The Dragon’S Reign: Book 1 of the Dragon’S Prophecy Trilogy

By Rebekah Arthur

Born to fulfill a prophecy foreseen by the dragons themselves, Jakindra and Jaran struggle to learn their magical heritage and how to harness it. They must find within themselves the key to what they must do to fulfill their destinies with an imposing enemy bent on their destruction, bringing war to their kingdom and endangering the people of Zakiya. Even from a young age, the twins have to learn these things while trying to discover themselves and who they are meant to grow into with the threat not only of their own deaths but in the face of great loss.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469188096

Rebekah Arthur

Rebekah is an aspiring author who has written most of her life and has a trilogy in the works that have sprung to life from a series of dreams. She lives in Portland, OR with her loving and patient husband David, a young spirited son and two neurotic dogs

Book preview

CHAPTER I

Zakiya, the once feudal lands ruled by the powerful and awed Cristlyn family, was quiet for a beautiful, late spring day.

The palace of the kingdom, Dragonsoul Keep, was an enormous marble creation with an intricate, magically carved crystal dragon lying curled about its temple level. The courtyard beyond was large enough for nearly the entire mass of common folk that had gathered there. The whole of the masses was covered in an anticipatory hush.

Inside, the courtiers and servants alike were gathered in groups, silently waiting, for this was a long-awaited time for them all. None knew, however, just what would be brought forth into the world or the impact it would have on their lives. Had there been a recognized seer among the brightly colored collection of people, perhaps they would have been prepared. There had been no seer in a generation, however, and not even the F’daen mingled among the highborn could have guessed without one.

This would be the day; Magess just knew it. Today she would give her husband his long-awaited heir to the throne. Shifting in discomfort as another pain shot through her, she pursed her lips together to keep from crying out. Her light-brown eyes closed at the intensity. Her golden-blond hair was sweat soaked, plastered to her head as she lay upon the well-cushioned bed. The attendants bustled about her, yet she barely noticed. She strained against the labor pain and almost managed a smile at the triumph she had accomplished. She had lost two possible heirs within the fourth month of carrying them, but this one she managed to keep safe.

Milady, a soft feminine voice spoke and drew her back from her wanderings, and she looked over her bulging stomach to the voice’s owner. The robed woman was perched on the edge of the bed, watching her, her tan-skinned face set in a mask of calm as she smiled reassuringly. She was more than the high priestess of Dragonsoul; she was Magess’s dearest friend.

On a sharp intake of air, Magess managed to say, Jilaen.

Jilaen nodded and reached out to wipe her brow with a damp cloth; her tanned complexion was quite a contrast to Magess’s pale, ethereal beauty. It will be soon now. She made a slight motion of her hand, and another robed woman approached. Start the water heating, Jilaen told the woman. The woman moved away to do so. Jilaen then returned her full attention to the queen.

The heir shall be born today. Magess’s voice brought the attention of the attendants back to herself.

Jilaen wiped her forehead again. Yes, milady.

Jericho Cristlyn paced the outer chamber of the suite, his hands folded behind his back. The jade of his eyes snapped with a mixture of worry and impatience. He knew that as king, he should be more concerned with the fact that his heir would soon be born, yet he feared for his wife. He had been the one to console her through the previous losses even as he defended not taking a mistress to those on the council that had suggested it to make sure he had an heir. He had now been waiting some time as this labor seemed to be stretching into eternity. Dragon’s blood, Forrest! Should it take this long? he says, turning his attention to his single companion as he spoke.

The tall dark-skinned man who sat on one of the several cushioned chairs looked at his king with a hint of amusement. A man waiting for the birth of his first child could be a very humorous sight, especially if that man was a warrior known for his unending patience. Forrest shifted, and his pointed ears protruded through his curly black hair. The slenderness of him and the almond shape of his eyes spoke of his Elori blood, and his height and shoulder span spoke of his human blood. His people, the Elmans, had often been as ridiculed as the F’daen from whose blood the king was born. I am no expert in the matter, milord. My Rahala delivered each of my two children quickly. My son had been the harder of the two.

Jericho grew thoughtful, equating the difficulty of his own wife’s labor to the possibility of the birth producing a boy.

But I was told that the swiftness of both was unusual, Forrest continued almost teasingly as he leaned forward, and the metal buckles on his leather armor made a quiet sound. As the king’s personal guard, it was not wise to go unarmored, even on such an occasion as this. In fact, he was hyperaware of the room and everything about him, his body ready to defend at any moment despite the appearance of him being relaxed.

Jericho gazed at him with a look that made Forrest’s good humor give way to a sudden shudder. He trusted his king and would lay down his life for him, yet knowing that whether he cast the ways of his kind aside or not, he was still F’daen unnerved him. Though he did not hold as much mistrust for the F’daen as some did, he had seen what they could do firsthand, and it was nothing short of amazing, and it was something that he often wished he had never witnessed. That the king was also a well-honed and deadly swordsman only made him glad that they were such good friends. Jericho’s gaze often seemed as though it allowed him to see more than the mere skin of a man, and as many a man who came face-to-face with him learned, that was more than unsettling.

Catching the shudder, the king returned to pacing, murmuring almost to himself, I am a warrior and a king. I have seen men rise and fall. I have seen blood wash my lands and fought many foes to keep them. I have waited out enemies with a patience that most men envy, yet I cannot be patient now! He threw up his muscled arms in frustration.

Forrest felt compelled to reassure him and thought for a moment. Most men fall prey to impatience at this time, milord.

Jericho’s reply made the Elman remain wisely silent. I am not most men.

The king was right after all; in battle, he had been named the Dragon for his fierceness, his magical dragon-bone sword, and his long-lived patience. That he was descended from the powerful creatures of old just made the name more poignant.

The waiting grew into hours, and Forrest wondered if the king was going to wear down a path in the carpeted floor with his incessant pacing. A suggestion came to mind. Milord, perhaps we should walk in the gardens for a time?

Jericho paused and ran his sweating palms down the white velvet of his tunic, straightening the wrinkled material. Very well.

Forrest rose to his feet, adjusting the daggers hidden in their special sheaths, and the two of them walked from the chamber into the marble hall. The guard stationed at the door bowed deeply, but neither of them noticed.

The gardens were a thing of rare beauty. Magess had created them with a mixture of ultimate good taste and a gardener’s green touch. She cultivated it well, for it flourished no matter the season. That the attendants she chose for keeping it that way, when she herself could not, were blessed with F’daen magic was her and her husband’s little secret. She always insisted on tending them herself even while heavy with child, and Jericho had never found the heart to deny her. There was always a wash of colors and scents to please even the most finicky of noses. Fountains sat at odd intervals along the white stone path. Benches had been placed in such a way that even the ill or injured could take in the beauty and still rest so as not to wear themselves out. Birds sang out from the trees and bushes as a myriad of other creatures wandered about. Court children were often brought here to play and be taught about the beauty of nature in safety. The young pages that had a moment where someone wasn’t sending them somewhere often gathered to play at swords. On this day, however, there were few others in the gardens besides the pair. A slight but refreshing breeze cooled the spring heat. Booted feet echoed as the two men walked the path, yet none of the creatures fled from the all-too-familiar sound. Most of them were tame, creatures that Magess and those she had tend the gardens handled on a daily basis; the rest had come to find the safety so comforting that the presence of people could not make them leave.

I am glad that you chose to come here to our palace, Lord Lashan, the king said formally, clasping his hands behind his back. You had much to give up. Glancing at his friend, Jericho wondered if it had been a mistake to bring up the topic, especially when Forrest returned a stony silence. He had only said it to distract himself, for this birthing caused him much apprehension. There was something about it that prickled along his skin as his mage power did on the rare occasion he called it to life. Absently, he shifted the thick gold ring elegantly shaped to form a dragon on his right ring finger. The dragon ring marked him apart from most even further than his station did. Though he had thought to remove it a good many times, the ring had become like a part of him as they did with all F’daen, and he could not bring himself to do it.

Forrest balled his hand into a fist before he broke the silence, his eyes burning for a moment in memory. There was little for me in the Delvings, milord. The only thing that held me to it was Rahala.

Jericho commented offhandedly, It still must have been hard to leave your people.

Forrest looked at him in such anger that the king knew he had chosen the wrong words with his friend and comrade. My people no longer—not that they truly accepted me. Rahala is who kept them to hold their tongues. They feared her, awed her. His voice was strained with emotions—old anger and fresh pain. He longed to have her with him, and it pained him every time he thought on never being able to touch her again.

Your wife was a seer, the only one amongst your kind in the histories. She had knowledge even beyond the wisest Elori and also that rare, envied beauty.

Forrest snapped at the comment. "They are not my kind, milord! Then he bowed his head apologetically for his tone in the king’s presence. Rahala’s death after the birth of my son was no accident."

Jericho turned to look at him questioningly. This was something that he was not aware of, and there was very little that he did not make sure he was aware of.

’Tis true, milord. After she made the proclamation at court that Tarienan would follow in her power, the Swan of Kitar poisoned her. She was still weak from the birthing, and it took her swiftly before those that can heal there could stop it. Elori women rarely fared well when bearing children. The Elori people as a whole were not known for their constitution. Their slender frames and lifestyles, which focused more on enhancing their beauty than working to sturdy their health, left little time for physical chores. They left that to the humans they managed to capture and hold as servants in their tree castles. It would not take much to tip an Elori weakened into death’s embrace.

Jericho’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Truly? When Forrest nodded, he went on, Then I will take extra care in watching the Delvings from now on.

His voice gruff with anger, Forrest added, My sister and I fled here, for I had heard from Jathe Sunstar that you were a good man, and since good men are rare in the Delvings, I knew I must pledge myself elsewhere to be able to live with myself. Besides, I would not let my children grow up in a place where they would learn to poison any rivals.

Jericho nodded seriously at this bit of news. I offered my friendship to you because you are a loyal man, and true loyalty here, like goodness in the Delvings, is rare. Although there is animosity between us and your—the Elori, Jathe, had been accepted, and I felt that you would be too.

Forrest nodded. Andal has been accepted, if not hesitantly, by the guard, the Elman said with a tiny smile.

Jericho’s eyes flashed in amusement. The pain in his friend’s eyes was gone, and the mood had been lightened. I think your sister believes she will start a new tradition allowing women to become knights.

The comment was made lightly, but Forrest could see the contemplation in the king’s eyes. Andal had petitioned to be allowed to train women who seemed to have a talent for handling weapons and the endurance for the same training as the men had. He was still considering it.

Andal was a fighter in the Delvings and a good one at that. She led many of the battles against the Elori that tried to drive us from our homes after our people left the Elori Court. Despite my marriage to the king’s sister, we are considered despoiled with human blood. Forrest made a face at his own comment and waited for the sharp word from the king at the unkind image that word had brought to mind. Jericho merely nodded, clearly understanding that Forrest did not share that narrow view, so the Elman continued with a swell of pride, Not to mention that the land we were forced to make our own was wrought with the dangers of both animals and stray, wild magic. Despite her Elori blood that carries more than a bit of weight with the men. I know, I have spoken to many of them. The pride was both for his sister’s accomplishments and the fact that the guard had come to trust him enough to voice their true feelings whether it be while training or while rolling dice and sharing a drink after a hard day. Though the rank of archery master wasn’t as prestigious as the rank of second in command of the guard that Andal had managed to achieve, Forrest had proven himself to the knights and was highly respected by them.

Speaking of the guard, Jericho spoke as he continued walking. Forrest kept pace with him as they moved around the path to start back toward the palace. I heard there was a disruption.

Forrest cleared his throat and returned to the formality due the subject. Disruptions were never appreciated in the king’s elite, but in this case, it was worth looking into.

Yes, milord, Captain Talian was introduced to a young whirlwind. He bested five of the soon-to-be knights after they had threatened a younger student and tried to teach him not to let his sword slip again.

Jericho reached up and smoothed down his brown beard. Really? And who is this ‘whirlwind’?

He is Lady Shalfeth’s firstborn.

Shalfeth? Jericho questioned, trying to place the name to a face.

Forrest offered, The widow of Laven Silvershield.

Oh, yes, Jericho said with an enthusiasm that told his companion that he did not remember. Forrest held his peace. Lord Silvershield, despite being one of the king’s friends as a youth and fostered in the same hold for a time, had kept mostly to himself after the battle that had killed Jericho’s father. His marriage to Lady Learialle Shalfeth had bought the ownership of the island he held for the past and present king.

Pray tell me, have you seen this boy? Jericho asked.

Aye, milord, I have. Forrest noted as he spoke that they had finished the circuit and now stood once again at the door that led into the palace. He is fifteen winters, and I saw him when Talian asked me to attend a private training session. He is good, milord, easily as good as a year-pledged knight, he admitted.

Indeed? Well, perhaps I shall need to look this lad over myself, Jericho said over his shoulder as he started back toward his chamber. Forrest took a few hurried steps to regain his side. His name? Jericho asked.

Forrest nodded slightly to the guard, who quickly opened the door as they approached the royal suite. Stormer. Andal has told me that he intends to prove his loyalty to the crown sometime soon if given the chance and that she would endorse him in such.

Jericho gained a thoughtful expression. Then I will have the boy watched, and I may just train him myself.

Forrest looked at him in silent amazement. That the king would consider training a youth not of his family personally would make only the second time that Forrest knew of. The first had been Forrest himself, and he wore that honor with pride. They headed back into the palace and were greeted by a young boy who looked as if he had been sent to meet them. His hair was disheveled, and he was wearing practice armor that told them that he was fresh from the training grounds and not one of the normal pages that were often sent to do such chores.

Yes? Forrest asked the boy.

Jericho raised his eyebrow, and he tensed to sprint, depending on what the youth had to say. His mind was swimming with the possibilities: had he missed the birth? Had something gone wrong? He had to keep himself from reaching out and strangling the boy as he continued to hesitate, clearly caught up in being in the presence of the king for the first time.

Speak, boy, Forrest demanded, and the boy jumped.

Swallowing hard, the boy spoke, his voice cracking until he cleared it, The captain asked me to seek you out, Majesty. The guard at the door said you went to the gardens, so I came to find you.

Did he say why? Jericho asked, relaxing his stance a bit, knowing that he had not missed anything important during his walk.

The boy nodded. Twofold, Majesty. One is an urgent petition to start advanced training with a student.

Jericho glanced at Forrest. Advanced training was only meant for the pledged knights who were ready for battle. Talian was thorough in his training and had never, in the many years he had been captain, pledged a student that he did not think was ready to survive anything that could be thrown at them. That he was petitioning to start a student in such dangerous training was startling. Who is this student?

Forrest did not let the boy answer. Stormer.

The boy looked at him wide-eyed. Yes, sir.

Then I truly must meet and see this young man for myself. Jericho was more invested with his knights than some kings had been; he tended to speak to each knight personally when they were knighted.

And the other reason? Forrest asked.

The boy cleared his throat again. He wanted to know if there was any news.

Jericho almost laughed at the strange tone in the boy’s voice. Tell the captain that he will know when I do, then return to my chamber’s outer door with the guard there so that when there is any news to be given, you can give it to the captain.

Almost tripping over himself, the youth bowed, the buckles of his practice leathers clicking as he did so, and off he went. The two men each gave a small chuckle and headed down the hall toward the royal chamber.

Back within the suite, Jericho’s skin itched with the pull of his mage blood as he waited. It was highly bothersome, and the frown upon his bearded face attested to the fact. They had talked further of the apparent skill of the young man Stormer; the more he discovered, the more they both were compelled to work with this youth themselves. A young man who had defended another trainee from behavior that should not be tolerated was something to look at. That he had made sure that those who had misbehaved were clear that they should not have done so made him worth seriously watching. Thinking on it was a welcome distraction. He tried to push aside the questions floating through his mind about this birthing and the strange sensations he was feeling. Being F’daen had brought him much difficulty in his life from when his powers had awoken at seven winters old to the time he had been crowned high king. F’daen were feared throughout the land for their abilities and ridiculed for hanging on to the old myths and language that thrived in the time of dragons. In that time, dragons were accepted though feared for their grandeur and deadly forms as well as their ability to wield a magic that no other could. The common folk who feared the dragons, those that had seen the battles that the more instinctual dragons had fought, were vocal in their fear of them. The ones that had fallen for the tricks the wise dragons cast upon them as lesser beings taught their children to fear them too. Their children, in turn, taught future generations until the only ones holding to the mystical ways of the dragons were the F’daen. The stories endured