Call of the Dragonbonded_Book of Fire_The Dragonbonded Return
Page 30
The soft snores of the dragon and the warmth of the crackling fire lulled Conner deeper into sleep and he drifted into a nightmarish landscape. The sound of a great warhorse rose from behind, hooves pounding the charred and dried road. Conner glanced over his shoulder. In the distance, the Assassin rode like dark lightning on a magnificent ebony steed, his black cloak flapping in the sharp wind. From beneath his hood, the Assassin’s eyes seared into Conner, seeing through his pathetic attempts to hide the panic rising in his bones. As in Cravenrock’s undercity, Conner’s knees went slack at the sight. Bent in terror, he shook and sobbed. He wanted to flee before the Assassin.
Skye watched with piercing blue eyes as Conner fumbled with the saddle strapped to the dragon’s back, fearless of the approaching black death. The dragon laughed at the boy’s comical attempts to climb into the black leather saddle, too large for Conner’s puny frame. Below, the crowd had stopped cheering him. He gazed down into the blank faces of the Cravenrock city folk. Their passive stares became the knotted and contorted jeers of the Cravenrock city guardsmen. They pelted him with their accusations. Some laughed at his antics as he tried to ride the dragon; some shook their fists, asking where he had been all these years; others screamed at him, calling him a charlatan who should be hung for his crimes.
He felt frail and weak. His cockiness from that day on Cravenrock’s wall was gone, along with the confidence he’d had when he faced the Sorcerer in the dark street of Pennington Point. A feeble part of him fought back, grabbing for something solid, and he found Caralynn’s arm. But the Ranger apprentice turned with the same accusatory expression and slapped him hard across the face.
Conner bolted awake, nearly shouting aloud before realizing he had been dreaming. Except for the crackling embers of his dying fire casting eerie shadows across the small clearing, all was still. Huddled near the fire, he could hear Skye’s deep breathing nearby, accentuated by occasional twitches, snorts, and grunts. The residual trauma of his nightmare echoed through his mind, cleansing away any remnants of doubt he might have had. I am bonded to a dragon. Conner repeated the words over and over like a mantra until its significance chilled his very soul, stealing away his spirit. For in the vacuum of its place sprang forth something new—a self-loathing for having the audacity to imagine being Dragonbonded. And with the humiliation of his limitations came a newfound sense of urgency to find this Grandmaster Shaman Rollingsworth as soon as possible so that he could return home to the life he was always meant to lead.
Epilogue - The Kindred
“I have news that could force us to reconsider our plans yet again,” Lacerus thought to the ethereal spirits assembled in the Psychic plane. He had summoned this gathering of the nine Kindred, whose clandestine membership included a representative from each of the Anarchic orders—and a few from the orders within the Harmonic Realms.
“It is too late to stop what has begun, Brother.” Breanen’s waving form lashed back. Even here, the wife of the Sovereign Prince of the Necromancers assumed the shape of an old woman wearing dark Necromancer robes. “We have begun building our necro-army. Our minions gather more cadavers to fill the ranks. Those in our order work even into the dawn hours when our energy ebbs so that we may complete our task on time. What news do you bring that would force us to alter our course?”
“I have evidence that a bonded dragon is among the Harmonics.”
Several of the Brothers wailed in agitation.
“Enough!” the Brother named Jarvus of the Warlocks Order commanded. “What is this evidence?”
Lacerus continued. “I possess a rock imbued with dragonfire. Further, my man described finding a cave filled with the pulsating rock at the very apex of the event predicted by the Oracles of the Mystics.”
There was a long pause. The weaker Brothers grew restless in the silence.
Jarvus asserted, “We have no choice but to proceed as planned. Citadel Farlorde is the closest Anarchic fortress to the apex. Groegan, we will see that you are given a small force of Barbarians to take across the Borderlands to hunt down this dragon and his human bond. Those of us in the Anarchic Lands will make up whatever story is necessary to gain the support of the Anarchic order councils.”
Tenarian’s form added, “Find strength, Brothers.” The doyen of the Harmonics’ Mystics Order paused until the lesser forms settled. “None remember the old human-dragon bonds. Even more, their abhorrence to heed their ancestors’ failings will be their unraveling. If we can reach the dragon first, it is possible to turn this revelation in our favor. This may indeed be a blessing from the Cosmos rather than an ill wind in our sails.”
Nothing more to debate, the forms dissolved away.
Lacerus sat in the dark chamber deep under Cravenrock recovering from the Travel. The rock on his desk bathed his solitary chamber in pulsing spectral shadows. Nearly forgotten memories drifted across his consciousness, memories of a time called many names—the Great War, the Anarchic War, the War of Breaking. Warrior Heroes in long-pitched battles until they were awash in their brothers’ blood. Grotesque screams of men, horses, and bonds lit up like candlewicks under Sorcerer spells or ripped asunder by Shaman undead. Great castles pummeled with spells forged by teams of Mystics until the bulwarks crumbled, burying their defenders beneath the rubble, while hordes of Rangers flooded over the debris to take out their bloodlust on the unlucky survivors. And holy Cardinals of the Paladins Order turning on their brethren, shouting crazed proclamations of blasphemers and heathens among their Holy ranks, then burning half of their own at the stake. Oh, wondrous and glorious memories indeed.
Sensing dawn was nigh, Lacerus placed the glowing rock in a box behind his desk. And with sudden spryness in his step, he began the journey that would take him to his chambers high in Cravenrock Keep above, where he would resume his arduous duties as Marcantos’s preceptor Blake Friarwood once more.
Carnia hesitated only a moment before winging silently behind.
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BOOK 2: ORDER OF THE DRAGONBONDED
Being bonded to a peevish adolescent wyvern can be pretty irritating, and Conner Stonefield wants nothing more than to ditch his dragon and get back to his simple life. But he soon discovers that the dragon may be the only one on his side. While human and dragon struggle to find common ground, word reaches both the Harmonic and Anarchic orders of the first human-dragon bonding in over five hundred years, and an urgent race to find the pair begins.
Meanwhile, Princess Veressa finds her bond, but her connection with the animal is stronger than she could have imagined. And the future that’s revealed to her in a vision veers far from the path she is expected to take. When tragedy strikes, Veressa is faced with a host of new responsibilities, and she must find the courage and wisdom to begin making difficult choices.
Unforeseen circumstances force Conner and Veressa to cross paths again—this time resulting in a connectio
n that will prove anything but fleeting.