Dragon Quest: The Stone Crown Series, #2

By Ava Richardson

She can save her people—or doom the world.

Narissea faces an impossible choice. Armed with a map discovered in the hidden shrine, she's forced to lead Inyene's heir through the wilds of the Plains to claim the ultimate prize. For only the wearer of the Stone Crown can command all dragons, and take the High Throne that rules over the three kingdoms.

To place the crown's power into Inyene's hands is unthinkable. Yet failure to obtain it means certain death.

But the small band is not alone. Vicious mercenaries seek the crown for their mysterious patron and attack Narissea's expedition when they least expect it. In the ensuing chaos, the map is torn in two, forcing Narissea to rely on her memories of landmarks and stories passed down by the village elders to make her way through the Plains and its treacherous Sea of Mists.

When Inyene suspects betrayal, she sends her mechanical dragons against the beleaguered band, and the sands erupt in an epic clash of forces. Narissea's desperate decisions threaten to alter destinies, but she'll do whatever it takes to save her people.

No matter the consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Relay Publishing
• Release date: Apr 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224619467

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

NIGHTMARES IN THE WIND

Just as it always did in my dreams, dappled sunlight played over my face from the thin trees around me, and their branches sighed with the rising Soussa winds of the Plains.

Good, I thought. The sound of the breeze would hide my approach, and I took a careful step out from the straggly copse, towards where the tall grasses—like a blanket of gold and yellow—started.

My short bow was in my hands, and at my hip was my knife. I had everything I needed to complete the hunt…

There. A flicker of movement from the tall stalks. It went against the flow of the Soussa, I registered. My quarry was in there, trying to remain hidden. I crouched, trying to ease the excited hammer of my heart. My first solo hunt! If I could complete this—then everyone at the village could see that I was ready to start my responsibilities as the Imanu’s daughter. My mother would start teaching me the more complicated stories of the Daza, the tales that only the wise women and elders called the Imanu would share with each other. I would learn the true names and properties of the Twelve Sisters—plants and herbs whose use was restricted.

I would be trusted in village council meetings; my voice would be listened to, and they would ask me—Narissea of the tribe of Souda—how I would shape the future of our people.

I paused, nervousness playing through my body in flashes of heat or cold. I wondered if I was truly ready. Even after three days alone in the Plains, surviving just by my wits and what I had been taught—I still felt anxious.

But this was what I had been trained to do, wasn’t it? I steeled myself as the winds plucked and picked at my dark hair like it was attempting to soothe my spirits. ‘Step into your life, fierce little Nari…’ I remembered the parting words of my mother.

Yes. My future was waiting there for me, out in the Plains—and all I had to do was reach out and grab it⁠—

Crunch. There was a sound from the grasses ahead, and I tensed—before remembering to unwind the knots in my shoulders and arms. You had to be calm to perform a successful kill. If I was going to take a life of the Plains, then I had to do it swiftly and as respectfully as possible. The animal that gave its life so that we might feast should suffer as little as possible.

A shadow appeared in the near grasses—dark, and taller than I was expecting.

I breathed in, pooling the breath in my chest as I raised the bow⁠—

The creature stepped nearer, and the grasses wavered in front of its approach.

Calm, Nari, I told myself, before offering a heart’s prayer that I would get this right⁠—

"Slave!" A man burst from the grasses, his face twisted in a snarl of rage as he spat the word straight at me. He limped on a twisted leg, and his eyes were like small sparks of flint. And in his hand was the small leather-tailed whip that he had beaten me with many, many times.

It was Dagan Mar, the Chief Overseer of the Mines of Masaka.

And there on the left-hand side of his chest, jutting out horribly and spreading a sheen of red down his tunic was the handle of the knife I had used to kill him.

Slave scum! Dagan roared. Not even being killed could quench his anger as he lurched towards me⁠—

"Argh!" I screamed, kicking at the coarse and heavy blanket that had been given me for a bed. I was not out on the Plains. I was not performing my three-day Testing.

And the undead shade of Dagan Mar had not returned to take his revenge on me.

Dear Stars… I breathed as I gasped and struggled to a crouch. Around me was the canvas tent, half-filled with boxes and barrels and sacks of our provisions of our expedition.

Well, Inyene’s expedition, I corrected myself as I reached for the skin of water I had left by the side of my makeshift bed. Unlike the other Daza slaves who had been ordered along on this crazy mission, I was allowed to sleep in the store tent, on my own. To be honest, I would have preferred spending the night with the others—even if that did mean having my feet manacled together with everyone else’s. As absurd as it was to admit—the gentle murmurings of quiet talk or soft snores reminded me of the Tribal Hall of the Souda where there were always people day and night—either working or sleeping. Many times, I had fallen asleep before one of the fires, competing for space with our hunting dogs as the voice of the Elders told one of the old tales.

And now, of course, I thought, most of my people apart from the ones here were all back at Inyene’s Mines. Who knows how many of the faces that I knew so well were still alive? And I was the Imanu’s daughter. If it was anyone’s task to keep them safe right now—it had to be mine.

I sighed. Sometimes I didn’t feel like I had done a particularly good job of that.

A foot stamped outside—it had to be my guard. Even though I had garnered enough trust for saving Lord Abioye D’Lia’s life—the younger brother of the self-styled ‘Queen’ Inyene—to avoid being manacled, that ‘trust’ didn’t go so far as not being kept under watch, as the canvas door flap was pushed aside and the gruff voice of one of Inyene’s guards called in. Hoi, what’s going on in there!

Ugh. I ignored him as I stood up and stretched, irritably grabbing my few possessions. The scowling guard at the tent flap didn’t really care if I was having nightmares or not—just that I wasn’t attempting to run away, or eating all of the provisions or something. I picked up my cloak and my belt pouches containing the few belongings I was allowed—a flint, some twine and hook for a fishing line, and a few of the dried and gathered herbs that I had managed to harvest so far—as the guard grunted again and stepped away, seemingly satisfied that I was just crazy—but not disobeying Inyene’s rules.

Inyene’s rules and her damned Laws! I kicked one of the sacks of grain, before wishing that I had at least thought to put on my sandals before I had done that. Ow! A sack of packed grain seeds was surprisingly solid.

That ‘lady’ of the Middle Kingdom had terrorized the Daza people of the Plains (what the Western Three Kingdomers called ‘The Empty Plains’), and, from what both her rebellious brother, Abioye, and the young mage, Montfre, said—using a strategy that she had long been developing. She believed that she and Abioye were descendants of some long-dead High Queen Delia, and that gave her the right to do anything and everything to win her throne back… including murdering people, hiring mercenaries, twisting the laws to her own ends, and enslaving entire villages to work in her Mines, collecting ore and Earth-Light crystals to create her army of mechanical dragons. Inyene had even resurrected ancient ‘Laws’ of the Middle Kingdom, tying them to her offerings of loans and supplies, only to increase what the Daza owed by adding debt and forcing them to work for her.

Sssss! A hiss of annoyance filled my mind with a sense of reptilian outrage. It was my bond partner, Ymmen, the black dragon whom I had helped heal in the mountains of Masaka.

Foul things. Insult to all dragon-kind. Ymmen’s feelings were even stronger than mine on the subject of the mechanical dragons—and I didn’t blame him, as the mechanical, clockwork, and steam innards were clad in the stolen and discarded scales of living, breathing dragons.

It must be like seeing someone wearing your friends, I thought with a shiver of horror. At least we Daza gave up prayers of respect for the animals we hunted and skinned. At least we even protected the beasts we also hunted from the wandering prides of wildcats or wolves!

All Inyene was doing was trying to build an army that would overpower any opposition. There was no respect or honor there. Just greed.

Which was why I found myself in this stupid fixed-pole tent. I grumbled as I got myself ready. I could tell from the sounds of the distant Hooping birds somewhere outside that it was before dawn. The sky would be graying and the Plains dark, perhaps with the first mists lying over the ground. I used to love this time of the day, second only to dusk, when the Plains would come alive with mournful birdsong and the calls of the distant herds of antelope, bison, gazelle, and the gigantic bull-like grazers we called the Orma.

You could leave. Fly with me and the others, Ymmen suggested, although I could sense through our mental connection that the dragon’s thoughts were tinged with wry acceptance of what he knew my answer would be.

Ahh, Ymmen—if only… I said with more than a twinge of regret. And I dearly wanted to see my two friends whom Ymmen was currently looking after: the mage, Montfre, who had worked for Inyene but rebelled, and my god-uncle, Tamin, who had helped me escape from the Mines. But as much as I wanted to see them, I knew that would risk what I had to do here, on this expedition. There were Daza here who needed protecting, and Montfre had already taken the blame for killing Dagan Mar. If any guard saw him or the black dragon, then they were sure to send a messenger or bird back to Inyene to summon the rest of her mechanical dragons to hunt him down!

I know. I had to ask. Again, my dragon friend said. It was his way—he was mature even by dragon standards, but there seemed to be some part of his reptilian heart which despaired over the circles that we humans ran around in.

Ha! I sensed a blossom of sparks and a lizard’s mirth. Which I guessed meant that I had been right.

But Ymmen knew as well as I did why I had to stay here, with Inyene’s expedition across the ‘Empty’ Plains to find the artifact known as the Stone Crown. I was the one supposed to be navigating them, thanks to my Daza heritage. And I was the one who had been promised, not just my own freedom, but that of my people if I managed to help Inyene find it.

And if Inyene got a hold of the Stone Crown, then she wouldn’t just have her mechanical dragons at her beck and call—she’d also be able to control all of the natural dragon-kind, too…

Never! the black dragon growled deep, filling my mind with frenzy and ash.

No, never, I swore.

There was a grunt from outside the tent, and the flap of canvas was once again pulled back for the broken-faced guard to glare in at me suspiciously. You’re talking to yourself again? I saw his hard eyes flicker across the store boxes and sacks, as he expected an accomplice to be hiding in the shadows.

It’s a Daza thing, I said contemptuously, throwing the green cloak around my shoulders, fastening it at my throat and storming towards him so fast he had to step out of the way.

The Lord Abioye wants you anyway, the guard growled at me, hurrying to keep pace with me as I marched across our makeshift camp.

Good. I announced as haughtily as I dared (I was still, technically, a slave to these Westerners—albeit one who ‘knew’ the way through the Plains). Because I want to speak to him, too!

Even to my own ears, my comeback sounded a little weak. Ugh, I sighed.

I don’t think she needs guarding, Homsgud, the young Lord Abioye said wearily as I was ushered into his palatial tent by my ‘minder’. It was much larger than the one I was graciously allowed to sleep in, and even had separate tent ‘rooms’ for Abioye’s sleeping quarters, a servant’s lodging for the man ‘trusted’ enough to be Abioye’s personal manservant, and his main meeting area. We were in the main area, which had two small iron fire-holders on long legs, plus at least two lacquered and painted side tables on which were carafes of water and table-wine, as well as thick rugs on the floor.

Old habits die hard, huh? I thought back to Abioye’s rooms in Inyene’s Keep above the Mines of the Masaka. They had been similarly opulent while my people lost fingers and limbs and even their lives in the dark recesses of the world below.

Abioye must have seen my scorn as my eyes moved around the room, as he gave me a nervous half-smile. This was a conversation that we’d had before—it was our second week into the Plains, and I’d already told him exactly how much all this stuff was just slowing us down. Worse still, it was an insult to the people who had to carry it!

But, at least he’s trying. The young man looked down in embarrassment as his hands fiddled with the lace bindings of one of his ‘spare’ shirts he was holding. (Spare! Who can afford to bring even one fine shirt with them, let alone have spares!)

Lord Abioye, with his choppy dark hair and clear blue eyes, cleared his throat suddenly. Homsgud, I said that would be all, thank you…

A muttered grunt came from the man still standing behind me. As you wish, sir. Homsgud the guard didn’t sound very happy at all, it had to be said, as he sauntered back through the main tent, to the sounds of our camp starting to wake up outside.

He probably doesn’t understand why his good and noble lord chooses to listen to a lowly Daza like me, I thought a little vindictively at Homsgud’s retreating back. Good riddance, I thought.

I’m folding my own shirts, Abioye said after a moment, nodding to the stack of not one spare shirt, but what looked like several on one of the side tables.

Uh…good? I hazarded. What did he want me to say about it?

I got rid of Aberforth, Abioye explained, nodding to the open view of the empty servants’ room. He was a good manservant—but I was thinking about what you were saying, about how we needed to be leaner and quicker… He’s leaving this very morning with a wagon of—he looked around distractedly at the room—oh, this and that… He appeared to brighten up. I think it’ll be good. Now when I call for you, we can talk without reservations… I knew what he meant.

That we could continue with our real plans.

Are you sending a guard with him? I asked, dropping my pretense of humility now that I knew there was only us two here.

What? Abioye looked up at me in confusion.

I knew that the manservant Aberforth wasn’t a rugged and well-traveled guard like Homsgud and the others—and neither was he one of us Daza, who knew how to live out here in the Plains. We’re a week out from the Masaka, I explained wearily as I walked to the table to get a pitcher of water. There are wildcats and wolves and the occasional stormbear out there…

Oh. Abioye’s fine features suddenly fell. I wasn’t going to send him back to Inyene’s Keep—I was going to send him to the nearest pass through the World’s End Mountains, and the Middle Kingdom beyond that… He looked suddenly torn by guilt. I told him to sell the goods and deliver some letters for me—that way if my sister finds out then she’ll just think I’m continuing to try and garner support from the Middle Kingdom nobles…

And in reality, you are sending him to—what? I looked up. Circles, I thought. Ymmen said that we people run around in circles for no good reason.

Abioye licked his lips nervously. I’ve managed to make contact with various people around the court of King Torvald the Seventh. They know the predicament, and the stakes. I haven’t been obvious, but my missives will be understood by the right people as signs of what my sister is up to…

I sighed. There was no guarantee that we’d even find this Stone Crown that Inyene was so desperate for. I hope we don’t, I thought grimly. "Well, you’d better send a guard with Aberforth and your shirts and your letters, my lord." I said the last two words delicately, as there was still a tense air between us about our different stations. I had saved his life, and I had held his bleeding chest together as Montfre healed him—but the rest of the time, in front of the other guards and the rest of the slaves and workers, Abioye had to act every bit of brother to the new ‘Queen’ Inyene. It was weird, and it put me on edge around him sometimes.

The Plains are a dangerous place in the daytime as well as at night, and if we want your letters to reach the right eyes, then you’ll have to make sure that Aberforth survives the journey, I said seriously. You could send Homsgud, I added with a wicked grin, even though I had meant it as a joke. Although, you’d better not. Who knows what that meat-brain would think to do out in the Plains without someone to keep him in line.

Ha, yes, I’m afraid you’re right. Abioye rolled his eyes and groaned. Unfortunately, there are only a very few of the guards and staff here that I know and trust personally… Inyene was adamant that we travel with her handpicked guard.

Wonderful. But at least it’s not— I started to say, before stopping myself.

Dagan Mar, I finished silently. Why couldn’t I say the man’s name? Was it because every time I was about to, I remembered the sickeningly soft thud as the Lady Artifex’s dagger had found his heart? Was it because I remembered the smell of his sweat in my nose and the terror that radiated through me—and the last, hateful little look in his eyes before I had seen the life fade from them?

Narissea, Abioye said softly, regarding me with a serious frown. He had killed that night, too. Two of Inyene’s guards who were willing to help Dagan Mar’s attempt to kill Abioye—and me. How does he know that Dagan’s poison hasn’t spread to others of the guards that he’s trusting with his life? I thought.

It’s fine, I said, a little harsher than even I had intended. It’s a new day. The sun is up, and we have a long march ahead of us. I nodded to the last table, where the map that I had found in Lady Artifex’s shrine was splayed, with candles and flagons and a gold cygnet ring weighting down its ancient vellum.

The map clearly depicted the Plains—there was what my people called the Sunset Mountains—or what the Three Kingdomers called their World’s Edge mountains—running down the western edge of the map and before which stood before a vast expanse of territory—my home, the Plains, I thought. There were stylized clumps of trees, ridges and gorges here and there, as well as the fingers of rivers running across the savannahs.

I looked at the map and realized that I had never seen the vast realm of land like this before. I frowned and bit my lip in concentration.

I think we’re here. Abioye tapped at the near western edge, just a few finger breadths’ out from the mountains. And over here… he murmured as he swept his hand to just past the center of the map where there was the thinly red-inked word ‘Vault’ with what looked to be a smudged circle above it. "That has to be where the Lady Artifex buried the Stone Crown, right?"

I guess… I was unconvinced. There were many strange places in the Plains—places where we were told to stay away from, especially at night. Standing stones and ancient ruins of the folk who lived in these lands before us, some of which had tunnels that shot down into the earth like perfectly constructed wells. We Daza had many stories of reckless travelers and entire hunting parties who had disappeared when they went near those eerie places—never to be seen or heard from again.

The problem was, that we Daza knew our landscape through its stories. On one side of my village began the Sea of Mists—an area of land that was low even by Plains standards, and where the dense fogs and damp airs clung to the ground to form sometimes an unsettling haze, or sometimes an impenetrable barrier. That was the breath of the first dragon, or so my stories told me, which still lay on the ground. And when that first dragon turned, her first footstep was so heavy that it caused the ground to shake, and for rocks to spill from the nearest mountains, which told me that there was a ‘path’ of sorts—a causeway— of rockier land that ran through the center of the Sea of Mists, fording the river at its heart.

These were the ways that I understood my landscape—how could I make sense of this bunch of scribbled pictures, with no stories telling me how each place connected to the next?

But then there were elements on the map that seemed a little familiar. That straight line running through the wavy ones—could that be a path, a track—the causeway through the Sea of Mists? And then there was another squiggle, not very far from where Ahioye had indicated where we there was a drawing of a standing sentinel rock, one with what appeared to have a hooked beak, and beside it the words ‘The Crow’.

That could be the Broken Thumb, I murmured. There was a standing, wind-carved rock not too far from the edge of the Plains which my people believed was the last digit of a dismembered giant, with his thumb forever jutting out at an angle that looked surprisingly similar to the angle of this Crow’s ‘beak’.

That would make sense… I squinted at the map, looking not at the names, nor the distances, but instead at what the images reminded me of… Yes, that straight line that moved between the banks of sinuous blue ribbons — the blue ribbons would be rivers, right? And that straight line had to be the causeway, wouldn’t it…?

My little sister! Ymmen’s voice flooded through me, making me gasp and step forward.

Narissea? Abioye reached out a hand to steady my shoulder.

It’s Ymmen, I said. The dragon’s worry was palpable. What’s wrong? I threw the thought towards him.

There is a storm coming. Fast from the north. It smells of rock and dirt— I could feel through our bond the stretch and pull of the dragon’s muscles as he fought the rising winds. He must have flown farther ahead of us, scouting the area where we were to travel.

And Montfre? Tamin—are they with you? I meant the young mage whom I had helped escape from Inyene’s indenture, as well as my god-uncle, Tamin, who had been drafted as a slave of Inyene’s mines too—before we had both fled.

They are at the Stand-of-Trees-with-rabbits, he said, using his own dragon form of map-making; a picture of a copse of spindly Plains trees, standing on the top banks of an extensive, sandy rabbit warren. I recognized the trees as a place that the expedition had passed just yesterday.

"Go to them,