Dragon Fire (Warriors Of The Mystic Moons Book 4) - S.A. Laughlin

Dragon Fire (Warriors Of The Mystic Moons Book 4) by S.A. Laughlin

Book excerpt

A tall, black-caped figure approached the Evoos village of Gatgool on the fetid banks of the Dahvoos swamp.

The Evoos village was filled with hundreds of grasses, reed, and moss huts grouped in numerous circles around large fire pits. The Evoos’ short bodies, covered from head to toe in long, black hair, did not need the warmth of the fire: its sole purpose was to provide them with a means to boil and cook their prey. They danced around their bubbling cauldrons in a frenzied manner waiting anxiously for their food to be done.

Their bright-orange eyes kept a steady vigil on the items in their large black pots. A purplish tongue would occasionally jut out from under the web-like, mucus covering their mouths, and run over their dull, green fangs. Caught up in the excitement they were unaware of the ominous, tall figure headed toward their village.

As the caped figure walked into the village, immediate pandemonium broke out among the Evoos. Within seconds, the entire village looked deserted as the terrified Evoos cowered with fear in their flimsily built homes.

The caped figure walked past the boiling contents that would occasionally bubble over the side of the cauldrons. The hissing of the liquid dripping down into the fire was the only sound emanating from within the village.

The Zetche stopped in front of the largest hut in the village. His massive frame towered over it: the hut of the Evoos chief.

He called out, but no one came forth. His black lips twisted in anger as he called again, but still, no one came out. The Zetche’s body began to grow until he was nearly eight feet tall.

Effortlessly he reached down and pulled the top of the hut off. The sound of the grass and reed roof being ripped and torn off sent all the other Evoos out of their huts and scurrying into the dark surrounding forest.

The Zetche peered down inside the dismantled hut and spotted the chief and his family huddled together trembling with fear.

“Come out,” boomed the Zetche, who threw the top of the hut into the bogs nearby. “I have need of a boat.”

Slowly, trembling, the chief came out of his hut. He backed his way to the largest boat the Evoos had hidden in the bogs. His terror was so great he couldn’t even speak; he just pointed to one of the flat-bottomed boats.

“Where can I find the witch Paagrezla?” he bellowed down at the frightened Evoos leader.

Terror filled the chief’s eyes. He backed up falling over a rotted log behind him as if just hearing that name meant death.

“I will not ask again,” the Zetche’s voice thundered. His giant figure loomed over the prone Evoo. His yellow eyes glowed warningly under his hood.

The Evoo, still on the ground, began pushing his legs and arms to back away, as he tried to put more distance between himself and the menacing figure. A deep growl from the Zetche brought the shaking Evoo’s arm out. He pointed frantically in the direction of the powerful and deadly Qaabola witch.

Zetche’s long arm rose. He pointed a finger at the squirming Evoo on the ground.

The chief raised his arm in front of his face to protect himself from the deadly rays. A blast of red-hot fire shot out, but the towering demon moved his finger so that it just grazed the terrified chief.

The Zetche gave a guttural laugh and stepped into the low boat.

It took a while for the chief to realize that he had not been killed. When he finally got his breath back, he jumped up and ran toward the village, but not in a straight line. He disappeared and reappeared from bush to bush until he felt he was clear of the burning fire of the Master Demon.

However, the Zetche had no more interest in the zigzagging Evoo. He picked up the wooden pole inside of the boat, looked at its small size, grunted, and threw the short shaft into the murky water. It made a splash causing the bog to erupt in a frenzy of sounds from the startled creatures that resided in the stagnant waters.

He looked up into the tree near him and studied it for a while. Spotting what he was looking for he reached up and ripped a long, thick branch off with no effort. He cleared the smaller branches from it and made a pole that would help push him through the slimy green waters of the bog. Slowly, his body returned to its normal size.

A greenish, musky mist hovered over the water as he pushed and pulled his pole to move the boat over the slimy surface. Damp moss of all sizes dripped from the black tree branches creating strange forms as he moved deeper into the bog. All around him muted and eerie sounds gurgled and growled with the occasional sudden splash of water; some nearby, others in the distance.

A movement, something large, struck his boat, causing him to lose his balance for a moment. He waited and watched the dark-green water as it undulated and swirled beneath him. Again, it struck the bottom of his boat.

Something began to emerge from the murky water. Slowly, it slithered from under the flatboat almost knocking the pole from his hand. The Zetche watched almost mesmerized by a large brown snake as it moved upward out of the slimy water until it was almost eye-to-eye with him.

The snake’s forked tongue stuck out from its massive weaving head. It began flicking its tongue and hissing at its next meal.

A fiery blast from the Zetche’s eyes struck the snake with such force it flew out of the water and landed among the black moss in a tree off in the distance. It hung over the branches twisted and looped like a brown garland.

The eerie sounds, that once filtered through the swamp, seemed to stop all at once. The quiet was almost deafening. The Zetche slumped over. He hung onto the pole until his strength finally returned. He hoped his display of power would keep other creatures from attacking; it did.

It was a while before he spotted a lone, rundown, wooden dock overgrown with green slime and moss; it was barely visible jutting out into the dark waters of the bog. He pulled his boat up and looped its rope around a rotted stump. The Zetche placed his long pole carefully inside of the boat and stepped onto the dock.

“Who dares to come here?” A woman’s shrill voice screamed out.

“I have come for the young Paagrezla.”

“Then you have come eons too late,” the voice snarled.

“I think not.”

“My interest has been piqued, foul creature. Come forward a little,” her voice filled with warning. She stayed inside her cabin and peeked out, unseen from behind her moss-covered door.

“I am a Zetche and have come to make a pact with you.” His voice eased from his normal booming.

“A Zetche you say? Where is your mate?” Her voice filled with curiosity, as well as suspicion.

“My mate is no more. Killed, just like your youth,” he said bitterly. He strained to see her form hidden by the dark moss that grew over her doorway.

“How is it that you know of me?” She asked warily.

“Who does not know of the great Paagrezla.” It was a statement more than a question.

“Come closer, but do not think me a fool.”

Carefully he moved down the moss-covered dock until he reached a small patch of solid land. The wooden cabin in which the witch dwelled sat on a tiny piece of land in the middle of the Dahvoos swamp. The cabin was broken and in need of much repair, but it would do for what he needed.

“What need has the great Zetche of me?” Her darkened form moved behind the door to see him better.

“I have need of your powers,” he said matter-of-factly.

“You have need of my powers? Why should I help you?” she asked angrily at this arrogant Zetche.

“Revenge,” he said moving closer to her doorstep.

“Mmm … Well now, that is a lovely word. Stop,” she ordered him. “Do not come closer until we have spoken more.”

He stopped, agitated, and annoyed with this witch. When he was through with her powers, he would destroy her, but for now, he needed her help. “What more do you wish me to say?” he asked feigning politeness.

“Revenge for me or for you? What is in it for me?” The shape of her head behind the moss-covered door moved from side to side. “Why should I leave my beautiful home?” her voice now filled with curiosity.

The Zetche looked around and checked himself from laughing, “Why indeed?” His patience with her was running thin. “If you will hear me out, I shall tell you why I am here.”

“I am listening,” she replied.

“My mate was killed by a dragon and his friends,” he paused, choosing his words carefully. He continued., “Your beauty, your youth, and your powers were drained by a young Sabbot. I will help you find and destroy her.” He pulled a gleaming item from his cape and dangled it in front of her. “And I know just the thing that will destroy all of them.”

A green, wrinkled hand moved the moss so she could see the item clearly. She gasped and stepped back to let him enter. “Come in.”

The room was dimly lit. The only light was cast by the glow from a fire roaring in her small, brick fireplace. A black cauldron hanging over the fire frothed and bubbled with the strong smell of sulfur. “My dinner. Are you hungry?” she asked, still staring at the tall Zetche as he ducked down to enter her cabin.

“I must say I am hungry, and your meal smells delicious.” The Zetche nodded toward the burning cauldron. He placed the gleaming item on the table in front of him keeping a watchful eye on her.

Strangely, he found her attractive. Her green skeletal skin hung loosely on her face. Her brown eyes were sunken with black circles all around them. He watched as her bony fingers picked up a ladle and filled his bowl, then hers. Her long gray dress, frayed and dirty, hung on her like a rag. Thin strands of dirty, gray hair fell in complete disarray to her waist. He watched as she cautiously placed his bowl in front of him and sat at the opposite end of the table.

After they had finished eating, she wiped her mouth with the cuff of her dirty sleeve and put her elbows on the table. She studied him and the gleaming object resting between them. “Now, tell me about this choker you have brought me.” Paagrezla reached over to pull it to her and paused. She waited for the Zetche to stop her, but when he made no move, she picked it up and began to examine it.

“I knew of its existence and the power it could wield. I had it made especially for you.” he said casually.

“What good is one necklace? It is of no use to you or me.” She snarled at him and threw the necklace back on the table.

“Never make the mistake of thinking me a fool.” His fist hit her table causing the choker to bounce.

Paagrezla remembered how powerful the Zetches were and thought better of encouraging his wrath. “You need two to make the transformation work,” she said hiding the annoyance in her voice.

“I have another.” He pulled it from his cape. His eyes began to glow a bright yellow, verging on red.

“Why didn’t you say so from the first,” Paagrezla snapped. She reached over and grabbed the second necklace from his hand. Her face and voice lit up with excitement. “How did you come by these?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, it does not,” she said licking her blackened, wrinkled lips.

“The owner of the two necklaces will not be around to tell anyone of their existence. That is all you need to know.” He studied her as she held both necklaces in her hands. Her beauty was overwhelming and disturbing to him. The Zetche slowly pulled back the hood of his cape and waited to see what her reaction would be to his gaunt, grey face, and blackened lips.

She looked over at the Zetche and did not appear shocked or unnerved by his appearance. “Would you like more to eat? My cauldron is full.” Her tone was almost friendly.

“Yes, your food pleases me.” His voice softened pleased that she did not recoil from the sight of his face that most called grotesque.

After he had finished three more bowls, he sat back and watched her running frantically around the cabin picking up strange items in jars and containers of all kinds.