Dark Hope of the Dragons (Elysium's Fall Book 1)

by Nikki Mccormack

  Dephithus scowled at his feet, not sure how he expected them to be of any help. What would he do next? Who would he snap at or be rude to? Who else would he punish for what happened to him?

  He glared at the water so viciously that he was almost disappointed when it did not start boiling.

  After a bit he abandoned the warm bath and left the palace through a servant’s entrance to avoid speaking to anyone. As he walked through the gardens he was greeted by several loungers who expressed their delight that he was feeling better. Somewhere within his aggravation and misery, he was able to muster up a smile or nod where appropriate, but he did not linger. Myara would be around, though she was most likely in training at this hour, for which he was grateful. He was supposed to have started his Legion practice today. Or was that today? How long had he been sick?

  He walked for some time, a little surprised that his body did not quickly tire, as it should have after being so ill. By noon, he had found a comfortable perch in the Mother Tree. It had been a place of happiness and solace so many times in the past. It was disconcerting to sit and think of how much had changed in the short time since he had last been there. It seemed that his whole world had been overthrown and would never be the same again. He laid his arms on a branch in front of him and rested his forehead on them. Tears stung at his eyes, but he would not let himself weep endlessly like a child. There was no value in it.

  “Dephithus.”

  That soft uncertain voice almost forced free the tears he was holding back. He did not respond to Myara right away. For a moment, he kept his head there and closed his eyes, breathing deep to calm himself and keep from breaking down blubbering like a baby. He listened to the rustle of leaves and the scrape of boots on bark as she climbed up into the tree and sat on another branch.

  “How are you feeling?” Concern was thick in her voice and in her awkward distance.

  “Not too bad.” He leaned back against the branch behind him and glanced over in her direction, though he was careful not to make eye contact. Myara was not someone he could lie to easily.

  She smiled, gentle and patient. “Do you want to go to riding with me?”

  “No!” Her shocked recoil brought more guilt. “Sorry, I don’t quite feel like myself yet.”

  The pain in her expression was sucked away into those dark eyes still brimming with concern. “Are you falling ill again? Maybe you shouldn’t be out yet. Do you want to go back to the palace?”

  “No. I just want to be left alone for a while.”

  A hint of moisture glossed her eyes at his rejection and the struggle to restrain herself from pressing was almost painful to watch. He turned his gaze to the rich green meadow below them. Myara dropped from the tree, her discouragement plain in the heavy thud of her landing. She stood there staring at the grass, prodding it for a perhaps a minute with her boot toe while silence stretched uncomfortably between them.

  “They thought you might die. I’ve never known such fear as when I believed I might lose you.” Her voice cracked, and silence reigned again.

  He could think of nothing to say. Maybe it would have been better if he had died. This new world was stark and miserable. He hated it.

  When she looked up at him, a single tear slipped down one cheek and she brushed it away. “When you are ready, I’ll be here for you.”

  She expected some response from him, so he offered a solemn nod. Myara still watched him and he wondered what more she wanted, but then she lowered her gaze and walked away, looking ever so much like his mother had looked leaving the bath that morning. He lowered his head back down to the branch.

  Ride?

  Was that all they did in this place where evil could walk in and out with royal blessings?

  His head snapped up.

  That was where he had been going that night. He had been going to see his new horse. That was why this whole thing happened.

  Rage boiled up in him. His hands shook with it and his vision turned red at the edges. He dropped from the tree and headed back towards the palace stables. The horse was the cause of all this. No matter how magnificent the animals was, he would never be able to appreciate it. It had to pay for the wrong done to him.

  His fierce strides moved him along at a brisk pace, but the stables were some distance away and, when he reached them, his rage had simmered down. His violent crusade began to seem somewhat misguided. Regarding the dim interior of the barn, he began to feel an itch of uncertainty. It was only a horse. It was not as if it had sent a summons to draw him out into the night. Still, how could he have anything to do with an animal that triggered the memories and the hatred that crashed over him every time he thought about that night?

  Perhaps it was time to find out. With refreshed resolve, if a somewhat altered sense of purpose, he entered the stable.

  He recognized most of the horses as he passed. Not because he was especially fond of any of them, but because Mythan was always so eager to talk about and share them, so he paid attention. It was plain before he even saw the name plaque which horse was his. When he was a few feet from the stall the stallion lunged forward in a startling display of aggression, his hooves cracking loudly against the wood of the door. Dephithus stopped and regarded the stallion that was regarding him silently in return, his muscles tense as though expecting danger. Dequo ve la Hydra, the name plaque read. He was white as snow with a pale silver dappling over his body. The dappling darkened down his legs to his knees where it turned a solid silvery-black and then lightened up again towards the hoof. His tail started white and darkened down to the same silvery-black as his legs. A fine elegant head topped his strong arched neck. His face was almost pure white, beautifully contrasted by a silvery-black mane.

  Hydra was magnificent.

  Dephithus stepped toward the stall and the horse retreated several steps, delicate ears pulling part way back. Eager for a distraction from himself, he flipped up the bolt and slid it free, then stepped into the stall and walked boldly up to Hydra. The stallion stood his ground this time and Dephithus stopped beside his head and growled. Hydra threw his head up, laying his ears back the rest of the way and baring his teeth in a very dog-like manner. Dephithus bared his own teeth in response. The animal’s fearlessness and aggression were refreshing. The stallion stood still, his haunches bunching for quick action when Dephithus rested a hand on his neck and began to stroke the silken coat. After a minute or more, Hydra began to lower his head and his ears drifted forward. Grinning, Dephithus scratched his forehead under the thick black forelock.

  When he finished acknowledging the magnificence of this animal he had come here intending to hate, Dephithus retrieved his personal tack and returned to the stall. The stallion’s demeanor changed again when he saw all the gear being carried in. He tossed his head, nickering softly and pawing at the air with one foreleg impatiently. With a hint of an anticipatory grin tugging at his lips, Dephithus saddled and bridled the eager beast and led him out of the stall.

  Only a few steps clear of the stall he mounted up, almost as impatient now as Hydra was. He reined the stallion around, feeling the animal tense beneath him at the sight of daylight beckoning beyond the stable doors. Hydra began to prance in place and Dephithus held him back, letting the stallion’s excitement build and resonate through them. Perhaps it was dangerous, but the thrill of this immensely powerful animal dancing about, contained only by the discipline of superb training infected him. With subtle movements he eased his hold on the reins and squeezed Hydra’s ribs gently. The stallion surged forward with the power and speed of a lightning strike.

  Fortunately, no one was around the stable when Dephithus and Hydra burst through the doorway. Hydra stretched himself out and barreled down the main road with a single-minded focus, pent up energy driving him hard and fast. Dephithus leaned low on his neck, letting the stallion set their speed. The wild, dangerous abandon of their reckless gallop was exhilarating, freeing him, for a brief time, from his torment. They sped past a family in an open
coach and a few startled cries faded quickly behind them.

  Finally, Dephithus sat up, pressing his seat into the saddle, and reined the stallion in. Hydra resisted for a moment, fighting the bit, then his training won out and he slowed to an easy lope. Dephithus allowed him to keep up that pace while he turned him in a wide circle to head back the way they had come. The stallion’s sides heaved with exhaustion and excitement when Dephithus eased him down to a long cooling trot.

  When he neared the coach he had dashed past earlier, they stopped, watching his approach with wary curiosity. Despite his urge to trot on by, he stopped Hydra alongside them and offered a polite nod.

  “Lord Dephithus.” The blond woman, dressed in the casual finery of local nobility out enjoying the sun, acknowledged him respectfully enough, yet her tone was tight with unease, her words cut off with a curt edge. “It’s good to see you are well again.”

  He tried to focus on the words and not the cold look in her eyes. He tried and failed. “That would be an appreciated sentiment, if it sounded at all sincere.” Both the woman and the man with her drew back at his response. They were shocked, though not nearly as much so as he was. Trying to keep the surprise from his face, he spoke quickly to intercept the anger he could see blossoming in their eyes. “Pardon, Lord and Lady, it seems I am not feeling as well as I thought. If you will excuse me.”

  Not waiting for their reply, he spun Hydra away from them and into a swift trot. There he went again, mistreating those who deserved no such abuse. Sure, the woman had seemed a bit artificial in her words, but the way he had startled them and risked upsetting their horses when he galloped by earlier was reason enough for that. The worst thing was that he did not feel nearly as bad about his rudeness as he knew he should. It was not like him to act that way and he should feel awful, yet some part of him did not care.

  Dephithus touched his empty belt scabbard and sighed. Perhaps he should wear the dagger Amahna had given him. Maybe it would remind him where his hatred should be directed. With a solemn nod he decided that was what he would do. Reaching forward he rested a hand under Hydra’s mane, feeling the muscles work as the stallion arched his neck to give to the bit. That strength was comforting. No matter the memories associated with that first attempted visit to the stallion, he suspected that more time with Hydra might do him some good.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ignoring the healer’s recommendations, Dephithus chose not to wait a few more days before attending his first official Legion practice. Physically he was much better and mentally he preferred it to tarrying around the palace with his parents and Myara watching him. He dressed in the same style blue and silver uniform that he had worn in Legion training, only now a royal crested falcon carrying a crown of ivy in its talons was embroidered on the breast of each practice uniform.

  The royal crested falcon, a rare and majestic bird, was the symbol of Imperious. The crown of ivy was an aged symbol that bore little meaning for younger generations. It represented the Tuvoth family that ruled Imperious before Mythan’s predecessors had taken control several centuries ago. It’s presence on the Imperious crest was an effort to honor that fallen family’s importance in the history of the region.

  Dephithus sighed, staring blankly at his chamber mirror. It was rumored that so much happened back in the days when the Tuvoth’s ruled. The books he had read in training barely hinted at the wars that occurred back then. The banishment of the dragons and a strange power referred to as daenox that took the daemons into exile with it—events that marked the beginning of their long peace—were only briefly touched upon in the histories available in the palace library. The swift vanishing of the traits of the Dragonkin after that was mentioned in some literature, but never with more than a vague sentence or two that offered no real insight. Perhaps, somewhere in the locked library archives, there was more.

  Dephithus pondered those historical gaps and what filling them in might teach him about himself while he faced the mirror, which he had yet to really look at beyond staring into those silver-green eyes with their peculiar vertical pupils. A knock on his door snapped him from the reverie. He glimpsed his irritated expression in the mirror and forced a more pleasant look over his features before calling welcome to his company.

  Avaline stepped into the room dressed in flowing violet riding skirts that appeared to be silk or some similarly clinging material. He had noticed a distinct increase of even more sensual daily clothing in her wardrobe since Amahna’s visit. Perhaps she was jealous of her sister’s more slender figure and sought to compensate.

  He had to consciously stop himself from growling at the thought of his aunt.

  “What is it, Mother?” He forced his memories aside and faced her, trying to at least appear attentive.

  There was a hint of worry under her smile. “You rode Hydra yesterday. What did you think of him?”

  Dephithus cracked a genuine smile for her with the memory of the stallion. “He was magnificent. I have never seen his equal.”

  Most of the worry vanished, though some unease lingered, making her reluctant to look at him. Instead, she wandered to a pile of clothes on a bench at the foot of the bed and began sorting through them, sniffing to see if they were clean enough before folding them. “I would like it very much if you would ride with me some afternoon. I know you have much to do these days, but you can let me know when is best. Also, the many gifts you received on your birthday are still awaiting your perusal.”

  He could not stop a scowl that made his mother smile falter. He disregarded her look of concern as he picked up Amahna’s dagger, the serpent dagger, and slipped it into the sheath on his belt, trying to ignore the burst of revulsion at touching something she had touched. His birthday would give him no peace so long as those gifts sat untouched. “Yes, well, perhaps tonight I will attend to that. Thank you, Mother, I must go to practice now.”

  Her gaze followed him as he started to walk around her to the door, but she caught his arm when he was almost past.

  Dephithus stopped, glaring down at the floor to hide his impatience.

  “Are you well enough?”

  “Well enough,” he answered, pulling his arm away.

  The moment he walked into the stable Hydra whinnied impatiently. The stallion was eager to be free of his stall again. Once he had finished saddling him Dephithus stood beside the stallion for a moment, considering his equipment. The saddle had a few smudges on it. Area Commander Parthak would be upset by that, but maybe Lance Commander Vicor would be more lenient. Outside the confines of his stall Hydra began to prance in place and Dephithus envied him the simplicity of his desires. Like Hydra, he longed to be careless and wild, but, unlike Hydra, the barriers that trapped him were not mere physical ones.

  Swinging into the saddle Dephithus encountered the same little boost of confidence there that had greeted him the day before. Encouraged, he let Hydra out a little, allowing him to move into an extended trot out of the stable. The stallion fought for more, but Dephithus held him in until they reached the road then allowed him a collected canter.

  “Dephithus!”

  He clearly heard Myara call him. Not looking to see where she was, he held Hydra back for a few more strides, torn by the feeling that he ought to speak to her, then he let the stallion go. Hydra surged forward with such power that Dephithus nearly lost his seat. He barked a bitter laugh. Getting tossed would have so fittingly countered his attempt to avoid Myara. Perhaps the stallion had been intentionally rough to reprimand him for his cowardice, not that he believed the animal had that much awareness of such things. Leaning low over Hydra’s neck, he aimed his mount at the Legion’s outdoor arena, almost half a mile past the training academy’s indoor facilities, and let him run.

  Myara would be training in hand-to-hand combat today so she would not have a horse to catch him with. The actual Legion and the academy never did mounted work on the same day to ensure that they always had an adequate supply of fresh, healthy mounts available. Even among
the nobility very few owned their own battle-trained horses. With no battles to fight most considered maintaining a personal war-horse an unnecessary expense.

  Nearer to the Legion’s assortment of practice facilities Dephithus had to bring Hydra down to a trot due to the increased traffic. Every Legion soldier was required to fit no less than two hours of some kind of combat practice into their day at least six days of the week. The only time this was excused was in the case of extended away duty, such as royal escorts traveling between territories. That was the kind of duty he would like to get stuck with right now. Anything that got him out of Elysium would be a good duty pull as far as he was concerned. However, such draws were typically reserved for soldiers with at least a year of Legion training behind them. Then again, the same was also true for the larger tournaments, and he already had a challenger lined up for the next big one.

  Several soldiers, men and women of the Legion, acknowledged him with a nod or a wave, openly admiring Hydra as he passed. This was his first day as one of their ranks, but he was already far more well known to them than they were to him, though he recognized many of the faces. Dephithus nodded to each and distracted himself with trying to figure out where they were going by their attire and armaments.

  A group of five younger soldiers who sat loafing against a building were the only ones he could not recall ever seeing around the practice grounds or palace. It was not often that the mere presence of the Imperious uniforms did not instill confidence and pride in him, but something about this group leached away that good feeling. One of the five, a particularly lean lad, tall and with the dark tan of someone who spent considerable time working fields in the sun on his off hours, sneered at him. Dephithus rested his off hand on Hydra’s neck and responded with an uncharacteristic predatorial grin. It felt a bit strange on his face, but some part of him reveled in the unspoken challenge.