In the Shadow of the Dragon King (36 page)

“You have raised valid questions,” Farnsworth said. “If it is money you are concerned with, let the concern wane. A handsome sum waits for all who ride with us. As to your second item, yes, we have discussed crossing into Berg and fighting Einar there. Our scouts tell us he has already dispatched much of his army all over Fallhollow, making Berg castle and the surrounding lands more vulnerable to our attack. By the time he realizes our presence, it will take him days to reroute his army.”

Bainesworth stood. “I must protest. While I am up for a good battle like the rest of us, I can assure you that a blatant show of force will not have any effect on the beast. He will laugh at your childish ways before he slaughters you.”

“What do you suggest, then?” Farnsworth asked, clasping his hands on the table.

“Negotiate, of course. I am sure we can reach some sort of agreement that will satisfy both Einar and our kingdoms.”

“So you are saying we should not fight?” Crohn asked.

“I am saying we should play out all of our options first. Look around you. This castle is the ultimate lair for Einar. Offer him some treasures. I’m sure he will listen.”

“There is only one treasure Einar wants from Hirth and it is not up for negotiation!” Trog said. “Besides, since when does our enemy ever negotiate anything? Need I remind you that Einar has never negotiated. He never will.”

“Perhaps you have not offered the correct item,” Bainesworth said with venom dripping from his tongue. “After all, what is the honor of a king’s life if not to be given for the kingdom?”

Shouts erupted around the room. Trog banged his fist on the table. “Blast you, Bainesworth! You would sell your soul to the devil if you felt you could live an extra day to torture others! What do you know of honor, of protecting one’s homeland, one’s family? Einar brought war to our land! With malice he has taken our king and queen. Innocents have died horrible deaths, and you have the audacity to sit here among these hallowed walls and tell us we should negotiate? Einar laughs at us and you want us to talk? How dare you take an honored seat at a table of Hirth and cry out for such seditious acts! We will not negotiate with evil. Never!”

“Then you shall die, Sir Trogsdill, for there will be no victory for Hirth should you invade Berg. If you care about anything, your families, friends, then I would reconsider negotiation.”

“Bainesworth,” Trog replied coolly, “our castle and our lands lie in ruins awaiting an uncertain future. Our people are dying every day. You do what you wish, but my choice is clear. Talk to me again in the afterlife, for in this life, by my honor, I choose to fight!”

“Then you are a fool.”

“So be it. At least I will not be remembered as a coward!” The two glowered at each other. It was Trog who ended any further conversation. He gestured to the soldiers standing by the door. “Bainesworth, remove yourself from this room, from this castle, and from this kingdom, and take your knights and General Vallen with you.” More shouts filled the room. “Silence,” he yelled, turning his gaze back to Bainesworth. “You and your ilk are not welcome here. Eric, escort this piece of filth from my sight, and ensure that he and his men leave. Have twenty of our army ride with them to border of Trent. Bainesworth, if you return, I will kill you.”

“I fail to need your chaperones or threats, Trogsdill,” Bainesworth gloated. “We will gladly leave you to your demise.”

Eric escorted the twelve Fausherians from the hall. Behind him, a chorus of “ayes” erupted from the Hall.

“Fools,” muttered Bainesworth.

Eric bit his tongue, the incident in the cloisters repeating in his head. He would have to tell Trog everything: Bainesworth, the High Council, Seyekrad’s threat. But all that could wait until morning. Right now, all that mattered was that Hirth was at war.

Sestian would have been thrilled.

***

Eric woke on the floor of the cathedral’s chancel. It wasn’t the first time he’d awakened there, but it was the first time without Sestian sprawled out on a pew, snoring. It was one of Ses’ favorite places to come when he couldn’t sleep, his brain on fire with questions no one could answer, like: Where did the universe come from? What happens after we die? Last night, Eric had questions of his own, questions of war, mortality, why he’d lived and why Sestian died. He woke up with stiff bones, a tingling, an arm that was asleep, and no more answers than he’d had when he arrived.

To his right, a side door opened. A sliver of daylight cut across the ceiling and vanished as the door closed. Eric startled. Panic clouded his consciousness. He counted on his fingers. Dragon’s breath! Worship day. The priest, altar boys, and members of the choir would soon arrive. He had to leave. Get dressed. He slithered along on his belly, careful not to make a sound. He froze as Farnsworth’s voice reverberated throughout the sanctuary.

“I’m sorry to pull you out of bed so early in the morning, Trog, but I needed to speak with you in private.”

Eric crawled beneath a table draped in blue velvet and topped with candleholders, gold bowls, and platters.

“Sounds serious,” Trog said, his voice heavy with fatigue.

“It is.”

Eric lifted the hem of the fabric. Trog sat on a front pew, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together. Farnsworth paced in front of him, his arms folded across his chest. His eyes were worried, his face drawn.

Farnsworth ran his hands over his face and covered his eyes before taking a seat beside Trog. His hands clasped between his knees. “We need to discuss Eric, Trog.”

Trog glanced sideways at his friend, his eyes narrowed. “What exactly do we need to discuss?”

Farnsworth closed his eyes. “Sestian. Seyekrad. Secrets.”

Secrets?
Eric stared at Farnsworth’s strong, steady face that suddenly looked ragged. Shaken.

“What’s wrong with Sestian?” The concern in Trog’s voice matched the emotion in his eyes.

Farnsworth sat forward, his shoulders hunched. “He’s dead, Trog.” His words quivered. “Another casualty of Einar’s senseless attack. Eric was with him when he died.” His voice righted itself. “Needless to say, Eric is devastated. Angry. It’s a lot to process. Of course, he sees me as a cold bastard with no feelings.”

“He’s young. This is the first time he’s experienced death. We’ve learned to hide our emotions, and grieve when we’re alone. His grief is open. Exposed. His feelings are bruised.”

“Yes, well, I fear if he doesn’t learn to control them, he will set himself on fire with all the friction he creates.”

“You’ve had altercations?”

“It’s almost as if he’s putting himself in danger to prove a point, Trog. He even ventured to Avaleen on his own to find this paladin Slavandria summoned. Nearly got himself killed in the process.”

Trog lifted his head. His eyes looked worried. “How does he know about the paladin?”

Farnsworth frowned. “I don’t know. I never got it out of him, but somehow he and Sestian found out.”

Eric tried to read Trog’s face, but as always he kept his expression completely neutral. Trog leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. “He probably did it to show us he’s worthy, Farnsworth. We have kept him rather sheltered.”

Eric nodded.
Yes, you certainly have.

“Are you defending him?”

Trog shook his head. “No, merely trying to explain his
friction
as you put it. He’s seventeen. He wants to feel important, like he’s done something to contribute, though I think he’d be highly disappointed if he found the paladin.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I’ve been with him the past few days.”

Eric’s heart almost jumped out of his chest.

“What do you mean you’ve been with him?” Farnsworth said. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know.” Trog stood and walked around. “We were separated. I was supposed to bring him here, but you can see how well that worked out.”

Farnsworth rubbed his brow. “Wait. I’m confused. How did you and the paladin meet?”

“The morning Einar attacked, Eric and I led Gildore and Mysterie to the passageway to Hammershire, but right as I opened the door, Einar unleashed his shadowmorths. Three attacked us. Eric, for some unfathomable reason, ran across the courtyard. One shadowmorth followed him.” Trog dropped his gaze. Stared at the floor. “I had no choice. I had to protect him, so I did, but when I turned around, the two other shadowmorths had captured Gildore and Mysterie. I grabbed Gildore’s leg as the shadowmorth lifted him into the dragon’s wings. I was certain Einar would keep me hostage, too, but when a shadowmorth’s blade sliced my gut, I fell. The next thing I remember was waking up in Chalisdawn.” Trog took a few steps and took several long, deep breaths. “The following morn, Slavandria escorted me to the Elthorian Manor in Tulipakar. She said she had a job for me to do. That’s when I met our young paladin, a sixteen year-old scrawny thing named David, and his feisty companion, Charlotte.”

Eric swallowed.
The paladin is traveling with a girl? Why?

“Slavandria put them in my charge and left me with the simple task of bringing them here. But I was injured fighting off Einar, David took off into the woods, and the beast took the girl” He faced Farnsworth and stood perfectly still, like a statue. “I failed them as I failed Gildore and Mysterie. The way I failed Gwyndolyn.”

Eric’s nerves skittered. Gwyndolyn. The author of the mystery letter in Trog’s little box of secrets.

Trog’s voice trailed off. He rubbed the back of his neck.

Farnsworth placed a hand on Trog’s shoulder. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened. Not then. Not now.”

Trog spun around. “I swore to protect them, Farnsworth. I let them down. It seems to be a pattern of late.”

“No. The only person you continue to let down is yourself, and I refuse to be a part of the pity brigade. You did your best. That is all anyone can ask of any man.”

“My best is not good enough!”

Farnsworth’s lips pursed together in a fine line. “I refuse to talk in circles with you. There are bigger issues here. Issues you can no longer ignore.”

“What issues?”

Farnsworth placed one hand on his hip, the other he used to cup his chin as if in deep thought.

“Trog, the Council is conducting an inquiry into your involvement with Their Majesties’ disappearance. Seyekrad delivered the message himself, stating that the Council has reliable sources that confirm your allegiance with Einar. We know this is a conspiracy, and we know it runs deep. Master Camden, Seyekrad, even Bainesworth is involved.”

“What?” Trog’s spine tensed, his expression contemptuous.

“It is clear they want to discredit you. Find you guilty of sedition. Get you out of the way so their conclave can claim Hirth. Trust me, I’ve had plenty of time to think about this and it makes sense. Why else would Seyekrad have made the accord with Gildore all those years ago?”

Eric’s mouth dropped open. His mind raced. His heart pounded.
Accord? Gildore conspired with Seyekrad?
The thought was mind-boggling. Inconceivable.

Trog stood there, biting his lip, his eyes dark and angry. His chest heaved in and out.

Farnsworth faced Trog, his back to Eric. “I’ve gone over it in my head a thousand times. Seyekrad promised to protect Hirth from Einar so long as Gildore promised to keep all heirs and the paladin apart.”

“Don’t go where I think you’re going,” Trog warned.

“Trog, you and I both know Gildore didn’t break the pact. He would never do that, but Seyekrad would. He wants power. He wants the throne. He always has. If my suspicions are correct, he is the one behind the attacks on Fallhollow. He’s the one who forced Jared into summoning the paladin. Think about it.”

“I don’t want to.”

Eric shuddered at the hatred in Trog’s voice. Last night’s tirade with Bainesworth was nothing compared to the monster lurking behind those green eyes at that moment. He’d never seen Trog in such a state. His insides shook as fear crawled inside of him and made itself at home.

“You have to think about it, Trog. Don’t you see? It was a test. If Slavandria summoned the paladin and Einar remained trapped, then his plan would fail. No paladin. No heir. But it didn’t fail, Trog. Einar did escape. The spell broke. Seyekrad knows the paladin and the heir exist in Fallhollow, and he will stop at nothing until he discovers who they are.” He paused for a moment, and then said, “It’s only a matter of time.”

Trog shook his head. “No. I won’t do it.”

“Trog, you must. The secret is killing you, and it certainly isn’t biding well with Crohn, Gowran, or me. You have to tell Eric the truth.”

Eric’s heart thumped so loud he thought it leapt out of his chest and drummed on the floor. He placed a hand on his chest.

Trog spun around. “No! I would rather die than divulge the truth!”

“He has to know, especially now. You can’t protect him forever.”

Trog pushed away. “No!” he yelled. “I vowed to protect him, Farnsworth! I will not throw him in the pit to be devoured by the wolves!”

“For God’s sake, Trog! Think about what I am saying. Your blasted pride will put him in more danger than arming him with the truth. You must tell Eric! You must tell him you are Gildore’s brother, that he is the only spoken heir to the throne, and more importantly, you must tell him that he is your son!”

Eric’s hiding place flipped over as he stood. The toppings clattered to the floor. He stared at Farnsworth and Trog, his mouth open, his heart racing faster than a rabbit running from a fox.

Everyone in the room froze. Even the air stopped moving. The universe had opened a big, black hole, and it was swallowing Eric.

Trog stared, his mouth open, his face drained of all color. “Eric.”

“You’re—my—father?” Eric jumped from the platform to the floor.

“Eric, please—” Trog held out his arms.

“You lied to me?” He couldn’t reel in the anger, not that he wanted to. “After all the lectures you’ve given me on honesty, integrity, truthfulness; you lied to me?”

“Eric, please. Let’s go somewhere so we can talk about this in private.”

“What?” Eric clenched his fists at his sides, trying to stop his entire body from trembling. “We’re in a church! Confessing your sins before God isn’t private enough?” He pushed past Trog and stormed down the aisle.