17878265 Read online

  promised it to you. Now win your kingdom, serve your new Gods and ask no more favors of me.”

  The shield that hung from Donigan’s back was a fine piece of work. It was wrought of silver inlaid with gold traceries that formed the pattern of a great dragonhead. At its very center, set into the eye socket of the reptilian face there depicted, was a red stone called the Dragon’s Eye.

  It was said that when Donigan’s enemies gazed upon that dazzling gem, it flickered in a magical swirl of red, yellow and blue fire, which held them fast in a helpless trance.

  Thus entranced, rumor held, it was but a small matter for the great warlord to cleave them asunder with his mighty sword. The workmanship of the blade far surpassed the accompanying shield. The weapon was forged from the finest steel, with a gold overlay on its hilt. The pommel was molded in the likeness of a dragonhead, which also bore a large red gemstone in its eye socket. That mystical stone was said to be the source of power by which the sword could hurl fire. The dragonhead pommel was large and spiked with deadly horns.

  With his new weapons of power in hand, Lord Donigan arrayed his host for battle and

  stormed the strongholds of his enemies. Within five short years, he ruled over the United Kingdom of Beledon. His domain stretched from the Highlands in the north to the Sorling Sea in the south. Then he prepared to turn his full attention to Faethlenkandur and his kindred.

  There was peace in Beledon. King Donigan ruled wisely, and the people adored him. With the fall of his last enemy, his lovely queen bore him a son. His subjects rejoiced with him, for he now had an heir to succeed him to his throne. However, Dragon’s Law had done much to deter crime in Beledon, and jails were nearly empty.

  The reigning monarch took up arms again, declaring the dragons unholy and full of deceit.

  He ordered all copies of The Great Tome of Dragon’s Law burned. Then he led his bravest knights up to Faethlenkandur’s lair to strike down the head of his trick-some enemies, but the dragon he sought was not there. Neither was the cave empty, for it was the mating season of the dragons. Much to the party’s surprise, they encountered Faethlenkandur’s favorite mistress, Motkinildora: The Dragon-Queen.

  Motkinildora was as old as her mate was--and was equally fierce. Fifty feet in length from smoking snout to thick hind legs was she, having also a thirty-foot wingspan. The whole of her body was armored in scales as red as the setting sun, as tough as the finest suit of mail Valdigar Steelbender ever crafted and far surpassing that legendary craftsman’s work both in beauty and in strength. She had a long, spiked tail that could pound rock into dust with one powerful blow.

  Her talons were curved scimitars, her teeth were deep rows of knives and a blast furnace was her fiery breath. She was a well-known, and terribly feared, patron of the dragon temples.

  When King Donigan’s company burst into her mate’s lair with their weapons in hand, she growled, “What have we here?” She moved closer to the human leader, until her wide snout was almost touching his face, and asked, “What do you want?”

  Motkinildora did not intimidate King Donigan, although her potent breath staggered him somewhat. He righted himself and answered, “For five long years of devouring sons of Beledon, I want YOUR HEAD!” As he finished speaking, the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye flashed up, and then arced downward, until it bit hard into the Dragon-Queen’s neck. She screamed in rage and pain, but since the human king had caught her completely unprepared, she was doomed. King Donigan jerked the magical blade through the neck and free of Motkinildora, rending her flesh and deepening the wound. The dragon mistress let loose a blast of flaming breath, which burst wildly from her open cut and her mouth in synchronization and in alternating turns alike. It deflected off the king’s magnificent shield and struck the cavern wall. King Donigan slashed her again about the neck, this time striking her with all of his strength. The rending steel completely detached her head from her body.

  The newly ascended monarch decided to wait in ambush until Faethlenkandur returned. He did not have to tarry long. Faethlenkandur was already gliding toward his cavern, even as King Donigan was lowering his first fell blow against Motkinildora. He must have heard her death cry, must have witnessed the light of her fiery blasts from afar, for Donigan and his knights did not take him wholly at unawares. He swept down from the clouds with the swiftness of the wind and the stealth of a hawk on the hunt. The great dragon sent a burst of flame into the entrance of the lair and followed in afterward, full of fury and wrath.

  The blast of blistering fire surprised King Donigan and his knights, many of them bursting into flames where they stood. At that wicked turn of events, all of those remaining knights were stricken with terror. They cowered behind their shields and hid themselves against the walls of the lair. All of them save King Donigan and his brother, Sir Bornan, trembled at the ferocity of the dragon’s attack, the awesome power of its might. The king and his younger brother stood behind their shields, undaunted by the beast. They knew there was but one way out of the lair--

  through Faethlenkandur, for the bulk of the creature now blocked their only exit.

  “YOU!” the beast boomed. Tongues of flame made a dazzling display alongside the dragon’s wrathful word of condemnation. Faethlenkandur stood to full height upon his hind legs and bellowed, “You will pay for your treachery.” With that as its only warning, the dragon struck at Donigan with the claws of its forefoot.

  The human king was able to raise his shield at the last possible moment, enabling him to blunt the blow, but the sheer force of the attack unbalanced him. The dragon shoved Donigan to his right until he fell, but he rolled and bounced up to one knee, with his sword upraised in defense of his body. It was none too soon, for the beast’s spiked tail flared up and whipped downward. It struck the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye, where steel instantly severed it. The detached portion descended with the force of its momentum and landed with a resounding clank against the king’s helmet. Donigan collapsed, as if he was an empty suit of armor knocked from its stand.

  Sir Bornan, whom the dragon had forgotten, chose that moment to make his presence

  known. He drove his sword into the creature’s side with both hands, burying it to the hilt in dragon flesh. As the blade went in, he shouted, “I hope this wound festers, you intolerable beast!” Faethlenkandur gasped in pain as the knight introduced himself, saying, “Sir Bornan is the name....” The knight wriggled the sword as if he were excitedly shaking a man’s hand, and finished, “....pleased to meet you.” With an expression half-bordering on delight and half-filled with rage, Sir Bornan ripped his weapon free. However, as he removed his sword, the dragon’s toxic blood poured out onto his right hand and arm. He fell to the stony floor at once, crying out his anguish.

  Luckily, the dragon had suffered wounds enough during the course of its fight with the king and his brother that it fled from its lair. The beast turned as it left, still clutching its wounded side, to roar, “I am not finished with you, King Donigan. I will be back to repay you: a queen for a queen!” The dragon spouted flame once more in defiance of the human king and his knights, before it finally turned its back on them and flew away northward.

  Sir Sturgeon “Storm-Hand” was the first to recover from his fear of the dragon’s malice, so he rushed to the side of his lord and king. Donigan’s helm was badly dented, but the movement of the king’s chest showed that he was still alive. Donigan indeed survived his assault from the dragon’s tail, which left a nasty knot on his head.

  Sir Bornan had not been so lucky. He nearly died from his wound, which left his right hand and arm seriously burned. The young knight lost his ability to use his natural limb, but in time, he would learn to wield a blade with great skill in his left hand. Many were the dragons that later fell to Sir Bornan of the Off-Hand in the War of Dragons that ensued.

  The king’s company returned to Skytower Castle, bearing with them the injured and the dead. The deceased were shrouded and laid in magnificent tombs. There was a
fine ceremony to say farewell to those departed souls. In the meantime, Donigan and other wounded men

  welcomed their chances to recuperate.

  King Donigan set his craftsmen to work while he was down with dizziness. He had his finest workmen turn the tip of Faethlenkandur’s tail into a mighty mace. It would become the Dragon Tail Mace. He presented the weapon to his queen for her scepter, both because it was a thing of marvelous beauty, and because maids of Landolstadt were well renowned for their battle prowess. Riana was no exception, though frail she might seem to strong men at court.

  The fearless king and his valiant knights were not the only ones to nurse their wounds, for they had only scarcely recovered from their injuries when Donigan received ill tidings from Overlook Castle in the west. The people there were under constant attack by a score of dragons.

  The mighty king once again called his knights to arms, that they might ride to the aid of Overlook and purge the surrounding countryside of those fell creatures that were plaguing his people.

  Donigan grabbed up his sword and shield and made ready to depart, pleading with Riana,

  “Beloved queen, take our son, Lornigan, away from here. Go to Moonriver to the south or Goldwater by the Sorling Sea, but do not stay here. I shall fear for your safety every moment if you remain in this stronghold. Skytower Castle lies too close to the Wyrm Mountains, the home of our enemies.”

  Queen Riana replied, “I will not run from my home for fear of any false-tongued dragon.

  However, Your Grace, if it pleases you, I shall send our Lornigan to Moonriver Castle.”

  “If you will not go-” the king began, only to be cut short.

  “I will not!” Riana snapped.

  “It pleases me that our son goes to Moonriver Castle, but it pleases me not that you stay.

  Keep with you my shield,” King Donigan said, pressing it into her tiny hands. “May it keep thee well. I love you always,” he said, and then he kissed her in farewell. “I will return to your open arms.” However, the shadow upon his heart was dark.

  The warrior king rode away to battle, and a nursemaid took Prince Lornigan to Moonriver.

  Then the black dragon returned, just as it had vowed to do. Like a firestorm in the sky was Faethlenkandur: great and terrible in His vengeful wrath. The dragon swept down upon Skytower Castle like a great shadow of immense darkness. Its tremendous wingspan blotted out the sun as it descended in blazing fury and roaring rage.

  The people, seized by terror, scattered and fled before fire and its wielder. They had nothing to fear from the dragon, though, for it was only after one thing: the queen, and with her, the fulfillment of its threat. It swooped down into the courtyard, where with one blast it set the queen’s personal guards ablaze. They dropped to the ground, beat the fire off or simply ran, burning as they fled. Faethlenkandur turned his focus on Queen Riana, who faced him with the Shield of the Dragon’s Eye on her left arm and the Dragon Tail Mace in her right hand.

  “So we meet at last,” said Faethlenkandur, “I and the queen of King LIAR!” He spouted flame skyward to emphasize that final word.

  The startled queen took a step back, her body quaking with fear. Then she stood firm, drawing herself into a proud, upright stance. “You are the father of all lies, the author of all evil and to all men, an abomination,” Riana returned, with the unnatural quaver in her voice undermining her bold stance. She was fierce and determined as she stood before the dragon. Her shield was upraised. She clutched the powerful mace tightly in her fist. Riana was pale of skin, with her long, dark hair blowing wildly across her face. Her blue eyes were set upon her adversary in cool defiance. Thus, they faced one another: Faethlenkandur, fire-breather and Queen Riana, mace wielder.

  The dragon snorted laughter, taunting, “I am glad you are not one of my own kindred. I might actually fear you.”

  Faethlenkandur took a step toward Riana, so she brought her mace down upon his large, scaly foot. It landed with a solid crack, causing the dragon to howl in pain. He spat fire at her, but the shield deflected it away. The beast grabbed her in its enormous fist: shield, mace and all.

  Riana writhed in pain, desperately trying to escape Faethlenkandur’s viselike grasp. She tried to strike him again as he lifted her from the earth, but the mace slipped from her fingers and fell noisily to the ground. Faethlenkandur leaped into the air with his hostage, beating his way skyward with his vast, bat-like wings. Sir Bornan staggered out of the castle, in spite of his lingering wounds, but he came too late to save his queen.

  Faethlenkandur boasted, “I will bear you back to my new lair. Now King Donigan will have to come and face me if he ever wishes to see you again. As an added bonus, I have captured King Donigan’s best defense against me: the Shield of the Dragon’s Eye.” Faethlenkandur roared laughter.

  The dragon did not realize, as it tightly gripped the queen in its fist, that it had knocked the Dragon’s Eye loose from the shield. The stone fell to the earth as the beast flew, and was lost to both dragons and men. No one knew where the gem fell. The item was to be forgotten to all but the boldest and most ambitious of men.

  While Faethlenkandur was assailing the queen’s guards, King Donigan was driving off the dragons that had laid siege to Overlook. Afterward, he returned home to find that Faethlenkandur had taken his wife. Donigan was stricken with grief, for he felt certain that his ladylove was already dead. “Such is the way of treacherous dragons,” he mourned.

  As he knew he must, the king went to find Faethlenkandur’s new home in the mountains. He waited until Sir Bornan was at his rest, and then he stole away to finish his business with the dragon. Donigan reasoned that the beast had likely taken up residence in the former lair of Motkinildora in the windy heights of Mount Howling. Only a duel between the Dragon-Father and the human king could satisfy either of them now, so Donigan pledged himself to take his challenge to his terrible enemy’s lofty den.

  The bold king scaled the rugged mountain, until he came to a shelf of rock at the entrance of the lair. There he learned that his guess had been correct. Queen Riana lay motionless near the far wall of the cavern, but between the king and his consort lay the sleeping form of Faethlenkandur. Donigan crept past the beast as silently as possible to rescue his beautiful wife.

  Riana was unconscious, but otherwise unharmed. The king scooped his queen up in his arms and stole past the dragon once more. When Donigan reached the cavern exit, he lowered Riana’s limp body to the floor. He then retraced his steps to the place where Faethlenkandur lay sleeping.

  Donigan put both hands on the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye and deliberately lifted it high above the dragon’s thick neck. His palms were sweaty. Beads of salty wetness formed into a rivulet on his forehead as he stood in the warmth of the slumbering fire-breather before him.

  The dragon stirred in its sleep and let out a loud snort. King Donigan, startled by the sudden movement, lost his conviction to end the beast. He slowly lowered his sword and drew away. He was afraid the creature had caught the scent of a man as it slept. If that were true, the beast would awaken before any stroke could fall against its intended mark. Thereafter eager to be gone, Donigan made his way to the ledge where helpless Queen Riana awaited him.

  Donigan was preparing to make the arduous descent down the cliff with his unconscious queen, when she suddenly awoke. The two were reunited, but it was not to last. “The shield,”

  Riana groggily remembered. She dragged herself to her feet, pointing past the bulk of sleeping death behind her. As merrily as a young girl picking wildflowers on a country outing, she chimed, “Faethlenkandur has it hidden in his lair. I know where it is.” Smiling weakly, she staggered back into the cavern.

  King Donigan had already learned the kingly cost of that wondrous shield, so he

  commanded her, “Leave it!” Believing that his wife would obey him straightway, he began to make his way down the treacherous cliff, but his warning had come too late to save his beloved Riana.

 
Faethlenkandur was only at light sleep. The sounds of human voices disturbed his rest. The beast was fully awake, standing in its den and glaring at Queen Riana when she turned to retrieve the shield. She gasped in fear and surprise. The dragon laughed and bellowed, “King Donigan, I have been expecting you. Take one final look at your queen.” As it spoke that last sentence, the dragon violently beat its wings, causing a forceful wind to strike Riana. She was blown from the ledge, letting out a long, wailing shriek.

  King Donigan was already several feet below the cavern floor before he first heard the dragon speak. He desperately tried to climb to Riana’s aid, but only one battle-callused hand reached the shelf as she blew overhead and fell away to her death. “No-o-o-o-o-o-o!” he wailed.

  At that moment, Faethlenkandur’s head popped over the ledge. The dragon steamed with

  pride, “I would have killed her at Skytower Castle, but I wanted you to see her die.”

  Filled with grief and rage, Donigan shouted, “I want you to see nothing!” With that said, he jabbed the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye into Faethlenkandur’s eye. Magical flames pulsed into the fresh wound.

  The enormous creature screamed in misery and began writhing on the stony shelf, causing a terrible rockslide. If not for the avalanche of stone, the daring king would have climbed up to finish Faethlenkandur. Yet, it was all he could do just to hold on until the peak ceased trembling.

  When the shaking finally stopped, King Donigan found that the dragon had buried itself, along with the magical shield, beneath many tons of mountain rock.

  “I rename this accursed peak,” Donigan said through bitter tears. “Henceforth, it shall be known as Mount Sorrow.” Donigan wept, battling with his own will to maintain his hold upon the mountain face.

  The War of Dragons was far from finished.

  Dragons fought amongst themselves and Beledon temporarily knew peace from those

  beasts. The strongest male dragons did battle with one another in a vicious struggle for supremacy and dominance amongst their kindred. Many dragons were slain in the talons of others, and numbers of their species dwindled. After many years of aerial conflict, one rose to be chief among them. All other dragons despised their new leader, but they feared him as well. His scales were black like those of his sire, Faethlenkandur, and his heart was blacker still.