Call of the Dragonbonded_Book of Fire

by JD Hart

  By the time Conner was tying the inside pocket stuffed tight with clothing, Bandit reappeared, handing him a deerskin flask of water and a bulging sack of food. Despite Bandit’s persistent demands to get on the way, Conner moved the food to his backpack, shifting the heavier items to evenly distribute the weight. As he worked, he asked softly to hide his concern. “Why don’t you come with me? I could use your help.”

  Bandit threw up his arms to ward off the vexatious suggestion. “No. I’ve never been out of Cravenrock, Conner. I don’t be knowin’ anything about the world out there, so I would more likely be slowin’ you down and gettin’ you caught than be helpin’. Besides, you be needin’ time to make good your escape. I’ll keep the guild thinkin’ you are here as long as I can.”

  “Pirate will find out you helped me. You’ll be in more trouble with the guildmaster than when we were in the stockade.” Conner gritted his teeth at the thought of what the egomaniac—or worse, an Assassin—might do to Bandit.

  Bandit waved away the concern. “I have spent a lot of time convincin’ that imbecile he can work any information out of me that he be wantin’. I be knowin’ how to work his game. In the end, he’ll be completely convinced I had nothin’ to do with your escape. With no hard evidence, the guild won’t be takin’ any action against me.”

  Conner studied the boy while pulling the straps of the pack over his shoulders, looking for any signs the boy might be lying, then shook his head. What was he thinking? This was Bandit. If his lies were seeds, he could grow enough crops to feed the city. Finally, desperation won out. He would have to trust that Bandit would be fine. The leather straps secured around his chest, he nodded gratefully. “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Bandit led Conner swiftly through a labyrinth of corridors and tunnels. Judging by the pull in Conner’s head, they were moving northward, not southward toward the gate. Shortly, Bandit stopped by a ladder and, signaling for quiet, ascended. Conner followed through a hole in an abandoned building’s flooring. After pushing a large crate over the hole, Bandit trotted to a door and down a narrow street continuing northward. Conner moved doggedly on the boy’s heels.

  Within a few minutes, the north side of the dark city wall loomed overhead, blocking out much of the starry night sky and the massive mountain range farther on. While Bandit was searching for something on the ground, Conner surveyed the area. This region of the city was void of buildings, which was odd considering the southern section was so crowded. He wondered if it had anything to do with this side being closer to the Borderlands. Maybe people felt less secure here.

  Bandit’s voice swept that thought away. “Here it is,” Bandit whispered, lifting the end of a thick rope buried in the dirt. “Help me lift this.”

  Following Bandit’s lead, Conner gripped the rope and yanked up hard. The dirt pulled away to reveal a hinged, wooden door covered with cloth, dirt, and a patch of hardy grass.

  Bandit leaned close to Conner’s ear and pointed at the hole that had materialized under the door. “This passageway be for smugglin’ ...” the boy whispered, searching for how best to explain its presence, “supplies into the city. At the base of this ladder, you’ll be findin’ torches and flint to light your way. Take the old tunnel north under the city wall. On the other end, you’ll be comin’ to another ladder leadin’ to a hatch west of the northeast tower. Be sure to be coverin’ it back up before you leave. And do be quiet, or you’ll be wakin’ the guards in the tower.” Bandit winked slyly.

  Conner regarded Bandit in the dim light. He did not want to think about what kinds of supplies needed to be smuggled into a city. Besides, he could sense Bandit’s anxiety growing.

  “You should go, Conner. I hope you be findin’ your bond soon.”

  Or was it that the boy was uncomfortable saying good-bye? He decided to leave any remaining words unspoken. But as Conner squatted to crawl down into the narrow passageway, Bandit gripped his shoulder. Conner glanced back.

  “Kriston Heldcrest,” Bandit whispered.

  Conner blinked, not sure what he meant.

  Bandit released his grip. “My name is Kriston Heldcrest.”

  Conner placed his hand firmly on Kriston’s thin shoulder, a custom he had learned to be the Narwalen sign for friendship. “It has been my honor to know you, Kriston Heldcrest. May the Cosmos light your path.” Turning with a smile, he disappeared down the dark passage.

  Bandit ... no, Kriston hesitated for a moment, staring at the hole that had taken his only friend. Dropping the hatch back in place, he kicked dirt over the rope and along the seams of the hatch. He was no longer a nameless person. A peace flowed through him. At least someone would remember him with admiration. Taking a moment to appreciate his handiwork, he disappeared into the night.

  A Hasty Departure

  Annabelle slammed the bedchamber door to keep prying ears out. Guardsmen had a knack for spreading stories like dry leaves in an autumn windstorm. Pressing her back hard against the door, she folded her arms in front of her, sealing herself in with the source of her constant distress. Every muscle in her body was taut with displeasure. “I can’t believe you are seriously considering this!”

  Veressa was wearing the same Rangers clothes she had worn the previous day when they had met on the range. “Why not? This is not some crazy idea I just came up with, Annabelle.” She paused to give the Ranger a scathing look, daring the woman to remind her of her many crazy ideas. The Ranger closed her mouth with a snap, and Veressa went back to stuffing her saddlebags. “Like most people, I have thought about this day for years. This is my trek, Annabelle; my Calling, my time to discover my place in the Cosmos.” With each my, Veressa thrust a handful of supplies into her leather bags until the seams were ready to rupture. “I will not be put on public exhibition for others to watch. You can’t seriously expect me to go on my trek dragging an entourage of royal guardsmen around my ankles, can you?” The image of Ballett standing over her as she lay on the ground overcome with the Calling made her cheeks hot.

  Annabelle considered her experience bonding with Peron. She regarded the male brown falcon perched on the back of a chair near the chamber balcony. She had found the bird high in a willow tree two days out from her parents’ home, but what an adventure those two days had been. She thought about what it would have been like if she’d had people along critiquing her every move. Yes, a trek was a very private matter between a human, a bond, and the Cosmos. If she’d had to do it publicly, she might as well have been riding naked through the streets of Graystone Castle. Her face flushed at the thought.

  But that was different. Her family had been yeomen. How could Veressa seriously entertain the idea of going on her trek without more protection than what one Ranger could provide? “I would expect you knew your place in the Cosmos, child.” The last word escaped her lips before she could stop it. She berated herself for not thinking before she spoke. Well, the girl was acting like a child.

  Veressa faced her accuser, cheeks even redder than before. “We have been through all of this, so I am not going to restate what we both know. Now, are you coming with me, or am I going alone?” Annabelle might have been Veressa’s protector, but the princess had no qualms playing the royalty card when it suited her intentions.

  Annabelle sighed. Or the someday-I-will-be-queen-and-my-adventuring-days-will-be-over trump card. Would the girl use that well-worn excuse until the day of her coronation? Maybe the girl was impulsive. Or maybe it was her emotional reaction to the Calling. In either case, this was a new level of obstinate even for the princess. Annabelle was running out of options to maintain control of the situation. She lifted her chin as she said, “I could go tell the king what you are about. That would put a decisive end to this discussion.”

  Veressa flashed a sly smile. “You are bluffing, Annabelle. I have made up my mind, and nothing short of shackling me to my bed will keep me in this castle, even when my father knows. You cannot stand over me night and day to keep me here. The only thing your action would
do is ensure I go on my trek without you, alone.” She slung the heavy saddlebags on her shoulder, showering her preceptor with an impatient stare. “Go grab your supplies and let’s be on our way. I have a lot yet to learn.”

  Annabelle nodded at words she could not refute. Still, her eyes drifted to Veressa’s bed. The thick wood bedposts with lavished engravings and gold trim were certainly strong enough to keep an impetuous girl shackled in her bedchamber. She shook her head. No, she was not that desperate—at least, not yet.

  Release of the Hounds

  Lacerus paced across his underground chamber, hands clasped behind his back, aggressively rubbing the ring on his finger to ease his growing agitation. He sneered at the entryway through which Pirate had vanished. It had taken every bit of constraint not to end the guildmaster’s life right there. Something would have to be done, but that required weighing the time he spent cleaning up the man’s blunders against the time to train a replacement. Managing the Cravenrock Thieves Guild was taking more effort than he’d ever thought possible. He had too many other pressing issues for that to continue.

  So Vault had disappeared. If Lacerus had not been so annoyed, he would have laughed at the irony of the name Pirate had chosen for the boy. He ground his teeth, considering the sketchy information he had to work with. Pirate could not state definitively whether the boy was a spy. At least Lacerus had gotten a close look at the boy. His appearance had not left much of an impression. And noting Vault’s reaction when Lacerus dispatched Hook? The boy seemed truly shaken to his foundation.

  A tall, well-built man with a large nose and wavy brown hair appeared at the door, shaking Lacerus from his introspection. Morgas Terranus wore the summer clothes of a seasoned Alpslander, but the longsword he carried between his shoulder blades spoke of something much more. He was not only a master huntsman and tracker; he had been trained by those of the Barbarians and Black Knights Orders across the Borderlands. Lacerus noted the man’s serious but questioning expression as he bowed respectfully to his master. Lacerus could guess what the man was thinking, though Morgas would never ask. Morgas was wondering why Lacerus was giving someone with his extraordinary talents such an insignificant task. The truth was Lacerus did not appreciate loose ends, and this could be a big one. But he would not give his man details that would only raise more questions. As many times before, Morgas would dispatch this assignment with the efficiency Lacerus had come to admire.

  Morgas began. “With but a few coins, I inquired with the city guardsmen at the gate about whether it was possible the thief they are looking for could have slipped past. Everything going through the gate is inspected. No guardsman would have accepted a bribe to let the Eastlander pass unchallenged. Such an offense would be an act of treason and, under Harmonic High Law, punishable by death. He did not escape that way. He must have scaled the city walls.”

  Lacerus pursed his lips. “No, I don’t think so. His ankle would not have healed enough to handle the strain of such a climb. That leaves only one way out of the city.”

  Morgas expounded with a pride that revealed he had pursued that line of thinking. “I personally checked the passage, my liege. The hatch was covered. If he had taken that route, there would have been signs. Besides, it is not likely he knew of its existence.”

  Lacerus’s eyebrows furrowed under the black hood. “Then, Morgas, it seems our Eastland friend acquired the assistance of someone who did know.” He pondered what actions to take as he soothed his falcon bond. Maybe he would dispatch Pirate after all, but that delicious thought was a distraction. “Pick your best trackers and go after the boy. Return the prize to me personally, Morgas, alive and unharmed.”

  His man vanished through the entrance without a sound.

  Alone, Lacerus absently rubbed the onyx stone on his ringed forefinger. He could yet turn this to his advantage, though his options were thinning. There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for Vault’s abrupt departure. From what he had learned about how the Eastlander had completed the guild’s tests, he showed true promise. Further, Hook’s purpose in causing the scroll heist’s mishap eliminated any concerns he had about the boy’s talents. Most in the guild’s clan actually admired the boy. Lacerus’s gut told him that the Eastlander was indeed a gemstone in the rough. But he could leave nothing to chance. This time, he would use more direct means to extract the information he needed. Lacerus still had time to turn Vault into a highly polished gem of great value.

  Part IV

  The force for bonding is irresistible. The Physically bound Being cannot escape the calling manifested through the trek, a communion of the spirit in search of self and the Cosmos to which it belongs. Thus, the Being must remain mindful on the path to see the lessons of truth the Cosmos offers along the way, lessons uniquely designed for that Being’s growth. The discoveries made by the mindful transform what is into what should be.

  —The Modei Book of Water (Third Book)

  Onto the Dragon’s Back

  The first rays of Hemera gave Conner an opportunity to measure how far he had run. The Dragon’s Back Mountains loomed ominously ahead. Tall snowcapped crests outlined the northern horizon, a stark contrast to the heat blanketing the midsummer plains. He had never seen mountains before, so he was humbled by their size. And it was into that great expanse that his Calling compelled him.

  Hemera was already warming the right side of his face and drying heavy dew from his deerskin leggings. But the impending heat was not the only reason he was pushing to reach the base of the mountains. He drank deep from his flask, surveying the plains he had crossed as he considered his situation. He might be naive, but he was no fool. Until he knew otherwise, he would assume Pirate, or worse the Assassin, would dispatch someone to bring him back once they discovered he was no longer in Cravenrock. He could only pray to the Cosmos that Bandit had bought him enough time to lose any would-be trackers in the mountains. Conner owed the boy dearly. Someday, he would repay him.

  He slung the flask strap over his shoulder, giving him easy access to water while he ran. Then turning north, he ignored the slight twinge of pain in his ankle and let the Calling direct his feet. The wide open plains were a relief from the cramped quarters of the Cravenrock undercity. Despite all his woes, he could not help but smile, and he focused on that happiness to lighten the many steps he would take that day.

  Days of neglecting the Calling had left Conner with an intense urgency. He drank sparingly without ever breaking stride. On through the rising heat, rolling plains turned to grassy hills. By mid-morning, he reached the foothills. Cresting his third hill, he spotted a well-worn footpath winding north toward the closest mountain. Unable to divine a reason why he should not take it, he removed his sweat-soaked shirt and angled toward the trail.

  Even at the base of the mountain, he did not slow, forcing his tired legs to carry him on up the rocky incline. He kept his eyes fixed on the path at his feet, afraid looking farther along the steep climb would break his waning spirit. Halfway to the top, Conner’s footing failed him. He went down hard, scraping his palms on the trail’s rocky surface. For several minutes, he lay there, muscles trembling in protest at the energy it took even to breathe.

  His rhythm broken, Conner took the moment to examine the food Bandit—no, Kriston—had purchased with his five coins. Six of the packages were travel rations, a blend of beans, rice, salt, and various meats and fruits for flavor, all cooked, compressed, and dried into tight solid blocks. Each block contained all the nutrients needed for a day of hard travel. He opened one of the packages and cut off a large hunk with his knife. A deep whiff of the tantalizing smell and he sank his teeth into the chunk. After a few seconds of exaggerated chewing, his mouth completely devoid of spit, he was forced to wash the bite down with water. He chewed on a more manageable second bite while examining the rest of his food supplies, which included two packages of dried fruit, a jar of berry jam, several rolled strips of unleavened bread, and a sizable amount of fine beef jerky. Conner marv
eled at the exquisite sight, then laughed, wondering if Kriston’s “friend” had any notion he had parted ways with so many delicacies. He decided it best to eat the travel rations when he could, forage for food as time permitted, and hold the remaining items for special occasions.

  Feeling his spirit return, Conner repacked the food, donned his damp shirt, and slipped the backpack over his shoulders. He would take the next hour more slowly to work out the stiffness in his legs. Humming the lively tune of “Old Man Garland’s Daughter,” he stepped lightly up the trail that would take him deeper into the mountains and closer to his bond.

  Morgas kept the same hard pace he had set when he and his three trackers had picked up the Eastlander’s tracks near Cravenrock’s northeast tower three hours before. Judging by the depression in the grass and the difference in the amount of dew around the footprints, the boy had a six-hour head start. While Morgas had successfully tracked human and animal prey with more than that, he would push the three trackers until he was certain the Eastlander could not slip free. Then they would dog their quarry at a more reasonable pace. And when Vault made a mistake, they would be there to bring him down.

  Morgas raised his hand. His three shadows trotted closer to examine what had drawn his attention. He absently rubbed Valmer’s forehead as his white tundra wolf bond panted, sweat dripping heavy from his tongue. The four human figures studied the footprint in silence. The heat wave blanketing the Narwalen Plains had dried the thick north plains grass prematurely, making it challenging to read the tracks. This print was the first in an hour adequate to get a good reading of their progress. From the lay of the grass around the print, the depth of the depression, the angle and roll of the foot, even the way the toes pushed off, skilled eyes could read the size and weight of their target, how fast he moved, how he carried his weight, and most important, how long the print had been there.