Dragon blood, p.1
Dragon Blood, page 1
part #1 of Dragon Rage Series
Dragon Blood
Dragon Rage Series, Book 1
by Andrew Stanek
If you enjoy this book, there is a sequel: Dragon Law.
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--Andrew Stanek
Prologue
The world is ruled by a dragon, but it wasn’t always so.
Once, there was a terrible dragon that terrorized the land. It was as large as the mountains it dwelled in, scaly and vast enough to blot out the sky on the days it swooped down from its high perches to spread fire and death to the lands of men. Kings trembled before it, and even mighty warriors were powerless against the Wyrm. For years, the dragon raided the eight kingdoms that surrounded it and the kings, unable to stop it, cowered in terror. The Wyrm plundered and looted in the wake of the destruction and grew rich from its expeditions, adding mountains of gold, silver, and treasures to its hoard, while the kingdoms became poor and grim.
Then, after many raids, many burnt villages and destroyed lives, the serpent turned its scaly eye on a castle, swooped down, and kidnapped a beautiful princess, spiriting her away to his mountain lair. For her father, this, at last, was too much. In his anguish and desperation, he summoned the hundred greatest heroes of the land and asked if anyone among them was brave enough to attempt to save his daughter, the princess. The dragon had killed many men, and even armies, that had come before to destroy it. Of the hundred heroes the king had summoned, ninety-nine refused. The one who did not was the bravest, strongest, and greatest among them, a knight without peer, and he agreed to scale the tall, craggy mountain where the dragon roosted and recover the princess from the lizard, even though no one knew if she was alive or dead.
It is a mystery how he climbed the mountain that many had called unassailable. When they watched him leave, all but the King - who placed his hopes so deeply in the hero - were sure he would never return. But return he did. Seven days and seven nights later, the champion returned, carrying on his shoulders the beautiful princess, and on his belt a sword that was red with dragon blood. The king wept for joy and the crowd who witnessed his return burst into cheers, for they thought he had slain the dragon, but the knight shook his head. He had not slain the dragon. In the battle, he had only managed to stab it a single time, and from the wound he had spilled just one huge drop of the dragon’s blood. No sooner had the hero told them this than a great and terrible roar of rage echoed down from the mountains, shaking the castle and the kingdom to its foundations.
Fearing that the dragon would return for his daughter, the King sent both the knight and his daughter into hiding, far from his kingdom, where no one would ever think to look. They vanished.
Just one day later, the dragon swooped down on the kingdom. In his rage and his grief, the Wyrm spat great streams of fire and burned the castle, destroyed the kingdom, and killed the King, but he could not find the Princess. The Wyrm perched himself on the ruins of the castle-town and roared, and the people who remained huddled together and wept from fear.
Not long after, the seven kingdoms which remained around the mountain began to receive messengers claiming to bear the words of the Wyrm. The dragon demanded their surrender. Either they would capitulate to the serpent, or their lands, their castles, their families, and their kingdoms would be put to the flame and utterly destroyed. As the dragon roared from the ruins of what he had already conquered, the seven kings urgently met in conclave and agreed to form a single, vast army to destroy the Wyrm. Thousands upon thousands of men were mustered and, in the name of saving their kingdoms from the lizard, marched against the Firebreather. Though its scaly eyes saw them coming from very far away, the dragon neither retreated nor challenged their approach. When they drew close enough, it took flight and unleashed its fiery breath against the forces that had been assembled against it.
The battle lasted only minutes. The Wyrm turned the approaching army, vast as it was, into little more than ash and twisted metal. No weapon the soldiers possessed, arrows, swords, or spears, was capable of piercing the Wyrm’s thick hide.
Messengers again arrived at the palaces of the seven kings who remained and again demanded their total surrender, on pain of complete and utter annihilation. Two sent back their absolute and final refusal, saying that they would never bend their knees to a lizard. The Wyrm swooped down on their kingdoms and reduced them to charcoal and cinders with surpassing ease.
The five remaining Kings agreed to the Wyrm’s demands, and became the five Underkings, the five kings who were allowed to remain on their thrones and rule in the dragon’s name. Though they were much maligned and despised by the public at large, they kept their crowns and their heads. The territory of the other three kings was divided between them, except for the land closest to the mountain, which the Wyrm kept for himself, and populated with men willing to serve him.
More than twenty years have passed. The Wyrm has not expanded his Empire, but those petty kings who exist outside his dominion still quake in terror of his name. For fear of utter destruction, the Underkings follow every order that the dragon gives, but by far the most terrible is the creature’s demand for tribute, which goes beyond gold and jewels. Every few years, at strange intervals, the dragon levies a Blood Tax, demanding a royal-blooded princess be brought to him. Those sacrificed are never seen or heard from again.
Each time the Blood Tax is levied, the five Underkings quarrel and bargain, trying to foist the responsibility to pay the dragon’s price on the next man, for none of them wishes to sacrifice his own daughter to the Wyrm. A system has developed wherein the Underkings take turns rendering the sacrifice in accordance with an established order, and the other four kings pay the unlucky fifth sums of gold and treasure in exchange for accepting the burden.
The dragon has once again demanded the Blood Tax, and the burden has fallen to King Sar of Lecedans. Unwilling to surrender his own daughter to the Wyrm, he has desperately sought to capture a princess from one of the kingdoms surrounding his own, outside the Wyrm’s direct authority.
General Talon of Lecedans has been dispatched by King Sar with a force of a thousand men to demand tribute from the tiny petty kingdom of Kyliem, whose reigning king has but one daughter. King Sar has already dispatched many generals to Kyliem. All have failed to extract tribute, and all have been demoted, punished, and discarded upon their return. General Talon knows that to please King Sar, he has to succeed in his mission at any cost, for if the dragon does not get his princess, who knows how terrible his rage might be...
Chapter 1
“God, what a dump,” General Talon muttered to his lieutenant. He made a gesture and the entire company of horse that had been following him ground to a halt.
They were standing before the walls - if they could be called that - of a small city, Kyliem, which the ruler here ventured to pretend was a kingdom. A grubbier place Talon had never seen in his life. The huts that populated the city were made of sticks and mud - he could see that much from here - and the roads were little more than dirt. The local church, despite its tall spire, looked like it had been thrown together from odd stones and logs, and Talon couldn’t immediately spot anything he would have called a town hall or an inn. If he had to guess at the population, Talon would have said five thousand, though it was difficult to tell in places like these. Peasants could, if they were forced to, live twenty to a room like rats, or - on the other end of the spectrum - one for every whole house.
In the entire city of Kyliem, the only building of any dignity or bearing was the palace. Now that was a worthwhile domicile for a king. It sat in more or less the center-rear of the city, as viewed from where Talon was sitting, and it easily towered above every other structure. It had polished walls of hand-shaped stone and wood, three towers that crowned the tops of arches that ran along the palace’s spine, columns, windows, and opulent, colorful banners that pleasantly drew the eye in a city that was otherwise entirely mud. Talon could only guess at how King Vanovir, the ruling King of Kyliem, had managed to pay for the structure. A large, featureless gap and small fence surrounded the gardens on the outside of the palace, which was surely intended to separate the king’s home from the rest of the population, but it served no defensive purpose. Talon knew he could overrun the whole complex easily. But what about the second largish building next to the palace? It was large too, but practically as brown and muddy as everything else. Was it a fort of some kind? An armory? Difficult to say.
After a long, scrutinizing look at the enemy sentries who were pacing the feeble wall, Talon glanced back at the cavalry regiment behind him. It was in good order. He nodded and turned to his lieutenant again.
“Did you say that this was the only city in Kyliem?” he asked. “No other meaningful fortifications, population centers, noblemen’s castles, anything?”
“This is the Castle Kyliem and it practically is Kyliem,” Lieutenant Axel informed the general. “Beyond this, Kyliem is farmland. There are a few minor land-holders scattered around the countryside, but none of them has anything large enough to be called a lodge, much less a manor. I wouldn’t call them barons. I don’t know what you call landholders that small. Landed knights? Gentlemen?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Talon said. “We can seize the city with the force we have here - if it comes to that. The only problem is time. We don’t have time for a siege. There are other complications, too.”
“Respectfully, general, I think King Sar should h ave dispatched a larger army if he intended us to raid Kyliem. I don’t understand why he didn’t.”
“I do,” Talon said with a snort. “It’s because he’s broke. Even so, the day of the Blood Tax is getting closer and closer, and he’s been getting more and more desperate. That’s the only reason he sent a force this large. Because he needs victory. We come back with Vanovir’s daughter, or not at all.” Talon surveyed the city critically for a moment. “You dispatched that envoy, didn’t you?”
“Of course, general. He delivered his message.”
Talon squinted up at the midday sun and the enemy archers along the walls, and the gate that had been barred against him.
“Well, they obviously know we’re here. We’ve been waiting an hour and they haven’t sent anyone to parlay with us yet. They’re stalling.” He frowned. “That’s their game, isn’t it? They plan to stall and stall and make us wait until we have to return home. Or maybe they hope I’m as stupid as Sigmund. Sigmund delivered the demand for tribute that the King gave him and the Kylieans told him they were taking it under consideration and a response would be forthcoming, and you know what he did? He turned around and went back.” Talon snorted. “Well, I’m not going to play their game. Surround the city.”
The lieutenant saluted crisply and retreated to bark orders to the remainder of the column, who began to slowly spread out and encircle the city. The afternoon sun burned into Talon’s back as he watched the one thousand men under his command surround the town with disciplined efficiency. Discipline and hard-minded commanders - that, in his opinion, was the key to winning battles and wars.
King Sar had not sent him here to fight a war. Sar could not afford a war. Talon’s orders had been to bring back the Princess by any means, but Sar had made it clear he would prefer a solution that didn’t force him to spend the next year waging a military campaign against a puny neighbor. Still, it wasn’t Talon’s style to use kind words and smiles to get what he want. Plainly, King Vanovir was not going to surrender his daughter just because he was asked nicely. This would require some arm-twisting.
Talon adjusted his formation until it looked like they were readying themselves to assault the city. Still, there was no response from within. He frowned.
The archers on the walls were watching them with surprising dispassion and professionalism for the army of such a wretched backwater.
“They need another push,” Talon told his lieutenant. “Let’s give them a knock on the door.”
“At once, general,” Lieutenant Axel said with a salute. He’d understood Talon’s meaning. A battering ram, a huge log, carved and hardened into a ramming point on one end, and suspended from a sling on wheels, was brought forth. It was slammed against the gate, just once. The wooden doors buckled but did not give.
The enemy archers on the walls were very few in number and did not begin to fire on them.
“It’s as we thought,” Talon said, observing the non-reaction from the sentries. “They want a war with us even less than we want one with them.”
A minute or so passed in silence, and still nothing happened. No one came to meet Talon. He snorted.
“Again,” he instructed the ram crews. They drew back the ram in its sling and heaved. It struck another resounding blow against the doors, which creaked.
“And again,” Talon repeated. Another blow, another buckle. His horse whinnied. He squinted up at the walls, but the sentries still seemed unimpressed.
“Again-” he started, but this time he stopped mid-sentence. A creaking sound had caught his attention, and seconds later, the door slid open. A younger man in a red tunic - obviously an emissary - slipped out from between the doors. Four soldiers in surprisingly fine uniforms, decked with vivid reds and greens and shining breastplates, marched out on either side of him. They hoisted several banners, decorated with the crossed sword and axe crest of their king, high into the air. The emissary held up his hands and flashed them a toothy grin.
“Peace, my lord general, peace,” he said as he advanced towards Talon. “We wish to parlay.”
They couldn’t ignore a ram at their gates after all, Talon thought with a smile. Finally, he dragged out a response from the Kylieans. Still, there was something off about this situation. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was something about the soldiers. Talon wasn’t impressed by the precise choreography of the enemy soldiers who had marched out, but they were very out of place amidst the mud and sticks of the city. Something was very wrong here. Nevertheless, Talon dismounted from his horse.
“I understand that you are Lord General Erich Talon, and you have a message for us,” the emissary articulated carefully. “I would be more than happy to accept it.”
“My message was personally written and sealed by my liege-lord King Sar of Lecedans and can only be given to King Vanovir,” Talon said. Talon wasn’t a tall man, but he was broad and gruff enough to be intimidating. He whipped the cap off his head of black hair, drew himself up, and stared daggers at the emissary.
“Then I will happily deliver it,” the emissary said.
“I was instructed to see it directly into the hands of King Vanovir,” Talon said, making his articulations equally clear. “I cannot surrender it to a - surrogate.”
The emissary smiled.
“Surely you must see that is impossible, Lord General. While we are pleased to receive messages from our respected neighbor King Sar, His Majesty King Vanovir is a very busy man. He cannot be expected to grant audiences for every piece of correspondence-”
“-it’s not a piece of correspondence, it’s a demand for tribute,” Talon spat. “Tribute in the form of the person of his daughter, the Princess Natalia, and he will receive the demand and not stall. I am not interested in games.”
“These things take time, Lord General,” the emissary said, with his broad, toothy grin. “If you will simply hand me the message, I will deliver it to the King and the matter will be considered, and a reply will ultimately be forthcoming. I assure you King Vanovir will send a return message at his earliest convenience.”
Talon grabbed the emissary by the collar.
“Maybe you weren’t listening when I said I wasn’t here to play games,” Talon spat. “I have with me an army of a thousand men, which is far beyond whatever this pig stye you call a kingdom is capable of mustering. I can take Castle Kyliem - not that this is a castle to begin with - whenever I please. King Vanovir ought to know better than anyone how easy it is to take over this ‘kingdom,’ since he captured it from the previous king himself ten years ago, and with a much smaller force than the one I have now. So either give me Natalia or I will assault the walls.”
He flung back the emissary, who stumbled a little, but smirked.
Talon sensed something was wrong.
The emissary regained his footing and straightened his tunic.
“I’m sure the king will take that under advisement,” he said, still smirking.
“You’re not afraid?” Talon asked, more to himself than to the emissary. “Why not? I’ll sack the city.”
The man continued to display that superior smirk.
Again, Talon felt that little cautioning niggle at the back of his neck. Something was definitely wrong.
His eyes flickered back to the four soldiers the emissary had brought as escorts. They stood straight-backed and still, with practiced professionalism, and carried green and red banners portraying the crossed sword and axe, King Vanovir’s standard.
Then, with a start, Talon realized what had unsettled him. The insignia on the men’s uniforms was a white stripe and a star: totally different from the standard on the banners they were carrying. These men weren’t soldiers of Kyliem at all! Suddenly, Talon remembered where he’d seen their insignia before.
“Mercenaries,” he breathed. “You hired mercenaries to defend the city. Where does a scum-sucking farmer-King like Vanovir get the gold to hire mercenaries from?”
The emissary didn’t answer. Instead, his smile broadened, revealing every one of his oddly white teeth.
