Wild - Dragon Lord
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- Book:Dragon Lord
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- Publisher:Tyler Wild
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- Year:2019
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Copyright 2019 by Tyler Wild
All rights reserved. Worldwide.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents, except for incidental references to public figures, products, or services, are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental, and not intended to refer to any living person or to disparage any companys products or services. All characters engaging in sexual activity are above the age of consent.
No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, uploaded, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter devised, without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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This book contains action, violence, fantasy, fun, sarcasm, and a tasteful harem of beautiful ladies. The sexy times are not too graphicmore like Fade-to-Grey (as opposed to Fade-to-Black).
If that kind of thing ruffles your feathers, you might want to take flight now.
Kron
Long after the Great Doom, before the Rangon Dynasty, when worlds collided and the Earth fell into shadow
M y head was about to get chopped offwith my own sword, no less. I wasnt too thrilled about the prospect.
The razor-sharp blade would slice through my skin, sever my spine, cut through muscles, nerves, and fascia with ease. Blood would spurt from my carotid arteries, and my head would flop to the wooden platform. Id live for a few moments until my brain ran out of oxygen, feeling all the phantom pain of my separated body.
My last vision would be the boots of my executioner.
Perhaps he would grab me by the hair and raise me in triumph above the enthralled crowd?
And the kicker?
My sword would probably enjoy it.
I was going to die on my knees like a dog. My wrists bound with rope behind my back. Atop a wooden platform in the center of the citadel, I was the entertainment for the morning.
The riser was usually home to public announcements and executions, most often performed with the guillotine. That would have been a much preferable way to die.
A blade in the hands of an unintelligent oaf could wreak all sorts of havoc. He could hit too high on the neck and crack my skull, or too low on the shoulders and not detach my head.
I preferred a clean death.
Quick.
Painless.
But then again, dont we all?
The last thing I wanted was some mindless ogre hacking away, leaving my head dangling from my torso via a few shredded strands of ligaments and tendons. The end result would be the same, but I imagined it would increase the suffering.
Besides, I deserved a better death than that.
The executioner towered over me, ready to strike down. An ocean of people surrounded the platform, staring with a mix of horror and excitement.
The mob was hungry for justice.
But Im not sure if this passed for justice?
My heart punched against my chest. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, tingling my nerve endings.
I had never felt so alive as I did at the brink of death.
Sweat covered my body. Salty streams rolled down my cheek, dripping from the tip of my nose, splattering against the wooden platform. The brilliant sun hung high in the sky, beaming its fury down on my back.
Perhaps this was a preview of hell?
A place I would soon visit.
The crowd stared with wide eyes, lusting for blood. It didnt matter if I was guilty or innocent at this point. They wanted to see my severed head tossed around the crowd. Proof that no one was above the law.
I swallowed hardmy mouth a desert.
I wasnt ready to die.
Then again, Im not sure anyone ever is.
Most people would be groveling for mercy or praying to the gods for forgiveness. But neither of those things were in my nature. The gods had never done anything for me, and I didnt feel much like groveling before them.
Just a few days ago, I was on top of the world. But I was heading down a path that would lead to my undoing.
I wanted to go back and do things differently. Hindsight is always 20/20.
We had camped in the Lorewood Forest, just north of the GreyLake Castle. The forest was filled with the spicy scent of evergreensspruces, furs, and pines. Moss hung from branches, and leaves covered the ground. The forest was pristine and immaculate. Birds chirped, fluttering from branch to branch. Fox, deer, and other wildlife roamed the Lorewood in abundance. It was a ceaseless, renewable resource.
We were fine as long as we stayed along the south edge. Traveling too far north would create problems.
I frequently dined on fish from the stream, or venison. Rabbit stew was always a favorite. Seasoned with a special blend of spices, it never failed to hit the spot on a cold night.
But tonight we didnt have the luxury of indulging in culinary delights. Downwind of the GreyLake Castle, we were probably safe to cook. But the light from the fire might draw attention, and the wind could suddenly shift. The appetizing scent of rabbit stew would surely alert the castle guards to our presence.
Tonight we would let our bellies rumblethe thrill of combat would be our sustenance.
My body buzzed with anticipation. It didnt matter how many times I had gone into battle before, I always felt a slight flutter in my gut. The time before a fight would crawl as I anticipated the action.
It wasnt nerves or fear.
It was impatience.
I craved victory and the thrill of it. I was never quite as settled any other time apart from battle. A strange soothing calm would always come over me. Combat was the thing I was best at. It seemed so simple and pure. It wasnt marred or muddied by ambiguity. The spoils of war went to the victorno argument or debate about it.
I hovered on the edge of the forest, the GreyLake Castle in my view. It was a magnificent structure. Tall spires towered into the sky. Torch-fire from wall sconces illuminated the structure. High battlements surrounded the fortress. It butted against the Wolfhorn Mountains, making the north valley the only viable point of attack. Like a funnel, it drove enemies straight to the front gate of the castle. But with only Carvin and myself, I had no intention of making a frontal assault.
I stabbed the tip of my sword, Asgoth, into the ground and knelt before it. The broadsword had a blade that was meticulously crafted. Forged in the underworld, etched with intricate runes, the blade was scooped and flared and razor-sharp.
The edge never dulled.
The metal never scratched or chipped.
Perfectly balanced, it felt both heavy and light at the same time. When I wielded the blade, it was like an extension of my arm. It sliced through the air with precision. Carved through flesh and bone without hesitation. The blade knew my movements almost before I did. The grip seemed to conform to my hand.
We were a match made in hell.
The sword served me, and I served the sword. But I knew all too well that wouldnt always be the case.
I didnt pray to anything, but the sword was as close as I came. Despite its origins, the sword had never betrayed me. It had always swung true. I hoped that would continue, but it wasnt guaranteed.
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