Dragon Lord: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Origins Book 2)

by James Eggebeen

  “I command the dragons.”

  “No longer.” Ryn’per flapped its wings and rose into the sky.

  Sulrad looked back at Amedon as it fell away. No dragons attacked. None even flew over it. The clan was on the move. The dragons were ascending into the night sky. The curtain had fallen. The diaphanous blue-green lights wavered as dragon after dragon disappeared into it.

  Sulrad felt them go. One after another, he lost contact with them.

  The charm around his neck grew warm, then hot. He pulled at it, wresting the magic from it, but something was wrong. The magic was in use, but not by his command. Another had taken charge of it and directed it at the dragons. The command they had been given was to return home.

  Sulrad grasped at the magic. How could such a thing be?

  He examined it as the spell roiled forth to work its magic in the dragon clan.

  It was a clever spell. An unbinding. A spell that Sulrad had not seen before, and it had the distinct scent of Rotiaqua on it. Was that it? Had she acted through him to seize the magic of the charm and direct the dragons? How could she?

  Ryn’per banked and Sulrad felt his insides get heavy. He was starting to understand what flight felt like and no longer panicked, but it was never comfortable when the dragon did what it was now doing. It had changed course and was heading south and east if the stars visible between the clouds were any indication.

  “Where are you taking me?” Sulrad demanded.

  “Home. To Frostan.”

  “I command you.”

  “Your magic commands that I take you home. That is where I am taking you. If not for that, I would roast you alive and devour your soul, but I am not free. Not until I complete this task.”

  Sulrad clung to the dragon’s back as Ryn’per flew on. Not as high or as fast as they had on the journey there, but steadily. The land fell behind them as the mountains faded and the plains leveled out. Soon Sulrad noticed the moon reflecting off the ocean to the east. He followed the light to the shore where he found the river and followed that to the city of Frostan. Standing proud in the center of town was the temple. It gave him pause to see it again. So much had gone into its construction. Frostan and its temple represented both the best and worst of his life. His crowning achievements and his worst failures.

  “Put me down. There. In the grounds.”

  “No.” Ryn’per laughed. It banked and made a tight spiral centered on the spire of the temple, slowly wheeling about it until it was evident that it was fixated on that spire.

  With a lurch, the mighty dragon seized the tower with its great claws and wrapped its neck around the stones. “Get off,” it said.

  “I said put me down.” Sulrad was in no mood to argue with the beast. He was tired and simply wanted to seek out the comfort of his own quarters and think about what had gone wrong and what he could do next. His war with the wizards was underway. He may have lost the first battle, but he would win the war. They had started it, but he would end it.

  “I could drop you,” Ryn’per rumbled.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Ryn’per shook its head, breaking Sulrad’s grip loose, almost whipping him free. “Get off,” it repeated.

  Sulrad reluctantly slid along the dragon’s neck until he was able to stick his foot into a nearby window. He grasped tightly until he could put his weight on his foot and slid off the great beast’s neck.

  Without a word, Ryn’per dropped away from the spire and opened its wings.

  Sulrad watched as it bobbed up and down, rising higher and higher into the night sky, the reflection of the moon on the ocean wavering beneath it.

  When the brilliant curtain appeared and swallowed the dragon, the sky went dark.

  For the longest time, Sulrad sat there and watched. Just what had happened? How had Rotiaqua forced the dragons away from his command? Was it because she had the blood of the dragons in her? Was it because they were bonded? What made her able to override his commands? Would she be able to do it again? He had to find out. Perhaps this was something Skelek had encountered as well. He offered a quick prayer of thanks and began the long descent down the spire, careful of his footing on the narrow stairs that ringed the interior of the great spire.

  35

  Sulrad trudged down the winding spiral stair, his hand brushing the dry, worked stone that formed the great spire of the temple in Frostan. The stones were nowhere near as old as they seemed, having been set only a few moons in the past, but the damage done by the wizard of Amedon was apparent in the way the edges of the stone were worn down as if they had stood for half a millennium. He grimaced. He had inflicted damage on them. Not as much as he had hoped, but perhaps they would fear him enough to let him live his life the way he wished. Yet he feared they would not.

  When he reached the ground level, he exited the stairs and headed for his quarters. He slipped the Charm of the Joiner off his neck and stashed it in the drawer beside his bed, then glanced around the room. Everything was in its place, but there was an air about the room that spoke of femininity that had not been there before. Candles had been arranged on the dresser and writing desk in elaborately carved candlesticks instead of the starkly utilitarian ones he preferred. The canopy of the bed now bore a lace edge where once it had been plain.

  Even the air had a different taste to it. Instead of the slight bitter odor of burned wood, the air held a hint of flower and incense. He took a deep breath and let the aroma warm him. He had avoided such things in the past, but at this moment, they were strangely comforting. The scent reminded him of Ignal, no doubt as it was intended to.

  As if his thoughts had brought her to him, the diminutive woman appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in black with silver piping. Her robe swept the floor, hiding her shoes, which no doubt were richly adorned, including the secret lift that Ignal hid from everyone but him, as if it mattered that she added a digit or two to her height. Her head was freshly shaved and had been for some time, as there was no white line to bear witness to a recent shearing.

  She blinked back sleep.

  “I didn’t expect you back. To be honest, I was worried that I might never see you again. Can you tell me what transpired or are you exhausted? How did you get here? The guards would have alerted me if you had entered through any gates, unless you ordered them not to.” She scowled. “Do I need to have words with them?”

  “No. I arrived by air.”

  “By air?”

  “By dragon, to be more precise. I flew here.”

  Her eyes lit up with a mixture of anger and awe. “May I see it?”

  Sulrad sighed. “It left. A traitor.”

  Ignal made her way to his bed, pulled a short step from beneath it, and climbed up. “You look tired. Come. Let me shave you. It’s quite clear you have been neglecting yourself.”

  “I’ve been occupied.”

  “That is apparent. Come. Rest. Let me tend to you.” She nodded to a small silver bell that had been placed on the dresser beside his bed. “Summon the acolytes. You need a shave and a bath if the state of your hair and clothes are any indication, and while we tend to you, you can tell me all about your time among the great unwashed.”

  Sulrad smiled. Ignal always knew the right thing to calm him down. He wanted to tell her everything, about the dragon, about his tribulation with the wizards in Amedon, and how he had almost lost his one life by attacking the one who was bonded to his magic, but he didn’t want to burden her with his doubts. Perhaps only part of the story. The parts he was most proud of.

  He reached out and gave the bell a single ring.

  Almost immediately, a young man in white robes appeared. His hair was cut short, but not shaven. He bore a blue stripe around the wrist of his robe.

  The young man bowed. “Mistress?”

  “Warm water, soap, towels.”

  “Yes, mistress.” The young man bowed again and backed away. He reappeared quickly, trailed by a pair of young women similarly attired. Between them,
they carried two ewers of steaming water, a large bowl, a bar of white soap, and a razor. They placed the items on the dresser beside the bell, backed up until they formed a single line facing Sulrad, and stopped. The fear and awe on their faces was painfully apparent. Where had these young people come from? Had Ignal been recruiting and training them while he was away? How long had he been gone? Surely not that long.

  “Dismiss them,” Ignal whispered.

  “Thank you,” Sulrad said. “You may go.”

  “Father.” The three spoke in unison, bowed in unison, and turned to leave as one. Not a whisper escaped their lips as they fled.

  “Who were these?” he asked.

  “They are acolytes. Trainees. They all have at least some level of magic. Mostly healers. Not any real power, but a glimmer, or so I am told.”

  “Told?”

  “Yes. A wizard has been by to see you almost daily. He demands to speak to you. I have told him you were not in residence. He demands to see the scrolls you have unearthed. I have told him they are under your care and not for him. He tells me you are old friends and that you will be most delighted to see him, but I have told him you have no old friends.”

  “What does this wizard look like?” Sulrad had his suspicions who it might be. Indeed, he had no old friends. He had made few friends in Amedon and assumed that no one there cared whether he lived or died. In his mind, they all wished him dead. Save possibly one.

  “He is most un-wizardly, Father.” Ignal admitted. “Short, rather soft around the edges. Sort of clumsy and self-deprecating. He seems to be worried that he will trip over his own feet if you ask me.”

  “Has he given you his name?” Sulrad knew of only one wizard who fit that description. If Kelnor was in Frostan asking to see him, was he here to assassinate Sulrad or to help? How could he find out which? His note said that he was here to help. Could Sulrad trust that? At one time, the mere thought that Kelnor would seek to do him harm would have seemed ridiculous, but as of late, Sulrad was not certain that he could trust anyone.

  “No, Father. He said he would only speak to you. I asked him for a message that we might relay it to you, and he insisted that he speak to you in person. He said it was a matter between you and him and that he had come far and risked much to aid you.”

  “Anything else?”

  “He said that should I see you, to tell you that you had put him off minstrels for life.”

  Sulrad laughed. “That’s Kelnor for certain. He is a friend, and one who might just be able to help. I managed to summon the dragons, and control them, but something went wrong.”

  Ignal hopped from the bed. She poured steaming water into the bowl, fetched a cup, and dipped it into the water. In moments, she had a lather built up in the cup from the soap. She strapped the razor and climbed up beside Sulrad.

  “Lie down while I shave your face. You always move if I let you sit.”

  He let her push him down and lather his face. The soap was warm and soothing with a hint of lilac to it. As the razor glided over his skin, he thought back to what he would reveal to her. She didn’t need to know about the charm. That was his secret, although he had his suspicion that she might understand its power more than he did. He would tell her about the dragons. How he had summoned them and how he had killed one. He would leave out the way they had turned on him in the end and how they had abandoned him. He would also leave out how Rotiaqua had almost met her end, and how he himself had feared for his life. Ignal never reacted well when he spoke of the sorceress. It was a topic he had learned to avoid.

  When she finished with his face, she sat him up and proceeded to shave his head. It felt good to be shorn once again. His hair had grown back while he was away, and even though it did help him blend in with the common folk, he had grown used to a naked pate and now preferred it.

  36

  The following morning, just after Sulrad had finished breaking his fast, an acolyte arrived. Another of the young ones with barely a glimmer of magic to her, the girl wore her hair short. Barely more than half a digit of blonde hair rose from her scalp. She wore no paint on her face, no jewelry, no adornment of any sort, but she had an intensity to her gaze that unsettled him just a bit. Fanatics were prone to take rash actions. He would have to keep an eye on these youngsters.

  “Father,” she interrupted hesitantly.

  “Yes?”

  “That man is here to see you. He says he is a wizard.”

  “You sound skeptical.”

  “Father. It is not my place. He is most un-wizardly.”

  “Does everyone with power display it openly?”

  “No, Father.”

  “Perhaps this wizard has power that is not obvious. Perhaps this wizard is a master at spell craft and possesses knowledge few can boast. Perhaps this wizard is not only a wizard but an old and personal friend of mine.”

  The girl gasped. “Forgive me, Father. I had no idea.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Please fetch him. I wish to see what my old friend is up to.”

  “As you wish.” The girl bowed and backed out of Sulrad’s study. In a hand of heartbeats, a knock sounded at his door.

  Sulrad paused. He had presumed Kelnor was still his friend and still on his side, but the seasons since he had seen the man might have changed things. Anything could have changed. There was no assurance that Kelnor had not been sent by Amedon on a mission to kill Sulrad. Especially now. Had Kelnor been acting under the direction of Amedon? Was he even now seeking vengeance? Better safe than sorry.

  Sulrad raised his personal shields and glanced at the door. “Come in.”

  The door opened, and a man entered that Sulrad barely recognized. He was clean shaven, with thinning hair. He stood half a head shorter than Sulrad and carried more than a stone in extra weight. He breathed heavily as if he had just completed an extended hike or had run to the temple from wherever he had come. Yet, despite the summers intervening, Sulrad immediately recognized his old friend.

  “Come. Sit. Don’t be shy.” Sulrad gestured to one of the empty chairs that faced his desk, but kept his shields in place.

  “I owe you an apology,” he said. “I was tricked.”

  “Already forgiven,” Sulrad said.

  “Yet you maintain shields.”

  “One can never be too cautious.” Sulrad caught sight of the acolyte positioned just outside the door. “Can you bring tea for our guest? And some of those fruit pies?”

  “Yes, Father.” The acolyte’s voice wafted through the open door.

  “Sorry. No meat,” Sulrad said.

  Kelnor laughed. “I undertook a course of study for Garlath.” Kelnor’s face turned red. “While I was studying how to trigger the spell, I came across something that might interest you.” Kelnor paused. “Remember those ancient texts that spoke of the small magic? The ones that spoke as if everyone possessed magic? The ones everyone thought were just tales meant to entertain the children?

  “It turns out that they were not. There was a time when everyone possessed magic. Not on the grand scale that the wizards are capable, but almost everyone could perform simple spells. Light a fire. Call the cattle home from pasture. Find water hidden beneath the earth.”

  Veran and the scrolls had said as much, but what had Kelnor learned? He nodded as the rotund wizard explained, drawing out his friend’s hard-won knowledge.

  “Well, there is power beneath the earth. If the texts are to be believed, there are places where the magic rises close to the surface and can be accessed easily. In those places, a wizard has immense power, yet there is danger. The text spoke of how a wizard can be consumed by the power, how it can take one if one is not careful.” Kelnor squinted at Sulrad. “Does any of this make any sense?”

  “It does.” It made more sense than he was willing to let on. He seethed with anger at the idea of what the dragons had done. But he kept it in check, hoping to learn what he might from Kelnor.

  “Good. Not long ago, someone altered one of those p
laces. Somewhere where the wild magic flows close to the surface. They created a spell and bound it to the earth’s magic.”

  “What sort of spell?”

  “That I have not been able to discern, but the thing about this spell is that it won’t fade with time, and no wizard need maintain it. It is sustained by the earth’s magic itself.”

  Before Sulrad could answer, a rap sounded at his door. Without waiting to be invited, the acolyte from earlier glided in. She bore a tray laden with a steaming pot of tea, two cups, a pair of plates, and a pile of fruit pies. She set the tray down and proceeded to pour tea into each cup. When she had finished, she bowed and backed out.

  “You distrust me,” Kelnor said.

  Sulrad was still trying to come to grips with what Kelnor had told him. He half believed the small magic. It made sense, but had someone recently diverted one of the spells that bound the magic to serve their own purposes? If so, who had done such a thing? Who would be so bold as to create a spell on such a scale with no regard to those who might be affected?

  “I believe you,” Sulrad finally answered.

  “I didn’t say you didn’t believe me,” Kelnor said. “I said you didn’t trust me.”

  Sulrad glanced over at Kelnor. He struggled to accept that this was what his old friend had become. Yet traces of the boy he once was were still there. At one time, he had trusted Kelnor, but could he still? “Should I?” Sulrad asked. “Trust you?”

  Kelnor heaved a sigh. “I know what you did in Amedon. I know you attacked without provocation.”

  “Without provocation? They sent assassins out to try to kill me.”

  The look on Kelnor’s face told Sulrad that the man had no idea what had happened. “Did you not know that they sent several wizards to kill me? Were you not there when Garlath instructed the students to kill me should they come across me?”

  “That was not what he truly meant. It was a caution to the students. A tale intended to keep them away from you. At least that’s what Garlath told me.”