Dragon In The Darklands: The Lump Adventures Book Three Read online

  Dragon In The Darklands

  By

  Bruce Leslie

  Copyright © 2018 Bruce Leslie

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, send e-mail to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  For Sophia, Silas, and Sutton; and last but not least, Papaw Rusty

  Also by Bruce Leslie:

  Dragon In The Needles: The Lump Adventures Book One

  Dragon In Gallis: The Lump Adventures Book Two

  Chubby Wizard: Wrath Of The Manticore

  Nerdspawn Genesis

  Prologue

  2: Comfortable Travels

  3: Old Molgadon

  4: Set Sail

  5: At Sea

  6: Landfall

  7: Trouble

  8: Jungle

  9: Direction

  10: Steppe

  11: Ylam

  12: The Sutton

  13: Grand Tour

  14: Blades and Witches

  15: Feast

  16: Kozal

  17: Midnight Message

  Interlude

  18: Turmoil

  19: On The Hill

  20: Gathering

  21: Weaponer

  22: Castle

  23: Assessment

  24: Preparation

  25: Engagement

  26: Pressing On

  27: Beverly

  28: Riddle

  29: The River Crossing

  30: Baron

  31: Seige

  32: No Rest

  33: The Wicked

  34: Peace

  Epilogue, part one

  Epilogue, part two

  Epilogue, part three

  Epilogue, part four

  Prologue

  Fourteen years ago…

  The frightened woman brushed a strand of red hair behind her ear. “We have to hide our girl.” The light of the low hung moon reflected in her wide, green eyes.

  The man said, “We can’t go back to the Twisty-Beards now.” His hair was almost as long as the woman’s, but far more unruly, and his red beard was twisted into three rows of knots. “Nobody’s ever run off from the chief like this.”

  The woman bared her teeth and grunted. “They want to take her from us.” She looked away from the man. “They want to kill her.”

  The man glanced over his shoulder. He saw a she-wolf a few paces away, the same she-wolf had followed them through the night, though at a distance. He turned back to the woman with the babe in her arms. “Why couldn’t it have been a boy? The Twisty-Beards would’ve made her a chief if she was a boy.”

  “Her eyes mark her.” The woman pulled the piece of cloth away from the babe’s face. “Why did she have to open her eyes? My dear, sweet baby, if only she could’ve kept her eyes closed forever.”

  The babe had the finest, small tuft of red hair. She opened her sleepy eyes and looked up at her mother’s face. Her right eye was as blue as the Empty Sea and the left as green as a polished emerald.

  The she-wolf howled at the moon hanging low above the pines. The foul scent of rotten fish wafted on the breeze from the nearby Wretched Water.

  The woman gave her head a brisk shake. “The clan can do away with me if they wish, but I’ll never let them have my girl.”

  The man nodded. “Sure enough, but where are we taking her, Love?” He furrowed his brow. “Why are we creeping so close to the stinking water?”

  “I’ll tell you why,” answered the woman. “Because I fix to hide her where the clans are too fearful to look.” She nodded her head westward. “We’ll take her to that ruined town by the ugly water.”

  The man opened his eyes wide and his bushy, red brows rose. “With the black, slimy rocks?” He held his hands up by his shoulders. “How will she grow there?”

  “The critter will look after her.” There woman stared past the man to the she-wolf beyond him. “She’ll be kept safe, that wolf will feed her, even.”

  The man allowed himself a pride-filled smile. “Raised on wolf’s milk, what a fine fighter she’ll make!”

  “It’s more’n just the milk.” The woman caressed the tuft of hair on the babe’s scalp. “That wolf has a bond to her. You know as good as me the little one has a gift.”

  “A curse, more like,” said the man. “If she was the same as any other little one, we wouldn’t have to flee to such a terrible place by the light of a haunted moon.”

  The woman walked forward through the trees. “She’ll be more than any Twisty-Beard’s ever been. Maybe some towny fools will find her and raise her as their own.”

  The man followed the woman. “It pains me to think of her living like that.” He held his hands wide. “She’d be cooped up in a town, like livestock.”

  The she-wolf followed the man and woman at a distance.

  The man shook his head. “She was born to roam the hills, just like all the Hill-Folks.”

  The woman emerged from the trees and walked into the collection of black stones that were once a town. “She’s cursed with those eyes, and the love of wolves.” She looked over her shoulder at the man and she-wolf behind her. “The Hill-Folks are feared of the woman she’ll become, they’d rather kill her now than have a powerful lady on Twisty-Beard Hill.”

  “Say what you mean,” said the man. “You think our girl is a witch.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes. “The trees and hills have given her a gift, a gift the likes of which nobody’s ever seen who’s alive now.”

  The man stroked his knotted beard. “The hills will curse us for this.”

  The woman nodded. “As will the wolves.”

  The man frowned. “If there’s anything right in the hills, all the Twisty-Beards will bear this curse with us.”

  “The trees will see to it,” said the woman. “The Twisty-Beards will pay for what they make us do.”

  The man sighed. “We will pay for what we do.” He scratched his head. “There ought not to be no Twisty-Beards after this.”

  “The clan can fall to the Itchy-Legs, or the Long-Ears for all I care.” The woman wrapped the square of cloth tight around the baby.

  A clap of thunder boomed through the night sky.

  The man searched through the piles of stone. “I need to find a dry spot and a bit of shelter for the child before this storm hits.” He pointed to a small, black pile. “This should serve, fair enough.”

  “Hold her for me.” The woman handed the small bundle of child to the man. “I’ll leave her with what little I can.” She pulled a basket off her back. “I made this for her. I weaved it from the softest green saplings I could split.”

  The man placed the child into the basket the woman held. “That’s a finer bed than I ever had.”

  The woman kissed her babe on the forehead for the last time. She placed the basket into the hollow in the black stones and stepped back.

  The dutiful she-wolf crept over to the stones and took up a position at the child’s side.

  The woman smiled at the wolf. “Keep her safe, now.”

  The wolf stared back at the woman through narrow, lupine eyes that seemed both understanding and accusator
y.

  Quiet tears meandered down the woman’s coarse cheeks.

  The man put an arm around her shoulders. “Now we go back to the hills.” He looked away from the stones and into the trees. “We go back to face our judgement.” One of his own tears found its way into his knotted, red beard.

  The man and woman darted away from the ruined town and into the forest without daring to look back. Thunder continued to rumble through the night, but rain did not fall. The moon dropped lower in the sky as dawn approached and the sun made its first, feeble attempt to rise. The scales of day and night were held in a fleeting, delicate balance while a cloth merchant and his wife approached.

  The merchant said, “Johanna, we can take shelter in the ruins before the storm commences.”

  “Yes, Arik, I think that’s wise,” agreed the wife.

  “Quickly, then,” said Arik. “We’ll huddle beneath—” He stopped talking and held out an arm.

  “What is it? Why did you stop?” asked Johanna.

  “Don’t move,” whispered Arik. “I see a wolf.”

  “Oh my!” Johanna clasped her hands over the center of her chest.

  From the pile of stones beside the she-wolf, a baby’s cry broke the silence.

  1: Fiasco

  The Summer sun shone above the castle in Galliston and filled the courtyards with its warmth. The unrest of Spring gave way to an uneasy complacency and Summer. The blind dragon, Red-Line, was dormant and often dosed with bane, but there was a palpable fear that it may stir once again and bring with it havoc.

  The Lump and Meena stepped into the courtyard on the castle’s south side, near the postern gate. They were not alone, two castle halberdiers walked at their flanks. They had an appointment with the smith’s apprentice.

  The Lump’s tiny sword dangled at his hip. “Look at that sun, Summer is here for sure.” He chuckled under his breath. “I guess Summer’s as good a time as any to tackle this ox-sniffing lunacy.” He still wore boiled-leather bracers on his arms.

  Despite the warmth of the season, Meena wore her green cloak. “This has been a trying year.” Her hood was off her head and she gripped her ash staff in her right hand. “It’s a lost year, like a nightmare that may finally stop.” Her hair was in a thick, red braid that hung forward over her shoulder.

  The Lump pulled off his leather cap and ran a meaty hand through his mop of dark hair. “What is this fellow’s name again?” He placed his cap back atop his head and adjusted the leather vest draped across his torso.

  “Kinnad,” answered Meena. “The construction should be complete, we need to plan for our departure.”

  A pounding came from the far side wooden door as they strode past the small, postern gate.

  The halberdier nearest the Lump stopped and turned to face the gate. “Who goes there?”

  A voice beyond the gate called back, “I have a load of dung for the gardens!”

  The halberdier stepped closer to the source of the voice. “The courtyard’s closed for a private affair, comeback after midday.”

  “You want to get this dung spread before the sun’s too high,” said the voice beyond the gate. “If it bakes out here too long, it’ll all be for naught.” The unseen man released a derisive chuckle. “‘Course, I’m sure the King won’t mind if some footman ruins his gardens. What was your name again?”

  The halberdier groaned. “I’ll send for a gate guard, he’ll escort you to the gardens.” His face wrinkled in annoyance. “Private affairs of the King are being conducted, you’d best mind your dung and keep your eyes and ears to yourself!”

  “I just want to spread my dung and be off,” said the unseen man. “I care more about getting on my way than listening to any of the King’s business.”

  The halberdier looked to his colleague at Meena’s far side. “Go fetch a guard to escort this dung-merchant and his foul smelling wares.”

  The other halberdier nodded and walked back toward the castle.

  The Lump, Meena, and the remaining halberdier resumed walking toward the row of shanties that served as workshops for the castle. As they approached, a young man with short dark hair stepped out from the workshops. He stood about half a hand taller than Meena, but appeared about equal her years.

  The Lump smiled. “Are you the smith’s apprentice?”

  The dark-haired man nodded. “That’d be me.” He scratched behind an ear. “Name’s Kinnad.”

  Meena smiled and gave her head a slight nod. “Pleased to meet you, Kinnad.” She asked, “Is the vessel complete? And the apparatus in place?”

  “It is, m’lady,” answered Kinnad.

  “You may call me Meena,” said Meena. “No need to be formal.”

  Kinnad furrowed his brow. “But I heard you were a clan chief, and Queen of the Needlers.”

  The Lump’s ample belly bounced as he laughed. “Oh, Kinnad, that ain’t even the half of it!”

  Meena glared at the Lump. “Don’t encourage this foolishness!” Her mismatched eyes were blue and green slits.

  The Lump held his hands up by his shoulders. “Whatever you say, chief!”

  Meena frowned, but said nothing.

  The dispatched halberdier returned to the group. “I got one of the fresh fish to deal with the dung peddler.” He stood beside Meena and resumed the rigid posture of a well trained soldier.

  Kinnad raised an eyebrow. “Why’s a dung peddler in the yard? I thought all this was to be conducted in secrecy.”

  The Lump shrugged. “I guess if you’re dragging dung around, you want to be rid of the smelly stuff as fast as you can.” He looked over his shoulder, toward the postern gate.

  A man passed through the gate pulling a large, wooden cart bearing a heaping pile of dark brown cargo. The man wore a coarse, gray cloak that seemed too heavy for the present weather. A hood covered his head and obscured his features, but his slumped posture suggested that this was not a young man. One of the halberdiers turned to look at him, and the man seemed to lower his head even further to avoid looking back at the guard.

  The Lump turned back to the smith’s apprentice and shook his head. “That sure is a strange old fellow.”

  Kinnad sneered. “That man is sinister, if you ask me. It ain’t natural to skulk around like that in this pleasant weather.” He spat on the ground. “He’s a shiftless scoundrel more than a dung peddler.”

  Meena sighed. “He’s merely trying to make his way in the world, no different from us.”

  The Lump smirked. “He may be trying to make his way in the world, but he is almost certainly different from us.” The smirk fell off his face. “I wish I was different from us. That lucky fellow’s likely never had to so much as see a dragon, much less fight one.” He looked at the gray-robed figure again.

  The dung peddler drew his cart nearer to the workshops. His head jerked about to survey the place, but he was careful to keep his eyes hidden.

  “What in the name of a honey-loving badger do you think he’s looking for?” asked the Lump.

  Meena tilted her head and arched an eyebrow. “He’s looking for the gardens, you heard him say so from beyond the gate.”

  The Lump’s chest bounced with a chuckle. “It looks like he’s scared of the gardens, they way he fidgets about.”

  The man in gray continued to draw his dung burdened cart toward the workshops. He drew close enough that his cargo’s stench washed over them most unpleasantly.

  The halberdier nearest Meena pointed his weapon. “There’s no garden here, you’d best move away.”

  The man in gray nodded, his face still unseen. “I just need to go on around.” He continued to step closer.

  The other halberdier lowered his weapon as well. “You keep going the wrong direction, fool.”

  Meena bared her teeth at the halberdier. “There’s no cause to speak to him that way!”

  The halberdier lowered his brows. “I take my orders from the King, not you, witch.”

  The Lump pointed a thick finger at the halber
dier. “You better watch your mud-kissing tongue when you’re speaking to my friend!”

  The halberdier shifted his weapon away from the dung peddler and toward the Lump. “You should put down your finger before I hack it off!”

  “Go ahead and try!” shouted the Lump. “I’ve scrapped with uglier things than you!”

  “Stop it! Both of you idiots!” Meena gripped her staff in both hands with white knuckles. “Lump, you know I can fend for myself!” She pointed her staff at the halberdier. “If you insist on calling witch, I may see if the King will send you in my place on this labor.” Her eyebrows rose. “Would you like that?”

  The halberdier shook his helmeted head. “No, Ma’am.” He looked back to the man in gray. “You need to get your cart away from here, just the same.”

  The hooded head nodded. “Yes, sir, I just need to go around the cart and get it turned.” He shuffled around the load of dung with his head held low.

  Meena ran the back of her hand across her forehead. “Back to our business.” She looked at Kinnad. “Is everything in place where I requested?”

  Kinnad nodded. “It is, but I don’t know why you’d want to set off from such a horrid place.”

  Meena let out a slight laugh. “Considering our destination, the location of our departure seems fitting.”

  At the far side of the cart, the man in gray produced a small object from his cloak with his left hand and struck at it with his right.

  A halberdier shouted, “Man, what are you doing there?”

  The man in gray didn’t answer, he merely struck at the object again. It was a tinderbox, and he struck it with a flint. A spark leapt from it and into the pile of dung. The dung burst into a mound of flame with a blinding flash.

  A halberdier shouted, “He must have poured oil on it!”

  The other halberdier shouted, “Fire! Fire in the yard!”

  A thick cloud of black smoke rose up from the burning dung as the intensity of the flames diminished.

  The man in gray grabbed the hem of his cloak in both hands and swung his arms back and forth like a bird attempting to take flight. His motions wafted the smoke toward the group.