The Horsk Dragon (Swords of the Bloodline Book 1)

by A. R. Wilson

  “Fancy but functional.” He sloshed more water under his arms. “The sleeves look like they have some kind of glove attached at the end.”

  Arkose stared at the ceiling, his brow furrowed. “These people are strange.”

  “Greatly.”

  “Do you really believe we’re safe here?”

  “What other choice do we have? We can’t leave Kidelar behind.”

  “I know.”

  Jurren slunk down to give his hair another rinse. Shaking out the excess, he rested his elbows on the barrel’s edge. “We should go check on the dragons.”

  The man nodded, wadded up a blanket, and threw it at him. “Cover yourself up before you dress. We aren’t that close.”

  It almost made Jurren laugh. He tucked the blanket under his arms and climbed out. Swiping his new clothes off the table, he returned to the loft.

  Arkose called from below. “This thing has more straps than a tack and bridle set for a team of horses.”

  “Do you need me to come dress you?”

  “Pass.” Arkose dragged out the sound in a tone that suggested he wasn’t in the mood for humor.

  Jurren grinned. There were a lot of straps, and they did take a few minutes to figure out, but as he finished, he realized they provided for numerous folds and pockets, which would be handy in the days ahead. A set of boots stood behind the stack of blankets. Picking them up, Jurren heard the chink of metal against metal. Further back sat a pile of small daggers.

  Probably to replace the ones I lost. Unexpected, but generous.

  After tucking the supply of blades into the folds of his clothes and boots, he picked up the blankets to put them back where they belonged. A dual scabbard with a three-strap attachment lay underneath. One of the sheaths was slightly wider than the other. The slits he noticed at the top of the cloak suggested someone designed the scabbard and clothing to be a matching set. But why would he need a second sheath? He only had the one sword.

  Until I find the Sword of Einiko.

  He strapped the scabbard into place.

  “Amador told us to stay here until someone came for us.” Arkose walked to the middle of the room to look into the loft.

  “You clean up good.”

  Arkose shrugged. “Better than you, I’d wager.”

  Jurren smirked, grateful his friend had found his sense of humor again. He swung his legs over the edge, and hopped down. “I’ll take that bet.” Raking his fingers through his wet hair, he walked to the door. “But first, we need to find at least some way to check in with the dragons.”

  As he opened the door, a voice barked at him. “Where are you going?”

  Standing in the doorway, he looked around to see who spoke. Why did these people constantly hide?

  “I want to visit my dragons. They do not know where we went or if we are safe.”

  After a few moments of silence, Amador walked forward. “I will take you to them.”

  The hooded man parted the trees to form a path back to the lake. Watching tree roots pull out of the ground and moving like some kind of snake brought waves of vision to Jurren. Calm waves of reassurance that he was on the right path. It was hard to know which to trust: the suspicion of his gut instinct or the comfort of Ellesha Shan Shair’s gift.

  Somewhere up ahead, the sound of growling mixed with sloshing water. Amador stopped parting the trees to look back at them.

  “That would be the sound of your dragons attempting to dismantle the forest at the south end of the lake. I’m sure you can find your way from here.”

  Jurren watched him stride back toward Chlopahn. “How will we find our way back to our room?”

  Amador paused without looking back. “Someone will always be watching.”

  The hooded man disappeared behind a tree as the path around them closed in on itself.

  Two roots slithered under Arkose, and he nearly tripped stepping away from them. “I hate this place.”

  “Sounds like Logan hates it too. We better settle them down before they wear out our welcome.”

  Arkose nodded, rubbing a hand along the back of his shaved head. Curling his lip, he stepped around the clustered tree roots. “You know that feeling you get from stepping on a snail?”

  “What?”

  “Those weird chills when your boot hesitates for a moment right before you feel a shell give way under your foot? And you realize you killed something without even knowing it was alive?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Walking in this forest feels like that.”

  Jurren shrugged. “If they don’t like us stepping on their roots then they can move out of the way.”

  Arkose snorted a laugh.

  At the water’s edge, Jurren saw Logan pushing against the trunk of a tree, uprooting it, then climb on top. Cale did the same to another, slinking out of the mud, while Helmsley lay with his head barely above the water.

  “Logan!” Jurren waved his arm high.

  The purple dragon bared his teeth as he turned his head. “Where have you been? And why are you dressed like one of them?”

  Arkose trudged through the water. “What’s wrong with Helmsley?”

  Logan continued to sneer. “He’s exhausted! These damn trees give us no room to move, and we dare not leave without our riders.” His eyes narrowed to near slits. “Some of us take the vision given to us seriously and abide in our roles.”

  Jurren dove in, striking out hard across the lake.

  Once at the other side, he stood with his arms out. “You said you would take care of them. What reason did I have to doubt that?”

  The tree beneath Logan creaked and started to roll. Roots slashed upward then stabbed into the mud. The trunk shifted, bending to right itself. Jurren staggered back, narrowly missing a swipe of Logan’s tail as the dragon struggled to get on all fours. Fire bellowed across the water from the dragon’s frustration.

  “You win.” Jurren moved several more steps back. “I had no idea when I left you last night you would find no rest.”

  Smoke wafted from Logan’s nostrils. “When do we leave?”

  “I don’t know. Someone named Lord Marvae told us Kidelar needed at least two days of treatment. They took him somewhere we are not allowed to go.”

  The dragon snorted more smoke as a glow formed between his teeth.

  “Logan, we need to get you some rest before you do something you will regret.”

  Jurren stood his ground as Logan sloshed closer to him. “Never underestimate my strength, son of man.”

  “It is not your strength I question, only your self-control.”

  The pupils in Logan’s eyes seemed to flex. “I am controlled. Why else is this wood not burned to the ground?”

  “Amador speaks to the trees and they move. Perhaps we can ask him to move them on your behalf.”

  Logan’s gravelly voice grated past his clenched teeth. “I do not trust them.”

  “Nor do I, but for the moment, we are at their mercy.”

  Pinching his eyes in scrutiny, the dragon tilted his head. “You speak to the trees.”

  “I don’t speak the language of Chlopahn. We need Amador’s help.”

  “Do it!”

  He’s lost his mind! Jurren slogged through the mud toward the nearest tree. The only thing worse than dealing with crazy is trying to argue against it.

  “Umm... Great trees guarding the people of Chlopahn, please allow room for my companions to rest.”

  Roots sucked out of the mud all along the shore. Dozens of trees pulled away from the lake, forming a path onto dry ground. Creaks and groans shuddered around them as more and more trees walked deeper into the forest. A clearing opened wide enough for all three dragons to stretch out their full fifteen feet from tip to tail, laying side-by-side.

  Logan’s eyes stayed little more than cracked slits. “You are one of them.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  A dark purple tail flicked against Cale, prompting him to walk toward the c
learing.

  “This forest only protects its own. Now we know who you really are.” Logan averted his eyes as he had done with Montanya.

  He has completely lost his mind!

  “We will speak more of it tomorrow.” Jurren took several more steps back to make room for the lumbering reptiles. “For now, let us all rest up for the days ahead.”

  “Indeed, we will.” Logan refused to look at him as he walked past.

  Arkose stood waist deep, staring wide-eyed. “How did you do that?”

  Jurren stumbled from a wave sloshing into him as Helmsley trudged after the other two dragons. “You saw. All I did was ask them to move.”

  Rubbing his hand against the back of his neck, Arkose nodded. “You didn’t even hold your hand out like Amador did.”

  “Maybe these woods aren’t as secure as Lord Marvae claims them to be.”

  “Or maybe someone is watching, like Amador said.” Arkose waded toward a clump of tree roots. “So much for our new clothes.”

  “Mud rinses out easy enough.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.” Jurren splashed water against his leg to dislodge a clod of earth.

  “Last night when we first arrived, you had a memory from your vision, didn’t you?”

  “When the trees first parted? Yes.”

  “Was it a good memory or a bad one?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Logan snorted and thumped his tail on the ground. Sheesh! That dragon has an attitude. Jurren motioned for Arkose to follow him around the lake.

  “When you swam under the pond to find Montanya. Right before you went down you told Kidelar to search his vision to understand why you needed to go in. He hesitated, saying someone would get hurt. And now this. So, I ask you, was the memory you had when we arrived here good or bad?”

  Jurren hopped to the next jumble of roots. “Neither. It was more of an affirmation that we were in the right place.”

  “So, what next?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “You can’t just search your vision?”

  “It’s not that simple. The images Ellesha Shan Shair gave me are more like a jumble of disconnected information in the form of a bad flu.” Jurren grabbed a branch to steady himself over a tight knot of roots. “Needing to know truth helps some of the images match up. But even then it’s like there is a deeper instinct pointing me forward. Like the vision is trying to organize itself. Each time it shifts it rips into another part of my soul until I want to puke.”

  “Sounds complicated. And unpleasant. No offense, but I’m glad I didn’t go with you down into her lair.”

  Standing on the far side of the lake, Jurren looked back at the dragons. “Hopefully those trees stay parted for them. They’ve definitely earned their rest.”

  “Are you going to try and part the trees to head back?”

  “How about you try?”

  “Me? You’re the one they listen to.” Arkose held up his hands, wiggling his fingers in a mock gesture of being scared. “You’re one of them!”

  “I dare you to try.”

  He turned his hands toward the forest, continuing his display. “Oh mighty trees of Chlopahn, let us go back to our room!”

  Silence. Arkose gave a sideways glance to Jurren. Shuddering rolled ahead of them as the trees pulled up and away to form a path.

  “For a moment there, I almost thought Logan was on to something.” Arkose gestured for Jurren to take the lead.

  Jurren shook his head as he walked past his friend. “Enough. Let’s see if this path will actually take us to where we want to go.”

  They walked for several minutes, the trees eventually opening into a clearing. After crossing through, the trees made a path leading farther into the forest. The path stopped in front of two trees with no roots exposed above ground. A small glint of metal winked at them from behind a clump of leaves along the intertwined branches. Jurren reached out and grasped the handle of a door. Branches leaned sideways, revealing entry to their room.

  “It’s a good thing the trees know how to find this place.” Arkose glanced around. “I still can’t see any walls through these branches.”

  Jurren stepped inside. “I’ll be glad when we get some word on Kidelar. Even more so when we can leave.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Tascana sat in the dark with her back against the wall. Overhead, a few stars twinkled through the gaps in the clouds, but she couldn’t bring herself to take notice of their beauty. Stars were something she loved in another life. In another world. A world where she felt safe and in control. Where monsters existed only in fairy tales and prisons were something long abandoned by her people.

  Was all this really her fault? Could she have avoided Tretchin Valley, Jerricoh, and the dragon by giving all the scrolls to Kidelar the day she found them? She would never know.

  Spending the past few days with Arnya helped. Learning something new was a pleasant enough distraction. But evening always required her to return to the place Dellia and the other humans called home. Not even the distraction of needing to bathe could delay going to that place. For some reason, no one in this place ever became dirty or smelly. Twice she thought of saying something about it to Arnya, and both times she changed her mind. Did she really want to know? If even a fraction of the answer was the spell placed on her by Jerricoh... She couldn’t bear the thought of his lingering presence following her here.

  Tonight, her heart felt so heavy on the walk back that she slumped against the wall next to the door, unable to enter. Going in that house felt dirtier with each passing day. Like slime invading her soul. She didn’t want to be a part of their family. Nor did she want to adjust to life trapped in a mountain valley. A freedom-shaped hole burned in her soul, yearning to be filled.

  Light flickered along the ground from a lamp moving past a window. Gentle creaking from the other side of the wall signaled someone was coming downstairs. The door latch clicked. Someone poked their head out. Tascana didn’t look up.

  The door closed. Waist-long blond hair swept past Tascana as Dellia sat next to her a few feet away.

  “Not ready for bed?” Dellia wrapped her arms around her knees, sounding casual as ever.

  “Not really.”

  “I don’t blame you. My first few weeks here were hard too. I don’t think I slept through the night for almost a year.” She picked at a rock in the dirt. “Every little sound triggered a nightmare that I was back in that castle.”

  Not this again.

  Tascana forced a nod. “I bet.” There had to be some way to distract her from rehashing this topic. “So, what’s with the gloves?”

  Dellia held up a hand. Leather wrapped her palm and wrist with thin straps laced along the back of the hand to cinch it in place.

  “The Festival of Hands is coming up in a few days. I’ve been practicing the routine I’m performing.”

  Okay, I’ll bite. At least this topic doesn’t involve talking about feelings. “What’s the Festival of Hands?”

  “Every year on the first full moon of summer we throw a huge party. You will absolutely love it! There is juggling, knife throwing, acrobats, and lots of food. The kind you make only once a year because it takes so long to prepare. Everyone who has a talent involving their hands is invited to perform.”

  “What’s your talent?”

  “It’s a surprise.” Dellia glanced at her and stifled a laugh. “You hate surprises, don’t you?”

  Tascana pursed her lips. The only thing more annoying than that girl wanting to be her friend was how well she pegged every mood with a single glance.

  “Okay, I’ll tell you. I’m pretty good with a sword, not that it does any good around here. But I like it. Swinging a blade, getting in a rhythm, feeling it balance just right in my hand. It’s the only time I forget I’m trapped in this place.” She picked at another rock. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. I hope you also know you don’t have to. The only reason I say an
ything is so you’ll know you’re not alone. Others are trapped here too.”

  Hair swept past Tascana’s face as the girl stood and brushed the dirt from her gloved hands. “Good night, Tascana.”

  “Night.”

  The door opened then closed. She pulled her legs to her chest and pressed her forehead into her knees. How was she supposed to have a good night in a room identical to the one back home? Knowing The Master watched her long enough for Arnya to replicate her room from memory caused slugs to writhe in Tascana’s stomach. How much had he seen? And what was he watching for?

  She shuddered, racing her hands along her shins. This whole place was so creepy!

  Pushing to her feet, she finally decided to go inside. Last night she fell asleep at the table and ended up with a kink in her neck. The night before she had dragged a pillow and blanket downstairs to sleep by the fireplace and woke to the pathetic fathering of Chalance warning she might catch fire.

  Tonight, she would try to return to that room.

  Standing at the foot of the stairs, she nodded to herself. “I can do this.”

  The moment her foot touched that first rise, her mind conjured up the sensation of horse manure squishing between her toes. When would it end? Would this place ever stop feeling so creepy? There was nothing under her feet other than stupid boards of wood.

  She trudged up the stairs. Once in her room, she closed her eyes and walked to the bed. Flopping down face first, she pulled the pillow over her head. If she so much as looked at a single detail in the room it would happen again. Those stings of regret and longing. She thrust the pillow over her ears, trying to block it out, but it came anyway. The memory of Mother’s voice sang through the makeshift barricade.

  “Tascana, please, come back here. I need your help today.”

  “Oh, good. You’re home. I was getting worried.”

  “I love you, sweetheart. I hope you know that.”

  “I always pray when you’re out after sunset.”

  Hot stabs filled her eyes. She tightened them. How many days, how many months, had she treated those words as if they came from an annoying little sister? And yet, Mother continued to pursue her with love. All those wasted opportunities to say, ‘I love you too.’ They were gone. All gone. Nothing but a valley full of mutated mole people, a room designed by espionage, and the fear that if she escaped then Jerricoh was sure to find her.