Rhoyan shook his head in awe, not believing what he saw. For a moment he thought he must have been mistaken about this enemy, nothing dark could live in such a shining palace of light. He felt as though he were falling, but he found to his amazement that he did not really care if he fell, in the light of this vision all else seemed to fade away.
Sheyardin looked at the young prince and saw that he stood entranced. “Rhoyan!”
The prince pulled out of his daze long enough to look at Sheyardin. “We were wrong, nothing evil could create something so beautiful.”
“No, we were right,” Sheyardin said, “listen to me and try to understand. Now is the time for you to learn the true power of your Oath. The words are more than just a promise; they have tangible power as well. When you spoke the words and swore them on your blood they became a part of you. Each of the words was designed specifically to protect the aethalons. They are your shield against cowardice, corruption, deceit, and shame. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“No.”
“The Oath is a form of magic. The only form of magic still widely used in Llycaelon. Your people do not know it is magic, they do not realize they have the ability to wield magic, but it is present in the words of the Oath nonetheless. Speak the words now and they will show you what truly lies before you.”
“Courage, purity, truth, and honor,” Rhoyan mumbled automatically.
As he spoke the word “truth” it was as though a fog was lifted from his eyes and the beautiful palace was transformed. The shining walls fell away and he saw in front of him a low valley that was scorched and burned. In the center of the valley squatted an enormous, stone fortress. The walls of the stronghold were a drab, charcoal gray, and well-weathered. A stream ran between them and the stronghold, and some miserable, twisted trees, barren of any leaves, stood on either side of the large gated entrance. Rhoyan felt a keen disappointment at the disappearance of the beautiful vision. He stared, uncomprehending, at his master. Sheyardin nodded almost imperceptibly.
“It was an illusion, Rhoyan. Yes, you have the power to pierce even the strongest illusions. The Oath of your people is more important than most realize. It is not only a code to live by, it is a shield and a weapon as well. Use it well, young Rhoyan.”
There was no time to absorb this marvel; now that he could see through the illusion Rhoyan felt a darkness descend upon him. It was thick and heavy, and it filled the air like a dense smoke. He clenched his teeth and strode forward. When they came to the stream Sheyardin paused and whispered into Rhoyan’s ear.
“We still have a little daylight left, which is to our advantage against this foe. I will draw the enemy out, which should allow you to get behind him. Catching him unawares is our only chance if we want to end this evil.”
Rhoyan nodded to show that he understood. Sheyardin crawled, almost slithered away down the stream. Rhoyan watched his teacher go and then hunched down, trying to make himself invisible. As he sat there, he battled the terror rising up inside of him. The silence and lifelessness of the valley was beginning to get to him and he felt as though great talons had clasped him about the throat.
“What can we hope to do?” Rhoyan muttered to himself, voicing the fears welling up within him. “We are but two, what if there is an army hidden inside that fortress?”
Sheyardin had reached the area in front of the structure. Rhoyan saw him stand and clenched the hilt of his blade tightly.
“Courage,” he whispered defiantly.
The power of the Oath served him yet again. A calmness came over him and he felt ready to face whatever was hiding within the dark building in front of him. Rhoyan found that the Oath did not diminish his fear; it simply helped him to realize he had the strength to face what he feared and overcome it. He gripped his sword and tensed, waiting.
“Wielder of darkness, I challenge you!” Sheyardin called out in a strong voice.
Rhoyan jumped slightly at his master’s voice which pierced the deafening silence with a shattering force. He tensed, expecting swarms of darkness to come down on their heads. Nothing happened for a long moment, and Rhoyan held his breath. Then the gate to the castle creaked slowly open.
“Who dares step into my territory?” a cold voice called out.
Rhoyan heard the words and they sent chills racing through him. Here was the sound of pure malice, hatred, and cunning. The most chilling part of the voice, though, was its cruelty. It was the voice of a being who would take the lives of thousands and never blink. It was the voice of a being who delighted in the torture and pain of others. There was a mocking glee in the voice and Rhoyan shuddered.
“I defy you!” Sheyardin called out. “I will see you brought to justice for the things that you have done! I am Sheyardin, son of Mytharick, servant of Cruithaor Elchiyl; come out and tell me that you do not know me!”
There was a deep hissing sound and Rhoyan whirled around to find himself face to face with a darkly cloaked figure. In sudden horror he realized they had been tricked. The voice in the doorway was another illusion or magic, designed to keep them busy while their enemy crept up behind him.
“Sheyardin!” Rhoyan yelled frantically as he leapt to his feet and drew his sword in one flowing motion.
The figure laughed evilly and hissed, “Ssso, the hope of Llycaelon is before me, thisss is better than I had hoped. I now have two champions in my hand!”
Rhoyan gritted his teeth and lunged. He made no noise of warning, he merely attacked, intent on running the figure through with his sword. The cloaked creature motioned with his hand and Rhoyan’s sword stopped, an inch from his enemy’s throat. It was as though there was an invisible barrier around the cloaked figure, and try as he might, Rhoyan could not pierce the shield. With a bellow of frustration, Rhoyan lowered his sword and hurled himself at his opponent. The figure turned slightly and his cloak fell back, revealing a gnarled and bent old wizard. The wizard gave a small gesture and Rhoyan found himself suddenly flying through the air. He landed on his back, the breath knocked from his lungs. From where he lay, he could see the wizard watching him, a cruel sneer on his lips. As he stared into his opponent’s eyes, Rhoyan realized his mistake. Suddenly, Sheyardin was kneeling by Rhoyan’s head.
“Are you hurt?”
“Sheyardin!” Rhoyan rasped, desperate to warn his teacher. “He’s a dragon! A dragon!”
“I have long suspected as much, but fear not, for this battle is mine.”
Sparks flew as both dragons suddenly shifted into their true shapes. Rhoyan scrambled back, out of the way, in complete awe at seeing two such majestic creatures. The dark dragon was a monstrous beast, with black scales and brass colored wings. By the thickness of his armor it was easy to see that he was very old. His deep bronze eyes flickered with wicked intelligence.
In comparison, Sheyardin was much smaller and younger, but his silver eyes were filled with deep determination. His green scales flickered in the dying daylight and shimmered as though lit by an inner fire. His silver wings sparkled and flashed whenever he moved.
“We meet again, Sheyardin,” the dark dragon hissed.
“Khentarrick,” Sheyardin said grimly, “a meeting long anticipated.”
“Thy blindness will be thy doom,” Khentarrick cackled wildly. “Thou hast put thyself in my power and thou hast even brought me the hope of the pitiful humans you love so much; that merely sweetens my victory.”
“Nothing is in thy power yet,” Sheyardin replied fiercely, “and thou must defeat me first, which will not be easy to do, I warn thee. Methinks thou shouldst give up now and allow us to take thee back to thy trial.”
The dark dragon laughed again. “Why not simply offer thee my throat as well? Killing thee will be pleasant, and then that little princeling of thine will be no trouble at all.”
The two dragons circled each other warily, spitting short flames at each other as though gauging each other’s strengths and weaknesses. With the speed and silence
of a hunting falcon, Sheyardin attacked. He dove at his opponent, attempting to dig his claws into the soft underbelly of the dark dragon. The swipe of his claws hit just a few inches too high and there was a sound like the clashing of blades as his claws scraped along the dark dragon’s scales.
Khentarrick lashed his tail around and hit Sheyardin squarely, knocking him back a few steps. Sheyardin spit flame at the dark dragon’s face and immediately leapt after the blinding fire. He landed on Khentarrick’s neck and his powerful jaws snapped down. The dark dragon screamed in anger and pain and shook his head wildly, trying to dislodge his attacker before he could do any real damage. With a lunge, Khentarrick flung Sheyardin off and roared in triumph. Steaming blood dripped down Khentarrick’s neck, hissing and scorching the bare earth where it fell.
Sheyardin lay stunned for a moment where he had fallen and Khentarrick growled in victory. He flew up into the air and then dove down at Sheyardin with a scream. The scream warned the green dragon and he quickly rose up into the air himself, lashing out as his enemy swooped past. The battle raged on in the sky and Rhoyan watched in a kind of fascinated horror. The dragons clawed and bit and flamed as they flew about each other, but neither seemed to be gaining the upper hand. The clashing noise of teeth on scales sounded like the rumble of thunder and the beating wings of each created windstorms. The sky darkened with the violence of their battle and Rhoyan watched it all, fascination and fear clouding his face.
The dragons broke apart and Khentarrick’s eye fell on Rhoyan. The prince shrank back as the burning gaze found him. The dark dragon swooped upwards away from Sheyardin, and then he dove at Rhoyan. Too late, Sheyardin saw his mistake.
“Rhoyan!” he cried in warning.
There was no time to react. No time to draw the sword he had foolishly sheathed. Rhoyan threw up his arm, as though to ward off the attack. At the last possible second, Sheyardin was there, between Rhoyan and Khentarrick. Sheyardin took the full force of the dark dragon’s powerful blow and the impact of the attack flung him backwards over Rhoyan’s head. Sheyardin hurtled through the air and fell heavily to the ground where he slumped and lay still. He was bleeding from many wounds, and there were deep claw marks on his side.
Rhoyan saw his teacher fall and in one smooth, swift motion he drew his sword and slashed up with it as Khentarrick flew past. His sword found its mark, slicing easily through the leathery substance of the great wing. The dragon cried out in pain and folded the shredded wing flat against his back. He fell, landing heavily, and then he turned back to focus on Rhoyan.
Rhoyan neither shrank away nor trembled. He stood and faced the great beast, being careful not to look directly into its eyes. The dragon swiped at him with his claws, but Rhoyan ducked and flung himself to one side. Then the dragon swung his deadly tail around, but Rhoyan was on his feet again and jumped lightly over it, bringing his sword down and chopping off the spiky end of the tail. Khentarrick shrieked in pain and whirled around, lashing out with his great claws in anger. Rhoyan barely dodged the blow by allowing himself to drop to the ground. He lay still for a moment, and when the dragon whirled and tried to pin him to the ground with his sharp claws he rolled under the mighty foreleg. He was not quite fast enough and he heard the cloth of his shirt rip and he felt a deep pain in his right arm, but he did not let it stop him. Holding his sword tightly he stood up, now directly under the great dragon. With a yell of “for Llycaelon!” he stabbed upwards into the soft underbelly of the dragon with all his strength.
Two great drops of blood fell on his left shoulder and burned into his skin. Rhoyan gritted his teeth to keep from crying out. He drove his sword up even farther, twisting the blade as he dug it deeper into the dragon’s belly, and then he yanked it out of the dragon. The creature roared in pain and Rhoyan hastily sprinted away from his dangerous position beneath the dragon. Khentarrick hissed in anger and tried to fly, but his strength was already fading.
“I do not believe it,” the dark dragon hissed, pure malice dripping from his voice. “I cannot believe it! Thou hast slain me? Thou, a mere human!”
Before Rhoyan could retort that he could hardly believe it himself, the dragon muttered something in Old Kraïc. Instinctively Rhoyan leapt back, only a split second before a black bolt of fire incinerated the area where he had been standing. Khentarrick flamed angrily with the last of his strength before he toppled over. Rhoyan watched in horror as the creature burst into black flames and vanished.
Rhoyan knelt and mechanically wiped his blade on the grass. He grimaced at the wound on his left shoulder where the dragon’s blood had burned him; he would carry that mark for the rest of his life. He then ripped a piece of cloth from the bottom of his cloak and used the cloth to bind the long cut on his sword arm. Then he rushed to his teacher’s side.
“Master Sheyardin!”
“I have told thee again and again, titles are for those who need to earn respect and I have all the respect that I require,” the dragon wheezed. His voice crackled and he coughed, and then drew a long, shaky breath.
“Can you stand?” Rhoyan asked in concern.
Sheyardin shook his great head and looked at Rhoyan deeply. “I had hoped to journey back to Llycaelon with thee…”
“Don’t talk like that! Of course we will journey back to Llycaelon together. We beat Khentarrick, we won!”
“I saw,” Sheyardin whispered, “thou hast proved thyself today… proved thyself worthy of the hopes we have vested in thee, proved thyself worthy of the prophecy.”
“I don’t understand,” Rhoyan said slowly.
“This was... a… test,” Sheyardin coughed.
“This was a test? A test for what?” Rhoyan asked.
“Secret,” Sheyardin sighed.
“Just stay quiet, I’ll find help and you’ll be fine, you’ll see.”
“No, listen,” Sheyardin whispered, Rhoyan leaned closer, trying to catch what his teacher was saying, “thy journey back will be difficult. Remember… remember thine Oath, it will … protect thee. Follow Yorien... the Wanderer will guide thee home. He is… after all… the protector… of the innocent.”
“You’re coming with me!” Rhoyan cried. “Don’t make me go back alone!”
“Sssorry,” Sheyardin whispered.
“No! Don’t be sorry. You’re going to be fine; you just need rest… rest!” Rhoyan yelled furiously.
“Thou hast proved thyself worthy today,” Sheyardin said again, his voice barely audible now. “I deem thee ready… to face thy rite of passage. Thou only hast one part … of the test left, to make it home safely. Remember what thou hast learned…”
“Shhh,” Rhoyan whispered brokenly. “Shh, you’ll get me home, you just need to save your strength.”
“Rhoyan,” the dragon gasped, “thou art destined for greatness. I have seen it in thine eyes… be careful not to allow that greatness to go to waste. There is… much more to the world… much more than Llycaelon. Thou must be strong now… for there is no rest for the great… and there is a loneliness that is... difficult to bear… I am sorry, sorry to leave thee alone with this burden.”
“You’re not wounded that badly, it’s not that bad…” Rhoyan shook his head in denial. “It can’t be that bad…”
“The wound is deeper than it looksss,” Sheyardin whispered, so faintly that Rhoyan could barely hear him. “May Cruithaor Elchiyl bless thee.”
“Master Sheyardin…”
“Remember….”
“Of course I’ll remember; you’ll be here to remind me! Save your strength, Master, please…”
“Lissten,” Sheyardin said again, cutting him off, “if thou art ever in trouble, the myth-folk of Aom-igh will help you. My kin… the dragons… look for them in... in Krayghentalissss.”
Sheyardin’s last word ended in a long hiss. The dragon shuddered violently, and then lay still. Rhoyan’s eyes widened and a great lump formed in his throat.
“No,” he whispered, choking on
the word. Pain stabbed him sharply behind his eyes and he gasped wildly for breath.
He did not know how long he sat there, thoughts and memories swirling around in his head, but when he looked up the Dragon’s Eye too had deserted him. The cold and distant light of the stars shone down softly on his head and he stared up at their unblinking radiance angrily. Nothing touched them, so far away, so uncaring.
“What do you care?” he shouted. “You observe everything and yet you can do nothing! You who so often govern the fates of men, but what can you really do? Nothing! You are too distant to impact matters of this world!”
Rhoyan stopped suddenly, embarrassed as he realized that he was shouting at the night sky. He looked at the great, gleaming body of Sheyardin that now lay still and cold. He knew he could not just leave the great dragon lying there, but neither did he have the strength to bury the dragon. Finally he decided to light a fire around the dragon and let that be his tribute to his teacher.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly as he formed a makeshift pyre about the dragon and then created a torch and lit it with his flint, “after all that you did for me, it doesn’t seem enough, somehow, but I’m sure you’d understand.”
He stood and watched numbly as the fire licked hungrily at the body of the dragon. He stood there watching as the flames leapt into the darkness, licking hungrily at the dragon’s scales. Then he knelt quietly and pressed his fist to his heart in the sign of deepest respect that was usually reserved only for the king of Llycaelon. With a heavy sorrow hanging around him like a cloak, Rhoyan stood and walked slowly from the valley. He trudged into the night without any real intent or direction. He stumbled over the sharp rocks of the cliffs until he fell down from exhaustion. He lay where he had fallen and slipped into a troubled sleep.
Rhoyan woke to the full heat of the Dragon’s Eye. He glanced around for a moment and realized he had slept well into the morning. The events of the night before washed over him, deadening his senses and numbing his thoughts. He picked himself up and stumbled on, a dull ache in his head and a burning sensation deep in his chest. Rhoyan traveled across the great cliffs all day. The hours passed him by in a daze, he was not fully aware of what he was doing but he forced himself to take each step, focusing on moving first one foot and then the other so that grief would not overtake him. He traveled on, not thinking of anything but the task at hand. He knew he had to get to his boat, he could not remember why but he did not question, he just focused on the knowledge that he had to get to his boat. When Rhoyan finally reached the rolling hills near the shore the Dragon’s Eye was just dipping down below the horizon. He could see his tiny craft from the top of the hills and he stumbled towards it. He was not really thinking about where he was going, he was simply allowing his feet to carry him away from the dark memories that chased him. At long last he reached his vessel and pushed it out to sea. He set sail, charted his course, and then exhaustion came upon him.
Second Son (The Minstrel's Song Book 2) Page 11
