Lyric's Curse (Dragonblood Sagas Book 1)

by Wideman, Robyn

  “No doctor, Sir. Master Brooks splintered it.”

  “It figures,” said the man. “And don’t call me sir. Call me Micah.”

  Lyric smiled brightly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Micah.”

  Lyric put the vegetables on the shelf beside the fire pit, and went to shake Micah’s hand.

  “Lyric, would you be so kind as to sit on the kitchen table for a minute?” said Micah.

  “Sit on the table?” asked Lyric.

  “Yes, Lyric,” said Azina. “Micah is going to look at your foot.”

  Azina walked over and handed Lyric a mug. “Drink this first.”

  Confused, Lyric drank from the mug. The taste was sweet at first like fruits but then turned bitter, and burned a little as it went down his throat. Lyric made a face.

  “Yes, not the tastiest drink is it, but you’ll be glad you had it in a minute. Now sit on the table,” said Azina.

  Lyric sat on the table. His head started to feel woozy. Lyric laid back on the table and forgot about everything. He was asleep.

  Micah looked at Azina, “How much vela leaf did you put in there?”

  “Enough that he won’t wake up till morning. That boy has endured more than enough pain for one so young. Besides, if he woke up in the middle of the night and tried walking, it might weaken the bone.”

  Micah rolled his eyes, Azina was a softie when it came to pain. She really must think highly of Lyric to be so concerned. Micah then pulled Lyric’s boot off and removed his sock. He chucked the foul smelling apparel in the corner. He then felt Lyric’s ankle. He could feel where the bone was supposed to be, and where it was. Master Brooks must have been drunk when he splintered the leg. That or he took pleasure in seeing a foreign boy become a cripple. Neither scenario would surprise Micah.

  Taking a thick chunk of wood out of his pocket, Micah lined up Lyric’s ankle and gave it a hard smash with his small club. The ankle broke. An ugly snapping sound could be heard as the bone broke in the same place as before.

  Micah eyed his work with satisfaction. Only needing one smash to break the bone was real skill he told himself. He then took hold of Lyric’s ankle and moved it around until it was sitting in the correct place. Micah then took a bowl of magical salve and applied a heavy coating to the ankle and all around it. He then bandaged the leg up. Picking up Lyric off the table, Micah placed him in his bed. When morning came, Lyric would no longer be a cripple.

  “Care for some smoked black-eye, Micah. I suddenly find myself short a dinner mate.”

  Micah smiled with a twinkle in his eye. “Are you adding mint and bumble berry juice to the snake?”

  “Is there another way to serve it?” asked Azina.

  …

  When Lyric woke up, his head was pounding and his throat was dry. He was back in his bed, how had he gotten there?

  “Good morning,” said Azina from the kitchen. “Your breakfast is on the table.”

  Slightly foggy still, Lyric got up and headed to the kitchen. A large bowl of porridge with cinnamon and apples was on the table. It was his favorite breakfast.

  “What happened? I remember sitting on the table before dinner and then I woke up with a headache.”

  “Look down, Lyric,” said Azina with a small grin.

  Lyric looked down, trying to figure out what she was talking about. His feet were bare. Someone had taken his socks off. Lyric blushed a little, it had been a while since he washed his feet. Whoever removed them probably burned the hair right out of their nostrils. Then it hit Lyric. His feet were both pointing straight forward.

  Tentatively, Lyric lifted his foot and tried to move his ankle around. His foot responded as if it had never been broken. Lyric looked up at Azina, his eyes wide with excitement. “Look at my foot!”

  “I’ve seen your stinky foot, up close. I almost died from the smell. From now on, you wash every day.”

  Normally, Lyric would have hung his head in shame at that comment but today he was too excited to care. His foot worked! No more hobbling around. Now when boys chased him, he might have a chance to get away. A very exciting proposition.

  “How did this happen?” asked Lyric.

  “Micah is the best healer in the city. He re-broke your ankle and added a healing salve. Your ankle is as good as new. He used some very strong magical potions and salves to heal you. Normally re-breaking your leg would mean crutches and bed followed by weeks of healing time, but you’re lucky. You might need a few days to remember how to walk properly, but after that, you’ll be as good as ever.”

  “Thank you, Azina. This is wonderful. I’ll be able to run away again.”

  Azina shook her head. “No, you’ll do better at training now. Once we’re done training, you shouldn’t have to run away anymore.”

  Lyric couldn’t imagine not running away, but he didn’t want to argue with Azina. Instead, he wiggled his foot.

  “Eat your breakfast. We have training to do.”

  Reluctantly, Lyric sat down and ate. Despite not eating supper and it being his favorite breakfast, he would much rather be moving around, testing his healed foot.

  “After breakfast, you are going to learn to dance,” declared Azina.

  Lyric almost spit out his porridge. “Pardon me, Azina, but it sounded like you said learn to dance.”

  “I did indeed.”

  …

  “Dancing requires grace and elegance. Good posture and listening to the beat of the music. However, the key to learning to dance is footwork,” said Azina.

  Lyric raised an eyebrow as he watched Azina. He couldn’t imagine her dancing. He couldn’t imagine what she looked like without wrinkles and white hair. Had she been a pretty woman, dancing with all the knights? Did witches go to balls?” The questions intrigued Lyric, but he dared not ask Azina how she knew about dancing. Even with a healed ankle, he wasn’t sure he could run fast enough to avoid a fireball up against his behind.

  “Now stand straight,” continued Azina. She then banged her staff against a rock to create a beat. “Move to the sound.” Thump, thump thump.

  Lyric tried moving in time with her staff hitting the rock, but Azina had been correct. Despite being healed, Lyric had a hard time moving properly. He kept wanting to compensate for his bad leg that was no longer bad.

  “Just keep trying, Lyric. You’ll get it. Step forward, step forward, side step and then two steps back. Side step and two forward, spin around. Two steps back and bow ….”

  Lyric had never seen a dance. He wondered what the music would sound like. What kind of dresses the ladies would wear? Would they laugh at him if he danced?

  “Quit daydreaming and concentrate,” scolded Azina. “Learning to dance will help your fighting. Now glide, pretend you are as light as a feather and your feet are barely touching the ground.”

  12

  SALUS STOOD AT THE DESK of the orphanage master. The orphanage office was as dark and gloomy as the rest of the building. Salus wondered where the money that had been paid to the orphanage had gone, certainly it hadn’t gone into upkeep. It had been a long journey from Partha to the Isle of Droll and the city of Winport, he would be glad to collect the boy from this dreary place and head home. “Where is the boy, Lyric?”

  The master sat nervously at his desk. The boy in question had been gone for years, but the orphanage had not stopped accepting payment on his behalf. “I’m afraid he is gone. There has been a mix up in paperwork. He’s been gone for years.”

  “And yet, you keep accepting money on his behalf? I’ll wait while you gather the coin for a refund,” said Salus.

  “Refund? Nonsense,” said the master as he nervously shuffled paperwork. “The boy left of his own accord. We kept a bed and food available for him this whole time. It is not our fault he is gone.”

  Salus leaned over the desk. “Tell me, Orphan Master, why would a boy with no family or friends leave the orphanage?”

  “The boy was a foreigner; foreigners don’t do well in Winport.”
r />   “The boy was born in Winport,” said Salus.

  “It doesn’t matter, his mother was a foreign slave girl turned whore, and his father was not of the Isle. The boy had olive skin, dark hair and purple eyes in a land of freckles and reds. What did you expect to happen?”

  Salus put both of his hands on the table and leaned in, staring into the Orphanage Master’s eyes. “I expect that you took money to care for a boy. Gold coin is not foreign here.” Salus lifted his hands and turned his palms up. Flames jumped into the air from above his hands. “I expect a report on the boy’s location by the time I finish my breakfast tomorrow morning. Is that clear?”

  Nodding nervously, the Orphanage Master answered. “I will have all our boys scour the streets. They will find him.”

  “For your sake, they better.”

  …

  Braylon watched Salus leave the orphanage. By the look on his face, it was obvious the boy was not there. The boy was either dead or living on the streets. It could have been something else, but the odds were very high that he was dead or a street rat.

  Walking away from the orphanage, Braylon headed back towards the docks. He knew where Salus was staying and would follow him again later, but for now he had to find someone.

  As Braylon moved through the crowd, a young boy stepped in front of him by accident. Braylon slowed and felt a bump on his hip as another body bumped into him. Salas reached out and grabbed the shoulder of the boy who had bumped into his hip.

  The wiry youth glared up at Braylon. “What’s your problem?”

  Braylon reached into the boy’s pocket and retrieved his coin pouch. It had been a good lift; the boys had worked it well. However, Braylon knew a thing or two about stealing. “Next time, push on the mark’s arm when you’re snatching the coins. That way they are distracted from their purse going missing. The hip is too close to the pocket.”

  Caught in the act, the boy shrugged his shoulders defiantly. “Ya, whatever, mister. Now let go of my arm.”

  Braylon took a copper out his purse and held it in front of the boy’s face. “I’m looking for someone.”

  The boy’s eyes focused on the coin, “I’m listening.”

  “About fifteen-sixteen, grew up in the orphanage but may be living on the streets now. Probably darker skinned like myself.”

  “You talking about the cripple?”

  “Tell me about this cripple,” said Braylon, before adding a second coin to his hand.

  “Dark hair, dark skin like yours, he has a gimpy leg and walks funny. Not sure how old he is, but he’d be pretty close to the age your talking about.”

  “Where do I find this cripple?”

  “Hell if I know. I don’t associate with crippled street rats. He’s a sneaky one, hard to catch despite the leg.”

  Braylon handed the thief the coins. “I’m staying at the Beggar’s Choice Inn. If you bring me information to his exact whereabouts, I have more coin for you.”

  “Hey, what you want with a cripple anyways?” asked the thief suspiciously.

  “Does it matter?” asked Braylon.

  “No, not really. How much coin for finding him?” asked the thief.

  “Five coppers.”

  “Make it one gold piece and you have a deal,” said the thief.

  “Two silver coins and if you find him today, an extra two coppers.”

  “What room in the Beggar?”

  “Twelve, and don’t bother trying to steal from me. I’ll cut the throat of the first one that tries.”

  “Ha, you’re an untrusting sort. I’m going to go find the cripple. Have my coin ready.”

  Braylon smiled, “Oh, I will.”

  13

  “TELL ME AGAIN ABOUT HUMANS,” said young Kemoth.

  Apophis groaned and moaned as if dying. “Oh, I’m not feeling good, perhaps another time.”

  Kemoth blew flames out his nostrils. “You old faker! You’ve been pretending to die for twenty years now. Please tell us about humans.”

  Apophis looked past Kemoth towards the cabal of younglings behind him. “I suppose you all want to hear about humans too?”

  Wings flapped in excitement, multi-colored heads nodded in excitement and yips of encouragement rang out. No matter how many times Apophis told the stories of the time before the island prison, the young ones always wanted more.

  “Fine, today, I will tell you about King Shamus.”

  “Not King Shamus,” said Kemoth with a groan. “Can’t you tell us about the evil Brotherhood?”

  Apophis shook her might head. “No, Kemoth, It’s important to learn about all humans. Not just our enemies. There has been plenty of talk of enemies, let’s learn something of the good humans.”

  “What did King Shamus look like?” asked Ovalia, a young brown-blue. Ovalia was a strong voice among the younglings, one that rivaled young Leomaris for future leadership potential.

  “King Shamus, like all full grown humans was roughly the size of a red scale dragon. Yet they almost all have white skin and little growths of hair on top of their heads.”

  “They don’t have a secondary color?” asked one of the younglings.

  “No, humans have different traits. They all look alike until you get up close. Some have different color hair, eyes or shapes, and because they wear clothing, it’s even harder to distinguish them. It’s best to learn their scents to tell them apart.”

  “Can they do magic?”

  Apophis nodded her head. Yes, their magic is different from ours but can be very powerful. But very few humans are magic users. They tend to prefer spears and arrows as weapons.”

  “They don’t have claws?”

  “No, human’s claws are called hands. They aren’t strong like our claws, but they have great dexterity. Humans build things with their hands. The most wonderful things. Huge caves made of wood and stone to live in. Carts to travel in, brightly-colored clothing, evil, nasty weapons. Things beyond imagine.”

  “Nelarth says humans are stupid,” said Kemoth. “How can they build such amazing things if they are stupid?”

  “Nelarth has a tendency to blur the truth,” said Apophis. “Humans are smart. They are as smart as dragons. Some humans may even be smarter, but humans are like bad younglings. They do impulsive things. They do things based on emotions. They love and hate without reason, and often will inherit ideas that stay with them a life time.”

  “Humans sound scary,” said a timid young brown-red.

  “Some are,” agreed Apophis. “However, some are like King Shamus who was very kind to dragons. King Shamus, before he was a king, was a human who liked to hunt. He would venture far into the mountains of Droll to find deer and game to eat. One day, young Shamus was hunting far away from the cities, deep in the mountains when he came upon an injured gold-blue. The gold-blue had been in a fight with a black-red, and his wing was broken. The gold-blue could not fly, could not hunt and had no herd to care for him. Shamus came up to the gold-blue and stalked it. Shamus intended to kill the gold-blue. But when Shamus snuck up to the gold-blue, he looked into the eyes of the gold-blue he felt sad. The gold-blue knew it was likely to die, either from starvation or at the hands of another dragon or a human, it didn’t move as Shamus approached. Shamus decided to help the dragon. He took a branch from a tree and tied it to the dragon’s wing. He then applied herbs and magical salves to the wing. Every day for three weeks, the man hunted in the forest and returned to the dragon with food. After two weeks of this kindness, the dragon spoke to Shamus. “Why do you save me?” asked the dragon. Shamus explained to the dragon that when he looked into his eyes, he felt something special. He felt a bond to the dragon, one that he could not explain. The dragon said nothing, but he too felt something special about the human. After the third week, the human untied the tree branch from the dragon’s wing. “Try it now,” said Shamus. The dragon flapped his mighty wings and rose up into the air, he flew off into the sky. That night the dragon returned to Shamus to sleep by his side once again.
Not as an injured creature looking for assistance but as a friend. The gold-blue dragon and Shamus became friends for life,” said Apophis as she finished her story.

  “Is it true?” asked one of the young dragons.

  “Why don’t you ask Leomaris?” said Apophis. “It was his grandfather in the story.”

  The young dragons all turned to one of the small gold-red dragons, “Leomaris? Your grandfather had a human?”

  The young dragon nodded, “That is the same story my mother told me. But there is more to the story of how Leogran, the gold-blue helped Shamus become king.”

  “That is true,” replied Apophis. “However, that is a story for another night. I am weary, these old bones need sleep if they are going to fly back to the old lands soon.”

  14

  “HELLO, LYRIC,” SAID THE BUTCHER as Lyric walked up to the shop counter.

  “Hello, Archibald,” said Lyric. “It’s a fine day.”

  “You’re a popular young man,” said Archibald.

  “What do you mean?” asked Lyric.

  “For two days, I’ve had boys in here asking about a dark-haired olive-skinned boy, both street rats and boys from the orphanage. I’m not the only person they’ve been asking questions. What did you do?” asked Archibald.

  Lyric frowned, why would anyone be looking for him? Surely, they weren’t looking for him. “I didn’t do anything. We haven’t left the house in two days. I’ve been training extra. This is my first trip to town.”

  “Well, something happened. You better get back to Azina’s before someone sees you.”

  Lyric nodded. He wasn’t sure that they were looking for him, but just to be on the safe side he’d follow the butcher’s advice.

  “Here,” said Archibald, as he handed Lyric two packages.

  “Two?” asked Lyric. They never got more than one at a time.

  “A roast for supper, and a large amount of jerked beef. Just in case.”

  Lyric wasn’t sure what “Just in case” meant, but he wasn’t going to ask. He already had enough to think about with word of the children looking for him. “Thank you, Archibald. I’d better head back.”