Dragonsphere (The Fallen King Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  Dragonsphere

  Richard Fierce

  Copyright 2013 Richard Fierce

  All rights reserved. All names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express written permission of the author.

  Cover art by Saeed Ramez.

  DEDICATION

  To the few and the loyal; my fans.

  Your support means the world to me.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

  This book was born in the nursery at City Church Savannah in Savannah, Georgia while I was playing a game with a young boy named Dorian. Many thanks to the boy who helped inspire this story and had no idea what he was doing. I miss you buddy!

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Introduction

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  “There has often been theological debate as to who, or what, is behind the forces of evil. No one is certain, but there is one thing everyone agrees upon: whatever it is, it certainly calls the Viss Mountains home. The feeling of evil there is palpable.”

  - from the Book of Faith

  INTRODUCTION

  Year of the Divines 418

  It was dark and cold. The distant sound of dripping water echoed throughout the narrow tunnel, part of a large system of interconnected passageways and caves deep in the Viss Mountains.

  A hooded figure navigated his way through them hesitantly, pausing every few paces to run his fingers along the stone walls. He desperately wanted to light a torch, but he knew it was a foolish thought. If he brought light into that chamber …

  The figure halted as he felt the familiar sigils on the wall. He had traveled through this cave many times now, yet it seemed he could never memorize his way to the central chamber within the mountain.

  “I sense you.” It was a sound unlike anything in his most insidious nightmares. “Come forth.”

  An intense fear overtook him. His breath came short and quick and he could feel his heart throbbing inside his chest. His hands began quivering so he clenched them into fists, hiding them within his robes. Closing his eyes momentarily, he forced a deep breath before stepping into the chamber.

  Every rational thought told him to flee. A horrible feeling wriggled its way into his heart, melting his resolve like wax in a fire.

  “You have carried out my instructions?”

  The man crumbled to his knees. He could almost feel it hovering around him, able to see everything while he was as blind as a bat.

  It was more of a demand than a question. The man could barely speak and meekly nodded his head. “I have arranged the bones in the cave as you said.” Something colder than ice touched his shoulder, causing his entire arm to go numb. It could only be the touch of his unholy master.

  “You have pleased me. I shall reward your obedience when all falls into place.” It seemed to him that the words slithered across the cave like snakes, wrapping themselves around him.

  “Yes … m-my … lord.”

  “They thought they destroyed me. But I cannot be destroyed … no, I am eternal. And now … I will unleash hell upon the land.”

  The man looked around futilely in the dark cave and could see nothing. But he could feel it. A shudder in the ground, a tremor in the walls. He could hear loose rocks clattering against each other as the rumbling grew stronger.

  A wicked, cackling laughter erupted, making him flinch unexpectedly. Then silence. Suddenly there was a loud cracking sound, as if something were splitting open. He heard the roar echo out across the mountains, but he also heard the distinct sound of flapping wings.

  An ancient and mighty creature had been awakened. The man couldn’t help but wonder: what have I done?

  Death was coming. A dragon was coming.

  “All of history bears false witness.

  Truth is only known by those who were present.”

  - from the Book of Faith

  CHAPTER ONE

  Year of the Divines 419

  When rumors of a dragon attack reached Demetrius, he dismissed them almost immediately. Having lived in the port city of Radda his entire life, he had heard many wild stories from countless travelers. Everything ranging from giant squids in the open seas to horses with wings. Admittedly this was the first time he heard mention of a dragon, supposed giant mythical creatures that fed on the fear of people and could lay waste to entire cities.

  “Rubbish,” he said. “Children’s tales told by parents to scare little ones into obedience.”

  “I believe it,” the old sailor remarked enthusiastically. “Captain heard it ’imself. Says the whole city was burned to the ground and everyone killed.”

  “Then how did your captain hear of it?” Demetrius eyed his friend sternly. The man’s face was covered in wrinkles and his hair bleached from constant sun. The man had been a sailor since he was not more than a boy and was prone to believe almost anything.

  “What d’ya mean?” the sailor, Bannigan, asked.

  “If everyone was killed, how did your captain hear this story? Who would have repeated it to him?”

  The old man remained silent for a moment and scratched his prickly-haired chin. “It not be my place to question the Captain, silversmith.”

  Demetrius laughed heartily. “Nice cover up.”

  The sailor stomped his foot indignantly. “It ain’t no cover up. I trust the Captain’s word. How’s business?” Bannigan changed the subject.

  “Profitable, as always. The war with Oakvalor hasn’t put a pinch in anyone’s pockets yet. I hear some of my fellow smiths have been requested to appear before the king, as to why is anyone’s guess.”

  “Maybe the king needs more weapons.”

  Demetrius shrugged his large shoulders. He wasn’t in the business of making weapons, so it mattered little to him. His craft was typically sought after by the well-to-do, custom pieces that didn’t come cheap. Some people had so much money they apparently didn’t know what to do with it. He could work with any metal he put his hands on, but he preferred silver. It was very easy to bend and could be cast or hammered which allowed him to form almost anything with it; from teapots to statues.

  The clanging of the bell tower echoed loudly across the city, signaling noon. The bell tower was originally built to alert the populace of emergencies. Its main use now was to indicate the time. Bannigan clapped Demetrius on the shoulder and bid him farewell. “That’s my call,” he said, trying to be heard over the noise. Demetrius’ shop was situated near the docks for convenience and the daily clanging of the bell had eventually become a normal sound to him.

  “Be safe,” he called out as the old man left. Bannigan waved to acknowledge he heard him. Not that anyone
couldn’t.

  Demetrius was a large man with a thunderous voice. At six and a half feet tall, he was a beast of a man, with muscles so large that he had to be custom fitted for his clothing. His hair was light brown and cut short to keep it out of his eyes, and to keep it from being singed. His skin was a deep bronze color as he preferred to be in the sun most of his time.

  He watched his friend until he could no longer see him among the crowd. He heard his name a few stalls down and glanced to see who said it. He could see a member of the king’s guard talking to one of the vendors. The vendor pointed towards where he was standing. What in the Divines would a soldier of the crown want with him? He watched the soldier approach.

  “Demetrius?”

  The big man eyed the soldier warily. “Yes?”

  “The silversmith?” he asked with an air of impatience.

  “Yes.”

  The soldier withdrew a scroll from his belt and handed it to Demetrius. “What’s this?” he questioned. The soldier shook his head. “Not my business, sir. I am just the messenger. I believe His Highness requests your presence at the palace.”

  “What for?” Demetrius probed.

  “Not my business.” The soldier’s impatience was evident by his short, almost rude, answers. “I must be on my way, sir.” The soldier turned and headed back from the way he came. Demetrius stared at the scroll, unsure if he even wanted to open it. Everyone knew he didn’t make weapons. Why would the king summon him if he was seeking smiths to make his armies more weapons?

  He snapped the seal in half and opened the scroll. It read:

  To Demetrius the silversmith,

  Greetings from the Esteemed Ruler of Talvaard, King Garun. Your presence is requested at the palace. Do not worry about your business. You will be well compensated. A carriage has been arranged to meet you outside the city of Radda at sundown. Do not be late.

  King Garun

  There was a fancy signature and the crest of the king, a phoenix bursting forth from a pile of ashes, at the bottom of the parchment. Demetrius sighed. He hated politics.

  Dusk found him standing near the road at the outskirts of his hometown. He had closed his shop early much to his disappointment. There was a certain beautiful woman who walked by his stall everyday around the same time, usually carrying fresh bread. He had only noticed her because he caught her staring at him as she passed by one day.

  Her look was one of admiration. At least, that’s how he took it. She had smiled embarrassedly and blushed. And so, Demetrius made it a point in his day to watch her as she walked by and smile at her.

  Closing early meant that he missed her. He was more than slightly frustrated by that, as he had finally worked up his nerve to actually speak to her. His hope was that she would let him get to know her and perhaps they would see where things went from there.

  The carriage pulled up suddenly and Demetrius noticed that the sun was just sliding behind the mountains. “Well at least the king is punctual,” he muttered beneath his breath. The door to the carriage swung open and a man dressed in plain clothes, probably a servant, stepped out. He motioned to the carriage and bowed low. “If you would, sir.”

  Demetrius dipped his head in thanks and climbed inside. A quiet whistle escaped his lips. The inside was adorned with all sorts of glittering shapes. He looked closely and recognized most of the precious stones. Diamonds and rubies comprised most of the decorations, but there were also a few sapphires and a couple stones he did not recognize. The fabric that made up the seats was comfortable and smooth to the touch. It was hard to tell whether the material was dark red or brown in the fading light.

  Demetrius was impressed. He didn’t expect to be brought to the palace in luxury. Granted he was known among the higher ups for his skills in crafting, but he was not of noble birth. And most, if not all of them, seemed to ignore the fact that he was much wealthier than most of them, anyway. The servant did not get back into the carriage, but instead shut the door and climbed into the seat with the driver.

  He had a decent amount of time to think as the buggy headed toward Tarvaarin, the city built around the palace. It was a thirty-minute trip to the palace by horse. After what seemed like hours to him, he felt a difference in the road. Instead of bouncing about on the dirt path, the ride smoothed out and he could tell they were now on the stone paved roads of the city.

  The carriage came to an abrupt stop and the door swung open. The servant stood there and motioned for Demetrius to come out. He had gotten comfortable and it took him a minute to move. Why did the king want him to come so late in the evening hours, he wondered.

  The servant led him through enormously tall double doors and into a massive circular room that was normally filled with nobles and commoners alike, usually bringing petitions and requests to the king or his advisors. The room was empty and their footsteps reverberated off the walls.

  Demetrius looked admiringly up at the vaulted ceiling, rising sixty feet above him. Support pillars were spaced every ten feet, outlining the main walkway through the antechamber. “This is huge,” he remarked to himself.

  “Sir?” the servant looked back at him. Demetrius shook his head and the servant continued his hurried pace. A door in the middle of the far wall was flanked on either side by two giant alabaster statues of winged men standing at attention, their swords drawn and held up before them. Demetrius thought them an odd addition to the room. The walls were covered with portraits of regal looking men, whom he assumed were previous kings, and large brightly colored tapestries depicting scenes of long ago battles.

  He began to wonder why he had never made a trip to the palace, if for no other reason than to say he had been there. The servant stopped before the door. “Wait here, sir,” he said breathlessly before disappearing through the door. Demetrius looked down at the floor. Stone tiles, painted orange and yellow, ran the length of the entire room, forming a triangular pattern. The tiles outside the three-sided shape were bright red.

  He assumed there was some sort of significance to the design, but it was lost on him. Demetrius looked back up and noticed the servant was staring at him. “His Highness will see you now.” He held the door open and pointed down a long hallway. “It’s the last door on the left at the end of the hall.”

  The big man nodded his head in thanks and walked to where he was directed. The hallway, large enough to comfortably hold two carriages side by side, was barely adorned at all. A guard stepped out from the shadows and startled him. “I didn’t see you,” he laughed nervously.

  “That would be the point,” the guard answered, his face hidden by the hood over his head. He patted Demetrius down for weapons and finding none, opened the door for him to enter. “Go to the center of the room and do not leave the circle.”

  “Circle? Why not?”

  “Just don’t.”

  Demetrius was starting to regret having made the trip. Then again, seeing how guarded the king was, he doubted he would have lived long had he refused to come. He walked to the middle of the room and noticed the circle design in the floor. He assumed that’s where he was supposed to stand.

  The guard shut the door and Demetrius was enveloped in darkness. He cleared his throat and the sound echoed eerily. Torches flared to life and revealed a large wooden chair with a man seated on it.

  “Demetrius,” the unknown man greeted. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before.”

  Demetrius wasn’t sure if it was the king or not. And if it was, should he bow? He didn’t answer. The man must have taken his lack of response as hesitance. “You can speak freely.”

  Demetrius felt a little better that he could speak his mind. He wasn’t one to bite his tongue. “What is this about? Why am I here? I am a very busy man, and I have lost half a day’s time”

  The man in the chair stood up swiftly and Demetrius fell silent. “I can assure you, master smith, that we are all busy. Some busy with tasks more important than others.” The man tossed a leather pouch ont
o the floor in front of him. “Consider this payment for your time.”

  Demetrius didn’t dare move from the circle to see what was inside, heeding the warning the guard had given him.

  “Talvaard has a shadow cast over it, master smith. A shadow that threatens to consume us all.”

  Demetrius assumed the shadow was Oakvalor, the enemy kingdom that Talvaard had been at war with for as long as anyone could remember. “Then I must inform you, sir, that I am not a weapon smith. I make trinkets and items ordered for noble houses. I think you have erred in your selection of men to build your weapons of war.”

  “Do you think that I am ignorant of those in my kingdom?” the man asked, revealing that he was indeed the king. “I know what you are capable of, Demetrius, and I have not summoned you here to build weapons. At least, not in the sense that you are thinking.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Several other torches lit up, as though by magic, and exposed King Garun in all his splendor. He was shorter than Demetrius by at least a foot. His hair was long and black, pulled back tight into a ponytail. His nose slanted down his face, reminding Demetrius of a bird’s beak. His eyes were hazel and set deep in his head. The king was nothing special in terms of attractiveness. What he lacked in looks, however, was made up for in bearing.

  His posture and demeanor exhibited a great deal of confidence and his general appearance was enhanced by his garments. His crown gleamed in the torchlight and gave the impression that it was made of silver. Demetrius knew it wasn’t crafted of his favorite metal, but was instead made of something much more valuable: white gold.

  It had three gems set in the front. A rare black diamond, twenty karats by Demetrius’ estimate, in the middle, surrounded on either side by two green serendibite stones. It was a marvelous treasure. The king’s shirt was turquoise and had a lustrous, dazzling sheen that only silk could give. His linen pants were a brilliant green color tucked into black leather boots. During the daylight hours, when dealing with matters of state, he would also wear a mantle that extended to the floor, joined at the neck and open down the front, that was emblazoned with the large phoenix crest on the back.