Son of the Dragon (The Netherworld Gate Book 3)
Read Son of the Dragon (The Netherworld Gate Book 3) Online
Authors: Sam Ferguson
The Netherworld Gate Book Three:
Son of the Dragon
By
Sam Ferguson
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
The Netherworld Gate
Book Three:
Son of the Dragon
Copyright © 2016 by Sam Ferguson
Published by Dragon Scale Publishing
All Rights Reserved
For RF
Talon sat on his bed, bits of straw poking through the sheets and digging into his bare, dirt-streaked calves. In his hands he held a pair of wooden dolls, wolves that his father had carved for him for his fifth birthday. He wasn’t really playing with them so much as staring at the figurines and holding them tightly in his fingers. It did little to lessen the pain, however.
Talon dropped onto his back, then rolled to his side facing the wall and brought his knees up to his chest. His head rested on a wadded up pair of trousers that had belonged to his father. A few inches in front of Talon’s nose was a journal that his father had drawn sketches in. Still, no matter how many things he surrounded himself with, he couldn’t bridge the gap between him and his father now.
A low, wailing squeak announced his mother’s return. The door to the house closed softly, and then the metallic scraping of the chain sliding into place sealed them off from the outside world. In the moment the door had opened, a chilling draft had wormed its way into the house and swirled around Talon’s knees, giving birth to hundreds of prickly goose-bumps.
“A few more families left today,” Talon’s mother said.
“Cowards,” Talon muttered under his breath. He hadn’t meant for the words to be heard, but his mother had exceptionally good hearing.
“It isn’t easy living in the borderlands,” Talon’s mother said, defending those who had left. “With bands of orcs still roving the foothills, there are many who feel it would be smarter to move further inland, where there are walled cities and…” her words trailed off.
Talon knew what she had been about to say. Walls and patrols. As Talon’s father had been the captain of the guard in their village, the words had obviously gotten stuck in Talon’s mother’s throat. Talon stared at the wall. He clenched his fists, squeezing the wooden toys in his hands and silently cursing the others. Every family that left was another insult to his father. It was as if the village was giving up on everything Talon’s father had worked so hard to protect. They made a mockery of his life.
“Perhaps we should go with them,” Talon’s mother whispered.
Talon shot up from his bed and his bare feet slapped onto the wooden floor. “No!” he shouted as his mother set an armload of firewood next to the hearth. “I am not leaving my home. I am not leaving my father!”
Talon’s mother stopped and closed her eyes as she sighed and shook her head. She dusted her hands on the front of her pale, faded green dress, and then turned to Talon with a tender smile and a nod. “Very well, what should we do?”
Talon shook his head, his face reddening as he fumbled for the words he wanted to say. He let out an exasperated snarl and then turned with his arms folded.
His mother walked over and scooped seven-year-old Talon up into her warm arms. Talon struggled at first, wrestling against her, but soon she had him turned and facing her. The smell of lavender from her hair wafted into his nose and despite his struggling, he felt comfortable and safe, though he would never have admitted it to her at that age.
“Put me down, I am a big boy,” Talon fumed.
His mother smiled wide. “And a stubborn one at that,” she said. “One day you might miss my hugs, you know.”
Talon shook his head, but he stopped resisting her. Finally, his eyes caught sight of a small, red leather book on a wooden stool. That was it. That was his answer. “You always said that Basei would favor the brave, did you mean it?”
Talon’s mother glanced back toward the book and then nodded as she set Talon back on his feet. “I did,” she said. “I didn’t realize you had been paying attention.”
Talon shrugged. “Even father listened when you read from the book of sermons. He said that the Old Gods were the proper deities to worship—”
“But that Basei would be a fitting substitute until they returned,” Talon’s mother finished with a knowing smile. “Yes, I heard him say that often. I wasn’t sure he ever wholly approved of my worshipping a demi-god, but he let me do as I saw fit when it came to religion.”
“So, then Basei will protect us if we stay,” Talon said definitively. “He has to. Father said he was good. You have always taught that he blesses the brave. We are brave if we stay even when others flee, right, momma?”
Talon’s mother nodded. “That is right. We are so very brave,” she said as she bent down and tussled Talon’s hair.
“And Father was bravest of all, being captain of the guard, right?”
Again, Talon’s mother nodded, though this time she had to choke back the tears welling in her eyes. “He will protect us,” she promised. “Basei will watch over our family. He will honor your father, and he will protect us for our courage.”
Talon moved to the book and picked it up. “Then, let’s offer him a sacrifice,” he said. “You said the truly devout offer sacrifice and not only prayers.”
Talon’s mother frowned and rocked back onto her heels before standing up fully. “It is getting late,” she said. “It will be dark soon. Let’s go at first light.”
Talon nodded. “Alright, I suppose one more night will be fine, but we must use our best goat!” Talon pointed to the book and had an incredibly stern look upon his face. “We can only use the best,” he insisted.
His mother nodded and then settled him back onto his bed. Talon spent the night looking at each of the pages in the red book. He couldn’t read yet, but he could inspect the pictures and diagrams inside. He knew the contents well enough, since his mother had often read from the book before bed.
After Talon ate his soup, he fell asleep with the red book open upon his chest.
The next morning, he was woken gently by his mother shaking his shoulder. Remembering what they had said they would do, he quickly jumped out of bed and put on his best clothes. Black trousers and a red, linen shirt that his father had purchased for him from a traveling merchant. The two of them used a small length of rope to guide a black goat out to the shrine.
The boy could hardly contain his excitement. He pulled the goat eagerly, quickening pace several times. Each time, his mother would reach out and put a hand on his shoulder.
“The shrine will not leave,” she said. “We should show reverence as we approach. The priest will see us coming, and he will not approve if we are irreverent.”
The two walked up a well-worn dirt path that led them to the crest of a grassy hill. Two braziers of iron held large fires on either side of the opening to the shrine. Great, corrugated columns rose up to support a flat slab of stone that formed the roof. A large, brass figure of a sword was fastened to the front of the slab, with the blade pointing down to the ground below. The building itself was perhaps only twenty feet wide, and forty feet long. As the sun was rising off behind the shrine, the open doorway was darkened, casting an impenetrable shadow in the shrine itself.
From the darkness stepped a man in red robes. His white beard waved gently with each step as he descended the stairs and approached them soberly. The toes of his boots would stick out from the robes only slightly as he stepped forward. Talon looked up to the man and then glanced back to the goat.
The priest inspected the offering and then finally nodded. “Welcome to the shrine of Basei. Tell me boy, what blessing do you seek from the Father of Battle?”
Talon looked to his mother, and then turned back to the old priest. “I have come to ask his protection for our village,” Talon said.
The priest did not smile. He stood there a moment, staring down at Talon with brown eyes as one of his gray brows arched up. The priest narrowed his eyes. “And are you willing to protect the village?” the priest asked. “For Basei will not do the fighting for you.”
Talon stood firm. “I have my father’s sword,” he replied. “I will use it if the orcs come. I only ask that Basei help me fight them.”
At this, the priest smiled and let out a short chuckle. “Then, come inside. Basei accepts your offering. As his priest, his emissary to this plane, I promise you that his strength will bolster yours. Basei is well pleased in you. That is certain.”
Talon beamed with pride and looked to his mother. She smiled back at him and then motioned for him to follow the priest. The three of them went into the shrine. Once inside, Talon’s eyes adjusted to the dim light of candelabras and saw the stone image of Basei. He was a great, heavily muscled god posed standing with a massive sword planted directly in front of his feet, with his hands resting on the pommel. He wore a mask adorned with spikes. His belt buckle was nearly the size of a large shield. Talon suddenly felt very small.
While Talon studied the statue, the priest busily placed dried wood onto the stone altar and neatly arranged the pieces so they held themselves in place. When he was finished, the priest said something that Talon didn’t notice, and then the man took the goat. He bent down and bound the goat’s feet together, wrestling it and pinning it down on its side when it tried to struggle away from him. The priest placed the animal on its side atop the altar. The goat bleated and jerked its head, disturbing some of the wood. Talon balked when the priest slapped the animal across the face and disoriented it before binding its neck and hooking the rope onto an iron ring on the side of the altar. Last, the priest took one more rope, tying one end to the bound legs, and the other to another iron ring on the opposite side of the altar. The animal bleated and its eyes went wide with terror as it was stretched awkwardly over the altar. The priest then circled around and faced the statue of Basei.
“Basei, oh mighty Father of Battle and Giver of Fire, receive this offering from your faithful followers. Grant them strength, as they have displayed their courage and loyalty to you.”
Talon watched as the priest took a knife of obsidian and plunged it into the goat’s heart. The animal bleated once, its neck stretching out and its legs twitching. Then it fell silent to the stone. The priest then pulled a gold-handled razor from his belt and slit the animal’s neck. Blood ran over the stone altar, collecting along the edges in shallow troughs that were designed to channel the blood towards the front of the altar where it flowed to the floor through decorative grooves that had been carved down the front face of the altar. As the carved design slowly filled with the goat’s blood, an ancient rune stood out scarlet, morbidly holding Talon’s attention as the blood flowed through the lines and then pooled in a broad, shallow collection basin at the foot of the altar.
The priest then poured oil over the animal and set fire to it. The smoke rose up thick and black as the flames grew into the air and stretched nearly to the ceiling before dying down to a more moderate height. Talon watched the animal burn, its hair melting rapidly and the skin bubbling just before the fire consumed it.
The priest then turned and ushered the two out of the shrine while the sacrifice burned.
“Basei welcomes your sacrifice, and all will be well,” the priest told Talon.
Talon smiled and his mother bowed her head reverently.
“Thank you,” she said as she held out an offering of three copper pieces.
“And my thanks to you,” the priest said as he took the coins. The old man then looked down to Talon once more and smiled widely. “Basei will be proud of you, I promise,” he said. “You keep growing up like your father, and you will be a mighty warrior.”
“You can see that?” Talon asked.
The priest nodded. “Basei has shown me how he will bless you.” The priest held up a finger. “Remember to be faithful!”
Talon bowed his head. “I will,” he promised.
The two of them returned home, Talon often looking back to the receding shrine until it shrank from view behind the bulk of the grassy hill. The rest of the day, Talon spent his time going through the red book again. As he slipped into his bed later that night, he had no idea that his life was about to change forever.
Talon woke to the sounds of screams. Soon after, he could hear the warning bell chiming in the distance. He jumped out of bed and saw his mother bolting the door and sliding a chair up under the handle.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Orcs!” Talon’s mother shouted. “Shutters, now!”
Talon turned and grabbed the heavy shutters, pulling them into place and locking them from inside. He moved on to the second window and then he saw them. There were maybe fifty or sixty warriors running through the field in front of Talon’s house. The Nibberbacher’s house was ablaze, and bodies were strewn upon the ground in front of it. A pair of men that Talon couldn’t recognize were embattled with some orcs, but the large, greenish brutes put the men down in seconds.
Talon moved to grab the shutters, but he felt something under his knee. He looked down and saw the red leather book and remembered the promise he had made to the priest the day before. Talon turned and jumped from his bed. He ignored his mother’s shouts as he took his father’s sword and rushed for the back door.
“Talon, no!”
“I have to fight!” Talon said. “I can do this.”
Talon opened the door and took two steps out onto the grass before stopping. A large, gray-skinned orc stood with his back to Talon. He wore thick, leather breeches, but was bare-chested. His wide shoulders heaved up and down and he held a wicked sword in his right hand, dripping with blood. At his feet lay Stenkar, one of the warriors that had not left the village after Talon’s father’s death.
