Dragon Stones: DRAGON STONE SAGA, #1

By Kristian Alva

DRAGON STONES is book one of Kristian Alva's bestselling Dragon Stone Saga. (Completed Series)
 

Sequestered deep in the capital, the tyrannical Emperor Vosper weaves a plan to destroy all the dragons. He succeeds in driving them to the very brink of extinction. Only a handful of dragons and riders remain; living in exile in the desert.

 

When young Elias Dorgumir finds a carved dragon stone in the forest, it brings empire soldiers to his doorstep, and puts Elias on the run with a bounty on his head. Is Elias strong enough to halt the evil that is spreading across the land?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BYZINE LICENSING
• Release date: Dec 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781937361471

Kristian Alva

Kristian Alva is a bestselling fantasy author. Her books have reached #1 in Juvenile Fantasy on Amazon UK and Amazon Australia. When she's not writing, she enjoys reading all genres, especially epic fantasy. She lives in Nevada with her family.

Book preview

Other Books by Kristian Alva

Dragon Stone Saga

Book 1: Dragon Stones

Book 2: The Return of the Dragon Riders

Book 3: Vosper’s Revenge

Book 4: The Balborite Curse

Book 5: Rise of the Blood Masters

Book 6: Kathir’s Redemption

Book 7: The Shadow Grid Returns

Book 8: The Fall of Miklagard

Book 9: Sisren’s Betrayal

Novellas

Brinsop’s Brood

Mugla’s Magic

Nydeired

Collections

Dragon Stone Trilogy (Books 1-3)

Chronicles of Tallin (Books 4-6)

The Shadow Grid Trilogy (Books 7-9)

Map

DEDICATED TO MY CHILDREN, the sweetest little dragons of all.

Chapter 1. Dragon Hunters

THE MOUNTAIN AIR WAS chilly, and the sun had already set. Rosy light filled the valley as dusk settled on the mountainside. Thirteen men crouched warily in the low brush. These men were used to waiting outside these mountain caves. They whispered quietly only when necessary.

They were there on the direct order of Emperor Vosper, trained specially for this purpose. These men were dragon hunters.

Their young mage, Dirklan, was pale with strain—he had been holding the spell for two days without sleep, and he could not hide his fatigue. Dragon hunters always traveled with an apprentice mage proficient in defensive spells.

The hunters were protected by a powerful masking spell, which allowed them to get close to a dragon’s cave without the adult dragons detecting their smell.

So close to the birthing cave, even the slightest mistake could mean their doom. Captain Kathir cast a worried glance at the mage, who was shivering with exhaustion.

Less than a month out of his apprenticeship training, and the young man was already on his first mission. Kathir knew that the mage’s spell would eventually falter, but Dirklan would collapse before he would admit any fatigue. That was just the way the emperor’s wizards were taught. To never show any sign of weakness. 

Kathir did not voice his concerns to the mage. It would be useless, anyway. All empire wizards were a foolish, stubborn bunch. He just hoped they wouldn’t all die.

Dirklan’s spell was designed to keep them from being discovered, but it did not protect them from cold and hunger. Some of the men were sick, nursing colds or strained muscles, and all of them were freezing and hungry.

His men were feeling the effects of the long surveillance. They were all stretched to the limit.

Kathir was exhausted, too, but he could not afford to go back to the emperor empty-handed. Emperor Vosper was cruel when displeased. For the hundredth time, Kathir shoved his discomfort aside.

He was a mercenary, older than the others, and had been hired for his expertise in animal tracking. He wasn’t a villain. At least, he didn’t feel like one. Not really.

He tried to tell himself that dragon-hunting was a job like any other, except that it was hazardous and paid exceptionally well. And he needed the money. They all did.

Kathir had seen over thirty winters, which made him the oldest in his troop. Thirty was old for a mercenary and even older for a dragon hunter. Kathir was lean and tightly muscled with deep scars on both cheeks—the flesh merchant’s mark. It was a sign that he had once been a slave. His scars were deep but faded with age. Not all merchants marked their slaves because any mutilation lowered their value, but it made them much easier to recover if they escaped.

Kathir ignored the stares of his men and never discussed his past with them. None of them ever asked, which was exactly how he wanted things.

He steadied his gaze again on the cave’s entrance and tried to ignore his frozen feet and hands. Another hour passed, and finally, their patience was rewarded. At that moment, three adult female dragons lumbered to the edge of the cave. They waddled out awkwardly, muscles stiff from months of inactivity as they guarded their eggs. Dragons’ bodies were built for flight, not for scrabbling around on the ground.

The females were smart. They didn’t want to draw any attention to their birthing cave.

These females were all carnelian dragons, the most common type. Carnelians were small, with brownish-red scales, and slightly larger than a horse. Their size made them fast and cunning. They breathed fire and had limited magical powers, just like all dragons.

In the dusky light, Kathir could barely make out the ruddy-colored stone embedded at the base of their throats. All dragons produced a dragon stone as soon as they gained their ability to breathe fire—usually at about six months of age.

The stones grew in naturally, like teeth, developing to about the size of a chicken’s egg. Their scales were still soft at that age, and the stone erupted at the base of the throat, where it remained until the dragon died. The dragons used their stones to focus their powers, store magical energy, and communicate with their riders (if they had one).

None of these nesting females was bound to a rider; it was easy to tell because none of their dragon stones were carved with the crest of a rider. Their throat stones were all smooth.

These dragons were all wild.

Dragons were solitary creatures and preferred to nest and raise their young alone, but the remaining female dragons had grown wary and now banded together in groups of two or three. The females shuffled quietly to the edge of the ridge and scanned the horizon. Their reddish scales gleamed as they stretched their wings.

These remote mountains offered better protection from dragon hunters but little to eat, and all of the females looked very thin, their ribs plainly visible. Driven by hunger, the dragons had decided to risk a group hunt. All three females unfurled their wings and took flight.

The men tensed. They had been waiting for this moment. Dirklan closed his eyes and stretched out his hands, murmuring a simple finding spell.

As soon as the females vanished in the distance, Kathir gave a signal, and the men rushed to the cave’s mouth.

All of the females have left, gasped the mage. There are only hatchlings in the cave. Go now!

Move it! We don’t have much time! Kathir shouted. The men ran inside.

Kathir turned to the exhausted mage. Dirklan, rest here for a moment. This won’t take long. Gather your strength. We will need your powers again when we leave the mountain.

The mage nodded, slumping to the ground.

The soldiers streamed into the narrow cave opening and descended on the unprotected nests, systematically slaughtering the hatchlings. Merely weeks old, they already had a keen intelligence. The hatchlings screeched in terror, climbing out of their nests and raising their clawed wings to defend themselves, but it was no use. Sprays of blood splattered in sweeping arcs upon the cave walls.

Far in the distance, anguished shrieks from the female adults could be heard. All dragons can communicate telepathically, but these hatchlings could do little more than send a final dying plea to their mothers. The females would circle back, but none of them would arrive back in time to save their young. The men continued to slash at the nests, careful to avoid the hatchlings’ sharp teeth. A dragon’s bite was a foul wound, even from a hatchling.

Kathir walked briskly from one end of the cave to the other, making sure that all of the hatchlings were dead. In the back of the cave lay a white dragon—the rarest of them all. It was the only white dragon he had ever seen; its body was twice as large as any of the others.

How many? barked Kathir. The emperor wants a complete count.

Sixteen, sir, said Therkin, a young soldier with a thin mustache. Thirteen carnelians, two emerald, and one diamond-white. The soldier kicked the white hatchling with his boot. It was beautiful, even in death, its iridescent mother-of-pearl scales sparkling.

This white bugger put up a real fight.

Kathir nodded. The emperor will be pleased. The talons of the diamond dragon will fetch a nice bonus for each of us. But we’ll count our coins later. Now we must go.

The men moved quickly to gather their things and collect proof of their kills.

Kathir put a finger up to his eye. His right cheek was scratched, and the wound was already beginning to swell. He hadn’t noticed during the fighting, but now it stung terribly. He was lucky, though: the hatchling’s talon had missed his eye. Dirklan would tend to the wound once they were at a safe distance. Still, it would leave a scar, another one to add to his collection.

A soldier jogged up to his side. These hatchlings were aggressive. We waited too long to raid this nest. The females get more cautious every season.

Aye, Kathir agreed. They are getting smarter. Better at evading us. We’ll have to come back for the adults next month.

Kathir looked outside and saw three dark spots in the sky. They were far away, but moving fast in their direction. He estimated they had less than a minute before the females would arrive. Move it, all of you! The females will be back at any moment!

The soldiers scrambled to gather the last of the bloody talons into a mesh bag. They marched outside, but one man stayed behind, cutting scales from the white hatchling. Dragon scales didn’t have much value. Some soldiers collected them as trophies. But diamond dragons were rare, so their scales were worth something, at least as a curiosity.

Coltrim! Get out of there. The females will be back soon. Leave that dead hatchling alone, Kathir warned while he ushered the rest of the men out of the cave. We cannot wait for you.

Captain, these white scales will fetch a good price in the marketplace! I’ll be just a minute, the man called out over his shoulder, hurriedly stuffing his pack.

"Your greed will get you killed, you fool," Kathir muttered under his breath as he left.

Outside the cave, Kathir lifted the exhausted mage up to his feet and slapped his cheeks. "Dirklan, Dirklan! Wake up!"

The young man blinked drowsily and groaned. Just a few more minutes...

Kathir shook him. "Focus! We need your powers again. Cast your spell while we leave the mountain. The females will be looking for us."

The mage sighed and lifted his hands, and a shimmering fog enveloped them. They started down the mountainside, hidden by the mist and a masking spell.

A few minutes later, the enraged females touched down at the entrance of the cave. The greedy soldier was exiting, his rucksack bulging with the scales of the dead white hatchling.

The females screeched their fury, and the soldier’s cries resonated down the mountainside. Coltrim would suffer a long time before he died.

Kathir did not look back.

Chapter 2. Family Secrets

ELIAS RAN TOWARDS THE town square, carrying a glass jar filled with herbs. He needed to deliver them before nightfall.

Elias’ grandmother, Carina, was the town healer, and she had a vast understanding of herbal remedies. He had been his grandmother’s apprentice for many years and possessed a fair bit of medicinal knowledge himself.

Today he was an errand boy, delivering remedies and other concoctions all over the village. This was his last delivery.

Elias reached the shopkeeper’s back door and knocked quietly. The shop had already closed for the evening, which meant he had to go to the rear entrance. Elias hoped that the shop’s owner, Flint Graywick, did not answer the door.

Mr. Graywick was an overprotective father with a short temper. He had never been openly hostile or rude to him, not specifically, anyway, but Elias tried to avoid him just the same.

Mr. Graywick was well-off, wealthy enough to own horses and land. He also owned livestock, mostly sheep, in addition to his general store.

His home even had a finished cellar, a rarity in their town: a deep stone basement filled with wooden wine casks and crates of goods. Mr. Graywick liked to brag about it around town.  

He was a widower, and Birla was his only child. She was one of the prettiest girls in the village, and her father did not like any of the boys talking to her. And he definitely did not like it when boys came knocking on the back door after closing hours.

But this wasn’t a social visit. Elias wasn’t interested in Birla. Not really. And even if he was interested, he would never admit it.

Birla had been visiting his grandmother in secret, to alleviate her painful monthly cycle. One thing that Elias had learned quickly as an apprentice was that there were some things girls didn’t want to talk to their fathers about. Their moon cycle was one of those things.

The herbs would help lessen Birla’s discomfort. In the past, Elias would have been embarrassed to discuss these things, but after a few years as an apprentice, he was accustomed to explaining things that would embarrass other boys.

Just a minute! said a female voice from inside the shop. Elias heard footsteps and some soft chatter as Birla finished with the customer who was still inside. The bell in the shop chimed as the customer left the store, and Birla opened the back door a few moments later.

Hi, Elias! She was a plump girl with soft hazel eyes and coppery hair. She was only a year older than him, but at least a head taller. Elias had to tilt his chin up to look at her face. She never teased him about his height, though. She was always nice to him, and her smile was genuine.

"Thank you for waiting. I was finishing up with old Mrs. Dale. She took forever to pick out what she needed. She’s not good at remembering her shopping list anymore. She leaned down toward him and whispered, Do you have the medicine?"

Her breath felt hot on his ear, and her face was so close to his that he could see the tiny freckles on her nose. He cleared his throat and stepped back.

Here it is, he said, pulling the jar from his rucksack. The herbs seemed to sparkle slightly. His grandmother had put a small charm on them to keep them potent and fresh as long as possible. It was so faint that a normal person wouldn’t notice it. My grandmother gave you some extra.

She grabbed the jar and tucked it into her apron pocket. I don’t want my father to know. He has enough on his mind without having to worry about my little troubles.

She didn’t blush or seem embarrassed. All the women in the village felt comfortable talking to Elias because they were used to seeing him with his grandmother as they made their rounds together.

Elias cleared his throat and dutifully rattled off the instructions: "This will be enough for three months, even if you take it every day. The jar must be kept in a cool, dark place, or the herbs will lose their potency. Don’t steep the herbs in boiling water. When you prepare the infusion, the water should be hot, but not boiling. Steep the herbs for at least ten minutes, but not more than thirty, or the tea will be too strong, and it will cause stomach