Winds from the North: An NA Epic Fantasy (Blood of the Dragon Book 3) Read online

  Winds

  from the

  North

  By

  Samantha Warren

  Copyright © 2011 Samantha Warren

  The following story is a work of fiction and all names and characters are strictly the creation of the author.

  All rights reserved.

  This publication may not be reproduced or transmitted in any manner without expressed written consent from Samantha Warren.

  Cover Art Copyright © 2011 Katie Williams Parrish

  Prologue

  The woman’s cackle echoed throughout the cavern she called home. Smoke from a fire burning in the middle of the enclosure wafted leisurely upward through a small hole in the ceiling and a dim glow illuminated a bier on the far side of the flames. Upon the stone lay a young man in his late teens. His brown locks, though never long, had rotted away in patches. Those that remained were matted with dirt and old blood. His midsection was covered by a single long strip of cloth, his upper and lower body bare. In the middle of his chest gaped a hole about two inches wide.

  “Mistress, what if he—”

  “Hush, girl. I’ve had enough of your doubts. I’ve been waiting for this day for too long. You will not spoil this for me.”

  The ring of flesh on flesh vibrated around the stone room, followed quickly by the girl’s cry. She lay on the floor where she had fallen, hand cupping her wounded cheek as she watched the older woman bustle about the bier.

  Alone as a child, starving and sick, she had been on the verge of death when the woman found her. She had owed the lady her life and had given her loyalty in return, but the lack of respect she received smoldered deep within her soul, waiting for the right moment to make her true feelings known. She stared at the mud-caked skirts that floated around her mistress’s legs and thought of all the beatings and other punishments she had endured through life. Was it worth it? Sometimes she wished she had died there on the icy road, safe from harm forever.

  Instead, she had ended up in the clutches of Rivanna, a Gypsy woman cast out from her own society, labeled a witch and shunned for all eternity. The wagon had seemed like a saving grace at the time. A decade later, the girl knew better.

  “Veni, you lazy wretch! Quit moping about and bring me the Night’s Breath!”

  Veni jumped at the raspy, demanding voice and staggered to her feet. She half-ran to the shelf along one wall and scanned its contents. Finding a purple clay jar with a matching lid, she grabbed it, and holding it securely in both hands, took it to the woman. Rivanna grinned and Veni’s lips curled involuntarily at the sight. She had seen those rotted teeth and black gums more times than she cared to remember. Rivanna was at least partially insane and tended to grin and cackle whenever she thought of, attempted, failed, or succeeded in an evil plan.

  As the older lady poured the Night’s Breath into the bubbling pot next to the bier, Veni surveyed the man lying on the stone. She had been with Rivanna at Rona six months before, watching the battle of the skies play out. They had stayed in the woods, waiting. Rivanna had a plan, but it had not been shared with Veni. The girl had cowered behind a tree, terrified, as fire, acid, and blood rained from the air. When the attack was over and the bodies buried or burned, the pair had ventured from their hideout to seek out the graves.

  Veni’s stomach had balked at her actions as she helped Rivanna unearth the fresh corpses. When the first one surfaced, the girl lost the battle with her insides and her small meal found its way to the ground before her. Hours later, she was starving, tired, and dirty, and they had six bodies—two women and four men. They loaded them onto the wagon for the trek back to the cave where Rivanna did all her more violent magic.

  Over the course of the last six months, they had destroyed all but one of the corpses. The young man now lay before her, his handsome features rotting away despite Rivanna’s attempts to keep his body in stasis. Veni stared at him, wondering what he had been like when he was alive and if he’d had a lover or wife. Maybe he had children, even, and his death brought horrible sadness to all those who’d lost him.

  “Here.”

  The girl took the glass vial that the old woman shoved into her hands. It was filled with a putrid black liquid that was still hot. Veni’s hand burned and threatened to release the glass, but she had long ago learned the penalty for such an accident. She gripped the vial tightly and gritted her teeth as she poured the concoction into the man’s mouth. Stepping back, she stood behind Rivanna, wanting desperately to be far out of reach when the inevitable failure became clear.

  Minutes passed in silent waiting. Rivanna stared expectantly at the body on the table, fidgeting with her stained skirts. A growl rose slowly in the woman’s throat as time dragged on with no signs of life. She stepped up to the corpse and poked at the chest hard.

  “Mmmphff.”

  Rivanna jumped back, her black eyes growing wide in her wrinkled face. Veni watched from the side as a vile grin began to creep across the woman’s spotted lips. Rivanna stepped forward, peering at the man, and poked him again.

  This time the moan was louder and his fingers twitched. His eyes shot open, darting wildly around the room, not focusing on anything in particular. Rivanna’s grin threatened to split her face.

  “Hello, my love.” She perched on the edge of the bier next to the young man and stroked his face. “Welcome back.”

  His wide eyes settled on her, terror showing in them. His lips moved, but nothing came out. Veni watched him attempt to lift an arm, but it was tied down and he moved it only a fraction.

  “What’s your name, darling?” Rivanna was still stroking the partially rotted face, cooing as if to a lover. It made Veni sick to watch.

  The man mumbled something incoherent and Rivanna frowned. “Well, close enough. I shall call you Rul.”

  As she began untying his bonds, Veni, hands covering her mouth, shrank into the darkest corner she could find.

  Chapter 1

  An angry murmur resonated throughout the chamber. Ychthorn’s reclined posture on the golden cushion near the head of the table belied his troubled mind. He sat in the honored seat his father had held more than three hundred years before—head of the Council of Man and Beast. He had also been unofficially labeled the next Dragon King, but Ychthorn refused to accept the title. Though the last king of Layr had been benevolent, most of the rulers for the last three centuries had been cruel and unjust.

  The thought of the kingdom’s past brought Ychthorn’s gaze to his right. There beside him at the massive table sat Bellithana, a Gypsy princess skilled in fire magic. She was also an excellent cook. Past her was Prigol, a member of the invisible race of Hidden. Prigol was the smartest being Ychthorn knew and his talent for inventing had opened communication lines between humans and Hidden that had not previously existed.

  The last two seats on the council were held by Alured, the last king of Layr, and Malxon, a Gypsy leader. Their presence, while much needed, was heartbreaking to the other three. Six months before, two other humans would have sat in those two seats—Lana, Ychthorn’s best friend and protector, and Bolgor, Lana’s friend since childhood and the love of her life.

  Ychthorn watched Malxon rise. He was a big man, his arms muscled and tanned from decades of hard labor. He had long black hair that was most often pulled back into a bun at the top of his head. Today, as an honor of respect for the council, he wore it loose. Such was the custom for Gypsies at meetings of import, and no meeting before today had been more crucial.

  For the last half a year, Ychthorn and his allies had been struggling t
o keep Layr from falling apart after the deposing of its queen. Slyvania, who had usurped the throne from her brother after faking his death, was found murdered in her holding wagon a mere month after her army was defeated outside the capital city where the council now resided.

  “Please come to order.”

  Malxon’s voice echoed through the massive room. The hall was filled with benches, as it had been when Ychthorn announced the fall of the throne, but this time, the mood was not so happy. Expectations for the new government had been high upon the back of the oppression, poverty, and tyranny of previous rulers. Humans, Gypsies, dragons, and Hidden all wanted a part in the growth of their kingdom, but such growth is hard to come by in a country where the resources had been usurped and squandered by a few elitists for so long.

  The council had worked hard to put new rules into place that would be fair for every citizen of Layr, but all five of those seated at the table knew that for such a thing to happen each citizen would also have to give up something they desired. Many of the humans, long the dominant race, were loath to lose the benefits and status they had achieved under the previous rulers.

  Several of the more well-to-do citizens fought against the release of their dragon slaves, despite their declarations to the contrary just after the war. Manors throughout the kingdom still kept smaller dragons for hard labor and sustenance. Efforts to force their acquiescence were futile at best.

  The new government was too weak still to hold much sway over the more remote areas of the land. That fact prickled Ychthorn’s skin all too often. Reports were heard daily of attacks made by contingents of soldiers still loyal to the former monarchy. The military formed to wage the war had disbanded shortly after, its participants preferring to return to their lives and leave the new leaders to run the land. The council did their best, but without a strong military power to back them up, they were having a hard time gaining the respect and cooperation of such a large and diversified country.

  “It will all work itself out in time,” Graol had declared before leaving to take over the leadership of Legh.

  At the time, Ychthorn had had full faith in the elder Gypsy, but as the months went on and the respect gained from the battle waned, the citizens of Layr grew restless. Unrealistic expectations were held and the belief that poverty would cease and peace would reign eternal started out strong among peasants and nobility alike. When change came slowly, old anger and resentment flared, sparking fresh battles among the newly freed dragons and their former slavers.

  A young man named Aito rose up in place of the defeated Commander Locke, taking over control of Slyvania’s remaining military forces. The opposition had been scattered to the wind, but Aito was successful in bringing them back to order. Not only had he successfully reorganized the splintered military, but his flowery speeches and charming smile had won him new followers among the humans. Since his rise to power, two Gypsy villages had been destroyed, their dragons slaughtered, the heads sent to Rona in warning, and none of it was done by Aito’s soldiers.

  The council realized something had to be done, and quickly, if they were to retain their tentative control over the land and not be overthrown by the new commander. They spent many late hours devising a plan, trying to come up with some way to destroy Aito’s growing popularity and regain the respect and loyalty of Layr. The fruition of their constant bickering was, they hoped, going to not only be the downfall of the tyrannical rule forever, but provide a more personal benefit as well.

  Chapter 2

  The air was crisp and cool as frost clung to the trees. Lana glanced around the wooded clearing, allowing herself a small smile. It reminded her much of her home, Jaje, in the late autumn just before the first snow carpeted the earth. A few stray rays from the sinking sun stabbed through the trees, casting a gloom over the area and offering protection in the dusk.

  For months now, she had been on her own, moving quickly and quietly across the land, heading for her target in the deep north past the Barrier. From her time as a dragon handler, she knew of a special village up there and she intended to garner the assistance of its inhabitants.

  According to what little information she could find, most of it myth and legend, the village was the secret, well-defended home of the rarest dragon species in existence. Rimers were generally small dragons, not much bigger than a large horse, but they were the most deadly. Their breath could cool the air around an object, living or inanimate, forming a thick, chilling layer of frost over the target, freezing their skin to a hardened shell in mere seconds.

  Few lived to tell of their encounters with the Rimers and almost none of those had been since Aron started his war three hundred years ago. He had sent a full contingent of soldiers, one hundred strong, to coerce the Rimers into service. Sigurd, Ychthorn’s father, hadn’t bothered. Aron’s men were destroyed to the last, save one who returned to the self-proclaimed king minus an arm and half a face.

  From that day on, Aron focused his efforts on the Flametongues and other dragons below the Barrier, ignoring the Rimers for all intents and purposes. Lana hoped to achieve what Aron and Sigurd had not. She hoped to enlist the aid of the deadly white dragons and use them to defeat the remaining army. But along the way, she had other plans, as well.

  Her footsteps were soft in the forest, accompanied by the muffled crunch of a thick bed of dead leaves and dying plants. Her soft leather boots muted her steps. The two men standing alongside the tree at the edge of the small clearing chatted lightly, their spears resting at their sides. Their companions sat around a fire in the middle of the area, warming their hands over the embers as the evening meal roasted on a spit.

  Helmets and chest plates rested alongside a log near the edge of the clearing, the men secure in their solitude. The small band of five was the remnants of a larger unit that had been torn apart at a battle further south. They had been trekking through the woods for over a week, heading toward the camp that they’d heard Commander Aito had established.

  Lana crouched beside a stump near the soldiers, waiting patiently for the light to dim. She nocked an arrow into her bow, her movements sure and steady, making barely a whisper of sound. The woods around her grew dark, the clearing illuminated only by the fire around which the men sat. One of the guards moved away to join those waiting for dinner, leaving the other alone to peer into the ghastly shadows of the trees.

  A grim smile danced across the girl’s lips as she rose. Taking a deep breath, she aimed the arrow carefully, sighting along its wooden shaft. With a swift nod, she released the tension and watched the missile fly.

  It was a special arrow, one she had crafted herself. They all were—fletched with white taligan feathers, painted blood red, and etched with her initials. When she picked a target, she wanted everyone to know who had been their downfall. Taligan feathers were easy to come by. The bird was plentiful in Layr, its meat and down crucial to many of the land’s inhabitants. The white feathers were easy to track and she followed the arrow to its target.

  The man at the tree clutched his neck, wrapping fingers that were quickly growing feeble around the shaft in his throat. Blood seeped out the wound and Lana watched his attempted screams produce red, frothy bubbles at his lips. One hand waved weakly, trying to draw the attention of his comrades, but they were all too focused on the fire and he slumped back against the tree, sinking to the ground where his blood formed a dark pool around him.

  Lana crept over to the man and checked his life signs. He was still breathing faintly, so she took her knife and slit his throat just below the arrow. Then she pulled the red shaft from the flesh and wiped it clean with a cloth from her pocket. The cloth was stained brown with blood from others like him.

  Looking over the soldiers before her, Lana picked her next target. She knew she would have to be quick, but she had taken on larger groups before. Slipping away from the corpse, she climbed a tree nearby, careful to not make a sound that would draw attention to her movements. She drew and nocked another arrow, t
hen sent it flying.

  The man nearest the fire fell, white feathers and bloody wood protruding from his back, face-first into the flames. His screams sent his friends into a panic and Lana used that to her advantage. Two more fell before the last found her hiding spot.

  He was quicker than she expected and she did not see the knife as she set a new arrow into her bow. The shiny metal sank into her left bicep and she almost dropped her weapon. A cry escaped her lips and she heard a satisfied exclamation from the man down below. She spared a glance for him and saw him at the base of the tree, drawing his own bow with the arrow aimed in her direction.

  As quickly as she could, Lana removed the knife from her arm, stifling a scream by biting on her tongue. She tasted blood as the blade pulled free. Aiming carefully, she tossed the weapon downward. A satisfying thunk echoed up to her, followed by a shortened cry. The arrow sank into the tree next to her, a hairs-breadth from her cheek.

  She quickly arched her bow and aimed it, but released the tension when she realized she would not need it. The man lay in a pool of his own blood, eyes wide, staring up at her around the knife embedded in his skull. Grunting in pain, she leaned back against the tree, pressing a hand against the wound in her arm. After a few deep breaths to steady her nerves, she yanked the arrow from the wood and slid down to the ground.

  Removing her jacket, she used a twig from the fire to cauterize the still-bleeding hole, then wrapped it with bandages from her pack. She took a few moments to search the fallen soldiers and relieved them of anything that she found useful, including a map that indicated a possible hiding place for Commander Aito.

  As she settled down onto a log near the fire, she ripped a chunk of meat from the bird on the spit and tore into it. She munched on the warm, delicious meat while poring over the map and planning her next move.