Dragon's Fire (Beating Back the Darkness Book 1) Read online

  Scuttling off at her instructions, several maidens in each ship helped the children and the wounded to the smallish cargo hold below the main deck. There was very little room, but most who needed to be protected could find refuge there.

  “What form of men eat their own kind?” asked King Tua’Liluon.

  “I wouldn’t call them men, not anymore,” remarked Kiriana as her voice trailed off.

  Her eyes scanned the riverbanks. The rhythmic sound of rowing was the only noise from the ships. The vessels quietly traveled up the winding river, snaking their way further into the jungle and the darkness. The growth became thicker, and the canopy hung more ominously overhead. The faint glints of sunlight became less and less frequent as they journeyed farther.

  Slowly the sounds of the jungle began to fade as they pushed against the current. Ahead of the travelers, crude lamps that burned in the darkness hung from both sides of the river. Something like plates or saucers were suspended with thick black chains. These pendulums dangled from the outstretched arms of the trees, shedding light over the river. Even at midday, the lamps offered significant light below the tree cover, allowing them to see the black chains, which were ornamented with dozens of human skulls, floating in the waterway. The faceless stares greeting them were haunting reminders that they were about to be trespassers.

  “They want us to see the skulls. That is why they hang the lanterns—to inspire fear,” explained Kiriana.

  “Well, it’s working.” Isiirial shuddered as she shielded her eyes from the faces of the dead.

  Kiriana warned, “These beasts are children of the dark one. They are full of demons and evil spirits. Whatever you do, do not look at them. They feed on fear, and it empowers them. If we display fear, they will surely attack.” The pause between her words ended. “They are coming.”

  The men and elves of the ships forced their eyes toward the bow of their arks. Hearts began pounding, and breaths were short and rapid. Kiriana stood up tall at the ship’s bow. Mimicking her lead, the other slayers took a similar stance in their ships, facing forward, as if to urge the ships forward through the narrowing river. Their periphery became clouded with movements as the shadows began shifting. Panting deep breaths accompanied the sounds of feet pounding the earth. The flames of torchlight darted in and out of sight in the distance, moving closer upon them from all sides.

  Strange chants and murmurings arose as the Danji approached. Dancing in and out of the darkness of the jungle, they cackled and howled while this chant echoed through the trees:

  Eee ton bono vie,

  Cha chun jiki deno ji vot kri Kugan su taro bas ili,

  Donon ji kugan wath utzi ko vie

  “What are they saying?” asked the king in a quiet voice.

  Kiriana recited the verses of their dark chant in the common tongue.

  Living dance among the dead,

  shaking and breaking with fear and dread.

  They are making their own bed,

  and tonight they sleep with the dead.

  Animalistic howls erupted from the warped beings as they rushed toward the riverbank. Some ran as others darted through the jungle on all fours like beasts. The brown skin of their barely clothed bodies was smothered with all shades of black and green tribal paint. Necklaces of tooth and bone hung around and over their bare chests. Their numbers swarmed the shoreline, shaking their tall spears and toothed clubs in the air toward the intruders. Some of the Danji climbed up the limbs, shaking the trees violently like wild apes before an adversary.

  “Do not fear! Fight it!” commanded Mistress Kiriana defiantly in the face of the enemies.

  As she was speaking, a medicine woman could be seen standing on the riverbank to their right. She was crawling with snakes of various types. Her body writhed hypnotically as they slithered over her dark flesh. Holding one of the serpents by the base of its jaw, she lifted it in her hands. The wild woman let out a groan and hurled the viper into the air toward the first ship. The snake sailed until it crashed onto the floor of the ark.

  A shrill scream escaped from Isiirial’s mouth as she jumped backward in the boat. Her high-pitched cries continued to sound the alarm as she eyed the enraged and flailing snake. Panic broke out in the boat, and that is when the whooping call of the Danji filled the air. Seratu quickly stomped on the neck of the serpent before the impact’s daze wore off, but the damage was done.

  With no time to celebrate the victory of the snake’s death, spears sailed toward them. The king pushed the girl to the floor and shielded her with his body. Two nearby elven guard immediately covered the king with their own armored bodies. Others tried to duck low into the ships. Some were too late. Tennel cried out as a bone-tipped spear tore through his upper leg. The dark red blood of his femoral artery sprayed the elves sitting near him. Losing his balance, he fell out of the ship into the dark river waters. They scrambled to pull him back into the boat, but the powerful jaws of a sea croc seized his midsection. The rows of jagged teeth shredded his flesh. Seconds later, he was gone, lost in the bubbling red waters.

  No one was safe. Spears continued to fly at them from both sides of the river. Many fell short, crashing into the water or into the sides of the wooden arks. Others flew wildly over top, but some hit with deadly precision and force. The Danji did not discriminate against men or elves; they rained death upon the ships.

  Spear after spear hit with eruptions of red.

  Howls and chants echoed over the river as the survivors cowered low in the ships. Twenty or more must have died from the hail of spears; another dozen or so were wounded. The situation was only getting worse for the travelers, though. Without rowing, the ships were now beginning to submit to the river’s currents.

  They were slowly being forced back downstream.

  “We must provide cover fire so we can return to rowing. Otherwise we will run aground and surely be overtaken!” screamed Kiriana to her companions as she fired off a series of rapid shots. “On my command, we fire. Half portside, half starboard side. Hold. Hold. Ready, fire!”

  On her command, the remainder of the brotherhood raised their repeating crossbows above the side of the boats. Firing a deadly volley of bolts from both sides of the ships, they struck down man after man on the shoreline. The medicine woman began to shout again as she lifted another viper in her hands. As she prepared to hurl it, Seratu buried two bolts deep into her chest.

  She toppled over, and the viper flew out of her hands. Landing next to a nearby Danji warrior, the angry viper lashed out and struck the warrior. Quickly succumbing to the power of the venom, the warrior began convulsing on the ground until he became still.

  They continued to trade bolts for spears while they drifted back down the lazy river. The ferocity of the Danji was not to be underestimated; dozens of them leapt wildly into the river toward them with reckless abandon. Some were greeted by spear, some by bolt, and others by the ravenous mouths of the saltwater crocs.

  Yet after a couple minutes of fierce combat, the slayers realized they were running out of ammunition. It was then that Tophali, one of the elven survivors, scrambled for spears within the boat. Ducking oncoming projectiles, the fair-skinned warrior hurled the wooden spears with stunning accuracy. Time and time again, Danji warriors were slain by his return fire. The sight of Tophali’s bravery inspired the remnants of the elven guard to join the battle. Reaching for Danji weapons, the elves showed their deft ability with spears, an ability that was developed over hundreds of years. Launching the weapons back at their attackers quickly turned the tide of the battle.

  It was but a few more moments of intense fighting before the remaining Danji were slain or critically wounded. They had handily defeated the Danji, but not without cost. For all Tophali’s bravery, the young elf and many others lost their lives today. They began to quickly count their losses and tend to the wounded among them. Garments were ripped and torn to make bandages, and even tourniquets were applied to some out of desperation.

  “It is
time to say good-bye to our fallen,” spoke Kiriana in a solemn tone.

  “You are not suggesting that we…dump them?” asked the king in disbelief.

  “They cannot help us any more, Wise King. The rest of the Danji will be upon us if we do not get out of here. We must get upriver now. Lightening our load is our only option—quickly.” Her last remark echoed as she pointed to the water.

  This skirmish was costly for both parties, but the Danji threat was still very real. They dominated the region, and this was but a small faction of their people. At the sight of their fallen tribesmen, the Danji would hunt them down. If the men and elves were to survive at this point, they must reach Tempour. It was time to make haste up the river.

  The crews grabbed the bodies of the fallen and cast them overboard. The crocodiles were well fed as forty-three lifeless bodies sank into watery graves. It was a grim task but a necessary one. Man and elf alike picked up oars and began rowing. The four lighter vessels passed away from the river village quickly and with purpose.

  “Daughters of Trellion, take heart,” urged the king to the sobbing maidens who emerged from the storage deck below. “For these little ones need your courage and strength.” With tears in their eyes, they comforted each other.

  “So much death—too much,” said Isiirial. “The world outside Trellion is so cruel, so evil.”

  “There is no more Trellion,” answered Kiriana in a soft voice.

  “We should have been left alone! We are a peaceful people. We never bothered or hurt anyone, and then outsiders show up and bring destruction on our people! War is not our way,” shouted Isiirial as she wept bitterly.

  “It was once, and it will be once again if you wish to live. Otherwise, you will be a living corpse full of memories and regrets, waiting for death to call your name,” retorted Kiriana in a calm but cold voice.

  “We are not and will not be like you humans, killing without a second thought,” shouted Isiirial.

  “Do you not even know the history of your own people?” asked a half-laughing Kiriana in disbelief.

  “You lie,” snapped the elf maiden angrily.

  “Isiirial, peace,” spoke the king in a calming voice. “We may not want to take permanent refuge in the land of war and death, but we are sojourners there now, and we must relearn their ways.”

  “Relearn?” she asked with a look of confusion.

  “You still have much to learn, young one, but for now your focus needs to be tending to our wounded,” said the king in a voice that was soft but carried the full weight of authority.

  Isiirial submitted to her uncle as she helped tend to those needing medical attention. The vessels moved gracefully, gliding across the top of the water with surprising speed. The hours slipped away as they silently passed through the jungle. Bush and tree faded away as the river began to open up. Soon they were in a clearing on the river. As the water’s edges drew further away from them, the water grew shallower. Their eyes struggled to adjust, for it was the first time in many hours that the sun shone down on them. Minutes drifted by as they floated over the lake-sized waters, and soon they could begin to see bottom several feet below the pristine waters.

  “This is the final bend before the city of Tempour,” announced Seratu as he continued to steer the lead ship.

  With excitement and anticipation, the travelers sat up, eyes fixed on the river ahead of them. They slowed the speed of their ships as the waters became even shallower. The widemouthed river was now only a few feet deep in some spots. Boulders and ledges protruded out of the water. The helmsmen navigated with ease through the slowly moving waters as the ships’ reflections danced on the river’s glass surface. The illusion of stillness on the river’s surface was baffling to the elves.

  The left riverbank was heavily lined with lush tropical trees. Its banks stretched out into the river, creating a great narrowing. As they approached the opening, the depth of the water was minimal, perhaps no more than three feet deep at best. Fortunately, the depth posed little challenge for the genius of the flat-bottomed elven arks. Once they crept past the narrows, they found that the clear waters grew deep again. It was then that they rounded that final bend, and the fullness of the river’s head sat before them.

  The once-snaking Yaresh was no more as they floated across the large lake. The secret city stood before their very eyes and was unlike anything they had witnessed before. For over two hundred years, this hidden city of Tempour towered high above the trees. Its lofty towers joined the steeple of the great cathedral far above the canopy; only a few rocky peaks perched behind the city’s distant walls rose higher. A tributary river fed the northern end of the lake from some unseen source, where it appeared to pour forth from underneath the rocky outcropping. The subterranean river rushed forth from its hidden point of origin with surprising swiftness as it fed the lake. A massive stone bridge stretched across those rushing waters, only to disappear into the green foliage on the eastern bank. The stone walls that lined the city’s perimeter were half covered in growths of ivy and dark moss. It was quite remarkable.

  King Tua’Liluon sat and marveled at the magnitude of this place. It was only a week ago that he had even heard of this fortress of solitude; this magnificent city had remained hidden and unknown across Darnisi for over two hundred years. The way the stone structures reflected across the mirrored surface of the water was beautiful. As they inched closer to this ancient place, a greater understanding of the magnitude of its size was realized.

  The city itself sat atop the rocky cliffs, a good height above the paradoxically calm waters of Well Spring Lake and the impatient river that fed it. Naturally cool springs poured from rocky peaks in the distance. That freshwater was caught and routed through hidden aqueducts along the tops of the walls. The walls were decorated with carved spouts every few dozen yards, where the mixture of rain and spring water poured out. Falling fifty or so feet, the water splashed into the waters below. The peaceful sound of rushing water formed a barrier around the city from both sides. This forgotten world had a startling beauty that contrasted with its secluded nature. The elves, eyes wide and mouths agape, were fascinated with the jungle city’s appearance.

  Seratu stole another fleeting glance at the elf maiden as he steered the first of four ships to the end of the lake and up the river’s final leg. Navigating with care, he led them through one of the great stone arches that supported the colossal bridge. Once they passed under the bridge, the passengers could see the large sweeping ramp to their left. It stretched from the riverbank all the way back up to where the bridge met the city gate. The large ramp gradually climbed the some thirty-odd feet in an arcing fashion, and like everything else in sight, it was formed with massive blocks of hewn gray stone.

  “Brace yourselves. We are about to run ashore,” alerted Seratu as he held firmly to the wheel.

  There were no docks before them, just the muddy river’s edge, so the landing was precarious. The crew of the first ship braced themselves, and the ship pushed its way several feet up onto the shore before it came to a halt. To their right, the second and third ship did the same, then finally the fourth. The impacts were rather mild, but they ran aground enough to disembark the ships from the bow. The elven arks were always docked in their harbor so they were not designed with the typical ramps or side hatches you would find on many ships. So Seratu led the way as he climbed over the rail and dropped himself down until he landed a few feet below on the soft riverbank. There he stayed as he helped the whole crew of passengers reach shore. The captains of the other ships did the same thing.

  Their small odyssey started a few heads over three hundred, but they were fewer now. Kiriana and seven of her men arrived in Tempour with two hundred and fifty-seven elven survivors. Men and elves alike worked to carry the wounded that could not make it up the large ramp. Kiriana led the troop up the sweeping walk toward the gate. As she approached the gate, she stopped briefly and took in the panoramic view of her home. With saddened eyes, she turn
ed back to the gate.

  Reaching up, she grabbed the thick rope that dangled from the large iron bell outside the gate. A few smooth pulls, and the silence was interrupted with the cry of the bell. Within seconds, several armed men rushed to the gate. They were dressed in the same dark garments as Kiriana’s men. Harnesses holding assorted blades crossed over their bodies while repeating crossbows rested steadily in their arms. Once they saw Kiriana, the men set their repeaters aside and quickly began opening the large portcullis by turning the large metal crank.

  The sound of the chains being wound up on the shaft resonated within the city walls. The large city square continued to fill up with the citizens of Tempour as the gate rose. Faces of men, women, and children filled the crowd. Looks of curiosity and inquisitiveness marked them. A man wearing green robes matching Kiriana’s walked toward the gate, his countenance illuminated by a large handsome smile. His smooth face and dark complexion caught the eye of young maidens rather quickly. His wavy mop of dark hair hung just over his brown eyes as he spoke.

  “Mistress Kiriana, thank God for your return,” beamed the slayer.

  “Jeren, see to it that our wounded are tended to and our guest’s needs are met. The king and I must have an audience with the grand master,” replied Kiriana brushing past him as she beckoned for King Tua’Liluon to come with her.

  “Yes, Mistress Kiriana,” replied Jeren as his countenance fell. Quickly he turned his attention to the arrivals.