In the Shadow of the Dragon King (26 page)

“There was no one present when he threatened to kill me,” Eric said. “There was nothing but hatred in his eyes and his magic reeked of death.”

“Eric, I’ve known Lord Seyekrad for many years. He’s eccentric, pompous, even ruthless, but he’s not a murderer.”

Eric nearly choked on his spit. “Don’t tell me what he is! I was there. I saw murder in his eyes. I felt it in my veins.”

“I have to agree with the boy,” Gowran said. “I saw nothing but malice in his eyes, and when confronted, he lied. Said Eric attacked him.”

“You should have heard that malefactor’s vitriol, his disgust for the innocents,” Crohn chimed in. “If he’s pretending, I’d hate to see him when he’s forthright.”

“All right,” Slavandria said, Eric surprised by the intensity in her voice. “I am to meet him after I leave here to discuss strategy. I will see what I can find out. If I detect anything that seems questionable, I will take action. As for protecting Hirth, you know I would love to help, but what you ask is impossible of me. Father has forbidden my interference. He would have no problem throwing me in Eisig alongside Master Camden if I defy him. I must be very careful.”

“But the mages interfered once before,” Crohn said. “Almost seventeen years ago. Why should they not do so again?”

“The Council is not responsible for the verdaí,” Slavandria said.

“Who, then?” Farnsworth raised an eyebrow.

“No one knows. The magic was dark, untraceable.”

“Then how did it break?” Eric asked.

Slavandria let out a breath. “I’m afraid I’m responsible for that.”

“What?” Gowran said.

All eyes turned to her.

Slavandria stood and flicked a quick glance at Farnsworth as she passed. “It happened when I summoned the paladin.”

Farnsworth dropped his chin to his chest and sighed.

Slavandria faced the hearth. “As soon as the paladin arrived, I felt a shift in the realm. I could sense the verdaí crumbling, but the shime erected a shield, and I could not see or feel anything beyond Chalisdawn. It wasn’t until the paladin arrived at my home that I saw the devastation. Felt the terror.”

“Where is the paladin now?” Farnsworth asked.

Slavandria met his gaze. “On his journey to do what he came to do.”

“Does his undertaking involve protecting Hirth in any way,” Crohn asked, “or is he forbidden by your father to use his magic as well?”

“His skills will afford protection, provided certain criteria are met.” Her gaze darted around. Her fingers flicked at her side.

She’s nervous, Eric thought.
Why?

“It is imperative he meets,” she paused as if trying to choose the precise word, “the right people.”

Crohn shifted in his seat. Gowran rubbed his temples. Farnsworth exhaled and rubbed both palms over his face. “Eric, would you excuse us please?”

The floor dropped out beneath Eric. His stomach went with it. “Why? What did I do?”

“Nothing. There are simply some things we need to discuss that do not involve you.”

“In other words, I’ve become problematic, right?” Thick, searing, white-hot rage rushed through his body. His hands clenched at his sides. “What could you need to discuss that I can’t hear? Oh, wait. More secrets and lies?” He was surprised by the cool, fluid tone in his voice.

Farnsworth stepped closer and shoved him into an overstuffed chair. He leaned over, his face inches away from Eric’s. “I do not have to explain myself to you. I asked you to leave, and I expect you, as a squire, to do so without protest.”

Anger flicked at Eric’s composure, the steadiness in his voice running away with his fleeting self-control.

“I wouldn’t protest if you treated me like I was something more than a piddly grunt boy, worthy only of sharpening blades and shoveling manure. If you would give me a chance to help instead of always treating me like I’m a festering sore on your backside, you might see I’m not the buffoon you think I am.”

Farnsworth tightened his grip on the arms of the chair, the veins in his arms bulging. His mouth twitched at the corner. “This has nothing to do with your feelings of inadequacy and everything to do with your lack of respect and obedience.”

Eric’s anger seethed. “I am not a dog, sir. If you want obedience, find yourself a mutt.” He shoved Farnsworth’s arm away and stood.

Farnsworth grabbed Eric by the ear, his lips tight. “You are pushing me beyond my patience with your backtalk, young man.”

Slavandria touched Farnsworth’s arm. “It’s all right. Let me handle this.”

Farnsworth cursed beneath his breath and turned away, his hands clasped behind his head.

Slavandria touched Eric’s arm. Threads of calm surged into him, cooling the flames of anger. He met the softness and compassion of her gaze. She cupped a hand on his cheek, the way a mother comforts her son. “Eric, I understand how angry you must be right now, to be told you can stay, then told to leave, but I must speak to the Order alone. It has nothing to do with you being untrustworthy or incompetent. In fact, I have a favor to ask of you. I need you to keep an eye out for something, an object of great importance. It is what I’ve sent the paladin in search of.”

Eric’s pulse quickened. A mage quest? He bottled his excited breaths.

Slavandria conjured a floating vision from her palms. “It is a necklace, a filigreed wreath, about the size of your palm. In the center is a ruby-red dragon’s eye. It is called the Eye of Kedge, and it is imperative to the future of Hirth and all of Fallhollow that it is found.”

Eric’s heart skipped. Excitement tickled his belly so much he wanted to laugh. It took every bit of control to keep from smiling.
Oh, Sestian, you imp. You and your box of treats.
He reeled in his zeal; his attention focused completely on Slavandria and the item snugged safely around his neck.

“I have no idea where this relic is,” she said, “but should you find it, please give it Farnsworth. He’ll know what to do with it.”

“What does it do?” Eric asked, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

“Think of it as a key,” Slavandria said. “A very important key.”

Eric feigned indifference. “A key to what?”

“Intense magic unlike anything you’ve ever seen.”

He held her gaze, and for a moment his belly tingled as if she knew his secret. He tossed the feeling aside and inclined his head toward her. “Thank you for entrusting me with such an important task. I won’t let you down, I promise.”

His glance darted between the knights, and with a nod to them, he departed and hurried to his suite. Locking his door, he withdrew the necklace from beneath his tunic. He held it up, seeing its filigreed swirls as mere shadows in the moonlight.

“What were you doing with the mage stone, Ses?” Eric flipped the pendant over several times and brushed his thumb across the ruby eye. “Better still, what should
I
do with it?”

His thoughts turned inward and focused on the promise of something grand. If he turned the key over to Farnsworth now, there would be all kinds of questions. The knights would never acknowledge him for returning such an important artifact, only ridicule him for not turning it over sooner. If he could find the paladin, however, and present the stone in such a way the paladin believed he found it, then Eric would achieve something great. It would be such an altruistic thing to do, to allow someone else to take the credit for something he did. The paladin would achieve praise, and in turn, so would Eric, for being there at the right time, at the right place. Maybe then the Order would see he was capable of doing something paramount without ruining everything else, and Sestian’s secret would remain buried forever in a box of worn shoes and memories.

Eric returned the pendant to the safety of his neck and fell back on his bed. Tomorrow, his adventure would begin. Tomorrow, he would find the paladin.

David wandered onto the balcony and sat in the corner, his knees drawn to his chest. Below, the town lay quiet, save for the night birds and the gentle slosh of the river against the docks. He closed his eyes and inhaled. The crisp air, rich with the smell of pine, moist earth, and river tang, nose-dived deep into his lungs. The scent whisked away the remnants of yet another hellacious nightmare brimming with pale, lifeless eyes. He spun the ring on his finger, envisioned his bedroom back home and whispered,
Accelero Silentium.

A swearword escaped his lips when all four depressing, dilapidated and oppressive walls of his prison remained. He clenched his fingers against his thighs.

“Were you expecting it to work?”

David’s heart plummeted into his gut before it shot into his throat. He jerked his head to the right to find Trog sitting opposite him, arms folded across his chest, legs straight out in front. In the dark, the human tree trunk appeared even more daunting than he did in daylight: congenial and generous as moonlight while burning fierce and merciless like the sun. He was a contradiction, one that demanded both fear and respect. David had no problem providing both.

“Yes.” David swallowed. He rubbed his palms over his face. “No.”

“Let me guess, you were attempting to return home.”

David nodded. “Can you blame me for trying?”

“No, I suppose not.” Trog paused for a brief moment. “What is it like, this Havendale? Is it much different from Fallhollow?”

David snorted. “Oh, yeah. Crazy different. Like night and day.” He stared at the ground. “I miss it a lot, especially Jamocha Joe’s.” He hugged his knees. “I’d do anything for a cup of joe right now.”

“Joe?” Trog’s eyebrow lifted in confusion.

David smiled. “Coffee. It’s this hot drink that smells like nuts and chocolate and caramel all mixed together, and it tastes like … like liquid heaven. I’ll have to buy you a cup someday.”

He mentally face-palmed himself, like Trog would
ever
step foot in Havendale. Well, maybe he would … when hamsters flew.

Trog nodded, his features softened. “I’d like that.” He shifted his position, bringing one knee to his chest. “Tell me about this Havendale. What is so
crazy different
?”

David grinned at Trog’s attempt to speak like him. He leaned back against the wall, the cold, sharpness of the stone digging into his spine. He gave Trog the five-dollar tour of his hometown, minus the cars, airplanes, and electronic gadgets. After all, it would be futile to launch into an exhaustive explanation of advanced technology to someone who didn’t even know what coffee was. Before he knew it, his life story poured out of him, his words flowing like a rushing river, distinct and animated. When finished, the man knew the gist of David’s life story, right down to the tattoo, the ring, and the fake foreboding letter.

David took a tight breath as Trog stood and walked to him. The man held out his hand, palm up. “May I have a look at the ring?”

David shook his head. “I told you, I can’t take it off.”

“I’m not asking you to. You can, however, stand and let me look.”

David got to his feet and held out his hand, his fingers curled into a fist just in case Trog tried to go all Gollum over his
Precious
.

Trog held the specimen up to the moonlight, his brow beetled together as he scrutinized it. “Interesting. You said this was the same marking that appeared on your chest?”

David nodded. “Exactly the same. Have you seen it before?”

“The ring or the marking?”

David shrugged. “Either. Both.”

Trog released David’s hand. “The ring I have not seen, but I recognize the work as that of the king’s goldsmith. His initials are etched in the vines. As for the markings, they are the same as those that appear in Gyllen’s Coat of Arms. My sword is also engraved with the same mark.”

David bit back a shiver.
A royal
ring. He paused, his brain clicking away. “So, does this mean my dad’s a noble or something?”

Trog shook his head. “Doubtful. I’ve seen the royal family present such gifts to commoners who have displayed outstanding acts of valor. It is a treasure, to be sure. The fact the mages enchanted it makes it even more valuable. It also means you are quite special, beyond what Slavandria told you. For you to have both ring and mark means the mages bound you to our world through your father. I will be interested to see what becomes of you, young David.”

“Yeah, me, too.” David ran his thumb over the etching. “So, what do the markings mean? Anything?”

“The rearing bull represents strength and bravery; the eagle displayed—protection by the nobility, specifically the king.”

“And the braided circle?”

“A symbol of eternal life, a reminder we are all one spirit within the universe, under the heavens.”

Pride swelled inside David. His father was a hero, both in this world and his own, but what had he done to deserve such an honor? He had to meet this man. He had to find his father now more than ever.

Trog took two steps and poked his head in the room, then pulled the louvered doors closed.

“Is she still sleeping?” David asked.

Trog nodded. He walked to the railing and leaned against it, his hands clasped together. “Care to share the story between the two of you?”

“There’s nothing to tell,” David said, standing beside the knight. “We’re friends.”

“I see.” A smile almost touched his lips.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” David said, surprised by an unexpected flash of fury.

“Your eyes betray your words, young man.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” David stared out over the shadow of a town, his eyes focusing on nothing.

“There is no reason to become defensive. I simply made an observation. Why do you not tell her?”

David picked at his fingernails. “It’s complicated.”

“Most matters of the heart usually are.” Trog turned to David, his eyes so intense David had to look away. “May I give you a few words of advice? Tell her how you feel. She will appreciate your honesty.”

“You don’t understand,” David said, his mouth suddenly as dry as a desert, “especially now that everything has changed.”

“What’s changed?”

“I’m bound to this place, Trog. She isn’t. What if I have to stay here forever?”