Knight of Flame

by Scott Eder

  “A few,” Magnus said, “I’ve traveled extensively. I could have asked in Russian or a few dead languages. Now they were someth—”

  “Magnus.” Wren drew out the second syllable.

  He laughed and stuck a couple more dogs with the end of his stick.

  Cassidy dropped into the chair next to Wren. “So Magnus, you’re from Sweden. Wren, Japan. Where is Dev from?”

  “France, though he very rarely talks about it.” Magnus said around a mouthful of food. “Bad memories, I guess.”

  “France?” Wren choked, “I thought he was a Brit.”

  “No. Like me, he’s lived in many different countries, but never for very long.” Magnus looked over the face of his unconscious friend. “I’ve never met anyone who could adapt so quickly to a new environment. Give him a week, and he’s speaking the language. Give him two, and he’s blending in like a native. It’s a gift, I tell you.”

  “France?” Wren shook her head.

  “Don’t tell him I told you.”

  “Nothing wrong with France,” Cassidy said. “I’ve wanted to visit Paris since I was a kid. See the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower and the Bastille. Eat snails and drink wine at an outdoor café.”

  “Tastes like snot.”

  “What?”

  “Snails.” Magnus said. “They taste like snot.” He touched one of the charred hot dogs. “Dog?”

  Both Wren and Cassidy shook their heads.

  “Suit yourself. Now, how about that picture?”

  Chapter 11

  THREE PAIRS OF EYES STARED DOWN at Dev—green, brown and crystalline blue. Familiar faces watched him, their expressions an odd mix of concern, relief and…amusement?

  I’m alive. Memories haunted his thoughts, but he pushed them back. Some small measure of his strength had returned, thanks to the heat source near his head. The flames cavorting over his body took the edge off, but the pain remained firmly in the intense category.

  He tried to speak, but after working his lips and tongue, nothing emerged. He would have sat up, but a granite hand on his chest convinced him to remain still.

  “You’re busted up pretty good there, Sparky. Lie still.”

  I hate it when he calls me that.

  Wren stood close, still dressed in that sparkling dress, so he couldn’t have been out for too long. He turned his head. The effort cost him a few major hammer strokes on the inside of his skull.

  Mental note, don’t turn head.

  After the hammering ceased, he gazed into those blue eyes that had so captivated him before. He was expecting it this time, so the serenity didn’t take him by surprise. Even so, he wanted to dive into that stare and absorb all it had to offer. He could not afford to do that yet.

  Stillman was right. Shadow had returned, and it was strong, stronger than the Knight of Flame alone, that’s for sure. Dev’s ego cringed, but the state of his body proved otherwise. He’d gotten his ass kicked for the first time and it ate away at his soul.

  Words. He needed to form words again. Swooshing his tongue around his mouth, he wrangled enough saliva to moisten his throat.

  “Where?” Dev croaked.

  “The lovely home of Ms. Cassidy Sinclair,” Magnus said.

  Right. That was her name. Cassidy.

  “How long?” A little clearer this time.

  “About twenty four hours,” Wren replied.

  Only twenty four hours.

  “Cinder?”

  “Safe,” Wren said.

  Dev nodded. On cue, the hammers beat him up.

  Right. Keep still.

  “I feel her…there.” Dev lifted his arm in the direction of the house. Now that his brain was operating on more than one cylinder, he recognized the elemental force that had pulled him toward shore. He’d heard stories of other Knights losing their weapons only to have them turn up the next day. In his case, his elemental weapon had lost him and pulled him back within reach. He would have chuckled at the reversal, but didn’t want to set the hammers in motion again.

  “We’ll get Cinder later,” Wren promised. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like cream in a butter churn. I told you dancing was a bad idea.”

  Wren teared up and smiled in relief.

  “You up for a trip to the Cradle?” Magnus asked, and flipped open his guitar case. “I’ve got a few of Cyndralla’s toys in here.” Instead of a guitar, the case held a giant battle axe nestled firmly into black felt. He tilted up the blade and grabbed a bundle of oversized playing cards from underneath. In the hands of the Knight of Earth, the cards glowed a faint blue and the swirling pattern on their backs came alive, spinning down into the center of a vortex. The rubber band holding them together snapped as he thumbed through the deck. “Studio. Studio. Maui. Ooh, Amsterdam. Want to go there?”

  “Magnus, please,” Wren said.

  Magnus pulled a different card from the stack. Its face showed the opening to a cave carved into a forested mountainside. A shimmering path of emeralds began at its mouth and led back into the darkness toward a symbol carved into the rock floor—four silver triangles contained within a golden ring, their tips connected at the center. He handed it to Wren.

  In her hands, the magic died. The card lost its luster and resembled nothing more than a giant-sized ace of clubs. A wistful expression crossed her face at the abrupt change.

  “Let’s get this over with.” Dev doused his flame. Movement would hurt, big time, but he needed to get back to the Cradle. It was the only place he knew he was safe. And leaving now would remove the danger from Cassidy. On the downside, it would also remove him from her.

  When Dev first looked into those eyes, he found a peace he hadn’t known since before his time as a Knight. And there was something more, something he couldn’t identify at their core that captured his will.

  “Help me up.” Dev reached up an arm for help in fits and starts. The muscles weren’t responding like they should.

  This sucks.

  Magnus leaned down and lifted his friend like a baby.

  “You’re loving this, aren’t you?” Dev asked.

  “No.” Magnus nodded his big toothy grin in Dev’s face. “Where do you want to set up?”

  “Let’s use the doorway into the garage.” Wren shifted the barstools to make a clear path for Magnus, who followed with Dev, and opened the door. The light from the hallway glinted off the mashed front fender and tire rim of Cassidy’s car.

  Cassidy picked up the guitar case Magnus left by the door in both hands, lugged it over to Wren, and backed out of the way.

  Magnus eased his friend to the ground. “Can you stand on your own?”

  “Of course.” Dev assumed his feet touched when his downward momentum stopped, but he couldn’t feel anything below the waist.

  “You sure?” Magnus asked. “I’m going to let you go.”

  “Go for it.” Dev gritted his teeth and hoped for the best.

  Magnus let go. Dev crashed to the floor. Wren and Magnus rushed to his aid, but Cassidy remained distant. He couldn’t blame her. She’ll be glad to get rid of us. The thought stung.

  “Okay.” Dev grimaced. “Maybe I don’t have this.”

  “You have the right of that, my brother.” Magnus picked him up off the floor and held him facing the open garage doorway.

  An elemental force tugged on Dev, the same magic that had pulled him in to shore.

  Cinder.

  “Wait. Cinder is in the garage.”

  “I’ll get it,” Wren said, pushing past Magnus. “Move it, Sasquatch.” She stepped through the door and flipped the light switch. Fluorescent tubes flickered before they shed their steady glow on the remnants of Cassidy’s car.

  Magnus whistled. “I assume Wren was driving.”

  “Oh, shut up.”

  The front end of the car looked like a melted block of Swiss cheese. Hood gone. Holes burned into the engine. Jagged rents eaten into the chrome. Tires melted.

  “I didn’t think we’d make it here
,” Wren whispered.

  From amidst the metallic carnage, Cinder stood tall and unblemished. Firmly embedded in the engine block, the dagger survived the fight and the ride home. Wren grasped the hilt and tugged, but the blade wouldn’t budge. She yanked with both hands, but still nothing happened. After vaulting up and bracing her feet on the engine block, she pulled with everything she had, but Cinder held fast.

  Wren hopped down and stormed through the doorway. “You can get your own damn knife.” She stomped out onto the patio and stared out at the water.

  Dev cringed at her passing. She wanted so much to be selected as a Knight, to be graced with an elemental power, to truly be one of them. Perhaps someday she’d get her chance.

  Magnus carried him to the car. Dev wrapped his fingers around Cinder and she came away from the metal with a whisper and flash from the orange gem.

  “Anything else?” Magnus asked as he carried Dev into the house.

  “Yes.” Dev smiled at Cassidy. She stood in the background with her arms crossed and an anxious expression on her face. He wanted to tell her that he would be back. That he wanted to get to know her. That she was pretty. But the fluttering butterflies in his stomach eroded his confidence. Here he was, the Knight of Flame who’d faced and defeated countless enemies—timid in the presence of this intriguing woman.

  He wanted to say so much, but all that came out was a breathless, “Thank you.”

  “That’s it?” Magnus stifled a laugh. “Let’s get you home.”

  Wren rejoined them, her expression cold and aloof. She handed the card to Dev.

  Once again, the magic sprang to life, only this time the card’s face showed the same cave set into the side of a volcano with bright lava flows to either side of the entrance. The path to the Order’s symbol was paved in fiery rubies. Heat rose from the flat surface.

  Delving into his elemental bond, Dev formed the trigger in the primal language of fire that would activate the gateway. The word hissed and crackled on his tongue. He flicked the card into the doorway. As it crossed the plane from one room to the next, he spoke the word.

  “Journey.”

  Dazzling golden light exploded from the card’s edges, expanding to fill the doorway with its brilliance. As it faded, the cave mouth depicted in the card’s artwork filled the doorframe. A ruby path wound into the darkness and beckoned Dev home.

  Wren embraced Cassidy before setting her hand on Dev for safe conduct through his elemental portal.

  “Hold tight.” Magnus said.

  Dev craned his head around the bulge of Magnus’s shoulder to get a last look at Cassidy before his brother stepped through and the cave swallowed them up.

  Chapter 12

  ALEXANDER PUSHED BACK FROM HIS DESK and watched the shadows eat the dying rays of the setting sun through his penthouse windows. The incident with the Gray Lord that morning had set the tone for another dismal day among the human cattle.

  Meeting after meeting with unimportant corporate minions set him on edge more than usual and he’d fired his secretary this afternoon for clicking her heels too loudly on the wood floor.

  I should have eaten her instead.

  He stood, knuckled his lower back, yawned and stretched. The fight with the knight had drained him more than he realized and he needed to recharge.

  Gothrodul’s mental knock brushed against his mind. The intimate touch of his friend’s thoughts was a balm to his seething spirit.

  Welcome, my friend. It has been a long day. Alexander did not try to hide the sincerity behind his thoughts. He did not have to present a false front before the mind of the dragon.

  You need a break. The dragon’s thoughts seeped into his consciousness. And I need to feed.

  That is a great idea. Come to me, Alexander responded.

  I’m already here. Open the door.

  In the outer corner of the office, Alexander pushed a hidden panel lost in the intricate pattern of the wallpaper. Seams opened in the wall. They crept from floor to the ceiling then continued across for another fifteen feet until they met in a large wedge. The walls folded in and the ceiling slid open to form a giant doorway big enough to land a Chinook helicopter.

  Gothrodul landed heavily, talons gouging deep grooves in the soft wood floor. Only the front half of the dragon fit into the penthouse. The other half stuck out the side of the building, back claws dug into the cement ledge to hold him in place. Armored scales the color of an empty night sky covered the magnificent creature from tail to snout. Cold obsidian eyes regarded Alexander with eager amusement.

  “If the mortals could see you now, what would they think?” Alexander asked.

  But they can’t, so what does it matter? My magic cloaks my true form unless I wish it otherwise.

  Gothrodul’s form wavered, began to change. Great sheets of the dragon’s black mass sloughed off, pooling on the floor of the penthouse until it evaporated in a puff of black smoke.

  “Why are you doing that? You know I find the process revolting.” Alexander turned away.

  The dragon’s laughter rumbled through the mental link. On very rare occasions, Alexander, I like to mix it up.

  In less than a minute, a tall, thin man dressed in black jeans and a black, long-sleeve shirt stood in place of the massive beast. A silver medallion, two dragon silhouettes hovering over a miniature globe with a rune carved in the center, hung from a chain around his neck. His too-narrow face and pointed chin would have earned him many puzzled stares, but not enough to mark him as anything other than human.

  “How do you tolerate this form?” With his deep, scratchy voice, Gothrodul injected malice into every syllable. He held out his human-shaped arms. “I forgot how weak and soft and ugly it is.”

  “It has been a while since I have seen your human form.” Alexander grimaced. “It is ugly.”

  Alexander preferred his dragon as a dragon. This human shape was disturbing and not suited for tonight’s planned activity.

  The dragon-turned-human pranced over to the leather chair and dropped into its embrace. With a push, he spun the chair, but stopped it after only a few revolutions as a green sheen overtook his already pale complexion.

  “Weak.” The dragon spat and held his stomach.

  “You mentioned a hunt.” Alexander hoped to distract the dragon from being sick all over the floor.

  “Yes. Meat.”

  “Let’s go.” Alexander walked to the open corner of the office and looked out over the roofs of lower buildings to the bay beyond.

  “What are you in the mood for? Blonde or brunette?” Gothrodul jumped from the ledge and transformed. Much better.

  “How about a nice red? I could go for something spicy.” Alexander climbed onto the dragon’s back and pressed the secret external button to close the massive doors. With a few strong beats of the dragon’s giant wings, they gained altitude.

  “Your pick. They all taste the same to me. The usual split?”

  “You get the body and me the life force.” Alexander dug his knee into the dragon’s flank and it banked left. “I crave a younger vintage tonight.”

  “Where?”

  “Northeast. Ybor City.”

  Yes. A nice, young red head will suffice. The smell of abject terror as Gothrodul makes himself known has a unique, heady aroma that adds a touch of ambiance to the meal.

  Chapter 13

  GLOWING WHITE CRYSTALS CAST THEIR LIGHT across the smooth stone walls and rounded ceiling of the hallway outside the Cradle’s forge. They lined the natural corridor beyond the limits of Wren’s vision. She shuddered and listened for the inevitable creak and scrabble of loose rock that signaled the cave-in she believed was only minutes away.

  What was that? She paced, rubbed her arms, flicked another glance to the ceiling.

  “When will you accept the Cradle as your home, my little bird?” The gentle tone belonged to Stillman, Precept of the Knights Elementalis. Ruffled white shirt tucked smartly into slim black pants, which, in turn, were tucked
into calf-high black leather boots, he could have stepped off the set of one of those old black and white swashbucklers.

  Alchemist by calling, he’d taken up fencing to keep in shape and dressed like Tyrone Power in his younger days. She had no idea how old he really was since he refused to come clean with the digits, but he was up there…way, way up there.

  He gazed into the dim interior of the forge.

  “When it’s not five miles underground,” Wren answered with another look to the ceiling.

  Back straight, shoulders squared, hands clasped behind his back, Stillman waited for Magnus. Straight, salt and pepper hair brushed the tops of his shoulders. His sharp brown eyes never strayed from the forge doorway, but the old man noticed everything.

  “He’ll be fine in short order,” Stillman said. “The Knight of Flame is as tough as they come. Give him enough fire and a little time, and your Knight could probably grow back a limb.” He rocked back on his heels. “Or, if he didn’t grow one, he’d make one out of that Quinsteele he perfected.” Stillman chuckled to himself. “Marvelous invention that.”

  Wren sighed, allowed herself a breather. He’ll be fine. The sound of Stillman’s voice always made her feel better. He had this fatherly way about him that made her want to curl into his lap and let him stroke her hair, like he did when she was twelve and afraid of dark places.

  Magnus shuffled out of Dev’s room. “By Odin, it’s hot in there.” Sweat streamed down his forehead, plastered his long hair to his face and stuck his shirt to his thin frame. “I thought I would pass out.”

  “How is he?” Stillman asked.

  “Sir.” Magnus snapped to attention.

  “Relax, my boy. Relax.”

  “Almost lost him.” Magnus stood down, hands clasped in front. “But he’ll be fine after baking in that oven for a few days.”

  “I see.” Stillman eyed Wren. “What happened?”

  “We went to a club.” Nerves bubbled up, made her voice quiver like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

  “Why?”

  “It was my idea. Dev didn’t really want—”