The Dragon, Rising

By Brian Wakeling

War is coming to the North, whether it wants it or not. They are ill-prepared, fragmented, and unenthusiastic about the prospect - unlike their opponents. As the powerful joint Kingdom of Turnobae-Galorndan scrambles to forge an alliance that will give them the men to oppose the Sword Bearers' Army, what they need most is time...
Rather than face a massive army of religious fanatics who have found a symbol to rally behind, the Burning Rose are sent into Ras Natara on a twofold mission. First, a diplomatic approach to the Sultan to persuade him to diffuse the situation before it gets out of hand. Then, a clandestine trip into the heart of the Nataran desert to find the prophecised dragon and kill it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781326635855

Book preview

The Dragon, Rising

The Dragon, Rising

Book VIII of the

Have Sword & Sorcery: Will Travel™

series

A NaNoWriMo Novel

by Brian Wakeling

About the Author

Brian Wakeling was born in the Midlands, bred in the Home Counties, raised in Yorkshire, and went to university in Edinburgh, where he studied fencing and drinking at QMUC – from where he was finally kicked out for the second time in May 2000. He returned to Yorkshire nine months later where he tried to get a life but couldn't afford one. In summer 2005, following his ambition to get a job in a theatre, he moved down to London – and almost completely failed in this ambition. He has been writing in one form or another for most of his life. He was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome in March 2009.

Other Books

Have Sword & Sorcery: Will Travel™

Please Kill the Neighbours

Finish the Job So We Don’t Have To

All’s Fair in Love and Politics

Things Never Go Smooth

Cult Following

Customs & Duty

The Dragon, Shrouded

The Dragon, Rising

The Dragon

Copyright

Copyright © Brian Wakeling 2015

I, Brian Wakeling, hereby assert and give notice of my right under sections 77 and 78 of the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. Any unauthorised copying, lending, distributing or hiring is prohibited, whether by electronic or by any other means.

All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The GURPS rules and system used as part of the creation of this work are © Steve Jackson Games. GURPS is a Registered Trademark of Steve Jackson Games.

Cover image:

Composite of Erta Ale, Ethiopia by filippo_jean, 2008 (Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0, from Wikimedia Commons), Picture of the Night Sky by HyperSmartAlec, 2015 (Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0, from Wikimedia Commons), and dragon

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

First Edition 2016

ISBN 978-1-326-63585-5

This forms part of The Published Works as defined in the SOAUL

(http://www.sabremeister.me.uk/soaul.html)

Have Sword & Sorcery: Will Travel is a Trademark of Brian Wakeling

http://www.sabremeister.me.uk/Hsaswt.html

Map

Dedication

For Omar, Julie,

and all the others

who helped me escape.

The Dragon, Rising

Deep in the Kcodi desert, right in the heart of the vast Southern Sultanate of Ras Natara, there is a city, called the Armoury of M’hush. It is not easily found, being as it is many miles from the nearest river, amid a tangle of canyons at the edge of a rocky plateau called Scadmusa, in a deep steep-sided circular valley. To an unsuspecting traveller, it might appear as though they had stumbled upon an entrance to Hell.

The city is not above ground – the stores and workshops and factories and taverns and guilds and banks and all the other buildings that make a city alive are carved out of the rock of the sides of the valley. A shallow spiral road winds down from the lip around the valley, passing the front doors of the businesses, eventually going to a large opening in the ground in the centre of the valley that leads to an extensive cave system. There is a haze in the air over much of the opening – and now signs of movement, great activity, perhaps panic, are visible at the edges, as the haze ripples and shudders, as though it were a blanket thrown over some large creature that is tossing and turning with bad dreams. The path winds down in many hairpins to the lowest level with visible sky, before splitting up to the various caves and caverns that make up the vast underground expanse of the city.

Late one autumn evening, a man – aged, distinguished, long-bearded and be-hatted – sat in a large office in the one and only temple in the city, not far from the opening in the ground. He answered to no normal title – not High Priest, or Bishop or Archbishop, Cardinal or Imam, nor Muezzin nor Mufti. He is the Caliph; civil, military and religious leader, all rolled into one. No-one outranks him – which is odd, since the Sultanate of Ras Natara is ruled from the capital city, Hdayr, nearly four hundred miles away on the coast, by the Sultan, His Most Excellent and Learned Majesty Moorzary Mershea men-a El Kuffuro.

There was a hurried knock on the door, and a man burst in without waiting for an answer. He prostrated himself on the floor. Master! The vessel has been lost!

The Caliph threw down his stylus and let the pile of documents he was studying slip from his hand. Shaitan take her! I knew it was foolish to permit her to continue patrolling the borderlands! He glared at the messenger. How is the Sword?

Uneasy, master, he replied. We now only have three Handlers!

The Capliph considered briefly. It will have to do – at least for now. She was the most potent Handler of the Sword, but she was ... unreliable. Too absorbed in satisfying her own flesh. Well, no matter – Lord M’Hush will provide a replacement. The Sword can be calmed?

The messenger raised his head. I do not know, master. Her link to It was strongest, It is very upset. We will require your assistance, master.

The Caliph stood, a grim smile slipping onto his features. As I suspected. It seems as though nothing can be done around here without my involvement. He stepped out from behind his desk, ignoring the still-prone messenger until he was at the door. Recall the other Handlers, he ordered, none of them are further than Bihr. Their presence should help. And despatch some of the Faithful to find out what happened to Deqyeq – if the Northerners have discovered her role and eliminated her for it, we may need to move before we are ready. The Caliph left his office, leaving the messenger to clamber to his feet and work out who to speak to for the Caliph’s orders to be carried out.

2

Ten hours earlier, four hundred miles northeast...

Go to Scadmusa, and see the Sword for yourself, and you too will see that the Sword can never be defeated. It is forty feet long, and twenty feet high. Its’ wings are sixty feet across. The Sword is a Dragon.

In the interrogation room of the Red Fort, three days from anywhere on the northern edge of the Kcodi desert, there was a brief silence as the small group of mercenaries took in the dying woman’s words. Then Kenyon gave a nervous laugh.

Dragon? Really? Is that the best you can come up with? Everyone knows Dragons have been extinct for ages. There wasn’t even any trace of them in Abner’s records or breeding pits, and he had every monster known to man – or bits of them, anyway. There’s no way he’d have passed up the chance to have a dragon roaming his countryside.

Alys gently kicked Deqyeq’s naked shin with her booted foot. Yeah, come on, whore. Tell us the truth.

Deqyeq turned to look at Alys. I am no whore, she rasped. I speak the truth!

There are no dragons, though, Dalian said. It’s well documented – there have been no dragons for nearly one thousand years, when the last one was killed by the Chalgan army. None have been seen since, and yes, people have looked.

How many of the people looking were eaten, though? asked Saldan, quietly. The others turned to look at him. It fits, he explained. A dragon fits the prophecy, her powers, and her description.

Saldan, Cullan began, what the Hell are you talking about?

The Saracen of the Crescent Legion began pacing as he counted off his points on his fingers. The witch told Morgan that she can control lizards and birds; a dragon is a lizard that flies like a bird. She said it is forty feet long, with sixty foot wings; there are no creatures that long with wings that large, nor with wings that large while being so long – except dragons. The prophecy says, ‘sands burn and winds crush;’ dragons breathe fire, and their wings can beat the air with the force of a hurricane. The armour we found in Beyol, from the Tomb of Ibrim – that could have been from a protective coat of plates for a dragon. A dragon would need more than one person to control it, even divinely blessed people. A dragon would have been large enough and strong enough to defeat a basilisk without risking its’ armour being too damaged to stay in place. Finally, the sigil of the Sword Bearers is the sigil of the Crescent Legion, defaced with a flaming sword between the tips of the crescent; if you look closely at the sword, I have no doubt the flame will be in the shape of a dragon’s wing.

And all that just came to you now? asked Cullan.

Ever since the Sag bird attacked us, I have been pondering whether it or any other creature I am familiar with could be the Sword. The pieces to the puzzle have just fallen into place.

And you’re familiar with dragons? asked Kenyon in disbelief.

Members of the Crescent Legion are required to learn a certain amount of lore and history before we are permitted to venture into the desert on our own. Many of the creatures in bestiaries are said to have lived in the Kcodi, but few have ever been found. Dragons are among them.

I believe her, Morgan said. The others looked at her. It does fit, and Saldan’s reasoning is sound. And he reached his conclusion without having one key piece of information.

What key piece of information? Cullan demanded.

That just over four years ago, someone tried to sell you a dragon’s egg, she reminded him. Remember? The night before we left Filamo for Doronatha? In the Headless Horse?

Cullan froze for a few seconds while he cudgelled his memory for the recollection. That was just a prank, wasn’t it! I mean, come on – a mysterious guy in a hooded cloak parks himself at a table in a mercenaries’ bar and tries to sell the people sitting there some cock and bull of a dragon egg. He had a prop that even you thought was fake, he was off his head on rope-weed, and he buggered off as soon as we copped him.

This stranger, Saldan enquired, what did he look like?

I just said, he had a hooded cloak – he kept it up, could barely see his face through the fug and the shadows.

His clothes, then. How was he dressed? How did he carry himself? How did he talk? Was he tall?

He carried himself like a weed-head! Talking high-pitched, twitching, giggling after every sentence.

Not after every sentence, Morgan reminded him, and he didn’t twitch that often either. And rope-weed addicts usually giggle all the time when they’re high, not randomly in conversation when sober. He moved too swiftly and smoothly to be high.

And his clothes?

Cullan shrugged. He had a good cloak on, a good shirt, probably. Fine leather gloves. He was upper class, or rich enough to seem so, anyway.

His gloves – did he ever take them off?

No, Cullan shook his head. Why?

Did his fingers seem very long to you?

Cullan thought for a moment, but was beaten to the reply by Morgan. Yes, they were. Very long. And he was fast enough to catch Cullan’s hand.

He had a strong grip? Saldan asked Cullan.

Pretty strong, yeah.

Bael! Saldan spat, and stalked away to the far side of the chamber.

There was a moment’s silence, punctuated only by Deqyeq’s wheezing. Who is Bael? asked Alys, when it appeared Saldan was not inclined to offer any more.

Not who, what, Morgan answered. I learned about them from Mordlin – I expect Saldan learned of them in his Orders’ books.

Well what are they, then? asked Kenyon, looking between the two of them.

Baels are kin to Vampires, but wholly alive, Saldan told them, turning back to face them. You cannot make a Bael as you can a Vampire, but they must still drink blood regularly, as we would consume meat. As a race, they are rare, and have a hobby of meddling in the affairs of mortals. The easiest way to tell that you are speaking to a Bael, is that their fingers have one more joint than men do.

And that they have eyes like a cats’, Morgan added. Mordlin’s sources were more extensive: Bael’s are congenital hedonists, and almost all of them take pleasure in causing pain and manipulating events. They are pretty much immortal, and can hibernate for years at a time if they can’t find blood. Most of them are necromancers by profession and pornographers by hobby. They hate vampires, and vampires hate them – they’re in competition for the same resources, essentially. They can be killed, but pretty much the only way to make sure of it is to chop them into bits and bury them separately. If a Bael got their hands on a dragon’s egg, they would be almost certain to try and sell it to the highest bidder.

Then why come to us? Cullan asked. We’re not rich.

Bael’s don’t have much use for money. To them, a high bid would be who could provide them with the most bodies to feed on, and corpses to animate. Or maybe who could find them the most sexual partners.

Do these bloodsuckers breed? asked Alys.

Not with humans or Elves, Morgan replied. There are no stories of a Bael trying to bed a Dwarf or Orc, and Kobolds don’t bother remembering stories – that we know of. Bael’s are reputed to be insanely beautiful, so they have little trouble persuading people to sleep with them; they are invariably never seen again unless sometimes an unfortunate traveller trips over their blood-drained body.

They are also reputed to be great craftsmen, Saldan added, makers of fine jewellery, pottery – and instruments of torture. All of which are decorated with pornographic art.

Sounds like Miss Bleeding-to-death-on-the-inside here would fit right in, Kenyon said. What are we going to do with her?

Morgan looked at her doppelgänger, her spirit sister. She shook her head. I don’t have the energy to heal her right now, I’ll have to rest. But first, we need to work out why and how a Bael had a dragon’s egg in the first place.

Do you think the Sword could have been hatched from that egg? Dalian asked.

Saldan laughed. A dragon grow from an egg to forty feet in four years? I thought every schoolboy knew that dragons grow huge with time – five hundred or a thousand years. Likely the egg you were offered was stolen from the Sword’s clutch.

Or offered as tribute, Kenyon said. The others looked at him questioningly. He shrugged and explained. If Baels think a high bid is a pile of corpses, what better way to get one than a massive war? If this Bael found out about the Sword Bearers’ plans four years ago, they might have turned up one day and asked for a cut else they’ll start draining the leaders.

Conceivable, Saldan agreed after a moment. Although that does beg the question of how the Bael found out.

It doesn’t really matter right now, Alys said, there are two important things right in front of us: One, we need to report this to Dashell and get further orders; and two, were there any more eggs?

In the stories, dragons never have more than one egg at a time, Dalian reminded them, with a pointed look at Saldan. Whether there are any more now depends on whether the Sword has a mate. I think we should be looking at whether the Bael’s egg has hatched, and if so, where and when?

All valid questions, Cullan declared, and we need to deal with them properly. In the meantime, we have prisoners to see to, and we’re tired. Morgan, are you sure Deqyeq can’t get out of those things? he asked, referring to the two short ropes tied around her wrists, attached to two wooden posts either side of her prone form.

She can’t reach the knots from where she is, and they’re still soaked in the anti-magic potion. If she tries to sit up, she’ll haemorrhage and bleed to death in minutes. She’s not going anywhere. She’ll survive for an hour or two.

What about the others?

They’re all unconscious and locked up in tower rooms, Alys reminded him. We could do with moving them all into one place and posting a sentry before we have a rest, though.

Saldan and Kenyon, you see to it, Cullan ordered. I’ll take first watch – and someone should keep an eye on the desert, in case any of their friends come calling.

I will, Dalian offered.

Good.

What about my sister? asked Saldan. Are we going to leave her a prisoner, locked in a room and locked out of her mind? You said we needed to kill her, he gestured at Deqyeq, to end the spell.

Her control over any and all spells she ever cast just took a beating, Morgan told him. Your sister might respond to you talking to her, now. But there are other ways to free someone from mind control, so we may not need to kill Deqyeq.

We will probably need to kill someone, Alys said, we can’t safely escort six prisoners out of the desert.

Four prisoners, Cullan corrected, we killed two of their lackeys, and we think the two still alive are both mind-controlled. We can cure at least one of them, but that still leaves Lewranes and Deqyeq.

Those are problems we can deal with later, Alys decided. Apart from anything else, we need to talk to Lewranes about where the rest of his men are and what they’re doing, and so on.

Right – problems for this afternoon, gotcha. Okay everybody, we have things to do, and sleep to get. Let’s start moving!

3

They dispersed to their various tasks, leaving Deqyeq to wheeze and moan in the room in the fort’s wall. Lewranes was locked up in the top room of a corner tower, two floors above where the other prisoners were. The only way out was down the stairs past where Cullan was watching the room lower in the tower where the surviving lackeys were imprisoned. One of the male lackeys had been killed in their escape attempt, the other had been fatally stabbed when they captured Lewranes. The two female lackeys, one of whom was Saldan’s sister, and both of whom were under some sort of loyalty mind control spell by Deqyeq, had been knocked out by Morgan when she escaped, and were now locked in where she had escaped from.

While he sat on guard, Cullan passed the time by trying to compose a coded report for King Dashell, for Morgan to send to Him magically, and another for her to send to the rest of their mercenary company with orders to halt their march back to the North and wait for them to join up. The big problem with that was that by the time Morgan could contact them, they were already likely to have reached Beyol, capital of Demona, where they had been ordered to wait. The other big problem was that Dashell’s orders to them had not included details of where He would be by now, especially as it seemed that He was preparing for the war with Ras Natara that He had suspected was coming since He had first heard Saldan’s warning. Still – Morgan could contact wizards in Gerikka or Madrada and have them forward the message, and the majority of the Burning Rose Armed Company could simply be ordered to march south again and meet them at the border to Ras Natara.

Or had Dashell suspected something before Saldan’s warning reached him? He had seemed fantastically well-prepared when the Burning Rose had been given their orders. Dashell was an intelligent and well-educated man, with an excellent memory, a vast array of magical trinkets with practical applications, a brilliant General at the head of His army, and an extensive and thorough intelligence network that reached from Yalkat to the Sylliku wastes, from Langand to Gerikka. Cullan dug through his pouch to locate the code sheet that Dashell had given them for reporting before they left Darash. He found it, and a few moments of searching located the word Dragon – to be encoded as Firefly.

Cullan smiled grimly to himself. If he could at all arrange it, he wanted to speak to Dashell personally about how much He’d already known when they’d been given their mission.

4

The day wore on. Cullan was relieved