Wind Rider

by Teddy Jacobs

  Wind Rider

  (Return of the Dragons, Book Two)

  TEDDY JACOBS

  Copyright © 2012 Teddy Jacobs

  Wicked Evil Press

  I

  When I woke and found the room around me finally completely white, without the slightest tint of red, nothing even remotely pink, I got up and walked out and hoped never to enter the room again. I’d been in bed for weeks, and spent my time staring at the ceiling, dreaming, and daydreaming. None of it had been pleasant: not the endless waiting, not the dreams that were always the same nightmare — my little four year old feet cold on the stone corridor, the passageway dark and clammy and unfriendly, and up ahead in the welcoming light my uncle and my mother standing together, in their nightclothes, smiling at me. Then my uncle would call out to me: neffe, nephew.

  It had taken weeks for my eyes to clear. The dark lord, my uncle, had burned red into my eyes, all three of them, when he had killed Marga, the mother of my best (and only) friend.

  Once I had been just another sixteen year old, although I can’t say I had a normal childhood – instead of school, I had a tutor, and my parents locked me up in my room to study for long periods of time. The only good thing back then was the time I spent with my blademaster, swinging a staff, and with his wife, Ana, a witch who had taken care of me when I was little. Then I was sixteen, and Giancarlo, the blademaster, had let me pick out a wooden sword. And I’d picked a magical sword, and then everything had gone crazy. First my sword sang to me, making me do this crazy dance, which helped me beat my blademaster in a sparring match. Then later trying to concentrate in my locked room I formed a gateway instead, and pulled Kara, a kriek princess, out through a hole in the wall.

  Kara had been at my bedside almost every day, and my face got warm, thinking about her. We had escaped the castle with the help of Kalle, another kriek, escaped narrowly from a powerful wizard, Gerard, escaped only to be attacked by giant wild boars, keiler, talking beasts who stood on their hind legs when they wished and who served the dark lord. And they had called me herr, or master. And in the battle against them I had killed, for the first time.

  I didn’t like to remember what that was like, but it still kept coming back to me, whether I liked it or not.

  We had stumbled our way into the ancient city, and somehow my blood had told me what runes to touch so we could enter … And the gates had opened, to more trouble.

  I had been tested, and found to be the three-blooded prince, born to unite the three bloodlines and to fight against the dark lord. But if the dark lord was my uncle, where did that leave me?

  We had forged my sword anew, burning the magical wood, melting together the broken pieces of three great swords of old. It was an amazing blade, and I had sung to it during its final forging. That had been a test too. Today at last I was going to start training again. I hadn’t trained since Marga was killed.

  I would never forget feeling her die, her hand clasped in mine. Even though I’d barely known her, her son, Karsten, was my best friend. And her nephew, Elias, what of him? He was so young, but so powerful. Somehow he could suck the energy out the walls around him. I’d been sure that Karsten and Elias would blame me, but it seemed more like they blamed themselves. They too had come to my bedside, and Karsten had told me to come to the cafeteria and see him when I could leave the white room.

  I wished sometimes I could bring her back. But I couldn’t even wake up my parents from their eternal sleep. So I did what I could. I strapped on my sword and walked out into the sunlight.

  The morning was cool and the air was clean. The cool air felt good on my bandaged skin.

  Most of the damage had healed quickly, but I had two cuts that were deeper and harder to heal, one on my left forearm, and another on my temple.

  I breathed in deeply, and felt alive for the first time in weeks. I felt guilty about how good it felt — how could I be happy and loving life when just a few weeks ago I had caused someone to die?

  Not to mention that my parents lay unmoving, and had to be turned every few hours so they didn’t develop sores, had to be washed and cleaned and fed by others.

  So much for my good mood.

  I sighed. But I knew there was no point focusing on my problems. I needed to breathe and exercise. Fresh air and exercise were healthy, and the sooner I got my health back, the sooner I could prepare for war, for battle. If the battle went well, maybe my parents could be made whole again.

  But Marga would never be whole. And I wondered if her son and her nephew ever would be either. I walked towards the cafeteria with a heavy heart.

  The aromas that I’d missed during those two weeks hit me with a wave of nostalgia: remembering those two happy weeks when I had dined here, and made my first true friend… The smell of fresh baked rolls and spices, of pancakes and fried potatoes…I walked into the cafeteria, nearly empty in the early morning. I was still an early riser. And I felt a deep hunger for something more filling than the fruit juices and gruel they had fed me in the white room.

  I went to the serving table and picked out a banana, pancakes, two rolls and some fried potatoes. My tray was heavy as I carried it back to an empty table. It felt like a guilty pleasure, to eat so much, but I needed to gain back the weight and strength I’d lost the last couple of weeks, if I was going to be any good to anyone. Training was grueling work, and I’d need all the nourishment I could pack in. I had to train. Without training, I’d have no hope of saving my parents and avenging my friend’s mother.

  I sat down and ate.

  It had been two weeks since I’d tasted solid food. The food filled me with life and warmth, driving away the cold emptiness and sadness. I tried to eat slowly, to do honor to the food and to the cooks who had been up even earlier than me, working in the kitchen. Cooks like Karsten.

  I had seen his face from time to time in the early days after the attack, when I had been half-blind and half-mad, and asleep much of time, dreaming unpleasant dreams. Later, in the last few days, Karsten had only come around once that I could remember – he’d made a pained smile when I looked at him, and then left, without saying a word. I didn’t know what to say to him – could we ever just be friends again? A war was coming, and the first battle loomed. Would anyone or anything ever be simple again? It was tough for everyone.

  I chewed a pecan cranberry roll, one of my favorites. I remembered the nuts we had roasted and eaten just a few months ago, and the power that came from them. Here, nuts grew everywhere on trees between the houses, providing shade and food. The trees glowed with energy, and I couldn’t tell if they took or gave energy to the city itself. Maybe the energy went both ways. In any case I felt the energy now in my mouth, in my throat, radiating out through my stomach. I chewed slowly, savoring the flavors, and knowing that everything that went into this roll had come from this walled city… the grain, the berries, the nuts… Everything was grown here, in this ancient magical city that somehow had escaped detection, until now.

  Now even the dark lord knew where it was.

  It was all my fault.

  First there was my clumsy attempt to save my parents, which had brought along spying demons, and two parents who were unable to talk, or do anything except lie in bed, without help; then there was my stupid idea to try to contact Giancarlo, as if the blademaster of my father, my own blademaster, would not have fallen already into the hands of the dark lord…

  But what exactly had happened, when we’d scryed Giancarlo? Giancarlo had been my father’s blademaster, my own, and also the blademaster of my uncle, who now called himself the dark lord. Why had we been attacked when we’d scryed him, and who had attacked us? It must have been the dark lord, or his minions, but why? Why kill Marga? What had we been about to discover?

  It was frus
trating.

  If there was no way to empty my mind, at least I could fill my stomach. I chewed on another roll.

  When I had finished eating and my plate before me was empty, I walked over to the kitchen, and left my plate soaking in a basin of water. Two bakers were working, but not Karsten, and that filled me with a bittersweet mix of disappointment and relief. I walked out of the cafeteria and into the sunlight.

  The sun warmed my skin just as the hot food warmed my stomach. It was hard to worry in the early morning sun. Full of food I walked towards Woltan’s apartment. The two weeks I’d been away seemed like far longer, just as the short weeks I’d been Woltan’s student had seemed like months. All together I’d been there for around a month. How long would it take my uncle, the dark lord, to move an army? To prepare a battle? And I’d been on my back for two weeks, doing nothing but trying to heal. I shook my head. It was hard to stay positive. My sword knocked against my leg and I put my hand down to the pommel, instinctively, to steady it, and then I froze.

  A shock ran through my arm and through my body, and then Carolina was there, in front of me, blocking my vision.

  She wasn’t smiling. She seemed in a rage, her face red with fury.

  Why haven’t you contacted me in the last two weeks?

  I shrugged. Why hadn’t I contacted her? Had I been too busy lying down in bed and feeling sorry for myself? It was a hard question to answer, more so to someone in my mind, blocking off all my vision.

  She stared down at me, imperious. I felt very small, and had to remember that Carolina was just a tiny pixie housed in the pommel of my sword.

  You have not even learned to shield your mind from me. I’m not trying to pry, and yet I hear everything. You think I’m tiny; yet if you were in my world, you would find me as tall or taller than you; and so it is right that I look down upon you. Anders Tomason, you should have talked to me sooner!

  You are right, of course.

  There was no point in arguing with someone who had full access to my mind.

  I’m glad you’ve realized that at last, because there are a lot of things I need to tell you. The first thing is that people are staring at you.

  I noticed, embarrassed, that the street was no longer empty. I went and sat down on a bench, and people stopped looking at me.

  You will want to know about your uncle now, I think. I could have told you as much as Marga, and spared you that death.

  I felt like a fool, and it hurt too, what she said. I wanted to be angry but instead I just felt ashamed. Why hadn’t I thought to ask her?

  We all make mistakes. I could have shocked you into contacting me, too, and I should have. Please don’t be too hard on yourself — you are young, although I’m sure you’re tired of hearing that. I am much older and should have been more vigilant, and shielded both of you. My attention was elsewhere, and I feel the same shame as you. We must work as a team from now on.

  I know I have a lot to learn.

  Carolina smiled then. It is hard for me to remember what it was like to be so young. You are the youngest sword bearer I have ever served. Accept my apologies for my harsh words; I am impatient trapped in this fairy house, all the more so when you do not talk to me and I cannot contact you, and help you in your trials.

  I thought time passed more slowly for your kind?

  She smiled again. They’ve always called me the impatient one. My mother was afraid I was part human, once. Everything is relative; for a human I am incredibly patient, for a pixie I am very impatient. That is why I chose to serve in a sword, because I craved action.

  What did you want to tell me?

  Now that I have scolded you I will tell you. You know that the sword and I have been passed down from generation to generation, correct?

  Yes.

  What you may not know is that never has there been a blade as strong as the one you wield; not even the first blade, twenty-five generations back, although that sword at least was forged whole, not of fragments.

  Twenty-five generations?

  You humans have short lives.

  And you remember back my family’s lineage for twenty-five generations?

  I remember when the city you stand in now was being built, stone by stone. And that was but twenty generations ago.

  But that must make you enormously powerful.

  Caroline smiled. It is not just the Book of Id that the so called Dark Lord seeks. He seeks your sword too, and had it not been hidden from him with a trick by your blade master, he would have had me too, and destroyed or imprisoned me, as he knew I would never serve him.

  Giancarlo said you had refused him.

  Luckily for us both your uncle was young and inexperienced then, not nearly as evil, and not a hundredth as powerful as he would become but a few years later. He did not realize what a powerful thing he held when Giancarlo gave me into his hands and I refused to show myself to him. I knew even then he would have stopped at nothing until I served him. And I knew from just a touch of his hand how evil he was, how he was the split from the blood line that had been foretold for centuries; that his nephew would be the one would set things aright, and who would reunite the other two bloodlines. Your mother was both Kriek and Mer, and I do not think even your father realized this; she had been orphaned in a shipwreck, and raised by coastal peoples, done well in school, and worked then at the court, where she met your father.

  And my father? Why didn’t you serve him?

  Your father was special. The moment he held me in his hand I knew he would never willingly kill. He had a respect for life, of friends or enemies, that was too great to overcome. He knew it too, and refused me, choosing to swing a cane instead. It was hard, for I would have served him well, and been proud to. His uncle was just the opposite; he had no respect for life, human or animal. Those two brothers were opposites in almost every way. So I refused one brother, and the other brother refused me, and Giancarlo kept me hidden and safe while the one forgot me and the other did not even realize my existence.

  And my grandfather?

  He died before he could see which of his sons would inherit the sword, or how it would be forgotten. He was a man of peace, too, but he at least wore the sword in his peacekeeping duties. Your grandfather did manage to give instructions though, to a young apprentice of his blademaster, who would soon take over his master’s role.

  Giancarlo.

  Yes, and that is why you bear me now, and why I am not a prisoner of the dark lord or one of his minions, unlike some of my kin.

  He has swords like mine?

  A few lesser blades, with lesser kin, but yes, he does. They are imprisoned and unhappy. And he has many goblins, imps and other evil faery folk who do his bidding, many of their own choice. But know too that Woltan and Jona also have blades, as do others of this city, and there are others among the merpeople and the Kriek. And there are many spirits and fair folk here in faerie who will go to battle, if that is what is necessary to protect the world. When the time comes, I will help you to see them and seek their help, and help you to lead them.

  Thank you.

  Are all your questions now answered? If so, you should go to seek out Woltan. I think he is waiting for you, and you have much to do.

  No.

  You wish to speak of your mother and your uncle, do you?

  I just want to know what happened.

  I can give you tiny bits and pieces. I can only help you make sense of what you saw yourself. I was kept in a weapons room while all that you saw went on, and you were but a boy. I have as many questions as you do, perhaps. I wonder if your uncle left because your mother spurned him, for example. Or perhaps it had nothing to do with that.

  Do you think he became evil because she rejected him?

  He was surely evil before, or I would have accepted him. When he put me in his palm I saw the evil in his present and his future. I saw a little bit of the same type of thing that Marga would see reading your palm. As far as what went on between your mother and you
r uncle, I think you must try to forget about that for now. The truth is sometimes elusive anyway. Try to prepare yourself for this battle. Strengthen your body, your blade skills and your magic. Only with a strong mind and body can you hope to help this city survive, and defeat the wizards who have enslaved your parents’ minds and bodies.

  I know… I just wish I could talk to them.

  Carolina smiled at me one last time. Go now to Woltan; he is waiting for you, and I think he has something to show you as well.

  And then she was gone.

  II

  Woltan was waiting for me, and although there was no smile on his lips, he reached out to me, and put his hand on my shoulder. “I am glad to see you walking, my friend. What happened was hard for all of us. Do not blame yourself; if there is any blame, we share it all equally.”

  “Carolina said you had something to show me.”

  “I want you to know something about the sword I wear – something I haven’t shown you.”

  I looked down at the sword in its sheath next to Woltan’s leg. It was not very long, and did not seem special in any way; but then I opened my third eye, and gasped. The blade glowed an emerald green, a color I’d never seen before, and inside the pommel, I saw a tiny purple light.

  Woltan chuckled. “Perhaps I don’t need to show you after all.”

  “You have a pixie in your blade, like Carolina in mine!”

  Woltan nodded. “She is neither as experienced nor as old as your Carolina, but she is strong and she is loyal and I love her. It was through her that I first heard of you, as well as from one other cousin of hers.”

  It was then that Kara entered the room. I looked at the short blade at her side, and gasped again.

  Her blade shown a tangerine orange, and in the pommel there was a small bright turquoise light.

  Kara smiled. “It is not only the book of Id that the dark lord sought to steal back from my people. He seeks all the blades and the pixies within.”