Drachengott Read online

  Contents

  The Dream

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  About the Author

  Other books in the Drachengott series

  Also by K.J. Taylor

  Copyright

  The Dream

  The green-eyed man stood with his sword in his hand, poised to attack. But only for a moment. He looked past his enemy and saw who stood beside him, and his eyes widened in disbelief. Sword lowering, he stepped forward, her name in his mouth.

  Too late.

  Black energy struck him in the middle of his chest, and he silently crumpled. The sword fell from his hand, and as he fell the woman ran toward him with a scream. She threw herself down, lifting him into her arms and saying his name. But he did not stir. She looked up at the killer in disbelief, while somewhere outside of it all a heart pounded and eyelids flickered.

  Panic began to dispel the dream, a panic unlike anything the dreamer had ever known before. She tried to cling onto the vision, trying to see beyond it to whatever happened next. It couldn’t be true, it had to be a lie, a mistake . . .

  But the dream went on even as it faded, and nothing changed. The woman clung to her dead lover, glossy black hair hanging over her face, and as she leaned down to kiss him one last time a scream shattered the dream into pieces.

  The dreamer’s own scream woke her up — a scream that echoed through the sky and sent birds panicking into the air.

  ‘RUTGER!’

  Chapter One

  The night before his initiation, Nils dreamed the flying dream again. There wasn’t much to it; there never had been. No real images, only a gentle sensation of floating over the world, the wind ruffling his hair. He caught the vague impression of a great landscape below, and he knew it must be Wendland — but Wendland as he had never seen it in his waking hours. And though the height should have scared him just a little, it didn’t. Because, along with the sensation of flying, he felt something else: a deep, gentle sense of love that enveloped him like a warm blanket. A love that kept him safe. It would not let him fall, and it would not let him fear. He clung to it like a child, not wanting to wake up, but he could not hold it no matter how hard he tried.

  The dream slipped away, disappearing between his fingers like smoke, and as he woke up he felt the same terrible sense of loss that always followed.

  Nils sat up in bed, cold despite the magical flame burning on its plinth close by. He was shivering, and his chest ached. Reaching up to rub his eyes, he felt the wetness of tears on his face. He had been crying in his sleep.

  A knock came on the door, and he hastily wiped the tears away on his blanket. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘It’s just me,’ a woman’s voice answered from outside.

  Nils relaxed. ‘Come in,’ he said. ‘I’m just getting up.’

  He climbed out of bed as the door opened, and Adèle came in. She wore her usual light blue dress, and her pretty face wore a reassuring smile. ‘Good morning,’ she said, her voice softened by a musical Gallien accent. ‘How did you sleep?’

  ‘Not very well,’ Nils admitted. He went over to the wardrobe to pick out something to wear, while Adèle went to straighten out his bed.

  ‘That’s no surprise, and nothing to be ashamed of,’ she said. ‘After all, today is a big day for you.’

  Nils’s stomach twisted as he remembered. ‘Initiation,’ he sighed, opening the wardrobe and staring blankly at the contents. There were plenty of different outfits in there, but he suddenly couldn’t seem to focus on any of them.

  Adèle smoothed the blankets with a practised flick. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘You’re a brave boy.’

  Nils pulled out his finest black velvet tunic. ‘But I’m weak,’ he said. ‘Everyone knows what happens to weak people when they go through initiation.’

  Adèle finished with the bed and turned to face him. ‘You are not weak,’ she said gently. ‘You have never been sick a day in your life, have you?’

  ‘But I’m puny,’ said Nils. He glanced critically at himself in the mirror, at his long, thin face, narrow shoulders and slender limbs. He’d never had much physical strength; the other boys here in the castle were all at least twice as heavy as he was, and when he had tried to join in their wrestling games he had always lost. Not that any of them seemed very interested in spending time with him; maybe it was just because of his mother’s status, but boys his age generally avoided him and took very little interest in talking to him.

  ‘That’s not what makes the difference,’ said Adèle. ‘Inner strength is what matters.’

  ‘What do you know about it?’ Nils snapped. ‘You’re a Gottloser. You were never initiated.’

  ‘But I grew up with Jüngen,’ Adèle said calmly. ‘I hear all the stories.’

  Nils softened. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have . . .’

  Adèle came over and put a hand on his shoulder, something she had never done before. ‘You will be fine,’ she said firmly. ‘There’s no shame in being afraid. Keep your chin up and show the world how brave you are. The Drachengott is waiting.’

  Nils managed a smile. ‘If I die, you can have my books,’ he said. ‘I know you like to read.’

  Adèle quickly took her hand away. ‘Don’t say that. Not even as a joke.’

  ‘I need to joke, or I’ll scream,’ said Nils. Reluctantly, he picked up his tunic and started to dress, while Adèle discreetly moved away to tidy up the rest of the room.

  Once Nils had dressed, in his black tunic and favourite red trousers, he sat down by the dressing table and brushed out his thick black hair. It had always been his best feature, although he wished he was old enough to grow a beard or a moustache to match it; it might make up for his sickly complexion and skinny build.

  He peered at himself in the mirror again, noting the hollows under his dark green eyes. The truth was that there was another reason for his nervousness today. Not just the pain and the danger of being initiated as a Jünger, but the thought of what might happen when he went to the great mountain and faced the Drachengott at last. The adult Jüngen he knew were forbidden to talk about their own initiations in too much detail, but even so there were rumours — stories that the Drachengott could go inside the mind of any initiate, and that he did so to test them, searching them for signs of heresy and sin.

  If that was true, Nils knew then that there were answers, things the Drachengott’s power might reveal to him. Things about himself. Mysteries that had always troubled him, for as long as he could remember. It might be worth risking death just for that.

  Nils rubbed his hooked nose. Adèle was right, he thought. He had to be brave. And if he couldn’t conquer his fear, he could still pretend that he had. If he was going to die today, it wouldn’t be as a coward. He would face the Drachengott and accept his blessings, and if he survived it would be the true beginning of his life. The thought of that made him smile for the first time that day.

  ***

  That morning Nils ate breakfast with his mother, Silke, in her personal solar. She was a complete contrast to her son — tall and full-figured where he was puny, her hair dark brown rather than black. Her eyes were pale blue, and soft with concern when she saw him.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, whil
e Adèle and another Gottloser servant laid out breakfast. ‘You look tired.’

  ‘I had the dream again,’ said Nils.

  His mother leaned over the table toward him. ‘The flying dream?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nils. ‘It was stronger this time.’

  His mother frowned. ‘Don’t worry about it, Nilchen. It’s normal to have nightmares the night before a great day like this.’

  ‘It wasn’t a nightmare,’ said Nils. ‘It’s never a nightmare. The flying dreams, they . . . they’re beautiful. It hurts to wake up.’

  She reached over and stroked his cheek. ‘It will be all right, son. You’ll see. When you meet the Drachengott—’

  ‘Is it true, then?’ Nils asked eagerly. ‘Can he really see inside my mind? Will he tell me the truth about everything?’

  ‘I doubt he’ll tell you anything about the dreams,’ his mother smiled. ‘Many people dream about flying. You should have something to eat, we have to leave soon.’

  ‘But it’s not just that!’ said Nils, ignoring the plate of bread and cream cheese. ‘They don’t feel as though they are only dreams — they’re too real. And when I wake up, sometimes . . . I’m crying.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ his mother repeated. She picked up her cup of milk. ‘Dreams are dreams, Nils — you shouldn’t dwell on them. Please eat; you need to keep your strength up.’

  ‘But what about everything else?’ Nils persisted. He could hear his own voice rising, partly with excitement and partly with frustration. ‘What about all those other things that don’t make sense — all those things I can’t remember, why no one will tell me how old I really am—’

  ‘You know how old you are,’ said his mother. ‘You’re fifteen.’

  ‘Then why don’t I remember being fourteen?’ said Nils. ‘Or thirteen? Or—?’

  ‘That’s enough!’ she said sharply. ‘Calm down. Everything will be fine. Eat your breakfast, and we can go. The Drachengott is waiting, and that’s all that matters.’

  Nils bit back an angry reply, and started to eat at last. While Adèle’s cooking was as good as always, he may as well have been eating paper. Stomach churning with irritation and nerves, he forced the food down and got up when his mother did.

  He started wordlessly toward the door, but his mother intercepted him and took him in a hug. ‘There, there,’ she said. ‘It’s all right. Everything will be fine, I promise. The Drachengott knows everything; he can answer your questions. Once you’re initiated you’ll have a true place in the world. Your soul will be saved, and you can start to learn the mysteries of magic. Won’t that be worth it?’

  Nils hugged her back. ‘I just want to know where the dreams come from,’ he said.

  ‘They come from the same place all dreams do,’ his mother told him. ‘Your own heart. But if it matters that much to you, you can still ask.’

  ‘I’m afraid,’ said Nils, not letting her go.

  ‘I know you are,’ she said soothingly. ‘I was afraid, too. But I’ll be there for you. Remember that. Every moment I’ll be there.’

  Nils kept still, letting the warmth of her arms and voice calm him, enveloping him with the same sense of love he had felt in his dream. And, as in his dream, his fear faded before it. Everything would be all right — or so he could make himself believe, if only for a while.

  Chapter Two

  The city where Nils had grown up was called Zauberwald. The name meant ‘Magic Forest’, although it must have been a long time since there had been an actual forest there. Today Zauberwald was one of the largest Jüngen cities in Wendland. Ruled by the worshippers of the Drachengott, it was a city which ran on magic as much as the labour of the magic-less Gottlosen. They worked as loyal servants to the Jüngen, and honoured the Drachengott that way, even though none of them had been initiated and given the gift of magic. To the west there were entire cities of Gottlosen, but they were different — wilful pagans who resisted the Drachengott and his followers, and were prepared to die rather than bow to Drachengott and the Jüngen’s rightful supremacy. Nils had never seen a ‘true’ Gottloser, but he had heard the stories; tales of great battles against them and the traitorous Ketzer, in which hundreds of the faithful had given their lives in service to the Drachengott. Martyrs, who were honoured every year at the solstice celebrations, and whose sacrifice inspired the living to fight on.

  Out in the streets of Zauberwald, Nils saw plenty of other people preparing to leave for the Drachengott’s mountain, which was only a day’s travel away. He was the only high-ranking initiate who would be going that day, but plenty of the humbler Jüngen families from out in the city were sending their sons and daughters to be given to the Drachengott. Nils watched tearful and excited goodbyes taking place in doorways and out in the streets as he and his mother rode together down the main street, mounted on a pair of fine white stags.

  Above, hundreds of dragons circled and perched in the branches of the huge old trees which had been allowed to grow among the city buildings. They were the guardians of Zauberwald, each one a part of the Drachengott’s own mighty soul, and most of them created by powerful Jüngen who each had the ability to summon a new dragon into the world to serve them. Silke had had a dragon of her own once, she had told him, but she had been killed along with Nils’s father in a battle with the Gottlosen, and no Jünger was allowed to summon a second dragon.

  Nils watched the dragons flitting about the rooftops, avoiding the strings of colourful flags which had been strung up in honour of the occasion. Each dragon was about the size of a grown man, and their scales varied in colour — some were green, some brown, grey, black or off-white. A few sported subdued reds, blues or yellows. Most were horned, and all had spikes on their backs and tails.

  Nils wondered if he would be able to summon a dragon of his own once he had been initiated. He doubted it, though — summoning a dragon generally took the combined magic of at least two powerful Jüngen. Still, he thought wistfully, it would be nice. A dragon to serve him and fight beside him when he went to battle the Gottlosen and the Ketzer. Once he was a fully-fledged Jünger, it would be his duty to fight for the Drachengott against the pagans and the heretics.

  Along the main street, which was appropriately called Zauber Street, trees lined the way. Between them, pillars taller than a man held magical flames which needed no fuel and could only be put out if they were magically banished. On Zauber Street the flames were purple; other streets had different colours to mark them out.

  As the deer walked sedately between them and others came out to join them, Nils started to notice a slight tension in the air. Young people, some mounted on deer and some on foot, joined the procession — but so did plenty of adults, many of them tough-looking women and men in armour. A small flock of dragons followed from above.

  ‘Why do we need all this protection?’ Nils asked his mother, who rode beside him wearing a flowing white cape decorated with woven flowers. ‘We don’t have to pass through enemy lands.’

  ‘The Gottlosen are on the move,’ she answered. ‘A message reached us yesterday: Drachenburg has fallen, and they think the enemy might march here next.’

  Nils’s stomach flipped. ‘Drachenburg’s lost? How?’

  ‘Rutger Dragonsbane,’ his mother answered grimly. ‘How else?’

  The name sent fear and anger rushing through Nils’s chest. ‘But the Dragonsbane is just one man,’ he protested. ‘Even if he does have the Magic Taker. How could he take Drachenburg all by himself?’

  ‘He didn’t,’ said his mother. ‘He had the Ketzer helping him. He and that woman Elynor have made an alliance. They took Drachenburg together, and killed every Jünger they found. The city is in ruins now.’

  ‘Ketzer!’ Nils spat. ‘Those scum . . . Is Lord Ernst going to send our army to Drachenburg?’

  ‘Probably, yes,’ said his mother. ‘But for now we have to keep you and the other initiates protected. After all, wiping out the next generation of Jüngen would be a great help to our
enemies.’

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ said Nils, lying only a bit. The truth was that he found it too difficult to imagine something like that ever happening to really fear it.

  Still, the thought of Rutger Dragonsbane was enough to make his jaw tighten. Every Jünger knew who he was: the only Gottloser known to have been given magic without being initiated. The Ketzer had magic, but only because they had once been Jüngen and had rebelled. But Rutger Dragonsbane had never been a Jünger or a Ketzer. Nobody knew how he had gained his magic, but he had something far more dangerous at his disposal: a weapon known only as the Magic Taker. The stories said that it looked like a sword, but had the power to drag the magic out of anyone who came too close to its owner, and channel their magic into him. And while ordinary magic users had to be careful not to use too much magic in one go, Rutger Dragonsbane could steal it from others, killing them in the process and gaining their energy. It made him insanely dangerous — the only real enemy the Jüngen had who could not be fought with magic. Over the four years or so since he had first appeared, dozens of assassins had been sent to try to remove him. None had survived.

  ‘Rutger Dragonsbane killed my father, didn’t he?’ Nils muttered.

  ‘He may have,’ said his mother. ‘There’s no way of knowing. He was there in the battle where your father died; that’s all I do know for certain.’

  ‘He killed him,’ said Nils. ‘I know he did. He’s killed hundreds of us.’

  ‘Now then,’ his mother said gently, ‘there’s no use in going over it. Today isn’t about hatred or revenge. Lord Ernst will protect us against the Dragonsbane. And maybe one day you can join the fight.’

  ‘I won’t be a coward,’ Nils vowed.

  The initiates rode or walked out of the city with their escort, and once they were in the open some of the dragons flew lower to keep watch over them, while others flew ahead to scout out the road ahead.

  Nils had only left the city once or twice before, and he had never gone far. But he had seen this view from the castle windows every day for as long as he could remember. Outside Zauberwald, green fields spread out in every direction, broken up by the dark mass of the occasional village or small town. In the far distance he could see the faint line of the mountains which edged Drucht Valley to the north-west. But there was one landmark which stood out far more than any other: the biggest formation in the valley, possibly the biggest in all of Wendland, or the world. While Nils had looked at it every day, he had never truly become used to it. Just beyond the farmlands, a colossal mountain stood alone. It was at least as big as a city, jutting up out of the land like a tooth. From here it looked black and featureless, but sometimes, if you were looking at the right moment, you would see something else. Nils looked now as the column set out toward it. Surely today would be a day when he would see the Drachengott stir.