“Where is the paladin now?” Farnsworth asked.
Slavandria met his gaze. “On his journey to do what he came to do.”
“Does his undertaking involve protecting Hirth in any way,” Crohn asked, “or is he forbidden by your father to use his magic as well?”
“His skills will afford protection, provided certain criteria are met.” Her gaze darted around. Her fingers flicked at her side.
She’s nervous, Eric thought. Why?
“It is imperative he meets,” she paused as if trying to choose the precise word, “the right people.”
Crohn shifted in his seat. Gowran rubbed his temples. Farnsworth exhaled and rubbed both palms over his face. “Eric, would you excuse us please?”
The floor dropped out beneath Eric. His stomach went with it. “Why? What did I do?”
“Nothing. There are simply some things we need to discuss that do not involve you.”
“In other words, I’ve become problematic, right?” Thick, searing, white-hot rage rushed through his body. His hands clenched at his sides. “What could you need to discuss that I can’t hear? Oh, wait. More secrets and lies?” He was surprised by the cool, fluid tone in his voice.
Farnsworth stepped closer and shoved him into an overstuffed chair. He leaned over, his face inches away from Eric’s. “I do not have to explain myself to you. I asked you to leave, and I expect you, as a squire, to do so without protest.”
Anger flicked at Eric’s composure, the steadiness in his voice running away with his fleeting self-control.
“I wouldn’t protest if you treated me like I was something more than a piddly grunt boy, worthy only of sharpening blades and shoveling manure. If you would give me a chance to help instead of always treating me like I’m a festering sore on your backside, you might see I’m not the buffoon you think I am.”
Farnsworth tightened his grip on the arms of the chair, the veins in his arms bulging. His mouth twitched at the corner. “This has nothing to do with your feelings of inadequacy and everything to do with your lack of respect and obedience.”
Eric’s anger seethed. “I am not a dog, sir. If you want obedience, find yourself a mutt.” He shoved Farnsworth’s arm away and stood.
Farnsworth grabbed Eric by the ear, his lips tight. “You are pushing me beyond my patience with your backtalk, young man.”
Slavandria touched Farnsworth’s arm. “It’s all right. Let me handle this.”
Farnsworth cursed beneath his breath and turned away, his hands clasped behind his head.
Slavandria touched Eric’s arm. Threads of calm surged into him, cooling the flames of anger. He met the softness and compassion of her gaze. She cupped a hand on his cheek, the way a mother comforts her son. “Eric, I understand how angry you must be right now, to be told you can stay, then told to leave, but I must speak to the Order alone. It has nothing to do with you being untrustworthy or incompetent. In fact, I have a favor to ask of you. I need you to keep an eye out for something, an object of great importance. It is what I’ve sent the paladin in search of.”
Eric’s pulse quickened. A mage quest? He bottled his excited breaths.
Slavandria conjured a floating vision from her palms. “It is a necklace, a filigreed wreath, about the size of your palm. In the center is a ruby-red dragon’s eye. It is called the Eye of Kedge, and it is imperative to the future of Hirth and all of Fallhollow that it is found.”
Eric’s heart skipped. Excitement tickled his belly so much he wanted to laugh. It took every bit of control to keep from smiling. Oh, Sestian, you imp. You and your box of treats. He reeled in his zeal; his attention focused completely on Slavandria and the item snugged safely around his neck.
“I have no idea where this relic is,” she said, “but should you find it, please give it Farnsworth. He’ll know what to do with it.”
“What does it do?” Eric asked, doing his best to keep his voice steady.
“Think of it as a key,” Slavandria said. “A very important key.”
Eric feigned indifference. “A key to what?”
“Intense magic unlike anything you’ve ever seen.”
He held her gaze, and for a moment his belly tingled as if she knew his secret. He tossed the feeling aside and inclined his head toward her. “Thank you for entrusting me with such an important task. I won’t let you down, I promise.”
His glance darted between the knights, and with a nod to them, he departed and hurried to his suite. Locking his door, he withdrew the necklace from beneath his tunic. He held it up, seeing its filigreed swirls as mere shadows in the moonlight.
“What were you doing with the mage stone, Ses?” Eric flipped the pendant over several times and brushed his thumb across the ruby eye. “Better still, what should I do with it?”
His thoughts turned inward and focused on the promise of something grand. If he turned the key over to Farnsworth now, there would be all kinds of questions. The knights would never acknowledge him for returning such an important artifact, only ridicule him for not turning it over sooner. If he could find the paladin, however, and present the stone in such a way the paladin believed he found it, then Eric would achieve something great. It would be such an altruistic thing to do, to allow someone else to take the credit for something he did. The paladin would achieve praise, and in turn, so would Eric, for being there at the right time, at the right place. Maybe then the Order would see he was capable of doing something paramount without ruining everything else, and Sestian’s secret would remain buried forever in a box of worn shoes and memories.
Eric returned the pendant to the safety of his neck and fell back on his bed. Tomorrow, his adventure would begin. Tomorrow, he would find the paladin.
Chapter 20
David wandered onto the balcony and sat in the corner, his knees drawn to his chest. Below, the town lay quiet, save for the night birds and the gentle slosh of the river against the docks. He closed his eyes and inhaled. The crisp air, rich with the smell of pine, moist earth, and river tang, nose-dived deep into his lungs. The scent whisked away the remnants of yet another hellacious nightmare brimming with pale, lifeless eyes. He spun the ring on his finger, envisioned his bedroom back home and whispered, Accelero Silentium.
A swearword escaped his lips when all four depressing, dilapidated and oppressive walls of his prison remained. He clenched his fingers against his thighs.
“Were you expecting it to work?”
David’s heart plummeted into his gut before it shot into his throat. He jerked his head to the right to find Trog sitting opposite him, arms folded across his chest, legs straight out in front. In the dark, the human tree trunk appeared even more daunting than he did in daylight: congenial and generous as moonlight while burning fierce and merciless like the sun. He was a contradiction, one that demanded both fear and respect. David had no problem providing both.
“Yes.” David swallowed. He rubbed his palms over his face. “No.”
“Let me guess, you were attempting to return home.”
David nodded. “Can you blame me for trying?”
“No, I suppose not.” Trog paused for a brief moment. “What is it like, this Havendale? Is it much different from Fallhollow?”
David snorted. “Oh, yeah. Crazy different. Like night and day.” He stared at the ground. “I miss it a lot, especially Jamocha Joe’s.” He hugged his knees. “I’d do anything for a cup of joe right now.”
“Joe?” Trog’s eyebrow lifted in confusion.
David smiled. “Coffee. It’s this hot drink that smells like nuts and chocolate and caramel all mixed together, and it tastes like … like liquid heaven. I’ll have to buy you a cup someday.”
He mentally face-palmed himself, like Trog would ever step foot in Havendale. Well, maybe he would … when hamsters flew.
Trog nodded, his features softened. “I’d like that.” He shifted his position, bringing one knee to his chest. “Tell me about this Haven
dale. What is so crazy different?”
David grinned at Trog’s attempt to speak like him. He leaned back against the wall, the cold, sharpness of the stone digging into his spine. He gave Trog the five-dollar tour of his hometown, minus the cars, airplanes, and electronic gadgets. After all, it would be futile to launch into an exhaustive explanation of advanced technology to someone who didn’t even know what coffee was. Before he knew it, his life story poured out of him, his words flowing like a rushing river, distinct and animated. When finished, the man knew the gist of David’s life story, right down to the tattoo, the ring, and the fake foreboding letter.
David took a tight breath as Trog stood and walked to him. The man held out his hand, palm up. “May I have a look at the ring?”
David shook his head. “I told you, I can’t take it off.”
“I’m not asking you to. You can, however, stand and let me look.”
David got to his feet and held out his hand, his fingers curled into a fist just in case Trog tried to go all Gollum over his Precious.
Trog held the specimen up to the moonlight, his brow beetled together as he scrutinized it. “Interesting. You said this was the same marking that appeared on your chest?”
David nodded. “Exactly the same. Have you seen it before?”
“The ring or the marking?”
David shrugged. “Either. Both.”
Trog released David’s hand. “The ring I have not seen, but I recognize the work as that of the king’s goldsmith. His initials are etched in the vines. As for the markings, they are the same as those that appear in Gyllen’s Coat of Arms. My sword is also engraved with the same mark.”
David bit back a shiver. A royal ring. He paused, his brain clicking away. “So, does this mean my dad’s a noble or something?”
Trog shook his head. “Doubtful. I’ve seen the royal family present such gifts to commoners who have displayed outstanding acts of valor. It is a treasure, to be sure. The fact the mages enchanted it makes it even more valuable. It also means you are quite special, beyond what Slavandria told you. For you to have both ring and mark means the mages bound you to our world through your father. I will be interested to see what becomes of you, young David.”
“Yeah, me, too.” David ran his thumb over the etching. “So, what do the markings mean? Anything?”
“The rearing bull represents strength and bravery; the eagle displayed—protection by the nobility, specifically the king.”
“And the braided circle?”
“A symbol of eternal life, a reminder we are all one spirit within the universe, under the heavens.”
Pride swelled inside David. His father was a hero, both in this world and his own, but what had he done to deserve such an honor? He had to meet this man. He had to find his father now more than ever.
Trog took two steps and poked his head in the room, then pulled the louvered doors closed.
“Is she still sleeping?” David asked.
Trog nodded. He walked to the railing and leaned against it, his hands clasped together. “Care to share the story between the two of you?”
“There’s nothing to tell,” David said, standing beside the knight. “We’re friends.”
“I see.” A smile almost touched his lips.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” David said, surprised by an unexpected flash of fury.
“Your eyes betray your words, young man.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” David stared out over the shadow of a town, his eyes focusing on nothing.
“There is no reason to become defensive. I simply made an observation. Why do you not tell her?”
David picked at his fingernails. “It’s complicated.”
“Most matters of the heart usually are.” Trog turned to David, his eyes so intense David had to look away. “May I give you a few words of advice? Tell her how you feel. She will appreciate your honesty.”
“You don’t understand,” David said, his mouth suddenly as dry as a desert, “especially now that everything has changed.”
“What’s changed?”
“I’m bound to this place, Trog. She isn’t. What if I have to stay here forever?”
“Then she stays, or she goes. At least she knows what you both face.”
“But what if I don’t want her to stay? I could never, ever make her go through another day like she did today. I’m surprised she’s not flipping out and having nightmares right now. You have no idea how hard it’s been for her, losing her brother. She hates war and death. Today, you made her look at it up close and personal. I’m not stupid. I know there’ll be more. I can’t let that happen. I have to get her home.”
“Don’t you think that should be her decision?”
“No. I have to make sure she’s safe and has everything in life she deserves, someone who will care for her and protect her.”
Trog scratched his chin. “What if that person is you?”
“It’s not me. Trust me.”
“What makes you sure?”
David chuckled. “Did you not see what happened today? While you and Agimesh and Taccar were defending us, I stood there like a moron, my feet planted in the ground like a tree. I couldn’t do anything to protect her. What kind of guy am I if I can’t defend the girl I love? What if we find ourselves in that position again, and no one else is around to fight off the bad guys? What then?” He paused for a moment, calmed his breathing. “Slavandria told me I may have to kill people. That test came today, and I did nothing. Nothing!” He turned away, his gaze on the town. “No. She deserves better than me than this. She needs to go home to her family, where she’ll be safe, where she’ll have all the comforts she’s used to. Somewhere she can find someone who isn’t afraid to care for and shelter her.”
“Don’t you think you’re being rather harsh on yourself?”
David glowered at the knight. “Don’t you think you’ve asked enough questions? I’ve made up my mind, and I’d appreciate it if you would respect that.” He turned to go inside.
“Gallantry does not include choosing another’s destiny,” Trog said.
“Stop it!” David spun around, his jaw hardened, his stomach clenched along with his fists. “You don’t know anything about her or me!”
Trog folded his arms across his chest, his eyes sharp and focused. “I know she’s a free spirit, and you’re a configuration of worry and self-doubt.” His voice softened, but his tone still held an edge. “You let pride and fear guide you. You let them make your decisions. If you don’t learn to conquer both, they will cost you not only the girl you love but your life.” Trog walked toward him and laid a firm hand on David’s shoulder. “Stop feeling so hell-bent on protecting her and let her make up her mind. She is much stronger than you think, as are you.” He removed his hand. “I’m turning in. I suggest you do the same. We have a long trek ahead of us in the morning.”
Trog opened the doors. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but it didn’t come from the sky. His face tightened, turning all warrior-like. He pointed to the balcony floor. “Get down!”
“Why? What is it?” David squatted, his heart thumping madly.
“Trouble would be my first guess.” Trog knelt behind the railing.
The sound of hooves beating the ground and men shouting, drew closer. Lanterns across the square flared to life. Downstairs, the door of the inn opened. The innkeeper, dressed in a sleeping gown, stepped into view, his lantern flickering warm and golden in the dark. Moments later, the horde arrived, thirty or more horses, black as crows, draped in purple fabric, their riders angular and broad. They dismounted and tethered their horses. Purple-gold bandannas hid their hair. Tattoos stained their faces. Hooped earrings glistened in the moonlight while swords and daggers hung from hip and horse.
David gulped his limbs an earthquake of shattered nerves. “They look the same as the guys on the road today. Who are they?”
Proprietors f
rom several inns made their way into the street and addressed the men.
“Dalvarian rebels,” Trog said, “and the men we came upon today on the road were part of that group, soldiers who no longer hold allegiance to the kingdom of Dalvar or its king. They are dangerous.”
“What do you think they want?”
“Blood. War. Revenge. I know their type. There is only one side they would ally with in a skirmish, and it won’t be Hirth.”
A wave of intensity caught in David’s chest. His heart fluttered like a hummingbird in flight. “You don’t mean Einar, do you?”
Trog nodded. “Aye, I do. I’ve seen this before. It is not the first time the Dragon King has gathered an army.” Trog bopped David on the arm. “Let’s try to get some sleep. We need to leave before daybreak if we’ll have any chance of avoiding them.”
David nodded, but he could tell by the tone of Trog’s voice, and the knight’s deadly stance, that at least one of them would be getting little sleep tonight.
***
David tossed and turned. Slavandria appeared in the dark corners of his mind, her voice soothing. Tempting.
Come, David. I need you to wake and come to me. I must speak to you right away. It’s a matter of great importance to you.
What? What is it?
I need you to wake. I need you to come to the Elthorian manor, now. Her voice called to him like a fresh baked cinnamon bun, warm, enticing. Irresistible. Hurry.
David opened his eyes and sat up. Charlotte and Trog were crashed out in their beds. Moonlight streamed through the louvered door. The room was quiet, too quiet. Sleep tugged at his mind, and he lay back down, eyes closed.
David, wake up! Come to me, now!
David rubbed his eyes. “What the hell,” he muttered as he stumbled into his clothes and boots. Still groggy, he stood, took one look at his roommates and with an image of the Elthorian terrace pictured in his mind, he whispered, “Accelero Silentium.”
In the Shadow of the Dragon King Page 21
