Darius’s body jolted like a dreamer suddenly falling and waking with a sharp jerk, only he wasn’t dreaming. He landed with a thud, his face flat on the dirt floor and the cot next to him overturned. Outside, Prydon’s massive chest heaved as he stood roaring with laughter.
Darius rolled over and smeared his hand across his lips, spitting out the excess dirt and leaving a streak of wet dust behind. “Was that really necessary?”
“Yes,” said Prydon, his shoulders square as one who was quite confident in his response.
Darius sat up with his arm resting on one raised knee. “You couldn’t find a gentler way to wake me?”
Prydon smirked. “I tried…several times, in fact.”
Darius thought of his mother. She often had difficulties waking him and devised some creative, if unpleasant, means of accomplishing her goal: a splash of water, a pop with a belt, a stray cat thrown atop his chest. He looked sheepish. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I quite enjoyed the method. Shall I save time tomorrow and make this a daily ritual?” Prydon was still laughing.
Darius ignored the question, stood, and walked over to the small basin where he washed his face and rinsed his teeth of the grit. “So you’re a wizard, huh?” he said, looking into the small mirror perched above the basin. He tilted his face side to side, eyeballing the soft hair that was barely visible along his jaw line. “Well, you don’t much look like a wizard.”
“Have you ever actually met a wizard?” asked Prydon, his head just poking through the window opening. “Other than Barsovy, of course.”
“Well, no. I guess not,” said Darius.
“And just what do you believe a wizard should look like?”
“I don’t know. Robes. A hat. A long beard, the kind that makes you look distinguished and wise.” Darius struck a pose and grinned at his description.
Prydon shook his head and smiled. “And where did you hear such rubbish?”
“Books! Wonderful books! I’ve learned everything I know from books.”
“Hmm,” said Prydon. “It is quite apparent that not all books provide truth. And in this case, you need a much better source of instruction. Before you begin, however, you must eat.”
Darius stepped out into the morning sun and spotted a table where breakfast awaited. It was a feast compared to anything he’d ever seen. Eggs, bread, meats, fruit—the variety stunned Darius, but he ate quickly, anxious for his first day of training and answers to questions he could only imagine would swim into his mind.
“Slow down,” said Prydon. “Your stomach won’t appreciate such haste.”
Darius tried to slow his pace, but the sensation brewing in his stomach was not an aversion to eating quickly. He was nervous and scared yet excited and hopeful at what awaited him below in his own field. Would he practice spells, use a sword or staff, or even spar with the old man?
Within a short time, he found himself standing at the edge of a vacant alcove at the farthest edge of the training fields. An instant later, Barsovy appeared next to him.
“So, you know some spells,” commented Barsovy.
“Yes, sir.” Darius’s eyes bulged with surprise. He hadn’t thought Barsovy was listening when he’d mentioned it the day before.
“Let’s give it a go, shall we?”
The old man walked into the clearing and turned to face Darius. Darius glanced at Prydon who nudged him forward, and the training began. Hours later, Darius was quite certain that there was not one spot on his body that hadn’t become intimately familiar with the hard sting of the ground beneath his feet.
The entire morning passed slowly, devoted entirely to defense, and Darius failed more times than he succeeded. Until today, he had never been levitated in the air and dropped to the ground, a sensation he gladly would have gone his whole life without experiencing—by mid-morning, he had been knocked backwards, forwards, and any other -wards he could think of, and even some he couldn’t have imagined at all. He was aching, and there was no hiding it.
“Very good,” said Barsovy. “Now you break for lunch.”
Before Darius could acknowledge his master’s declaration, Barsovy flourished his hand and vanished. Darius walked, or rather limped, over to where Prydon sat patiently, quietly watching.
“Very good,” Darius said, a definite hint of incredulity in his voice. “Very good? Are you kidding me? I stink!”
Prydon sniffed the air. “Well, you could use a bath, but after all of that, did you expect to come out smelling of flowers?”
“That’s not what I meant,” snapped Darius.
Prydon’s head tilted, and a patient smile crossed his scaly lips. “I know what you meant. Truly, did you expect to come in here the first day and own the field?”
In the short span of one morning, what pride Darius did have had been quickly deflated. He sat slowly but then shot back up. Prydon laughed and produced a small pillow.
“Thanks. You always carry a pillow around?” asked Darius, taking the pillow and placing it on the rock as he gingerly sat down next to Prydon.
“Only when I know what is coming, and you’re welcome.”
Darius began to eat a small lunch, prepared for him by whom he knew not. After a few bites, his hands fell to his lap, still holding his sandwich.
“Prydon?”
A long silence hung in the air before Prydon coaxed him further. “Yes?”
Darius breathed in deeply, trying to suck in words that would adequately express his thoughts. He sighed. “Do you think I’ll ever learn enough to beat Klavon?”
Prydon paused, which did not help to alleviate the anxiety that pulsed through Darius’s body, then said, “In time, yes.”
“In time?” Darius jerked and dropped his sandwich on the ground. “And what of Brandor? And what of this curse?” Darius ripped the glove from his marked hand, exposing the streaks as if showing them to Prydon for the first time.
Prydon glanced toward the other alcoves. “Put your glove back on. No good will come if anyone here is made aware of your mark.”
Darius followed Prydon’s gaze and looked toward the closest alcove. As other students had been awed by the sight of a dragon, Darius knew they had attracted quite an audience, and the young boy who occupied that alcove was frowning. Darius returned the glove to his marked hand, and the boy turned, slowly disappearing behind the wall of thick trees.
“Let us hope that was just innocent curiosity.” Prydon took a claw and patted Darius’s leg. “As for your ability regarding Klavon, you will learn, in time.”
Darius’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach. Why couldn’t Prydon just lie?
Prydon nodded slowly; he seemed to read Darius’s mind. “That is all I can offer. Unless you would rather I fabricate some statement solely for the purpose of alleviating your concerns.”
Darius watched as a small animal shot out from underneath a nearby rock and stole the remains of the sandwich. “No, I guess not.”
Prydon sighed. “Darius, what help would it be if I were to tell you that you will learn all you need to know, you will overcome this curse, and you will save Brandor?”
“What help?” Darius turned toward Prydon, his brows raised. “How about a little support here—that I’m not a total failure?”
Prydon smiled, but it faded quickly. His eyes filled with a mist of seriousness. “If I were to deceive you solely for the purpose of filling you with a false sense of security, the urgency which now drives you would be lost. That urgency is what will make the difference between success and failure.”
The word failure filled Darius’s head as Prydon continued.
“Your determination would be weakened, and the swiftness with which you achieve your goals would be diminished, thus decreasing the likelihood that you will save Brandor and yourself.”
Darius looked up at Prydon, a sudden wave of defeat etched in his face like a crumpled piece of paper.
Prydon lowered his head close to Darius’s face. Those eyes, the ones that had glowed white
in the firelight the first night Darius had met him, now shown of azure blue. The gaze caused Darius to freeze.
Prydon spoke with all conviction. “You have the power and the ability to do this, but I will not fill you with false hope. That is for weaklings, and you are no weakling. You must fight for this as it will not be easy. You must work harder than you have ever worked before, and you must push your body to its limits and then some. Then and only then will you succeed.”
Prydon raised his head, and Darius stared at the place where the small animal had earlier fled. He wasn’t looking for the creature but looking for answers to all the questions that were crowding his already taxed mind. Beside him, he heard only the steady pace of Prydon’s breathing. He soaked in the words Prydon had spoken, and in that instant, he knew what he must do.
Darius’s limbs ached, his head pounded. Every inch of his body screamed for relief. He pushed himself up from the rock and handed Prydon the pillow. Stirred by the conviction in Prydon’s words, he smiled. “Thank you, Prydon.”
“You are welcome.”
When Barsovy returned, there were no breaks. Darius accepted everything Barsovy could throw at him and still begged for more.
At nightfall, Barsovy yelled, “Enough! We will stop!”
Prydon chuckled, “Barsovy, you aren’t implying that Darius has tired you out, are you?”
Barsovy glared at Prydon. “The boy needs rest, or tomorrow he will be unable to train.” With that, Barsovy vanished, and Prydon laughed even harder.
“I want to keep training!” Darius yelled where Barsovy disappeared, seeing no amusement in what had transpired.
“Barsovy is correct, Darius. You must rest.”
“But—”
“But, nothing,” interrupted Prydon. “You will rest. Now climb on.”
Darius hesitated, but Prydon lowered his body to the ground and gestured to his back. With one last glance at where Barsovy vanished, Darius slid on.
Dinner awaited them when they reached their housing. It was even more extravagant than breakfast, and Darius tore into the meal of grilled meats, breads, steamed vegetables, and potatoes. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d become, and for a moment he thought of the little animal-thief that had taken his lunch. He grinned to himself. That would not happen again.
As the sky became aflame with the setting sun, Darius sat next to Prydon perched at the edge of the cliff and looked out over the valley. He stared at his hand. With the gentle fading of light, the crimson streaks appeared black. Somehow they seemed less threatening that way, but Darius would not be fooled by the illusion.
“Prydon, how do you know I have months before this curse could take over?”
Prydon’s head turned toward Darius. “Such a spell must seep into the very soul of the victim.”
“Why didn’t he use a spell that would work more quickly? I mean, I’m glad he didn’t but—”
“Klavon’s desire was not to kill you but to consume you. If he possessed knowledge of a spell that was instantaneous but would spare your life, he would have used it, but such spells do not exist, to your advantage. Klavon’s spell must tear down your will to resist before it can take over. You are strong, and your soul is well protected deep inside you, but—”
“I will never stop resisting!”
“Do not underestimate the strength of that mark. One who has been cursed as you have been, no matter how strong and determined, can become vulnerable in time.”
Darius pounded the ground next to him. “But I won’t let it take me. I can’t!”
“Your conviction is strong indeed,” said Prydon, lowering his face near Darius’s, “and as long I have breath in my lungs, I will do whatever I possibly can to ensure that you remain strong. And the first step in doing this—”
“Is to train.” Darius looked again over the valley. Small torchlights dotted the land like fireflies. There was no movement except for the brush of wind across the tops of trees. Yet even amidst this peacefulness, his head filled with unease.
As if to respond to Darius’s disquiet, a thrash of movement tore through a nearby bush. Darius turned, and a boy’s eyes flashed as he pounced toward Darius.
“You!” he screamed. “I was right! You have been marked by evil yet you are allowed to train?”
Prydon immediately poised himself between the two boys, but behind his massive body, Darius could make out his opponent. Almost as tall as Darius, the boy appeared close to his own age. It was the young boy from the training alcove closest to his.
The boy stood with broad shoulders, his face framed with sandy blond hair. Ice blue eyes shot daggers at Darius as he spoke. “Barsovy must be mad! Or…he doesn’t even know!”
“Enough, young one,” demanded Prydon. “You have no business here.”
“And you. A dragon. Never does a wizard train with a dragon!” The boy raised his hand, attempting to strike, but Prydon swung his tail and knocked the boy’s feet from beneath him.
Splattered on the ground, the boy quickly stood and attempted again. Prydon flicked him over with his claw, but before Prydon could toss him farther, Darius jumped between them. “Stop! Stop this!” Darius reached down toward the boy, hand outstretched to help him up.
The boy leaned up on one elbow and glared intently at Darius. “You think I would allow you to touch me?”
“Fine,” snapped Darius. “Then get up yourself.”
“What of your dragon? Won’t he just knock me down again?”
“First of all, he’s not my dragon. He’s a friend, and if you’ll cease this idiocy, I’m quite certain he won’t bother you again.”
The boy stood. “Are you sure? Are you sure your nursemaid won’t protect you?” The mocking sneer across his face reminded Darius of the boys from Brandor.
“You insufferable little snot!” said Darius. “How dare you? You don’t know me or my situation, yet you come in here as if you own this valley? As if you are in charge? What arrogance! If you ask me, your arrogance is a much more dangerous condition than my current plight!”
Behind him, Prydon laughed and moved farther away as if to let the boys handle their own fight.
Darius glanced back at Prydon and, as a result, caught a solid punch square across his jaw. The fight ensued with the two boys piled one on top of the other, fists flailing. To Darius, it seemed only an instant and Barsovy appeared. With a white crack of light, a spell sent both boys flying through the air in opposite directions. Darius moaned as he landed solidly; no pillow protected him. He rolled over and slowly hoisted himself off the ground, wiping the small trickle of blood from his lip. The other boy was no better, swelling already apparent around his left eye.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Barsovy.
“He started it,” snapped Darius as he and his newfound enemy both approached their master.
“He’s marked!” yelled the boy, pointing at Darius’s hand.
“And what concern is that of yours?” demanded Barsovy. “And how would you have known had you not been intruding in this camp? You know the rules. All are to respect each other’s privacy.”
“I didn’t intrude. I saw him earlier in the training fields…at lunchtime. It was as plain as the daylight around us!”
“You removed your gloves?” Barsovy’s eyes burned intently into Darius as he spoke with a determined restraint. “You are never to take your gloves off outside of this camp!”
“So…you knew?” stammered the boy. “And…and yet you let him train?”
“Loklan, be quiet! Now…what to do about this.” Barsovy paced, a sight that was becoming quite familiar to Darius. “Young man, you have intruded on things you should have left alone. I will ask you—I will demand of you to utter not one word of this to anyone else. Do you understand? And if you refrain from intruding on others as you have done tonight, that should not be a problem.”
Loklan stood for several moments. His lower jaw shifted from side to side as he appeared to be chewing words he c
ouldn’t speak. He spat. “Fine.”
Barsovy turned to Prydon. “Prydon, I would have thought you, most off all, would comprehend the seriousness of this.”
“Prydon? Of Thyre’s village?” Loklan’s eyes bulged.
“You know of my father?” asked Darius.
“Father?” asked Loklan. “Thyre was your father?”
“Enough of this!” yelled Barsovy, holding both hands up as if to block any words from being spoken further.
Darius could not be sure that it wasn’t a spell, but as hard as he tried, he could utter nothing.
“Loklan, you will return to your camp. I will discuss this with you later. And remember, not one word about this to anyone, or the consequences will be dire indeed, I assure you.”
The Barsovy Darius now witnessed was no longer the strange Barsovy who had danced at the valley entrance, ridiculously jabbing at Prydon’s legs. This Barsovy wasn’t even the same Barsovy from the training field, one of incomparable capability yet shrouded with obvious restraint. This Barsovy was truly powerful, demanding in his very presence. Although his hair was still gray and wrinkles still etched his face, years seemed to fade from his whole being. He appeared taller, stronger, commanding in his stance. It was all very intimidating, and spell or no spell, Darius had no desire to utter even one word…or sound. Come to think of it, he almost didn’t even want to breathe.
Loklan’s arrogance completely faded. With his head lowered and his shoulders sagging, he now seemed a confused child. “Yes, sir,” Loklan said, so quietly that Darius almost didn’t hear him. With no other words, Loklan turned and retreated into the same bush from which he had previously appeared.
Barsovy waited until Loklan was adequately gone before he spoke. “Loklan’s father was Norinar.”
“Was?” Prydon asked.
Darius couldn’t help but notice the surprise in Prydon’s voice. “What? Who’s Norinar?”
“Norinar,” said Barsovy, “was a very dear friend of your father but regretfully has left this world—a tragic accident which has now left his village unattended while Loklan trains. Loklan went home only long enough to bury his father.”
“That is regrettable,” said Prydon, and Darius could see the sadness in Prydon’s eyes.
“Yes, it is. So you see, Darius, Loklan was raised hearing of Thyre and the atrocities that transpired in your village. He had been told that Miora died, lost in a winter storm, her unborn child suffering the same peril. It is no wonder he is confused. And you have made things very difficult, very difficult indeed, allowing him to learn of your mark.” Barsovy’s brow became as one, linking over the creased valley formed above the bridge of his nose. His breath became forced.
Darius lowered his head, helpless to offer any resolution to a problem that, in his unguarded anger, he created. “I’m sorry,” he said, but the words were blatantly inadequate.
Barsovy shook his head and exhaled a final gust of air. “No matter. I will deal with that right now. As for you, should you remove your gloves and cause such problems again, I will no longer train you. Klavon or no Klavon! Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” answered Darius. Suddenly, he felt quite young…and foolish.
With a stiff nod, Barsovy vanished.
Darius hesitated only a moment before he quietly said, “I really am sorry, Prydon. And I’m sorry to get you in trouble, too.”
Prydon chuckled. “I’m not in trouble, Darius. Barsovy is not my master. But perhaps it would be more prudent for you to temper your emotions, at least when there is a possibility of others to witness your lack of control.”
“Perhaps I should temper my emotions regardless,” Darius added.
“Words of wisdom?” Prydon smiled. “You are growing up, Darius.”
Darius nodded and said goodnight to his friend, and with no more words, Darius lay down on his cot. He stared up at the ceiling where the moth had appeared the night before, but his eyes were not seeking the small insect. With restlessness consuming his mind, only the fatigue from the day allowed him to finally fall asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
The Wait
Darius and the Dragon's Stone Page 14
