Dragon Bonds (Return of the Darkening Series Book 3) (5 page)

Beris tipped back his head. “You have no power over us because you are not the rightful heir. You have no authority. No crown. All of you—a bunch of usurpers! Where is that pretender? Bring him and I will remind him who is his rightful master.”

So that was the plan—Beris and Syl had been sent to try and pull King Justin under Lord Vincent’s control again.

Ryan let out a low growl and stepped into the room, fury in his eyes. I could see now just how deep his bond was to his protector and fellow rider, the king.

“Ryan,” I said with a tone of warning. I put a hand on his chest. “It’s not his fault—he doesn’t know.”

A new voice from the doorway interrupted. “Doesn’t know what?”

I spun around to see King Justin, flanked by two of his men-at-arms. He looked older than he had only a short time ago—silver hairs had appeared in his light hair. He was still handsome but lines now marked grooves around his mouth and eyes and on his forehead, and his eyes seemed a paler blue. He didn’t seem like the young man who always used to be laughing. He gave a nod to Ryan. Varla, Merik, Seb and I all gave low bows.

“All hail the king
!”
We all chanted the words; well, all of us except Beris and Syl.

Beris gave an ugly snicker. “The
king?
This pup? What your former playmate hasn’t told you, Prince, is that your father announced his successor as Lord Vincent.”

I glanced at Seb. He looked pale. No one else except Mordecai knew of this—and that meant Beris must have gotten that information from Lord Vincent himself.

King Justin’s voice grew very quiet and he held very still. I had seen this quiet anger from him many times before when we were growing up. Justin had been raised a prince and taught to keep his emotions in check. But whenever I had bested him at archery or in a race, he’d grown quiet like this. “I beg your pardon, rider?” His hand fell to the hilt of the fine sword hung in a scabbard at his side. He glanced at me.

I glanced away, for I knew he would see the lie in me if he questioned me. But then he spoke again and I had to look back.

“If we cannot make use of this little traitor, my men will see to his fate.” The king started to turn away.

Seb stepped forward, one hand held out. “No. I mean, King Justin, forgive me, but this is just what the Darkening wants—to drive wedges between us, to squabble when we should be uniting, to turn on our own.”

The king paused. I could see he was weighting Seb’s words. “Rider Smith, what would you have me do? Set free someone who clearly harbors ill intentions toward me?”

“He’s ill, sire.” Seb spread his hands wide. “Just as you were, as we all once were, when the Darkening made us forget almost everything.”

Bad move, Seb. Never remind a king of his own weakness.

The king glanced at Beris, then at Syl and back to Seb. I held my breath. Justin’s hand fell to his side. “Then you had better make him well again. We have a war to win!” Turning, the king left, his men following him. He called Ryan to attend him, saying, “We have maps to chart.”

I looked at Seb, who shrugged. “I couldn’t let them just execute them.”

“No, you couldn’t.” Rubbing a hand over my face, I wished now that I’d taken Merik up on his offer of food. Merik and Varla stood in the far corner of the room, trying hard not to be noticed by the king. “We need to remember how we broke the enchantment before. Didn’t we have the Armor Stone?”

Seb nodded. “We used it to protect
all
the dragons we could, and through them, their riders. But we don’t have the Armor Stone or the Healing Stone, and my affinity just isn’t powerful enough.”

“That’s it, give it up. You never liked me anyway,” Beris muttered. I thought I heard a hint of fear in his voice. Was the real, pugnacious bully that was Beris trapped somewhere behind Lord Vincent’s control, able to see what was happening, but unable to do anything other than as he was commanded? It was a terrifying thought.

Not hunt enemy?
Kalax’s voice sounded in my head. Seb had told me once that dragons have no word for execution. They hunt and will fight for territory or to protect their kin. They never decide to kill someone just because it might make their life easier.

I saw Seb flinch and wondered if he was trying to think to tell Kalax about what our king wanted to do with Beris and Syl. I felt rather than heard something pass between Seb and Kalax, and then an angered rasp echoed in my mind, making me wince.

Never kill clutch-mate rider. The king thinks that Beris and Syl are a threat.
I thought the words to Kalax.

Riders not threats. Take weapons, leave in the wilds. There. Done. Make their own territory. But this—this is wrong.

I felt the powerful uplift of our dragon as she took to the night air, gliding soft and low over the landscape toward us.

I will come. Take them to Gaxtal. Seb and Thea not do this.

I felt a surge of intense gratitude and pride that Kalax was willing to save us from ourselves.
Save us from ourselves...
The thought struck me and I looked at Seb.

He was grinning, nodding. “Kalax?” he said out loud. “Didn’t you tell me that all dragons can think to each other? Even from long, long distances?”

Dragons have many ways and more languages than humans,
she answered.

“Could you
talk
to Beris and Syl or to Gaxtal? Reach them?” Seb glanced at me. “It wasn’t
my
special powers that broke the enchantment before, it was all of us. Kalax, you, me...all of us reaching together!” He turned to Varla and Merik and waved them over. “We need everyone.”

The two of them swapped an uncomfortable look, but they headed over to Seb’s side.

Yes.

I didn’t know which of us had thought that one word—me, Kalax or Seb—but I wanted this to work. I grasped Seb’s hand, Varla took my hand and Merik took her hand and then put a hand on Syl’s shoulder. He cursed. Seb put a hand on Beris’ shoulder.

“Get your hands off your betters.” Beris struggled against the ropes holding him.

Shush, little human,
Kalax snuffled at Beris, and then her dragon senses unfurled through me.

For a dizzying moment, I could almost sense as a dragon does. She could smell every stitch of cloth that still hung from the walls, and the smoke from the fires warmed her. The smells of battle and blood were nothing to her. But another layer bubbled up from underneath that sense—as if everything had color and shape. It was as if she sensed every memory or feeling or thought.

Can dragons smell minds?

I felt Seb drawing closer to Beris’ mind and calling out, but a shadow hung between us. It seemed almost like a dark fog that was hard to see through, but Kalax could see past that. I started to sense Syl and Beris, and suddenly a connection snapped to Gaxtal, who I could sense was waiting for them not far from the city. The connections between us seemed to sharpen—like colored lines appearing out of the fog. I thought of all the times I had sparred with Beris, or the times Syl and I had struggled in training. These connections, these threads and attachments, made them who they were.

A gasp sounded, then another. I snapped back into myself. Blinking, I opened my eyes—I hadn’t even known I’d closed them.

Beris sat in the same chair, blinking rapidly, his eyes wet with unshed tears. Syl had his head down, but I could hear him gulping in air as if he’d run for miles.

Beside me, Seb gave a groan and started to slump down. I grabbed for him and so did Varla. We caught him and got him stretched out on the floor.

“Is he okay?” Varla asked. She glanced at me, her forehead wrinkled.

I shrugged and kept one hand on Seb’s chest. At least he was still breathing and I could feel his heart pounding. “It just seems to take so much out of him.”

Seb’s eyes flashed open. “The Dragon Stone—the king’s stone.”

I glanced at him. He had his eyebrows pulled tight as if he had a headache, and I wondered how much more of this he could do.

Even Varla and Merik swapped worried glances.

Sitting up, Seb started talking fast. “I saw it. The dragons remember it. There is one stone that controls them all—the Memory Stone, the Healing Stone, the Armor Stone. There is one King Dragon Stone that controls them all. The old monks knew of it—the Draconis Order.”

I glanced at Varla, who shrugged, and Merik, who was staring, wide eyed, at Seb. But Merik’s eyes always looked big behind the optics he wore to help his bad eyesight. Looking back at Seb, I said, “The king is busy preparing for a war—a battle. We don’t have time to go chasing legends right now.” Even just talking about that one Dragon Stone left me worried. The other stones seemed to have hurt us more than they’d helped.

Beris gave a groan. “Why am I tied up? What’s going on?”

Syl muttered, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

I nodded to Varla. “Can you untie them?”

She bit her lip but she nodded.

Glancing at Seb, I asked him, “Are you sure about this?”

He was looking pale—even more so than Syl. He pushed my hands away and stood. “We need to get back to the Academy. We have to find out everything we can about the Dragon Egg Stones—all of them.”

I shook my head. “Our duty—to the king?”

Seb rubbed a hand over his face. “Me and Merik—we’ll cover for you. You and Varla go. Find what you can.”

“If there are still any books left,” Varla muttered. She’d untied Beris and he was untying Syl now. They were going to have a lot of apologizing to the king, but maybe they’d be able to make up for what had happened with some information on Lord Vincent.

Merik gave a nod and patted Seb on his shoulder. “We’ll cover.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Seb was already waving his hands for us to clear out. “Go on, Thea. This really can’t wait. Get back as soon as you can.” Varla grabbed my arm and started for the door, pulling me with her. I shot a look back to see Seb leaning on Merik. Behind them, Beris and Syl were just starting to stand, both looking as if they might be sick; their skin was so pale and their hands shaky. Seb didn’t look much better.

How is Seb going to be able to cover for anyone, in his state?

But Seb wanted information, and I had to help Varla get safely back here.

* * *

“
T
he Academy
,” Varla said, pointing to a dark shape.

The sun had set and before the battle, the Academy would have had torches lit. There should be guards and noise and the sounds of irritable dragons trying to get some sleep. Tonight, I could only see darkness. The lonesome screech of an owl echoed from somewhere over the brow of the hill that led up to the Academy.

“Weapons,” I whispered, raising my sword in one hand. I wore a small, buckler shield high on my other forearm, near the elbow. I didn’t know what we might find.

Beside me, Varla nodded, pulling her long sword, which she held two-handed. I had seen Varla fight many times before, but usually in practice. I still hoped we could get in and out without trouble. We’d decided walking would be safer than bringing dragons into this—we were trying to be quiet and stealthy.

I stumbled on something and looked down. A wickedly curved claw, almost as long as my sword, lay on the ground—it must have been torn from a wild dragon. “Curse him,” I muttered.

“Who?” Varla hissed.

“The Darkening. Lord Vincent. Leading people and dragons to their deaths.” It wasn’t right. We had to find some means to defeat the Darkening forever.

The front gates of the Academy lay on the ground, broken into splinters. They’d been by an iron-shod collection of poles, bound together to form a giant battering ram. I was just glad I couldn’t see—or smell—any bodies. The Wildmen were said to carry off their own dead, and to eat the dead of any enemies. I was hoping that last part wasn’t true.

With a shudder, I stepped over the rubble and into the main yard, which had once been our practice yard. Moonlight glinted off broken weapons and battered armor. Again, I didn’t see any horned helmets or cloaks of the Dragon Riders.

“Someone has cleared away our dead,” I said, knowing with certainty that we had lost lives that night.

“But why would the Wildmen do that—bury their enemies?” Varla said. “You don’t think the old stories are—”

“Let’s not think. Maybe it’s some strange tribal custom of theirs?”

“Look!” Varla pointed up to the map tower, which was now a blackened spur of rock. Merik would hate to see that—the map room had been his retreat and domain. “They set fire to it?” Varla’s voice held a tremor.

Glancing at the blackened stone of the keep, I said, “I think that they tried to set fire to the whole Academy—only most of it is made of stone. If the map room is gone, what’s left?”

“There might be some books left.” Varla’s voice sounded stiff. The Academy had been her home for far longer than it had been mine. She was technically only a couple of years ahead of me, but she had lost her first flying partner and been forced to wait and study, until her dragon accepted Merik. It had been a rare thing for a dragon to take a rider in place of a first choice.