Dragon Attack: Son of a Dragonslayer, #2

By Scott Moon

After defeating the demons and hellhounds of Travass Isegurad, Michael Prim races toward another confrontation with the sorcerer. Nicole's curse drives her into isolation. Her friends fight to save her. The Rift between Blue Point and the magic world disintegrates, taking innocent lives during the chaos and releasing deadly creatures into a modern world unprepared for dragon war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scottmoonwriter
• Release date: Mar 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524276546

Book preview

1

Dragonborn

MICHAEL winced as a tree limb scraped the side of his truck. The back road to Nicole’s country house resisted the growling four-wheel-drive pickup. He concentrated on driving, though images of a beautiful woman spinning two broad-bladed Katanas dominated his imagination.

I’m worried about her? Really? She saved my life, not the other way around.

Branches reached across the trail, obscuring Michael’s view. Darkness pressed against his windshield. The occasional stab of moonlight through the trees glowed with magical radiance.

A blade of ice dragged across the hood and windshield.

Okay, that was creepy.

Michael watched the branch fall slowly away in his rearview mirror as he continued to drive. The master of the ice-blade-wielding limb, an ancient tree covered with gnarled brown skin, stared at him without eyes, brooding sternly.

I have definitely seen too many sorcerers and demons. And Dragonborn. Don’t forget Dragonborn, since you’re in love with one.

Listen, treeface, I know a guy in the lumber yard.

The way twisted through untended trees where wild things lived. Michael loved being off road. Driving required most of his attention and kept him from thinking too much.

He emerged from the trail and crossed a creek. Water flowed over rocks and sand. He trundled across and gunned the engine to climb the steep bank on the other side. The back of the truck slid sideways. Tires flung sand and mud through the air. Once he pushed the front bumper up the narrow trail, he slowed and cranked the wheel frequently to master switchbacks and doglegs.

He drove as far as he dared and cut the engine. He climbed out and listened. Silence surrounded him for several minutes until a night bird called, moved away, and called again.

Michael hiked through what seemed like another world. Nature ruled. He was a man trespassing in a dark version of Eden. Cold air crept through his clothing and touched his skin. His breath fogged the air. He started sweating and slowed his pace, wanting to avoid freezing when exertion no longer warmed him.

When he reached Nicole’s property, he stood in the shadows and watched the house.

Japanese water gardens, glorious with snow and ice on evergreen bushes, surrounded the farmhouse. Koi swam in a pond under a footbridge. Snow began to fall. Lazy white flakes twisted toward the ground, untroubled by a breeze. Several exotic animals moved in the night, unseen but lively in Michael’s imagination. Crowds of inquisitive creatures jumped branch to branch to follow his progress. Birds. Squirrels. Monkey fairies.

Lamps partially concealed behind sculpted bushes lit the garden in several places. He approached the porch, which had been remodeled with Japanese screens and art. Despite his fear of Nicole’s strange isolation, his shoulders relaxed and his breathing grew steady.

He approached the door and looked through an open window in time to see Nicole crossing the living room naked. She hastily put on a silk robe.

Nicole, I see you. Answer the door. He glanced at the frame and deadbolt, calculating his chances of smashing the door open. The destruction-free option would involve climbing through the window.

Why did she leave that open? It’s making a mess. Snowflakes drifted onto furniture and melted.

Nicole moved around the room, stopping and starting toward Michael, then glancing at something he couldn’t see. She reconsidered her path, retreated, stopped, came forward.

What the hell is going on, Nicole?

She ran her thumb under the neckline of her kimono-style robe, lifting the fabric from her skin. The garment was too short to be a true kimono. In other circumstances, Michael thought it would be sexier than lingerie. Curving thighs distracted him, beckoned him to stare and remember their nights together.

Nicole, I’m not leaving.

She finally approached, pushing her hair up and fanning her face with a wide sleeve.

Fine, she said as she opened the door.

Are you okay?

No. She stepped back from the door to allow him in, tugged aside the neckline of her robe with one hand, and tied her hair. I’m burning.

Michael took her arm gently but firmly and moved closer, drawn by her silver eyes—a dramatic change from the green he loved. He looked down at her hands, remembering how short she kept her manicured fingernails when she still went to work on a regular basis. They seemed hard as steel and possessed the gleam of a razor’s edge.

Let me see your hands. He held them, turned them over, and studied every wonderful detail of her fingers, palms, and wrists. He touched the nails. They felt like knife blades.

Nicole pulled away and untied her robe, letting it hang open. I’m so hot.

Michael gripped her shoulders and looked into her face. What’s happening to you, Nicole? Did Travass do this?

The voice of Travass threatening Nicole had burned into Michael’s memory the night of the battle at Marin’s house. Are you so eager to transform? He had immediately realized the sorcerer’s magic would poison her, take her from him.

Nicole pushed him away, laughing on the edge of panic. Stay back, Michael.

He stepped forward but stopped as she raised her hand to ward him off. Her silk robe covered nothing of her breasts between the nipples and he saw the tantalizing triangle of pubic hair between her legs. Every curve of her body enticed him. She moved, writhing with emotion like smoke dancing slowly toward the ceiling. Energy surged within her.

She jumped away. Fire flared from every pore of her skin.

Michael stumbled back from the flash flame. When he opened his eyes, waves of heat washed over him and disappeared. He lunged forward and stopped, hands up, eyes wide, wanting desperately to rush to her aid.

That’s why I don’t answer your calls.

Michael stared at her naked form. Her glowing skin faded, glistening with vitality. Her hair floated on the diminishing updraft of air.

His body ignored the deadly phenomenon. She had reduced a kimono to tendrils of smoke and drifting ash and still he wanted her as he always did.

Nicole looked at her hands. She looked at the curtains blowing in the open windows. She looked everywhere but at Michael. I can’t control it. When I’m upset or aroused, the fire comes just like that.

You’re changing into a dragon.

This is what I am, Michael. I can only do so much to resist the process.

He knew there was more, something she wasn’t telling him, and he desperately wanted her trust.

There must be someone who can help you.

She shook her head, barely moving enough to be seen. I can’t trust anyone who has the knowledge or ability to help me. Dragons are powerful, Michael, and dangerous.

And my father killed them. Michael’s eyes refused to blink, focusing on a distant aspect of his imagination. What his father did or didn’t do meant less than a flying fuck to Michael, yet he could feel something—an instinct for battle; heart pumping, fist-clenching bloodlust.

Heat grew as he ran his palm around Nicole’s lower back toward her hips. He closed his eyes and spoke in a husky voice, emotion betraying him during the awkward confluence of thoughts. I suppose I won’t be able to take you to meet the parents.

Nicole responded to his touch. "I love you."

Michael took her in his arms. She tensed; probably afraid she would burn him. He kissed her, pulled away slightly, and looked into her silver eyes.

Nicole lifted her gaze with an expression full of hope, doubt, and indecision.

We shouldn’t.

Michael kissed her again.

Nicole prolonged the moment, kissing with her entire body instead of just her mouth. You feel good. I can’t sleep because I’m afraid I’ll never touch you again.

Nicole pressed her mouth to his violently, slamming Michael on his back as they went to the floor, as though they had been fighting. Arms and legs entwined, they devoured each other. Mouth. Chest. Fingers. Throat. She pounded on his back with her palms and he realized she was trying not to cut him.

He stared into her dragon-silver eyes. She stared back, wanting him as he wanted her.

I’m staying, he said.

Michael! She pushed him again.

He held her until the last moment, rolled to his left, and scrambled across the room. Heat burst behind him. When he turned around, she was arching her back, hands spread to each side, and legs slightly parted. A thin layer of ash dusted the floor. She had burned the finish from the wood.

Michael huddled in the corner, awestruck. Nicole’s passion and the transformation resulting from it had to be a dream. Only dreams were this vivid and impossible.

She came to him slowly and they held each other for a long time. He led her to the garden and dangled his feet in the pond beside hers, oblivious of the cold.

I came here for a reason, he said.

You always do.

I still have the Sionk jar from the Rashfellen.

Michael remembered the blood-red skin and fierce strength of his adversary in the cage fight. Aionk the Rashfellen fought like a demon but was a man. Travass would have Michael believe otherwise, but the sorcerer lied.

The Rashfellen will not stop hunting you. They are honor bound to avenge Aionk and release his soul from the jar, Nicole said.

Can I release the soul?

Nicole didn’t answer. She studied the night and popped each of her fingers. I don’t know what would happen if you did. Some become dark spirits. Others try to reclaim their bodies despite advanced decomposition. Others simply disappear.

I want to free him.

That would be dangerous.

Michael felt the jar calling to him from where he left it locked in his truck. Only the anticipation of seeing Nicole allowed him to walk away from it for even a moment. Holding the jar made him feel he could change the past and dominate the future. When he held the jar, he imagined Greg Walters ducking under the bullet that blew his face apart. He understood the fantasy for what it was. He had seen a similar jar ruin Anna Morris. She had been an attractive young woman and a talented athlete until she lost her humanity in dark fantasies of power.

Why do you want to be human? Michael asked.

She smiled, kissed him lightly, and said, To be with you.

Michael laughed. Tension flowed out of him. He pulled her closer and watched fish swim in the water below.

All dragons are terrible, she said. Some live in realms of beauty and are wise, but humans cannot long suffer their gaze. The worst of the dragons are destroyers of worlds.

Which kind would you be?

I don’t know.

Can you stop it?

Not without the Clavarsh. I came to Blue Point to find it, she said.

But you haven’t.

I’ve been close.

Could Travass reverse what he did to you? Michael tensed for the answer.

Nicole watched the pond as though one of the fish would poke its face out and answer. No, and if he could, he would laugh in my face. But if he were dead, he wouldn’t be able to make it worse.

2

The Sorcerer’s Plot

TRAVASS knelt on the rocky trail of the mountain pass, chin down to his chest. He barely noticed the sharp pain in his knees or the cold rain sluicing over the back of his head and into the collar of his coat. He stared at the sun setting behind the mountains of Kior-fel.

You must be able to kneel before the Darklord. Travass worried this simple act would ruin his plan. I don’t kneel.

He focused on the mountains, ignoring the indignity he must endure. In those jagged peaks lived winged monsters able to destroy armies. Beyond the pass lay the Qass, the fortress of the Darklord.

Slowly, moving with the dignity of an old, sorrowful man, he adjusted his tattered coat and stood without blinking. The future he desired faded from his vision and he could not look away.

I did not tell you to move, Cordain said. His white coat was travel worn, but not torn and singed.

He didn’t get savaged by dogs. My hellhounds should have torn apart the cop’s stupid mutts. Travass wished he could go back and fight his endgame against Michael Prim again. The plan had been too complicated. He could not have defeated the Rashfellen without Prim. He had pitted his enemies against each other. They fought as he predicted, but also attacked his demon and his hounds.

Travass forced memories into a vault and shut the door, looking at Cordain Soss and his white coat.

The Lawman mended and brushed his knee length coat each night with the same care he honed his sword and oiled his boots. A wide-brimmed white hat protected his face from the rain and shadowed his eyes.

Travass had done nothing to improve his vagabond appearance, but he was healing and Cordain knew it.

I was not kneeling for you, Travass said, his voice barely audible.

Cordain tensed. He was a superior warrior, but he feared Travass, despite how things had turned out. The Lawman’s limited magic existed only in his coat, hat, and sword and was no match for Travass’s sorcery.

Travass finally blinked. A smile crinkled one corner of his mouth. The plan has not changed.

Cordain cursed. The plan has changed completely. You are my prisoner in truth. I will take you to Lord Otrice as I should have done in the first place.

Don’t believe it, Lawman.

Travass smiled deviously, stood straighter, and looked at the iron manacles hanging on the Lawman’s horse. Perhaps you should attempt to bind me again. They had been traveling this road for a long time and previous attempts to bind Travass had ended badly for Cordain.

I should have let the Rashfellen take you.

Travass adjusted the broken cufflinks to his black coat as he walked toward the trail, passing near the Lawman without glancing at him. Yes, the Rashfellen were a miscalculation.

He stopped suddenly, stared at Cordain, and plucked the white hat from his head.

Cordain lunged to grab it, but Travass sidestepped and backed away, holding the hat out of reach.

Where is your dignity, Lawman?

Cordain took a fighting stance and put a hand on the hilt of his sword.

Travass flung the hat away. I’ll have your sword as well.

Cordain drew the sword and lunged, crossing the distance between them faster than any spell Travass might have cast. Lightning couldn’t have beaten the skilled warrior and his magic sword, but Travass had planned the scene well. Cordain slipped on the gravel and skidded past Travass as he sidestepped. The maneuver, something he had observed and stolen from the Lawman, would not work a third time.

Cordain came at him, faster than before, and thrust his sword into Travass’s chest.

Travass allowed magic to embrace the blade as it slid through his flesh. At the same time, he crossed his forearms and grabbed both sides of the Lawman’s collar, using a technique stolen from Michael Prim. The memory of Prim cutting off the blood to his brain aggravated Travass, but at least there was a useful lesson in it.

He pulled his arms out while rotating his wrists deep into the Lawman’s throat. Cordain’s face turned red and his eyes bulged.

Travass put his teeth near the man’s face. Do you have something to say?

I yield. The Lawman’s words barely disturbed the air. He let go of the sword and fought Travass’s grip with both hands but didn’t have sufficient leverage.

Travass increased the pressure until Cordain fell unconscious. You always yield. You are the worst Lawman.

Cordain hit the ground and cleared his head. Struggling to his knees, he said, I am alive.

True. You heard me? I must choke you harder next time. Travass handed Cordain the white hat, thinking of the Lawman’s dead comrades. They hadn’t yielded. The plan does not change. You pretend to hold me prisoner. When I am close to the Darklord, you put the Sionk jars in my hands and fight the Sunstars while I steal the Black Crown.

You will fail.

That is a distinct possibility, but you will fail with me, Travass said. And the fault is yours. If you had not held back, if you had not hesitated when you saw the Rashfellen, we would have the Dragonslayer and no one could resist me when the dragons rise.

You cannot master a dragon.

I mastered you. Travass concentrated on closing the wound in his chest without betraying effort.

I am nothing compared to a dragon.

Travass laughed. That is the most insightful statement you have ever made. You cannot resist me, you cannot resist the Darklord. You cannot resist a dragon and you cannot resist yourself.

For a moment, he thought he had gone too far. Cordain Soss had been a legendary, if unpopular, Knight of Laws, but he had slowly stepped off the path. Travass helped him with threats, promises, and humiliation. He didn’t dare allow the man to remember who he was and what he could become, because their first battle had not been so one sided. Cordain almost killed Travass, but a moment of mercy cost his soul—in the figurative rather than literal sense, unfortunately.

The rain ended abruptly. Clouds labored above the mountain pass. Travass stood and observed the spectacular scene as wind rippled his black coat and white hair.

Cordain mounted his warhorse.

Travass smiled. You should have done that before you attacked. Things might have gone differently.

Muscles flexed and relaxed as the white horse snorted and slammed a hoof. Cordain yanked the reins to restrain the animal and looked down.

Travass raised his eyebrows and acted unconcerned, though he understood the animal lusted for his blood.

Cordain adjusted his hat. I will enter the pass first. We are miles from the Minotaur village, but they control this area and will go berserk if they see you.

But they will listen to you. Minotaurs are friends of the Lawmen, as I recall.

Cordain walked his horse toward the trail. They would not be fooled for long.

Because you have no right to claim such a noble title.

Cordain refused to take the bait. Do not provoke me.

The Kior-fel Mountains towered like black spears thrusting out of the ground. Nothing in Michael Prim’s current world matched them. Cordain chose a narrow and difficult pass, though truth be told, there was no easy way through Kior-fel.

This was the land of Michael Prim’s ancestors before the dragon wars. Travass first encountered Joshua Prim here. The elder Prim excelled in the crucible of danger and magic. Legendary weapons masters trained him. Sages and wizards counseled him. Though he refused to join an order of knights, Joshua earned the respect of the Emperor King during many desperate battles. His son was just a tavern brawler by comparison.

Joshua Prim, Lord of the Dragonslayers. A shudder rippled through Travass’s body. He glanced at Cordain, hoping the Lawman hadn’t noticed.

Travass spied upon every village with people who remotely resembled Prim’s clan. He tracked all who left the Kior-fel and killed them. He killed those foolish enough to shelter a Prim. Joshua had been smart to hide his son in another world.

The thought of another Prim disturbed him. Joshua Prim had been vanquished, but Travass feared he still lived. Travass’s hesitation to go after his son, Michael, had been based on his fear Joshua would emerge from the shadows. He could not confirm the man was in hell, but since Michael’s mother danced there, the possibility held promise. Hell was not an easy place to leave. Any Rashfellen could confirm this.

The Rashfellen should have been his allies, but Travass had been greedy and relied on treachery when appealing to their honor would have been a far better, but more time-consuming plan. He brooded on this and other mistakes as he followed the Lawman. The gladiator scheme to pit Aionk and Michael Prim against each other had been Saajank’s idea. He never should have listened to the necromancer, but Saajank was good with the jars and had a vendetta against his fellow Rashfellen after they abandoned him.

Cordain and Travass came to a stream flowing over black sand and diamonds. Many dragons had died here during the dragon wars. Travass wasn’t immune to the power of beauty, but he preferred pain and the sharper, more useful emotions that came with it.

Dying light danced. The sky seemed above and below at once. Cordain stopped his horse at the edge of the water and stared at the crossing as though facing an army.

Are you afraid of water?

I am not. Diamonds get in Moondancer’s hooves. He didn’t face Travass. He stared straight ahead at the sparkling streambed.

Surely a good horse could jump across such a small stream, Travass said with a smile, though he knew nothing without wings could leap so far.

The horse snorted. Cordain yanked the reins and walked the animal across.

I have a good man in Blue Point, Travass said loud enough for the Lawman to hear as the warhorse splashed ahead.

You have a despicable scoundrel who will fail you.

Moondancer surged onto the far bank. Water and diamonds flowed from the horse’s legs.

He has tripled the number of soul slaves I will have when I return, Travass said, though it will barely matter. Once I have the Black Crown and a dragon, no man in this world or the next can stand against me.

Cordain dismounted and began to clean Moondancer’s hooves. Do not goad me. I grow tired of your pride.

Pride is a reward for those who do not yield.

Cordain tensed.

When you betray me, I will kill you and you can die a hero.

I look forward to that day. Cordain used a metal tool to carefully pry large and small diamonds from the horseshoes.

Travass crossed the river, maintaining his balance and dignity despite the unexpected power of the shallow water. He walked up the trail and waited for the Lawman, feeling more at home as he looked at the trees.

The colors, and the shadows, are sharper.

He looked at the ground and stopped at an intersection in the trail. A single lane traveled away from his intended route. He knelt and examined a pair of tire tracks.

Cordain rode to his side and looked down.

What are these? Travass asked, controlling his anger and surprise.

Jeep tracks.

What is a Jeep?

From what I understand, they are not true Jeeps. The minotaurs created the wheeled machines with the help of a man from the other world.

Travass clenched his fists as he knelt over the tracks, staring at them as though they were his mortal enemies.

Crossing between worlds is difficult for them, but possible. This stranger is dangerous and smart. I heard of him before you and I met but never believed the stories.

That cannot be. Technology must not be allowed into Clier, Travass said. His knuckles popped as he clenched his fingers. He needed to relax before he hurt himself. The wound-that-was-not-a-wound from Cordain’s attack throbbed. He needed to remain calm, or his magic would release the damage in his muscles and the lung that had been pierced. The sooner he healed, the better.

We must find another opening in the Rift. I need to contact Kane and make sure he is prepared to defend the portal I created.

Images of men with automatic rifles storming the Qass plagued him. There were too many firearms in Clier already. He looked up to see Cordain laughing.

The Lawman shook his head, still smiling. You are thinking of Ecey and her warrior maidens.

They are no friends of yours, Travass said, even if you were a true Lawman.

Cordain moderated his mirth. No. They are not. But while they do not like me, they would die to strike you down. Come. Maybe we will see minotaurs.

I need to find a break in the Rift, Travass said.

Of course. There is such a place near the Qass.

Travass followed Cordain and his horse. He knew of the Rift opening the Lawman spoke of, but had hoped to find a closer, less dangerous way to Blue Point.

You should not have left the three Dragonborn with Kane, Cordain said.

Travass wondered whether it was too soon to choke him again, or perhaps work on him with needles.

Kane knows better than to approach them. Travass hoped it was true. Saajank guards them.

Cordain started laughing and sang a soldier’s song as his horse climbed the trail.

Travass took a deep breath and released it. You will outlive your usefulness someday, Lawman.

3

Snitch

MICHAEL squatted next to a young woman