Bane of the Dragon King Page 10

  He lay still, breathing in, breathing out, his pulse racing. Sobs formed in his throat. Tears swelled. He swallowed to hold it all back, but the dam burst, and it all flooded out of him. “It was horrible, Char.” He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. “I don’t know how we survived. I felt the fiery whip crack across my gut. I don’t remember anything after that.”

  Charlotte’s arms tightened around him. “Shh. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

  A milky thread wound into his mind, cocooning the horrors before lifting and shoving them into a murky crack in the corner of his mind. “What are you doing?”

  Charlotte looked up at him. “Giving you a little peace.”

  He held her tight. “I’m sorry. I feel so stupid, babbling like a baby.”

  She propped up on an elbow, her arm folded on his chest. “Don’t be silly. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. A weaker man would be dead. You survived. Don’t squash your triumphs, no matter how small you believe them to be.” She laid her head on his chest, her hand on his arm. “I’m going to kill him, David. I’m going to kill Einar and all the evil he is bringing into this world. He cannot be allowed to destroy all that is good, all the hopes and dreams of this universe or any other. I will bring him to his knees and he will regret he ever knew me.”

  A single-person applause cracked the air. Slow and irritating.

  Clap.

  Clap.

  Clap.

  Charlotte retreated to her chair. David flicked his gaze to Prince Venniver standing in the doorway decked out in all his frills and finery, his shoulder pressed to the frame. What a smug, overbearing pernicious twit! He’d never disliked anyone so much in his life, well, except for Mr. Loudermilk, aka Seyekrad. He wished he could attribute his dislike to some horrible deed Venniver had committed, but he couldn’t. He barely knew the man, but he knew him well enough to despise the way he leered at Charlotte and the way he spoke with a smooth, forked tongue. He knew people back home the same way, and they were nothing but trouble.

  Prince Venniver strolled toward David, his nose wrinkling, face cocked away from the stench of the sick and dying.

  “I don’t know how you keep from vomiting,” he said. “The smell is enough to kill someone.”

  “Well, by all means, stay,” David said. “Maybe you’ll be the first victim.”

  The prince sneered. “Yeeess, I’m sure you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” He shoved David’s legs aside and sat on the edge of the bed.

  David kicked him, and the prince scowled as he stood. His eyes narrowed, and David was sure he saw a fleck of amber glint in their depths.

  “What are you doing here?” David asked.

  “I came here to congratulate Lady Charlotte on her latest accomplishment. It is exquisite, milady. I had no idea you possessed magic. You do not appear to be a witch or a sorceress.” He approached her from behind and laid his hands upon her shoulders. “Perhaps you are an enchantress.” He leaned in and smelled her hair. “Such a heavenly delight.”

  David stumbled out of bed, pain ripping through his side. “Get away from her, Venniver.” He flexed his fists all the while fighting his body’s need to collapse.

  Charlotte stood and shoved the prince in the chest. “Do not touch me again without my permission. Is that understood?”

  Venniver smirked and extended a hand, hovering it inches from Charlotte’s shoulder and her upper arm. “Understood, milady, but just so you know, I will have your permission one day soon. Of that you can be certain, and I look forward to the sheer delight it will bring me.” He moved in closer, his body almost touching hers. Charlotte flinched at his breath on her neck. “I will bring flame to your skin, but it will be from desire, not anger.”

  “All right, that’s enough out of you.” David picked up the small footstool beside his bed and swung it at Venniver’s head. He missed and fell, landing sprawled against the bed.

  Charlotte swooped around the prince, but he caught her by the arm. She smacked him across the face. “Get away from me, you pig!” A spark leapt on her hand. “Now, before I summon the guards!”

  Prince Vinny grinned, the stretch of his lips cracking her vibrant red handprint on his cheek. “Of course. Your wish is my command.” He bowed and rolled a hand forward. He glanced at David. “A good day to you, lad.” He glanced back at Charlotte. “If I might make a suggestion, my lady. You may wish to curb what powers you have. You never know who is watching you.” He turned and strode from the room.

  David climbed back in bed. “You should have punched him.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fist. “He’s so infuriating! Who does he think he is coming in here, touching me like I was some piece of property?”

  “What did you do that made him want to find you?”

  She sat down, her arms folded across her chest. “Nothing … much. I repaired the fountain, made the wisteria tree bloom, and made the grass grow in the courtyard. It was in desperate need of a makeover.”

  David closed his eyes and shook his head. “I don’t believe you. Slavandria and Mangus specifically asked—”

  “Don’t lecture me, David. I’ve already been scolded. I don’t need it coming from you.” A shiver ran out of her, and she rubbed her arms. “I do admit I should have been more discreet. Knowing he was watching me from the shadows creeps me out. I wish he’d go away. His presence disturbs me. There is something about him, a vibe that sends ripples through me. I can feel it, little pulses and shocks that needle my flesh from the inside.”

  “He is a shapeshifting dragon, Char. There’s all kinds of magic in him.”

  “Yeah, but this is deep and dark. Impenetrable. Layers upon layers of shields. He’s hiding something, and he’s using a lot of magic to do it.”

  Charlotte shook her body and arms as if ridding herself of a flea infestation. “Whatever. In a couple of days, the funerals will be over, and he can go home. If he’s any representation of the Edryd Eric was so enamored with, I want nothing to do with them.”

  David lay still, the silence between them a welcome relief. His temper and emotions were frayed, and he was done talking. He didn’t want any more interrogations, no pampering. No asking if he was okay. All he wanted was to lay in the stillness and dream of home where a warm bed waited for him along with a bag of chips and a soda. No war. No ifrit. No …

  Fire!

  It burned his toes. His legs. His torso. He kicked off his covers but there were no flames. The fiery pain continued to sear. He jolted upright and screamed as it spread into his chest, inflaming his tattoo.

  “Ahhgh!” He folded in half, the pain deep and agonizing, piercing, as if run through with a spear.

  “David!” Charlotte’s arms were on his shoulders. “What’s the matter? Talk to me!”

  He pushed her away, her touch amplifying the pain. He glanced down at his right hand, his forefinger white as ice. Blue currents of electricity skipped up his wrist to his arm, branching out like writhing tentacles. Red strands unraveled from the tattoo, spreading in the same manner, like an infection across his chest, reaching for the blue strands branching up his arm, into his right shoulder.

  Fire and ice.

  Threads of red fire met with the strands of blue ice. David’s breath caught in his throat as the two powers infused, the red swirling and wrapping around the blue, entwining it, taking it captive and dragging it into the tattoo. Pins. Needles. Burning shards of frozen glass, stabbing. Cutting. David gritted his teeth, clenched his hands until blood oozed from the fingernails dug into his palms.

  “Ahhhhhhhhh!”

  Charlotte ran from the room yelling for Slavandria.

  An F-bomb escaped his lips followed by another. He gasped for breath, heart hammering. He grasped the sheets of his bed and moaned to the ceiling. The pain. The agony.

  Slavandria’s voice oozed into his ears. Her touch lay cool on his chest. Words he didn’t recognize, pig Latin
… no wait, something different … something magical … swept like a breeze through his mind. A hand lay upon his brow, the touch refreshing and soft.

  More whispered words. Strings of them, floating in and out of his consciousness. Moment by moment the torture settled, like a burning pot removed from its flame. He sucked in a breath of air and gasped again for his next. Slavandria continued to speak in hushed whispers only he could hear. He shivered and shook, the panic subsiding with every word she spoke. His bones rattled.

  And then he broke.

  Sobs, deep and heavy, came. He couldn’t stop them. He didn’t want to.

  Slavandria pulled David into her arms and pressed her chin to the top of his head. He held onto her, afraid to let go, afraid he would lose everything that tethered him to his life and existence.

  After some time, he pushed back and took the warm, wet cloth Charlotte offered. His heart broke. She deserved so much more than a weakling such as himself.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have broken down like that. I feel like such a wimp.”

  Charlotte shook her head and cupped a palm on his cheek. “Don’t. I can only imagine the pain you felt. It looked horrible.” She glanced at Slavandria. “What was that? Why did his mark and his ring fight like that against each other?”

  “They didn’t. They sealed the dorna my father placed upon him.”

  “I-I don’t understand. I thought Jared completed the dorna in Chalisdawn.”

  “He did in the sense he awoke the dorna. Only when the time was right would the dorna turn on, in a matter of speaking.”

  David pulled the covers back over him, a chill settling into his bones. “You can turn it off at any time?”

  Slavandria peeled them away. “It can’t be turned off. You know what happened in the past if you tried to remove the ring? If you did so now, the pain would more than likely kill you, as the magic is now tethered to the mark. It has bound you to your destiny. It solidifies who you are.”

  “I don’t need rings and marks to tell me what and who I am.”

  “You need the one you have. It was made by the king’s jeweler many years ago and was given to my sister when you were born after our father blessed it. It also appears he threw in a bit of magic to assist you if and when you were ever called upon to fulfill your role as paladin.”

  David scooted upright. “But the ring had power just now. It lost its power in Havendale. Seyekrad even said the magic was dead, that it left me and my ring. He made sure of it.”

  “Seyekrad doesn’t know anything about you or that my father placed a dorna upon you. If he did, he would know there is no amount of his black magic that can erase those powers. Oh, he can flick and cast his spells at you, and they can disable you, but they cannot unhinge the magic protecting you. Those layers of magical armor can be dented, they can be wounded and lie dormant, but they cannot be destroyed. White magic will always triumph over dark.”

  “That still doesn’t explain what just happened,” David said.

  “What happened was a connection spell. It bound the mark and the ring together, providing you infinite powers to ward off black magic. Seyekrad can no longer mind-weave with you. Black magic spells can no longer touch you.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Charlotte said. “Why now? Why not back when all this mess started?”

  “The person who was given the dorna must earn its power by passing a variety of tests chosen by the giver, in this case my father. It seems your final test was one of chivalry and honor. Just because you have these powers, however, does not mean you are a god. Mortal weapons can still wound and kill you. And if you are hit by a white spell that rebounds, you can die. You can also still suffer from the effects of poison, but more importantly, Einar can still kill you unless you wear this.”

  She held up the sash she’d given him so long ago. It was in pristine condition, the blood from the king’s leg wound gone. The only difference was the gold threads running through it.

  The silk fabric draped over his outstretched fingers. “You kept it,” he said, his words almost a whisper.

  Slavandria nodded. “To be honest, I lost it after you rescued the king. No one seemed to know what happened to it. For weeks, I have prayed for your safety, and when you faced Einar a few days ago, I have never been so afraid in my entire life.”

  “Where did you find it?” Charlotte asked.

  “Amidst the rags used for the wounded not more than an hour ago.”

  “Will you put it on for me?” David asked.

  Slavandria nodded. “Yes, but I must insist this time you do not take it off. Wear it beneath your clothes, next to your skin. It will provide the most protection there.”

  Her hands worked with speed and gentleness, and before he could count to twenty, the sash lay soft and cool against his skin. How something so delicate could protect him from a dragon the size of Texas baffled him, but who was he to question her magic?

  “How does that feel?” she asked.

  He touched his fingers to the cloth. “Fine.”

  Slavandria smiled. “Good.” She kissed his forehead. “You should get some rest, now. You’ve had a trying experience. Your wounds should heal soon. Keep them bandaged for the next few hours, and don’t go trying to do anything daring and dangerous.” She stood.

  “Trust me, I won’t.” He paused for a moment and asked, “Slavandria, what happens now?”

  She glanced down at him. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

  “You said I’ve been blessed. I have these powers to keep all this evil from harming me, but what do I do to protect those around me? You gave me a quiver full of magical, reappearing arrows, but will that be enough? Surely I have more abilities than knocking arrows and pulling a string.”

  Slavandria smiled, and her eyes danced with mischief. “You have something better than abilities. You have knowledge of things not of our world, things that will come into play at the right time. You are not the coward you think you are.” She reached down and squeezed his hand. “Get some rest. Do not exert yourself. The funeral mass for Eric and the others will be the day after tomorrow. The following morn we will lay him to rest. After that, please feel free to make use of the training grounds. Any of the soldiers, knights, or pages can show you where they are. Sirs Gowran, Crohn, and Farnsworth are excellent trainers and will be more than happy to assist you should you seek their expertise.”

  “Which one is the best archer?”

  “Gowran. Would you like me to schedule time with him?”

  David nodded. “In three days. Let me know when and where.”

  Slavandria nodded. “I shall. And be sure to bring your stamina. Sir Gowran may be quite amicable, but he’s tough.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” David yawned and turned on his left side. “I’d like to get some sleep now. Wake me for dinner, please. I’m getting hungry.”

  Charlotte

  It was mid-day when Charlotte strolled into the queen’s garden for her weapons training with Mangus. She’d hoped to get out of her Torture 101 class with Daddy, seeing as how there were ifrit and drow and heaven knows what other nefarious creatures roaming around Fallhollow, but she should have known he wouldn’t let her get off that easy. She’d just settled in for a nap when a young handmaiden knocked on her door, delivering a package wrapped in gold and green silk, a note on top. She slipped her fingernail beneath the wax seal and unfolded the parchment.

  For your training. Slavandria

  She dropped the note on the bed and tugged on the twine bow. The cloth fell open exposing a stack of clothes. Charlotte held up a pair of forest green harem pants and a tan, puff-sleeve shirt with green trim. A brown leather belt sat at the bottom. Intrigued, she slipped into her new clothes immediately. Staring at herself in the mirror, she chuckled at the swashbuckling image staring back at her. Why had she never thought of dressing up as a pirate for Halloween? She looked good as a wench.

  Now
all she needed was to get rid of her heavy, voluminous hair.

  She rummaged through all the drawers in her suite, finally finding a slender knife with a pearl handle. Standing before a gilded mirror, Charlotte gathered a handful of hair and sliced the blade clean through the thick mass just below one ear. She waited a moment, unsure if it would grow back or burst into flames. She never knew these days. When nothing happened, she chopped off the rest. Satisfied with her new bobbed look, she stepped over the silky, lavender mound and scampered downstairs, determined to get her first day of training out of the way.

  She found Mangus waiting for her in the gazebo, his face drawn, his gaze set on a small cemetery nestled in the shade against the castle wall. Five headstones stood like sentries among the rose bushes popping with fragrant red blooms. To the left, between sun and shadow, a mound of dirt lay piled beside a freshly dug grave.

  Eric’s final resting place.

  Charlotte swayed where she stood, fighting off the tears determined to fall. So many emotions. So many memories. Mangus murmured something gentle and cupped her elbow, guiding her down a stone path edged in tall shrubs that opened into an even bigger garden with fountains and tall, skinny trees and grass dotted with bright wildflowers. He released her and strode ahead toward a decorative scrolled iron gate of grand proportions and pushed up on the latch. The door creaked open, and they entered the woods that lay beyond the wall. A slight breeze stirred the air, carrying with it a hint of earth and pine. They continued north along the trail, coming to a stop at the edge of the forest where trees met luscious green grass. It looked tranquil, peaceful, but the hair stirred on Charlotte’s arms. Murmuring voices, hundreds of them, whispered across the vale.