Bane of the Dragon King Read online

  “Because notion is so much easier to say than idea?” Julien said with a wink.

  David folded his arms across his chest and stared at the boy.

  Julien shrank back and lost the grin. “Sir Crohn said you were a prince, and you were to receive princely treatment. Am I not doing it correctly, sir? I don’t want to be reported. I am quite flexible and will do whatever you ask. I apologize if I spoke out of line moments ago. You seemed so, I don’t know, like a regular bloke, you know.”

  “No one is going to report you, Julien. Go put that stuff down. The bathroom is through those doors by the credenza.”

  The boy bowed his head. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  David cringed. “Please,” he called after the boy, “if we must work together, stop calling me that. My name is David. In private, away from all the ears that crave etiquette, you are to refer to me as David. Don’t let it slip, or I’ll feed you to the dogs.”

  Julien scurried into the other room, a terrified look upon his face.

  David chuckled. Poor kid. I really shouldn’t screw with him like that, he thought. But what else was he to do? Crohn told Julien he was a prince, but how would Crohn know that? Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just said that so others would think he was a prince. Then again, he was close to Trog. Maybe he did know. David stared at the doorway, a sour taste in his mouth. He hoped Crohn didn’t know. The fewer people that knew the truth, the better. It would be horrible, detrimental even, to Hirth if it got out he was the king’s son. That was the last thing Einar or Seyekrad needed to find out.

  Julien returned, his arms pressed at his sides. He looked as if he’d been starched and ironed. “Is there anything else I can get for you, Your … I mean, David?”

  David shook his head. “No, but you can accept my apology. I should not have messed with you like that. It was wrong. I am a normal … bloke … and I wouldn’t want to be spoken to like that, either.” He stretched out a hand. “Do you accept?”

  Julien’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “Yes, sir.” He shook David’s hand.

  “Good,” David said, rubbing his hands together. “What’s on the menu this morning? I’m starving.”

  “I believe Sir Crohn has already ordered breakfast for you, Your Highness.”

  David closed his eyes and took a long, slow whiff. “I can almost smell toast with strawberry jam, bacon, grits, and pancakes.”

  A side of cow.

  David chuckled at Eric’s voice intruding on his musing. Yes, Eric, he thought, a side of cow. He stared at a spot on the floor, remembering the drive-thru in Kingsport. The car, the hamburgers, the brain freeze from the strawberry shake. Those were good times, fun times.

  And they were gone, never to come back.

  He’d never be able to show Eric all the wonderful things about his home: movies, boats, skydiving, hang-gliding. Airplanes. Einar had taken that away from him. The beast had taken away so much from everyone.

  “Your Highness, are you all right?” Julien asked, his voice breaking David’s mulling.

  “Yes, yes I’m fine.” David pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bacon and eggs will be fine if you can put some together. Thank you.”

  Julien bowed his head. “I will check with the kitchen as to what has been ordered. Would you like tea or cider?”

  “Tea. Thank you.” He called after the boy as he made for the door. “By the way, Julien. What is a parsininny?”

  It was Julien’s turn to chuckle. “It’s a milksop, a featherweight. A crybaby. Which one of the knights called you that, Gowran or Crohn?”

  “Crohn.”

  Another little laugh. “I thought so. He can be a little rough around the edges, but don’t let him get to you. He’s a bit of a softie, to tell the truth, not that he lets on too much.”

  “I’ll remember that when he tars and feathers me.” David moved to a window and looked out. “What’s his story, anyway? Why is he so angry?”

  “It’s said his family was killed by shadowmorths while on holiday in Bybrook. It happened many years ago before I was ever a thought in my mum’s head.”

  “Why would they attack his family?”

  “Don’t know. I wasn’t there, but the tales traveling about in the shadows of the castle say Einar wanted to do away with the King’s Order. Those are the knights that protect the king. There once were nine. Now there are only four: Farnsworth, Gowran, Crohn, and Trog. Each one of them have experienced things that can make your worst nightmares look like child’s play. It is said Crohn almost died in the battle protecting his family. Dalvarians were involved, too, and after cutting him up, they left him for dead, or so the story goes.”

  David faced Julien. “And the others?”

  “The other five were ambushed, poisoned, went out one day and never came back. Gowran lost a sister and a brother to a pack of talagorns.”

  “Talagorns?” David queried.

  “Giant bears with heads like wolves. They guard the entrance to Einar’s Wailing Falls. That’s where the souls of the recent dead are cast and turned into shadowmorths. It is said the screams of the souls are so distressing, they make banshees weep. I don’t know about that as I’ve never seen or heard a banshee, and I don’t want to, but you know. It’s what you hear. Anyway, the talagorns are released from their duties on the night of a new moon, and they roam in packs through the Northern Forest, ransacking homes, ripping heads off children. Story is, Gowran went a-hunting, and when he came back, he found his siblings decapitated, their entrails stretched from the house to wood shed.”

  Julien glanced at the chair beside him. “May I?” David gestured him to sit.

  “Farnsworth is a bit of a mystery,” Julien said, sitting on the edge. “It is said that he and Trog grew up together, they were almost inseparable. They lived together, fought and trained together. There’s not much to tell about either of them, except that Farnsworth is the fairest of the four. He’s calm in a crisis. He’s always looking for non-violent counter-moves in response to those that are violent. He has never taken a wife nor fathered a child that anyone knows of. Not much is known about him. Very secretive, like Trog.”

  Julien tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair and nodded. “Now Trog, he’s a mystery if I ever saw one. It is said Einar’s henchmen killed his wife. She died by the fountain. They found her floating in it the next day. Tragic.”

  David looked out the window again. “Yeah. I know Trog’s story.”

  “Is it true he was nicked by a shadowmorth’s blade?”

  David nodded. “Yes, and I’m not sure if it will ever heal.”

  “The brownies say the pains of Trog’s past will mend once Einar dies.”

  David slowly turned around. “Brownies? As in pixies?”

  “Oh, no, no no,” Julien said, standing. “Don’t you dare call them pixies. You’ll find holes in your undergarments.”

  “Where in the world do you find brownies?”

  “Oh, they live all over the castle. They like to come out at night and fix things. Your socks need mending? The brownies will take care of it. Need some cleaning done? Leave out a bit of honey or porridge, and your room will be spotless.”

  An idea came to David’s mind. “How do I get an audience with these brownies? Do they have a leader?”

  Julien nodded. “That would be Fig, but he doesn’t come out much.”

  “Can you arrange it? For tonight?”

  “Didn’t you hear me? Fig doesn’t talk to anyone.”

  David pressed a hand to Julien’s shoulder. “Crohn said you would get me anything I wanted, and I want to speak to Fig. If you do not arrange the meeting, I will tell Crohn that you are not doing what I asked, and I don’t think that will bode well for you, would it?”

  Julien fidgeted and bit his lip. “I thought you said you were a nice bloke.”

  “I am. I’ll be even nicer when I get to speak with Fig.”

  “Fine. I’ll see what I can do. What time
would you like to meet?”

  “Midnight. Here. Tell him there will be bowls of honey and porridge. You will get it for me. Two bowls each.”

  “I can’t steal that much honey!”

  David flicked his fingers over Julien’s shoulder as if ridding crumbs from the fabric. “Thank you, Julien. I knew I could count on you. You’re dismissed.”

  The two boys stared eye to eye until Julien let out a sigh and huffed from the room.

  David closed his eyes momentarily and took a deep breath. So, this is what it’s like to be a prince, he thought, doling out orders, expecting them to be followed. It would be interesting to see if his order to bring a brownie named Fig to see him came to fruition, not that he could do anything about it if it didn’t. It wasn’t as if he’d go tattling to Crohn.

  Or would he?

  Charlotte

  Charlotte knocked on David’s door and entered as he gave a final tug on the sleeves of his jacket. She strolled across the room, reveling in the heat of his stare. At first, she thought Slavandria was crazy, delivering the shimmering black gown of moonlit-kissed midnight to her room, but when she put it on, all bets she had against it were off.

  She loved the way it flowed like a wispy cloud free of its storm. The lace sleeves adhered to her arms, the bodice tight to her waist, pushing her breasts up into the neckline that bordered on the seductive. She’d swept her hair from her face, holding it in place with a jeweled amethyst comb.

  “Wow,” David said, his gaze glued to her. “You look amazing. I like your hair.”

  She smiled and summoned a breeze through the open doors of the balcony. It was her latest learned fun ability from Slavandria and one she enjoyed maybe a bit too much. It snaked through the room, brushing across his face and teasing his hair. Cooling him off. “Thank you,” she said. “It was getting to be a bit much. And look at you, looking rather dashing as well. Black breeches. Damask waist jacket. Gold buttons. I feel like we should be going to a New Year’s Eve party instead of a funeral.”

  “I thought the same thing.” David cracked his knuckles and moved to the balcony. “Any idea how long this is supposed to last?”

  Charlotte sauntered next to him. “Mangus said it would go into the night, and we were to remain until the last funeral pyre disappeared.”

  David’s jaw tightened. “Great. Nothing like standing around watching bodies burn.”

  She looked David up and down. “Have you got something better to do?”

  “Oh, don’t tell me you’re looking forward to this.”

  “No. In fact the thought of it makes me cringe, but it’s not as if I have anything else better planned. Do you?”

  “Actually, I do.” He told her of Fig and the questions he wanted to ask him.

  “Interesting,” Charlotte said after hearing the plan. “Do you think he’ll cooperate? Better yet, do you think he can convince the other brownies to go along?”

  David shrugged. “I don’t know. All I can do is try. Heaven knows we need all the help we can get to put an end to this war.”

  “No truer words were spoken.” Charlotte ran the tips of her fingers along the edge of a desk. “Speaking of that, I, too, may have found some assistance in a most unlikely place.” She told him of her trip to the pit. “Mangus thinks they will fight for us if I can figure out how to release them from the in-between world they’re in. I’ve been racking my brain today trying to figure out how, but it’s eluding me. I really need to talk to Slavandria, but she was with Trog last night, and no one could seem to find her today. It’s almost as if she’s avoiding me.”

  “How was your training with Daddy today?”

  “Please, don’t call him that. He’s more like an uncle than anything, and training was fine, though my arms and thighs are very sore. He had me working with swords today. Thrusting, jabbing, slicing, and twirling. He kept telling me afterward how impressed he was with my natural ability, but I think he was only trying to make me feel better. He’s so see-through.”

  David smiled. “Mangus Grythorn doesn’t strike me to be a man to utter a lie to make someone feel better. If he said he was impressed, I’d believe him.”

  “I suppose, but enough about me.” She looped an arm around his, her expression one of concern. “I’m worried about you. Have you slept at all? How are you feeling?”

  “Fine, though I feel as if I’ve forgotten something terribly important, and it’s driving me mad.” He touched his fingers to his side. “My wounds, however, are gone, thanks to Slavandria and you.”

  Charlotte combed her fingers through the hair at his temples. “And what about the ones floating around in here? Did Slavandria heal those, too?”

  He sucked his bottom lip. “We’re not going to talk about those.” He retreated into his chambers.

  “You’re going to have to eventually. To be honest, I don’t know how you haven’t broken into a million pieces yet.”

  “Same way you haven’t fallen apart, I guess.”

  “I have magic cementing me together. Without it, I’d be a puddle on the floor. What have you got?”

  He stared at a painting on the wall of a fox cornered by hounds, the hunters on horseback prancing around it. “I suppose you can call it an uncanny ability to shut things down, to not think about them. To ignore they exist.”

  “That sense of denial will catch up with you, you know.”

  He cast a sidelong look her way. “What are you, my therapist? When are you going to open up about what happened to you out there? You haven’t said a word. You walk around here as if you are oblivious to it all. Oh, that’s right. You’ve got magic holding you together.”

  “Don’t mock me, David.”

  “I’m not, but come on, Char. This is me, David. We used to tell each other everything. Ever since that last battle, it’s almost as if we’re strangers. Both of us are locked up tight. You haven’t spoken about Eric or facing Einar.”

  “Have you? What do you want to talk about it? Do you want to relive hundreds of people dying? The sounds they make when their last breaths leave their bodies? What exactly do you want to share, David? The bloody disgust of it all? The terrors that creep into our rooms every night and plague our dreams? You want me to tell you what it feels like to have so much power surging through you that you feel like you’re going to explode? I don’t know about you, but I would rather not talk about any of it. I want to finish this damn job I have to do, go home, and forget I was ever here in this God-forsaken place. That’s what I want to do, and I would appreciate it if you would leave me to it.” She threw up her mental battle armor, a handy trick Slavandria taught her to keep random thoughts out of her head.

  “Fine,” David said, “but do me a favor and leave your hypocritical BS at the door. Maybe someday I’ll want to talk about all this, but that day is not now. Until I decide to shed my soul, I must fight the shadows that follow me, just like you. I can’t give into them. I don’t want to give them any power over me. If I so much as break a sliver, I’ll slip into a dark place that I may never come back from. Please. Let me deal with this my way, and I’ll let you deal with your demons your way. Deal?”

  Charlotte nodded and touched his arm in a reassuring way. “I’m sorry. It’s just … I hate this adulting stuff, you know?”

  David pushed around her. “I know. Life sucks.”

  The bells of the cathedral rang the hour. Five o’clock. She needed to go.

  “Slavandria’s expecting me at the church early, God only knows why. Would you care to escort me?”

  He turned to face her. “I’d like that very much. Do I look presentable?”

  Charlotte smiled. “You look edible.”

  His cheeks turned bright red. “O … kay. Awkward change-up there.” He rocked on his heels a couple of times. “Shall we?”

  ***

  They avoided the short cut through the cloisters and the gardens, the scents of the flowers a bit overwhelming. They took the
long way around, entering through the front of the cathedral instead. To her surprise, the pews were empty. There was no music playing, no choir in place. Before the altar of the church, bowls of burning sage surrounded nine pyres perched on decorative pedestals. Charlotte gulped as they approached Slavandria and Trog, both standing in reverence before the deceased. David’s hand found hers, and she gripped it tight. She didn’t want to see what was on those beds. She could smell it through the sage, the scent of death, and it turned her stomach to the near point of vomiting.

  David sat her down and placed an arm around her, but the bile continued to rise. Shadows swirled around her, inside of her, choking the air from her lungs. Nine souls, dark as the gown she wore, circled her, their cries of desperation resonating through her entire being. She glanced at David, but he only smiled, unaware of the zombie spirits surrounding her. Their presence was too much. She needed air. She shoved David out of the way and ran down the aisle past the first three rows of pews, turned left, and pushed through the doorway, smack into the gardens.

  She took a deep breath, and another. Fresh. Clean. Cool. Vibrant. The cloisters were full of life, beauty. Sweet, fragrant flowers. There were birds and crickets, worms and frogs. Water bubbled in the fountain. Her spirit calmed, her breathing leveled off. This was where she was supposed to be, not inside a dark, smelly room with death and darkness, gloom and tragedy. She couldn’t go back inside. She wouldn’t. Slavandria would have to understand.

  “I do understand,” Slavandria said, the cathedral door clicking shut behind her.

  Charlotte jumped. She hadn’t heard the door open or even sensed the sorceress’ presence.

  “Your senses are in a heightened state of awareness to the spiritual world in and around you,” Slavandria said. “I am duly impressed you have defeated that which dropped you to your knees a few days ago. Well done.”

  “I don’t need your approval,” Charlotte replied. “Besides, this overwhelming bouquet is still suffocating but glorious compared to what is in there.” She pointed to the cathedral. “That is not where I flourish. That is not my realm. I cannot go back in there, not while those men are rotting in there. Not while their unsettled spirits soar around, looking for a place to roost.”