In the Shadow of the Dragon King (11 page)

The horse picked up its pace. Eric groaned, his body angry at the increased bouncing. “Stop. I have to get down. I have to find Trog.” His skin crawled with sweat. His bones burned.

The horse’s hooves clomped over cobblestones. “Home,” Eric muttered, half asleep.

“Yes. Home,” Gowran said.

Eric’s nose wrinkled. “What’s that smell?”

Gowran paused, and then said, “War.”

The horse slowed to a stop.

A girl yelled out beyond Eric’s gaze. “Edgar, I need help over here. Now!”

Large hands reached for Eric as Gowran slid to the ground.

“Where is the surgeon?” Gowran asked.

“Inside,” the girl said.

The men lifted Eric onto a litter and carried him into a room that smelled of tinctures and antiseptics. They rolled him belly down from the carrier onto a table covered with white cloth. Men spoke to him while hands tugged and pulled at his shirt.

“What happened?” the surgeon asked.

“Dragon caught him.”

Eric groaned as the doctor’s fingers probed the wound. “It’s deep but fixable. Emelia, fetch me some ground redweed, comfrey tea, horseradish and fox’s clote.” Soft footsteps scurried away “Edgar. Gowran. As much as I love looking at your handsome faces, get out of my sight.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take a seat along the wall,” Gowran said.

“No, you won’t,” the doctor said. “I don’t need your germs infecting the place.”

“But—”

“He’s not going anywhere. Now, get. You’re wasting my time.”

Metal instruments clanged together. Soft footsteps, along with clinking glass, approached.

“I have everything,” Emelia said, setting the multiple glass containers at Eric’s head.

“Good. Add four drops of red weed to the tea and give him two syringes full. That should do the trick.”

Eric opened his eyes, his gaze wandering over Emelia’s features, her hands.

One day, the very soul you loathe may be the one to save your hide someday.

He reached out and swept aside tangled strands of red hair from her eyes. She smiled at him and drew the liquid into the syringe.

“I need you to drink this, Eric. It will help with the pain and make you sleep.”

She cupped his neck in her hand and drizzled the liquid into his mouth. After the second dose, she laid his head on the table and combed her fingers through his hair.

“You’re going to be all right, Eric. I promise.”

Eric nodded, the herbs taking effect. He reached for her hand. “Thank you.”

She kissed his temple.

And the lights faded to gray.

***

Eric woke. His head pounded. His body throbbed. Various smells: sweat, smoke, medicine and food, all mingled together in a nauseating blend. To his left the surgeon worked on another patient. To his right, others lay on cots or in beds. Most looked to be recovering, but there was one, a male with gray, chalky pallor, who already seemed to have one foot in the grave.

Lady Emelia rinsed a rag and placed the wet cloth on the doomed patient’s forehead. She turned, her red, swollen eyes meeting Eric’s gaze. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She walked toward him, fidgeting with the handkerchief in her hands.

“You’re awake,” she said with a forced smile. “Here,” she picked up a goblet from the table beside his bed. “Drink this. It will help with the pain.”

Her hands shook. The liquid sloshed over the edge.

“My lady.” Eric winced and pushed himself up. He took the cup from her and set it on the table. “What is wrong? Why are you crying?”

Emelia looked away, her chest rising and falling with her sobs. “I’m sorry, Eric. I’m so sorry.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, her shoulders heaving.

“Sorry for what?”

Her eyes met his, the tears falling like summer rain. “It’s Sestian. The surgeon tried everything—”

The words hammered a hole in Eric’s chest.

“Move,” he said, shoving her aside.

“Eric, you can’t get up.”

“Get out of my way!”

He slid out of bed and stumbled across the room.

His insides rattled. His limbs trembled. This couldn’t be happening. There had to be a mistake.

The surgeon yelled for him to return to bed.

Eric ignored the shouts, as well as the pain slashing through his shoulder and back, intensifying with each step. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

“Ses.” He reached the bed.

His friend groaned and turned his head. “Eric.”

His whispered name shuddered through his entire existence. Eric’s stomach roiled. Vomit rose in his throat. He looked up at the ceiling and blinked, blinked, blinked.

Emelia’s hand rested on his shoulder. He flinched and turned his head, trying to find someplace to look other than at his friend. He breathed deep, pretending not to feel the pain caught in his chest.

“Eric,” Sestian whispered again. “Did you see him?” His voice trailed off. “Did you see the dragon?”

Eric looked down at his friend’s burnt, blistered face, the layers of bandages wrapped around the stub of his left arm. His limbs trembled and his knees buckled. He reached for a chair and sat down. Taking Sestian’s right hand into his, he nodded. “Yes. I saw him.”

Sestian smiled, and Eric was sure he heard a slight chuckle. “He. Was. So. Big.”

Sestian’s face contorted, and he groaned. “I stabbed him, you know.”

Eric propped his elbows on the bed at Sestian’s side, his friend’s hand clutched in his own. He closed his eyes and focused on the beating of his heart slamming against his chest, the sharp breaths he fought to control. He couldn’t lose his best friend. He just couldn’t.

“What’s wrong with him, Emelia?” Eric asked, tears dripping down his hands to his wrists. “How long before he is better?”

“It’s his insides,” she said. “The surgeon did everything he could, but he couldn’t stop the bleeding.” A tear slid down her cheek.

She placed another wet rag on Sestian’s face.

Eric swallowed hard. Tears fell. He covered his face with his hands and tried to think of something to keep from fraying and falling apart, to keep from reliving every moment of insanity they’d shared together.

“Eric,” Sestian whispered.

Eric wiped the snot from his nose with the back of his hand. “What, Ses?”

“Don’t forget about our quest. Promise.”

Eric wiped his face. “I promise, Ses, but you have to promise me you’ll get better.” He looked up to find Sestian’s eyes shut, his features caught in an expression of pain.

“Can’t do. You know how I am about making promises I can’t keep.”

“Ses, please.” Eric fought the hole swallowing his heart. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave.”

Sestian presented a weak smile. “It’s okay, Eric. No regrets, right?”

Eric clasped Sestian’s hand hard, his sobs ready to burst forth from his gut. He shook his head. “No regrets, Ses.”

Sestian closed his eyes. “I’ll be watching you.”

Then, in a quiet whisper, he was gone.

Eric shook his head. “No, Sestian. No. Don’t go. Please don’t go.” His lips quivered, his shoulders shook as the deluge of tears flooded from him. He dropped his head to the bed and wept.

Emelia cradled him in her arms.

“Why, why did he have to die? Why?” He clung to her, his heart ready to split at the seams.

Her fingers stroked his hair.

He sank to his knees, his face turned up to the ceiling, and wailed, “Damn you, God! Bring him back! He was my friend! You can have anyone. Why him? Why now? What am I to do? I need him!” He gripped his belly and sobbed. “Please. I’ll do anything. Please, just bring him back.”

Eric crumpled in half, violent sobs decimating his body. His hand clutched at what was left of his shattered heart.

“Please, Emelia, make this pain go away. Give me something to make it stop.”

He remained on his knees until he could sob no more.

“There is nothing for this kind of pain except time,” Gowran said, his hands on Eric’s shoulders. “Why don’t you let me help you back to bed?”

“I don’t want to go to bed. I want my friend back!”

Emelia kissed the top of his head and moved away.

“I know you do,” Gowran said, “but—”

“Stop!” Eric half-stood and faced the knight. “Why did he have to die? It’s not fair. It’s not right.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. We were supposed to be friends forever. Grow old and fat together. Get married to the girls of our dreams. Have families. But that’s all gone. My friend is gone. I’ll never hear his laugh. See that crooked smile. Why didn’t anyone explain this to me? Why didn’t anyone tell me about this hollow ache in my gut, this hole in my heart that is swallowing me?”

“No one can prepare for the loss of a loved one, Eric. You’d think after seeing many of my friends and loved ones pass on, I’d know what to expect. I could steel my heart, but each loss brings about a new kind of pain, touches a place inside that only they occupied.”

“I feel so empty. So lost. Does he feel the same? Is he lost, too? Is he alone? What happens when we die?”

He couldn’t stop the tears.

The knight shook his head. “I’m sure wherever he is, Sestian is not alone. No matter what, he will always be in here.” Gowran tapped his chest above his heart. “Inside of you. Inside of all of us. As long as we remember.”

Eric hung his head. His tears flowed in an endless stream. “I have to get some air.”

He brushed past Gowran without looking up and left the infirmary, wincing as he bumped into tables and beds. He wandered into the cloisters and sat on a bench. Every inch of him hurt as if beaten with a club from the inside out. He pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead, folded in half and sobbed.

David shielded his eyes from a ray of sunlight careening through the canopy. “Whoa, wait a minute. Did you say we’re in Fallhollow?”

Twiller nodded. “I did. Is there something wrong with your hearing?” He waddled across the small glade and headed off down a narrow, wooded path.

“No.” David followed. He scratched at his chest, annoyed by the tattoo’s thrumming and prickling. “How did we get here? Where’s my house? What happened to Charlotte?”

“Hmm, let me see. One,” Twiller said, popping up a finger as he counted, “you ferried. Two, your home is where you left it, and three, Miss Charlotte is where you would have been if she hadn’t jumped in front of the ferry stream meant for you.”

David folded his arms. “That doesn’t tell me anything. Where. Is. She?”

“Worry not. The lovely young lady is quite safe; you have my word.”

“Your word? You just made my best friend vanish, and now you want me to trust you and your word? You are quite the jokester, aren’t you?”

“Oh no, I never joke. I don’t play games, either. Complete waste of time.”

“Then what was all that magic crap back at the house?”

“Incentive.”

David planted his feet in the soil. “What?”

“You refused to come with me. I had to change your mind.”

“By vaporizing my best friend?”

“I vaporized no one. I simply ferried her.”

“There’s that word again? What does that mean?”

“Ferry. You know, travel, shuttle, traverse, go back and forth.”

“I know what ferry means.”

“Are you sure? You seem a bit confused.”

“I’m confused about a lot of things,” David countered. “Vocabulary isn’t one of them.”

“Ah yes, my humble apologies. I forgot you are quite the intellectual prodigy in your world. Tsk. It is a shame some qualities fail to carry forward.”

The intense urge to play Whack-a-Mole with the pompous man threatened David’s composure. “Are you always such a jerk? Why can’t you just answer the question?”

“Oh, very well,” Twiller said with a sigh of exasperation. He stopped and looked up at David, his round face pinched. “How can I explain so you will understand? Picture in your mind the universe as a colossal manor with endless rooms. Each room is a world, and each world occupies the exact same space in time as the one next to it or down the hall. While each room may be different, they still share the same geography.”

“That doesn’t make sense. This place looks nothing like my home.”

“Pay attention, boy. As I said, décor varies, geography remains the same. Think of your home. In it, there are many rooms. The interiors are all different, but they share the same space and time.”

“Fallhollow shares the same spot in time as Havendale?”

Twiller tapped his finger on his head. “Now you’re beginning to understand.”

“But how is that possible?”

Twiller returned to trekking the path. “I’m not a mage so don’t ask me questions for which I have no answers. It simply
is
.”

“So, whatever happens here, happens back home?”

“Only when the portals are opened. That is why they are hidden and traversable by only a few.”

David chuckled. “And you want me to believe this.” His words were more a statement than a question.

“Believe what you will. It changes nothing.”

David’s insides fluttered. His stomach sank. “Okay, so answer this. If you didn’t obliterate my best friend, what did you do with her? Why aren’t we together?”

“You know, that is a very interesting question. Something happened when I tried to return her to your room. The spell capped and forked. It’s the first time that’s ever happened to me.”

“What in the heck does cap and fork mean?”

“When I cast the spell, the magic sensed something within her, a reason to bring her to Fallhollow. It acted on its own. I had no control. She ferried through the door I had opened for you. Since I do not possess the power to reopen a recently used portal, I had to open a new door.”

Twiller came to a stop and peered into the forest and sniffed the air. A fine line formed between his thick, red brows. From his coat pocket, he withdrew a gold contraption about the size of an avocado seed and studded with red, gold, and blue jewels. It appeared to be a watch of some sort, with several layers of hands and peculiar lettering and numbers. He looked up at the sky again, now thick with billowing, lavender clouds, and dropped the contraption into his pocket. “We must hurry. We have tarried here far too long.”