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  DRAGONS UNREMEMBERED

  David A. Wimsett

  TM

  Cape Split Press

  Nova Scotia, Canada

  http://www.capesplitpress.com

  An imprint of Your Story 2 Video, Ltd.

  Published by arrangement with the author. The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and unintended by the author.

  Text and Music Copyright © 2018 by David A. Wimsett. All rights reserved.

  ISBN 978-1-7750890-5-6

  For my son, Ronald

  Other works by David A. Wimsett

  Beyond the Shallow Bank

  Something on My Mind

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  BOOK I

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  BOOK II

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BOOK III

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWLEVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BOOK IV

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINTEEN

  CHAPTER TWNETY

  EPILOGUE

  APPENDIX A

  GUIDE TO PRONUNCIATIONS

  WORD ORIGINS

  COMMON ROOTS

  Appendix B

  SONGS AND LAYS

  APENDIX C

  THE FALL OF MAGADEL

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PROLOGUE

  He knew the men hunted him as he watched them pole their boat slowly through the swamp. They wore red robes with hoods drawn over their heads. It made a strange sight in the stiflingly humid heat.

  The draping limbs of a willow screened him from view as he raised his head above the side of his own small boat for a better look.

  “Get down, Nur,” whispered a young woman crouching behind him. “They’ll spot us.”

  “They can’t see me, Willa.” Nur stared at the second boat. “Father of Dragons, they’ve got Tib.”

  Willa sat up. “What are we going to do?”

  Nur said, “We’ll follow their boat and see where they take him. Then, we’ll pole back and have my father alert the garrison.”

  “Were they swampers?”

  “Don’t call them that, and no. They were just men. Come on. They’re getting too far ahead.”

  “Who do you think they are?” said Willa.

  “Probably smugglers. We must have found their secret route.”

  “Your father's going to skin us alive.”

  “Stop thinking about yourself for once. Just pray to the dragons that they don’t hurt Tib.”

  Nur poled the little boat as quietly as possible. The other craft picked up speed and moved ahead. Soon, it faded into the mist. Willa shook her head. “We’ve lost them.”

  They heard wood scrape against rock. Nur poled in the direction of the sound. Slowly, the hazy outline of an island emerged from the mist. An empty boat was beached on its bank.

  Willa pulled on Nur’s arm. “Let’s go back for your father.”

  “We have to make certain it’s them.”

  “Are you mad? They’ll catch us too.”

  “I’ll land behind those reeds.”

  A square, three story tower appeared out of the mist as they approached. Nur put in at a muddy bank and they crept up to the keep. Willa ran her hands along the stone wall. It was smooth and free of any lichen or moss.

  They entered and found no trace of Tib or the men from the boat. The second and third stories were also empty. They climbed to the top and looked all about. The island was deserted.

  Willa said, “There must have been a second boat on the other side of the island.”

  “Most likely. Let’s get back.”

  Nur and his cousins, Willa and her younger brother Tib, had been in the swamp since dawn in search of turtle eggs, a rare delicacy among the rich and powerful in the monarchy of Carandir. A catch of eggs was worth a tidy sum in the capital city of Meth where Willa and Tib lived.

  They had traveled for weeks with their parents to visit Nur and his family in Rascalla, one of the eighteen baronies of Carandir. It sat at the edge of the eastern swampland at the border of the monarchy.

  Two years before, Nur had also lived in Meth when he studied to join an order of men known as the Kyar, scholars who preserved the ancient writings left behind by the now vanished wizards. The monastic life had not appealed to him and he returned home to Rascalla.

  The caution Nur and Willa had initially felt evaporated as they walked back down the stairs. Willa said, “Who do you think put this up in the middle of nowhere?”

  “It’s probably been here since the Dragon Wars. Before they vanished, the wizards used such strongholds to imprison demons.”

  Willa laughed. “Don’t tell me you still believe in dragons and wizards.”

  “I’m just reciting the histories.”

  “Ancient lies, you mean.”

  “Well, a lot of people in the east believe in the dragons, especially in Jorondel and Ilidel. You need to be more careful of what you say out here.”

  Willa shook her head. “Come on. You’ve lived in Meth. Do you honestly think there is a Father of Dragons named Jorondel and a Mother of Dragons names Ilidel? You can’t believe they formed the world with magic and fought an evil dragon named Baras.”

  Nur hesitated for a moment. “Well, yes. I do.”

  “You have to be joking.”

  “There are powers beyond us. Willa. You can’t deny that.”

  “I’m a city engineer. I can deny anything that can’t be proven. Jorondel, Ilidel and Baras are just folklore, symbols of good and evil.”

  “They are histories. There are uncounted books and scrolls in the Kyar’s vaults that chronicle the Dragon Wars and the beginnings of Carandir.”

  “But, who wrote them, and why?"

  “What about Avar the Great? Do you deny that he subdued Baras with the power of his crown before forming Carandir?"

  “Oh, he founded Carandir all right. That’s actual history. But, saying his crown was magical is ridiculous. He was just the first king. The crown is an artifact, not a talisman”

  Nur frowned. “You’ve never been in the palace and stared into the eyes of the dragon crested crown. I have, and there’s something about it.”

  Willa raised her hand. “Shh.”

  They peered down the stairway to the first floor. A section of wall stood open like a door. A hooded man wearing a crimson robe emerged. He pressed five stones in a pattern. The door closed and he walked out of the keep.

  They moved cautiously down the stairs. Willa peered into the swamp. “Whoever he was, I saw him pole his boat away. Let’s get out of here.”

  Nur inspected the section of wall that had opened. “I remember reading something about this. There are stones in the wall that act as a key.”

  “Why do you want to get in?”

  Nur probed the stone with his fingers. “Tib might be locked inside.” He pressed the stones in the same order as he had seen the robed man do.

  There was an audible snap and the secret door opened. A roughhewn corridor led steadily down. Burning torches were spaced along its wall that gave of light without heat or smoke. Nur and Willa entered and the door closed behind them.

  There was something about the red robed men and the smokeless, heatless torches that left Nur with a vague sense of dread, though h
e was not certain why.

  The tunnel descended steeply. They turned a bend and saw a large cavern below them. Nur held Willa back. A set of steps led down to the cavern floor. Dozens of red robed men stood before braziers where smoky fires burned. One man sat on a throne with a hood pulled over his head.

  Tib knelt next to the throne. Two other red robed men held him by the arms. The man on the throne spoke words that were lost in the cavern. Tib shook his head.

  Nur pointed back the way they had come. Willa stood still as if paralyzed. Nur shoved her and she backed away a pace, then turned and ran quickly up the steps. Nur followed.

  As they rounded a bend, they saw another man coming toward them. He wore the blue and white uniform of a Carandirian naval officer. With relief, Nur recognized him as Lieutenant Petstra. He had spoken with the officer several times at the palace.

  “Lieutenant Petstra. Thank the dragons. Someone’s captured my cousin.” It was then that Nur saw three crimson robed men standing behind Petstra.

  The lieutenant drew his sword. “Walk back down the stairs.”

  Nur and Willa turned and descended to the cavern floor where they were grabbed and forced to kneel beside Tib. Nur looked up at the throne where an emaciated man with pale white skin sat beside a smoking brazier. A sweet, thick stench permeated the air.

  Petstra knelt. “Lord Reshna, more intruders.”

  Reshna studied them for a moment before pointing to Nur. “I sense wizard magic. Who has sent you to spy on the Barasha?”

  Nur now recalled books and scrolls he had read when he studied to become a Kyar. They told of men who wore blood red robes and used sorcery to work minor spells. These sorcerers also knew the secret of binding demons and forcing them to perform true magic in exchange for living souls.

  The men had been taught these arts by Baras himself, and so, had taken the name Barasha, servants of Baras. But, this is impossible, Nur thought. Every book and scroll he had ever seen told of how the Barasha were utterly destroyed by the wizards.

  Tib gave a whimper. Willa fell to the floor and covered her head.

  Nur was sick with fear, but managed to say, “No one sent us. We were only hunting turtle eggs.”

  Willa looked up, “We will not betray your secret. Let us go.”

  Reshna turned to Petstra. “Were you successful in the palace?”

  “Yes, Lord Reshna. I was made privy to many secrets. The queen has conceived twins, as you foresaw. I spoke the incantation to hide the second child from all examination.”

  Reshna said, “We have but to wait until the birth for confusion or corruption. I will now call upon our master.” He looked to Tib. “That one.”

  Tib was dragged to the brazier next to Reshna’s throne. Two Barasha priests held him while a third slit his throat. Tib gave a gurgling cry as blood splashed the burning coals.

  Nur tasted bile as he fought not to vomit. Barasha priests chanted in unison. The smoke of the brazier twisted and congealed to form a round, green body. It was half the size of a person with short clawed hands and no legs. Its head consisted mostly of a mouth with jagged teeth.

  The demon said, “Who summons me?”

  “I, Reshna, Lord High Priest of the servants of Baras. I wish to speak with my master.”

  The smoke wavered and then congealed again. “Your master sleeps behind the spell of the dragon crest. It holds the power of Jorondel and Ilidel, from whose minds all that is sprang forth.”

  “You have taken the offering. You cannot refuse.”

  “I will not approach the spell.”

  “Others before you have opened his mind to me. Will you suffer the wrath of Baras? He dreams only of hatred. For now, those dreams are consumed with the generations of Avar. Do you wish his attention as well?”

  “What care is it to me? He will sleep for eternity.”

  “No. The crown itself will release him.”

  “Impossible. Only Avar’s heir can remove it from the crystal case.”

  Reshna poured red powder into his hand and held it up to the demon. “It has begun.”

  The demon examined the powder. “It will cost two more souls.”

  Reshna pointed to Nur and Willa.

  BOOK I

  The Barony of Fellant

  Western Carandir

  Five Thousand Two Hundred and Eighth Year of Avar

  CHAPTER ONE

  Dek, Baron of Rascalla, studied the soldiers and courtiers assembled around the large table. He sat in the council chamber of Etera, Baron of Fellant, and gauged each face for signs of who would support the king and queen if civil war erupted in Carandir.

  He sat next to King Haram Avar, sovereign of Carandir and descendant of Avar the Great. Dek squirmed in his chair that was uncomfortably small for his muscular frame. His dark beard itched, but he refrained from scratching it.

  The room was silent. Dek looked past the king to Vara, queen of Carandir and daughter of Etera. The fingers of her hand rested on her belly now swollen near to term with pregnancy.

  Vara leaned forward. “Father. Do you desire to bring open warfare upon your own grandchild?”

  “It is not I who threatens the monarchy, daughter.” Etera raised his head slightly so that his long, flat nose reminded Dek of a hatchet ready to fall. “It is not I who threatens to dilute royal blood. This obscene game has played for two generations. I will not have it inherited by a third. The council must be purged.” Etera looked directly at Dek. “The king must remove these descendants of traitorous shop keepers, this new nobility.”

  Dek placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and half rose from his seat. Though Etera spoke the words softly, Dek, and everyone in the room, knew the insult they carried. New nobility. Uncouth. Usurpers.

  Etera’s line extended back to the formation of Carandir. Dek’s lineage ran back just two generations to a time when Haram’s grandfather elevated the heads of six powerful merchant families to nobility and created baronies for them.

  Dek sat down slowly, the heat of rage still burning his face, as he kept his eyes on Etera.

  Haram gave Dek a sideways glance, and then looked across the table. “Baron Etera. You will accompany us to the palace at Meth with no more than twenty-five retainers, there to meet in a council of all eighteen, equal barons.”

  “Majesty, I am not prepared to travel to Meth or any other city at this time. If there must needs be a council, the twelve true houses may meet here in this chamber.”

  Vara’s voice cut across the room, clear and controlled. “Father. If you do not ride before the morning ends, I will withdraw from this house.”

  A chill ran down Dek’s back at the proclamation. His horror was reflected on the faces of all in the hall, except for Haram.

  Etera looked to the king, and then to Vara. “Without a house you forsake your own legitimacy, daughter; your own royal status. How can you expect to bear an heir to the throne without parentage yourself?”

  “I am queen. I require no further legitimacy.”

  “If you deny your lineage you deny your right to the throne.”

  Haram leaned against the arm of his chair as though he were watching a fencing match. Vara held her gaze. “Any questions concerning my child’s legitimacy must be answered by the full council. But, know this, father. Even were I denied the throne, I would rather withdraw and raise my child as a commoner than to see this monarchy torn apart by pettiness and greed.”

  The king stood, clasped his hands together and touched them to his forehead. All assembled came to their feet and touched their foreheads as well, for this was the sign of the covenant with the dragons and showed respect and reverence for Ilidel and Jorondel, Mother and Father of Dragons.

  Haram took Vara’s hand. “We will have your answer before brightnail, Lord Baron.”

  A trumpet sounded. Captain Yetig, commander of the king’s guard, stood and drew his sword. Dek knew that if there was trouble, Yetig was the one to get them out of it. The baron found the captain openly amb
itious and sometimes arrogant. Still, Yetig was the best officer Dek had ever known. Other commanders were able to hold the desert raiders from Karaken at bay. Only Yetig had driven them back across the southern border and regained territory stolen centuries before.

  Captain Yetig led a procession of guards followed by the king and queen. Behind them walked a man wearing brown robes of coarsely spun material and a woman clothed in emerald green robes. Other than white rope belts around their waists, neither wore any adornment.

  To see them for the first time, Dek might have thought they were no more than fifty. Yet, he knew each had lived for well over two centuries. The woman was Mistress Telasec, eldest of an order of women healers called the Daro who tended the sick of both body and heart. The man was Master Orane, chief of the Kyar, the order of scholars that Nur had once studied with at the palace. The Daro and the Kyar kept faith in the dragons alive and held the final vestiges of magic left behind by wizards who had vanished eons before.

  Last to leave was Dek. He bowed formally to Etera who clenched his jaw and narrowed his gaze. Dek smiled and left the chambers.

  Outside, he moved quickly down the hall. “Master Orane.”

  The Kyar scholar stopped and turned.

  Dek looked around to make certain no one else was close. “Did you expect that?”

  Orane shook his balding head. “I did not, though I am certain the king did. It can be the only reason the queen would agree to travel this far from the palace so late in her term.”

  Dek had liked Orane from the moment they met. As with most of the eastern families, Dek was deeply religious. Unlike the Kyar and Daro, the majority of those in the western lands paid little more than cursory heed to the dragons and called the stories of them myth and legend, as Willa had. Yet, even without this, Dek found Orane bright and witty, quick to laugh and easy to talk with.

  The two men reached the chambers set aside for Dek and his entourage. Guards dressed in the brown and tan uniforms of Rascalla stood at attention. They touched their foreheads with the hilt of their swords. Dek nodded his head, then turned to Orane, “Do you think Etera will answer in time, my friend?”