Bane of the Dragon King Read online

  “They are not looking for a place to roost, Charlotte. They are looking for divine light to wave them on to the next life. There is much for which they feel guilty. They need you to guide them.”

  “Of course they do. How silly of me.”

  “You are a Numí. You are expected to be one to all who need you, not just to some. That includes the souls of the living and the dead. There are many who will arrive for the service who know or suspect what you are, thanks to your public displays. They will expect your presence to comfort them, to give them hope. That is why you must and will attend. Being what you are does not take you out of uncomfortable situations. If anything, it throws you into them even more. That is where people need you the most, when life looks the bleakest and the most hopeless.” Slavandria gently turned Charlotte toward her. “You are light and glory, beauty and hope. You are strong and compassionate. Everything everyone needs shines in you. That’s why you are here. That’s why you must be in there.”

  “What’s wrong with you being the beacon of light and hope? Why can’t the dead find guidance in you? You are a direct descendent of Jared. If anything, you should be the light in the tunnel, the sparkly directional arrow leading to blissful eternity.”

  Slavandria laughed. “I would, if they chose me, but they didn’t. The souls gravitated to you. Your natha, your spirit light must be very, very strong.”

  “So strong it attracts dead people.” She looked at Slavandria. “You know they have this aura of gloom around them. It’s as if they are seeking to kidnap my soul and turn it as dark and messed up as theirs.”

  “You must learn to channel their voices, their spirits. The same thoughts and connections you make to summon breezes and grow grass are the same ones you use to direct those around you who are lost. They are seeking your forgiveness. Let the love within you touch them. Move them along. Bless them with your grace.”

  “My grace?”

  “Your divine ability to forgive those who wish to cleanse their souls so they may cross into a better life.”

  “You do realize how difficult this is to step into this role of divine being. It goes against everything I’ve been taught. I keep expecting to be struck down by a bolt of lightning for impersonating God.”

  Slavandria took her hands. “I understand and respect that, but your God doesn’t exist in Estaria. Here, the people have the heavens, the Numí, and you are a blessing. You have the chance to make a difference, to bring love and kindness into this world. Isn’t that what you want?” Charlotte nodded. “Then let your light shine. Be that beacon for the world to see. Breathe deep and center yourself. Remember why you’re doing this. Help them cross over so they do not have to exist in hopeless eternal purgatory.”

  “I will do my best.”

  Slavandria smiled. “It is all anyone can ask.”

  ***

  The pews were full when they returned, and music from the organ sounded warm and comforting throughout the church. David glanced at her from the front row. He sat beside Trog, Farnsworth, Crohn, and Gowran. King Gildore and Mysterie sat in the loft to the left of the altar. Opposite them, a small choir sang, their voices soft and melodious. Slavandria, Mangus, and Charlotte sat across the aisle from David, and the dead spirits sought her attention right away.

  Charlotte’s insides twisted and knotted as the first revenant approached. She shivered at his sepia tone presence and could just make out his ghostly face. He was an older man, his skin a bit rough, but his eyes held a gentleness she’d not often seen. He stood before her, his hands clasped together, caked blood obstructing the slice across his belly. She squirmed and glanced around, wondering if anyone else saw what she saw. Judging by their somber faces, the answer was a clear no. She exhaled and turned back to the spirit.

  H-hello, Charlotte said in her mind. How can I help you?” She folded her hands in her lap and straightened her spine. Center yourself. Be the strength he needs.

  I stand before you, dear Goddess of Light, to beg your forgiveness. I am a good man. I have always tried to lead an honorable life. I have never stolen; my lies have been few and told only to ease others’ anguish. I have held to my code as a knight. Recently, I found myself faced with a horrible choice. A man was killed by a shadowmorth. His wife and young son were wounded by a shadowmorth’s blade. They were in pain, their suffering insurmountable. The mother begged me to end it and burn them so their souls could not be taken. The spirit paused, tears streamed down his ghostly face. It went against everything I believed in, but I knew I would not want to live the rest of my existence as a shadowmorth, so I granted her wish. Putting my sword through her was bad enough, but to murder her child, no more than eight, maybe nine seasons old, that ripped my soul apart. Charlotte’s bottom lip quivered. She bit it to make it stop. Each day hence my heart rips further apart. I took the lives of two beautiful people who did nothing to me. They did not deserve my sword, and I am sorry.

  Charlotte wiped a tear away. Do not cry, Sir Knight. You did nothing wrong. You saved two souls so that they could join the righteous in the afterlife. That was a brave, courageous, and selfless thing to do. You thought of their future above your own. That deserves a peaceful eternal life. I forgive you and release the pain from your soul. Go to the heavens and be at peace.

  His spirit took on a glow. He thanked her before pinching into a ray of light which shot through the ceiling.

  A tingle rippled through Charlotte. She smiled as her soul opened to the joy flooding through her. That wasn’t so bad, she thought.

  King Gildore and Queen Mysterie approached the pulpit, and the choir and music stopped. They said some special words for those that were lost in battle, those who stood in the face of danger and willingly sacrificed themselves for their homeland. It was a soliloquy for the bravest, the strongest. For the heroes of war.

  For the knightly spirit standing before her as if trapped in a vintage photograph.

  His skin was as dark as the gown she wore, and muted blood caked to the wound where an arm once was. He was younger than the first spirit, but the look upon his face bore equal pain and sorrow. He’d fought with valor alongside his men, but was unable to save his best friend’s son, a soldier in the infantry. He’d promised the boy’s father he’d look after him, to bring him home safe. He failed. He removed the spear from the young man and remained with him until he passed. It was then the knight took his last breath. He begged Charlotte for forgiveness, for not holding true to his word. He asked she pass the news on to the boy’s father, to let him know his son didn’t die alone. A tear fell down Charlotte’s cheek. The guilt his soul carried. Tragic. She forgave him and promised to relay his words to the boy’s family. The knight blessed her, pinched into a ray of light, and shot through the ceiling.

  And on it went for over an hour. The spirits of the nine came, and she embraced their stories of courage and their vast and punishing sense of guilt. She understood them all and found it easy to forgive them for what they’d done or didn’t do. She wondered if she would do the same if an enemy requested the same consideration.

  The organ sounded once more, and the attendees stood. Charlotte glanced at Slavandria, and a silent understanding passed between mother and daughter. Only in forgiveness could the soul find peace. At that moment, Charlotte was at peace.

  David

  The last of the funeral guests filed from the cathedral, each given an herbal bouquet to take with them to the banks of the Cloverleaf River where they would wait for the pyres to arrive.

  One by one, eight men carried the bodies of the knights from the church to waiting carriages. The procession moved slowly, the horses’ hooves clomping along the cobblestones. David skirted away from the knights and walked beside Charlotte.

  “Hey,” he said, keeping his voice low. “How are you doing? You looked pretty torn up in there.”

  She smiled, but there was sadness in it. “I was forgiving the souls of the dead.”

  “Seriously?�
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  “It was my lesson from Slavandria. Forgive the transgressions of others, and you will find peace within yourself. It was after the last soul ascended into the heavens I was able to forgive myself for how I reacted to Daniel’s death. I didn’t realize it, but I was so angry. I was harboring such hate for those that shot his plane down, for the military that put him there, and I was so pissed at God for not protecting him and saving him. I let it blind me to the point I couldn’t see all the good. I had sixteen years with him. Sixteen amazing years of big brother, little sister bliss. I should rejoice in that. Instead I was selfish and angry because I wasn’t getting more.”

  “That’s part of dealing with death, though, Charlotte. You had a right to be angry.”

  Charlotte nodded. “I did, but there was a big part of me that felt if I wasn’t angry, then that meant I didn’t care anymore, but as I listened to their stories, I realized how wrong I was. I can still love and miss Daniel, but my time needs to focus on ways to honor him, not be pissed because my time with him is physically over. He’s still in here,” she touched a hand to her heart, “and I have to make sure the world knows how wonderful and special he was, is, to me.”

  David cleared the lump forming in his throat. “Well, I’m sure he would be happy to hear you’re finally happy and at peace.”

  “What about you? What did you do today with Trog?”

  “Not a lot. After lunch he tried to engage with me, work with me, but his heart wasn’t in it. Instead, I had an archery and sword class with Gowran. He helped me with my aim, my footwork. How to dodge attacks from a mad man wielding a sword.” He smiled. “I swear the man is crazy. Needless to say, I got lectured about right and wrong, good and bad, being lazy, not having enough gumption to do what is required. I mean, if you want to be degraded and cut down to the size of a pea, Gowran is your go-to man.”

  Charlotte wrapped an arm around his. “I’m sorry. I think you’re quite brave.”

  They paused at the tree line along the Cloverleaf River and watched as the pyres were placed in the water. Garret and Gertie were first. David stared out at the middle of the river watching the way the sun glistened on the top. “King Gildore has asked me to become his Liaison of Royal Affairs after all this is over. He said it will be a wonderful way for the people to get to know me and respect me.”

  “I think that would be wonderful … if you’re planning on staying.” Charlotte looked up at him. “Are you thinking of staying?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it, at least not until today when he approached me. Now I’m all confused, and everything I thought I wanted is a big question mark. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, it does.” Her voice turned quiet as she looked out over the water.

  “Charlotte, I need to know—”

  “Oh, look. I think Trog is trying to get your attention.”

  He looked at the knight standing along the river’s edge waving at him. The last of the carriages lined up behind the others parked along the bank. From the throngs of parishioners emerged Prince Izmayel Askare de Venniver the Fourth. He was clothed in the finest of brocades, black as obsidian tinged in hues of dark purple and gold. He cast a smug look at David and continued toward Trog, the tails of his jacket flapping in the cool winds dipping in from the east off the Sankara Mountains.

  “What I would give to smack that grin off his face,” David said.

  “I’d like to smack him into another world,” Charlotte replied. “If he ever lays another hand on me again, I might just do it.”

  “That reminds me, my valet told me earlier today he saw Prince Vinny covertly speaking with some mages who were not invited to the funeral. I’ve been thinking of doing my own covert investigating before taking it to Trog.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid, David. I don’t trust him.”

  “Yeah. I don’t either.”

  Queen Mysterie swept in behind them. “Hello you two. Charlotte, you don’t mind if I steal this charming boy away from you, do you? I’m afraid Trog’s eyes may spew blood if I don’t deliver him immediately. It seems the delegates are quite appreciative of all the help David provided to them upon their arrival, and they are asking for him.”

  “Yay me.”

  Mysterie smiled. “Come along. I promise they won’t bite. Remember who all of this is for, those men on the pyres, making their final journey from this world.” She looped an arm around David’s and looked over her shoulder at Charlotte. “Excuse us, dear. I’ll return him soon. You will be joining us for the celebration of life dinner, yes?”

  David looked at Charlotte and nodded his head. She smiled. “Yes. I’ll be there.”

  David mouthed the words thank you as he and Mysterie strolled toward Trog and the waiting dignitaries. What a long night this was going to be.

  ***

  A fiery sunset filled the sky as the last pyre floated down the Cloverleaf River. A volley of flaming arrows soared through the night and found their marks upon the nests of sticks and bodies draped in white silk. The guests stayed until the nine beds of fire disappeared around a bend before heading back to the castle. A cold shiver rattled David’s body.

  “I hate it when that happens,” King Gildore said, pressing a hand against David’s back. “Makes you rather feel like you’re trying to shed a skin you’re not supposed to wear.”

  David grinned. “Yes, sir, it does, though I have to say I never thought of it that way.” A warmth cascaded through him. He was talking to his father. His father. He’d wished it for so long, and now he didn’t know what to say or what to do. He looked toward the river. “Where are they going, the pyres?”

  They began walking toward the castle. “Oh, eventually they will make it to the Jade Sea. The moon fairies will see to it they receive a safe journey through the night. The centaurs and shime will ensure passage through the day. What I don’t like are those winter storms billowing down the Domengarts.” He gestured toward the rising mountainous shadows to the south, their peaks already topped with snow. “It is rare for the snows to reach Hirth,” the king continued, “and I fear the barbagazies who travel down the mountains will perish once the storms subside and the warmer weather returns.”

  “If you don’t mind my asking, sir, what are barbagazies?”

  “Little folk, furry gnomes with long, white hair and the biggest feet I’ve ever seen on a creature.” The king’s laugh was a hearty one. “Why, the first time I ever saw one I was about your age, and the little man skimmed right over the top of the snow on those big old feet like he was sliding on boards.”

  David chuckled. Skiing gnomes. He would have to see that in person. “Are they dangerous?”

  “Barbagazies? No, not at all. Gentle creatures, actually. Not a warring bone in their bodies. Finding them is not easy. Snowy mountain dwellers. Why the interest?”

  “I’d heard of them before, when Mangus came to Havendale to see Lily. He told her some had been murdered, their bodies found drenched in dragon’s blood. When you spoke of them a moment ago, I guess it spurred the memory.”

  “I hadn’t heard that report. I will have to speak with Mangus about it. As for you, what are your thoughts on the news of our new relations?”

  David glanced around, dread accumulating in every pore. How could he talk about this out in the open, where anyone could hear? It took every bit of self-control to retain a nonchalant air, as if they were talking about last week’s football game. “To be honest, sir, I’m not quite sure how I feel about all of it. There is a huge sense of relief both in knowing who my parents are and that they are alive.”

  “But?”

  “I’m not sure if I want to stay in Fallhollow, and I was wondering if they might consider coming home with me when the war is over.”

  Gildore stopped. “Leave?”

  David faced him. “Yes, sir. Go back to Havendale. It’s been my home my entire life. Everything I’m used to. My home, which isn’t as big as Gyllen, is rather nice.
My school, my track team. All my friends. I can’t imagine they would expect me to stay here?”

  “I-I don’t know what they were expecting, David.” He seemed befuddled as he continued walking, his brow drawn downward. “I admit leaving Hirth was not a scenario I believe they considered.” He patted David’s back. “There is still time to consider all options. To talk it out. First thing we need to do, though, is kill us a dragon. After that, we’ll have a clearer idea of what can and should be done for the sake of everyone.” He gestured ahead to Charlotte who was now in the company of one Prince Venniver, and an exquisite black and purple cloak that looked as if it had been fabricated from crow feathers. David’s fingers rolled into fists, and his blood heated to a low boil.

  “In the meantime, boy, you need to put an end to that.” He shifted his gaze to David’s clenched fists. “Anger and jealousy will get you nowhere. Find a way to deal with it.”

  “I’ll deal with it tomorrow after he leaves.”

  “Oh, he’s not leaving tomorrow.”

  “W-what? Why not?”

  “Prince Venniver is an ambassador from the kingdom of Itas. He has sway with King Thallan, the ruler of Brath la Dune, the capital of Itas. Venniver’s father, the elven King Wynrel, holds good favor with the elusive Seelie ruler of the Sona Isle, and is held in great esteem by Drac, the chieftain of the Edryds. His connections make him very valuable to us if we are to garner an alliance to defeat the dragon king. Only he can convince the Seelie, the Sidhe, the elves, and the Edryd to fight, but he needs to be wooed. Convinced. He has to feel he is getting more than what he is giving.”