Dawn's Gate

By M. Benjamin Woodall

Unlock the secrets of Dawn's Gate as the fate of Angoll hangs in the balance.

In Book IV of Raiders of the Dawn, Kalla, the unlikely heir to the ancient throne of Deforia, an empire once uniting all of Angoll, must transform his wit and humor into leadership to unravel the mysteries of Dawn's Gate to pass secretly into Gahgnathra, where Gargoyles disguised as the inhabitants plot to overthrow the Cohnyan king.

Unbeknownst to them, the power-hungry wizard Galidor still lives and seeks to take Astoria's place as the last Keeper of Angoll.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M. Benjamin Woodall
• Release date: Sep 19, 2019
• ISBN: 9781370466764

M. Benjamin Woodall

M. Benjamin Woodall was born in Fort Lauderdale, Florida in 1972. He studied filmmaking at Columbia College Chicago and has worked in the independent film industry in the 1990s to 2000s as writer, script consultant, producer, and other roles. Mister Woodall is the author of Raiders of the Dawn, a young adult fantasy series, Archives of the Witch, a young adult paranormal romance series, and other works. Since Nov 2020 he has been host and producer of Pure Steam 2.0, a steampunk themed talk show which first aired on Youtube.Mister Woodall has held residence in many states in the U.S.A. He loves travel, books, and movies. As of this writing, M. Benjamin Woodall can be found in the Atlanta metro area with his wife and two boys, drinking coffee at his desk, working on his next novel.

Book preview

DAWN’S GATE

Raiders of the Dawn Book IV

by M. Benjamin Woodall

London’s Emo Kid Publishing

Marietta, GA

© 2019, M. Benjamin Woodall

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, without the written permission from its publisher or author.

The characters portrayed are fictional. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

CONTENTS

Prelude

Winter’s Dream

Guild of Thieves

Road to Meddington

The Lonely Pass

The Gate Keeper

Riddles of the Dead

Castle of Glass

That Nettlesome Blossom

Keeper Quagmire

Through the Lonely Forest

Seeing is Believing

The Gargoyle Gambit

Before the King

Gargoyles of Gahggri

Keep It Real

Home and Hearth

About the Author

Prelude

Horgog’s hard-set, arrogant eyes glare at me from underneath his thick, reptilian-like skin as if trumpeting the song, The King is Dead. I am not as incompetent as Charmit, he speaks. Because of foolish mistakes, you live to face me now. I, on the other hand, do not make mistakes. You will soon meet your deaths by my hand, however slowly and painfully that I choose to do it.

Out of the lagoon behind the Gargoyles rises the long, scaly neck of a sea monster, making little splash as the water runs down his smooth scales, glistening like gems in the light of the falling sun. After the whole neck, I guess, is out of the water, he ogles down from high above. He seems friendly enough, barely even acknowledging us—only the Gargoyles. Still, I reach for my sword. John raises the Sword of Truth, Dayona lowers the Shield of the Sun to reach for her sword. Thrahn seems too shaken to move.

The Gargoyle proby sneers. He’s so proud he doesn’t even know he’s about to be sea monster meat! I smile maleficently, conspicuously nodding up at the sea monster. Horgog cringes, fills his lungs, and twists. He looks up. The others’ eyes follow. The sea monster leers back with what seems like a detracting grin.

The sea serpent, like a towering palm tree with a long snout full of fangs, scales instead of bark, and webbed, fan-like ears, finally bellows out a sonorous roar, louder and more terrifying than any I've ever heard. Yet the Gargoyles don’t flinch.

The monster lowers his head at them. Scram, ye foul beasts! he shouts. The Gargoyles take off into the air like a flock of seagulls in panic, if seagulls had huge wings made of skin and smelled a ghastly stench of rotted apples.

The monster's long neck stretches out toward the four of us over the sand after our enemies have gone. He looks at me and smiles. Your Majesty, he says, and rightly so, bowing with eyes closed.

I lower my sword. Who are you? I ask.

The sea serpent raises his chin, exposing his teeth. Why, the Great Hassletaugh Sea Monster! he bellows. Snout tilted high, he curls back, coughing. It hurts to say it like that anymore.

We are very glad to see thee, Dayona says.

Yes, says Thrahn. And I commend you on your valiant entry.

Happy to be of service, Hassle says. Astoria sent me to find you.

Astoria? I ask, shifting the Good Doctor’s backpack over my shoulders. She certainly has powerful friends being mostly a recluse for the past five hundred years.

She was worried about you, says Hassle.

Worried about us? Well, why didn’t she come along? Who knows what a sorceress like her thinks what’s more important? I guess she didn’t think of us coming face to face with Morgana and escaping with our lives. I thought you never leave the Bay of the Dawn, I say, trying to think of other things.

That used to be the case, back in the old days. He squints, looking away, showing teeth. "But I just found myself so bored all the time."

And do you have any legs?

Hassle rises with a splash farther out of the lagoon's surface, sliding onto the beach, much like a long snake. Not a one.

That’s what I thought, I smile coyly. Some sailors seem to think otherwise.

Sometimes I wish I had a couple. Sometimes, I could care little for such things.

Hey, buddy, says John. Maybe he can help us get back to the mainland.

You can fly us back, right? I reply. We have a transport.

We don’t know which way to go. This guy could show us.

I would be happy to lead you to the mainland, says Hassle. I can swim at great speed, with my head above the water. Where do you want to go? Please don’t say Tethalia. I don’t want to be harpooned.

Where should we go, then? asks John.

We could go north around the Bay of the Dawn, I say, into the Winter’s Sea.

Hassle shivers. I’ll have to swim round the Straits of Ice.

Can you do it?

For you, Your Imperial Majesty? Yes.

I smile at the sound of my title. I’m really beginning to like being king, even if it does seem to come with more burdens by the minute. Very pleased to hear it. But you need only take us there. John can follow the coastline west.

Thence to the Deforian Guilds? asks Dayona.

The Deforian Guilds. You and John can travel from there to the Lands of the Kretan Rahant, and Thrahn and I can seek out Astoria.

That is where Astoria awaits, says Hassle. The Deforian Guilds, if you get my meaning. At the Travesty Inn in Mithingoh.

John claps his hands. Then let’s get going!

We’re not going to leave all of Longhorn’s treasure, are we? asks Thrahn, looking at the open chest of gold and gems beside the freshly dug sand.

We were set to leave most of it, Dayona says.

But that’s before we got a hold of a transport, says Thrahn.

We’re rich! declares John. Thrahn, help me pick up the treasure chest here.

I don’t know what good I will do, Thrahn says, approaching the chest with John. John sheaths Kretna, shuts the chest lid and gets his hand underneath one side—Thrahn, the other.

John lifts with Thrahn. John gets his edge only an inch off the ground before dropping it in a grunt. Man, this is heavy! Maybe we can drag it to the transport. Thrahn, you push, I’ll pull.

John pulls on the handle with both hands, jerking the chest across the sand as he backs toward the open door of the transport. Thrahn pushes with him but stops, reaching round his back, and rises. You okay, Thrahn? asks John.

Dayona, why don’t you help these two? I suggest. Make it a team effort.

Dayona attaches the Shield to her back, sheaths her sword, and goes to the chest to help push.

Why don’t you get in on this? John asks me. We could use all the help we can get.

I’m the king around here, I say. Somebody’s got to govern.

Well, she’s a queen.

And a vassal.

John squints at me under a lowered brow. Such contempt!

Allow me, Your Imperial Majesty! Hassle joyfully interjects, moving his mighty head over the chest. John, Thrahn, and Dayona back away as Hassle lowers his open jaws, clamps the chest with his teeth, and lifts it with ease. He drags his serpentine body across the sand and sets the chest down before the stairs leading up to the transport opening.

John runs to the transport, leaps over the chest onto the stairs. Hey, big guy, John says, help me out by pushing it up the steps.

John grabs the handle, pulls, Hassle nudges the chest up following John on board the metal craft. Hassle rises his head. John peers out. Thanks a bunch, John says.

My pleasure, Sir, says Hassle.

Well done, indeed, I say. Let great songs be sung of you! Of your deeds, great and mighty, not foolish sailor shanties sung in Tethalia.

Not all the songs about me are so distracting, Sire. I once heard a song sung by pirates which made me feel proud for once.

Let’s hear it.

Hassle sings:

Mighty is heard the serpent’s thunder

A roar of a thousand storms

The waves themselves beat ‘pon the bow asunder

From the serpent as he swarms

The dawn was fair and bright

A devoted wanton light

Still there he stay

Till the very next day

In the Bay of the Dawn, Oh aye

Now, trapped between rock and scale

His opening jaws do dare

Each mate with face so pale

None move from his dreadful stare

To cling to slippery slopes

Each breathless seaman keeps his hopes

Still there he stay

Till the very next day

In the Bay of the Dawn, Oh aye

At length the monster ceased

As the sun broke through the sky

As now he shall not feast

Each mate made a bitter sigh

I was only dawdling. I’ve made it a rule never again to feast on a pirate. They’re always so stale to the taste.

Winter’s Dream

The Mark of the Guilds ogles contemptuously down at me and Dangold from his velvet-cushioned chair. The Marquitan Krata, or Lord of the Guilds, sits as if it were any other day at his table upon the dais on the floor of the great Hall of the Mark—the tabletop cluttered with crumbles of food and droplets of drink from a short lunch he finished just as we were called before him to make our claim. He didn’t want to be interrupted in his daily schedule with such dribble, it seems, and after gulping down the last of his ale, the gluttonous, well-fed Deforian, whose aged intolerance shines through his outwardly contemporary noble dress, proceeds with a stark tone. There is no threat here from Gargoyles, he flails. No immediate threat, and until that day, the Deforian Guilds will not succumb to any prince of Deforia, be he heir or not.

Morgana is at your borders, Dangold says. Their sacking of the Garden Realm, and their presence in Gahggri, proves it.

It proves nothing. The Lake Lands are not our concern, nor are the Cohnyans.

Angoll is your concern! I shout. Astoria calls for a rise of Deforia against Morgana, and you would be wise to listen!

"Watch your words, Your Majesty! With such sarcasm the Mark speaks. Ye princes of old shall be escorted from this Hall, this Hall which was founded on Astoria’s behalf. Yes, she may well be the Keeper of Angoll, but she is not its Queen. And you not its King. You are the King of a long-lost Empire. Not of the Lake Lands, not of Gahggri, and not of the Guilds. Now go, go and sit upon your throne in Deforia if you wish. Rule over the Wilderness of the Ancients, watch over the Waste Lands with a steady hand. I am not your vassal. We do not need your protection here. We are well-prepared for ourselves."

I am afraid you will not be able to stand alone in this fight, Lord, says Dangold. You need allies. Will Tethalia come to your aid? The Cohnyan kings in all their wanton self-indulgence?

A talk for another time. The Mark looks up across the hall. Sentinels! he calls loudly. Four Guild Sentinels, armed with spear and dressed in iron helmet and tunic with the heraldic symbol of the Mark, appropriately the boar, approach us from the far doors. See that these lords leave this chamber, and ne’er return for the remainder of the month unless called upon.

We walk from the Hall of the Mark off the fountain square, the only structure here made of stone, down the busy cobblestone street of Mithingoh. Deforians pressing their daily businesses, walk about and ride upon pony-led carts. A pony-mounted Guild Sentinel seen here and there.