The weary Captain quickly came to his senses, reared his weathered and battle-scarred head up and blasted out several gouts of red, dragon flame in irate defiance.
Then before Morgrim could take control, or Morgrave could blurt out anything more ‘helpful,’ a beetle-like Minion-Messenger came scuttling up to them both from the rear.
“My Lordships, I have been sent to inform you that the Dragon King, Nevets Yram, has been sighted and is returning with his Warrior Army. Reports say his strength is but half of what it was, but by the pace he is making he will be upon us this very day!”
“That stupid brute Nevets! He has somehow survived the ambush we set!” Morgrim hissed furiously, briefly losing control of his emotions. “He must have somehow discovered that the call for help from the Goblin’s Cavern-World was a mere ruse to lure him away. He will now attempt to maintain the True-Dragon Kingship and ensure his son is hatched and so lives to be the Sivad heir. It is vital we find the Queen and destroy her and her Egg, no matter what!”
“Yesss!” King Morgrave spat back contemptuously in reply. “But we still have plenty of time to finish these Dragon scum off and their feeble High King too, and while we’re here, I want us to kill everyone and everything we can find!”
“Oh, dear brother,” Lord Morgrim sighed. “You forget, we are here, as you yourself so ardently desire, but to end the line of the Sivads forever. Yes, we have the High King now and long ago we dispatched his wife. And I’m sure the current King will soon be ours as his power is broken and his first son and daughter we have dealt with. It is only this nuisance of a Queen and her third Egg that survives and is any threat to us now.”
“Your counsel is wise brother. Then I will search the Dragon Cavern-World and all of the Erf if I have to… until I find her and her troublesome, addled Egg. I will not be thwarted. You hear me, my oh so clever brother. I will see they all die. Every Sivad shall perish!”
With that, he broke Morgrim’s mental hold and ordered his Minion hordes to attack.
“Conserve your blue flame as much as possible, fellow Dragon Guards. Protect the High King and do not falter. Live and Die by your Oath!” cried Strebor, as the squirming multitude of Minions wriggled towards them in a relentless, seething swarm.
Captain Strebor and his cohort of True Dragons now joined mind to mind, raising a pale, flickering, blue dome of repellent flame around themselves and their old, apathetic High King. Strebor well knew they had mere minutes to maintain such a protective shield.
There were just too many minion worms and too few Dragons.
He turned to face the High King, hoping for a miracle. In his prime, he had been unbeatable. He prayed to the Dragon Spirits the High King would somehow find his old self again and save the day.
Our High King once wielded the High Magic and had the Mind-Skill to better these brutal Core-beasts, he thought. If only that High King of yore, Divad Sivad was with us now, I could then die a proud True-Dragon!
But he saw that the one all-powerful and noble, High King, remained motionless and unmoved by all the chaos and destruction being wrought around him.
So, Captain Strebor turned and focused his attention back onto the advancing horde. Then there was no longer time to even think. The marauding mass of worms were upon them.
Strebor could see that the right flank of his circle of True Dragons was faltering and slowly being overwhelmed. Their blue dome of magical flame was flickering and weakening. Then two of the Dragon Guards on that side collapsed.
Within a hot heartbeat, a flood of hissing and spitting minion worms swarmed over the two Dragon’s thrashing bodies.
There was nothing more that the valiant Captain of the Guard could do. One by one, each True-Dragon Warrior was similarly overwhelmed. Each was brought down and then rapidly became a lonely island of seething, acid-spitting worms. Each of their huge, battle-scarred bodies being ravaged by the deadly, mindless Worm-Minions only the Fire-Worm Lords of the Core controlled.
Their blue dome of protective flame had been extinguished. Strebor roared his final battle cry. He flailed around, scattering the voracious worms to the left and right.
But to no avail. Even his fiery strength was consumed by the vile swarm as they smothered his defiant form.
At the very last, the High King of the True Dragons, surrounded by nothing but charred corpses, raised his tired, old head and observed the carnage spread out before him. Then momentarily, something re-kindled within his chest. Some ancient memory of valour and pride; of royalty and responsibility, fleetingly reappeared. Some remnant of his old fire had found its way into his heart.
He majestically reared up over his dead comrades and charged.
For a moment, he was fully alive and a Warrior again. His mind a searing blast of pure hatred for these foul, evil Worms of the Core, who had wrought so much destruction upon his beloved Dragon Kingdom and his precious family.
But the brave and defiant surge came too late.
As he charged across the Courtyard, straight towards King Morgrave, he was brought down by a bludgeoning blow from Lord Morgrim’s heavy, clubbed tail. Then the swarm of rampaging worm Minions was upon him, stinging and ripping him to bloody shreds.
Thus, the Last High King of the True-Dragons died.
“Now for Queen Sivam Sivad!” Cried Morgrave ecstatically. “You return to the Core with our new captives, Morgrim. For I will not return until I have killed the last Sivad! Come, my Minions, we will search the Palace and wherever else we need to… until we find her!”
“Oh, my foolhardy brother!” Morgrim rumbled quietly to himself. “Your rashness could mean the ruin of all my carefully laid plans. Now just what am I going to do with you?”
CHAPTER ONE:
HOME IS WHERE THE HURT IS
It was ten o’ clock in the morning, and Grannie’s caravan was filling up with smoke.
“Oh Gran, not again, you know it’s bad for you!”
Mary Maddam, Grannie Maddam’s thirteen-year-old granddaughter, was still not used to her Grandmother’s unhealthy, bad habits, especially her insistence on smoking her morning pipe of baccy.
“I do wish you’d give a body fair warning when you’re going to smoke the place out!”
“Ain’t nuffin’ like a good lung-full of’ raggedy shag to get yer tonsils tickled,” Granny Maddam replied, sweetly smiling at her, as Mary gathered her snack box and flask into her shoulder bag, getting ready for her Saturday morning foray into the nearby woods.
“Raggedy ‘ag, raggedy ‘ag,” cawed their colourful South Amerigan parrot, Jemima, in her badly rendered and raucous echo.
“An’ you can keep yer beak shut, too,” Mary muttered over her shoulder as she quickly exited the caravan. Jemima was always one to take Grannie’s side, probably because it was Gran that actually fed and watered the talkative, old parrot, as well as the one who taught her all her very colourful language.
“Don’t you’s be getting into mischief in them woods now, you hear?” Grannie called after Mary, as wisps of tobacco smoke curled out of the open door into the cool morning air.
But Gran could see Mary was already gone and making her way jauntily through the trees. Grannie Maddam smiled, knowing that Mary’s annoyance would quickly turn towards her usual cheerfulness at being out and about in the woods and the wind and the wild.
Grannie Maddam watched her go and heaved a wistful sigh. She sat comfortably in her cosy armchair, contentedly puffing on her pipe and stroking her rather plump tabby cat, Jericho, (whom she called ‘Jerry’ for short).