Quest Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 1) (12 page)

Renee stepped past Ren and offered Michel her hand. Michel started to bow, but Renee stopped him.

Michel’s already widening smile grew wider. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to be seen,” Renee said as the corners of her lips lifted into a grin. She kept hold of Michel’s hand as she surveyed the others. “Thank you for defending Ren.”

There were murmurs of ‘My queen’ and a shuffling of feet. Bentzen even blushed. Ren chuckled, fully aware the effect his mother had on men.

Hearing a slight noise, Ren turned to find Markum and Tol standing in the shadows.

“Markum, thank the Maker! Lazo and the twins, have you seen … ” Ren’s words faded with Markum’s concerned look. “Markum?”

Markum’s eyes locked on Michel. “Have you told him about the prophecy?”

“No,” Michel said. “There’s been no time.”

Ren glanced between his friends’ concerned faces. “What prophecy?”

Markum drew a worn book out of his tunic and handed it to Ren. “It belonged to my ancestor, a survivor of the Wizard War. It’s been handed down through my family ever since. It’s blank, save for the first page. Read it. It will explain a lot.”

Ren could almost feel the concerned gazes of his friends as he took the book. He fingered the silver dragon on the cover, noticing it had blue eyes.

Ren read the passage aloud as Neki peered over his shoulder.

Magic must be demolished to conquer the traitor of the law

But One must live to show the Chosen how to unlock his inner call

For a thorn will go unnoticed by those who reap destruction on the masses

And permeate the Lands
.

The Chosen’s love will shatter, igniting an inner raging storm

When the dragon will rip open his mind and the power will be born

And if he can’t destroy the silver form the darkness will begin

And darkness will live on
.

The thorn will try to prick him as the righteous deed is done

And the prick will cause a rain of red to grow into a flood

And if the Dragon Tamer will not search to find the One

The world will drown in blood
.

The crown will be demolished before it can be whole

And the Chosen will have to willingly sacrifice his soul

For only through the Chosen will the demon spike be flawed

And hope will grow again
.

Neki gave a low whistle as Ren’s voice faded.

“Ista suspected you were the Chosen, Ren,” Markum said. “She framed you for your father’s murder so Valor could order your execution. If you were the Chosen you’d tame the dragon. If you weren’t she’d still have your kingdom.”

Ren leaned against the damp earth as a shudder shook him. His eyes kept returning to one verse.
And if the Dragon Tamer will not search to find the One, the world will drown in blood
.

He forced his eyes to move back to the first verse. “It’s talking about the Wizard War.”

“Yes,” Michel said. “Barracus was the traitor of the law. Magic was destroyed because of him. The wizards kept the One alive to teach you. This One is quite possibly unaware of who or what the thorn is. Ista, the thorn, somehow evaded the wizards. It seems she’s been waiting to discover who would reconnect the thread to reveal herself.”

“But how could they have survived for almost four hundred years?” Ren said, looking down at the prophecy. “Wait, a time weave.”

Michel nodded. “That’s what the advisors think. If the One received a time weave, Ista might have received one as well. The prophecy says a thorn will go unnoticed. She’s just waited until magic’s rebirth to reveal herself.”

“Why?” Quinton cut in. “If she has magic, why would she care about its rebirth?”

“She’s a sorceress,” Markum said. “Sorceresses don’t have the power wizards do. The only magic they can invoke at whim is something called the ‘sorceress death.’ It allows them to die without pain, but also without any tie to magic. Other weaves they evoke take time, perhaps days of preparation, to mold their emotions to induce the effects they desire. She was waiting for magic’s rebirth to be able to lure others to her side, to build an army of magic.

“The Collective,” Ren said. The Collective had already helped Ista rid the world of the Maker’s chosen so the masses would flock to magic’s call. Without the Maritium’s basic ideology a new moral code could be imposed.

Ren closed his eyes. He was opposing a sorceress who had the knowledge of over four centuries. He knew nothing about the Quy. She knew everything. He recalled Aidan’s warning about the crystal Ista carried.

At the thought of Aidan, Ren’s heart stung. He looked back at the prophecy. It told him to destroy the silver form.

Ren’s stomach curled. He would never harm the silver dragon. Now, with Aidan’s life hanging in the balance, he had a driving need to protect it. Ren leaned back against the wall, suddenly understanding Ista’s purpose. She didn’t want him to kill the dragon, and she had used Aidan to ensure he never would.

But if Ista ever discovered the secret of the crystal she would have to capture the dragon once more.

Maker of Fates, he needed to find the One, not only to counter Ista but also to save Aidan.

“How do we stop her?” Quinton asked, a slight edge to his voice. “No one knows the slightest thing about magic.”

“I do.”

Ren turned to find Tol giving him a widening smile. Tol turned to look at a discarded pike. Heartbeats later the pike spun through the air and impaled the wall with a hollow thud.

Renee released a sharp cry of alarm as Michel stepped in front of her. Tol smiled at Ren, but his demonstration caused his grin to appear demonic.

“I know how to use magic.” He tapped his head. “But she’s gone.”

Renee gently moved Michel aside. When he protested, she gave him a look of reproach. “Who’s gone, Tol?”

Tol looked at her with slight confusion. A few strands of blond hair clung to the corners of his eyes, and when he blinked the hairs jerked in quick response. “Ista.”

Ren put a hand on his mother’s shoulder, urging her to stand back. Renee shook him off and pushed an errant strand of hair behind Tol’s ear.

“How do you know Ista?”

“She raised me.”

Renee’s back stiffened. Michel and Ren exchanged troubled glances. Ren felt foolish being fearful of a boy, but he couldn’t shake the feeling. Renee, however, was undeterred. “What do you mean she’s gone?”

“I feel safe now. She can’t call me anymore.” Tol traced the lines of silver sediment with tentative fingers. “She kills all of them without magic, first thing.” He shrugged as if what he said was natural. “She told me to kill you up there, but I didn’t want to. Then she sent me bad pain. I’m supposed to be dead now. But I don’t feel her anymore.”

Ren met his mother’s frightened eyes.

“How did Ista call you?” Renee asked. “I was with you. Ista wasn’t there.”

“In here,” Tol said, tapping his head once again. “She screams in here and then I have to look at this.” Tol pulled a hazy blue ball from his pocket.

Ren’s breath caught. It was a crystal ball, the type wizards used for communication.

Tol turned to Ren. “When she told me to kill the queen and I didn’t she sent me the bad pain.” Tol bit his lower lip, suddenly understanding he had said too much. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “But the bad pain is better than the other way.”

Despite his better judgment Ren knelt beside Renee. “What’s the other way, Tol?”

Tol turned and pointed to the pike.

“May the Maker have mercy,” Galvin whispered. “Ista deserves every death she finds in this war.”

Ren silently agreed. He studied Tol, trying to make sense of it all. Although magic was powerful he didn’t know anyone who could call to the mind of another.

Someone tapped his shoulder. Ren turned to see Markum holding up a thin needle.

- - -

They were trying to reason through what they should do, but no solution seemed a good one. Manda was exhausted. She wanted to go home, but home was the one place she couldn’t seek refuge. Zier was out of the question.

They had traveled just far enough away from Vos to let him grieve in peace. Manda felt a pang of regret for harming a twin. The thought of Lazo under the Mar’s influence sent chills to every fiber of her being.

“I’m fine, Manda,” Chris said, voice barely above a whisper. “I can travel. We need to help Ren.” Manda turned toward her brother. ‘Fine’ was a fabrication. Chris was not fine, and neither was she. Their father had betrayed them.

Chris rested against a large tree, paces from her, still incredibly weak. He would have passed for a ghost if his straw-colored hair wasn’t matted with fever. When he glanced at her the pain in his eyes reignited her anger. The herb administered him was from the reston vine. Chris always had a negative reaction to the herb. As a child he had nearly died from it.

“We can’t return to Zier, Chris. Although I’d like to help Ren, we can’t. Ren may not even be there.” She didn’t want to voice the fact that Ren may already be dead. She didn’t even want to think it.

“We can go to Ketes,” Evann said, looking between them. “We can try to warn Bostic of this.”

“Yes, Ketes, that’s the best suggestion I’ve heard.”

Chris nodded his approval, but when he opened his mouth to speak no words followed.

Manda silently entreated the Maker to save her brother. She had done everything she could to keep him comfortable. The herb had been in his system too long to counter the negative reaction. Chris just had to fight. He should have pulled out of it by now, but something had given him a jolt during the ride. Manda had a bad feeling that something was magic.

Manda turned to find Evann looking northeast, toward Ketes. If Zier had been taken someone may have already sent word to Bostic about Ren’s alleged treachery. Manda shook those thoughts off. Ren’s cousin would never believe anything dubious about Ren. Bostic loved the crown prince almost as much as his own children.

“Manda?” Evann asked softly. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“I already have,” Manda said, holding his gaze to assure him of her sincerity. Evann had the most unusual eyes she had ever seen. They were dark blue around the edges but tapered into the color of the sky. She thought of Ren’s eyes: copper pools of determination and caring. The past few years she had hoped she and Ren would grow closer. She had always cared for him, and the Fates knew he was far from ugly.

Evann smiled, but his smile was strained. Even if she forgave him it would be a long time until Evann forgave himself. Shoving aside all thoughts of Ren, Manda took Evann’s hand. Evann smiled before turning back to the horizon. They stayed there for a time, watching the twin moons rise higher in the sky before they turned and silently began to make camp.

Chris was asleep, but he still burned with fever. They were in the foothills of the mountains and the night would grow cold. Manda made a quick decision to leave all the blankets around him. She kissed him on the check before she turned to find Evann watching her. He had already unrolled their two bedrolls.

“I don’t want to take the blankets off him, Evann. He’s still feverish.”

Evann nodded. “I wouldn’t have thought otherwise.”

Manda lay on her mat and shifted until she found a position devoid of cumbersome roots. She could sense Evann behind her and knew he would wait until she slept before he allowed himself to drift off. She evened her breaths and tried to feign sleep, knowing it would take her some time to actually lose consciousness. Within a few heartbeats, Evann began to snore.

Manda found herself hating her father, and that frightened her. Surely hating one’s own blood was a sin. When she was a girl, Valor had showered affections on her. She had always been Valor’s favorite, as Chris was their mother’s. As a child she had been athletic and strong, where Chris had been plagued with sickness and forced to watch her successes in the games he should have played.

When Chris turned ten his body miraculously strengthened and Valor sent him to Zier to become Wyrick’s squire. With Chris gone Manda grew terribly depressed, and after years of pleading, Valor finally conceded to allow her to train in the finer points of horsemanship.

The day she left Valor had given her the sword he had carried since his marriage to their mother and requested she learn to wield it on the back of a horse. She had been overwhelmed. The sword was something Chris should have received, but she knew Chris would want her to have it. Now she could use a sword like an extension of herself. When she had come back and shown Valor her skill his face had lit like a summer morn.

What had happened to him? He had betrayed them for the Newlan throne. Now all she wanted to do was use the sword on him.

She heard a sound and realized it was her own cries mingled with the drumming of her chattering teeth. Chris lay shivering under the blankets, still breathing as if every breath would be his last. Her vision clouded. Her father had given them over as if they were nothing! Rubbing her shoulders she tried to think of better thoughts, but none would come. It was going to be a long night.

“Manda?” Evann’s hand was suddenly on her arm. She closed her eyes, cursing herself for waking him.

“I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

Evann’s hand lingered for a few breaths, then lifted away. Manda felt a twinge of disappointment. She wasn’t the kind to ask for help. Besides, Evann needed his sleep. Tomorrow would be a long day.

Then Evann’s hand was back, and she felt him place his bedroll next to hers. Manda closed her eyes and turned, burying her head in his chest. Evann’s grip tightened and soon the night wasn’t so cold.

Although she slept, she was well aware of Chris’ pained breaths and the cool breeze on her back. She had images of riding beside Evann’s mare, hoping he would decide to help. The sound of horses’ hooves echoed in her ears, pounding a rhythm that seemed foreign in her dream. The sound was heavy, fast, and it didn’t coincide with her mount. Confused, she tried to turn her head, but her ropes didn’t allow free movement. She twisted as much as she could, straining her neck, but she could only see her horse’s flank. She tried to yell for Evann but only managed a moan. Her brow furrowed … something was wrong.