A Plague of Dragons (A Dragon Anthology) Read online

  A Plague of Dragons

  (A Dragon Anthology)

  Copyright © March 2017 by each respective author

  Published by

  Lyrical Lit. Publishing

  Cover Design by Melancholy Muse Designs

  Cover Photos: © Depositphoto

  All Rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious and are products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual events, or locales or persons, living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  From the visionary minds of six prolific authors comes a mesmerizing collection of dragons.

  Brutality by Michael K. Rose - For generations, the dragons have come to feed. The islanders have grown accustomed to death and destruction, but behind the creatures’ brutality lies a horrifying secret that could be the key to their ultimate defeat.

  Molten Heart by Katie Salidas – She doesn’t know he’s a dragon, and Dax would prefer to keep it that way. But when another of his kind threatens to destroy Jane’s island home, Dax will have to reveal his true form, and risk losing her forever to save her.

  Flame and Form by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson - When Brienne intervenes on behalf of a draghan, a wild, fire-breathing beast from the realm of Firiehn, she only means to save the creature from a fate worse than death. What Brienne doesn't realize, however, is that this monster is cru-athru, a shapeshifter capable of transforming into a man, one whose very presence heats her blood like draghan fire.

  Lucidium: Rise of the Dragons by Alexia Purdy - Dragons weren’t meant to be caged. Catori must escape an ancient order bent on hunting down the last of her kind or face certain extinction.

  A Cold Fire by Jason LaVelle – Jenisia was only a girl when her family was murdered before her eyes. Instead of breaking her spirit, the tragedy shaped Jenisia into a weapon, an instrument for revenge against the fierce dragon race that terrorizes their world. But despite her cunning and her skills, Jenisia might not be strong enough to face these real demons.

  The Sky Hunter by David Jones - Stolen as a child and raised by an advanced race of dragons on an island in the sky, Ilana is blessed with a suit of armor that grants her extraordinary abilities. But when she's shot out of the sky and crash lands on the surface world, she discovers the grisly truth about what humanity has become and why she was raised to be a deadly weapon.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Brutality by Michael K. Rose

  Molten Heart by Katie Salidas

  Flame and Form by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  Lucidium: Rise of the Dragons by Alexia Purdy

  A Cold Fire by Jason LaVelle

  The Sky Hunter by David Jones

  Copyright Information

  Chapter One

  Signal Fire

  No one knows why they come when they do. Some stories tell of a migration, like the birds that visit the islands in the winter, but played out over decades rather than seasons. Some say they are spirits of the wind. Some speak of dark gods that send them against those who have earned their displeasure. Others say they are called, that witches summon them from another world to do their bidding.

  Wherever they come from, we know their purpose: they come to our islands to feed. If they roam other lands, perhaps they feast on large game animals, but on our islands there are none. On our islands, we’re the only prey worth more than a mouthful to the beasts.

  Our earliest stories tell of them coming two or three times a generation. Sometimes it was a single dragon that came. Sometimes they came in pairs, and in the stories there is a single tale of three arriving at once. But this last time… it was the second time three arrived at once. And because of what happened, because of what I saw, this is a story that will be remembered for a thousand years if our people are so blessed to survive that long.

  I, of course, had never seen one before. My father had never seen one. The last had come more than eighty years before my birth. There were some generations when there were no dragons at all, and those were good times, times remembered with fondness by people who weren’t alive to enjoy them. And, in the summer of my twentieth year, I thought I might never see a dragon. I wondered if the last of them had come, and our people were finally free of this terror. Of course, it is the fervent wish of every boy and young man that a dragon will come during his lifetime. It’s a fool’s wish. We know that dozens, maybe hundreds will die if it happens, but if it doesn’t, how else are we to aspire to great deeds like the heroes of legend?

  I had always imagined their coming would be presaged by hurricane winds and a rain of fire, but the day it happened, only a gentle zephyr blew in from the east. It swept across the bay, dipped down into the valley then rode the slope of the volcano all the way to the rim where I stood watch. From my vantage point I could see our neighboring islands in the east, the nearer one several hours’ hard rowing, the other beyond it and just the barest of specks on the wide ocean.

  My watch was ending. I knew that even as I stood looking at the other islands, Lashen would be climbing the path up the slope of the volcano, coming to relieve me. I had been at my post ten days and nights, and I was tired from the long vigil. More than that, I missed Rina. She was waiting for me in the village, and we had not been apart that long since my last watch the year before. But we had only just begun to grow fond of each other then, and this separation was much worse now that we were in love. At least, I was. We had not yet spoken those words to one another, but I certainly felt it, and I believed she did as well.

  I was looking toward the neighboring islands, but I was not atop the volcano watching for attack from that direction. The people on those islands were our cousins; we were not in any danger from them. No, the men in the big ships were the ones we had to worry about. Like the dragons, they came rarely, unexpectedly. Sometimes they only wanted food and water; sometimes they wanted to trade; but sometimes—too often—they wanted blood.

  So I was looking at the other islands not because of any worry but simply because they were something to look at. In every other direction, there was only water all the way to the horizon. I had the shape of Kalina, the nearer island, memorized. Its volcano dominated the southern side of the island. It sloped down to a wide, flat plain that had been cleared for agriculture. Kalina produced enough to feed all three islands and stored the surplus in the caves in case of disaster. Like my island, there was only one good place for boats to land. Ours faced east; theirs looked toward the northwest.

  My gaze shifted to the farthest island, Halana. It was a speck of green and brown off the southwestern tip of Kalina. I had its shape memorized as well, but it was only a shape. Aside from the rise of the volcano—theirs was alive but presently quiet—I could see nothing of detail, and I had never been there myself.

  As I looked at Halana, it suddenly disappeared from my view. At first, I didn’t know what I was seeing. This was not uncommon when the air was just so, but it was a hot, clear day. There were no clouds in the sky except for a storm front on the northeastern horizon. I watched the spectacle for several minutes before I realized that this was not a haze, and my eyes were able to discern the difference between the water and what could only be smoke. Part of Halana was on fire. Nothing else
could account for the veil concealing the island.

  I squinted, trying to see if the signal fire that warned the neighboring islands had been lit. I knew that I could not see it at such a distance, but I tried anyway. Finally, I turned my attention to the nearer island. If they lit their signal fire, I would certainly be able to see it. A minute later, I did.

  A black plume rose up from the rim of Kalina’s volcano. I jumped up from my seated position and ran toward the huge stack of timbers to my left. Down in the valley, at the village, they could not see the peak on the other island. The fishermen in the bay and on the shore would see it, but the bay was a twenty-minute run from the village. My signal fire, however, would be seen immediately, and it was my duty to let them know something had happened.

  Using a stick, I scraped through the coals in my campfire next to the wood stack, removing a layer of ash, and then blew on them to bring them back to life. When they were glowing, I tossed a handful of kindling into the fire pit and poked at them, prompting them to ignite. After another handful of kindling was ablaze, I stuck a thin branch into the fire and left it there as I picked up a small clay pot of oil and walked up to the wood stack.

  It was a stout cone, wide at the base and as tall as me. Above it, to protect the wood from rain, was a canopy made up of broad leaves from a plant that grew along the rim. I pried the thick, fat-stiffened woven lid off the pot, emptied the oil onto the pile then went back to check on my stick. It was burning nicely. I removed it from the fire, carried it to the stack and drove it into the base, where I’d poured the oil.

  Black smoke immediately billowed up and into my face. I coughed and stepped back as the fire spread, and within minutes the entire stack was ablaze, sending up inky black smoke as it was designed to do. Every so often a new plume rose up as oil pots hidden inside the stack tipped and spilled their contents, adding to the inferno. The leaves of the canopy began to blacken and curl as the flames licked higher and higher.

  That was all I could do from the rim. Until I got back to the village, they would not know exactly what I had seen. Wasting no more time, I gathered my things and made for the trail. It would take five hours to get down the volcano. Before I reached the village, a boat would be on its way to Kalina to hear firsthand what was happening. It might turn out to be nothing more than a wildfire on Halana, but I had done my duty and raised the alarm. Now it was up to others to decide what to do. If danger did come, I knew that I and every strong man might be called to give his life to save our people. Rina’s face flashed into my mind, and for the first time I truly understood sacrifice. I would give my life for her if the need arose. I could think of no better way to die.

  Chapter Two

  Laran

  The oldest dragon story my people tell is perhaps the most terrifying. Ancient tales came with my ancestors as they struck out across the vast ocean, so we knew that such things existed, but no creatures came to our islands until three generations after we’d first arrived.

  This story is the most terrifying, but it also gives us the most hope. In that time, there was a hero named Laran. The dragon, says the story, was larger and crueler than any that have come since. It killed and ate hundreds of men, women and children on Halana before its insatiable hunger drove it toward Kalina. By that time, the people of Kalina had gone into hiding in their caves, and the dragon raged for days, finding three here, half a dozen there, but these small meals were never enough to satisfy it. It is said that a dragon is seldom full. They need unnatural amounts of flesh to fuel the fires within their bellies and lift their large bodies into the sky.

  Finally, the creature flew toward my island. Like those on Kalina, our people went to hide in the caves, but when the dragon arrived at the village, one man stood to greet it. Laran. He feared that this dragon would not leave, that it would wait until the people were forced out of the caves by thirst or hunger and then devour them. If his people were to live, this dragon would either have to die or be driven away.

  The creature crushed a hut beneath its curved claws with every step it took as it slowly and purposefully strode toward Laran. It could have killed him with its fire in an instant, but perhaps it had never known a man to so defiantly face it.

  But Laran was not stupid. He knew that while the dragon was protected from neck to tail by scales as thick as coconut husks and as hard as stone, its face—its mouth, eyes and nostrils—were as tender as any man’s. Laran stood clutching his spear in one hand and a wooden shield in the other. He stood naked, stripped even of his loincloth, for he knew that any clothing would immediately ignite if the dragon breathed its fire. He had likewise cut off his long, beautiful hair.

  The dragon lumbered closer and closer, curiosity driving it nearer and nearer the stone blade of Laran’s spear. At last, the thing’s monstrous head came within an arm’s length of Laran, but still it did not attack. Laran’s bravery both amused and interested it. The elders say that the dragon, in all its many centuries roaming the earth, had never encountered a man as bold as Laran.

  The creature’s ignorance about the bravery of man was its undoing. As quick as lightning, Laran threw his shield into the air. It was only the briefest of distractions, but it was enough. Laran saw the dragon’s eyes dart to the shield, and in that instant, when it was looking away from Laran’s face, he drove the spear into its eye. Using every muscle in his body, he leapt up as the dragon reared its head and drove the shaft deeper into the thing’s eye. He held on to the spear shaft with one hand and gripped the monster’s snout with the other, the skin on his hand bubbling as the heat rose up from the dragon’s throat. He pulled himself in toward the raging maw of the dragon, and the skin along the side of his face began to burn. But as he pulled himself forward, he plunged the spear in as far as he could drive it.

  This all happened within the span of a few heartbeats, but Laran knew the moment his advantage had come to an end. He released his hold on the dragon’s snout and dropped to the ground, breaking his ankle in the fall. But he was beyond pain. Laran ran past the dragon and down along its side, ducking beneath a wing as it loomed above his head. The beast would have to turn to chase him, and that slight delay might mean the difference between life and death.

  But the dragon’s brain had been pierced by the spear. It raged insensibly in the middle of the village, destroying everything it could find as Laran fled into the forest. Finally, it took to the air. He feared it would survive the wound, but just before it disappeared from sight, he saw it plummet into the water north of the island.

  Later that day, as Laran lay unconscious from the pain of his wounds, some others from the village went to the cliffs in the north to look for the creature. They could not see it, however, and it was decided that it must have fallen into the water beyond the reef and sunk into the bottomless depths of the open ocean. Laran never fully regained consciousness. His face was so badly burned that he was unrecognizable. He lingered for several days but eventually died from his injuries. He had saved his people but at the cost of his own life.

  Laran has been one of the few men to ever kill a dragon. In all the generations, five more have been shot or stabbed in the eye or mouth, and we don’t know for certain how many of those died. As much as the shamans crave dragon teeth, they have been disappointed, as the creatures always take to the air when gravely injured. If they die, they do so somewhere over the ocean.

  The dragons that have come since have been smaller than that first monster, but they have been wiser, content to pluck people from the ground as they swoop over the burning village. But their hunger has not been as great, their cruelty not as keen. And perhaps that was the undoing of that first great dragon. It wanted to look Laran in the eyes and see his terror before it devoured him. It did look into Laran’s eyes, but it did not see terror. It saw death.

  Chapter Three

  The Spring

  I passed Lashen on the path and told him what I had seen before he continued up toward the rim. There was enough wood to build a
second signal fire, and he would light it if there was cause. When I finally reached the village, a crowd was waiting for me. They were anxious to know why I had lit the fire.

  I was led into the plaza in the middle of the village, and everyone fell silent, even the children, as I briefly described what had happened. It was not a satisfying story, and I could see the frustration on their faces. We only knew that there was something happening on Halana, and Kalina had lit their signal fire.

  In spite of my ignorance, I was questioned for a long while. The same questions were asked five, six times, and each time my answers were the same. It was finally decided that we would prepare for evacuation. If it was a dragon, or if men had arrived in ships, we needed to be ready. Every family gathered only the essentials and placed them in bundles by the entrances to their huts. I helped my family prepare then made my way across the village, toward Rina’s hut. Her father, Bern, was outside—he had been at the plaza as I told my story—and he nodded at me as I approached.

  “You might have waited until you knew more,” he said.

  I frowned. I had heard the same thing said at the plaza. “I did exactly as I was trained,” I replied. “I was to light the signal fire then come down and report what I had seen.”

  Bern grunted as he rolled up a woven mat. “But what did you see? Smoke on Halana? It could be anything.”