B006T5JMRC EBOK

Dedication

To Manon for being my hero, my dad for being an inspiration, and my mom for being the best friend I could ask for.

Hiro and Ryu, you are my world; thank you for always being the motivation to achieve my goals.

Table of Contents

Prologue: Sylicia—The Ice Matriarch

T
he sun descended over the horizon, tucking itself behind tall, lush pine trees looming high above from the top of a deathly steep ledge. The sky filled with a surreal orange glow as the white, snow-covered ground became eclipsed with a swelling horde; their footsteps pounded the earth, multiplying as they echoed against the icy cliffs. Heavily equipped warriors gripped forged steel blades and polearms within their sweaty palms, which trembled with anticipation. They wore full mail chausses, laced finely up to a belt that held the weight of the heavy garment. An outer cuisse topped the mail, packed with layers of thick linen and horse hair to aid in additional protection for any heavy blows they might receive in combat. Their torsos were heavily guarded by many ringlets of steel linked around one another in a perfect formation, resting beneath a coat of plates.

The army was a walking fortress, prepared for battle. Warriors of a broad age group marched on through the unpleasant, frigid weather. Some were fathers, while others were merely children who had begun to enjoy their adolescent life when General Jedah—the leader of this destructive army—sent notice of the war against dragons.

The frozen valley was enclosed by steep, jagged cliffs which warded off all outside sounds, adding to the anxiety of the already nervous knights. There were no owls hooting or wolves howling, nor were crickets chirping to welcome the nightfall—there was a ghostly silence, aside from the steel soles of their feet crunching atop the bed of snow. As the large battalion of warriors rounded another bend in a never ending maze of ice, the overwhelming cave entrance greeted them, towering before their eyes. Its appearance resembled a colossal open mouth, anxious to engulf each of their warm, fleshy bodies as they entered. The frozen water, which cascaded over the top of the cave, created sharp pointed icicles seeming as though they were jagged teeth—the wide, dark entrance appeared to be the throat that would swallow them all.

“It’s times like these I wish me and my wife had left Mirion
and started a simple life farmin’ in the country, gettin’ safely away from any kings or lords to mold us into doin’ their biddings.” The tall, muscular knight exhaled, closing his dark eyelids. “I’ve heard that old Sylicia is a fierce ice dragon, and few have ever lived to lay eyes upon what we see now before us.” He took another upward glance at the dark, uninviting entrance, wiping an ebony hand across his unshaven, stubbly mustache while shaking his head. His dark skin dampened with perspiration, despite the chilling temperature.

A young knight at his side trembled; the ringlets on his mail softly chimed, clinking together in an unsteady rhythm. The boy panted, causing thick white fog to escape through the open slits on his steel great helm. Horrified, reddened hazel eyes could be seen peering from within.

“I... I...” the youth’s voice trembled. “I want to go home. I don’t want to be here.”

“Silence, you foolish cowards!” a voice bellowed as a sizeable figure weaved his way through the battalion, approaching the two. They instantly knew it was the general from his distinct armor. He wore wide, steel pauldrons upon his broad shoulders, marked with the personal crest of a cobra snake and a red surcoat—which some rumored was stained of blood. The general eyed the older of the two knights. “Tell me your name.”

“My name, Sir, is Illadar Ranclef,” the man replied, holding his posture in a stiff, upright position. His dark brown eyes stared directly into the general’s as he tightened his well-defined jaw line in apprehension of what was to come.

“Let me remind you that we are walking in a valley, bordered by stone cliffs.” The general removed his helmet, handing it to his lieutenant. They could now see his slick, bald head, piercing, dark eyes, and the long, deep scar tissue which ran from the top of his left brow to just above his jawbone. “Your voice is amplified, and I must say...I did not fancy what was heard. We have no room for weaklings who cannot stand and fight to protect their kingdom from danger.”

“General Jedah, with all due respect, we have yet to be attacked by any dragons.” Illadar spoke in his and the boy’s defense. “It seems as though we are the only ones doing the attacking on these creatures. I’m uncertain of our cause.”

“Enough!” With a swift thrust of his forearm, the general jabbed the hilt of his sword into the warrior’s gut. Although shielded by layered armor, General Jedah’s strength was superior and the unexpected blow caused Illadar to instantly fold over in immense pain. “Do not judge my course of action again. If not for me, you would still be a poor, worthless peasant, struggling to feed your loved ones.” He spoke not only to Illadar, but the surrounding knights as well.

Illadar gripped his gut, cringing in pain as his stomach turned in knots.

“The dragons are our enemies.” Jedah paused a moment to graze his palm over the hideous scar; this motion appeared to send his mind back in time to reminisce a bitter event. The side of his upper lip lifted as he silently snarled at the thought. “Let this be a lesson to all!” the general exclaimed as he stared down at Illadar, who remained folded over in pain. “If anyone of you is not willing to fight like a true man, then come stand before me now and meet your fate.”

No one moved – no one flinched. Each knight stood frozen in place, intimidated and fearful of Jedah. They knew attempting to leave would surely result in a blade to the throat. The general was merciless and would gladly kill anyone who dared disobey him.

“Well then, I believe the time has come to slay yet another foul beast.” A sinister laugh escaped his lips. “She lies unaware of what is to come; slumbering within her den—a den soon to become her frozen tomb.” Jedah’s eyes looked crazed as his lieutenant returned his steel great helm to him. The general slammed it down upon his head, fueled by an adrenaline rush of hatred. He then unsheathed his sword, aiming it toward the sky.

“We march!” he called out, pointing the tip of the blade forward.

The knights slowly crept forward at a steady pace. Sylicia’s cave was dark and held the strong odor of rotting flesh. Many men attempted to stomach the stench, holding back the reflexive urge to vomit.

“Shhh...” whispers could be heard throughout the mass of knights, hugged together in a tight, yet sloppy formation.

As they ventured deeper into the cave, a small sliver of light led the way, as though their guiding North Star. The golden ray expanded in size until they piled into a large circular room. Crystals protruded from the floor and walls emitting a mysterious glow. The knights felt a wave of momentary ease wash over them as they gazed upon the majestic scenery.

Then—they heard it. The loud grunt sent tremors through the frosty floor; so strong the men could feel it vibrating at the steel soles of their footwear. That’s when they first glimpsed the mighty dragon, Sylicia. Her pearlescent back repeatedly rose and descended behind a significant glacial mound as she heavily breathed—completely oblivious of the threat that entered her chamber.

“You will swim in a pool of your own blood, you sickening creature,” Jedah whispered. “Tonight you die.”

The general stood before the army; a look of hostility on his face. A man by his side, clad in black robes, held a red banner attached to a tall pole. He extended the pole into the air for all to see; the banner bore the crest of Mirion; an eagle’s claw with sharp black talons and two crossing navy ribbons in the background. The knights knew that upon the general’s word, the banner would drop. If they cared to live another day they would need to fight with all their strength.

Illadar looked to his side. The same young boy from his earlier encounter with the general trembled far worse than before; the veins in his eyes were irritated and red, as if he were about to break into a panic, or cry. Illadar reached over and placed a hand upon the boy’s shoulder, attempting to add comfort in the intimidating situation. Deep within his heart, Illadar knew the chances of survival for the youth were slim. The boy was lacking in both stature and weight; Illadar could only assume he came from a poor family who could not afford the luxury of hearty meals. The boy’s armor looked two sizes too large as it hung off his scrawny arms, dangling noisily with every step he took. He looked as though he might collapse at any moment from the struggle of supporting the armor’s weight. The whole scenario seemed quite pitiful; the boy could hardly lift the sword without using both his hands.

Illadar swallowed. Although he did not know the boy, he felt the need to say something to ease his worries. “It will be fine, son. Soon this will all be over and you can return home to your family.”

The boy said nothing, but nodded his head, clearly trying to convince himself he would make it out alive.

Before Illadar could say more, the general, his right hand man, and the figure clad in robes carrying the banner began to slowly advance toward the area where the dragon lay sleeping. The knights followed, taking great caution with each step. Through the sound of heavy breathing and clinking of their steel soles, the men could hear a faint noise which sounded as if something was cracking. The general immediately raised his sword into the air diagonally. This was the signal to halt. It started with the knights directly behind him and had a trailing effect all the way to the rear of the battalion.

General Jedah turned to his lieutenant. “Saldin, it would appear this den has a few tricks we did not anticipate. Below our feet is a layer of ice that rests above water. We are treading upon a frozen lake.”

Saldin bared his rotted yellow and brown teeth in what appeared to be a smile; his wrinkled, worn skin revealed more bags and creases.

“I do believe we may be able to use this to our advantage. Sylicia must be using magical abilities in order to bear her weight over the ice.” He brought a hand to his upper lip, wiping a clear string of snot across his face as he sniffled.

The general cringed.

Saldin then gripped the helmet which had been resting within the nook of his elbow, pushing it down over his slick, oily, brown hair. “You see, Sir, if we can weaken the beast, then her magic will in turn weaken as well.” Despite his unmaintained appearance and crude behavior, Saldin was quite intelligent and often aided the general with tactical strategies or advice.

“You make a fine point, Saldin. I’m impressed with your keen eye to such details,” The general replied.