And what traits would those be? mindlinked Shayla.
Intelligent, passionate, fearless.
A smile crept onto Shayla’s face. It was strange to have someone in her life that could see through her, see the bad and the good in her and not judge her. That it was a dragon was even stranger, but it felt good. “So, if I were considering the thoughts of others while I dealt with the Sacred Blood and their allies what would you recommend doing?”
“Make sure that you never hurt innocents with your powers,” said Apophis. “It isn’t for me to tell you who deserves to be punished or let live. Those are your choices, and they are choices that will stay with you your entire life. But those who are accidently hurt by your actions, those are the ones that harm our cause. Ordinary people should have nothing to fear from dragons and dragonbloods, fear is a powerful thing, it can help you but it can also destroy.”
Shayla knew fear all too well. She’d seen what mobs could do when stricken with fear, and she had a more intimate knowledge of fear that only came with experience. When she’d been captured and tortured by the Sacred Blood she’d felt fear like she’d never felt before. Fear of the next slash of the whip, fear of the next prick of the blade, and it wasn’t just fear of pain. There was the fear that she would succumb to her torturers efforts and give up her secrets, that fear that she would betray her loved ones had been stronger than her fear of pain and had kept her from breaking, but if she hadn’t been rescued how long would it have taken before she eventually broke? Yes, she knew fear, all too well. Apophis’s words sunk dead within her, the girl who’d never cared for anyone but herself now had a reason to care about the thoughts of others. She hoped no innocent person ever felt a fear of her the way she’d feared the pain the Sacred Blood had inflicted on her. But that consideration only went as far as the innocent. Anyone who aligned themselves with the Sacred Blood was another matter altogether. “I will make so no innocents are hurt by my actions.”
“Very well,” said Apophis. “For that you need to better understand your powers and practice using them. If you are willing, I will assist you.”
Shayla looked carefully at Apophis. “You are the alpha dragon.”
“I am.”
“Doesn’t that mean you should be off doing alpha things and not wasting your time training me?”
Apophis let out a low grumbling sound.
To Shayla it sounded like a small earthquake, but she guessed was just a chuckle.
“Yes, there are many alpha things that need to be done, but my immediate concern is you. This is a very tenuous time for us dragons. I want our return to be as smooth as possible. This is a new generation of humans, that have never had to share their world with dragons, they only know of us by story and legend. There is also a new generation of dragons, the next few years will be a busy time for me, I’m sure there will be many fires to put out, as we strive towards attempting to live in harmony with men. However, there are times when I need to focus on one thing at a time. You are, to my knowledge, the first dragonblood to fully bond with your dragon. This is a good thing. But, you are a volatile person filled with anger, rage, and now dragon magic. This is a combination that is dangerous. You are a danger to yourself and everyone around you now. If your emotions get the better of you there is a possibility of losing yourself to your power. You have the gift of dragon fire. It’s arguably the most dangerous of all dragon magics for a dragonblood to have.”
Shayla understood why Apophis was worried about her. Nothing the great dragon had said was untrue. She was a volatile person, and anger and rage came quick to her. And from the first time she’d used the dragon fire she’d known how dangerous it could be. She’d almost burned down her own home. But what Apophis was saying was that she was a danger not just to herself and those around her, but to all dragons. If she let her rage control her and hurt innocent people she would foster fear and hate, pushing common folk towards the likes of the Sacred Blood. “I would gladly accept your training.”
“That is welcome news,” said Apophis. “Caritha will take you to her cave, then she needs to feed. We’ll start tomorrow.”
33
Instead of space shifting the last spot he’d been before returning to the dragon mountain, Lyric returned to a spot he’d traveled to earlier. One he calculated to be much closer to where the hunters and the wolfhounds would be.
He the shifted again high into the sky, giving him a view of the valley that could only be rivaled by sitting on the back of a dragon. But he didn’t want dragons involved with what was coming next. From the sky, he spotted the hunters and the wolfhounds. The hunters were having a tough time keeping up to the wolfhounds as they tracked down his scent. He’d been correct in his guesstimate of how far the wolfhounds and trackers would make it in the morning. They were right in the middle of the valley about twenty miles from where he’d quit for the day. It would take the hunters another day and a half to reach that point because of all the shifts he done. But now his plan was changed.
Slavers, and those who assisted slavers like this man Deormod, had a special place in the Seven Hells as far as Lyric was concerned. That Talon and Deormod were hunting him with beasts trained to hunt and kill slaves changed the situation. Lyric wouldn’t run from these beasts any longer. It was time he became the hunter.
Lyric shifted to a spot a few hundred yards in front of the lead wolfhound. The animal, and the rest of the pack spotted him and started after him. Their frenzied howls and barks echoed through the valley.
Lyric ran towards the hills on the eastern edge of the valley. There was a large set of hills that had a steep slope. The slope would slow him and the wolfhounds down a little, but the hunters would be slowed down the most. This is what Lyric wanted. When he’d shifted into the sky he’d seen the hunters were about a mile behind the wolfhounds. It wasn’t a great distance and one they would hurriedly cross now that the wolfhounds had spotted him. But the steep hills would slow the hunters down.
Glancing behind him, Lyric noted that the hounds were gaining on him, but the lead wolfhound had slowed to let the other catch up. They were spread out, and trying to surround him. The beast’s tactics didn’t concern him, only that they moved up the slope as fast as possible.
When he reached the crest of the hill Lyric slowed to a jog. As he suspected the wolfhounds surrounded him. He slowed to a stop and pulled his staff from its sleeve on his back.
Lyric waited. He wanted to be sure that the wolfhounds were as Celine had said, man hunters. If they surrounded him with the intent of trapping him for hunters he would simply shift and keep leading the chase north. But if the wolfhounds were truly trained to hunt and kill people he would run no further.
The lead wolfhound stepped towards Lyric. Its hackles raised and it bared its teeth and barked sharply at Lyric. The wolfhound wanted Lyrics attention focused on him.
Lyric took the bait, and stared down the wolfhound. Waiting to see what happened next.
Suddenly Lyric’s senses tingled. One of the wolfhounds had snuck behind him and had jumped onto his back. The wolfhound’s claws sliced into Lyric’s shoulder as he ducked and the animal flew over. The next wolfhound’s teeth nipped at Lyric’s heels as they tried to take out his Achilles tendon.
Lyric spun and struck the beasts with his staff. When the next group of wolfhounds jumped at him, Lyric shifted out of the way and struck the beasts. Each time the wolfhounds thought they had Lyric cornered or were about to bite him, he shifted out of the way and counterattacked. Before long all the wolfhounds were dead.
When it was over, Lyric was remorseful, not for the beasts but for the numerous victims of the wolfhounds who had suffered at the mouths of these foul beasts. He took solace in the fact that killing the beasts prevented them from being used to hunt other defenseless victims.
The first man up the ridge looked at the carnage at Lyric’s feet and cried out, “You killed my beautiful creatures.”
Lyric could hear more men panting and huffi
ng as they made their way up the hill, but they would be a few minutes before they reached the ridge. He stood his ground as the wolfhounds’ owner race towards him with his sword out.
The man yelled out again. “You stinking bastard. You know how much time and money you’ve cost me? Those were my best stock.” He then swung his sword trying to kill Lyric.
Lyric had never taken a human life before. He’d killed corca cats, and now the wolfhounds, but never had he fought a man to the death. He’d always wondered what he’d feel if it ever came to pass. Would he be frightened? Would he feel sad that he had to kill someone? Could he even do it? But now with the evil he saw in front of him, a man who raised beasts to hunt poor escaped slaves and other innocent victims he knew the answers to all his questions. Lyric shifted out of the way of the man’s sword attack and he struck him in the side of the head with a ferocious swing of his staff. The man fell to the ground, his skull crushed.
Lyric didn’t feel sad, nor regret or pity for the dead man. He felt nothing. It was a dirty task to kill him, but one that needed doing. Lyric understood then that there would be much more killing in his future. There were men and beasts that would attack him for being dragonblood. Men who’d been raised to hate and hunt him just like those wolfhounds had been raised to hunt slaves. Lyric didn’t consider himself a brave person, or a skilled warrior, but he knew he was a survivor. He’d always been a survivor, from the orphanage to the streets of Middale, he’d done what was necessary to survive. Now that he was dragonblood he wasn’t going to be any different. He would do what was necessary to survive.
The rest of the soldiers were almost to the top of the hill. Lyric could hear them panting as they climbed the steep bank. For a moment, Lyric contemplated killing them all. They were, after all, hunting him with the intent of killing him, but they weren’t evil like the man and his dogs. They were soldiers following orders. He would only kill men like that when necessary. When they truly threatened his life or the lives of someone he loved or cared for.
Lyric shifted back to the dragon mountain. Without the dogs and their master. The soldiers and Talon had no way of tracking him. They could stay in the western mountains as long as they wanted to keep searching for him. It was time for Lyric to head to his new home. It was time to visit Fallstorm.
34
“Your Highness, we’ve received reports that Lord Falbran’s men have attacked the soldiers you sent south to collect taxes.”
The king spit out his ale. “What!”
The messenger looked nervously at the king. “There is more. He has declared Southern Droll independent.”
Lord Tyree Horne stood stoically as the messenger spoke, but inside he was bursting in excitement. Now was the time. He turned to one of the servants. “I don’t think Lord Hornes drink is agreeing with him.” He then turned to the king. “Would you preferer a wine instead? Perhaps something from Southern Droll? We can toast to their demise.”
The king slammed his hand against his throne. “Bring me a wine from Lord Falbran’s winery. We’ll be traveling south. If his swill is any good we’ll take it all, along with his traitorous head.”
The servant boy scrambled off to fetch the wine.
“What should we do Regent Horne? I can’t deal with dragons and an uprising at the same time.”
Lord Horne looked around the throne room. The entire council was there. They would all witness the death of the king. Who was a threat? Who did he need to eliminate to make sure the throne was his? Or perhaps he could take care of two problems at the same time. General Ulman was in charge of the largest force in the king’s army. Having him out of Wilmborne as soon as possible would be strategic, but also gaining the man’s future loyalty would secure his position as the new king. “I think this uprising must be squashed. We should send a large force south to deal with the traitors. General Ulman has served you with distinction. I believe he is the man to lead the army. I’m confident he will crush Lord Falbran and his lot.”
The king turned to the general. “My most trusted advisor believes you can destroy this uprising. What says you, General Ulman?”
The general looked at Lord Horne then to the king. “Regent Horne gives wise council. I will deal with Lord Falbran and this rebellion swiftly.”
“Go now. Don’t return until the south has repledged their allegiance to their king and Lord Falbrans head is in your hands,” said the king.
“I shall walk you out, General Ulman,” said Lord Horne.
The general nodded and walked out of the throne room with Lord Horne at his side.
“Will you be needing additional troops beyond your own battalion?” asked Lord Horne.
“No. That will not be necessary. I shall not have another general claiming his men were the key to my victory. Tell me Regent Horne, why did you suggest me? You know a victory in Southern Droll will elevate my position. Are you not worried about me as a rival for the day when the king dies?”
Lord Horne stopped walking and turned to the general. He shook his head. “You misunderstand me sir. I’m too old to be king. I have only a few good years left. I suspect our king is going to have a long life, I only want our kingdom to be strong again. I fear that a regent alone isn’t going to be enough to undo the damage that had been done in the last few years. It is going to require a strong military leader as well. If the gods frown upon us, and the king doesn’t have a long life we will need strong leadership. A general who has dealt with the southern uprising is a man capable of being king. If you want my support then you will deal with this swiftly.”
“And the cost of your support?” asked the general.
“My son is young and ambitious. His inheritance isn’t as impressive as it should be. The lands under his control are not as vast as they should be.”
The conversation was interrupted when a servant came running from the throne room. “Regent come quick. The king has been poisoned.”
Lord Horne swore. “Seven hells, that Falbran poisoned the king’s wine supply. Go fetch a healer.”
The general grabbed Lord Hornes arm. “If the king dies today will you support my claim to the throne?”
“I might, but none of the other lords would. You need to squash Lord Falbran and quickly. Return within a fortnight victorious and I will put my support behind you. But this uprising must be stopped.”
“Thank you, friend. I shall not forget this.”
Lord Horne nodded as General Ulman stormed off. The fool thought he had a chance at being king. He turned and went back to the throne room to find the king slumped in his throne.
“By the gods, what has happened?” asked Lord Horne.
“He drank a goblet of wine and started to convulse,” said Lord Hawthorne, one of the lesser lords who sat on the king’s council.
“What,” said Lord Horne, trying to create as much shock and dismay in his voice as he possibly could.
“It must have been that bastard, Lord Falbarn,” said Lord Hawthorne. “What do we do now?”
“Put the king in his bed. His life is in the healers’ hands now.” The healers would be useless. The king would be dead before they got him to his bed, but as regent he needed to make every possible effort to save his king before reluctantly taking his throne.”
The king lifted his head as the men grabbed him to take him to his bed. “What is happening?” asked the king, barely able to speak.
“You’ve been poisoned, Milord. What are we to do if you don’t survive?” asked Lord Horne loudly so everyone could hear.
“You must take the throne,” said the king. “Avenge me.” The king started to cough viciously then collapsed to the floor.
One of the men who was trying to help him up put his hand to the king’s neck. He looked up at the others in the room. “There is no pulse. The king is dead.”
“What do we do now? asked one of the minor lords assembled behind Lord Horne.
“You all heard the king. Regent Horne must take the throne,” said Lord Hawthorne. He
then reached down and gently removed the crown from King Gramalt’s head. He stood in front of Lord Horne. Everyone in the room bent to one knew as Lord Hawthorne placed the crown on his head.
King Horne thanked the gods and a witch as the crown was placed on his head. He then turned to the assembled lords who made up the former king’s council. “The traitor Lord Falbran has poisoned our former king and declared war. I am reluctant to accept this honor, but as the dying wish of our great king, I accept.”
“Long live King Horne,” cheered the assembled lords.
35
Talon was beyond irritated as he returned to Wilmborne. Not only had they lost the trail of Lyric, but Deormod and his wolfhounds were dead. Deormod was a significant value to the Horne family, his wolfhounds sold for a pretty penny and they took the lion’s share of the profits.
A castle guard was at the gates waiting for Talon. “The king is looking for you. I’m to escort you to the throne room the minute you enter the city. Come with me please.”
Talon scowled. The king was probably angry that Lyric hadn’t been found yet. Didn’t the old fool know Talon wanted him dead just as much as he did? But there was nothing Talon could do. It was obvious that Lyric had help from a dragon. No man could kill all the wolfhounds and Deormod.
The guard led him to the doors of the throne room. “Wait here,” he said before entering the throne room.
Talon stood nervously at the doors, waiting for the king’s judgement. He’d been given an eminent position and rank for the task of killing the dragonblood. Would the fact that he hadn’t yet accomplished his task result in heavy punishment. The king had been erratic in the last few months so Talon had no idea what would happen.
“You may enter,” said the guard, ushering Talon inside before closing the doors behind him.
Talon lowered his eyes and walked towards the throne, he didn’t want the king to see any defiance in his eyes, or any fear. When he was ten feet from the throne he took a knee.
Dragon Magic: Lyric's Curse 2 (Dragonblood Sagas Book 4) Page 19