The Dragon King (The Alaris Chronicles Book 3)

by Mike Shelton

  Roland, I can’t help you right now. I need to get to the other dragon. It’s time for another rider.

  Roland sighed. I understand. The weight of the world falls upon your shoulders, Dragon King, so why would you help out an old friend?

  That’s not fair, Roland, and you know it. Don’t you, the mighty High Wizard, have any ideas? Bakari said back, as a bitter retort.

  As anger had filled Bakari’s voice, Roland had smiled, for he knew that his friend still cared for him.

  Ouch, Bak. I didn’t mean that. It’s just so infuriating here, all alone.

  Roland heard Bakari take a deep breath. Then Bakari said, I’m sorry too, Roland. It’s just that everywhere I turn, I feel like we are being defeated by something that we don’t understand: Abylar is missing. Breelyn is in trouble…

  And Alli has lost her magic—at least, the use of it, Roland added.

  Bakari was silent for a moment.

  Bak?

  I’m thinking.

  Roland waited a few moments longer. He was about to say something more, but then he felt something else tug at his mind.

  Oh no! Roland groaned. He’s back again!

  Who? Bakari asked.

  The evil wizard king himself. He roams the stream as I do, looking for havoc to cause. I need to run again.

  We’ll figure this out, Roland. I need to find the other dragon egg, then go after Abylar, Bakari said with haste. There has to be a way for you to get back out—or for us to get in.

  That last comment got Roland thinking. Maybe, if he couldn’t get out, he could instead find a way for other wizards to get in—to help him defeat the wizard king here, before he entered the world again. That was something that Roland could put his mind to.

  Breaking his contact with Bakari, Roland glanced around the grayness of the magic stream. There, in the distance, the blackness was creeping closer once again.

  Time to go!

  With only a brief thought, Roland pictured himself somewhere else, and his mind or spirit—or whatever it was—jumped there. He had to endure several long moments of darkness, then brief dizziness. When this stopped, he marveled at what was around him. The place was brighter and, somehow, in front of him, stood a woman. She was twice his age, pale-skinned, and shorter than himself, with short, blond hair. She stood with her hands on her hips and a stern look on her face.

  “Who are you?” she said.

  Roland was taken aback. She was the most substantial form he had ever seen in the magic stream. The woman stared up at him, power radiating from her. Here was someone with abilities that even outpaced Roland’s. And he knew it.

  Giving her the deep bow that she deserved, he answered back, “I am Roland Tyre, High Wizard of the Citadel in Alaris.”

  The woman nodded as if she already knew this.

  “And who are you?” Roland asked tentatively.

  The woman seemed to relax and smiled. Roland saw a fun-loving excitement in her.

  “I am Danijela Anwar, High Wizard of the Wizard Conclave of Arc. We have much to discuss!”

  * * *

  Bakari opened his eyes and found everyone in the room staring at him.

  “What?” he asked out loud. He put his hand to his head, feeling a growing headache. How had Roland done that?

  Liam limped over and asked, “Were you communicating with the Cremelino?”

  Bakari nodded, then shook his head and said, “Well, not really. I was speaking to my friend Roland Tyre, the High Wizard of the Citadel in Alaris. Somehow, he used the Cremelino here as a conduit for us to talk through. It was quite amazing!”

  Bakari ran his hand over the Cremelino and thought about what Roland had done. His mind was already searching for ways to use that ability to defeat the evil powers that were still growing. While touching the horse, Bakari felt a growing sense of urgency to find the next dragon egg.

  “Liam, we need to leave,” Bakari stated.

  “What?” Liam threw up his hands. “What do you mean, leave? We just got here.”

  “Breanna and the rest are safe for now.”

  “For now, maybe. But what if that evil impostor finds them?” Liam seemed to be growing angry. “I won’t leave them.”

  Breanna walked over to them and put a hand out to either one. “Liam, we can fend for ourselves.” She softened that statement by adding, “But I do thank you for finding us. That was very brave of you.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Sister. You know I would do anything for you.”

  Breanna smiled and looked at her brother proudly. She touched his arm with her hand and lowered her voice as she said, “I know, Liam. I know that. That is why you need to go with Bakari.”

  Liam held his lips tightly together and appeared to be thinking about what to do. After a moment, he turned to Bakari and asked, “And where do we go that is so urgent?”

  “To find the next dragon egg,” Bakari stated firmly.

  The group in the room gasped and moved closer to hear the conversation. One young woman stepped forward and said, “Are there really dragons again?”

  Bakari nodded. “Yes, and I am a dragon rider.” He didn’t mention the part about him being a king. “And there are two others.” He pursed his lips, thinking about what Roland had said and what he had seen. Bakari felt a stern responsibility for Breelyn and Jaimon. But he hadn’t heard from either one in some time.

  “Where is your dragon, then?” A young man a few years older than Bakari stepped forward. His arms were folded over his chest, and his chin had jutted out with his question.

  “Hush, Davis,” Breanna said. “Bakari is separated from his dragon for now. Don’t pester him with your questions.”

  Bakari nodded his thanks to her, then turned toward Liam, waiting for an answer. Liam ran a hand over his Cremelino and seemed to be deep in thought.

  “Liberty says I need to go; there is something waiting for me.” Liam gave Bakari a questioning look.

  Bakari smiled back. “There just might be. You’ll have to wait and see.”

  Breanna hugged Liam. “I will send a messenger to Papa. He will protect us, Liam. Go with Bakari. This is the right thing for you.”

  Both of the Cremelinos nudged Bakari and Liam.

  “Time to go.” Bakari motioned with his head to Liam. “We will pick up a few supplies on our way out of Mar.”

  “Where are we heading?” Liam asked as he walked out of the front door with Bakari and the Cremelinos. The rest of the group waved at them and bade them good luck.

  Breanna ran up and gave them a few blankets. “To drape over the horses,” she said. “It will hide their identities—well, at least somewhat—until you are out of the city.”

  Once they were outside, they laid the blankets over the horses and both Liam and Bakari mounted their respective Cremelino. Liam glanced over at Bakari with a look that repeated his earlier question.

  Bakari took a moment to reach deep inside his magic. As Dragon King, he could always feel the faint presences of all the dragons and their riders. After reassuring himself, he turned back to Liam.

  “We ride north,” Bakari said.

  “North?” Liam groaned but picked up his pace. “Nothing is north but the Mountains of Gold and the Forgotten Lands.”

  “Yes, I know,” Bakari said with sudden excitement. “Dragons like mountains.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Kharlia sat in a chair next to King Lanwaithian Soliel, who was resting on a reclining couch. A light breeze fluttered the leaves and blew through the open-air room, high up in the treetops of Lor’l, in Elvyn. The day had dawned bright, and a tinge of salt hung in the air.

  But, even though the weather was cheery, the mood in the room was not. It had been almost two weeks since the king had been attacked, and he wasn’t getting any better. Kharlia noticed that the blackness had crept up his arm again, ever so slightly but still more than a few days before.

  “Drink this, Your Highness,” Kharlia said with compassion, bringing another
concoction to the king’s lips.

  The king drank this and then rolled his eyes at her. “Kharlia, I know you mean well, and I understand that you have learned a lot here, but none of these mixes of herbs is ever going to work on me.” He breathed out an exasperated sigh.

  “But, sir…” Kharlia began to explain.

  Lan reached his good arm out toward her. “Kharlia, no need to be so formal here. Call me Lan.”

  Kharlia blushed at the attention. Who would have thought that she, the fifteen-year-old daughter of a healer with only a modest home in Alaris, would ever be sitting high up in a tree and waiting on the king of the elves? The elves! A race that magical stories had been told about around the evening fire back home.

  “Well then, Lan,” Kharlia began again. “Just because something doesn’t work doesn’t mean we stop. All it takes is for one thing to work. Here, drink this.” She handed him a silver cup with a light blue liquid inside.

  The king sighed again and gulped it down. Making a sour face, he handed the cup back and said, “With all the magic and healing around here, you would think we could make things taste better, wouldn’t you?”

  Kharlia stifled a giggle. “You are not a very good sick patient, Lanwaithian.” She gave him a mock scowl.

  “Kings aren’t supposed to get sick—at least, not like this. I am still young. I need to be out leading my people.”

  “You lead them well enough from here. Your advisors carry out your commands, and everything is running smoothly.”

  Lan pouted. “Then maybe they don’t need me at all.”

  Kharlia stood up and placed her hands on her hips. “King Soliel,” she began formally. “What you need is to get out of this bed and walk around, so the people can see you.”

  The king opened his eyes wide at her boldness.

  So Kharlia continued, with her tone a little softer, “You need to see how much they love you…”

  “And how much I love them,” Lan finished for her with a nod of his head. “You are very wise, Kharlia. You must have spent too much time with that dragon rider of yours.”

  Kharlia blushed again and then lowered her eyes. “I hope Bakari is safe. It’s been almost two weeks since he has left.”

  The king moved his feet from the couch to the floor. “One thing I know about that boy is that he is smart and brave and will make things work out.”

  Kharlia nodded. “But I do miss him, Lan.”

  “Of course you do,” Lan agreed. He sat forward on the couch, as if readying himself to stand up. “We all are missing those we love.”

  “Oh, Lan,” Kharlia gasped. “I didn’t mean to put my own loss before yours. You must miss Breelyn also.”

  “Yes, I do.” Lan sighed. “And I am more worried about her than about Bakari. She is young, for an elf, and impetuous. So she thinks with her heart before her head sometimes.”

  Kharlia moved over to Lan’s side and helped him stand. Then she said, “She will be back soon, I am sure.”

  Pulling on a dark green cloak, Lan took a few steps.

  “You look grand, my lord,” Kharlia said.

  They walked out onto a balcony overlooking the tree city of Lor’l. Kharlia watched Lan breathe in deeply and smile for the first time this week. The king cradled his bad arm and kept it wrapped up tightly in the cloak.

  A progressive hush filled the city until all were silent. Kharlia saw heads poking out from various trees, houses, and even looking up from the ground. In reverent awe, they watched their king for a moment, then bowed their heads to signify their love.

  Kharlia watched Lan from the side. His jaw was held firm, and his dark hair hung behind him, pulled back in a golden band. As his eyes took in everything, a tear slipped down his face.

  “There is so much love here,” he whispered so that only Kharlia and a few guards nearby would hear him. “How can such an evil exist in this beautiful world?” he said, clearly referring to the Chameleon and the darkness that was spreading in himself.

  Kharlia kept a hand on his back to keep him steady. With the pain the king must be feeling, it was an amazing feat for him to even be standing there like he was.

  Taking a few steps toward the lift, the king said more loudly, “I need to see my people.”

  One of his healers stepped up closer and said, “Sir, you are still not well. You need to rest.”

  “No, my people need to see their king,” Lan said firmly, implying that he would brook no debate in the manner.

  “It is still spreading, Your Highness,” Kharlia whispered next to him. “Moving around too much may make it spread farther.”

  As the king turned to look down at her, Kharlia felt so small in his presence, and not just physically. The king was one of the most regal people she had ever seen, and his aura filled the small area where they stood.

  His eyes were hard, at first, and then softened. “Thank you for your concern, Kharlia. But I cannot just think of myself in this,” the king said with a gentle voice. “My people need to know that things are going well. This has been a challenging time, since the barrier came down, and they need hope and strength. This is my duty.”

  Kharlia nodded. She knew all of the things that Bakari did out of duty. Fulfilling one’s duty was a heavy burden sometimes, but one that forged strength.

  “Then let me walk by your side,” Kharlia offered.

  The king raised his slanted eyebrows at her, and she blushed.

  “I promised, to Breelyn and Bakari, to take care of you.” She gazed directly into his green eyes and added, “I, too, take my duty seriously.”

  “Well said, young healer.” The king laughed and added, “We’ll make an elf out of you yet.”

  A group of guards and one other healer joined Kharlia and the king as they descended to the ground on a wooden lift. The quiet hush in the city turned into whispers and then into many excited voices as the people saw their king coming to them.

  Reaching the ground, the new king strolled along slowly, but regally, through the shaded paths, greeting each elf he saw by name.

  Kharlia still marveled at the elves. A beautiful race with fine features and clear eyes—some blue, some green. Their hair, whether dark or light, hung down their backs, and many of them had headbands on, holding the silky hair back behind them, their upswept ears showing on either side of their heads.

  As others came down from the trees, they walked toward the king, soon forming long lines, winding throughout the grounds beneath the tree city. Loose robes in bright colors hung on most of them, with a few pants and tighter clothes being worn by the tradespeople and warriors.

  There were no poor or rich among them, no anger or hate. They reverenced the king with a common, unanimous support that brought tears to Kharlia’s eyes. So she stepped a few paces back to let the king have this moment with his people.

  “Greetings friends… So nice to see you… Be at peace” were some of the things the king said as he greeted them, offering hope and strength to each elf individually. As the children approached, the king kneeled down and took their small hands in his larger ones and gave them encouragement in their studies.

  As people left him, to return to their duties, Kharlia heard their expressions of love and concern for their beloved king. She smiled and thought of how wonderful it would be if all lands were governed this way. But the elves had achieved something that no one else had.

  “You are wondering how all this happened?” asked an elf that came up next to Kharlia.

  Kharlia glanced up to find the healer that she had worked with so often in the past week. “Halleema, how did you know?”

  The middle-aged elf smiled—although, for an elf, being middle-aged was probably quite a bit older than it would be for an Alarian.

  “Your thoughts were written all over your face, Kharlia.”

  “It’s truly amazing,” Kharlia said. “Have you ever been outside of Elvyn?”

  “No.” Halleema shook her head. “No, I haven’t. I have heard stories, t
hough…” Her face clouded over.

  “It is not like this,” Kharlia continued. “There is so much hate and pride and greed in the world. How did the elves move past all that?”

  Halleema patted Kharlia on the back and said, “Now that is quite a story. We were not always the peace-loving people you see today. Back in the old land, across the sea, the elves were a strong race of warriors.”

  Kharlia raised one eyebrow. “That is hard to believe.”

  “Yes, but true nonetheless. There were multiple cultures of elves, and not all believed as we did,” Halleema said.

  “We?” Kharlia asked. “You mean, there are other groups of elves?”

  Halleema laughed, and the sound reminded Kharlia of Breelyn. “Aren’t there different lands, kingdoms, cultures, and even colors of humans?”

  “I never thought of it that way before.” Kharlia was surprised at this news. “It does make sense, I guess.”

  “Just as the southern elves, in Mallek, are different from us, there are others, farther away, that are different from us also.” Halleema’s face saddened.

  “Do you know where they are?”

  “Far, far away, I suppose,” Halleema said. “We left a thousand years ago.”

  Kharlia wanted to know more—this was fascinating—so she said, “Tell me about it.”

  But Halleema looked toward the king, and worry spread across her face. Kharlia followed the healer’s look. The king’s face was pale, and he was now sitting down on a wooden bench—an extension of a nearby tree that Kharlia did not remember being there before.

  “The king needs to rest,” Kharlia said.

  Halleema nodded. “The story will have to wait until later.”

  Kharlia understood. She walked up next to the king and put her hand on his shoulder. He tried to smile at her, but she could see the pain he was hiding. Only a few elves remained, and the king greeted them briefly, then his guards circled around him.

  “We must get you back to your tree.” Halleema motioned.

  The king tried to stand up but stumbled. Before he had fully slumped to the ground, two guards each took an arm and held him up.