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

by D. C. Clemens

  “The Advent? Isn’t that some mythical religion?”

  “They are an old cult. They apparently wish to raise a dead being and are gathering power to do so. It’s my belief they’re responsible for the attacks on the valkrean. I’ve informed the Warriors Guild about them, but until more information is gathered, it’s not safe to openly speak of them, especially for this family.”

  “Then you presume that Alex is being held by these Advent worshippers?”

  I nodded.

  “How horrible!” cried Erica.

  “Indeed,” said Rosemary. “I know you want to find Alex, dear, we all do, but you can’t hope to battle an army of zealots on your own. Please, leave this to professional soldiers. Stay home with us. No more of this fighting talk.”

  “Are you joking, Mother?” rhetorically asked Spencer. “I wish I could join him.”

  “Spencer! Don’t you start!”

  “Don’t worry, I’m no soldier, but it angers me that I can do nothing to help. Our family has suffered immensely and all we could do was run.”

  “Aye,” assented his father. “My dear wife, I know you desire to keep on coddling the boy, but he has obviously matured into a man of conviction. I for one am proud Cyrus has risen above his severe trials.”

  “I’d rather keep him above the grave.”

  “That can come to us at any time. We kept to ourselves in Remron and were attacked twice for our trouble. Cyrus also has a right to seek reprisal for what has unjustly been done to him. He might be safe here, but it’s a dangerous thing to allow a man’s temper to fester.”

  This did not convince Rosemary to move on from her maternal opinion, but it quieted her down on that topic for the evening.

  The rest of the conversation strayed away from my plight and to old family history, including learning that my uncle was a retired law interpreter. Spencer was following in his footsteps, but his real love was racing his horses. He was one of the reasons they bought the Equine Manor, which had been owned by a famous horse breeder several decades back. I got the sense Spencer and I had not been great friends when we were little, though I imagined we were both too much changed to evaluate the relationship fairly. Going by a handful of other comments from Kario, I concluded that I must have been a timid child. He appeared pleased that I grew out of what I’m certain he labeled as ‘feminine tendencies.’

  An hour after meeting my family, the Pendlecots entered the hall. They comprised of a quaint couple around the same age as my aunt and uncle, and a young woman. It was through them I learned that one of the children taken in that first raid was a playmate of mine, a boy named Nathaniel. They spoke as though we were best friends, and maybe we were, but it could have been revisionist history.

  His sister was a beautiful black haired girl named Cecelia. According to my aunt and supported by Lady Pendlecot, Cecelia and I had also been close friends. I had expressed this connection, as a young boy would, by playing pranks on her, such as leaving frogs in her fruit basket and stealing her hats. It was embarrassingly obvious to the girl that my aunt hoped Cecelia’s appealing presence would induce me to stay.

  The talk became livelier as the night went on. It wasn’t until the chiming of the grandfather clock informed us it was two in the morning did everyone elect to pause the reunion. We had been assigned rooms in the second-story and were told that a warm bath, clean clothes, and a robust breakfast would be waiting for us in the morning. My room had a glass door that opened to a small balcony and held the fluffiest and most comfortable bed I had ever touched, but I couldn’t find sleep.

  I responded to a light knock on my door by opening it. I let Clarissa in.

  “You have a balcony?” she asked, walking toward it. She leaned on the railing to look out on the large garden below, where some animal topiaries traversed the landscape. The flickering torchlights in the corners of the yard made the topiaries dance eerily. When I leaned in with her, she asked, “You doing okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

  “As always. What about this time?”

  “My selfishness.”

  “Selfishness? When did that happen?”

  “I basically came in and said, ‘Hi family, I’m still alive, but I’m going to throw myself back into danger and have you worry about my death a second time.’ I should’ve discovered whether they were my family or not another way, then it wouldn’t matter if I did die.”

  “Right, because your death would otherwise mean nothing to everyone else.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I was only half joking. I don’t think you did the wrong thing.”

  “Maybe not, but that’s not the part keeping me up. It’s wondering why I don’t accept Rosemary’s offer to stay.”

  “Don’t you want to find your brother and friend?”

  “There’s no feeling for people I can’t remember. And I probably should let the guild and military handle the Advent themselves, but when I think about living here, my blood cringes. At first I thought it was the pomposity of the people here, but it probably wouldn’t have made a difference if they were farmers, artists, or kings. I would have rejected the notion of living a sedentary life. I think I’m too used to fighting at this point. Maybe I even enjoy it. You heard Kario. I was once a meek, unassertive kid. The Advent took that away, too.”

  Clarissa slung her arm around the back of my waist and placed her head on my shoulder. “I don’t think the Advent changed you,” she assessed after a pause.

  “And what gives you that idea?”

  “You’re going to meet your father, aren’t you? Isn’t he someone who was told never to involve himself with his children? Yet he’s in the middle of his own journey looking for you and your brother. I lived in an orphanage, and not every kid was in there due to dead parents. Some were very much alive. They simply didn’t want any responsibility and dropped them off in the middle of a cold night. Your father is obviously not like that, so maybe you’re just more like him than your uncle, or whatever the Advent wanted you to be. Can’t that be right?”

  I didn’t think so, but I kissed her frosty forehead and said, “Of course.”

  She smiled and we spent a quiet few minutes letting the cool breeze ruffle our hair.

  “Hey,” she said, “What do I call you now? Mercer or Cyrus?”

  “I like the idea of keeping a name I chose myself. Anyway, I don’t want my real name to spread if I ever get this dragon knight thing down.”

  “Good. I like the idea of calling you by the name I met you as.” She saw my mouth open for a big yawn. “Oh? I bore you, do I?”

  “If helping to make a mind uncluttered is the same as boring it, then you’re the most boring person I ever met.”

  Chapter Eleven

  It was late the next morning when I became aware that I was eighteen years old. My nineteenth birthday landed on the twelfth day in the first month of the year, the Month of Ice. Other little facts made themselves known throughout the rest of the day—my favorite food apparently being smoked salmon, a steaming hot potato, and a cup of ice cold milk, for instance. This was confirmed later in the day when Rosemary ordered the cook to prepare it. It tasted pretty damn good.

  As usual, Ghevont had no trouble running his mouth and finding somebody to listen to him. Clarissa stayed close to our red headed companion so she could guard against him spilling too much of our exploits. Thanks to my presence, no one paid too much attention to my companions’ oddities or question their histories.

  It was bizarre living with these people for a day while wearing elaborately expensive layers of clothing made from taffeta, velvet, and cotton. The only item I really liked, and ended up keeping, was a pair of black leather boots. They felt durable and fit much better than the tightening footwear I had worn for a year.

  I think I was surreal to them as well. These were people whom a warrior melded into the background as a bodyguard or a soldier in a far-flung land, not a fellow family member. It didn’t help that
I wasn’t being as forthcoming about my recent history as some wanted me to be. In any event, with everyone knowing I was only going to spend one more night in the manor, no member of the house acted aloof or drifted out of view.

  Despite the formality of their words and garments, I began to sense a palpable connection sprout between the house and I. Perhaps they were the type of people that wouldn’t have given me the time of day had I not been blood, but I, in turn, wouldn’t have given two shits about them had they not turned out to be who they were. What forged the foundation of that link more than anything was the way poor Rosemary watched me with labored longing, hoping that the next idea her adopted son had would be to stay with her. I never before had someone behold me with such emotional intensity. It was a repressed passion that erupted in heavy tears when I met with her the next morning and told her I was glad to have a mother again.

  The voyage back to Dranall gave me plenty of time to think about my expanding family. Not that I wanted the time to do so—I much preferred having battle strategy floating in my mind. Rosemary’s maternal bond in particular made me wonder what my real mother was like, something I had now confirmed could be clarified by my father.

  One lonely night, as I stared listlessly at the sea from the stern of the ship, Aranath asked me, “Do you wish for my view?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Dragon clans do not work like your own. Hatchlings leave the nest a year after they breathe the open air, and even with our long lives we will only sparingly see our kin, so I cannot say how a human should feel in a situation such as yours. However, I can say you now have more to fight for, which means you have more to lose as well. This circumstance has dictated the actions of many a warrior.”

  “I’m fully aware the Advent will use Rosemary and the others against me if they discover my connection to them. I’ll guard for that possibility.”

  “You misunderstand, I am not concerned about your tactical mind. It is the emotional aspect that often leads to ruin. You may believe your lack of memory has detached you from your obligation to them, but I’ve witnessed the mere threat of endangered kin distract warriors long enough to get cut down. Do you believe yourself to be immune to such diversions? If you had to leave a battle to defend Rosemary, would you do it?”

  “You can ask me the same of Clarissa.”

  The deepest part of his throat rumbled. “You are not as rationally developed as I assumed if you don’t realize that the vampire would never forgive you if you left a vital fight for her sake. She is becoming a warrior in her own right, and a warrior would be insulted with the idea that one of their comrades sacrificed so much to save them. If you truly believe the vampire cannot fight for herself after this much time with you, then she has become a burden and is better left wandering Gremly. Conversely, your aunt has no capacity to defend herself beyond compensating others to do it.”

  “So what do you want me to do? How can I expect to know how I would react in your grave situation?”

  “Your reaction should be restrained, but above all, it should not compel you to ignore your obligation as an aspiring Veknu Milaris.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you believe dragons and humans created pacts with each other just to have one abandon their duty in a time of crisis? You and I may be unique in the current world, and we’ve little other choice but to fight for what cause you alone choose, but that won’t make it acceptable for me to someday see you act upon a reckless desire. Petty, humanistic reasons led to the War of Dragon Fire and to the separation of our races. If you wish for me to continue aiding you, then you need to accept that you can never leave a battle you have obligated yourself to. Few acts are as dishonorable to a dragon as that.”

  “Then I’ll be sure to not obligate myself to any battles.”

  He grunted. “We’ll see how that goes.”

  We arrived in Dranall nine days after leaving it. It was two or three in the morning, so there was still half a day before I expected Lucetta at the inn. As it turned out, however, she had left a note telling us to go to the docks and look for her on a two-masted schooner named the Little Lydia.

  After asking around, a dock worker pointed out a ninety foot long ship docked nearby. We walked up the pier to see two people sitting at its end. One was a tall, lanky, clean-shaven man playing a game of cards with a stout, burly woman. A small candle between them lit their game. The woman noticed us first and stood up.

  When the lanky fellow followed his companion’s lead, he said, in a misleadingly cordial tone, “Whoa there, friends. May I ask who approaches?”

  “Tell Lucetta that Mercer is here, and if your captain is with her, tell him Cyrus Eberwolf is here as well.”

  The two sailors glanced at each other with raised brows. The woman then said, “Lucetta told us to expect you. Come aboard.”

  As we followed her shorter steps, the loftier man used his gangly legs to race onto the ship. On boarding the quiet vessel, the woman told us to wait a moment as she tried finding her cohorts.

  She didn’t return, but the other soon came out from beneath the top deck. He was tailed by Lucetta and a mountain of a man. Not only was this man almost as tall as the long-limbed fellow, but was considerably more robust. Disheveled black hair and a short black beard outlined his broad face. His gristly skin was a dark bronze from his decades at sea. Considering he only wore a pair of black breeches and a puffy white shirt that exposed most of his hairy chest, I guessed he had been awakened from whatever dream his adventurous mind invented.

  They stopped a few feet in front of us, and before a complete word could exit from Lucetta’s open mouth, her man said, “There’s no need, Lucetta. I can recognize my own son. I’m sure that’s what you confirmed in Bukuna.”

  “Yes.”

  Neither of us knew what to do or say next, so a silence was birthed from the uncertainty until my father took the initiative a long moment later.

  “You still don’t have your memories?”

  “No.”

  “I suppose I wouldn’t be in there even if you did. Trust me when I say I wanted nothing more than to be there for you and your brother, no matter what you heard from your aunt.”

  “I heard nothing from her about you. We didn’t even have enough time to talk about Lydia.”

  “Good. I’ll be the one to tell you everything about your mother. There’s much to catch up on.”

  “Including what you found on your end.”

  “Aye, we found something, at least we believe we did.” He chuckled. “How strange it is! You were as big as my boot the last time I saw you, and now you’re a fine young warrior. Lucetta tells me you fought her to a standstill even after she poisoned you. You also have your own crew following you to the ends of Orda, as I have mine. Lilly should be preparing our meals now. Come! We shall talk around a table.”

  All of us went below deck and entered what was probably the biggest room in the ship, which still wasn’t all that big. Lilly, the stout woman from earlier, placed down plates of roasted duck and cups of red wine as we took our seats.

  After my crew formally introduced themselves, Lorcan said, “Tell me, Lady Clarissa, what do you think of my boy? Does he treat his friends well?”

  “Very much so. There’s no one else I trust more.”

  “Quite a statement. Lucetta mentioned something about him saving your life, yes?”

  “Yes. I was once foolishly part of a vampire clan. Your son could have killed me easily enough, but he kept his word to a despised creature such as myself and then tolerated my presence long enough for us to become friends.”

  “Good, good. And what of you, scholar? Did my son save your life as well?”

  “Um, how do I put this? He has graciously tolerated my presence ever since I aided him in the killing of my sister.”

  “Now that sounds like a tale.”

  “One that helps explain how I ended up here,” I said. “His sister was a false member of the Advent. It was she w
ho told us where to find her assistant.”

  “You must tell me everything you do remember, Cyrus. What did these Advent do to you?”

  In what was essentially a long sigh of words, I told a brief account of my history, including my corruption and the enchanted sword I used to keep it in check. For the purpose of brevity, I left out specifics like Aranath, Ghevont’s family name, and not naming the noble I met in Qutrios during the valkrean attack. Notwithstanding the vicious way I attained my skills, my father sounded proud that I was a competent warrior, saying he couldn’t wait to brag to his crew about me.

  “If your brother is half as strong as you,” he continued, “then I’d say we stand a good chance of finding him alive.”

  “I’ve perhaps been luckier than strong, but I suspect he would have a better chance if he were half as strong as you.”

  “Ah, mark it down, Lucetta. The first compliment from son to father!”

  “I’ll also have to request that you don’t go explaining my corruption to the rest of your crew. I know you trust them, but-”

  “Say no more, Cyrus my boy. I know it can’t be comfortable living with that kind of power. I won’t make it more so.”

  “Thank you. Well, Lorcan my father, how did your own search for me and Alex start?”

  He gulped the rest of his wine down, shaking his head when he finished. “I have few regrets in life. My biggest is not ignoring your mother and taking her with me when I had the chance. We would all be at sea now, living together and without the worry of this damned kidnapping business. My second biggest regret is not making my visits to Remron more frequent. If I had at least been there during one of the raids… Well, what’s done is done. Alex had already been missing for five months by the time I checked in with one of your aunt’s servants. I began my search right then and there…”

  Lorcan went on to explain the rest of his hunt. One of the first things he did was sell his old ship, the original Lydia, and use the coin to buy his faster and more maneuverable vessel. He also cut his crew by half. The ones remaining were his most trusted friends, men and women who knew each other front and back, drank and fought together, and who would die for one another. With this lighter, swifter crew and ship, and using every connection to the underworld he had, Lorcan inquired in and around Remron about the raids.