Faith Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 2)

by Cole Pain

  He wasn’t dead. He was dreaming.

  A nervous laugh escaped his lips. Somehow he had jumped into a dream, and somehow the dream had saved his life. He breathed a sigh of relief and looked at the torch in his hand. Was the torch something he dreamed into existence, or could he use magic in his dreams?

  He remembered back to the times he had tried use the Quy. He had never been able to feel it, not even a flicker. But he had made the torch appear.

  No, that was a fluke. He was dreaming. In a dream you could command anything into existence. He had just dreamed the torch. If he wanted to see in the darkness without the torch he could. It was his dream.

  The torch disappeared.

  Markum waited. After a dragon’s breath of grueling darkness, the torch reappeared. He shrugged. So his dream didn’t want him to see without a torch. He would accept it and go on.

  He looked around again. Below him, above him, beside him, in front of him and behind him was door after door after door. The stone landing was only a small circle in a vast expanse of blackness. Markum stepped to its edge, expecting to see a walkway that would take him from the landing to one of the doors.

  But only darkness greeted him. The doors just floated in the air with no path to them or from them. How was he supposed to choose the right door when he couldn’t even reach them? He searched for anything that would help, but there was nothing.

  Sighing in frustration, Markum sat down. He had to reach the doors! He had to discover the meaning behind the prophecy. What did the doors hold? Lands? People?

  His eyes flickered to the torch. He could feel the heat of the flames as if the flames were real. Where they? He had wished for a torch and a torch had appeared, but when he had wished to see in the darkness without the torch he couldn’t. Was the darkness reality? Markum shivered as he studied the torch.

  “I wish there were walkways leading to every door.”

  Within a blink of an eye walkways began forming in the darkness, falling and rising, entangling each other until nothing shy of a stone spider’s web swirled around him, each tortuous thread leading to one of the floating doors.

  Markum grinned. At least he could do what he wanted here. He took a walkway leading to a large cluster of doors. Each door had a symbol or phrase etched on its surface. Now he had to discern why he had to open a door, why it would help Ren, and what, if anything, lay behind it.

  He thought about the prophecy.

  Remaining in death meant leaping into his dream. Somehow before the adders’ poison took hold he had jumped here.

  The dreamweaver part was understandable. He was a seer. He could read prophecy from his dreams.

  Markum straightened and turned to the tangle of stone webbing he had constructed. It was a dream weave of webs.

  Each door was an entrance to someone’s dream!

  He wasn’t in his own dream. He was in the catacomb of dreams!

  And he had to open Ren’s dream at the right time.

  Markum collapsed on the pathway. How would he recognize Ren’s dream? He looked around again. There were thousands upon thousands of doors!

  “May the Maker have mercy.”

  Markum drew a wavering breath and walked to the first door. He held up the torch and inspected the symbol on the knotted wood: three wavy lines below the spiral of fate.

  “The symbol of prophecy,” Markum whispered. His voice resonated off the wooden frame as he fingered the deep grooves of the lines, hoping he could sense something from the inscription. He felt nothing besides the intricacies of the wood: no foreboding, and no allure.

  How could he choose one way or the other on “prophecy?” He could see where it could be the right door or the wrong door. He had to think. Why would prophecy be right or wrong? He thought back to all he had read. One truth kept entering his mind: prophecy was right in its context but could be wrongfully interpreted. Prophecy sometimes clouded the truth and clouded judgment. No, prophecy wasn’t the right door. It was far from the right door.

  He studied the next door. It displayed a saying in the old tongue. Markum searched his mind, trying to recall all he had read about the language of the first people and how it had transformed over the years. Then he remembered his very first dream.

  It had haunted him for years and it was the very reason he had become an erudite. Beasts had surrounded him, but he hadn’t fought the beasts with ax or sword or any other weapon. He had fought them with books. And every beast he touched with a book disintegrated before his eyes.

  He wondered if the beasts were doors. He wondered what would happen if he didn’t open Ren’s door in time.

  Would the beasts win?

  His determination deepened. There was no time to waste. Ren needed him.

  Markum sat down. A full glass of burgundy wine appeared in his hand. He drew a long swallow. This was going to take a long time. He might as well get comfortable.

  - - -

  “Dreamers can live if they reach the catacomb of dreams before death takes hold,” Zorc said, unable to disguise the pride in his voice. It had been a long time since he had used magic to help someone. Stopping these men from burying the poor boy alive made him feel as light as air. This was what wizards were born to do. He felt the love of the Lands building inside him again. He rocked forward to his toes and then backward to his heels, praising the Maker he was at last out of that damnedable cave.

  “Now get him out of there and tell me what happened.”

  “Ah,” the blond one stuttered, looking as if he had seen the gossamers of the Fates themselves.

  “The Adderiss,” the tall one said. “Her snakes bit him.”

  Zorc knitted his eyebrows together. “Oh dear. I held hopes she wouldn’t be reborn. Very well,” he said, waving his arms in a flourish and turning to the woods. “I need one of you …” Zorc pointed to the blond.

  “Galvin, and this is Neki.”

  Zorc nodded to each in turn. “Yes, pleased to meet you both. I need one of you to boil water while I go in search of some thistleberry. Thistleberry will kill the poison in his system. It will take some time, probably weeks, but the lad should be able to heal, physically that is. The rest is up to him. He’ll have to find his way out the dream world and back into this world. Nothing can do that for him. Some have been able to do so, others haven’t.”

  The men had gone pale.

  Zorc looked between them, fearful he had revealed too much too fast. Perhaps these men knew little about what had occurred in the Lands. He made a note to watch what he said in the future. Zorc studied the duo. They were an odd pair. The blond appeared acutely serious while the tall one appeared not far from a jester in a passing parade.

  Zorc decided to look at them through wizard eyes.

  When he did he drew in a sharp breath.

  Galvin was strong internally, not unlike a wizard or a twin. Although Zorc sensed a trace of the Quy in him, it had died long ago. Neki was young, far too young to have the Quy emit from him with the force it did. An uncontrolled, chaotic pattern spewed out of the boy like an inclement tempest without direction. Neki was trouble, not as a person but because of his lack of training. The coy grin he wore caused Zorc to scowl. No one with that much power needed to be glib. But the easy manner in which Neki leaned on his sword calmed Zorc’s reaction. Neki was someone who was intelligent, if not wise. He was a victim of the times, nothing more.

  There would be many more like Neki, some perhaps even stronger. Zorc needed to warm to that and set his mind to train them, after he found the Chosen.

  He nodded to each in turn, hoping his wits were still true and he didn’t like them only because they were the first people he had come across since leaving the hideaway.

  “My name is Zorc Val Vincent. I’m grateful to meet you.” He bent forward and put a hand behind his back, as a proper Calvet would do. It felt strange. He was used to bowing completely, with back parallel to the floor, but he was the last of the wizards, hence the Calvet, the leader of the Alcaza
r, or what was, or was not, left of it.

  “I don’t suppose any of you have seen a man,” Zorc paused, brow furrowing with self-reproach, “or I think he’s a man. He could be a woman for all I know, although I have never considered the possibility.” He mumbled under his breath, scratched his chin and chastised himself for not thinking of it sooner. The Chosen could be anybody: boy or man, woman or girl. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he find him or her.

  Zorc whirled to Neki. The boy took a step back, eyes widening under Zorc’s glare.

  “You,” Zorc said, stepping closer to the power he had sensed heartbeats ago, fearful he might have missed the obvious. The Chosen would be strong. Neki was that, much more, but Zorc would have thought …

  Thought what? He chastised himself. Older? More rounded in feelings? More intense in desire? More handsome? More ugly? More muscular? More serious? What?

  Zorc stepped in front of Neki and had to look up slightly. What he saw in Neki’s dark eyes scared him but didn’t convince him.

  “Something isn’t right,” he murmured more to himself than to anyone else.

  “You’re the One.” Galvin said, eyes vacillating between fear and hope.

  Zorc lost his smile. How would they know him? He looked at each in turn and then down at the dreamweaver in the grave. The boy bore an uncanny resemblance to Galor, a very uncanny resemblance.

  He spun to Galvin, almost screaming. “Where’s the Chosen?”

  Galvin glanced at Neki before he replied. “Druids.”

  “What? What’s he doing with Druids?”

  “They said they had the One. They convinced him you were with them.”

  Zorc listened as the two pieced together the story. The Druids were going to put the Chosen behind the door. They were going to destroy the world. Ista had gotten to them. The thorn had pricked – the same thorn that had taken his Christa.

  He would destroy her.

  “What does this mean?” Galvin asked as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

  “It means we have to find him before the door is closed,” Zorc said through gritted teeth. “The Chosen is too strong to remain behind the door. If they shut it and Ren doesn’t die, he’ll be a shell of a human.

  “Barracus will be able to enter a shell without problem. That’s Ista’s plan. Ren, the most powerful person in existence, will be unable to fight, and Barracus will be able to tap into the Chosen’s power without any difficulty. Ren, as he was, had a chance to defeat Barracus. Ren behind the door will be easy prey. Barracus will claim him, and all hope is lost.”

  Chapter 14

  They were moving fast. Ren could see in the distance but if he looked to each side the view was, at best, the ten winds come to life. They had covered hundreds of dragon’s tails since leaving the others and their horses still didn’t show any signs of slowing.

  Ren had become used to his eyes shedding tears from the force of their speed. He had also become used to Fate’s words echoing in his mind.

  Your belief will damn you or raise you. Believe in choice and chance. Believe in love and pain. But believe in you.

  Galvin had said something similar: Believe in yourself. Remember this.

  Ren opened his palm and studied the star sapphire, perplexed as to why Galvin had given it to him. It was a beautiful, costly stone. If the gift were a token of friendship Galvin would have given it to him openly, but he had given it to him covertly, entreating him with his eyes.

  What was Galvin trying to tell him?

  The stone lay dormant in his hand, but the white star at its core glowed with an inner light. It wasn’t an ordinary stone. Ren felt a warmth coming from it, almost an entreaty.

  Even though he had its leather thong wrapped around his wrist, Ren feared the stone would be hurled away by the wind and closed his hand.

  His stomach growled. He almost laughed. He was riding toward his death yet he yearned for food.

  No. He couldn’t think that way. All hope was lost if he did. Somehow, some way, he would fight. And he would fight with everything he had. Something tickled his wrist. A narrow stream of blood careened up his forearm. He had gripped the stone so tightly his fingernails were cutting his palm.

  His mount slowed and the world around him began to form a concrete image. His horse threw back its head and snorted, annoyed at the pause in flight. Morrus dismounted and motioned for him to do the same. The third druid, Welch, built a fire. Ren’s stomach growled as an aroma of spices and savory sauces filled the air.

  “I’m sorry this is our first stop,” Morrus said, “but our horses have only two days left of their swift pace. It gives us just enough time to reach Port Vy.”

  Ren studied Morrus. In the light the Druid’s differences were even more apparent, but despite his sizable mass and prominent presence Morrus had a demeanor that made him curious to Ren. Druids were a solemn race, taking temperance to the extreme in every aspect of their lives. Ren had never seen a Druid look upon anyone without hauteur.

  Ren wondered if the other Druids would be like Morrus. He hoped so. It surprised him but he found himself liking the Druid. He smiled at the thought: the condemned venerating the executioner.

  But Morrus was a Druid who wanted him behind the door. He remembered Morrus’ expression when the Druid thought he would refuse to come with them. Morrus wouldn’t have hesitated to take him prisoner. The Druid may not be a man of war but he would do what he felt he should.

  “Would you walk with me while they prepare the meal?”

  The question took Ren off guard. Although Morrus had shown him all signs of courtesy, Ren hadn’t expected the Druid to befriend him.

  “I would be honored.”

  Morrus nodded, still expressionless, and walked from the fire where Avalon and Welch worked with quick, quiet movements. Ren fell in beside Morrus, but not before he saw Avalon turn to watch their departure with silent contempt. Ren was glad Morrus was in command. Avalon would have had him bound and gagged by now.

  They walked in silence. Ren tried to concentrate on the grassy fields of the Fyl region. He always liked riding in the flatlands. It was vastly different from the mountainous region of his home, but after a few days of the plains he always missed Zier’s lush woodlands and naked rock mountains. He suddenly wondered what the island of Dresden would be like.

  As if on cue, the Druid spoke.

  “What would you have done if you had remained in control of your kingdom? Would you have considered the old laws and chosen either wizardry or reign, or would you have disregarded the old laws and ruled Newlan with the Quy?”

  Ren hesitated, unsure of how to reply. The Druid’s eyes were on him, but he didn’t rush his thoughts. He sensed the question was an important one for Morrus.

  “I would have considered the old laws first, but I wouldn’t have let them dominate my decision. If I had known without a doubt others in the position of power would honor the old laws, I would have relinquished the throne.

  “But if other rulers with the Quy remained in power I would have remained. How could I step down and allow others to take advantage of Newlan? I would have retained the throne in order to help fight against them.”

  They walked on. When Morrus didn’t speak, Ren grew nervous. He knew the Druid would dislike his response, but the last thing he wanted to do was lie.

  Finally, Morrus cleared his throat. “I understand.”

  Ren glanced at the Druid. Morrus was smiling, drawing prominent lines around his eyes and lips.

  “I didn’t know what to expect when we were ordered to find you,” Morrus said. “They told me you would be unreasonable and wouldn’t accept your fate. They ordered me to take you by force. I agreed, but along the way I decided everyone deserved a chance to prove themselves, and I vowed to give you the benefit of the doubt before I resorted to force. You did as you should. I admire you for that.”

  “The One ordered you?”

  “Yes, the One.”

  A chil
l colder than the peaks of the Jaguars flitted down Ren’s spine. He thought the One would be someone who would be his teacher, his mentor. Now it sounded as if the One would be his keeper, his holder. He suddenly felt odd, like there was something he was missing, something he had overlooked. He recalled Markum’s description of the One from his dream.

  “What’s his name?” Ren asked, trying to keep his voice casual.

  “Zorc.”

  That sounded like a wizard’s name. “Describe him to me.”

  “I can’t. I’ve never seen him.”

  Ren stopped. The tall Druid looked down at him with an expressionless face. “What do you mean you haven’t seen him? Magic was destroyed almost four centuries ago.”

  One corner of Morrus’ mouth lifted into a grin. “He hasn’t been with us since magic’s destruction. He only came to us a short time ago to wait for you. Since his arrival he’s been guarded with whom he takes company. He remains in the upper temple and only lets the High Priest of Dresden in to see him. Although he stays with us and trusts us to a degree, he’s also vigilant. He told us some of what is to come, but not all, and certainly not how the prophecies will come to pass. The One had to trust us enough to tell us of you, but he’s kept us at arm’s length. If I were he, I would do the same.

  “Wizards are stronger than Druids and can crush us if they desire, but one wizard against the entire city of Dresden? He wouldn’t stand a chance. He’s on guard, as you’ll be. But you have nothing to fear. We only do what is right for the Lands.”

  The chill still hadn’t left Ren. Morrus’ words sounded rehearsed. Was the One really with them?

  Ren glanced at the horses and forced his muscles to relax. The One had to be at the Obelisk. Only a powerful wizard could have produced such an effect in their mounts. Druids certainly couldn’t.

  If something was wrong it wasn’t that he had made the wrong decision. He had made the right one, but something underlying the right decision was corrupt. Even so, it didn’t change his fate.

  Ren turned back to Morrus. The Druid was watching him closely.

  “If you haven’t seen him, did the High Priest tell you to find me?”