Bane of the Dragon King Read online

  “I’m not sure. The last time I saw him was around this time last night. Do you think you might try to find him?”

  “Hmm. I suppose. Let me get these men settled in their suites, and I’ll see what I can do, okay?” He cupped her chin in his hand. “He’s going to be fine. He’s a resourceful young man. Don’t underestimate him. Try to get some sleep.”

  “You won’t forget?”

  “No. I won’t forget.”

  He turned and strode toward the men waiting for him in the doorway, an invisible cloak of confidence draped broad and firm upon his shoulders. Underneath the calm exterior, however, a storm brewed, and its squalls thrashed out to her in waves of unease and foreboding.

  She turned her gaze back to the lower courtyard. Get some sleep, he’d said. If he only knew how impossible that one little task was.

  The scent of the wisteria tree coaxed her to it, its massive curtain of blooms embracing her, soothing her troubled mind. She lay beneath the tree and stared at the stars through the canopy. Please come home, David, she prayed. Please be all right.

  ***

  A team of horses and riders, at least a dozen of them, thundered through the gatehouse, shouts for the king roaring from the lead horseman. Charlotte scrambled to her feet, an earthquake of fear rattling her core. When had she fallen asleep? She shielded her eyes against the early morning sun and scanned the new arrivals. Her hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes fixed on David slouched on the saddle in front of a rider. Blood covered his left arm and leg. The horse whinnied to a stop, and David flopped like a rag doll, his face twisted in pain.

  “No!” Charlotte ran toward him, her heart hammering against her ribs. What had he done?

  Men spread out like ants from the Knight’s Hall, converging on the riders. Gowran dismounted, his red hair a tangled mess. He pushed past Charlotte, snatching off his gloves. “Trog. Where is Gildore? We must speak with him straight away.”

  “He’s coming.” Trog guided David onto a litter and examined his left arm. He addressed the soldier still in his saddle. “What happened?”

  “We were attacked. Blindsided. We tried to keep him safe like you asked,” he gestured toward David, “but there were too many of them.”

  “Too many what?”

  “Drow. Ifrit. They came out of nowhere.”

  Trog studied him from under his bushy eyebrows.

  Every nerve within Charlotte sounded an alarm, but she drew in a deep breath and forced them into silence. She had no idea what drow or ifrit were, but she was pretty sure one didn’t invite them to Sunday dinner.

  Footsteps, wide and determined, approached from behind. She turned and backed up, allowing King Gildore to pass. Queen Mysterie, Mangus, and Slavandria followed him, their expressions grave and concerned.

  “What happened here, Killian?” King Gildore demanded.

  The soldier dismounted. “Your Majesty,” he said with a deep bow. “Einar appears to be gaining his strength and is gathering his armies once more. The worst of them are arriving from places that are blind to detection. The ifrit are just a few. The army of thirty-one we came upon this side of Sagetown we managed to slaughter, but not before they murdered more than a dozen shime who came to our aid.”

  “How many of you were left behind? How many of you died?”

  “None.” Sir Crohn slid from his horse and lumbered forward. Blood caked his skin and scraggly dark hair. Sliced and torn strips of fabric adhered to lacerations on his arms and legs. “We all managed to survive, thanks to him.” He made a head gesture at David.

  Trog looked up at the man, his eyes questioning. “David? Saved all of you? This I’ve got to hear, Crohn.” He folded his arms across his chest.

  Two men lifted the litter and carted David away. Charlotte’s heart begged to follow, but her feet remained planted firm to the ground. She needed to learn more, and these knights would give her the information she needed.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” Crohn said. “That boy is quick, and I’ve never seen anyone more accurate with a bow. He also has a knack for disappearing only to reappear once he’s put an arrow in the enemy’s head.”

  Charlotte smiled to herself. Good for you, David. You remembered your spells and used them. Good, but for heaven’s sake, what were you doing hanging out with a bunch of knights?

  Another soldier stepped forward, his appearance equal to Crohn’s. “We were preparing to return to Hirth when a brood of palindrakes arrived carrying an ill-boding message of more trouble deeper within the forest. There were women and children in distress, so of course we followed. I cannot begin to describe the carnage we found. Homes in Garney, Falcon’s Hollow, and Tilwith were destroyed, their inhabitants murdered, dismembered, their remains left for whatever wished to feed upon them. There were other small hamlets left in the same manner, however, it was in Shantwig we discovered a horde of shapeshifters holed up in a cellar. They were with two young soldiers, a girl named Gertie and a boy by the name of Garret.”

  Charlotte’s heart skipped. She hadn’t seen Gertie or Garret since the battle. She peered through the riders. “Where are they? Did they return with you?”

  “They’re dead, Miss,” the soldier said, his expression grim. “They’d both been poisoned by arrows tipped in what appears to be a mixture of oleander and nightshade. When we found them, they were near death. The shapeshifters weren’t much better off but they managed to flee when another smaller squad of ifrit arrived. The two soldiers didn’t survive the onslaught.”

  Her body trembled with both anger and heartache. She pinched the quiver from her voice. “Bring them forward, please. I must see them. They were my friends.”

  The soldier motioned for two riders to come forward.

  Charlotte bit down on her lip, hatred for Einar and everything he stood for roaring through her veins as the first horse approached with Garret’s lifeless body strewn across the saddle. Half of his face was missing. An arm was gone. The appearance of Gertie’s broken, defiled body on the other horse was no better.

  “We brought them back at the paladin’s insistence,” Crohn said. “He wanted to give them a proper burial. He said Eric would want it that way.”

  Trog nodded, the left corner of his lips twitching against his stoic expression. “Yes, he would, as do I.” There was almost an indiscernible quiver to his voice. “See to it the undertaker prepares them for the pyre.” He turned and pushed through the small crowd that had gathered.

  She watched him leave, fury spreading like a wild fire within. Something awoke within her—something she’d never felt before. Determination. Fortitude. Revenge. It consumed her in a fevered madness. Slavandria’s soothing voice snaked into her mind, her words begging Charlotte to control her emotions, but Charlotte decapitated them and threw up a wall. Slavandria pressed deeper with Mangus’ stern voice rocketing ahead. They were in, they were angry. They were weaving around inside her mind, extinguishing her fire, calming her fervor. Charlotte glared at them, crazed by their interference, and summoned a tendril of silver magic presenting like a hair in the corner of her mind. It spun like a thread on a spindle, breaking and splintering until there were thousands of strands. Faster and faster, they swirled until she released them. A tornado of magic cast at those who dared to control her. It hurled into their voices, a violent storm determined to leave nothing behind. The wide-eyed look on their faces confirmed she’d ousted and stunned them. Good. She was done listening to reason. She was done with people telling her what to do. David was hurt. Gertie and Garret were dead. It was time to put an end to it all. It was time to find the beast …

  And kill him.

  David

  David winced as he sat up in a bed piled high with pillows. A throbbing pain riddled his side, and he touched his hand to the bandage wrapped around his torso. He leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed, the smell of tinctures and herbs wrinkling his nose. A soft hand gripped his, and without looking, he knew it was Ch
arlotte. He’d recognize those small, delicate hands anywhere.

  “Hey, Firefox. How are you feeling?”

  His head pounded. “I’ve been better.” He glanced around. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in the infirmary. You have a nasty cut across your belly that required stitches. Your arms have a few dings, too, but you’re going to be fine.” Charlotte leaned forward and smiled. “You have a bit of my healing magic coursing through your veins, thanks to Slavandria’s intense nursing class.”

  He half-smiled and took back his hand, laying it across his stomach. He stared at the ceiling, his thoughts stuck on a dark, dirt road stained in blood.

  “David,” Charlotte said. There was hesitation in her voice. He knew what she was going to ask. He wished she wouldn’t. She did anyway. “I know this may not be the time, but I need to know what you saw out there. I need to know what attacked you. More than that, I need to know why you were out there. You weren’t going to collect the lilies, were you?”

  He shot her a look. “After that lecture from Trog? Are you kidding?” He scooted down in his bed and nestled his head into a pillow. “Apparently, my apology for having a momentary lapse of reasoning wasn’t good enough so he stormed into my room, grabbed me out of bed, thrust my bow and quiver into my arms, and dragged me down to the stables where a band of knights were preparing for a scouting trip. He said it was time I understood what it meant to be disciplined in thought and deed. Of course the knights protested, their language becoming quite colorful at times, but Trog held strong, and suddenly, I was surrounded by a dozen knights galloping toward the Southern Forest.”

  Charlotte folded her arms across her chest. “Sounds like he had a momentary lapse of reasoning. What was he thinking? He was probably asking himself that same question when you returned all battered to the bone. He snarked off at the other knights for not protecting you as if it were their fault.”

  “How gallant of him.” David sighed, staring at the ceiling.

  “What happened next?”

  “We arrived at Willowwood Pass and were met by General Balendar and a small legion of centaurs.”

  Charlotte sat forward. “The Balendar? The one who delivered Trog to Chalisdawn?”

  “One in the same. They gathered, and after a short conversation about enemies being detected in the forest, we headed deep into the woods, me sandwiched between Gowran and Crohn who looked like they would go all cannibal on me if I didn’t listen. Still, their presence was comforting because Trog sent me into the fray without a lick of armor, and they had more than enough. Plus, the forest freaked me out. It was so dark, and there were sounds I’d never heard before. There was one that almost peeled my skin away. It was like a dove’s coo mixed with a wolf growl. I could hear them but couldn’t see them. Killian said they were lioliths—war dogs that patrol the forest looking for drow.”

  Charlotte huddled beneath a blanket she’d wrapped around her shoulders. Her keen eyes narrowed. “Drow?”

  “Dark elves from the kingdom of Braemar. They live in the Underworld. Killian said in the last dragon war, they invaded Hirth by the thousands, using darkness as their cover and killing everything in their way.”

  “Is that what gave you that slice across your gut?”

  David shook his head and touched his belly. “No. I owe this to an ifrit.” David closed his eyes for a moment and gritted his teeth against the loops of terror playing in his mind. “We were about an hour’s ride into the forest when we came upon them. We never knew they were there until they ignited.”

  “Ignited?”

  “Like fire sticks. We were expecting drow, looking for drow, because of the lioliths. It was pitch dark, not a moonbeam to be found anywhere. Peering deep into the trees was like staring into an obsidian abyss. I never felt more naked and afraid. My hairs stood on end as if something or someone was watching me, but no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t see anything. All of a sudden, a fire started here,” he flicked his left hand, “and another one over there.” He flicked his right. “Before we knew it, there were dozens of them. They thundered toward us framed in fire and smoke. It wasn’t until they were on top of us that I saw them—big, muscular creatures, maybe twelve feet tall with bronze spiked armor for skin, and these massive curved horns that protruded from the sides of their heads and curved back. The knights yelled, ‘Ifrit!’ and they hightailed it out of there along with the centaurs.”

  Charlotte jerked forward. “They did what? They left you alone to fend for yourself?”

  “Yeah. I couldn’t believe it at the time. I thought for sure I was going to die. I mean, there were so many of them, but there wasn’t time to think. I began shooting my arrows, and each ifrit I hit disintegrated into ash. That’s when the ifrit who chased after the knights stopped and homed in on me. They came after me with whips of fire. That’s when a part of my brain woke up and told me to go invisible and leap.

  “They started grunting and roaring, going nuts because they couldn’t see me. I know it sounds horrible, but there was something exciting about seeing them go poof. It wasn’t until after they were all dead I found out why everyone fled.”

  “It wasn’t because they were cowards?”

  David shook his head. “It was because centaurs go insane and kill each other if touched by an ifrit’s fire, and mortal instruments have no effect on them, only magic.” He held her gaze. “Only Numí magic.”

  Charlotte’s eyes widened. “Slavandria tipped your arrows!”

  David smiled. “The sweet nectar of the gods. Funny she didn’t tell me that part.”

  Charlotte harrumphed. “She’s the queen of deception. Did you expect anything different?”

  “No, but this time I’m okay with being in the dark. It was kind of fun finding out on my own.”

  Charlotte sat back in her chair. “Still. Your travel buddies shouldn’t have left you alone. Perhaps I need to give them a piece of my mind.”

  “Please don’t.” David sighed. “I’m quite capable of defending myself. Besides, I already told them what I thought, and I accepted their apologies. I don’t need you to be my protector … or my mother.”

  She glared at him, her eyes on the verge of spitting proverbial nails. Instead, she folded her arms across her chest, pursed her lips together, and said, “So, tell me about the drow. Where did you find them?”

  He stared at nothing, not wanting to visit that part of the memory, but there was nowhere in his mind he could go to escape it. Perhaps if he said it aloud, the horrors wouldn’t feel so bad. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

  “After the battle with the ifrit, a slew of freaked-out palindrakes swooped in chattering and flapping frantically, diving and soaring. Circling. Balendar informed us that more ifrit were ahead, destroying villages, and drow were on the move. Seeing I was the only one who could kill the ifrit, I claimed them, provided the knights and centaurs took care of the drow. We rode ahead, the night clinging to us like a veil, but we were too late. Every hamlet, every village was destroyed, the people slaughtered. We were too late.”

  The images attacked him, swarming every corner of his mind. His bottom lip quivered. His heart cinched, and a tear rambled down his cheek. “They didn’t have a chance, Char. The ifrit, the drow, they butchered those poor people. So many of them were kids, babies, their little bodies ripped apart. I can hear their screams even though I wasn’t there when the attacks happened.” He looked at her through pooled tears. “How can someone do that?”

  Charlotte rested her hand on his wrist. “They aren’t someones. They’re ruthless killing machines with no morals, no sense of humanity. Evil in its worst form.”

  He clasped her hand, surprised to find it as clammy as his, and continued. “It was in the village of Shantwig when we confronted the drow. They were short for elves, dark-skinned with white hair and glowing red eyes. They were quick and nimble, and they killed their victims with such calculating precision. I’d never seen
anything like it.

  “I tried to shoot them, but they cast this light that made it difficult to see them. Killian called it faerie fire. We weren’t engaged with them for long before the liolith arrived. These war dogs, they’re wolves that stand six feet tall. They have glowing amber eyes and wiry, thick hair, and their howls … they chilled my spine. I wanted to run, to hide, but there was nowhere to go. We were surrounded by drow. Hundreds of them. The knights slashed and fought. Metal clanged. So many drow fell, but it seemed like they kept springing from the ground. I kept shooting my arrows, not knowing if I was even hitting anything. Long, thin but powerful hands gripped me. Fingernails ripped through my shirt and down my arm, drawing blood. All around me, people were screaming, and there was this smell.” More tears rolled down his face. “I think it was human excrement, blood, and vomit. Warmth. Death.”

  Charlotte crawled on the bed and lay beside him, her arm draped around him, her voice comforting and consoling. But he didn’t want to be consoled. He had to get it out. He had to tell her everything.

  “My arms were so tired. They hurt. Sweat rolled off my face, into my eyes. It was hard to see, but I kicked and fought with everything I had. And then the liolith howled. All of them together in one long, synched-up bay. I covered my ears and was certain my heart skipped out of my chest. Everything around me froze, the fighting, the drow, all of it. There wasn’t a sound anywhere. Such unbelievable silence. And then there was this blinding yellow light, and the drow scattered like roaches.”

  “Where did the light come from?”

  “The liolith. They cast this bright, mid-day sunlight from their mouths, and the drow fell dead before they had a chance to escape. But then the liolith yelped and cried out in pain, their anguished cries prolonged, gut-wrenching. It ripped at my entire being, like when the Driscoll’s dog got hit by that truck, except this was a million times worse. I swear it sounded like their hearts were being ripped from them. When the light faded, we saw the fire of the ifrit. I fired an arrow, then another, and another. They kept coming. My arms trembled. My muscles were shot. I just wanted it to end.”