Age of Valor: Dragon Song

  Other Books in the Age of Valor Series

  Heritage

  Awakening

  Blood Purge

  Age of Valor:

  Dragon Song

  D. E. Morris

  CreateSpace

  Copyright © 2017 D. E. Morris

  Cover art by Niken Anindita

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing: April 2017

  ISBN: 154402827X

  ISBN-13: 978-1544028279

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

  To Jessica,

  This one belongs to both of us.

  Author's Note

  When I began this series, I had a fairly clear vision of a beginning, middle, and end to Heritage. The plan was to write one epic Medieval Fantasy novel and to leave it at that, to branch off into other genres. Of course, the plan was also to have Cavalon be a quiet, passive character who would have a minimal role at best, and we all know how that turned out.

  When the final scene was written, I expected to be done. The characters had something entirely different in mind. They were showing me more of their stories, their relationships, their battles, and their victories. They were taking a single story and spreading it out into seven more to follow. I didn't expect it. I didn't plan for it. I did, however, listen and follow, and wrote down everything they were telling me.

  This journey started as one that began mildly enough that children and adults of most ages would be able to enjoy it. Awakening delved a bit deeper into the darker side of things with something of a closer look at the frightening enemy that was hard for the characters to understand. Dragon Song is not any different, and I felt it only fair to warn you.

  I write this note out of respect for those whose children have been reading along. There may be subject material in this book and those that follow which may not be suitable for them.

  As I was halfway through writing Awakening, I knew the series would age with its audience, but that some may not age fast enough to keep up with the themes. Please use your discretion before allowing your young children to read, and know that I do not approach the matter of good and evil forces lightly. Much research, fact checking, and questioning have gone into this book, and I am very proud of it. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  D.E. Morris

  Chapter One

  A cold wind blew off the ocean toward Altaine, sharp and stinging with each breath. Hidden among the shadows of the forest that bordered the shore and thin beach, a man was crouched among the lower lying evergreen bushes of firethorn and holly. His cloak was drawn tightly around him, a protective cocoon of dyed wool with the hood pulled down low enough so that only his dark beard could be seen. He could have been a statue, still as he was. There was seemingly no reason for him to be out there at such a late hour of the night, no reason for anyone to be out there, yet the movement of someone down on the beach told him he wasn't the only person awake.

  He watched the figure emerge from the private road that led up to the castle, night shirt and breeches the sole thing between him and the freezing air. Even his feet were bare against the snow and ice that melted during the day, only to come back at night. He stood before the quiet of the sea, looking at the waves farther out that refused to be stilled by winter's chill. As the shadow lurker watched the man, the nightshirt and loose breeches appeared to cling to the man's body of their own accord, being absorbed by skin that was quickly giving itself over to scales of blue and black. Even the spiky blue hair atop his head disappeared, his body doubling over as it grew a tail, arms and legs becoming shorter and more muscular. When the transformation from man to dragon was complete, he slithered over the ice, talons digging in to better pull himself along, before he finally reached the open water and disappeared beneath the murky black.

  The man in the shadows studied the trail the dragon's sharp scales had left on the ice. After a moment, he sighed and shifted his position. He lifted a hand to scratch his beard, then pulled the hood of his cloak down as he stood to look around. He hadn't counted on anyone else being out there. This unexpected addition to the situation he'd already played out in his head had him recalculating. If the water dragon stayed out to sea long enough, all would be well. If he returned before the right time, there could be any number of ways the rest of the night could proceed, none of which the shadow lurker had planned for. Little matter, he told himself. What would be, would be.

  He left the cover of the forest on light feet, making as little noise as possible as he made his way to the road. His eyes swept the surface of the ocean, knowing the water dragon would be near impossible to see as well as he would blend in, but vigilant all the same. As he walked, his gaze rose to the sky. The waxing moon was hidden behind clouds that drifted lazily by. It was hard to be patient when the air was so cold around him and he knew his room would be nice and warm. He found himself sending up a silent prayer that this night would progress swiftly.

  The words had barely finished coming together in his mind when there came a buzzing sound overhead. Perhaps not the most subtle among the Volarim, but he knew she was quick and tenacious, just like the wasp she could turn into with just a thought, should she wish. She landed on the path before him dressed in layers of thick winter clothing and scarves, filmy wings folding themselves as close as they could to her back. As she pulled a bright yellow scarf from around her head, long red hair tumbled free.

  “We are not alone for long,” he said quietly, his rich tenor voice thick with an Ibayish accent. “Did you find what I asked for?”

  “I think so?” She reached for a pouch among the folds of fabric around her body, pulling it from her belt to tug a rolled piece of parchment free. “From what I can tell, there are only four islands left, just as you suspected, though I haven't been up north yet. I ran out of time.” As he took the parchment and unrolled it, she stepped up beside him and tilted her head, pointing to shapes on the map she'd given him. “I marked out suspected ruins for the others you were hoping to find, but there's nothing significant left in any of these other places to suggest they were ever important.” Looking the man in the face, she asked, “Do you really think there are more?”

  He frowned down at the images in his hands. “I was never certain. It is possible there are at least two more yet, or, as you suggest, they could be among those that now only resemble ruins.”

  The woman shrugged. “The ones still standing will be soon to follow if you ask me. I'm not done searching, though. There are still few more places I want to look.”

  Giving no answer, the man rolled the map up and slid it under his cloak, inside the tunic he wore underneath. From his own belt, he untied a small satchel that jingled with coins. When he handed it to the woman, she pulled it open to inspect it, then raised a brow. “This is easily double what we agreed upon.”

  The man nodded. “We have been friends for some time, you and I, and I know this winter was hard on many of us.”

  “Not you, it would seem.”

  “I have savings for a time like this.”

  A strange call sounded in the night, something like a song
being played on a woodwind instrument far away. Both of them turned toward the music, the man's brows coming together. “What was that?”

  “I don't know. I've never heard it before.”

  Movement below called the man's attention to the ocean. The water dragon had pulled himself out of the water and up on the ice, his head also in the direction of the sound. Quickly, the woman was yanked into the cover of the trees and made to crouch beside the man. “I must get back to the castle before I am caught. You would do well to wait until the dragon has shifted and gone back inside or disappeared back into the ocean.”

  “Don't worry about me. I've done this before, remember?” She started to melt deeper into the shadows, but paused and touched the man's arm. “Thanks again, Killian.”

  “Be safe, Sage.” He saw her nod, then slipped away from her to make his way back to the castle, taking great care to stay hidden as he went.

  Inside Altaine, Ashlynn bolted awake, gasping for air as though she'd been under water for far too long. Dim needles of discomfort snaked their way from her toes to the top of her head, as though a rush of power had gone through her and left without the chance to be put to use. Beside her, Jaryn rolled over to face her with half opened eyes to ask, “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” She was still as she took a few calming breaths, then brushed her hand over the light beard on his cheek. “Go back to sleep.” He needed little encouragement to close his eyes again, and soon enough her husband was fast asleep once more. His voice, groggy as it had been, was the very thing she'd needed to center her and truly make her realize she must have been dreaming, yet her gaze didn't remain on Jaryn for long. Soon enough she turned her attention to the far corner of the room, the one where the shadows lurked and did their darkest dance: the place where Tadhg hovered to watch and mock her.

  With a furrowed brow and her eyes fixed on the darkness, Ashlynn pulled her legs out from under the covers and slid her feet into slippers. She wrapped a thick robe around herself and was careful to be quiet as she left the room. The two men stationed outside her door quickly pulled themselves to attention, one of them ready to follow her, but Ashlynn waved a hand. “I have no intention of leaving the castle looking like this and we have had no trouble for weeks. Do not worry yourselves.” By now the castle guards knew when to take Ashlynn's dismissal as their orders and when to override her charge and follow her anyway under Jaryn's command. This time she was left to walk on her own and it was a rare treat.

  The castle felt all but deserted at this hour. It was long past when the night owls usually found their quarters, but still too dark for even the early risers to be awake. Men at arms stood in various hallways, some outside the rooms of important visitors, all of them like statues as she passed, their tired eyes never wandering.

  As she crept through one of the many doors to the battlements outside, the night air met her with a chilly blast she hadn't been prepared for. There was still snow on the ground in many of the higher areas of Siness and on the grounds of Altaine, with larger portions of the lower altitude now covered in barren earth. The past few days had brought some warmth and had even begun to melt Altaine's snow in some of the less shaded portions of the outside areas. Ashlynn couldn't hide her disappointment at feeling the winter breeze again and pulled the ties of her robe tighter around her body, tucking her hands into her sleeves, and taking great care to keep her feet on the pathways where the stone showed through and footing was sure. She sought the sanctuary of her garden; trouble seemed to stop where the flowering bushes began, and she longed to be free of the weight she'd been carrying for months.

  The wide, low-laying green leaves and blooms of pink and white pansies marked the start of the garden paths, and Ashlynn paused to look around. She wanted to make sure there was absolutely no one about. Holding her breath, she closed her eyes and listened for any sound of movement, footsteps to signal someone was close by, but there was nothing. Satisfied, she lifted the hem of her robe and hurried down the path. Colors of yellow, silver, purple, and white that shone in the bright sunlight of the day were muted and shadowed now, giving her a somewhat ominous feeling. Still, when she came to the tall silver and green silk tassel bushes, she kicked off her slippers when she came across an area where the snow had melted and let the sharp brown winter grass move between her toes and brush stiff fingers against her legs as she walked. There was a space here that had been left plain and open so that people could bring blankets and have picnics in the summer. It was secluded enough that it would be romantic for couples, but big enough to allow a great group of people in there at once.

  Ashlynn tossed her robe aside and breathed deeply, an inhale of preparation, then knelt down and placed her palm on the ground. For several long moments nothing happened, prompting her to press her other hand to the earth. “Come on,” she whispered. As she waited, she anxiously moved her fingers, digging into the cold, semi-frozen ground with her nails. “Come on.” Nothing was happening and a sense of urgency rose within her. “Come on!” One of her nails tore, taking the sensitive skin underneath with it, but still she dug. “You did it before, do it again!”

  She could still feel the way the vines had crawled up her skin the night Jessiah almost killed her. She'd been unable to move, unable to do anything but lay there as the battle went on around her, her life draining from her moment by moment. Shapes and sounds ran together in a gray, pointless blur as pain replaced every other sense. She was sure once she closed her eyes that she'd never open them again. It was almost a relief to know she had no more control over what happened, to let go and embrace whatever happened to her next, yet just as she was about to give up whatever weak fight she'd been struggling to win, she'd felt a tickle on her skin. Vines began to wrap themselves around her arms, legs, and body. She'd felt life pulse through her then, a power that was raw and electric; it was the power of the earth, her element.

  There had been a moment when she'd felt able to open her eyes. A tiny light hovered over her palm and it took several seconds before she realized it was the heart of a flowering bloom coming to life in her hand. Powerful magic immediately sped through her body and consumed her as she lost consciousness. When she awoke the vines and flower were gone, and she was in Cavalon's protective grasp. That had been the last time she felt her own magic.

  After several weeks of recovery she had tried summoning fyre. The unusual blue and gold flames unique to the Elemental Dragons and occasionally their offspring had always been a source of comfort, but something that had once come so easily now refused to be summoned, even as her strength returned. This revelation frightened her enough to even stop her from trying to shift into her draconic form. Surely if her kinship with fyre had been taken, the gift of shifting had been taken as well. Though she knew there was only one way to find out, she simply couldn't bring herself to even try, not until she knew she could use fyre again.

  She'd been desperate to find time alone in the gardens, to see if the earth would feel her calling to it and react as it had then. There was no real desire to talk about that night, and with good reason, but Ashlynn had so many questions. She also had the growing need to place blame; who was it that had pulled her from the vines that had left woody tracks on her skin as it fed its magic into her? If she'd been left there, would she have been completely healed? There was no way to ever know.

  Now that the snow was finally melting enough for the grass to be free, Ashlynn hoped that some time alone with the flowers, trees, and even the frozen earth would restore what had been missing for months, yet nothing was happening and desperation grew inside of her. She tore through the roots of the grass, rubbing the sharp blades against her arms, covering them with icy cold clumps of soil and scrubbing it into her skin. It wasn't working. Nothing was happening. She abandoned her chosen spot and hurried to the silk tassel bushes, thrusting her scratched and bleeding arms into the branches and the tall stalks of flowers, fingers wrapping around stems and leaves. Through gritted teeth she cried, “Come on!
I command you!” Still, nothing happened. Desperation turned to rage, and rage made her grip the flowers tightly before pulling with all of her might.

  There was a satisfying tearing sound as the cattails gave way, crumbling from their tassels in her hands. She went back in for more, ripping and pulling at anything she could get a grip on. With blind anger, she turned for another bush with destruction in mind. Flowers, leaves, and snapped branches fell to the ground like freshly fallen snow, but it still wasn't enough. Ashlynn moved through the garden like a furious hurricane, everything in her path torn apart and yanked from the ground. She was covered in dirt, smeared with blood, bitter tears of sorrow and indignation running down her face. There was a clear moment when she knew she needed to pause and take a breath, but it was as if her body was moving of its own accord and could not be stopped.

  Her beloved pink rose bushes sat in the shadows before her. They wouldn't bloom for some time now, but even in their dormancy they angered her. There was no turning back. They would fall victim to her temper as well. She reached for the bushes to tear and destroy, but a strong hand shot from the darkness and grabbed her wrist, stilling her instantly.

  Ashlynn looked up into the face of Jessiah and gasped, stumbling back so quickly that she would have fallen over if he hadn't still gripped her.

  “Forgive me for startling you. I have heard the story of your rose bushes. It would be a shame to see any harm come to them.”

  Yanking her wrist free, Ashlynn took a couple of steps back and sucked in a cold rush of air. The man before her moved closer, out of the shadows. She could see the contours of his face better now; it was fuller beneath the thicker beard, and there were wrinkles that had never shown on Jessiah's smooth complexion.