Dragon Fire E-Book

Sally A. Laughlin

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

A union is formed between a master demon and a deadly witch to become the most powerful beings in Mystovia.

After they capture Chan-Draa - a potent Seer of the Arega dragons - and take her to a forbidden city deep in pirate territory, they begin to absorb her powers using a Witch's Choker. Once all the glowing stones die, so shall Chan-Draa.

It is up to Mac and Kess, along with their friends, to travel across a treacherous desert and into the dangerous pirate stronghold to rescue her. Racing against time, can they get to Chan-Draa in time?

A compelling fantasy adventure, 'Dragon Fire' is the fourth book in S.A. Laughlin's 'Warriors Of The Mystic Moons' series.

Leseprobe

DRAGON FIRE

WARRIORS OF THE MYSTIC MOONS

BOOK FOUR

S. A. LAUGHLIN

CONTENTS

Books by S. A. Laughlin

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Next in the Series

About the Author

Copyright (C) 2023 S.A. Laughlin

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2023 by Next Chapter

Published 2023 by Next Chapter

Edited by Elizabeth N. Love

Cover art by Lordan June Pinote

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

BOOKS BY S. A. LAUGHLIN

Science Fantasy Series

Book 1: Mystic Moon Warriors

Book 2: Unchartered Land Between

Book 3: Revenge of the Demon

Book 4: Dragon Fire

Historical/Adventures By Sally A. Laughlin

Hidden Between the Lines

Fly Toward Death

To: Brody, Jainy, and Keegan

CHAPTERONE

A tall, black-caped figure approached the Evoos village of Gatgool on the fetid banks of the Dahvoos swamp.

The Evoos village was filled with hundreds of grasses, reed, and moss huts grouped in numerous circles around large fire pits. The Evoos’ short bodies, covered from head to toe in long, black hair, did not need the warmth of the fire: its sole purpose was to provide them with a means to boil and cook their prey. They danced around their bubbling cauldrons in a frenzied manner waiting anxiously for their food to be done.

Their bright-orange eyes kept a steady vigil on the items in their large black pots. A purplish tongue would occasionally jut out from under the web-like, mucus covering their mouths, and run over their dull, green fangs. Caught up in the excitement they were unaware of the ominous, tall figure headed toward their village.

As the caped figure walked into the village, immediate pandemonium broke out among the Evoos. Within seconds, the entire village looked deserted as the terrified Evoos cowered with fear in their flimsily built homes.

The caped figure walked past the boiling contents that would occasionally bubble over the side of the cauldrons. The hissing of the liquid dripping down into the fire was the only sound emanating from within the village.

The Zetche stopped in front of the largest hut in the village. His massive frame towered over it: the hut of the Evoos chief.

He called out, but no one came forth. His black lips twisted in anger as he called again, but still, no one came out. The Zetche’s body began to grow until he was nearly eight feet tall.

Effortlessly he reached down and pulled the top of the hut off. The sound of the grass and reed roof being ripped and torn off sent all the other Evoos out of their huts and scurrying into the dark surrounding forest.

The Zetche peered down inside the dismantled hut and spotted the chief and his family huddled together trembling with fear.

“Come out,” boomed the Zetche, who threw the top of the hut into the bogs nearby. “I have need of a boat.”

Slowly, trembling, the chief came out of his hut. He backed his way to the largest boat the Evoos had hidden in the bogs. His terror was so great he couldn’t even speak; he just pointed to one of the flat-bottomed boats.

“Where can I find the witch Paagrezla?” he bellowed down at the frightened Evoos leader.

Terror filled the chief’s eyes. He backed up falling over a rotted log behind him as if just hearing that name meant death.

“I will not ask again,” the Zetche’s voice thundered. His giant figure loomed over the prone Evoo. His yellow eyes glowed warningly under his hood.

The Evoo, still on the ground, began pushing his legs and arms to back away, as he tried to put more distance between himself and the menacing figure. A deep growl from the Zetche brought the shaking Evoo’s arm out. He pointed frantically in the direction of the powerful and deadly Qaabola witch.

Zetche’s long arm rose. He pointed a finger at the squirming Evoo on the ground.

The chief raised his arm in front of his face to protect himself from the deadly rays. A blast of red-hot fire shot out, but the towering demon moved his finger so that it just grazed the terrified chief.

The Zetche gave a guttural laugh and stepped into the low boat.

It took a while for the chief to realize that he had not been killed. When he finally got his breath back, he jumped up and ran toward the village, but not in a straight line. He disappeared and reappeared from bush to bush until he felt he was clear of the burning fire of the Master Demon.

However, the Zetche had no more interest in the zigzagging Evoo. He picked up the wooden pole inside of the boat, looked at its small size, grunted, and threw the short shaft into the murky water. It made a splash causing the bog to erupt in a frenzy of sounds from the startled creatures that resided in the stagnant waters.

He looked up into the tree near him and studied it for a while. Spotting what he was looking for he reached up and ripped a long, thick branch off with no effort. He cleared the smaller branches from it and made a pole that would help push him through the slimy green waters of the bog. Slowly, his body returned to its normal size.

A greenish, musky mist hovered over the water as he pushed and pulled his pole to move the boat over the slimy surface. Damp moss of all sizes dripped from the black tree branches creating strange forms as he moved deeper into the bog. All around him muted and eerie sounds gurgled and growled with the occasional sudden splash of water; some nearby, others in the distance.

A movement, something large, struck his boat, causing him to lose his balance for a moment. He waited and watched the dark-green water as it undulated and swirled beneath him. Again, it struck the bottom of his boat.

Something began to emerge from the murky water. Slowly, it slithered from under the flatboat almost knocking the pole from his hand. The Zetche watched almost mesmerized by a large brown snake as it moved upward out of the slimy water until it was almost eye-to-eye with him.

The snake’s forked tongue stuck out from its massive weaving head. It began flicking its tongue and hissing at its next meal.

A fiery blast from the Zetche’s eyes struck the snake with such force it flew out of the water and landed among the black moss in a tree off in the distance. It hung over the branches twisted and looped like a brown garland.

The eerie sounds, that once filtered through the swamp, seemed to stop all at once. The quiet was almost deafening. The Zetche slumped over. He hung onto the pole until his strength finally returned. He hoped his display of power would keep other creatures from attacking; it did.

It was a while before he spotted a lone, rundown, wooden dock overgrown with green slime and moss; it was barely visible jutting out into the dark waters of the bog. He pulled his boat up and looped its rope around a rotted stump. The Zetche placed his long pole carefully inside of the boat and stepped onto the dock.

“Who dares to come here?” A woman’s shrill voice screamed out.

“I have come for the young Paagrezla.”

“Then you have come eons too late,” the voice snarled.

“I think not.”

“My interest has been piqued, foul creature. Come forward a little,” her voice filled with warning. She stayed inside her cabin and peeked out, unseen from behind her moss-covered door.

“I am a Zetche and have come to make a pact with you.” His voice eased from his normal booming.

“A Zetche you say? Where is your mate?” Her voice filled with curiosity, as well as suspicion.

“My mate is no more. Killed, just like your youth,” he said bitterly. He strained to see her form hidden by the dark moss that grew over her doorway.

“How is it that you know of me?” She asked warily.

“Who does not know of the great Paagrezla.” It was a statement more than a question.

“Come closer, but do not think me a fool.”

Carefully he moved down the moss-covered dock until he reached a small patch of solid land. The wooden cabin in which the witch dwelled sat on a tiny piece of land in the middle of the Dahvoos swamp. The cabin was broken and in need of much repair, but it would do for what he needed.

“What need has the great Zetche of me?” Her darkened form moved behind the door to see him better.

“I have need of your powers,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You have need of my powers? Why should I help you?” she asked angrily at this arrogant Zetche.

“Revenge,” he said moving closer to her doorstep.

“Mmm … Well now, that is a lovely word. Stop,” she ordered him. “Do not come closer until we have spoken more.”

He stopped, agitated, and annoyed with this witch. When he was through with her powers, he would destroy her, but for now, he needed her help. “What more do you wish me to say?” he asked feigning politeness.

“Revenge for me or for you? What is in it for me?” The shape of her head behind the moss-covered door moved from side to side. “Why should I leave my beautiful home?” her voice now filled with curiosity.

The Zetche looked around and checked himself from laughing, “Why indeed?” His patience with her was running thin. “If you will hear me out, I shall tell you why I am here.”

“I am listening,” she replied.

“My mate was killed by a dragon and his friends,” he paused, choosing his words carefully. He continued., “Your beauty, your youth, and your powers were drained by a young Sabbot. I will help you find and destroy her.” He pulled a gleaming item from his cape and dangled it in front of her. “And I know just the thing that will destroy all of them.”

A green, wrinkled hand moved the moss so she could see the item clearly. She gasped and stepped back to let him enter. “Come in.”

The room was dimly lit. The only light was cast by the glow from a fire roaring in her small, brick fireplace. A black cauldron hanging over the fire frothed and bubbled with the strong smell of sulfur. “My dinner. Are you hungry?” she asked, still staring at the tall Zetche as he ducked down to enter her cabin.

“I must say I am hungry, and your meal smells delicious.” The Zetche nodded toward the burning cauldron. He placed the gleaming item on the table in front of him keeping a watchful eye on her.

Strangely, he found her attractive. Her green skeletal skin hung loosely on her face. Her brown eyes were sunken with black circles all around them. He watched as her bony fingers picked up a ladle and filled his bowl, then hers. Her long gray dress, frayed and dirty, hung on her like a rag. Thin strands of dirty, gray hair fell in complete disarray to her waist. He watched as she cautiously placed his bowl in front of him and sat at the opposite end of the table.

After they had finished eating, she wiped her mouth with the cuff of her dirty sleeve and put her elbows on the table. She studied him and the gleaming object resting between them. “Now, tell me about this choker you have brought me.” Paagrezla reached over to pull it to her and paused. She waited for the Zetche to stop her, but when he made no move, she picked it up and began to examine it.

“I knew of its existence and the power it could wield. I had it made especially for you.” he said casually.

“What good is one necklace? It is of no use to you or me.” She snarled at him and threw the necklace back on the table.

“Never make the mistake of thinking me a fool.” His fist hit her table causing the choker to bounce.

Paagrezla remembered how powerful the Zetches were and thought better of encouraging his wrath. “You need two to make the transformation work,” she said hiding the annoyance in her voice.

“I have another.” He pulled it from his cape. His eyes began to glow a bright yellow, verging on red.

“Why didn’t you say so from the first,” Paagrezla snapped. She reached over and grabbed the second necklace from his hand. Her face and voice lit up with excitement. “How did you come by these?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, it does not,” she said licking her blackened, wrinkled lips.

“The owner of the two necklaces will not be around to tell anyone of their existence. That is all you need to know.” He studied her as she held both necklaces in her hands. Her beauty was overwhelming and disturbing to him. The Zetche slowly pulled back the hood of his cape and waited to see what her reaction would be to his gaunt, grey face, and blackened lips.

She looked over at the Zetche and did not appear shocked or unnerved by his appearance. “Would you like more to eat? My cauldron is full.” Her tone was almost friendly.

“Yes, your food pleases me.” His voice softened pleased that she did not recoil from the sight of his face that most called grotesque.

After he had finished three more bowls, he sat back and watched her running frantically around the cabin picking up strange items in jars and containers of all kinds.

“I have never lost my powers or forgotten how to make a spell,” she said as she began talking to herself. “I have practiced all these years. It has not gone to waste. Yes, yes, it is time.”

“I have heard you are still as powerful as you once were.”

“Of course, of course,” she snipped. “How do you think I have lived in here all these years if my powers were not still strong? To live in this place,” her face wrinkled in disgust as she looked around her small cabin, “I have had to keep my powers working at all times in this swamp, or I would surely have perished.” She began putting the containers in order as she talked to him.

He watched with fascination as she methodically began preparing her potions. “I have found a Chan-Draa.” He threw it out at her to see her reaction.

She was busy thinking of what to put into a pouch and did not respond right away. Then she froze in place, “Did you say you found a Chan-Draa?” she gasped.

“Yes, and she is whom these necklaces are intended for.” He sat back delighted at the surprise on her face.

“A Chan-Draa.” Her words wrapped softly around the name. Her head jerked toward him, “I thought the choker was for another powerful witch. But a Chan-Draa, how delicious. But where and how did you find this Chan-Draa?”

“I have a very powerful stone, which I will show you someday, but not today. You understand.” He raised a black eyebrow and waited for her to nod her acceptance; she did so quickly. “My invisibility can be very useful. I managed to overhear a discussion; a very discreet discussion about her.”

“We must leave immediately.” Her hands shook as she poured an ingredient into a large pouch.

The Zetche slumped forward in his chair and then quickly righted himself. “I am too tired. But” his voice filled with a warning, “not so tired as to protect myself. I need a safe place to rest.”

Paagrezla stopped as if horrified. “What? We cannot leave now?”

“I must rest for a day or so, and then we can travel and capture this Chan-Draa. I came to you because your powers can heal me faster and make me stronger. Or am I deceived in my thinking?”

“No, you are not deceived in your thinking,” she put her hands on her hips and looked at the weakened Zetche. “Rest a little, then we will leave.”

“Done,” he said, smiling to himself. “There is one other thing you must do. You must block the Oracles of the Arega dragons from their visions for a while. It is very important. Can you do this?”

She thought for a while, “I may have to call on a couple of other Qaabola’s to help me. Which will be no problem as they hate those nasty Aregas as much as I do.”

“You do not have the power to do this on your own?” he asked annoyed.

“What?” Paagrezla said incredulously. “The Oracles are very powerful and so are the spells that protect them.” She began tapping a long, curved, black nail against her hairy chin. “We will have to find a way to go beneath their protective magic. She took a jar off the shelf studied it for a moment and began to smile. “Yes, I believe we can do this.”

“I certainly hope so, or I have made this trip for nothing,” he growled.

“While you rest, I will meet with those that can help me.” She eyed him warily. “When we have taken all the Chan-Draa’s powers, we go our separate ways, can we not? I have no interest in spending the rest of my life with you.”

“And I have no interest in being with you, other than combining your powers with mine. Agreed, when we are done, we go our separate ways.” Almost instantly he felt sadness at losing her but quickly waved the thought off to his being weak and the loss of some of his powers.

He looked into her coal-black eyes and knew she wanted to and could easily kill him, but she did not know where or how to capture the Chan-Draa. He knew he was safe with her for now, although he would have to be very careful of her in the future.

It only took one night of rest and some of the witch’s herbs and spells to bring the Zetche back to his powerful self. He opened his eyes and felt his full strength surging through him again. Now, he was ready to exact his revenge.

He raised his head and saw the old witch sitting at the table. Her head rested on top of her crossed arms; she was sleeping soundly among her potions and containers that littered the table.

“Witch!” The Zetche called out with his newfound strength.

Startled, her head snapped up. “What?” She shook her head a couple of times as if shaking the sleep from her mind. Glaring at the Zetche she stood up and crossed her arms. “How dare you wake me like that?” She chastised him. “You startled me, you fool.”

“Do you have the spell to block the Oracles as I asked?” he demanded ignoring her comments.

“Of course, I do,” she snarled and then laughed. “I wish I could be there to see the Oracles’ faces. Although, this spell will not last very long.”

“We leave, now.” He sat up and stretched. “After I have one more of your meals.”

“You eat more than you are worth,” she grumbled. Under her breath she mused. “Why do I feel grateful for his company. Hmm, probably because he likes my cooking. Nonsense he’s an idiot.”

After their meal was finished, she began putting her pouches in the pockets of her old and worn cape.

“When we get to a village, we will get you a new cape.” He pulled out one side of her cape and tugged at one of the pockets sewn inside; it promptly ripped off.

“I would have enough pockets if you’d quit ripping them off,” she snapped. “Here.” She opened his cape and began stuffing the inside pockets with her potions. “I will get more than a new cape,” she snapped. “Now, where is the necklace? I must put it on.”

She began urgently searching through the pockets in his cape. With lightning speed, he reached down and grabbed her searching hands. “Never! Never do that again.” He thrust her hands away as if they were causing his skin to burn.

“Where is it?” Her lips curled in hatred.

His arm came up as if to strike her, and her hand came up to cast a spell against him. They stood glaring into each other’s eyes; each ready to attack.

Finally, the Zetche, never letting his eyes waver from hers, reached inside and pulled out one of the necklaces. He dangled it off to the side. Her eyes flickered to the glistening necklace, and quickly back to the dangerous eyes of the Zetche.

Paagrezla was the first to retreat. Her defensive manner dropped as she stepped back away from the Zetche.

“Turn around,” he ordered.

She obeyed quietly. His long fingers, with their sharp-pointed nails, carefully moved her long, stringy, gray hair away from her neck; with only a few scratches to the witch, he fastened it around her throat. Then his fingers circled and tightened around her neck as he leaned down. Even though there was no one around to hear him, he whispered to her. “Betray me, and you die.” The Zetche released his fingers and turned her to face him. “We go, now!” He turned and headed out the door.

Paagrezla followed quickly on his heels. She had everything ready to go the day he arrived. It was something she had been waiting for and planning for so many years. She hoped this was not just a dream. The rough yank of the Zetche pulling her into the boat let her know it was not.

They were not bothered by anything lurking in the dark waters of the swamp as their boat skimmed the surface. They reached the outer banks of the Rils River. Paagrezla, unassisted, climbed out of the boat onto the wet grass. She turned and looked back, almost soulfully.

“Keep moving,” he ordered and grabbed her arm.

“It is just that this has been my home for eons. Strange is it not that I would even think to miss such a foul place.” She shuddered once and then yanked her arm from his hold. “Do not touch me again.”

“When we get to the village wait at the edge of the forest until I come back with suitable clothing.”

“Oh, really. You are going to walk into that village and just get me some clothing. Are you going to scare people out of their clothes to get them?” she said sarcastically.

“Ye’ of little trust,” The Zetche turned his back so she could not see him reach inside his cape. His hand encircled the stone he had pulled from the Skull of Semetter. In a few moments, he began to glow and shimmer before her. Once the shimmering had stopped, he turned to face her.

She stepped back shocked at the sight in front of her. The Zetche was in a human form. Not necessarily youthful or handsome, but presentable and unthreatening to the humans in the town. “Keep out of sight until I return.” His voice was deep and low not the booming depth of his Zetche voice.

A short while later he returned with a new cape and dress for Paagrezla, and two horses in tow. “Put these clothes on. They will do until you appear less frightening to the others. Keep your hood pulled over your face at all times. Someone may recognize you, even after all these years.”

They rode through the forest avoiding any cities, villages, or forts, only stopping to rest their horses and partake of a few nourishments.” These stupid beasts,” Paagrezla grumbled as she mounted her horse after a stop to feed and water it. “They are slowing us down. Do we have to keep stopping for them?”

“Stop complaining, witch,” he said, his voice filled with agitation. “They are the fastest way to get where we must go, and if we do not stop periodically for them, they will die. Do you wish to walk?”

“I hurt from riding them,” she mumbled. “I will kill them when we are done with them.”

“I care not what you do with them, just stop complaining.” He shook his head and nudged his horse to move further into the forest.

“Are you going to stay in your human form?” she asked

“Are you mad? Of course not. I hate this form, but it does not frighten the horses or anyone we should happen to pass.”

“The only things we are passing are trees, bushes and hills.” She slumped forward laying her head against the horse’s neck. “We have been riding for hours. It’s getting dark, and I am getting tired. When do we get to wherever it is we are going?”

The Zetche rolled his dark-brown human eyes and shook his head. “We will cross the North Zanadur River before nightfall. We will rest then,” he said with total exasperation.

They traveled until the trees became denser and the light filtering down from the setting sun made it harder to see the landscape around them.

“I hear running water,” Paagrezla said with exhaustion. “Is that the stupid North Zanadur River?”

“Yes.” He nodded, but the darkness that had set around them made his nod all but invisible. “Once we cross the river, there is a small cabin nestled above the village. We will shelter there for the night and make our attack plans for tomorrow. All should go very well.” He almost chuckled, but the constant whining of the witch stopped him.

“I am hungry, tired and want to get off this rump busting animal,” she snapped. “And I cannot think of attacking anything but food.”

“Grrr,” was all he managed to say.

They rode their horses deep into the forest and up a winding trail into the mountains until he spotted an old cabin silhouetted against the sun’s last rays. “There! You nagging hag. There is the cabin.”

Paagrezla was too tired to make any retort. She rode her horse to the front of the cabin, slid off it, and pulled the knapsack he had gotten from the village off the horse. She kicked the door of the cabin open and walked almost bow-legged into an empty room. She pulled out a pouch and threw the sandy potion into the fireplace. Flames burst forth immediately as she sank to the floor in total exhaustion.

Heat quickly filled the cabin that had a table and two chairs in it. Along two sides of the cabin were two wooden slabs used for beds. The two small windows in the cabin were broken and covered by frayed curtains that floated in when the cold air blew.

The Zetche appeared in the doorway in his natural form. He closed the door, dropped his saddlebags by the fire, and seated himself at an old wobbly, weathered table in the middle of the room. “We eat first, and then we discuss our plan of attack. It will come very early in the morning, so be prepared.”

The sun was still on its slow slide to morning when the Zetche woke Paagrezla. “She is taking her morning ritual of mind cleansing. We must hurry before the sun starts its blinding rise.”

Paagrezla jumped up and grabbed her cape. Excitement raced through her blood. Their plan was perfect, and soon she would be the most powerful being ever seen in Mystovia. Nothing could stop her. Nothing. There was one thing she wanted to do before they left, and that was to kill the beast that brought them to the cabin. She was disappointed when she left the cabin and found the horses had run off during the night.

“It is time. Quickly, follow me,” he snapped at her.

The strange couple formed by revenge, scurried over rocks and around boulders until they came to a ledge overlooking the Blue Sea.

The Zetche did not speak but pointed at a lone figure sitting on a boulder with her face turned upward. Her golden skin glowed in the morning light, even from far away. Her long, white hair blew around her face from the gentle winds as if caressing her. Although her hair was white, her face and body were those of a young woman.

“How is it that you know this Chan-Draa?” she asked

“I told you before,” he said, keeping his voice low. “I have learned much and how I learned it is of no importance to you. Now, do what we talked about.” His teeth bared as low growl escaped from his lips.

Immediately, Paagrezla pulled a pouch from her cape. It was a potion to cover their presence. He pointed to two large, red dragons sitting on a ledge above the young Chan-Draa.

Paagrezla nodded her head and took out a second potion. She smiled as the two potions drifted unseen through the air.

The potions crept along the crevices unnoticed until it was too late. The two dragons guarding the Chan-Draa fell unconscious backward. The same potion that stunned the two dragons drifted down toward the unsuspecting Chan-Draa. Within seconds, the Chan-Draa was frozen in place. The dark-smoky second potion was filled with demons who grabbed the motionless form of the Chan-Draa and lifted her away from the mountain.

The Zetche and Paagrezla were so busy enacting their plan they did not see a ship below filled with Elven warriors.

Suddenly, arrows were flying toward them from the Elven ship. But the warriors were too far away for their arrows to reach the Zetche and Paagrezla.

The warriors watched helplessly as they saw the limp figure of the Chan-Draa being carried by demons and dropped at the feet of the Zetche.

“Destroy them. We must have no witnesses.” he ordered Paagrezla as he pulled the choker out of his cape pocket.

Paagrezla called forth a tidal wave to destroy the Elven warriors.

The Chan-Draa heard the spell being spoken by the witch, and with her last ounce of strength pushed the Elven warrior ship out of harm’s way. A second later, the choker was attached, and immediately the Chan-Draa was under the control of Paagrezla. That was the last thing the Chan-Draa would remember as she fell unconscious.

CHAPTERTWO

The light from the lava below cast a warm glow in the large dragon cave. Drago’s red and gold scales glistened sporadically from the light as he settled down on a heap of jewels and precious stones.

Xen moved next to him, carefully taking out the little black box she always carried and opened it. Her iridescent white and silver scales took on a pinkish hue from the lava’s red glow from far below. She stared into the box for a while, nodded, closed it, and put it on the ground.

“The Fataras are very brave to check out magical spells in some very scary places. Are they safe in that little box? Drago asked sleepily.

“Yes,” she nodded and smiled, “the Fataras said all is fine within their world. However, they still remember how they once lived.”

Drago’s head cocked to one side, “How they once lived? How did they once live?”

Xen sat back on her haunches, “They used to live among the trees of Mystovia, many, many long years ago.”

“How long is many?” Drago stood up and turned around. He stretched his young, growing body and settled back down on the mound of jewels again. He moved a little closer to Xen.

“Maaleah said it was during the great battle.” She paused and then continued, “She said the Fataras are peaceful beings.”

“So, why don’t they come out of the box and live among us now?” Drago looked down at the tiny box and shook his head.

“It is not that easy, Drago,” she turned and looked at him. A smile crossed her face as she thought of this brave, extremely smart dragon who had been placed in her arms as a newborn dragonet. Her physical form was that of a teenage human at the time, but in dragon years she was only a couple of years older than Drago.

“Why isn’t it that easy?” he asked rubbing his scaly chin against the jewels.

She continued, “During the great battle, the Fataras sided with the Sorcerers, Elves, and others to defeat the Zetches and the demons. But the Zetches had powerful friends fighting along with them. A Qaabola witch tried to destroy the Fataras, but they were saved by a Sabbot witch.”

“How?” Drago asked with sincere interest.

“The Fataras were very small; probably no bigger than the length of a human head.”

“Huh? How do they fit in that little box?” Drago asked. He cocked one eyebrow, looked at her, and then at the tiny box.

“I’ll explain the best I can. The High Priestess of the Qaabolas was a very powerful witch called Paagrezla. She was afraid of no one and nothing because of her great powers. Then, during the war she was confronted by a young Sabbot witch, Maaleah.”

“Maaleah, of course. This is getting good,” Drago folded his arms on the pile of jewels in front of him and listened intently to Xen as she continued.

“Well, Paagrezla laughed at the young Sabbot witch standing before her. She told the young witch that she was going to destroy the Fataras just for fun before she destroyed her.”

“What happed next?” Drago asked.

“Maaleah stood her ground. Paagrezla sent forth a powerful spell aimed at the Fataras, but Maaleah was prepared for her spell. They began to use their powers against each other. The power of Maaleah took the Paagrezla by surprise. They fought and struggled against each other for a long time. However, when the dust from their magical potions cleared, Paagrezla was gone. They searched for her for hours but could not find any trace of her.”

“So, Maaleah defeated the powerful Qaabola witch,” Drago shook his head. “She is indeed a very powerful witch. Wait, back up a bit. How did Maaleah save the Fataras?”

“Maaleah threw a spell to try to protect the Fataras at the same time Paagrezla threw her spell to destroy them. Somehow the combination of the two spells caused the Fataras to shrink down to become smaller than a grain of rice. Maaleah, with the help of many others, created this tiny, safe world for them to live in. The Fataras accepted it and promised to repay their kindness whenever they could.”

“So, what makes them aware of spells and such?” Drago cocked his golden redhead and looked down at the little box again.

“The Fataras were little fairies with the ability to see spells, blocked or otherwise. Their diminished size, strangely enough, increased their abilities. “

“So, what happened to the Qaabola witch?”

“There are stories that Paagrezla is still alive and living deep in the Dahvoos swamp.”

“Well, you have great visions; can’t you find this witch?”

“I am not the only Oracle who has tried to see where she can be found. Many have tried, but their visions are always blurred. They believe she put a powerful spell on herself to keep from being found.”

“Where do the rest of the Qaabola witches live?”

“Most of the Qaabola witches reside near the middle of the Dahvoos swamp in a city called Hoorgool. Since the war years ago they do not travel outside of their city. They live near the Evoos village and other swamp creatures. Although there have been a few sightings of a witch or two around Mystovia, they manage to keep away from contact with anyone.”

“Are not the witches afraid that the Evoos will eat them?”

“No, just the opposite; the Evoos are quite afraid of them. The Evoos have been warned that to harm even just one of the witches would mean the annihilation of the Evoos.”

“Are the Qaabolas blue in color like the Sabbots?”

“No, they are many shades of green.” Xen stopped and looked toward the cave opening, “Your father comes.”

A couple of moments later, King Zaatyr lumbered into the cave opening; his mighty frame filled the opening to the chamber. “Ah, I see my son is resting. I am told you have been practicing with Xen to change your appearance.”

“Yes,” Drago said respectfully. “We have been practicing for many long hours. I do not think I am that good at it yet. When I walk in human form, I make very heavy footsteps.”

“I told him that he will learn to master that soon. But it takes time to master all that he must learn.” Xen looked up into the face of Zaatyr. “Drago and I will be ready to leave when the others arrive. The Chan-Draa is still alive, but I sense she is in grave danger, and it is getting weaker as we speak.”

Zaatyr began pacing back and forth in his massive cave. “You cannot go by the name of Drago. That name would alert them that you may be a dragon changeling.”

“We have thought of that father,” Drago sat on his haunches and gazed up at his father. “Everyone will have to try to remember to call me ‘Dude’.”

“Dude?” Zaatyr brought his hand up and began to rub his spiked chin. “What a peculiar name you have chosen!”

“I think it will be easy for everyone to remember,” Drago grinned confidentially at Xen.

“Have you two thought of the dangers you are putting yourselves into? The pirates of Hawks Point will kill you without hesitation. Their hatred of dragons is known throughout the land. They shoot spears the size of a man. The power of these spears can pierce the scales of any dragon.” He walked over and looked down at his young son. “I cannot let you two go on this dangerous mission. I will call for a meeting, and we will seek another way. You both are too young for such a quest.”

“Father,” Drago stood and looked into his father’s eyes. “The pirates would not be expecting someone of my size to try to infiltrate their safe-hold.”

“My powers and that of my mother, Maaleah, will be enough to help deceive them,” Xen moved to stand next to Drago.

“It is not only the witches and sorcerers that worry me. To get to Hawks Point you must cross the Dhaagari Desert where the giant Vortan sky trackers live. They are great allies with the pirates. As powerful as we dragons are we are no match for the shadowy Vortans. They are thrice our size and have no solid mass for us to fight against.”

“Father, we will be very careful.” Drago walked to the cave opening leading down to the meeting area of the dragons. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at his father. “If we do not get the Chan-Draa back it will be a very bad time for not only the Arega dragons but Mystovia as well. She is very powerful … what did you call it, Xen?”

“A Hydorth. A Hydorth can read or block mental thoughts without the dragon or person knowing they are being read. The very powerful ones can even put suggestions in the minds and thoughts of any animal, including humans.” Xen said. “If they succeed in draining or using her powers we will be in great danger.”

Drago spoke the name out slowly “Hy-door-th, yes; they would be able to get through our defenses and block our thoughts from their attacking us, even make us afraid to fight them. It would be easy for them to attack and destroy us so that the pirates can steal our treasures. What I don’t understand is, why can’t the Oracles see where she is?” Drago asked perplexed.

“Unfortunately, a powerful spell has been put around her. If it were not for the Elven warriors seeing what happened to her, we would not have found out until it was too late. We are in luck, at least so far,” responded Xen.

“How do you figure that?” Drago asked bewildered by her comment of luck.

“Whoever is blocking her magical signature has forgotten to block their own extraordinarily strong magical powers. We can feel their power emitting near Hawks Point. It may be possible for Maaleah and me to use our powers together to find her exact whereabouts the closer we get to her.”

“The Chan-Draa was under our protection. How could this have happened?” Zaatyr began to pace back and forth in the cave.

“The Elven warriors say it looked like an old witch and a tall, caped figure,” Xen said.

“I still do not like sending you two into this danger.” He stopped pacing, and his large head shook sadly.

“We will not be doing this alone,” Drago said confidently. “Our friends are very wise and strong.”

Zaatyr heaved a deep sigh, “Xen,we must go as you have summoned a meeting with the other dragons. They will want to know what visions you have seen.” Zaatyr headed out of the cave and down the passageway to the meeting area of the dragons.

“I am right behind you,” Xen said. She reached down and picked up the small box containing the Fataras. Gently, she placed it carefully in a niche in Zaatyr’s wall. “He will watch over you while I am gone.”

Drago and Xen followed Zaatyr down the sloping path to the open space on the floor of the mammoth cave. All the dragons came out of their dens and stood looking down into the immense chamber.

Zaatyr’s thoughts traveled with ease to all the dragons perched in front of their dwellings. He explained what was happening and how Drago and Xen were going to travel to Hawks Point and retrieve the Chan-Draa from the pirates.

“Why are you sending our Oracle?” a dragon asked.

“Will we not have need of her here?” another dragon asked.

“By sending her, it will leave us defenseless against any unforeseen acts of aggression.” yet, another dragon called out.

“I have a solution,” offered a familiar voice.

All the dragons stopped voicing their concerns. The unexpected visit of Byla, the former and very trusted Oracle, surprised everyone.

“I have listened, heard, and seen much of what has happened.” She was in her human form as she walked gracefully toward Zaatyr, Drago, and Xen. Her long, flowing black hair cascaded over her shoulder, and her dark, golden skin glistened in the light of the lava flowing deep in a crevice below. Large, dark-brown eyes held a steady gaze on Zaatyr. Sturdy, silvery opaque wings protruded from her back, and her floor-length white dress billowed out around her as she walked.

She stopped in front of Zaatyr as a white mist began to whirl around her and when it disappeared, she stood before everyone in her dragon form. She was beautiful by any standards. Her body was made of white, gold, and silver scales. The scales on her regal face were the color of deep bronze, and her eyes were bright gold. Black scales framed her face, falling just below her shoulders.

“Byla,” Zaatyr blurted out in surprise at the dragoness before him.

“I told you all before that I would be here if ever I was needed.” She relayed her message to all, never taking her eyes off King Zaatyr. “Xen contacted the Council of Oracles and explained the situation. I will remain until her return, but there has been a change in plans, dear Xen.” She slowly withdrew her eyes from Zaatyr to Xen.

“What change?” Xen asked.

“When you first came to us to explain that you were going to look for the Chan-Draa we were all a little wary of you going into the pirate strong hold. It was not until you were leaving that we saw something … something of great import.”

“What?” Drago asked impatiently.

“Xen is a Hydorth.”

Gasps filtered down from the dragons who had been listening to the conversation.

“I am a Hydorth?” Xen asked incredulously.

“Yes, my dear Xen,” Byla nodded to the stunned little dragoness.

“So, she can read or block mental thoughts without the dragon knowing they are being read,” Drago’s eyes widened.

Xen smiled and sent a message that only Drago could hear, “I would never read your mind, unless you asked me to do so.”

“Good,” Drago looked at Xen with relief written all over his face. “I mean, that is respectful of you.”

Byla spoke to Zaatyr and all the other dragons. “We have seen visions of great danger on this journey.”

“Yes, I have had those visions as well. But it is possible that I may be the only way for the Chan-Draa to escape.” Xen’s brows furrowed.

“We have seen much, and you will be where you are needed at the right time. There is still a master demon living in Mystovia. We know that he is planning much evil. We have seen him gathering his forces again.”

“Wait,” Drago spoke quickly. “Are you talking about the Zetche?”

“Yes,” Xen replied. “He was not destroyed in the battle. He has hidden away to regain his strength. The Zetche possesses a stone that gives him great power. I have seen danger awaiting those who are traveling together, both in the desert, and across the dark-gray waters.”

“Xen, indeed, is a great Oracle,” Byla cocked her head slightly toward Xen. “All that she has seen is true.”

“But I must help find the Chan-Draa,” Xen said only to Byla. “I have seen a vision.”

“You will be where you are needed at the right time. However, you must go on this journey without Drago. He will journey with those who need him most. The council has spoken.” Her thoughts only went to Xen.

“I have seen what I must do,” Xen nodded slowly as she spoke only to Byla. “I will listen to my vision and that of the Council.”

“You are a wise Oracle,” Byla smiled and then sent her thoughts to all the dragons in the chamber. “Drago must go on a mission that will take him and his friends deep into the forests. The other group will take the long journey into the desert. Both groups will cross the dark-gray waters. Treachery will unfold.”

“I see two great powers that will try to destroy all who go on this journey. It seems that the capture of our Chan-Draa is important to their plan on destroying the Aregas.” Xen spoke sadly.

“We Oracles have also seen a change coming. A surprising change of truly great import shall rest upon the wisdom and heart of one brave soul.” Byla’s thoughts reached all the listening dragons. “We are fortunate that with the help of the Sorceresses and Sorcerers, we have broken through the spell that blocked our visions.”

“We were to meet up with our friends at the base of the Arega Mountains. So, we must leave now and tell them of the change of plans.” Xen turned to Drago and only spoke to him. “Drago, please come with me.”

“Of course, I will,” he almost spoke indignantly.

“The meeting is over. Stay safe my fellow Aregas.” Zaatyr peered down at Drago and began talking to him. He let Byla and Xen hear his thoughts as well. “You are so young to be going on this quest.”

“As were you,” Byla winked at Zaatyr. They both shut everyone out of their thoughts as they continued their conversation.

“Yes, I do remember being quite impetuous when I was very, very young.” He grunted and shook his head.

“And, very, very brave … just like Drago.” She moved to Zaatyr’s side. “Come let us both see them off.”

The four dragons headed back to King Zaatyr’s lair in silence.

Zaatyr and Byla watched Drago and Xen fly into the sky and did not move or say a thing until they were out of their sight.

“I will be glad when this has all ended, and I can hear their laughter in the pure joy of just being young.”

“Yes, Zaatyr,” Byla studied the saddened King.

“You are, and always have been, a true friend, dear Byla.” Zaatyr looked over at her and admired not only her outer beauty but her inner beauty as well.

“Wyntheria, your mate and my sister, was the fairest Celestial in all our lands,” she said. “She gave up her stature as a great Oracle to be with you. And, in all the years you were together she said she never regretted it, not even once.”

“You and I have suffered great losses. Although the pain of her memory has diminished somewhat, the anger of how my mate and yours died will remain with me forever.” He looked down at one of his giant claws and growled.

“Yes, that is very true,” she said. “Now, you worry about Drago, but if I remember right, your other sons were just as feisty at that age.”

Zaatyr laughed. “Yes, they have all grown into magnificent leaders. I am very proud of them. They show no signs of jealousy toward their newest brother and welcomed him warmly into their lairs to meet their families.”

“Drago is a special dragon, Zaatyr.” Byla sat on her haunches and watched the clouds that drifted lazily in the blue sky. “I do not mean to say that your other sons are any less special.”

“I sense nothing to even indicate that,” he said, and then with anger. “At times I feel such rage over the senseless killing of our mates.”

“I feel your rage, my dear friend, let it pass. The dragons that killed them were destroyed.” She turned and walked back into the cave as he slowly followed.

“Of what visions do you see for Drago?” he asked somberly.

“The vision we saw of your son was a good vision. He will become a great leader of the Arega dragons.”

His head snapped up, “But things can change your visions. Is that not true?”

“Yes, things can change and sometimes they do – but let me tell you of this son you call Drago. Even at his young age, he has become a dragon to reckon with. As some things may change; his destiny will not be one of them.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“We have seen it written, heard it in the wind. He has powers that are greater than even he knows. We believe during the fight Wyntheria made Drago’s egg invisible so the attacking dragons could not see it, and her last act was to transfer all her powers to Drago. We know when he discovers them, he will use them wisely.”

“During the fight, Drago’s egg was knocked off the cliff and into the river below. That it survived at all is a great omen,” Zaatyr nodded his head slowly.

Byla looked into his eyes as she spoke. “Zaatyr, you are a great leader, and your son, Drago, shall do you proud.”

“He already does,” Zaatyr said. “I just wish his mother could see how wonderful he is.”

“Oh, trust me when I say Wyntheria knows. She knows. Listen to me, Zaatyr. We will speak of our mates passing today, but we shall never speak of it again – except to tell Drago. Do you agree?”

She looked over and saw his head give a slight nod. “Alright, we shall begin.” She took a deep breath and continued, “Wyntheria had landed as she always did high atop the mountain.She loved to bring Drago’s egg and look down into the valley feasting in its beauty. She would bring him there whenever she could so that she could tell him about our worlds. Somehow, the Spree dragons knew she would be there, and laid in wait for her.”

“I should have been there with her,” His gaze dropped to the cave floor.

“We were at war when you and I were called away to try to make peace with the Spree dragons. It was a ploy to pull us away; to distract us. The Spree wanted to strike at the heart of the Arega leaders; you and Wyntheria.”

“Why?’ he asked.

“The Spree dragons also have Oracles. We believe that one of their visions showed you, a great leader of the Aregas, who was smart, cunning, and fierce. And, to this great leader a son would be born, and he would become one of the greatest leaders the Aregas have ever known.”

Zaatyr’s face broke into a huge grin. Yes, I feel that too. Even my older sons feel something special about Drago.”