(Dragonkin) Dragon Rider

by C. E. Swain

  Waiting in the shadows until news of Grif's death reached him, Rylee wondered what had happened to the ambush. Where were the men they had sent to do the job, and how did this warrior elude them? When all of the lights were out, and the residents were asleep, he would ride from the town with haste. Avren needed this news as soon as possible, and he was far from here in the northeast. It would take weeks to reach him and give him the news, but Rylee knew that he would be hunted down and killed if he did not. Avren knew things he should not know, and Rylee feared him. Those who crossed him were tortured, and then killed, in gruesome executions designed as a deterrent to others with similar ideas.

  Cutting across the countryside to better go undetected and to make better time, Rylee rode as fast as he dared, pushing his mounts hard, and running them almost to death. When his horse gave out from exhaustion, and could no longer run, he traded it for any that he found along the way. The animals he left behind as he worked his way north meant nothing to him. They were no more than tools to be used as he wished, and what happened to them when he was done, did not concern him. Getting to the camp where Avren was, did.

  *****

  Avren sat back in his chair, and looked at the man in front of him. He did not like Rylee, or the story he gave, but he needed the warrior in the dragon armor dead, and his head removed. Chidren had given him strict instructions about that. The head was to be sent to Kath, and the king Arnoran. Avren was a cruel and harsh leader with a scar that ran from his left ear to his chin, and his jet-black hair hung to his shoulders, as was the custom of his people. At five feet nine he was taller than average by three inches, while his broad shoulders, showed power and strength. He weighed two hundred plus pounds, and liked to throw it around, but deep inside he was a coward.

  The death of Grif was another matter all together. Grif was a thorn in Avren's side, and the reason his men did not travel the great road, because he was a killer, and he was very good at it. Avren lost several men to him before rerouting to the north, but killing him was not an option because he kept the guards in the western part of the empire busy, and away from the camp in the northeast. The camp was growing larger every day, as men made their way through the empire, and arrived in small groups. He could not have the guard find out about him, or what they were doing here, and Chidren was due back soon.

  "How is it that Grif is dead, and you are still live? Avren asked, as he leaned forward.

  "I was lucky, that's all" Rylee said, caught off guard by the question.

  "You ran out the back while Grif was fighting is more likely "

  "I thought you needed to know about the warrior is all" Rylee replied, becoming more nerves, now.

  "Did you now? Well then, you should be rewarded for your service." Avren said, sitting back in his chair once again. After a long pause, he said. "I will send four men once again to find this warrior with the golden dragon on his armor, and you will lead them. Bring back his head, or die trying."

  When Rylee was gone, Avren sent for Gaston. Pacing the floor as he waited, his anger grew stronger with each stride. How could their failure have happened after all his careful planning? Everything was going as Arnoran had predicted until now, and he worried that the failure was his. It would not go well for him with the mage king, if his tasks were not completed as he was instructed.

  When Gaston arrived, Avren was calm once again.

  "I need you to take your men, and go to the western crossroads." Avren said, looking at Gaston with cold eyes. "Five men were sent to acquire something and return it to me, but I have been told that what I seek, has passed them by, and has reached Argnon. When you find them, kill them all, and bring back the gold they were paid."

  "And if they are not there?" Gaston asked.

  "Then hunt them down, retrieve as much of the gold as you can, and bring it back to me. Make sure none of them are left alive, as well as anyone found with them. Also, I want you to send your best tracker to follow Rylee to make sure he does his job, and then have him report back here.

  "As you command." Gaston said, turning and walking from the room.

  This time there must be no mistakes made. He must be sure the warrior was dead, and his head removed, before Chidren arrived. Walking to the entrance of the tent that he used as his headquarters while in the camp, he summoned Finor, the captain of his personal guard, as well as Darik the war mage, to his private quarters. Leaving word that he was not to be disturbed until the two men had arrived, he entered his private tent, and closed the entrance behind him. He walked to a chest across the room, and removed a small box. Inside was a large reddish brown stone with golden runes on it, and as he removed it from the box, it began to glow faintly. He made his report to, and received his instructions from, the mage king himself, which surprised him. Arnoran spoke only to Chidren in the past, and all the others were sent away when he did. The messenger on duty, or Chidren when he was there, had always received his reports at Kath before. The experience left him shaken, and he had to gain his composure before he allowed Finor and Darik to enter. His instructions were clear, and he did not hesitate to issue his orders, when the men he had summoned were standing in front of him.

  "The mage king has ordered me to send the two of you, and twenty of the best fighters we have, to the old dragon rider capital of Glansford. Do not be seen by anyone, or see to it that they are no longer alive, and do not have any insignia or markings on yourselves, or your men, that identify you as servants of the mage king. Is that understood?"

  "Yes sir!" Finor replied, quickly.

  "What are we to do once we reach the city?" Darik asked, annoyed by Finor's blind loyalty.

  "You are to wait for a man in silver armor with a golden dragon on his breast plate to arrive. Then kill him, and everyone he is with, and bring his head to me. It is to be sent to Arnoran, so take care to get the right one. Your lives may depend on it."

  "Who is this man, and why does it take twenty-one solders and a mage to kill him?" Darik asked, and watched as Avren's face turned red.

  "That in not for you to be concerned about mage." Avren spat. "Just do as you are told."

  "Yes sir." Darik said in a mocking tone, and turning, walked out the door of the tent.

  Finor waited until Darik was gone before turning back to Avren. He did not like the mage, and showed it in the look he gave him as he walked away.

  "When the task is complete, and the item that I have requested has been secured, you have my permission to eliminate that fool, in any way that you wish." Avren said.

  "Thank you sir, I will enjoy that very much." Finor replied, smiling.

  "Choose your men carefully. Make sure they are loyal to only you, and they are the best fighters in camp. Now go assemble your men, you leave at first light."

  "Yes sir." Finor said, and saluted before leaving.

  Darik stood by the back of the tent listening to the two men inside. He knew better than to trust Avren, or his orders, and he wanted to know all of the plans that were being made. He would do what he was told for now, but they may find him harder to kill than they believed. He walked away from the tent, and into the camp, just before Finor exited Avren's quarters, and soon disappeared among the men it held.

  *****

  Darik was a mage from the kingdom of Lorchant, far to the east of the Ruined lands. He was five foot five, and dressed in the robes of a mage of Kath. His hair was long and black, and was not tied back, but hung loosely around his shoulders. His face was clean-shaven, and its slim features were almost Elvin in appearance. He was no more than one hundred and sixty pounds, but he looked much bigger in his robes. The staff he carried was the only thing that did not look common about his attire. It looked very old, and it had the head of a dragon carved into the top.

  He studied magic from the masters at the school in Tharien for twenty-four years, before being forced into service by Chidren and the armies of Arnoran. Darik's people did not owe an allegiance to the mage king, so his armies invaded Lorchant, and c
onscripted its men into service by force. Darik followed orders to protect his family back home, but lately, rumors were filtering in about whole villages that had been taken away to work as slave labor for Kath.

  His powers were far stronger than he let on to those around him, and though the leaders of Arnoran's army considered him a mid level mage, he was in fact, a master. When he was at the age of thirteen, he chose to study the ancient magic of dragon lore. No other students wished that knowledge, because it took far longer to master, and few of the masters who taught at the school knew it. Darik however, was quick to learn any spell or incantation that came his way, and though dragon lore was a more difficult magic to learn, it was also far more powerful. He was a master by the age of twenty-three, and a supreme master by the age of twenty-seven. No other mage in all of Lorchant had held that title at so young an age, but Darik also studied, and mastered, the common magic of the realm as well. He hoped to become a teacher at the school, so he could learn more from the ancient parchments and scrolls in the great library.

  Then the armies of Arnoran took him, along with all of the young mage's at the school. Hiding his true identity from those who would use his knowledge, he found himself separated from the others, and in the service of Chidren. That was more than two years ago, and now he was far from home, and in a strange land. He doubted that he would ever see Lorchant again, or the school at Tharien for that matter. Now it looked like his family had been taken as slaves as well. There was nothing to go back to, and the mention of dragon armor got his attention, though he showed no sign to Avren of his interest. He would make preparations during the night, and be ready to ride the next morning. The protection spells that he had chosen to use would take him a long time to complete, and he must be rested if he was to survive the trip. He sensed there was something ahead of him in the city of Glansford, where the dragons and their riders had lived so long ago. The magic he mastered had come from the dragons themselves, in the ancient times before the Great Dragon Empire had come to power. It was the dragon that was magic, and all magic, was known by dragons. This was the corner stone of the knowledge of dragon lore.

  It was late when Darik finished his preparations, and the spell was in place. It could not be broken by any other mage, or countered by any other spells, except by a dragon itself, and none of them had been seen in five hundred years. Tomorrow he would go with Finor and the warriors to see what Glansford and this warrior in dragon armor was all about. He believed that his destiny was somehow drawing him to the warrior, but he did not know why.

  *****

  Gaston led his men out of the camp that morning, before the sun's rays had reached the land around them. There were nineteen men counting himself in his unit now that Tarkrin was following Rylee, and he did not like it. His unit was set up to operate in ten man units, and Tarkrin was his best tracker. He thought it bad enough that he had to clean up after Avren, but to lose his best man while he did, angered him. He should be scouting ahead like Chidren had ordered, but Chidren had been called to Kath, and Avren had taken control of the camp in his absence.

  Two weeks had passed by the time that they reached the western crossroads, and found the graves behind the old guard shack. This was unexpected and unforeseen, and Gaston was not sure how to proceed. In the end he decided to investigate, sending one of his men to report what they had found. He told his man to return after making his report, and find him somewhere along the great road east of the crossroads. After sending men down each road to look for tracks, Gaston searched the guard shack and the area around it, as well as the graves. Four horses came up from the south staying on the road the entire time, and one horse came from the west, but left the road and entered the trees before reaching the crossroads. The men of the ambush had waited in the trees across from the Guard shack, and one of them was farther south by fifty yards than the rest. The tracks were hard to read, but what Gaston saw surprised him. The lone horseman from the west had killed the four men who came from the trees, and possibly the other as well. All of the men and horses then traveled east together. There was no gold to be found, and Gaston believed the ones who dug the graves, had taken it.

  They would ride along the great road east, keeping out of sight until his man returned, and then they would turn north and return to the camp. This way he was still scouting the countryside south of the camp while he looked for the gold, and the men who had taken it.

  The land was empty until they reached the Grayling River, but the few towns they reached after crossing the bridge were easily skirted. The messenger that he had sent to report back to Avren, returned to Gaston just north and west of Argnon with the orders he had been given in the camp. He was to continue east without being detected by the guard, and locate his man Tarkrin. Rylee and his men were to be found as well, and all of them were to return to the camp in the northwest. Chidren had returned from Kath, and he wanted Gaston for a special assignment.

  *****

  Chidren entered the camp from the west when he reached it, and avoided the guards as he did. He was short for his race, but he still stood five foot five, and was close to two hundred pounds. He had a rough demeanor, and was even crueler than Avren. He had the hawk like features of his people, and he kept his hair cut short, which gave him a cold and evil appearance. He was dressed in the best armor that Kath could provide, and a gray riding cloak with the crest of Arnoran on it. He carried his sword with him as he entered the camp, strapped to his saddle, and within easy reach, while a long dagger was on his belt.

  He knew the guards would be looking for him to arrive from the east, and would be concentrating in that direction. He had been delayed in Kath by several days, and was close to a week behind his timeline, but he did not want Avren to know he was here until he walked into the tent that served as the headquarters. A lot of men were on their way from the eastern lands that the mage king now controlled, and he needed to move the men that were here to another camp farther west. It should have been done a week ago, but the delays were unavoidable. His orders were to take his men into the Wilderlands, and continue on until they reached the edge of the White Kingdoms. They were too set up their camps along the Wilder River, which ran north to south from the Shimmering Mountains to the blue marshes at the base of the purple Mountains, and he and his men were to stay at the river, and wait for further instructions.

  The Wilder River was close to one hundred miles from the borders of Grayland and the White kingdoms. It was not a wide or deep river, but it would supply his men with fresh water while they waited for their orders. They were not to cross the river for any reason, without Chidren's permission, and anyone caught doing so was to be executed immediately. Chidren had spent many years in the White Kingdoms, traveling from one end to the other, killing and raping his way through the countryside. He terrorized the people that he robbed before he tortured and killed them, then he burned down their homes before moving on. He would abandon the brigands that he traveled with after several weeks, taking the spoils with him, and leaving them to pay for the crimes, after alerting the guard to their location. It was the warrior that chased him, that made him return to Kath before his mission was complete, but he did not report it to Arnoran when he arrived. As he made his way back to the island fortress from that far away land, his men began to make their way west across the empire.

  The camp was growing quickly, but some of the men had been there for several months, and they were getting very restless. It was obvious that they had too much time on their hands, and that they needed something to keep them busy, but that would all change very soon. Chidren rode through the camp on his way to the hill, and the tent that was the headquarters, but when he walked inside, Avren was nowhere to be found. Chidren sat in the chair and looked through the records on the table, as well as the maps that were beside them. Things were not going as planned, and he already knew of the failure at the crossroads from the seers at Kath, but he had not returned to solve their problem. The three men that had appeared fr
om the south when the ambush had been sprung, was most unfortunate, but it mattered very little to him. They were not Chidren's problem, but moving the men west and into the Wilderlands was. He was to worry about moving the men west, while Avren would take care of the warrior in the dragon armor, and the mage king was clear on that matter. When the last man had reached the Wilder River, he would have almost five thousand men in the camps. They were to build all of the siege towers and battering rams, as well as the ladders and weapons of war, from the wilderness. He only expected to lose a few men to the crossing of the Western Empire, but the Wilderlands would be a far bigger challenge, and he expected much bigger losses when they crossed it. It was inevitable with the nature of the kind of men he used, but they were the only ones that could be trusted to follow their orders without question.

  When Avren returned and found Chidren in the tent, he was furious. He had given strict orders to alert him when their leader had arrived, so he could prepare the camp. Someone would pay for this outrage, and he would enjoy killing that person, slowly.