Rise Of The Dragon King (Book 5)

by M. R. Mathias

  Clover stood there in awe as the dragon lowered his long neck and body close to the ground, then opened one of his folded wings slightly to give Clover access to his back.

  The dragon twisted his long sinuous neck to look back at Clover. "Itss times for uss to flyss, my friends."

  Clover's expression was leery. "You said us?"

  She really did want to fly on the dragon's back. She had daydreamed of it often while hunting up her scaly friend's meals, but she hadn't forgotten that the dragon had only just flown for the first time, not to mention that it was still fairly small for its kind.

  Clover's expression must have revealed her hesitance, for the dragon reared back its head again and roared out his growling, hacking laugh, sending a huge cloud swirling up into the moonlit night. After it recovered from the humor, it turned back to look at Clover.

  The dragon chuckled again at the fidgety look on his human friend's face. "It isss ssafe, my friends, I’lls letss no harms comes to youss."

  Reluctantly, Clover climbed up onto the dragon. She found that she fit comfortably and snugly between two of the bony spinal plates that protruded down the center of his back. Once she was situated, Clover took a long, deep breath. "My name is Clover. What should I call you?"

  " Clo-va," the dragon carefully sounded her name.

  "Yes, Clover. What should I call you?"

  The dragon thought about this momentarily. "My true name is Crimzathrion. I think it isss to complex for your tonguess to ssspeaks. What woulds you like to calls me?"

  Clover patted the dragon's scaly back and smiled as it came to her. "Crimzon is the color of your scales. It’s close to Crimz-arthia-rone."

  Crimzon chuckled again. "Crimzzzon." The dragon sounded, a hint of satisfaction in his slithery voice. "Yesss…Crimzon iss the color of blood."

  Crimzon shifted and raised his body, forcing Clover to grab hold of the bony spinal plate in front of her. The plate's rough, grooved ripples made a perfect handhold for her, and she gripped them just in time. Crimzon was already lunging forward with tremendous force. One…two…three…leaping strides that jarred Clover's teeth together, then there was only weightlessness as smooth as silk. There was a slight lurching sensation for Clover each time Crimzon's huge wings thumped the air, but she didn’t even notice. She was too busy holding on for dear life as they nearly clipped the tops of the trees the dragon was struggling to rise above.

  The cool, night air rushed over them as they circled slowly upward on Crimzon's strong, steady thrusts. In the dragon's head his mother's soft voice whispered both instruction and encouragement, and the feeling of Clover on his back gave him the confidence and reassurance he needed to avoid falter.

  They climbed so high into the sky that Clover thought she just might be able to touch the stars twinkling above them. Her blood was electric with sensation. Her skin was chilled by the rushing air and her stomach was tingling as if full of wiggling snakes. She drew in a deep breath to calm herself, but it was no use. Just as soon as she exhaled Crimzon rolled to the right and then dove sharply, leaving the wiggling snakes from Clover's belly lumped in the back of her throat. Her mind was spinning like a whirlpool.

  Far below, the majesty of the moonlit valleys and the hue of colors reflecting from the rocky, snow-capped ridges unfolded before them. Clover marveled at the dozens of rivers and streams that glittered like strands and pools of molten gold. The force of the air pressed hard against her as Crimzon dove. She began to feel dizzy and distant, but before she slipped into unconsciousness, the dragon leveled out and sped across the treetops at such speed that all Clover could see below was a shadowy blur. Soon their momentum died away and Crimzon began to circle and rise again, but now at a more relaxed pace. Clover was glad. She felt rubbery and nauseated. Sick or not, she had to admit that it was the most exhilarating experience she ever experienced.

  Before long, Clover spotted her camp. She then felt Crimzon slowing to prepare for landing. As Crimzon glided softly down into the clearing below, Clover saw something out of the corner of her tear-blurred eyes that alarmed her. She was sure it was a trick of the light or caused by the misting in her vision. No way could she have seen a party of men just on the other side of the valley's ridge. At least she hoped not. The sudden loss of inertia and the hard, rough thumping of Crimzon's hind claws slapping and stepping across the valley floor jarred her entire body, pulling her from the troubled thought. She was drenched with an instant feeling of relief that made her forget completely what he might have seen. When they finally came to a halt, she wobbled clumsily from Crimzon's back. On legs as sturdy as water, she crumpled to the ground. Then she howled out in laughter at the wonder she'd just experienced.

  Crimzon hacked and growled, and blew smoke from his snout as well. Later, after they finally settled down from the thrill of the flight, Crimzon ventured down into the putrid lair. The smell of his mother's rotting body was far too strong for Clover to handle, so she was forced to wait outside and wonder curiously what the gift was that the young dragon planned to give her. She didn't feel that the dragon owed her anything; the flight alone had been payment enough.

  The dragon returned shortly, carrying something gingerly in his foreclaw. It appeared to be a large, fist-sized jewel. Crimzon explained that it was a dragon's tear — his mother's tear — and he presented it to Clover with much emotion.

  For a moment, when it was first in her hands, Clover didn't understand. But then it hit her like a bolt of lightning. The powerful magic held inside the tear exploded inside of her, filling her with rush after surging rush of energy and heat. It took her breath and filled her head with colorful collages of incomprehensible visions, each having a distinct meaning, one blurring into another. Due to the intensity of the tear's magic, Clover nearly let it fall from her hands, but somehow she managed to hold on. When the electric sizzling in her blood finally settled, she was something and someone else altogether. Not physically — no, she was still Clover on the outside — but inside her head, spell after spell swirled and danced, as did eons of knowledge and understanding, not only of the race of Dracus, but of all the races of the world. She was just about to say the ancient words of acceptance, words that she had never read or heard anywhere before in her life, when a thick flight of arrows came raining down on them from above.

  The shouts and excited calls of human warriors filled the air, and more arrows came raining down. Whether it was her luck or the protective magic of the tear, Clover was miraculously missed. It might have been that she wasn’t the target that the men were aiming for.

  Crimzon howled in pain. He was hit nearly a dozen times, but only one or two of the steel-tipped wooden shafts managed to penetrate his thick, scaly hide. He wasted no time taking back to the air where he could quickly fly beyond the archers' range. Still he was pelted and pierced several more times before he got very far.

  Clover charged relentlessly toward the cover of the cavern. The air inside the shaft hit her like a blanket of rot. She felt she should do something, but wasn't sure what or how. It was a chore just to draw a breath. By the time an idea came to her, she was pinned in the cavern by a pair of archers, who were loosing arrow after arrow into the entrance. At a glance she counted at least half a dozen chainmail-clad swordsmen coming swiftly behind them.

  "We don't want you, fool", an angry voice called out. "All we want is the old dragon's hoard."

  Hoard, Clover thought. There was no hoard here. This was Crimzon's mother's nest, not her lair. Her hoard could be anywhere. She shook her head in confusion. Until she had held the tear she had known nothing of such things. "There's no hoard here, man!" She yelled back at them. "This was a nest!" She was answered with a pair of arrows that came so close to her head that she heard them whoosh by her ears.

  "Come on, wench," growled a raspy voice as hard as granite. "Come out of there so we can handle our business."

  "Yeah," another voice added, "Or you'll become our business! Ain't that right, Captain?"

&
nbsp; Outside, Crimzon was circling above the attackers, taking in the scene below him. Twenty men he counted, plus some who had already gone inside his mother's resting place. They were trying to do harm to his human friend, and he didn’t know what he should do. He knew he was wounded, but he didn’t care about that. He wanted to help Clover, but was too afraid. He rose even higher, then cleared the ridge and swooped down into the valley adjacent to the one where the men were. There he found a small cavern opening. He landed near its mouth and squeezed and wiggled his way inside, snapping off several of the arrows sticking out of him as he went.

  Clover was feeling as unlucky as could be. In the dark cavern where Crimzon's mother lay rotting, she hid on an elevated shelf that she found. From there she was trying to assess the situation. Her eyes adjusted to the blackness quickly, and she could make out at least ten heavily armored swordsmen. Every one of them was coughing and gagging. A couple of archers and what Clover figured to be a mage were moving into the cavern as well. Any sound or motion she made would give her position away. The mage chanted something that Clover inexplicably knew to be a light spell, then suddenly a glowing sphere of pastel color appeared, hovering above the man's upturned palm. The inside of the cavern was thrust into its eerie, blue glow.

  Clover shrank back into the shadows as two of the swordsmen began to vomit from the sight of the huge, decomposing dragon. The mage began to chant another spell that somehow cleared the putrid stench form the place and replaced it with clean, fresh air.

  Clover felt the dragon's tear pulsing in her hand, but she wasn't sure how to unleash its power. The spells were in her head, but not the knowledge of how to cast them, or the ill effects of their castings. She wondered what happened to Crimzon. Did the young dragon get scared and run away, or was he wounded and dying? The thought that he was outside, fighting for his life irked her. Clover decided if he had flown away scared, she couldn't blame him. After all, Crimzon wasn't even a yearling, and after watching humans such as these kill his mother, it was understandable for him to be afraid. Still, Clover hoped that Crimzon was alright, and she wished her scaly friend was there to help her fight off these greedy treasure seekers.

  "Come on now, wench," the hard-voiced leader of the group yelled out into the open air of the place. His voice reverberated heavily off the stone. "We won't harm you if you just come out."

  Captain Harner was the self-proclaimed leader of this fairly well-organized band of glory seekers. He was an efficient predator in his own right. Whether it was other men, mountain creatures, or seemingly evil dragons that he faced, he showed no fear and maintained order among his men. Most importantly, he always got them paid for their work. He had no qualms poaching exotic game or selling little girls to the bathhouses. He picked his conquests clean, squeezing every last copper from them. He just wanted Clover to show herself so one of his archers could pierce her heart. He had high hopes of finding coins and jewels in the dragon’s horde, but he could already tell this wasn’t a lair.

  He accepted the fact that this wasn't where the dragon kept its treasure, but he still had to pay his men. Picking a single wench clean didn't seem like much, but it beat a total loss. He had seen some dragon piles in a valley a few ridges back. He was hoping it meant the lair was close by. The foolish woman hiding in here might know where it is. If not, her supplies might provide enough loot to fund a few more days up here in the mountains to search it out.

  "Come on out, woman!" The Captain ordered again. "Stop wasting my time!"

  It was the mage who found Clover first. He cast a spell that sensed the presence of magic other than his own. When he sensed the dragon's tear in Clover's hand, he began to panic, for it radiated more power than he could imagine. This caused him to hold his tongue and stare openly at Clover instead of calling out an alarm.

  Clover knew she'd been seen. It was just a matter of time now before the mage blasted her with lightning, put her to sleep, or cast some other type of spell to incapacitate her. Either way, she was spotted, so she decided to gamble.

  "Don't kill me, and I'll show you to the lair," Clover yelled as she stood up and showed herself. "I know where it is," she added convincingly, "I swear it!"

  "Don't shoot!" Captain Harner yelled instantly. "Hold your arrows!"

  The Captain ordered his archers to keep their shafts trained on Clover while his swordsmen made a half circle around the elevated shelf his victim was on. "You lie, you die, fool!" The Captain said through gritted teeth as he approached. He didn't notice the look of apprehension on his mage's face. If he had sensed the amount of awe and fear the mage was feeling, he might have kept a little distance. As it was, he approached the chin-high scallop in the cavern wall swiftly and authoritatively.

  "Tell me," said the Captain, whose voice was now hard but reasonable, almost reassuring. "Where is this lair?"

  "I'll not say," Clover returned sharply, "but I'll show you for an equal share."

  "An equal share she wants!" The Captain mocked, bringing a few grunts of laughter from his men. Suddenly he threw a dagger so quickly that Clover only felt it as its keen edge nicked open her ear lobe. "You'll show me, or you'll die a slow, miserable death, wench! These men won’t be kind to your body, I assure you," the Captain growled. "Get the chains!" He ordered, then pointed at Clover. "Come down from there now, or my archers will take out your legs."

  Clover tried to relax. She hoped Crimzon had gotten far away from here. She was sure the young dragon would be hunted down and killed for his hide as soon as this crazy mercenary learned she had no idea where the lair was. Clover tucked the dragon's tear discreetly into her belt pouch while turning to climb down from the shelf. Luckily no one noticed this. The warriors wasted no time crowding her in and grabbing her wrists as she stepped down. She was overcome by a wave of defeat. A sharp punch in her gut sent her air, and most of what little hope of survival she had been holding back, whooshing out of her. She fell, crumpled between the two huge men who effortlessly held her from completely collapsing. Out of a breathless mouth she silently called for Crimzon to come save her. It seemed to her that the incredible run of good fortune she was on had finally petered out.

  Crimzon was only moments away from his friend when her weak voice spoke magically into his mind. Little did Clover know, but all spring Crimzon had been going out another tunnel that led from the cavern out into the adjacent valley. He had been hunting and killing his own prey and exercising his wings for flight. He even scared a herd of fleet deer over the ridge when game ran scarce for Clover. Clover often wondered how the dragon had grown so large so quickly on such a meager diet. If she had known about the other tunnel, she would have had her answer. Crimzon made it into a game. He watched Clover hunt and place her kills for him many times. He often wondered why a human would do such a thing for his kind. Crimzon eventually concluded that not all humans could be like the ones who killed his mother. After months of Clover's persistent, though unnecessary aid, Crimzon came to like his human benefactor. He wanted nothing more now than to help her. After he squirmed his long, scaly body through the last tight corner of the other cavern way, he drew in a long, deep breath. It wasn’t only air he was pulling into his vast lungs, but courage as well. He would be there for Clover; he only hoped he could get there in time.

  "Lift her up," Captain Harner barked. "Raise up her head!"

  A heavy fist grabbed a handful of her strawberry hair and pointed Clover's face directly at the rugged Captain. Their eyes locked, and Clover's hope for bluffing dissipated like a puff of pipe smoke in a gale. The Captain's eyes were nearly empty. Only a glint of hatred and a sparkle of greed shone in those icy orbs. Clover was about to die, and she knew it. The feeling was confirmed when the Captain's sword point deftly found her throat.

  "I'll ask you only once," the Captain hissed with narrow, angry brows. "Tell me the location of the dragon's lair, or swallow my steel!"

  Clover gulped. She felt a trickle of blood drip down her neck. It was a warm sensation that
chilled her with terror. Her eyes darted from angry face to leering, angry face. In those gazes she found nothing but an eagerness to see her blood. She was about to blurt out a lie when two things stopped her. One was the Captain's blade point pushing firmly into her neck; the other was a shift in the shadows beyond the Captain.

  "She doesn't know, Captain," a voice spat excitedly. "Kill her! Or better yet, let me have her!"

  "Aye, Captain, those boots we found in her camp would look good on my wife," said another.

  Like a snake sliding through tall grass a thin, raspy voice cut through the grunts of approval for Clover's execution. "There's a way to find out for sure," said the mage.

  "I see you still have your wits about you, magic man," the Captain said coolly. "Tell us if she knows or if she'll die here by my blade."

  The mage began chanting rhythmically, waving his arms around. This went on for a few minutes. Then he paused as still as stone, made a choking grunt, and fell over. Everyone present, even the Captain and Clover, stared at the mage's lifeless body as if they expected him to jump back up any minute. The mage’s sphere of glowing blue light began to slowly fizzle out, causing a sense of panic to sweep over the hardened men. Clover felt the grips on her wrists tighten considerably.

  "What is it, Captain?" A shaky voice called out.

  "Yeah, what killed the spell caster?" Asked another.

  "Shhh!" The captain hissed. "Find a torch before we run completely out of light."

  The Captain turned and pointed toward something with his sword, allowing Clover to breathe again. Clover squeezed her eyes shut and fearfully began a silent prayer to the Green Mother. It was a typical stroke of luck that her eyes closed when they did, for a brilliant, white-hot shower of blazing dragon's breath came down over the unsuspecting Captain, cooking his vitals to char in less than a heartbeat. The intense heat and brightness of it told Clover to keep her eyes closed. She could smell her own hair burning and wasn't sure if she would be burned as well, but a reassuring voice in her head told her not to worry, to stay still and be ready to escape the cavern.