Stone Dragon (The First Realm)

by Testamark, Klay

  We teleported into battle.

  I don’t know what was louder, the screaming, or our enemies’ weapons. The firing was intense. The bigger guns only made it worse.

  Back at the palace I’d drained the local magic field, so I had plenty of juice. First thing I did was throw an air shield over my men and the city guard. The shield was thousands of random air pockets, enough to deflect small-arms fire. I used more air magic to roar, “DEFENDERS OF DRYSTONE. FORWARD.”

  As one, we climbed over the barricades and charged the cannon. BOOM. It filled the air with hardwood bullets. I poured energy into our shields and they missed us, mostly. One hit a knight square in the breastplate. It punched through the armor and exploded out the back, spattering the men behind him. Another bullet glanced past my cheek.

  “Forward!”

  I drew my sword and held it high. Sparks leaped as the energy gathered. With a sweep of my arm I lashed my foes with fire.

  The first ranks screamed. They had become living torches. They thrashed and ran, but then BOOM. The men behind them fired, smashing their burning comrades to the ground. An officer stepped forward, pistol high and sword out. “For the Emperor!”

  He ran to meet me. Steel met red-hot steel as we parried and struck. He fired his pistol under my chin but I turned my head. I chopped down with my sword, drew the mace from my belt, and broke his jaw.

  “For Brandish!” I said. The enemy infantry had closed to bayonet range. Heronimo leaped in front of me, his longsword opening throats and hacking down gun barrels. My men ducked under the bayonets with their bucklers raised, then came up swinging. The city guard threw themselves into the brawl.

  The ironclads offshore decided to focus on us. A cannonball slammed into a balcony, showering us with debris. Another turned a group of militia into bone splinters.

  “What I wouldn’t give for a tame kraken,” I said.

  The nearest ship fired a broadside. The cannonballs arced toward us. I raised both arms and pushed. The cannonballs looped in the air. They slammed into masts and exploded on deck. One smashed below the waterline and the fighting ship began to sink.

  “That should keep them busy,” I said, but the infantry had rallied around another sword-swinging officer. He had an awesome mustache and a heavy arm.

  “For the Emperor!” he said, battering at my defense.

  “For Brandish!” I said, not to be outdone.

  “For the Emperor!”

  “For Brandish!”

  “For the Emperor!”

  “For the EMPRAH.”

  “For Brandish—d’oh!”

  “Haha, gotcha!” I poured energy into my sword and cut through his blade like an incandescent knife through butter. I beheaded him on the return stroke, then began swinging the electrified mace.

  “How you doing, brother?” I called to Heronimo.

  “Not bad,” he said. “But we should probably withdraw.”

  “Now? But we’re having so much fun!”

  Heronimo didn’t answer. A sniper had shot him in the head. The steel nail in the bullet had sent skull fragments tumbling through his brain. He was dead as he fell.

  The dragons swept down and spat liquid fire.

  They flew low, vomiting napalm over fortifications and troops. They screeched as they passed overhead and I wished I could summon lightning. Unfortunately I was out of power.

  “Okay, Cruix, you win this time.”

  * * *

  The dreams had been getting worse. Cruix was gaining ground. More and more I found myself fighting a losing cause. But then, when the objective is your own life, I really didn’t have any other choice.

  You can only stay awake for so long. I was running on coffee and naps, which left me feeling itchy. As if my skin didn’t quite fit. As if my eyes weren’t quite processing. Several times I thought I glimpsed Cruix laughing from the shadows—but it would take an awfully big shadow to hide a dragon.

  We stayed in Zith’ra a few days to recuperate and see the sights. The king was generous with his time and we could not have had a better guide. I was struck by how much the city resembled Corinthe. The architecture was completely different (caprans tended to build rambling marble palaces, no two alike) but still I was struck by how well the different quarters lined up. It was as if I were halfway to being a resident. I asked Arawn why this was so and he said it was due to the geographical similarities between our world and his.

  “This is, after all, a fine place for a city. There is the sea and there is the forest. Your elven ancestors and our centaur forebears had the same idea.”

  It would have been pleasant to stay in Zith’ra until the end, but I had a need to die in my own bed. I said as much to Arawn.

  “I understand,” he said. “Let me escort you to the nearest fairy ring.”

  We rode to a clearing outside the city. Arawn told us to enter the circle conveniently marked by toadstools.

  “It was good to meet you, Angrod, Heronimo, and Mina. As a gift, I give you the horses you now ride—finer animals have not been bred.”

  “Thank you, your majesty,” I said. “I look forward to meeting you again, and to fulfilling our bargain.”

  The king smiled. “May Fortuna smile upon you.”

  He and his retinue rode around the fairy ring. They galloped and then disappeared. The constellations changed and we were back in our world.

  * * *

  In Corinthe Citadel, people had gathered to watch the show.

  “Testing for First Lieutenant will commence!” bellowed a portly sergeant. “Spellcasting is allowed! Healers are on hand! You will match yourselves against Captain Dinendal, recently returned from a special mission.”

  Dinendal leaned against a fence, eyes almost closed. He wore cavalry boots and a leather vest. His shirt billowed under the vest and his golden hair spilled over his shoulders. He had a pair of swords strapped to his back.

  “Now, the captain might look like a good-for-nothing pretty boy, but make no mistake: he’s one of the finest swordsmen in Brandish. In fact, we don’t expect anyone to beat him! Just put up a fight!”

  It was noon. Nearly all of the city guard was there. Some wanted to take the ranking exam, but most simply wanted to watch. To get ahead in the militia you had to be among the best, and not many were up to the challenge. There were few rules in these combat trials. Killing blows were forbidden, but accidents happened.

  Dinendal didn’t move, though is head dropped a little. He seemed to be dozing.

  “Come now! Is no one brave enough to step into the ring with our captain?”

  A hulking elf climbed over the fence. “I’ll do it.”

  Dinendal opened an eye.

  The challenger was tall—he towered head and shoulders over the captain. Dinendal himself was tall, which meant the other elf was very tall. He had broad shoulders too, and his arms rippled with muscle.

  “Somebody’s been hitting the weights,” Dinendal said. “What’s your name, kid?”

  “I’m Veryan. I’ve been waiting to take down a smug bastard like you.” He flexed his arms and the veins popped. “I’ve been lifting and running for years. Nobody can match my strength and stamina!”

  “I hope you’ve put as much time into your bladework, or this will be short.”

  Veryan grinned. He drew his weapons, a short sword and buckler. “Captain, I will beat your arse and wipe that smile off your face!”

  “Not with the same hand, I hope. Just attack already.”

  Veryan charged. He was shockingly fast. The captain didn’t move at all. At the last moment he blinked away and Veryan slammed into the fence. The crowd laughed. Dinendal had reappeared in the center of the arena. He still hadn’t drawn his swords.

  “Are we fighting for points?”

  Veryan roared and came in swinging, but each time found only air. Dinendal teleported effortlessly from each attack, sometimes reappearing behind the sword stroke so it seemed to have passed through him. The crowd gasped. Plenty of el
ves could teleport, but few could do it so precisely or so often. Veryan tried to get the captain with the backswing but Dinendal got behind Veryan and tapped on his shoulder.

  “HYAA!” Veryan said, turning and striking at once. The sudden inrush of air told him the captain had blinked away again.

  A sweating Veryan raised his guard and stepped forward. He made a half-hearted swing—and was shocked when steel met steel. Dinendal had drawn a sword and parried Veryan’s blade.

  “Well, this is a swordfight,” the captain said. He drew his other sword and widened his stance. “No more teleports!”

  He unleashed a dazzling attack, a flurry of slashes and cuts that pushed Veryan back and made the crowd gasp. Dinendal’s twin sabers flashed and weaved. No one could see an opening in his defense. Veryan fought desperately, trying to regain the initiative. He led with his buckler, the small shield like a metal fist. The blow would have ended the fight, but Dinendal sidestepped and kicked him in the head. Then the captain flicked out a sword and caught his arm.

  “I have first blood,” he said.

  Veryan stumbled back. The captain was playing with him and he knew it. He decided to taunt the man. “You should be in the royal guard!” he said, grinning. “So why aren’t you?”

  “I like where I am,” Dinendal said.

  “Maybe you’re as common as mud!” Veryan said, and a sword hilt hit him in the temple and he crashed to his knees. It was all he could do not to pass out. Dazed, he cried out as his weapons were slapped away and another pommel cracked two ribs. The air rushed from his lungs and he fell on his face, gasping. A booted heel broke his back and a kick broke his jaw. Veryan saw his teeth on the sand and then he blacked out.

  “Healers here!” Dinendal said.

  “Damn,” the sergeant said. “That’s going to take all night to repair.”

  “He’ll live,” the captain said, accepting a cup of water. He scanned the crowd and saw that the guardsmen had gone pale. “Who’s next?” he called out.

  Chapter 21

  “Those were the shortest officer trials in decades,” the sergeant said as the crowd dispersed. “Did you have to be so thorough?”

  Dinendal sipped something stronger than water. “There’s always next year. It’s not like we’re at war.”

  “Can I have your autograph, Dinny?”

  “Sure, I—Roddy?!”

  I hugged my childhood friend. It might have been strange for Heronimo and Mina to see me embrace such a brutal swordsman, but I’d grown up with Dinendal. We’d bloodied each other’s noses often enough that I had no fear of him.

  “It’s good to see you,” he said. “So you finally tore yourself from your studies?”

  “Yes, finally,” I said. “I’ve come home.”

  I stepped away and motioned to my companions. “This is Mina and Heronimo. I couldn’t have gotten here without them.”

  “Roddy always did make interesting friends.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you adventurers, by any chance?”

  “We are,” Heronimo said. “I am searching for the man who killed my parents. Like you, he is a dual-wielder of great skill. I have trained twenty years to meet him as equals.”

  “A worthy cause. And you, my dear? Are you also seeking vengeance?”

  Mina looked a little awestruck—Dinendal was handsome, even for an elf. “Actually, I was just bored.”

  Dinendal laughed. “Well, and who hasn’t wished for more excitement?”

  We swept out of the citadel and into the city, talking the whole time.

  Corinthe much resembled Drystone in design and beauty. Like the capital, the northernmost elven city had wide roads, spacious walkways, and graceful street lamps. There was one main difference, however:

  “Angrod, it’s snowing, isn’t it?” Mina asked. The flakes were drifting down. “Then why don’t I see any of it on the ground?”

  She crouched. The streets were paved with red tiles. Whenever a snowflake touched one, it began to melt. She looked up at the roofs—they too were covered in red tiles. Downspouts conveyed the meltwater to the gutters.

  “It’s as if it were merely raining,” she said.

  “That would be the vinyrral tiles,” I said. “They stay the same temperature as long as they’re connected. Go ahead, touch one.”

  Mina pulled off a glove and touched a line of tiles. “It’s hot!” she said.

  “The tile network stretches deep underground, where the earth is molten. In the summer they reroute the circuit to tiles at the bottom of the sea, so Corinthe is comfortable year-round.”

  “Amazing!” Mina said.

  “We aren’t like you dwarves, who don’t notice the weather underground,” said Dinendal. “Neither are we like you humans, who don’t notice the weather at all.”

  We walked past a park where two sets of tiles had been places so that some parts were grass and others sparkling snow. We paused to watch children make a snowman. When it was complete they carried it to a heated lawn to watch it slump.

  “I’m melting! Melting!” said a young elf.

  “Oh, what a world, what a world!” said another. “You’ve KILLED MEEE.”

  “Kids and their games,” Dinendal said. “Takes me back.”

  We passed through the Old Quarter, which enjoyed trade with the northern human cities and the nearby capran capital. I’d always wondered how close Zith’ra was, but I’d never imagined the two cities were on top of one another.

  Though I had recently passed through similar streets, it was still good to see my fellow elves. They shopped for furs and enjoyed themselves in the wine houses and pubs. It was the beginning of winter but many windows boasted flowers in vinyrral planters.

  “It’s good to be home,” I said.

  “You’re not there yet,” Dinendal said, and it was a few minutes before we arrived at my ancestral house.

  * * *

  All the mansions in the Palace Quarter were impressive, but Veneanar Castle trumped them all. It had a moat, for one thing—a vast reflecting lake over which it seemed to float. Next to that, all the other homes seemed too small and close together.

  “You live in a castle?” Heronimo asked.

  “Grew up in one,” I said. “The castle itself is one of the oldest buildings in Corinthe.”

  “I can make out stonework,” Mina said. “I thought elves didn’t use masonry.”

  “It was built by the earliest elves. They hadn’t mastered magic and the crystal laminate was added later. All this land was ours before it was the Palace Quarter.”

  We walked down the bridge to the gatehouse, where I called out, “Uncle Erumaren! Auntie Marilla! I’m ho-oome!”

  Something stirred, and then an ancient elf peered down from the parapet. “Why, it’s Master Angrod! Come and see, Marilla!”

  An equally ancient woman stuck her head between two merlons. She goggled at us. “Why, so it is! Welcome home! Welcome!”

  They bustled down the stairs. They raised the first portcullis and opened the massive main gate, which swung soundlessly inward.

  “It’s good to see you again, young master!”

  “Thank you, uncle,” I said, shaking his hand. “I see you’ve kept the gates well-oiled.”

  “But of course,” he said. “It’s the least I could do.”

  He led us into the passage. Aunt Marilla dashed forward to embrace me. “Oh, Master Angrod, I thought I’d never see you again!”

  I hugged her. “I always said I’d come home, and I have. These are my friends.”

  We made our introductions and the caretakers raised the second portcullis. We walked into the castle courtyard.

  It was like walking into a field. Grass grew thickly between the paving stones. There were flowers, and field mice, and a hawk that preyed on the field mice. It nested in one of the trees. That’s right, trees. They stood in the southwest corner, a little grove where the guards had once drilled.

  “We kept your rooms like they used to be, milord,” said Uncle Erumare
n, “but as per your orders the rest of the castle is untouched.”

  “I didn’t want to overwork you,” I said. “It took a small army to maintain this place. The dusting alone was a full-time job.”

  “Will you be staying long?”

  “As long as I can,” I said. My two retainers didn’t catch the note of sadness—they started talking among themselves.

  “Is there enough food and drink in the buttery? The young master will require fine wines and meats!”

  “I haven’t gone shopping yet!”

  I handed them my purse. “Please buy whatever you need with this,” I said. “I will go and inspect my chambers.”

  “Ooh, he’s acting all lordly,” Dinendal said. “Did living in Drystone do that? Was it all the fish?”

  “Are you related?” Mina asked.

  Dinendal smiled. “We grew up in this same castle. As for being related, I wouldn’t know—I never had any relatives. Angrod’s aunt took me in as a baby and made me the stable boy.”

  “I’m sorry.” Mina said.

  “Don’t be. I learned a lot about horses.”

  I walked into the household apartments, which were just as I remembered. Lots of heavy furniture, red velvet, and marble busts. Loads of gilt-frame paintings and weapons on the walls. Apparently my ancestors never wanted to be more than a few feet from a mace or battle-axe. In a pinch, you could use the sculptures in a fight.

  “I like the décor,” Heronimo said. “Very cozy.”

  “I knew you’d say that,” Mina said. “It’s like this place never knew a woman’s touch.”

  “Actually, these used to be Aunt Arcalima’s apartments. She sure loved her heirlooms.”

  We wandered the rambling old place. Much effort had gone into making it livable but there was no disguising its original warlike purpose. The only natural light was from arrow-slits. The chandeliers hung from murder holes.

  “Those are massive light fixtures,” Mina said.

  “They’re designed to drop onto intruders,” I said. “That’s why the spikes.”

  “Oh,” she said. She and Heronimo took a few steps to the side.

  “You can see why I wanted to get away,” I said. “House Veneanar has always produced administrators and military leaders. Laid-back types like me, not really.”