magic," the Keeper said. "Something you've always wanted to learn. I will teach you. But if you kill me, you will die with me, for I hold your soul in my hand." He opened his other hand. An orb shone in his palm, beating with life, shining with goodness. "You will do as I command, and you will learn to like it."

  "No," Jarrett said. He fell back to his pillows, released by the Keeper. "I will fight you."

  "You will not," the Keeper said. "You do not have the strength. Soon your will to fight will fade. You will sit at my feet, lick the jam from between my toes, and beg for my love and tender guidance."

  "Never," Jarrett said. He knew he didn't mean it, though. Already the change was happening. He wanted to learn. He wanted the power. He wanted to force the dragons, who had ruled over him his entire life, to bow down to him. When Jacinda would overpower him with her dragon strength, he found it arousing. Now he wanted to kill her for it. If only she would step foot on his island...

  The Keeper chuckled. "Already your thoughts are bending to my will. You are uniquely suited to this life. Most would not be so," he paused, "eager."

  They sat in silence for what seemed an eternity until Stump returned with Malachi's body. "Brains," it said with a stony smile.

  "Thank you, my pet." The Keeper laid one of the pieces of brain between his lips and sucked. "Ah, sustenance. Would you like some?" he asked Jarrett. "I don't want to be rude."

  Jarrett's stomach turned. He shook his head no, but found his hands eagerly reaching for the dead man's brains.

&nbs
p; "They're good," the Keeper said, munching. "You'll like them."

  Jarrett's hands brought the brains to his mouth. He fought against himself, his lips pursed together. No, no, no, he thought. His mouth opened, his tongue snaked out. His lips wrapped around the brain and pulled it into his mouth. Despite the nausea in his throat, he chewed and swallowed.

  Soft.

  Sweet.

  Slimy.

  It was the most delectable thing he'd ever tasted.

  Jarrett gazed at the Keeper. "You were right. They are amazing."

  "You will eat the liver, too." The Keeper took a knife and slit Malachi's chest open. His innards spilled onto the floor. "Stump, get the liver for Jarrett."

  The golem reached down with his stone hands, grasping the slippery brown organ.

  "The liver collects all of the vile fluids in our bodies and holds them. It's the most toxic and the most delicious part of the body. Try, try."

  Stump held out the liver to Jarrett. He took it and sunk his teeth in, sucking out the insides. Human nectar dripped down his chin, landing in droplets on his clothes.

  "You are mine," the Keeper hissed, a smile on his face. "You are mine forever, and I will train you in all the magical arts. Then I will die, and you will become the new Keeper."

  A woman flashed in Jarrett's mind. Dark brown hair. Sturdy build. A smile that could melt hearts. Then her eyes flickered red, slit like a dragon’s. Jarrett looked up at his new master. "I will do your bidding. But, tell me, is there a way to lure dragons to the island instead of waiting for them to come to us?"

  Chapter Eighteen

  Back in the Ruins of Ebon, Tressa sank down on a chair. Fi and several other men and women Tressa hadn’t yet met gathered around the table. Granna stood at the head. When everyone was seated, she too took her seat.

  "We must prepare for battle. Jacinda's son, Destrian, will head home and muster an army."

  Fi punched the table. "Why did you let him go? We could have ended it instead of preparing for a war with the Yellow." She shifted in her seat, clearly agitated.

  The woman next to Fi put an arm around her shoulders. Fi leaned in, resting her head on the woman's shoulders. So that must be Sarah. She was beautiful, a perfect match for Fi’s quirkiness.

  "Sarah, do you have an opinion?" Granna asked.

  "No." The woman beside Fi shook her head. "But I have a feeling you'll tell us your plan. We know you, Sophia. You don't do anything without thinking ten steps ahead."

  Granna nodded, a smile on her face. Tressa knew her great-grandmother well and apparently these people did too. Granna thought years ahead of everyone else. But how much would she share with these people?

  "Destrian will fly home. By the time he gets there, his fear will fade. It will be replaced by anger. He will call in his top advisors, as I have done here, and they will discuss retribution for killing their queen." Granna set her hands on the table. "Then they will realize they cannot fight us alone. They will send a messenger to the Red, asking for their help. The Red will agree because of their displeasure at our little mission in Malum to save Tressa and her friends. Together, they will descend upon us."

  "It makes sense," the man to Granna's left said.

  Tressa didn't know his name, or the names of anyone else at the table other than Fi and now Sarah. She had promised Fi she would listen, and not speak, as long as they let her sit there. But if no one else was going to speak, she would say her peace.

  "I'm not sure the Red will help them," Tressa said, raising her hand. "When we were in Malum, we fought with a horde of Red dragons, but they were led by a man named Fenn." She didn't feel like sharing her parentage with the rest of them. "We defeated him, but no other Red dragons came to fight with him. They allowed your dragons to extract us. Unless I'm wrong?" She wrung her hands nervously in her lap where no one could see.

  "She is right," another man said, his black mustache dipping past his chin. "We had no resistance from the Red that night. It is possible the horde we faced in Malum was a rogue group. Maybe the Red won't join with the Yellow."

  Others nodded in agreement. Tressa hadn't wanted to contradict her great-grandmother, but she could see the tide quickly turning in her direction. After all, she had been there. They knew she had killed Stacia, the Queen of the Blue, and been involved in the killing of the Red dragon in Malum. She had more experience than Granna.

  "I have seen it, Jenfar," Granna said simply to the man with the drooping mustache. “The Red will vanquish us if we do not strike first.”

  "Then it is true," Fi said. She looked around the table, her gaze settling on Tressa. "Not to put your theory to shame, Tressa. It was a well-reasoned argument. But Sophia's visions have never been false. What should we do next?" she asked Granna.

  Tressa wanted to tell them Granna's visions had been wrong at least once. Granna thought she’d see Tressa leave Hutton’s Bridge, but she died before that vision came true. Tressa looked at the others in the room. They believed in Granna's authority. She could see it in the way their eyes focused on Granna with utter trust.

  "We fly out in three days. Take that time to prepare. Say your goodbyes. Some of us will not return. Choose your riders carefully. Ensure they are trained for battle and prepared to face carnage. I don't want anyone who might be afraid." Granna counted off the objectives on her fingers, as if she'd already had a list in mind. And perhaps she had.

  "Why wait three days?" the mustached man asked. "Why not fly out to the Yellow now and destroy them while we have the chance? They will not be prepared."

  “We must be prepared as well,” Granna said. She took a moment to look at each person in the face. “I do not want to lose any of you. Go now. Get sleep. Eat. Prepare for war.”

  ***

  Three days later, Tressa pulled on the armor Fi had supplied for her.

  "How long am I to remain prisoner here?" Avital asked from the corner of the room.

  Two guards stood outside her chambers. She had asked to speak with Avital, and this was the only way she could get some privacy with him.

  "As soon as the war is over, you'll be freed. No one here will harm you. They just don't want you turning on them either. And I think it's clear I no longer need your protection." Tressa adjusted the armor over her chest. It was surprisingly lightweight, which was good for the dragons. Too much weight would slow them down.

  "This is not what I agreed to," Avital said. "I am a warrior, and I should be with my people."

  "I understand that," Tressa said. "But I also owe much to your brother. I won't send you home only to face slaughter."

  Avital punched a fist into his open hand. "It is how I want to die. Fighting is in my blood. I live to serve the Yellow. Not cower in the prisons of the Black."

  "I know that. I do,” Tressa said. “But what would I tell Jarrett if you died in battle when I knew full well I could prevent it? No, I won't risk it." She took a deep breath and walked over to Avital, laying her hand on his. "You are like family to me, regardless of our differences."

  Avital yanked his wrist, but he couldn't get his hand away from hers. The guards had tied his arms and legs to the chair. Another concession she had reluctantly agreed to. "You are not my family. You are not wed to my brother. The two of you have promised nothing. A romp in the sack does not constitute marriage and family. If that was the case, the queen of Risos, the one your lead Black dragon fried, would be my family as well. Who should I fight for? The woman who kept Jarrett satisfied for years, or you, who has been in his life less than a year?"

  Tressa crossed the room and knocked on the door. The guards entered, their faces grim. "Is everything okay?" the one on the right asked.

  "Yes. We're done here," Tressa said. "Take him back to his cell."

  Avital struggled against the guards’ grip to no avail. They untied Avital and dragged him out of the room by his arms.

  "I won't forget this," Avital yelled back to Tressa. "You are marked, and I will be the one to claim your life."r />
  Fi stepped through the doorway. "He's lovely, isn't he?"

  Tressa laughed and closed the door behind her friend. "I don't know him well, but he is Jarrett's brother, so I'm determined to treat him with respect. It isn't easy."

  "He's spirited. That's a good trait." Fi smiled. "The armor suits you."

  Tressa shrugged. "It fits. I'm not thrilled to be going into battle again. Frankly, I'm a little tired of it."

  "I can imagine," Fi said. She ran her hands through her black hair. "We only have a little time before we leave for battle. Can I ask you something?"

  "Sure." Tressa stood in front of the mirror. Fi's reflection paced nervously, her hands behind her back. "What is it?"

  Fi sat on the bed. "It's Sarah. She's scared I'm not going to come back. After the way Sophia spoke in the battle room, I almost believe this will be my last flight."

  "Oh, Fi, don't think that way. You've heard what I've been through since getting out of Hutton's Bridge. I'm not dead yet." Tressa sat down next to her.

  Fi rolled her eyes. "Death is inevitable. No one lives forever. Not even my great-uncle, though some say Mestifito has been here since the beginning of all time. If someone slices off my head, it can't grow back."

  Tressa patted Fi's head. "Don't worry. I won't let that happen. I'll be on your back, protecting you.”

  A smile graced Fi's face. "Then let's do this. Are you ready?"

  "No." Tressa slid the helmet over her head and patted the sword at her hip. "I don't think anyone is ever ready for something like this. But we have to face it. Whether I like it or not, Granna is right. We have to end this. Otherwise our lives will continue to be embattled. As much as I hate fighting, I do want the strife to stop. If we can show the Red and Yellow how strong we are, maybe we can broker some kind of peace. Now may be our only chance."

  "I'm glad we're in this together." Fi linked arms with Tressa, and they left for the main cavern.

  Hundreds of dragons flew in the middle of the town square, far more than had answered the call days ago.

  “Where did they all come from?” Tressa asked, her jaw dropping. “Does the Black also turn their babies into dragons like in the Meadowlands?”