Where Dragons Dwell: Dragons, #1

By Candace Christine Little

A sad departure. A daring rescue. A captivating duchess. An astonishing past. A kingdom in ruins. A trap. A letter. A locket. A tournament. A tower. A flower. And...of course... Dragons. 

 

Where Dragons Dwell is the first book in a set of two, but either book can be read first. They are simultaneous stories—they are happening at the same time and involve different but related characters. Each story is complete—no cliffhanger endings, no need to read one to understand the other.

 

The books in this series are written to be enjoyed by a broad range of ages—from junior high through adult. Though the stories are family-friendly, they do involve battling dragons. Looking for thrilling rescues and noble knights? Experience the adventure and the hope in Where Dragons Dwell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Candace Christine Little
• Release date: Jan 18, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224568093

Candace Christine Little

Candace Christine Little has a B.A. from Dallas Christian College and a J.D. from Regent University School of Law. She has written six novels. Four are part of one series: The Pursuit of a King (A Tale of Wisdom), The Heart of a King (A Tale of Faith), The Honor of a King (A Tale of Mercy), and The Son of a King (A Tale of Love). Two are part of another: Where Dragons Dwell and Whom Dragons Rule. Candace believes in the power of stories to nourish, to teach, and to inspire, and she is wholeheartedly committed to endings that are happy.

Book preview

Part I

Chapter 1:  Goodbyes

Grandfather Orrpin stood up slowly from where he had knelt in the rich-brown dirt of the field. A twinge of concern caused Andelar to pause briefly in his approach as he assessed the health of the aged but still vigorous man, who was actually his great-grandfather and whose continued strength and vitality, Andelar felt, were not to be taken for granted.

Orrpin caught sight of the concerned stare and laughed kindly as he waved. Patience, my boy. With great age comes great patience. Not even standing can be hurried. When Andelar reached him, he looked the young man over from head to foot. Yes. I suppose you are ready to go at last. And just in time.

Just in time?

You have already begun to wonder if you should stay, have you not?

Well, I—

Yes...just as I thought. Orrpin frowned and shook his head.

But you will need help with the harvest.

Bah! I am far from helpless! Orrpin chuckled. Trust me, my boy, I have quite an aversion to starving. If I thought you were needed here to prevent that, I would not let you go.

But the duke—

The duke is a fair man. He will not demand more from us than we can provide.

Yes...yes, the duke is a fair man. And he is especially kind to us because of you. But the duke’s son is neither fair nor kind. He waits eagerly for the death of his father and the passing of his father’s title and power—and the duke’s health has been quite unstable of late. Perhaps if I postponed my leaving until—

No, no, my boy. You are quite right. Grandfather Orrpin paused and then continued in a subdued tone that perfectly expressed the frown of concern he wore. "The duke’s son is a tyrant-in-waiting if ever there was one. But that is all the more reason for you to go—before he does gain power—and with it the opportunity to revoke the all-important document you now carry. A great change is coming, I fear. And that is why you must go now—and travel beyond the reach of his power and make a name for yourself in a new land. Only then may you safely return. No, you must go, my boy. And soon."

But—Grandfather, are you certain you want to give this to me? You earned it. It should be yours. Andelar pulled a leather pouch up and out from under his shirt. Inside was the document that declared him to be a free citizen of the land. He fumbled with the cord that held the document safely enclosed.

A sad—almost pained—look came over Grandfather Orrpin’s face. Put that away. And take care that you guard it well.

Andelar slowly returned the pouch to its hiding spot. But you could go—return to the land of your youth—or...or...live out your days traveling from one adventure to the next.

A glimmer of deep longing entered Orrpin’s eyes—a glimmer that hinted at secret hopes and dreams long cherished in his heart. But he blinked the glimmer away and shook his head. No. I am certain. You are to have it.

But—

Enough. Orrpin’s look was firm. All is arranged. It belongs to you. You must use it wisely and well, my boy. That is all that is left to be done. And you must use it now or else risk that it may be lost forever. But I will ask you to promise me two things.

Yes?

Promise me you will remember this: No dragon can be trusted, and all dragons breathe fire.

Andelar laughed lightly. A strange request—but certainly easy to obey. You have made me practice those words since I was a small boy. I could no sooner forget those words than...

Grandfather Orrpin’s firm gaze was unrelenting, and his serious stare caused Andelar’s smile to melt away. Repeat them. Let me hear you speak them aloud.

Very well, Grandfather. No dragon can be trusted, and all dragons breathe fire.

Very good. Once more.

No dragon can be trusted, and all dragons breathe fire.

Yes, yes. One more time.

Grandfather Orrpin, I—

Do you want to be eaten? Do you want to be burned alive? What seems obvious and unforgettable to you now is in actuality neither obvious nor unforgettable. You will likely meet any number of people who never knew such things or who, in their arrogance or greed or folly, are quick to dismiss such basic and vital truths. And when you are confronted by their arguments or equivocations or observations or doubts, you may be tempted to adopt their foolish notions or even to purge the truth from your own memory. So humor an old man who has gained much insight into a world you have yet to see. Repeat the words once more—and promise me you will not forget them.

I promise you I will not forget these words: No dragon can be trusted, and all dragons breathe fire.

Good. Very good. As for the second promise... Grandfather Orrpin stared at Andelar with a look that was heartbreaking in its grief and desperation. Promise me that no matter what news you receive, you will not return to us until...until you have made a name for yourself...until you can match the duke’s son in strength and power...until not the slightest possibility remains that you might be made a slave again.

But, Grandfather, not one man in ten thousand manages to achieve the wealth and greatness that would be required to—

That is a risk we must accept.

But surely you do not mean—

I mean for you not to return for some time, my boy—perhaps not for years and years. Perhaps...never. As I said, a great change is coming. When it happens—and it may happen at any moment—you must not be here.

But what about you? And Mother and Father? I could—

You could do nothing. And if the days ahead are indeed as difficult for us as I fear, our one comfort, our one source of joy, will be recalling that you are free and far from such suffering.

Andelar felt as if he had been struck. Dazedly he studied Orrpin’s face.

Orrpin softened his intense stare. What I fear may not come to pass for some time. But I wish for you to be prepared for it—and far, far away when it happens. We are living in perilous times, my boy. I would not have you risk your freedom for your comfort—or for ours. You must go and stay far away from the troubles to come—though the thought of such an absence breaks your heart as violently as it breaks mine. Do you understand? I will not make you promise. I can see you haven’t the heart to. But you must understand the seriousness of what I am saying to you.

I...I understand.

Then now—I bid you farewell. With tears in his eyes, Orrpin threw his arms around Andelar.

A dreadful pang of grief struck Andelar’s heart. Will I see you again?

Orrpin released Andelar and stepped back. In this world? I do not know. His voice was quiet.

For the first time in his young life, burning tears of deep grief sprang to Andelar’s eyes. He embraced Grandfather Orrpin with a fierce sadness. I will not forget what you have taught me. And when next your eyes rest upon me, your heart will be glad for the sacrifice you have made.

Andelar returned to the house for his satchel, said his final goodbyes to his mother and father, and set out.

ANDELAR’S ONLY GUIDING thought, as his feet carried him farther and farther from home, was that he had to travel beyond the realm of Duke Conrolod. Traveling far enough north to escape the realm would take an entire two weeks. To the south was a sea. The eastern and western edges of Conrolod’s domain were only days away—but the land into which an eastern course led was under the direct control of a baron who was eager to ally himself with Thelodar, Conrolod’s son. So when Andelar reached the intersection of the Four Roads, not far beyond Conrolod’s castle, he turned to the west.

The road passed through wide-open farmland, fragrant with the scent of a recent rain and freshly tilled soil. Small patches of ground showed the first tiny shoots of green life rising up toward the sun, but other, larger patches, carefully readied for planting, waited for the kind attentions of those who were hard at work burying seeds just over the rise.

Andelar studied the scene with a touch of sadness for all he was leaving behind—his family, the fields, the only home he had ever known. But soon the sadness gave way to disbelief. Of course he would return. Grandfather Orrpin was, at times, given to pessimistic tendencies and melancholy moods. No doubt he had been in such a state when he and Andelar had said their goodbyes. His words could not help but convey his dark feelings and express an unwarranted level of fear.

With the sadness banished—or at least greatly dispelled—Andelar began to feel a sense of awe as he considered the limitless possibilities that waited for him down the road. Perhaps he would learn a trade. But which one? He had no particular leaning. Or perhaps he could persuade a merchant to hire him to...to...carry his wares—or provide some other form of assistance. He had never before considered just what help a merchant might need.

But perhaps he would be better suited for assisting a physician. He knew much of herbs and healing plants, and he had spent many a day and night caring for the animals on the farm. He was not at all averse to the sight of blood and could keep his head in moments of treating even those suffering from severe pain and dire afflictions.

Andelar passed well beyond the farmland and into the forest as he continued on with such thoughts. But he had not gone far into the forest before the pattering of many hooves warned him that a contingent of riders was just around the bend. He stepped off the road.

In moments, he saw the first of Duke Conrolod’s knights advancing toward him. They hardly looked at him as they passed, and the grim set of their jaws caused him some concern. Behind the riders were soldiers on foot—equally unsociable and morose.

He fell into step with the men and said to the nearest soldier, What has happened?

The soldier maintained his forward stare but said, We have been called back. He walked in silence for a moment. By the duke’s son. He glanced at Andelar as if to emphasize the words.

A crushing sense of dread stopped Andelar in his tracks. For the duke’s son to give such an order and for the knights and soldiers to obey meant that Conrolod must have passed at least some of his authority to Thelodar. The somber faces of the noble men before him left Andelar with little doubt that the passing of that authority was because of a serious illness or perhaps even impending death. He recalled the bits and pieces of news that had found their way out of the castle in recent days—all regarding the duke’s health but none hinting that such a dramatic turn of events would come so soon. Clearly the severity of the situation had been unknown—or hidden.

With racing thoughts, Andelar waited for the soldiers to pass. His eyes followed the men as they traveled the road he had just come down, and he decided to turn back. He could not leave his family alone to face the swift and terrible changes that were sure to come. He could not abandon them—despite his great-grandfather’s words. He took a deep breath to steady his thoughts, but as he did so, he felt the weight of the pouch against his chest. And suddenly his decision was not so clear. If he returned, the freedom Orrpin had earned would surely be stripped away. The citizenship document would be confiscated or declared worthless. And any help he could have gained for his family by making a name for himself and perhaps buying, perhaps demanding, their freedom would be lost.

He stared hard in the direction of the distant castle, which was no longer visible to his eyes but which was the only image visible to his mind. The happy thoughts that had entertained him for much of his journey so far—the thoughts of exciting and limitless possibilities that had entertained him just moments before—seemed childish and selfish and foolish and vain. In that moment, the last traces of boyhood fell away from him. He felt the debt he owed his great-grandfather. He felt the loneliness and despair of knowing his return home could only ever come if he met with success the likes of which he could hardly yet imagine.

He turned and faced the west. The line of soldiers stretched on. Thinking better of even such a short delay as waiting for the road to clear, he set out through the trees for the border of Duke Conrolod’s realm.

Chapter 2:  The Questionable Stranger

Andelar made excellent time in his travels. But once he crossed into the realm of Duke Harvved, his exhaustion, his hunger, and the aching in his legs and feet caught up with him.

He turned aside from the road and, wincing with each footstep now that a rest was imminent, set off in the direction of a river he had spied from a hill some distance back. A short walk later, he reached the river’s banks. He scooped the water up—handful after handful—and drank. Then he took off his boots and waded into the soothing, gentle flow.

A refreshing swim revived him, and a successful fishing endeavor provided him a meal. Thus restored, he sought out a dry, sheltered place for a nap. A cluster of trees partway back to the road supplied this final want.

Though it was still morning, Andelar drifted off to sleep nearly as soon as his head touched the ground. But a moment later, a horse’s scream pierced the quiet of the forest. Andelar woke with a start. He rubbed his eyes. He looked around.

Again the horse screamed. A cry of pain from the direction of the road brought Andelar to his feet. Angry shouting followed—and then another cry of pain. What had at first sounded like some sort of accident took on the qualities of some sort of an attack—a robbery, perhaps.

Andelar had only a small dagger with him, but he drew it. He spied a sturdy tree branch lying near and took hold of it. Then he stealthily rushed toward the sounds.

From behind a tree, he observed the happenings on the road. A tall man with a sword was menacing an old man, who lay on the ground with one arm raised to protect himself. Another, shorter man stood over the old man, kicking him forcefully. A nervous horse pranced in small circles and neighed fitfully a short distance away from them.

You there! Stop! Andelar shouted.

The attacker with the sword glanced over his shoulder at Andelar. This does not concern you. Be on your way.

The other attacker drew back his foot and unleashed a cruel kick that caused the fallen man to yelp with pain.

The fallen man looked toward Andelar with wide, pleading eyes. His dark gray beard rose and fell with the heaving of his chest.

It is hardly sporting to strike at a man who is off his feet—and elderly at that, said Andelar. He is not fighting you. I assume you have attacked him for...nefarious purposes, but even so—

The man with the sword interrupted Andelar’s speech with an ugly laugh and looked toward his accomplice. Shall we give him a taste of our nefarious purposes, Munorte?

At your command, sir, the shorter attacker replied. He turned toward Andelar, and Andelar saw then that Munorte held a long, thin blade in one hand.

Andelar, not knowing what else to do, let out a wild yell and rushed toward the attackers. Eyes closed, he began bashing away at them with the branch.

The taller attacker had hesitated a moment too long before turning away from the old man, and Andelar’s blows knocked him to the ground. His sword clattered harmlessly out of his hand. Andelar lunged for it, tossed aside the branch, and took up the weapon.

Munorte too had fallen to the ground, and the old man had somehow come into possession of his long, thin blade—and was standing over him, clutching his ribs with one hand and training the weapon on him with the other.

Both attackers slowly rose. Then Munorte turned and ran into the forest.

The remaining attacker eyed Andelar warily.

Go on—follow after your friend. Andelar, sword raised, took a threatening step toward the disarmed man, who scowled and stared at the sword as if he wished to take his weapon back but then, with stumbling steps, trotted away.

Fetch the horse. Quickly, said the old man between gasping breaths.

Andelar succeeded in calming the frightened animal and delivering his reins to the shaking hands of the one who had requested them.

Awkwardly, the old man aimed his foot at the stirrup. But something about the act caused the man’s face to contort with pain. He clutched his side, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, and took shallow, panting breaths. Ridiculous, he muttered. Farcical. Absurd. Preposterous.

Are you able to ride, sir? said Andelar.

I fear not. The old man rested one arm on the horse’s back and leaned against him, still obviously in great pain.

If you will allow me to help you, I could lead the horse. How far away is your home?

A fair distance from here. But you have done your part. You need not trouble yourself with me. He reached for the stirrup as if to try again.

Nonsense. Even if your attackers do not return to follow after you, other untrustworthy travelers you encounter may be emboldened to attack because of your injury.

Then I shall hide it.

I do not see how. You have yet to release your ribs.

You mean not to leave me? Why?

Not even if you insist upon it, sir. You are badly wounded. Were you my grandfather, I would not want you left alone in such a state. I cannot leave you.

A loud laugh burst forth from the old man but was cut short by his grimace of pain. As soon as the grimace passed, however, he began to chuckle lightly. Your grandfather. The