Return of the Dragon (The Dragon's Champion Book 6)
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Authors: Sam Ferguson
Return
of the Dragon
By
Sam Ferguson
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters,
organizations, and events portrayed in this book are either products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Return of the Dragon
Copyright © 2015 by Sam Ferguson
All Rights Reserved
For my son Connor.
Hard times won’t last forever.
Contents
Books by Sam Ferguson
The Netherworld Gate Series:
Son of the Dragon
The Dragons of Kendualdern:
Other Novels:
Short Story Anthology:
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Al left his warriors in the antechamber and hustled alongside
the dark-haired guard. The gray walls of stone were streaked with stark lines
above the burning torches held fast to the stones by brackets of brass that had
long ago lost their luster. The hallway leading away from the antechamber was
long, roughly fifty feet before another door of brown, aged wood broke the
monotony of the dark stone. To Al’s right, the door was propped open with a
sandbag and inside he saw several pairs dueling with wooden swords. Al stopped
briefly to survey the room. There were seven rings drawn in sand with white
chalk. Two warriors dueled inside each ring while others waited along the outer
rim. The swords
click-clacked
with each strike and parry as the officers barked out
instructions or criticism. Each warrior was dressed in light linens, with a
heavy armor of leather covering their vital areas and extending down below
their groins. They also wore crude helmets with metal face guards. The officers
observing them wore their full battle dress. Highly polished plate mail with a
sword of steel at their hips and a plumed helmet tucked under an arm.
“This way, my lord,” the guard insisted.
Al nodded and hurried along.
“Commander Nials has been drilling the men every day,”
the guard said. “King Mathias has already ordered some of our troops out to the
east to deal with the Tarthuns, but then I suppose you know about that.”
Al nodded, but he didn’t offer any details. If the
last several months had taught him anything, it was the value of discretion.
So many had proven false that he had no inclination to talk at
length with anyone unless he had to.
Commander Nials had to know the
details of his message, but this guard did not.
The two of them turned left at the first intersecting
hallway. The floor abruptly descended five stairs and then extended out
straight again. Here again, there were no windows. Only sconces lit the way.
There were, however, many more doors lining the hallway. Every ten yards there
was a set of doors. Some were closed, others were open. Al glanced inside to
see barracks. Bunk beds of wood with hide blankets covering the mattresses.
None of the open rooms were
messy,
all were clean and
properly kept. The beds were well made and the floors oft swept.
Another intersection and the two of them turned to the
hallway on the right hand side. Al climbed up a short stairway and then the
guard opened a large set of double doors. The sunlight broke through with
alarming brightness and heat. Al shielded his face and his irises painfully
contracted.
“Again!” a booming voice shouted.
Al peeked around his arm to see a large man swinging a
heavy flanged mace from a leather thong looped around his wrist. The man was
obviously an officer, but he was not dressed as the others had been. He wore
wool trousers with a leather girdle over them. A thick pad of wool was lazily
draped over a wooden chair behind him, along with the chainmail shirt and heavy
metal pauldrons. The man moved through the ranks and formation of spearmen
practicing a phalanx drill. Al watched the bald officer and took note of the
several purple scars across the man’s back.
“This is Captain Hitage, he trains all of our
spearmen,” the guard told Al as he gestured with his hand to hurry along.
The bald officer turned and regarded Al with a
questioning stare. He flipped his mace up into his palm and then promptly
turned to address his men. “Run it again,” he bellowed.
The men marched in perfect cadence with each other.
A large phalanx twenty columns wide and at least thirty rows deep.
“He is training for Tarthuns?” Al asked. The dwarf
king knew that a slow moving phalanx was not the best device to employ against
a horde of galloping, agile horse-archers. Then again, it might be a decent
defense against the orcs in the south. Perhaps Al would suggest moving Captain
Hitage to Ten Forts.
The guard didn’t bother to answer Al’s question.
Instead he led Al around the courtyard and in through an open set of double
doors on the opposite side. They walked through a short hallway and then
ascended a winding stairway to the third floor of the fort. The two of them
stopped in front of a large oaken door.
Another guard stood there, blocking the way with a
halberd. Like the soldiers Al had already seen, this guard was dressed in red
linen with armor over the top. His helmet was fastened under the chin with a
leather strap.
“King Sit’marihu to see Commander
Nials,” Al’s escort stated dryly.
The guard at the door nodded and pushed the door into
the chamber.
Al moved in after him.
“Commander Nials, sir, King Sit’marihu seeks an
audience with you, sir,” the door guard shouted.
Al looked across a short, rectangular room to see a
large man standing at the window. He stood staring out, with his hands clasped
behind his back. He turned to reveal a tanned face and strong, brown eyes.
Instead of armor, he wore a simple black tunic and brown linen trousers tucked
into black leather boots. A longsword hung from his belt and swung widely as
Commander Nials turned to regard Al.
“So, the dwarves have emerged from their dark hole to
join us in the sunlight I see.”
Al bristled and stopped in the middle of the room. He
folded his arms and locked eyes with the commander. “
I
have
been above ground more than most men,” he said evenly.
Commander Nials grinned slightly. “I meant no
offense,” he assured Al. “I received word from King Mathias that you have lent
your warriors to the Middle Kingdom.”
Al nodded. “I have done my fair share of splitting
skulls as well,” he put in.
Commander Nials eyed the dwarf and then nodded. “I
don’t doubt it.” The large man looked up to the guards and dismissed them. Then
he turned and gestured toward a small table off to the side of the room. The
two of them moved to sit.
“Wine?”
Commander Nials
offered.
Al shook his head. “I’ll get straight to the issue at
hand,” he began. “Orcs have besieged Ten Forts.”
“Ah,” Commander Nials said. “Well, with young Finorel
as commander, that spells disaster if the orcs are organized.”
Al held up a hand. “Mercer commands the troops at Ten
Forts.”
Nials arched a brow and his lips drew taught over his
face. He narrowed his eyes on Al and silently waited.
The dwarf king sighed. “I wasn’t there for the change
in command, but from what I understand, there were quite a few traitors to the
crown at Ten Forts. Finorel was among them.”
“Was?” Nials probed.
“Apparently he died in his dungeon cell after Mercer
imprisoned him.” Al leaned forward. “I myself delivered five hundred warriors
to Ten Forts, but it isn’t enough.”
Nials scoffed. “What do you mean? Have the dwarves
gone soft, or have the orc tribes united?”
Al glowered at Nials. “The tribes have united.” Nials’
smirk vanished and he straightened in his chair. “The orcs receive
reinforcements by the hundreds, sometimes thousands, while the troops at Ten
Forts struggle to fend them off.”
“I am afraid I have to cut you off,” Nials said
abruptly. “I can see you are here to ask for reinforcements, but I have none to
give.”
“None?”
Al repeated. He
jabbed a finger at the window. “I saw the troops down there.”
Nials shook his head. “New recruits, all of them,” he
explained. “There isn’t a soldier in the bunch that has more than a few weeks
experience with a weapon. The only veterans I have are my officers, and even
those are thinning.”
“What happened?” Al asked.
Nials sighed. “King Mathias called us into action.
Kuldiga Academy was ruined in battle, Lokton Manor was destroyed by a marauding
horde, and then Valtuu Temple was destroyed by a large dragon. Events like that
tend to make a king rather nervous. I am only here because I have the fresh
recruits to train. All of my veterans have been called out. Some have gone east
to the Tarthuns. Some have gone to set up camp near Valtuu Temple and defend
the nearby villages there. Others have been stationed around various regions in
the Middle Kingdom. You may not know, but some of the nobles have also turned traitor
to the crown lately. So, King Mathias has called for martial law. My men have
been sent to
bolster,
or outright take over, the
garrison of every town and village with a large enough population to pose a
threat north of here.”
“So you have none to send south?” Al questioned again.
His voice broke in the middle of the question and his head sank down to land in
his upturned palm. “The dragon is dead, that much I know for sure. However,
there is no way for me to know how much longer Ten Forts will hold against the
orcs.”
Nials nodded. “You will have to send the request
directly to King Mathias. I have no authority to send the freshies even if I
wanted to.” Nials paused and pointed to Al, leaning in close. “And, just to be
clear, I
don’t
want to send them out. They aren’t ready for battle
yet.
Certainly not against orcs.”
Al dropped his eyes to the floor and drew his brow in
tight as he stroked his beard. There wasn’t time to go north to Drakei Glazei.
Even with the cavedogs it would be days, weeks, before they could get there and
back to Fort Drake, not to mention they would only then be able to march south,
and who knew how long it would take to prepare the army for such a journey. The
dwarf king rose to his feet.
The two locked gazes again as Al brought his eyes up
to meet Commander Nials’ brown orbs.
“I am not one for speeches,” Al said. “Words bore me.
I am a dwarf, and we are people of action. The orcs are battering down the
gates as we speak. We sit here in your fine fort and you have wine at your
disposal. Meanwhile, I have friends and kin under the barrage of arrows, and
they go for want of food and bandages. We need men, and we need fresh supplies.
We need it now. The orcs aren’t going to wait for the new recruits to finish
their training. There isn’t the time to teach them the perfect way to
march
or the proper way to polish their dress boots. If they
can hold a spear, or help shore up defenses by digging ditches, they are fit
for the fight. Commander Nials, this is one of those battles that history will
remember. Thirty years from now they will either praise your name for having
the common sense to make the right decision, or, if you stay here to train your
men and leave mine to die, then orcs will sit around this very room and drink
to your name and call you fool.” Al folded his arms and set his jaw as he
watched the man bristle in his chair. “Which is it to be?”
Nials cleared his throat and glanced back to the
window. “Are we that bad off?” he asked.
Al huffed. “I wouldn’t be here if we weren’t.”
Nials nodded. “I suppose every now and then an officer
must change the orders as the battle takes shape before him.” He rose to his
feet and stuck out his hand. “We’ll march south. I’ll send a pair of messengers
north to King Mathias. The rest of the men will be ready by tomorrow. Given the
recent transfers we have set up quite the efficient system for packing out.
We’ll take every last recruit we have, and marshal our wagons as well to see if
we can’t get some extra food and bandages down to Ten Forts.”
Al let out a sigh of relief and took Nials’ hand.
“Thank you,” he said. “You are a good man.”
Nials scoffed. “I am a demoted man,” he said. “Or, at
least I will be once the king hears of my insubordination. So this army in the
south better
be
as big as you claim it is.”
“Oh, there will be more than enough fighting to take
your mind off the king, I promise.”
*****
Salarion waited for the silvery quarter moon to fall
back behind the thick curtain of clouds again. She wanted to avoid
confrontation, if possible, as she stalked along the stone corridors of Ten
Forts. The raucous, raunchy orcs were busy filling themselves with an
unconscionable amount of wine and ale in the courtyard outside. Through a
window she watched as one of the drunken fools climbed up onto a religious
shrine, squatted over the top and attempted to defecate over the edge. The
buffoon slipped and fell to the ground, landing head-first on the stone pad
below and putting a quick end to his debauchery.
The nearby orcs laughed and threw dirt and food at the
corpse.
“Orcs,” Salarion said. Occasionally she found one of
the creatures to be tolerable, but she had never found a group of orcs that she
liked.
She moved through the shadows in the corridor. It
followed the line of the outer wall facing the south. Piles of rubble and the
smell of fresh dirt mingled with stains of blood along the floor and walls gave
her an idea of just how bad the fighting had been. As if she hadn’t already
figured that out by seeing the large pits on the north filled with heaping
piles of dead men and orcs when she had arrived a couple days before.