The Dragon King (The Alaris Chronicles Book 3)

by Mike Shelton

  Kaspar blushed only slightly and turned to his father as if for help.

  His father only shrugged. “You brought this on yourself, Son. Possibly being king someday doesn’t mean you have to be the best at everything.”

  Kaspar struggled for words for the first time since Alli had met him.

  “And I have a feeling,” the Wolf said, “that our dear Allison here might be quite a master of weapons.” He looked intently at Alli once again.

  Alli turned back to her plate, trying to find one last scrap of food there to distract her. That man, the Wolf, definitely knew more than he was saying.

  Servants came in and cleaned up the meal. Then Kaspar stood up, and Gabby told Alli that she would escort her to a changing room and then to the courtyard, where the sparring would take place.

  Before they could leave the room, the Wolf called Alli back to him. So, leaving Gabby at the door, Alli walked tentatively back to the man.

  Approaching the Wolf, Alli realized how tall the man was and took a step back to keep from needing to look up so high. Keeping a hand close to her knife, she mentally rehearsed where all the exits of the room were. She had to be prepared for trouble.

  As the Wolf placed one strong hand on her shoulder, Alli tensed her muscles.

  “Be careful with my son.”

  Alli nodded, not knowing what to say. Was he threatening her?

  “And, when you are done with Kaspar, I would like to see you inside my office in the castle,” the Wolf continued. “And bring your dragon rider friend with you.”

  Alli blushed, despite trying to keep her composure.

  “But how…?”

  “It is my job to know what happens in this city,” the Wolf said as his dark eyes bore down on her.

  Then Alli realized something. “You are not just the Minister of Trade—or, at least, that is mostly a front, isn’t it?”

  “I see that you have a sharp mind, Battlemaster.”

  Alli held her mouth in a tight line. The man did know more than he had let on. Was he behind the trouble brewing in the city?

  “Then, why let me spar with your son?” she asked.

  The Wolf’s eyes twinkled, and he grinned broadly, showing the same straight, white teeth as his son’s. “Because it’s good for him to get beaten once in a while.”

  “You have high confidence in me, then?” Alli bantered back.

  “Let’s just say that rumors of the grace and power of the young Battlemaster from Alaris have been floating around here for the last few months. I do hope this was not exaggerated.”

  “I’ll see what I can do to exceed your expectations, sir.” Alli smiled.

  The Wolf laughed once again and shooed her out of the room.

  This should be fun! Alli thought, for she had been itching for some exercise.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  When Breelyn had first arrived at the Raleez castle, she’d been taken to a room and been promised a meeting with General Trevis—the man left in charge while Solshi’s kings traveled south, to Quentis. That was two days ago, and she had still seen nothing of the man. The servants had treated her well, though with some trepidation. And Breelyn had spent her days reading in their library and communicating with Miriel, who had stayed outside the city walls.

  This morning, Breelyn walked down the main thoroughfare of the city to visit the market district. Elves, in general, were patient, but Breelyn felt all bound up inside and couldn’t stand much more waiting. This was her first visit to Solshi, but she didn’t think the mood here was normal. The city seemed quieter than it should have been. People talked in whispers. And vendors were not as aggressive in calling out their wares.

  Standing outside of a dress shop, she overheard two women talking a few paces from her.

  “My husband says that shipments of food from the North have slowed,” said the one who was more plump than the other.

  “That’s where most of our beef and lamb come from,” said the second woman, whose voice was higher than the first woman’s. “My brother travels there every spring to oversee some of the birthing. He has been told not to come this year.”

  “We might have to trade with Alaris,” the plump woman said.

  The second woman gasped. “I don’t want to have anything to do with those people. They locked themselves up for one hundred and fifty years and now want to just traipse in and start being our friends.”

  “I hear that their Citadel is recruiting young people from here—wizards.”

  “Why wouldn’t they just go to Quentis, to the Sanctuary, like they always have?” the thinner woman asked.

  “I hear there is unrest there too. That’s why the kings have gone there.”

  The two women moved out of earshot, and Breelyn continued down the street. Walking by a knife shop, Breelyn stopped for a moment and looked at some of the blades in the store window. A dark one caught her eye and pulled her inside the shop.

  “Good day,” the shopkeeper said. He was a broad-shouldered man, a dozen years older than Breelyn. When he glimpsed her ears, he tried to hold back a gasp. “What can I do for you?”

  “The dark blade in the window.” Breelyn pointed.

  “Ah. That one is only for display. It’s not for sale. It is a black obsidian blade.”

  “How did you come by it, then? You didn’t make it?” Breelyn asked, moving toward it.

  “It comes from the plains of Turg, in the North, and has gone through many owners, most having met with bad luck after they possessed it,” the man said, frowning as he spoke.

  “Bad luck?” Breelyn said.

  “Cursed they say it is,” the shopkeeper continued. “A man pleaded with me, a few years ago, to trade it for a proper metal knife. And I was intrigued, so I did.” He paused and then added, “I carried it on me once…”

  “And what happened?”

  “I lost my wife that day,” he said. “A cart turned over and fell on her.”

  Breelyn was intrigued. She put her hand on his arm, and he jumped.

  “I am sorry for your loss, sir,” Breelyn said. “But surely a blade cannot cause a cart to turn over.” Breelyn could feel the blade calling to her. “I would like to hold it.”

  “No, no, no,” the man reiterated. “It is cursed, I told you. Death follows in its wake.”

  Breelyn grew angry. “Then why put it in your window to tempt buyers? Let me see it.”

  The man took a few steps, trying to place himself between Breelyn and the display window. Then he looked down for a moment in embarrassment. “I keep it there to draw people inside. It is a good conversation piece. Then I sell them other knives and swords. I know it isn’t very honorable, but I have to make a living somehow.”

  Breelyn felt the darkness begin to creep into her vision once again. Its familiar taunting pushed her toward the knife. Maybe it is why she came to Solshi. The black blade was beautiful and soaked in all the light around it. So she reached for it.

  The shopkeeper grabbed her wrist and said, “Please stop.”

  But Breelyn shook the man’s hand off of her arm and grabbed the knife. She squeezed the handle in her left hand and closed her eyes. It was a perfect fit. The knife sang to her, and the darkness brought peace to her heart. The blackness around the edge of her vision seemed to wrap itself in comfort around the knife.

  When the man gasped, Breelyn opened her eyes. The man was staring at the bottom of her hair, which hung down her sides. Breelyn glanced down. It had turned black.

  Such a nice look on me, Breelyn thought to herself.

  “How much?” Breelyn asked him.

  The man backed away, saying, “Take it. It’s yours. But never bring it back here again. I warn you one last time, that thing is cursed. If you take it, it is yours. I don’t want you back in my store ever again.” He pushed her toward the door with his meaty hands.

  Exiting the store, Breelyn still held the blade in her hand. Onlookers peered at her with questioning looks. So she stuck the blade through a sash
she had tied around her waist. She could have sworn that the sash had been white when she had put it on that morning, but now it was as black as night.

  Then she continued up the street. Before turning at the corner, she heard the voices of a few men talking, so she paused instead to listen in.

  “He is sending all of us out of the city, but it doesn’t make sense,” said a man with a high voice.

  “Who knows what makes sense, with nobles,” a second man said, his voice lower and quiet.

  “But the general isn’t a noble,” a third man said. “At least, not that my sister says. She works for one of them, and he just showed up a few months ago. It’s not right.”

  “But what can we do?” said the man with a high voice. “Food is already becoming scarce. I have to take care of my family.”

  “We can fight back,” the third man said.

  “Fight against who?” the quiet man said. “The kings are gone, many of the nobles have disappeared, and now soldiers are being sent east. There won’t be anyone left to fight against.”

  “Maybe we can get Alaris to help us,” the third man said. Then his voice began fading as they moved away. “Or those dragon riders I have heard about…”

  Breelyn turned the corner and tried to follow the men without being noticed. She pulled up her white cowl, draping it over her face to cover her pointed ears.

  The first two men laughed, and the quiet one voiced his thoughts. “Dragon riders? You have got to be kidding me. There are no such things as dragons.”

  “Oh, you are wrong, my friend,” the first man said. “My cousin works at the city gate. One landed there the other day. The thing was the largest yellow and orange monster he had ever seen.”

  Breelyn bristled at hearing her dear dragon being called a monster. She picked up her pace and found her hand holding the obsidian knife once again. Walking a few feet behind the men, she reached her bladed hand forward.

  Suddenly, an overhang above the shop she was in front of made a loud cracking noise. Looking up, Breelyn noticed the boards beginning to crack. Seeing this also, the three men jumped forward, out of the way, and Breelyn jumped backward. Then the overhang crashed to the ground between them, the shopkeeper running out to see what had happened.

  Breelyn studied the knife, still in her hand, and thought of the curse the shopkeeper had warned her about. She shook her head and thought, Coincidence.

  Stuffing the knife back into her sash, Breelyn tried to remember why she had been holding it in her hand in the first place. She shook her head to clear her mind. But she couldn’t remember the last few minutes.

  Turning across the dirt roadway, she headed back to the castle. Her strides grew longer and more purposeful, her cowl slipping back down onto her back. Citizens of Solshi moved out of her way like animals fleeing a fire. She would march straight through the city to see General Trevis. Nothing was going to detain her any longer. She needed answers now.

  In the back of her mind, Breelyn felt Miriel, lazily lying around the edge of a lake to the north of the city. Through the bond, Breelyn pulled more power into her soul, until that, along with her own Elvyn powers, flashed out of her pale blue eyes—almost like fire.

  Reaching the top steps of the castle, a guard moved to detain her. Instead, he found himself thrown backward, against the wall of the castle. Then, with a wave of her hand, the immense doors opened on their own, and Breelyn strode into the entry hall.

  Other guards and servants stopped and stared, but she didn’t care. She knew where the throne room was and headed that way. A small servant girl dropped a tray of dishes in front of her, but Breelyn scarcely noticed.

  Two burly guards in red stood in front of the throne room doors.

  One bowed his head to her and said, “Dragon Rider, welcome back.”

  “Get out of my way!” Breelyn said, her voice echoing down the hall. Her long hair, still tinged with black, floated around her as if alive. Her right hand rested on the hilt of the obsidian knife. And power coursed through her veins. She had never felt so powerful before.

  She tried to pull more power from her dragon, but Miriel resisted.

  Dragon Rider, what is wrong? Miriel asked, her alarm spreading through the bond. What are you doing?

  This is what needs to be done, Miriel, Breelyn said, flashing a thought back in mere seconds while waiting for the door to open. These people think they can keep putting me off. But I need to find the cure for Lan and deliver my message from Bakari.

  I don’t think this is what Bakari meant, Miriel said.

  Her dragon was being argumentative, so Breelyn ignored Miriel and turned her attention back to the two guards.

  “The general is not in the throne room at the moment,” the taller guard said, eyeing the dagger in her hand.

  But she thrust her other hand out, and the door flew open. “Then I will wait here until he arrives,” she said as she entered the room. “And you may tell him that I won’t wait much longer before something drastic occurs.”

  “Yes…yes, Dragon Rider,” stammered the shorter of the two guards, and he took off running down the hall. The taller guard stayed at his post, but he wouldn’t look Breelyn in the eyes now. Then the heavy doors closed behind her.

  Somewhere in the back of Breelyn’s mind, alarms were going off, reminding her that this wasn’t how a dragon rider should be acting. The role of the riders and their dragons was to establish peace, not cause havoc.

  “What I am doing will bring peace,” she justified with a mumble. The throne room was as ornate as the grand throne rooms in the Citadel or in Cassian, all of which being much more formal and gaudy than the Elvyn hall of the kings. The elves were less concerned with making a show of their wealth or power.

  A golden throne with red cushions sat atop a dais, a few feet above the floor. As Breelyn walked single-mindedly toward it, she hardly noticed the tapestries, golden vases, and jewel-covered ornaments. Those meant nothing to her. Reaching the throne itself, she paused momentarily.

  Someday, Lan would be king of Elvyn—if he survived—and she would be his queen. Queen of the elves. A much simpler and peaceful people than all these barbarians to the west of their borders.

  She turned her head to the side as a flutter of blackness seemed to dance on the walls. Nothing was there. Another flash, to the other side, had her turning again. The sunlight that had been streaming through the windows now darkened. A passing cloud? Or something else?

  I wonder how it would feel? she thought to herself as she ran her hand lovingly over the ornate arms of the throne. Backing up to it, she sat down on the throne and leaned her head back. A slow grin covered her face. In many kingdoms, sitting on the throne was punishable by death. But who would kill her here? There was no one powerful enough to stop her in these two pathetic kingdoms.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Breelyn was still enjoying the feel of the throne around her body. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed since she had entered the room. But she had been thinking about how it would be to rule over a kingdom.

  Breelyn, I am coming, roared Miriel in Breelyn’s mind. You are in danger.

  What danger? Breelyn asked. There is no one here. I am more powerful than all of them.

  He is coming. I can feel him. Her dragon’s mind was frantic as she added, Hold on!

  Breelyn didn’t know what had gotten into her dragon. The silly animal was still so young. There was nothing of danger here—except for maybe dying of boredom!

  Breelyn heard a sound from outside of the throne room, and then the doors slowly opened. A man took a step inside, and the room darkened.

  But this meant nothing to Breelyn as she thought, This must be General Trevis, the man two entire nations fear. Well, she was an Elvyn protector, a dragon rider, and a mage of considerable power. Nothing could frighten her.

  The man took slow steps toward her, his gray cape flying around his broad shoulders. His heavy, black boots echoed on the marble floor. A dark hood covered his
face—which was bearded, from what Breelyn could tell.

  Still lounging in the throne, Breelyn felt a brief spark in her mind, encouraging her to stand up. But she pushed it aside.

  The man stopped a dozen feet away in front of her, his face still shrouded in shadows. “My dear, are you comfortable?” he asked. His voice was not as Breelyn had expected. It was low and soft and inviting. “We can work on making that permanent, if this is what you like. My name is General Trevis.”

  The voice echoed in her mind as much as it bounced off the walls of the throne room. Breelyn breathed in deeply and reached her mind out. The general had power—extreme power—an influence that she recognized. It brought up the dark shadows around her. Looking down, she found herself holding the knife once again in her hand, and darkness had now spread up one sleeve of her robe.

  Breelyn felt the man’s supremacy over all the power she had. She was humbled in his presence. If any man had the power to help her, he was the one.

  “What do you want, Breelyn Mier?” the man asked, still not showing his face. “Why are you here?”

  Breelyn stood now. “I want my king to live,” she said with fire and determination. An underlying feeling of her love for Lan spread through the faraway recesses of her mind. She wondered briefly if what she was doing was right.

  The general took a long step forward. “I have the power to cure your king, and so do you now. But what are you willing to do to let him live? How far are you willing to go?”

  Breelyn didn’t understand the general’s meaning. She took two steps down the dais and stopped, now only a few feet in front of and above the man. “What do you mean?”

  “To save the one you love, are you willing to change your allegiance?” the general said as his voice grew more raspy and heated. “Join me, Breelyn.”

  Breelyn watched the general put his hand forward. She was drawn to it. The dark shadows flew around her, comforting her, making her feel needed and wanted. She would give up anything for her beloved Lan. Lan was so much better than her, and his wisdom was needed to guide the elves.