In the Shadow of the Dragon King (16 page)

“No,” the man responded.

“How can you be so callous and cruel? He doesn’t belong here. He’ll die if he remains here. He knows nothing of our ways or what waits for him.”

“You underestimate him, Daughter. There is a great power within him. He has been protected for far too long. It is time for him to discover who and what he is. The heavens chose him for this task two centuries ago. It is written. He stays.”

David flinched.
Two centuries ago
?

“What about Charlotte?” Slavandria’s tone was as sharp as an ice pick. “The words mention nothing of her being a part of this journey. Why can’t you return her to Havendale?”

“The ancient magic took her on its own. Her purpose will unfold in due time. I suggest you stop worrying, my dear. All is as it should be.”

“So you keep telling me.” The air grew quiet. Footsteps padded around the room. “How is Mangus?” The words slipped from Slavandria’s lips in a tremble.

“Mangus’ brush with Einar was minimal. His burns are healing well. Thanks to his mage blood, there should be little scarring, if any. He is quite obstinate, like someone else I know.”

“He has to be to survive you.”

A new voice, a man’s, spoke. “Supreme Master Jared—”

David’s subconscious jerked.
Jared? I’ve heard that name before. Think
.

“The boy stirs within the weave. He can hear your every word.”

Shut up, blabbermouth
, David’s subconscious said.
Go away
.

“Thank you,” Jared said. “It is just as well. I need to return to Felindil and ready the WindSong. It sets sail in two days. I trust you have everything under control, and you will behave while I’m gone? Master Camden, the High Council, and the Senate have enough to deal with without you running amok.”

“I cannot promise you anything.”

Jared chuckled. “That will have to suffice coming from you. Goodbye, Daughter.”

The voices faded into a sizzle. Slavandria whispered in his ear, her breath like a summer breeze. “I’m so sorry. I’ll protect you as long as I can. For now, sleep.”

Darkness swooped in, enveloping him beneath a protective wing. He curled on his side and slipped into another dream. This time, he found himself aboard a schooner at night. Pelting rain blew sideways. Sails flapped in the battering wind. He clung to a mast as huge ocean waves tossed the ship about. Water sprayed over the sides with each tilt and dip. From the stern, a human figure cloaked in shadow glided toward him, hovering above the deck, eyes gleaming silver in the dark. David clutched the mast tighter. He squinted, looking for recognizable features.
Who are you? What do you want with me?
A black gossamer veil fell around him, shielding him from the elements and his assassin. A roaring scream filled his ears.

“They cannot protect you forever, David. I’m coming for you, and when I find you, death will be the least of your worries.”

***

David woke to Twiller shaking him into consciousness.

“Go away. What do you want?”

“You have been asleep long enough. It’s time to join the living. Her Grace awaits you and Lady Charlotte upon the WindSong. I’ve taken the liberty of running you a warm bath. Your clothes are on the chest at the foot of the bed. Please be ready when I return in fifteen minutes.” The little man strutted from the room, closing the door behind him.

David slung his legs over the edge of the bed and eyed the gauze-like undergarments, nut-brown corduroy trousers, matching vest, and long-sleeved shirt the color of butterscotch. On the floor was a pair of calf-high leather boots. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He hurried through his bath, mulling over the conversation between Slavandria and her father he’d heard in his dream. Two hundred years ago he’d been chosen, but for what? How was that even possible? He scratched at the marking on his chest, now set deep within his skin as if he were a marked brand of cattle.
What have my parents and Lily gotten me into? What did I get Charlotte into?

David layered on the clothes, surprised at their comfort. He pulled on the last boot as Twiller knocked and announced it was time to go.

Charlotte faced him as he entered the sitting room. His breath hitched at the sight of her dressed in form-fitting wheat-colored trousers and a forest-green shirt with puffy sleeves. A plaid corset cinched her waist, popping her breasts over the top of the lace trim.

His mouth opened then shut as he struggled to find the right response.

“Don’t say it,” Charlotte warned, “and keep your eyes above the neckline. I already feel self-conscious enough without you staring at my boobs.”

His cheeks flushed. “I wasn’t—honest.”

“Yeah, whatever. Come on. Let’s see what the great and powerful Ozette wants.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. Somehow I don’t think there’s a hot air balloon or red slippers waiting to take us back home.”

They followed Twiller down the twisting, turning, tunnel of stone until it emptied into the main room where the sails of the WindSong flapped in a magical breeze heavy with the scent of salt and sea. Slavandria emerged from below and joined them on the deck.

“Please sit down.” She gestured to a settee. “I trust you slept well.”

“Not if nightmares fall into that category.” David leaned against the mast, his arms folded across his chest. Slavandria touched her fingertips to the table. A porcelain teapot and cups, along with a plate of sliced apples, cheese, and toast appeared.

“I’m sorry about yesterday and especially last night.” She sat down across from Charlotte. “The world is turning on end, and I had to protect you.”

“Really?” David said, sitting beside Charlotte. “You want to tell me what exactly
did
happen last night? “Who were you talking to while in my head?”

Slavandria set the teacup on the upended leather trunk beside her. “David, your life is very complicated. I know you’re aware of certain changes, many of which I’m sure have you baffled and confused.”

“What gave it away?” David sat back. He inhaled a deep breath and rubbed his palms over his face. “Look. I’m not trying to be difficult, but we’ve been here for a day, and I have no idea what is going on now anymore than I did when we got here, so I’d appreciate a bit of honesty, okay. I’d like to start with the elven dudes in our room. Who were they?”

“Duwans, a conclave of fae from the mountainous regions of Felindil. I brought them here to protect you.”

“Protect me from who? The man in my dreams?”

Slavandria nodded. “Yes, and any other beings who wish to see you dead.”

“Why would anyone want to see me dead? What did I do?”

Slavandria placed her teacup on a table. “It is not a matter of what you’ve done but what you are capable of doing. You see—”

BANG!

The round door leading from the path of the moon fairies bashed open against the cave wall. David froze as a centaur with eyes the color of blue sea glass galloped down the steps and onto the ship. He carried an unconscious man, water-drenched and blood-soaked, upon his back. Flanking each side were two of the most bizarre creatures David had ever seen: luminous, almost translucent, human-like gargoyles, with round, amethyst eyes, square noses, and shimmering, green scales. Webbed, lime-green wings protruded from between their shoulder blades and crested above their heads before cascading to the floor, culminating in a rim of vibrant feathers. Crossbows hung at their sides. They dropped to one knee and bowed as Slavandria approached.

Charlotte was right. This place kept getting curiouser and curiouser.

“Balendar,” Slavandria said.

“Your Grace.” The centaur bowed. “I apologize for the intrusion, but your assistance is required in an urgent matter.” The winged creatures lifted the unconscious man and laid him on the floor. “I hope I am not too late.”

Slavandria gasped and dropped to her knees. “Sir Trogsdill!”

She closed her eyes and swept her hands over the still body. “He’s been wounded by a shadowmorth’s blade.” Slavandria’s gaze met with Balendar’s. “Where did you find him?”

“These two shime came upon him while they were on patrol.”

Slavandria stood and approached the creature nearest to David. “What is your name? Where did you find this man?”

“Taccar, Your Grace. Second Lieutenant, Fox Glen Brigade. My comrade and I found the victim along the banks of the Cloverleaf River along with this.” He withdrew a long sword from a sheath at Balendar’s side and placed the weapon at Slavandria’s feet.

Slavandria’s brow furrowed with worry. “Did you see others like him in the forest? Sense their presence?”

Taccar shook his head. “No, Your Grace, however, news has reached the forest that Their Majesties are missing.”

Slavandria closed her eyes for a moment and then turned to Twiller, who stood quietly in the corner. “I need you to escort David and Charlotte to Tulipakar immediately. Make room for them in the Elthorian Manor. I will meet you there tomorrow.” She turned to the centaur. “You and the shime are to scour the forest. Elicit whatever help you can from Hirth. King Gildore and Queen Mysterie must be found. Also keep your eyes open for a young man, not much older than this one, (she inclined her head toward David), with dark hair and emerald-green eyes. He goes by the name of Eric. He is this knight’s squire. It is imperative no harm comes to him. These two shime will remain with me.”

Balendar bowed. “As you wish, Your Grace. I will send a message by palindrake as soon as the king and queen are secure.”

The centaur retreated from the room.

Slavandria turned to David and Charlotte. “You are to go with Twiller. Do as he says. Do not stray from the path. There are too many dangerous things that wait for you out there.”

“Like what?” Charlotte said.

“I don’t have time to tell you. I’ll explain everything tomorrow. Twiller, get them out of here. Hurry. Do not stop for anything. Use whatever methods you must reach the safety of Tulipakar before nightfall. Go, and send in the moon faeries on your way out.”

Slavandria knelt beside the injured man and ripped open his shirt, exposing a raw, festering wound that stretched from beneath his left armpit to his navel.

David glared over his shoulder as Twiller urged them to leave.

“You can’t keep us locked up forever, you know. We’ll find our way out of here, with or without your help.”

“Hold fast to that determination, David,” she said, pressing her hands to the bloody lesion. “You’re going to need it.”

Dark clouds snuffed out the midday sun as Eric came in sight of Avaleen. He ventured off the dirt road and brought his horse into a thicket of trees to survey the city. Unlike the charred farmlands and towns he’d passed through on his journey, the sprawling white marble citadel with its bright-colored bulbous turrets rose strongly from the rolling hillside and surrounding lush forest. Eric held tight to the reins and clicked his tongue, urging his horse into the open. A cool breeze whisked in from the east. Thunder rumbled in its wake. His horse snorted, and a sinking feeling settled within Eric. No birds flew overhead. No chanting or singing emanated from within the city walls. Only immeasurable silence greeted him.

A cold chill rippled down his spine.

He rode through the city’s arched gateway of ivy-covered marble, his horse’s hooves clomping on the cobblestones. A bead of sweat crawled from his temple to his jaw. He swept it away with his arm. His senses heightened. His heartbeat drummed. Time crawled by as he maneuvered his way through the barren city streets toward the Hall of Reflection.

It was there he and Trog were to have met his lethal instructor, Mangus Grythorn. Of course, that was before Einar happened. Now all Eric had was a soul full of hope that the mercenary remained within the protective confines of the city. If not, finding the paladin might prove to be more difficult than anticipated.

Eric arrived at the Hall of Reflection and winced as he dismounted, the wound from Einar still barking out in pain.

A few large raindrops plopped on his face and skin. Foreboding poured through his limbs.

Leave. Get on your horse and go
.

He bit his lip and pushed against the desire to flee. Only cowards flee. Trog wouldn’t run.

He entered the Citadel.

The oblong reception room was as he expected—grand, its marble walls dotted with oiled paintings of famous wizards, mages, and kings, both past and present. On the frescoed ceiling, gods and mages battled the forces of evil alongside unicorns, dragons, griffins, and faeries. Three corridors fingered off the main room, each leading to places seldom seen by humans. It was the narrow corridor straight ahead, the one lined with dark woods and mirrors, that caught his attention, for beyond it came a voice he recognized as clear as his own. Eric crept closer and ducked into a cloakroom, leaving the door cracked.

“You know it will be difficult to convince the Hirthinian people there is corruption in the ranks surrounding the king.” Eric didn’t recognize that voice. “It will be even more impossible for the King to believe his most valued knight and General of the Army would do anything against the crown or his country.”

“Don’t worry about that.” The voice Eric recognized as Master Camden’s, chuckled. “It has already been addressed and taken care of.”

“How so?”

“Let’s just say it’s fascinating what these humans will do when threatened with the lives of those they love. Even the strongest crumble beneath the hint of such, how should I put it—emotional terrorism.”

The unknown man let out a mirthful chuckle. “Yes, I do agree. Who, might I ask, is the malefactor?”

“Why, the Dragon King, of course.” Another round of laughter. “There are benefits to situating a quisling high within the ranks of Einar’s entourage. Someone the beast trusts.”

“And the evidence planted?”

“Could be refuted, but then again, it’s them against us, and what would we have to gain by lying, especially since we’ve captured one of their spies!”

The closet door flew open. Eric’s heart leaped as hands grasped him by the breast of his tunic and threw him into the center of the room. An army of feet and legs surrounded him, kicking him. Pain spiraled up his spine, out his ribs. Air rushed from his lungs. He struggled to his hands and knees. A sharp blow slammed into his back. Stars popped before his eyes. His body crumpled. His face smacked the cold floor. The metallic taste of blood coated his tongue and trickled from the corner of his mouth.