Quest Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 1) (9 page)

“Our father is using us to prove his loyalty to the Collective. Upon Ista’s request he ordered our deaths. It was only a matter of time before the twins killed you. They were only keeping you alive to aid in watching us.”

Evann remained silent for some time. When he spoke his voice sounded like stone on granite. “Your own father agreed to your deaths?”

Though she tried to hide it, a tremor of pain shook Manda’s body. The thought of someone hurting Manda ignited a boiling rage inside Evann. He had the sudden urge to ride back to Zier and kill Valor himself.

“I’m sorry I’ve put you through what I have, Manda. Know my heart wasn’t in it.”

“You believe me then?”

“Yes, I believe you. I don’t understand it, but I believe you.”

She offered him a small smile. “Magic is being reborn, Evann. Ista said Chris would have the power.” Manda paused to glance down at Chris. “I think it’s just happened. With the herb in Chris, the shock of magic’s rebirth may have been too much.”

A chill went up Evann’s spine as Manda fell to silence. She dabbed some water on Chris’ face. Chris’ eyes fluttered open.

“Where are we?” he whispered.

“A day’s ride outside of Zier,” Evann said. “Your sister has just told me what she knows.”

Chris sighed. “It’s true then.” His eyes widened. “The twins!”

Manda placed a hand on Chris’ chest, forcing him to calm. “I killed Yov.”

Chris studied her for a few heartbeats, but instead of questioning, he nodded. “Maybe your training will come in useful after all, sis.”

Manda’s lips lifted into a sad smile. “It seems it already has.”

- - -

The guards shoved Quinton into the cell. His eyes were so swollen he could only make out shadows.

“Fates, Quinton,” came a voice. Strong hands caught him and lowered him to the floor.

“Michel?”

“The one and only.”

Michel put a damp cloth to his forehead. Before Quinton could ask Ren’s uncle what he knew of Ren, Michel spoke. “What happened to you?”

Quinton winced as Michel continued cleaning. “One of Valor’s guard went after Ren. I stopped him. The man didn’t take too kindly to my interruption.” Michel dipped the rag back into the water. Quinton could only imagine the blood. He felt it all over him. The soldier had been beating him to death, not to unconsciousness. Quinton hesitated, unsure if he really wanted to hear the news. “Ren?”

“Escaped. No one knows where he is.”

Quinton smiled. “That’s my Ren.”

Michel chuckled.

Quinton heard the whisk of a belt and stiffened, knowing what was to come. He had done the same to many of his own men. He held his breath, trying to brace for the contact, but when the end of the metal spike was thrust into his swollen eyelid he jerked on instinct. A gentle hand steadied him as Michel finished prodding. When the blood and puss had been drained, Michel handed him a clean rag. Quinton wiped his face and squinted in the sudden light. Michel was bruised, and a long gash ran the length of his face, but it wasn’t deep and would heal soon enough.

They were at the end of the cellblock, guarded by five soldiers. If they were to escape they would have to travel the length of the dungeon. The odds weren’t good.

“What else have you heard?” Quinton asked.

One of the guards turned in their direction. “Quiet! We said no talking!”

Michel and Quinton exchanged glances before sitting back against the cold stone. Quinton turned his attention to the others who had acted in Ren’s defense. Bentzen stood by the cell door. Bentzen nodded in greeting and put his fist to his forehead and then to his heart, a sign Ren used often. It was an ancient blessing of the fates. It meant
truth above all
.

Quinton glanced at the others in the cell. Good men, all of them. Galvin stood beside Bentzen, shoulder bleeding from a knife wound, but although Galvin looked sluggish he wasn’t injured severely. The silver teardrop hanging from the loop encircling his ear danced dangerously. Ren had given Galvin the teardrop insignia after Galvin had sworn the soldier’s fidelity. It was an ancient oath, rarely given. Galvin had pledged complete homage to Ren, vowing to never take a wife, touch strong drink, or other such liberties enjoyed by most. In essence Galvin had no identity outside of his duty to his prince. Ren had been stunned when Galvin had knelt before him and spoken the oath, but once given it couldn’t be refused. Since then Ren and Galvin had become inseparable. Quinton smiled at his friend. Galvin nodded back.

Neki, a new recruit in Ren’s guard, leaned nonchalantly against the wall. The tall, wire-thin man looked to be watching the morning’s sunrise instead of his captors.

Quinton let his worries drain from him. If Ren had escaped he had used the tunnels. He wouldn’t be found. Quinton only hoped Ren wouldn’t be fool enough to look for them, but as soon as the thought was out Quinton knew it was too much to wish for. Ren would come after them, and they would have to be ready to act. As he looked around the cell again, his hopes rose. They would win this war. It may not be that day, or the next, but they would win. Each man in the cell would fight to the death for Ren. And there were more out there, even people in the city whom Ren had never met.

The people who fought for Ren fought because they believed in the man he was, not because he was the heir to the throne. Although most would be blinded for a time they would soon realize as the men in the cell did: Ren was still Ren, and his beliefs did not waver. It may take time, but the people would see the truth.

- - -

Marva walked to the last cellblock, silently praying Quinton would be there. She had been at home when the chaos started, and before she had time to think a searing pain had forced her to her knees. After it subsided she heard the fighting and quickly ran to the keep, knowing full well if there was trouble her husband would be right in the middle of it.

There were whispers of Ren’s betrayal throughout the keep, and different variations already abounded. She soon shut her ears and began attending those who had fallen, all the while looking for Quinton.

She didn’t bother searching the remote section of the castle. If Ren had been brought to the courtyard Quinton wouldn’t have been more than fifty paces from him. Her husband would have been the first to leap to Ren’s defense.

She was determined not to worry. Quinton wasn’t fast, but he was strong, and he would have fought like a dragon deprived of its last meal. Besides, his body wasn’t in the courtyard so he had to be one of the soldiers they were holding to flush Ren out.

A death at dawn and a death at twilight, those were the orders. They came from Valor himself. Since dawn had already passed they had to execute a man in the heat of the day. When she had seen who swung from the gallows near the gates her fury had heightened. It was Eli, Stardom’s priest. Eli was a man of peace, a man loved and respected by all who knew him. Marva hoped the Abyss opened up and swallowed Valor and his deformed accomplice.

Marva shivered. Ista touched everyone she passed with her wrinkled fingers, urging them to stay and train to become soldiers of magic. Marva couldn’t quite peg what was behind Ista’s glare. It wasn’t arrogance or greed, as most leaders possessed. It was a type of irreverence, almost apathy that sent a quiver down Marva’s spine. Although Ista would stop at nothing to gain the support of the Lands, she cared little for them. Ista may promise peace but her peace treaties would bring war. Couldn’t the people see the Collective’s glorification of magic would send the Lands into slavery? The future elite would disregard morality for gluttonousness and they would sacrifice their dignity for gold.

Marva’s face darkened and her blue eyes flashed a warning to the stones beneath her feet. The more she thought the more vehement she became. She hoped Quinton had bloodied his sword on so many it was permanently stained.

As she approached the last room in the dungeon she smoothed her face, stuck out her chest and sauntered in as if she belonged there. It had worked so far. Men were aroused if the breeze blew. She was sure she had their heads spinning, but that was what she wanted – something to give her undisputed entrance.

A cluster of guards played astragali in front of her, oblivious to her approach. She put on a cajoling grin and cleared her throat. The head guard threw the elongated dice before looking up. “What do we have here?”

She tried to look as dumb as she could and smiled in feigned attraction. She had learned if she showed any intelligence at all men became suspicious and quickly distanced themselves, but if she batted her eyelashes like a young girl in heat they flocked in like lambs to slaughter. The guard’s eyes flickered down her form. She had dolled up in a serving woman’s dress, making sure it was a few sizes too small. It suited her purpose nicely. Men could be so easily distracted. It amazed her sometimes.

“So many guards for a handful of men?” She forced her eyes to survey the guard’s body as she shifted her medical supplies on her hip. Her breasts swelled at the effort.

“Orders,” he said, moving closer. The remaining men stopped the game and watched with interest.

She breathed a sigh as if she tired of bringing the message. “Ista and Valor are in search of everyone with the power, even those down here. Ista will be coming to test them soon.” She licked her lips and turned her gaze to the area below the guard’s waist. “I’m ordered to tend to the most critical parts of the injured, just in case they have the Quy. We need every defense to defeat the prince.” She winked at him.

“We’ll have to search you,” the guard said, mouth lifting into a grin. His teeth were crooked, a few of them rotten. She hated men with bad teeth. Quinton’s were a white fortress of defense, hard and commanding. They had served her well many a night.

“By all means,” she said, harboring her disgust. She set down her medicine kit and spread her legs, holding her hands to each side.

The guard chuckled and moved with carnal purpose. She ground her teeth and closed her eyes. She could take it better if she didn’t see what they were doing. His hands lingered on her breasts before slowly inching down to her stomach. When he leaned in closer to wrap his hands around her backside, she peeked over his shoulder.

She spotted Quinton immediately. Relief passed though her despite the vehement fury etched in his eyes. She gave him a flirtatious wink. His face turned crimson as his eyes followed the guard’s hands.

The guard continued down her length but managed to remain on her upper thighs, missing the only part she wanted him to ignore. The other guards snickered at the show. She gave them a sultry smile before she turned her gaze to the man who searched her.

“You done, sweet thing? I don’t want Ista upset with me for not tending to these men. Magic sounds real good until it’s focused on you.”

The lust on the guard’s face dissipated into concern. When he rose he smiled down at her like she was a piece of meat at dinner. "I would say you’re harmless, although those legs of yours could certainly be a weapon.”

She walked her fingers up his uniform and glanced at Quinton. His hands were gripping the bars, knuckles white. She turned back to the guard, talking loud enough to spur her husband a little further. “Maybe sometime … ”

He smiled as another guard handed her the basket and led her to the cell.

As soon as the lock clicked shut Quinton grabbed her wrist, mouth twisting with worried reproof. Her eyes flashed a warning. “My lord, you seem to be badly beaten. Is there something I can do for you?” She tried to sound apathetic, but Quinton looked like death. Someone had slit his eyelids and his left cheek had swollen to twice its normal size.

He pointed to Galvin. “He has a knife wound. Help him first.”

Nodding, she quickly made her way to Galvin and motioned for him to sit. She tore Galvin’s shirt as she looked him in the eye and kept her voice low. “There’s a knife sewn into the bottom hem of my dress. Rip it out. Someone has got to save my brave yet reckless husband.”

Quinton suppressed a smile. “I love you, my sweet.”

“You better,” she said, surprised she had to force the tears away.

Quinton was about to respond when she hushed him with a glance. She applied salve to the wound on Galvin’s shoulder. Although the wound was deep, the knife had impaled a section of flesh directly between muscle and bone, as if the Maker himself had directed the blade. She glanced at Quinton.

“I have two other knives in my shoes. I’m leaving them while I attend the others. Please, my dear, be prepared to hide them.”

Galvin flinched as she secured a compress around his shoulder but the less the wound was exposed to the elements the faster it would heal, and the faster Galvin would be able to wield a sword. She told him so as she pinned the cloth in place. He didn’t argue. When she finished she turned to Quinton. Fates, how she loved him. His steel eyes were twin blades to her heart. He was the first man she had ever let court her. He was everything she had always yearned for – domineering, forceful, influential – but a man unafraid to love a woman with everything he had. She had never been one to show her emotions, but she knew he sensed her fear.

“Be careful,” she whispered.

Standing, she slipped off her shoes before she bent to pick up her basket. The cloth she had wrapped around her feet hadn’t insulated her flesh from the blades, but her adrenaline was pumping so high she felt no pain. Quinton and Galvin put one leg over each shoe, concealing some of the blood. Feigning an itch, she bent and stuffed two rags under her feet, hoping they would be enough to cover her tracks.

She inspected the others one by one, patching slight wounds and whispering encouraging words. When she finished she glanced at the guards. They were once again absorbed in their game. She breathed a sigh of relief and retraced her steps, trying to sop up the remaining blood. Quinton looked at her with worry as she eased her feet back into her shoes and hid a grimace.

Before she could whisper a goodbye, Quinton’s head shifted and his eyes filled with an inner light. His hand gripped her arm, warning her to stay back. Michel was already rising and she sensed Bentzen shift positions. She heaved the basket on her hip, feigning disinterest, and turned.