Desert Fire (Legend and Lore Book 3)

by TR Rook

  “I have not either,” the man replied. “Someone who can manipulate fire that way... no, not just manipulate, but create fire. It is magnificent.” The man sounded truly to be in awe. “You are magnificent, to be able to do such a thing.”

  Brand couldn’t help but let out a sad, bitter chuckle at that. No one had ever believed him magnificent... more of a weakling that needed to be beat into both submission and manhood. And as a punishment for something he could not help—something he had had no say in, whatsoever.

  “I will speak to the King,” the man said then. “Tell him your purpose. Only he can release prisoners of Commander Kamoor.”

  Commander Kamoor... that had to be the man who rode the red dragon. The one who was always in charge, but it was not he who had delivered the worst beatings, that was the other one. And the third, he always kept back at the cell door, never coming closer.

  “Thank you,” Brand whispered. “I really appr—“

  The door slamming open and the sound of boots stalking inside broke him off. Brand vanished his flame, leaving them only in the light of the torch.

  “Khatlah!” A familiar voice boomed out, and Brand felt his stomach knot in dread. The voice belonged to the one who had administered the most vicious beating.

  The man beside him never seemed to lose his calm, though. He only turned his head, regarding the approaching man coolly. “Sakoptari. What is this, treating a man in such a way and leaving him?”

  “He is a prisoner, little brother,” the other man snapped. “A prisoner and a slayer.” He came into the cell and jerked Brand to his feet. Brand almost lost his footing but managed to keep himself upright. It took a lot though, because his whole body still bore the evidence of his earlier treatment. “He will come with me, and if he does not confess to his crimes after today, he will nonetheless be executed.”

  “You cannot do this!” Khatlah yelled, following in the other’s footsteps as he started to drag Brand with him towards the door. “He is innocent!”

  Brand was roughly shoved to the floor as Sakoptari spun around to backhand Khatlah, who by his own words was his little brother. “You dare believe the words of a prisoner? Hasn’t it occurred to you that he will say anything to be let free?”

  “Hasn’t it occurred to you that sometimes people speak the truth?” Khatlah countered. “That sometimes things aren’t like you make them out to be!”

  If Brand hadn’t been hurting so much, and worrying about where he was being taken, that sentence would’ve greatly intrigued him. Injury and pain kept his own fate front most in his mind—and judging by Sakoptari’s words, he was to be executed either way.

  Khatlah was backhanded again and his brother hurled words at him in their native language, then he turned abruptly, grabbed a hold of Brand again and dragged him with him.

  Brand was aware of Khatlah following after them, though he doubted there was much he could do for him. If Brand wanted to get out of whatever it was they had planned for him, he would have to do it himself, but if he did... he would have to get away somehow because surely they would not let him live then.

  He was dragged through a hallway and they emerged out into bright sunlight. Brand watched in horror as a man stepped up to meet them, a man he had never seen before... and he was holding a whip.

  No! He wanted to tear his eyes away, but found that he couldn’t. They were locked on the ruthless tool, and the bright land around him faded to be replaced by a small clearing in the woods back home...

  Brand grunted as he was being roughly tied to a tree, the rope digging into his hands and his arms, but not around his back. His back was free for...

  He grunted as the whip at last connected with his back. He could feel his skin opening up at the rough material of the whip, could feel blood starting to trickle.

  “Father!” he yelled out, in both pain and rage.

  “You are no son of mine!” came the harsh reply, followed by another lash. “You told the traitor and the witch of our plans and they got away. This is all on you. Of course I should’ve known it would come to this—you never could take your eyes off of him when you were younger.”

  Brand squeezed his eyes shut as his father’s words seemed to strike him even more painfully than the whip.

  “You are weak!” A lash punctuated it, but Brand clenched his teeth, refusing to let any sound out. “Weak and pathetic, just like your mother! I never should’ve agreed to take you in, to raise you properly. It was obvious from the start you would become nothing!”

  After that, Brand could remember little else. All he knew was that the whip lashes eventually stopped, that they untied him and threw him away with a warning of what would happen should he ever return. And after that... he just let the blackness take him.

  Brand was jerked back to reality as he was shoved forward, finding himself once again sprawled on the ground. He lay for a moment, feeling the hot, dry ground under his hands. The warmth of it did not bother him—because Brand was used to being warm. Controlling fire as he did left him constantly warm, as if he suffered from a never-ending fever.

  The powerful beat of wings had him looking up, and he forced himself up on his knees as he watched the red dragon descend, its rider jumping down from its back the moment it landed to stride over to Sakoptari and Khatlah. He was dressed much the same as Khatlah—only his clothes were black and lacked the colourful sash.

  “What is going on here?” he demanded, his voice hard and strong and used to being obeyed.

  “I am getting a confession out of this mongrel,” Sakoptari told him, turning away from Khatlah to face the man—who could be none other than the Commander Kamoor—straight on.

  “Have you not beaten him enough?” the Commander demanded, his voice going stone cold.

  Brand pushed himself up to his feet, swaying uncertainly for a moment, but managing to regain his balance. He hurt so much, but he could not stay on the ground anymore. He could not seem as weak as he felt.

  “If the prisoner has not confessed yet, he never will,” the Commander continued. “He should be given a fine and be sent on his way, because he did not actually try to kill the youngling.”

  Sakoptari made a sound of outrage, then he abruptly turned around and snatched the whip out of the servant’s hands. His cold eyes locked on Brand and he swung his arm, releasing the whip—

  Brand let his power course through him and the whip caught fire before it was even halfway towards him. He let the fire travel up the length of it until it reached Sakoptari’s hand, and he promptly released the whip with a cry of pain.

  “You can beat me and kick me,” he groaned out between clenched teeth, “and treat me like scum. But you will never whip me!”

  Four pairs of eyes were on him, and Brand subsided, letting go of his peculiar power, feeling it retract—but it was still there, lying in wait, pulsing for the next time he would use it...

  Commander Kamoor strode forward and roughly grabbed a hold off Brand’s chin, forcing his head up to meet his eyes.

  “Your eyes. They are strange. And they were even stranger a moment ago.” He used his bruising hold to tilt Brand’s head, as if he could get a better look of his eyes that way. “What are you, to possess such peculiar eyes?”

  “Do not care about his eyes!” Sakoptari snarled. “He just attacked me—he should be put in chains and executed to dare do harm to the crown prince!”

  Brand’s eyes widened slightly in surprise and he let them flicker just the briefest moment to the man that had caused him the most harm. He was the crown prince?

  “You deserved it,” Khatlah snapped, the contempt loud and clear in his voice. “I told you he was innocent and yet you continued to want to harm an already hurt man! I will not stand for this behaviour, and I use my authority as prince to declare this man my own personal guest for the foreseeable future, and to demand that no one harm him again.” His eyes stared coldly at Sakoptari, but they also strayed briefly to the Commander still holding Brand’s jaw in
his bruising grip.

  Sakoptari stared furiously at him, then snorted in contempt and stalked from the yard.

  Grateful to see his back, Brand let his tension ease the tiniest bit.

  Khatlah turned his full attention to him then, his eyes seeming to blaze in anger. “Let him go, Kamoor.”

  Kamoor did as told, letting go as roughly as he had grabbed Brand, and turned to contemplate Khatlah, whom he seemed to tower over. “What are you trying to accomplish by keeping a foreigner in our midst? What do you think he will do when he goes running back home to the other side of the mountains? Our code is to never accept foreigners into our lands unless they swear an oath to never leave them, or have you forgotten that in your infatuation with this strange man?”

  Khatlah did not answer, just kept staring coldly at the Commander. Kamoor cast one last, lingering look on Brand, then he too stalked from the yard, going inside what Brand realized was a palace.

  And quite the magnificent one at that. Made of stones he could not identify, but which held a golden colour in the bright light of the sun. It was easily four stories high, the towers several more. It spanned out to both sides and surrounded the courtyard they were currently standing it. The sheer beauty of it could leave a man breathless—and Brand had never seen anything like it before.

  The Vortigern Castle was magnificent in its own way, but the palace was sheer beauty.

  Lowering his head, Brand looked around to see that the Commander and the crown prince were really gone, then cast a curious glance at Khatlah, who was regarding him in silence.

  Brand swallowed, the pain piercing into him even more without the threat to his life to distract him. Before he had only been aware that he hurt—every little cut, scrape and bruise was making itself known. Even those on his back, which were supposed to be healed, throbbed in pain.

  He fell to his knees, knowing they got scraped on the hard, rough ground, but unable to care as all the other pains he felt hit him with full force. It was almost exactly like when he had been whipped, then thrown into the woods to die—only the pain then had been even worse. But the fact that he had experienced worse did not mean what he felt didn’t affect him.

  He was barely aware, as he collapsed on the ground, of someone shouting in the distance. The only thing he wanted was the darkness—and it came willingly.

  Chapter Two

  Guest

  Brand blinked his eyes open before quickly closing them again as the bright light seemed to pierce through him.

  He lay quietly, eyes still closed as he tried to will away the hurt of the light. He could feel he was lying on something soft, which meant that he had definitely not been put back into the dungeon.

  Easing his eyes open more carefully, he saw that he was in a room, decorated with light-coloured curtains and wall hangings.

  Brand sat up slowly, feeling every ache in his body. But he did not hurt as much anymore, there were only the sore aches of healing. He realized that he was lying in a bed, not the kind of raised bed he was used to, but on a sleeping pad, surrounded by a myriad of pillows and blankets.

  Looking down on himself he saw he was naked, save for the white fabric wrapped tightly around his torso, to keep his ribs in place, he guessed. He looked around, hoping to locate his clothes, but they were sadly absent. There was however, a neatly folded bundle at his side.

  Shaking the various pieces of clothing out he started donning them, not wanting to be naked if someone were to come for him. It was exactly like the clothing both Khatlah and the Commander had worn the day before, except where theirs had been light and dark, Brand’s was a warm shade of brown, completed with an orange sash.

  Brand left the headpiece folded on the floor, not comfortable with the thought of wearing it. The Commander had not worn a headpiece either, nor had that bastard that had tried to whip him, so Brand counted on it not being a necessity.

  The room he was in was oddly bare, save for the wall hangings and the bed pallet, giving heed to the fact that it was a room for guests. Brand moved stiffly over to the window, which was the source of the bright light inside the room as the sun shone straight through it.

  He looked down into a courtyard—not the one where he had been—but a bigger one. Servants hurried across in all directions, and directly ahead was a big building that could be nothing but the stable, judging from one man trying to wrestle a horse inside.

  Brand heard footsteps outside, and he turned in time to watch as the door opened. Khatlah stepped into the room, holding a tray with what could only be food, by the smell of spices.

  “Ah, you are finally awake.” Khatlah smiled slightly, closing the door behind him. He crossed over to the mat in the middle of the room, setting the tray down in front of him. “Come eat.”

  Brand went over to him reluctantly and sat down, eyes only for the tray. It held quite the amount of food. He could not say what it all was but it looked and smelled delicious, so he started in on it, not asking in case he did not want to know the answer. The customs there were quite different than back home, of that he was certain.

  “How long have I been asleep?” he asked curiously.

  “A day straight,” Khatlah told him. “They really did a number on you, those idiots. They will be reprimanded when they are shown that you are no threat. Though Sakoptari tried to convince everyone otherwise, especially after you burned his hand.”

  Brand bowed his head back over the food. “I did not mean to, but I could not let him use that whip on me.”

  “I know.” Khatlah voice was strangely filled with emotion. “I saw those lacerations on your back, when I undressed you and treated you. I am sure there is quite the story behind them, but I can also see that they are quite fresh, so I shall not ask.”

  “It is nothing much, really,” Brand murmured. “My father did not like me warning an old friend of what they had planned for him and had me first punished then banished for it.”

  “That was quite cruel, for only telling your friend,” Khatlah commented.

  Brand did not say anything, just continued to eat. He had told Garrick what the pack had planned for him and the witch staying with him... and for that he’d paid dearly. He had always wanted his father to acknowledge him, be proud of him. Had wanted it so much he had stopped speaking to Garrick altogether—after being beaten up for looking at him intently, that was.

  Brand’s father would not allow his son to be starry-eyed over another male and for that Brand had been forced to cut out his only friend. His only friend, whom he had eventually saved from the wrath of the pack, then from a vicious lindworm.

  Garrick had taken him with him to his new residence at Fort Vortigern, and there he had stayed until he had healed, but he did not belong. Garrick had his witch, and the two residents of the castle were too busy training the first two. The witch Lorcan had offered to teach Brand as well... but Brand could not stomach staying there.

  So he had left in the dead of night, leaving only the letter for Garrick. Not that it would tell him much, but hopefully enough for Garrick not to worry. Perhaps he would see him again one day, and maybe when that day came it would not hurt anymore, but it was a long way ahead in the future yet.

  Forcing those thoughts away, he focused on his current situation. “So what is to be done with me now?” he questioned.

  “That is entirely up to you,” Khatlah told him. “I spoke to Father, told him your story and he cleared you. You are my guest, you are free to walk about as you wish, and your life is your own. No one here can tell you differently.”

  Brand sighed. “Your people will not accept me,” he spoke up, but did not look at Khatlah as he did so. “Not after the way I arrived here, as a prisoner. Not after being accused of killing dragons. I do not understand much about your people but I do understand that slaying dragons is an extremely offensive crime in your realm.”

  “It is.” Khatlah bent forward slightly, eyes intent upon Brand. Brand noticed then that Khatlah was still wearing a head-clo
th, not one tuft of hair sticking out, and it was of the same light-coloured material as the last time he’d seen him, setting off his tanned, smooth skin and his dark, striking eyes. “But you did not commit that crime. You are innocent and the people who matter know that.”

  “Your brother will not see it that way.” Brand met Khatlah’s gaze straight on.

  “Sakoptari is in no position to argue it.” Khatlah’s voice spoke of finality. “Father has cleared you and now you are my personal guest. He will not like it, but it will keep him away. Because if he misbehaves too badly, Father can just as easily chose another heir, and I can promise you that that is something Sakoptari wants to avoid at all costs.”

  Brand frowned. “The king can just chose another heir if he so sees fit?”

  Khatlah nodded. “If he does not think his current heir can handle ruling the realm, he is in his full right to choose another, whom he thinks can. It is our custom. It has rarely been done, usually the first-born takes the throne, but it is not uncommon for it to happen either. No one would protest, or talk too much about it, if it were to happen.”

  Brand subsided, thinking about how different the desert country was than back home. As far as he knew, the first-born always took the throne in Lore, no matter what—he had never heard otherwise. But then his old village was secluded, and he had never heard much of the outside world, but from the looks of the people, the dragons existing—dragons they rode... The desert was nothing like home. Nothing at all.

  Khatlah sat back as well, his posture relaxing as he watched Brand eat the rest of the food on the tray. “I find I am still missing your name,” he spoke suddenly, as if it had just occurred to him.

  “I am Brand,” Brand introduced himself, straightening up as he swallowed the last drops of wine in his cup. It had been good to have a proper meal for once, especially as he had been denied it in the dungeon.