In the Shadow of the Dragon King (14 page)

No. Move! I have to see who’s after me!

David’s dream-self shoved away and ran toward the shadow of trees. The moon hung above him. Wide, dark wings crossed the clouds overhead.

The cloaked man yelled in the dark.
Remove the veil, boy! Show yourself! I swear to you your death will be painless.

The green light of the elf grew stronger, brighter. A tingly, woozy sensation flooded David’s mind, snuffing out the dream.
No! Stop!

The aura grew brighter. Leather, snake-like armor conformed to David’s dream-self like a second skin, collapsing in layers from head to toe. The moon and stars of his dream gave way to the green canopy of a forest. The first shades of dawn arrived in his mind, rolling in on a mist. The cloaked man, audibly panicked and delirious, faded from view, his voice silenced.

David rolled over in bed and moaned. His eyes fluttered open long enough to see six elves encircling his bed, their backs to him, their bows drawn.

Eric gazed down at the lower courtyard lit by bonfires, Gowran at his side. The frenzied search for survivors buried beneath the fortress walls continued as the subtle reds and purples of sunset gave way to night. Farnsworth and Crohn topped the steps, their expressions as worn and bedraggled as he felt.

The knights shared information they’d uncovered, which amounted to nothing much, and discussed their search efforts for Trog, King Gildore, and Queen Mysterie. Eric stared straight ahead, not looking at anything in particular, waiting for someone, anyone, to ask him how his day went. Apparently, the facts that a dragon talon had speared him, and his best friend had died were unimportant. He waited for a pause in the conversation, then said, “Sestian’s dead.” The words tumbled from his mouth with vacant emotion.

Farnsworth flinched as if struck with a poker across the gut. He hung his head and swallowed. His hands tightened into fists. His gaze strayed to the lower courtyard. His voice rattled when he spoke. “I’m sorry, Eric. I know how close you were.”

An ache spread from Eric’s chest, and an unpleasant feeling over the knight’s flippancy gathered in his gut. His nostrils flared with the sudden influx of anger. He straightened against the stabbing pain in his back, his eyes narrowed. “You’re sorry? Is that all you can say?”

“Don’t, Eric. Sestian was like a son to me. What happened isn’t fair, it isn’t right, but it is what happens in war.”

“War? A war against what? What did Sestian die for? What noble cause? He was never at war with anyone.”

Farnsworth straightened, his gaze meeting Eric’s. “He died defending this castle, this land, his home.”

“That’s a lie! He died for nothing. All these people died for nothing!”

“How untrue.”

Eric whipped around as the owner of the intrusive voice strolled out from behind a statue of a bull raised on its hind legs. He swallowed as if ingesting sandpaper doused with sheep gut oil. “Lord Seyekrad.”

The horse-faced man dressed in blue leathers sauntered forward, his white hair tied back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His turquoise eyes glimmered like blue jewels in the moonlight. Farnsworth, Crohn, and Gowran shouldered together, blocking Eric’s view.

Eric pushed through the formidable wall of muscle, irritated by their protectiveness.

Seyekrad chuckled as if amused by the display. “In war, people always die for
something,
even if that something was nothing. The innocent always die for a cause, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Why are you here, Seyekrad?” Farnsworth’s expression remained impassive.

Seyekrad gestured toward the castle. “Let’s discuss this in private, shall we?” His gaze settled upon Eric, his eyebrows raised just a hair. “Young man, you are dismissed. Tend to whatever activities benefit your soul at the moment while I speak with the Order.”

Eric’s lip twitched, his fingers curled into fists. How dare this cocky, arrogant creature order him about as if he were nothing more than a servant boy?

Farnsworth planted his palm square on Eric’s chest, his eyes never leaving Seyekrad’s. “I think you forget where you are, my lord. Your role of protector of the Northern Forest may benefit your position on the High Council, but you hold no sway here. While you’re within the walls of Gyllen, we have authority, not you, and we say the boy stays with us. If you find this in any way unacceptable, feel free to leave.”

Seyekrad’s lip curled up in a snarl. “Very well. Lead the way. A private room away from prying ears is preferable.”

The entourage entered the castle and turned right, following the gallery flecked with oiled portraits and porcelain statues. After several zigzag turns, they entered the Cedar Room, a resplendent chamber rich in velvet tapestries, dark wood furnishings, and a heavy atmosphere. Seyekrad spoke a single incantation, and the wall sconces and hearth leaped into fiery brilliance. The sudden warmth, however, did little to mask the formal chill in the air.

“Get on with it, sorcerer,” Crohn said, closing the door behind them. “We’re in the middle of a crisis.”

“I can see that,” Seyekrad said. “In fact, it is why I’m here.”

Gowran huffed out a breath and took a seat beside Eric. “This should be interesting. Are you going to break your edict and protect Hirth from further attacks?”

Seyekrad let out a boisterous laugh. “Oh, my, what do you take me for, a fool? No, I’m afraid I’m here for something far less trivial.”

“Trivial!” Eric sneered, his lip curled up in disgust. “We’ve been attacked by a monster. Hundreds are dead. More are trapped beneath the pile of mess out there. How is that trivial?”

Seyekrad smirked. “Well, well, what do you know? The fledgling has a backbone.” He strode over to Eric, his arms crossed. “Let me put it in simpler terms so you can understand. This crisis, as you see it, is trivial when considering the urgent matter before the High Council and the Senate.”

“Which is what?” Farnsworth asked.

A smug expression skewed Seyekrad’s face. “We have it on good authority that your beloved Sir Trogsdill may have conspired with the enemy and planned this attack.”

“That’s a lie!” Eric shouted.

Crohn pointed a finger at Eric. “Quiet!” He directed his scowl at Seyekrad. “How dare you grace these walls and spout such vitriol. What proof do you have?”

Seyekrad flicked a glance around the room. “All you need to know is Sir Trogsdill faces charges of kidnapping, treason, and sedition. Once found, he will be arrested. If we discover you are harboring him, each of you will be charged and arrested for aiding and abetting a suspected conspirator to the crown.”

Crohn lunged forward, his face like a puffed-up bullfrog. “Why, you—”

Gowran and Farnsworth grasped him by his collar and yanked him back.

Seyekrad fixed his eyes on Eric. “Of course, should you wish to come forward with any information, we will be more than happy to forgive your involvement in the matter.”

Eric’s temper smoldered beneath the surface. “There is no information to give. Even if there were, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

“Pity,” Seyekrad said. “It is a shame your age and lack of wisdom will be no defense for your stupidity in this matter.”

Farnsworth stepped forward. “I think it’s time for you to leave, Seyekrad. I trust you know your way back to Avaleen.”

Seyekrad smirked. “Indeed, but I have no intentions of returning to the mage city at the moment. This hovel fascinates me. I think I’ll tarry, see how inferior beings survive under such harsh circumstances.”

“I have a better idea,” Eric quipped. “Why don’t you do something useful and return Einar to the bowels of the earth? After all, the reason we’re in this mess is because the mages failed to keep their magical creatures under control. Seems, you owe us a favor.”

Seyekrad smiled. “Banishing dragons is not my specialty, pup. Neither is saving this kingdom. You have a paladin for that if he ever decides to show his face.”

Eric held his breath for a moment.
Play dumb.
“What are you talking about? What paladin?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Seyekrad surveyed the other faces in the room. “Your guardian and savior arrived in the realm early this morning.”

Eric’s mind raced with excitement. In his despair, he’d forgotten the paladin.

“This is news to us,” Farnsworth said. “Until he arrives, what do you or the High Council intend to do to protect us?”

“Why, nothing, of course. It goes against mage law to intervene in the affairs of men. But please,” Seyekrad conjured several stacks of folded handkerchiefs on the table, “give the grief-stricken one of these for their tears, and don’t forget to pass on my regards.”

Eric lunged at Seyekrad, but the sorcerer backed up, and Eric fell face-first on the floor. The sorcerer laughed and vanished with a snap of his fingers. Eric cussed as Gowran helped him to his feet.

“I loathe that creature!” Gowran said.

“You’re not alone,” Farnsworth said, “however, if what he said is true, we have a serious problem on our hands. We must find Trog and warn him not to return to Gyllen.” He walked to the window, his body a giant shadow in the firelight. “Gowran, send patrols into the Southern Forest. Elicit the help of the shime to ensure open communication between us and the centaurs, General Balendar in particular. We must know if Trog crossed into the forest.”

“I think it would also be wise to find any one of our emissaries,” Farnsworth continued. “I want Seyekrad followed while he’s here. That shiftless goat is up to something. There is no reason he had to deliver the message himself when runners could have done it unless he’s seeking something.”

“Maybe all he wants is to gloat at our misfortune,” Eric said.

“More like Seyekrad is hoping we’ll lead him to Trog,” Gowran said.

“Precisely.” Farnsworth rubbed his chin in thought. “Eric, tell us what happened this morning. All of it.”

They sat at the table, deep in thought, while Eric relayed the tale. When Eric got to the part about the shadowmorths, Farnsworth slammed his fist on the table.

“Shadowmorths, in Gyllen!” Gowran stood, kicking his chair with such vigor it hit the wall behind him. “You know this changes everything. Trog and Their Majesties could be in Einar’s clutches as we speak.”

“Perhaps the king and queen are,” Crohn said, “but not Trog.”

Farnsworth raised an eyebrow. “Why is that? He’s not immune to the powers of the dragon.”

‘No,” Crohn said, “but you have to admit he has more lives than a common housecat. He has overcome every obstacle ever thrown at him.”

“And he has paid a severe price for each and every one of them.” Gowran righted his chair and sat down.

Eric’s thoughts strayed back to the conversation between the king and queen in Trog’s room. What were they hiding? What price had Trog paid? How many pieces of the puzzle were missing?

Farnsworth placed a hand on Eric’s shoulder, snapping him back to the here and now. He handed him a note.

“Find Captain Morant and give this to him. Afterward, get something to eat and go to bed. You’re going to need your strength.” He turned his attention to the dark-haired knight. “Crohn, come with me. We must seek an audience with the High Council and beg the mages for intervention as well as instate Lord Donegan as Steward. Hirth must have some semblance of leadership so that we may focus our attention on finding Trog and Their Majesties.”

“Lord Donegan is dead,” Eric said. “I saw him.”

A vision of the man’s twisted body lying on the ground flashed through his mind. He and his wife had done such a fine job of making Gyllen look so nice for the king and queen’s return, only to suffer an untimely and vicious death. It didn’t make sense. None of it. Eric pushed the repulsive image into the deep recesses of his mind.

Farnsworth scrubbed the back of his neck and cursed beneath his breath.

Eric stood straight and sucked in a deep breath. “I-I was wondering, sir, if I might have your permission to ride with the conscript.”

“No!” All three knights chimed at once, their voices resonating off the tapestried walls.

Eric’s stomach jolted, his pulse took off running. “Why not? I’m just as capable as the rest of them.”

“No,” Farnsworth said. “End of discussion.”

“But that’s not fair!”

Crohn flashed Eric a condescending smile and patted his cheek. “Who said anything in life is fair?”

Eric smacked the man’s hand away. “Don’t touch me!”

“Eric,” Farnsworth clamped his large hand on the back of Eric’s neck and squeezed. “It seems you have forgotten your manners. Crohn is a knight of Gyllen, and you will give him the respect he has earned and deserves. Is that understood?”

Eric glared at Crohn, his teeth clenched. “Yes.
Sir
.”

“Good.” The man released his hold. “Now do as you were told. Meet us in the lower courtyard by the fountain at sunrise. We have a lot to do.”

Eric scowled and scanned the faces in the room before he stormed from the castle. Outside the garrison doors, he paused for a moment, taking in the stars. “Tell me what to do, Ses. Guide me.”

He stepped inside the rowdy quarters and approached Captain Morant. On the far side of the courtyard, someone blew the ceremonial horn five times, a message five more survivors had been found.

Eric looked around at all the faces plastered in smiles. The congratulatory hugs. The shouts of joy. It was only when that he saw what was in their eyes that he began to feel what was in his heart.

Hope.

It was all around him—in the cry of a new baby. In the first blade of grass after a winter’s thaw.

And at the moment, it was the only thing keeping him from throwing himself off the Haldorian Bridge into the Cloverleaf River and floating away.

***

Eric woke at sunrise to find himself on the gazebo bench in the queen’s private garden. His head pounded, and his stomach churned, a result of too much stress and not enough food.

The air was crisp and tinged with wood smoke and the sickly-sweet stench of burning flesh. His tongue folded against the roof of his mouth to keep the rancid odor from settling in his nose and mouth, but it didn’t work. He leaned over the rail and vomited.