Dragons of Everest Read online

  Dragons of Everest

  D.H. Dunn

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Acknowledgments

  Free stories from Fractured Everest

  About the Author

  Further Adventures, Mailing List and Reviews

  Kindle Edition - 2019

  Seaside Tower Press LLC/D.H. Dunn

  dhdunn.com

  ISBN: 978-1-948324-03-8

  Copyright © 2019 D.H. Dunn

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover artwork and design by Holly Heisey

  Edited by Joshua Essoe

  Published by

  Seaside Tower Press, LLC Publisher

  D.H. Dunn, Publisher

  Created with Vellum

  1

  Tanira dropped to her knees, the cold mountain air of Ish Selot rushing in and filling her tortured lungs.

  Her trembling hands dropped the blink tube into the snow, her body heaving and gasping for breath. Her vision blurred as she searched for the object in the dark, panic coming to her in waves.

  Without it, her mission would fail. Yet Tanira had walked this knife’s edge a hundred times since becoming the End of the Line, always one mistake away from a failure that would doom her people.

  The small metal tube was another of the artifacts she had stolen from the Manad Vhan beast Kater, the tiny device miraculously replicated the short-distance teleportation magic of the Yeti.

  Unfortunately, each jump also consumed all the air in her lungs.

  She had no energy to curse and no time to be tired. Ignoring the white spots that danced across her vision in the dark morning of the peak, she fished her gloved hands through the cold snow until she found the metal tube.

  Struggling to a half-standing position, with one knee still in the snow, she angled the tube upward and peered through the dark. There was supposed to be another spot higher on the mountain, if she could just locate it.

  Her vision swam around her in a fog of fatigue and precipitation, the dim light of the clouded moon doing little to illuminate her goal.

  Her hand shook again, fouling the aim of the tube. She grabbed her wrist with her other hand, trying to steady it. She could hear the crystals jangling around in their thin metal cage.

  How many do I have left? How many more do I need?

  She couldn’t even remember loading the device hours before as she had begun her ascent. Since then, there had been too many jumps, too much time spent heaving into the cold.

  As if to scorn her, Ish Selot sent a fresh burst of wind down its slopes, blowing more ice and powder into her face. She shivered, struggling to keep her grasp on the tube and her posture steady in the snow.

  She dropped the tube again, her trembling fingers failing her. Tanira pounded the snow in frustration, icy white flakes flying into her eyes.

  The heavy, metal clamps on her left shoulder were just more useless weight. The armor of the Hero was sufficient to ward off attacks, but it offered nothing against the mountain’s frigid temperature. She had powered the armor off after just one jump, the climbs and blink jumps were enough without adding the drain the armor put on her stamina.

  The Line did not care, and the Line had led her here, back to her home world. Left behind were Nima, Sessgrenimath and the small Caenolan child that had given her access to the Hero’s temple and her portal to return.

  Nima’s face, hurt and betrayed, flashed in her mind for a moment before she pushed it away, covering it with snow much as the mountain threatened to cover her.

  Her body ached to rest. Her mind yearned to sleep. She ignored them both, for her needs as well as the Line. If her eyes closed, they would bring even worse visions. The dead faces of the Rakhum guards she had killed. The hundreds of Thartark that likely drowned after she woke Sessgrenimath.

  Val, who had tried to help her. Be her friend.

  Pounding her fist into the snow, she dug out the blink tube again, this time gripping it with a strength she worried might bend the metal. With a cry of anger, she pushed her legs back into a standing position.

  The Line only moved in one direction, there was no going back. Several jumps above, her destination waited for her. The next step in her mission.

  The Vault of the Thread. After millennia Tanira was about to undo the work of Orami Feram, the hero of the Manad Vhan. By her hand and her actions, the great Dragons would again pierce the skies with their power. They would deliver the vengeance of Tanira’s people upon their oppressors. They would deliver justice.

  He would be waiting up there as well, the next companion to join her. The Alms of the Line. The keeper of the secrets that had been withheld from her.

  What might he look like? Does he have food?

  Her stomach clenched at the thought of sustenance, her body having long since burned through the cache of supplies that had been waiting for her at the base of Ish Selot.

  Her hand still trembling, she aimed the tube at a ledge several hundred steps farther up the mountain. There it would be even colder, the snow even deeper. She took a deep breath, keeping the mantra of the Line in her thoughts like a rope she could cling to.

  Guard the Line. Honor the Line. Trust the Line.

  The night was long, and there were many more jumps to do.

  Tanira was being pulled up. She had a memory of reaching the front of the Vault and of collapsing in the snow. It might have been minutes, or days ago.

  The arm that pulled her to her feet was strong, connected to a young man who looked just as sturdy. His olive cheeks were ruddy from the cold as he smiled at her, his dark hair blowing under his knit cap. He wore a heavy, woolen cloak with brown fur to match the fur on his gloves and boots. He looked her in the eye, unlike her father he was tall enough to do so.

  She opened her mouth to speak, then tumbled as her knees gave out before she could. The man’s arms quickly caught her, holding her upright.

  “Be at ease,” he said, raising his voice above the ever-howling wind. “I am the Alms of the Line. I am here for you.”

  Tanira allowed herself to be held in a standing position by the Alms, her vision still swimming in and out. Her chest heaved
a little less, a small relief. Working through her blurred sight, she tried to see past the whiteness that surrounded her, but little detail came.

  “Alms.” The title fell from her mouth like a dying bird, the wind ripping away any strength her voice might have. “You have a name?”

  “I was Reylor, before my title.”

  He moved, and she moved with him, allowing him to lead her toward a darker blur against the white, a squat brown shape that was slowly revealed to be a tent. Reylor lowered her, gently ducking her head inside the flap.

  She knelt, her trembling slowing to the point where she became aware of it. The bite of the wind was gone, but the gnawing of the cold remained, little knives that felt like they were peeling away the skin of her toes and fingers.

  Reylor’s face peeked into the one-person tent. Tanira couldn’t tell how long he had been gone. He had a small package of wrapped paper in his hands, which he opened to reveal half-crushed crackers of baked wheat paste. Just like her father used to bring her after their long days training.

  She grabbed the food from his wooly gloves, the first piece of the brittle substance in her mouth before she even looked up to nod thanks.

  Reylor smiled again, his other hand holding a small, leather canteen.

  “I am here for you,” he repeated. “I know little of your journey to get here, but I was told to bring supplies and await your arrival. You are here, just as the Line assured me.”

  Tanira chewed the cracker and swallowed, feeling as if dry rocks were going down her throat. She coughed, taking a long drink from the canteen. The water inside was partially frozen, a slush that triggered a second coughing fit. Small pieces of cracker flew from her mouth, landing on Reylor’s face.

  “Sorry,” she said, embarrassed. The food in her stomach seemed to be punching her insides. She took another drink from the canteen, slower now.

  “It is no concern, End of the Line,” Reylor said, pulling off his wool cap and brushing the crumbs from his face. His forehead now visible, she could see the he bore the mark of the Line, but it was carved into his flesh rather than tattooed like herself and her father.

  “Call me Tanira,” she said, taking another slow bite. She nodded at his mark. “I have not seen the mark of the Line administered like that.” She swallowed, the second bite going down more smoothly. The combat inside her stomach began to settle.

  “I carved it myself.” A tone of pride entered his voice. “I was not born into the Line, I had to convince them to allow me into the order.”

  Laying back and straightening her legs, Tanira propped herself onto one elbow as she continued to nibble at the cracker, her ravenous hunger departing like a cloud in the wind.

  Carved it himself? Joined the Line? She did not know such a thing was possible. How could he have even known of the Line’s existence?

  Her eyes drooped as she pondered the question. Her father had told her much of the Line’s history. It was a closed society that lived underneath the normal lives of Rakhum in both Nalam Wast and Rogek Shad. Guard the Line, after all. The whole point was to keep it secret.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder, giving her a slight shake. Her eyes opened slowly, feeling as if they had been glued shut. Had I fallen asleep?

  “You must open the Vault,” Reylor said. “Release the Thread. That is why we are here.”

  Tanira made a half-hearted attempt to move her legs, then laid her head down on the hard surface of the tent floor.

  “I need to wait, to rest.”

  “The Line cannot wait,” Reylor said. “You have rested, now we must open the Vault.” His hand touched her shoulder a second time. Her eyes caught the movement, so similar to a memory. Green hands instead of gloved, scaled fingers reaching for her blades.

  Tanira whipped her hand across her chest, grabbing Reylor’s by the wrist and locking her fingers around it. Feeling a wellspring of anger inside her, she tapped that energy and leaped out of the tent, half-dragging the larger Reylor with her as she did so.

  She stood in the snow, one hand on the hilt of the Hero’s sword while the other kept Reylor’s wrist in front of her. She glared at him, as he looked back at her with little expression on his face. He was no longer smiling, now simply looking at her as if he planned to patiently wait her emotions out.

  “You are weary,” he said, spoken as if he were commenting on the weather. “It is understandable, yet the Line cannot wait. There are other agents farther along our path, their actions timed with ours. You know this.”

  “I know this,” Tanira repeated, still holding his wrist but loosening the grip. He was larger than her, but he showed no evidence of combat training. His stance was loose, his breathing calm. His other arm hung by his side, gloved hand dangling uselessly. He made no effort to resist her.

  She released her grip on his hand, as well as on the hilt of the Hero’s sword. Reylor rubbed his wrist for a moment. He made no effort to direct her to the entrance to the Vault, but her vision had cleared and the sun had risen.

  The entrance to the Vault was nowhere in sight.

  She looked around the relatively flat surface Reylor had camped on, the supposed location of the Vault of the Thread. Like everywhere else on Ish Selot though, she saw only snow and ice. The small plain went on for about a hundred steps in any direction, and then ended in a wall of snow and ice that faced the rising sun. In all other directions, there were merely drops of various distances, all of them certainly fatal.

  “I have been unable to locate the Vault,” Reylor said.

  Tanira stared around the snowy landscape in confusion.

  “Yet it should be here, that is what the Line instructed.”

  Of course, the Line also told me all I needed was Sessgrenimath’s scale to enter the temple of the Hero. Had I not realized the Scrye was needed as well, I might still be on Sirapothi.

  It was unnerving to consider the Line might have been incorrect again, yet there was little else to do but search further.

  She walked toward the solid wall of ice and snow that pointed like a beacon up to Ish Selot’s far-off peak. Reylor followed, his boots crunching alongside hers in the snow.

  It had to be here, I just needed to trigger it somehow. The Hero had left behind the path to the Vaults for a reason. He had to expect someone would be coming to open them.

  Or maybe Orami only expected to himself to return. The Vault would need a way to know it was truly him.

  Reaching up toward the metal clamped around her left shoulder, she depressed the crystal embedded there. With a crackle audible even over the winds of the mountain, the energy field around her burst into life, encasing Tanira in a shifting screen of deep-blue particles, the armor of the Hero.

  “By the Founder,” Reylor exclaimed in wonder, eliciting a slight smile from Tanira. At least something affected him.

  She had expected a seal to appear in the middle of the wall of ice in front of her, a seam that would split and reveal the doors to the Vault. She was not sure why she had thought that, but it did not matter. The long wall of ice and snow looked back down at her, Ish Selot judging her and finding her wanting.

  She heard the soft release of a breath behind her, Reylor’s sigh escaping into the wind. There was nothing.

  She turned to Reylor, planning to ask him if he’d brought enough provisions for a prolonged stay on the shelf. She halted, his face gasping as he pointed behind her.

  Following his gaze, Tanira gasped as well.

  The wall of snow and ice melted, water streaming as a rainbow of colors burst through from behind them. The snow splashed and hissed as it hit the surface of the mountain, the warmth landing on her face like rainfall.

  A portal had appeared in the side of the mountain, a swirling oval of colors and energy that was taller and wider than any portal Tanira had ever seen. Tall enough for ten men on top of each other she estimated.

  Or one Dragon.

  The ice and snow debris had cleared. Reylor stood beside her as they stared into t
he swirling mists of color, the wall of energy towering before them. Flickers of colored lightning danced around the edges of the portal, sending puffs of snow into the air wherever they touched the mountain.

  “Crystals,” Reylor said, his voice somewhere between awe and fear. “We do not know what color crystals we need, and I did not bring any.”

  “No concern, Reylor,” Tanira said, stepping toward the portal. It was beautiful, more radiant than any she had ever seen. “According to lore, the Hero’s armor contains the essence of all colors, all crystals.”

  She held out her hand to him, his jaw open as he gaped at the spectacle.

  “If you are coming with me, let us go,” she said. “As you say, the Line cannot wait.”

  While the portal may have been larger than normal, the journey through it was hardly different than the others Tanira had experienced, perhaps a little smoother. Following her transit to Sirapothi she had been concerned her vomiting would never cease, yet on the return trip back to Aroha Darad she only felt as she did now, mildly winded.

  The portal had deposited her in a long, dark hallway approximately the same dimensions as the portal. The swirling, magical energies were the only source of light, casting her shadow on the stone walls and floor of the passage in ever-shifting angles.

  Far at the end of the hallway was a massive stone door, the seam between the two slabs visible in the shifting light.

  There was a thud to her right and then a retching sound as Reylor emerged from the portal, immediately collapsing to the floor, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the cold stone.