The Dragon's Egg: Dragons West, #1

By J. A. Johnson

The year is 1874. Vince Browder is about to unleash a plague- and pestilence-breathing dragon upon an unsuspecting young nation. All that stands between him and the ultimate land grab is young Matthew Graham and a dragon of his own named Crazy Squirrel. Against seemingly impossible odds, Matthew is joined by a band of heroic individuals including the legendary Baxter Fleming; The Miracle Marksman, Francisco Ochoa; The Bolo Kid, Americus Freeman, Cordelia McKenna and, of course, Bax's faithful horse, Turquoise Bill. In a quest that will take our heroes from a quiet Michigan town, across a vast continent, to the twisted heart of a dead volcano deep in Death Valley, the adventure never stops.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evanation Studios
• Release date: Sep 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215109328

Book preview

PROLOGUE

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The Carpathian Mountains, 1874

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Vince Browder trained his spyglass down the jagged mountainside, panning the lens back along the sliver of a footpath that he and his party had so recently ascended, until he found what he knew would be there. His lips curled in a lupine snarl that lifted one half of his thick, black mustache. 

I say, Vincent, what is it you keep looking for behind us?

Browder collapsed the spyglass and stuffed in into a pocket of his buffalo hide overcoat as he turned to face the speaker. Oh, I reckon we both know the answer to that, Milo.

The smaller man looked perplexed. I'm afraid I'm not sure what you mean.

Browder placed a burly hand on the back of the old explorer's neck and drew him close to the edge of the cliff. Then let me refresh your memory. There are eight people following us up this mountain. Two of those people are kinfolk of yours.

Milo Graham tensed and tried to step back but Browder only tightened his grip.

That's right, Milo. I know you turned traitor; I've known it for months. But what I can't figger is the why of it. You've been a member of the Brotherhood longer'n anyone alive. You know what we're about; what we're about to achieve, so why the change of heart?

Milo Graham swallowed hard. He looked fearful and rightfully so, Browder thought. The former cattle baron had half a mind to toss the old fool down the side of the mountain. But then he felt Milo relax in his grasp and sensed an unexpected composure settle over the man.

Because of you, Vincent. Because after centuries of effort, the Brotherhood is on the brink of success and the thought of such power in human hands is unconscionable. My secret purpose in the Brotherhood has always been to act as a safeguard against members such as you.

Browder snorted, Liar. You just want the power for you and your own. That's why you've called in your sissified son and his purty little wife. You thought to ambush ol' Vince up here in the middle of nowhere, take the prize and leave me for dead. Well it's you and your kin that's gonna be callin' these here mountains home 'til the end of days.

Kill me if you like, Vincent. I'm not afraid to die.

Well thank you, Milo, I'll sleep much better known I didn't offend you by killin' you. But killin' you ain't at the top of my list of priorities. Heck, I got your kin folk to think about first.

Milo Graham's face paled a shade. You won't get Charles or Elizabeth that easily. They know exactly what they’re up against.

Browder approximated a grin. Do they now?

Just then a commotion erupted behind them, and Vince looked over his shoulder to the cave entrance. Karakov, Ledoux, Gianni and half a dozen gypsy porters emerged from the mountain, all of them jabbering excitedly in their respective native tongues.

Still holding Milo half over the cliff edge, Browder drew his old, volcanic pistol and pulled back the hammer.  It was a quiet sound, but distinct enough to register with the members of his party. The potpourri of babble petered out, as all eyes fixed on the revolver.

That's better, Browder growled. Now someone speak to me – in English.

There was an uneasy pause before Browder was assaulted by a tornado of broken, English accents.

Fer cryin' out loud, he roared, one at a time!

Karakov waved at the others to remain silent and said, We have found them, Vince! An entire clutch! I counted seven, all in perfect condition.

Browder nodded triumphantly. Seven! That was seven times better than he had ever dared to dream.

Monsieur Browder, said Ledoux. Vat are you do-ing to Monsieur Graham? Iz there a problame?

Browder had all but forgotten the old man. Abruptly, he pulled Milo from the precipice and shoved him to the ground between himself and his associates. Gentlemen, we have been betrayed, Browder proclaimed as he holstered his sidearm and proceeded to recite the facts as he knew them.

Stunned disbelief made its rounds on the faces. Finally, Gianni said. Then he must die.

What about them? Karakov asked, pointing down the footpath.

Browder smirked. Don't worry none 'bout them. I've already made arrangements to deal with them. He jabbed a finger in Milo's direction. Tie him up... for the time bein'.

Karakov relayed the order to the gypsies who then gathered up a rope and proceeded to bind Milo with it.

Browder strode over to where his own horse was tethered to a scraggly, leafless tree, reached into a saddle bag, and brought out his Very Pistol. It held a single, large cartridge. Browder loaded the pistol as he walked back to the ledge. Ledoux, Karakov and Gianni, followed by the curious gypsy porters, watched as Browder aimed the gun at the slate gray mountain sky and squeezed the trigger.

A hissing, sparking ball of red incandescent light rocketed toward the heavens. The Europeans nodded approvingly. The reaction of the gypsies, however, was something else altogether. They fled into the cave, issuing terrified grunts and screams as they went, almost running over Milo in their exodus. Browder laughed at the sight.

Grow up, Vincent, Milo said. I doubt these poor gypsies have ever seen a flare before.

Browder snorted, shook his head, and laughed even harder. Wake up, Milo. They ain't gypsies.

They're not gyp.... No! They couldn't be... you couldn't have...

Oh, yes, they can be. And, yes, I did. Browder said. He had again taken up his spyglass, watching his pursuers far below. They had halted in their ascent; their eyes directed upward, watching the light show.  This is a strange, dark corner of the world, Milo, Browder continued, full of strange, dark things. You don't really think we'd have found what we came here for on our own, do you?

There will be a reckoning for what you're doing, Vincent. And I hope I'm there when it comes, Milo said quietly. 

Browder shook his head and turned his full attention down the footpath. Through the spyglass he watched as Charles and Elizabeth Graham exchanged words and, though it was impossible to know what those words were from this distance, Browder could easily read their body language - a shake of a head, a shrug of the shoulders. The Grahams were clearly uncertain as to what the flare signified and to whose attention it was directed. They were, however, about to learn.

Browder nodded approvingly as Charles turned to the lead porter only to find the gypsy pointing an ancient looking pistol at him. Before either Charles or Elizabeth could react, the five remaining porters had also drawn and trained weapons on them.

Suddenly, Charles Graham lunged for the lead porter's pistol and, just as suddenly, several gunshots shattered the quiet morning, echoing and rolling up the mountainsides like peels of thunder. Browder smiled. Perhaps Charles Graham wasn’t so sissified after all.

No, Vincent! What have you done? cried Milo who could not see over the edge of the cliff.

Browder turned to regard his captive. Milo was bound hand and foot, sitting on the ground. Starting toward the mouth of the cave, Browder motioned to Karakov. Boris, lead the way to the prize. And have our gypsy friends bring the old man with us.

No. Milo Graham's voice was cold and flat. I've come as far I care to, you murderer.

Browder's dark eyes twinkled merrily at the grief he saw on Milo's face. Now, now, Milo. Don't go getting' your chaps in a bind. I know you well enough to know that, in spite of recent events, the larger part of you still wants to behold what brought us all here today. He gestured over the ledge with a lift of his wide chin.

As though ashamed of himself, Milo fell silent, his head hung low. Karakov nodded to the gypsies who then dragged Milo to his feet.  At the cave entrance, Browder stopped short, looking for all the world as though he had hit an invisible wall.

Vat iz wrong now? Ledoux demanded.

Why, I just remembered something!

Yes? Gianni asked warily.

Browder stepped close to Milo and lifted the older man's grey-whiskered chin in order to look him in the eye. I was just thinkin' to myself what a momentous day this is shapin' up to be. The Brotherhood is on the verge of attaining ultimate power; a traitor has been foiled, and... just as I was thinkin' how poetic it was that the traitor's bloodline was about to be wiped out, I remembered. Browder paused, reading the dread realization pooling in the old man's eyes.

Remembered what? Karakov asked.

I just remembered that Ol' Milo here has a grandson.

Milo glared up at Browder. Even you aren't that low, Vincent.

Browder shrugged. It's nothin' personal, Milo. Even I wouldn't go killin' no kid just for fun. But if I hadn't been one step ahead of you, the Brotherhood might've been thwarted by your actions. And that, my friend, is unforgivable. Browder looked to Karakov, Ledoux and Gianni. We all know the penalty for betraying the Order. The Europeans nodded grimly.

Now, what was the boy's name? Browder pondered aloud. Mitchell, Michael, Martin...

CHAPTER 1

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Holly, Michigan, six weeks later.

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Matthew Graham sat bolt upright in the middle of his bed, sweating profusely; and not just due to the humid, summer air. Something had been lurking around the house for the past two weeks: a dark, silent presence that seemed to travel in shadow. Matthew was certain that it was in his room. His dark, shadowland of a bedroom was the perfect hunting ground for the thing that had been creeping about,  just on the edge of Matthew's vision, too fast to be seen whenever he turned to catch sight of it.

Matthew sat frozen in place, his heart thumping loudly in his ears. His sense of dread deepened when he realized that his sword was on top of his chest of drawers... all the way across the room. True, he admitted, it was only a wooden sword, but it would have been better than nothing. If the thing attacked him now, he'd have no choice but to try and whack it to death with his pillow, not a comforting prospect.

If only his parents were here; they could handle any situation. But Grandpa Milo had needed their help which meant that, whatever his problem was, it had to be pretty bad. Of course, how much worse could it be than having some sort of murderous creature in your bedroom? 

Only the scantest beam of moonlight showed through the window, illuminating nothing more than a strip of floorboards.  The thing could be anywhere in the room, crouching to attack in the impenetrable darkness.  It could be standing right next to Matthew, and he'd never even know it until it was too late.  Matthew slowly, very slowly, drew his pillow to his lap, hugging it to himself like a shield. Sweat trickled down his forehead but he did not wipe it away.  Although the darkness of the room was almost absolute, Matthew wasn't about to do anything that might block his vision for even a heartbeat. And so he sat there, hugging his pillow, wide-eyed and sweating, watching for the faintest hint of the creature's whereabouts, waiting to be pounced upon. He knew that the thing was waiting him out, waiting for him to slacken his guard, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. 

The only sound, other than Matthew's pounding heart, was the tic-tock of the clock on the far wall. Seconds became minutes and then hours as time became a blur to Matthew. His eyes burned from sweat and weariness. Several times throughout the night his eyelids came together, only to snap wide open as he fought off sleep.

A sudden noise jolted him awake. Aaaaaahhhhh!!! With no time to waste trying to figure out the direction the thing was attacking from, Matthew hurled his pillow forward, hoping to buy himself time to escape. As the pillow left his hands, Matthew rolled to his right; the side of the bed closest to the door. He hit the floorboards with a painful thud. He tried to rise but his legs were... were... missing? Had the thing somehow devoured his legs without his knowing it?

He looked down and, to his eternal relief, saw both legs fully intact, even as he felt the first tingling pins-and-needles that told him his legs had gone to sleep on him at the worst possible time.  All of a sudden it occurred to Matthew that his room was no longer gripped in the pitch of night, that the morning sun had dispelled even the darkest shadows.

And the noise? Cautiously, Matthew peered over the rumpled expanse of his bed.

Good morning, young sir. 

Matthew blinked. Good morning... a lion-esque yawn disrupted his greeting ...Mr. Finch. Matthew regarded the English butler only briefly before noticing the breakfast tray. What's this?