Rise Of The Dragon King (Book 5) (2 page)

The memory of learning that a very young Kingsman named Herald was the
one who took the axe to Royal’s hatchmate, while the old king’s spellcaster held it still, almost turned the reverie into something else. Luckily, the image of his father finally allowing him to go to the woods, after a terribly long day at court, filled his head.

Getting free to go be with Royal had been everything.

He stayed lost in that time, thinking of all the thrills and discoveries he and his magical friend had made as he grew from a boy into a man and the two of them bonded. Then he remembered Jenka and Zahrellion arriving on King’s Island just before it all fell apart. In that moment, his guard slipped, and the visage of Gravelbone and a legion of Sarax froze his blood in his veins.

CHAPTER TWO

T
he sky over Kingsman’s Keep was speckled with small, puffy clouds and colored a bright shade of blue that made it look much warmer than it felt. Silva pumped her wings, sending her smaller, pewter-scaled body past Marcherion and his dragon, Blaze, as if they were standing still.

Rikky, who was clinging to the saddle on Silva’s undulating back, hollered as they swept by, “See ya, tubby!”

He looked back to see March pumping a meaty fist at him, but the older Dragoneer’s smile showed he wasn’t really angry. Blaze’s roar of disapproval, though, might have been tinged with more than a little frustration. The ever-growing red wyrm had eaten most of the elk cows they’d scared away from a large herd back in the peaks. The big drake was bloated and sluggish, and probably sleepy.

Marcherion had gained some girth, too. They said they were eating like they were because they were about to leave for Marcherion’s homeland. Thanks to a single conversation with Clover before she disappeared, King Jenka’s admiral,
with Aikira’s help, had mapped their routes, and a good portion of the globe. The Old World, as it was being called now, had reconnected with the survivors of the
Dogma
, and ships were coming and going regularly.

Rikky fully understood Marcherion’s desire to make the journey by flight, though. Aikira could open a flash portal to almost anywhere in the world, but one out of every six or seven tries ended up with them in a whole other existence. These places were nothing like this world. Some were gassy masses of unformed flotsam; others were frigid tundras, nothing more than gargantuan bergs floating on dark seas. Still, Rikky probably would have used a portal. He knew March well enough to know that it was the solitude of the journey, and the time spent with his bond-mate and closest friend, that made the decision.

Oddly, Rikky never pictured March having brothers and parents. He had always thought of him as the loner, the angry outsider from another part of the world, the Dragoneer who kept him sharp and ready.

It wasn’t that way now. After two weeks of him blabbing about Brendly Tuck and all his sisters, the size of the krill they caught in the river, his brothers, and his girlfriends, Rikky felt as if he knew them, too. If he didn’t have duties to fulfill, he would have been preparing to go along with him. In fact, he was sort of sad that he wasn’t.

The story March told them about killing a wyvern and seeing the white stag seemed a little far-fetched, until Blaze confirmed the truth of it. Even after witnessing what transpired with the strange elves when they ended the alien beast in the Great Confliction, Rikky always felt as if March and his dragon were pulling his leg or poking fun at him in some way. It was clear that they never told the whole tale, and equally plain that they delighted in recounting the event.

You’d eat up, too, if you were about to have to fly a hundred twenty days straight, and then fly eighty-four more
. Marcherion spoke to Rikky through the ethereal.

I would if I had to fly that far
. Rikky laughed out loud.
But you don’t have to fly, tubby. You just have to sit there and hold your piss
.

Aye
. March didn’t argue. Rikky figured it was probably because he knew he couldn’t win. Either way, Rikky still relished outdoing any of the other Dragoneers in anything, even wordplay.

Having only one leg forced him to try harder.

Not having March with whom to hunt and compete was going to test him. Jenka, Zah and Aikira were always too busy with their children and the kingdom. The Rangers were well trained now, and most all of the threats to the good folk had been eliminated.

How long will you be gone, again?
Rikky asked.

At least two years
.

Rikky sighed.
It’s going to be a long, boring time
.

Jenka might hunt with you. Or Aikira, even
. The hopefulness in March’s voice was clearly forced.
Jericho is ready to formally train, as well
.

Aikira is busy with Pascal the Rascal
. Rikky tried to mask the loss of joy he was suddenly feeling, but it was hopeless.
And King Jenka hasn’t the time for anyone, much less me
.

You’ll be all right, Rikky. Train Pascal, too. Just slow down a bit. We’re in no hurry today
.

CHAPTER THREE

A
fter the bell sounded again, King Richard heard voices. They were clear and carried to his ears well, but he didn’t understand anything they said. They were speaking gibberish. Fast and clipped, and somewhat hushed, too, as if the men in the longboat were afraid.

Richard giggled and then cupped his hands to his mouth. He was at least fifty feet above the water on a trail he had carved into the rock over the years by running up and down to get better vantage points of the island. Having visitors made him excited and he couldn’t help what happened next.

“Roooaaarrr!” Richard growled out into the fog in his best Gravelbone imitation. “Who dare be trespassin’ in my waters?”

There was a bit of whispering, and the sound of oars banging in the locks as the rowers started moving the boat away. One of them was braver, for he calmed his fellows with soothingly spoken gibberish and then called back.

“Orand ballin treealing mal shrignottle?”

“WHAT?” Richard roared. “You’n be speakin’ the king’s tongue to me.” He stifled a giggle. He then hurried his way up to the base of his lookout tree. He was
disappointed to find that he couldn’t see its top in the fog, and he decided that maybe he shouldn’t scare the men in the rower away.

“With whom do I speak?” a stilted and shaky voice called up from below.

Richard, hearing words he could understand, grew nervous. Who were these men? Outlanders? No, he knew the Outlander dialects well. They had been speaking a whole new language.

He climbed back down some before answering, but when he did, he still didn’t use his own voice.

“Who be you trespassing?” he called, putting as much depth into his tone as he could.

“Garrinvale yon cyclopsians,” one of the men in the boat said.

“Yah, woggin agon rung,” said another.

There was the sound of a scuffle, then a thud, as if someone were slugged.

“Shush!” the first voice carried over them all, then the voice that spoke words he could understand replied.

“We come from the Old World,” it said meekly. “We’ve come to liberate the banished king.”

The banished king?
Richard stopped again and scratched his head. A strange feeling was sliding over him.

He was the banished king.

Did he want to be liberated?

Yes, he did.

“Why should he go with you?” Richard called back, almost forgetting to accentuate his voice.

“He will be treated like the king he is.”

The voices whispered in their strange language for a moment.

“Our king, King Chad, has guaranteed his safety and only wishes to breed one of his most beautiful daughters with New World royalty so that his kingdom will have a better stance in the upcoming trade negotiations.”

Richard knew nothing about upcoming trade negotiations. The idea of just seeing, much less marrying, the beautiful daughter of a foreigner stirred places inside him that he’d nearly forgotten. The touch of a woman, after being alone for so many years, seemed as unreal as this situation was turning out to be.

“Stay still, then,” Richard finally called down. “We’ve some thinking to do.”

Richard thought long and hard for about three heartbeats and then began making his way back down to his cavern home.

“Hello?” the man in the boat called out a while later. The fog hadn’t lifted, and a light drizzle was starting to fall. “Where haveth you gone? Are you there?”

The fog was even more dense at sea level, and Richard knew it wasn’t going to clear until the wind picked up. It didn’t matter, though. His fractured mind had already turned over a hundred possibilities, and all of them were far better than staying on the island alone. Beside that, these people had no idea what he was capable of. He hadn’t been banished to the island as a punishment, but because surrounding him with sea water was the only way to dampen his unique arcane abilities. They had no idea that he had once possessed a dragon’s tear, and that he had willingly given up its delicious power to keep his dragon alive. They had no idea that he’d survived on the flesh of innocent humans and bathed in their blood. They had no idea that he’d been trained in wizardry by Vax Noffa, and in witchery by Mysterian of the Hazeltine. Not to mention his ability with blade and bow, for he’d trained with the best in the realm since he could walk. He had been groomed to rule the kingdom, and he understood both diplomacy and war, and deep in his subconscious mind, he still had a bit of his dragon-bond left. And here, as if proof that his destiny was not to die on an isolated island, was a way to another life.

It didn’t take him long to choose and he didn’t even bother with taking anything with him as he waded through the fog and then dove into the sea.

“Hello?” the voice in the longboat called again and again. “Heeelllooo!”

“Ahhhhgggg,” one of the men hollered as Richard’s wet, bushy-haired head splashed up out of the sea alongside the small craft.

“Ahhhggg,” Richard mimicked the man’s fearful yell, causing two of the other three in the boat to laugh at their startled mate.

The third man scowled down at Richard, and, before he could dive away, grabbed a hold of his hair and hauled him into the boat.

CHAPTER FOUR

R
ikky was as bored as Prince Jericho looked.

King Jenka De Swasso stood tall beside Queen Zahrellion. His long, brown locks were combed neatly and hung straight to his shoulders. He kept his eyes lidded so their lime green color didn’t cause unease in the crowd. Zahrellion’s hair was as white as snow. At Jenka’s right, ten-year-old Prince Jericho was fidgeting and restless, just as any boy would be when forced to dress up and stay still for so long. At Zah’s left, holding her mother’s hand to stay standing, was three-year-old Amelia De Swasso. Her silver-colored hair was pulled tightly against her round face in a ponytail, contrasting with her deeply set, dark green eyes and her alabaster skin.

Rikky shivered as he thought about the girl. Jenka had passed some of the alien essence to his daughter, and she seemed to be in a daze most of the time, just like her father.

The four De Swassos were covered in layer upon layer of fineries, but not one of them, save for Zahrellion herself, seemed pleased about it.

“When can we go?” Jericho asked his father for the seventh or eighth time.
“I’m hungry.”

Jenka blinked, his eyelids moving unnaturally slowly. His eyes were unnerving to Rikky. In fact, Jenka seemed as if he were in a whole other plane of existence than the rest of them. The dour that had flowed through him had scorched him so much that Rikky hardly knew him anymore.

“It is almost over.” Jenka’s words were quiet and spaced.

“Why is Marcherion going away, anyway?” the boy asked.

Jenka might have scolded him, but Jericho’s question sounded genuine, and Rikky thought his expression was sad.

“Because he—” Jenka started.

“Because he is an overstuffed dimbuss in search of a giboon to take as a mate,” Rikky whispered as he stepped over. “You’re the fargin’ king, Jenk. Make this drawn-out fiasco end.”

Jenka made a gesture with his face toward Zahrellion, who was just turning to share her scowl with Rikky. Rikky stuck his tongue out at her, and Jericho laughed loud enough to cause the crier to falter his words.

“…and so…and so…and so we, as a collective people, send our beloved Dragoneer on his way, and we hope his journey home is safely traveled and his return to us is swift. Thank you, Marcherion Weston, for coming so far to fight for
us. We can never repay you, but we can honor you by retelling your deeds in our verses, and with these meager gifts of our gratitude.”

Marcherion eased from his place and started saying his official farewells. He stopped before Aikira first, who was farther to Zah’s left. She looked like some ancient goddess, her dark skin accenting her golden helmet and gown perfectly. She kissed March on the cheek and pinned something to his breast. March gave her a genuine smile and a light hug in return.

Rikky wondered why her husband and child hadn’t come. After March’s comment earlier, he was thinking about taking on Pascal and Jericho. At least he wouldn’t be bored.

March moved before Zahrellion and Amelia then. The queen lifted her daughter up and helped her place a necklace around March’s neck.

Jenka looked at Rikky and shook his head.

Don’t do anything foolish
, the look said.

March said goodbye to Jenka quickly and then dropped to a knee before the prince of the realm.

“Keep loosing at the targets in the yard, like I showed you.” March handed the boy a small bundle of something.

“What is it?”

“There are three steel arrowheads in there.” March glanced up at Rikky. “Have your father, or this lump, help you mount them on your best shafts and take you hunting. You’ve gotten good enough with the bow to go hunt the Keep now.”

March stood and faced Rikky then.

Rikky wiped at an imaginary tear. When March was before him, he grinned ear to ear and casually reached down and smacked the older Dragoneer right in the nards with the back of his hand. When March reflexively started to double over, Rikky caught him in a hug, and the whole crowd cheered, for their friendship had grown legendary, and no one, save for those on the dais, could have seen what Rikky did.