Rage of the Dragon King

by J. Keller Ford

  “We’ll go with you,” Charlotte said. “Maybe by the time we get back, Grampa can talk some sense into his son.”

  They walked away, a united front, and retreated through the kitchen and out the back door.

  David was the first to reach the car. He unlocked and lifted the trunk.

  “Man, he’s hot tonight. Why does he hate me so much?”

  “I doubt he does,” Eric said, collecting his sword and scabbard and strapping them to his side. “He’s only trying to intimidate you. Fathers do that sort of nonsense, even where I come from.”

  “Well, I don’t appreciate it.” David grabbed his bow and quiver and slammed the trunk. “I’ve never done anything to deserve that and he’s known me almost all my life.”

  Charlotte walked to the edge of the pasture and folded her arms on the white fence. The sun played low in the sky, casting long shadows upon a landscape splashed in warm shades of sunset orange and gold. Overhead, shades of violet and blue faded into a palate of deep purple and black.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Eric opened his palm, a coin in the middle.

  She smiled. “I’m not thinking. I’m wishing. Wishing all of this was over. Wishing I could erase the hurt in my dad’s eyes. Wishing I wasn’t the one who put it there.”

  “I know what you mean,” Eric said. “Ever since I found out that Trog was—you know—I’ve been wishing, too. Wishing I’d known my mother. Wishing I could have seen her and my father long before I was born, to see what he was like before the world changed him.”

  “He loves you, Eric,” Charlotte said. “You know that, right?”

  “Yes. Deep down I do. And I him. If only he would see me as something more than an object to protect.”

  Charlotte tilted her chin his way. “What’s the one thing you think you could do to, I don’t know, be perfect in his eyes? To have him see you as something more?”

  Eric looked off in the distance. “Become a knight.” He paused. “Yes. That would please him immensely.”

  “And would that please you?” Charlotte asked.

  He smiled. “Yes. It would. It’s all I’ve dreamed of and trained for since I can remember.”

  David patted Eric’s shoulder. “Then let’s make a promise now for all of our wishes to come true.”

  He placed a hand on a fence post. Charlotte looked at him, smiled, and laid her hand on top of his. Eric looked between the two of them and laid his hand on top.

  “To prayers and wishes,” David said. “May all of them be granted.”

  “Hooray!” Charlotte yelled.

  Three hands rose in the air, followed by laughter, and for a moment, all was right with the world.

  If only those moments could last forever.

  ***

  The pizza arrived.

  David sat opposite Mr. Stine, the fighter pilot, the seasoned war vet, the former Black Op that could see through and rip apart every bullshit story ever told. The tale was going to be difficult. Somehow, they were going to have to make him believe it.

  It took six slices of pizza and two ice-cold beers to get Mr. Stine in the mood to listen.

  “It’s not what you think,” David said. “It’s like Charlotte said, it’s complicated, crazy, and beyond belief, but I swear to you every bit of it’s true.”

  “Fine. I’m listening.” He sat back in a chair, one leg crossed over the other. “Let’s start with where you’ve been for the last two, almost three months.”

  “Oh, yeah, there’s that ‘months’ thing again,” Charlotte said. “I forgot about that.”

  “Don’t play the naïve game with me, young lady. I want to know where you’ve been.”

  Charlotte slumped, her face in her hands. “You won’t believe me, Daddy.”

  “Try me.”

  David rubbed the back of his neck. “Wow, this is going to be hard.” He clasped his hands between his knees. “Mr. Stine, I’ve always thought of you as an open-minded, fair person. You always seemed to be the type of guy to listen to all sides of a story before passing judgment. A lot is at stake here and I don’t think your dad would have asked you to meet us here unless he felt you could help us. But, before we go any further, do you know if the FBI or the police followed you?”

  “I didn’t see a tail, but I can’t promise you anything. They are, after all, investigating the disappearance of two teens. Two, honest, trustworthy teens whose worst crimes include sticking bubblegum under a school desk and eating grapes you didn’t pay for in a grocery store.”

  David chuffed. “I wish that was the only thing I was guilty of.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  David leaned forward. His eyes burned. “It means I’m no longer a grape-eating thief, sir. I’ve grown up. We all have. Charlotte and I aren’t the innocent kids that left here in January. We’ve seen more than we should have ever seen. Death. War. Unimaginable destruction. In fact, I bet our stories could rival yours, maybe even top them.”

  “Son, I don’t know why you’re taking that tone with me, but I—”

  David sighed. “Mr. Stine, with all due respect, I’m not trying to take a tone with you. I’m exhausted. I’m on edge. There is not one muscle in my body that doesn’t ache. Last night was the first time I’ve had a decent night’s sleep in I can’t tell you how long. Even then, Charlotte tells me I was restless.”

  “You were. I checked on you twice because you were moaning and groaning in your sleep.”

  “No doubt my nightmares had something to do with that. And you know what? Those same nightmares visit your daughter and Eric every single time they shut their eyes. So, if you really want to know the truth, if you really want to know where we’ve been and what’s happened to us, you need to throw away everything you think you know. You need to trust us, no matter how strange and unbelievable the story gets. If you can’t do that, then I’m afraid we’re outta here, ’cause there’s stuff we need to do and we’re running out of time.”

  David blinked, but never took his gaze away from Mr. Stine’s. What a moron he was. What an idiot, talking to Charlotte’s father like some punk kid with an attitude. But he had to make the man understand. What better way to do it than with the three people who lived and breathed it?

  Mr. Stine stared at David for the longest time, and the more he stared, the more David stared back. Finally, the match ended, and David exhaled. The man got up without a word and walked to the hutch, pulled out a decanter of whiskey, and poured a short glass. He turned back to David, drink in hand, his eyes wary, analyzing, worried.

  “You mentioned two things that have me quite distressed. War and death. Hearing those words and knowing my daughter was somehow involved is upsetting. A part of me wishes I could pretend I didn’t hear them, but I did, so now I need an explanation.” He threw back his drink and returned to his chair. “With that said, I am prepared to listen. It is the very least I can do for my daughter. I can’t say the same for you or your friend here.” He cast a harsh look at Eric who seemed to take it in stride. David was fairly certain he’d received far worse from Trog. “After all, how do I know he’s not a terrorist? A kidnapper?”

  “You can start by trusting me,” Charlotte said. “He’s our friend.”

  Mr. Stine sat back, his arms folded across his chest. “Fine. Can I assume you used the words death and war as metaphors?”

  David shook his head. “No, sir. I wish we were.”

  The man exhaled a hard breath. “Very well. Tell me how in the hell you got mixed up in a war, and better yet, why you put my daughter in harm’s way.”

  “Daddy, that’s not fair.”

  “And no lies,” Mr. Stine said.

  David stood. “It started with this.” David lifted his shirt, exposing his tattoo, “then it escalated with this.” He reached into a pocket, pulled out a folded, wrinkled letter and handed it to Mr. Stine. Somehow, he’d managed to hold on to it even after all the wardrobe changes, the
battles. The page was worn, the ink smeared in some places, but for the most part, it was intact and he would do everything he could to keep it that way.

  Ten, twenty, thirty silent seconds joined the conversation as the man read the letter that brought down David’s world—the words that told him his parents’ deaths were a cover up … that they were actually alive. David counted and focused on his breathing.

  “Is this true?” Mr. Stine asked. Disbelief and shock had found a comfortable place on his face and made themselves at home. David imagined he must have looked the same way when the truth sucker-punched him in the heart two months ago.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have you seen them? Met them?”

  David shook his head. “Not yet. Came close, but we were attacked.”

  “We weren’t,” Eric corrected. “The queen was.”

  “The queen?” Mr. Stine’s eyebrow lifted.

  “Daddy, you promised to keep an open mind.” Charlotte got up and knelt before her father, taking one hand into hers. “It all started for me with a phone call from David.”

  ***

  They sat at the dining room table, four empty pizza boxes stacked in the center. The sun had long set, leaving the house dark but for a small incandescent lamp and the light sitting on top of a buffet table. Mr. Stine stood at the window, massaging his temples. He now knew everything his daughter knew, except for Aldamar’s and Eric’s true identities. Some things were better left unspoken.

  He turned to face them.

  “I’m at a loss for words, kids. I don’t know what to feel. I’m numb. The three of you either have a hell of an imagination or you’re telling the truth, both of which terrify me to no end.”

  “We’re not lying,” Charlotte said.

  Her father held up a hand without looking her way. “You have told me an incredible story, one that no one in their sane mind would believe, and yet I do. I can’t imagine what reason you would have to lie to me. That scar on Eric’s back, the tattoo, the ring, the horror in my little girl’s voice as she told me she was almost murdered. I can’t deny what I’ve seen and heard, but I am having a very difficult time wrapping my mind around dragons and magic and sorcery.”

  “I have something that might help.” David fingered the small orb on the necklace around his neck. “Grampa, what did I call this earlier?”

  David hoped Aldamar understood the secret, unspoken conversation and went along.

  The old man glanced at it. “I believe you called it a reminiscent vapor, a very powerful memory. Where did you get it?”

  “Lily gave it to me.”

  “Then she must want us to see it,” Charlotte said. “How did she say to open it?”

  David shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think she did say.”

  Aldamar said, “If I had to guess, I’d say break it.”

  “Wait for me,” Mr. Stine said. He took off down the hall to the bathroom and shut the door.

  “Thanks,” David said. “I was hoping you would understand—”

  “Of course I understood,” Aldamar said. “I can read your thoughts. As for the vapor, I’m not sure I would advise you to open it. In order to experience a reminiscent vapor, one must be free of all magic. You would need to remove the rutseer, but removing it will leave you vulnerable to Seyekrad’s detection. You must decide if the memory is worth the risk.”

  After a brief huddle, David, Eric, and Charlotte came to a unanimous decision. They wanted to see the memory.

  Mr. Stine returned. They filled him in on what they were doing and that it might bring enemies into the open. “Very well,” Charlotte’s father said. “Let that leper come within a hundred yards of my little girl. There won’t be anything left of him when I’m done.”

  Eric snorted. “I admire your bravery, sir, but you don’t stand a chance against Seyekrad. He will put you in your grave with a flick of his finger.”

  “If you are willing to stand up to him, so am I. I’ll die before I let him hurt my little girl.”

  “All right then,” Charlotte said. “Come on, boys. Let’s bust up a memory.”

  Eric

  Eric adjusted the sword pressed against his hip.

  Beside him sat David, his quiver and bow on his back. Across from him sat Charlotte, rubbing her arms as if cold. Mr. Stine and Aldamar completed the circle. And the rutseer inside the Eye of Kedge lay on the dining room table inches from the tips of David’s fingers.

  David held the glass pendant over the table.

  “Let it go,” Eric said. “Break it.”

  David shook his head. “I’m trying. I can’t open my hand. It’s like it’s glued shut or something.”

  “I bet the rutseer’s too close to you.” Eric wiped it from the table. It hit the carpet with a muffled thump, landing beneath the bookcase in the living room.

  The glass pendant slipped from David’s hand and shattered on the dining room table.

  An image appeared, clear, crisp, clean. A living, breathing visual.

  Eric swallowed the cotton lump in his throat.

  Slavandria lay upon a palatial bed covered by an enormous white coverlet dotted with pink rosebuds. Plush, snow-white pillows pressed all around her. Her hair draped over one shoulder in a single braid, a wide sea-green ribbon woven through the thick lavender strands. Small, wispy tendrils hung loosely about her temples and neck.

  A small fire burned in a hearth. A crystal goblet filled to the brim with a misting burgundy liquid sat on the round table beside her, next to a vase of fresh cut flowers.

  “Oh my gosh. David, that looks like Lily’s room,” Charlotte said.

  In the corner, Lily sat in an overstuffed chair, her legs tucked beneath her. She wore a forest green nightgown and was humming softly to herself while reading. Slavandria turned her head, her eyes closed, a smile soft on her lips.

  She held her sister’s hand and looked into her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Valla, for what I’ve put you through. You have had to deal with so much these past months.”

  “Shh. Don’t be silly. You’re my sister and I love you.” She leaned forward and kissed Slavandria’s forehead. “Get some sleep. Rest. You and the baby need it. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

  Slavandria slipped the blanket down, revealing a very round belly. She rubbed the bump, “Soon, little one. Soon.”

  She shut her eyes and drifted off to sleep, an angelic smile on her face.

  The image shattered into hundreds of pieces only to rearrange to form a new one.

  “Wait!” David shouted. “Go back to the baby!”

  A leviathan of a ship arrived in a harbor, its fifty sails puffed by the salty breath of the sea.

  Eric stared open mouth, his heart racing. He’d seen the ship once before on a trip to Felindil and it sucked his breath away then as it did now. It was the most magnificent ship in all of Felindil, perhaps in the world. Crafted of the finest teak, it measured over three hundred feet long, more than eight times larger than any other ship in the fleet. The tallest of its eight masts was just shy of half the ship’s length. Its name—the WindSong.

  “Hey, wait,” Charlotte said. “Slavandria has a replica of that ship in Chalisdawn!”

  “Oh my gosh, you’re right!” David said. “And I thought the one in her house was big.”

  Two young girls about the age of sixteen, ran on the docks and were met with open arms by a tall, over-muscled man with playful, slanted blue eyes that glistened like two sapphires against his bronze skin. He sported a low forehead, a pointed chin and wore his silky, straight black hair neck-length in an attractive, impractical style. He wore a black vest, black trousers, and black boots. Silver rings adorned every finger. Swirling emblems covered his arms.

  Eric knew the man before the girls said, “Father!”

  Jared.

  He glanced at Aldamar in time to see a slight quiver of the man’s bottom lip before he bit it away. Eric made a wish—a wi
sh for Aldamar to see his son and granddaughter again before he died. A quick glance at David and Charlotte and he knew they wouldn’t mind.

  The image fractured again, this one to a terrace and a young Slavandria, her hair up, wearing a gown as lovely and vibrant as emeralds. A man presented a flower. A dance. A kiss on the lips. He turned around.

  Eric clicked his tongue, anger boiling up from his feet to his throat. David and Charlotte shouted at the brume … at the image of Lord Seyekrad Krawl, introduced as the son of the Duke and Duchess of Doursmouth and apprentice to the wizard Sol of Bradenwood.

  Eric harrumphed. So Slavandria had an affair with Lord Seyekrad. In all fairness, he appeared kinder, tender. Affectionate. Not the loathsome cretin he was now. He wondered as he watched the two of them together what could have changed him.

  As if in answer, the brume shattered once more, the new image arising one of Slavandria in the arms of another man. A tall, dark-haired man with a sword and eyes as gray-blue as the Brindle Sea.

  Eric’s heart leapt.

  Mangus Grythorn, the general of Jared’s army. The most lethal mage other than Jared Eric had ever known. He was also cocky, dangerous, powerful, and respectable. And in the new image, he and Slavandria were standing on a seashore, she in a white shimmering gown, him in black leathers. Ribbons were wrapped around their wrists, weaved through their fingers. Bonded.

  They were married, and from the looks of it, secretly. Eric smiled, then laughed, his nerves a crazy mess of twinges and tingles.

  “She scorned him! She rejected Seyekrad. All of this, all of his hatred is because she didn’t return his love?” He glanced at Aldamar. “He wants to destroy everything because she didn’t love him?”