Dragonstoen: DRAGONSTOEN, #1

By Phillip J. Boucher

In the land of Husanta, there are kings, and there are villains. There are friends, and there are foes. There are Dragos, and there are Majji. There are dragons, and there are girls. And for one young Dragontend, an attack on the castle and the accidental journey on a fleeing dragon will propel him on a reluctant search for the missing symbol of rightful royal rule. Then, there will be a hero.

 

An attack on the castle by renegade Majji led by the king's evil brother-in-law, and an accidental journey on a fleeing dragon, propels young Dragontend Addler Berrington on a reluctant search for the Dragonstoen, the missing symbol of rightful royal rule. Torn between his love for the king's granddaughter Alnya, and his lust for Genelie Coverton, daughter of the king's brother-in-law, he is lured into accompanying Genelie on her obsessive search for the Dragonstoen amulet. But when Alnya, searching for the missing Addler and Nesra the dragon, finally meets up with them, she is forced to fight Genelie. Who will win Addler's heart and will the Dragonstoen amulet ever be found?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Phillip J. Boucher
• Release date: Dec 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9798201416898

Phillip J. Boucher

Phillip J. Boucher is a freelance writer and author who is now writing fantasy fiction. He is the author of the trade books “Slot Machines: Fun Machines or Tax Machines” and “The Complete Guide to Canada’s General Mobile Radio Service”. He is also a long-time columnist for The Canadian Amateur magazine. His column, Fresh On The Air, helps new Amateur Radio operators get the most fun out of the hobby. He is currently working on several non-fiction works such as a book on slot machine addiction, a book on radical customer service, and books on two-way radio. Previous publications include an article on tea for Chatelaine, a newsletter for Bell Canada, local retail and entertainment reviews for Casino News and Entertainment Niagara, and has recently completed the website copy for AvionLighting.com. Phillip has had three of his fantasy short stories published by Necrology Shorts: Dragonstoen: An Amulet for a Prince, The Tower of Eletal, and Disturbance Call at the Fairy Bar. His fourth short story, a horror entitled Essence of Gargoyle, is pending publication with Necrology Shorts. His Native supernatural novel Tattonville, has been published by Dark Moon Press. His fantasy enovel Dragonstoen, has been self-published. Phillip lives in Ontario, Canada with his wife, three dogs, and all the dragons, knights, fairies, gargoyles, and other magickal creatures that live in his head and keep the voices at bay.

Book preview

Chapter One

The boy squinted as the morning sun’s rays, which now had bathed the entire castle in a soft glow, came through the stable doorway, glancing off the metal breastplate he was polishing and assaulting his eyes like a dagger. He looked through one of the stable’s upper windows toward the sky. The deep black night that was peppered with stars only an hour ago had given way to the bright morn as the sun slowly rose over the Kingdom of Husanta. Small animals and birds began to stir, as well as some of the more humanly residents of the land in the towns, villages, and cities, all preparing for the day’s activities.

Officials and servants of all shapes, sizes, and vocations went about preparing the morning meals; they laid out clothes and the day’s paperwork and performed all the tasks that were necessary for the kingdom to function another day. The castle’s stablery workers were already awake and the dedicated tends were each taking care of their respective charges, which were the most respected, and to the king’s enemies, feared animals in the kingdom. Food prepared by the stablery cooks, delicately and to exact instruction, was presented to each steed by its tend along with cold fresh water from one of the castle’s many wells. The large beasts hungrily gorged on their food as the Tends cleaned and prepared the saddles and bridles that would eventually be placed on the backs and in the mouths of each one.

Nineteen year old Addler Berrington, who had been in the king’s service for three years, was looking after his own charge, the mighty beast called Nesra. He turned his gaze away from the window and finished polishing the knight’s breastplate. He was an average looking boy. His short brown hair, blue eyes, slim build and rounded facial features, with a soft and quiet demeanor, made him a regular target of the other tends and knights, who teased him constantly. Whenever attacks upon the castle occurred, the Knight Laramy had him hide in the small protective room that was constructed under the stable area. Laramy knew of Addler’s family loss and would not subject the tend to witnessing any more loss of life. In Laramy’s protection though, came the boy’s vulnerability to torment from the other tends.

Addler Paddler.

Addy Paddy.

Piss-ass Addler, a tend once shouted as Addler emerged from the hideaway, a wet spot clearly visible on the front of his pants.

The Knight Verdak once accused him of being a coward, and had ended up an orphan because his family threw themselves into the middle of one of the battles for the castle, ashamed of his unmanliness and willing to forgo life to avoid their disappointment with him. When Verdak died in the last battle, Addler secretly hoped that Verdak would meet up with his dead family members and know the truth; like many orphans taken into service by the king, his family was routed out by one of the king’s enemies and slaughtered before his eyes. That would make any boy afraid of battle and hide.

Yet, all the teasing was not enough to keep him from being an excellent tend and taking care of Nesra. Ridden by the Knight Laramy, Nesra was not the most beautiful steed in the king’s stable, nor was he the fastest or most agile of them all. He was quite young, and the greenish-gray coloring on the leathery scales that covered his body gave away his youth. The spikes that ran down his spine from the top of his skull to the base of his tail were as sharp as the knife that Laramy used to shave his face, not yet dulled from age. Wings that allowed the beast to fly high and fast were folded up against his body. His teeth were long and sharp and his claws seemingly slightly too large for his huge paws. Dark but bright eyes took in everything he saw, and it was a little heart-stopping to anyone when the beast made eye contact with them. His tail was strong and muscular and could snap a man or beast in two if he whipped it just right. His underbelly was soft white, age not spotting it with the grayish-red tint indicative of older beasts. Nesra was fresh to the king’s service and not yet battle-weary as most of the other knight’s rides were. For Addler, Nesra was his responsibility and duty, and he was proud to be one of the king’s dragontends responsible for, what he thought was, the most honorable dragon in the stable, and the one Laramy chose as his own.

Good morning, Nesra, he said as he filled the dragon’s feeding trough to almost overflowing. Nesra let out a snort in acknowledgment as he leaned his large neck and head downwards and devoured his breakfast, consisting of ground up hog meat and crushed pittyroot mixed with various powdered metals.

He had once asked the Dragonhealer, a specialized physician who provided medical care to the dragons, why the powered metals were added to the hog meat and pittyroot. He sat in motionless fascination as the Dragonhealer explained that the meat and root in the dragon’s belly were not only digested for fuel to keep the beast alive, but were turned into gases that were stored in the dragon’s chest and cheeks in special pouches. The gases in the chest were much lighter than the air around the dragon. When the dragon wanted to fly, it would extend its huge wings, which would expand the chest pouches and help make the dragon lighter than it normally was. When it moved its wings, the gases would expand with each upward flap and give the dragon lift so the wings could accomplish their task. That was how dragons, being so large and heavy, could fly with such ease and agility.

When a dragon was in a protective mode, such as being attacked by a man or beast, or trained to go into that behavior to protect the knight riding it, the dragon would open up the pouches in its cheeks to expel the gases very rapidly. Flaps at the back of the throat closed and the dragon blew the gases out of its mouth and nose. Wild dragons would chew on the rocks that they found near their food, usually wild hogs that they would kill. For the king’s dragons, the metals were removed from the rocks, crushed and powdered into the food, and when eaten, got trapped on the dragon’s teeth. As the gases passed over the teeth, they were ignited by the powdered metals. This was how dragons were able to breathe fire and how very important it was for the stablery cooks to add the metal to the hog meat.

He thought that was such a great ability, to be able to fly and breathe fire. No wonder the king made sure the dragons always got the best quality food, so they would always be ready to carry and protect the knights in battle. As long as he could remember, and anyone else he had talked to, even old men too long lived for this world, the Kingdom of Husanta had always used dragons as transportation for the knights, with the horses used by the royals only for official travel, and by the citizens for farming. Dragons could fly and in battle they had no comparison to the slow horses used by the king’s enemies. Many of his enemies had tried to tame the wild dragons into service but none could be made to obey. They resisted training and always flew away. The king’s dragons were far from being wild and free. They were bred and born at the castle, and had been for centuries, for just this one particular service.

As he began to ready the knight’s saddle, a commotion out beyond the stablery doors caught his attention and he turned to watch what was going on. He saw several knights in practice battles, their swords clanging together as they rode their dragons barely above the ground, passing each other with only a finger’s space between them; aerial acrobatics comparable only to those in the festivals and jousts that occasionally graced Pillarry. The knights controlled their dragons’ flight so expertly that he was always surprised he had never seen two dragons collide with each other, a sight that would be so heartbreaking to see. He watched Nesra’s rider, the Knight Laramy, clash with another knight in the courtyard practice area, standing and facing each other, swinging their swords in mock attack and defense, serious in their training, yet enjoying every bit of it as pure pleasure and sport. The clanging of the metal and the laughter from the both of them indicated that they were both having quite a good time.

He waited for Nesra to lie down and eat in a most lazy fashion that dragons sometimes do, and when Nesra was comfortable in front of his trough, he pulled the saddle up with the winch rope and maneuvered it over the dragon’s back, then slowly lowered it down. He carefully secured it into place against the small sharp horns and scales that lined the dragon’s back and sides. He patted the dragon’s huge head, being careful of the spikes, and turned to the bench to begin cleaning and laying out the rest of Laramy’s armor and weapons. Laramy’s suit and lance were custom made by a smither in the town of Tulanpault, apparently the finest weapons maker in all the lands. Laramy paid for his suit and weapons himself, foregoing the standard armor and weaponry the smither made in contract with the king to outfit his knights and soldiers, a privilege Laramy exercised as Lord of the Knights and granted to several of the other knights in his charge. Laramy’s lance was most unusual not only within the army of King Cedric the Second, but in the entire land of Husanta and beyond. All knights used a lance approximately one and one half times longer than the length of their body, the handle cup situated near the rear for balance, and only when riding their dragons, passing a knight or soldier who was on foot, or a horse and rider, and spearing them with the sharp point of the lance. However, Laramy’s lance was constructed to exactly his own height and the handle cup was fitted very close to the center. This set the balance of the lance quite off to the rear, but allowed him to use the lance similar to a sword, swinging it to the side to deflect any thrusts from his enemies’ weapons, and thrusting it forward into their bodies, impaling them like a hog on a roasting stick.. Laramy actually preferred the imbalance, as he once told Addler, as a challenge to his fighting skills. Many times Laramy would jump off Nesra as the dragon glided low, running along the ground wielding his lance, taking out the enemy in one quick thrust.

Addler looked at the custom-made lance for a moment; the stones on the handle were beautiful works of art. He then placed it into the saddle’s left side. He shined the rest of Laramy’s armor, and then laid the pieces out on the table, looking at his own face clearly in the chest plate.

You’re up early as usual, a soft and musical voice said behind him, which startled him, and he turned to see eighteen year old Lady Alnya of Zoft, daughter of Cedric the Third of Zoft, granddaughter of King Cedric the Second of Pillarry. She was petting Nesra’s head and smiling broadly, being very careful not to rub her hands against the dragon’s sharp spikes and horns, staying only on the animal’s leathery smooth scales. Her light blond hair came down to just above her shoulders, cut by her handmaiden, that reminded him of the feathers on the ducks they would feed in the mornings when he was finished his tasks. Her blue eyes, the same color as the sky, he thought, looked directly into those of the dragon. Alnya was never afraid to lock gaze with the beast, and he always imagined that the two of them were sharing some unspoken thoughts. She was so beautiful, even when she had just woken and had begun her morning stroll around the castle grounds. With her hair slightly out of place from her pillow, her royal black morning robe swaying as she walked, and not a wisp of makeup on her face, she was still as beautiful as when he would occasionally see her in the evening times. In all her pure naturalness, she was a beauty to behold. She also made Addler extremely nervous every time he saw her.

Lady Alnya he said as he looked down on her, his voice shaking. I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there. He bowed in respect, though she had told him many times before not to.

It’s all right Addler. I didn’t mean to startle you this morning. You are a nervous one, aren’t you? She watched as he trembled slightly. Please, get up, don’t bow. I’ve told you that before. I would think you would be a little more comfortable around me by now. It’s been a while.

Yes Lady Alnya. Sorry, he replied as he rose. I’m still not used to anyone from the royal family being in the stablery, let alone talking to me, even though you and I walk and go the pond almost every day. It’ll take time for me to get used to it. It’s just that, well, I’m a servant, and you are a Royal Lady.

Addler had only met the girl six months earlier when she arrived from her mother’s house to live with her father, Prince Cedric the Third. On that particular day, he was feeding some bread to the ducks and swans by the pond, when she came up to him and told him it looked like he was having lots of fun. He invited her to feed the birds with him and she joyfully accepted his invitation. They talked a lot and got along well, sharing bread and the fun of feeding the birds. Addler assumed she was the daughter of some servant in the castle, and engaged her in very casual conversation and laughter. When, after a few days she finally told him who she was, he panicked and immediately dropped to his knees, bowing his head and begging for her forgiveness for being so casual with her. She found his behavior amusing and a little charming at the same time. And since she was so new to the castle, he was also one of the only friends she had made so far. Looking down at this dragontend who had fear in his face and regret in his heart, amused her immensely.

Am I that frightening that you have to avoid looking at me? she asked playfully as he knelt there in humility.

You are the king’s granddaughter, and it is wrong for me to be casual with you, your highness. Addler replied, still looking at the ground. He then felt a soft and warm hand on his chin, gently pulling his head up.

And have you found on the ground what you have lost, dragontend? she asked.

I beg your pardon, my lady?

Your mind, Mr. Berrington? she said with a huge smile.

Addler started to laugh and he stood up, looking down on her. She then put her arm through his and they began to walk and talk. She listened intently as Addler told her of his life prior to the battle that killed his family and caused him to end up in the employ of the king. He spoke passionately of the love and care his mother and father gave him and his sister, and the fun he and his sister had together, being best friends even though she was three years younger. Alnya noticed he talked about his sister a lot, like how much she reminded him of her, and the sense of humor they both had.

Do I remind you of your sister? Maybe that’s why you can talk to me so easily, she said. Or as you put it, so casually.

He looked at her and smiled.

Yes, I think so. You’re very different from her in so many ways, but so much the same in other ways.

She simply looked into his eyes and could see the sadness that the loss of his family, especially his beloved sister, had left on him. He was lonely, working and living here at the castle with no family to go home to at night. He also made her feel very comfortable and she told him how she came to be at the castle, how her mother had divorced her father and had married a common man, an act that essentially guaranteed that her mother would never see the inside of the castle again, nor the wealth and privilege that went with it. Alnya herself still retained all her rights as the king’s granddaughter though without the possibility that she may one day rule the kingdom, for she was a girl. Her father was now looking for a new bride and the eventual son to take over the eventual position that he himself would eventually have. She enjoyed coming to the stablery and, as she told Addler, had quite a love for dragons. She liked to be near them, especially Nesra. Dragons calmed her. They kept her from dwelling on her parent’s divorce and hatred of each other. She also liked talking to Addler, and her memories slowly faded as she came back to the present and looked at his handsome face.

Well, you should be used to me by now, she said with a grin. Just think of me as a friend, not a royal.

That’s hard to do, he replied.

Status is for leaders, for kings, she told him. Good friends are friends, regardless of their status. And I, Addler, think of you as a very, very good friend. She chuckled as his face became red with embarrassment. I hear the knights are destined for the county of Pare to take out the baron’s soldiers today, she said, changing the subject.

Yes, my Lady, Addler replied, and saw the silent chastisement on her face. Yes, Alnya, the baron is preparing to invade Husanta within a week and the king wants to make a first strike against them.

My grandfather is quite a prudent warrior. War is such an awful thing, Addler. Why can’t disagreements be resolved by talking? Why don’t people talk anymore, Addler? All these little kingdoms with self-declared kings and barons and lords popping up across our land, taking more land away from the kingdom, from my grandfather. Talking could be beneficial.

Most people don’t want to talk. Most people in power love to fight instead.

It seems so useless and tragic. Too many people die. Too many good, innocent people die, Addler.

Addler was silent for a moment. His thoughts suddenly were about his father, mother, and sister, killed in battle, and then just as quickly they vanished.

I can’t agree more with you, Lady Alnya, but fighting and winning these battles is what keeps Husanta alive and free.

And what keep my grandfather in power. I guess preparing all your life for a lifetime of battle is what a king must do, she quietly said, gazing off in the distance, momentarily somewhere else. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Addler. I’ll leave you to your chores so you can get everything ready for Laramy. She looked into his eyes for a moment. I hope I’ll see you at the pond later on today as usual?

Your company is never a disturbance my lady. He caught himself. Alnya, he said, with a slight bow of his head. And I’ll be at the pond with loaves of bread for us both.

Alnya smiled at him and she touched his arm with her hand and gave him a wink. He blushed again and his stomach fluttered slightly. She walked over to the stall and held out her hand, which the beast licked with a large tongue.

Goodbye, Nesra. She kissed him on the nose. Behave, the two of you.

The dragon snorted at her, gave her another lick on her cheek, and then finished the last piece of pittyroot that sat in some hog fat. Addler watched as she left the stable, her black robe flowing gently as she walked, her form underneath it tantalizing but hidden. Before she went out the door, she turned and looked at him again, her smile sweet and genuine as always. Addler felt the flutter in his stomach get stronger, the one he always got when he was with her, and he blushed as he returned a smile. After she had gone, his slight shaking and sweating slowly went away and he continued to prepare the knight’s things. Lady Alnya of Zoft always made him nervous. Very, very nervous, even though they were good friends. Alnya was the closest he had ever come to meeting her father or the king. She was as pretty as any girl he had ever seen in the castle grounds. But for all the friendship and fun they had together, she was still a royal and he was still a lowly servant. She was superior to him in every way and demanded the utmost respect and obedience.

Addler had almost finished with the knight’s attire and equipment, and as he surveyed the gear laid out in front of him, Nesra sat up and burped a long, smelly exhale of gas. A plume of smoke exited the dragon’s nose, and he made a small guttural sound of recognition and excitement, which went unnoticed by Addler who was still thinking about Alnya.

Young man! What in the bowels of this world do you think you’re doing?

Startled out of his wits, Addler reeled around to see the large hulking frame of the Knight Laramy standing over him and glaring intently, the knight’s large sword in his hand and the look of crazed anger on his face.

Chapter Two

As the sun continued to rise and shine its light across the kingdom, Lord Gleadspen Coverton sat in the dirty and smelly pub in the town of Tulanpault, only a short horse ride away from his small castle. He stared at his drink that sat in front of him, nestled in an extremely over-used and equally as under-cleansed mug. His slim, muscular, and handsome angular looks, dark goatee beard, and eyes as gray as the sky on the stormiest of days, looked back at him from the empty bread plate that sat on the table in front of him. He was waiting very impatiently for the thief to show as arranged. Coverton mulled over the implications of the information that the thief had relayed to the jailor and hoped that what the thief had imparted was true. He also thought of what delightful torture and execution methods might serve the thief the best if the information turned out to be a way of simply avoiding his scheduled punishment.

It was with great elation when on the previous evening one of Coverton’s men reported to him that a thief destined for the chopping block admitted that he had information on a carved object sealed in crystal that may be of great interest. Coverton wondered if it could be the object he had only half-heartedly believed existed and occasionally searched for. So in order to get the most information from the thief, he arranged for his jailers to bring the thief to the pub, a setting more familiar and comfortable for the man, which, combined with the amount of ale Coverton was willing to buy, might make his lips a little looser. Coverton, on the other hand, couldn’t stand being in such a commonly peasant place for a second, let alone waiting around like this. Although these people paid him taxes for living on his land, a stolen area of Husanta, and paid even more taxes through their food and ale purchases, he had absolutely nothing, nor wanted anything, to do with them. They were dirty, filthy, and most of them smelled sweaty and nauseating. He had a hard time keeping the ale down, almost gagging at times as the whiff of someone’s odor violently stabbed at his nose. He felt as if the dirt from one of their vile bodies could simply be lifted up by the air and waft his way, landing on his pristine white clothes, soiling them forever.

Been here long, my lord? a high, gruff voice to his right asked.

Coverton looked up and was immediately repulsed by the thief as the dirty man sat opposite to him and quickly downed the mug of ale that Coverton reluctantly pointed to. His smell was gagging and putrid, like a rotting corpse almost, and Coverton actually contemplated that if he threw up on the man, it might improve his overall stench. He leaned back in his chair instinctively, not taking a chance of getting any of the thief’s dirt on his clothes.

Your information had better be correct or you can kiss your freedom and your head this time instead of your hand, goodbye. I will take your head in the most painful and painfully slowest way I can dream of and I will love every minute of it. You, of course, will not!

My lord, the thief replied with a swallow, nervously smiling with what little teeth he had left. Although I would do anything to save my own life, I would not dare to give you false information of any kind. I value my head too much for that.

Coverton placed another mug of ale in front of the thief who quickly emptied it.

That’s an extremely wise decision, you stinky thieving fellow. Now, tell me about this jewel, Coverton demanded.

Well, I heard from a fellow, well, like me, about a man he had heard about who told him of the great treasures of a man who lived in the forests of Eldywar. Apparently this man is a collector of fine works of arts and crafts and had in his possession a piece that I think might be of interest to you.

How do you, a thief who has never met me before, know it would be of interest to me?

I overheard some of the jail guards discussing a similar piece that apparently you have been looking for.

Coverton’s brow rose in surprised interest and a small grin appeared on his face. He waved to a waitress who brought two more mugs of ale and Coverton was silent as they were placed on the table and quickly inhaled by the stinking little man in front of him. He let the man savor the drinks for several moments, not out of any compassion for quenching the filthy thing’s thirst, but wanting the effects of the drink to start working on the man’s brain.

Describe the piece to me, he said in a softer tone.

The thief went into a detailed description of the jewel and Coverton leaned forward toward the thief in heightened interest, oblivious now to the man’s wicked stench.

Where is it now? Coverton asked quickly.

Apparently this collector sold the piece to a man who claimed to be a representative of the King of Husanta. I heard this collector acquired the piece for its artistic value, rather than for any other reason.

So the piece is in the possession of the king?

I don’t know. I only know that it was sold to a representative of the king. If he was telling the truth, I don’t know. But that’s the truth as I know it.

That is the first information I’ve heard of the location of the jewel. You had better be right.

That’s what I was told and that’s what I just told you. It’s the only information I have, my lord.

Coverton smiled and looked the thief over. As he though over what he had just learned, he became aware of the man’s stench again, and the contents of his stomach rose to the bottom of this throat. He fought hard to keep it from proceeding any further.

You’re lucky that this information has put me a very good and gracious mood, thief. I’ll grant you your freedom for now, but, Coverton pointed a finger toward the thief’s face, if I find out that you’ve lied to me, you will be arrested and executed in the slowest way that I can imagine, and my imagination is quite good.

I am truthful, my lord. I give you my absolute word.

How honorable! The word of a thief! Coverton said laughingly. Tell me. Are you right-handed or left-handed, my stinky little friend?

Left-handed, the thief replied, confusion on his face.

I see, Coverton said with a smile, and in one swift movement grabbed the handle of his knife from the sheath on his belt, brought it high over his head, and then directly down into the back of the thief’s left hand, impaling it to the wooden table. The thief’s horrid scream filled the pub