In the Shadow of the Dragon King Read online

  “I’m not sure. You can try Crafter’s Row.”

  “Thank you.” Captain Morant’s gaze traveled from the tip of Eric’s head to his feet then back to his face. “You should get cleaned up, young man. You are a squire, not a stable hand. You cannot be first in line alongside Sir Trogsdill to greet Their Majesties looking like a bedraggled cat.” He playfully punched Eric’s chin. “Go on! Make yourself presentable!”

  Eric grinned. He didn’t need to be told twice. “Yes, sir, Captain.” He flicked a sarcastic smile at the jobmaster and ran to his castle suite.

  Chapter 4

  David ran upstairs to his room, his phone pressed to his ear.

  “What do you mean your parents aren’t dead?” Charlotte sounded as whacked-out as he felt.

  He read the letter to her. His hands shook as the words faded from his lips.

  “Shut up,” Charlotte said. “This is so freaking weird.”

  “What do I do with this, Char? My brain can’t process it.”

  “I don’t know. Let me think. I’m still with my family. I’ll call you when I get home.”

  David hung up and fell back on his bed. Unfolding the letter, he read it again. Three phrases stared back at him.

  The risk to his life.

  His father and I.

  David.

  No matter how he spun it, there was no room for misunderstanding. His parents were alive. His mother had written the letter, and he was in danger.

  He dangled Lily’s necklace above him. Why did you leave this here?

  The woman’s voice from his dream whispered deep in his mind two words he hadn’t heard before. Keep … safe.

  The pendant swung from side to side in a gentle tick-tock motion. His thoughts traveled back in time to his first memories of Lily. Image after image flashed, and in every frame the necklace was draped around her long, regal neck. That is, until this morning. Until she drove away in his car. David bunched the necklace in his fist, his arm draped across his forehead. His forefinger pulsed. David sat up and removed the ring.

  Hot molten fire shot through his veins, shooting down his legs, up his arms, through his neck. His blood turned to lava, burning, bubbling. An inhuman cry he didn’t recognize as his own bellowed up from his throat. The room blurred. The ring rolled from his hand, and tinked to the floor.

  “Nooooo!”

  Fiery torture raged through his limbs. He dived from the bed, searching. Swimming. Oh, God, make it stop! Cool metal brushed his hand. His fingers curled around the band and slid it into place. An icy wave crashed through his veins, extinguishing the fire, soothing the burn, and calming his blood.

  David stared at the ceiling, panting. “Jesus. What the hell?” His phone rang, but he didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. His body failed to engage in movement. The grandfather clock did its musical gong thing twice, meaning thirty minutes passed before he could coerce his feet to allow him to stand. He hokey-pokeyed about and let out a long sigh. “Note to self. The creepy ring does not leave the finger.” He checked his phone. Charlotte had called. No message. He grabbed his coat and fled downstairs. He needed to see her, and now, but she wasn’t home.

  He walked Chestnut circle from the cul-de-sac to the stop sign, counting his footsteps in his head. When he reached thirty-six, he went home, his feet and legs cold and numb. In the warmth of his room, he crashed on his bed, a picture of Charlotte in one hand, his phone in the other.

  ***

  A haze hung around David, lifting him to a green meadow, the morning sun bright and warm. In the distance, a farmer tilled a large field. Children laughed, a dog barked among clothes on a line. Beautiful. Serene. And then it came. Thunder. But it didn’t come from the sky.

  Hundreds of armored knights and soldiers clambered over the hilltop. On horses and on foot they charged one another, spears at the ready. Arrows flew through the air. The reverberations of the battle surged through his being. His heart was like a pendulum slamming against his ribcage. The ground shook.

  Bark. Bark.

  David turned to the children playing. Terror coiled around his spine. His feet left the ground in a sprint. His arms flailed in the air.

  “Go! Get inside!”

  They paid him no mind.

  He ran harder, faster, his arms pumping at his side. An arrow pierced his thigh and agony ricocheted through his bones. He tumbled to the ground. Horses reared around him. Blood splattered his arm. A scream filled the air. He scanned the battleground looking for its source and froze as Charlotte came into view, tied to a lone tree in the middle of the field. The children disappeared, vanished as if never there. He pushed to his feet and ran to her, dragging his wounded leg behind. A man wielding a sword shouted his name, but David waved him away. He reached Charlotte and clawed at the knot binding her wrists, but it failed to budge.

  A sudden burst of wind hit him from behind. Charlotte’s face froze in terror; her expression ripped at his heart. Tears slid down her cheeks. He followed her gaze and stopped breathing as a huge shadow blocked the sun. A monstrous dragon, so plum-purple he was almost black, flew over the field, its enormous mouth open, fangs exposed. Flames bellowed inside its throat. And then it exhaled. Fire flooded the field. Men yelled, consumed by the blaze. The foul smell of death burned crisp and pungent in the air. David wrapped himself around Charlotte, her body buried beneath his, the intense heat on his back.

  A downdraft of wind enveloped him. The earth reverberated as the dragon touched down. The beast snorted, its horrid breath brought the stench of rotten eggs. David turned and blinked several times to clear the stinging smoke from his eyes and gasped. A talon twice as long as he was tall poised above him. His reflection, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, stared back at him from the dragon’s triumphant slit amber eyes. The talon fell. A scream echoed through the chaos on the field before the world went black.

  ***

  David startled awake, sweat pouring from his brow, the nightmare still vivid in his mind. He shielded his eyes from the afternoon sun glaring through the windows. Clutching the mattress, he stood and gathered his wits. Downstairs, the grandfather clock struck two. Lily. He needed to talk to Lily. He needed answers. As if on cue, the Mustang rumbled up the drive. He thundered down the servants’ steps to the kitchen as Lily walked through the back door, her face drawn as if she’d lost her best friend. She flicked him a furtive glance as she hung up her coat.

  “W-where have you been?” David asked.

  “I had to see someone.” She padded down the hall to the library and stopped on the threshold. She turned to face him, her eyes wide. “David, what have you done?”

  David stretched out his arm, her necklace dripping from his fingers. “We need to talk, Lily, and I want the truth.”

  Lily took the necklace, her gaze frozen for a moment on the ring. Her jaw tightened. “What possessed you to go through my things? When has that ever been okay to do in this house?” She stormed off toward the kitchen.

  “When was it okay to lie to me?” David followed her.

  She spun around, her palm held up in front of her. “Give me the ring.”

  “I can’t, but you already know that, don’t you?”

  Lily swallowed.

  He pulled the parchment from his pocket. “Now, tell me the truth about this letter, and while you’re at it, the meaning of this symbol and why it’s branded on my chest.” He pulled the sweatshirt over his head and threw it on the stool behind him.

  Lily’s eyes widened, her mouth quivered at the corners. Wispy stray hairs flew wild about her face. She straightened. “When did it happen?” Her words sounded like she’d swallowed a pack of sandpaper.

  “It showed up this morning out of nowhere, like your letter, and before the short little dude fell on my balcony then morphed, and vanished into nothing.”

  “A short man?” Her words reeked with worry. “Did you see what he looked like?”

  “He was short with red hair.”
>
  “Oh, no.” She turned around.

  “Oh, no, what? Do you know who he is?”

  She hugged her shoulders. “The traveler.”

  “The who?”

  “The time is nigh,” she whispered, tears in her eyes. Lily took a seat at the breakfast bar and motioned to the seat across from her. “Put your sweater on and sit down.”

  David did as she asked.

  Lily put her elbows on the table and buried her face in her palms. “There is so much to tell you; I don’t know where to begin.”

  “You can start by telling me if my parents are alive.”

  She paused and closed her eyes. The words fell from her mouth in a whisper. “Yes, they’re alive.”

  The shockwave hit him full blast. The bottom fell out of his stomach. “W-what?”

  Lily reached across the table and took David’s hands in hers. “Honey, I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you for so long, but I was sworn to secrecy.”

  David ripped his hands away. “Y-you lied to me?”

  “To protect you.”

  “From what?”

  “From what’s happening, from the ring, from the talisman on your chest.” She paused for a moment as if trying to find the right words. When she did speak again, her voice was soft, her cadence slow and calculating. “Honey, your life is … complicated. There’s more to who you are than I am allowed to tell you. Those were your mother’s wishes, and I will not betray the promises I made to her. Your parents made a very difficult decision. Please believe me when I say neither of them wanted this to happen. They love you very much.” Lily wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “It was because they loved you so much they put your life and well-being before their own. For almost seventeen years, you’ve been safe.”

  “And now I’m not?”

  She shook her head and wiped her cheek. “No, you’re not. Something is terribly wrong. The letter—it’s not from your mother. That much I know for certain.”

  Something icy flooded the pit of his stomach. “Then who’s it from?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I did.”

  “Are you telling me someone is pretending to be my mother?”

  Lily nodded. “Yes.”

  “Seriously?” He leaned back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. “Why would someone do that?”

  “It has to do with who you are, what you are. I believe this is somehow a test. I’m still trying to confirm my suspicions. That’s why I left today. I had to talk to someone, someone who can help me.”

  “Who?”

  “Names don’t matter, but I trust him with my life.”

  David leaned forward and picked at his nails. “Why did you leave your necklace?”

  “It’s a talisman, a safety charm. Through me, it provides a shield of protection to keep you from harm, to keep you safe. I thought by leaving the necklace locked up with the letter and the ring, I might be able to afford you a little extra protection while I was gone.”

  David snorted and shook his head. “A talisman? Like in a magic stone that brings good luck?”

  “In a sense, yes.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, okay. Whatever. And the tattoo and ring? What are they?”

  “They are symbols of your destiny, of your true calling. Apart, they are useless. Together, they are invincible. More importantly, they are bound to you, to each other. They cannot be removed without suffering immeasurable pain.”

  David turned the ring on his finger, his attempt to remove the silver band still sharp in his mind. “Yeah, I kind of figured that out.”

  Silence fell between them as David sifted through the information. None of it made sense, and yet, at the same time he knew it all to be true. At the moment, all that mattered was that his parents were alive. His wish, his impossible dream, had come true. There was one thing left to do.

  “Lily, where are my parents?”

  She paused for a moment before she said, “Somewhere I will keep you from going with every breath in my body.”

  “Why? What are you afraid of?”

  Lily’s eyes pooled with tears. “You dying.”

  Chapter 5

  At sunset, Eric and Sestian took their places in the receiving line beside Trog, Farnsworth, and the knights and soldiers of Hirth. Cheers erupted in the streets of Hammershire and rolled in a wave up the hill to the castle. Eric’s skin tingled with excitement as he stood straight and tall between Trog and Gowran. He shot a furtive glance at Sestian who stood opposite him, flanked by Farnsworth and Crohn.

  Festival trumpets sounded as a dozen guards rode through the arched entrance. Behind them, the royal carriage made of rare red Elven wood rumbled into the courtyard amidst the ringing of the cathedral bells. The coach circled the drive and came to a stop before Festival Hall. The coachman opened the door and offered his hand to the queen as she emerged amidst a shower of rose petals and cheers.

  With an exuberant ruby smile on her lips, Mysterie greeted her people dressed in a low-necked, velvet gown of daisy-yellow, her abundant, ebony hair, braided with strands of pearls and ribbons of gold satin.

  “Welcome home, Your Majesty.” Trog folded into a deep bow.

  Eric followed suit. The queen lifted Eric’s chin and kissed him on the cheek. “I cannot believe how much you have grown. I hardly recognized you.” She motioned for Trog to draw nearer. “Are you responsible for all of this, my dear Trogsdill?” She smiled and held his gaze, her fingertips lingering on his cheek.

  Eric’s breath hitched. Whoa, what’s that look all about?

  “No,” he said, shifting his eyes for a second before glancing back at her. “I’m afraid this welcoming was the brainstorm of Lord Donegan and Lady Ashley.”

  “You must remind me to thank them. What an enormous undertaking. It seems as if the entire kingdom is here.”

  King Gildore stepped from the carriage amidst loud applause. He smiled and waved to his people.

  Eric’s insides fluttered. The once round man was almost unrecognizable. His beard was gone, exposing a chiseled chin and dimpled cheeks that deepened when he smiled. He was thinner and very regal in black trousers and a blue silk shirt. A light breeze played with his dark hair, the silver strands glistening in the evening sun. It was obvious the time away agreed with him.

  “Your Majesty.” Trog bowed once more.

  Gildore embraced the knight in a hearty hug. “It’s been too long, my friend. I see you’ve done your job well, and my castle still stands.” Gildore winked at Eric, patting him on the shoulder.

  “Yes, my liege,” Trog said. “The only disaster to report occurred with your cook. It seems after all these years he’s discovered a propensity for catching himself on fire.”

  Gildore glanced at Eric. “Flint caught himself on fire? Is this so?” A broad smile stretched across the king’s face, and the mischievous twinkle Eric loved hovered in his blue eyes.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Eric. “Twice. The kitchen staff had to toss him in the horses’ trough the second time to douse the flames.”

  King Gildore roared with laughter as did the other knights and squires. “I would have paid a hundred trallons to see that old badger thrown into the watering hole! Come, Eric. Alert those in charge to open these doors. I’m famished!” He leaned in toward Trog and said in a low voice, “I am assuming there is food behind these doors?”

  “Yes, sire,” Trog said with a smile. “Plenty.”

  The carriage rolled away. Eric and Sestian, along with the knights, led the royal party through the two-story-high mahogany doors of Festival Hall and down the center aisle inlaid with lapis tiles. Brilliant tapestries hung on every wall. Fires burned in the eight hearths, and the twenty-tiered, crystal chandeliers, each possessing more than a hundred lit candles, hung from the high, domed ceiling in sparkling brilliance.

  The court musicians began to play as rows upon rows of tables, set with a buffet of food, filled up with guests. Eric waited for the
king and queen to take their seats upon the raised dais before sitting beside Sestian.

  “Did the von Stueglers give you a good tip, baggage boy?” A smile twitched at his lips.

  “Two trallons.” Sestian said, a cocky grin on his face. “Heh, you should have seen Farnsworth’s face when he found out the courtyard troll turned me into a baggage hand. He got so mad I thought his brains would explode from his eye sockets.”

  Sestian waited for Eric to stop laughing. “Speaking of seeing people’s faces, what’s with Trog and the queen, eh?” Sestian nudged Eric on the shoulder. “The way he stared at her, you’d think he was the king.”

  Eric stared at his plate. “I’m not sure. I don’t think it means anything. I mean, Gildore didn’t seem upset by it, and they did it right in front of him.”

  “Still weird if you ask me.” Sestian sipped his wine.

  Eric acknowledged Sestian’s curiosity with a nod and glanced around the room filled with close to a thousand souls. His gaze settled on the Von Stueglers guffawing with some obscure landowner at a side table. Eric snorted. “I guess we should be thankful their son isn’t here.”

  Sestian set down his chalice, its contents sloshing over the edge. “Bainesworth? Luck has nothing to do with it. I heard it from a reliable source that Gowran and Crohn took a trip to Faucher a couple of weeks ago and delivered a personal warning that he was not welcome. Need I say more?”

  Eric snorted. “As if Trog needs their protection.”

  “Well, you know how the four of them are, all armed to the hilt and eager to ruffle some feathers.”

  “They must have anticipated trouble and put an end to it before it began.” Eric put down his goblet and rotated it around on the tablecloth. He looked down at his plate of food and pushed it away, his mind elsewhere.