The Dragon War Read online

  The

  Dragon

  War

  SALVADOR

  MERCER

  The Dragon War

  Copyright © 2019 by Salvador Mercer.

  All Rights Reserved

  First Electronic Edition © 2019

  Published by Diamond Star Publishing

  For information contact; [email protected]

  www.salvadormercer.com

  Book and Cover design by Christine Savoie aka ‘Cagnes’ c2019

  Art and Stock Photo Credits:

  Dragon War by Ratislav Le

  Interior Icons: Svetlana Shirokova | Dreamstime.com

  Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ASIN: B07L47MM91

  First Edition: January 2019

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Other Books by Salvador Mercer

  Claire-Agon Dragon Series

  The Blue Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book 1

  The Green Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book 2

  The Black Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book 3

  The White Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book 4

  The Red Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book 5

  Claire-Agon Ranger Series

  Ranger Rising: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 1

  Dead Druid: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 2

  Mad Mage: Claire-Agon Ranger Book 3

  Sci-Fi-Technothriller

  Lunar Discovery

  Red Horizon

  Black Infinity

  Book Description

  A thousand years ago, on the world of Claire-Agon, a war raged between men and dragons.

  After years of investigating the rumors and mysteries surrounding the existence of the great, chromatic dragons, Royal Historian Diamedes found himself failing in his primary objective of alerting the civilized realms of Claire-Agon to their danger.

  With the wizards of Kesh unleashing global war in an effort to secure the highest artifact of power known in history, Diamedes must race against the clock and rally the world in order to face humankind's true nemesis. Enlisting the aid of rulers and rogues, the royal historian undertakes his last quest in an effort to preserve their planet, people and way of life.

  Diamedes soon discovers that, in the world of Claire-Agon, when dealing with Dragons, sometimes history can be rewritten.

  For:

  Dragons, both large and small.

  Table of Contents

  MAP

  Claire-Agon

  Foreward

  A Note from the Author

  Chapter 1

  Diamedes

  Chapter 2

  Clarifications

  Chapter 3

  Dragon & Trolls

  Chapter 4

  Dead Again

  Chapter 5

  Revelations

  Chapter 6

  Keshtor

  Chapter 7

  The High Mage

  Chapter 8

  Delays

  Chapter 9

  Pirates

  Chapter 10

  Chase

  Chapter 11

  Blue Dragon

  Chapter 12

  Marauders

  Chapter 13

  Escape

  Chapter 14

  Child’s Play

  Chapter 15

  Morgan

  Chapter 16

  Dryad Trap

  Chapter 17

  The Book

  Chapter 18

  Arch Mage and Handmaiden

  Chapter 19

  Ulatha

  Chapter 20

  Final Plans

  Chapter 21

  Portal

  Epilogue

  Elly

  Appendix A

  The “Science” of Claire-Agon

  Appendix B

  Glossary

  MAP

  Claire-Agon

  Go to SalvadorMercer.com for a full-size version of this map.

  Foreward

  A Note from the Author

  I started this journey as an author over four years ago, but my journey as a reader began in earnest just over four decades ago.

  For those of you in my generation we all know that if you wanted to escape into a magical world where wonderful things were possible it all started with one of humanities’ greatest creations, books.

  Books were the medium of choice. There were no computer graphics, no smart phones, tablets, or laptops. Cell phones were just an idea based on something we called radio, and we always kept a dime in our pocket in case we needed to make a phone call. Apples were a fruit, not a company, Amazon was a river, also not a company, and no one knew why Micro’s were Soft.

  I read more than one book a week and enjoyed the ability to escape into worlds that were created, it seemed, just for me. I got my start with the Hardy Boys mystery series, then quickly found Tolkien, though it took me forever to learn what the J.R.R. stood for. I couldn’t tell the difference from an elf and a dwarf and orcs were as foreign as the French Legion, but once I read the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings it was game on.

  This led to the Fantasy genre being my favorite, though I drifted into Science Fiction, Horror, and Thrillers as well. It would be hubris to think I could fill any of the shoes of those that came before me, but after a half century on this planet I finally decided to share the ideas, stories, and creations that shaped my own imagination as I grew up.

  What you see here is a culmination of work that will hopefully give you some reading pleasure and allow you to chuckle, wince, cheer, laugh, cry, and smirk at the characters within. By the way, when dealing with dragons the wincing part is mandatory.

  At the end of the day I was, and am, a reader first and that’s what matters most from any book’s perspective. So from this author to you, the reader, I sincerely hope you enjoy these tales from Claire-Agon.

  Chapter 1

  Diamedes

  “Time to die, old man.”

  Diamedes pressed his back firmly against the stout, brick wall next to a large, closed, wooden door and looked back and forth for an escape route. He pulled on the door handle located to his side, but it was firmly locked.

  “Looks like da royal historian will become history himself,” Another assassin commented as the trio moved stealthily towards Diamedes.

  There was a moment of silence when the third chimed in, “What’z the matter, cat gotcha tongue?” This drew a laugh and sneer from his companions.

  “Yeah, he’s not too chatty now with his back against the wall,” the first killer said.

  Taking a deep breath, Diamedes finally responded, “Perhaps my previous words were a bit hasty, but then again I wasn’t expecting to be trapped in an alleyway.”

  Daggers were drawn as the three men’s black cloaks fluttered in the stronger-than-normal wind. Light from the twin sisters couldn’t reach into the narrow alleyway, even though the two moons glowed brightly above, just out of sight. The only illumination came from a torch, firmly embedded in its stanchion, behind the men where the alley intersected a lonely cobblestone street. The men’s respiration was visible in the chill air as they panted from the recent chase.

  “Shouldn’t have come to Ulsthor then.” The daggers gleamed with a reddish dance of fire light reflected from the torch.

  The trio advanced, one killer adding, “T
oo many dark alleys and dead ends in this town. Unlucky for you, historian.”

  All four men were taken by surprise when the previously locked door suddenly opened, spilling light from an array of candles inside the tavern’s kitchen. A portly man with his hands full of crockery exited the establishment while a female cook held the door open. Diamedes didn’t hesitate, “You were saying about luck?”

  “Stop em,” the second killer exclaimed. Daggers were thrown, and the small historian ducked and slipped by the surprised tavern owner. Two of the blades missed, but a third pinned the sleeve of his faded brown robe to the door’s frame. With a massive tug, ripping the sleeve as the sound of fabric tearing in two was clearly audible, Diamedes darted into the building.

  The sound of dishes and utensils falling and breaking on the cobblestone alley assaulted Diamedes’ ears. He didn’t stop to look back and ran headlong into a large kitchen past two stunned cooks and a server who pressed her back against a countertop to avoid his mad dash.

  Pushing a pair of swinging doors forcibly, Diamedes left the kitchen and ran into a busy tavern where only a few heads popped up to see what the commotion was about. He frantically looked for the entrance to the establishment which would serve as his exit. He found it to his left and began weaving his way around the many circular tables and high back, wooden chairs that populated the large, great room.

  Halfway there, his progress was stopped by the emergence of two cloaked figures who looked eerily similar to the trio he had so recently encountered. As they stepped into the tavern, it was obvious to him that despite their matching black garb they were not the same assassins. This meant he had at least five killers after him. He turned towards a nearby staircase and ran, taking the steps two at a time despite his diminutive physique.

  The three working ladies hugged the hand rail and made room for the smaller, older man who bolted past them. His pack was firmly attached to his back, but it swayed slightly and caught one woman squarely on her head. “Hey, watch where you’re going,” she said.

  The continued protests from the women indicated that Diamedes was being followed. Conserving momentum, he never looked back continuing up the stairs until he reached a long hallway on the third floor after having passed the second. Running down its length, he reached the end and opened the lone window that was shut against the cool, outside air.

  “There he is,” a voice hissed.

  Stepping through the window, the strong wind almost knocked him over which would have either killed him or seriously maimed him on the cobblestone street below. The small historian grabbed the eve of an adjacent window to one of the many rooms in the building and scrambled against the rough, tar covered tiles that covered the roof.

  Reaching the top, he ran back along the building and found himself leaping onto an adjacent structure that had only a foot of clearance between them but was fortunately the same height. It was too easy and that was part of the problem. The assassins had reached the roof, and both ran after him but on the edges, motioning at someone on the streets below. Out of the corner of his eye, he fancied he spotted a sixth assassin on the rooftop that ran parallel to his. Just great, he thought to himself, another killer.

  The chase continued until Diamedes ran out of roof.

  “Not so lucky,” said a voice from below.

  Diamedes looked down and saw the trio of killers below looking up in anticipation. The streets seemed oddly vacant for such a time at night. It was close to midnight, but the city usually stayed active until dawn.

  “Ran out of roof, have we?” the voice behind him asked mockingly in a sinister tone.

  Diamedes turned to face the two men who had chased after him from inside the tavern. They didn’t have daggers, instead they brandished short swords. There would be no more mistakes this night.

  “Let’s be done with this before the wall guards return,” the second rooftop assassin stated.

  A voice wafted up from below, “Throw him off the building and make it look like an accident.”

  The two men on the rooftop nodded and Diamedes thought he saw barred teeth from one of the shadowed cloaks. “Move,” one of them said to the other.

  “You’re too late,” Diamedes said, hoping to buy time. “The Duke has my information and is even now coming for your masters.”

  “I thought historians were factual,” one man said, moving slowly to close the distance between them.

  “I speak truly.”

  “Your words are false, and your timing is late,” the same man said, apparently the leader of this assassin team.

  Diamedes looked behind him and down at the street. The trio stood in anticipation and the closest pedestrian was a good couple of stone throws away. Screaming wouldn’t do much considering the noise coming from the many boisterous inns and taverns below. In desperation he said, “Did you know, the king of Tyniria has offered a counter bounty worth more than the one you’re after?”

  This did get the men’s attention and they paused their advance for a few seconds as the leader responded. “Now you do speak the truth, but unfortunately for you there is only one bounty that could supersede a king’s bounty.”

  Diamedes understood instantly what the man was alluding to and despite his dangerous situation he took note of the man’s proper grammar and more extensive vocabulary. This leader was educated which made him more dangerous. “Are you sure it came from the top?”

  “Aye,” the man said, resuming his advance, sword tip first. “The High Mage himself has set the marker on your head and you know what that means?”

  Diamedes knew. No assassin, bounty hunter, or mercenary would go against the Kesh’s supreme leader. This was indeed the only bounty that even the king of Tyniria could not counter. Any soul who violated a bounty from the High Mage would find himself or herself under the same type of marker. No bounty was worthwhile if one couldn’t live to spend it. “I do indeed and it’s a mighty shame.”

  “Throw hims off, already’z, Breakers,” came a voice from below. “Timez a getting short.”

  The leader frowned at the use of his name, but his intent to collect the bounty off Diamedes’ dead body would take care of that problem. Using one’s actual name was considered bad form for the assassin’s profession. “Do it.” The leader ordered his companion who was now closest to Diamedes.

  “I’m disappointed that you decided to pass on the king’s offer,” Diamedes said, inching opposite of the advancing killer and ensuring that his attackers on the ground below followed to the north side of the building from where they stood on the eastern end. “I’ll remember to inform him of that fact, Master Breakers.”

  The formal use of the leader’s name, with a title to boot, caused the man to scowl and advance quicker himself. This was exactly the desired effect that the historian wanted, and when the man’s path aligned with his companion, Diamedes pulled his dagger from his belt and rushed the man who brought his sword up to counter. “Time to go.” Diamedes said.

  “What?” Breakers called out, unable to launch his attack as the historian’s initial thrust was a distraction. Diamedes turned left and ran towards the southern side of the building away from the waiting trio on the ground below.

  “Here goes nothing,” Diamedes said under his breath, not realizing that he was speaking to himself. His life hung on the acuity of his memory. If he remembered correctly, there were several market stalls at this end of the building on the south side and a couple of covered awnings to prevent the sun from spoiling the produce too quickly. Either he remembered well, or he died.

  He timed his leap at the place where he thought there would be two awnings side by side. His leap didn’t take him far from the edge of the edifice and, as he looked below, he was relieved to see that at least one awning was still up. The other appeared to have been taken down. Unfortunately for him, he couldn’t change his trajectory in mid-air and his momentum appeared to want to carry him too far.

  Twisting in mid-flight, he managed to catch the wes
ternmost edge of the canopy with his torso, hitting it face down. Physics, however, worked against him as his legs missed and swung under the awning’s edge. Like a child on a swing, the momentum of his lower body, pulled on his upper body and it was suddenly reversed off the canopy where he somersaulted onto the hard, cobblestone street. He landed with an audible thud on his back, the fall taking the wind out of him.

  The sounds of cursing followed him down and he struggled to understand what was being said since he was now dazed and slightly confused by the trauma to his head. He had enough sense to know that it wouldn’t take long for the trio on the ground to learn what he had done and run around the easternmost edge of the building and find him on the other side. He had a scant few seconds to act and so with great effort, he hoisted himself onto his feet and crossed the street running into another dark alleyway to his south.

  He took a moment, once in the relative safety of the shadows, to look back and see his attackers. Breakers, the leader, was pointing to the edge of the building trying to direct his associates on the ground towards Diamedes. More alarming was the second rooftop assassin who was quickly scaling down the building’s exterior, using window sills, a rickety gutter, and imperfections in the building’s construction materials for hand and foot holds.

  Turning away, the diminutive historian ran deeper into the shadows of a different alley south of him looking for an escape. This time he found the alley ended in a “T”. He wasn’t sure if he should go east or west at the juncture, but when he saw the mysterious cloaked sixth figure to his left atop a building’s roof, he turned away and ran west.