In the Shadow of the Dragon King (18 page)

Green threads wove through the air.

“You’re going to regret this!” Camden yelled as the Duwan carried him from the room. “Jared will hear of your interference.”

“Good. Tell him, and don’t leave out the part where you attempted to murder his daughter, for I can assure you that will head my report to him.” Mangus sheathed his sword.

Master Camden struggled as the Duwan led him away. “You cannot do this to me! I will have your head!”

Mangus knelt at Slavandria’s side and swept the hair from her face. “Are you alright, Van?” He brushed a thumb over the apple of her cheek and the curve of her jaw.

She nodded. “Yes. How is Eric?”

“He’s alive, but in desperate need of your help.” He touched his fingertips to the fang marks on her neck. “I will kill Camden for this.”

“You’re sweet.” Slavandria met his gaze, her eyes soft. She ran her fingers up and down his arm. “But I’m sure my father will beat you to it.” She glanced Eric’s way. “Help me to my feet. I have a rogue squire who needs a bit of attention.”

Eric shrank as Mangus walked toward him. So much restrained power sparkled in the man’s eyes. He offered his hand to Eric. “Go on, lad. Take it. I won’t rip you apart unless you give me a reason to.”

Eric clasped the man’s hand and yelped as he stood, his limbs wobbling.

He flinched as Slavandria pressed her palms to his torso. She sighed and shook her head. “You have two broken ribs. I can take care of them if you like, but I’m afraid you won’t like me for awhile.”

Eric exhaled. “Is there no magic you possess that doesn’t hurt?”

“There’s quite a bit, actually,” Slavandria said as she gingerly pried open his shirt, “but when you have bones sticking through your skin, I’m afraid you’re going to feel pain.”

Eric glanced down at the wound and swayed. There was so much blood.

Mangus moved behind him and wrapped his arms around Eric’s shoulders. “It’ll be alright, boy. Think of something else.”

Eric bit his trembling lip. He was so scared. Scared of the pain that was coming. Scared of crying in front of Mangus Grythorn. He froze in place, his eyes closed, waiting.

Slavandria placed her hand on the protruding bone. She spoke soft and low. The magic slipped from her palms and seeped into his skin in waves of fire and ice. Eric listened and tried to attach his mind to her soothing voice, but the ripping agony came, and he screamed.

“Noooo! Please stop!”

Mangus Grythorn tightened his grip. “Hold on, lad. It’ll be over soon.”

Eric sobbed. Sounds warped, and images faded. His pulse pounded in his eardrums.

The bone moved deep into his chest and snapped into place. He gasped as the magic sank deep into his body like warm, thick honey. He could feel it, sealing and buffering. Second by second, the pain eased until it was little more than a tolerable ache. He sniffled and stepped away from Mangus. What an ass he must have seemed. Such a fine, noble squire he was, crying like a baby.

Mangus patted him on the back. “You all right there, lad? You mind telling us how all this happened?”

Eric nodded. “I’m fine.” He stared at the floor, his hand cupped on the back of his neck. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t look his savior in the eye. He swallowed and looked at Slavandria. “Thank you, both of you, for arriving when you did.”

“Think nothing of it,” Mangus said, with a heavy slap to Eric’s back. “I’m such a sap when it comes to a good mage fight. I had no idea how bored I was.” His eyes twinkled with mischief.

Eric smiled. A lethal warrior with a sense of humor. What a dangerous combination.

“Are you okay to walk?” Mangus asked.

Eric nodded. “I think so.”

They climbed the stairs and exited the citadel onto the sunny courtyard glistening with puddles. In the daylight, the blistered skin and fresh scars on Mangus’ face were less menacing than they’d appeared in the shadows of the Council chambers. An unmistakable power emanated from his very being, confirming he was still quite dangerous despite his recent injuries. Slavandria faced him; concern ever-present as she stroked his cheek, touched his hands.

“Mangus, I’m so sorry. I should never have let you leave Chalisdawn. I knew you were no match against Einar alone.”

Mangus laughed. “Is that how you think I got my injuries, by crossing billywogs with a dragon?” He smoothed her hair from her eyes and cupped her chin. “My dear Van, Einar didn’t do this to me. It’s my own stupidity, really. I decided to act all human and save a few wee ones from an inn engulfed in flames. I got them out, but not before the inn collapsed on me.”

Slavandria’s eyes widened.

Mangus shook his head. “Fear not. Jared heard my agony and ferried me from the wreckage. He took me home to Felindil where I was in the middle of intense healing until I sensed your distress.” He ran his fingers along her cheek. “It’s a good thing I arrived when I did.”

Slavandria rubbed the fading marks on her neck. “Yes, I’m quite thankful for your help. Then again, you always did have a propensity for making grand entrances and rousing exits.” Her turquoise eyes stared at Eric and narrowed. She sauntered toward him. “Now, the matter comes down to you. What are you doing in Avaleen? Why are you not at Gyllen where you belong?”

“I-I … I was looking for him.” Eric pointed at Mangus. “Sir Trogsdill and I were to meet him here yesterday, but then everything fell apart. I thought —”

“Ah, yes.” Mangus chuckled. “Sir Trogsdill’s squire. I’ve heard good things about you, lad. Where is your master?”

Eric shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s missing. Maybe dead.”

“And you thought he may have died here?” Slavandria raised an eyebrow.

“No, Your Grace.”

“So why are you here? Surely you didn’t think your training would continue after all that has happened.”

“N-no, Your Grace.” Eric’s core liquefied beneath their stares. Internal alarms went off. He wasn’t ready to answer more questions about his purpose in Avaleen. Was he even supposed to know about the paladin? He shifted beneath the weight of their gaze. “I came to Avaleen to find him.” He pointed to Mangus. “I thought I could bring him to Gyllen. Maybe his presence would bolster morale. I mean, the High Council has no intentions to protect us. I-I thought he could help.”

“Interesting,” Mangus said. He turned to Slavandria. “What do you think, Van? Can your father spare me for a day?”

Slavandria shook her head. “Doubtful. Maybe I can find you an hour or two, but not a day. As it is, I must return to Chalisdawn immediately to see to an important matter, and then travel to Tulipakar in the morning. Father said he would see me there before he sets sail. Where are the two of you going?”

“It is best you don’t know. Plausible deniability and all that.” Mangus requested the stable hands to bring two horses.

“Does that mean you are coming with me to Gyllen?” Eric asked. Excitement rippled through his veins. His plan worked. They never worked.

Mangus smiled. “Either that or I have an obsession with horses. Do you think you can arrange a meeting with me and the Order while I am there?”

Eric nodded. “Yes. Of course, sir.”

Mangus rubbed his palms together. “Good. It’s settled then.” He took Slavandria’s hands in his and kissed her cheek. “Stay out of trouble while I’m gone.”

She smiled. “I won’t promise you anything.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

Slavandria stepped closer to Eric and touched his face. Pulsating warmth rippled through his veins, and all the soreness in his ribs faded. The puffiness around his eyes seeped away, his skin no longer taut and stretched. She stepped back and admired her work. “There. The swelling is gone. By tomorrow, the bruises should be gone as well.”

Eric bowed his head. “Thank you, for everything.”

Slavandria nodded, her eyes dark and narrow. “Eric, what you said in the chambers, was that true? Is the Council conspiring against Trog?”

Eric nodded.

Slavandria caressed his cheek. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, I promise.” She turned to Mangus and kissed him on the cheek. “Be careful. I will buy you as much time as I can. Give Farnsworth and the others my blessings and tell them I will see them soon. They may not have the Council fighting for them, but they will always have my support. Make sure they understand that.”

“I will, my lady.” Mangus mounted his horse, as did Eric. “Let’s go, lad. I don’t wish to be on the roads at night. There is no telling what boggarts Einar let in when he attacked, and I’d rather not find out.”

“Agreed, sir.” Eric turned his horse and spurred the animal into a run. Behind him, a crack splintered, its sound carrying on the breeze. Slavandria was gone, and the second most powerful mage in the world was at his side.

What a mess he’d created.

And how glad he was to have friends in high places.

David and Charlotte trudged behind Twiller, their clothing soaked from the torrential rainfall that plagued them since they’d left Chalisdawn. For the last several hours, Twiller had become quiet, agitated, his temper short. He skirted the small towns and hamlets despite David and Charlotte’s pleas to rest and eat.

“I don’t know why you didn’t just ferry us,” David said. “It would have been much quicker.”

“We are not in the Southern Forest anymore,” Twiller said. “Ferrying outside the woods would be a death sentence.”

“Why?”

“Ferrying leaves signatures, remnants of your presence. If anyone of a higher power chose to look for you, he could trace your essence, which would lead him to Tulipakar. As Tulipakar is my home, I do not wish it to be turned into a battlefield. Now please stop asking questions and hurry. The moon is rising.”

***

They followed the road north. Beggars Field gave way to an expansive meadow and rolling hills. The forest on their right thinned out, and before long they stood upon a ridge overlooking a deep valley dotted with haystacks. Two silos stood like shadow giants in the night. Apple trees speckled the landscape, the scent of their ripened fruit sweet and pungent on the cool air. They plodded downhill along the muddy road dotted with puddles. At the bottom, the terrain evened out and a row of dense hedges, at least nine feet high, formed on their right. Twiller picked up his pace and stopped a dozen or so yards ahead, facing the endless row of verge.

“Here we are,” he said, as David and Charlotte approached. Charlotte slid from David’s back and leaned into him, his arm around her waist for support.

Twiller cleared his throat, held up his hands, palms facing the hedges, and chanted:

“Weeping willow, mist, and vine

Heavenly moonlit stars align

Verge of green in sea of grass

Permit Slavandria’s guests to pass.”

A golden glow fanned the branches aside, offering an entrance large enough for passage.

“Whoa.” David helped Charlotte through the divide. The hedge rustled and snapped into place. “Sweet.”

A landscape of rolling green hills stretched out before them. Winding narrow paths of glowing lapis lazuli wandered off in several directions leading to pastures, gardens, and round huts made of stones and thatched roofs. To the southeast, looming against a thick forest, stood a resplendent white palace, complete with domed turrets and minarets.

“Good God,” said David, his mouth gaped open.

“What is that place?”

“That is the Elthorian Manor,” said Twiller, “and it is where you will spend the night.”

“You’re joking, right?” Charlotte’s eyes sparkled like a little kid’s on Christmas morning.

“I never joke,” said Twiller. “Come.”

They trekked down the hill and through the monolithic gatehouse of stone and iron.

Towering hedges skirting the path turned into brick walls thick with ivy. They passed through another gate and came face-to-face with dozens of half-moon steps leading to the palace where a domed, copper roof rose like a puffed up penny from the center.

“This is beautiful,” Charlotte said. “I bet you could fit your house in there a hundred times.”

David nodded. “No kidding.”

Twiller climbed the steps and waddled across the wide mezzanine. He touched his finger to the lock, and the two-story wooden doors opened inward. Wall sconces and candled chandeliers flared to life.

David stepped inside, his heart thumping madly. “This is sick!”

A gold-flecked marble statue of an armored soldier straddling an armored horse stood with honor in the center of the entrance hall. Off to each side, two sets of marble stairs swathed in dark-blue carpet swept up to the floor above. Hallways dressed in bold, blue carpet and oiled paintings led off to either side as well as straight ahead, all disappearing into a vast, velvety darkness.

“Whoa!” David turned in a circle, his head thrown back. “Check out the paintings on the ceiling!”

“It’s even more amazing from up here!” Charlotte shouted as she clung to the second-story banister. “You’ve got to check out the tapestries and paintings!” Charlotte peered down the dim hallway behind her. “I wonder what’s back there.”

“I don’t know,” David said, jogging up the stairs. “Maybe Twiller will take us on a tour.”

“I’m afraid that is out of the question,” Twiller said as he reached the landing.

“Whose place is this?” David peered down the darkened hallway behind him.

“It once belonged to the Baron and Baroness of Trent, Fredrik Elthorian and his wife, Allena.” Twiller waddled across the landing to the right and opened a door. “Lady Charlotte, this will be your quarters for the duration of your stay.”

It was a grandiose room with painted murals of rose gardens. A fire roared in the hearth. A plush bed adorned with brocade covers nested upon a platform inside a white gazebo. David opened the balcony’s double doors framed in dark blue velvet drapes with gold tassels and stepped outside, his breath momentarily taken by the view.

“Oh, my.” Charlotte stood beside him, her mouth open. “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful in your life? Look!” She pointed to the right. “There’s a huge pond and a gazebo, and look at all the little houses lit up. Can you hear the music and laughter? It’s magical, don’t you think?”