Dragon Hunt (The Throne of the Dragon Queen Book 1) Read online

  DRAGON HUNT

  The Throne of the Dragon Queen

  Book 1

  By Clare Smith

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTERS

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

  EPILOGUE

  BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  CHARACTERS

  CHAPTERS

  PART ONE – THE GOLDEN AGE

  Ch 1 The Dragon Queen

  Ch 2 The Dragon Watcher

  Ch 3 Unnatural Allies

  Ch 4 A Change of Plan

  Ch 5 The Dragon’s Lair

  Ch 6 A Dragon’s Anger

  PART TWO – THE AGE OF DARKNESS

  Ch 7 Pod

  Ch 8 The Passing

  Ch 9 Escape and Capture

  Ch 10 Tingallent

  Ch 11 Not What He Seems

  Ch 12 A Superior Man

  Ch 13 The Kallisian Witch

  Ch 14 Discoveries

  Ch 15 The First Book

  Ch 16 Beneath the Dragon Tower

  Ch 17 Capitulation

  PART THREE – A GLIMMER OF ENLIGHTENMENT

  Ch 18 Deliberations

  Ch 19 A Word of Honour

  Ch 20 Kallawassian

  Ch 21 Night Attack

  Ch 22 Running

  Ch 23 Desperate Measures

  Ch 24 Lovers

  Ch 25 The Golden Bird

  Ch 26 Treasure Hunting

  Ch 27 Dragon’s Gold

  Ch 28 Completion

  Epilogue

  By the same author

  Characters

  PART ONE

  The Golden Age

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Dragon Queen

  Phillos Assimus

  Cellastaria slept and dreamed of the black drake with which she had shared the skies. He’d been long and lithe and had twisted his body around hers as they flew, touching her where it would give her the most pleasure, the most excitement. They should have mated then in the air as their kind did, but there had always been other matters which took her attention and, in any case, there had been plenty of time for such things.

  She opened her eyes slowly at the thought of her mate. The drake had been brave too despite his smaller size, and that had been his downfall. He’d flown across the ocean to the other land that shared the Sea of Stars when the beings there had the audacity to sink her ships. Her mate had intended to teach them a lesson, but they had been waiting for him and he’d never returned. She’d learned from the priestess who served her that a giant spear, a ballista she had called it, had pierced his side and the people had hacked him to pieces whilst he was still alive and helpless.

  Of course she had her revenge and the city which had killed the black drake lay in burnt ruins which had never been rebuilt. She remembered the people of the land she protected celebrating and hailing her as their queen and saviour, but that didn’t last. They dedicated the Dragon Field to her and built her a magnificent throne in a tall tower, but man’s memories are short. When the old priestess died and men took her place, they turned their attention elsewhere.

  That was so long ago that she could hardly remember what it was like to fly through the air with the wind under her wings, or to lie on the mountain’s summit and feel the sun warm her body. Now she was old, alone and the last of her kind, and when she was gone it would be the end of a golden age. Even the fire beneath her, which warmed her lair and was buried deep within the mountain, had started to cool and she barely had enough energy to lift her head.

  That didn’t matter though; she had no reason to go on living, not even to protect the hoard of gold she had gathered over the centuries. She gave a deep sigh, closed her dark amber eyes and dreamed about the young dragons she might have had.

  *

  Padalayatarmin woke slowly, the desolation inside of her so strong that she could hardly breath. She was used to being alone, the unwanted priestess in a world dominated by men, but that loneliness was nothing like this. This was the end of existence, the cold blackness with no light and no end. It made her heart slow and the blood drain from her taking life and warmth with it. It made her want to weep but she wouldn’t. She had been alone for most of her life and knew what her loneliness felt like and this wasn’t hers.

  Taking a deep breath to harden her resolve she stepped out of her bed, taking her time to find her slippers so she didn’t have to stand on the cold, stone floor. She’d learnt a long time ago, when she’d first let the Queen touch her thoughts, that before she confronted the priests it was best to be prepared for their arguments. If she went to them in her night gown with her hair hanging loose it was far too easy for them to dismiss her for her gender and her youth.

  Her early naivety had made the task of establishing herself amongst the priesthood much more difficult and she wasn’t about to give up the ground she had made by acting in haste. Apart from that there was no point; neither the priests nor the council would rise before dawn no matter what she said. The High Priest was the worst amongst them and would find any excuse not to listen to what she had so say.

  Carefully she dressed in the long red and gold robes she had designed and sewn herself. It had been so long ago since the last priestess had served the Queen that no one remembered what she wore. The priests, once they had grudgingly accepted her presence, had insisted she wore black, as that was more becoming for a woman, but she’d refused. She’d studied the ancient tapestries that hung in the throne room and had come to the conclusion that red and gold would be most appropriate.

  She only wore the robe on ceremonial days or when she had something important to say, which wasn’t often, but the robes gave her an air of authority which was essential if her voice was to be heard. The elaborate costume with its intricate headdress took time to assemble, so by the time she’d finished dressing and had wound her long hair into plaited loops and rings, dawn had broken. With darkness banished she knew that beams of sunlight would be slanting through the archways of the throne room above.

  As far as she was concerned the timing was perfect. There would be enough light to find her way to the High Priest’s sumptuous residence without the need to carry a torch. More importantly there would be people about who would take one look at her and rush off to tell the High Priest what she was doing. Normally she despised the spies who kept a constant watch on her and reported everything she did, but on this occasion their presence would be useful.

  She left her small, windowless room, one floor below the top of the Dragon Tower where she lived, and crossed the centre of the city ignoring those early-risers who stopped to stare at her. They all recognised her and knew that if she wore her ceremonial robes something important must be happening, so most of them hurried off to spread the news, which
was just what she wanted. The priests couldn’t ignore what she said with half the city standing behind her.

  She’d only just reached the steps leading up to the grand palace when the High Priest and a flock of his lackeys intercepted her. He clearly had only just been dragged from his bed and hadn’t bothered to dress properly, as she could see the hem of his nightshirt poking out beneath his surcoat, and his hair stood up in rough spikes for want of a comb. The priests behind him looked little better and one of them still wore his nightcap. She looked them up and down and tried to look as haughty as she could.

  The High Priest groaned inwardly, he hated having a confrontation with this woman before breakfast. “What are you doing here, Dalaya?”

  She ignored the insult of him not using her full name. “The Queen has called to me.”

  The High Priest raised his eyebrows in surprise; it had been a long time since Dalaya had claimed that the Queen had spoken to her. “What did she say?”

  “That is for the council to hear.”

  He cursed under his breath. Why did she have to be so damned awkward? “I can’t convene the council unless I know what it is we want to talk about.”

  Dalaya shrugged. “Then the Queen’s commands will be ignored at your own peril.”

  The High Priest would have liked to walk away from her or, better still, sent her packing, but there was quite a crowd gathered now and if the Queen had truly chosen to speak to this slip of a girl then he couldn’t really ignore her. “Wait here, I will see if the council can be convened.”

  Dalaya bowed her head graciously. She could have said something about hurrying but there was little point, she had what she wanted and now it was just a matter of waiting. Of course, even when she spoke to the council they might just dismiss her as they had done occasionally in the past, but this was different. Somehow she had to make them understand the seriousness of the situation.

  The queen was old and dying of loneliness and without her protection Assimus would be vulnerable. As far as she was concerned there was only one answer, a consort had to be found and not just anyone but the strongest, bravest and most intelligent of Assimus’s sons. Making the council and the priesthood understand the Queen’s need and agree to her solution was going to be her greatest challenge, but she had to succeed; the future of Assimus depended on it.

  *

  Wisteranferringar leaned forward trying to catch what the Head of the Council was saying, which wasn’t easy in his precarious position, to say the least. He’d spotted the ledge above the council chamber almost a year before but hadn’t been able to reach it then, despite his exceptional agility. In that year he’d grown two inches, his balance had improved considerably and he’d become much stronger. Now he could make the leap to the hidden ledge and have the strength to haul his body up onto the narrow platform without fear of plummeting to the floor thirty feet below.

  The problem he now had was trying to hear what was being said from such a height. He could catch the occasional word when they started shouting or when the priestess raised her voice to emphasise a point, but none of it made much sense. The members of the council were also arguing amongst themselves but that wasn’t enough for him to make out what was going on, so he tried to lip read. That was a basic skill he’d learned early on in his training and it had come in very useful when he’d been sent to Cassiman to spy on the council there.

  Allaskinphillos, the Head of the Council, thought the Cassiman's were plotting something, which they were, only it was just the usual things that all the provincial councils spent their time plotting, so it was of little real interest. Still, the council had commended him for his skill and his master had been pleased with the work he’d done. Now the assignment before that had been much more interesting.

  He’d crossed the Sea of Stars to Passonia where some of those friendly to Assimus had smuggled him into the walled city of Passon. From there, in the middle of the night, he’d entered the heavily guarded Palace of Souls and had despatched the Passonian First Minister. The killing had been easy enough; a slim blade to the man’s heart and he’d been dead before he’d had time to call out.

  Cutting the man’s throat with the stolen Kallisian blade, which he conveniently left behind, was much messier, but would clearly point the finger at that continent and away from Assimus. It was important that no suspicion should fall on his home land as it would only increase the tension between the two countries. Of course, someone in his profession wasn’t meant to know why they were being sent to despatch their target in case their own sympathies affected their performance, but he knew as he took an interest in such things.

  The two continents had been rivals since man had intelligence enough to want what another had, although the rivalry had never resulted in open warfare. Now, though, the King of Passonia was on his deathbed and the First Minister had been seeking new alliances. Apparently that was something which couldn’t be allowed, although he knew that all the time the Queen sat on the throne of Assimus, Passonia wouldn’t dare attack.

  Just to make sure the Passonians would believe that a Kallisian thief had killed their First Minister, he’d taken a couple of important looking scrolls from the man’s room for good measure. After that he’d made it back to Phillos without further incident. His master had been particularly impressed by his initiative and had given him a rare red stone with a dragon etched into it which he now wore.

  Hoisinferringar, his master, had been pleased then, but he wasn’t going to be very pleased now. The council meeting had broken up whilst he’d been reminiscing and the other councillors had left by a side door. Now his master was the only one who remained behind and he didn’t look at all happy.

  He was looking up at him so there was no point in trying to blend in with the shadows and pretend he wasn’t there anymore. With a barely restrained sigh he ran lightly along the narrow ledge until he reached its end and then somersaulted onto the balcony which ran along the length of the chamber. It was used by the cleaners to attend to the hall’s giant candle holders and could only be accessed by the steep stairs at the far end.

  That would have been the easy way down but he was in trouble enough without keeping his master waiting any longer. He skipped up onto the rail at the edge of the balcony, ran along half its length and then made the leap to the stone creature that decorated the top of a supporting pillar. Fortunately the stone was rough so he was able to scramble down it as fast as he could without losing his grip and falling.

  When he reached the bottom he ran to where his master stood, fell to his knees and bowed his head to the ground. He was a full brother now and didn’t need to abase himself, but under the circumstances he thought it was best.

  “Were you spying on the council, Wisteran?”

  There was no point in lying. “Yes, Master.”

  “And what did you hear that you shouldn’t have heard?”

  “Nothing, Master, I was too far away.”

  He expected his master to ask him some more questions but instead he was silent for a long time as if he was thinking. He’d almost decided to lift his head up from the floor to see if the old man was still there when his master spoke again, only his voice was so low he could hardly hear what he was saying.

  “You have been a good son, Wisteran, one of the most talented I have ever trained, but now the time has come to serve the Queen as you have served the Brotherhood.”

  He sat back on his heels waiting for his master to explain what he meant, but the old man was already walking away from him. To serve the Queen was a great honour, only his master hadn’t sounded too pleased about it. He supposed that was understandable. It had taken sixteen years to train him, so the Brotherhood would not be happy at losing all the time and coin they had invested in him, not even if it was to honour the Queen.

  Wisteran stood and wondered what assignments the Queen would have for him. He hoped they would be exciting.

  *

  Cadanninphillious kissed the edge of the Moonst
one Blade and placed it reverently in the silk lined box which had been made especially for it. The blade, made from a metal that had fallen from the sky in flames, had served him well that day and despite the blood it had spilt the cutting edge and pointed tip were as sharp and as pristine as the day they had been forged. It wasn’t his blade of course, but the blade that all the champions and first warriors of Phillos had worn down the centuries.

  That he should wear it today was only fitting, as he was the greatest warrior in all Assimus, as was his father before him and his father and all the others of his line back into the beginning of time. Like those who had gone before him he’d been trained almost from the moment of his birth to be a champion and to wield the weapons of war better than any other man. In centuries past, when Assimus was a wild and barbaric continent, it had been necessary to have such men who could lead the people into battle but now, under the protection of the Dragon Queen, the role was purely ceremonial.

  He laughed ironically at that. Somehow he didn’t think the six men who had died at his hand that day would agree they had given their lives merely to satisfy the needs of a ceremony. They too had been warriors, trained from birth to fight and kill in the hope that one day they would wield the Moonstone Blade and bring honour to their province. It was a vain hope though; no one could stand up to the power of his blade or the strength of his arm.

  Bowing to the short sword he carried in battle, he stepped back and began the ritual of removing his armour. That, of course, was another reason that the six men had stood no chance against him. His armour was made of dragon scale, whilst theirs had been leather covered with metal disks. It was heavy and took great strength to wear, but there wasn’t a blade in the three continents which could scratch it let alone pierce it.

  The armour didn’t cover all of him, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to move or fight in it, but his training had taught him how to protect those places where the armour left him vulnerable. Still, his opponents could have disabled him and hacked him to pieces if they had acted as one. Fortunately that wasn’t likely to happen; each of them wanted the glory of his death and the rewards it would bring to them and their province.