Dragons Realm (26 page)

Chapter Twenty-four

D
amian Dragona emerged
on the east­ern side of the nar­row rav­ine, about a mile in­land from Dra­cos Cove, just be­fore twi­light. He was care­ful to re­main on the dis­tant out­skirts of the traders’ en­camp­ment, lest there be too many in­quis­it­ive ears and watch­ful eyes nearby, eager to wit­ness his pres­ence. He im­me­di­ately scanned the dimly lit area for any hint of danger, an un­known en­emy, or a mem­ber of the king’s court who had man­aged to fol­low him into the in­terior. He had pre­arranged the meet­ing weeks ago with Thaon Percy, a here­to­fore en­emy who was now an un­likely ally and co­hort, a bar­baric shifter, and the
right­ful king of the
Lycani­ans.

He ran a splayed hand through his thick golden hair, re­ad­jus­ted the leather thong, and sighed as he kicked a dead squir­rel out of his path and took a seat on a nearby hol­lowed-out log, wait­ing for Thaon to ar­rive. He and the crafty Lycanian had planned the en­tire con­flict beau­ti­fully. They had done what needed to be done. And while many in­no­cent play­ers had lost their lives, and many more would carry per­man­ent scars and in­jur­ies for the rest of their days, the cost and the col­lat­eral dam­age were min­is­cule when one con­sidered the enorm­ous pay­off to the Realm, the gi­gantic leap for­ward that would be made on be­half of
all
its cit­izens.

For as long as Damian could re­mem­ber, the Lycani­ans had bested the Um­brasi­ans, War­lo­chi­ans, and com­mon­ers in all man­ner of com­merce and trade. Their fab­rics were more re­fined; their en­gin­eer­ing was more ad­vanced; and their art was more valu­able and ex­quis­ite. It made no sense to con­tinue trad­ing for goods and com­mod­it­ies the Realm could po­ten­tially pro­duce for it­self. Why limit the in­ternal rev­enue and eco­nomic po­ten­tial to re­stric­ted, local com­merce and ever-in­creas­ing taxes when there was an en­tire world of ex­port just wait­ing to be had? Why con­strain one’s labor force to nar­row, an­ti­quated dis­tricts; ar­chaic, se­cluded vil­lages; and pro­scribed but spe­cial­ized mer­chants when the king­dom could bring in labor from other lands, en­slave for­eign­ers from other states, and re­vo­lu­tion­ize a whole new brand of in­dustry, simply by tak­ing a cour­ageous step for­ward, by for­ging a last­ing and mu­tu­ally be­ne­fi­cial al­li­ance with their old­est and most for­mid­able en­emy, the Lycani­ans?

Thaon had seen the vast po­ten­tial when he had reached out to Damian over two years ago, ask­ing the prince for an audi­ence, and Damian had seen it too, the mo­ment the wily shifter had de­scribed his ul­ti­mate vis­ion: The Dragons Realm was rich in nat­ural re­sources and ripe with raw, un­tapped power. It was teem­ing with ma­gical in­hab­it­ants and im­bued with preter­nat­ural strength, but the world bey­ond the Realm was so much lar­ger, so much more ex­pans­ive, than King De­mitri un­der­stood. And that was the Realm’s crit­ical weak­ness. An al­li­ance between the two most power­ful spe­cies on the face of the earth—the dragons and the shifters—would not only be un­stop­pable, it would her­ald the be­gin­ning of a golden age, a time of ab­so­lute prosper­ity, in­flu­ence, and domin­ion…at least for the power­ful.

For the mighty.

For Damian Dragona and Thaon Percy, a shifter who was as eager to usurp his brother, Ba­yard, as the right­ful mon­arch of Lycania as Damian was to one day rule Castle Dragon in the place of King De­mitri.

And so the two had plot­ted, schemed, and pre­arranged: Thaon had prom­ised Prince Damian 1,000 years of peace, 100 sea­worthy ves­sels that could be used to con­quer and trade, and to openly share the luc­rat­ive, time-tested meth­ods of Lycanian weav­ing, en­gin­eer­ing, and artistry—with all the in­hab­it­ants of the Realm—in ex­change for the in­def­in­ite mil­it­ary might and back­ing of a prim­or­dial dragon. True, it would be an­other fifty-one years be­fore the two could fully seal their deal or ce­ment their pact, be­fore Damian could fully shift into a wholly formed dragon, but time was of little con­sequence to such long-lived be­ings. If Damian would prom­ise to help place Thaon on the Lycanian throne—
right now—
to one day ac­com­pany the Lycanian fleet on slave raids and in­va­sions, and to back Thaon’s rule with his own in­des­truct­ible might, that would be enough.

And so, to­gether, the two had hatched a plot to over­throw King Ba­yard in one swift and defin­it­ive blow. They had agreed to stage an epic battle on the sands of Dra­cos Cove, a battle that would res­ult in cata­strophic losses for the Lycanian troops and in­vaders. They had con­vinced King Ba­yard that the Lycani­ans had an in­side ally, a traitor, resid­ing in Castle Dragon, who was in­tim­ately close to the king and only too will­ing to be­tray him, a rebel con­fed­er­ate who would in­sure the Lycani­ans’ suc­cess. Fur­ther­more, they had con­vinced King Ba­yard that the rebel had sworn to drug, shackle, and con­fine the power­ful mon­arch from May 24th to May 29th, thus pre­vent­ing the king from shift­ing for the dur­a­tion of the in­va­sion, for the en­tirety of the battle; and Prince Damian had demon­strated this traitor’s abil­ity to by­pass the king and ac­cess the castle’s re­sources by ship­ping one crate full of sil­ver and gold coins, as well as a dozen il­legal slaves, to Lycania, every other week for six months.

Con­vinced that King De­mitri would be drugged, in­dis­posed, and shackled at the time of the in­cur­sion, King Ba­yard had com­manded the in­va­sion, sent his best ships and troops to the sands of the cove; and ar­rog­antly awaited word of the de­struc­tion and booty.

Need­less to say, things had not gone as the Lycanian king had planned. He had un­wit­tingly led his armies to a whole­sale slaughter, and the mis­cal­cu­la­tion would soon cost him his throne…if not his very life.

Now, as Damian waited to con­fer with his co­hort, he couldn’t help but smile at the stun­ning suc­cess of the plot. The shifters had taken the bait, and King De­mitri had mas­sacred the en­tire Lycanian fleet with the ease and alac­rity of a gi­ant dis­patch­ing a new­born kit­ten. Thaon would un­doubtedly be named king in the weeks that fol­lowed, and Damian would one day be known as the greatest ruler—
the most power­ful dragon
—to ever over­see the Realm. In a curi­ous shift of fate, he would come to be known as the dragon who brought ul­ti­mate prosper­ity and pro­gress to an an­ti­quated land. All that re­mained to be done was to see Thaon safely home be­fore Damian’s father or his broth­ers dis­covered his ne­far­i­ous role in the bloody, pre-or­ches­trated battle.

“Beau­ti­ful day for a dev­ast­at­ing de­feat.” A gruff, men­acing voice pierced the si­lence as Thaon Percy ap­peared, all at once, as if out of a mist, and sauntered up to the log.

Damian stiffened and stood up. “In­deed, my clever friend.
In­deed
.”

“I’m glad to see you made it out of the scuffle alive.”

Damian sneered. “Scuffle…
whatever
. It was a bit of a chal­lenge for a few hours, fol­lowed by a blanket slaughter.” He smiled. “And you, of course, hid out quietly—
and safely
—in our own traders’ en­camp­ment, mas­quer­ad­ing as a com­mon hu­man cit­izen of Dragons Realm.” He waved his hand in si­lent dis­missal of the menial topic and im­me­di­ately turned to more im­port­ant mat­ters:
the
vic­tory
. “So how many Lycanian lives were lost, my good friend? Two thou­sand? Three? Great Mas­ter of Ven­geance, it was a bru­tal mas­sacre, was it not?”

Thaon grew un­char­ac­ter­ist­ic­ally quiet, un­doubtedly re­flect­ing on the ter­rible carnage and the piteous loss of life. “Too many, my ally.” He sighed. “But all ne­ces­sary for the fu­ture we seek.” He drew back his shoulders and raised his chin in proud de­fi­ance. “And what about on your side? How many loyal sub­jects of Castle Dragon were ushered into the Eternal Realm of Peace—or the Eternal Realm of Suf­fer­ing—as the case may have been?”

Damian frowned, re­fus­ing to an­swer the ques­tion, re­fus­ing to give Thaon the slight­est sat­is­fac­tion in know­ing his side had taken lives—it was of no mat­ter,
what­so­ever
, the un­for­tu­nate loss of life. In fact, all things con­sidered, it had been a mea­ger price to pay for an im­meas­ur­able gain. It was simply some­thing that needed to be done. As it stood, King Ba­yard had made a griev­ous er­ror; his reign as the mon­arch of Lycania was over; and now it was time to em­brace the fu­ture. He winked at Thaon in a slightly de­ris­ive ges­ture. “You needn’t worry about the Realm, my friend. Trust me; I have mat­ters well in hand.” A sly smile curved along his outer lips, and he raised his brows. “In fact, we were able to con­tain a po­ten­tial
mis­hap
when two of your com­rades broke through our lines and headed in­land. My brother dis­patched them as eas­ily as my father dis­patched our foes.” He ges­tic­u­lated imp­ishly. “Well, Castle Dragon’s foes—you and I un­der­stand that we are
all
mu­tual friends.”

Thaon bristled at Prince Damian’s cava­lier words as well as the sparsely veiled su­peri­or­ity. “Your
brother
dis­patched them?”

Damian nod­ded, un­bothered. “In­deed.”

“Prince Drake or Prince Dante?”

This time, Damian sneered. “What dif­fer­ence does it make?”

The Lycanian shrugged. “None, I sup­pose. Just curi­ous.” He crossed his arms over his chest, looked off into the dis­tance, and squin­ted. “Hmm.”

Damian didn’t ap­pre­ci­ate Thaon’s tone. He didn’t like the curi­ous look on his face or his subtle, self-sat­is­fied de­meanor. If they were to be al­lies—
and without ques­tion, they were
—then a bit of rival banter was fine, harm­less and ex­pec­ted between power­ful males—after all, they had been en­emies for years—but
ser­i­ous
dis­respect of
any
kind? Well, that would not be tol­er­ated, not in Dragons Realm. “Yes, my friend:
Prince Dante
dis­patched the shifters. Does that sat­isfy your curi­os­ity?”

Thaon turned his at­ten­tion back to Damian, this time, bit­ing his bot­tom lip and shift­ing his weight from one foot to the other, as if he was avoid­ing…some­thing. “Then you’ve spoken to your brother, re­cently?” he asked.

Damian crooked his head to the side and un­wit­tingly cracked his neck, wait­ing to see where this was go­ing.

“I mean, about the battle and my…
com­rades
…the ones who al­most got away?”

Prince Damian slowly in­clined his head in an ami­able, af­firm­at­ive ges­ture, yet his lips drew taut as he replied. “I was briefed on the situ­ation by a watch­man from my Um­brasian guard.” He ab­sently rubbed his jaw, re­liev­ing some un­wanted ten­sion—his teeth were clenched way too tight. He sighed. “Thaon,
my friend:
We have or­ches­trated a spec­tac­u­lar feat
to­gether
—have we not?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “And while I am more pleased than you could ever know with the out­come, I’d also like to keep the lines of com­mu­nic­a­tion open.” He smacked his lips to­gether in em­phasis. “How shall I say this?” He toggled his hands up and down in the air as if search­ing for just the right words. “It’s im­port­ant that we…main­tain some per­spect­ive…with re­gard to our re­l­at­ive roles. After all, I am a dragon, and you are a shifter. And while both of our king­doms will be­ne­fit from this day, long into the fu­ture, one should not for­get what that fu­ture will look like.” He nar­rowed his eyes in con­tempt, fore­go­ing all pre­tense of ci­vil­ity. “When that fu­ture ar­rives, I will be as my father was today: cap­able of ab­so­lute an­ni­hil­a­tion, cap­able of des­troy­ing an en­tire fleet—
of any en­emy
—at my will and my dis­cre­tion.” He im­me­di­ately held up a pla­cat­ing hand, lest Thaon be­come of­fen­ded. “You, of course, are not an en­emy, nor will you be one at such time. How­ever, it is im­port­ant that you un­der­stand this not­able
dif­fer­ence
between us, so that our light-hearted, mas­cu­line rival­ries—our in­ev­it­able com­pet­it­ive banter—does not get out of hand.” He softened his gaze. “Above all, I ex­pect your un­dy­ing loy­alty, and al­ways…your hon­esty. Like you, I am not much for play­ing fem­in­ine games.”

Thaon snarled like the an­imal he was, but Damian didn’t take any of­fense. It was a pure ter­rit­orial re­ac­tion from a pred­at­ory beast, from his in­ner Lycanian mon­ster, and to do any less would have been a great sign of weak­ness, un­be­fit­ting of a fu­ture king. “Of course,” the Lycan hissed, even as his jaw tightened. “Just so long as you also…
un­der­stand
…that in less than one month’s time, I will be the sov­er­eign and sol­it­ary king of the most fin­an­cially power­ful, com­mer­cially luc­rat­ive, and densely pop­u­lated coun­try in our lands.”

Damian smiled broadly. He bent in­fin­ites­im­ally at the waist and ges­tured grandly with his hand, draw­ing a wide arc through the air. “Of course,
Your Majesty
.”

Thaon drew in a deep breath of air and let it out slowly, nod­ding his head with de­fer­ence.
“Very well, then…”
He took a mo­ment to ap­pease his beast. “And you’re right: We should both be care­ful…be­ing
two
al­pha males and all.” There was no need to elab­or­ate.

Damian re­laxed his pos­ture and smiled again, un­der­stand­ing his ally’s need to save face.

“And on that note,” Thaon con­tin­ued, “and, of course, in the spirit of friend­ship, there is some­thing you should prob­ably know.” He paused un­ex­pec­tedly, as if care­fully con­sid­er­ing his next words, and this piqued Damian’s curi­os­ity. “Un­for­tu­nately, it is some­what of a sens­it­ive nature, the type of thing one might con­sider per­sonal, per­haps even…un­wel­come.”

Damian crooked his eye­brows and waited, though his gut was be­gin­ning to clench.

“As we both know, I have ex­tremely sens­it­ive ears and preter­nat­ural vis­ion at night, so it wasn’t that I was spy­ing…or wan­der­ing…I just happened to—”

“Out with it!” Damian snarled, his tem­per get­ting the best of him. He tried to force a weak smile in the wake of his out­burst and failed. “Just say what you have to say.”