Siege of Dragonsrod

CHAPTER ONE

-RESURRECTION-

Haxokrin Mountains, borderlands between Abyssina and Nelvainia.

Two tall, gaunt older-looking vordral males dressed in cassock-like robes of shaman, moved silent as ghosts through the dark and empty paths of their sleeping mountain village. The two slowly crawled up the slippery slopes toward a destination known only to them. The pair stopped behind a large rock and, moments later, emerged with two stiff leather bags in their aging, ape-like hands. They were preparing themselves for some kind of task. Urgency stressed their wrinkled faces; their eyes dark and serious. Neither had muttered a word about what they were going to do.

The priests crossed over a snow-capped, tooth-shaped mountaintop and slowly descended down the steep, naked, windswept slope until they reached a pair of dark, pillars that pointed up from the rocks and snow like two sabers. They momentarily locked eyes. They fingered through their pouches and pulled out some small animal bones and two little glass jars, one of dirt and one with a bright red powder, plus an assortment of bird feathers. Their ritual started with a low toned rhythmic chant. The devotees moved and swiped their cloven hooves in a series of practiced dance steps.

They dropped the feathers and bones at the same time. The items seemed to roll magnetically to the base of the hooking, pointy rocks. They uncorked the glass jars and poured the dirt and powder together in their hands. One sprinkled his handful of dust in a half circle in front of the pillars. The other threw his ingredients between the stone columns. The chants grew louder, more intense. Their steps had become more elaborate kicks, bounds and stomps. They thrust their hands in the air and let out strained, high-pitched yells. The shamans appeared to be deep in a trance, their eyes were unfocused and clouded.

A black, gritty mist was forming in between the up-curving rocks and grew larger the more the two sang. One kicked stones and dirt between the pointed columns. The other fondled through his pouch and pulled out a mummified hand, packed it in snow as if he were adding a rub to a steak, and tossed it on top of the bones and feathers and debris. The chants became hoarse screams, sweat dripping from their ape-like faces. The pile of remains smoldered with a bitter smelling gray, oily smoke. It swirled to a vortex cloud and was sucked into the black, solidifying form.

Exhaustion was overtaking the shamans. Their moves appeared heavy, slow and labored as if they were kicking and throwing weights about. The wind picked up causing their robes to flap and fly and snap like flags. The mist was becoming solid matter. The two were close — they had to finish — even if it resulted in their deaths, the ultimate act of devotion. The two collapsed to their hands and knees, gasping and panting. They could rest now.

A large, black figure loomed over them. He opened his eyes to reveal two red, glowing balls. His ape-like head was huge with heavy, intimidating horns that jutted up and curled out between his ears and his circular, well developed shoulders. His neck was thick and triangular and perched atop a muscular torso. Massive, skull crushing hands hung low from two brawny arms. A shaggy thick-furred coat covered his goat-like legs from his hips to his cloven hooves. He blinked his eyes a couple of times before dropping them to the wheezing shamans, now in an upward slither to their feet.

Sire! the one closest to him said, We have resurrected you to your perfect form!

The second shaman's eyes bulged and his jaw hung open as he stared at the figure's violated midriff.

It is no matter, the figure growled, following the shaman's horrified gaze to a long scar on the left side of his abdomen. I want the people to see me as I really am. I have returned. I am Loothar— High King of all vordral!

The priests lowered to one knee and bowed their heads. Loothar stepped away from the pillars and passed them as if the pair weren't there. He was oblivious to the biting cold and the howling winds. He started walking up the slope. The exhausted shamans stood and ran, huffing and puffing, after him.

Take me to your village, Loothar demanded.

At once! acknowledged one shaman.

This way, Sire, grovelled the other.

Loothar stepped over the craggy mountain top and stopped a few yards down the eastern slopes. His shivering disciples scurried and stumbled behind him. His attention fell hard on the hazy sprawl that was western Abyssina. His eyes blazed like twin stars in the night sky. His face lifted into a tight-lipped grin.

What is it, Sire? asked a shaman.

Opportunity, Loothar spoke, more to himself than to the tooth-chattering shamans.

S-S-Sire?

"The prophecy was not fulfilled, Loothar barked, scowling at his devotees. The baby white dragon is vulnerable. He is my priority. I will reveal myself to him very soon."

W-What of C-Councilor Zare, S-Sire?

Loothar chuckled as if catching on to a joke no one else understood. He is on his own — for now.

***

Zare's mansion, Gronoz, Black Dragon Triumvirate.

Nearly one year had passed since the opening of the war — the failure at the wall, the disaster at Orzolla Pass. Yet to Zare, this was ancient history. One-by-one, his troops overran the string of green dragon forts guarding the Sandrega River Valley. Those accursed redoubts took much longer to wipe out than he had bargained — the cost in time, materiel, lives. He knew too well this war was not popular with his people. He paid attention to the statistics and the reports; in fact, he obsessed over them. He did not have an infinite number of dragons to fill in his ranks and carry on with, or to be wasted in a long-term campaign.

True, his subjects were becoming increasingly dissatisfied at the losses, the taxation, the stresses, the strains, the rationing and hardships. That was war.

That was the price they had to pay for giving him their allegiance. But what could his subordinate populace do to stop him? Nothing!

Zare had perfected the use of fear to keep his people in line. They saw what he did to those who opposed him, he made sure of it. Resistance leaders were rounded up and disposed of in one way or another, their cells hunted down and wiped out or scattered. Political rivals fled for their lives, if they were lucky. Most were executed or tossed into prisons, or just disappeared. Zare had succeeded in imposing his will on his citizenry and crushing them with it. Being a council-leader, he could do pretty much whatever he wanted to his people and not really have to worry about any ramifications from other clans.

Though effective, fear was not a perfect weapon. A populace could be terrorized, bullied, punished and numbed to the point of not caring anymore and rebel to save what remained of their dignity. He had to be careful with how he used his tools of intimidation, especially under this particular form of government. He didn't need his two other co-rulers breathing down his neck and sticking their annoying noses where they didn't belong. He knew his partners would not tolerate his harsh ideas and heavy-handed policies. They were standing in his way. He would make his moves soon enough regarding his cohorts. But for now... Another council-of-war with Tabric and Deela.

Zare entered his war room and stood in front of a large table with a detailed map of Green Dragon Territory sprawled over it. His pale-yellow eyes dropped to the paper. A toothy grin split open his alligator-like face. Black and green arrows were scratched across the northern half of the map, all pointing to Rampoor, the Green Dragon Territorial capital.

The large-bodied, square-jawed, horse-eared Tabric stood to the right, while the shark-faced, slender-bodied, Deela, was opposite him on the left. Their eyes slid to Zare as he rested his hands on the table.

Dragonsrod is reeling! he proclaimed. It is time to begin the second phase of this plan.

Tabric and Deela said nothing and showed little in their facial expressions.

Zare continued; You know the plan. The Greens are scattered and in full retreat to their capital — It's pretty much ours for the taking.

A word of caution, Tabric warned.

Zare's jaw muscles tightened as he flashed a glare at the red dragon leader.

Zare was starting to feel as though he had made a mistake with Tabric. He was far too cautious — always clouded with doubts. Always afraid of what might go wrong and not planning as much for when things go right!

The capture of the Orzolla Pass came at a great cost to my army, Tabric complained,meeting Zare's glare with one of his own. I am not sure that my remaining army can successfully carry out the two-pronged attack that the plan calls for.

You had better make sure that it is ready, Zare snarled.

I need supplies and re-enforcements, Tabric countered with a forced calm.

The veins bulged in Zare's neck. Then do whatever you have to do to get them!

He could easily see why the gold dragon leader, Zhangi, hated Tabric so much. Zare darted his eyes to Deela, who seemed not to miss a step.

My fleet is ready to set sail, she reported. Weather and wind conditions along the coast are favorable, from what my forecasters told me.

Good! Zare barked, his eyes returning back to the map at Green Dragon Territory's coastline. Give them the order to set sail, immediately.

Deela nodded.

Nothing can help the Greens now, Zare's face scrunched into a malevolent sneer.

***

Zare sat alone in his cavernous dining room at the head of a long, rectangular, wooden table, looming over a feast of roasted red-tailed iguana. This marine reptile was a delicacy, far too expensive and out of reach of the common dragon, except for those who harvested them. He preferred this dish slow roasted and stuffed with potatoes and pearl onions, slathered in a rich, red meat sauce, to be washed down with only the finest of burgundy wines. He smiled as the sweet, steamy aromas swirled up from the glistening meat that caressed and made love to his senses...

The dining room door squeaked open.

Two large, square-jawed red dragons followed a sleek looking male silver dragon into the chamber. The pale-skinned silver sported a narrow, green tinged, scrub brush-like strip of hair that grew tall from his forehead and descended to mere stubble at the back dividing his otherwise bald head in half. The trio wore charcoal black chest and shoulder armor over chain mail shirts. Yet, these were not regular Army troopers, who, if it wasn't the most dire of emergencies, knew better than to interrupt their leader as he ate. Zare tore his eyes away from his dinner to the three as they approached his table.

You're late, he snarled.

We had a few unexpected delays, the silver dragon spoke. We got here as soon as we could.

Fine, fine! Zare barked. Did you get the job done?

Of course, the silver dragon returned with a haughty tone of voice. He leaned against the table, his purple-gray eyes dancing all over Zare's succulent looking feast.

Get off my table, Lasko!

Sorry! The dragon named Lasko threw up his hands about shoulder level, and wisely moved away.

A short pause followed.

Zare kept his glare firmly on Lasko's face. Did you make it look like an accident?

The two red dragons spit out muffled laughs.

No one realized Graff was so clumsy, Lasko replied as his friends cackled even louder.

Zare's mouth curved up into a slight grin. He had the perfect replacement for the recently departed Graff. That over-anxious tail-kisser, Walker, would now get his chance to prove his worth by going to Abyssina to continue to stall the already troubled diplomatic conference.

You've done well, so far, Zare grimaced as he watched the three exchange triumphant, yet childish, high-fives. I have more work for you to do.

The trio refocused their attention on Zare.

Yeah, sure, boss, Lasko's eyes twinkled, the purple in them tinged a bit darker. What do you want done?

Zare slowly rose from his table, his lips twisted into a malevolent smile, his eyes blazing like torches. I want you to stage a coup.

Lasko smiled as did his companions. You got it, boss. Who do you want offed?

CHAPTER TWO

-RETREAT-

Green Dragon Territory, One hundred miles north of Rampoor

Dragonsrod forces were in full retreat. Once the last remaining forts along the Sandrega river fell, the defensive wall became untenable. Everything that couldn’t be taken was destroyed. The retreat was in good order — at first.

Vordral hordes wiped out the last two forts and poured into Green Dragon Territory like a torrent. The beasts charged at the fleeing Dragonsrod rear guard and threw the army in to total confusion. Triumvirate forces quickly joined the attack, pressing the defenders even harder.

White, blue, orange and green dragons and a host of other allied beings trudged in a steady progression south. An air of defeat hung heavy over this bedraggled throng. Soldiers' heads were dipped, their shoulders rounded, eyes dark and baggy with little to no facial expressions. Goldeye straddled his tyrocc, steering the beast amongst his soldiers. The old dragon kept a stone-faced, statue-like outward appearance. Inside, his heart ached and his guts were clenched with grief and sympathy for his troops. They did not deserve what was happening to them. His one green eye and one deep-set gold eye scoured the seemingly crawling landscape as his troops moved through the tree and scrub strewn terrain. He could only watch as a blue dragon artillery team was forced to scuttle a trebuchet that became mired in a creek bed. The dragons chased away the tyroccs, grabbed hammers, clubs and axes, and smashed the machine to broken and splintered chunks. It could only serve the enemy as firewood now.

To Goldeye, the suffocating, crushing pressure felt as though he were forced to lug over his shoulders a ten ton bag of rocks. A string of defeats followed the victories at the wall and the ambush at Orzolla Pass. Now the Pass was gone and White Dragon Territory was out of reach. He was in charge of this section of the retreat. The blue dragon, General Jossic and the red dragon, General Goza, were overseeing the retreat from here to the coast. Yet he commanded the Army— more rocks to the bag.

He could have stayed in Kublisa after the signing of the alliance with the griffons. It would have made perfect sense for him to remain there and conduct the war from the country’s capital. What he once told Gisko rang through his mind like a bell in the dead

of night. ‘I feel I have to… All of this happened on my watch… To right this wrong. That is what I must do.’

Goldeye stuck to those words. He was confident he had the right dragons in the right places. He knew they would do what was called of them to do. At the head of this army is where he needed to be.

The old dragon stopped his tyrocc on a knoll overlooking a ravine infested with thick and scraggly scrub brush that seemed to tangle itself into every wheel well and around every foot that rolled and traipsed over it. Gods help his soldiers if an ambush happened here. His soldierly instincts started tugging at his gut, something didn’t seem right. He knew the enemy was close on their heals and had been since this retreat started.

A low thunderous rumble growled from behind. That meant one thing…

— Cavalry!—

— Run!—

Goldeye sneered, whipping his tyrocc around and yanking his sword out of its sheath. Shadowy forms of enemy cavalry rode among his panicky rear guard. Goldeye spurred his mount and charged to the scene of the attack. This was turning into a rout — he was the only one to stop it.

RALLY YOURSELVES! he shouted at his fleeing troops.

A black dragon cavalier shoved his lance deep into the back of a blue dragon soldier, a few feet away.

RALLY AROUND ME! he pleaded, rearing his tyrocc up on its hind feet.

Some soldiers stopped running and threw half quizzical, half terrified looks at him…

"Remember who you are! You are the Orange Talons! You are the Gortha Legion!" More soldiers were slowing or stopping. "Follow me, Knights of the Teal Cross! Rally around me, Manticore Legion!"

Crossbow bolts hissed through the air, stabbing and ripping into the enemy cavaliers and their mounts as they toppled to the ground in heaps. Goldeye charged his tyrocc at three black dragon cavaliers, a dozen of his soldiers charging in with him. The black dragons pulled on their reins causing their mounts to rear up and swing their massive, club-like feet at the attackers.

Two blue dragons and one orange dragon grabbed a black dragon from off the back of his tyrocc and threw him to the ground and stabbed him in the spaces between his armor. The two surviving cavaliers spun their mounts around, looking to get away. Goldeye bumped his tyrocc against the mount of a black trooper. The forceful impact sent the rider hurtling to the ground. A white dragon soldier drew a dagger and carved into the black dragon’s throat.

The stunned enemy cavaliers were fading into the dust. Another ground shaking rumble of tyrocc feet could be heard. Hundreds of green dragon cavaliers galloped on the field. Cheers and hurrahs roared from many of the infantry as the green riders chased off the remaining enemy.

Keep moving! Goldeye called to his soldiers. Keep moving!

The arrival of these green cavaliers had just bought him some much needed time. Best not to squander it. Goldeye slapped the reins on the sides of his tyrocc’s neck and they moved against the flow of the retreat. He surveyed the damage the enemy had done. Not many dead or wounded to speak of. This appeared to be more of an attack on his troops’ psyche than anything else. He pulled up on the reins, stopping his mount, as six white dragon soldiers moped by him.

Are you alright? he asked, his eyes moving over their upturned faces.

Tired and angry, sir, spoke a dragon with two blue stripes on each shoulder plate,indicating the rank of captain.

You will get your chance to fight back, Goldeye promised, his voice firm and reassuring. Very soon.

Yes, sir, the captain returned, trying to sound confident for his dragons though his facial expression suggested otherwise.

Goldeye turned his attention to five riders approaching from his right. One rider moved ahead of the others and stopped in front of him. The lead rider removed his helmet, showing a short, turtle-like face, stubby, triangular ears with a small horn on his head and crest on his nose. He shot his red, snake-like eyes at the old dragon. You shouldn’t be taking such chances, Councilor. You, above all, we can’t afford to lose.

Goldeye’s crocodile-like face split into a grin. I appreciate your concern, El. But I was only doing what a good commander should do.

Of course, El muttered.

Your brother plays this game better than I thought, Goldeye admitted.

El’s face scrunched and his eyes glinted. He’s not my brother. He died the day he killed my father.

The old dragon nodded, figuring it was probably best to just drop the matter.

The Talis River is four miles south of here, El told him, pointing in that direction. It’s wide, the water is deep and the current is swift. We’ll be safe once we have crossed.

Are the tele-wire lines still working?

Everything south of the river is operational. Little to nothing, however, is getting out of the territory.

I have to speak to Jossic and General Goza. We need to find a place to stop running and dig in.

***

El’s headquarters was a good indicator as to how the war was going. A dilapidated barn with much of the roof missing surrounded by tall grass and scrub brush with a few trees sprouting up here and there. Nothing was set up in the barn that couldn’t be packed and tossed on the back of a tyrocc, or a wagon in under a couple of minutes.

Lions, wolves, bears, foxes and raccoons stood in the ranks along with the dragons. All had work to do whether it was tending to the tyroccs, standing guard or preparing the defenses. If a soldier’s hands were idle, they wouldn’t be for long.

Three small candles stood at the center of a dusty and rickety table. The tiny yellow-orange flames provided a dim, flickering light in a small room toward the back of the barn. Goldeye, Jossic, El, and General Goza sat around the table in a council-of-war.

We can’t continue this retreat much longer! General Goza barked. The past year had not been kind to him. He had been wounded three times, including the loss of his left arm at the elbow.

The vordral, alone, outnumber us ten-to-one, El added. We grow weaker by the day. I agree with General Goza. Where do we draw the line and make our stand?

It isn’t hard to sense the dip in morale, Jossic said, his indigo eyes glinting in the candle light. The longer we retreat the more acute our problems become.

All eyes fell to Goldeye, who sat silent, wearing a deep, thoughtful look on his face.

Council-Leader? Goza spoke, a hint of impatience in his voice. What say you?

A tense pause…

We are going to fight them, Goldeye's voice quiet but firm. Right here.

A wave of relief swept over the other three as they all started talking at once. Goldeye held up a hand to silence them. We’re going to let them cross the river.

The other three looked stunned and gazed at the old dragon as if he were morphing into something hideous.

Hear me out, he quickly countered. We will fight them here at the river. Then we will pull back and let them cross. We will then employ hit-and-run tactics from here to Rampoor.

Jossic, Goza and El stared at him for a moment.

El’s face lifted into a smile. I love it! Pick at them for the last seventy five miles or so.

Exactly, Goldeye replied. Rattle them enough to the point that when they see the spires of Rampoor, they won’t want to continue.

Goza smiled. Yes! Let’s take the fight back to them.

It will take time to set everyone in place, Jossic warned.

Not necessarily, El countered, shaking his head. If Rampoor is their target, all we need to do is to keep it as their focus. Bottle-neck them, then tear them to pieces!"

All in favor? Goldeye asked, though he really didn’t need to.

Everyone rose his right hand.

Goldeye smacked his right hand down on the table. Let’s prepare for battle."

CHAPTER THREE

-LET THE TRAINING BEGIN-

Queen Catra’s Palace, Aizon, Abyssina

Gak was big for a one year old dragon. While most babies his age were in the process of mastering their motor skills, Gak had learned his ABC’s and 1,2,3’s. He sprouted up like a weed; physically, he was the equivalent of a six year old white dragon child. Moira and River Rat supervised his book-reading studies. They played board games to help him learn strategies — not to mention they were a lot of fun. The afternoons were his time for walking around the castle and the giant courtyard. Maxum took Gak for hikes and an occasional swim. Life was pretty easy, so far, for the little dragon.

***

Not everyone felt happy with the comforts and cushiness that royalty provided. Handoe, Sandstorm and Jessa had little to no part in baby Gak’s progress. Handoe read the news prints with increasing concerns over what Dragonsrod was enduring. He didn’t like to sit around for too long; he often grew restless and fidgety and resorted to wandering the castle halls or even the streets of Aizon, just for something to do. He had