Dragon Mage

by ML Spencer

  “Yes.” Markus straightened Aram’s covers that had fallen down over his chest

  Reaching down, Calise brushed a lock of his hair back from his face, her hand lingering on his cheek. “Will he be the same?”

  “No,” Esmir said from where he sat at the table. “Definitely not.” He sat in silence for a long moment, his gaze lingering on Aram’s face with a sad and distant expression.

  “He is no longer a boy, or even a man.” Esmir sighed. “He is a Champion, now, and that’s an altogether different thing.”

  Aram awoke to the familiar light of Esmir’s eyrie. He was covered with blankets that were soft and snug, not the scratchy wool of his own blanket. They were not as warm, though, and his body shivered beneath them. There was a pillow under his head, a comfort he had only felt a few times before in his life, and his body sank languidly into a mattress of goose down.

  “Welcome back.”

  He turned toward the sound of the voice, Markus’s face coming into bleary focus. His friend was sitting next to him in a chair, smiling the same crooked smile that always made Aram smile back. He was so happy to see him, he wanted to cry. He had resigned himself to the fact that he was dying and was actually shocked that he was still alive.

  “How do you feel?” asked Esmir, coming to stand behind Markus.

  Aram closed his eyes, probing within himself. The wound in his side seemed on the mend, so much so that it actually itched more than it stung. He was still weak from blood loss, though, and that would take time. But there was something more than that, he sensed. A strange queasiness that had nothing to do with his injuries. The air seemed to squirm a bit around him, all of its beautiful colors much more saturated than usual.

  “I feel different.” He squinted, trying to keep the colors from twisting. He was still shivering, and he pulled the blankets closer. “It’s cold.”

  Markus stood immediately. “I’ll throw some more logs on the fire.”

  When he moved away, Esmir took his place in the chair and bent over him, examining him up and down with a critical eye. He checked Aram’s pulse, then peeled the blankets back to take a look at his bandages.

  “How long was I out?” Aram asked.

  “Not long. Only a couple of days.”

  A couple of days sounded long to him. He turned his head and watched Markus feed the fire with fresh wood. The logs didn’t catch as quickly as he wanted them to, so he twisted the colors around them, infusing them with energy.

  Markus sprang back as the fire flared up, sending sparks shooting into the air. He cast a startled glance at Aram before his eyes slipped to Esmir, his mouth open in shock. Aram stared at the fire in mute astonishment. He hadn’t meant to do that—or at least, he hadn’t expected that to happen. He had never done something with magic as mundane as lighting a fire in a hearth, and the mere act made him shiver harder than the cold.

  “Tell us what went wrong,” Esmir said softly. He wasn’t referring to the fire, Aram could tell.

  He didn’t want to think about his experience in the portals, especially the part about his da. If he never thought about that again, it would be too soon. But his chest tightened, and his skin prickled. There was something he had to think about, for it scared him, and he didn’t know what it meant.

  Staring up into Esmir’s face, he whispered, “I killed them.”

  The old man frowned, his thick eyebrows pinching together. “Killed whom?”

  “The Overseers.”

  “What?” Esmir’s face screwed into a disbelieving grimace. He started shaking his head, as if ready to tell Aram he was wrong.

  “They betrayed me,” Aram said quickly. “They had made a bargain with someone … or something. They were supposed to kill me…” He strained to think back on it. The whole memory was hazy and already fading from his mind. “They were arguing. Some of them wanted to keep me… Others said I was too powerful, that I couldn’t be controlled. In the end, they decided to kill me. So I killed them. They had stolen an Elesium colt … it saved my life … it died for me…”

  Esmir’s gaze slipped far away, his face slack and paling. At length, he scrubbed a hand through his hair and heaved himself out of the chair. “The Council has to know of this.” He walked across the room to gather his overcoat.

  “I need to speak to Luvana,” Aram said. “Can you tell her to come?”

  Esmir paused in the process of tying his coat. “Are you certain you’re strong enough?”

  “Yes.” His body craved more sleep, but this was far more important.

  Removing his coat, Esmir gestured to Markus. “You go get her. Let her take your head off.”

  Markus nodded and headed for the door. Aram watched him leave, then let his gaze drift to the ceiling as he struggled to stay awake. Apparently, his struggles didn’t work, for the next thing he knew, he awoke to Luvana’s hand touching his and found her sitting at his bedside. There was deep concern in her eyes, and he realized that her concern was for him, and not just the situation, which surprised him. He had never liked Luvana, and didn’t think she liked him. She had withheld the information about his father, and he wondered what else she was holding back.

  “The Archons are harvesting souls,” Aram said. “Why?”

  A look of shock passed briefly over her face, and she hesitated before responding, “They devour the essence of the wondrous, to become greater than what they are. To ignite the spark of the divine, so to speak. Kathrax and his brothers desire to ascend to the throne of their mother, the goddess Senestra. To that end, they have been drinking the souls of the Gifted for centuries, feeding their undying thirst for essence and blood.”

  Aram glared up at her, wanting her to know in no uncertain terms what he felt about her. “Did you know Kathrax took my father’s soul?”

  A blink, followed by a long pause.

  “Yes.”

  He appreciated the truth, though he would never forgive her. “You should have told me.”

  “I don’t agree,” she said glibly, “and I’m sorry you found out. There is nothing you can do with the knowledge. It will only bring you pain.”

  She didn’t have the right to protect his feelings. They were his feelings, not hers. And the information he had learned was very pertinent to their current situation.

  “There is something I can do about it.” Aram had a hard time keeping his voice steady. There was a fire within him that he had never felt before, the fire of righteous anger, and Luvana deserved to feel the heat of it. “I can slay Kathrax and release the souls he has consumed.”

  She gazed down at him, undaunted by his ire. “Kathrax has grown substantially since the start of this campaign. He has gorged on essence to the point that he is on the verge of ascendance. Powerful as you might be, you cannot slay a god.”

  “Perhaps,” Aram allowed. “But I still have to try, don’t I?”

  “We’ll discuss it later.” She smiled kindly. “For now, you need to rest and regain your strength.” She rose from the chair but paused before leaving. “There will be a Council meeting in a few days. We’ll talk more then, if you’re up to it.”

  Aram was surprised by that. “You want me to attend a Council meeting?”

  Luvana raised her eyebrows. “Of course. You are an important part of the Council now.”

  Aram stared after her as she left, processing that information. Before his Trials, no one had taken him very seriously. He was young and inexperienced, and he had never held any type of leadership role, even among the apprentices. He didn’t know what he had to offer the Council, but he was thankful they wanted to include him.

  When Markus slid into the empty chair, Aram smiled up at him. “Did you hear that? I’m an important member of the Council.”

  Markus chuckled. “I heard. That’s great! Odd, but great.”

  “So is Markus,” said Esmir. “After all, he’s your Warden. Well, he will be, after he pledges himself to you.”

  “Oh,” said Markus, looking surprised, for Esmi
r hadn’t ever mentioned anything about that. “I didn’t know I had to pledge something. When am I supposed to do that?”

  Esmir shrugged. “Now’s as good a time as any.”

  Markus stared up at him, looking lost. “What do I say?”

  “Just pledge your life to his.”

  Aram and Markus exchanged glances. “That sounds a lot like marriage.”

  Esmir chortled. “It’s more like parenting. You’ll spend the rest of your life trying to keep him out of harm’s way.”

  At that, even Aram had to laugh. It was hardly a role change.

  “All right,” Markus said. He looked around uncertainly, at last pushing his chair out. Awkwardly, he lowered himself to one knee, as though pledging fealty to a feudal lord. While Aram stared down at him in dismay, he stated, “Aramon Raythe, from this moment forth, I pledge my life to yours. I will be the Shield that guards you from your enemies… Also, I will…” His face squirmed, for he had apparently run out of words.

  Esmir prompted, “You’d better add that you’ll try to save him from himself.”

  Markus grinned at Aram. “And I will do my best to save you from yourself.”

  Aram laughed, for he didn’t envy Markus that task. He said sincerely, “Thank you very much. You’ve no idea how much this means to me. I’ll do my best not to let you down.”

  Esmir clapped his hands. “Now. Let’s get some stew into him before he fades to nothing again.”

  Aram let Markus spoon him some of Esmir’s flavorless stew. After that, he slept. When he awoke again it was evening.

  Aram sat up in bed, weak and shaky and momentarily disoriented. He looked around the cavern, at the shadows of the firelight contorting the walls. His gaze at last settled on Markus, who was seated against the wall with his sword across his lap. He appeared to be just staring at it, as though he didn’t believe it possible that he could own such a weapon. Esmir was in his usual chair at the table, by all appearances already in his cups. Aram smiled, for the sight gave him a comforting sense of normalcy.

  Until the door burst open and a flock of boisterous young men swooped in.

  When Aram saw his friends spilling toward him, his throat tightened with emotion. For too many years he had been friendless, so the sight of five people who actually cared enough to come visit him in his sickbed was overwhelming. When they arrived at his side, he couldn’t speak, but could only stare up at them gratefully.

  Kye broke out in a jubilant smile. “You’re alive! I can’t believe it!

  Aram returned the smile faintly. “Yeah. I guess I looked pretty bad.”

  “You still look like something a cat hacked up.” Corley grinned.

  “It doesn’t hurt as much as it looks.”

  The boys traded glances of disbelief. Corley turned and coughed “Bullshit!” into his hand. The others burst out laughing, clapping Aram on the shoulder and congratulating him as Markus came over and joined in the banter. They stayed there for a while, just talking, as though they were back in the dormitory, and for a time, Aram could almost believe that things between them hadn’t changed. But then Eugan’s face grew serious, and he lifted his hands.

  “Is it just me, or do the rest of you feel that?”

  Aram looked at him in confusion as the others quieted, turning to Eugan with troubled expressions.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Corley, but Eugan waved him silent.

  He turned to look at Aram, his hands raised over him as if feeling the heat coming off of a fire. Aram glanced down at himself, wondering if something was wrong or if he was bleeding again.

  The other boys stared at Eugan with frowns of confusion. But then Kye’s eyes widened, and his gaze snapped to Aram.

  “I do! I feel it!” he gasped.

  “I feel it too,” said Jeran, looking at Aram, his face suddenly very serious.

  “What?” Aram asked, looking from face to face, concerned and confused.

  “It’s you,” Eugan said in a wary tone. “It’s like I can feel the power coming off you.”

  Aram lowered his gaze, self-conscious, wondering exactly what it was they were sensing, for he couldn’t feel it. Markus hadn’t said anything. But then again, Markus didn’t feel magic. Esmir hadn’t said anything either, but maybe the old man had just expected the change and didn’t think anything of it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling suddenly embarrassed. For the first time, he became aware of the gulf that had widened between him and his friends, and he was suddenly nervous about it.

  Iver came forward to stand beside Eugan. “How did you do it?” he asked, his voice quiet and full of awe. “You just kept going back in there.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t have done it.”

  Aram shrugged. “I just knew I had to.” It wasn’t like he’d done anything brave or courageous. He’d just done what he had to.

  In the end, Esmir came to his rescue, clapping his hands loudly. “All right, you louts, that’s enough! Let the young man get some rest!”

  His friends left the room with a chorus of well-wishes. Aram gazed after them long after they were gone, grateful to have such friends. He also felt a little sad, for there was one friend he wanted desperately to see, who hadn’t visited him yet, and her absence troubled him more than the wound in his side.

  IV

  Champion

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  Aram slept all day and night and into the next afternoon. When he awoke, he felt much better. Rested. He reached under the blankets and groped at his bandages and was surprised when the only tenderness he felt was the tugging of his stitches. Whatever ointments Esmir had chosen to treat his injury seemed to be working miracles.

  Seeing him awake, Markus slid into a chair next to his bed, leaning forward with his hands clasped. “Hey there, knot-head! How’re you feeling?”

  “A lot better,” Aram said. Shockingly so. He was much less weak, as though Esmir’s lackluster stew had increased the amount of blood in his veins.

  With Markus’s help, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The world went dark for a few seconds before his vision faded back again. Reaching up, he caught his head in his hands.

  “Here. You need to drink something.”

  Markus handed him a jug of Wellspring water, which Aram guzzled, not sure whether he got more down his throat or down the front of him. When he was done, he handed the jug back and asked, “How long before the Council meeting?”

  Hearing the question, Esmir rose from the table and moved to stand behind Markus, gazing down at Aram with a skeptical expression. “It’s too soon. You shouldn’t be getting out of bed yet.”

  Aram shrugged dismissively. “I’m feeling a lot better. I’ll be fine.”

  Esmir harrumphed and turned away, a sound that usually made Aram and Markus exchange grins. Only, this time, Markus looked in complete agreement with Esmir.

  “I will,” Aram insisted.

  He spent the remainder of the day recuperating, letting Markus and Esmir stuff food and honeywine down him until he was uncomfortably full. All throughout the day, his gaze kept drifting toward the door, for he was sorely hoping Calise would stop by to see him. When evening came, and she still hadn’t paid him a visit, he felt more than a little disappointed.

  After Markus crammed a supper of lentils down his throat, Aram figured he should probably start getting ready. He wasn’t going to let the first Council meeting he had ever been invited to participate in pass him by.

  “Here, let me help you up.” Markus came forward and passed an arm around Aram’s back, helping him to his feet.

  Aram wavered for a minute, his vision dimming again before coming back. It took him a moment before he felt certain he could stand unsupported. He gave Markus a weak smile. “Some fine Champion, aren’t I?”

  “Give yourself a break,” said Markus. “You’ve been through hell and back.”

  “It wasn’t hell.” Aram frowned, trying to remember the features of the Overseers�
�� domain. “At least, not hell the way I’d imagine it.”

  Markus chuckled. “I meant figurative hell.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  Esmir came over with a stack of clothes that he sat upon the bed. “Here. Put this on.”

  Aram picked up the first garment, a black knee-length tunic with a large dragon embroidered on the chest in gold thread. He stared at the dragon emblem for a moment, realizing it was made from an elaborate pattern of interlaced knots. Beneath it was a folded pair of trousers and a black mantle and tabard trimmed in golden embroidery. All four garments were made of exceptionally fine fabric, softer than anything he had ever touched, soft enough to make his skin yearned for them.

  “What are these?” he asked.

  “This is the uniform of a Champion,” said Esmir. He brought over another pile of garments and handed them to Markus. “And his Warden.”

  Aram frowned at the embroidered tunic, which looked more suited for a nobleman. “I don’t know, Esmir…”

  Esmir looked offended. “They were good enough for Daymar and every Champion who came before him.”

  Feeling sheepish, Aram muttered, “I spoke before I thought. Thank you, Esmir.”

  The old man nodded curtly, stepping back. “You can toss away your old clothes. By tradition, this uniform is what you are to wear, every day of your life, so that you can be recognized for what you are.”

  Aram looked upon the new garments with a feeling of dismay. He would have to look like this all the time? What if he had to go clean out a stable or dig a hole somewhere? He’d look rather silly. But then, he supposed it was unlikely that he’d be cleaning out too many stables, which was a thought that made him a little sad.

  Aram sat on the bed and let Markus change his bandage and help him into his new clothes. Then he stood staring down at himself as Markus dressed, still not sure what to think of himself.

  “Ready?” Markus asked.

  Aram turned to Markus and stiffened, his face going slack, for he hardly recognized his friend. Markus’s uniform was similar to his own, only his tabard and tunic were gray. With his sword at his side, the black mantle wrapped around him, he looked like nobility.