In the Shadow of the Dragon King (28 page)

“Seyekrad, I beg you,” Slavandria said with a rattle in her voice. “You don’t have to do this. I don’t care what you do to me, but let him go.”

Seyekrad laughed and laughed. “You still take me for a fool, don’t you? Why would I do something so stupid? I know who he is. So does the Dragon King. Letting him go is not an option.” The sorcerer turned to David. “Say your farewell, pup. The end doesn’t hurt much.” He thrust out his arm. “
Torncadum
!”

A ball of black fire swirled in Seyekrad’s hand, then shot from his palm and hurled across the open space.

David closed his eyes. His breathing stopped. His fingers flinched, waiting for the impact. He thought of his last words to Lily, his first archery set. Charlotte at Halloween dressed up as a bookmark.

“Impellaferno!”
Slavandria shouted
.

David’s eyes flew open.

The spell knocked Seyekrad from his feet and cast him across the clearing; his face engulfed in fire.

“
Aaaargggh!”
he wailed, rolling on the ground. “My eyes!”

Avida jumped from the safety of the darkness, her body surrounded by pale, green light. She turned on Slavandria. “What did you do to him? Undo what you have done or I will kill you!”

“No,” Seyekrad said as he struggled to stand. “This loathsome creature is mine.”

He staggered toward Slavandria. Waxen layers of skin dangled in strips from the corners of his eyes. “So, this is how you wish to play, is it?” He flicked his fingers. Sizzling strings of magic slithered from his fingertips, writhing like tentacles. “Word of warning. Darkness always devours light.”

A blue streak of light shot forth from the depths of the forest. It hit the ground just shy of Seyekrad’s feet. A rock shattered. Seyekrad jerked around.

A tall, dark figure passed in the shadows.

Avida screeched, “Who’s there? Show yourself.”

Seyekrad turned in circles, his eyes searching.

A rustle of leaves drew his attention to the left.

David gasped as another blue streak arced from behind a giant elm and caught Seyekrad on the elbow. Another blue stream of electricity caught Avida in the chest. She collapsed, her body still.

The sorcerer spun around, his aim high and blind. Branches exploded and fell with a splintering crash to the forest floor. Bats high in the canopy of the trees took to flight; two hungry owls followed them.

Another icy blue streak erupted from the dark. Seyekrad spun around and deflected it back toward the source. A momentary cry of pain sounded from the forest depths. Had he hit David’s mystery savior? Seyekrad moved toward his assailant.

A shadow moved first to his left then back again to his right. Seyekrad froze in his steps. Sweat poured over the dangling flesh into his eyes. He staggered. “Come out and fight me!”

From the shadows, the figure emerged draped in a cape as black as the night. A single gloved finger pointed at Seyekrad. The shimmering spell hit the sorcerer in the chest before he could block it. He howled in pain and recoiled. Another blue arc hit him, followed by another, and another. Snap, Crackle. Pop. It was like Seyekrad was a fly in a bug zapper. His face turned white. Foam oozed from the corners of his mouth. A final arc and his knees collapsed. He keeled over, face first.

The cloaked figure hurried to Slavandria’s side. A little zap and the restraints fell away. Slavandria collapsed in the stranger’s arms. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. “I didn’t think you would ever come.”

“Shh. Don’t speak. I’ll be right back.”

David’s heart thumped, thumped. The familiar voice, soft and feminine, washed over him like a smooth peppermint wave.

The stranger approached. With a quick flick of her finger, the magic ropes disappeared.

His arms ached, his legs trembled. The stranger enfolded him in her arms and eased him to the ground.

“There,” she soothed. “It’s all right now. You’re safe.”

His body quaked. Tears fell down his cheeks. He knew that voice as well as he knew his own.

“Lily?”

The hood of her cloak fell away revealing all too familiar turquoise eyes framed in a sea of auburn hair. A gentle smile lit her face. “Hey, you,” she whispered, brushing away his tears.

Relief flew out of him like an exorcised demon. He crumpled in her arms and sobbed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Lily cradled him in her arms and kissed his forehead. “That makes two of us. What do you say we get out of here, huh?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Slavandria said, her shoulders drooping with exhaustion. She knelt beside David and combed her fingers through his hair. “It’s time to go back where we belong.”

On the east side of the Domengart Mountains, the first light of day crested over the town of Hammershire. Eric sat with his father in the small hut’s kitchen, his mind torn in a million pieces.

“What is tearin’ at your brain, son?”

Eric ran his palms over his face then folded his arms on the table. “Father, I need to ask your advice.”

“I’m listenin’.” The old man scraped at the skin of a potato.

“Suppose you stumbled upon an item of great importance. Returning it to its rightful owner would be a sign of cooperation, of loyalty. You would be praised for doing the right thing, but other than that, your life goes on as normal. Within days, maybe even hours, you’re disregarded, forgotten for your deed.” Eric leaned over the table, resting on his elbows.

“But let’s say you don’t return it because you know someone else is seeking it, someone with the power to change the world. You know if you give the item to this person, you would gain notoriety, respect. Tales would be written of your bravery and courage. Which would you choose?”

“Well, I suppose that depends on the person with the item. Me, I don’t care nothin’ for the praise and glamor. The way I see it, the best deeds are done when nothin’ is expected in return. If ya need all the praise, then you ain’t doin’ the deed for the right reason.”

“But what if you’re tired of being passed over, of being ignored and accepted as a fool?”

“Better a fool with integrity, than a braggart with a title.”

Eric’s father stood and shooed a chicken from the home. “Ya goin’ ta help me milk the goats?”

Eric followed his father to the pen outside and grabbed a pail. Deep down, he knew his father was right. Getting honor by giving it directly to the paladin was a selfish reason not to return the necklace to Slavandria, but what of his promise to Sestian? What of his promise to himself? If he didn’t seek the paladin, Trog would always treat him like a child. Trog would never entrust him with a chore more dangerous than brushing his teeth in a rainstorm. No. He had to do this. He had to find the paladin. He had to be the one to give him the Eye of Kedge.

The goat bleated and kicked. The pail with its contents smacked against the fence railing.

“Dragon’s breath!” Eric ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, Father.”

The man squeezed Eric’s shoulder as he passed behind him. “Don’t ya worry about it, son. It’s just a little spilt milk. It’s not like ya killed the goat.” He picked up the pail and walked across the yard. “Do what ya need to do, son. Just make sure you don’t lose respect for yourself in the process, ’cause in the end, it’s you that’s goin’ to have to live with your choices. No one else. Make sure when you lay your head on your pillow every night, you know you’ve done nothin’ to compromise your principles. Ain’t nothin’ worth that.”

Eric spent the remainder of the day with his father. By the time he tucked into bed, his body ached but his soul had never felt more content. He would find a way to leave Gyllen in the morning.

He would find the paladin, and gain the respect he deserved.

David’s legs felt heavy, like tree roots planted on the wrong side of a one-way nightmare. Lily and Slavandria slipped away, swallowed by a vat of inky nothingness.

No! Lily, wait! Come back! Don’t leave me here!

Her voice mingled with the wind as it played with the leaves, whispering as twigs, tap, tap, tapped on his shoulder.

It’s time to go.

Your time is nigh.

Be brave.

Wake up.

Wake up.

“David, wake up.”

A sharp intake of air and his eyes pinged open. Walls, not trees, surrounded him. Charlotte, not Lily, hovered over him. He pushed her away and scrambled upright, his brain twisted in his skull. His gaze darted from the bed to Charlotte, to Trog. “How? What?” He gasped for air, the breaths painfully short.

Trog grasped David’s shoulders and pressed him against the wall. “Look at me. Breathe!”

David shook his head and sucked in deep, harsh, gasping breaths. “This is — all wrong!” He swallowed hard. “I’m not supposed—Slavandria. Lily.” The room spun around him. His whole body shook. “How? I was there. Now—now I’m here.”

He couldn’t stop gasping for air.

“It was a dream,” Trog said. “You’re all right now.”

“No. Not a dream.” He grasped Trog’s shirtsleeves. “H-he tried to kill me. Kill Slavandria. Lily saved us.” He released his grip. Stared at the ground.

“Who tried to kill you?” Charlotte pressed a wet cloth to his head.

He closed his eyes and counted.

Breathe.

One.

Breathe.

Two.

Breathe.

Three.

The room steadied. His heartbeat slowed to a normal rate. He smacked his dry lips. “Sey—Seyekrad.” He leaned forward and found Charlotte’s hands. “He’s Mr. Loudermilk.”

“What are you talking about?” Charlotte dabbed his head again. Worry lines broke out across her brow.

David tilted back his head and closed his eyes. “This crazy evil wizard dude. Said his name was Seyekrad.” The word floated from his lips in a whisper. “He pretended to be Mr. Loudermilk so he could watch me.” He squeezed her hand. “Mrs. Fenton was there, too, except he called her Avada.”

“Avida,” Trog snapped, his voice unexpectedly sharp.

David nodded. “Yeah, that.” He met Trog’s angry, flashing eyes. “Do you know them?”

Trog hauled himself up, his body rigid. “I’ve had a few run-ins with them. Seyekrad is a defender of the realm, or at least he was.” His jaw twitched. Rage settled in his eyes. “I take it by the bruises on your face and neck his allegiance has changed.”

David nodded. “He’s pissed at Slavandria because she dumped him, and he wants me dead because he thinks I have the power to destroy the Dragon King, but I don’t. Right? Isn’t that what Slavandria said? I’m here to find a stone, right?” He coughed, his throat as dry and scratchy as a sandbox.

Someone knocked on the door.

David’s heart jumped. Charlotte froze.

“Who is it?” Trog said.

“Garret and Gertie, sir. We need to speak with you. It’s urgent.”

Trog crossed the room and opened the door.

The two G’s rushed inside followed by the ever-silent Agimesh and Taccar. The two warriors shut and blocked the door, their faces stoic. Charlotte clasped David’s hand tighter.

Trog eyed Garret and Gertie, his arms crossed over his chest, his hands stuck in his pits. “Go on. I’m listening.”

“You need to leave Gable right away,” Garret said, his eyes dark, serious.

Trog’s brow creased in a frown. “Why is that?”

“We know who you are—Sir Trogsdill. Every moppet our age does. And I’d wager every Dalvarian out there knows who you are, too.”

“So?”

“They’re looking for the person who murdered two of their men yesterday and dumped them in the river,” Gertie said. Her hair hung around her straight and narrow shoulders. “If they find you, you and your friends will die.”

Anxiety curled its way into David’s chest. Charlotte bit her bottom lip. A faint wind blew in through the balcony doors, blanketing the room in a chill.

Their words rendered Trog momentarily speechless.

Heated shouts from the tavern filtered up through the balcony doors. Booted footsteps stomped up the stairs.

Panic soared through Eric.

Garret stepped closer to Trog. “Sir, if you want our help, we need to leave now.”

David took a deep breath, and another, his pulse thudding a thousand miles a second. He spun his ring over and over again. Heavy footsteps pounded the floor below.

Trog pointed at Charlotte and David, his eyes too wide, making him look crazy. “Get your things.”

They jammed their belongings into their bags and hurried into the hall.

“Agimesh,” Trog said, “a little shime magic would be appreciated.”

An ethereal mist floated from the ceiling and swaddled them. Beneath them, a swirling vapor cloud rose from the floor, lifting them a few inches and moving them down the hall as if on a conveyor belt. David’s stomach tickled. He suppressed the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Ahead, two Dalvarians topped the stairs, their swords drawn. Charlotte slapped her hand to her mouth. David’s limbs went stiff. One by one the goons broke down doors and yanked guests from their rooms. David held his breath. The soldiers stormed past, paying no attention. It was if they were—

Invisible! We’re invisible!

David sighed.

Then laughed.

It came out of nowhere, without warning. A release of jitters. He covered his mouth in horror. How could he jeopardize them like that?
You imbecile
!

The Dalvarians turned, their mouths set in straight lines. They moved toward the sound, their weapons poised.

The swirling, floating floor moved faster, carrying David and the others down the stairwell to the first floor. Bearing right, they moved down a slender hall, past the kitchen, and into the washroom. Inside the room, the magic faded. Their sudden appearance startled a young girl with long blond hair and brown eyes. Upon seeing Garret and Gertie, she wiped her hands on her smock, scurried across the room and shoved a chest across the wood floor. Garret opened a hatch. David descended the steps last, entering an earthen room lined with wooden shelves and crates. Overhead, the hatch closed and the chest moved into place. Dust floated from the ceiling.

Charlotte smacked him on the arm. “What was that up there? Were you trying to get us killed?”