In the Shadow of the Dragon King

by J. Keller Ford

  He glanced between the knights. Heat, like hot oil, swashed across his face. “You set me up. You told him to do this.”

  Farnsworth glared at him. “Where were you going once you got out there?”

  Eric spat. “Why don’t you tell me? I’m sure your little spy has told you everything.”

  “What did you and Sestian have planned?”

  “Nothing!”

  Farnsworth shook his head. “Fine. It’s your game. We’ll play it your way.”

  He and Gowran reached for Eric.

  Eric dodged their grip, turned and fled into the dark passage.

  Running.

  Running.

  Such betrayal. How could he have been so naïve?

  He ran a shaky hand across his face, his breathing heavy and uneven.

  Must get away. Prove my worth.

  Wham!

  Eric bounced back and hit the floor with a thud. A match struck the wall.

  A torch jumped to life. Crohn’s face glowed demon-like before him.

  Footsteps approached from behind.

  “Come on, Eric,” Farnsworth said. “Let’s go.”

  Eric pumped a fist against his forehead. His spirit was squashed.

  Farnsworth and Gowran lifted him from the ground and led him back the way they’d come. They didn’t release him until they arrived at his suite of rooms.

  Eric jerked out of their grasp and watched as Gowran locked the door to Trog’s room.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked. “Why are you treating me like a child?”

  Gowran paused for a moment and stared at him as if the words he wanted to say would spew out at any moment. Instead, all he said was, “I’m sorry,” and left the room.

  The door locked.

  Eric beat his fist on the door and yelled, “You’ll be sorry. All of you will be sorry.” He turned and paced, his breaths fast and short. “How dare they treat me this way? I’ll show them. I will get out of here and do things they only imagined.” He fiddled with the pendant around his neck. “Yes, Sestian, they’ve pushed me too far. You always said rules were for breaking. I’m going to break every one they put on me, and there’s nothing they can do to stop me.”

  Chapter 24

  David and Charlotte straggled behind Trog, their feet so tired they could barely place one before the other. After what seemed to be a gazillion hours, they reached Palindar, a small hamlet nestled deep within a forest glen in the Sankara Mountains. Cold and exhausted, they leaned on one another as Trog roused the proprietor, a spindly old man with bony knees poking out from a dingy nightshirt. With oil lamp in hand, he led them down a narrow dirt path and let them into a small cottage with a thatched roof.

  “T’aint much,” the old man said. “Kitchen, stove, three beds, but it’s comfortable enough.”

  David made his way to the first bed to his right, dropped his belongings, and collapsed. He never heard the proprietor leave.

  ***

  David woke on the floor, his mattress over his head. He tossed it aside and sat up.

  “Good morning, Firefox,” Charlotte said, staring down at him from a wooden chair.

  David yawned and scratched his head. “Morning.” He looked around. “How did I get on the floor?”

  Charlotte handed him a bowl of oatmeal and a wooden spoon. “Trog put you there. He’s been trying to rouse you for the last twenty minutes. When you didn’t respond to his last bellowing, he picked up the mattress and tossed you out.”

  “Where is he now?” David asked, shoveling the food in his mouth.

  Charlotte shrugged. “I don’t know. Said he’d be back in a few.”

  Her eyes scanned him, and she smiled that smile that made him forget everything else in the world. He looked away, his body swimming with feelings so intense they were almost obscene.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He stood and walked to the window. Pressing his nose against the cool glass, he closed his eyes, wishing the soft pitter-patter of the raindrops would wash away his need for her.

  She touched his shoulder and his body electrified. He needed to turn her power off, but how could he when all he wanted was to take her in his arms and never let her go?

  “You sure? Because you’re acting like you’re sick, and I’m the disease.”

  He had to look at her. He had to convince her she was not the problem. “I’m sorry, Char. I don’t mean to be a jerk; you know that. It’s just, I can feel the shime’s protections in my head fading. If Seyekrad, Mr. Loudermilk, whatever his name is finds me, he’ll kill me. The spells Slavandria gave me are pointless against him. I’m scared. I don’t know what to do.”

  Charlotte wrapped her arms around his neck. “It’s going to be okay, David. He won’t find you, but if he does, we’ll figure something out. We always do, you and me. Right?”

  He held her to him and succumbed to the earthquake she caused which was now rattling his bones. After all, if he was going to die, there was no other place he’d rather be.

  The door of the cabin flew open, and Trog stomped inside, rainwater dripping from his cloak. He paused for a moment, staring at David, then he flipped back the hood from his face and winked.

  “Good. You’re finally awake.” He strode to his bed. “Both of you. Get your things.” He collected his rucksack. “It’s time to go.”

  ***

  David pulled his cloak around his shoulders to ward off the chill snapping at his bones. The nightmares still plagued him—Seyekrad and Avida chasing him through the woods, taunting and threatening. Beside him, Trog pressed a hand to his side, wincing as his gaze traversed the path before him. The shadowmorth wound continued to bother him, refusing to heal, and despite Charlotte’s care, he walked with a severe limp, the hole in his leg from the bolt now three days old. When it came down to it, it would be interesting to see if this great, powerful knight would still be able to protect him—protect Charlotte, when the time came.

  They continued for hours without a break. David shook the ache from his legs. Never in his life had he pushed his muscles the way he had the last several days. What he would give to remove them for just an hour so he didn’t have to feel the agony.

  Charlotte didn’t look much better. She’d cut strips from a bedsheet and layered them in her shoes for padding, but she still limped. Still, she rarely complained. Her focus remained more on Trog and the massive wound in his side that refused to heal.

  The wide forest road grew narrower until it turned into nothing more than a grassy path shielded by towering trees. Eventually, the path opened up into a sunny glade, a perfect resting spot.

  Trog rationed out some of the bread and berries Groote had given them, and they ate in silence. David’s tattoo thrummed, the first time he remembered it doing so in more than a day. He spun the ring on his finger and glanced around, his senses heightened, as if thousands of eyes were watching them. Far off in the distance, a gray object loomed within the tree line. David shielded his eyes with his hand and peered into the forest.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  Trog walked over to him and followed David’s gaze. He spat on the ground. “That’s Berg Castle.”

  Crows cawed and rose into the air. David shivered. Einar’s lair. Everything in his body told him to run. He was a sixteen-year-old rich kid from the middle of nowhere. What in the hell did he know about saving kingdoms and protecting heirs and finding magic stones?

  “D-do you think he can see us?” David asked.

  “Maybe, but let’s hope not.” He walked away. “You two stay here. I need to,” he glanced at Charlotte, “you know … ”

  He walked into the woods.

  Charlotte shared a smile with David. “I suppose I should do the same. Will you be okay for a few minutes?”

  Alarms went off. The idea of Charlotte alone in the woods with a dragon not far away squeezed the air from his lungs. Still, he couldn’t be with her w
hile she peed. That would be too weird. He bobbed his head. “Sure. Go on. I’ll keep an eye out.”

  Charlotte took off in a different direction from Trog and disappeared into the brush.

  David picked up a stick and sliced at a small tender tree. He jabbed, danced, poked, and smacked the sapling over and over again as if it would suddenly rise from the ground and wallop him. Intent in his battering, he didn’t hear Trog approach.

  “So, tell me, Sir David,” Trog said with a chuckle, “what has that young sapling done to deserve such a sound lashing from a well-rounded knight such as yourself?”

  David spun around and tossed the stick to the ground. “Nothing.” Heat rose to his cheeks.

  “Ah, do not say it was nothing, Sir David. From what I saw, it was definitely something. Did you fear the little tree would smite you? Take off your head? Perhaps it stood in the ground in an inappropriate manner?”

  “No. I was—” He flushed as Trog lifted an eyebrow. “I-I was—practicing.”

  Trog folded his arms across his chest and scratched his nose. “Why do I feel as I if I am going to regret this? For what, pray tell, were you practicing?”

  “T-to fight—like you.” It sounded plausible, at least to him.

  “Why would you want to do that?”

  David shrugged. “Because.”

  “Inadequate answer.”

  David bit his bottom lip and stared at the ground. “I saw the way you fought that guy by the river. You’re quick. Light on your feet, like a ninja. That guy didn’t stand a chance against you. I want to learn how to do that if I’m going to, you know, protect Charlotte.” He lifted his chin until his eyes met Trog’s. “I froze, Trog. I stood there like an ass. If I can’t protect the person I care most about in the entire universe, how am I going to do what I have to do to make sure I get her home? If I can learn to fight and combine that with my spells, I could kick some serious butt.”

  Trog frowned. “So kicking butt is a top priority for you? Are you exalted, placed in a higher station if you battle well? Is knighthood bestowed upon the one who can best pummel his opponent?”

  “Yeah, sort of. In a way. Where we come from, if you’re a nobody, and you put a bully on his butt, well, you’re not a nobody anymore. You’re a hero. You’re the kid who fought back and won. People look at you differently. They treat you differently. They treat you with respect.”

  Trog shook his head. “There is much you need to learn, David. Being knightly is not about fighting. It’s more about how not to fight. It is a quest for perfection, a search for a higher and more profound order of life. It is godly and goodly, its very fabric intricately woven by threads of compassion and justice. It is also an ugly business and one that should not be entered into lightly nor glorified.

  David nodded and stared at his feet, giving his brain time to process the words.

  “With that said,” Trog continued, “it’s time you learned to use a sword. I should have done this sooner, but time didn’t permit it. The time, however, has presented itself.”

  “But I don’t have a weapon.”

  Trog pulled the sword from his sheath and tossed it to David. “You do now.”

  The weapon fell to the ground. David struggled to lift it with two hands. His arms trembled beneath its weight. He swung it to the right and the left. “This is insanely wicked.”

  “And deadly.”

  David stumbled as he brought the sword to rest at his side, his heart in his throat. “I don’t want to kill anyone.”

  “No one of moral character wants to kill, David. Sometimes, it is inevitable, and we have to deal with our conscience later.”

  “Wow,” Charlotte said, walking into the glade, a smirk on her face. “You’d think one of moral character would find other ways to settle a problem without killing. That way they wouldn’t have to deal with their conscience at all.”

  “Everyone at some point in time must come to terms with their morality, my lady. Even you.” He folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow as if challenging her.

  She met his look with an equally defiant one. “I would never kill someone.” Her tone carried an edge of anger, and it hung sharp in the air. “Do you know how many arguments and wars could be avoided if people just listened and talked things out? But, no.” Charlotte drew out the last word in one long syllable. “They have to be big bullies and act like they’re all that, and start wars over nothing. It’s dumb.”

  Trog dipped his brow. “So am I to understand if an assassin drew forth from the tree line—attacked David at this very moment—you would negotiate?”

  “No. I’d try to stop him, but that is diff—”

  “How is it different? How would you try to stop him? By throwing verbal threats? Put forth a plea for his life? You would be dead within seconds, and David would not be far behind. Sometimes, my lady, there is no alternative to a fight nor time to pursue a more docile course.”

  Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest. “Tell that to my brother. He died fighting a war that wasn’t his to fight.”

  “He died to free people from oppression,” David said. It was the first time he’d spoken his mind about the matter. His gaze met hers. He hoped she could see his sincerity, hear the sorrow for her loss in his voice.

  Charlotte’s fists clenched. Her bottom lip quivered.

  Trog nodded. “If what David says is true, your brother died for a very noble cause. Outside of those who part this life by accident or natural cause, the rest of us will either perish in battle because we try to take what does not belong to us, or because we defend or take back what does. It is the way it has been since the beginning of time, and it is the way it shall be until the end of it.”

  Charlotte looked down and kicked at the ground. “It sounds like you like to fight. That you’ll make any excuse to do so.”

  Trog pressed his hand to David’s back and guided him to the center of the glade. “Fighting, for me, is not about whether I like or dislike it. It is about necessity. More times than not, negotiations are futile.”

  Trog pressed his hands to David’s shoulders. “Hold your shoulders back. Stand tall.”

  David’s belly tingled as he followed the knight’s orders.

  “Grasp the sword with both hands, and hold it in front of you.”

  David did as instructed, his arm muscles burning under the strain.

  “Ready?” Trog asked, walking around him, his hands clasped behind his lower back.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Alarms went off in David’s head. Something was coming, but what? His arms went rigid. His hands tightened on the hilt. He nodded.

  Trog spun to his right and kicked.

  “Ouch!” David dropped the sword and grabbed his throbbing wrists. “Shit!”

  “Pay attention. Watch me, not the ground or some speck in space.” Trog picked up the sword and tossed it to David.

  He almost missed the catch.

  “Again,” Trog said, his brow furrowed, his eyes focused. Steady.

  David followed Trog’s movements.

  Trog smacked him on the back of the head. “Move, David. Circle me. Forget about my kicking you. It’s the least of your worries at the moment.”

  David tightened his grip on the hilt and held the sword in front of him, doing his best to ignore the jolt of pain shooting up his arm. What had he gotten himself into? He wanted to learn to fight, not how to be beaten to death by a guy ten times his size.

  “Keep your eyes on mine at all times,” Trog said. “Never lose connection with your opponent.”

  Trog lunged forward. David jumped back. Trog smiled. “Why did you retreat? I’m unarmed. You have the weapon.”

  “Cause you’re going to hit me again.”

  Trog stood still and rested his hands on his hips. “No, I’m not. Lower your weapon and come here. Let me show you something.”

  David lowered
the weapon and walked up to Trog. The knight pushed David on the shoulders, knocking him to the ground. Behind him, Charlotte laughed.

  He got to his feet and shot her a look that could light a wick without a match. She covered her mouth, but the smile lingered in her eyes. No sooner had he risen than an explosion of pain shot through his foot. Trog whacked him in the chest.

  David hit the ground again, the sword thunking beside him. He hobbled to his feet. “That wasn’t fair, Trog. I wasn’t ready!”

  Trog smiled. “I wasn’t aware as your opponent that I was supposed to announce my attack on you.” His smiled changed into a serious expression. “Do you know why I knocked you on the ground?”

  David rubbed his hip. “Not really.”

  “Because you did exactly what I told you not to do. You took your eyes off mine. You can’t do that.” Trog picked up his sword like it was a stick of cotton candy and returned it to the scabbard. “We’ll have to come back to sword training later. Let’s see what you can do with your fists.”

  “What?” David froze in place. “You want me to fight you? You’re joking, right?”

  “I promise to be gentle.” There was mischief in the man’s eyes.

  David didn’t believe him for a second. “Gentle? Like you were with my foot?”

  “Precisely.” Trog grinned.

  “Great.” David drew in a deep breath and pulled his left fist up beside his head. He pictured the great boxers he’d watched on television and tried to mimic their steps.

  The knight stood still, watching David dance around him. “Lift your left hand. It is what protects your face and head.”

  David raised his fist.

  Trog kicked him in the ribs.

  David crumpled to the ground, gasping, and sputtering.

  Trog bent over him. “Sorry. Did I forget to tell you to keep your elbows tucked?”

  The knight was enjoying this lesson way too much.