Bane of the Dragon King Page 12

  Charlotte smiled. “Please,” she said, taking the shime’s hand. “Look at me.” The female did as she was told. “You do not have to worry about speaking to me, ever. I appreciate your candidness, and I can assure you that you haven’t offended me. If anything, it should be me on my knees asking for your forgiveness for allowing your people to perish and die for Hirth. It is far too much of a sacrifice to make for any cause, much less one that is not your own.”

  “You are gracious and kind. Thank you.”

  Charlotte smiled. “You’re welcome.” She let go of the shime’s hand. “You know, I couldn’t help notice your accent. I’ve never heard it before around here. Where are you from, and for heaven’s sake, what is your name? I’m so rude. I should have asked ages ago.”

  “My name is far too difficult to say in your language. Here, I am known as Shedrah. I come from Ichletheon, a small island in the Brindle Sea, beyond Filindel.”

  Charlotte didn’t know where that was, but it sounded far. “What brought you here?”

  “A season ago, we learned this blessed land was in distress. The few shime who lived here needed assistance in fighting an enemy it couldn’t see or trace. Shime from around the world of Estaria responded and came to defend this kingdom. Here we will stay until the threat is gone.”

  Tingles scurried up Charlotte’s spine. What was it about Hirth that made everyone want to defend it? She had to ask.

  Shedrah smiled. “You are an inquisitive one.” She glanced over her shoulder at Emelia who stood in the doorway with a basket of freshly folded cloths. She returned her gaze to Charlotte. “We fight for Hirth because she is grand. It is a land where anyone, from anywhere, can come and be who they are meant to be. For over two hundred years, this land has endured peace for the most part, except for a few skirmishes here and there. When a pirating nation attacked Ichletheon, the realm of Fallhollow, under the leadership of Hirth, came to our aid. They defended us and protected our sovereignty. Their might was powerful and swift, and the enemy was defeated, however, the war left our lands weak and broken. We feared Hirth would seize our small island, take it as their own, and rule it. Any other kingdom would have done so. But Hirth chose not to rule. Instead, they helped us rebuild. They left behind a small regiment to defend our borders until we could defend them on our own once again. Because of Hirth, we became bigger and stronger, self-sufficient. Defensive. We became stronger allies than ever before, and the relationship has only strengthened. In the time we have been allies, the shime have discovered our tiny island was not the first of its allies it defended. Hirth has come to the aid of many who were less fortunate and helped them become independent and strong. That is why so many of our kind choose to live here, and why we choose to protect the land that has given us and many others so much. It is the least we can do.”

  “And we are blessed a thousand times over that you are here,” Emelia said, handing Shedrah the basket of warm, clean sheets, towels, and bandages. “I wish we could have met under better circumstances.”

  “As do I,” Shedrah said. “Unfortunately, death is a product of war and life. It will all come to us someday.”

  A patient called out for help, and Emelia excused herself.

  Shedrah moved closer to Charlotte. “May I offer some advice to you, young goddess of life?”

  A twinge of heat rose in Charlotte’s cheeks at the reference, but she merely inclined her head.

  “You have brought attention to yourself with the fountain and the courtyard. While I am honored to be in your presence, there are others who will not be. Please, for the sake of this world and yourself, become invisible. Slip into the background. Keep the paladin closer than you ever have, and never, I repeat, never travel to the Silver Isles. Only death awaits you there.”

  Tendrils of sparks exploded along Charlotte’s spine. “The Silver Isles? Where are the Silver Isles?”

  Shedrah bowed her head. “Remember what I said.” She collected her things and made for the hallway.

  “No, no. Shedrah. Don’t go. Please. You must tell me more. Talk to me. I don’t understand. What, where are the Silver Isles?”

  Shedrah continued and never looked back.

  When Emelia returned to collect the soggy cloths, Charlotte turned and asked her, “Where are the Silver Isles?”

  Emelia shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  David

  David stirred and inhaled a breath of fresh, cool air, grateful for the cleansing crispness in his lungs. He threw his arms out to his sides refusing to open his eyes only to destroy the moment. Memories of Octobers back home wafted around in his brain: sitting on the back porch stirring a hot cider with a cinnamon stick, hay rides with Charlotte, the smell of caramel apples and the sounds of carnival music and laughter at the local fair. God, how he missed home. Someday he’d go back, both Charlotte and him and his parents. Maybe there was a way to keep the portals open after Einar died. Maybe he and the king and queen could travel between realms whenever they wanted. He would have to ask Slavandria. It would be the only way to convince his parents to go back with him. To be the family he always dreamed of.

  A smile stretched his lips at the tantalizing possibility.

  A high-pitched wail soared through the air and into his chest, a javelin to the heart. David jolted upright, his eyes wide open. His heart ceased to beat for a split second, his body engulfed in a crippling horror.

  He lay in an endless field of green. Millions of leaves in browns and golds, yellows and oranges sailed on a brisk wind, their edges glowing with fire as they dipped in the wind and flew away. Tall trees burned and crackled. Smoke cloaked the sky in a thick, gray veil. In the distance an army of ifrit pressed forward, and the weight of their movement shuddered the ground.

  “No. No,” David scooted back, then rolled to his knees and clamored to his feet. “Where am I? What is this place?” He scoured the ground looking for his bow and quiver of arrows, his pulse racing. Fiery shapes marched toward him from all directions, their steps keeping rhythmic time.

  Stomp.

  Stomp.

  Stomp.

  He could hear them breathing. Any moment they would break free and storm toward him, but there was nowhere to go. No room to run. He spun around looking for anything to use as a weapon but there was nothing, only blades of grass specked with … blue-veined silver dragon eggs? A breeze washed over him, chilling the sweat pooling on his skin. His fingers trembled as he plucked one from the ground. Dragons had magic. Maybe their eggs did, too.

  A unified roar sounded, and the ifrit thundered toward him. He threw an egg, then another and another. They broke open upon the ground, revealing tiny bodies, their forms partially made. Mortification froze him where he stood. No. It couldn’t be. They were eggs. Runny, gooey eggs. There weren’t supposed to be bodies inside. What had he done?

  Gusts of wind, harsh and bitter cold, knocked him from his feet and slammed him to the ground. The air pulsed with a rhythmic thrump, thrump. He covered his head, his nose shoved into the sweet earth.

  Thrump.

  Thrump.

  Boom!

  Boom!

  David’s insides contracted. His arms tightened. The ifrit yowled, and their tormented pain screeched across the sky. He twisted and arched against the cacophony and rolled onto his back. Time warbled, and he blinked and bottled his breath.

  Overhead, dozens of snow-white dragons swarmed; their gossamer wings dissipating the fetid smoke, their movement graceful and fluid, fluttering upon the currents of air. Slivers of sunlight cracked through the thinning brume. Prisms of light flashed off their diamond-dusted scales, blinding the ifrit. The dragons glided left and right, up and down, each of them following along behind another, each gathering synchronizing speed until they became a single strand of glimmering cotton.

  And then they stopped, thrust back a half-turn, and sprayed bus-sized fragments of crystals to the ground.

  An audible intake of breath w
as David’s only response.

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  The ground rattled and shook. Cracks and humps of earth snaked through the meadow. David jumped to his feet, his arms out to his sides as he fought to remain balanced. Eggs wobbled, and along the rim of the grassland, ifrit ignited and became no more.

  The landscape grew quiet. David stared at the dragons encircled above him, their Caspian blue eyes turned down on him. What was he to say? Thank you? He’d killed several of their young. Did they understand? Could they understand?

  A streak of lightning cracked across the sky. Another followed, the tip of it arrowlike. It struck one dragon, darting through its body only to strike the next in line. It moved fast and with blinding accuracy. One by one the magnificent creatures fell to the ground in heaps, blood stark red upon their snowy sides. More arrows of lightning struck the ground. Eggs exploded. Armored shells rained down all around.

  “No. No, no, no!” David said. He searched the sky looking for the source of destruction. He found it in the shadow of a man hovering in the clouds, bolts shooting from his palms. “Stop it!” David yelled. “Leave them alone!” His body shook with anger. Where were his arrows when he needed them? Another egg exploded behind him. Another one to his right shattered. Tears fell, his emotions raw. “Stop it! Please! I beg you! Leave them be!”

  Darkness erupted, blanketing the world in hopelessness and gloom. Maniacal laughter boomed from within the murk, its oppressiveness thundering from cloud to cloud. David gaped. Tears swelled and dropped to the ground. He collapsed, his knees drawn to his chest, the pain in his heart seeping from multiple imponderable holes.

  “David!” A fiery smack landed on his face. Hands gripped his shoulders. “David! Come back! Now!”

  He flopped like a ragdoll in a storm.

  “David!”

  Another sting to his face. A pinhole of light materialized in the gloom.

  “That’s it. Follow my voice. Come to me.”

  Someone held his hand. It was soft. Tender. His eyelids trembled as he pried them open by a willfulness he thought escaped.

  A familiar face came into focus. “Slavandria?” Her name slipped from his lips in a grated and broken whisper. He lolled his head to the right and spilled a tear upon his pillow. “They’re dead. They’re all dead.”

  Slavandria combed her fingers through his hair. “Who’s dead, David?”

  He looked up at her through tear-pooled eyes. “The white dragons. He killed them. All of them. The eggs … they’re gone, too.”

  Slavandria cupped her hands around his face and kissed his forehead. “Shhh. It was a dream, honey. A horrible, horrible dream.”

  David shook his head. “No. I saw them. I saw him. A man. He floated in the clouds. He killed them all. I … I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t … ” He turned his back to Slavandria and sobbed.

  “Emelia, go fetch some soup, please,” Slavandria said.

  David heard the girl scurry away.

  “Mangus,” Slavandria said as soon as Emelia’s footsteps faded, “you must seek an audience with King Tanyl. Take a trip to the Sona Isles.”

  “I have already mind-weaved with him.” Mangus’ voice strummed the air in a low, soothing note. “He assures me all is well, and the Edryd are in no harm. He had a dream, Van. That is all. Let him sleep. Do not upset yourself any further.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Where is Charlotte? Perhaps she can sit with him?”

  “I’ve asked her to join Gildore and Mysterie in welcoming the king of Trent and his family. I must attend as well.” She stood and readjusted the blanket around David’s shoulders. He wiped his face and touched his fingers to her hand.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  She leaned down and kissed his temple. “Get some rest. Mangus will stay with you until Emelia returns. I’ll send Charlotte once the formalities are over.”

  Her hand slipped from his. “Look after him, Mangus.”

  And then she was gone.

  “It wasn’t a dream,” David said, not turning over. “You’ve got to believe me.”

  “I do, son,” Mangus said. “I do.”

  Emelia returned with soup, and Mangus said his goodbyes, but not without an unspoken understanding between him and David. Charlotte came to see him hours later still dressed in her courtier finery, and oh how she played the role well. She sat with him while he picked at the dinner of quail, turnips, and carrots she brought to him and rambled on about her telepathic training session with Slavandria earlier in the day and her dinner with the king and the prince and the prince’s wife. He pretended to listen, smiling every now and then, but his mind continued to stray to a green field dotted with white death. Several times Charlotte showed concern for his aloofness. He apologized and passed her concerns off to being tired and recovering from the ifrit attack. At his insistence, she eventually said goodnight, leaving him and his mind to the dark and with a prayer for a quiet sleep.

  ***

  David woke the next morning with a prod to his side. “What the—”

  He stared into dark, beady eyes and a face in terrible need of a shave.

  “Get up!” the man said, his voice rough and gravely as if he’d eaten too many rocks in his lifetime and some were still rattling around his throat.

  David rubbed his eyes and scooted back until he landed in a somewhat sitting position. There was a niggle tugging at his brain, as if he should be remembering something, but whatever it was eluded him. He may as well have been trying to find a cotton ball in a fluffy cloud. “Sir Crohn?”

  “Yep. That’s me. I’ve been directed by Trog to come get your sorry behind out of bed and see to it you get ready for the funeral. I don’t think you want me to toss you out.”

  “Wow. Aren’t you a bowl of sunshine and peaches.” David ran his palms over his face.

  “Yeah. I’m such a ray of joy. Now stop your jawing and get up.”

  “All right. Geez.” David tossed aside his sheet and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. To his surprise, the pain in his side and his arm was almost gone. He took a glance at both wounds and smiled. No bandages, and the tiny marks that remained seemed to fade as he watched. He chuckled to himself. He loved magic. At least the good, healing side of it.

  “Are you going to sit there all day pondering if you need to pee, or are you going to move your lazy bum and get going? I still need to dress.”

  “Well, by all means, go.” David slid off the bed and stood.

  “I would if you’d move your bloomin’ feet. I’m to escort you to your room, so if you don’t mind.” Crohn gestured to David with a sweep of his hand to get moving.

  David smiled. “Well, when you put it that way, how can I resist?” He searched his hospital bed for his shirt. It hit him in the chest. “Ah, there you are. Thank you, Sir Knight. How could I ever get along without you?”

  Crohn growled and huffed from the infirmary. David took in the broadness of the man’s shoulders, the thick, muscular bulkiness of his body, the way he flicked his fingers as he marched outside. David shielded his eyes from the sun and shivered as a cold breeze whipped by.

  “Brrr.” He rubbed his arms. “Who summoned Jack Frost to the party?”

  Crohn spun around, his eyes pinched into narrow slits. “I don’t have a clue who Jack Frost is, but I can tell you this ain’t a party, lad. It’s a day of mourning.” He jabbed his forefinger in David’s chest. “You keep your trap shut and your eyes open. Shed a tear if you feel it will somehow heal your soul, but stop with your attitude. I don’t have time to deal with parsininnies and their lack of respect for the dead, got it?”

  Parsininnies? David thought. What the heck are parsininnies? He knew it best not to ask, so he nodded and followed Sir Grumpy inside the castle to his familiar suite of rooms.

  “Your clothes are in your dressing room,” Crohn said. “There is to be no deviation from your attire. A bath will be drawn for you soon. I suggest you take full
advantage of it. I’ve ordered food for you, and it should be here as soon as the kitchen decides to get it here. The ceremony will begin two hours before sunset. You are expected to be in the cathedral and seated to Sir Trogsdill’s left a half hour before the service begins. There will be no exceptions.”

  “What’s the big deal about where I sit?”

  “What’s the big deal about following instructions?”

  “Nothing. I was just wondering—”

  “Don’t wonder. You have been assigned a page. His name is Julien. He will fetch whatever you need and help you dress if you need it. If you have any other questions, bother him as I will otherwise be engaged. Understood?”

  There those beady eyes were again staring back at him through a curtain of black, stringy shag. David glanced around the room and shrugged. “Yeah. I guess so. Thanks for the escort. By the way, when is sunset?”

  “Ask Julien.” Crohn stomped from the room. Mr. Cheer and Wonderful was gone, thank God.

  David settled in an overstuffed chair by the balcony doors and closed his eyes, unable to shake the feeling he was forgetting something. Something important. A knock sounded at the door and David groaned. He hauled himself to his feet and shuffled that way. “Coming.”

  He opened the door to a boy of perhaps fourteen, with wavy blond hair and a cherub face, complete with pink cheeks and lips. He carried in his arms a stack of folded towels, a back brush, and some small squares of soap along with a comb, scissors, and a straight blade.

  “Ahh, Crohn sent the cleaning crew to wipe up my remains after you cut my throat. I see the method to his madness. Brilliant, I must add.”

  “No, sir,” the boy smiled. “I am Julien. I am your valet for the day and am here to ensure you are ready and dressed for the solemnities.”

  “Sure. The solemnities, because it’s so much easier to say than funeral.”

  The boy smiled again. “I must watch my etiquette, Your Highness.”

  David’s brow furrowed, and his nose wrinkled as if he smelled something rotten. “Your Highness? Where’d you come up with that notion?”