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

by Nikki Mccormack

  Dephithus grinned. This man was no mercenary, that was certain. “No, thank you. I think I would settle for some real food and a room.”

  “I’ve got a fine boar steak if you’re game for it?”

  Dephithus nodded agreeably and Random’s smile grew as he turned away and stepped through the door to the kitchen.

  Within a few seconds he reemerged and nodded to Dephithus, offering a most disarming grin. “It’s cooking.”

  Dephithus nodded his thanks and turned to find a seat.

  “One thing before you settle.” Random motioned him closer and Dephithus leaned over the bar. “Just between us, my nephew mentioned that you’ve got a problem with your horse. There’s a fellow who has been here for about two weeks. He usually comes down to the common room a little before daybreak and, unless I miss my guess, which I rarely do, I think he can help you.”

  Gratitude swelled in Dephithus and he cracked a smile. “I mean no insult, but your mother named you well. I thank you for the tip and will approach this fellow in the morning.”

  Random waved Dephithus away with a good-natured chuckle. Picking out the only remaining shadowed seat, one next to the minstrel’s corner, Dephithus sat down to await the first—and probably the last—good meal he would have on this journey.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  As dawn crept in Dephithus woke and lay in bed for a time watching the increasing light through the dingy window. It was a luxury he had forgotten the appeal of. With the daunting task of trying to speed up Hydra’s healing ahead of him, it was extraordinarily hard to convince himself to get out of the bed. It was such a welcome break from sleeping on the ground or in the saddle. Still, if he was to catch this individual Random mentioned, he needed to get up and moving.

  Just one more minute.

  Dephithus stared at the ceiling. Worn wood planking and exposed beams stared back at him. Maybe two minutes. The sound of a horse trotting past in the street below acted as a spur, driving him up and into his boots. It would do him no good to miss his window of opportunity for approaching the stranger.

  He gazed into the stained, cracked mirror. A change of clothes would be nice. Perhaps, if this person were able to help Hydra, he would have time to peruse the nearest clothier’s wares for a suitable outfit. Perhaps he could even get a gift for Myara and their child. The child would be going on five by now.

  Has the daemon-seed effected the child?

  Dephithus scowled at his reflection and it betrayed him as it had once before, not smiling this time, but retaining his thoughtful expression of a moment before. A sudden wash of bitter anger coursed through him and he punched the reflection. The mirror shattered out from the existing crack and jagged fragments of glass cut into several knuckles. Cursing under his breath at his own reckless behavior, he rinsed the new wounds in the washbowl. The mirror was too broken now to offer much of a reflection, which was fine with him.

  A strip of the soldier uniform made a passable bandage that he tied tight over the wound. Collecting his belongings, he made his way down to the common room. The last time his reflection had chosen to betray him it had been the work of the daemon-seed. That could indicate that the seed was getting stronger again. If there were anything he needed less than that, he could not think of what it might be. Would he be able to focus on his journey if the daemon-seed gained too much power? Regardless of the answer, it was plain that he had to get moving again quickly.

  Dephithus stepped out into the common room with his packs slung over one shoulder and scanned the few patrons.

  It was a matter of seconds before he locked eyes with the man seated midway down the near wall. Cold rage washed through him, numbing him to the rest of their surroundings.

  Rakas, his face a perfect image from a loathsome memory, appeared frozen with shock himself, if only for a heartbeat, then his gaze shifted to the door. Letting his packs fall from his shoulder, Dephithus reached for the sword hilt. It was fitting that Myara’s sword should kill this man.

  Rakas shoved his chair back, the sound of the legs scraping on the wood floor coinciding with the loud thud of the packs hitting the floor. The sword sung free of its sheath and Dephithus lunged after Rakas who was already bolting for the door.

  He’s going to get away.

  Dephithus grabbed the nearest chair and flung it after Rakas, catching his legs and making him fall. Ignoring the curses of alarm from the few other patrons as they scrambled clear, Dephithus sprinted over and swung out with desperate, brute force. The blade arched down towards his opponent’s neck and Rakas threw out an arm to deflect it. Oddly, it stopped cold against the flesh as if he had swung it against an iron rod. Rakas did not get away unscathed, however. The force of his fall when the chair tangled in his legs had left him with a cut on his forehead and a bloodied nose.

  Stunned by the fall, Rakas moved a little slower now, fumbling to get ahold of the nearest table to pull himself up. Dephithus placed the edge of the blade against the man’s throat and hesitated there. His hatred was so great that, in this moment of reckoning, he faltered. His arm shook. His breath was harsh and loud in his ears.

  Rakas looked up and swallowed. There was expectation in those black eyes. Expectation, sorrow, and acceptance. He wanted it to be over and Dephithus struggled between the desire for vengeance and a powerful revulsion at the thought of giving the man anything he wanted.

  “I take it you know each other?” Random stalked over, stopping a few feet from Dephithus, a little out of easy sword range. Barely controlled anger made his voice tight and his presence more threatening. “The least you can do is finish this outside of my establishment. I thought he might be able to help you, lad, but apparently whatever assistance he could offer is much less important than your vengeance.” He shook his head in disgust and pointed toward the door.

  You have no idea.

  Dephithus growled, his abhorrence for Rakas fueling similar feelings now for Random who had no concept of how deep this hate was rooted. Still, he hesitated. What had Jadean said?

  You might seek help from an objectionable source, but it will make your journey easier if you do.

  Rakas watched his internal struggle with a wary curiosity, though he stayed poised beneath the blade, apparently sensing that it was too soon to make any assumptions about his future.

  Dephithus clenched his teeth so hard it made his head hurt. Hydra needed healing if he was going to get back on the road to go save Myara and their child anytime soon. He could always try to barter for another horse, but that route risked exposing himself to too many people and possibly getting stuck with a mount he could not rely on should he be attacked again. What if Rakas really could help them?

  Fighting the violent rage still coursing through him, Dephithus forced himself to lower the blade. The light of a new day filtered in through the dirty windows and danced brilliantly along the polished steel. “First, you are going to help me.”

  Rakas did not move from his spot on the floor. “And then what?”

  “Then I’m going to kill you.”

  Random heaved a sigh next to Dephithus.

  Rakas narrowed his eyes. “Is that supposed to inspire me to help?” His gaze darted to the blade suddenly as if he had forgotten it was there.

  Keeping the blade down took a monumental act of will. “Don’t push me. I’m already past my limits. Do you have any idea how much suffering and death your actions caused? You destroyed my life and that of those I love. You would not dare claim that I don’t have a right to seek justice in this.”

  Rakas grimaced and lowered his head, his long black hair falling forward around his face. Random moved away from them, perhaps realizing, when Rakas did not deny the accusations, that whatever history was between them was well beyond him.

  Keeping his sword ready, Dephithus backed up a few steps to give Rakas room. “Get up,” he snarled, “and don’t try to fool me with your feigned remorse.”

  Rakas stood, wincing as he got to his feet. “Where ar
e we going?”

  “Stable,” Dephithus replied curtly, gesturing to the door with his blade.

  With all the forced composure of a man walking to his execution, Rakas led the way from the inn. Random took a few steps after them as if he were tempted to follow and supervise. No innkeeper wanted bloodshed on their property. Dephithus gave him a hard look and shook his head. Random stopped and returned the look with an expression of pleading as they stepped outside into the morning light and closed the door.

  Dephithus was still shaking and now that he was alone with Rakas, he wondered how long he could hold back his rage.

  The same stable boy from the evening before was reclined on a bale of hay near the door. When he saw them, he started to rise until he noticed the drawn blade and looked questioningly at them. Dephithus shook his head, indicating that he was not needed, and the boy slunk away, retreating deeper into the pile of bales. Hydra was already watching them approach with his head stretched well over the stall door.

  Stopping in front of the stall, Dephithus scowled toward Rakas, though he did not look directly at him. “His leg is injured and I can’t wait for it to heal. If you help, I might consider letting you live.”

  “Your tone and the white of your knuckles from your grip on that sword hilt tell me I’d be a fool to believe you,” Rakas replied, glancing at Dephithus now with something that might have been longing.

  His rage started boiling over again, something Rakas seemed to sense as well, prompting him to turn his attention to Hydra. Once they had the stallion out of the stall, Rakas knelt next to the injured leg as Endre had the night before. Hydra laid his ears back, showing his displeasure while Rakas removed the dressing and cleaned the wound so he could better see what he was dealing with. Dephithus grimaced at the deep gash, but Rakas appeared unconcerned.

  “Why are you in Corbent Calid?” Rakas asked, poking around the wound until the stallion’s tail swished about in irritation. “With all the Legion soldiers here, this seems like the kind of place you would be avoiding.”

  “Amahna took Myara and my child to some cave in the Dunues Mountains. I have to go after them.” Dephithus stroked Hydra’s neck, soothing the big animal. As satisfying as it might be to see, it would do them no good if the stallion threw a kick and killed Rakas before he could heal the wound.

  Rakas drew in a quick breath. “That must be what the dragons were waiting for. Your child.”

  Dephithus was about to warn Rakas not to speak of his child when he noticed that the wound was starting to close up. Stunned into silence, he watched the flesh heal and knit together the same way it would in time naturally, only extremely accelerated. It stopped short of growing hair again, but it was still a massive improvement.

  “How did you do that?”

  “The daenox has become very workable since being freed. There are limits on such healing and it is tremendously draining, but it has obvious valuable applications.” Rakas stared at the ground as he spoke, as though he could not bring himself to meet the eyes of the man who meant to kill him now.

  “What happened to the tremors you had when you were in Imperious? Or were those just an act to put me off my guard?” Dephithus inquired as he ran a hand over the wound, expecting to find that the healing was an illusion. The skin was good and healthy and Hydra’s ears had perked forward again.

  “They continue to improve the longer I am away from the cave where the daenox is most heavily concentrated.”

  The realization of what he should do then made Dephithus suddenly nauseated. He leaned against Hydra for both physical and mental support as he regarded Rakas and swallowed against the growing urge to throw up. “Do you have a horse?”

  Rakas shook his head. He started to look up, but caught himself and averted his gaze again.

  “That’s a problem, but not an insurmountable one.” Dephithus took a deep breath and forced himself to continue. “We need to get one for you and I need to find a change of clothes.”

  Rakas did look up then. “You want my help?”

  Dephithus stared at him, his voice getting stuck in his throat. This man was the one who caused it all. This man was the reason he had to fight every minute to keep the daemon-seed from taking control again. He was also the one who knew where the caves were and how to navigate within them. “It’s the last thing I want, but you know this cave and how to find it. You’re going to lead me to Myara.”

  Something brightened in other man’s eyes.

  Dephithus let out a low growl and Rakas flinched.

  “No. There is no chance for redemption in this for you. You will never deserve forgiveness and you will never have it. You destroyed my life with your actions. I hurt and killed people. I hurt the people I love the most.” And I will never deserve forgiveness for what I did to her. Tears stung his eyes and he looked away. “You will help me find her and then you will run as fast and as far as you can or I will kill you. And know that, if you touch me even once, even if it is an accident, I will kill you right then.”

  Rakas slowly stood, taking a step back from Dephithus, and nodded. “Fair enough.”

  *

  Theruses charged Amahna with watching Kyouin for a time. It was an assignment she was happy to be engaged in. The most pleasing aspect was being sent away from the cave and the constant torment of Raine’s presence. This left Theruses in a position, devoid of his primary outlet, where he might be more likely to try and force himself upon Raine. Amahna could only hope he was smart enough to realize the danger of the uncertain powers the dragon-child possessed. The relief of getting away from Raine aside, Amahna did not trust Kyouin and she hoped to learn something of his origins and his intentions, if he had any coherent plan at all.

  For most of their journey toward Corbent Calid, where she would turn back, Amahna spent her time observing his motley collection of troops. Men and women filled the roles of everything from daenox priests and priestesses to laboring grunts, with warriors of assorted specialties and skill levels filling the ranks between. Those who had been with Kyouin the longest or who had won favor with their skills were dressed in dusty gray uniforms with black accents. The most common daemons in the army were daemon-dogs and daemon-wolves, such as the ones that flanked Kyouin’s mount and those guarding his young brother, Vaneye, next to him. There were also some higher-level daemons who had established their own peculiar forms as well as daemon possessed humans and undead. None of these were uniformed in any way. They had their own distinct appearance to set them apart.

  Kyouin claimed that more of his army waited outside Corbent Calid, amusing themselves with terrorizing the locals while he tended to business. That portion of his army was, he said, being overseen by an undead warrior on his undead horse, an uncommon daemon arrangement that Kyouin claimed to have manipulated himself. The things he claimed to have done simply with the influencing of daemons astounded her. It was not that these things were not possible, simply that the necessary skills had been all but forgotten over the last hundred years. How had this fool boy ever discovered them?

  The cool, crisp morning air of a new day saw them passing outside of Ithkan. Kyouin opted to skirt the town since he had a destination and did not want to be delayed by frightened townsfolk enticing his army. Daemons were drawn to fear. It was one of the many challenges of controlling them. It seemed rather backward that he would choose to blame his army’s blood and fear lust on the people who feared them, but Amahna said nothing. Instead, she regarded the distant town in tactful silence and wondered where Rakas was now.

  “You have a memory living there?”

  Amahna glanced at Kyouin, soothing her scowl into something more neutral. On the other side of his brother’s horse, Vaneye watched her curiously. The boy was curious about everything and she suspected it would land him in an early grave. “Nothing of interest. What future do you have in mind for this army of yours?”

  Kyouin glanced at the youth next to him. “Not much for light conversation, is she?”

 
; Vaneye grinned at his older brother then schooled his features to regard Amahna again, eerily mimicking her rapid change in expression from a few seconds ago.

  Kyouin faced forward again. “I considered taking Imperious before too much longer. My lethal bands have proven more than a match for the Legion soldiers so far. I think that would be a nice attainable goal to start with.”

  An itch of frustration gained power in the back of her mind. “No. You—I—” She stopped herself and took a deep breath, calming her recently irrational temper. “I am trying to understand why you are doing this? What is the point of it all?”

  “It’s Raine who has you so tense, isn’t it?” Kyouin gracefully ignored her sudden glare. “Who is this silver dragon she spoke of?”

  “Raine is just a foolish child. No dragons will go free as long as she remains in the cave.” Amahna cut off the last word sharply, hoping he would drop the subject. She wanted nothing more than to forget about Raine for as long as possible.

  “That child is no fool. She is a creature of power. Whoever or whatever this silver dragon is that she speaks of, I would not be looking for a literal representation of it.”

  Amahna eyed the surrounding scenery with a fresh scowl. Before them the rolling hills grew steadily smaller and flatter leading into the flatlands immediately outside of Corbent Calid. Behind them, those hills rolled down from the mountains like grass-covered waves. It was the same to the west where the Gmuir Mountains cut across the horizon, only those hills were heavily forested. Where the Gmuir range ran north to south, the Dunues range ran at a gradual angle from northeast to southwest until the two ranges met. Where they came together the mating resulted in a region full of shear canyons and jagged peaks, creating a large stretch of land that was not at all hospitable and rarely traveled.

  Realizing that Kyouin had lost interest in her and turned his attention to the front again, Amahna moved her mount a touch closer to his, ignoring the growling of the daemon-dog on that flank. The growl was enough to draw Kyouin’s attention as well as win her an irritated glance from Vaneye. The small boy was almost as protective of his brother as Kyouin was of him.