Leaping, vaulting, hurdling over anything and everything that threatened to slow him down. Two short walls stood in his way. He dove toward them. His hands hit the first wall, propelled his prone body toward the second wall. When his hands landed on the parallel wall, he pulled his knees to his chest, shot his feet between his arms, landed solidly, and kept going.
A solid wall blocked his path. He leapt, landing one foot against the wall. Shoved hard against it. Twisted. Grabbed a ledge. Used his momentum to swing his legs up and onto the ledge. He ran. Turned the corner. A strong gust of wind slammed into his chest. He leaned too far forward, overcompensated.
He tumbled from the roof.
The bottom of his stomach dropped out. He didn’t think, simply trusted his instincts. He tucked his body into a ball, flipped, twisted extended his legs, grabbed a thick chain, swung high into the air, rotated and landed on a low turret. He never slowed. His body felt flexible, nimble. He leaped and jumped, primal instincts taking over. He moved with fluid, catlike grace. Used his mind and body to overcome every obstacle he encountered.
Discipline. Freedom. He moved forward. Ignored the fear. Wasted no energy. Wasted no movement. Focused. Never taking the path of least resistance. Flying free with the thrill of the challenge. He’d never taken this route before, had needed something different. Something dangerous, requiring his full attention, complete concentration. He had to prepare his mind for battle, remind himself how to function with the cold logic of a machine, to rely solely on his reflexes. Let instinct guide him.
Jackson jumped from crenellation to crenellation, flipped, turned in the air, twisted, jumped down the outside of two closely spaced spires, ran along the top of a wall. He spotted the stable in the distance and worked to move toward it in the straightest line possible.
The rumble of the drawbridge being lowered reached his ears. He ran straight toward it. He dove from the turret, grabbed onto the chain lowering the bridge, swung around in a full circle then launched himself through the air. He landed, one foot in front of the other, crouched on the ground, tumbled, and was up.
By the time he entered the open door of the stable, he was in complete control, his calm center restored. He looked around the enormous, mostly open space. Where was everyone?
Darkness crept over him.
The screech of the door’s hinges sent a shiver up his spine. He adjusted his stance, shifted in time to see the heavy door fall shut.
“Hello, Jackson.” Kai stepped from the shadows. “Nice of you to join us.”
“Where is everyone?”
“Getting ready.” His mentor cocked his head, studied him.
Jackson held his ground. He would not back down from a confrontation with Kai. Actually, he welcomed it. Better to work out their differences before any lives were lost because they couldn’t trust each other.
“You know, Jackson, I’ve never gone easy on you because you were the king’s son.”
Jackson waited, unsure where Kai was going with this, not certain he could trust him.
“If anything, I was harder on you, expected more from you. Not only because your father is king, not only because you would one day be expected to take his place, though both of those reasons factored into the choices I’ve made.” Kai paused, held Jackson’s stare. “The biggest reason I always pushed you harder than anyone else, was that you were always capable of more than anyone else.” He inclined his head toward Jackson without ever breaking eye contact. Then he turned and walked away, leaving Jackson to wonder what had just happened.
Confusion warred with impatience. He struggled to regain the focus the freestyle run had left him with. No use. He sighed and went to prepare. Maybe having feelings wasn’t as amazing as he’d first thought. At the moment, it actually kind of sucked.
Jackson inhaled deeply. The rich smell of dirt and dragons filling him with anticipation. He walked through the stable, his footsteps silent on the hard packed dirt floor. When he reached his preparation area, he grabbed the lit lantern from the wall beside him, entered the small space enclosed on three sides by high wooden partitions, and let the heavy curtain fall shut behind him.
He hung the lantern behind the long wooden table that ran the length of the back wall and studied the armor and weapons spread across it. All carefully aligned, meticulously cleaned and repaired. Always ready to don hastily if the need arose. He lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the table.
Pride filled him. The elaborate symbol of the Death Dealer formed a sleeve around his upper arm and shoulder. Two swords crossed each other, making up the exact center of the tattoo. The mark of a warrior. Bisecting the two swords was a slash of deep red. The mark of the future King.
The red slash crossing the mark made his heart stutter, irrefutable proof that he would one day rule the Kingdom of Cymmera. And yet…
He ran his hand across the smooth, black breastplate laid out on the table. The armor of a novice. He would not ride into battle with the mark of a Death Dealer displayed on his armor, not this time.
Dakota pulled the curtain aside and started into Jackson’s prep area. “Hey, I’ve been loo…what the…?” He stopped, eyes wide, mouth agape and stared at the mark on Jackson’s arm.
“Shh. Get in here.” Jackson dragged his friend in and pulled the curtain closed.
“I don’t understand. Why do you bear the mark of the Death Dealer?” Dakota moved close enough to study the intricate tattoo. He rubbed his fingers over it and gasped. “What’s going on? Is that the mark of the king?” The volume of Dakota’s whisper increased in direct proportion to his agitation.
“Dakota, please, you must not say anything. It’s extremely important that this be kept quiet.” Jackson tried not to panic. Dakota was his best friend. They’d shared many secrets throughout their existence. Of course he wouldn’t say anything.
“But why? I don’t understand. This is cause for celebration.” The younger boy’s brow creased.
“Look, Dakota. We don’t have time for this now. I need you to trust me. Please.”
“Don’t worry about it. You know I won’t say anything. But you’re a Death Dealer. And the future King.” Awe filled Dakota’s eyes.
A rush of pride surged through Jackson. “I know.” A quick grin spread across his face. Joy filled him. “Awesome, right?”
Dakota simply nodded and looked at Jackson with something akin to hero worship.
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be preparing to leave with the guard?”
“Kai said with King Maynard leading this battle, they needed one more warrior.” Dakota beamed. “He asked for me.”
“Congratulations.” Jackson clapped him on the back. He remembered the thrill of being asked to ride with the Death Dealer Squad for the first time, and would never diminish that joy for Dakota, but was this the appropriate time? They were riding into battle with Daygan’s savages.
Dakota was a trained soldier with the Cymmeran Guard. A strong soldier, with considerable skills, but he’d never ridden with the Death Dealers before, hadn’t trained with them, hadn’t trained on the sleek, fast dragons they rode.
Jackson tried to shake off his unease, to bury the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that something was wrong. “Go on, now. Get ready and meet me by the pens. I have to finish up here before Kai calls us to leave. And don’t forget, don’t say a word…to anyone.”
“I won’t. I promise.” Dakota glanced at the tattoo once more before leaving the room and letting the curtain drop shut behind him.
Jackson heaved a sigh and pulled on a thin, long sleeved, black shirt. Then he pulled his hair back into a tail at his nape and tied it with a thin leather band. He strapped the breastplate into place, secured the arm-guard to his left forearm. The high, armor plated, black boots fit snuggly over his tight, black jeans, molding to the shape of his legs.
He slung the bow and quiver onto his back, shoved a dagger into each of the casings
on his boots, sheathed his sword at his hip.
An alert sounded in the distance. It was time to go. He pulled on the black leather gloves, lifted the ornate black helmet and fitted it securely into place.
He jogged the length of the preparation area.
“Hey. Wait up.”
Jackson stopped and looked back over his shoulder. “Hey. Where were you?”
“I had to run back to my room. Forgot my lucky dagger.” Dakota grinned sheepishly and patted the small pouch at his side.
A hint of suspicion tried to take root. Jackson shoved it ruthlessly aside. “How are you feeling?”
Dakota shrugged. “I’m ready.”
This would be the first time the young soldier would battle Daygan’s savages. He appeared to be steady. Eagerness lit his eyes, along with just a little fear. Good.
“I don’t like leaving Mia unprotected, though.” Dakota slid his helmet on and adjusted the strap.
“No. I’m not thrilled about leaving the girls either, but there’s no choice. Besides, Elijah appears somewhat timid, but he is incredibly strong.” And fast. The first time Jackson had sparred with the seer, he’d gone in cocky, certain he’d easily take the fragile man, but the prophet moved with the speed of light. Appearances could be deceiving.
“I haven’t sparred with him yet.”
Jackson stayed quiet. It was an important lesson to learn.
They reached the dragon pens. Normally, the dragons lived in caves among the hills surrounding the castle. Free, yet close enough to be summoned quickly if the need arose. Now they sat in the pens, eagerly awaiting their riders.
“Ride safely, my brother.” He clapped Dakota on the shoulder and turned away.
He approached his pen cautiously, making sure Ophidian knew it was him. “Hello my friend.”
The dragon snorted. A puff of black smoke shot from each nostril. He lowered his head to allow Jackson access.
Jackson climbed the black scales and swung himself over the dragon’s back, careful to avoid the two large, curved spikes jutting from the back of his neck. He positioned himself, secured the strap behind his back, and gripped the spikes firmly in his hands. Then he squeezed his legs together tightly.
The sleek dragon lifted off the ground, undulated smoothly, and maneuvered his slim body through the stable and out into the light of the day.
Jackson glanced behind him to be sure Dakota was in position.
His dragon was as black as Jackson’s, except for a patch of silver above each eye.
Typically, Jackson would have ridden to Kai’s right and slightly behind him.
However, with King Maynard leading this unit, Kai flew in formation with him.
Jackson and Dakota followed behind to the King’s right.
Ten teams made up the unit, twenty dragons in all. Twenty Death Dealers. Although the dragons were huge, their slim, serpent-like, aerodynamic bodies should allow the Death Dealer squad to intercept the savages before they could reach another town. At least, that was the plan.
Jackson stayed low, as close to Ophidian’s back and neck as possible while they slid smoothly through the deep blue sky. A shimmer caught Jackson’s attention. A disturbance in the air in front of them. Vague. Just a ripple.
He ripped the horn from his belt and sounded one long alarm even as he pulled Ophidian up high and to the right. The blue sky slashed viciously open, revealing complete blackness.
Argonas. Daygan.
Dragons tore through the portal toward the Cymmeran squad. Not the thin, sleek dragons of the Death Dealers, but monstrous dragons with two heads. Bulky and large enough to hold the savages who rode their backs. Their shrieks pierced the air.
Jackson maneuvered between two of the creatures. He turned Ophidian tightly to the right. Searched behind him for Dakota.
He was gone. Where was he?
His father and Kai struggled to stay together while the savages worked fiercely to separate them.
Jackson dove. Crouched tightly against Ophidian’s back, he rocketed straight for the ground.
Savages filled the landscape.
Something was wrong. How could they have known where to intercept the Death Dealer squad? No one outside of his team had known the route they’d take.
His mind raced.
A traitor flew among them.
He could easily spot the savages, but what of the enemy he couldn’t spot? One of his own. One who could stab any of them in the back at any moment. How did he watch for that?
He pulled Ophidian up, searched above him for Dakota. He had to find him.
Dragons dotted the sky, flying in every direction. The savages were definitely gaining the upper hand. There were too many of them. Their dragons were bigger, stronger. But they couldn’t maneuver the way the Death Dealer dragons could. And the savages were too slow, their reflexes much too unhurried, lazy. Flames poured from the snouts of the savage dragons.
The Death Dealers evaded, unable to launch an attack. Arrows flew.
Jackson dug his feet in tightly, pulled the bow from his back. He shot up through the center of the battle. When he turned again Dakota was at his side. All right. He had to do something. He spotted his father.
Kai no longer flanked him.
Jackson pulled an arrow from his quiver.
Five savages surrounded the King, forcing him toward the ground.
He pulled his sword, felled one savage.
Another took his place.
The screams from the savages below him grew eager with anticipation.
I don’t think so.
Ophidian dove straight down toward King Maynard.
Jackson held the bow steady. The arrow in place, drawn firmly back. He waited. His arm shook with the strain of holding back. Still, he waited. Now. He squeezed his legs tightly against the dragon’s back.
It slowed. A burst of flame shot from its nostrils.
Jackson watched above the flames. Aimed. Released.
The pre-soaked arrow ignited as it burst through the flames. It found its mark. Took the first savage in the shoulder.
The creature howled as it tumbled from the dragon.
Yes. Jackson fired one after another. He landed a flaming arrow in a dragon’s neck.
The animal bucked, tossing the occupant from its back.
Another arrow tore into a savage’s throat. That one made no sound as it plummeted toward the ground.
He shot one arrow after another through the stream of fire from the dragon. Downing savage after savage.
And yet, they still kept coming. An endless supply.
His father’s dragon still lurched downward. A hole torn in one wing, the animal struggled to land safely amid a sea of savages.
Jackson watched, helpless, as an arrow flew toward the King.
It found its mark. Straight through his father’s back.
Noooo!
Ophidian sprayed the ground with flames.
Dakota flew beside him, following his lead and covering his back.
More savages plunged past them as the Death Dealers began to take control.
His father’s dragon spewed flames toward the ground as it fell.
The savages on the ground began to disperse, their screams carrying to Jackson as they retreated.
King Maynard’s dragon landed hard. Tumbled.
The remaining savages surged forward in a frantic attempt to reach the King.
Jackson reached him first. He pulled him from beneath the dragon. “Hold on, Dad.” When was the last time he’d called his father dad? He couldn’t remember. Odd the things that came to mind in the midst of such danger. He dragged the King toward Ophidian.
With the savages almost on him, he dropped his father, pulled his sword from the sheath.
The first savage came at him, counting on brute strength as he swung wildly with his sword.
Jackson easily sidestepped the attack as he ran his sword throug
h the savage’s gut.
Two attacked together.
He jumped, spun, kicked one in the head, even as he swung his sword at the other. He landed, blocked, attacked. The clash of metal reverberated through him each time he lifted his sword to block a blow. An arrow struck his breastplate.
“Back out, now.” Kai appeared out of nowhere. He stood beside Jackson. Fought beside him in a desperate struggle to keep the savages back.
Jackson grabbed his father’s arm, struggled to drag him while still fighting.
“Leave him.”
Jackson spared Kai a look of pure hatred. “I will die before I leave my father.”
Dakota grabbed King Maynard’s other arm.
Together they struggled to move back from the savages.
“That’s a direct order. Leave him.”
Jackson continued to fight with Dakota at his side.
They fought off a few savages then dragged his father a few feet. Continuing that way as they backed toward Ophidian, who sprayed a steady stream of flames in an effort to keep the savages back.
“I will not repeat myself. He can’t be saved. I’m in charge now, and I said leave him. Retreat. Now!”
Jackson didn’t waste his energy fighting with Kai. He simply ignored him.
More of the Death Dealers made it to the ground and now came to his aid.
Kai issued the order to retreat.
Confusion filled the eyes of his men as they looked to one another, unsure what to do. Ultimately, they obeyed his command, leaving Jackson and Dakota to fend for themselves.
Dakota met Jackson’s gaze.
Jackson discreetly shook his head. Just once.
Dakota turned back to the battle.
He could order Kai and the rest of the Death Dealers to remain. But he wouldn’t. This was not the time.
Desperate, knowing it would deplete what remained of his energy, Jackson concentrated on the well of energy within him. He harnessed the energy he had left. Focused. Shot the ball of fire from his fingers and into two of the savages that had reached them. They ignited and flew back, tumbling a few others behind them.
Reluctant Prince Page 19