Pseudo-Dragon
By
Cheryl Matthynssens
Copyright © 2016 Cheryl Matthynssens
All rights reserved.
ASIN: B0189OSNCU
Dedication
This book is dedicated to all those who have supported me in 2015 through cancer treatment. From those that just would not let me give up, to those that helped with financial support when I couldn’t get this book out on time. As I write this, I am in early remission and I can only credit all the support from fans, friends, family and doctors. There is not one in that list more important than any other.
Acknowledgements
I wished to acknowledge Alex Hunt and Robin Chambers for their editorial and general guidance for improving my writing. As many of you that read Outcast know, I have come a long way since my first novel.
I wished to acknowledge my beta readers for all the input and excitement they shared during the editing process. They are truly a wonderful part of my editing team.
Lastly, I wished to acknowledge Russ Matthynssens who has been my caregiver through chemotherapy. He listened patiently as I read and reread chapters to him. Writing with chemo brain, (a real thing I assure you), was a real challenge, and he was a great sounding board and support during this difficult time.
Prologue
The city streets were empty as Alador fled down them. Much of the council and fifth tier mages were still at Luthian’s ball. He slipped in Henrick’s front door and made straight for the library. He found the library door open and shut it behind him as he entered. Like himself, Henrick had changed his clothing, dressed in simple black trousers and tunic. Alador tossed his cloak to the side as he moved to his father who was standing next to the fireplace.
“How is this possible? How could a Goddess show up like that in mortal form?” Alador asked Henrick as he joined him at the fireplace. His voice held an edge of panic only reinforced by Renamaum’s reaction.
“Very easily for one of her power and knowledge. There are spells that allow another to take a certain form. There are also spells that allow one to inhabit the body of another and take over their will. A goddess of Death would probably even have volunteers for such an honor,” added Henrick with a bit of panic.
Henrick slammed his hand onto the mantle. “These spells are spells we have touched on in the past and forbidden by the council. I suspect that, being a Goddess, she has those spells at her fingertips.” Henrick did not look at Alador as he spoke, but instead, stared into the fire.
“If she unites with Luthian, we are doomed.” Alador paced back and forth.
Henrick looked up and smiled coldly. “Not necessarily. If she takes a mortal form, she also accepts the frailties of that form. To fall and die here would diminish her greatly, if not destroy her on the plane of the gods. If nothing else, it would weaken her to the point that she could not interfere for some time.”
Alador stopped stared at him wide eyes. “Oh shite, no! I am not taking on a goddess. What would the other gods do?” Alador puffed up as if speaking as a god. “There is the mortal that brought about the downfall of our sister goddess.” Alador ran a hand through his hair as he let the mimicry go. “No mortal would survive such godly scrutiny.”
Henrick shook his head. “I did not say you should. I merely pointed out that she is less powerful if she moves about in our world in mortal form.” Henrick moved to the table and instead of pouring wine, his usual drink, he poured them both a stiff drink of smalgut. He held the cup up in offering and Alador did not miss the subtle shaking of his hand.
“She also will not have access to a godly eye on all her followers. It might be better for us that she is here. If she favors Luthian then we will know what mischief she is doing.”
Alador shook his head. “It would depend on when she got here. What if she knows my plans? What if she tells Luthian what is to come?”
Henrick pressed the drink into his son’s hands. “It does not matter. Either we will both find guards on my stoop in the morning, or we move on as you have directed.” Henrick downed a good half of his glass. “The goal will be to stay out of her gaze at least until Renamaum is absorbed. Right now, a goddess will know that there is a dragon within you.”
“And after he is absorbed?” Alador pressed. He sipped the drink and wrinkled his nose at the burn.
“Then she will likely be confused.” Henrick held one hand palm up then the other. “Here stands a dragon that is not a dragon. Should you ever face her, it might either intrigue her or confuse her enough to give you an edge, an advantage.” Henrick considered then added. “Maybe.”
At those words, Alador took down a big gulp of the smalgut. The thought of facing any god was terrifying; they were gods because they were powerful. The knowledge that this one just happened to be the Goddess of Death only added fuel to that fire.
“Why would she come to the ball like that? She said she was not invited.” He frowned, for he knew that Luthian had been just as shocked as they had been. However, it was clear by both their mannerisms that the two had met before.
“I suspect she was making a declaration to Luthian. It was clear she had power, and it was clear that she wanted it acknowledged before his court. No other woman would have dared to treat him like that.” Henrick was choosing his words carefully. “Any other woman would have been publicly humiliated or worse. The fact he did not deny her or rebuff her spoke volumes. He was either afraid, or he truly welcomed her despite his surprise.”
“I am fairly certain he was afraid. He lost color--I hadn’t thought that possible--and his eyes…” Alador replayed the scene in his head carefully. The young mage had watched the woman as she had glided into the room, as if she were the High Minister, herself. The way her chin had tilted in arrogance, the dismissal of Lady Aldemar, and her manner of speech to Luthian were all indications if her perceived power and contempt for those beneath her which had drawn the eyes of everyone in the room. Her pale, unearthly beauty was a sharp contrast to what would have been a scandalously cut black dress on any other woman. Had he not realized she was the woman from Jon’s wall, he would have been as captivated as the rest of the court.
Henrick was silent for a long moment. “Then we must consider that he may be under her control, or spell, and if nothing else, her influence. I would not mention her unless Luthian does, best not give away you know who she is, and it is best we do not speak of her unless we have to. Her ears are everywhere; even the ravens answer her bidding.” Henrick glanced to the window then downed his drink. “I think I will find my bed. It has been a long day.”
Alador nodded. He finished his glass as well, hoping the burning liquid would help him find sleep. However, with all that had happened since they had awakened in the valley that morning, he doubted sleep would find him for some time.
Chapter One
Sordith watched from his hidden position behind a bookcase. It was a small area that Henrick kept spell books in, though Sordith could not help noticing the empty spots where there was no dust. Obviously, Henrick had removed some things before he had shown Sordith this small unseen alcove. The small enclosure was left open slightly allowing only a view of Henrick. With a clear view of the mage reading in the chair, he would be able to read any changes in posture.
Henrick had placed the chair in such a manner so that he was in Sordith’s view and facing a mirror that would let the mage watch the veranda door. Sordith had warned him that the assassins would most likely strike from there, as it was unlikely they would want to risk a scene or battle with any servants in the hall. Even so, Henrick had given his servants the night out just in case. The roo
m was as ready for their trap as the two men could make it.
Sordith had hand-picked the men to assault Henrick based on his lack of trust in them. He had paid close attention to those who had surrounded the mortally injured Guarin. Sympathizers had swiftly made themselves known in the way that they had responded after Guarin returned from attempting to help Kester become the next trench lord. The chosen men would die here tonight, solving two problems. By allowing them to attack the prepared mage, he would lower dissension in his ranks as well as attempt to follow through with Luthian’s order to kill Henrick.
Sordith was uneasy. He had placed his father — that he had only just found — in a position of life or death. It did not help his uneasiness that Henrick seemed so relaxed, just reading his book, as though he did not have a care in the world. At least the man put on a good show.
The first hint that matters were starting was not a shouted warning from Henrick, or even the assassins; it was the mage’s sudden action. His book seemed to disappear from his lap to catch an arrow. Sordith heard the small dull thud and blinked to see the arrow quivering in the cover mere inches from Henrick’s head. He cursed under his breath; the aim had been perfect. Henrick would have died right at that moment had he not been warned. A sharp whistle pierced the air and both the inner door to the hall and the other to the veranda flew open.
Sordith squeezed the hilts of his blades. He had promised not to reveal himself unless things looked dire for the mage. His eye was pressed tightly to the slim line of vision. Henrick had bolted up from his chair, sending it crashing to the floor. Henrick’s robe flared as he turned so that his back was to the fire. Sordith could not help it, he pushed the case a bit wider so that he could see. He doubted any would notice in the commotion.
He watched as Henrick sent a wave of fire across the floor toward the three that had burst through the hall door forcing them to dive out of the wave’s path. The mage then pivoted to the two coming in from the veranda; his hands swinging around as fire reformed within them. Sordith shifted uncomfortably. What did Henrick consider dire, if not this? It was already looking rather grim enough to call for assistance in the younger man’s mind.
Sordith watched with his mouth agape as mundane arrows leapt from the bows of both assassins and arrows of fire burst from Henrick’s hands simultaneously. Even as the fire arrows struck home, Henrick took an arrow in the shoulder; the second barely missed as the mage pivoted from the first’s impact.
'That’s it…' Sordith thought, ' ... dire enough for anyone!'
Sordith burst from his hiding spot, leaping towards those who had been forced out of the path of the wall of flame. The carpets were now burning, but fortunately, they were only throw rugs that took up small portions of the floor.
The nearest assassin looked startled to see the masked man bearing down upon him. The man was able to deflect the first blow from his position on the floor. He opened his mouth to scoff, but uttered only a startled gasp as Sordith’s second sword impaled him.
The other two men from the hall had already vaulted up when Sordith turned to face them. Now that Sordith had the attention of these two, Henrick could focus his attention on the two men who had entered from the veranda. Sordith moved to close the distance. Having lost the element of surprise, his swords came up as the two remaining men rushed him.
He was able to slip his sword beneath the first blow. Not wishing to have to fight two men at the same time, Sordith kicked this man back as he also attempted to block the second man’s blade coming in from the right. Though he had been able to deflect the first blow that came from this second opponent, he was unable to parry a second blow, as like Sordith, this man also used two blades. The man swung his second sword across Sordith’s right side, managing to just pierce through Sordith’s armor before the trench lord fell back.
Sordith cursed and pivoted to face the man who had managed to cut him. This put his back to Henrick as he worked to keep the two men from the hall in front of him. The mage was on his own.
Sordith managed to connect with both blades of the second opponent deflecting them away. He spun and brought his blades in from underneath. His opponent managed to block one, but Sordith’s second blow bit deep into his thigh. Blood welled up out of the wound; as the assassin growled in anger and pain, he glanced at Sordith’s left. Sordith caught the first opponent’s movement out of the corner of his eye. Thankful for the telling glance, he was able to pivot in time to meet the man’s sweeping blow.
Sordith stepped back in an attempt to get both men back in front of him. The one whose thigh he had cut retreated as he attempted to stem the bleeding. The smoldering fire made the air thick with smoke, and his eyes were watering. The only consolation to Sordith was that these two men fought the same difficulties.
As the one with a single blade rushed him, Sordith used both blades to shove the blow down and to his left, then back swiped with his right hand across the man’s throat. Blood sprayed over Sordith as he kicked him back onto the smoldering carpet.
Sordith turned towards the man with the two swords. The man’s eyes were filled with fear. He could not offer this man mercy; he had picked him due to his threat, and no one could leave this room for the plan to work. He moved across the short distance, putting this second opponent on the defense.
The sound of colliding steel rang out as the two men circled, exchanging rapid blows; the movement of flashing steel parried by one then the other. The sound of an explosion to his left almost made Sordith lose his concentration. He steeled himself as he was reminded that there was a fire mage behind him. His opponent, less prepared, dropped his defense slightly. Sordith took the advantage and slid his sword deep into the man’s chest. The man’s eyes widened with pain as he looked down at his chest in disbelief, then sagged as he slid off Sordith’s sword to the floor.
Sordith did not pause to make sure the man was truly dead. He needed to see to Henrick. He danced around the smoldering carpet to see that Henrick had dispatched one man, who was curled in a blackened ball on the floor. The mage stood facing the leader, a man that Sordith had been certain was about to make his move to become the next trench lord.
Sordith did not want to take the risk of Henrick sustaining further injury. Seeing that the mage’s opponent had his back to Sordith, he dropped his swords and three knife blades flashed across the room with the same deadly accuracy that he had shown to the previous of trench lord. The poisoned blades sank deep into the man’s back, dropping him to his knees. He looked behind him to see Sordith. The Trench Lord lowered his mask, taking pleasure from the widening of the dying man’s eyes as the realization he had been betrayed sank in.
“Should’ve kept your plans closer to your chest, Ameil.” Sordith watched with satisfaction as those eyes clouded and the assassin collapsed forward onto the floor.
Sordith swiftly picked up his swords, sweeping the room with his eyes for any stragglers who may have joined in. The only sounds were the strange hissing of the carpets and Henrick’s labored breathing.
“You all right?” Sordith asked as he moved across to the mage.
“I have been … better,” Henrick muttered, his voice rough and grating. He glanced at the arrow that was still lodged in his left shoulder and Sordith’s gaze followed the mage's. Henrick also had blood oozing from his left side, if the trailing dark stains across the pale grey robes were to be believed.
“Can you put these fires out? Then we can see to that.” Sordith coughed as the smoke continued to thicken. Sordith wiped his blades on Ameil before sliding them into their scabbards. He pulled his knives from the man’s back and repeated the action before replacing them into their respective sheaths.
Henrick took a moment with closed eyes then stared at the carpets. It seemed to take him a long while to put out the flames. Sordith imagined that the pain of his wounds was likely interfering with spell casting.
Once this was done, Sordith helped Henrick into a chair. “This arrow is going to have to come o
ut,” he said.
“In my desk, second drawer down, there are a couple of healing potions.” Henrick’s speech was slow and labored. “It looks to me as if we both might be in need of them. Take the one for yourself first. I’d prefer you to have a steady hand before you go pulling an arrow out of my skin.” Henrick closed his eyes, his face pale.
Sordith moved swiftly to the appointed drawer and pulled out two potions, both clearly labeled for healing. He splashed some into his cut then drank the rest of the first small bottle. The immediate relief from pain was welcome. He grabbed the other and set it on the side table.
“Let me pull this and put some in the wound. If you take it now, it will likely heal around the arrow.” Sordith’s own breathing was beginning to slow from the exertion of battle.
Henrick just grimaced and nodded. Sordith realized that the mage probably knew that better than he. He shook his head somewhat in awe of the man’s composure in the face of such pain.
Sordith felt around the back of Henrick’s shoulder and discovered that the arrow had not gone all the way through. Judging by the depth of the arrow shaft, it appeared the shoulder blade had stopped it. Pushing it on through was not an option.
“I am going to have to pull this out the hard way,” he said, surveying the angle of the arrow.
“Just do it,” Henrick spit out. He ripped off his sleeve and wadded it up; shoving it into his mouth, he then set his teeth against it.
Sordith waited until Henrick nodded. He pulled the arrow free hearing the skin tear as the arrow reversed its path. Henrick screamed out in pain despite the warning, the sound muffled against the cloth in his mouth. Blood boiled from the wound, and Sordith snatched up the potion. He poured some into the wound in the shoulder. Henrick spit out the wad of cloth so that Sordith could feed the rest to the mage.
Pseudo-Dragon (The Blue Dragon's Geas Book 4) Page 1
