SR Langley
Dragon’s Egg
The Dragon’s Erf Series:
Book One
GIFTS
I give you demons, give you trolls,
I give you ancient magic scrolls,
I give you spells that make you king,
For those that like that kind of thing.
I give you colours, red and blue,
Of summer’s green, and yellow too,
The hues of autumn, winter, spring,
For those that like that kind of thing.
I give you diamonds, pearls and jades,
I give you light that never fades,
And stars and moons and Saturn’s ring,
For those that like that kind of thing.
I give you song and dance and play,
I give you speeches, words to say,
I give you words that soar and sing,
For those that like that kind of thing.
I give you thoughts, ideas and dreams,
I give you sighs; I give you screams,
I give you angels on the wing,
For those that like that kind of thing.
I give you all these things and more,
From my imagination’s store,
From me to you, these things I bring,
For those that like that kind of thing.
PROLOGUE
Only twelve of the Royal Guard had survived. The smoking corpses of their fallen comrades lay scattered in discarded ruin amongst the rubble of the outer court. The once one hundred strong cohort of proud Warrior-dragons had been decimated.
Captain Strebor gave the command to fall back to defend the inner sanctum where their Lord, Divad Sivad, High King of the True-Dragons, sat curled and slumped on his royal couch-throne, awaiting with no great concern the unfolding of his supposedly fearsome fate.
The High King Sivad had lost too much already. Long gone was his and the True-Dragons’ Golden Age. His slow slide into insanity and indifference had begun over a thousand years ago, when he had lost his wife and Soulmate, in the Battle of the Black Cavern. He could now no longer face the past, let alone the future. And the latest news of the loss of his only son and the present, de facto, ruling King of the True-Dragons, was too much to bear.
The slow death of his all-consuming apathy was now nearing completion.
The loyal One Hundred, however, had refused to desert their posts. They had now paid the ultimate price. The Fire-Worm Lords of the Core had surprised the Dragon Kingdom with their attack on the High King’s Palace. The kingdom had been left much weakened with the new King-Regent, the Lord Nevets Yram, now reportedly lost on a mission to aid a distant Under-Erf Cavern-World.
“Form a ring around the High King!” Captain Strebor cried out urgently to his Warriors. “Let no Creature of the Core come near him. We will keep our oaths and defend the High King to our last flicker of red battle-flame!”
The Guards obediently surrounded the unseeing and uncaring High King; each Dragon Warrior facing resolutely outwards, ready for the next vicious onslaught.
As they waited, the teeming Minion Army of the Core filled the Inner Court from all directions. Every inch of the blue-marble flooring was now covered with the writhing, loathsome worms; the sickly-red and yellow, foot-long grubs, with wide, pincer-like maws and drooling, toxic fangs. The floor was a heaving sea of acid-spitting death.
“I know we are beyond all hope, our reserves of protective blue flame are now near-exhausted, but we still have our red battle-flame and we will stand and do our duty!” Strebor grimly telepathed, knowing indeed, that each of his twelve brothers would hold firm, no matter the odds against them.
Lord Morgrim surveyed the scene before him and shivered with pleasure at seeing his age-old foes outnumbered and all but vanquished. He had only agreed to this sudden assault on their deadliest enemy because now was the right time. Morgrim was extremely cunning. He had definite plans and this well-prepared raid upon the High King of the True-Dragons and his heirs fitted very neatly into the overall scheme of things. His scheme of things.
His twin brother and the current King of the Core, Morgrave, however, though far less cunning, was a lot more enthusiastic about killing True-Dragons. In fact, he was fanatical about it and had become more so with each passing century.
King Morgrave stood next to the more patient Morgrim. Morgrave was foaming at the mouth and grinning in gleeful anticipation at the demise of his most hated, ancient enemy, the High King Divad Sivad. And was unknowingly being mentally restrained from launching into the battle himself by the subtle telepathic control of his brother, Lord Morgrim.
“Come, my Brother, let us finish them all off, the so-called noble line of the Sivads must be ended and forever quenched in the fires of our almighty wrath! I have so sworn it!” King Morgrave hissed to Lord Morgrim eagerly. “It is that cursed line of Dragons, above all others, who have forever foiled our rightful domination over the Under-Erf and its wealth of Cavern-Worlds. Do you hear me, Morgrim? No matter the cost, the foul line of Sivad must be destroyed forever!”
King Morgrave quivered and coiled in agitated frustration as he bellowed his feelings of burning hatred to his royal twin, Lord Morgrim. However, in truth, Morgrim was listening only half-heartedly; His foolish brother’s thoughts only echoing annoyingly in his head like an insect’s constant and irritating buzz.
He has of late become increasingly given to these bothersome bouts of boiling bile and fuming fits of ferocious ire; Much like an erupting geyser, always ready to spurt its vile and vitriolic abuse, Morgrim quietly thought to himself, then answered his regal brother as soothingly as he could.
“Not quite yet, brother, not quite yet; we still have no word of the Dragon Queen, Sivam Sivad and her final Egg. Thus, we must apply some force and some intelligence now. So, patience, we will yet have our reward, but we must have all of the Sivads for that.”
Lord Morgrim now turned his attention to Strebor, the Captain of the Dragon Guard and telepathed to him, oozing charm and confidence.
“Captain, you have fought bravely, but you are about to lose your life as well as the lives of all your valiant Dragon warriors, and what for? Nothing! Look at your High King; He is a broken, abject wreck, of no worth to you or me. Why throw your lives away on such a thing as that? Turn him and his offspring over to us now and I promise we will let you live.”
Morgrim’s powers of persuasion were infamous. All Dragons, both True and Un-True, had great powers of Mind, but Lord Morgrim’s Arts of Mind Manipulation were second to none. The Captain lowered his head and looked behind him, glancing at his ancient High King. What he saw stung him to the quick.
For a mere moment, Strebor weakened and even considered the proffered course of capitulation and surrender. The uncomfortable truth was that Morgrim’s words had rung true. The High King lay behind him unmoving and seemingly unknowing and totally indifferent to the terrible fate awaiting the remnants of his loyal Dragon Guard.
“Oh, yes, you filthy, winged-flies,” hissed King Morgrave, now interjecting suddenly, “do as we demand and be our slaves, or you will die, do you hear me, you will die, horribly!“ Unfortunately for Lord Morgrim, and his hope for a swift and more effortless resolution, this broke the spell he’d been carefully weaving.