“Ipitzi Moria!”
The barrier instantly hardened, snaring the creature just as its sword arm was breaking free from its hold. Ethan sighed with relief. But already he could feel the blood soaking his shirt. Reaching over, he touched the wound. It was worse than he had thought. Self-healing was tricky even for those who were skilled at the craft. For him, it was virtually impossible.
He scanned the room, but saw no one. “Your Highness!” he called out.
Judging by the desk and bookcases, it looked as if this room served as an office or study. A door directly opposite the entrance was cracked open, while another door to his right was shut tight.
Ethan called out again, but received no reply. He glanced across at the Rakasa still straining uselessly against the magic holding it and sniffed contemptuously. The vile assassin was beyond any kind of healing or redemption. Whatever power Shinzan used to change them, it banished any semblance of their former selves. He knew he should pity the creatures, but he could feel only revulsion and anger.
A face peeked out from behind the partly opened door. Before Ethan could be sure it was the queen, a glowing green rod appeared. He threw up a protection spell, but it was unnecessary. A flash of lightning tore across the chamber, passing over his still fallen figure and striking the Rakasa in the center of its chest. The queen then stepped fully into the room, a look of absolute fury burning in her eyes. Relentlessly, she maintained her assault on her would-be assassin for a full minute. Throughout this, the Rakasa shrieked out a continuous stream of obscene curses, its already vile features contorted into an even more disgusting mask as it jerked about in violent spasms of death. Only when it became completely still did the queen allow the rod to go quiet.
Ethan released his hold on the now dead Rakasa. Acrid smoke rising from the creature’s chest had begun to fill the chamber.
“Foul demon,” said the queen. Tucking the rod into her sleeve, she crossed over to Ethan.
He struggled up to one knee. Blood had now soaked his back entirely. “Are you hurt, Your Highness?” he asked.
“Of course not. It will take more than one of Shinzan’s dogs to kill me.”
The frantic stomping of boots outside the apartment could be heard racing toward them. The queen offered him her hand. Reluctantly, he took it and allowed her to pull him to his feet. The pain in his shoulder was beginning to throb and burn with an intensity far greater than he’d expected. She moved to his back and examined the injury.
“Nothing a few stitches and some jamas salve won’t cure,” she announced.
“If you can just have someone stop the bleeding for me, Katyana can heal it.”
“So you are bringing her here,” she responded, a half-smile forming. “That should prove to be interesting.”
Her smile was still lingering when six soldiers rushed into the room. They at once placed themselves between Ethan and the queen.
“Escort Lord Dragonvein back to his chambers,” she instructed them. “He is in need of a healer.” She glanced over at the Rakasa and grimaced. “And remove this filth from my sight.”
After bowing, Ethan exited the room with two of the guards close behind him. The queen was indeed a capable woman, he considered. And courageous. The mere word Rakasa chilled the hearts of most people. But she had not flinched in the slightest when faced with danger; though in truth, he wondered how much danger she had really been in. She had clearly been prepared for such an attack. And possessed a weapon capable of dispatching the creature.
With every step he took, the pain in his shoulder was increasing. The blood flow had not lessened either. By the time they had gone only half the distance to his room, he was leaving a steady trail of blood droplets behind and was feeling light-headed. He paused to rip loose his shirt sleeve, at the same time asking one of the guards to help him tie it over the wound. A deep frown formed on the man’s face when he saw the injury.
“What’s wrong?” Ethan asked.
“I’m not sure,” he replied. “The flesh around the wound is turning yellow.”
Poison, he thought. And if so, there was no time to waste. He sent the second guard off to fetch the healer right away rather than waiting until they arrived at his room. The remaining guard helped him into a nearby library, where he laid him down on a small sofa.
After what seemed like an eternity, a short, middle-aged man pushing a cart filled with various vials of liquids and powders entered. Without a word, he hurried over to Ethan and rolled him onto his side. After cutting way the binding, he examined the wound carefully.
The healer let out a long breath. “You’re very lucky, young man,” he said. “This particular poison is produced here in Al’ Theona, so I have the means to treat it.” Reaching over to his cart, he picked up a vial of yellow liquid. “Here, drink this.”
“What is it?” asked Ethan.
“It will put you to sleep while the poison leaves your system.”
He pushed it away. “I’d rather not.”
The man chuckled. “You say that now. But I assure you that you’ll change your mind very quickly. The treatment is quite painful.”
Ethan shook his head. “I don’t care. I need to stay awake.”
The man shrugged. “As you wish. But remember, I did warn you.”
He rose and began mixing together several powders and liquids inside a small stone bowl. The queen arrived just as he was sitting back down beside Ethan. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes held a glint of worry.
“I’m fine,” Ethan assured her, before she could speak.
She looked to the healer. “Can he be moved?”
“Not yet, Your Highness.” Scooping out a portion of the paste he’d concocted with his middle and index fingers, he turned to his patient. “Are you ready?”
Ethan nodded, suddenly wondering if he should reconsider his decision not to make use of the sleeping potion. But it was too late now; the paste had already come into contact with his wound. The effect was instantaneous. How he managed to stifle an agonized cry was impossible to say. It felt as if a red-hot branding iron had been pressed deep into his flesh. For more than a minute he sucked hard through gritted teeth, still battling to maintain a brave silence. But the pain was spreading all the way down his arm and back, slowly enveloping his entire body in its fiery grip. Eventually, it was more than he could bear. A loud moan escaped, after which he buried his face deep into the sofa cushions.
“How long will he be like this?” asked the queen.
“At least two hours,” the healer told her. “The antidote has to run its course until all the poison is reached.” He raised Ethan to place a bandage over the gash and tied it securely. “I can’t stitch the wound until it’s over. But he should make a full recovery.”
The queen regarded Ethan for a moment. “Very well. I will expect your answer as soon as you are able.” Without waiting for his response, she swept gracefully from the room.
Even when he thought it could not possibly get any worse, the pain increased. Ethan threw his head back and let out a full-blooded cry. As his body went rigid...through it all...he was still aware of the firm but gentle hand of the healer pressing on his chest. He was able to open his eyes just enough to see the man’s face. Where previously he had appeared stern and uncaring, his sympathy and concern were now clearly evident.
“Are you sure you won’t take the potion?” he asked.
Ethan wanted to reply, but another wave of pain robbed him of his voice. He could only shake his head.
The healer chuckled. “Of all the stories I’ve heard about the mages, none would have prepared me for someone as stubborn as you. But I suppose I can understand why you wouldn’t want to be drugged. Being a mage in this age can’t be an easy thing.” He regarded Ethan for a further few seconds. “No. Definitely not what I expected.”
Even without the sleeping potion, Ethan still found himself drifting in and out of consciousness. Sweat soaked his hair and clothing as the salve continued to
do its work. He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed before the pain mercifully at long last began to subside. Eventually, although moving with all the feebleness and fragility of a very old man, he was able to sit up and change into a pair of cotton pants and a new shirt left for him by one of the servants.
The healer escorted him back to his chambers and sat with him for a short time, then ordered him to rest. Ethan was in no condition to argue. Even so, with the worst now over, his mind would not relax just yet. Through the window, he could see the first light of dawn appearing. The gathering brightness became almost a symbol of his now much clearer thinking – the knowledge of what he must do made evident in his dream.
He would agree to the queen’s conditions – but only if she would wait until after he had defeated Shinzan. He would give her his solemn word. In exchange, Queen Berathis would muster her army and aid in the fight.
Any lingering pain had now been replaced by extreme fatigue. Even so, as sleep began pulling him in, his thoughts resolutely fought to stay centered on Kat. How would he tell her? How could he make her understand? He could lie. But she would see through him in an instant. But how could he tell her the whole truth?
Search as he might, he found no answers.
Chapter Four
Renald paused to rub the dull ache in his lower back. This and many other minor pains had been plaguing him increasingly as the strength of the dragons lessened and their protection waned. It would be a terrible loss when they were gone completely. The beauty they had created here in the midst of Shinzan’s destruction was a wonder to behold. Thankfully, he doubted very much that he would be alive to see it finally crumble.
He could feel Maytra. Her power had continued to grow. Soon she would be as large and strong as her years would have naturally made her had she not been cursed. Her voice was the only company he had known for hundreds of years, and now once again, she was all he had left. A sigh slipped out. He hadn’t expected to miss the others as much as he did. Though they had been irksome at times, and definitely filled with the ignorance and stupidity of youth, having company under his roof had assuaged his loneliness and banished the nightmares of his past.
He stared up at the ridge leading to the shore. Every day he came here, always hoping that this would be the one when he at last caught sight of an approaching ship. But thus far, the only signs of life he had spotted were the sirean looking at him with their cold eyes – an open reminder of the blood debt he owed them. He scratched at the spot on his chest where the dagger had struck. For some reason, their presence always made it itch.
The top of the ridge seemed higher and more difficult to reach today. Of course, he could always levitate himself, but then he would end up almost as weary as if he climbed using only his aging legs. Besides, any magic he used these days was being drawn directly from the dragons. They needed every ounce of strength they had left to hold on without him diminishing it.
He glanced over his shoulder. At least the way back home was mostly downhill, and he could always stop to rest beneath an apple or pear tree if he wished. It was still early, and the air was cool and dry. A short nap and a quick bite to eat might well be a good idea.
A sudden tingling sensation in his head quickly dismissed this thought. It was a warning. Someone was nearing the docks. He wouldn’t be able to identify the arrivals until they actually crossed the wards, but they were close enough for him to know that someone was there.
New life entered his tired limbs as he ascended the rise. When the shore at last came into view, his instinctive reaction was one of pure elation. A dwarf vessel was pulling in alongside the dock. But his elation faded as quickly as it formed. Awkwardness and anxiety took hold instead. He had rehearsed what he would say a hundred or more times, but now that the moment had finally arrived, he could not form a single sentence in his mind that made even a scrap of sense.
“Old fool,” he muttered, now uncomfortably aware that he had not changed his clothes for several days. Those he had on were covered in dust and stains, and he knew he must be reeking of body odor. But it was too late to do anything about that now. The dwarves were already on deck and tying their ropes to the dock.
Renald strained his eyes. There was no sign of whom he was waiting for just yet. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest. “Please let him be here,” he whispered. It was taking every bit of his self-control to steady his breathing and keep his hands from trembling. A lone human figure appeared on deck, pausing for a moment before leaping onto the wooden planks of the pier. He spoke to the dwarves briefly, then turned toward the rise.
Even from a distance, Renald recognized him. The serious expression Lynial nearly always held, together with his long, confident strides, were unmistakable. The sight of his son transported him back to the last time they had been together, and with it, the almost unbearable pain of leaving him imprisoned and hidden away.
They halted when about ten yards apart, staring at one another in complete silence for what felt like an eternity. Renald could feel the tears welling. But his son showed no emotion at all.
“You had no right,” Lynial finally said.
Renald did not reply, but tentatively moved closer. By the time he was at arm’s length, he was weeping openly.
Lynial remained still. “Why?” he pressed. “Just tell me why you betrayed me. And why you betrayed your own brother.”
“I know you must hate me,” Renald told him, wiping ineffectively at his eyes. “But that was a price I was willing to pay to keep you alive.”
“You let your brother face Shinzan alone. I could have –”
“You would have died as well. Or worse. I did what I had to do. And of all the things I have done in my life, this is one I shall never regret. You are alive…and here. For me, that is enough.”
A spurt of rage appeared in Lynial’s eyes. “You have no idea what I would like to do to you – how angry I am.” He paused, his hands balled into fists. But after a few seconds, he visibly relaxed and his voice calmed. “As I crossed the ocean, all I could feel toward you was fury...blind fury. But now that I am actually standing in front of you and can look into your eyes...and hear your voice…” His features softened.
This was all the encouragement Renald needed. Unable to contain himself any longer, he threw himself across the small space still separating them to embrace his son, his tears renewed. Lynial stiffened at his touch, but after a moment, returned the embrace.
“Come,” said Renald eagerly. “I have food and drink prepared.”
Now smiling, Lynial allowed his father to lead him by the hand. Once within the confines of the wards, he slowed to examine the lush surroundings, a stark contrast to the barren land he had seen on the other side of the ridge. “It’s exactly like the countryside near our hunting lodge,” he remarked. “Even the trees are the same. Ethan told me that the dragons had done this. But clearly you must have had a hand in it as well.”
“It’s their power that sustains it,” Renald explained. “But I guided the creation.” He pointed ahead to where the cabin was coming into view. “Even my home should look familiar.”
Lynial laughed. “It does indeed. It’s just like the lodge we built together when I was thirteen.”
“Yes. And as I recall, you were none too happy when I didn’t let you use magic to assist us.”
Lynial gave an exaggerated moan. “Don’t remind me. My back still hurts just thinking about it.”
“But the hard work made you appreciate it all the more, did it not?”
He cast his father a sideways frown. “No. And if you remember, mother wanted to throttle you for making me do it.”
Renald chuckled. “Yes. She always detested physical work; she said it was improper for a mage to perform such mundane tasks. Dwarf work is what she called it.” He glanced over to Lynial. “You have so much of her in you.”
“Is that why we fought so much?”
He gave his son’s hand a light squeeze. “Perhaps. But i
t wasn’t your mother’s influence that bothered me. It was your uncle’s.”
Lynial’s tone immediately hardened. “Praxis was a great man.”
“My brother was a great mage,” he retorted. “But as a man, he was rash and arrogant.”
Renald could see the displeasure growing on his son’s face. The boy had admired his uncle so much, even saying once during a heated argument that he would rather have had him as his father. “I loved Praxis,” he said. “But when he enlisted you to join him against Shinzan –”
“He did not enlist me,” Lynial cut in. “I joined him willingly.”
“I know. And I wanted to kill him for allowing it.” He stopped to face his son. “He could never love you the way I do. He sent his own son off to safety, yet wanted to take you with him to certain death.”
Lynial squared his shoulders. “Had you not betrayed me, we could have defeated Shinzan together.”
This drew a derisive laugh from Renald. “You have no inkling of what you are saying. Shinzan is not of this world. Surely Ethan has told you…” His voice trailed off and he let out a sigh. “In my joy over seeing you again, I haven’t thought to ask if Ethan still lives.”
“He lives.” They resumed their walk toward the cabin. “I’ll tell you all that I know, but...” A tiny smile crept upon Lynial’s lips. “But only after you’ve washed and changed your clothes.”
Renald laughed, though it was one shaded with more than a touch of embarrassment. Leading the way into the cabin, he poured his son a cup of wine before gathering a bundle of fresh clothing and setting off to the lake.
He reflected on events along the way. The meeting had gone a much better than he’d dared hope for, though problems clearly remained. Even when Lynial smiled, he could still sense the anger boiling just beneath the surface. His son truly believed that had he been with Praxis, together they could have changed the fate of the world. But at least that anger had now been diluted to some degree by love. It was a small comfort he was more than happy to accept.
Dragonvein Book Five Page 6
