Ice Dragon: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (The Dragon Misfits Book 1) Read online

  Ice Dragon

  The Dragon Misfits Book 1

  D.K. Holmberg

  Copyright © 2020 by D.K. Holmberg

  All rights reserved.

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  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

  Author’s Note

  Also by D.K. Holmberg

  1

  Movement caught his attention. Jason swung his bow around, peering out through his left eye as he took aim, solidifying and readjusting his stance now that he’d moved. He hoped the crunch of snow as he squared off wouldn’t disturb the rabbit. The rumbling in his stomach was likely to do that anyway.

  Holding his posture, he focused on the rabbit. He took a deep breath in preparation for releasing the arrow, but an explosion behind him startled the creature and he held off, letting go of the draw but still keeping the arrow nocked for the time being. The rabbit went scurrying across the snow, moving far more rapidly than Jason could. Cursing under his breath, he hurried forward, looking to see if he could find any way to follow, but it had disappeared.

  All that hunting, and for nothing.

  He’d spent the better part of the morning out here looking for the fire-blasted creature, and now the festivities in the village would be the reason he failed.

  Crouching where the rabbit had rested, Jason shoved a gloved hand in the snow, moving it around to see why the rabbit had stopped here. Maybe there was something he could gather, that would offer him something in exchange for missing his kill, but there was nothing.

  Wind picked up, gusting across the slope of the mountain. This high up, there wasn’t anything to block the wind. No trees—not like there were much further down the mountainside. Only the blank glaze of white all around.

  A few distant peaks were visible, but they were all far enough below that he saw them as reflected stretches of white. This mountain rose the highest, a dangerous land, though one where his people had lived for generations.

  With the wind gusting, everything became a blanket of white, making it difficult for him to see anything. Jason had to wait for the wind to die down and the snow to clear. When it did, he made out the distant neighboring peak reflecting the pale sunlight. Other than the steep drop-off, nothing else was visible from here.

  He shifted his snow-white coat, trying to protect himself from the wind. It still bit through, managing to overwhelm his ability to stay warm. Most of the time, Jason had to dress with more layers than he preferred in order to maintain body heat. If he only had a dragonskin cloak, he wouldn’t need quite as many layers, but they were rare and only for those with money, something he definitely did not possess.

  As he stood, he thought he saw a flicker of movement. It was farther down the slope, near the stream that would eventually lead to a hidden cave. Jason waited for another sign but didn’t see anything.

  Always move with light feet. Don’t let them see you.

  The guidance his father had given him years ago, the beginning of his hunting training, stayed with him.

  Starting forward, he was careful. Light feet.

  At first, he thought maybe it was the rabbit. There was something there. It blended into the snow, and as he stared, it moved quickly—almost impossibly so.

  By the time he’d reached the stream, there was nothing.

  Just his imagination.

  That and the cold. That was ever present.

  Another explosion sounded behind him, and once again he glanced toward the village. He didn’t see the point of the festivities the same as others did, and wasn’t at all interested in returning just yet. He had game to catch, food to bring back to his mother and sister. Still, with the morning having been wasted like this, there was no point in staying out here.

  Looking out over the snow-covered slopes, he looked for anything out of the ordinary. Keep your gaze moving. Look for the unexpected.

  Only, on this side of the mountain, there wasn’t anything unexpected.

  Clutching his jacket, he started back. With each step, his boots crunched the snow. The cold managed to seep up through them, and though he had long ago learned to ignore it, it was still unpleasant. As he walked, he continued to search for anything that might reveal the presence of other animals, but he came across nothing.

  The area around the village had all been overhunted, and it was unlikely he would find anything of use here. That didn’t keep him from trying. He spent most of his days hunting, looking for small game, rabbits and squirrels and anything he might be able to easily capture, forced to use his bow rather than to set traps. Any time he tried setting a trap, someone from the village took what he’d caught. It annoyed him, especially as they had much more success going down the backslope toward the city of Varmin.

  Another explosion boomed and he frowned, staring up the slope. The mountain village was an hour from here, far enough of a walk that it would take him considerable time to return, and yet, he still heard the sounds of the explosions, the festivities of those within the village.

  Maybe it was time to get back. The longer he was gone, the less time he would have before the evening festivities started in full. If he didn’t make any sort of trade, he and his family wouldn’t eat. His rumbling stomach reminded him of how long it had been since he’d eaten anything at all, and though there were the festivities, he doubted anyone would be more welcoming than usual.

  Jason started back up the slope of the mountain, winding around as he went, following the hard-packed path. He was able to move quickly. The thick soles of his boots didn’t grip the snow so much as keep him atop it, not sinking. If the snow were lighter, he’d need snowshoes, but rarely were they necessary this high up the mountainside. Were he to travel south, toward Varmin along the back slope, snowshoes might be necessary to climb back up. As he didn’t have snowshoes, it was a good thing he didn’t venture that far often. The hunting could be better, but it involved him being gone for more days at a time than he felt comfortable with.

  The path wound along the mountain, working up through the outcroppings of rock, heading toward the village. Every so often, Jason would pause, listening, hoping he might find something to eat before needing to fully return, but so far, there was nothing.

  By the time he reached the village, he was tired. The rumbling in his stomach had eased over the last bit of the climb. Jason had enough experience with overwhelming hunger to know the cessation of the rumbling in his stomach was problematic. It had been too long since he’d had mu
ch to eat. They had broth, and while it was better than nothing, it still didn’t do much for his ability to feel satiated.

  Pausing at the outskirts of the village, he looked around. Snow covered most of the buildings, keeping the roofs obscured. It was the way the mayor wanted it, knowing the best bet to keep themselves hidden was by obscuring their presence here. The easiest way to do that was by leaving the snow covering the buildings and not clearing it out of the streets. It was part of the reason none of the buildings in the village were painted anything other than a plain white; it was a better way to remain concealed. The only difference today was that a fire burned in the center of the village in the festival square.

  After having spent as much time as he had outside, and with the chill that worked through him, he wanted nothing more than a sense of warmth and was drawn toward the fire. It was still early, and because of that, there weren’t nearly as many people at the square as there would be later, but there were still plenty. He stayed at the edge, yet even from here, the sense of warmth was a welcome reprieve.

  “Look at that. Dreshen came to the celebration.”

  Jason turned slowly, recognizing the voice. Reltash was the same age as Jason, and they had been friends when they were little, but that was before Jason’s father died. He was more muscular than Jason, and had a jaw that looked chiseled from ice. His black hair seemed made of dragonskin, as if he were naturally immune to the cold.

  “Everyone is welcome in the celebration,” Jason said, looking past him where others already danced.

  “I just figured that considering what happened to your father, you wouldn’t necessarily want to celebrate.”

  Jason glared at the other man. He ignored Ingrid and Bradley, on either side of Reltash. They followed Reltash and would do whatever he instructed them to do. They liked to play at independence, but Jason had enough experience with them to know that independence for them meant following the other man, doing what he wanted, and typically, that involved picking on him. He was an easy target for many reasons.

  “You don’t know anything about what happened to my father,” Jason said.

  Few people did. That was the problem.

  “I think everyone in the village knows what happened to your father, Dreshen.”

  He started forward, shouldering past Jason. Reltash was nearly two hands taller than Jason and considerably larger, a typical size for those within the village. Jason was slight compared to most, and when he’d been younger, that had given others plenty of reason to think they could pick on him.

  Avoid fighting, but don’t let them see you as less than you are.

  Jason pushed that piece of advice away. It did no good here.

  They made their way toward the fire, standing near it, far closer than what Jason would have been able to withstand. That was another thing that was different about him, though in reality, there were quite a few things about him that were different.

  Reltash and the other two joined in the dancing, quickly moving in a circle, their coordination for the celebratory dances better than what Jason would have been able to do. He didn’t have the same rhythm that they did.

  “I hope you can ignore them.”

  Jason turned and smiled at Tessa. She was one of the few who was kind to him, and yet, eventually Jason knew that would change. There was a limit to kindness within the village out here, as remote as they were and dependent on each other. Strength was prized, and Jason had proven that he wasn’t nearly as strong as so many others.

  “I ignore them as well as I can,” he said.

  Tessa had the pale complexion of so many within the village, and a thick dragonskin hat covered her head, obscuring her golden hair, leaving only her round face visible. The stitching along the border of the hat marked her family crest, that of one of the first of the dragon hunters, though the last of the dragon hunters had been decades ago. It did nothing to diminish her family’s position in the village.

  “I do share their surprise,” Tessa said.

  “Why?”

  She shrugged, meeting his eyes. She had two blue eyes, fitting in far better than he did with his mismatched blue and silver eyes. “Considering what happened with your father…”

  “That was long enough ago.” A year. That had to be long enough now. His family demanded it be. “I’ve moved on.”

  “That’s good.” Tessa rested a gloved hand on his arm. “I’m always thankful for your father on the festival.”

  “Most people don’t see it like that.”

  “Most people don’t know what he did for me,” Tessa said.

  She smiled at him again and Jason tried to smile back, but he didn’t feel it the way he should. Tessa was being kind to him, the same way she was always kind to him, but he couldn’t help but feel as if it were a pitying sort of kindness. He didn’t want anyone’s pity. His father had died protecting her. He had been strong. A hunter to the end. The kind of man Jason would never be.

  “The way he blocked the burst of flame…”

  A dragon. That was what had killed him.

  “I sometimes wonder what it looked like, but I never got a clear glimpse. Your father sent me running before I had the chance to do so. Had he not, I probably would have died with him. When I came across the hunters—”

  “I know.”

  She sighed. “I shouldn’t remind you. I’m sure it’s harder at this time.”

  It hadn’t been. Tessa reminding him made it so it was. “He’d be proud he saved you.”

  That was the truth, too. His father would have been proud that he’d managed to save her.

  He would have been prouder had they caught the dragon.

  There had been no sign of it. Nothing other than the charred remains of his father and the stories Tessa brought back. After years without a single dragon sighting, one would suddenly appear and take his father from him?

  “I’m glad you came,” she said.

  “I am too. Better here than imagining things down the slope.”

  “What sort of things?”

  Jason shrugged. “It’s probably nothing. My imagination. The snow. All of it made me think there was something where there was not.” He grinned at her. “Maybe it was a dragon.”

  “Jason Dreshen! Don’t say that!”

  He sighed. “You’re right. I shouldn’t joke. Not about that.”

  “You should not.”

  She watched him for a moment before hurrying off, joining the others near the fire. It was the advantage their dragonskin jackets offered. Not only were they more immune to the heat, something he most certainly was not, but the dragonskin seemed to absorb the heat, holding on to it and offering a warmth that remained for much of the year. It was the other reason that dragonskin was so prized.

  It was similar to tellum, the ore mined near them. A small amount of the ore produced significant heat. Those with money were able to weave it into their clothes, and many of the wealthy of the village—and there were some—used it instead of dragonskin.

  Another explosion went off, this one not far from him.

  The cannons were designed to be a part of the celebration, and in the evening, colorful explosions would light the sky, both as a way of celebrating and as a way of taunting the dragons that once had plagued their homeland. It had been almost a century since dragons had attacked the village, long enough that for most, the threat was a distant sort of danger.

  That wasn’t the case for Jason. His knowledge and understanding of the dragons and the threat they posed was far different than most. He had lost more than most his age, no longer having his father around the way that others—including Reltash—did.

  As he watched, the cannon was loaded again. Morris, an older, gray-haired, solid man, worked at filling the cannon with explosive powder. It was considered an honor to work the cannon, and many trained for years to have that honor.

  Several men surrounding Morris were laughing as he worked, watching over his shoulder, and Jason was brought back to h
is father. He’d been the cannon master at that time, a role he’d tried teaching Jason, something that Jason had thought he would eventually be able to do. Now even that dream was lost to him, like so many other things.

  Chanting began, and the circle around the fire parted, allowing several of the village elders to make their way through, carrying a wooden totem. Wood was rare, and a piece this size would have to be dragged up the mountainside all the way from beyond Varmin. This year’s totem was far more decorated than previous years: The painting was elaborate, depicting scenes of battle, dragons flying around it, and at the center, a man they only knew by the name Zarath, who held his hands in the air. Zarath was the dragon master, the one who controlled the dragons attacking the village, and because of Zarath, everyone had suffered.

  They carried the totem to the fire. Once there, it was stood on end, and the chanting continued. Jason remained at the edge of the circle, wishing as he did each year that he would be able to get closer to the fire, but without dragonskin clothing, he was forever forced to remain watching from a distance.

  “We open the celebration of our freedom with the demonstration.” Mayor Jans held his hands up in the air. They had been dusted with ash, making his normally pale skin nearly as dark as the dragonskin jacket he wore. “We celebrate our safety. We celebrate our freedom. We celebrate our people!”

  With each statement, the chanting intensified, at first just a steady murmur. Each statement was punctuated by another slap, the intensity to it rising louder and louder, and Jason found himself murmuring the chant under his breath. There had been a time when he could get closer to the flames, but he had never had his own leathers, having borrowed those from the city. That was an advantage of his father serving as the cannon master.