Sample of Book 1 – “Benevolence: A Testament of Dragons”

Prologue

The mountains moved. Braem marched.

The blasts of spells and arcane eruptions had wrought havoc on the land for miles around. Dwarven catapults sent burning, tar-covered stones hurtling through the air while the elves cast all manner of potent magic back and forth; bright points of light that would inevitably erupt in gouts of roaring fire, shards of chilling ice, bolts of searing lightning, or something even more cruel. 

And then there were the dragons—the leaders of the struggle on both sides. Each one more powerful and dangerous than any catapult or single spellcaster. It was no wonder at all that the land had been reduced to a dry and desolate waste in the wake of their fury.  

Mason planted the head of his hammer down on the ground, the plates of his heavy armor rattling as he took a knee to catch his breath and rest the cut he had suffered to his left calf. The battle had moved on without him, it seemed. At last, they were gaining ground. Seeing that there were no more swords pointed in his direction, Mason had a chance to breathe for the first time in what felt like days.

He hung his head in exhaustion. The fallen soldier at his feet lay dead. It was the fourth face among his foes that he had recognized from before joining the war. This boy in amethyst armor could not have been past his late twenties, struck down in the prime of his life as he toiled in the service of something selfish. No doubt the amethyst dragon had promised the kid wealth, power, fame, and more to fight for her dark dynasty. And he ended his life as another victim of her false promises. On any other day, Mason might have tried to convince him of her treachery. But it was too late for talking now. Today it all ended.

The sound of an agonized cry and the huffing breath of a great beast was the only thing that could shake Mason out of his daze and get his mind back in the battle. To his left, halfway between him and the brunt of the fighting force was Jannick, pinned to the ground and struggling to push back the shaft of a minotaur’s axe. The horned beast bellowed and spat in triumph, savoring every moment as it pressed the weapon down across the arcanist’s windpipe. Arcanists wielded great power with their spells, but they needed to speak to summon that power.

Mason charged towards them, letting his shield fall to the ground. He twisted the handle of his hammer to activate the power inside of it. The pommel slid down from the end of the weapon, extending the grip by an extra foot and letting out a high-pitched whine as it lit up with a blue glow. Subsections of the weapon’s circular head began to separate, revealing slight glimpses of the shimmering arcane core inside the hammer. 

The last of Jan’s strength faded just as Mason brought his hammer around towards the minotaur. The weapon connected with a loud boom. The shaft kicked back hard as the dwarven magic inside propelled a wave of concussive force into the minotaur, sending the creature up into the air. It flew some twenty feet across the battlefield before landing on its head, never to move again.

Jan lay gasping on the ground, clutching his throat tenderly. Mason extended a gauntleted hand toward him, pulling the arcanist to his feet. Jan’s short, spiky-brown hair was matted with dirt and the Minotaur’s saliva. If Jan did not already regret his reckless charge onto the battlefield proper, he would when it came time for a bath. Mason removed his helmet, revealing his own grime-covered face and glistening beard. He smiled at his old friend. “Picked a fight with the wrong guy again, did we?”

Jannick coughed out a chuckle, wiping some of the dirt from his crimson robes. “You know, he just absolutely refused to see my side of things.” His lips curled up in a half-smile before he burst out coughing again, massaging his throat as a dark bruise began to spread across it. 

Mason threw his head back, trying to rid his face of the few dark hairs that had escaped the bun they were tied into. His hands were so full of grime, he did not dare to try and wipe them away. “What are you doing out here? Mages are supposed to stay back, remember?”

Jan pointed towards the fighting force in the valley below. “We had to get closer.”

Everywhere Mason looked, their enemies were falling. A knight in a white surcoat vanquished a one-eyed giant with a wide slash of his greatsword. A mage muttered an incantation to lift a blue-skinned ogre into the air, slamming him down onto an amethyst-clad soldier riding atop a dark horse.

Jan slapped a hand on Mason’s armored shoulder. “Where’s Abriel? He should have been back by now!”

Mason shook his head. “He’ll be fine. We have to do our part in the meantime. Focus.”

A catapult fired a stone into the side of the amethyst keep, leaving a gaping hole as soldiers began to pour through it. From inside the keep Mason heard the earth-shaking roar of what could only be Braem, the great and golden dragon, whose leadership they all followed today.

He raised his hammer in the direction of the keep, shouting. “For Braem!” His charge was cut short as Jan held out an arm to block him, gazing in the exact opposite direction of the battle. 

“There he is!” cheered the mage.

Mason’s eyes widened as he once again beheld the red dragon Abriel, commander of their red army, gliding along the ground towards them. The dragon’s flight kicked up dust on either side of him, creating a wispy tunnel of dirt in his wake. Abriel slowed his approach with two great wing beats, nearly blowing over both men. Mason shakily fell to one knee, bowing his head as he tried to ignore the pain of the cut on his leg. Jan pressed his fist over his chest, bowing his head to the dragon.

Abriel nodded down at them, his limbs trembling with weakness instilled in them by all the fighting. A dark scratch crawled its way across his scaled chest and over his left shoulder.

The red dragon looked from Mason to the battlefield, his voice rumbling. “Captain… we’ve won.” Mason grunted to his feet and took in the sight of the surrender. Down in the valley, their enemies were laying down their weapons. The last of the monstrous beasts were chased away by stray spells from two riders flying atop bronze-feathered gryphons.

Up in the sky hovered the white dragon Roah, her snowy scales darkened with dirt. She scrutinized the surrender of the enemy forces from above, as if she expected it all to be some great ruse.

Mason and Jan ducked for cover as Abriel sounded out a guttural roar to get her attention. She let out a sigh of relief as she saw him. She dove to the side, banking towards them.

Mason fell to a knee again as she approached, wincing once more from his injury. The white dragon landed by her brother at the tree line. Both dragons were nearly as tall as three men stacked atop each other.

Jan stood, awestruck at the sight of the two dragons in their victory. Mason slapped Jan’s arm, gesturing down towards his own bended knee. Jan gave a startled look of realization and hurriedly assumed the same position.

The white dragon looked at them with a hint of humor in her eyes having seen their wordless exchange. “You may stand, men of the red. You’ve fought valiantly.” She turned to her brother and began speaking in a language Mason was unfamiliar with. Jan began to translate. 

The dragon tongue was the only other language that Jan had ever taken the time to study. As an arcanist, familiar with the intricacies of spellcasting, he had no other choice but to become fluent. The language of dragons was the language of magic, and to be ignorant of one was to be ignorant of the other. Though he still had trouble participating in conversations, he could usually understand what was said by others.

The white dragon nodded towards the wound on her brother’s chest, concern etched on her face. “That looks bad.”

Abriel waved away her concern. “A lucky hit,” he said. “No matter. The horned one is… cooling off now. What of the other one?”

Roah looked over her shoulder, her gaze dark and distant. “He’s lying in the sand where he belongs.”

Abriel eyed her suspiciously. “You didn’t.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “No. I didn’t kill him,” she said. “As Braem wanted, he’s been trapped. Only trapped. Though I still don’t know about this. You’re sure they won’t be able to escape?”

He nodded. “I’m sure. Those two can’t cross the realms like we can. They’ll be stuck until we decide to change that, not them. No dragon dies today. Braem’s orders.”

Roah groaned sharply. “I still say we should put an end to this for good.”

Abriel tilted his head. “Well, you know as well as I do, sister—Braem knows best.”

Roah nodded resolutely. “Well then… two down, one left. Where is Father?”

Abriel pointed his snout towards the amethyst keep looming beyond the battlefield. “Looks like he’s taking care of things now.” 

Braem, the great and golden dragon emerged onto the high balcony of the main tower; three deep claw marks running below his right eye, each one the width of one of Mason’s arms. A tyrant with amethyst scales lay beaten before him on the edge of the platform. The victorious crowd of soldiers below sounded out a chorus of elation at her defeat. After so long living under her heel, they were free from the maniacal rule of the amethyst queen.

Abriel grinned. “We did it. We actually did it.” 

Braem, massive as ever, looked over the world he had reclaimed and the triumphant soldiers who were loyal to him, his golden scales gleaming in the setting sunlight. 

As if half to Abriel and half to herself, Roah said, “He already looks like a king.”

The balcony of the tower was too high to hear what was said between Braem and the amethyst dragon. She looked to be hurling venomous remarks at him.

Everyone waited to witness the gold dragon’s next move. Braem looked back to the amethyst-scaled tyrant at his feet. She opened her mouth to taunt him once more, but before another word could escape her mouth, Braem exhaled a searing beam of golden light across her upper half. The soldiers shielded their faces to block out the shine of Braem’s breath, the sight too brilliant for their eyes. The red and white dragons would be the only ones to witness the event unveiled. As the scorching light faded, the soldiers erupted in cheers once again, seeing the burned body of the amethyst dragon lying lifeless at the feet of their new king. 

Yet the dragons were not smiling.

The white dragon let out a shaky gasp. She turned and fled into the sky. Mason and Jan stopped cheering when they saw the despondence on the red dragon’s face, tears beginning to run down his cheeks. 

Braem looked out at his red-scaled son, saddened by the look in his eyes. Sparing one last look at the smoldering corpse before him, Braem said something that none of them heard, seeming pained by the sight of her body lying lifeless. Hanging his head, the golden king somberly retreated into the privacy of his newly claimed tower, looking as though the victory was its own kind of defeat.

Abriel’s voice was only a whisper, as though he had just experienced some great loss. Staring up at the smoldering remains of the amethyst dragon on the far parapet, he uttered longingly, “D’anya…”

 Jan’s mouth fell open. He looked from Abriel to the fallen dragon atop the tower, as if in disbelief of what he had heard.

Mason whispered, “What did he say? What does that mean?”

Jan looked to the red dragon hesitantly, as if afraid to ask the one question on his mind. “D’anya?”

Abriel slowly nodded, his face dejected. 

Mason leant towards Jan, asking again, “What’s that mean? What did he say?”Jan looked dazed. “He said… mother.”