Princess of Lanfor E-Book

K. J. Fogleman

• Herausgeber: F. P. Spirit
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

An insane princess who wants to rule the world. A magical artifact of terrifying power. A deadly struggle to possess it.

A hundred and fifty years have passed since the Thrall Masters nearly destroyed the land of Thac. Now the key to their terrifying power has been found and everyone wants it, including the Princess of Lanfor. With her flying fortress & army of dragons who could say no to her?

As if that weren’t enough, the Serpent Cult is making one last desperate bid for power. They intend to unleash an ancient evil that could destroy the entire world.

From the depths of the Darkwoods to the hidden mountain stronghold of the dark cult, the young heroes face their most perilous challenges yet. Can they stand against the might of the nation of Lanfor? If so, can they stop an evil of horrific power from entering their world.

Leseprobe

Princess of Lanfor

The Heroes of Ravenford

Book 4

F.P. Spirit

K.J. Fogleman

Copyright @ 2018 F. P. Spirit

Cover Art by Jackson Tjota

Cover Typography by Amalia Chitulescu

Interior Design by Designs by Shannon

Edited by Sandra Nguyen

ISBN 978-1-7364377-0-4

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

Thanks to Tim for creating the world of Thac, and to Eric, Jeff, John, Mark and Matt for their roles in bringing the Heroes to life. Also, thanks to the rest of my friends and family who gave their time and support into the creation of this book.

Other Books in this Series

The Ruins on Stone Hill

The Serpent Cult

The Dark Monolith

The Princess of Lanfor

The Baron’s Heart

Contents

Map of Thac

1. A Wicked Wind

2. Dark Dreams

3. Enter the Dragoon

4. The Dragon Master

5. Green Dragons & Silver Tongues

6. Death from Above

7. Joy and Sorrow

8. Deepwood Sniper

9. Flight of Mercy

10. Stirring the Pot

11. To Track a Snake

12. Airship

13. A Picnic with the Princess

14. A Bunny Good Time

15. In the Wrong Hands

16. Beauty and the Beast

17. Colossal Destruction

18. A-Stealthing We Shall Go

19. Parting of Ways

20. Aboard the Wind Hammer

21. Love Is in the Air

22. Lost and Found

23. Twisted Sister

24. Under the Hammer

25. When Heroes Fall

26. Return to the Bendenwoods

27. Tall Tales

28. Ambush

29. Pawns of Fate

30. Night of Blood and Fire

31. Slaves of the Serpent

32. Lloyd vs. Cyclone

33. The Serpent Queen

34. Stone Cold Truth

35. Bad News Travels Fast

Story Continues

The Baron’s Heart Excerpt

Also by F.P.Spirit

Also by K.J. Fogleman

About F.P. Spirit

About K.J. Fogleman

There was not the only one Thrall Master—there were many, some lesser, some greater. Aside from the Golem Thrall Master, Larketh, there were three others who rose higher than the rest, and with their great powers of mind, enthralled veritable armies of minions. One of these great masters in particular was the Dragon Thrall Master. His identity lost to antiquity, he nonetheless had the power to bend the mightiest of creatures—dragons—to his will. His army was powerful and terrible, raining death and destruction across the land. No dragon could resist him with the exception of one, and yet that was his eventual undoing…

- Lady Lara Stealle, High Wizard of Penwick

1

A Wicked Wind

A great dark shape descended from above, and landed in the middle of the mists

The moon waxed a shade from full in the inky black sky, its soft glow washing over the forest, giving a silvery sheen to everything it touched. It was already deep into the night, the woods quiet except for the chirping of crickets, and the occasional whinny of a sleeping horse. A makeshift hitching post stood at the edge of a wide clearing, a dozen or so slumbering horses tethered to it.

A short distance away, a spike-pitched wooden fence had been hammered into the ground, erected around a small encampment. Inside the fence lay a ring of tents, all in a circle around a single large pavilion. The campfires had all but died down, nothing but dull red embers visible as the last bits of wood slowly burnt away. The camp’s occupants had bedded down for the night, a scant few sentries standing vigil over them.

Martan stood watch at the edge of the forest, near the head of the path that led into the woods. Tall trees encircled the glade, so close together that little was visible of the forest beyond. Even the silvery moonlight brought no cheer to those woods, twisted tree trunks and gnarled branches creating shapes that fueled the fearful imagination.

A wry smile crossed Martan’s lips. Hence the name Darkwoods.

The solitary archer spun away from the ominous trees, his eyes fixing on a tall black structure glistening in the moonlight far above him. The building rose well above the treetops, its dark silhouette framed by the inky, star-filled sky. Martan stared at the structure with awe, and perhaps a touch of fear.

TheDarkwoods Monolith.

The monolith had once been the stronghold of the Golem Thrall Master, Larketh, a wielder of great magic, unparalleled even to this day. The Thrall Masters, and all their works, were thought destroyed in the last great war, some hundred and fifty years ago. Yet earlier this week, the existence of the Golem Master’s monolith had been unearthed.

The Heroes of Ravenford had set out in search of the spire to stop the murderous Serpent Cult from gaining the Golem Master’s secrets. In the wrong hands, those secrets would spell certain doom for the island continent of Thac. It was a truly heroic undertaking, one in which Martan was certain he did not belong.

Martan Folke was a simple man, an archer and a tracker, not some hero like the tall warrior, Lloyd, or a knight akin to the valiant Dame Alana. Neither was he a wizard such as the tall elf, Glolindir, or an assassin similar to the halfling, Seth. He was certainly no agile swordsman like the slight elf, Donatello, nor did he carry a lightning sword as did the young shapeshifter, Ruka. He couldn’t even heal wounds in the manner of the little cleric, Aksel.

With the exception of his expertise in the woods, it was beyond Martan why he was even there. Nonetheless, he was here, and he faithfully took his turn at guard duty. Martan had only run away once in his life, and he had regretted it ever since.

A deep sigh escaped the lean archer’s lips. The past was the past.

Martan swept his eyes across the wide clearing—there was not much to do on watch. Despite the eeriness of the surrounding woods, the night was relatively quiet, the air cool, stars twinkling brightly in the crystal-clear sky. The scene would have been idyllic, if not for the sinister shadow of the dark monolith.

The Heroes, along with the Knights of the Rose, had reached the monolith by midday yesterday. After confirming that the cultists had gone inside, the Heroes went in after them, leaving the knights outside to stand watch. There had been no sign of either group till noon this day, when Glolindir, Donnie, and Ruka re-emerged. The trio had reported no trace of the cult, thus far finding only strange devices and deadly traps inside the Golem Master’s stronghold. After a short stay, the threesome returned to the monolith, carrying food back for the rest of their companions. There had been no sightings of the Heroes since, with the exception of the halfling, Seth.

Martan had not actually seen Seth, only hearing about his appearance later from the head knight of the encampment, Sir Craven. The Heroes had finally encountered the cultists, with only a single dark mage making an escape. Seth sought to track the mage back to his home base, so the cult could be uprooted once and for all. A knowing smile spread across Martan’s lips. If anyone could pull that off, it would be Seth.

The dour archer stood at his post, idly stroking his short-cropped beard, when out of nowhere, he was hit by a cold gust of wind. Martan shivered involuntarily, slapping his arms together to abate the sudden chill. He glanced upward, half expecting to see storm clouds rolling in, but the night sky remained absolutely clear.

Martan’s brow furrowed into deep ridges. That’s strange.

The tracker suddenly froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The forest around him had gone deathly silent. He cocked his head to one side and strained his ears, but not a sound came from the surrounding woods, not even the chirping of crickets. Something was definitely amiss. Nearby, the horses fidgeted against their reins, whinnying nervously as if they, too, sensed something wrong. Martan squinted into the dark forest, but saw nothing, not even down the trail that he guarded. The horses grew more anxious as the seconds passed, whinnying louder and prancing around nervously.

Martan spun slowly around, his keen eyes sweeping both the forest and the clearing, yet still he saw nothing. That was when Martan heard it—a loud hissing noise from somewhere above. He snapped his head back just in time to see the moon and stars disappear from the sky. A strange cloud had appeared out of nowhere, completely blotting out everything overhead.

Martan’s jaw dropped. Where in the world did that come from?

The tracker’s eyes remained glued to that cloud, watching in astonishment as it billowed out in all directions. Then the treetops disappeared, and Martan realized the cloud was falling—in mere seconds, it would envelope the camp. Perhaps it was just some strange natural phenomena, but with the knights depending on him, did he really want to take that chance? Deciding to err on the side of caution, Martan cupped his hands together, and screamed as loud as he could, “To arms! To arms!”

Similar shouts echoed from all corners of the encampment, Martan’s cry spurring the other sentries to action. The camp immediately stirred in response, armored men and women spilling out of their tents just moments before the strange mist settled upon them. The fog swiftly fell across the camp, people and tents alike now nothing more than dark shapes in the mist. An acrid smell reached Martan’s nostrils just as the first screams started. The dark forms cried out in pain, flailing their weapons wildly in all directions, as if the very mists were attacking them.

Martan’s eyes went wide with horror. Is there something in the mist? Or is it the fog itself?

The archer swept his gaze around, frantically looking for an answer, when his eyes fell on two small forms next to the nearest tent. That had to be Syndir and Lamorn, the two squires who had befriended him over these last few days. The young men screamed in anguish, waving around violently in all directions, yet Martan saw nothing around them. It must be the mist.

Martan now realized he couldn’t help the others, but he would not abide the boys’ suffering. Without another thought, he vaulted into the mists, pulling up his hood and scarf as he went. The damp fog caressed the exposed parts of his skin, and within seconds it began to burn. Martan bit down a cry, still plunging toward the beset boys.

As luck would have it, they had turned his way, the smart lads making for the safety of the forest. Martan reached them moments later, throwing an arm around each, and dragging them the rest of the way out of the mists. The three of them broached the edge of the fog, and fell to the ground panting with exhaustion, yet their exposed skin still burnt with pain. Martan ripped off his scarf, and wiped himself off, then swiftly did the same for the boys. Moments later, their skin dried, all three of them sighed with relief.

“Is that you, Mart...” the one boy began.

“Shhhh,” Martan hissed. He did not know what spawned the deadly cloud, but he had a dreadful suspicion. He grasped the two boys by the neck, pulled them close, and whispered, “Free the horses and get away into the forest.”

“But…” the other boy interrupted him.

“No buts,” Martan hissed sharply. “Stay hidden until I come for you. Understand?”

Both boys nodded. They swiftly got up and rushed toward the horses, the mounts thankfully still outside the burning mist. With the squires safe, Martan turned his attention back to the fog. The painful screams of the people inside were suddenly overshadowed by a bone-shuddering roar. Martan watched in horror as a great dark shape descended from above, and landed in the middle of the mists. Sharp gusts accompanied the ominous silhouette, swiftly dissipating the deadly fog. Pale moonlight seeped through the thin remains of the mist, illuminating the large figure. Martan’s eyes went wide, his worst fears confirmed.

A dragon!

The great beast had landed in the middle of the camp, directly atop the pavilion. The thin structure now lay flattened on the ground under four large clawed feet, no match for the dragon’s massive weight. Martan gulped, a lump sticking in his throat. The great beast was a terrifying sight to behold. It dwarfed the large tent, easily fifty feet long from its massive head to the tip of its long, sinuous tail. The dragon had landed in a crouch, its belly low to the ground, powerful legs taut beneath that thick, muscular torso. The great, bat-like wings were partially folded back, the dragon’s tail twitching, as the large head whipped around on its long, snake-like neck.

Loud squeals and nickers had been echoing across the clearing since the dragon’s first roar. Back at the hitching post, Syndir and Lamorn wrestled with the horses’ reins, desperately trying to cut them without getting trampled. At the same time, across the campsite, a small group of men and women had miraculously survived. In the midst of them stood the dark-bearded Sir Craven, tall and unflinching, like a rock in the storm. Holy sword in one hand, shield in the other, he faced the great dragon and shouted to his remaining troops, “Stand fast! You are Knights of the Rose!”

Abruptly, the great head turned toward the knight, large, serpent-like eyes fixing upon him. A deep, menacing growl emanated from the beast, sending an involuntary shiver up Martan’s spine. The dragon regarded the knights for a few moments, then slowly reared up to its full height. Martan’s breath caught in his throat. The dragon was incredibly large—its long legs raising the massive torso twice the height of a man. Yet that swan-like neck, lifted the great head more than double that height.

Martan was stunned, his eyes nearly popping out of his head, as they swept across the great beast’s body. In the pale moonlight, he could not tell the dragon’s color, but he did notice dark spots speckled here and there across its torso. Leathery plates ran up the sides of the neck all the way to the giant head, the head itself crowned with a tall crest that ran all the way down the dragon’s spine. The beast had no outer ears, but there was a ridge of horns over each of those great eyes. The dragon’s head ended in a long snout with a heavily curved jawline, its large mouth filled with a row of wicked, dagger-like teeth. A slender forked tongue flicked in and out of the dragon’s mouth, as it glared down at the remaining men and women.

Martan knew his arrows would be no good against the scales of a dragon, and he was terrible with a sword. Yet he knew, from his days in Deepwood, that the best way to fight any enemy was to gain the high ground. There was a tall tree at the edge of the clearing twice the height of the dragon. Martan now made for that tree, keeping one eye on the great beast. He had almost reached the base when the dragon reared its head back, and with a loud hiss, let loose a stream of liquid directly at the remaining knights. The fluid engulfed them all, those brave men and women completely disappearing from sight.

Martan felt the blood drain from his face, not sure anything could survive such a terrible onslaught. After what seemed like forever, the dragon finally stopped, the stream of liquid fading as it drew back its head once more. One lone figure now stood where those last knights had been—Sir Craven glared up at the dragon, his face a mask of rage. He pointed his sword at the foul creature and screamed, “I’ll send you to hell for that, you filthy beast!”

Martan drew in a deep breath and forced himself to start climbing. Sir Craven was certainly brave, but he was no match for that dragon alone. If Martan could just climb high enough, he might be able to plant an arrow in the dragon’s eye. It was a long shot, but it was the only chance he had of helping the valiant knight.

Below him, Sir Craven advanced on the dragon, sword and shield at ready. Martan wasn’t sure if it was the bravest, or the dumbest, thing he’d ever seen—perhaps it was a bit of both. The determined archer redoubled his efforts, climbing as fast as he could, when something large passed overhead, blotting out the moon and stars. Martan froze in place as the moonlight returned, illuminating the huge form that had flown over him. It was a second great dragon, its vast wings sending gusts of wind across the clearing as it landed right next to the first.

Martan suddenly began to shake, his entire body gripped with fear. This second dragon dwarfed the first, nearly twice the size! Sir Craven had stopped his advance—despite the impossible odds, the valiant knight did not appear afraid. Instead, he adjusted his stance to face both dragons, and cried out a challenge. “You may indeed kill me, foul beasts, but I promise it will cost you dearly!”

The first dragon started to advance on the lone knight, but then a strange thing happened. The larger dragon lunged in front of it, and growled at the first dragon menacingly. The smaller dragon froze in its tracks, yet did not back off, emitting a low growl of its own. For the first time, Martan noticed a rider on the huge dragon’s back, seated just above those vast wings. The rider appeared to be an armored knight, dressed in full plate similar to that of Sir Craven and Dame Alana, but with one glaring exception—this knight’s armor was totally black. It glistened dully in the pale moonlight, making it very hard to see the wearer. The black knight turned its horned helm toward the first dragon, and with a negligent wave of his hand, dismissed the fearsome creature. To Martan’s great surprise, the dragon immediately obeyed, backing away from the knight, head bowed and tail between its legs. With the first dragon out of the way, the dark knight spun around in his saddle, turning his attention back to Sir Craven.

Sir Craven had not lowered his guard, instead eyeing the other knight with caution. He shouted up to him, “If you intend this to be a fair fight, you’ll come down and face me man to man!”

The strange knight’s mount began to growl, but immediately stopped at another wave of its rider’s hand. The black knight regarded Sir Craven quietly for a few moments, then responded in an almost unearthly voice. “It would not be a fair fight either way.”

Before Sir Craven could answer, the dark knight waved a hand at him. The valiant Knight of the Rose abruptly crumpled to the ground in a heap. Martan’s mouth fell open—the knight had felled Sir Craven without so much as lifting a sword. He had to be some sort of caster, but Martan doubted that even Glolindir could have done that to the valiant knight.

Martan watched in astonishment as the rider spurred his mount over to the fallen knight. The huge dragon reached down, and with surprising gentleness, scooped up Sir Craven, carefully cradling him in its front claws. The creature’s vast wings then spread apart, and with a few large beats, lifted into the air. As the huge dragon slowly rose higher, its dark rider called down to the first dragon. “Guard this monolith. Let no one in or out until I return.”

With those final words, the huge dragon rose above the treetops, and with a great beat of its wings, took off, swiftly disappearing into the night sky.

2

Dark Dreams

There was fighting… and a lot of blood… The knights were not winning…

Glolindir Eodin woke with a start. He hadn’t exactly been asleep, more like in a waking trance, as was the way of Elves. Yet something had roused him from that peaceful state—a strange sound that didn’t belong there. The young wizard pushed himself up onto his elbows, casting a quick glance around.

Everything appeared peaceful. He was in a wide chamber, an expansive rug across the floor beneath him, and several chairs spread about. A long couch sat a short distance away, in front of a small fireplace, the warm glow of its golden fire dimly illuminating the otherwise darkened room. A translucent crystal statue of an elf-maiden stood next to the hearth, holding up a tray in one hand. The only other source of light came from the stairwell, where a solitary figure stood guard.

Glo immediately recognized the tall, broad-shouldered young man in red armor with a shock of tousled brown hair—it was Lloyd, one of his closest companions since he had ventured here to the east coast of Thac. The young warrior seemed relaxed, unaware of whatever noise Glo had heard. The elven wizard sat up further, squinting his eyes as he swept them across the large chamber.

Most of his friends lay around that room, the little gnome, Aksel, curled up into the soft cushions of a plush chair, his white robes pulled tight around him, and his copper-colored hair glowing red in the firelight. Across from Aksel, his fellow elves, Donnie and Elladan, lay stretched out at either end of that long, comfy couch. Donnie, the smaller of the two, had the lighter complexion capped with a mop of sandy blonde hair. He lay sleeping soundly in his leather pants and white puffy shirt, his brown leather vest and knee high boots lay strewn on the floor next to the sofa. Elladan’s boots and cloak also lay by the couch, the elven bard curled up into a mound of pure white except for the neatly combed head of jet-black hair that adorned his decidedly handsome face.

On the floor beside Glo lay the lovely seeress, Elistra, her long blonde tresses down for once, as she snuggled into her warm blankets. The seeress had doffed her black and red cap decorated with yellow stars, as well as her black stockings and boots, sleeping only in her red skirt and short black and red top. Deep creases furrowed into Glo’s brow as he gazed around the quiet room. Nothing appeared out of place. The door to the next room lay open, the young elf’s keen eyes fixing on a large four-poster bed where Alana and Ruka slept. The lady knight had stuck by the young teen’s side ever since she had been poisoned.

Poisoned…

The thought brought yesterday’s events rushing to the forefront of Glo’s mind. The small company had finally made it past the numerous traps and puzzles that riddled the Darkwoods Monolith, only to be confronted with an astonishing find. A huge cavern lay hidden beneath the sub-basement, containing a weapon of unparalleled magnitude—a colossal stone golem, stretching to an incredible height of nearly seventy feet. No sooner had the companions made this amazing discovery, than the Serpent Cult reared its ugly head.

During the deadly battle that ensued, Ruka was forced to reveal her true form—the teen shape-shifter was in reality a young bronze dragon. The party won out in the end, but their victory did not come without a price. Ruka had been severely poisoned. Yet thanks to Aksel’s ministrations, and a strange karmic bond that Elistra had forged between Ruka and Donnie, the young teen’s condition had stabilized. Still, the toxins remained in her system, taking a toll on her strength.

“Nooo…”

The soft moan caused Glo to spin around, his eyes fixing on Elistra. The seeress was still asleep, but her brow was knit together, her expression almost d. “Nooo…” she moaned softly once more.

Glo reached over and gently shook the sleeping seeress. All of a sudden, she shot up out of her blankets and screamed, “Nooo!”

The entire room came awake, the overhead lights magically flaring to life in response to the loud shriek. Glo grabbed Elistra by the arms, and spun her toward him. Her violet eyes were glazed over, as if she were in some kind of trance. Glo, now extremely worried, shook her and called out her name. “Elistra! Elistra! Are you alright?”

Her violet eyes turned toward him, finally coming into focus. Elistra stared wide-eyed at him, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Glo…it was terrible.” She threw her arms around him, and buried her head into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

Glo gently stroked her long, lustrous hair, and cooed to her softly. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe.” Glo abruptly remembered they were not alone. Aksel, Donnie, Elladan and Lloyd stood over them, wearing expressions of curiosity and concern.

“What happened?” Aksel asked in a quiet voice.

Glo slowly shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

“What’s going on out here?” a familiar voice called from across the room.

Glo peered past the others to see Alana standing in the doorway to the bedroom, the statuesque lady knight dressed only in the form-fitting garments that she wore under her armor, her holy sword grasped firmly in one hand. Alana’s brow was furrowed under her striking head of fiery-orange hair, her deep brown eyes sweeping around the room. A bleary-eyed Ruka trailed behind her, the young teen barefoot, but still wearing her dark leather tunic. She gingerly rubbed the sleep from her emerald green eyes, and peered out from under her shoulder-length, sandy-blonde hair. “Yeah. What’s all the screaming about?”

Donnie turned to face the duo, and replied in a soft tone, “We’re not sure. Elistra suddenly started screaming.”

Alana and Ruka came over to join them, the lady knight placing a gentle hand on Elistra’s shoulder. Even the usually aloof Ruka eyed her with concern. Elistra slowly lifted her head and looked up at Alana. “I’m… I’m alright.” Her eyes shifted back to Glo, still brimming with tears. “Thank you,” she said, attempting a smile, then gently sat back and wiped the moisture from her eyes.

This mysterious woman had firmly captured Glo’s heart, which now ached to see her so distraught. He spoke to her in a gentle tone. “Was it a dream?”

Elistra responded with a short nod. “More like a nightmare.”

“Oh,” was all Glo said, but he implicitly understood how she felt. Elistra, being a seeress, would sometimes get visions of the future. Sometimes those glimpses came to her in dreams. Glo himself had some experience with that, and he knew how overwhelming it could be. The tall elf got up on his knees, placing one arm around Elistra’s shoulder, the other sweeping under her legs. He then lifted her up and carried her over to the couch. She seemed surprised at first, but then rested her head on his shoulder, gazing up at him with a grateful smile. Glo gently put Elistra down and sat on the sofa next to her.

Alana and the others followed, the lady knight covering the seeress with her blanket. Elistra peered up at Alana gratefully, then sat back and laid her head on Glo’s shoulder, pulling the blankets close around her body. Donnie handed her a cup of water, which she gratefully accepted, taking a small sip before handing it back. Once she was settled down, Glo spoke to her in a quiet voice. “Why don’t you tell us about it?”

Elistra glanced up at him and nodded, then sat up and swept her eyes around the room. Everyone was gathered nearby, either on the floor, or in those comfy chairs, listening intently as the seeress described her dream. “I’m not quite sure where to begin... There were many images, some jumbled, some crystal clear… but one image was prominent throughout… a large… green… dragon…”

Ruka let out a soft hiss. All eyes turned toward the young teen. She peered back, the corner of her mouth rising. “Never really liked green dragons. They talk way too much.”

Elistra cocked her head to one side, and squinted at the teen. “Trust me, in my dream it wasn’t doing much talking.”

Ruka responded with a casual shrug of her shoulders. “When greens aren’t talking, they like to fight. Doesn’t take much to set them off. Even reds aren’t as bad as greens… well at least not in that respect.”

Glo arched an eyebrow. He was aware that none of the chromatic dragons were friendly, but this type of insight was not well known outside the dragon community.

Elistra gave the young teen a weak smile and continued. “As I was saying, there was a large green dragon… and there were knights. There was fighting… and a lot of blood…” Her voice fell to almost a whisper. “The knights were not winning…”

Glo felt Elistra shudder next to him. He put an arm around her, and pulled her close. Alana, a dark look upon her face, leaned forward, her tone grim. “Did you recognize any of the knights?”

Elistra met Alana’s gaze, the two women locking eyes. “I’m not sure. One may have looked a little like Sir Craven.”

Alana stood up and retrieved her nearby sword. “That does it! I’m going to check on my men.”

“Wait!” Elistra cried, holding a hand up in front of her. “There’s more.”

Alana had started for her room, most likely to retrieve her armor, but halted, spinning around to face the seeress. Elistra’s eyes took on a faraway look. “There was one more knight… a man in blue armor… I can’t see his face… but he drove the dragon off.”

Alana’s expression was positively grim. “What about the other knights?”

Elistra slowly shook her head. “I’m not sure.”

“Then I’m going to see for myself,” Alana stated determinedly, her eyes afire as they swept across the group, daring anyone to challenge her decision.

“I’ll go with you,” Lloyd declared firmly, striding over to stand next to the lady knight.

“I’ll come, too,” Donnie said, standing up as well.

Alana held up a hand, her eyes still ablaze, yet her tone understanding. “I appreciate the offer, but you’re still weary from that karmic bond. I think it better if you wait here.”

“I agree,” Aksel said, before anyone else could speak.

“But…” Donnie began.

Elladan grabbed his fellow elf’s shoulder, and strode around in front of him. “Don’t worry, Donnie. I’ll make sure the two of them stay out of trouble.”

Mixed emotions played across Donnie’s face, but then a thin smile won out over them. “That’s all well and fine, but then who’s going to watch you?”

Elladan chuckled softly, but Aksel interrupted him before he could answer. The little cleric gazed at Alana, his eyes filled with compassion. “I would offer to come as well, but it is probably best for Glo and me to prepare our spells for the day. We will be better able to help you if we have all of them readied.”

Alana gave the little cleric a nod. “No doubt. And do not worry. We will only do reconnaissance for now, but I must know if my men are alright.”

Aksel gave her a short nod. “Understood.”

Alana shifted her gaze from Lloyd to Elladan. “Just give me a few minutes to throw on my chain-mail.” The duo both gave her a brief nod, then the lady knight marched off to the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

Ruka, still looking thoroughly exhausted, threw herself down on the couch next to Glo and Elistra. A loud yawn escaped her lips, followed by a few fading words as she drifted off back to sleep. “Wake me when… they get… back…”

Elistra reached over and covered the young teen with her blanket, then shifted her gaze back to Glo. “Maybe you should check with Raven before they head out?”

Glo had, in fact, just been thinking the same thing, and told Elistra as much. A genuine smile graced her lips for the first time since she had awakened. She winked at him and said, “Didn’t you know I was a mind reader?”

Glo gave her a wry smile, then closed his eyes, emptying his mind. Raven was Glo’s familiar—she had come to him when he started studying magic, some forty years ago. Glo had a special bond with the black bird, and could detect her feelings from over a mile away. It was both a blessing and a curse, Glo sometimes experiencing emotions for no apparent reason, only later finding that they were actually from his familiar. Yet now for some reason, he felt nothing from Raven. Glo redoubled his efforts, but to no avail. After a few more minutes of trying, the young wizard finally opened his eyes, and let out a deep sigh.

Elistra grabbed his hand, and gazed up at him questioningly. “Is something wrong?”

Glo looked at her and shrugged, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “I can’t feel anything from Raven. Either she flew off away from the monolith, or all these layers of stone above us are somehow blocking our link.”

Elistra cocked her head to one side, her lovely brow creasing. “Any chance that huge anti-magic field around the colossus could be interfering with it?”

Glo raised an eyebrow as he mulled it over. “I guess it’s possible. I won’t know for certain, though, until we head back upstairs.”

Elistra placed a soft hand on the side of his head, and gently stroked his hair. “Later. Right now, you need to prepare your spells, as Aksel said.”

Glo gave her a brief smile, then grabbed her hand and kissed it. “You are right, as usual.”

Just then, the bedroom door flung open, and Alana strode out, garbed in chainmail, her white tabard with a red rose draped over it. Her eyes swept from Lloyd to Elladan. “Ready?” The duo both nodded. “Good. Then let’s go.”

Alana marched purposely to the stairwell, Lloyd and Elladan in her wake. Donnie followed as well, catching the lady knight at the bottom of the stairs. He caught Alana by the arm, the lady knight spinning around to face him. She seemed annoyed at first, but her face swiftly softened as she saw the look in Donnie’s eyes. He flashed her a brilliant smile, and said, “Good luck up there. Please be careful.”

Alana responded with a warm smile. “Thanks Donnie. We will. I promise.”

The slender elf let her go and stepped back. Alana motioned for the others to follow, then swiftly disappeared up the winding stairwell that led to the cavern above. Donnie watched them go, then took up a guard position at the bottom of the stairs.

Glo shifted his gaze to Elistra and whispered, “Any idea what they’ll find up there?”

Elistra wore a worried frown, as she whispered back, “Yes. That’s what frightens me.”

3

Enter the Dragoon

Who in his right mind would hunt such a ferocious beast?

Martan believed in the gods, he just didn’t think they necessarily listened to, or cared about, ordinary folk like himself. Still, when he needed to pray, his prayers would go to the goddess Synopei. He supposed it was a throwback to his days in Deepwood, that his prayers would go to the goddess of the hunt. Yet that didn’t really matter right now, for Martan could think of nothing else that would help other than prayer.

All the Knights of the Rose were gone, deserted by their god, Cormar. Once the greater dragon had winged away, the large dragon had disappeared as well, slinking off into the forest. Martan had been amazed that something so big could move so quietly, but he wasn’t stupid, either—he knew the great dragon hadn’t gone far. It was hunting in the surrounding woods, looking for survivors.

Martan had feared for the young squires, Syndir and Lamorn, and prayed fervently that the dragon would not find them. Thankfully, it had not. Martan had heard the loud cry of a horse suddenly silenced somewhere off in the woods. A short while later, the great dragon returned with an equine carcass in its large jaws. The foul creature re-entered the clearing, parked itself in front of the monolith, and proceeded to feast on the spoils of its hunt.

Martan watched unmoving from his perch, waiting until the great beast was done and had apparently drifted off to sleep. Just prior to sunrise, the wind began to shift. Martan was forced to finally move, the need to stay downwind of the large predator paramount. He carefully climbed his way down the tree, and circled around the outskirts of the clearing, one eye always on the great dragon. Thankfully, the creature did not move. Just as the sun rose, Martan found a relatively safe spot under a thick hedge of brambles, near the head of the trail that led out of the clearing. He had just been deliberating what to do next, when the man in blue first appeared.

Martan was amazed. He hadn’t heard a thing, the blue-clad figure moved so stealthily. Martan barely caught a glimpse of him, the man keeping well to the trees only a short distance from where he lay. Whoever he was, he appeared to be stalking the dragon. Martan was incredulous. Who in his right mind would hunt such a ferocious beast?

The figure shifted slightly, affording Martan a better view. The man wasn’t that tall, perhaps a shade shorter than Martan. From this angle, he could just see his face, long brown hair covering most of it, but the man appeared young, probably not much older than Lloyd.

This young man was lean, but muscular, garbed in a blue knee-length sleeveless tunic, a studded belt around his waist, loose beige pants tucked inside brown boots, and a pair of brown gloves. A tarnished steel armguard sat on his right shoulder, his right arm wrapped with a matching steel wristband, and his left arm with a similar bracer. A matching set of dull steel greaves covered his legs all the way up to the knees. There was a large tattoo on his bare left shoulder in the shape of a dragon’s head.

The warrior carried a wickedly sharp spear with a deadly-looking curved axe head near the top of the shaft. Martan had never seen that kind of weapon before, but he had heard of them—it was called a halberd.

Martan was not typically trusting of strangers, or anyone for that matter, but the circumstances were dire. He extricated himself from the brush, careful not to make any sound, then stole his way over to the man in blue. Martan silently approached the blue-clad warrior, from an angle where he was sure to be seen. The last thing he needed to do was startle the young man. That would spell certain death for the both of them. To his credit, the young warrior didn’t even flinch when he saw Martan, merely responding with a slight nod. Martan replied by signaling for the young man to follow him, then carefully led him away, back into the woods.

Martan kept silent until they were a good half mile into the forest, then called for a halt, spinning to face the young man. The blue-clad warrior held that wicked-looking spear in one hand, his face a stony mask. Martan was taken aback for a moment—the warrior seemed awfully young for such a grim expression. He silently wondered what had befallen this youth that had made him so serious. When the young man spoke, there was a sharp edge to his voice. “What do you want?”

The curt response caught Martan by surprise. He eyed the youth warily as he replied. “You wouldn’t by any chance be hunting that dragon?”

The young man’s eyes narrowed as he glared at him intently. “What does it look like I was doing? Of course I was hunting the dragon.”

Martan’s eyes went wide. So he is crazy.

Before he could respond, the young man nodded his head back toward the clearing. “What happened back there?”

Martan paused before answering, not sure he trusted this grim young man, but then decided there was no use in keeping it secret at this point. He described the dragon’s attack on his camp, the appearance of the greater dragon and its rider, and the black knight’s orders before taking off. The young man listened intently, not interrupting the entire time. When Martan finished, he finally spoke. “Never heard of anyone ordering a dragon around, especially not an adult green.”

Martan shrugged in response. “I don’t know much about dragons, but I was as surprised as you.”

The young warrior eyes narrowed. “Dragons don’t hang around for no reason. What’s inside that monolith that it wants?”

Martan let out a short sigh. “My friends—they went in the day before, chasing after this group of evil magicians.”

The young man frowned for the first time since Martan had met him. “Evil magicians? Are you sure they’re still alive?”

Martan responded with a short nod. “They’re alive. They’re a pretty resourceful group.”

The man in blue spun around and peered through the woods back toward the monolith. After a moment or two, he spoke to Martan without turning around. “Do you think they’d be any good in a dragon fight?”

Martan’s eyes widened, all sorts of alarm bells going off in his head. This guy really is crazy… but then again it is probably going to come down to that anyway. The dragon certainly isn’t leaving anytime soon.

“I can’t say for certain—though I have seen them make short work of a bunch of large serpents.”

The young man, still turned away from him, was silent for a few moments. Finally, he spoke again. “How large?”

Martan thought back briefly to the battle at Ravenford Keep. There were several large serpents there. Most of them were a good two heads taller than Lloyd, and the last one was two heads taller than that. Martan knew a bit about snakes—they could only rear up the first third of their body. Based on that, he estimated the serpents’ size.

“Between twenty-five and thirty feet long.”

The young man responded with a curt nod. “That’ll do.”

He began to stride forward, motioning for Martan to follow. “Let’s go pay a visit to your friends.”

Martan stared after the man in blue incredulously. “And just how are we going to do that with the dragon in the way?”

“That won’t be a problem,” the young man said without stopping to look at him.

Martan spiked an eyebrow. Yup, definitely crazy—and I must be nuts to follow him.

Still, the others needed to be warned about the dragon before it was too late. If there was any chance of getting past it, Martan supposed they would need to try. The dour archer let out a deep sigh and took off after the man in blue. “Wait for me!”

A short while later, Martan was positioned under a row of bushes at the north end of the clearing. The man in blue had told him to wind his way around there, and wait for his signal. Martan still thought him crazy, but the truth was, he really didn’t have any choice.

The large green dragon had not moved, still apparently asleep, its great head facing the entrance to the monolith. A few minutes went by until the blue-clad warrior silently entered the clearing. Martan watched incredulously as the young man walked straight toward the dragon, stopping maybe thirty feet from it, in a wide stance with his left foot forward. Weapon held firmly in his right hand, he peered at the creature over his left shoulder and called out, “I know you’re not asleep.”

His statement was met with a deep rumbling that reverberated throughout the clearing. Martan arched an eyebrow in disbelief. The dragon is laughing?

The great head lifted and spun around on the long neck to face the blue-clad warrior. Unexpectedly, the dragon spoke in the common tongue, its voice a deep, rumbling baritone. “Heh, heh. And what do we have here? A little man playing hero?”

The young warrior stared grimly at the dragon, appearing completely confident in its fearsome presence. “Oh, I’m no hero. I’m something far worse.”

The dragon laughed again, the ominous sound sending shivers up Martan’s spine. “Hmmm… something worse? Should I be quaking in my boots?”

The dragon suddenly reared up, and slowly spun its large body around, still crouching low to the ground. Its large head jutted out on the long neck, stopping maybe ten feet from the young warrior. “So then, little man, tell me… are you impressed with what you see?”

The young man let out a deep sigh. “Typical dragon. Are you going to talk me to death, or are we going to fight already?”

The dragon did not laugh this time. The serpent-like eyes fixed on the young warrior, the large creature baring a deadly row of dagger-like teeth. “Interesting. If you are really so eager to die, then who am I to stop you?”

Without warning, the dragon’s head shot forward, its mouth opening wide as it sped toward the young warrior. Martan thought him a goner for sure, but at the last possible second, the blue warrior leaped high into the air, narrowly avoiding the dragon’s jaws. The dragon’s great maw snapped shut on thin air, causing the creature to momentarily flinch.

The young warrior landed a few yards back with a loud cry. “Now!”

Martan immediately spurred into action, jumping from underneath the brush, and taking off at a dead run for the monolith. The dragon swiftly recovered, its serpent-like eyes fixing solely on the figure in blue. The creature’s voice rumbled across the clearing. “You’re pretty quick for a squishy little fleshling…”

The dragon paused a moment. When it spoke again, its tone was extremely menacing. “…though I wonder if you can outrun my breath?”

As the great creature finished speaking, its large maw opened wide and began to draw in air. Yet the blue warrior seemed unfazed by the dragon’s threat. He answered the creature in a tone as cold as ice. “I don’t run from anything.”

Without warning, the young man charged forward, his wicked-looking halberd pointing straight at the dragon’s head. His brazen move must have taken the beast by surprise—it suddenly stopped inhaling, its dark eyes fixed on the crazed figure rushing toward it.

About ten paces from the dragon’s snout, the blue warrior suddenly leapt forward high into the air, straight over the head of the stunned creature. At the last moment, the great beast lifted its head and snapped at the young man, but it was too late. The warrior had already vaulted over its head, landing on the dragon’s neck.

Martan had raced like mad to reach the monolith’s entrance, yet he halted there, staring in wonder at the sight of the young man racing at incredible speed down the dragon’s back. The great head swiveled around and followed the warrior, snapping violently at him. Yet whenever those jaws came too close, the man in blue would just leap out of the way. As soon as he reached the dragon’s tail, the young warrior took a huge leap off its back, straight for where Martan stood. His grim eyes fixed on the frozen tracker, a shout erupting from his lips. “Run, you fool!”

The irate cry spurred Martan into motion. The dour tracker spun around on his heel and dashed into the monolith, the darkness within quickly enveloping him.

When Alana, Lloyd, and Elladan reached the top of the monolith, it was already daylight outside. Alana led the way to the window facing east, and peered out over the edge. The lady knight let out a short gasp—down in the clearing, the camp was in shambles, pieces of tent lay shredded and scattered, the spike-pitched fence mostly flattened, the troops nowhere to be seen.

Lloyd stood next to Alana, just as surprised as she to see the wreckage below. He placed a comforting arm around her shoulder and said, “I’m sorry, Alana.”

Alana glanced up at him, tears brimming in her eyes. She quickly brushed the tears away, and set her jaw. “They were brave men and woman—willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good. Their names will not go unspoken, nor their lives unavenged.”

Lloyd smiled grimly at the lady knight. “I would like a hand in that.”

Elladan nudged Lloyd in the side. The young man shifted his gaze to the bard questioningly. Elladan pointed a finger straight down the side of the monolith. “Look down there, directly below us.”

Lloyd followed the bard’s finger. A large green mound sat on the ground directly below them. It had been easy to miss, the way it blended in with the grass surrounding the monolith. Lloyd squinted his eyes—the mound slowly grew and shrank. It was a rhythmic motion, like… breathing. Lloyd looked all over the strangely moving mound. There were a couple of sections that, when traced out, looked just like wings. Lloyd shifted his gaze to Alana. “I think we’ve found the object of our vengeance.”

Alana nodded, her expression stony. “I see it as well. By Cormar, I swear, before this day is over, my blade will taste dragon blood.”

“As will mine,” Lloyd agreed.

“Hold on there, you two,” Elladan interrupted them. Lloyd took a step back, so that both he and Alana could face the bard. Elladan’s gaze shifted from Alana to Lloyd and back again, his expression keenly sympathetic, yet his eyes filled with concern. “I realize the loss you just suffered, but I’m not sure, even with all of us combined, that we can stand against an adult green dragon.”

Alana’s eyes narrowed as she stared intently at the bard, her reply strained at best. “I cannot let such a vile act go unpunished. It is against everything I stand for.”

Elladan put his hands on his hips and returned her steely gaze, unflinching. “What good will that do if you’re dead?”

The two of them stood there staring at each other, neither batting an eye. The tension in the air was so thick, it was almost palpable. Alana finally broke the silence. “If I die, then so be it. At least it will be for what I believe in.”

Lloyd stood there the entire time with his arms folded across his chest. He implicitly understood both sides of the argument. Elladan was concerned for the lives of his friends, while Alana felt compelled to stand up for her beliefs. They were both right, and yet, his own beliefs were similar to Alana’s. His gaze shifted back and forth between the two, when his eye caught a hint of movement down in the clearing below. “Look down there, over by the treeline.”

Alana and Elladan followed Lloyd’s gaze, just in time to see a man step out of the trees and approach the green dragon. The warrior wore a blue tunic and carried a long spear. Alana’s mouth fell open, her tone hushed. “Could that be the blue knight from Elistra’s dream?”

They all watched incredulously as the man in blue strode up to the dragon, stopped, and called out to the creature. The dragon responded by lifting its head, spinning it around to face the man. A short exchange took place, the man purposely trying to antagonize the dragon. The dragon then got up and shifted its entire body to face the man.

“He must have a death wish,” Elladan murmured quietly.

There was another short exchange, then abruptly the dragon lunged at the warrior. The large creature was surprisingly fast, but the man was faster. At the last second, he leaped out the way, the dragon cleanly missing him. The warrior landed a short distance away and cried out, “Now!” Yet instead of turning and running, he stood his ground. The dragon momentarily flinched, but then quickly recovered.

“He’s going to get himself killed,” Elladan cried, his voice rising an octave.

Lloyd glanced at Alana, their eyes meeting for a brief moment, then the young warrior spun around and rushed toward the stairs. Alana was right behind him.

“Not if we can help it!” Lloyd cried over his shoulder.

“Wait!” Elladan shouted after them. “Wait for me!”

Martan had run into the monolith, only to find himself in pitch blackness. Unsure what was in front of him, the tracker pulled out his bow and used it to feel out the ground ahead. He had only made it a short distance when a voice shouted from behind him, “That’s too slow!”

As if responding to the loud voice, the room around them suddenly flared to life. Strange glowing tiles were embedded in the floor and ceiling every so many feet, illuminating the entire area. They stood in a vast chamber, easily the largest Martan had ever seen. The huge room was basically empty, except for some large, ornate tapestries that hung on the wall, and a thick central pillar that rose from floor all the way to the ceiling. A spiral staircase wound around the outside of the column, disappearing into the ceiling far above. Martan felt a hand on his arm, the blue-clad warrior running past and dragging him with him. “No time to gawk. Make for that pillar.”

Martan took off behind the young warrior, but a loud roar made him cast a glance over his shoulder. “Get back here, you puny little humans!”

The dragon had stuck its head through the archway, its jaws opening wide as it chased after them. The blue warrior abruptly halted, pulling a small rod from the pack on his back. The rod swiftly expanded into a full-sized spear. The man in blue launched the spear at the dragon’s open maw, with the cry, “You’re making this way too easy!”

Martan watched in awe as the flying spear turned into a lightning bolt in mid-air. The dragon realized its peril far too late. Before it could close its mouth, the bolt shot forward directly into the dragon’s maw. Electrical arcs flew out of the dragon’s mouth, dancing all around its snout and eyes. The large beast shuddered in pain, its entire head sizzling from the barrage.

The man in blue spun around and slapped Martan on the arm. “That won’t last long. To the pillar, quick!”

Martan took off after the young man, the two of them racing toward the central column. They had just made it to the base when the dragon roared yet again. “I’ll get you for that!”

“Quick,” the man in blue urged, “up the stairs and around the back.”

Martan raced up the staircase just behind the young man, the spiral leading them around and behind the large pillar. The blue warrior halted there and held up a hand, Martan coming to a halt beside him. It was not a moment too soon.

They had no sooner stopped than a barrage of thick green liquid went flying past them on either side of the pillar. Martan flattened himself against the wall—he had seen what the dragon’s breath could do, and wanted no part of it. The liquid barrage lasted for almost a minute, the acrid smell causing Martan’s eyes to tear. Finally, it subsided, the dragon having exhausted its deadly breath.

The warrior in blue nudged Martan in the arm. “It won’t be able to do that again for a bit. So which way do we go, up or down?”

As if in answer to his question, a familiar voice drifted down from above. “Quick, this way! We’re up here!”

Martan immediately recognized that voice as belonging to Elladan. The stairs above them were in the way, but there was no doubt in his mind that it had been the bard. Martan grinned for the first time in a long while. “You heard the man, up it is!”

Martan ran past the young man and raced up the winding stairwell, the man in blue right behind him. Down below, they could still hear the dragon raging, throwing an oversized temper tantrum.

“Get back here, you filthy little humans. I will kill you, and eat you, and grind your bones between my teeth, until there is nothing left of you but dust!”

The blue warrior let out a cold laugh. “Heh. Guess I got under its skin.”

“You think?” Martan spiked an eyebrow, not bothering to look down as they continued their ascent.

Lloyd waited impatiently at the top of the stairs with Alana and Elladan. The bard had forced the two of them to stop there, pointing out that Martan and this strange man in blue had already made it safely to the stairwell. Alana appeared as impatient as Lloyd, the lady knight still thirsting for revenge against the dragon. Less than a minute had passed when Martan and the newcomer appeared on the stairwell just below them.

“Quick, this way!” Elladan urged them. He motioned for Lloyd and Alana to head back up the stairs to the next floor.

Lloyd glanced at Alana and shrugged. “I guess we might as well.”

Alana gave him a brief nod, then turned and climbed back up the winding staircase, not stopping until they made it to the room above. The light in this room was rather dim, the only source of light coming from a group of dancing balls that Elladan had cast on their way down. Elladan, Martan and the newcomer in blue soon joined them. Elladan turned to face the duo, still sweaty and somewhat flushed from their encounter with the dragon.

“Well that looked like fun. Who’s your friend?”

Martan shifted his gaze to the man wearing the blue tunic. “Sorry, but I never quite got your name.”

The young man gazed at him with a cold expression. “Cyclone.”

“Cyclone?” Martan trailed off.

“Just Cyclone.”

Martan gave the young man a wan smile, then introduced himself and the others. “I’m Martan. Martan Folke. This is the Dame Alana, Knight of the Rose, Lloyd Stealle, Spiritblade of Penwick, and Elladan Narmolanya, Bard from Kai-Arborus.”

Cyclone eyed them all wordlessly. Alana, however, seemed impressed with the young warrior. “That was some exchange you had out there with that dragon.”

Cyclone’s expression remained stoic. “Green dragons are stupidly predictable. Now if that had been a red, it would have been more of a challenge.”

Lloyd eyed the newcomer curiously. He seemed to know an awful lot about dragons. “That’s funny. Ruka said almost the same thing.”

Cyclone turned his intense gaze toward Lloyd. “Who is this Ruka? Sounds like she might actually know a thing or two about dragons.”

Before Lloyd could answer, Elladan cut him off. “You’ll meet her in a bit. First, tell us Cyclone, how do you know so much about dragons?”

Cyclone spun his gaze toward Elladan, and regarded the bard coldly. “That’s because I’m a dragoon.”

Lloyd stared at him blankly for a few seconds. “A what?”

Before the man in blue could respond, Alana answered for him, her voice slightly strained. “He’s a dragon hunter.”

Lloyd exchanged a worried glance with Alana and Elladan. The bard raised an eyebrow. “Well this could be interesting.”

Lloyd wasn’t quite sure what to make of this Cyclone. It was just short of amazing how he handled that green dragon below, and saved Martan’s life in the process. Still, he didn’t seem like the friendliest person in the world. Lloyd silently wondered how he would react when he met Ruka. Of course, they didn’t need to tell him what she was, but what if he figured it out?

Martan was staring all around at the encroaching darkness. “Why haven’t you turned on the lights in here?”

Elladan stared at the archer as if he were daft. “Turn on the lights? What do you mean, turn on the lights? How are we supposed to do that?”

Martan cocked his head to one side, his brow furrowed as he looked at the bard. “Just like downstairs, I suppose.” Martan cupped his hands together, and cried out, “Turn on!”