The Dragon Knight's Curse (The Dragon Knight Series Book 2)

by D. C. Clemens

  “My spirits are fine,” said Beatrice, picking up her smallest sister from the floor she had been sitting on.

  My mother shooed me away when she noticed an impatient noblewoman creeping closer to us.

  As we walked back downstairs, Bell asked, “So what game are we playing this time?”

  “Ugh, you too? I’m being serious. Remember Mercer? He needs our help.”

  The first collection of books that came to mind was, of course, the two palace libraries. One collection mostly consisted of more modern works, but I still rummaged through it just in case. As expected, the well-ordered room allowed me to quickly determine that my goal did not lie there.

  The second library contained a somewhat smaller horde of rarer scrolls and bindings. The head librarian, the middle-aged son of the former literature coordinator, was permanently ensconced within this circular chamber. Beatrice and I used to believe Hubert’s antipathy to the outside world came from his secret vampire nature, so we often involved him in our scarier games without his knowledge. There was no reason not to trust him with my undertaking, but I played it safe and lied anyway.

  On asking if he could help look for what I needed, I told him a friend of mine was seeking some rare works to add to their collection and so I wondered what writings we had extra copies of. He brought me the thick registry tome and we looked through its texts. While pretending to look through unrelated works, I scoured for the mention of Summertide, which I found under its proper category.

  According to the archive, we had two of the three editions of the poem, neither of which was the original. The dead end meant I had to move on to other collections in Ecrin. Before I left home on horseback, I made sure to find a scroll written in Old Voreen so I at least recognized what the language looked like. To keep up appearances, I also marked down a pair of works I knew my “friend” not to have and said I would return later if a transaction would occur.

  A similar pattern held in the next three libraries I visited with Bell, each located in the manors of friends near the castle. When noon arrived, which I concluded more by my gurgling stomach than the fiery clock in the sky, I decided we deserved a break. Owen’s home wasn’t far away, and since I figured I should check his family’s collection anyway, I directed my steed to his sea-hugging house to fill my need there.

  Western Ecrin didn’t actually have many good beaches, but the Vealora family’s Ruby Manor was positioned near a nice little strip of white sand. Even under the best conditions the Lucent Sea was always a bit rough on this side of Alslana, but a few of the more skilled servants could cast a calming spell over the shore if they had to. Giving it its name, the Ruby Manor was constructed from a combination of red brick and mahogany, and kept to Alslana’s typical open-air style on the bottom floor.

  The gatekeepers readily recognized me and had the entry opened before my horse broke out of his trot. As I handed the reins to a servant, he informed me that the older masters of the home were away, but the young lord was eating his meal on the balcony with a few of his friends.

  Going up to the large, curved balcony revealed that his company included the Vernon siblings, two brothers who I didn’t care for, and his cousin Sabrina. She had a crush on Owen that went back a few years. As only child prone to bouts of illness, Owen picked up his friends from anywhere and the Vernon brothers had taken advantage of that. They never did anything overtly malicious, if perhaps act too much like uncouth tavern patrons at times, but the fact they sometimes neglected his easily granted friendship did not sit well with me.

  Using my years of ingrained experience, I politely conversed with everyone and delicately ate my steamed fish until I excused Bell and myself. Owen’s library was hardly large enough to fit six shelves of books and scrolls, something viewed as mildly embarrassing for such a prestigious family. At least it meant my investigation would be quick here.

  Near the end of my search, Owen came in and said, “The brothers left. Sabrina was wondering if either of you would like to join us in a game of charades or cards.”

  “Sorry, maybe later. We’re a little busy right now.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Looking for a book.”

  “Which one?”

  “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t appear you have it anyway. I suppose I’d be a little worried if you did.”

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “Good, then I’m being successful in my mysteriousness. We’ll have to go once I’m done.”

  “Well, you’re no fun today.” He walked out of sight before I heard his steps come back in. “Oh, if you’re that interested, my dad has a big shelf full of books in his study.”

  “He’s not big on epic poems, is he?”

  “No, but my mother is. She actually keeps her favorite in there.”

  Bell gave me a sidelong glance before asking him, “Do you know which that is?”

  “Her favorite? That would be Summertide, though it’s a weird version.”

  “Weird how?”

  “As in I can’t understand it. It’s in another language, I guess.”

  “Can we get in your father’s study?” I asked.

  “Uh, sure. I’ll get someone to unlock it.”

  I hadn’t taken the search for Summertide seriously in this house. It was only as we walked to his father’s study did it dawn on me that I could be inside a traitor’s home. The real surprise came when Owen said it was his mother reading the poem when Lord Vealora worried me more, given his trade in military intelligence. Indeed, he was one of the head investigators my family trusted to uncover the truth about the attack in Qutrios. Of course, it could be that his mother innocently enjoyed the epic while his father used it for work, or perhaps they were each a part of it. I shook my head to remove these premature thoughts.

  Seeing as it had no windows, the office door swung open into a dark room. The butler created the necessary light by using a fire spell to ignite a few candles and left us to our exploration.

  “Do you see the copy your mother reads?”

  “What’s going on, Odet?”

  “Nothing. Well, let’s just say a friend of mine would give much to see an original Summertide work.”

  “Original? Oh, so the language is Old Voreen?”

  “Yes, and I need to confirm it.”

  “You can read Old Voreen?”

  “No, but I can recognize its alphabet.”

  “Oh, okay. Give me a moment.” He examined the large shelf until his eyes reached the bottom corner. “Here it is.”

  He pulled out a fragile looking scroll and handed it to me in a way that made me cringe. With no identifying marks, I had to unroll a page to confirm what I didn’t want to feel. I must have been standing there agape longer than I thought, because Bell had to say “Your highness?” to snap me back to the normal flow of time. I had given myself away by this point.

  “What’s wrong, Odet?” asked a baffled Owen. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

  I put the scroll back where he found it. “Listen, Owen, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

  “Of course, just tell me what’s gotten you so frazzled.”

  “I don’t think I can explain everything to you right now. I’m not even a hundred percent certain this isn’t a mere coincidence. Can you promise me you’ll do as I say?”

  “Sure, I promise.”

  “That scroll could be very important to a group of people, people who might hurt you if they discover you have it. At the same time, we can’t get rid of it, so I need you to keep a close eye on it. This is where the trust part comes in, you can’t mention any of this to your parents, do you understand?”

  “My parents? Why not?”

  “Because they might accidentally attract unwanted attention if they knew they had something this valuable. I’ll also need your butler take an oath before I leave.”

  “What oath?”

  “He knows we were in here. That could be enough to alert your parents that s
omething is wrong. I need him to swear by my family’s name that he won’t say anything to them.”

  “Gods, Odet. This is as serious as I’ve ever seen you. Why can’t you tell me exactly what’s going on? Where’d you learn about this?”

  “I can’t confirm anything until I get more information myself. Will you do all this for me?”

  “I already promised, didn’t I?”

  “Thank you, and I promise to tell you everything, no matter how it turns out.”

  Chapter Seven

  Mercer

  Dranall was about an eight hundred mile voyage to the north. A book I borrowed from the guild informed me of the city’s disputable ownership over the last thousand years. More recently, Etoc forcibly claimed the port city over a century ago at a time when the dying Alslana Empire was otherwise freely releasing territories from their hold. The port had actually been the capital of Etoc before it was seized by Alslana, compelling the leadership to make the less developed town of Bukuna its new capital. Despite occasional efforts by Etoc forces to remove nearby Alslana forts, Dranall currently laid right at the edge of the Alslana border.

  This latest voyage was no less turbulent on Ghevont’s latest meals, but I felt more at ease than before. Clarissa’s biggest problem remained finding blood to refill her vials. There were plenty of rats to be found, but the cramped quarters made it harder for her to hunt them down without being noticed. She was even caught draining a mouse’s blood halfway into the crossing, but she used the excuse that she was collecting animal blood for the scholar’s tests on experimental remedies.

  Since the best way for Ghevont to thwart the expulsion of his food was to keep his mind occupied, he had sought the company of our fellow passengers. They acted as an attentive audience to his random soliloquies, which included his countless theories and all the ancient tales he knew by heart. This had made him well-known enough for the vampire’s false explanation to ring true. It rang so loudly for two young brothers that the pair began to help Clarissa catch several more rats before their mother discovered the vile endeavor and spanked them in front of the whole ship. I laughed so damn hard when Clarissa told me that. I didn’t know why I found children getting punished hilarious, but I did.

  Early fall winds were filling our sails by the time we saw Dranall’s six towers. I enjoyed the brisker breezes. They helped remove the perpetual stickiness I carried ever since summer began. As the ship started to dock in the packed harbor, I employed the morning light to see a city marked by two cultures. Following the northern style, the town’s center was clustered with buildings of hardy stone, with the majority encircled by a thick rock wall forty feet high. Outside this imposing wall of gray were buildings following Alslana’s wooden, open style. Many of these were encircled by a shorter wall of tanned brick.

  “So you’re not going to contact Malcolm?” Clarissa asked me.

  Helping her step off the plank that linked ship and pier, I replied, “Not unless we have to, but I’ll consider it if we can’t find Magnus on our own.”

  We began the search for Tolosa’s shipyard offices after regaining our bearings with a light breakfast at a tavern. Dranall had the resources and space to construct a steady supply of ships, so several companies operated in the wide harbor. Since I didn’t want to alert any Tolosa collaborator of prowlers, I kept our questioning limited to lower management types, telling them I was a courier looking to drop off a letter.

  The third company we visited bore a succulent piece of fruit. A busy dock worker pointed us to a man supervising the loading of a large ship. The stuffy man, who had never lifted a crate in his life, said he had dealt with Tolosa in the past and knew his usual workplace to be in the smaller of two administrative buildings located just inside the inner wall of the city. With a puffed chest he added that his son worked in the larger building.

  We followed his directions to find a three-story wooden structure overlooking the Parsillion Ocean and erected next to a large warehouse. A wide road and pygmy wall separated it from the sea. I sat on the wall and watched the building through the busy street.

  “Uh, are we just going to watch it until he comes out?” asked Clarissa, clearly bothered by the fact we couldn’t at least find a spot away from the unobstructed sunlight.

  “There’s a higher chance he’ll recognize me if I get too close.”

  “But not mine. Can’t I at least go check if there’s a Magnus Nissen working there?”

  “Even if you confirm it, then what? Whoever you talk to will probably let him know that someone was looking for him. What if that’s enough to scare him off?”

  She frowned, but the downturned lips didn’t stay dejected for long. “Oh! Ghevont and I will go together! Ghevont will say he’s Vey’s brother and that he has to speak with him in private at his house or something. Then you follow us.”

  I ruminated a moment. “Not bad, but if this private place just happens to be the office, then how will I get in? He’ll become suspicious if you say you have to get somebody else. I also need to make sure we won’t be disturbed. A public office is not the place to interrogate an enemy. I’m sorry, Clarissa, but I’m prepared to wait all of this day and the next to see if he comes out. If he doesn’t, we’ll take riskier measures.”

  She groaned. “I realize this is a delicate situation, but we’ve been waiting for a while already.”

  “Then a day or two more won’t kill you.”

  “It might, Mercer, it might.” She took out a blood vial and lapped up every drop.

  Ghevont spent his time reading the time away while a hooded Clarissa stretched her legs with short walks, never going too far away in case I needed her. My expectation to see Magnus grew during the lunch hour, but he either had food already with him or it was the first sign he wasn’t there at all.

  The sun used its magic to cast longer and longer shadows, and the grand orb itself started disappearing behind the city skyline. It was in this dark orange tint that my unblinking eyes caught the hint of the familiar leaving the building—a red cloak. The figure was unhooded, allowing me to note the man’s messy brown hair, small nose, and thin lips. It was him, my dusty ghost rushing back into my body confirmed that.

  Still, he looked much older than I thought he would. My memory of Magnus was that of an unseasoned, nervy youth with little in the way of self-assurance. Now I was staring at a confident young adult walking with fortitude. How different would I look to him? It had been three years since we last saw each other, and even these past few months had me grow the couple of inches needed to wield my lengthy longsword with greater grace. I suppose how we looked to one another wouldn’t matter once I placed Aranath against his throat.

  I tapped Clarissa’s shoulder. “The red cloak, that’s him.”

  Magnus mingled with the crowd heading for the outer ring of the city. Staying well behind his range of suspicion, we started trailing him. My former handler occasionally stopped to look about himself, but his increased maturity did not translate to an improved talent for enemy recognition. To make sure the clumsy scholar did not attract my target’s attention by tripping or knocking into someone, I made him stay a few yards behind Clarissa and I.

  Not long after stopping by an open market to buy a pouch of walnuts and a small pumpkin, Magnus crossed into quieter, muddier streets, though they were populated enough to continue supporting our anonymity. He halted in front of a shabby little cottage of cold blue stone. We went around the corner of a nearby household once he disappeared inside. I called up Ghevont to us and directed the scholar next to the Magnus house. I next pointed Clarissa behind the house. From these positions we watched the place for over half an hour before coming back together.

  “See anything?” I asked them.

  “There’s a little window on my side,” said Ghevont. “He passed by it a few times. I think he’s alone.”

  “Clarissa?”

  “There’s a backdoor leading to the alleyway. I got pretty close, but I didn’t hear anything i
nside. I say he’s alone, too.”

  “Then we’ll start on your plan. You and Ghevont get him to let you in. Ghevont, once you find an opening, you paralyze him.” Looking at Clarissa, I said, “Use your water spell to make certain he can’t scream. Once he’s secure, you let me in from the back, got it?”

  “Uh, what do you mean ‘use my water spell’? Like, choke him with it?”

  “Yes. Cover his head in water until he breathes some of it, then come and get me.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “I don’t know what he’s capable of, so do everything as fast as you can.”

  As Ghevont and Clarissa slowly strolled toward the front door, talking about what they were going to say, I sprinted to my station at the back. The mumbling murmur of the city was all around me, but it wasn’t loud enough to prevent me from picking up the knock and most of the words that followed the opening of the creaking door.

  “Can I help you?” asked the tenant.

  “You may,” said Ghevont. “My name is Ghevont Rathmore. I believe you work for my sister, Vey Rathmore?”

  With a quieter tone, Magnus replied, “Yes, I do. Where is she? Did she send you here?”

  “That’s what we need to talk about,” said a grave Clarissa. “Do you mind if we talk inside?”

  “Of course, come in.”

  The door closed, muffling their voices. I don’t know if it was actual time or my perception of it, but I waited a long while before I heard a loud thud, a short yelp, and Aranath being pulled out of my scabbard. The scrambling of feet reached my door. It opened to show Clarissa, the yellow light of Ghevont’s paralysis spell, and a coughing Magnus on his knees. I entered a house with only two rooms—a bedroom to my left and the main living space, which had a small fireplace and two kettles hanging over it.

  Pressing the edge of my longsword against his neck, I forced Magnus’ drenched head upward and asked, “Do you recognize me, Magnus?” He was still ejecting some of the foreign water in his lungs, but he heard me and was skimming my face for the answer.

  Giving him a bit more time to delve into his memory, I told Clarissa to shut the shutters and for Ghevont to ease his restrictive spell somewhat. When they were done and no answer came, I said, “It’s okay if you don’t recognize me. It’s difficult to recognize a person when they were nothing more than a bag of bones in a dark pit.”