In the Shadow of the Dragon King (17 page)

He couldn’t breathe, and for a moment, he saw more stars.

Master Camden’s full-bodied voice, deep and resonant, spoke from above him. “Pull the runt from the floor and bring him to the chambers right away. You,” the mage snapped his fingers, “gather the rest of the Council. Inform them we have a spy in our midst.” Master Camden knelt and clasped his hand around Eric’s throat. “You will be sorry you ever stepped foot into Avaleen, young squire. But I’ll save your worst punishment for when Sir Trogsdill arrives to save you, and believe me, he will come for you.”

“You’re wrong.” Eric winced at the pain rippling through his body. “He’ll never fall for your ruse, and I’ll make sure he knows everything.”

“Not if you’re dead.”

Fiery threads of magic flew from the mage’s fingers and plummeted deep within Eric, burning and winding their way through his torso and limbs. His body lifted from the ground, and air sucked from his lungs as he was hurled across the room.

Pain splintered along his back, exploding in his head as he slammed into the wall. His vision blurred. Voices grew distant, muffled. Gruff hands took hold of his arms and dragged him across the floor into an immense room swathed in rose-veined marble. Statues of ancient gods stood poised in the golden light of the globes fastened to the walls. His captors dropped him to the floor like a sack of grain. His chin hit the floor.

He cursed at the man who dropped him and worked his way to his feet. His ribs pulsed in agony. Ahead of him, doors to the Council chambers opened and a blind, elderly man dressed in a flowing maroon robe approached. In his left hand, he carried a birch staff. “The High Council will see you now.”

The guards jabbed Eric in the sides.

He wailed and collapsed to all fours.

“Get up! Let’s see how fast you can move after you’ve been properly beaten.”

Eric struggled to his feet and walked inside the circular chamber. They descended three flights of steps, passing rows of empty chairs. Torches, bolted by iron fittings to the walls, provided the only source of light in the cavernous room. The domed ceiling was lost in the dark and smoky haze. It was in this room that the High Council and Senate debated issues and handed down verdicts regarding their magical kind, both manufactured and ordained. Sestian’s enthusiastic grin flashed in Eric’s mind. He’d lived for moments like this, for the defiance, for the thrill.
Now would be a good time to help me out, Ses. Give me the strength to steel my nerves.

They stopped before a raised dais where Master Camden sat among four men and three women, all dressed in flowing robes as blue as a midnight sky. Master Camden stood and glared down at Eric, his amber eyes gleaming with amusement. “Where is your master, Sir Trogsdill?”

Eric met the mage’s stare. “Why don’t you tell me? You’re the magician.”

The backhanded blow struck with the force of a sledgehammer. Eric stumbled, his face throbbing. Lights flashed before his eyes. He righted himself and swallowed the blood trickling down his throat.

Master Camden sneered. “That was my gentle touch, so if you know what’s best for you, you’ll answer my question. Where is Sir Trogsdill?”

Eric straightened up and positioned himself squarely before his abuser. Never in a million years would he give the cretin information, even if he had it. Even if it meant death.

Camden growled and raised both hands over his head, the tips of his fingers dancing with red sparks.

Eric steadied himself, knowing full well whatever came his way was going to hurt.

But the mage’s hands froze in mid-air. The sparks fizzled. Camden’s face twisted with anger and confusion, his eyes wild. He whipped around, his gaze boring into the council member walking his way.

“Elizon, please,” the intervening mage said. “Do not lose your head over this imp.” He made a small circle with his hand, and Camden’s arms fell limp at his side, pendulums without a swing.

“What are you doing, Aldrich?” Camden said in a menacing growl. “Release my arms!”

The council member stepped closer. “Why? So you can carry on with your temper tantrum? The rest of us have a better idea to bring our knight out of the shadows.”

“Such as?”

“Send word throughout the Southern Forest that Sir Trogsdill’s pup has been apprehended while spying, and is awaiting prosecution. He will come to us if he believes his prized squire is to be executed.”

Master Camden’s lips twitched, his shoulders relaxed. A mirthful chuckle escaped the corners of his mouth.

“Of course,” he said. “That is a brilliant idea.” He called out to a guard standing near a side door to send a messenger.

A moment passed before a girl with chestnut skin, pearl-white eyes, and a barbed collar inked into her neck entered the chamber. She curtsied before the mage as if he were king.

“What is your name, girl?”

“Ceylione, my master.”

A smile emerged on Camden’s face as he curled his right arm and flexed his fingers.

A hollow feeling settled in Eric’s stomach. The mage had his powers back, and it wouldn’t be long before they were trained on him again.

Camden ordered the girl to her feet and cupped her chin in his palm. A small whimper escaped her lips as the collar darkened and protruded from her skin. No longer an image, the real metal spikes hovered above her delicate skin, poised to plunge in if the girl disobeyed. Her fingers twitched, and her eyes flicked in their sockets.

Eric willed his mouth shut and steeled his nerves. The desire to strangle the bald pig of a mage surged through his entire being, but now wasn’t the time. Tactical training told him he was outnumbered, and the weapons they wielded were far superior to anything he had, which at the moment was nothing. There would be a better time, a better place, to avenge her and others like her, and he would make sure he was there to carry out the justice.

“Go into the Southern Forest,” Camden said, “and locate an elder palindrake. You are to relay that Sir Trogsdill’s squire is in the custody of the High Council on charges of espionage and is awaiting trial. If no one speaks for him within two hours, he shall be executed.”

Camden released her chin and the collar melted into her flesh, fading to a dull gray. She curtsied and fled from the room. Master Camden turned to Eric and grabbed his face in one hand, squeezing his cheeks together. “You know, you could have made this so much easier and much less painful if you had told us what we wanted to know. Now look at all the trouble you’ve caused. I don’t like trouble.”

Eric’s feet lifted from the floor. He dangled there for a moment before flying backward through the air. His body broke over a row of chairs, his arms doing little to break his fall. He yelled out as a rib, maybe two snapped.

Pain. So much pain.

He staggered to his feet, swaying where he stood, his hands gripping his sides. He swallowed, hard, his lungs desperate for air. If only he could breathe deeply. If only …

A weave of magic twined around his neck, squeezing, choking. His eyes widened. He clawed at his throat.

“I—can’t—breathe!”

Blackness crept along the edge of his vision. He crumpled, and fell, pain ricocheting through his knees, his side. His head. Teetering on the edge of consciousness, he whimpered,
Someone help me, please
.

A loud bang broke through the languid dark. Eric coughed and gagged for air as the hold on his throat released. Tears fell, the pain unbearable. Overhead, dozens of sizzling, crystalline-blue tentacles crackled and whipped through the air.

“Slavandria!” Camden shouted. Her name caught in his throat like a barbed hook.

Eric yelped as he struggled to his hands and knees. Using the seats to each side, he hoisted himself to his feet. He blinked to bring everything into focus.

The sorceress stood on the steps only a few feet away, her fingertips aimed at Camden’s chest. Two Duwan guards stood at her side, their bows drawn and nocked with two arrows each, the remaining council members marked as their targets.

“Please tell me this is not what it appears,” Slavandria said, her voice as smooth as laced pudding.

Master Camden sputtered, his finger pointed at Eric. “H-he was caught trespassing, trying to break into sacred vaults.”

“That’s a lie,” Eric said, his voice weak and abraded. “He wants Trog, and he’s using me as bait.”

Slavandria’s eyes narrowed. “What business does the council have with Sir Trogsdill?”

The mage swallowed. “He is wanted for questioning in the disappearance of Their Majesties. We believe he may have information beneficial to discovering their whereabouts.”

Eric sucked in a shallow breath, then another. “That’s not true. They have someone in Einar’s ranks, someone who will falsely testify against Trog.” Eric shook his head, desperate to rid himself of the dizziness taking over. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “They want everyone to believe he had something to do with the king and queen’s disappearance.”

“You lie!” Master Camden bellowed.

The sparks at Slavandria’s fingertips flared and crackled like embers in a flame. “Swear to me on my father’s name these accusations are untrue. Swear it!”

Aldrich pressed a hand to Camden’s shoulder, his gaze boring into Slavandria. “Do not answer, friend. She is intruding upon a private council meeting, which violates the sanctity of our laws and this chamber. She must be detained for interfering in Council matters that do not concern her or involve her area of expertise.”

“Do not speak to me of violating the sanctity of this chamber,” Slavandria said. “This is an unauthorized hearing where you are illegally torturing a human. As queen of the Southern Forest and daughter of the Supreme Master, I am well within my area of jurisdiction to not only intervene in this Council matter but to order all of you into solitary confinement until a tribunal can be held to ascertain your guilt or innocence.” She gestured toward the Duwan. “Escort these recreants to the holding cells.”

Master Camden dodged their grip, spun and thrust out an arm, his palm outward. “
Ignisvipera
!”

A barrage of flaming snakes volleyed forth, unfurling in the air. Arrows sailed into the darkness behind the dais, missing their targets. Slavandria’s magic thickened and swelled. The air bent with her power, but three serpents made it through her defenses. They latched onto her and sank their fangs into her flesh. Her limbs twitched as she collapsed to the floor, her skin chalky, her eyes open and void of life. The magic flickered at the tips of her fingers and then blinked out.

Eric stared, wide-eyed. He looked to the Duwan for help, but they were as rigid as stone, blood oozing from fang marks in their necks. He swallowed, terror clogging his throat. It couldn’t be. Slavandria couldn’t be dead. She was Jared’s daughter. She was powerful. Nothing, no one could defeat her.

Another snake launched through the air and coiled around Eric’s body. An inhuman cry, unrecognizable as his own, wailed from his throat as the serpent constricted. His heart thudded against his ribcage. Life seeped out of him.

From somewhere deep in his mind a memory of a training class flared. What had his teacher said?
Short, shallow breaths! Don’t panic! Kick groin! Gouge eyes!

Eric gasped. He couldn’t. His assailant was too far away.

He thought about death, life, and the senselessness of it all. What was it for, living, if death was the reward?

A loud, echoing crack split the air. A sword hissed from its scabbard.

Swoosh!

The constrictor around Eric’s neck disintegrated into powder.

What the—?

Chairs scraped the floor. A chorus of voices shouted, “
Incendium
!”

The room ignited.

A man dressed in black leathers, his face blistered and scarred, leaped through the flames and shoved Eric to the floor.

Eric screamed the pain in his ribs more than he could take. Tears fell as he lay on his back, drizzling down his face into his ears. Above him, the man dodged fireballs. He swung his sword to the right, then to the left, the veins in his neck bulging in tight cords. Sweat flung from his brow as he danced, deflecting the attacks in fluid, powerful twists, turns, kicks and slices. His blade glowed pewter-blue, and scrollwork etched in the steel flickered in the firelight.

Eric’s breath caught in his chest.
No, it can’t be!
He pushed up to a sitting position and wiped his face with the heels of his palms. He recognized the writing. Felindilian script. Every knight, every squire knew there were only two swords like it in the world. One belonged to the Supreme Master Jared, the other to the general of his army, the one and only … Mangus Grythorn.

One after the other, Eric’s rescuer smacked the fireballs and laughed as they rebounded back to their makers. The mages yelled. Their fleeing footsteps vibrated the floor.

“Where do you think you’re going?” the man said. “
Ventus
!”

Three mages dropped to the ground, their bodies flopping like fish out of water.

Master Camden backed down the steps, stumbled over his own feet and fell, his eyes wide. The man in black cleared five steps in one leap, and landed, one foot on the mage’s chest, the tip of his sword at Camden’s throat.

“Please, Grythorn. I beg you. Spare me,” Camden cried, his arms extended.

“Undo your spells and I might let you live. Do it! Now!”

“I-I c-cannot, not unless I stand.”

“I’m not a fool.” Mangus Grythorn flicked the tip of his blade across the mage’s cheek, cutting open a small wound.

“I-I swear it!” Camden sobbed. A tear trickled down his cheek. “I need to stand.”

Mangus chuckled. “You need to release them, or I shall release your head from its shoulders. How is that for negotiating?”

Master Camden rolled to his left side and pushed up on his elbow. Tears dribbled down the coward’s face. He snapped his fingers and waved his hand.

The air moved, like a wave through the water. The snakes fell in plops.

Slavandria gasped. The Duwan stirred to life. In seconds, their arrows were pointed downward at Camden.

“Bind them and take them to Eisig,” Mangus said. “Shoot them if they try to escape.”