The Dragons of Dunkirk

by Damon Alan

  The Dragons

  of

  Dunkirk

  a fantasy novel by

  Damon Alan

  For 30 years I ran role playing games as a game master. Be it 2nd Edition AD&D or West End Games D6 Star Wars, I loved creating stories for my players, and even more when we created a spectacular story as a team. Now that I’m older it’s harder to get a group together, but my interest in telling stories never waned. So, I became an author. As some of you know, I have authored several space opera books. That scratches the desire to run a sci-fi game. Here, finally, I am satisfying the passion I have for fantasy worlds. As a bonus, I am adding in WWII elements, a period in our history that fascinates me.

  I dedicate this book to all the creators of worlds more fantastic than ours, all the creators of stories for their game playing friends, and all those who came before me in writing about dragons, dwarves, elves, and other fantastical creatures. Tolkien laid a solid and grand foundation for us to build on, a foundation he built from the stones of our mythology. The imagination of the human race is limitless. Embrace it. Dive into other worlds and discover greatness.

  © Damon Alan 2018 All rights reserved, including internal content and cover art. This book may not be reproduced without the express written permission of the copyright holder. Cover art may also not be reproduced without written permission, except for usage that pertains to bona fide blogging, review, or other legitimate journalistic purpose associated with the content of this book.

  This is a work of fiction, and any names, places, characters or events are created solely from the mind of Damon Alan, and then revealed via this book to you, the reader. Any resemblance to any human of the estimated 100 billion humans who live or ever have lived is purely coincidental.

  1st Edition E-book, distribution solely via Amazon Kindle Direct Publishing.

  1st Edition print book is available on Amazon.com via Createspace as printer.

  Contents

  Chapter 1 - Calling

  Chapter 2 - Makalu

  Chapter 3 - The Truce of Hagirr

  Chapter 4 - Running

  Chapter 5 - Rotterdam

  Chapter 6 - Hell’s Spawn

  Chapter 7 - Earth

  Chapter 8 - Saved by Necessity

  Chapter 9 - Churchill

  Chapter 10 - Hans

  Chapter 11 - Hell, Hitler

  Chapter 12 - Resistance

  Chapter 13 - Detente

  Chapter 14 - Trapped

  Chapter 15 - Stormfront

  Chapter 16 - Red Saviors

  Chapter 17 - What Border?

  Chapter 18 - Behind All the Lines

  Chapter 19 - On Top

  Chapter 20 - Toward Nolen

  Chapter 21 - Between the Grave and the Sky

  Chapter 22 - Mockeries of Men

  Chapter 23 - Iron Boxes

  Chapter 24 - Film

  Chapter 25 - The Fire of the Templar

  Chapter 26 - The Toll

  Chapter 27 - Resolution

  Chapter 28 - The Ark of the Covenant

  Chapter 29 - The Door

  Chapter 30 - Flesh Wall

  Chapter 31 - The Great Hall

  Chapter 32 - Crossed

  Chapter 33 - Berlin

  Chapter 34 - Amblu-Gane

  Glossary:

  Chapter 1 - Calling

  Four years before the Joining of Worlds

  Irsu hammered his chisel into stone. The granite heart of Iron Mountain was slowly yielding the hearth he’d need to attract a mate. His mother, Selydna, had given him a thousand cubic horats of the mountain interior for him to shape his house from.

  With the caveat that any gems he found were hers.

  And damn her contractual wisdom if he hadn’t uncovered some beryl, a host of rose quartz, and three brilliant topaz’s that would have bought him ten thousand cubic horats elsewhere to call his own if he was able to keep them.

  But, if life had taught him one thing, it was not to cheat one’s own mother.

  He chuckled to think of how she’d tricked him into mining this area for her. A moment of levity, then he returned to shaping the coal bin he’d need to work his forge. The bin was a hole in the floor, with a raised lip to keep any future youngsters from falling into it. Eventually he’d fashion a mushwood lid to separate the dark and dirty fuel from the rest of the hearth.

  As the chisel sank into the granite a sliver at a time, he thought of the dust on his face.

  Granite dust.

  Once this place was finished, the only dust in the four rooms he’d hollowed out would be the coal, as he’d also need fuel to fire the stove if he ever found the wife. Until then it was easier to eat hard bread and dried meat.

  “Quit the daydreaming, Irsu,” he muttered to himself. “You got a long way to chisel before the ladies will look at this hearth with a covetous heart.”

  “You Irsu Crackstone?” someone said behind him.

  Startled, he hit his head on the edge of the bin and his eyes flashed with the sparkling lights of a hard impact. Then another impact followed, this time his body on the floor of the bin. He’d fallen in. To make matters worse, it was deeper into the floor than he was tall.

  “Oooo, that had to hurt!” the voice that startled him said.

  Irsu looked up. A young dwarven woman dressed in fine court leather looked down into the bin at his pathetic state.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “You did a good job considering you did it by accident,” he grumbled.

  After disappearing and laughing heartily at him for a good minute, she reappeared over the lip of the hole. “I’ll help you out,” she offered, extending a hand down to him.

  For a court woman, she had a fine grip. Strong, like she’d hefted a hammer more than once in her life. Irsu grunted as he slid over the edge onto the floor.

  “Help you the rest of the way?” she asked, offering her hand again.

  “I got it,” he said, his ego throbbing. Had she been a thief, he’d have been locked away helpless while she pillaged his home. Not that there was much even a thief would want. His axe and his armor were his only possessions of noticeable value, and he kept those at Mother’s hearth until his was secure. To him they were purely decorative items he’d acquired because any hearth master of quality had the physical means to defend his territory.

  But they were still valuable.

  “Suit yourself,” she said as she unrolled a scroll. “Irsu Crackstone, you are hereby summoned to an audience with the Underking, His Majesty Scorriss Bloodstone.”

  “What?” Irsu asked.

  “Was I not speaking clearly?” she asked. “Or did you hit your head too hard?”

  “When?” he asked, hoping his second question would be more to her liking. She was quite fetching now that he got a good look. Full beard, round nose, round hips…

  “You’re full of queries, aren’t you?”

  “As are you, lady, read the rest.”

  “Immediately,” she said, and rolled up the scroll. “Also, my eyes are up here.”

  “I wasn’t looking at anything! And why’d you roll the scroll up if you’re going to read the rest immediately.”

  She laughed again. “You’re funny! No, coal bin diver, you’re to report to the king now, which is what immediately means.”

  “Couldn’t you have read that part with the rest?”

  “Yes,” she confessed. “You’re to return with me. Get ready.”

  He breathed deep. Patience was running short for the day, he’d already hit two fingers with a hammer and found deepworms in his bread supply. He’d have to buy more bread if he didn’t want to reduce his diet to nothing but dried lizard meat, and his pu
rse was looking a bit light these days.

  “Lady, I’ve been working all day. I’m not clean. I tore my best shirt. I haven’t had a good meal in a week. And you want me to see King Bloodstone immediately?”

  “His words,” she said. “Bring that kid even if he looks like a dung beetle’s rejected dinner.”

  Irsu laughed. He probably did look like that, but the King’s way of putting situations in common words for the citizens of Iron Mountain clan was one of the reasons he was loved.

  He was the Underking, and while his ancestors once ruled several holds such as this one, it was a sad fact that now his people only numbered about twelve thousand, all in one hold. King Bloodstone took the time to know something about each of the families that lived in the mountain.

  “He knows I’m working to increase the size of his community and he summons me immediately,” Irsu complained. “Considerate.”

  “Kings don’t have to be considerate,” the courier replied. “Wash up at least, I’ll give you that. We have an excuse for taking so long, what with you falling down the pit like that.”

  “You can’t tell him that!” Irsu exclaimed.

  “Then you’d better get moving so I don’t have to.”

  Irsu rushed to his water basin and grabbed a towel. It smelled like one would expect a towel to smell if that towel had been used for a month with no visit to the washboard. He soaked his face and then wiped with it anyway. He brushed his hair, then grabbed a few beads to weave into his beard during the walk to the throne room.

  “Now, Sir Crackstone.”

  “Sir?” he asked. “I’m no blooded warrior.”

  “Not yet,” she said cryptically, “but most of our boys eventually are, even secondborns like you. Forgive me for jumping the gun and trying to be nice to you.” She pointed toward the doorway, since he’d not built a door yet. “Let’s go.”

  Not him. He wasn’t made for war. He was going to set up his hearth and build the population of Iron Mountain if he had any say at all on the matter.

  Strolling out into the hall with her, he was aware that the daily masses could come and go from his open home as they wished. Hopefully nobody would think his hammers and chisels would look better at their hearth than his.

  “What’s your name?” he asked the messenger. “I’ve never met you before.”

  “I imagine with the work we do our paths don’t cross much,” she responded. “I’m Kordina. Kordina Bloodstone.”

  He stopped, and two steps later she turned to look at him. Then rolled her eyes.

  “No, I’m not a princess, I’m a cousin. You haven’t been relaxed in any formalities. Let’s go.”

  He fell back into stride beside her, wondering what the official titles were for a royal cousin. Her semi-glossiness? Her mostly polishedness?

  “What are you thinking about, looking at me like that?” she asked, accusation in her voice. “This is why I hate telling anyone my last name.”

  “I get it,” he replied. “I was just wondering if you had an honorary I should be using.”

  “I have no honors to my name. Or to me. I deliver messages and take notes.”

  “Someone’s got to do it,” he said, realizing he’d hit a sore spot. “You seem to do it well, and that carries honor.”

  She shook her head, but she was smiling. “You’re a funny one, Irsu Crackstone. Here we are, at the audience hall. You’ll follow me inside. Once the steward recognizes me, I’ll present you.”

  “Fair enough.”

  They walked through large gold doors into the hall, only to be stopped a few steps beyond the threshold by guards. “Wait,” they intoned simultaneously.

  Several minutes passed as Irsu and Kordina did exactly that. Curtains blocked the view of the audience hall, Irsu had no idea what was going on past the small area he was in. He made small talk with the messenger.

  “Miss Kordina Bloodstone, royal courier, cousin to the Underking,” someone said from deeper in the room.

  “That’s us. Wait for me to call your name,” she told him as she stepped through the curtains.

  Another few minutes passed, he shuffled his feet as the guards stared past him like he didn’t exist. He figured if he did anything wrong they’d notice him. But then he wouldn’t exist for long.

  Kordina was speaking on the other side of the curtain.

  “Noble Underking, I present Irsu Crackstone, second son of his line, son of Morat Crackstone, deceased, and Dame Syledna Crackstone, living in honor as the bearer of two warriors. Here be Irsu Crackstone, your summoned subject.”

  Irsu stepped through the curtain.

  The hall was smaller than he expected, maybe twenty persons were present. The Underking sat on a stone throne, which dominated the far end of the room. Most of the decorating budget must have been spent on the outer doors, the walls in here were mushwood and creepwood, not the gold inlaid granite he’d expected. A few people stood beside the king on the dais, more lined the walls on both sides as he entered the room, sitting on stone bleachers carved from the heartrock of Iron Mountain.

  The King stood up. “Irsu, come forward. I haven’t seen you in years, since the sendoff for your father to the great beyond.”

  Irsu stepped forward as commanded. He’d been so young when his father died defending the mountain that he had no memory of the man or of the King attending his funeral. Mother had never mentioned it.

  “I have a task for you, a strange one for a secondborn,” the king said, “but a great honor. It’s a chance to represent the Iron Mountains and secure a future for your people.

  What? That sounded like it wasn’t about him building a hearth… or finishing up the one he was working on anyway. “Anything, my king,” Irsu responded, kneeling.

  “Oh, get up. I want you to go fight in the joining of worlds, not learn all this pageantry and show.”

  Irsu stood up, confused. To be honest, he always felt that’s what royalty was about. Pageantry and show. Also, as he’d told Kordina, he was no warrior. And he had no idea what a joining of the worlds was.

  “Irsu,” King Bloodstone said, sweeping his arm, “I can see you’re confused. I’d like to fix that. This is Veinstriker Veznik. Priest of Ekesstu. He’s had a vision he’s going to share with you.”

  Irsu looked at the priest. He’d never been one for going to temple. It seemed to him that prosperity was more about swinging a pick at the right rock or making excellence with one’s work than it was about the plans of any deities.

  “Citizen Crackstone, I can sense your skepticism. In fact, I think if not for the fact that the Underking summoned you, you’d not even be here.”

  “I’d be finishing up the coal bin in my hearth,” Irsu said, smirking. “Why would I be here without a summons?”

  Veznik blushed. “I mean you wouldn’t have come to hear the words of a priest.”

  Irsu shrugged after looking at the king. No sense lying about it. “I’m not particularly aware of the gods having much influence in my life.”

  In many places those words would earn him a flogging, or a crucifixion, or a banishment. But in Iron Mountain clan, truth was revered as the path to follow. For that reason, despite the gasps in the court observers sitting on benches lining the walls, he felt safe enough speaking his mind.

  “Yes, I sense that,” the priest continued. “You’re a soul who walks his own path, but then wonders why he never meets anyone on it.”

  A few snickering voices erupted in the hall. Irsu had to be fair and admit the priest had stung him back. He liked Veznik better for it.

  The King’s stern visage silenced them.

  “I apologize,” Veznik said. “That wasn’t phrased well, and was uncalled for.” He pulled a glass vial on a leather strap from his pocket. “To the business you’ve been called here for. This is sacred soil, from my temple. It originally came from a place called the Lost Hold.” He put the soil away. “Have you heard of it?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “Are you a
fan of history? Do you avoid reading your scrolls, as your brother said?”

  “Bordnu spends too much time in his. He doesn’t live life, he reads it,” Irsu answered in irritation. How dare his brother speak ill of him outside the family?

  The King was clearly growing tired of the verbal prancing. He waved Veznik into silence. “The Lost Hold is a place our people built ten thousand years ago. In that age we were legion in number, and we could do anything. We built an entire hold without anyone else knowing.”

  “Where is this hold?” Irsu asked. How does one hide a construction project on that scale?

  “On Earth. And we’re going back to reclaim it,” King Bloodstone replied.

  “With all due respect, my king, Earth must be far away. I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It’s a place you will know well soon enough,” the King told him.

  Irsu didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to travel.

  “I’ve selected five of our greatest warriors for the trip, one to lead Iron Company, four to lead the platoons of Iron Company. But the priest said I had to include you, so I’ve sacked one of those great warriors and instead you’re going to train to lead one of the platoons.”

  Irsu wasn’t a fighter. He’d never held a weapon in anger in his life. “W-w-what?”

  “Stand up!” the king bellowed. “You’re a warrior now. Act like one.”

  Irsu straightened himself.

  “For the next four years, you will train with Hearthstone Platoon. You will learn the axe. You will learn the pike. You will learn the dagger and the crossbow. You will get to know the soldiers under your command. You will get to know your second. And you will get to know yourself.”

  “I’m—”

  “No warrior?” the priest interrupted. “You might as well claim you’re not a dwarf. I have seen you leading the way into the Lost Hold. I have the vision.”

  “The vision?” Irsu questioned.

  “I see things,” Veznik answered. “Things that come true.”

  The world swirled around him. He only wanted to finish his hearth, find a good female to marry, settle down and carry on the family name like any good second son. It was Bordnu’s job to fight for the clan.