Bane of the Dragon King Page 20

  “What a horrible thing to say.”

  “Truth and honesty often taste like rhubarb pie paired with a honey butter cake. Either way, once you’ve tasted it, you have to chew it and swallow. There are no spit-outs. That’s life. Come. I’ll walk you out. I’m sure our beloved prince is about to rip out some hair and maybe an eyeball or two.” They arrived at the front doors of the palace. “It was an honor to meet with you. There may be hope for Estaria after all.”

  “Thank you, as well. How will I know if the other kings agree to join us?”

  King Thallan smiled. “You will know.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “Until we meet again.”

  Charlotte inclined her head. “Until next time.”

  The fae guard opened the doors and stood beside Charlotte. “Would you like me to stay, Lady Charlotte?”

  She opened her mouth to speak but Venniver did it for her.

  “No. She does not.”

  She glanced at the fae and shook her head. “No, thank you. You may go.”

  He bowed his head. “As you wish.” He turned and disappeared into the palace. The door latched shut behind him.

  Charlotte put on made up airs. “Did you have to be so rude?” She pushed past him and threw out a mind thread. Slavandria. David. I need you. Hello. Is there anyone out there?

  Venniver grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Do you realize how long you were in there? What happened to having me join you?”

  “I said I would try. The answer was no, and to answer your original question, yes, I know how long I was in there. Now get your hands off me.” She jerked out of his hold.

  The way he looked at her. The way he breathed. The swirling amber in his eyes.

  David, please. If you can hear me, I need your help. I’m in danger. Go get Mangus. Please. Hurry.

  She started walking back to the carriage. “I’m ready to return to Hirth, now. I have to prepare for my trip to the Jade Sea.”

  “Yes. I have things I need to do as well,” the prince said, huffing past her. “Let’s go. We don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

  They arrived at the dock, and Charlotte paused. Paschette had bloody cuts across her snout and legs, and Hitril was gone. “Where is our other dragon, and what happened to Paschette?”

  “They got in a scrap over a few nimbies. I unhitched Hitril and sent him home. If you’re worried about having enough dragon power to get you home, do not. Paschette has plenty of strength.”

  Charlotte stroked the dragon’s face as she checked out the wounds. They didn’t look like claw or bite marks. Did he do this to you?

  Paschette blinked.

  Bastard! What gives him the right?

  “Lady Charlotte, I don’t know where your mind drifts, but for the last time, get in the carriage.”

  “No.” She walked toward him. “She seems weak to me. I think it would be wise to either summon two more Edryd, or perhaps I could charter a ride with a merchant.”

  David. Slavandria. I’m running out of time. You’ve got to give me some help here.

  “We’re not waiting on any replacements.” He snatched her by the arm and dragged her toward the carriage.

  Sparks ignited all over her body. Angry purple threads of electricity darted into his skin, zapping him all the way to his bones. A guttural cry came from his throat. “Let me go, Venniver, or it will get a lot worse.”

  His hand glowed. “Get in the carriage!” He opened the door.

  Charlotte turned up the power and put on the brakes. He wouldn’t take her, not without a fight. Arcs of sheer power zapped his face, his hands. Sizzling black pockmarks dotted his skin. He cried out again, the sound agonizing. If only he would let her go.

  “I’ll never let go,” he said. “Never!”

  A flaming sword thrust into her side. She looked down at it, the tip visible through a hole in the green velvet gown. Flames licked at the fabric as blood dotted the dress. He cupped a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream.

  Charlotte arched her back as he plunged her into the carriage, the weapon burning as it slipped out of her. He slammed the door.

  “Get her out of here, Paschette. Take her home. I need to see my father.”

  Charlotte lay on the floor of the carriage, her eyes closed. David, where … are … you? Sla … van … dria!

  She took a deep breath as the carriage soared into the sky.

  And everything around her went black.

  David

  Except for the gentle hoot of an owl or the brief scurry in the underbrush, the Southern Forest was quiet, but its silence didn’t stop David’s nerves from being on edge. Mere days had passed since he’d seen all the dead, fought the ifrit with a band of knights, and battled his way out of the woods, leaving little of his sanity intact. This time, however, there were only the three of them, and the ball in his belly refused to give way. They were marching to war. Again. There was one difference: this time, it was for the trophy. They would either win or lose. There would be no do-overs, no second chances. His thoughts fell on Charlotte and wondered how she was faring.

  Trog motioned them off the road, taking them down an indistinct path heading due south. Judging by the position of the sun, they’d been traveling like this for at least five hours, zig-zagging through the forest, hiking through tall grasses, open glens, and shady meadows. Their current path led them into a thicker part of the wood where elms edged out the oaks and ferns clothed the ground.

  A creek meandered alongside of them; its babbling a comfort to David’s soul. They followed it until they came upon a house poised on the edge of the water. It was a small place, not much bigger than two outhouses slammed together, but it seemed sturdy enough. Thatched eaves hung over the birch walls, casting the doorway into shadow. Three chairs and a bench stood on the lopsided porch, and wood planks crossed over the widest mouth of the creek where another path crept up the side of a steep hill. Trog unhitched his load from his back and sat down.

  “We’ll rest here for a minute,” he said. “Fill up our water bags.”

  “How much longer to get where we’re going?” David asked.

  “Two, maybe three days depending on this blasted weather. It’s been many a year since the Domengarts have spit their cold air our way.” He blew into his hands and rubbed them together. “I think the last time it happened I was a scrawny thing no bigger than the castle dogs. Hell, thinking back, they were probably bigger than me.”

  He laughed as did Mangus. Trog winced for a split second and touched his fingers to his side where the shadowmorth wound lurked. It was a subtle move, one he doubted Mangus saw. Trog, of course, chuckled once more at some offhanded comeback of Mangus’, and pretended nothing was wrong.

  But David had seen. He wondered if it was bleeding again. With all the hiking and training he’d done with David over the last couple of days, he wouldn’t doubt it. He was tempted to ask about it but changed his mind. Trog wouldn’t admit to it anyway. He wondered if it would ever heal. Knowing Trog like he did, it would take a long time. The man didn’t know how to sit still for more than five minutes. Maybe when the war was over Slavandria could put a sleeping spell on him. Send him into La La Land for a month or so. Yeah. That might work. He made a mental note to ask her when the war was over.

  The ground rumbled and shook. David locked his legs in place as the subterranean freight train raced beneath the forest floor.

  “Somebody want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked as a second wave rolled through.

  Mangus’ lips twitched with a smile. “Slavandria opened some tunnels. We better get moving. She’ll be able to mask them for now, but it won’t last long, maybe a week if we’re lucky.”

  “And then what?” David asked.

  “We wait to see what comes through and hope we can kill it before it kills us.”

  David stooped at the creek’s edge to fill his water bag.

  David.


  He raised his head and looked around, certain he’d heard Charlotte’s voice. Not finding her, he called out to her in his mind, but was met with silence. That’s weird, he thought. I must be more worried about her than I thought.

  He stood and capped the bag when her voice came through again, this time a bit stronger but still muffled, as if listening to her through pool a hundred miles away.

  David!

  There was something else, but he couldn’t make out what she said.

  “Charlotte?” He looked up at the sky.

  “David?” Mangus asked. “Something wrong?”

  “I don’t know.” He faced the mage. “Twice I heard Charlotte call my name, but when I answer back, there’s nothing.”

  Mangus furrowed his brow. “How did she sound?”

  “I don’t know. Her voice was so faint and garbled. Can you try to talk to her?”

  “I just tried. I’m not sensing anything unusual. I’m opening a thread to Slavandria.”

  David waited. He could almost hear the tree branches cracking, ticking off the seconds.

  Mangus shook his head. “She’s heard nothing, and she doesn’t sense anything out of place, either. It’s more likely your imagination. It’s normal for you to be worried, considering how much you care for her. Try not to obsess over it. She’s a tough young woman.”

  “But she’s not her mother. She just got her skills. She’s not trained.”

  Mangus laughed. “David, my lad, you underestimate her. She can do things I couldn’t and will never do in my lifetime. Neither will her mother. Trust me. If she needs our help, she’ll be able to get through.” He rustled David’s hair. “Try not to think about it. Let’s get going.”

  They hefted their bags on their backs and continued, pushing against the bitter cold winds coming down off the mountains. Charlotte called out to him a few more times, but then the mental highway went quiet. He breathed a sigh of relief, thankful his mind shut off the worry. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go with fear and uncertainty nipping at his brain before complete lunacy kicked in.

  Hours passed. They traveled quickly and saw very little wildlife. At twilight, they stood on the crest of a ridge looking down on yet another abandoned hamlet. It was the third one they’d come across, and upon making their way down, they found the story was the same as the others: doors ripped off homes, upturned furniture, cupboards ripped apart, food strewn over the floor. But there were no bodies. They entered a home and looked around.

  “Looks like they took off in a hurry,” Mangus said, shoving aside a plate of food on the kitchen table. He held a hand out toward the fireplace. “The hearth is still warm.”

  David gulped. “You mean this mess is new?”

  Mangus nodded. “Appears to be. I’d say we missed the party by fifteen minutes or so.”

  “What do you think they were running from?” David asked.

  Trog looked around. “No telling, but something spooked them.” He opened the back door and stepped outside. Dropping to one knee, he inspected the dirt. “It looks like they fled that way.” He pointed to the thicket of trees to the northeast.

  “Can you tell if anyone was on their heels?” Mangus asked.

  Trog shook his head. “They were on their own. Looks like only two sets of prints, one big, one small. An adult and a child.” He stepped on a branch on the ground. The crack shot through the air.

  “I say good luck to them,” Mangus said. “Let’s move.”

  “Why not stay here?” David asked. “It’s getting dark. The temperature is falling. Whatever was here is gone now. I can’t imagine it would come back.”

  Trog shook his head. “No. We keep going. This place is cursed.”

  David drew his cloak tight, his breath a thin curling vapor over his head. They forged deep into the forest, the moonlight dancing with the swaying canopy. Off in the distance another rumble cruised beneath the earth. Overhead, the palindrakes dove in and out of the treetops, stopping long enough to tell them an army of shime had caught up with them with the use of the tunnels and were flanking them on both sides, staying to the shadows. David dipped his head to the cold blast of air, shivering beneath his wool cloak. “Can someone tell me again why Slavandria didn’t have us take the tunnels?”

  Mangus turned his back to the wind and shouted above the fray, “Three battalions from Hirth and ten thousand plus fighters from both Doursmouth and Trent. I’d say her magic might be a little stretched.”

  “Where’s Jared in this whole mess?” David asked. “Shouldn’t he be, I don’t know, doing Numí stuff? I mean, he’s not going to leave Slavandria to do all of this alone is he?”

  The wind entered a lull. “Jared is doing what Jared does best. Let’s pray you are standing on the shores of Volly to witness it.” He gave a hearty pat to David’s back, almost knocking him over. “You don’t want to miss that fight, I promise you.”

  Twilight faded into black as they came upon another vacant home, this one standing on its own in the middle of a small glade. A trail of burnt brush marked the unfortunate tenant’s path of doom. David gulped as Trog’s sword hissed from its scabbard, and he opened the door to the thatched cabin. He stepped just beyond the threshold and motioned the others inside.

  A wood-frame bed stood in the corner, its wool coverings shoved to the foot. A kettle sat on the wood stove, and a few potatoes remained on the counter. Wilted turnips, onions, and soft carrots sat beside them, no doubt to be used in a dinner the unfortunate soul never got to eat.

  The floor creaked beneath Mangus’ weight as he moved around the room, sniffing, smelling, touching things as if trying to get a better understanding of what happened.

  “Ifrit?” Trog asked?

  Mangus shook his head. “No. The place is too tidy. This was precision.” He picked up a garment and studied it. “The victim was a man. Judging by the looks of the place, a clean one at that.”

  “You think he knew his attacker?”

  Mangus closed his eyes. Every now and then his lips twitched, his eyes fluttered. A moment later, he shook his head. “No. I’m sensing a struggle which began there,” he pointed to the stove, “and ended here.” He pointed to where he stood. A dark stain marked the planks. Mangus touched his fingers to it. He craned his head around over his right shoulder. “Another attacker stood there, by the door. The victim was assaulted once more here, impaled by some sort of weapon. He fled through the door in flames.”

  “What happened to the first assailant on the floor?” David asked. “Did he get away?”

  “No. He was carried away. You can follow the drops to the front door.”

  David marveled at the sleuthing capabilities of the mage. He would have never seen it. Any of it.

  Trog gripped David’s shoulder. “Step outside and tell the shime we’re staying here for the night. I’ll get a fire going.”

  A couple of hours later, they sat around the small table eating three rabbits Trog killed and drinking a bit of ale, all except David who insisted someone had to remain sober in case anything went wrong. The comment brought about hearty laughter from his travel buddies, and David took their mocking in jest. It was the least he could do. Where else would he get the protection of the strongest knight in Fallhollow and the general of the mage army? It seemed like a fair tradeoff.

  After dinner, they sat before the fire listening to the winter wind howl and moan as it circled the cabin. David’s nerves tightened, like rubber bands stretched to their breaking point. At home, he’d play a video game or listen to music. Here, he needed to hear voices. Stories. He asked Mangus to go first, and the mage was eager to regale them.

  “I was about your age, lad. Virile. Handsome. Oh, I thought I was the answer to the ladies’ dreams. I had a bit of magic, my charm, and I was a greenhorn on the most glorious ship ever built—the Windsong. This ship is mighty big, young David, bigger than any ship in any universe, and when her sails billow upon the sea winds,
” he leaned back, his arm in the air as if painting a picture, “she’s the most beautiful sight to see.” His arm fell, and he smiled. “I thought I was something bigger than I was. We docked that afternoon in Gull Harbor, a trade town in the Spice Isles. I found myself in a tavern surrounded by a bunch of sailors and girls ready to take our troubles away. Got myself into a fight that night with a man who felt I should stay away from a particular lass. I was drunk, but he was drunker. He ended up on the floor, and I stumbled my ass out of there with not one but three lassies and a jug half-filled of whisky. They thought I was something, and me being the virile sixteen-year-old, thought I was something, too. I got this grand idea to take them with me on my trip back to Felindil. The girls were more than willing—”

  “No doubt they were drunk and out of their minds as well,” Trog said.

  “They were clean as the crystals at Balwath Palace.”

  The two men laughed. David smiled. He had no idea what the reference was about, but there was an oxymoron in there somewhere. He was certain of it.

  “Anyway, I go sneaking these three on board the schooner, and we get down to the storage room and we’re knocking stuff over. They were laughing, I was laughing, but I was also scared. See, Jared can hear a mouse scamper a hundred yards away. I knew any minute he was going to storm down there and set me on fire or some such thing a mage does. It was my first time on his ship, and I’d heard stories that almost kept me from joining on the crew, but it was the Windsong, you understand.

  “I joked around with the girls, had a few kisses, too, and delighted them with some magic tricks until I heard the sailing bell. Sadly, I had to say farewell to the young, pretty things, and I joined my mates on deck. I wasn’t much use to no one, even vomited a couple of times. Then I had to clean it up which left my head hanging over the side for the first hour of the sail. Eventually I made my way back down to the storage compartment, but the girls were gone.”

  “Go figure,” Trog said.