The Book of Drakon: The Dragadins, #1

By C.M. Irving

When pirates attack the mountain settlement where Krist of Ph'urr lives, he's horrified to discover his grandfather kidnapped! After meeting a strange companion who's tracking the pirates, Krist sets off on a quest to save his grandfather.

Fighting trolls, rescuing aging warriors, and avoiding carnivorous unicorns are only some of the dangers he must face as he ponders important questions. Like what would pirates want with a humble mountain sculptor? How long did he have before it was too late to save his grandfather? And what were the pirates really after?

The answers lie at the end of his journey. Krist can only hope he is ready to face the answers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.M. Irving
• Release date: Jul 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781999414207

C.M. Irving

C.M. Irving loves all things fantastical and fun. Inspired by the interests, imagination, and issues of children; Irving writes stories (sometimes on demand) which hopefully children (and others) will enjoy and re-read for years to come. Follow CM_Irving on Twitter @CMIrving2

Book preview

1 Ancient Heroes

Eons and eons ago before the Others came to the world of Yyrgoon, before the wars and troubles, and even before the first of the people of the Kh’uvnuhnt walked around, there was a land called Siluria. Siluria was a hot country right on the Edge of Yyrgoon filled with swamps, plants, and animals. There were towering mountains, crystal blue lakes, rich red soil, brilliant orange sunsets, lumbering beasts, myriad insects, and trees which defied the imagination.

Living in it was a race of creatures kind of like us whom were known as the Neuranym. They were... well, they were big and strong. Their feet ended with three talons, with a fourth and smaller talon in the back just above the heel. Their hands ended with four claws. All of them were sharp. They had long tails which were very agile and full of muscle. Their heads had blunt snouts, strong ridges above the eyes (like eyebrows, but made of bone), ears with a slight point at the tip, and a crest at the back of their heads. They were covered with scales - darker on their backs, arms, legs, and tails; lighter on the palms of their hands, pads of their feet, on their necks, and on their bellies. They had iridescent eyes which sparkled like rainbows. They had a lot in common with lizards, but were warm-blooded. They were unique and they were beautiful.

There were many of them spread through the land, but one of the largest settlements was on Mount Tnota. It was called Skorr Tugath and seventeen families lived there. One of the families was the Ph’urr family. Its youngest member was a boy named Krist. Krist of Ph’urr. His favourite colour was blue.

His favourite colour was blue because his scales were dark blue - except on his belly where they were lighter. His claws were blue, his tongue was blue, and his eyes were blue - even as they sparkled and shone like rainbows. Krist loved to climb and sing and leap from tree to tree. His favourite was when he was allowed down out of the settlement to the waters of Lake Lawkey. Like all Neuranym, he was an excellent swimmer. Gliding through the rushes, chasing shrimp, fish, and other aquatic prey. Diving and splashing. He loved it so much he felt he could live there. But he also loved the jungle and the mountain. The shade of the trees and the smell of the vegetation. Chasing grubs and lizards over mushrooms and fallen trunks. Sneaking with his mother as they stalked a panther. He even loved hiding when one of the lumbering Mesotaurs came past – after all, there were worse creatures roaming the mountain than that. He loved exploring caves and listening to the drips from stalactites. Seeing the sparkle of a gem peeking out of the rock walls. Chasing bats and gravnuts through the passages. Feeling the heat of a vent. He loved everything about Siluria.

But his very favourite thing was to spend time with his grandfather, J’kerr of Ph’urr. J’kerr had red scales, with a little brown mixed in, but Krist didn’t mind. Not everyone could be blue.

J’kerr was an artist. He made images. Sometimes with paint, but often with stone. He was known as a great sculptor and Neuranym came from as far away as Conch Isle to commission statues for their settlements. He had even once been asked to create a grand sculpture for a festival in the land of Calymene. It was a great honour which was still talked about even though it had happened many, many years before Krist had hatched. Krist loved everything about his grandfather, but his favourite were the stories. And of the stories, his favourites were about the Thirteen.

The Thirteen were the most illustrious figures in all of Neuranym fable. They lived Ages ago when Siluria was inhabited by magnificent beasts called Dragons. Their ruler was the Dragon King. The Thirteen were the greatest protectors in all the land and worked for the king himself. They were equal to each other, called Dragadins, and renown across the world for their heroics. There was Orlyn of D’ro, nephew of the king; Rilando of Talbyn, cousin of Orlyn; Nym, Duke of Conch; Solamon, lord of Moray Isle; T’rpn, the Pure; Ast’l of Pho; Orieg, the Opabinnan; Malagli, the Changer; Lorfismar, the friend of Orlyn; Lemange of Thisstle; Ganlon and Geno, brothers from Calymere; and Maycen of Charl, Duke of the Pinch. They had adventures, fought wars, protected the innocent, taught the brave, and in the end were betrayed and lost to time. Krist never tired of their exploits.

On this particular night, Krist was sitting at the feet of J’kerr in front of the fire resting up for the evening meal. The main den was cozy, flickering with reflected light. J’kerr was looking toward the ceiling, eyes half-lidded as he recounted a long ago legend of the Dragon King. Krist leant on every word. The sound of wooden plates and bowls clanking together drummed out the archway from the kitchen where Krist’s father was preparing the meal. Neither J’kerr nor Krist heard a sound. Their eyes and ears were pointed back into the mists of time. Their focus on the great Orlyn of D’ro and his companion Rilando as they fought against bandits in the Gorge of Never-Come-Back.

They lay hunkered on their haunches, said Krist’s grandfather, his voice warm and deep. "Long necks strained to see over the edge of the gorge. Glowing eyes looked into the depths of darkness. They knew Corbyryn was down there with his followers. This was his lair. His hideout. The one place he thought he would be safe after his attack on the king. Orlyn smiled, lips pulling back from his sharp dagger teeth.

"‘We must go fishing,’ he said, chuckling. His friend and companion smiled as well.

"‘Come, then,’ said Rilando, stretching as he pulled back from the edge. He took a deep breath, stoking the fires within his third lung. ‘If we wait too long, they’ll be fossils.’

The two Dragadins spread their wings, flapping to lift their massive bodies from the ground. Like bird of prey, they shot forth down, down, down into the murky depths. Without trumpets of triumph, without cries of warning, they fell on the encampment at the bottom of the Gorge. Talons flew, fire belted, wings snapped as they turned sharply to the left and right. The traitors who had dared attack the palace and try for the life of the Dragon King cried to each other, wishing to band against the onslaught. But it was no avail. Rilando reached out, crushing a crossbow taking aim on his friend. Orlyn sucked in a mighty breath and belched fire, melting a cannon and setting fire to a guard tower. Tails smashed the gates open and the two heroes—

The two myths, you mean, said a strong voice from the doorway. Krist’s mother stood there, covered in dirt. Hanging from her muscular arm was a brace of Tochs ready for her husband’s cook pot.

Nothing mythical about them, said J’kerr.

Nonsense, said Mother. No one with any sense believes in dragons.

They were real, said J’kerr. The stories, the monuments, they are all there as a testament to our past. To the greatness we once were.

Nonsense. Tales to keep children entertained.

They are who we were.

Father, she said. I love you dearly, but you’re filling my son with lies. We’re Neuranym, not dragons.

Not yet. She rolled her eyes and moved toward the kitchen. Grandfather’s words followed her. We’ve lost the catalyst, but the possibility still exists. The stories tell of how Corbyryn fled across the Plains of Rysia carrying the sacred seeds in an ebony chest. He buried them with the body of his lord and friend, Horbadas, the son of the Sultan of Serpia, who had been killed in the last battle by the claw of the brave-spirited good Duke Gradroc in front of the Palace of Turnath, down in the Royal Garden.

More stories, father, she said as she passed through the doorway. Wordy ones, too.

No, said J’kerr, slapping his leg in passion. Not stories. History. If we find the Book of Drakon, we will find the Law of Hamohet and Retvagant which lays down rules for planting and cultivating the sacred seeds. Once we ingest the fruit we will moult and enter into the final stage of our life cycle. Just because we haven’t passed the fledgling stage in untold millennia is no reason to claim it’s impossible.

They could hear her coming back.

Why is it so unbelievable?