Wrothgaar's Quest: A Dragon Chronicles Tale

By Shawn E Crapo

In the days before young Wrothgaar's journey to Morduin, the discovery of a mysterious attack on a nearby settlement prompts him to seek the council of an ancient shaman. His quest for answers will lead him into the dangerous underworld, where he will face the dead ancestors of his tribe. There, he will discover that his destiny lies not with his own people, but with the people of Eirenoch.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Necropolis Digital Art Publishing
• Release date: Mar 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311275400

Shawn E Crapo

Shawn was born in Fairfiled, CA in 1971. As an avid fantasy reader, Shawn had attempted to develop a fantasy story of his own for several decades before finally finishing his first novel, Onyx Dragon.He now lives in Indiana, where he works as a freelance artist, musician, web designer and electrician.

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Wrothgaar’s

Quest

A Dragon Chronicles

Supplemental

by

SHAWN E. CRAPO

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 Shawn E. Crapo

Cover and Map Art © 2014 Shawn E. Crapo

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

without the express written permission of the publisher

except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Chapter One

They came like the wind itself, surrounding the small settlement of Northmen before the hapless folk even knew that danger was near. Despite their large numbers, the strangely dressed soldiers had made little noise as they circled and closed in. Before the Northmen knew what was happening, they were already doomed.

The children of the village had signaled the elders with their sudden silence; their playing had stopped, their laughter had faded, and their silent stares told all.

The sub-chieftain, Throngor, being an alert and wizened leader, recognized the silence immediately. Knowing that trouble was afoot, he quickly snatched up his sword and thundered out of his small hut.

The children of the village were still scattered about, toys in hand, their eyes wide with horror. The adults, most of them hunters and gatherers, had frozen with their tools still in their grasp. Though not full-fledged warriors, their hearts were stout, and their demeanor undaunted. Even the elder men of the village, despite being decrepit with age, stood ready.

The Northmen would not go down without a fight.

Children, Throngor spoke with a commanding, yet calm tone. Gather in the center of the village.

At his words, the children slowly dropped their toys and moved toward the center of the grouping of huts. Throngor glanced at all of the adults in turn, seeing their readiness and resolve.

Boldly, Throngor circled the center, facing outward, challenging the line of soldiers that stood unmoving and silent. They were dressed in a manner not familiar to Throngor. Not natives of Eirenoch, he knew. Their tunics were bright red, accented by golden hems. Over them, highly polished steel plates served as their armor. On their heads were black wrappings, adorned with steel spikes and steel faceplates in the fashion of leper masks.

Never before had Throngor, or anyone else in the village, ever seen such garments. The chieftain guessed that these were a people who had no need for subterfuge or concealment. They openly displayed their dominance.

Despite this, Throngor was not afraid.

Who are you? he called. Who is your leader?

There was no answer. Only the bleats of the village’s sheep, and the clucks of roaming chickens, could be heard.

Throngor stopped, scanning the line of men around the village.

What coward hides behind his men? Show yourself!

Throngor waited, pacing back and forth, glaring at the line of men. They stood motionless, their spears poised toward him menacingly. Then, a spot in the line opened, and an elegantly dressed man stepped forward.

He was clothed in white linen and silk robes, trimmed in the same gold as his warriors. His head wrapping was white, adorned with gold and jewels. His face bore the wear of a sluggish life, and his hands, which he held clasped before him, were those of a former swordsman; calloused and scarred.

He eyed Throngor with a sneer, his white teeth showing through the grey mustache that curved around his lips and blended into an equally grey beard the hung down his chest. His eyes seemed blank, hollow, as if devoid of life. He seemed to have no soul.

I hide behind no one, barbarian, the man said in Throngor’s tongue. You and your kind are simply not worthy of my sword. You do not even belong here.

Neither do you, Throngor retorted.

We are not here.

Throngor scowled. So you claim to be ghosts, then?

You never saw us, the man answered, turning to rejoin his troops. And we never saw you.

Throngor raised his sword, calling to his people. The villagers raised their weapons and returned his calls, rushing forward to engage the soldiers. The leader, having neared the lines, waved his hand. The soldiers parted, letting him through.

"See how the