by D K Drake
As if you haven’t done the same to me many times. Get over it and go find you something a little less human to eat.
“Think you could have cut that any closer, Javan?” Ravier said, interrupting the dragon taunting and shaking his head in obvious relief.
Javan just smiled and addressed Omri. “King Omri, I would like to introduce you and Zandador to my dragon.” The people below Varjiek moved out of the way, allowing the dragon to land. “This is Varjiek, the first dragon in my collection.”
Despite the hatred in Omri’s eyes, he clapped and said, “Well done. We didn’t think you were going to make it.”
“I said I would return and I did. Now it’s your turn to honor your word. You agreed to let these prisoners go if I returned here with a dragon.”
“I am a man of my word.” Omri forced a smile and nodded toward the captives. “You are free to go.”
While Ravier grabbed Esmeralda’s arm and led her down the stairs, Omri lowered his voice and spoke directly to Javan. “I think I shall find it amusing to watch you and my son compete against one another in the Battle for the Throne. But know this. The fight is already over.
“Micah has claimed the one and only Dusk Stalker. I am allowing the Battle to continue because I want to give him a chance to hunt the other three as well. Having eight dragons under my control will magnify my power and ensure my place on the throne for centuries to come.”
Omri climbed on Vasilis and turned his attention to the crowd. “People of Zandador, be sure to thank your Collector for making your King more powerful than ever!” Laughing, Omri looked back at Javan. “And Collector, be sure to thank Gesha. She has been a most cooperative citizen and very helpful in determining Mertzer’s first mission.”
With that, he flew away.
Chapter 48
Mertzer’s Mission
Gesha? A cooperative citizen? What did that mean? And what did she have to do with determining Mertzer’s mission?
He began scanning the crowd for her from his seat atop Varjiek, but it was hard to spot her familiar face in the commotion that ensued during the departure of the Dark King’s other dragons. Ravier finally interrupted his search.
“Javan,” Ravier said from the ground below, “take one of the scales from under your dragon’s right leg and place it in the slot on the column.”
“You want me to do what?” Jerking a scale off a dragon he barely knew in front of a large group of hostile people didn’t seem like a smart idea.
“When you touched the column and entered the Battle for the Throne, four scale slots appeared. Your job is to fill each of those slots with a scale from each dragon you collect. You have your first dragon, so you need to fill your first slot.”
“You hear that Varjiek? I apparently need to separate you from one of your scales.”
Go ahead, Collector. It is necessary.
“Okay.” Javan slid off the dragon, walked over to Varjiek’s right leg and placed his hands on a grey scale. “Here goes.” It took both his hands and a forceful pull, but he managed to yank the scale off cleanly. Varjiek shrieked and stomped his leg, shaking the entire square.
“Sorry,” Javan said. “I shouldn’t ever need to do that again.”
I won’t ever let you.
The shaking of the ground redirected the people’s focus to Javan and Varjiek. Their murmurings ceased as Javan walked slowly through the parting people to the column.
With all eyes on him, he placed the scale in the top slot. It faded to a dull grey, let out a series of loud pops, then beamed with an intense, golden glow.
One by one, the crowd began clapping. Soon the entire place roared with cheers for Javan as he walked back toward Varjiek. They pat him on the back, congratulated him and made him feel like a conquering hero.
Esmeralda met him halfway and smothered him with a hug. “Well done, my son,” she whispered in his ear. “I knew you could do it.”
“Thanks.” He smiled, content to be in his mother’s arms. Then he saw Gesha. “Excuse me, mom. I need to talk to someone.”
He walked over to her. But she wasn’t smiling. Or crying. She just looked…guilty. “I’m sorry, Javan,” she said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry for what? What’s wrong?”
“Some of the king’s men. They found me.”
“What did they do to you?” Javan reached for his swords, ready to fight anyone who dared hurt her.
“Nothing. Except give me what I wanted.”
“What did they have that you wanted?”
“An offer from the King. To come out of hiding. And work with my mother.”
Javan’s stomach churned. He didn’t like where this was going. “What did the Dark King want in exchange?”
“He wanted to know the location of Gri.” No remorse dripped from her words. “The King sent Micah and his dragon to destroy it.”
Chapter 49
The Vow
Javan and Varjiek raced across the land for the second time that day. This flight, however, included two additional passengers: Ravier and Esmeralda. Javan had left Gesha alone in Japheth. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to see her again.
Worry consumed him as they traversed the miles through the late afternoon air. What had Micah done to Hannah and the town? Had she survived the attack? Had anyone survived?
“There’s Gri,” Ravier said, pointing straight ahead. “I don’t like that we can see it. That means the invisibility shield is down.”
Javan urged Varjiek to slow down, and they coasted over the village. All they saw were crumpled houses and destroyed buildings. No people were anywhere to be seen.
When they reached the farm, the barns were flattened; all the okties were gone.
“Land,” Ravier said. “Now.”
Javan guided Varjiek to the ground in front of the house. Half the roof was caved in, but the rest of the structure was still intact. With Ravier leading the way, the three of them ran inside.
“Hannah,” Ravier yelled. He rushed through the house in a panic. “Hannah, are you here?”
Javan and Esmeralda just stood by the fireplace listening to the silence that greeted Ravier’s desperate questions.
“She’s gone,” Ravier said, ending his search and leaning against the table. “She’s gone.”
“Maybe she cleared out before Micah arrived,” Esmeralda said. “She’s resourceful. She and the rest of the town are probably hiding somewhere in the mountains.”
“Then we have to go find her,” Javan said.
“Not you,” Ravier said. He walked over and put his hands on Javan’s shoulders. He looked like he hadn’t eaten or slept the entire week he had been in the dungeon. But despite his sunken cheeks and hollowed eyes, his voice remained strong. “With Micah on the hunt, time is critical. You must focus on collecting your next dragon.”
“Okay, grandfather,” Javan said, “I’ll do as you wish.” Right after I find Micah, he added to himself. He wasn’t about to let anyone enslave his dragon, destroy his home and chase his family away without answering for it.
Before Javan collected another dragon, he would hunt down and defeat the Dragon Hunter.
END OF BOOK ONE
The beginning of book two is a page away.
Keep reading to follow the adventure!
Prologue
(Sixty-four Years Ago)
At age thirteen, Micah hated his life.
Ever since he got his father’s approval and moved into the castle three years ago, all he did was train, eat, and sleep. He never got to see his mother, his father, his half-siblings, or any other kids his age. His life consisted only of sword training, exercising, and reading about sword training, Dragon Hunting, or the laws of Zandador.
He wanted more adventure. More excitement. And more attention from his father. But Omri was an elusive, powerful man. Micah was only able to catch glimpses of him now and then. When he did see him, Micah noted how he walked, how he talked, and how the people around him catered to h
is every demand. Someday he was going to be just like his Dad.
Today, though, he wanted to escape the confines of the castle. He was supposed to return to the training room after dinner. Instead, he walked right past the room, down the stairs, and snuck out one of the back doors of the castle.
He breathed in the evening air, took a stroll through the woods, climbed a few trees, and tossed some rocks into the lake. He really should come outside more often. This was much more fun than spending his life in that damp, dark, windowless training room.
The sound of a twig snapping behind him caused him to turn around. A dragon stood ten feet away, and his colorful scales indicated he was a hungry Dusk Stalker in search of food.
Micah gulped. This was why he wasn’t supposed to exit the castle through the back. He had walked right into the feeding grounds of his father’s four dragons.
“You must be Eli,” Micah said, trying to sound calm and confident. He found himself fascinated by the ten-foot high, wingless, beautiful creature. The dragon stood his ground while Micah took a step closer. “My father is your master, so you aren’t allowed to eat me.”
The dragon nodded as though he understood, and Micah walked even closer. He was only an arms-length away now and noticed the dragon had a collar with spikes protruding into his scales wrapped around the base of his neck.
“Why do you have this on? That must make eating painful. Bend down, and I’ll take it off for you.”
Eli complied with Micah’s instructions. Micah unlatched the heavy collar and freed it from the dragon’s neck. As soon as he took it off, Eli nudged Micah’s shoulder as if to say thanks and sprinted away.
“What do you think you are doing?” Omri’s booming voice startled Micah, and he dropped the collar, cutting his leg with one of the spikes in the process.
“I was helping the dragon. He looked sad and hurt.”
“You are never to help the dragons, especially that one. They deserve no mercy and are to be treated like the slaves they are. If you cannot understand that, you will never be a Dragon Hunter.”
“No mercy. I understand now, sir.”
“I don’t think you do, but you will.”
Omri was right. After spending the next six months in the dungeon wearing a collar like the one he took off of Eli, Micah understood the meaning of no mercy. And he vowed to never again treat any dragon as anything other than a mindless slave.
Chapter 1
Unexpected Reactions
(Present Day)
“Y
ou…you can’t go in there.” A shaky, scrawny soldier holding a spear stepped in front of the double wooden doors. Like that was going to stop Micah from entering the throne room.
“Of course I can, you twit.” Micah purposefully let his black dreadlocks fall in the man’s pale face as his 6’3” muscular frame towered above the runt. How did this guy earn guard duty for the King?
“I am King Omri’s son,” Micah said. “His favorite son. The son who just won him another dragon. I go where I please, when I please. Now move.” Micah shoved the wimp out of the way and burst through the doors.
A handful of the king’s advisors huddled in the corner chatting amongst themselves. King Omri paced alone on the stage in front of his throne at the far end of the room.
Moonlight shone through the wall of windows behind him, casting long shadows on the red carpet from his tall height and wide shoulders. His white shirt popped against his black skin, and his short, tight braids looked more regal than Micah’s long dreadlocks. Maybe Micah would change his hairstyle once he became King.
“Father!” The word bounced off the marble floors and stone walls of the spacious room. “You can congratulate me. Your newest dragon and I have destroyed the rebel city of Gri.”
“Congratulate you?” Omri stopped pacing and began walking towards Micah.
Micah smiled and waited for his father to approach. Omri had to be pleased with him. So pleased he was bound to lavish him with gifts.
It would probably start with a feast. Perhaps followed by awarding him a wing of the castle. Along with a wife.
Sure, he was still underage, but he had earned that kind of privilege. The laws of marriage everyone else had to abide by didn’t really apply to him. After all, he was Micah, the thirteenth son of the King. A fierce captain in the elite Justice Unit of the army. And now Dragon Hunter.
But as Omri reached Micah, Micah’s smile vanished. Instead of pride, he recognized rage in his father’s harsh brown eyes. He had seen that rage before and braced himself for the beating he knew was coming.
“After the way you humiliated me,” Omri said, punching Micah in the gut, “I ought to kill you.”
◊◊◊
Javan let himself drift off to sleep on the back of Varjiek as darkness settled in. He trusted his dragon to carry him back to the capital city to face Micah and didn’t need to be awake to navigate the flight.
Only he didn’t feel rested at all when they landed a short time later. “Why are we stopping?” Javan asked.
I thought landing was a better option than crashing. Listening to you snore makes me want to sleep.
Javan cringed. He should have known better than to ask Varjiek to keep flying after already making one intense cross-country flight that day. After covering thousands of miles, the dragon had to be beyond exhausted. “Sorry, buddy. I forgot you’re not a robot.”
What’s a robot?
“And I forgot you’re not from earth.” Javan sighed. How to explain this? “A robot is a like a person, but it’s mechanical. You tell it what to do and it does it. It never gets tired or hungry or talks back.”
No, I am not a robot. Varjiek yawned. Get some sleep, young Collector. We will fly again in the morning.
Javan slid off Varjiek’s back and stretched his sore, stiff body. Carefully. He wanted to reach his arms to the sky and clasp his hands behind his back and pull, but either exaggerated stretch would bust the sealing mud and cause his chest wound to split open. Right now, sealing mud was working like stitches to keep the sword cut that spanned from his belly button to his clavicle together.
At least he had gained some muscles beneath his tan skin during his month or so here in Zandador. Otherwise that cut would have sliced right down to his ribs. Nevertheless, he had lost a great deal of blood thanks to that cut inflicted by Micah and was feeling the fatiguing effects. Getting a solid night of sleep on the ground was probably a better idea than dozing fitfully on the dragon’s back.
Javan did like the looks of his room for the night. The dragon had found a nice little grassy spot by the river where the moonlight danced off the water.
The water.
They shouldn’t be near the water at all. And they certainly shouldn’t be on the south side of the river. What was this dragon doing?
“Varjiek,” Javan said between gritted teeth as he walked around to face the dragon. His grey scales made the dragon easy to see in the dark. His massive size helped. The dragon stood twelve feet tall from his legs to his back, and his long neck added another six feet to the distance from the ground to his head. At only five foot nine inches tall, Javan felt like a dwarf next to the dragon. That didn’t mean he couldn’t still be mad at the creature whose thoughts he could read. “Why are we on the southern shore of the river? We’re supposed to be heading east, toward Japheth.”
Ah. I was wondering how long it would take you to notice we weren’t going in the direction you wanted.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
We’re heading south because you need to collect a Dawn Stalker. We won’t find any Dawn Stalkers in Japheth.
“I don’t want a Dawn Stalker right now. I want Micah.”
You need to collect dragons, not humans. Collecting a Dragon Hunter is not going to help you win the throne.
Javan rolled his eyes. “I know that. But I can’t focus on dragon collecting until I make Micah pay for what he has done.”
I agreed to let you rid
e me because you promised me Skylark. The sooner I help you collect your other three dragons, the sooner I get to see Skylark. So we’re going after a dragon, not a Dragon Hunter.
“Hold up there, buddy! I may only be fifteen in earth years, but I look like I’m 150 here in Zandador.”
I have seen many humans in my time, and you don’t look a day over a hundred.
“Not according to my mother, thank you very much. She told me I looked older than her, and she’s 147.”
You don’t. She was just trying to instill confidence in your young soul.
Javan had grown accustomed to the idea that he looked like he was a good 150 years old. It did help his confidence and made him feel like he was old enough to be a king.
If this dragon was right, and he only looked like he was a hundred, would the people still be willing to follow him if he were to collect all four Dragon Stalkers and win the Battle for the Throne?
Then again, in a world where people lived to be 700-1000 years old, did fifty years really make that big of a difference?
“No matter how old I look, I still look like an adult who can make his own decisions. Besides, you let me ride you. I am your leader now. You are part of my dragon collection. You have to obey me. Your job is to do what I tell you to do.”
Is that so? Varjiek stood and towered over Javan. I don’t just look like I’m 623 here in Zandador; I have actually been alive for 623 years. That makes me much older and wiser. You gained my lifelong loyalty the moment you first rode me, but I remain able think for myself and make decisions that are best for both of us.
He bent his head so his large black eyes were even with Javan’s bright green ones. If you wanted a robot, you should have become a Hunter and cut off my tail.
The dragon covered Javan with a puff of smoke and walked away.
