When the boy had fled the orphanage, Azina had been tempted to take him in, but against the odds, the child seemed to find a way to survive on his own. Granted, his life on the streets was pitiful and poverty filled, but he was alive. The longer he stayed alive on his own, the safer he was. Azina started keeping a closer eye on the child. But she kept her distance, only when he truly needed her would she break her vow to not intercede in the boy’s life.
6
“WELL, WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE?” asked Graeme as he came around the corner and spotted the crouching Lyric.
Lyric had thought himself hidden behind the large stone pillar of the supply building. The spot was almost invisible from the students training grounds. The problem was these students were not where they were supposed to be. Lyric turned to the voice. He saw Graeme standing there grinning as his companions spread out and circled around Lyric. He was trapped, he could not escape these boys. He couldn’t move fast enough and they knew it. The evil grins across their highborn faces warned Lyric of his dire situation.
“A big rat,” said Joshua. “A big stinky street rat.”
Lyric could not believe his bad luck. For some reason, the school had closed an hour earlier than normal, and now Lyric was trapped by a group of highborn students. After years of watching them train every day, Lyric knew them well. Graeme was the leader of the group. A big lad, lyric remembered he had a tendency to feint with his left before striking. Graeme was also the son of a noble. Joshua was his partner in crime, another son of a noble-man, Joshua was not a swordsman but a scholar. That didn’t prevent him from hanging out with the other students like Graeme who shared common interests. The other two boys were Martin and Robert; they were in training to be swordsman and looked up to Graeme like he was a god. On more than one occasion, Lyric had seen the band of highborn boys beating on a stray dog or a boy from the slums.
For years, he had managed to stay out of their path. Careful avoidance had kept Lyric safe, until now. “Excuse me, sirs. I got lost a couple of streets back. I’ll be going now.”
“Liar,” said Graeme. “You think no one notices you sneaking around the shadows watching us train. You’ve been coming up here for years. Today is the first day we’ve ever had a chance to catch you. You can thank Master Monluc for being sick today. Finally, we get to have a little chat with you.”
“I don’t mean any harm,” protested Lyric. “I just like to watch you train. You are all so good,” said Lyric. He hoped complimenting the boys on their skills would lead to mercy, but he had his doubts. The fact that they had an afternoon off for the first time in years and decided to use that time to trap him didn’t bode well for his future. Lyric glanced around nervously looking for a way to escape but nothing came to him. Fear set in as Lyric realized how trapped he truly was.
“Of course you didn’t,” said Joshua. “You just like to look. There’s nothing wrong with that. Maybe we should leave the little cripple be.”
Lyric looked as Joshua with hope, perhaps his situation wasn’t dire after all, perhaps Joshua would save him.
“It’s not polite to spy,” said Robert.
“Don’t be like that Robert,” said Joshua. “He’s harmless. In fact, I bet he can help us with our project.”
“Joshua, are you sure?” said Graeme. “You think a street rat can be useful?”
“I do,” said Joshua. He then turned to Lyric. “What do you say, Street Rat? Can you be useful?”
Lyric could see that Joshua was a potential ally. If he could get Joshua to help him, he might just find a way out of this. “Oh, I can be very useful, sirs.”
“Come on, Graeme, give the poor boy a chance. He looks like a smart one to me, certainly no normal street rat,” said Joshua.
“Alright,” said Graeme. “Come with us, Street Rat, and help us with our project. If you do that, we’ll let you keep watching our training with no hassles.”
Lyric could not believe his ears. Were the terrible boys about to be nice to him? He had expected them to start beating him as soon as they cornered him, so this was completely unexpected. Doubt crept into his mind, but what could he do? Lyric started following the boys. His fate was already sealed. He couldn’t escape the boys, he could only hope that by some miracle they decided not to beat on him.
Graeme and his friends led Lyric through the city, leaving the highborn area of the school for the dark, dirty, and dangerously unwatched warehouse district. Here there were very few eyes, only a few watchmen paid to keep an eye on their master’s warehouse. The kind of guards who wouldn’t blink at a commotion as long as it didn’t involve their own territory. When they stopped in front of an old warehouse, Lyric was curious as to what the boys were up to.
“Street Rat, we need you to break into the warehouse. Some days there is guard. If the guard is there, come back out. If he isn’t, wave this flag in the window. We’ll follow you in. Be careful, he’s a crafty one. It’s important you aren’t seen. If the guard is there, we’ll come back another time. You can help us with that right?”
Lyric nodded, “Yes, I can do that.” Breaking into old buildings was easy for him. He really could help the boys out. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. Leaving the boys at the corner of the building, Lyric walked up the door of the warehouse. Pulling a small piece of wire from his pocket, Lyric jimmied the lock until it clicked open. Carefully, Lyric opened the door and slipped inside.
Once inside the old building, Lyric looked around. No sign of the guard. Lyric waved the red flag in the window. Lyric kept walking around the warehouse while he waited for the boys. The warehouse seemed to be deserted. Derelict and dusty, Lyric could see no reason for a guard to ever be here.
Lyric’s thoughts were interrupted by a hard smack against his back. Lyric fell to the ground from the crushing blow. In pain, Lyric looked up from the warehouse floor. Above him, stood Graeme holding a staff. The boy was smiling down at him.
“Stupid Street Rat, what did you think was going to happen?” asked a mocking Graeme. “You thought we’d let a low-born piece of rat shit like you help us?” Graeme emphasized his point by slamming the staff into Lyric’s stomach.
Lyric gasped as the blow forced the air out of his lungs. Coughing and spitting, Lyric tried to breathe. But before he could gather his breath, a kick to the ribs kept him at a loss of breath. Another kick and another struck him in the belly and the face. It didn’t surprise Lyric that the boys had tricked him into the warehouse, what surprised him was that he had allowed it to happen. Normally, Lyric would have bolted at the first chance. What was it that had made him think the boys wouldn’t beat him?
“Oh, don’t be so mean to the poor little street rat,” said Joshua as he kicked Lyric in the stomach.
“Look at you, street rat! You’re a dirty little freak. Purple eyes, dark hair, not one proper freckle on that dark hide. You’re disgusting!” spat Graeme.
Lyric groaned as he absorbed the fact that Joshua had made him think he might be an ally. It seemed that Joshua was the worse of the lot.
The boys beat Lyric without mercy. Stupid street rat had it coming as far as they were concerned. For years he had been sneaking around their school and when they tried to find him he disappeared. Today, the gods had smiled on them. Now they would give the boy the thrashing of a lifetime.
When Graeme and the other boys finished, Lyric was unconscious and in a pool of blood. Joshua added insult to injury by urinating on the unconscious Lyric. The other boys laughed and laughed. Beating on street rats was their favorite pastime. That they had finally caught this one was a glorious thing.
“Let’s go, boys, I’m hungry,” said Graeme as he led his band of high-born hoods out of the warehouse.
An unseen pair of eyes watched the boys leaving the old warehouse. When the boys were out of sight, the watcher went into the warehouse and spotted the body of Lyric laying in a pool of his own blood. The watcher checked for a pulse, and found a weak one. The watcher then pulled out a lit
tle vial and poured its contents down Lyric’s throat.
Unconscious, Lyric had no idea someone had come to save his life.
…
Lyric woke in a warm bed. His body was numb and sore, but the pain was not really the level he expected. The beating he had taken was so severe, it should have killed him. Lyric had felt broken ribs puncturing his lungs before passing out.
How he had survived and gotten into a warm bed was beyond imagine. Lyric tried to look around, but the room was pitch black. Perhaps he hadn’t survived after all. Maybe he was in the after-life, where else was he likely to wake up in a bed?
“Sleep, dragonblood. You need your sleep,” called out a voice from the dark.
Lyric couldn’t agree more, and his beaten and bruised body agreed as well. Lyric’s eyes closed once more.
When Lyric woke once more, the room was light. It was a cozy and comfortable room. It was like nothing Lyric had ever known. An old women sat in a chair across from him. She stared at him as he worked the sleep dust out of his eyes. Her long gray hair flowed down over her shoulder and down her back. Her wrinkled face showed her years yet sparkling green eyes hinted at a vitality beyond what her other features indicated. A large gnarly black staff sat on her lap, it was strange and dangerous looking.
“Good morning, Dragonblood,” said the old woman.
Lyric recognized the old woman. She was a witch. She sold fertility potions to rich men and woman. She mostly worked in the dock areas, and was rarely seen. The street boys all left the old woman alone for fear she would curse them. “I know you, you’re the witch,” croaked Lyric, his pulse raced as he eyed the old woman. Parched and sore, his throat felt like it was on fire. Lyric grabbed at it.
“The pain only comes when you talk. It’ll take a few days for that to wear off,” said the witch. “Those boys just about did you in. I had to use a very strong potion to save you. The side effects include the burning throat sensation when you try to talk, and you’ll have severe stomach cramps for a day or two.”
Lyric’s throat slowly felt less painful, if talking gave him that much pain he would be keeping his mouth shut for a week. It was frustrating not being able to ask the witch what happened, but no way was he going to risk another bout of shooting pain.
The witch got up and left the bedroom. Shortly, she returned with a bowl of soup which she handed to Lyric.
Lyric eyed the bowl with a suspicious eye, was this a potion?
“Relax, Dragonblood, it’s just soup. It’ll help with the stomach cramps and your throat.”
Lyric hesitantly took a spoonful of the soup. It did smell delicious. As soon as the warm broth hit his throat, Lyric felt a cooling sensation. The soup was warm and cooling at the same time. Witch magic, thought Lyric.
The witch watched Lyric with amusement as he slurped down more of the soup. “I know you have questions, Dragonblood, but eat your soup. I’ll tell you a story, one that’ll answer questions you’ve always wondered about. And it will answer questions you never even thought to ask.”
Lyric finished the soup and lay down on the warm bed again. If she was going to tell a story he might as well get comfortable. The bed was the first real one he had slept on since he escaped the orphanage, and their beds were never as soft or warm.
The witch began her story, “Centuries ago, this land was the domain of dragons. This Isle in particular was the home of dragons. Fierce and magical creatures, dragons were feared by all, men and beast alike. As with all magical creatures, some a’kil or magic blooded people were able to have a mind connection with dragons. Those mages grew to great power, often becoming kings or rulers themselves. When the rest of the mages saw how powerful these men had become they conspired against them. For centuries, any mage who showed signs of having a magical connection with a dragon was hunted and killed. The dragons were also hunted. Over time, the population of dragons grew smaller and smaller, until one day they were gone. No one knew if the dragons had all died off or just left, but they were gone. Fearful that dragons might come back one day, the mages put a curse on the bloodlines of the a’kil who could connect with dragons. Every child born with the magic blood would have a mark. The mark of the dragon. So if dragons ever returned, the mages would kill those with the mark, preventing them from using the power of the dragons …”
With his eyes closed, Lyric could picture fierce dragons breathing fire and flying across the sky. He had seen pictures of dragons in libraries on the rare occasions when he could sneak into one, but he had always thought the pictures wrong. He could picture in his mind what a dragon really looked like. He had always just known, but had never really given it a thought.
“Centuries passed,” continued the witch. “Dragons were gone, and those with the mark of the dragon became rarer and rarer. The bloodlines had thinned out and without dragons around to stir new magical bonds, the bloodlines died off until only a few bloodlines remained. I thought all the dragonblood was gone from the Isles until sixteen years ago when one with the mark came to the city. The mage came to the isle as often as he could over the years, staying as long as he could, searching for something. While he stayed, the mage took pleasure with the working women, women in the pleasure trade. One of them became pregnant with child. The woman decided to keep the child and quit the brothel. When the mage returned from one of his long trips away, he found she had born his baby. The child’s dark hair and olive skin being the evidence proving his lineage. The mage was fond of the woman, and liked the idea she was raising his child. He left her ample money to take care of herself and her newborn. He would return every now and again on his searches. When he did, he would check in on his child. Then one time the mage came back to find that the woman was sick. She was dying. The mage would not raise the boy himself, but he didn’t want the child to die either so he paid for the child to be kept safe in an orphanage. The man never saw the boy again, but he kept paying the orphanage to keep the boy safe. The orphanage never told the mage that the boy had run off just after he turned twelve.”
As the witch’s story turned to the orphanage and the young boy sired by a whore and a mage, Lyric started to wonder about the coincidences that paralleled his own life. As the story continued, he realized that the witch was talking about him. Lyric was the boy in the story!
From the wide-eyed look on Lyric’s face the witch knew Lyric understood the story was about him. “Yes, Dragonblood, you are the boy in the story. Your father was also dragonblood. The mark was hidden on him, except from his lovers. Your mother was an a’kil woman, captured and sold into slavery by pirates. The A’kil are an old race, with strong magical bloodlines, your mother hid her true heritage well. The whorehouses on the waterfront bought her and many other women. The women were lucky to land in Winport. Slavery is illegal here, so the slaves were allowed to work off the debt and become free women. Many would stay in the profession as it was all they knew but others like your mother left when they had the choice. Your mother loved you very much, Dragonblood. Your father had his own family in another land, so he could not take a bastard son home with him, but he provided for your care. It is more than most would do for a pregnant whore.”
“My mother was a witch?”
“No. She had the blood but not the talent or training. There’s much more to being a witch then magical bloodline,” replied the old witch.
Lyric was happy to hear the witch’s story. He had known his mother was a whore and that he was a bastard, but beyond that he knew nothing. He had not been old enough to know his mother was sick when they took him to the orphanage. Knowing his mother had loved him, even though he couldn’t remember her, was comforting. That his father had paid for the orphanage and not taken him was a different story. The orphanage had been hell. Being left there was not a kindness by a benevolent father, it was a cruel punishment. Being an outcast among outcasts had been terrible. Escaping the orphanage had been one of Lyric’s best days ever.
“When you were born, your mother brought you
to me. She had seen the mark on your father and was surprised by it being on you as well. She didn’t know what it meant, but she knew she was a’kil, and she knew a little about magic blood so she knew you were special.”
The mark was black as night and shaped like a dragon’s claw. Anyone who saw the mark mistook it for a tattoo. But Lyric had always had the mark, and it changed with time. Every year on his birthday the mark grew bigger. Lyric had always thought a mage must have practiced his spells on him as a baby. That he was born with it surprised Lyric. However, this entire conversation surprised him, so finding out his mark was special wasn’t any more surprising than learning his father was a mage. Lyric had many questions for the witch, but he dared not speak. The pain would be too much. His questions would have to wait.
“Yes, Dragonblood, all will be explained, in time. Go back to sleep. You are going to need your rest. I am going to teach you now. No more hiding in shadows at the war academy, trying to pick up scraps of knowledge. From now on you are my student.”
7
LYRIC STARED AT THE OLD WITCH. “You want me to do what?”
Azina Vastel shook her head. The boy was more useless than she had imagined. “I want you to put your hand over the candle.” Azina had placed a single candle on her kitchen table and was looking at it expectantly.
Lyric's Curse (Dragonblood Sagas Book 1) Page 3
