Dragon Mage (The First Dragon Rider Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Part II

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Part III

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Dragon Mage

  The First Dragon Rider Book Three

  Ava Richardson

  Contents

  The First Dragon Rider Trilogy

  Dragon Mage

  Blurb

  Mailing List

  I. End of an Era

  1. Neill, the Purple & Green

  2. Char, Uneasy

  3. Neill, Sure

  4. Char, Flight Command

  5. Neill, Dragon Rider

  6. Neill, Mourning

  7. Neill, Returning

  II. New Troubles

  8. Char, Troubles & Tidings

  9. Neill, Jodreth, & Darker News

  10. Char, Concerned

  11. Neill, Hopeless

  12. Neill Shaar-Torvald

  13. Char, the Problem of Magic

  14. Neill, and the Dark Prince

  15. Neill, the Offer

  III. Battle for the Future

  16. Char, and Rampart

  17. Neill, and Rampart

  18. Char, Waking Up

  19. Neill, Who Leads?

  20. Neill, Front and Foremost

  21. Neill, and the Darkening

  22. Char, Flying

  23. Neill, the Confrontation

  24. Neill, the Greatest Challenge Yet

  Epilogue

  End of Dragon Mage

  Thank you!

  Sneak Peak

  The First Dragon Rider Trilogy

  Dragon God

  Dragon Dreams

  Dragon Mage

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  RELAY PUBLISHING EDITION, NOVEMBER 2017

  Copyright © 2017 Relay Publishing Ltd.

  All rights reserved. Published in the United Kingdom by Relay Publishing. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design by Joemel Requeza

  www.relaypub.com

  Blurb

  To unite a fractured kingdom, a reluctant hero must rise.

  Neill has been charged with the impossible task of bringing the Middle Kingdom together to fight the burgeoning threat posed by the rogue sorcerer Ansall and his dragon Zaxx. Neill longs for his old life as a mere foot soldier for his father responsible only for his family’s wellbeing, and is unsure about whether he is fit to lead an army. Neill’s contemplative nature forces him to consider every aspect of the problems he faces, but often makes it difficult for him to take action—and failure to act could mean the deaths of many.

  Now, echoing Char and their dragon Paxala, his duty beckons him to lead the Dragon Riders—and take his rightful place as king—but with doubt and new enemies creeping in, his resolve will be tested. When the mysterious Dark Prince arrives with an offer, Neill will have to make a decision that could change the course of history.

  As Ansall grows in strength by harnessing black magic, Neill must choose between his own desires and the welfare of the entire kingdom. Can he rise to the challenge before it’s too late?

  Mailing List

  Thank you for purchasing ‘Dragon Mage’

  (The First Dragon Rider Book Three)

  I would like to thank you for purchasing this book. If you would like to hear more about what I am up to, or continue to follow the stories set in this world with these characters—then please take a look at:

  AvaRichardsonBooks.com

  You can also find me on me on Facebook and my Homepage.

  Or sign up to my mailing list:

  SIGN UP HERE

  Part I

  End of an Era

  Chapter 1

  Neill, the Purple & Green

  I watched as the small blot on the landscape became a figure on a horse, moving fast, and surrounded by its own trail of flying dust and scattering rocks. The wall scouts atop the Draconis Monastery where I now stood had seen the shape not a quarter of a watch ago, and summoned me, of all people, to make a decision about it.

  “Do we let them in?” muttered Lila Penn at my side, screwing her eyes against the sun’s high glare. She had grown both in height and stature it seemed to me. Or maybe it was that the yoke of the old Draconis Order had been thrown from her shoulders, and she could stand tall, no longer burdened with the cruelties thrown at her because of her skin color, her gender, and her pirate heritage.

  Gone were the heavy, cumbersome black robes of the Order, and gone the silly cloth and leather sandals that had done nothing to protect the feet from the chills of the towering Mount Hammal. Instead, Lila, like myself and all the other students who still lived here at the monastery, had reverted to donning part-robes and far-sturdier attire that we were all more used to. Lila wore the leather cuirass that she had arrived at the monastery with, along with her bright orange headband, and her boots were now the reinforced, inter-woven leather greaves that most of us wore.

  “I’ve got him,” Lila murmured, sighting down the short bow that she held straight towards the rushing figure.

  “No, wait a minute, Lila – let’s just see what he has to say, first, right?” I said uneasily.

  It has been a little more than a moon’s cycle since we had taken the monastery from the Abbot Ansall and the others of his ilk. The old ways of the Draconis Order were upturned and thrown over, and everything was still in chaos behind us.

  The wall that had collapsed on the Golden Bull Zaxx was still down, though we had managed to convince one of the Great Whites to shift and nose the masonry blocks into a rough and disheveled embankment where the wall had once stood. The tunnel through which the Golden Bull had wormed his way into and escaped was still a visible sink hole on the other side, and every time I caught sight of it I shuddered.

  Another thing to worry about, I thought, my anxiety only increasing as I watched the rider.

  “He could be anyone. From anywhere. It could be the Abbot, come back to try and mesmerize and curse us again…” Lila growled. “Don’t forget what happened to Dragon Trainer Feodor,” Lila almost spat, keeping her bow string taut.

  “Lila!” I admonished her. How could I forget the terrible sight of Feodor – one of the few actual dragon monks here aside from Jodreth whom I actually liked and could call a friend— fried to a crisp by the Abbot, all for having the temerity to defy him. Burying Feodor had been one of my first priorities, and the ceremony had been short, awkward, and grey.

  This is not the sort of future I want for this place, I thought. So far, all that it had been were worries and funerals and then more arguments between the remnants of the ‘true’ Draconis Order monks who had stayed behind, and us students who were trying to work out just what on earth we were doing.<
br />
  The Draconis Monastery still stood, in part (despite the dragon’s constant smashing of roof tiles and gouging of rock as they soared and perched on the walls to investigate) – but the Draconis Order was no more. With the disappearance of the Abbot Ansall and his most-loyal followers, the older monks left here had wandered in a sort of daze for the first week or so. I could see each of them asking themselves and each other the same questions every time that they saw each other: What do we do? What are we supposed to do? Why are we here at all, if not to control the dragons?

  I couldn’t give them the answers, and so instead I tried to remember what I could of being a Son of Torvald and help by being a leader, a warrior. Of all of the students here I probably had the most strategic experience, thanks to my father’s tutelage.

  Which was why Lila had called me, here and now, to deal with this fast-approaching rider.

  “We haven’t had anyone visiting the monastery since…” I said under my breath, my heart hammering as the figure approached. It felt in my heart that it wasn’t just one person on a horse, but a storm…

  “I know we haven’t. It could be anyone – it could be a message from Prince Vincent, from Char’s father the Northern Prince, or even from Ansall himself!” Lila said at my side, as two more of our ad-hoc wall guards appeared – the tall and broad Terrence, student son of Prince Griffith the King-Prince of the South and, surprisingly, Dorf Lesser, my generously framed friend and one-time room-mate. They each carried short swords and spears – with Terrence looking as regal and as comfortable as his father, and Dorf looking slightly ridiculous in the helmet that didn’t fit, and an oversized shield strapped to his back that made him look a little like a turtle.

  “Terrence,” I nodded, greeting the student who had once been my rival. Like Lila, the nobleman’s son had changed in just the short month since the wall fell. When he had seen the Abbot’s complete perfidy and lack of respect for the students, Terrence became quieter and less disruptive, and ready to accept our new way of working with the dragons.

  “Torvald,” Terrence nodded back– still managing to inflect just a little bit of that sarcasm he always had when referring to my lowly warlord’s family – not even a noble – but he grinned in the next breath, showing that he had accepted that he had to deal with a ‘commoner’ like me, Dorf, Lila and the others.

  “Who is it?” asked Dorf, his usually round eyes squinting. “Do you think that it’s from the Dark Prince?”

  I shrugged. It would make sense, though. The Draconis Order stretched across all three kingdoms, of course - but the monastery sat squarely in the middle of Prince Vincent’s Middle Kingdom. We were too close and too dangerous for him to leave alone.

  There was a flash of color from the rider below, and I heard a sharp intake of breath from Lila. I spun, dreading to see the sure-sighted arrow of Lila Penn arcing ahead of me through the air, but found that I was looking at something else entirely.

  The messenger was still riding, but he held out one hand, and from it he clutched a large cloth in the traditional colors of purple and green.

  “Don’t shoot the messenger,” I said urgently. “Those are Torvald colors!”

  Chapter 2

  Char, Uneasy

  “Neill? Neill – what is it?” I called, still scraping my hair back into its warrior’s bun as I jogged into the Grand Hall. One of the old Draconis Order monks had stayed behind after Ansall left and had come to find me out by the dragon crater, where I had been working with Paxala.

  “Miss Char? You’ll want to be a part of this, I think…” was all that the old man had said, before hurrying me back to the semi-ruined monastery, jogging behind me on his surprisingly spritely old legs.

  Maybe he’s so healthy because we’ve lifted the food bans at the monastery, I thought to myself as I jogged. Where before both the monks and the students had been constrained to a diet largely of porridge, gruel, breads, cheeses, and crushed grains – one of the first things Neill and I had decided was to start using some of the store that the monastery had been stockpiling for so long. Salted and cured meats. Dried and fresh fruit. Joints and saddles of meats, a plethora of vegetables available from the little market town at the base of the mountain, plus whatever Nan Barrow could grow in the Kitchen Gardens.

  We were trying our best to make the monastery work – only not as a monastery anymore. But we didn’t know what it was that we were becoming, until we heard what the Torvald messenger had to say.

  “Char,” Neill said when he saw me, a look of relief easing the furrows of his brow. He stood at the far end of the room in front of the massive fireplaces (where previously the Abbot, the ill-fated Greer, or Olan would lecture at us), and at the side of one of the fires sat a large man with wild red and orange hair, dressed in soft brown leathers and hides. All around them perched others of our unofficial ‘council’ of sorts: Terrence, Lila, Sigrid, and even Jodreth (still limping from his long-ago battle with the Abbot).

  Jodreth himself looked haggard and tired as he rubbed the knuckles on his hands. Even though the monastery had been ‘delivered’ from our persecutor the Abbot Ansall, I still had barely seen Jodreth, the only fully-ordained Draconis Order Dragon Mage, a couple of time in four weeks. He was always disappearing and returning on mysterious missions, returning each time ever more worried and wan.

  “What is it?” I asked again, slowing as the messenger looked up to regard me over his flagon of monastery-brewed light wine and a hunk of cheese almost the size of his fist.

  “Char? This is Rudie. He’s the Chief Scout for my father’s forces,” Neill said.

  “Oh,” I said with a gulp. Did that mean that the warlike Sons of Torvald weren’t going to be far behind? When they had attacked almost a year ago, the monastery had only managed to fight them off because Neill had taken to the skies on my dragon-sister Paxala, the Crimson Red, and I had been involved in the magical onslaught of the Torvald forces, as directed by the megalomaniac Abbot Ansall.

  And now that the walls were half down, and we had only a fraction of the defenses we had back then, I thought in horror, we could never hope to hold off a concerted siege by such fearsome and trained armies as the Sons of Torvald! Even with the Great Whites and the other dragons – both Neill and I were wary about petitioning them to work for us in shifting the stones and the rubble. We wanted to build a relationship with them, and not for them to view us as the ‘new masters.’ Even with the dragon’s tentative friendship, I still didn’t know how the “free” dragons of the crater would react to being called into battle so soon after overthrowing their old bull. Paxala would fight with us, of course, (she would fight with me, I meant) but would any of the other dragons follow her?

  Neill, I could see, shared my apprehensions as he looked at me with wide eyes, but he nodded for Rudie to begin his tale as I took a seat.

  “I came to you, Neill, because your father asked me to,” Rudie said heavily, keeping a steady gaze upon Neill as he munched on his cheese. This Rudie looked like a hunter, to my mountain-people eyes. He had that same, silent, and one-pointed awareness that I had come to associate only with hunters, wolves, and birds of prey.

  “My father…” Neill murmured, his look far away.

  “Yes,” the Chief Scout called Rudie said. “He is still badly hurt. That arrow that he took in his leg, and whatever poisons that little worm Healer Garrett was giving him have turned him into half the man that he was,” Rudie growled in his deep voice.

  “Garrett,” Neill said, and saw him bunch his fists at his side. I knew now (thanks to Neill) that their Clan Healer Garrett, along with most of the healers and scribes throughout the Three Kingdoms, had been trained here at the monastery, supervised by Ansall himself, and so the Abbot had managed to seed the world with his fanatics, spies who spread lies and gathered information. It was one of the reasons he and the Draconis Order had become so powerful.

  “Yes. But you don’t need to worry about the healer. Your brothers saw to that.” Ru
die let the implication lie, and Neill nodded that he understood what the Chief Scout meant.

  “But your father is a shadow of the man that he was, and now that the Blood Baron is back…” The scout looked at Neill with beetled brows of concern.

  “The Blood Baron?” Dorf said. “Who is he? He certainly doesn’t sound like a nice fellow!”

  “He’s not,” Neill said. “My father and my older brothers defeated him, but it looks like he had managed to get out of whatever prison Prince Vincent had him in. He was vile, thinking that he might be able to carve out his own miniature kingdom all for himself and his men. He captured villages and towns along the Eastern Marches and demanded that the people paid him twice the tax they had paid Prince Vincent,” Neill said. “It was my father’s job to protect the marches, but Prince Vincent wouldn’t spend a drop of money on helping his campaign…”

  “Yes.” Rudie nodded. “And we thought your father had vanquished the Blood Baron on his own, and for good, until not three days ago the villages of Limsfoot and Endmow were all razed to the ground, with the baron’s sign left at the gates.”