Rage of the Dragon King

by J. Keller Ford

  David nudged him on the shoulder. “Hey. You want to stop staring at Charlotte and show us around this wreck of a town?”

  Heat spattered across Eric’s face and his stomach fell over. The look on her face, the sudden unease in her features. He’d let his guard down. He would have to be more careful to not let her see, not let anyone see how broken he really was.

  Eric stood and bowed. “I apologize, milady. My thoughts were elsewhere. I meant no disrespect.” He flicked a smile at David. “Shall we go?”

  As the day wore on, they wandered the streets while Eric shared memories of growing up in the town—all the festivals, his first kiss at the age of six with the haberdasher’s daughter, his first glass of ale at the Golden Finch Tavern, an establishment now standing in a lopsided fashion on its scorched frame. They stared at the castle sitting majestically atop the singed hillside. Even in its destruction, its white façade and blue turrets were still a magnificent sight to behold. His belly filled with pride, honor. Gyllen Castle was his home, and he would die defending her.

  And, he wasn’t alone. He had the paladin on his side, whether David would admit it or not. Twice since daybreak the savior of Hirth had come to his defense. He’d also volunteered for a rescue mission that had a far higher chance of failure than success. And it wasn’t the first time David had chosen danger over safety. He’d saved Trog from Bainesworth on the Field of Valnor, and rescued Eric and the king from Berg Castle and Einar’s jaws. He’d done so without complaint, yet Eric had berated and chided him, and for what? To make himself look better? Seem more important? What an idiot he’d been. He’d have to find the proper place and time to apologize. Do the knightly thing. Be the man Trog would be proud of.

  But now, there was something else he needed to take care of. Someone else he needed to see. They stopped outside a shop on Threadneedle Lane.

  “I think this is where I need to take my leave of you. I have something to tend to and I don’t want to keep you.”

  David snorted. “Keep us from what? Going back there,” he gestured to the castle, “so I can be yelled at? Maybe thrown in the pit for being a little rebellious and standing up for myself?”

  Charlotte rubbed a hand on David’s arm. “I think he wants to be alone. Come on. We’ll find Mirith. He’ll protect you from the big, bad witch.” She glanced up at him and smile.

  Eric’s insides warbled. How could David be so clueless, so unaffected by her?

  He rubbed his hands together. “You know what? I’m just going to see my father. Why don’t you come with me? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind meeting you. And, with everything going on, I’m not sure when I can get back here, so what do you say?”

  “Sure,” David said with a shrug. “Beats the heck out of the alternative.”

  “If you’re sure he won’t mind,” Charlotte said. “I hate intruding.”

  “He won’t mind at all. In fact, he’d probably like the distraction.”

  They made their way through the clothier’s shop onto a narrow, dusty road. Eric hurried across the way, shooing chickens from the front door of a small dwelling as he entered.

  “Father?” he called out.

  The word caught like barbed wire in his throat. His father, but not his father. How long would it take before the truth sank in and stopped boggling his mind?

  A girl his age with spirals of red hair emerged from a room in the rear of the home. Eric froze in place.

  “Lady Emelia,” he breathed, keeping his voice steady. “What are you doing here?” He took a step toward his father’s bedroom.

  She stepped in front of him, her porcelain face tilted upward, her eyes holding him hostage.

  “Your father is ill, Eric.” Her nasal voice was almost pleasant. “The physician is confident his ailment isn’t life-threatening, but he insists your father get plenty of rest. Since the very stubborn patient refused to stay in the infirmary, I volunteered to stay with him here. I hope you don’t mind.”

  A wad of distrust mixed with a smidgeon of gratitude slid down his throat in a gelatinous gulp. Ever since they were children, she’d been conniving, manipulative. It was if she believed that simply being a baron’s daughter and some distant relative to the queen she could have anything she wanted, including Eric. For years he evaded her, discouraged her attentions, but no matter how hard he tried, he always felt like a target and she a lethal arrow. And yet, as she stood before him, caring for his father the way she’d cared for Sestian in his final hour, he had to wonder if the recent attack on Hirth had turned her from shrew to angel, or worse—his perception had been flawed. He needed to be cautious. He squared his shoulders and said, “No. Not at all. May I see him?”

  “For a few minutes. I gave him some broth and some herbs that should help him sleep.”

  “Thank you.” He gestured behind him. “Milady, I’d like to introduce you to David and Charlotte. Please be nice and don’t spread any lies about me. I have a reputation to keep.”

  He smiled in jest and strode to his father’s room.

  His father lay in bed, his head propped on a pillow, a blanket pulled to his chin. There was pallor in his cheeks, a paleness in his lips. His eyes shifted to Eric upon entering. A tear fell as he extended a hand from beneath the covers.

  “Eric, my boy.”

  Eric quickly took his hand and sat on the bed. “Father. How are you feeling? You’re burning up.”

  “Tain’t nothin’ and I’m much better now that ya here.” His father coughed. “I been so worried ’bout ya, ever since you took off outta here.” He took back his hand and laid it upon his chest. His gaze traveled over Eric’s face. “It looks as if ya’ve been in a few scrapes.”

  Eric touched the lingering scabs on his forehead, caught a glimpse of the scars on the back of his hand. “Yes. It’s nothing, really. Small run-in with a dragon and a few Bergonian assassins.” He paused for a moment and stared at a loose thread in the blanket. “Father, I wanted to see you because … I wanted to tell you something.” He lifted his chin and met his father’s eyes. “I know the truth about me. You. Trog. Mother. We don’t have to pretend anymore.”

  “Glory be to the heavens.” His father took Eric’s hand in his again and squeezed. “Tis about time. I’m sorry it took so long for you ta find out, son.”

  “No, no, don’t be sorry. I’m not angry. At least not anymore. I mean, I was at first, but now I’m trying to sort it all out, make sense of it. But, I guess what I want to say is even though Trog is my … ” Eric paused and reeled in the words ready to fly out of his mouth. “You’ll always be my father. That’ll never change.”

  A tear rolled down his father’s cheek and his grip tightened around Eric’s hand. “Thank ya, son. Thank ya. If ya only knew how many times I wanted ta tell ya.”

  Eric cupped his father’s hand in his. “I know. And I’m not upset with you. You did what you thought was best.”

  “D’not be upset with him, either, son. Everything he done, he done for ya.”

  Eric stood and walked to the window. He hated the secrecy, the talking in code, but the walls were full of ears, of this much he was sure. “My brain tells me you’re right, Father,” he said as he watched a baby goat leap on and off an upside-down cart. “I wish it would tell my heart.”

  “Give it time, son. Give it time.” His father coughed.

  Silent moments passed before Eric turned to his father. “Father, what was she like? My mother.”

  A slight smile creased his father’s lips. “She was lovely, my boy. An angel.” He gestured Eric to him, his voice tapering off to a whisper as Eric sat down. “She loved ya and that master of yours very much.”

  Eric stared at the bed, his heart swelling and breaking in waves of emotion. “Any ideas who—”

  His father squeezed Eric’s hand. “We all’s got ideas, son, but the fountain … well, it ain’t givin’ up its secrets. But if I had ta guess—”

  His father fell into a violent
coughing fit, his face red, his breath difficult to catch. Eric pulled him forward and held him in his arms until the spell subsided.

  “Are you all right, Father?”

  “He’ll be fine,” Lady Emelia said, bustling into the room, a steaming cup of broth in hand. “But you should probably go now and let him rest.” She stirred an envelope of medicine in the broth, and pressed the cup to his lips so he could drink.

  Eric nodded and laid his father back onto the pillow. He brushed the gray hairs from his brow.

  His father clasped Eric’s hand. “Look to the east, boy, toward the Brindle Sea. Sunrise on Kamill.”

  “Kamill? What is that? What does it mean?”

  The man closed his eyes. “Things always look brighter in the daylight.”

  “Father, I don’t understand. Father?”

  “He’s sleeping now,” Emelia said. “You can come back and see him later.”

  Three low tones of the castle horns suddenly sounded in the distance, preventing Eric from answering. A warning.

  Eric leapt from the bed and hurried from the room. “David! Charlotte! We have to go!”

  He ran out of the front door, his friends shouting questions behind him.

  The blows of the horns came again. Three times. Low. Drawn out.

  “What is that?” David asked.

  “There’s something wrong,” Eric said, running through shops, out onto streets, and out of town. Faster and faster he pushed his feet, his lungs ready to explode, the cooler air drying his throat.

  Together the three of them ran through the dilapidated gatehouse. A guard met them as they rushed passed the fountain.

  “To the King’s chambers. Hurry! Slavandria has been looking everywhere for you!”

  “What’s wrong?” Eric shouted, taking two steps at a time toward the upper courtyard.

  “It’s the queen! Hurry!”

  They barged through the front doors into the main hall and up the grand staircase. Upon reaching the seventh floor, they were bustled into the royal suites. Trog wheeled around as they entered, his face taut.

  “Where have you been?”

  Eric gasped for breath, his heart beating fast and hard. “Hammershire. What’s happened? Why the warning?”

  Slavandria emerged from the sleeping chambers, her expression drawn, distressed. Her eyes widened at seeing Eric, David, and Charlotte.

  “Eric! David! Thank the heavens you’re all right.” She embraced them both, then hugged Charlotte. “My dear, I was so worried.”

  “About what?” Eric asked.

  Slavandria turned to him. “There has been an incident. The queen was attacked with a lethal dose of belladonna.”

  Eric froze. His heart fell and tumbled, his soul clung to the precipice of a dark, cold abyss. Not the queen. Please, not the queen. She’d always been like a mother to him.

  He breathed a sharp breath.

  Mother!

  His thoughts scattered. Queen Mysterie. Murdered. Like her twin sister, his mother, Gwyndolyn. His heart raced. No. No, it couldn’t be.

  Charlotte’s voice shocked him back to reality. “There must be a mistake!”

  “I wish there were. As it was, Mirith must have sensed the poison and blasted the goblet from her hand before she could take more than a sip.”

  “So, she’s not dead?” Eric asked, his heart racing so hard it hurt.

  Slavandria cupped his chin, then brushed the hair from his eyes. “No, she is not dead, however, she is very ill.”

  “Who would do something like this?” Charlotte asked. “Why?”

  Slavandria steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “I believe it was a distraction.”

  Eric shook his head. “A distraction from what?”

  “After the three of you left in a flurry, we carried on without you and devised a plan to rescue your friends by utilizing the tunnels. It was agreed that I would test them first to see what sort of opposition, if any, I encountered. I was waiting for Farnsworth to return with the crystals, but then the girl arrived, her hair and face covered in a veil. She poured the water, then scurried away so fast. Mysterie brought the goblet to her lips. Mirith curled his tail and blasted it from her hand. Sirs Crohn and Gowran assaulted him, but Mirith ran, upending the table and chairs, smashing everything, flinging lightning bolts everywhere. The room was in chaos. Farnsworth returned as Trog scooped the queen in his arms, and revealed the empty box. The crystals were gone. We sounded the horns, hoping you would return quickly.”

  Emotion clamped Eric’s throat shut. Hot tears puddled in the corners of his eyes. “I want to see her. I want to see the queen.”

  “I’ve sent her away, Eric, both her and the king, to a place where they are secure and well cared for. I need to do the same to the three of you. You are no longer safe here. The castle has been breached. Secrets within its walls are in jeopardy. All of you are in danger.”

  Slavandria’s gaze cut to Eric. He drew in a heavy breath and heaved it out again. He knew what she spoke of. They were in danger because of him, because of who he was. Secrets are grave burdens to bear, Trog once said. No kidding, and if Seyekrad or Einar found out the truth?

  His brows drew together, forming a crease between them. “Can’t you put up shields or wards? Make it a little more difficult for the castle to, you know, speak?”

  A chuckle burst out of David but it held little amusement. “What are you babbling about? What’s going on? Why are we in danger?”

  “Pawns are being moved. Knights are on the defense, and bishops are in the chancel. At the moment, Hirth is in check. If we are not careful … ”

  “Checkmate,” Eric breathed. The food he’d eaten earlier squished around in his stomach. Reality slapped him a thousand times in the face. The realm was at war. There was no turning away, no denying it, and if Seyekrad or Einar discovered the truth about him being the heir, they would have no mercy on the innocent. They would die. He didn’t want that blood splattered on his soul.

  “She’s right,” he said, never surer of anything in his life. “We have to go.”

  Slavandria slipped a chain from around her neck. Dangling from the end was the Eye of Kedge. The red dragon eye stone, encased in a wreath of filigreed gold, hung in the light, exposed. Dangerous. Coaxing.

  “You must go to Finn’s,” Slavandria said, slipping it around David’s neck. “Tell him what has happened. He’ll know what to do.”

  “But what about my parents? You made a promise. That was the deal. If I stayed, you’d introduce me to my parents before I went off and got myself killed. That’s what we agreed to!”

  “I’m sorry, David. I know how disappointed—”

  “Disappointed? Is that what you think I am?”

  The floor shook as thunder rumbled through the tile. Charlotte lurched, her expression petrified. Eric clutched her in his arms as Mirith appeared in the doorway, blood dripping from his mouth. A few feathers were missing from his mane and a bump protruded from his head between his horns. He snorted at David, and collapsed.

  David took one look at Mirith and continued his rant. “You have lied to me over and over again. You’ve made promises you never kept. I want you to do what you said you would do. Five minutes. At least give me the courtesy of a ‘Hi. Nice to meet you. Gotta go.’ Let me put faces with names before I end up dead.”

  Slavandria wrung her hands. “I can’t do that.”

  “Why? What’s the reason this time? Let me see. They have the plague. They’ve been eaten by ogres. They’ve turned into ponies and are living somewhere over the rainbow.”

  Eric quirked an eyebrow. What?

  “I can’t introduce you to them, David, because they’re gone. I cannot produce what is not accessible.”

  David’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean they’re gone? Are you implying my parents stole the crystals and have taken off with them?”

  “I’m implying nothing of the sort,” Slavandria said.r />
  “Are you looking for them?”

  “Scouts are preparing to ride as we speak. I’ll come to you when they’ve been found, but for now, you must go. Give the necklace to Finn.”

  Slavandria said some words that didn’t make sense, flipping and twisting her wrists.

  Eric turned toward the queen’s quarters. His stomach lurched. His breath snagged.

  The world spun. Darkened. Elongated.

  And Gyllen Castle disappeared into a black abyss.

  David

  David slammed into something hard. Pain ripped through his shoulder, his head. Two more thuds landed beside him. A third one hit so hard the ground quaked.

  He pushed to his hands and knees, discarded the spindly broken chair clinging to his back like a turtle shell, and stood. He recognized the pots and pans suspended from the ceiling, the prismatic colors flickering off a line of crystals hanging in a sunlit window above a sink. A pewter teapot sat on a wood stove. Bottles of all shapes and sizes, some so dusty he couldn’t see their contents, perched on tilted shelves. And up above, nestled between the ceiling and the lopsided cabinets, a black creature with leathery wings stared down at him, its purple eyes watching his every move.

  “Hello, Maggot,” he muttered under his breath.

  It had been two weeks since he’d first laid eyes on the creature. At the time, Finn called it a familiar, his double, his alter-ego. David called it creepy and wished it would go away. The sentiment hadn’t changed.

  The gargoyle blinked and turned its gaze on Eric who winced while helping Charlotte to her feet.

  He had seen that contorted look of pain on Eric’s face once before, in Berg Castle, in the dungeons when they’d first met. A shiver ran up his spine at the sight of Eric’s arm dangling precariously at his side.

  “It’s dislocated again, isn’t it?” David asked.

  Eric nodded. “Have you got a sash I can use?” He smiled.

  David returned the grin. “I wish.” He kicked the overturned chairs out of the way and shoved the small table to the side, grimacing as the lanky, twiggy legs grated across the floor. “I do have a wall for you though.” He gestured to the partition separating the kitchen from the hall, as if showing off a grand prize on a game show.