Dragon Mage

by ML Spencer

  He frowned at the man’s coat on the wall. He thought it unlikely the Overseers would have placed another man’s coat inside his mother’s home if they wanted to convince him that a made-up place was real. It was an odd detail.

  Which meant that, more than likely, he really was home.

  Somehow, the portal had transported him back across the Veil to Anai. Was that the test, then? To make him not want to go back? Perhaps that’s what happened to all the people who entered the Portal Stones and never came out again. Maybe they were all taken to places they loved and simply chose to stay. Gazing into his mother’s watery eyes, he understood how easy it would be to fail such a test.

  Calise vaulted onto Zandril’s back then sat there for a moment, trying to slow the spread of panic through her veins. So many dead … so many priceless souls. And she was needed here, with the injured. Why did Vandra have to send her? Leaning forward over Zandril’s sleek neck, she caressed her dragon soothingly.

  “I need to ask a favor, my love,” she whispered.

  Closing her eyes, she conveyed to Zandril their need and, even though dragons do not speak the language of men, she knew the concept had been understood. The conversation that took place between them was more a collection of emotions bundled with mental images. It produced feelings of dismay and agitation. Nevertheless, Zandril relayed her request to those dragons who had lost their human companions in the battle, seeking one willing to make one last flight.

  It was a horrendous thing to ask of a creature grieving for its beloved, but their need was dire. Even so, Calise released a held breath when Zandril returned her answer.

  Siroth would come.

  The courage of that dragon made her vision blur and took away any fear she may have felt for herself. With fresh resolve, she willed Zandril into the sky, awed at the sight of a large black dragon following them into the air. Heading almost straight up into the sky, Zandril raced toward the protection of the clouds with Siroth on her wing. Calise squeezed her eyes closed, her heart thudding so hard she could hear it pounding in her ears. Her body trembled as she waited for the bolt of lightning to knock them from the sky.

  Somehow, they made it.

  Hidden by the cloud cover, they crossed the expanse of moorland back in the direction of the mountains. Throughout the long flight, Calise couldn’t stop thinking of the great sacrifice Siroth was making. Every moment without the human he mourned would be excruciating, and yet, somehow, he bore it. He was a strong dragon, one of the biggest in the fighting Wing.

  Even still, she could feel his anguish, and she hated herself for inflicting it.

  Markus stared at the Portal Stone, feeling his nerves tightening little by little. He cast a worried glance at Esmir, one of several he had given the Warden in the last hour. He had finished practicing his forms only to find that Aram had not returned yet from the stone archway. He was long overdue, and Markus could tell by the look in Esmir’s eyes that the old Warden was worried too.

  “Do you think he’s in trouble?” he asked.

  But Esmir didn’t respond. He stood with his arms crossed, glowering fiercely into the space between stones. Frustrated, Markus scrubbed a hand through his hair and paced away, glancing around the ring of monoliths. It had been too long. Something must have gone wrong.

  The sound of running footsteps made him turn.

  He watched as an exhausted Calise burst over the top of the stairs. She careened toward them in lurching strides, stopping only when she stood in front of them. Panting, she glanced around frantically.

  “Where’s Aram?” she gasped. “We need him!”

  The desperation in her voice was alarming. Esmir hurried toward them, demanding, “What is it? What’s going on?”

  Calise was panting hard. Sweat streamed from her brow, carving runnels into the grime that stained her face. Markus could practically feel the dismay roiling off her.

  “There’s been a battle!” she gasped. “The enemy is using sorcery! Vandra needs you both!” She straightened, her brow furrowing. “Where’s Aram?”

  Markus lifted his arm and pointed at the Portal Stone. “In there.”

  Calise’s face darkened. “What’s he doing in there?”

  “Training,” Markus answered with a questioning glance at Esmir. “But he’s been in there an awfully long time.”

  The old man licked his lips. Esmir’s gaze had returned to the Portal Stone, and he was glowering so hard, it looked like he was trying to bore a tunnel through it with his eyes.

  Markus had passed the point of frustration and was now feeling afraid. “I’m going in after him.”

  “No.” Esmir scowled and shook his head. “It won’t work for you. You’re Impervious to magic.”

  “Then what do we do?” Markus was starting to panic.

  A muscle in Esmir’s face twitched. “We wait.”

  “But Vandra needs him now!” exclaimed Calise, despair sharpening her voice. “It’s urgent! Truly urgent!”

  Esmir took a deep breath then looked to Markus. “You go. I’ll stay here.”

  “What about Aram?” Markus demanded.

  Calise paused. “You can go by yourself—Siroth knows the way. I’ll wait for Aram.”

  Markus glanced at the Portal Stone, grinding his teeth in anxiety. “What if he doesn’t come out?”

  Esmir sighed. “Then there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Aram gave his mother another hug. “How’ve you been, Ma?”

  She looked a lot older than he remembered. There was far more gray threading her hair, the lines around her eyes carved deeper. There was also something about her demeanor that seemed different, though he couldn’t tell what it was.

  “I’ve been better,” she said with a weak attempt at a smile. “It hurt so much when I thought I’d lost you. But you’re here now.” She looked like she was going to start crying again. “They said the Exilari took you to their cellars, but you’re alive. You’re alive.”

  He didn’t know what to say, because he didn’t want her to know the truth. Seeing his ma so close to tears tore at his throat. “Markus rescued me,” Aram whispered. “I’m all right now.”

  She closed her eyes in relief. “I was so worried. I cried every day. The thought of you in their cellars…”

  He didn’t want to lie to her, but she also didn’t need to know all the painful details. She didn’t need to know about the terrible wagon ride to Karaqor, or about Sergan and the well, or the four long years he had spent in agony.

  “It’s all right, Ma. Markus got me away from them. I’m just fine now.”

  For some reason, his words made her cry again. He hugged her close, just like she’d always hugged him whenever he cried like that. He rubbed her back and kissed her cheek, tasting her salty tears.

  “It’s all right. Don’t cry, Ma. I’m alive, and I’m here.”

  Eventually, her tears dried up. She blotted her eyes with her apron, a sad smile appearing on her face. “Look at you. You’re a young man now.” She shook her head in wonder. “You look just like your father.”

  Did he? Aram couldn’t remember what his father looked like, at least not more than just a vague image. His da had been tall and broad of shoulder, and he’d had a wiry beard that used to scratch whenever he kissed him. His arms had been big and strong, able to pick him up with one hand, but he’d also had a gentle way about him. Aram couldn’t imagine resembling a man as powerful as his da. He’d always been small and weak for his age, and he still was, in comparison to his friends. Maybe his ma was just trying to make him feel better.

  “Let’s see,” she muttered, looking around the cramped room. “You can sleep here for now. I, oh….” She grimaced, her gaze flitting away like a timid butterfly. “Aram … I remarried.”

  That explained the coat. He couldn’t imagine his mother being married to anyone but Da. Aram’s mind sifted quickly through all the men of the village that he remembered, and he couldn’t think of
one that was good enough for her.

  “Do you remember Mister Haldon?” she asked.

  At the sound of the name, Aram stiffened. He remembered Mister Haldon well. He’d worked for Markus’s father hauling supplies and cartloads of fish to and from the curing houses. He’d been a mean-tempered man who used to beat his mules whenever his cart got stuck in the mud. Hearing that his mother had married such a wretch made his stomach clench and his hands curl into fists.

  His ma hung her head and stood clutching her hands in front of her. “I was pretty … shaken … after all that happened,” she admitted. “Manny helped me. Without him…” She shook her head, her mouth twisting. “I don’t know what I would’ve done. I hope you understand.”

  He didn’t understand. Why would his mother stoop to marrying someone like Manny Haldon? No amount of grief could justify that. “Does he treat you right, Ma?”

  Instead of answering, she glanced away, then walked across the room to a wooden crate with a few cups and chipped plates set atop it. “You must be thirsty! Let me make you some tea!”

  “I don’t want any tea, Ma.” Aram shot toward her, his pulse racing and mind throbbing. “Why did you marry Mister Haldon? He’s not a nice—”

  “You can sleep here for now,” his ma cut him off. She picked up a small kettle off the floor and poured water into it, determined to make the tea anyway. “We’ll make a bed for you. Tomorrow we should start looking to find you an apprenticeship. You’re too old now to–”

  The door swept open, and the shadow of a man filled the doorway. His ma flinched, stepping away from Aram. For a long moment, the man in the doorway stood without moving, his gaze going back and forth between Aram and his ma.

  “Where did he come from?” growled Haldon.

  Just the sight of Manny Haldon heated Aram’s blood. This man had no business in his home, and certainly no business with his mother. Haldon was even uglier and meaner-looking than he remembered. He’d put on a lot of weight, and his nose had become bulbous and tomato-red. He was dirty, and Aram could smell the stink of him from across the small room, a noxious mixture of fish and body odor.

  His mother moved to hover behind Aram protectively, clutching his shoulders. “He’s alive, Manny! They were wrong!”

  Haldon stood staring at Aram with a look of belligerent confusion, his mouth working as though chewing a cud. He sputtered something unintelligible. Then, with a grimace, he spat, “He can’t stay here!”

  “He’s my son! What would you have me do, turn him out?”

  “Damn right!” Haldon leaned forward, pointing a meaty finger at Aram. “Haven’t you caused enough problems, you little moron? It’s your fault half the damn village was burned down! I lost my home, and I lost my trade! If I hadn’t married your fucking mother, I’d be a beggar!”

  His words snapped something inside Aram. Hatred filled him, and his vision went red. Deep inside, he felt a powerful stirring as something within him ignited. Vaguely, he was aware of his mother crying. But it hardly registered, for all of his concentration was bent on the oily details of Manny Haldon’s face.

  “Don’t talk about my ma like that.”

  The words didn’t sound like his own, for they came from a place no words of his had ever come from. He wasn’t small and weak anymore, but capable and powerful.

  Stepping forward, Haldon poked his finger hard into Aram’s chest. “Who the hell do you think you are? Nobody tells me how to talk to my wife in my own house! Get the fuck out, you little shit!” Grasping Aram’s arm, he jerked him toward the door. “Get the fuck out!”

  With a shriek, Aram’s mother started forward, hands outstretched. She caught Haldon by the arm, trying to hold him back. With a growl, the big man turned his fury on her, shoving her forcefully backward to the floor.

  The cauldron of anger inside Aram boiled over, and a geyser of blue flames erupted beneath Manny Haldon.

  Markus sprinted down the long flights of stairs to the Southern Eyrie, where he stopped, eyes scanning the situation. The eyrie was unusually empty, for most of the fighting Wing had flown with Vandra. Only two dragons remained behind: Zandril, and a large black dragon that had to be Siroth.

  He paused only long enough to round up some armor and borrow a sword from the armory, then turned toward the two waiting dragons. The sight of Siroth drew him up short, for he wouldn’t have imagined that a reptilian face could be capable of displaying such depths of pain. Siroth once might have been magnificent, with glimmering scales that looked like cut obsidian. But the dragon’s luster was already starting to dull and fade. Markus could almost sense the fire of life within him growing dim and cooling.

  He approached Siroth cautiously and stopped at his side. He placed his hand on the cold neck, caressing the dragon as he would a horse. Instantly, he felt a connection: the dragon’s presence in his mind. Without words, and in a matter of heartbeats, Siroth communicated to him everything that mattered.

  Siroth’s rider, a beautiful woman named Faril, had been killed by some kind of magical strike. Siroth had also been injured. He could feel the dragon’s pain, which emanated from a large burn that scorched his side. But that pain was nothing compared to the anguish Siroth felt over Faril’s loss, for she had been violently ripped away from him. She had been a kind, intelligent person, and a ferocious fighter. Siroth was eager to get back to her and had only agreed to come to avenge her loss.

  Markus introduced himself to the dragon hesitantly, using feelings and thoughts instead of words. He tried to reassure Siroth that he would help him in his quest for vengeance, and though he wasn’t as fierce a fighter as Faril had been, he would try his best.

  For an instant, he saw himself through the dragon’s eyes, and what he saw shocked him. To Siroth, he was a strong warrior with a determined spirit, a man Faril would have been proud to fight alongside of.

  To Markus’s astonishment, Siroth lifted his head, the life rekindling in his eyes. He lowered himself so that Markus could climb onto his back, his grief giving way to hope and bloodlust.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Crackling blue flames enveloped Manny Haldon, crawling over him like writhing snakes. After several seconds, they faded, relinquishing their victim. Haldon wasn’t moving. He lay lifeless on the floor of the room, his body sizzling and popping like frying bacon. For a long time, Aram just looked at him and couldn’t move, frozen rigid in the grip of horror. His mother lay on the floor, sobbing and hugging herself, and the cottage was filled with smoke and the stomach-turning odor of roasted meat.

  “What did you do?” his ma shrieked.

  Aram shook his head mutely, taking a step backward. Somehow, he’d killed Haldon, even though he had no idea how. He’d made a couple of complicated knots in the air and then sliced through them all at once. The result had been a sorcerous assault that had quickly gotten away from him. He’d lost control.

  He backed toward the door.

  He’d killed a man.

  Actually killed a man.

  He had to go before someone found him here. Before they blamed his mother.

  His hand found the door. “Tell them I did it, Ma. Tell them I ran.”

  His voice shook so hard the words were barely intelligible.

  “Wait!” his mother screamed, rising from the floor.

  He caught her and crushed her against him. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He couldn’t hold back the tears. Lips trembling, he kissed her cheek. “I love you, Mama.”

  He fled through the door into the dark night, sprinting for the village gate. He slowed to a walk after only a block, afraid to attract notice. Behind him, he heard the sound of shouts as people ran from their homes, drawn by the commotion. Aram kept his head down and walked faster, shaking in fear and self-loathing.

  He had killed a man.

  Killed a man, in cold blood.

  Did that make him a monster? He figured it did.

  “Hey!” someone shouted.

  Aram glanced back and saw a man he
recognized, an old fisherman who lived by the wharf. Seeing his face, the man pointed at him. “You…”

  The village bell began tolling.

  Aram bolted for the gate. Realizing he was being chased, he scrambled into a narrow alley between two houses, a space barely wide enough to squeeze into. There, he huddled in the darkness with his back pressed against a wall that cut off the alley. He waited until the footsteps passed before starting back toward the street.

  Someone stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

  Aram gasped, staggering backward.

  The man who blocked the alley’s mouth wore the blue mantle of the Exilari.

  Calise paced anxiously around the ring of stone monoliths, her emotions gyrating from worry to anger to outright desperation. She clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides, casting furtive glances every few seconds at the portal, but none of her pacing and glancing sped time or made Aram reappear.

  “Where could he be?”

  Esmir didn’t answer. He stood in the center of the circle beside the obelisk, staring hard at the ground.

  Calise was beginning to fear the worst, and that fear was starting to strangle. Aram was sweet and innocent, and if anything happened to him, it would be like losing a beautiful part of the world. Aram had grown on her more than she’d realized. His peculiar ways were so endearing, and he had a way about him, a calm and powerful strength that was comforting. What if he was in trouble? What if he needed help?

  “There has to be something we can do to get him out!” she cried.

  The old Warden glanced at the portal. “You have the affinity, so I suppose you could try going in after him. Only, it’s unlikely you’ll end up in the same place he is.”

  Calise thought about that. “Maybe I can beg these Overseers to tell me where he is.”

  Esmir’s bushy eyebrows lifted, but otherwise, he didn’t respond. Calise took that as tacit approval.