The Curse of the Dragon Stone, page 1
part #1 of The Dragon's Heir Series
The Curse of the Dragon Stone
The Dragon's Heir Trilogy Book 1
JB Richards
The Curse of the Dragon Stone: The Dragon’s Heir Trilogy Book 1 by JB Richards
Copyright © 2019 JB Richards / Jeanne B. Richards
All rights reserved. The author guarantees all contents are original and do not infringe upon the legal rights of any other person or work. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author.
Cover design and artwork by RM Designs: https://www.facebook.com/RMCustomDesigns/
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and events are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons or entities, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
This book is dedicated to my beloved author teammates, the Indie Fabs—Aliya DalRae (Who reminded me that—no matter what the circumstances are that interrupt our lives—writing is fun!), Renee Gauthier, Eva Pasco, Aryl Shanti, and Joanne Van Leerdam—who have continued to love, guide, and support me greatly throughout my writing career.
Want to know a secret? Look closely at the names of the Fabiosa Sisters, jumble the letters, and you’ll find a special tribute to my teammates!
Just be advised that the similarity ends there ( Wink!).
Contents
1. The Dragon Stone
2. The Doe
3. The Dragon
4. The Nephilim
5. The Dragon Stone
6. The Great Betrayal
7. Treachery
8. Dire News
9. The Fabiosa Sisters
10. The Healing
11. Sir Eckhardt
12. The Dark Wolf
The Dragon’s Heir Trilogy
The Sorceress’ Vengeance: The Dragon’s Heir Trilogy Book 2
Magic Awakens: The Dragon’s Heir Trilogy Book 3
A Note From The Author
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Links
Also by JB Richards
Also by JB Richards
Also by JB Richards
1
The Dragon Stone
Eons ago, when the high mountains of the North were first created, It came into being. Forged in the mighty heart of Dolderoon—the highest peak in the Seven Kingdoms, It gleamed like a star. It vibrated with power. It waited for an Heir—the One who would use It for good or evil—It cared not which… as long as It remained alive. The simple truth was that the enormity of Its power would either generate a new Creation—uniting the Magical Realm with the Kingdoms of the Mortals, or spawn an evil so vile that the entire Magical Realm would be brought to ruin.
Time passed as the Dragon Stone waited for Its true Commander. Male or female… human or Angelic… wizard or warrior… do-gooder or evil-doer… to It, it made no difference who wielded Its power, It only wished to serve a cause.
At a time when peace reigned supreme among both the mortal and immortal races, a young and beautiful sorceress, a witch of the Clan Fabiosa, ventured into the very cave in which the mighty Crimson Gem had lain for millennia. The story of Celiane and her life’s work matters not to the telling of this particular chapter of our story, however, the singular purpose for which she wielded the Dragon Stone for a certain span of millennia does.
Pure of heart and mind, Celiane Fabiosa used the Dragon Stone only for good… and mainly to heal. Blessed by the powerful gem with an unimaginably longevity of life and tremendous supernatural powers, Celiane drew on the essence of the fiery crimson crystal only when absolutely necessary, and never for self-enrichment of any kind. Eventually, her indomitable spirit, her great empathy, and her gentle nature seeped into the very heart of the Dragon Stone, imbuing it with a consciousness… Nay, a Soul!
When Celiane had possession of the Dragon Stone, It was cleaved into two parts—The Dragon and The Wolf. Whoever received The Dragon would bear the qualities of unlimited strength, faithfulness, and determination, while The Wolf’s traits would manifest in a keen intellect, strong loyalty, and tremendous self-sacrifice. While the Dragon Stone exhibited two separate facets, so The Dragon and The Wolf developed a duality of temperaments. The Dragon demonstrated a tendency to brood, act rashly, and display a terrible temper, while The Wolf could be quite vicious, self-deprecating, and gullible.
Down through the ages, Celiane eventually passed from this world into the next of her own accord. She voluntarily surrendered her life-spirit and officially handed down the Dragon Stone to Its next owner—her longtime apprentice and goddaughter, a young witch by the name of Ejaenin. Ejaenin was the first-born of six daughters—sextuplets born and raised in the arts of magic and natural healing. The Fabiosa Sisters, as they were known far and wide, became highly esteemed and greatly respected, having come from such a rich and admirable culture and tradition.
But, then came the day when the Dragon Stone was stolen—inexplicably spirited away right before Ejaenin’s very own eyes!
The Dragon Stone’s abduction took place during the century in which a cursed Dragon Shifter by the name of Kirin, Son of Greynor and Godson to the Fabiosa Sisters, lived. At that time, those outside the Fabiosa Clan were unaware that the Dragon Stone’s continuous ownership and use—first by Celiane, and then by her goddaughter, Ejaenin—guaranteed that whoever wielded the power of the gem and united both halves, would hold a great responsibility to both worlds—the Kingdoms of the Mortals and the Magical Realm.
Both Celiane and Ejaenin understood the Dragon Stone Prophecy well… Anyone who assumed ownership of the crystal and used It for good would not only rule the predicted New Kingdom, they would receive an immortal life, and any lost family or unrequited love would be restored to them, as would any past loss suffered in the way of material goods, such as property, lands or titles. Anyone who forced The Wolf to consume Its better half and used the united stone for evil—to perform horrible and unspeakable acts, to destroy and conquer, to acquire wealth and power for the purpose of self-glorification—would, while they lived, control the New Kingdom. But, they would never find solace, never experience true love, and—in the end—never have had any kind of life worth living at all. Everything they sought to be theirs and theirs alone would seem to be granted to them in the short-term, but their despicable actions would finally bring themselves and everything else around them to utter ruin… including the Dragon Stone Itself. There would never again be anyone—male or female… Angelic or human… wizard or warrior… do-gooder or evil-doer—who would ever reclaim It. The mighty relic would simply waste away and turn to dust… as though It had never existed at all.
Ejaenin Fabiosa understood the immense power one would hold if ever the two halves of the Dragon Stone were to be united. Her reasoning was just and sound as she dubbed her Godson, Prince Kirin of Greynor, with The Dragon half of the stone at his naming ceremony. Ejaenin understood that only one half of the Dragon Stone could be contained in such a young heart, so she swore to grant the young prince the other half only when he became of proper age. Then, The Dragon would consume The Wolf and transfer to the prince the desired qualities he required to claim the Dragon Throne and complete his destiny. In the meantime, The Wolf half of the Dragon Stone remained asleep and bided Its time.
2
The Doe
The wind blew softly as the doe poked her head out of the tree line and sniffed the abutting meadow for any sign of danger. Her tawny forequarters quivered slightly as the cool scent of fresh grass and clover wafted past her nostrils, slid down her throat, and settled in her lungs. Exposure was a risk, but she thought only of sating her empty belly after spending the past day-and-a-half in the thicket tending to her newborn fawn. After a few mouthfuls of fodder, she would work her way along the edges of the meadow, toward the fresh mountain spring that burst forth from a small outcrop not far away, to catch a draught and soothe her parched throat. As an extra precaution—for deer were always precocious—she swiveled her eyes and ears round and round listening for any odd sound that would indicate something was out of the ordinary.
In the trees up above, birds chirped happily as they sang their lilting songs of praise to the morn. Frogs peeped and croaked as they called to their prospective mates to come hither and make love. A pair of fuzzy grey and brown rabbits played in the dry blades of grass, causing them to crick and crackle under their weight. All seemed clear of danger... Safe.
Crickety-Creak!
The deer sensed a presence! But when she bent her head back around her hindquarters, she saw nothing but the old oak tree standing sentinel at the edge of the clearing rustling its wide branches. Just to be on the safe side, she sniffed the air some more, looking for any sign that her fawn had followed her rather than take shelter... Nothing.
Finally, she felt at ease, for she had left him curled up in a little ball directly under the thickest part of thorny patch where even the most inquisitive of predators dared not enter. Still, the doe stuck her tongue out to taste the air before slowly and cautiously extending one foreleg after another to step out beyond the short hedge of purple heather circling the clearing. How nice it was to be in her forest home.
In the bright sunlight of the meadow, she held her head erect, allowing her huge brown eyes to focus. She searched the area as her ears continued to prick and tingle at every unfamiliar sound. A quick rustle and a motion near her left flank caused her to flinch, but it was just another silly rabbit seeking out his siblings. He took short leaps as he cautiously approached the deer—his nose and ears twitching as he cocked his head and honed in on the nearby location of his two prospective playmates. Finding them engaged in his favorite games, the rabbit hopped over and touched noses with the other two. Suddenly, the three were blazing their way across the meadow, tousling and tumbling all over each other as they took turns tagging and running… tagging and running… until they finally disappeared under a mulberry bush about twenty paces away.
The rabbits’ raucous play had liberated hundreds of dandelion wisps from the restraints of their stems. Taken up by the breeze and suspended throughout the entire meadow, the tiny winged seeds resembled a gathering of sunlit fairies dancing in the air. Some of the dandelion wisps stuck to the doe’s fur, adorning her in a layer of downy white feathers that softened the lines of her sleek tan coat and caused it to gleam in the sunlight. Rather than shake the fluffy wisps off, she kept still and perked her ears up as high as they would go. She suddenly felt so beautiful… Magical.
The doe strutted to the center of the meadow where the sweetest clover covered the ground in a carpet of purple and green. She lowered her head and wrapped her tongue around a tall clump of the greens, tasting the honey-sweet flowers and leaves with her nostrils even before they were securely tucked away in her mouth. Her hindquarters shuddered with delight and she enjoyed the spongy feel of the flowers and the snap of the leaves. She crunched them between her molars, and when she finally swallowed, her belly constricted in glee.
Whoosh!
A long, dark shadow passed by overhead. It disappeared as quickly as it came—even before the doe could react. It was the call of a raven that the doe responded to, and she paused to look up at the sun before scanning the meadow... Nothing. Again, she waited on full alert for a few long moments before she reached down to take another bite of the clover. But this time, the stems never met her tongue.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The doe struggled to fathom just what had happened as the ground suddenly lay far below… far beyond the reach of her four shiny black hooves. Nothing but blue sky and clouds cluttered her view of the peaceful green meadow and the dark forest beyond. As her shock abated and the numbness in her body drained away, she felt the pain begin to set in. Slowly, she realized her body was trapped in a vice-grip. She swung her head around to her torso. Her soft brown eyes grew wide when she saw them—two huge black claws wrapped securely around her core. Like daggers, the sharp black talons had pierced the bottom of her tender belly and the length of her backbone, allowing her entrails to spew out and stream across the sky like shiny red ribbons leaving a spattering trail of blood in their wake.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The great black wings beat rhythmically as the doe and her dark captor soared over her forest. Her head began to feel heavy as her life seeped away. She had seen her mother age throughout the years, going from a young vigorous doe to die the way all deer hope to go; to merely transcend this life and move on to the next… to die of old age. Her mother’s life had been drained from her slowly. This doe would not be granted the same mercy. Fleetingly, she thought of her day-old fawn… her proud little buck. He had already taken his first step and had his first meal. She hoped that he was still safely tucked away under the thorny bushes. She hoped the herd would find him. She hoped that another doe could adopt him… and that he would live. The doe had no such hope for herself. Her head sagged as she gave up on watching the leathery black wings beating against the sky. Her eyes closed of the own volition. She was so very, very tired...
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
The doe suddenly shrieked as the gleaming onyx claws retracted from her body and released their burden. The pain was almost too much to bear as she came fully awake only to realize she was falling… hurtling toward the ground. The air rushed by so quickly, she could not avail herself of a single precious breath to fill her searing lungs. For a fleeting moment, she felt herself drowning…
All went dark as the doe slammed onto the rocky ground with a sickening, bone-crushing Thump!
3
The Dragon
Kirin scowled as he strode past the broken main gate of his dilapidated castle, his body naked and gleaming with blood. He snatched a smelly old stained canvas from a hidden niche secreted in a small alcove near the entryway and quickly wrapped it around his lean, muscular form. He marched over to the well and drew a fresh bucket of water before he slogged it through the maze of hallways and corridors that led to his private chambers. He passed through several well-maintained rooms before stepping outside into a private courtyard overlooking the wild grey sea.
Kirin tossed the canvas aside and slowly poured half of the cold liquid over his head, back, and shoulders, allowing the clean water to remove the blood and bits of sinew that had stuck to his body while he carried home his prize. Next, he stuck his hands deep into the bucket and carefully scrubbed between his fingers and underneath his nails, making certain to wash away any traces of his recent kill. Still bare to the world, Kirin swiped up the bucket, marched outdoors, and dumped the bloodied water over the edge of the cliff before he shook the receptacle dry.
After a quick glance at the waves pounding the huge boulders at the foot of the cliff, Kirin returned to his personal chamber, set the bucket down on a side table, then rummaged through an armoire, selecting an appropriate set of rough clothing. He donned a simple grey tunic and a dark pair of trousers, clothes he could be comfortable in while he tended to the task at hand.
Before leaving his quarters, Kirin moved a stool over by the side of his bed and sat down. After pulling a pair of old suede boots onto his feet, he tilted his stool back against the chamber’s stone wall and stared at the body stretched prone upon his cot. “Tyriel,” he whispered softly, “I swear whoever did this to you will pay—and pay dearly.” As if in response, the mutilated Nephilim stirred. But, it was only for a moment. Tyriel winced in pain from the extent of his injuries and issued a slight moan before he once again succumbed to a restless state of unconsciousness. Kirin’s brows twisted with questions as he set the stool back down on its three legs and thought of the agony his dearest friend must have suffered, for he had found him in quite a dire state.
How could anyone be so cruel to do such a thing as… as THIS?! It is completely unimaginable!
Cautiously, Kirin peeled back the blanket covering Tyriel’s chest to check on his wounds, and he wondered how the Nephilim had managed to survive such horrific injuries. Kirin flinched as his eyes traced the long, jagged furrow that snaked its way downward, across the center of the Nephilim’s chest, ending just below his waistline. The incision was deep enough to cause severe pain and scarring, but enough restraint had been shown to ensure his organs would remain intact. Both of Tyriel’s sides had been similarly slit, along with two long cuts that ran parallel to his backbone and over his buttocks and thighs. Those were the mutilations that Kirin could recall as he had carefully attended to his friend’s injuries, but the young prince was more than certain that the damage done to Tyriel’s spirit had been much more significant. Kirin figured the blood loss alone should have caused death to the Nephilim since he had been cursed to live a corporal existence due to the circumstances of his birth. How is he still alive?! he wondered as he shook his head and grimaced. He took in the irony of how long—if ever—the wounds would take to heal and sneered as he replaced the blanket. At least they left you alive…Kirin noticed Tyriel shiver, but whether his response was a result of his pain, the dank air inside the ruined castle, or the young prince’s statement, he could not say. It is some small mercy that they finally left you to die, my friend.
