Talon the Black

by Melissa Mitchell

  The Drengr looked intrigued. He smiled and nodded.

  “I was running away, but not from you. Escaping the hall was my chief goal.”

  “I see.”

  “It was nothing to do with you. Please do not take offense.” Something about the warm surroundings of willow branches made her bold. There was no other explanation for the confidence in which she spoke.

  The Drengr bowed his head in acknowledgement. “I am glad of it, my lady. But tell me, from whom were you running?”

  She considered spilling the contents of her heart, telling him about her marriage to Lord Rhal, but she refrained. “Not from whom, sir, but from what.”

  The Drengr tilted his head slightly, surprised by her answer. “And?”

  “I was running from my responsibilities. And hopefully I am free—for now.”

  The Drengr laughed. It was a deep and hearty roar, one only a Drengr might make. “Gods! I cannot blame you for it.”

  “You—you have felt the same way?”

  “Aye. And often. My responsibilities are numerous.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  “But tell me truly, a woman such as yourself, should you not put your responsibilities aside for a night and enjoy the festivities?”

  She shook her head adamantly. She could not, not when her responsibilities went hand in hand with what took place within the dining hall of the castle.

  “I see. So you have come out here to be alone and I have disturbed you. For that, I am sorry.”

  “Please, you do not need to leave. Come and join me on my bench.” At her words, the Drengr moved beneath the willow and sat down. “I—I could use the company,” she admitted. He nodded. “Tell me, sir, since you have had more dealings with responsibility, have you ever been made to do something against your will? Have you ever had to follow orders simply because others demanded it of you? Even if it meant sacrificing your own happiness?”

  The Drengr was silent for a moment before turning to her. The handsome silhouette of his face stilled her heart. “My dear lady, those are heavy thoughts for one so young.” Indeed, they were. She saw the sparkle of his eyes. His gaze penetrated the very depths of her being. He was regarding her, studying her, perhaps looking for answers to her questions. At last he smiled but did not answer her question. Instead he said, “It sounds like your responsibilities are getting the better of you.”

  She sighed. “They are indeed. I simply cannot accept the future others have chosen for me. That is not who I am.”

  “And who are you?” His question caught her unawares. Trust a Drengr to ask something so deep. Yet he made a good point. Who was she?

  “I suppose I still have not figured that out yet, sir. But know this”—she looked at him with sincerity—“I am not a product of the desires and schemes of others.”

  “I should hope not,” he said. His agreement felt good—too good. It was all the reassurance she needed. Her plan would move forward. Running away was the correct path to take. There would be no submitting to her father’s plans.

  Tamara looked closer at the Drengr. His golden hair, his striking features, a long fine nose, they were something of merit. Almost immediately she could feel blood rushing to her cheeks. Thank the gods it was dark. Out of necessity she turned away from him, fearful he might perceive her.

  “Will you be at Redport long, sir?” She needed to know when the volunteers would depart if she was to pose as one of them.

  “I am afraid not. Matters of importance must take me back to Fort Squall immediately.”

  “Immediately?”

  “Aye, I leave after the festivities tonight.” It was better news than she could have hoped for, because he would not attend the departing party to see her with them. He was the one who had helped select the volunteers. With him gone, she could slip into their ranks unnoticed.

  “And what of the volunteers?” she asked.

  “Ah. They leave in the morning, just before sunrise. Several of my party will escort them.”

  It was good news. She breathed a sigh of relief knowing her adventure was soon at hand.

  “Now, my lady, I am afraid I have intruded upon your solitude for long enough. I must return to the festivities.”

  She was almost sad to lose his company. “Of—of course, sir.”

  He rose to leave. Just before he parted the veil of the willow, he paused. Then he turned to her and said, “I do apologize once more for earlier. And for my rude manners. I am afraid I never asked for your name, nor properly introduced myself.”

  Her name? The beating of her heart quickened. She had to think fast. “For earlier, sir, I forgive you. Regarding my name, you may call me Amber.”

  “Lady Amber. Well met. You may call me Byron.” He smiled and held forth his hand to take her forearm, as Drengr often do. She reciprocated the greeting, gripping his in return. Through the fabric of his shirt, there was no intimate contact. She was almost sorry for it, for she longed to feel the tingles of his skin again.

  All too soon Byron was gone, and she was left to her solitude, but not for long. Amber had work to do if she was to depart before sunrise. Not long after, she scurried away like a little mouse, and set about her plans to run away.

  40

  Kastali Dun

  Reyr had never before been so displeased with King Talon. Leading up to the trial, he held firm to the belief that Talon would come to his senses. Unfortunately, Talon’s propensity for reason evaporated the moment Claire presented herself. In its place he found an erratic and unpredictable ruler—one who resorted to gruesome threats.

  Claire had every right to say what she did. Although, erupting before an entire kingdom was not the best practice in decorum. When was she ever proper? His mind drifted back through their time together. Since the beginning, she displayed true grit in all things. He admired that about her.

  “Smiling, are we?” Jovari’s question pulled him back to the present. “Come now, do share. The rest of us could use a lift in our moods.”

  Embarrassed by his thoughts, he casually shrugged. Too often he thought of Claire when he should not have.

  “See here brothers, Reyr wishes for us to remain sullen.” Jovari was never one to give up. Bedelth and Koldis were also present. Verath smartly abandoned Reyr’s chambers after their fifth bottle of wine. Drinking was a most effective way to drown worry, and they indulged excessively since the trial’s end.

  “Remain sullen?” He arched an eyebrow at Jovari, falling for the Drengr’s bait. “I wish nothing of the sort. I am not so heartless.”

  “If that is true, then share your happiness with us. A private joke perhaps?”

  “Hardly. I was merely thinking of the trial—of Claire and what she said to the king.”

  “Ah-ha!” Jovari lifted an accusing finger. “I knew it.”

  “Quite the ball of fire, that one.” Bedelth was new to Claire’s disposition.

  “Ball of fire is an understatement.” Koldis smugly crossed his arms, a sly smile upon his lips. “If only you knew what she put us through these past few weeks.”

  “Believe me, after this morning, my understanding has improved. If anyone can stand up to our king, it is she.”

  “He deserved it.” Jovari said what they were all thinking. “He should have listened to us last night. No wonder his feathers are ruffled, or rather, his scales.”

  “Regretting his actions by now, I should hope,” Koldis said.

  “It is unlike him to behave so irrationally.” Bedelth shifted uncomfortably, looking at Reyr for answers. “How long will he remain barricaded within his tow—”

  The door to Reyr’s chambers burst open, bringing their conversation to an abrupt halt. Verath entered looking distraught.

  “The high and mighty has returned!” Jovari proclaimed, throwing his arms wide. He failed to see Verath’s distress. The young Drengr was already reveling signs of his drink. “Not too good for us after all, eh, Verath?”

  “The king still refu
ses to see me,” Verath said, sitting down to pour more wine into the glass he previously abandoned.

  “Of course he does.” Jovari mildly slurred his words. “I would be out of sorts too after that feline’s scratches.”

  “That is not what worries me.” Verath gave Jovari a stern glare, not amused by his intoxication. Most Drengr took their drinking quite well, the young ones less so than the rest, but Jovari was pouring at a much faster rate than the others. It showed.

  “What worries you, Verath?” Reyr sat forward in his seat. Verath was generally reserved. His change in demeanor was unsettling.

  “The guards at King Talon’s tower have left me uneasy. I do not wish to rekindle our fears from earlier, but perhaps we must do something.”

  Reyr’s skin crawled uneasily. “You do not mean to say…”

  “I mean to say that a message was carried from the king’s tower to the dungeons. Claire is to be moved.” Verath stared intently into his drink as he spoke.

  “Moved? Moved where?”

  “Not out of the dungeons, I can assure you of that.”

  Koldis jumped to his feet. “We must do something. He cannot move her to the Screamers.”

  Simultaneously, the five of them burst into heated debate. The Screamers was a common nickname invented by the guards for the screaming chambers. These were the rooms that only the lowest traitors were taken—rooms for torture.

  “Those rooms have gone unused for ten years. He would not dare!” Jovari looked back and forth in disbelief. “I thought we decided earlier that it was unlikely such an event would occur. Did we not, Reyr?”

  “Surely you can fix this, Reyr.” Bedelth was looking at him in earnest. Koldis had abandoned his drink and set about pacing between Reyr’s table and fireplace.

  He shook his head in frustration. “I have tried talking to him; he has closed his mind to me.”

  “Then you must go to him. You are his favorite,” Bedelth insisted.

  “I think you mistake me for Cyrus.”

  “Well Cyrus is no longer here to fix things, is he?” Koldis was nearly shouting now, his temper back to where it was after the trial.

  “I wish he was here—I wish Cyrus was here. We would not be in this mess otherwise.” Jovari helplessly put his head in his hands.

  “Cyrus would be here had he heeded Reyr’s council.” Verath gave Reyr a knowing look.

  There was a pause before Koldis spoke. His confusion momentarily subdued his temper. “What council?”

  “You did not tell them, Reyr?” Verath arched a curious eyebrow at him.

  He shook his head, feeling ashamed. Perhaps he should have said something to the others. “Alas, I blame myself for this mess. I should have done more.”

  “More?” Verath threw up his hands in frustration. “Gods, Reyr. I already told you: what more could you have done?” Verath alone knew what transpired before Cyrus departed for Esterpine.

  “I should have demanded he stay,” he said. “I should have forced him.”

  “You advised him to stay?” Koldis was stunned. “You did not tell us of this. I thought we were in agreement with the king’s plan.”

  Verath shook his head. “No, not all of us. Not Reyr.”

  “Then why did Cyrus go?” Koldis looked hurt. Perhaps now he understood the same hurt Reyr felt. When Cyrus left in spite of Reyr’s council, it was a heavy blow to his heart.

  Seeing his upset, Verath answered for him. “Cyrus left because he disagreed with Reyr’s advice. Reyr failed to mention it to you because of his unnecessary guilt.” Verath looked him dead in the eye. “It was the king’s mission to give, Reyr, not yours. Place your blame with him if you must.”

  Jovari pulled his head from his hands, his brow scrunched with concern. “You knew it was folly even then? You knew his mission was doomed?”

  “He knew, even when the rest of us failed to see the danger. For that, he is wiser than I.” Verath was older than all of them. Still, he openly acknowledged Reyr’s wisdom in the matter. “Reyr, you are our best hope. Go to the king. Insist that he see reason. Remind him of what happened the last time your council went unheeded. You alone can fix this.”

  “And if he refuses to see me, as he has already done for all of us?”

  “Tear down the doors if you must.”

  Verath was right. He knew what he needed to do. He placed his hands atop his thighs and leaned back against the sofa, letting his head fall against it. The others grew silent. Behind the darkness of his lids, he prepared his mind for confrontation. He played through the conversation he would have with the king, thinking of all the best words to use. But each argument seemed as hopeless as the next. How could he convince a crazed Talon of anything?

  At last, Verath spoke. “Reyr, we hoped he would calm down. We hoped to speak sense into him. It seems our plan has failed. Save him from his foolishness. If you love him as we all do, you will do this.”

  “Very well. I will go.” He left his chambers in a hurry, leaving the others to continue their speculation. When he reached Talon’s tower, the guards barred his entry. He expected this. “Beggin’ your pardon, Lord Reyr. We do not like refusin’ you, but king’s orders.”

  “You do realize I can easily get past you if I so desire. Save yourself the hurt and let me by.” He was in no mood to bargain. He had never once been refused by the guards of Kastali Dun.

  “If we allow you to pass, the king’s wrath will be more severe than yours, Lord Reyr. We will take our chances.”

  He understood their reasoning. They were merely following orders. Allowing him to pass would bring Talon’s fury upon them. The king did not tolerate disobedience. “Very well then. And I do apologize.” For a moment, his words were met with looks of confusion. Fortunately he moved faster than they could blink. He slammed each of their heads together. Their helms clanked loudly, echoing down the hall. In an instant they were unconscious. He could have used magic by simply speaking the commands for sleep. They would have dropped all the same. This felt more satisfying.

  The door was unlocked, but he found Talon’s tower empty. Had the king taken flight? Gods only knew he could use the silence of the sky to calm his temper. Yet something was amiss, and his mood darkened further. Where had Talon gone?

  In his mind he already knew, but he could hardly bear the thought. Rushing from Talon’s tower, he stormed through the keep. What if he was too late? Hope clipped at his heels, driving him forward. Curse the gods for letting it come to this!

  He entered the dungeons at such a sprint, the guards shouted after him in surprise. He continued down the dark corridors without stopping.

  “Please, Lord Reyr,” they called in his wake. “None are permitted without the king’s permission!”

  Their words told him all he needed to know. The king had been this way. He ignored their protests and their voices faded. They knew better than to chase after a Drengr.

  The Screamers were located on the lowest level at the end of the last corridor. All the doors were cracked open save one. There were no sounds from within, but he did not care to wait for any.

  “Hinga laesa,” he commanded, simultaneously pushing against the heavy door. It creaked as it swung open. He was unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

  “Talon!” he cried, too shocked for proper address. “What is the meaning of this?!”

  Claire was strapped to a rack, gagged and terrified. There were tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Talon stood over her, knife to her throat, looking more crazed than Reyr had ever seen him. In a panic, his eyes flicked to the lever arms at the ends of the table. The device had not yet been used. His lungs deflated with relief. He was not too late.

  “Talon!” His voice held warning.

  “If she refuses to talk, I will make her talk.” The voice that answered him was not Talon’s—it was the snarling of a beast’s. The black dragon had taken over.

  “Curses the gods, Talon! How can she talk when she is gagged? This is madness
! Come into the hall. I must speak with you immediately.”

  “You should not be here, Reyr.”

  “Come into the hall. I command it of you.” It was a true trial to hold his voice steady. Crossing the path of a black dragon was folly.

  Talon began to laugh. It was a sinister laugh. What if Talon was truly lost? What if there was no going back? To bear the color black was to be cursed. The thought nearly broke his heart.

  At last Talon’s laughing ceased. “You dare command me, Reyr?”

  Ignoring the bait, he entered the room and went to the table. His eyes met Claire’s for a brief second. What he saw in her green depths calmed him. She was not so scared as he believed. She was being very brave. Talon did not remove the knife from her throat, so he placed his hand gently on the king’s arm.

  “Talon, my king, please come into the hall. Speak with me before you do something you will regret forever.” For a moment it appeared as if Talon would defy him. The beast within certainly wanted to. It reared its head within the reflection of the king’s eyes, but at last Talon heaved a frustrated sigh and pulled the knife away. It was the first step towards success.

  When they entered the corridor and shut the door to the chamber, it took every ounce of his being to keep himself under control. He wanted so badly to fall into explosive rage, to scream at Talon for being an idiot, to shake him and slam the man against the wall if he had to, to knock some sense into him, but Talon was his king. They had been through many hardships together. He hoped this would not be the last—there had to be some way to save Talon from his insanity.

  “Talon”—he spoke with control—“I cannot bear to think of the outcome of this had I found you a moment later. Do you think killing Claire will solve anything?”

  “You should not interfere, Reyr. Had any other man interrupted me, he would be dead.” Talon’s voice was still very beast-like.

  “I must interfere! She carries valuable information—information we need.”

  “So you think!”

  “So I know.”

  Talon was breathing as hard as an angry bull before the charge. There was fire in his eyes, and he was ready to unleash it. “Your mind is too clouded, Reyr, you allowed her to seduce it.”