The Dragon and the Dreamwalker (Elemental Series) (21 page)

She turned back to Drake and his angry eyes. He was doing nothing to escape the beast.

“Do something!” she commanded. “Save me - save yourself from the dragon.”

“I can’t, Brynn. I can’t stop the dragon without your help.”

“What are you talking about? Draw your sword and strike him down.”

“I don’t have a sword as you can well see. They don’t exist when one’s
dreamwalking.
You should know that.
Dreamwalkers
have no need of weapons.” His voice was eerily calm.

“You really do know!” she said. “You are
dreamwalking
and you know you’re doing it.”

“Of course. Doesn’t everyone?”

“Nay. Usually people don’t know this isn’t waking life. Then they have no recollection of it when they do awake. Calais won’t know what he’s done tonight.”

“Will I?” he asked with an edge to his voice.

Brynn was no longer sure. She had so many questions and no one to answer them.

“The dragon’s angry, Brynn.” He took a step closer, his eyes now blazing with a reddish glow. “You know what you have to do.”

“Nay, I don’t know!” she screamed, backing against the wall, looking first at him and then at Dracus. “I don’t know of what you speak. How can I possibly help you stop the dragon?”

He didn’t answer. He just stood there watching her calmly. Rain started to fall, drenching her from head to toe. The drops fell around Drake rather than on him.

“The dragon’s tears.” He held out his hand, palm up and a few drops bounced off his skin, steaming. “The dragon holds many tears, Brynn. Will you force him to shed them all?”

“I don’t care about dragon tears,” she shouted above the wind.

“Oh, but I think you should - Witch!”

The word struck her to the bone. It echoed off the stones of the battlement and off her soul as well.

“Look at how those tears add up, Brynn.” He pointed behind her, and she couldn’t help but turn and look. The dragon was suspended in midair as if frozen, not moving in the least. “Look down, way down.”

She did and wished she hadn’t. The sea was swirling below her, black and angry. The dragon’s tears were the ocean, and she was dizzying in fear watching the water rise.

“’Tis your choice, Brynn. ’Tis your choice.”

The dragon came back into action, its fire warming her, its tears drowning her. She looked down into the churning sea and felt herself growing weaker. Then she was falling straight for the water. Falling down, down, down, to her death.

“’Tis your choice, Brynn. ’Tis your choice,” she heard Drake’s words echoing in her head as she fell to the watery depths below.

Brynn awoke with a jolt, someone’s hand on her shoulder.

“’Tis your choice, Brynn,” she heard, but it wasn’t Drake’s deep voice. She blinked once, then twice, trying to focus in the early morning light coming in through the window. Then she realized it was the old seer, Juturna, who shook her gently, trying to wake her.

“Juturna!” She sat upright, the coverlet falling from her shoulders.

“You were having a bad dream. I came to dress your wounds since you disappeared from sight last night. If you’d rather I come back later, my lady, I can. As I said, ’tis your choice if I dress the wounds now or later.”

“A bad dream,” she repeated, trying to believe the old woman, though she knew it wasn’t true. It hadn’t been a dream at all. She was
dreamwalking
again, and this time it had turned into a nightmare.

“Did you want to tell me about it?”

Brynn wasn’t ready to talk to anyone about this, though she knew it would do her good to do so. How she wished her mother was still alive. Her mother would know how to explain what just happened.

“You may dress my wounds,” was all Brynn said.

Juturna pulled Brynn’s nightgown over her head and applied the cream to the dragon’s wounds around her waist.

“They’re healing nicely,” said Juturna. “The dragon hasn’t really hurt you after all.”

Brynn felt the wetness in her eyes. She knew the dragon had hurt her more than anyone would ever know. She wasn’t quite sure if she’d ever heal from last night’s
dreamwalking.
She thought of Drake in the physical, up on the battlements vowing he wouldn’t touch her again. Then she thought of the
dreamwalking
Drake and how he wouldn’t touch her either. She feared she may never feel his enduring caress again, in any state.

“Why the big dragon tears?” asked Juturna, slipping a chemise over Brynn’s head.

“Dragon tears?” Juturna’s words startled her. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you are crying, my dear.”

Brynn wiped her eyes with the back of her hand to find what Juturna said was true.

“You are a seer, Juturna. What do you see in my future?”

“You mean with Drake, don’t you?”

“He hasn’t told me exactly why he’s married me yet. You know why, don’t you?”

A knock at the door revealed Birdie who had come to help her dress for the day.

“Ask him why they call him
Dragon’s Son
,” was all the old woman said before she

left the room.

* * *

Drake made his way to the armory with Asad at his side. He’d had a horrible night and couldn’t get the chill of the nightmare to leave his body. He couldn’t recall it all, but he did remember he was angry with Brynn. And the dragon was crying. It was going to swallow her up, and she feared for her life.

“You’re quiet this morning, my lord.” Asad walked next to him, his tunic crisp and fresh as always. His hair was impeccably neat and his sword at his side bright and shiny. He had a smile on his face and life in his eyes. Everything Drake wished he’d had this morning but didn’t. The man was so adaptable. Even with his foreign heritage, he’d fought hard to put his own customs aside and change to Drake’s ways. He spoke like one of Drake’s men, ate like one, and even looked like one. If only Drake could forget his own past and live in the present as well.

“I didn’t sleep well.”

“I see you slept in your clothes again.”

Drake looked down at his rumpled tunic and dirty hose. Hay clung to his legs and he did nothing to brush it away.

“Slept in the mews?”

“Behind the alehouse,” Drake answered without looking at him.

“My tips on wooing aren’t being of any benefit, are they?”

“With that woman, nothing would be of any benefit. There’s not a man alive who could please her.”

They walked across the courtyard, Asad greeting the knights and ladies and tossed a coin or two to the serfs’ children in generosity. Drake didn’t feel like being jovial. He ignored them all. The mangy dog he’d fed the night before decided to follow him, probably thinking Drake was going to give up another meal - which he wasn’t.

“Perhaps I should teach you something more affective in the art of wooing.”

“I don’t need any more lessons, Asad.”

“My lord?” he asked, obviously confused.

“I am not going to woo my wife anymore. If she wants me, she’s been instructed to say so. I will not touch her again or try to please her unless it’s at her request.”

“Another dream bothering you?” Asad asked.

“More like a nightmare this time, Asad.”

“If you’d tell me your dreams perhaps I could - ”

“Dreams are not important. I’ve told you many times that dreams are our inferior selves coming out in our sleep and we should ignore them. If we don’t, it’ll make us a weaker warrior.”

“I see,” was all Asad said.

They reached the drawbridge and Asad led the way up the steps to the armory at the request of Drake’s motioning hand.

“I will never figure out women,” complained Drake, “nor do I intend to waste my time trying.”

Asad opened the armory door and Drake entered. It took his eyes a moment to get accustomed to the dim light. He surveyed the hatchets and jousting lances stacked against the wall. Since storming the castle, he had many extra weapons. The weapons would come in handy should he need to use them against the Klarens or any other enemy that decided to attack. He’d hold his ground and never give up Thorndale Castle. This was part of his demesne, and so was Brynn, even if she was unwilling to call herself his wife.

Swords, daggers, maces, and spiked iron balls on sticks and chains hung on the wall. Quivers of arrows, skeins of heavy rope, and iron cauldrons for heating oil rested on shelves. Wooden shields -  still splintered and scraped from the attack -  boasted Brynn’s family crest. He’d have to remove them and have his dragon crest replace them. Chain mail and armor in every size lay bent and broken, stacked upon the floor, rusting badly. Buckets of sand and scrub brushes to remove the rust sat untouched.

As his eyes settled at the guard’s eating table at the far side of the room, he couldn’t ignore the fact Calais sat there with three of Drake’s knights, laughing and slapping them on the backs as they polished their swords. There was a candle burning in the center of the table and Drake could see a stray dice half hidden in the shadows. Just the sight made Drake’s stomach lurch. Then Calais smiled and acknowledged him with a nod, and Drake wanted to drive his sword through the man’s heart, yet he didn’t know why.

“Good morning, my lord, and the lord’s squire.” Calais slipped his body off the top of the table and came toward them with a slight bow to his steps. The knights almost knocked the table over in their hurry to stand. Drake didn’t acknowledge Calais, although Asad did. Suddenly, Calais’s gestures seemed demeaning to Drake. His words seemed mocking and his intent untrue. He had a bad feeling about this man, as if he’d done something to betray his lord. Something he was keeping a secret. A dark secret that could possibly ruin Drake. Still, it was all only a feeling, or perhaps part of a forgotten dream that Drake couldn’t place.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Drake asked, looking to his knights who should have been on the practice field, but instead they sat there laughing and obviously playing dice with Calais.

“Sir Broderick, Sir Burgess? Certainly I’d expected better from you two.” The third knight was one he’d captured when he’d stormed the castle. He hadn’t taken prisoners. Either the captured agreed to serve him as lord, or they were killed. Simple as that. Their destiny lie in their own choice. This knight was young and loyal. Drake didn’t even know his name, nor did he care.

Sir Broderick and Sir Burgess were brothers that Drake had personally trained as his own warriors. He knew neither of them were ever that fond of him, but they were good with a lance and spear. Warriors needed to respect their lord and protect him. Befriending him wasn’t a qualification, nor did he want it to be. Getting too close to another only made a warrior weak. Drake had learned that while serving in the Klarens army. It made sense.

When he’d broken off to start his own army, he’d continued in the same way his surrogate father had trained him before his death. Asad was the only friend Drake had, and if anyone tried to harm him he’d risk his own life to save the man. It was a weakness, but Asad would do the same for him, so he thought of it more as an asset.

“We’re on our way, Lord Dunsbard,” said Sir Broderick, as they grabbed their weapons and strapped them on. The knight he didn’t know well was the first out the door. Sir Burgess, the older of the two brothers took his time readying himself. His actions were an indirect act of disrespect.

“Sir Burgess?” asked Drake. “Is something bothering you today?”

The brothers exchanged glances, and the younger seemed alarmed.

“He’s just had a bit too much to drink last night,” Sir Broderick supplied the information.

“I asked your brother,” said Drake. “And I will not ask him again.”

One more exchange of glances, but this time between the brothers and Calais. Then Sir Burgess bowed respectfully.

“Nay, Lord Dunsbard. I have nothing bothering me. As my brother said - I’ve had much to drink last night and am moving slowly this morning.”

“Not too slow to roll a dice, I’d bet.” Drake watched as the man’s eyes met his in challenge and then dropped.

“I apologize for all of us, my lord. We won’t let it happen again.” Sir Burgess’s words were true, but the tone of his voice led Drake to believe he held some resentment for his lord.

“See to it that’s true.” Drake motioned toward the door. “Not get out on the practice field and wear off that wine.”

The men left, and Drake was left with only Calais. The man stood with his back to the weapon wall, arms crossed. When Drake looked his way, he uncrossed his arms, resting them at his sides.

“Shall we start on my own training now, my lord?” asked Calais with a smile on his face that Drake wanted to slap off.

He was about to tell the man to leave. To leave Thorndale Castle and his sight forever. But he didn’t have a valid reason. He had no idea from where this disgust and anger came. He didn’t have any reason to believe this man was bad, did he? Then in his head he heard Brynn’s sweet voice begging him to give Calais another chance. Somehow by denying her request, he felt he’d be denying themselves another chance too. So instead, he pushed his own ill feelings about Calais from his mind and tried to let it go.