Quest Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 1) (6 page)

Aidan lifted her gaze to his own. The scant light from the torch in the hallway lit her eyes with amethyst flame. He could feel their connection sharpen with her heightening emotions.

“You know the peace within me,” she said. “Nothing they do can hurt me. They can take nothing from me.” Her eyes bore into him, commanding him to understand. “After me, she will look to you, but you cannot yield, no matter what they do to me. Promise me, Ren, promise me you will hold fast to the light.”

“Aidan, I won’t let you die.”

Aidan studied him. “What will be will be.”

Anger welled within him. “Aidan, if you’re so convinced you’re going to die why tell me the secret when it could have died with you?”

“That’s exactly why,” Aidan said, face softening as she closed her eyes and smoothed her brow. “My ancestors were wrong. They should have handed down every ounce of knowledge they possessed. I won’t make the same mistake. To fight the darkness you have to know the darkness.”

“I myself would like to know less of it.”

Aidan leaned forward, a sad smile on her face. “Do you remember when I said the wizards didn’t destroy magic, they merely destroyed the connection?”

Ren nodded. “They severed the thread.”

“Yes, but the thread still exists. Humans differed from other magical creatures. Only some of us had the thread. We’re still breeding magic, my prince, but instead of being alive and thriving the thread lies broken, dormant. It’s only a matter of time before someone powerful, someone with great need, uses the emotions of love, hate, and pain to reunite the thread and rebirth magic. The wizards of old have sent the silver dragon as a warning to the very man who will rebirth the power.”

“That’s impossible,” Ren said. “Magic’s destruction happened four centuries ago. Surely in all that time if we still had the thread someone would have already reunited it.”

Aidan lifted an eyebrow. “Some Maritium have linked to those who have the broken thread.” Her penetrating gaze caused him to shift in discomfort. “I’m one of those.”

Ren stiffened in warning, every muscle on alert.

“You think your confinement is punishment for some deed you committed?” Aidan said, searching his face. “This,” she motioned to the walls, “is recompense for your wrongs? No. The Maker has plans for you, my prince. You just have to listen.”

- - -

Korin’s heart beat so rapidly he thought he might not live. Pressing his back against the tree, he inched around its trunk and took another look at the guard pacing in the shadows. His build was the same. His hair was the same. Everything was the same.

Korin was looking at his own reflection.

He felt his mind clearing, the presence slowly melting away. His resolve to escape deepened in the pit of his stomach until it claimed him like a disease. All he wanted was a chance to live a life of his own, a chance to be free of the pain.

The guard stopped to look up at the sky. The small golden dragon stitched to the front of his black tunic glimmered in the moonlight. Korin could hear the guard’s frantic thoughts as if they were his own. He too worried about the prince.

When the guard turned, Korin quickly concealed himself. He had no weapon, only a small shovel. It wasn’t his intention to harm anyone, the guard especially, but he had no reason for being there, and if he was found there would be questions. The mere thought of divulging his knowledge sent revulsion to every fiber of his being. He didn’t want to reveal the things he had done. If spoken, the acts would become real, a part of his life he would have to face.

The leaves rustled as the guard moved closer. Korin pressed his body against the tree, sweat and tears raining down his face as the presence continued to dissipate. He relished it, craved it, and as the presence continued to diminish, another sensation took its place: peace, profound peace.

It had been years since he felt the peace as intensely as he felt it now, but it had always existed. It was a small ray of light in his mind that he escaped to when he was the target, or the instrument, of pain. The light had been easy to find when he was young. The older he became the more he had to fight the presence and swim through the madness to find the light. But if he found it and clutched it, no matter its size or intensity, he was able to grasp the hope of freedom and deny the presence complete control of his mind.

The guard released a sigh. Korin tensed, heartbeat pounding in his ears. The presence was now only a small pinprick. Was it because of the guard? Korin held his breath. On the way to Zier, the pressure had lessened, or at least became easier to fight. He had never been like the other Collective. They hungered for the pain, fought for survival with madness in their eyes, and were loyal to the one who commanded them. When he was given a suspicious look he became an actor, and his act had fooled everyone for over twenty years.

He closed his eyes and let the peace penetrate him. He clung to it, breathed it as if it were air. A moan escaped his lips. For the first time in his life the presence was gone.

Korin knew he needed to meet the man behind him. The man may very well be his salvation. Korin gathered his strength, relaxed his muscles, and stepped from the tree.

Only the empty night greeted him.

The guard was hurrying back to the castle. Korin drew in a breath to call out, but the breeze snatched his voice and his words faded into the evening. The peace quickly dissipated and the presence once again tightened its grip. Fear shook him as he leaned into the tree and slowly slid to the ground. Wrapping his arms around his knees, his body shook with sobs.

“You fool. Did you think you were through fighting?” he said to the night. Looking down at the small shovel at his belt, his reason for being there came back in a rush. With the residuum of peace inside, his conviction deepened. Let Ista find out. Let her call him while he was trying to discover a way to end it. If she did, so be it. He would die fighting. Was death worse than life? He shivered. Death had always terrified him. Death would put him with the Watcher forever.

He shook those thoughts off and recalled the perfect peace he had felt only a breath ago. He would have to find the guard again, but for now he had a task to complete, the first he had actually assigned himself. He looked out into the night, letting a small hope rise inside him. Maybe tonight he would escape the pain.

He darted to the next tree, then the next. Soon he was in the graveyard, walking among the dead. Careful to keep in the shadows, he made his way down the rows of mounds until he came to a freshly dug grave. Korin dropped to the ground and began to dig.

- - -

Ramie looked up when the library door opened. A small, mousy boy entered, keen hazel eyes surveying the room with incredible wariness. His mop of unruly brown hair caught the torchlight and cast shadows on his face, making him appear much older than his years.

Lazo rose from the chair and motioned the boy forward. “Come, Markum. The king of Oldan has joined our cause.”

Markum barely glanced at Ramie as he placed a book on the table. Ramie started when he saw the silver dragon on the cover. With trepidation he noticed the dragon had blue eyes. He had been avoiding the topic. A silver dragon was concern in itself, but a silver dragon without silver eyes? Ramie shuddered.

He had heard people whispering about the Collective’s promise of magic. Many were pointing to the silver dragon as a sign of the Collective’s power. Soon, they said, magic would be bestowed on the faithful. Ramie repressed a sudden chill.

Lazo folded his hands beneath his chin and waited for Markum to speak. Ramie was surprised to see respect in Lazo’s gaze. Behind the third advisor, the twins’ faces held the same reverence. Ramie studied the boy more closely. Although he was slight of stature, and young, Markum did have an aura about him, a certain bewitchment.

Markum slid the book to Lazo. “Ren’s in trouble.”

Ramie almost laughed. Ren was in the dungeon, scheduled for execution, and Markum thought he was in trouble? But when Lazo leaned forward, contrasting eyes, one blue, the other green, intensely focused, Ramie held his tongue.

Markum tapped the book. “The dragon was a test. Ren passed. He’s the Dragon Tamer.”

“And what does that mean, Markum?”

“You saw the silver dragon’s eyes?”

Lazo rubbed his pointy beard. “They were blue.”

“The legend is true, Lazo. When the dragon hunters bring in the silver dragon magic will be reborn.”

Fraul’s gray eyebrows furrowed with worry. “But how is that possible?”

Markum motioned to the book. “The love of the Dragon Tamer.”

Chapter 3

Markum ran through the forest, not bothering to dodge the branches that slapped his skin. The snarl of the huge two-headed wolf behind him spurred him faster. He had no weapon, only the lone book he clutched in his hand. He knew it held the secret he needed to defeat the beast, if only he could stop to read it.

Wolven were one of the most feared magical creatures of all time. Swords were useless against them, for with every cut the wolven became stronger. And if you severed one, two more would form. Not that Markum knew how to use a sword anyway. He was a librarian, not a soldier.

He broke through the surrounding trees and surveyed the clearing with a quick glance. A lake sat directly before him, to the left jagged cliffs dropped to a chasm below, and to the right large boulders obstructed any kind of escape.

Markum jumped into the chilly water, the beast right at his heels. He plunged deeper, arms flailing, praying he could find more strength, but he knew he couldn’t swim fast enough. He swallowed water. His lungs burned. Fire whipped through him as he gasped for air. He clutched his throat, waiting for the inevitable.

His lungs filled with water, but instead of choking he relaxed. Shocked, he realized he was breathing water as if it were air. Markum turned to see a man floating beside him, long black hair reaching to the surface like a plant hungry for sun. His eyes held the knowledge of centuries. They peered into Markum’s soul, analyzing his abilities with a mere glance. Markum didn’t know which to fear more, the two-headed wolf or the man. The man seized Markum’s arm and held him fast as the wolf swam closer. Markum tried to pull away but the man’s grip was too strong. Closing his eyes, he screamed.

And jerked awake.

The torches surrounding the library were almost burnt through. The advisors sat across from him, absorbed in the prophecy Markum had discovered. Lazo looked up from the eerie words, concern in his contrasting eyes. Michel cocked his head to one side, listening as the silence in the castle deepened.

A dragon’s roar sounded in the dawn. Markum and Lazo exchanged troubled glances

Michel spun toward the door. “It’s happening,” he said. The advisors rose without a word. Markum remained in his seat, panic stricken.

They had talked all night about the prophecy and what to do when the time came, but they were far from analyzing every contingency. Quinton had been alerted, along with others loyal to Ren, but no one knew what their role would be, or how they should react. They hadn’t realized the dragon would be captured so soon.

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
.

Markum finally found his footing and followed the others. Michel darted down the stairs as the advisors hurried to the soldier’s quarters. Markum wanted to help his prince, but he didn’t know how to fight. His cowardice shamed him. Markum stopped in mid-stride, vision blurring. He was terrified, but he couldn’t run and hide. Ren needed to escape. With rising conviction, Markum turned and followed Michel down the stairs.

People streamed through the arched entranceway of Stardom, crying in terror. Someone knocked him back a step. Markum stumbled to the wall and hugged it for support. When he finally made it to the landing the crowd was too thick to pass. Markum scrambled over the railing and fell on a blacksmith’s bench, tipping it over and spilling the abandoned tools.

The silver dragon stood on a pulley, dragon hunters surrounding it. The dragon curved its neck to the sky and bellowed a gut-wrenching wail through its muzzle. Chains surrounded the creature but none were holding it in place. The dragon was free.

The dragon thrashed its tail, knocking wagons cubits into the air, as the dragon hunters threw down their gear in a desperate attempt to find more drug-laden arrows to shoot into the beast. The crowd that had gathered to see the creature now scurried in all directions, shouting fervent prayers to the Maker to save them.

Looking skyward, the dragon wailed another cry, breaking its muzzle with little effort. One of the hunters picked up a nearby lance and aimed it for the dragon’s chest. The dragon shrieked as it reared back to spew fire over the man, instinctively protecting its chest with its wing.

Ren stood between two shocked guards on the far side of the pulley, face twisting in worry. Markum followed Ren’s gaze to a few Crape soldiers standing near the edge of the melee, holding an auburn haired girl between them. Ren twisted, breaking from his captors’ hold, and broke into a run.

The dragon hunter released a cry as he brought the lance behind him. The dragon’s neck coiled like a cord, mouth opening. Hot fog drifted out, then a hint of fire. But before the lance could fly or the fire could begin, Ren toppled the hunter.

A Crape soldier darted in front of Markum and picked up a dragon hunter’s discarded bow. Bending to his knees, he nocked an arrow and aimed it at Ren. The tainted tip dripped with the sleeping potion. For a dragon the drug could bring sudden cataplexy, but for a man it could mean death.

Markum spun to the blacksmith’s bench and surveyed the scattered tools. A large iron ax lay propped against one leg. Markum quickly gripped the heavy tool and flung it at the soldier. The force of his throw knocked the soldier to the ground and caused Markum to stumble backwards. When Markum regained his footing, he gasped. The ax had impaled the man’s head, killing him instantly. The soldier’s eyes stared blankly ahead and his cracked skull sent tremors down Markum’s spine. Markum fell to his knees, begging the Maker for forgiveness. He hadn’t meant for it to be a fatal blow.