Read Online The Rise and Fall of a Dragon King by Lynn Abbey - Free Book Online
Authors: Lynn Abbey
Tags: SF
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coming and swatted me
down. I was laid out on the damp ground, staring at the sky with a sore head, a busted lip, and tears
leaking out my eyes. A score of strangers laughed. When I tried to stand, someone planted a foot on my
chest.
He'd've been wiser to kick me senseless: I still had my rock and put it to good use.
The man went down, and I got up, trying to connect what I saw with what I remembered. I
remembered trolls, but the drunken sods were human. They'd been guzzling Deche wine, keeping warm
around a fire built from chairs, tables, and doors. Carnage was everywhere: hacked apart bodies, bodies
with their faces torn off. Bugs were already crawling, and the stench—
The sods didn't notice, or didn't care, but I'd never smelt violent death before. I gaped like an
erdlu hatchling and coughed up acid from my gut.
"You from around here, boy?"
I turned toward the voice—
And saw what the trolls had done to her, to my Dorean. Dead or alive, they'd torn away her
wedding gown and bound her to the post beside the village well. Her face was gone, her breasts, too;
she was clothed in blood and viscera. I recognized her by her long, black hair, the yellow flowers in it,
and the unborn child whose cord they'd tied around her neck.
A scream was born in my heart and died there. I couldn't move, not even to turn away or fall.
"What's your name, boy?" another sod demanded.
My mind was empty; I didn't know.
"Can't talk. Doesn't know his name. Must be the village loon."
"Hungry, loon?"
Another voice, maybe a new one, maybe not. I heard the words as if they came from a great
distance. A warm, moist clod struck my arm and landed in the dirt at my feet. My mind said stew-pot
meat, but my heart said something else. More clods came my way, more laughter, too. I began to shiver
uncontrollably.
"Clamp your maws!" a woman interrupted sharply.
Hard hands grasped my shoulders and spun me around. I lost my balance and leaned against the
woman—the best of a sorry lot of humanity—I'd attacked with the rock. She was shorter than I, but
numb and hopeless, I needed her strength.
"Dolts! Can't you guess? This was his village, his folk—"
"Why ain't he strung-out dead, like the rest of them?"
"He's the loon—"
"He ran off. Turned his yellow tail and ran."
I stiffened with rage, but the woman held me tight. Her eyes told me to be quiet.
"He got conked, that's what," she said, defending me.
Her hand brushed my hair. It was a gentle touch, but it awakened the pain both in my skull and in
my heart. I flinched away with a gasp.
"Clipped him hard. He's lucky he's not dead or blind."
Lucky—the very last word I would have chosen, but it broke the spell that had bound my voice.
"My name is Manu," I told them. "This place was called Deche. It was my home until the trolls
came this morning. Who are you? Why are you here? Why do you eat with the dead?"
I knew who they were by then. There was, truly, only one possibility: These were the soldiers of
the Troll-Scorcher's army. They'd pursued their enemy—my enemy—back to the Kreegills.
"Where are the trolls? Have you avenged our deaths?"
There were more hoots and wails of laughter until an otherwise silent yellow-haired man got to his
feet. The mockery died, but looking into this veteran's cold, hard eyes, I was not reassured.
"You ain't dead yet, farm boy, 'less you're tryin' to get yourself killed w' fancy words."
He had the air of leadership about him, just as my grandfather had had. The woman beside me
had gone soft with fear. His stare lashed me like a whip. I was expected to fear him, too. And I did. I'd
measured myself against the Troll-Scorcher's soldiers and knew myself to be less than the least of them in
every way save one: I was cleverer. I could see them for what they were. They scorned me, so I stood
tall. They mocked my speech, so I chose my words with extra care.
"I'll speak plainly: We farmers are told the-Troll-Scorcher's army swears an
down. I was laid out on the damp ground, staring at the sky with a sore head, a busted lip, and tears
leaking out my eyes. A score of strangers laughed. When I tried to stand, someone planted a foot on my
chest.
He'd've been wiser to kick me senseless: I still had my rock and put it to good use.
The man went down, and I got up, trying to connect what I saw with what I remembered. I
remembered trolls, but the drunken sods were human. They'd been guzzling Deche wine, keeping warm
around a fire built from chairs, tables, and doors. Carnage was everywhere: hacked apart bodies, bodies
with their faces torn off. Bugs were already crawling, and the stench—
The sods didn't notice, or didn't care, but I'd never smelt violent death before. I gaped like an
erdlu hatchling and coughed up acid from my gut.
"You from around here, boy?"
I turned toward the voice—
And saw what the trolls had done to her, to my Dorean. Dead or alive, they'd torn away her
wedding gown and bound her to the post beside the village well. Her face was gone, her breasts, too;
she was clothed in blood and viscera. I recognized her by her long, black hair, the yellow flowers in it,
and the unborn child whose cord they'd tied around her neck.
A scream was born in my heart and died there. I couldn't move, not even to turn away or fall.
"What's your name, boy?" another sod demanded.
My mind was empty; I didn't know.
"Can't talk. Doesn't know his name. Must be the village loon."
"Hungry, loon?"
Another voice, maybe a new one, maybe not. I heard the words as if they came from a great
distance. A warm, moist clod struck my arm and landed in the dirt at my feet. My mind said stew-pot
meat, but my heart said something else. More clods came my way, more laughter, too. I began to shiver
uncontrollably.
"Clamp your maws!" a woman interrupted sharply.
Hard hands grasped my shoulders and spun me around. I lost my balance and leaned against the
woman—the best of a sorry lot of humanity—I'd attacked with the rock. She was shorter than I, but
numb and hopeless, I needed her strength.
"Dolts! Can't you guess? This was his village, his folk—"
"Why ain't he strung-out dead, like the rest of them?"
"He's the loon—"
"He ran off. Turned his yellow tail and ran."
I stiffened with rage, but the woman held me tight. Her eyes told me to be quiet.
"He got conked, that's what," she said, defending me.
Her hand brushed my hair. It was a gentle touch, but it awakened the pain both in my skull and in
my heart. I flinched away with a gasp.
"Clipped him hard. He's lucky he's not dead or blind."
Lucky—the very last word I would have chosen, but it broke the spell that had bound my voice.
"My name is Manu," I told them. "This place was called Deche. It was my home until the trolls
came this morning. Who are you? Why are you here? Why do you eat with the dead?"
I knew who they were by then. There was, truly, only one possibility: These were the soldiers of
the Troll-Scorcher's army. They'd pursued their enemy—my enemy—back to the Kreegills.
"Where are the trolls? Have you avenged our deaths?"
There were more hoots and wails of laughter until an otherwise silent yellow-haired man got to his
feet. The mockery died, but looking into this veteran's cold, hard eyes, I was not reassured.
"You ain't dead yet, farm boy, 'less you're tryin' to get yourself killed w' fancy words."
He had the air of leadership about him, just as my grandfather had had. The woman beside me
had gone soft with fear. His stare lashed me like a whip. I was expected to fear him, too. And I did. I'd
measured myself against the Troll-Scorcher's soldiers and knew myself to be less than the least of them in
every way save one: I was cleverer. I could see them for what they were. They scorned me, so I stood
tall. They mocked my speech, so I chose my words with extra care.
"I'll speak plainly: We farmers are told the-Troll-Scorcher's army swears an
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