Dragon Stones (Book One in the Dragon Stone Saga)



  Dragon Stones

  Book One of the Dragon Stone Saga

  Author: Kristian Alva

  Editor: Isaac Sweeney

  Defiant Press

  Elk Grove, CA

  The Dragon Stone Saga

  Book One: Dragon Stones

  Book Two: The Return of the Dragon Riders

  Book Three: Vosper’s Revenge

  Audience: Young Adult

  Genre: Fantasy

  Dragon Stones, Book One of the Dragon Stone Saga

  Kristian Alva

  Copyright Defiant Press 2011

  Copyright Notice: ©Defiant Press 2011. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted without express written permission from the publisher. www.defiantpress.com

  Cover illustration: Jesse-lee Lang

  Find out more about the author at: www.KristianAlva.com

  Prologue

  ***

  The Dragon Hunters

  The mountain air was chilly, and the sun had already set. Rosy light filled the valley as the sun set on the mountainside. Thirteen men crouched warily in the low brush. These men were used to waiting outside these mountain caves. They whispered quietly only when necessary. They were there on the direct order of Emperor Vosper, trained specifically for this purpose. These men were Dragon Hunters.

  Dragon Hunters always travel with an apprentice mage who is proficient in protection spells. These hunters were protected by a powerful masking spell, which allowed them to get close to the dragon’s cave without the adult dragons detecting their smell. The young mage, Dirkla, was pale with strain—he had been holding the spell for two days without sleep, and he could not mask his fatigue.

  So close to this birthing cave, even the slightest mistake could mean their doom. Captain Kathir cast another worried glance at the mage, who was shivering with exhaustion. Kathir knew that the mage’s spell would eventually falter, but he would collapse from exhaustion before he would admit any fatigue. That’s just the way the emperor’s wizards were taught—never show any sign of weakness. Kathir frowned, but he didn’t voice his concerns to the mage. All wizards were a foolish, stubborn bunch. The spell was designed to keep them from being discovered, but it didn’t protect them from cold and hunger. All of the men were feeling the effects of the long surveillance. They were stretched to the limit.

  Kathir was exhausted, but he could not afford to go back to the emperor empty-handed. Vosper was cruel when displeased. Kathir was a mercenary, not a villain. Dragon hunting was a job like any other, except that it was dangerous and paid extremely well. Kathir had seen over thirty winters, which made him the oldest in his troop. Thirty was old for a mercenary, and even older for a Dragon Hunter.

  Kathir was stocky and tightly muscled, with deep scars on both cheeks. The flesh merchant’s mark. It was a sign that he had once been a slave. The scars were deep, but faded with age. Not all merchants marked their slaves, because any mutilation lowered their value, but it made them much easier to recover if they escaped. Kathir never discussed his past with his men, and none of them ever asked.

  He steadied his gaze again on the cave’s entrance. His patience was rewarded. At that moment, three adult female dragons lumbered to the edge of the cave. They waddled out awkwardly, muscles stiff from months of inactivity as they guarded their eggs. Dragons’ bodies were built for flight, rather than scrabbling around on the ground. Their caution had limited their flying unless absolutely necessary. They didn’t want to draw any attention to their birthing cave.

  These females were all carnelian dragons; the most common type. Carnelians were small, with brownish-red scales, and just larger than a horse. Their size made them fast and cunning. They breathed fire and had limited magical powers, just like all dragons. In the dusky light, Kathir could just distinguish the brownish stone embedded at the base of their throats.

  All dragons produce a dragon gem as soon as they gain their ability to breathe fire—usually at about six months of age. The stones grow in naturally, like a tooth, developing to about the size of a chicken’s egg. Their scales are still soft at that age, and the stone erupts at the base of the throat, where it will remain until the dragon dies or is killed. The dragons use the stone to focus their powers, store magical energy, and communicate with their riders (if they have one). None of the nesting females was bound to a rider; it was easy to see because none of their dragon stones had been carved with the crest of a rider. Their throat stones were all smooth. These dragons were wild.

  Dragons are solitary creatures, and prefer to raise their young alone, but the remaining dragon females had grown wary and now banded together in groups of two or three. The females shuffled quietly to the edge of the ridge and scanned the horizon. Their ruddy scales flickered as they stretched their wings to the sky. These remote mountains offered better protection from Dragon Hunters, but little to eat, and all of the females looked very thin, their ribs plainly visible. The females, driven by hunger, decided to risk a group hunt. All three females unfurled their brown wings and took flight. The men waited anxiously. This was the moment they had been waiting for. As soon as all the females disappeared in the distance, the men ran to the cave’s mouth.

  The mage closed his eyes and stretched his hands out, murmuring a simple spell. The soldiers tensed, ready to retreat if necessary. “All of the females have left,” the mage gasped. “There are only hatchlings in the cave. Go now!”

  “Go! Move! We don’t have much time!” Kathir shouted. The men rushed inside. Kathir turned to their exhausted mage.

  “Dirkla, rest outside for a moment. This won’t take long. Gather your strength. We will need your powers again when we leave the mountain.” The mage nodded and slumped to the ground. The soldiers streamed into the narrow cave opening and descended on the unprotected nests, systematically slaughtering all the hatchlings.

  The hatchlings screeched in terror. Sprays of blood splattered in wide arcs upon the cave walls. Merely weeks old, they already had a keen intelligence. They climbed out of their nests, but it was no use. Far off in the distance, anguished shrieks from the female adults could be heard. All dragons could communicate telepathically, but these hatchlings could do little more than send a final dying plea to their mothers. The adults would be circling back, but none of the females would arrive back in time to save their young.

  The men continued to slash at the nests, careful to avoid their sharp teeth. A dragon bite is a foul wound, even from a hatchling. Kathir walked briskly from one end of the cave to the other, making sure that all of the hatchlings were dead. In the back of the cave lay a white dragon—the rarest of them all. It was the only white dragon he had ever seen; it had already grown twice as large as any of the others.

  “How many?” barked the captain. “The Emperor wants a complete count.”

  “Sixteen, Captain. Thirteen carnelian, two emerald, and one diamond white. This bugger put up a real fight.” The soldier kicked the dead white hatchling with his foot. It was beautiful, even in death, its iridescent mother-of-pearl scales sparkling.

  The captain nodded. “Let’s get moving.”

  Emperor Vosper would be pleased. The talons of the diamond dragon would fetch a great price.

  “Move fast, all of you! Cut those talons and let’s get out of here! The females will be back any moment!” barked the captain. His right eye was scratched and the wound was already beginning to swell. “These hatchlings were aggressive. We waited too long to raid this nest.�
� He put a finger up to his swollen eye. A hatchling’s talon had scraped his cheek and his eyelid. He was lucky; his eye was unharmed. Dirkla would tend to the wound once they were at a safe distance. Still, it would leave a scar; another one to add to his collection.

  “We had to wait for all the females to leave, Captain. They get more cautious every season.”

  “Aye,” agreed the captain. “They are getting better at evading us.” The men gathered the bloody talons into a mesh bag. It was proof of their kills, and each one meant a bonus from the emperor. The men walked outside, but one man stayed behind, cutting scales from the white hatchling.

  “Coltrim! Get out of there—the females will be back soon. Leave that dead hatchling alone. We will be back for the adults next month,” Kathir warned while he ushered his men out of the cave. “We cannot wait for you.”

  “Captain, these scales will fetch a good price in the marketplace! I’ll be just a minute,” the man called out over his shoulder to his captain, hurriedly stuffing his pack with dragon scales.

  “Your greed will get you killed, you fool,” Kathir muttered under his breath. Outside the cave, Kathir lifted the exhausted mage up to his feet and slapped his cheeks to rouse him. “Dirkla, Dirkla! Wake up!” Kathir shook him. “Focus! We need your powers again. Cast your spell while we leave the mountain. The females will be looking for us at any moment.” The mage sighed and lifted his hands, and immediately a shimmering fog enveloped them. They started down the mountainside in the moonlight, hidden by the fog and a masking spell.

  A few minutes later, the enraged females touched down at the entrance of the cave. The greedy soldier was exiting, his rucksack bulging with the white scales of the dead white hatchling. The females screeched in fury, and the soldier’s cries resonated down the mountainside. Coltrim would suffer a long time before he died. Kathir did not look back.

  Part One: The Discovery

  ***