Quest Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 1) (26 page)

Ren heaved a worried sigh. Michel felt a pang of remorse when he realized he hadn’t been there for Ren the past few days. Although he commented when asked, he had been too focused on Renee to offer much support.

“It’s better they leave, Ren. Bentzen will see they arrive safely, and the band will work. We tested it.”

“Correction, the band works with the experience we have.”

A chill went up Michel’s spine. Ren was right. Although Neki couldn’t sense the needles in Tol’s mind when the band was on that didn’t mean Ista couldn’t. What if Ista could still sense Tol without Tol knowing?

No, they couldn’t second-guess every decision they made. The needles were probably made of partial silver, and because silver absorbed magic they acted like a conductor inside the brain. The silver part of them absorbed the magic and transmitted the power down the needle’s shaft, stimulating the brain to feel a certain way. The band, because it was solid silver, blocked the magic Ista sent, absorbing it before it reached the needles inside Tol’s mind.

Tol would be fine. So would Renee. So why did he have a sense of foreboding?

A passing cloud suddenly dampened the light of the rising sun. A distant rumble of thunder rolled past.

Renee turned. When she found his eyes her face lit in a beautiful smile, but there was something else scrawled in her features. It was the same look he had seen that day so long ago. With sudden revelation he saw in her eyes what he too felt inside.

He would never see her again.

His legs tensed to run after her, but before he could do so she turned and spurred her horse into a canter.

His heart melted inside him.

- - -

“My lord, a messenger from Zier just arrived. He wishes to gain an audience.”

Raymond studied Bostic. The king’s eyes were sullen. Sass’s death had driven him almost to the point of insanity. Her body still rested in an adjoining room. The burial would be the next day.

Raymond was slightly nervous about the burial. It had shaken him when Sass had come to them an old woman, but what was happening to her now shook him even more so.

She was getting younger.

He had just seen her body. She was far younger than when she had first appeared. If he stood with her long enough he could almost see her skin smoothing, her curves accentuating, her hair lightening. It scared him more than the ten winds.

Sass was dead. Her body was cold. How could she be changing back into what she was before?

It had something to do with whatever had happened to her, but he had no idea what that was. Part of him thought they should burn her body, just in case something was in her that could cause harm, but he didn’t want to mention his thoughts to Bostic. Although the release of a body by fire was common, he knew the king wouldn’t want Sass taken by flames. Bostic needed a tangible place to visit her. She had been taken too early as it was. How could Raymond suggest an incineration?

“Please, by all means, send the man in. We always like to hear from Wyrick and Ren.”

Raymond caught the sarcasm in Bostic’s voice. The sentry did as well.

“My lord,” the sentry replied, visibly nervous, “the man comes with a message from Valor.”

Bostic’s eyebrows rose as he cleared his throat. “Valor? Well this should prove interesting.”

The sentry departed and soon a tall, thin man dressed in Crape’s colors of green and gray stepped through the door. His hair was slicked back and he wore a sly grin Raymond didn’t trust. He bowed with pompous confidence before coming to stand at attention. Bostic observed the man for several long breaths before nodding.

“My lord,” the man began. “I’m here to deliver grave news. Wyrick, the king of Zier and supreme ruler of Newlan, is dead. Sadly, his only son, the crown prince, Ren Razon, has been accused of his murder.

“The crown prince has long plotted to overtake the Lands. A sorceress from the old Alcazar detected Ren’s deception and emerged from hiding to help defeat him. I’m sure you, or some of your people, felt an acute pain days ago. This pain was the Quy being reborn. The sorceress had to rebirth the power in order to fight the crown prince.

“Although the guards of many kingdoms tried to subdue Ren, he escaped. Valor Kahn, the new supreme ruler of Newlan, has declared the crown prince a traitor and requests you send word if you see or hear from the prince.”

The messenger paused, but when Bostic made no comment, he continued. “Valor now petitions your assistance in stomping out the tyranny Ren will try to bring to fruition. Ren is sure to regroup and attack the throne. Ren needs to be found and stopped before he can gain in both strength and number. The sorceress, Ista, has offered to train the Lands in magic. The sorceress is now seeking an army of people with the Quy to defeat the prince. Valor strongly extends Ista’s invitation to your people in Ketes. She will begin training immediately.

“My lord, that isn’t all the news I have.” Raymond noticed a thin line of sweat had broken out on the messenger’s brow. The man licked his lips. “A battle ensued after Ren’s escape. Some men fought for Ren, others for the crown, but many died. Your son, Paul, was among the tragedies. It isn’t known for whom he fought, but he died with honor, fighting for what he believed.”

Raymond’s breath caught. Both of Bostic’s children were gone. It wasn’t right. How could the Maker allow such a thing?

Bostic didn’t move. He just sat staring at the messenger without any sign of emotion. If Raymond didn’t know the king he would have sworn the man in the chair was a statue. The messenger cleared his throat. The tenseness in the room deepened. Raymond placed a hand on Bostic’s shoulder, trying to send the king some small comfort. After a long pause, Bostic rose and walked to the messenger.

“Let me see if I understand,” Bostic said, looking past the messenger at some distant scene. His tone was apathetic but the muscles in his back quivered with his words. Bostic wasn’t a small man. The king could pin the messenger in a heartbeat if he was so inclined. The messenger looked at Raymond with uncertainty. Raymond stepped closer, suddenly uneasy, but before Raymond could speak Bostic’s voice sliced through the air like a saber.

“Newlan wasn’t enough for the crown prince, so years ago Ren began plotting to kill his father.” Bostic paused and casually rubbed his beard. “So Ren kills Wyrick to gain control of Newlan, something he already had by the way. After the king’s death, Valor, the thorn in Wyrick’s side, seizes control of Zier along with this woman who has magic.” Bostic looked over at the sentry and smiled. “And now Valor has strongly extended an invitation for me to send my men to him and leave my own lands unprotected?”

“My lord, um, I only come with the message.”

Bostic tensed. “Do you believe your message, soldier?”

The messenger turned to Raymond with questioning eyes.

“I asked you a question! Do you believe your message?”

“Yes, I believe –”

The messenger didn’t have a chance to reply, and Raymond didn’t have a chance to reach Bostic. As soon as the answer had been given Bostic plunged his knife into the man’s chest. The messenger barely had a chance to register shock before his face went slack in death.

Raymond stopped by the king, watching helplessly as the messenger’s blood began to stain the marble floor.

“That’s for Ren,” Bostic said, voice breaking. “May he come back safely.”

The helplessness in Bostic’s voice was suddenly gone. He turned to Raymond, eyes lit with revenge. “Seal the walls. No one leaves Ketes. No one enters. Now.”

- - -

They had ridden hard since they had left Ren, each wanting to reach Ista’s camp as quickly as possible. In the beginning rain had poured down, heightening Michel’s sense of foreboding. In his mind he knew the group’s separation was the best choice, but his heart kept insisting something was amiss.

Bentzen was a skilled swordsman and fiercely determined. If something were to happen, Renee would be as safe with him as she would in Ren’s larger group. And Ren was with Neki and Quinton, two loyal and exceptional men. Still, Michel’s feeling of dread persisted.

As they approached the Cliffs, cover was scant, and it was hard for them to remain hidden. The Cliffs were hauntingly beautiful, with skeletal trees and red-tipped ferns covering their peaks. A plethora of caves were said to reside among them, but none were used, for when magic was prevalent the Cliffs had been the home of the wolven. Those daring to venture inside the caves after magic’s destruction said they were haunted by the screams of the souls the wolven had killed.

As they rode closer an eerie whistle spun in the muggy breeze, and Michel knew it would only increase the closer they rode to the Cliffs. The Cliffs were famous for their high-pitched trilling. The scholar inside him knew the Cliff’s caverns fed air through holes and around angles that forced the current faster, causing the trill, but a shiver shot up Michel’s spine just the same. Although he had never believed the bewitching tales of the Cliffs, he now knew the effects the trilling could have.

Tol had grown up with that sound. He wondered how the boy had retained his sanity.

A light mist began to fall, adding to the eeriness of the area. The red-tipped ferns looked like blood against the green vegetation and the skeletal trees seemed to droop in death.

Their horses heaved deep snorts as they began to climb the steep terrain. The rocky ground soon changed to a lush landscape where red-leaf ferns and silk-leaf trees swayed gently in the breeze.

The Cliffs never lacked water, the Old Sea sending mist and light rain almost every day. The plants surviving on top of the Cliffs thrived in rocky soil and continuous drizzle. Michel recognized many of them.

Galvin slowed and dismounted.

Michel frowned. “We aren’t near the camp, Galvin.”

“I know, but we need to ride in with our full wits about us.”

Michel understood. Now that the swordsman had seen the area and listened to the eerie trill, he wanted to access any unforeseen dangers before moving forward. Michel liked that about Galvin. The soft-spoken swordsman was never taken off guard.

Michel dismounted and reached inside his pack for some dried meat. He wasn’t hungry, but he needed something to do. He disliked waiting even more than endings. When he turned back to Galvin, he found the swordsman studying him.

“There’s one thing I can’t figure.”

Michel cocked an eyebrow, curious. “That is?”

“You left Stardom taking nothing but your name. Why didn’t you take her with you?”

Michel blinked in shock before he smiled. “You were there?”

“No,” Galvin said, “but the men still talk.”

Michel had suspected as much. “If I had taken Renee, Wyrick would have followed. He had first rights.”

Galvin didn’t speak for a short time. Michel tensed, fearing the question he knew would come.

“How is it Ren is so much like you and nothing like Wyrick?”

Michel forced his face into a mask of stone. “Good blood.”

Galvin broke out into a rare grin. The silver teardrop on the loop encircling his ear shivered as he chuckled. “Good blood,” he repeated before turning serious again. “You never married?”

Michel tore off a piece of meat, wondering if Galvin would give the underlying question voice. “No, never married. You?”

Galvin pointed to the silver teardrop. “No. Many feel my vow rash, but until you I’ve never witnessed anything that would cause me to think marriage would be anything but trouble. What you and Renee have is rare.”

The feeling he would never see her again stole over Michel like a shadow. “I know.”

“You’re a rare man, Michel. You love yet you don’t take. You’re taken from yet you don’t ask for anything in return.” The dark eyes of the swordsman softened as if already aware of his sacrifice.

Michel released a breath. “But I did, Galvin. I took everything.”

Galvin remained silent, appraising him. “In the end, Michel, only in the end.” Galvin shook his head and turned to check his horse.

Michel hoped Galvin was right. He hoped he would have everything in the end. The shadow danced over him again, brushing his heart with ice-cold fingertips. Michel sat where he stood, not bothering to seek shelter from the mist. The drizzle suited his feelings.

The distant howl of the Cliffs distressed him even more. It was a constant presence, too far away to be worth pondering but too disturbing to disregard. Michel wondered if that was the way Tol felt with the silver band off his head.

Galvin shifted, absently brushing his broadsword. Michel rubbed his arms and listened to the distant howl, sensing Galvin’s concern to hurry back to Ren. He felt the same. Ren was a like a magnet drawing the course of the world along with him. Ren didn’t have to find anything. Things would find him. Michel wanted to be there when they did.

Galvin stood. “Ready.”

It was more of a statement than a question, and Michel didn’t bother to reply. Soon they were riding through the trees with hurried caution. Michel had to commend Ista: she had picked the one place in the Lands few would ever approach. Not only were the Cliff’s howls uncanny, but the mist was maddening, and stories of the wolven sparked terror into the bravest of hearts. Michel almost expected to see one of the two-headed wolves rise before him, but none appeared.

Galvin slowed and motioned him ahead, dark eyes disturbed. Michel moved beside him and saw a well-worn path in the dense forest. Although it was muggy, Michel shivered. It was the path Ista had used for almost four centuries.

Once the horses slowed he could hear the whispering howls of the Cliffs with more intensity. Michel drew his sword, more for comfort than protection. Beside him he heard the “swish” of Galvin’s battle-ax. At least he wasn’t the only one on edge.

The path was deep, almost a trench, with scant water standing in its center. When they turned a slight bend, the path split in two directions. The main path was clear, and Michel pressed forward.

The stench caught them before they broke through the trees. Michel’s stomach tightened into knots, unsure if he would be able to keep down the small amount of meat he had eaten. They heard the slight undercurrent of humming.