In the Shadow of the Dragon King Read online

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  They followed the road north. Beggars Field gave way to an expansive meadow and rolling hills. The forest on their right thinned out, and before long they stood upon a ridge overlooking a deep valley dotted with haystacks. Two silos stood like shadow giants in the night. Apple trees speckled the landscape, the scent of their ripened fruit sweet and pungent on the cool air. They plodded downhill along the muddy road dotted with puddles. At the bottom, the terrain evened out and a row of dense hedges, at least nine feet high, formed on their right. Twiller picked up his pace and stopped a dozen or so yards ahead, facing the endless row of verge.

  “Here we are,” he said, as David and Charlotte approached. Charlotte slid from David’s back and leaned into him, his arm around her waist for support.

  Twiller cleared his throat, held up his hands, palms facing the hedges, and chanted:

  “Weeping willow, mist, and vine

  Heavenly moonlit stars align

  Verge of green in sea of grass

  Permit Slavandria’s guests to pass.”

  A golden glow fanned the branches aside, offering an entrance large enough for passage.

  “Whoa.” David helped Charlotte through the divide. The hedge rustled and snapped into place. “Sweet.”

  A landscape of rolling green hills stretched out before them. Winding narrow paths of glowing lapis lazuli wandered off in several directions leading to pastures, gardens, and round huts made of stones and thatched roofs. To the southeast, looming against a thick forest, stood a resplendent white palace, complete with domed turrets and minarets.

  “Good God,” said David, his mouth gaped open.

  “What is that place?”

  “That is the Elthorian Manor,” said Twiller, “and it is where you will spend the night.”

  “You’re joking, right?” Charlotte’s eyes sparkled like a little kid’s on Christmas morning.

  “I never joke,” said Twiller. “Come.”

  They trekked down the hill and through the monolithic gatehouse of stone and iron.

  Towering hedges skirting the path turned into brick walls thick with ivy. They passed through another gate and came face-to-face with dozens of half-moon steps leading to the palace where a domed, copper roof rose like a puffed up penny from the center.

  “This is beautiful,” Charlotte said. “I bet you could fit your house in there a hundred times.”

  David nodded. “No kidding.”

  Twiller climbed the steps and waddled across the wide mezzanine. He touched his finger to the lock, and the two-story wooden doors opened inward. Wall sconces and candled chandeliers flared to life.

  David stepped inside, his heart thumping madly. “This is sick!”

  A gold-flecked marble statue of an armored soldier straddling an armored horse stood with honor in the center of the entrance hall. Off to each side, two sets of marble stairs swathed in dark-blue carpet swept up to the floor above. Hallways dressed in bold, blue carpet and oiled paintings led off to either side as well as straight ahead, all disappearing into a vast, velvety darkness.

  “Whoa!” David turned in a circle, his head thrown back. “Check out the paintings on the ceiling!”

  “It’s even more amazing from up here!” Charlotte shouted as she clung to the second-story banister. “You’ve got to check out the tapestries and paintings!” Charlotte peered down the dim hallway behind her. “I wonder what’s back there.”

  “I don’t know,” David said, jogging up the stairs. “Maybe Twiller will take us on a tour.”

  “I’m afraid that is out of the question,” Twiller said as he reached the landing.

  “Whose place is this?” David peered down the darkened hallway behind him.

  “It once belonged to the Baron and Baroness of Trent, Fredrik Elthorian and his wife, Allena.” Twiller waddled across the landing to the right and opened a door. “Lady Charlotte, this will be your quarters for the duration of your stay.”

  It was a grandiose room with painted murals of rose gardens. A fire roared in the hearth. A plush bed adorned with brocade covers nested upon a platform inside a white gazebo. David opened the balcony’s double doors framed in dark blue velvet drapes with gold tassels and stepped outside, his breath momentarily taken by the view.

  “Oh, my.” Charlotte stood beside him, her mouth open. “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful in your life? Look!” She pointed to the right. “There’s a huge pond and a gazebo, and look at all the little houses lit up. Can you hear the music and laughter? It’s magical, don’t you think?”

  David nodded. “Yes. Magical.” So magical, I want to go home.

  Twiller, still standing in the doorway, cleared his throat. “Master David, if you will, please walk with me to the other side of the landing, I will show you to your quarters.”

  Charlotte was the first inside the spacious suite with murals painted on the walls. She sat at the foot of a massive, canopied bed carved with foxes and dogs, horses and hunters. From the corners of the canopy fell drapes of purple and red silks and velvets. A gilded mirror hung above the fireplace that was roaring with a freshly started fire. Plush sofas and armchairs formed a half-circle in front of the hearth. In the center was an oval table dressed with a fresh pot of tea, and a tray of rolls, jam, and tarts.

  David sat in a chair and leaned back. “Twiller, this is amazing. Thank you.”

  “Do not thank me. It is Slavandria who has provided such hospitality.”

  Charlotte sat on the couch and plucked a tart from the tray. “You said this house once belonged to a baron and baroness. What happened to them?”

  “They perished at sea while on holiday, leaving behind three sons. The two oldest moved to Hirth a few years after their parents’ death. The youngest, Devron, remained behind, befriended the king of Berg, and when the king passed away, Devron inherited the entire estate and title to the throne. Devron ruled for several years, returning now and then to the manor to escape the demands of the kingdom. Several years into his kingship, he married, and his queen had their only son here in this very room. It was a glorious day.”

  “You remember it?” David asked.

  Twiller smiled. “Oh yes. It was a grand affair, but the joy did not last. No more than six months after Master Cole turned three, the greatest known enemy to the five realms of Estaria attacked Berg. Within hours, the enemy’s army decimated the kingdom; every inhabitant, including Devron and his family, lay dead. The enemy, known only as Einar, took possession of the castle where he remains today, his eyes set firm and strong on the kingdom of Hirth.”

  “Why? What’s so special about Hirth?” David poured three cups of tea and popped a tart in his mouth.

  “Hirth is the seat of power in the realm of Fallhollow. It is the fabric that binds this realm, our world, together. If it should fall, all of Fallhollow as we know it will cease to exist. Einar will rule all. With Hirth and Fallhollow under his control, there will be no kingdom strong enough to protect the other four from crumbling. Einar will rule all things. There will be no place for any of us in his world.” Twiller stood and straightened his vest. “Now if you don’t mind, I must—”

  “Wait,” David shifted in his seat. “If Hirth is so powerful, then who or what is protecting it from falling into the hands of this Einar dude?”

  “I’m afraid no one, Master David, except for a well-loved king, an exceptional army, and a faithful order of knights.”

  “That’s it? No magic? No wizards? What about Slavandria?”

  “As you will find out, the mages are forbidden to interfere with the lives of men, and they adhere to that rule above all others.”

  A suspended moment of silence followed before Twiller stood. “Master David, Lady Charlotte, it was a pleasure having this chat, but I am taking my leave. I have not seen my home and wife in several days, and my feet are aching for a nice hot bath. You will find lavatories in your rooms. Restrictions are in place on the house
, limiting your access to your chambers, the upstairs landing, and the entry hall. I suggest you get some sleep, as Slavandria will arrive first thing in the morning.” Twiller left and returned within seconds. “I almost forgot.” He withdrew a small black rock with silver streaks from his vest pocket and set it on the chest at the foot of the bed. “Should an emergency arise—you fall, break your neck, that sort of thing—throw this at the wall. I’ll be here before you can utter my name. Goodnight.”

  Moments later, the manor’s front doors closed. David collapsed on his bed, his hands clasped on his stomach. Charlotte sat cross-legged beside him. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  She tore off a piece of bread and poked it in her mouth. “I don’t believe you.”

  David stared up at the carved canopy. “I’m trying to piece together everything, Char, and the more I try, the more effed-up it becomes. I mean, where do centaurs and fae exist? Nowhere and yet … ” He rolled out of bed and walked to the balcony doors and opened them. “I feel as if I’m losing my mind. Nothing makes sense, and I’m losing track of time. On top of that, this damn tattoo keeps pulsing and sending out these warm tingly feelings.”

  Charlotte slipped her arms around David and pressed her cheek to his back. His heart skipped. His skin electrified. “Does it hurt?”

  “No, not really.” His breathing became harder. Why couldn’t she understand what her touch did to him? The urge to kiss her intensified. He had to make her stop or else …

  David turned around and cupped her hands in his.

  Her eyes. So blue. So deep. They darted back and forth, searching his face as if waiting for him to say something. Do something—something he couldn’t afford to do. No, David. Friends.

  The heat of her body tumbled into his. “I’m sorry.” She gripped her fingers tight around his hands and pulled into him. “I wish there was some way I could help you.”

  David dropped her hands and walked inside, the memory of his hands all over her body fresh in his mind. Breathe, damn it. Breathe.

  She walked past him and sat on the bed. A moment of discomfort lingered between them and then vanished. “David, have you thought what we’re going to tell people when we get home?”

  “A little. I suppose we’ll have to make up a story that’s simple and easy to stick to.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.” Charlotte got up and walked to the sitting area. “It’s not like we can tell people we met a sorcerer and saw a centaur. Speaking of which, who do you think that guy the centaur delivered was?”

  “From the sounds of it, someone important. Did you see the cut across his stomach? I’m surprised his guts weren’t hanging out.”

  “I tried not to look. There was so much blood. I almost puked.”

  David tugged on her hair as he walked around her. “You almost puke over a hangnail.”

  “Like it’s my fault I have a queasy stomach.” Charlotte flashed him a coy smile.

  His heartstrings tugged at his soul, and his skin tingled as heat spread through him from head to toe. Once again, she’d managed to turn him into a gooey mess with just a smile. He had to find a way to turn the attraction off.

  He poured a cup of tea and raised it to her. “It’s my last one. Do you want another?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I think I’m going to get cleaned up and try to get some sleep. Are you going to be okay?”

  David nodded and wiped the dribble of tea away on the back of his hand. “Yeah, I’m good. I think I’ll turn in, too.”

  Charlotte glanced at the floor, a strand of hair twisted around her finger.

  Was she waiting for an invitation? No, she couldn’t be. She understood his need to stay just friends, didn’t she?

  “Okay,” she said. “You know where I’ll be.” She shuffled to the doorway and paused. “David. Do you think we’ll ever get home?”

  David met her gaze and hoped his tone didn’t betray his doubts. “Yes. We have to. You?”

  Charlotte smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Night.”

  David waited for Charlotte’s door to close before settling back on his pillow. Moonlight carved patterns on the walls. Dirt and sweat clung to his body like a repulsive second skin, and his mouth tasted like something had crawled inside and died. What he would give for a toothbrush.

  He turned on his side and stared at the sky, and for the first time since he and Charlotte arrived in Fallhollow, he allowed the hovering shroud of fear to settle over him. Not fear for Charlotte, not for himself, but from the threat that had yet to reveal its true face. It was coming, it was all around him, but this time there was no one to protect him. He was going to have to face the danger like a man, perhaps even die like one, but not before he got Charlotte home. That was his priority. After that, nothing else mattered.

  Chapter 15

  “What do you mean, you went to Avaleen?” Farnsworth’s fist tightened around the finials on the high-backed chair, his knuckles white, his face as red as beet soup. “No one gave you permission to leave!”

  “I don’t need your permission!” Eric tried to shove the anger down into his gut, but it fought back and tumbled out of his mouth uncontrolled. “I don’t need permission from any of you. I’m seventeen years old. I’m not a child, and if you’d stop for one moment and let me explain, you might realize I’m not as incompetent as you think I am!”

  “Eric, it has nothing to do with incompetence. It’s about you defying the rules. You know you are never to leave Gyllen without an escort. Ever.”

  “And why is that? Why am I always to be coddled and protected?”

  “There are reasons, and that is all you need to know.”

  “Then I suppose you would like to accompany me to the lavatories to ensure I don’t flush myself away.”

  “Eric, I’m this close to knocking that sass out of you,” Farnsworth said, his thumb and forefinger pinched together. “Now tell me what you were doing in Avaleen and how you got that bruise on your face.”

  “Farnsworth, go easy on him,” Mangus said, walking into the room, his lip curled up in a sly smile. “He managed to take quite a beating and still leave a very bitter taste in Master Camden’s mouth as well.” Mangus put his arm around Eric’s shoulder and squeezed. “He’s quite the young intrepid. He reminds me of someone else I knew years ago.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Farnsworth’s features softened. He embraced Mangus. “It’s good to see you again, my friend. We weren’t expecting you. What brings you to Gyllen?” The knight’s gaze wandered over Mangus’ healing face.

  Mangus sat in a chair and scratched his nose. “Don’t look so concerned, Farnsworth. It’s not as bad as it looks. A week from now it’ll all be gone with nary a reminder.”

  “What happened?” Farnsworth sat across from Mangus, one leg crossed over the other.

  Mangus relayed the story of his injuries once more, adding a few more details of Einar’s destructiveness.

  “I don’t understand it,” Farnsworth said. “That monster has been contained for the last seventeen years. Why? Why now?”

  “I think the mages woke him,” Eric said before he could stop himself. “I think they did it because they want a war.”

  Farnsworth rubbed his palm over his face. “Eric, I appreciate you wanting to help, but your overactive imagination is not what is needed right now.”

  Mangus sat back and tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I don’t believe his imagination is overactive, Farnsworth. I think you should listen to what he has to say. You might find yourself a bit enlightened.”

  Farnsworth waved his hand as a gesture for Eric to continue. “Very well. I’m listening.”

  Eric paced back and forth as he relayed the conversation he’d overheard in the cloisters and the chain of events as they occurred in Avaleen. Farnsworth sighed and rolled his eyes as if the story was too impossible to believe. Several times he turned to Mangus, who nodded in confirmation. When Eric fini
shed, the room fell quiet. Farnsworth stood and moved to the fireplace, one hand on the wall, the other on his hip. He stared into the flame, chewing on his bottom lip. Finally, he turned to Eric.

  “Why didn’t you say something to us when Seyekrad attacked you?”

  “Would you have believed me? Besides, all of you were babying me, acting as if I had no mind of my own. Like I couldn’t take care of myself.”

  Farnsworth’s jaw tightened, the blood vessels in his temples bulged and pulsed.

  “Regardless, you know your position as a squire and future knight of this kingdom requires you to inform us of any conspiracy you are witness to. You deliberately disobeyed that directive, and instead, decided to pursue your investigation that nearly got you killed.”

  Farnsworth folded his arms across his chest. “I am beyond angry with you, Eric. How dare you think of your personal gain at a time like this.”

  Eric sputtered. “My own … are you kidding me? Did you not hear what I said? There is a council of mages out there who are determined to peg Trog with a crime he didn’t commit, all because they want to take over Hirth. They’re willing to risk open war to get what they want. They tortured me to get him to come to them, and all you can focus on is that I didn’t tell you about the incident in the cloisters when it happened? Would you have believed me without proof or would you have told me like you just did five minutes ago that I have an overactive imagination?” His arms and hands trembled with stifled anger.

  Mangus flicked a glance at Eric and gave a slight shake of his head before standing. “The boy has a point, old friend. As it is, the lad found out some very valuable information, and Master Camden, along with four other members of the Council, are now confined until Master Jared can address the issue.”

  “You’re missing the point, Mangus. There are protocols all squires must follow, and he failed to adhere to them. He cannot go around thinking he is impervious to the rules.”

  Mangus waved his hand in a dismissive fashion. “Forget the rules for a moment and consider what the boy did. Look at him. He took a hell of a beating in the name of this kingdom, for Trog and Gyllen, and never once did he falter. The more determined they were to break him, the more steadfast he grew. Trust me. He looked a lot worse before Slavandria got hold of him. I’m telling you. I’ve seen less honor and resolve in grown men. Please consider my words before you pass down punishment.”