Quest Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 1) (28 page)

He spurred Mortar into a gallop. The two guards followed close behind. Port Bynni was bustling with people. Roads made of pebbles wound through the town, sprouting only cubits from the dock. The strong smell of fish drifted from two large fishing boats that had just unloaded their morning’s catch. The workers on the dock separated the fish with dexterous hands before hauling them in small carts to the market.

The people of Byn barely gave them a second glance, all intent on their work or bartering. The city was alive with talk of the Quy. He heard the word “magic” repeatedly. Sometimes he even heard “Ista.” When he did he was loath to realize the people spoke Ista’s name in reverence. Surprisingly, he heard no mention of Ren or his supposed betrayal. It was as if no one cared.

The more Ramie heard the more worried he became. He wasn’t up against Ista’s claim; he was up against Ista’s knowledge. Even if the people believed in Ren’s innocence they still wanted to learn the Quy. They would still travel to Zier.

As he wove his way through the market his mood diminished rapidly, not that it had a high level to diminish from. Many of the townsfolk had packs on their backs. Not packs from a morning at market but packs foretelling of a journey. By the time he reached the crossroad veering southeast toward Zier Ramie’s mood hadn’t only diminished it had reached rock bottom. The road was awash with people, some walking, some riding, some men, some women, and some small children, but all carried a mask of hope.

Ramie’s chest tightened. People were migrating, chattering about the power and how they would soon be able to turn stones into gold.

He passed the road and started down a dirt trail that led southeast toward the Jaguars. He could barely see their shape in the distance, the morning’s haze still thick, but just the sight of his destination soothed his nerves. The two guards exchanged confused glances as Ramie slowed Mortar to a stop. The men thought they were staying in the market, not traveling across country.

Ramie had told his crew he had forgotten to order the Ketes crystal he had promised his wife Javi. He insisted on disembarking in Byn to send the order to Ketes himself. Since he hadn’t sent word as soon as he arrived in Zier, the crystal would take months to reach Yor, much to Javi’s chagrin. Ordering it from Byn would reduce the time by half. To apologize for his oversight he would also search the Byn market for a trinket Javi would favor.

Ramie turned to the guard who had introduced himself as Tec and motioned him forward. The lanky boy followed as Ramie moved out of hearing range of the other guard.

Ramie lowered his voice. “Take this message to Ketes. Don’t let anyone read it except Bostic himself. Do you understand?”

A flash of surprise swept across Tec’s boyish features. Although Tec knew a message would be sent to Ketes, it was supposed to be delivered to a crystal merchant, not the king, and normally a messenger was used, not a personal guard. But Tec didn’t flinch. He took the message without question and saluted.

Before Tec could spur his horse east Ramie put a hand on Tec’s arm and pulled one bag of gold from his cloak. It could have supported a man for an entire lifetime. “Take this. I want you to know how important this is to me. If you come back to Oldan I’ll welcome you, but if you breathe one word of this message to anyone other than to whom it is intended you’ll be hunted like a dog. Do you understand?” Ramie searched Tec’s face for any disloyalty. He saw none.

Tec flushed as his horse pranced with excitement. “Yes, my lord.”

“Now go, and may the Maker go with you.”

Tec’s flush deepened, causing his blond hair to appear white as he spurred his horse into a canter and held the message close to his chest. Ramie was glad he had chosen Tec; he was a good lad. Ramie shook his head and smiled. That “lad” was only a few years his junior.

He motioned the remaining guard forward. Lynn was stocky, and unlike Tec had the look of a man twice his age. He studied Ramie with mild confusion.

“Lynn, please search the market for a beautiful golden broach. Money is no object. I’ll meet you back here tomorrow at high sun.” Ramie handed Lynn another bag of gold, far more than a broach would cost in three lifetimes. Lynn’s eyes widened, but after the initial shock they flickered back to Ramie.

“I can’t leave you alone, my lord. It’s against code.”

Ramie heaved a tired sigh. In all his days he never thought he would say what he was about to say. “Starting now, you must break code. I must attend to something private. Go to the ship tonight and announce I haven’t found anything I fancy. Tell them I will search in the morning and may not return before the setting sun. But Lynn, make your lies believable. If you don’t you’ll have no place in my army and no place in life. Do you understand?”

Lynn straightened to attention and nodded. “As you wish, my lord.”

Ramie spurred his mount forward, trying not to analyze all the things that could go wrong. He knew it was asinine to attempt to ride to the Jaguars and back within a day and a half, but he had to try – for Ren.

At least that’s what he kept telling himself.

He rode hard, forcing his mind to clear. If he thought about his destination it would shatter his resolve. So, for the first time in his life, Ramie let his mind go blank. He didn’t think of magic; he didn’t think of Ista; he tried not to think at all.

Byn was a beautiful area, its rocky landscape not only sensual, but haunting. Huge boulders dotted the terrain, some twice as tall as Mortar. Trees were sparse, but lush long grass danced in the breeze. In heavy storms the grass would flatten, only to rise when the breeze beckoned it once again. A painfully aching loneliness crept inside Ramie as he galloped past the boulders. Although he forced his mind not to focus on his destination his heart still knew, and in response the hurt and anger rose inside him like a summer storm.

The sun inched higher in the sky and not one splash of shade invaded his path. Sweat glided down his skin, creating a constant itch. As the haze dissipated, the rugged peaks of the Jaguars dominated his vision.

Ramie had never been to the Jaguars in body, but he had been there many times in spirit. The Jaguar’s snowcapped peaks seemed to disappear into the atmosphere. He had heard of some trying to climb those peaks, but had never heard of anyone returning. The peaks were steep, with air too thin to breathe. Year-round snow and ice warded off any sign of life.

Ramie stopped Mortar and unstrung his water skin. He took a swig and then poured a scant amount of water over his head. The water dissipated quickly, but a cool breeze from the mountains dove past him, chilling him despite the oppressive heat. After he wiped the sweat from his upper lip he spurred Mortar into full gallop. He was making good time, but he needed to make better. He still had to find the place described to him almost ten years prior, and descriptions were rarely representative of actuality. Fortunately, he did know the mountain he needed to climb. It was easily spotted by the naked eye. It was the only peak that had a flat top, as if the Maker himself had come down and slapped off the mountain’s crest in anger.

Within a degree of the sun he reached the mountain’s base, and Ramie guided Mortar up the first path he found. The rocky mountain terrain was dense with evergreen trees. The smell reminded Ramie of Nigel’s habit of gathering pine boughs from the surrounding forests of Oldan. Year round, Nigel’s room smelled like it sat in the middle of the woods and not in the middle of a castle. Although Ramie teased his brother unmercifully he had inwardly loved Nigel’s passion for the outdoors. He missed the ritual of the boughs but refused to gather them himself. It just wouldn’t be right without his brother.

The higher he went the less rocky the soil and the denser the trees. The forest continued until the naked, snow-covered peaks began, leagues up the mountain. The sun was fading fast. He quickened his pace.

Trees brushed against him as he rode, and although he felt nervous about the imminent encounter the rugged terrain gave him a sense of peace. The growth around him became heavy, bending inward over the path in protective shelter. The comforting smell of sweet lemon-bud vines wound their way through the pines, further easing his nerves.

When he reached a bend in the trail he slowed, knowing he was approaching the place he sought. He had seen it in his dreams many times, but it had been revealed to him in late fall. It was still summer, the vegetation full. He needed to be cautious. He had no time for mistakes. He was cutting it close already.

When a rock wall rose before him he stopped and let the path disappear into the unknown. This was the place. Turning, he went back through the pines. He dismounted and led Mortar closer to the trees. After bending a few branches and peering over rocks, he found what he was looking for: trampled grass and a slight marring of the landscape. The well-hidden path began beneath a spidery pine whose branches had been carefully cut to cover the entrance. Ramie pulled the branches away and led Mortar through the brush only to discover the path led straight to a large boulder and disappeared from view.

Ramie walked around the boulder. Sure enough, the main path veered away from the rock. There were small, chiseled indentions in and around the gray stone. The man he sought didn’t want to be found. He deliberately climbed the stone to hide the main path from view, and Ramie was sure the man didn’t use the same trail past the stone for more than a few days at a time.

It was inventive but sad. At one time the man he sought loved human companionship; now the man isolated himself out of fear and loathing. As Ramie led Mortar down the worn, narrow trail that skirted around the mountain’s edge, he grew nervous. He didn’t mind heights, but as he looked down the slope he knew one misstep could mean his death. The path continued around the edge far longer than Ramie cared, but soon ventured back into the heart of the mountain where vegetation was thick.

The sun had set but the twin moons emitted ample light. He tried to enjoy the walk but he was too jittery. His mind was awash with fears, regrets and memories.

After a time he came to the beautiful clearing he had only seen in his dreams: a sea of grass and clover surrounded on three sides by tall, rugged pines that skirted the mountain’s face and looped out and around a small wooden house. Smoke rose from the chimney. The man he searched for was sure to be home.

Ramie tied Mortar to a nearby tree and walked toward the house, heart pounding as if the Watcher himself were after him. He stopped at the door, marveling at the design. It was elaborately carved, with a star-shaped pattern adorning every inch. Ramie drew a deep breath, knocked, and waited. The slight echo of the knock made him uneasy. After all, who had ever knocked on this man’s door?

When there was no reply, he twisted the handle and stepped inside. The stone fireplace immediately caught his attention. It was made with stones Ramie knew weren’t found in the Jaguars. They were a beautiful array of colors: some red, others cream, others a deep cobalt. A pot of stew bubbled over dwindling flames and the smell of spices filled the room.

A lone wooden chair sat before the fire, worn but well crafted. Ramie felt a pang of sadness at the sight but quickly repressed his deepening empathy. The man had chosen isolation. He had sought help of no one. He deserved all the loneliness the solitary chair symbolized.

A small bed rested in the corner, animal pelts covering it. Even though it was still summer Ramie could already feel the chill in the night. He knew he could never survive the winter in the Jaguars and knew of no one but this man who could.

Logs were stacked five thick against the far wall, ready for the beginning of winter. Above the bed, wooden shelves were replete with bows, arrows and spikes for hunting fish and prey. A large bearskin rug made the room appear fuller than it really was.

Then Ramie noticed the carvings. They were everywhere, nestled in every corner, donning the mantle, set in windows and hung on walls. As Ramie scanned the work he almost forgot the purpose of his visit, for everywhere he turned he looked into his own eyes. One carving portrayed his fifteenth birthday, when his father had knighted him. He sat on a horse holding a sword, a large, cocky smile playing on his lips. It was that very year his world came crashing down. He wondered if he had ever smiled like that since. He had grown old at a young age.

Ramie wanted to push away the pain but he knew he was only delaying what he would have to face. At the sound of splitting wood, Ramie’s eyes found a back door. It stood slightly ajar.

Ramie shoved all apprehensions aside and stepped onto the threshold. A man stood in front of a wide stump, ax in hand. There were already two layers of wood, from ground to roof, stacked against the house, but Ramie knew those layers would only last weeks in a Jaguar winter.

Sweat ran off the man’s back like rivers, causing his long, wavy brown hair to stick to his skin. He wore only a pair of doeskin trousers. The muscles in his arms and chest barely strained as he lifted the ax and impaled a log. A sword Ramie recognized, for it matched his own, leaned against the tree stump. He wondered how often the man had been without a sword, even in sleep.

Although he had always believed the man was alive he had no solid evidence, only a word of a scout he had sent to find a homestead in the Jaguars. Ramie’s anger evaporated. All that remained was a blinding fear. He thought of Ren, swallowed his feelings, and took a step forward.

“Nigel?”

The man spun, dropped his ax and grabbed the sword within heartbeats. Nigel’s bright blue eyes glimmered with ferocity. His hair whipped across his chest and clung to heaving muscles. Although Ramie saw alarm in Nigel’s demeanor he also saw savage determination. Nigel squatted in an attack stance as Ramie took another hesitant step forward, arms hanging defenseless at his sides.

“Nigel, it’s me.”

Nigel looked at him without emotion. His eyes were those of a hunted animal, depraved and stripped of everything but the need for survival. This wasn’t the man Ramie knew.

This was not his brother.