The Diabolical Dragon Read online

  Copyright © 2021 Marcus Sloss.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  ASIN: TBD

  Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously.

  Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.

  Note: Previously published under same name with a different cover. This is a full novel with extensive amounts of content added (Over 20%) to create a complete book. I hope you enjoy.

  Prologue

  Orion’s Warning

  After much consideration, I have decided to reflect on a portion of my earlier days and transcribe my most interesting memories.

  This story, and those that surround it, revolve around a pivotal point in my life. Indeed, this entry will perhaps arrive across the sea to Veno; it may very well pass the test of time, leaving readers curious as to the setting of these tales.

  My home is in Almeria, and I am quite fond of it, which does matter later.

  Almeria is a place of magic, where dwarves dwell in mountains. Humans expand their cities with their horses, oxen, and sail boats. Elves stick to trees, using earth magic to shape the forests to their whim. The fey, well, the beastkin try to survive slavery and persecution.

  I have established a massive stone home overlooking a marvelous lake. My estate is in a delightful place called Loxfar and this is where all my diabolic plans are launched from. As a cover, I’m a mage running a wizarding academy. When I need to get things done, well, I become a magnificent dragon you should flee from. After tremendous toil to establish my home, I decided Loxfar would be my forever residence, regardless of the world around me.

  Over the years I have watched the name of the realm change many times. Almeria is the name of the soil, so I choose to call my home nation by that name more often than that which the current ruler decides.

  There are truths about magic that are well known. Spells have limits, mages are not indestructible, and not everyone has the gift. The origins of magic are lost, even to an ancient scholar like me. I can shed light on only a few secrets of the mages, and those are contained within these pages.

  The vast majority of life on Almeria must toil to put food on the table. A fiefdom structure means those at the bottom hope to be at the top like me. Kings and Dukes muster armies from the serfs tending the fields to change lines on a map.

  The poor stay poor, the unfortunate die young, and the desperate take bad deals. Of course, all facts that I enjoy, because it keeps me powerful, wealthy, and left alone.

  This tale is told during Okarna’s Reign. I will give some insight into an interesting question. What does a smart fey do when they are hunted?

  Keep reading to find out, but I must warn you.

  I am not a heroic noble of valiant deeds. I treat those I love with care, but those beneath me, or who try to kill me… not only will they pay, but those they hold dear will, too.

  ACT 1

  CHAPTER 1

  Filheim Mountains

  Day 47 of the 32nd year of Okarna’s Reign

  My index claw toyed with a bone, snapping the femur, and causing the sudden noise to echo down the cavernous tunnels.

  There was loud shriek from my frightened prey who had been timidly approaching my dragon’s den. The coward’s instinctive yell reverberated down the big dark tunnels for minutes.

  The smile on my face peeled back, revealing razor sharp teeth the size of a man. A slight chortle escaped my lips when I heard the sounds of a young man pissing himself.

  The war party gathered their courage, their faltering faith in victory restored by the calming words of their noble leader. I knew this because I could hear the dribble of useless rhetoric he spewed. The smart one was the coward who said they should head home.

  The coward’s words and pleas were ignored because there was the shuffle of leather boots on the worn stone floor. The party was in the dragon’s den, a place I liked to lure potential prey to.

  The hesitant steps of the frightened man in the rear were music to my ears. My excellent hearing alerted me that my prey was almost to the spot I needed them to be.

  An observer might wonder why I was dragging the remnants of a human leg closer to my massive frame. The best answer was—I wanted to win.

  The new bone snapped suddenly, causing the half dozen knights to pause.

  That hesitation had them exactly where I wanted them. My paw’s meaty palm hit a stone indent. I triggered the trap's release with an evil laugh.

  A rattling sound from the chain unspooling rang in my sensitive ears. A resounding boom thrummed through my cave. I had just dropped a heavy metal cage over the party seeking my demise.

  A moment later the pleading cries of the desperate brought sweet music to my ears.

  I sneered at the fact that these fools had, like all the others, played into my schemes. So much work… All executed with the simple push of a button at the perfect moment. I did it without even peeking at the trap point. There were times when I even impressed myself.

  Moonlight shone into this false home from above. No sane dragon hides in a cave without a quick exit. I looked up, ensuring no second force was waiting at the lip of my escape path.

  My wings cracked the air, lifting my massive frame high until I could exit the confined space. The terrified cries of those trapped faded as I flew away.

  The triple moons of Almeria reflected light down brightly. I scanned the area, not finding a surprise force. A few beats later and I was soaring into the clear sky.

  I deviated from the lowland section of the mountains and down the worn trail all the fools used.

  This party of knights hadn’t come alone. They never did. Adventuring cousins, nephews, youngest sons, and occasionally servants like butlers would accompany knights seeking my treasures. This time was no different. I need these supplies, and more importantly these fools dead.

  No one could tell the tale of what happened besides me.

  I spied the camp of the knights not far from my decoy cave’s opening. A fire roasted the bones of a rabbit. Two younger men, barely old enough to sire children, slept in bed rolls. An older man sat on a log watching the fire, half asleep.

  Only three. How the virtuous have grown foolish with time.

  I tucked my wings, ensuring my dive would not cast a shadow on the only guard. My speed was slow, well, at least to me it was; I was a dragon after all.

  To a mere human, I was terrifyingly fast. There was no grandeur monologue or gout of flame for him to escape from.

  When I neared the old man, I wafted him in the wind from my flaring wings. The speed of my dive paused, allowing my jaws to snap his body in half in a fluid motion.

  I spat the top half of the dead man down, watching the torso roll to a stop near the fire. The two sleeping bags stayed still, undisturbed by my wind or the servant's death.

  When I hovered over the bags I stopped my flight.

  My paws were lined up and my weight was immense. They never felt their deaths. All there was were two squishes of gore under my big front paws as I landed.

  I was never fond of killing like this, but it was me or them. This wasn’t a game. If you quest to kill a dragon, no matter the age, understand you can become the hunted.

  My keen eyes scanned the camp. My loud snorts sucked in every scent I could, ensuring no woman lurked in a wagon or wolf pup guarded the area.

&nb
sp; Silence.

  The heavy scent of death… and blissful silence.

  With phase two finished I flew for the decoy cave’s opening. One last check and I could finally rest. Hopefully, these knights hadn’t brought a secret mage with them.

  I was larger than a hay barn, and heavier than an ocean ship, and yet, I touched down with hardly a sound. My light steps led me past the cavern threshold.

  The residents of Almeria were awash in rumors and half truths about dragons. The mystique was always alluring. The reality was far more deadly than any human, elf, fey, and dwarven scholar gave credit for.

  My sense of smell was sharp enough to know that the knight who pissed himself did so in wool socks. An unrivaled sense of hearing meant I could absorb every thud of the six hearts beating in panic. The dark tunnel was easy to see into with my night vision. I had whiskers that could pick up vibrations of a sleeping bat’s breathing. A sixth sense for danger normally never failed me and about my only downfall was my inability to taste.

  Of course, when you eat living things that tend to smell like shit, well, a lack of taste is a blessing. Oh, and top it all off I was ancient. Dragons have to be slain in order to die.

  If only the fools coming to kill me had known this. Then they would have stayed at home with their plump wives and cushy farms. Till the land, pay your dues to your lords, and don’t try to kill the legendary dragon… If only they were that smart.

  I reached the corner before the trap, hesitating. I didn’t want to be exposed to a lucky crossbow shot or a mage if they did bring another one.

  “Where is your mage!?” I bellowed so loudly it startled the trapped knights.

  “Face us you cowardly fiend!” a brave man shouted.

  I snorted and before I could reply a second voice chimed in. “Do battle in your cavern! How dare ya trap us?”

  “Tell me where your mage is.” I demanded.

  “We’ve got no—” A voice started and halted with an ooft sound.

  “Our mage will defeat you. He is hiding in waiting,” the brave knight said.

  I was able to hold in my laugh. That brave knight was Sir Barry of Kruss. The one who spearheaded this operation. The crack in his voice told me they were screwed.

  “I smell him, I will gnaw on his bones and then come feast on you!” I shouted so loudly that the echo boomed.

  When I was outside, I waited for the remnants of my shout to fade.

  A wide grin crested my face and my mood was delightfully diabolical.

  There was a loud roar before I flopped onto my side with a loud slam. I rolled in the grit and rubble. My pretend scuffle was loud enough it echoed into the cave’s entrance until it surely reached the knights.

  “Ouch! You! The dragon slayer… Here on my doorstep. Die, you pathetic scum!” I shouted and rolled a few times.

  To finish the effect, I slapped a palm on the wall so hard, debris rained down from the ceiling.

  With my playacting done I fled the scene for my transformation base.

  You see, there is more to dragons than any mere human knows. Another little fun fact is, I'm a hybrid.

  I remember that fateful night so long ago. I was at most twenty winters, desperate for coins to the point I would brave storms.

  The local butcher hired me to hunt a bear in the middle of snow season. Not a first for me, but when I had a convulsion in a snow bank... I was more than a little puzzled by the pain racking my body.

  A binding of magic tore at my soul.

  For a full day I lay in the snow, jarring with infinite shudders.

  My mind entered a loop of denial as to what was happening and I didn’t rationalize that I had magically transformed.

  Yeah, my mother was contracted by magic to never tell me who my father was. For years, I resented her for something she had no power over. She cried so hard when I would rage, desperate for any tidbit of information. Then I became a man, and when I stopped growing, I became a dragon.

  There was no helping hand to guide me. No advice on what was best to do. I transitioned from a useless hunter to a lucky gamesman.

  Taking home the biggest bear and elk the Filheim region had ever seen brought me out of destitution.

  My good looks helped with the transactions, interactions, and receiving smiles instead of frowns.

  Having spare coin and being handsome had me filling my bed with lovely ladies while bragging of my fake feats. I was hoping my boastful hunting would bring out my father, or another dragon. It did, and it didn’t.

  One day, I found that my pouch had a book in it. A very cut and dry guide to being a were-dragon. Of course, I had to learn to read to understand it.

  And so began my true transformation. From a common human, living by meager means, to becoming an educated noble with wealth. Ah, thoughts from so long ago were always a joy and ruined by what I knew was coming.

  I hated this process of transformation. I truly did, but it kept the anger in check and my desires sated. There was magic involved that twisted my mind.

  Too long in dragon form and I would convert to an introverted animalistic nature.

  Too long in human form and I would snarl, raging over simple issues.

  The book said it was best to give my soul a bit of both; and so it shall be.

  Manipulating the careless knights of Almeria would make maintaining my estate and way of life possible. A few transformations were a worthy sacrifice to ensure I lived lavishly.

  My flight had me swirl around a vertical tunnel big enough for me to lightly flap down. I arrived in a cavern with an offshoot.

  I tucked into the hidden little section and laid down. With a will of magic I asked my body to become human again. In a full sun cycle the transformation from my mighty dragon form to becoming a human wizard would be complete.

  Wishing the morphing to transpire rapidly never helped. Unfortunately, the book had no guide on how to alleviate the pain, or quicken the process. I would always be exposed and vulnerable in this state.

  The magic of Almeria required time and torment.

  When the process started, I grinned. I knew, by this time tomorrow, the next stage of my plan would come to fruition.

  CHAPTER 2

  Filheim Mountains

  Day 48 of the 32nd year of Okarna’s Reign

  I awoke naked, shivering in a chilly sweat. A pool of vomit filled with blood rested a foot away. I released a loud groan as the last of the pain faded.

  Transforming was horrible. A human grumble escaped my throat as my floppy feet smacked against the cool stone. A linen towel awaited me on a hook by a mirror.

  My dark eyes sparkled back at me, menacing with resentment. I had hard, sharp features. My eyebrows were maintained and neat. The beard on my face was brown, short, and well groomed. I wet the towel to clean my face.

  Once done, I eyed myself in the mirror again. I was vain, loving the fact that I was handsome, a trait that had always served me well in life.

  There were no dragon carryovers like red eyes with yellow sparkles or horns sprouting out of my head. I was just another noble human keeping appearances up.

  After I read that damned dragon guide for the thousandth time, I realized how important my looks were. Every time I sired a youth—with consent—I would increase my magic pool, and age a year.

  Simple, right? Except there was a catch.

  Dragons sired ninety nine humans to every dragon they bore. Meaning if I wanted to amass power, I was destined to breed at levels most would find staggering.

  At first, this might deter a mere human. I happened to be hundreds of years old and only appeared in my mid-twenties. Deep within me, there was a desire for power. Growing that power meant swelling bellies.

  So… I had to have lots of children and in Almeria that was not too uncommon. A human mage trying to pass his magical traits down was looked upon fondly from the upper nobility. Improving the common folk by having the females produce magical children was a concept those in power could resonate wi
th.

  There was a part of me that resented my dragon training. I wanted to pass my knowledge on through more than a book. So I tried to have my children around for when that one in a hundred did transform when fully grown.

  Unfortunately, most of my young fled my protection before I could see if they did become the next dragon to terrorize Almeria. Controlling young men and women was tougher than tricking them.

  I huffed in annoyance, realizing that there were dragons I sired loose in the world, probably being hunted.

  A few of my children were probably skulls hanging over war rooms, all because I was never able to teach them. So the cycle continued with me having to deal with Sir Barry and the other knights.

  I donned the robe, stepping back from the mirror to give myself another gaze. A wizarding outfit fit me perfectly. A gnarled staff with a sword tip at the bottom fit snugly in my hand. For today’s show I even had the pointy hat on.

  My mana was high, partly because I never blew fire unless I had to. Best to always conserve if you could—another lesson in the guide.

  A slight jog carried me out of the narrow tunnels and past a secret entrance. If some explorer found this hidey hole they got a mirror, a peg, and my staff if I wasn’t here.

  Over the years there had been a few times this spot had been located and I’d arrive to no mirror or someone exploring deeper. I always tracked them until they were dead. Matter of principle really.

  Rumors of my existence in these hills had been spreading for generations. This led to the foolish being certain I hoarded in these mountains. I was sure there were adventurers wanting all my treasure, gold, and loot that rested at the back of some damp cave.

  Nope. I may be a dragon, but I am also a nobleman.

  My horde of wealth was invested and making money for me. Sections of it were stashed in places like the King’s Vault, Iglam’s Banking, and buried in many crypts on my estate.

  Another passing thought I tucked away as I walked for the decoy cave.

  The night was bright and young. My vision was limited, my hearing normal, and my smell very human-like. Besides being a mage… I was above average in most things when compared to humans.