Faith Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 2)

by Cole Pain

  Ramie’s voice was laden with worry. “Ista knows I plan to attack, Fraul. Lorlier discovered Ista communicates through crystal balls. I had every man in the army stripped by five others, searching for the crystals. I found three. Needless to say, I didn’t think before I acted.”

  “Dead?”

  Ramie nodded. “I’m sure those men told her the army was preparing to march. I had circulated the rumor that we were riding to strengthen the border patrol, but now that her men are dead she’ll discern the truth.

  “Bostic is with us. So is Lorlier, for reasons you will be unable to believe.” Ramie paused, gripping the reins until his knuckles turned white. “With them we may have a slim chance.” Ramie’s eyes flickered to the cowled man behind him. “Meet Presario. He knows the power, has studied it for years. Magic will give us a greater chance of victory.”

  When Presario’s name was mentioned Fraul raised his eyebrows in surprise and Manda had to consciously keep from gawking. Presario’s tragedy was known far and wide.

  “Ista won’t be prepared for us to have magic. I searched the rest of the men three times. There are no more crystals. Even if more of her followers are here they’ll be unable to communicate with her. She knows I march, but she doesn’t know my strategy, and she doesn’t know we’ll use magic against her when we arrive.

  “Although the Sierras will be almost impossible to move an army over, if we attack by sea one of her followers could see us and warn her well in advance. Because two other kingdoms are with us, I plan to – ”

  “There’s no need to plan. She won’t prepare.”

  All eyes turned to Lazo. The advisor gazed southeast, toward Zier. When he turned back to Ramie he bowed his head in homage. “My king, I was with her for some time, and she takes little notice of those she deems harmless. If it’s truly as you say, and she doesn’t know you’ll be fighting with the Quy, she’ll ignore you until you can literally reach out and touch her.

  “Your army, three armies, even ten armies will be a mere pebble to her. You haven’t seen the Collective, my king. They are like grains of sand on the shore, but they aren’t warriors. They are commoners, farmers, even children. She isn’t training them to march like an army, she’s training them in magic. They will only know how to fight standing in one place.

  “So, don’t worry about strategy. Don’t worry about hiding your advance. Don’t worry about direction and surprise. Just march. Save your men’s strength and come at her from the easiest way possible.

  “For as a giant ignores a pebble, Ista will ignore you and your armies, my king,” Lazo said. “But even a pebble can down a giant. And if that pebble has magic … ”

  Presario moved his mount closer. “He’s right, my king. She’ll take little if any notice of us.”

  Fraul chuckled as he rubbed his scant goatee. “Even a pebble.”

  Manda knew Lazo was right, but she could see Ramie didn’t like the idea. He was a man of strategy, a man who wanted all his options laid out before him. He was a king.

  Without replying, Ramie turned to face Lorlier’s approaching brigade. In the silence that followed everyone else did as well.

  Manda had observed Lorlier at the ball. He had a domineering presence, one that made you sit up and take notice, but there was a kindness in his eyes, a tender look that reminded her of a protective father. As Lorlier approached, Manda found herself looking forward to seeing Lorlier again, but as the king of Fest marched closer Manda had to blink in surprise. Lorlier’s eyes were sunken and bruised, and his previous passion had been replaced by seething rancor.

  He didn’t acknowledge anyone’s presence except Ramie’s. “Is he safe?”

  Ramie nodded. “Your messenger is safe.”

  Lorlier closed his eyes, savoring Ramie’s words.

  “Lorlier, based on his report I take it you’ve searched your army for more with crystals?”

  When Lorlier looked at them again, his eyes were cold steel. “Oh yes. That’s well under control.”

  “And Marianne?”

  As soon as his daughter was mentioned, tears sprung to Lorlier’s eyes. Manda grew concerned. What had happened to Marianne? She had been fine at the ball.

  “She’s alive, but she’ll never walk again.”

  Ramie heaved a sigh. Manda wanted to say something but held back. What could she say? Lorlier didn’t know her, and she knew nothing about him or his family. It was a few heartbeats before Ramie spoke.

  “Well then, let’s get moving.”

  “And our strategy?”

  Ramie turned to Lazo. “March. That’s all of a strategy we need.”

  - - -

  Zorc stood where they had left him, hair quivering with each violent breath, robe stirring in the wind, back stiff as a blade was straight. Galvin doubted the island of Dresden would even exist when Zorc returned, or didn’t return. Galvin fingered the hilt of his sword and sent a silent prayer to the Maker he wouldn’t have to kill the wizard.

  As they approached, Zorc turned his head from his watchful gaze of the distant Druid island. “Which ship?”

  Galvin didn’t want to tell him the news. Thankfully, Neki stepped forward and placed a hand on the wizard’s bony shoulder. Zorc was a skeleton. Galvin didn’t remember Zorc being as gaunt when he had first appeared. The wizard’s cheeks had hollowed, and the only other visible part of Zorc’s body, his collarbone, was just that – bone. They had to be quick about finding something to eat. The only thing the wizard ate now was his anger, and although Zorc had enough of it to fill the coffers of kings, sooner or later he would need real food.

  Zorc’s fiery eyes shifted to Neki.

  Neki shook his head. “Every coxswain we found refused to take us. It seems the Druid crew made it clear as crystal none were to follow. I even offered them more than what you gave us for payment,” Neki said, jingling the bag of gold despite Zorc’s growing frown, “a small fortune. None took the bait.”

  Zorc spun with such violence Neki held up his arms in defense. The wizard looked toward town. All former rage drained from Zorc’s face, leaving a slack, pallid, apathetic mask of indifference. Galvin wondered if this was what a wizard looked like before he hung someone by his entrails.

  “Where?” Zorc asked.

  “The pub.”

  Without waiting for further explanation, Zorc stalked off, his midnight-blue robe shimmering with a magic of its own. Its silver streaks oscillated on the surface like a raging sea.

  Neki trotted after Zorc with only a hint of disquiet. Galvin followed but kept his distance. He had no desire to get in the way of an angry wizard.

  Zorc appeared to be walking on air. His body barely moved underneath the silver swirls of his robe. Galvin would have thought Zorc was floating had the dust of the streets not twirled around him.

  Vy was the last port on the Divi River. It was the only place for leagues having banks deep enough to hold a large ship. Most buildings in the town were three stories, which was an extravagance rarely seen except in large manors. Vy was a handsome town, well tended from the ample wealth pouring into its coffers from merchants and ship’s crews. The wooden buildings were polished to a high sheen, bricks were richly painted, and when they reached the town center, dusty roads gave way to well-laid cobblestone. Music and laughter wafted through the streets in the dawn’s light as the pub patrons continued the night’s festivities.

  With the wizards’ impending confrontation, Galvin suddenly thirsted for a pint of brew. Almost on instinct, Galvin reached up and touched the silver teardrop dangling from the loop encircling his ear. The teardrop symbolized the life he had left behind by swearing the ancient oath. He had never regretted his decision. It was what he had been born to do. Although his parents had loved him completely, there had always been a vast emptiness in his life. For a time he thought marriage would fill the void, but then he came to realize he needed more than marriage. He needed a bond. The soldier’s fidelity gave him that. In a way he and Ren were one. They were as c
lose to brothers as you could get without blood. Galvin would lay down his life for his prince. He should have done just that when the Druids had come. Galvin vowed he would never let Ren put himself in harm’s way again.

  Zorc walked through the large wooden door of the “Knightman’s Ale’ment” as if he owned the place. Although it went against his better judgment, Galvin followed Neki through the door. Neki pointed out two of the men they had spoken with earlier, the two least intoxicated. Zorc glided toward them. A knife blade could have cut the silence.

  Large, brazen men stared wide-eyed and unbelieving at the sight of the robed wizard. Galvin almost wished Zorc wore his less-conspicuous cape with the multifarious pockets, but he had to admit the stunned shock of the bar’s patrons was slightly amusing. In his current mood Zorc’s dark eyes were twin pits to the Abyss and his skeletal frame gave him the look of walking death. His robe reeked of magical powers, and the silver specks attached to the fabric swirled violently.

  The coxswain who had introduced himself as Kilmin shook his head as Zorc walked toward him. Galvin noticed Kilmin’s former vigor was a little subdued as he eyed the wizard.

  “I said no and I meant it. Aye, Scoti?” Kilmin said, taking a sip from his mug of dark porter before slamming it down for emphasis.

  “Aye, Cox,” the scant man across from him muttered. His inebriated, dirty eyes flickered between the wizard and Kilmin. The boy mirrored his superior by taking a long haul of brew. Most of the dark liquid ran down his chin before he slammed it down and burped.

  Kilmin rubbed the foam from his whiskers and grunted his assent. Kilmin was a big man. His burly arms and barrel chest would be able to cut down mountains with little problem. Sticking a piece of wood into his mouth, Kilmin began to gnaw it emphatically. His sienna eyes glowed with impudence.

  Zorc raised his pointy eyebrows and flicked his wrist. The Coxswain began sliding on the bench as if it were greased with butter. Kilmin’s eyes widened as he tried to hang onto the table. It was no use. The huge sailor kept sliding until he bumped the far wall.

  “Cox Kilmin!” Scoti leaned over the table and extended his thin arms. “Take me hand if ye need!”

  Kilmin looked at Scoti’s outstretched hand as if it were a snake. When Zorc sat beside Kilmin on the bench, the coxswain paled and Scoti tensed to bolt. Neki leaned into the bench beside Scoti, blocking any means of escape. Zorc’s face remained emotionless.

  Zorc reached for Kilmin’s beer and took a long swallow. “I don’t know how much you men know about Druids but they’re a nasty lot.”

  “Aye, they are,” Scoti whispered, swaying from side to side as he glanced at Neki. “That’s why we ain’t taken ye to their bloody island.”

  Zorc drained the rest of the beer and placed the empty mug on the table. Reaching above the mug, he quivered his hand. The mug began to spin. Zorc removed his hand and tilted his head, watching the quivering mug with growing interest. The mug began to rise from the table, still spinning. The eyes of the sailors became huge.

  “I don’t know how much you know about wizards, but they can be a much nastier lot.” The mug spun in a more frenzied fashion.

  “Yes, wizards can do much more than Druids, especially to the common man.”

  The mug rose higher. The scraping of chairs and the creaking of the bar door betrayed the flight of the pub’s patrons.

  “I wouldn’t refuse a wizard just because some Druids ordered you to do so. On the contrary,” Zorc said, pausing as he watched the mug rise to the ceiling, “I would do everything the wizard wanted.” The mug fell, shattering in every direction. Zorc turned to Kilmin, eyes lighting with internal fire. “Especially if the wizard was mad.”

  If it was possible, the silence in the room deepened. The look on Kilmin’s face would have been humorous if they didn’t need him to save Ren. Kilmin moved his lips but no words followed. He cleared his throat and nodded. “Aye. When do we leave?”

  “Now.”

  Kilmin didn’t argue. “We have to get the gear and wake the men. Soon as possible, we be at the dock. Ship’s name is Seawitch.”

  “Thank you for your assistance, gentleman. You’ll be well rewarded.” Zorc stood and made his way to the door. The few remaining patrons pushed their chairs well out of the wizard’s way.

  Neki grinned at Galvin and patted his curved blade. “Druids be warned.”

  Zorc turned, causing Neki to bump into him. The wizard’s face was stern, but it softened as he spoke. “I’m sorry, Neki. You can’t come. You must stay here with Markum and the horses.”

  “Oh, no,” Neki said, lifting his hands in defiance. “Just because I’m young doesn’t mean I can’t hold my own in a fight!”

  Zorc’s eyes clouded with gravity. “That’s not it at all. You have the power but are untrained. A handful of Druids could lock you behind the door before you could unsheathe your sword. If I could protect you I would, but I can’t. I too have to fight to stay whole. If we get Ren out alive I would hate to tell him that in trying to save him one of his men became trapped behind the door and is now only a shell of a human. If I know anything about the Chosen, he cares for his men, and I can see you care for him. Don’t put another notch of pain in his belt if you can help it, Neki.”

  Neki drew in a breath for a repartee but quickly thought better of it. He gave a brief nod. Zorc turned and floated toward the docks. This time Neki let Galvin walk behind the wizard.

  The Seawitch was anchored at the far end of the dock, near the mouth of the river leading to the Old Sea. Their horses were where they had left them, tied to a post. Markum lay on a litter beside them, still deep in sleep. Galvin started to glance away when he broke into a boisterous laugh. Keena was beside the horses, munching on the sparse grass growing next to the docks as if she belonged there. At the sound of his voice her huge eyes flickered up and she began to prance.

  She trotted to him. Galvin chuckled and rubbed the skin around her cream horn. He couldn’t believe she had found them. They had been riding at impossible speeds.

  Zorc stepped beside him. “The kota?”

  Galvin smiled. “It seems she wants to help Ren just as much as we do.”

  A huge grin spread across Zorc’s face. Galvin frowned in bemusement.

  “Just a saying! Something an old friend occasionally mumbled in dumbfounded consternation. But now it makes sense! ‘When the kota rides the wind, the Chosen will rise again.’”

  Spinning around, Zorc lifted his robe and began to dance. Despite his prior disappointment, even Neki chucked.

  The wizard’s twinkling eyes had lost all of their prior anger. “All hope is not lost, my friends!” he exclaimed, surprising Neki by taking his hands and forcing him into a spin. “All hope is not lost yet!”

  Chapter 17

  Ren woke with his head pounding. Just as he was about to relax his mind a jolt of warning riveted him to attention: the Druid’s betrayal, the drug, and the attempt to close him.

  They were pushing against his barricade. He slammed against his internal wall, causing the few Druids on the other side to fall away.

  When he opened his eyes, light ripped through him and heavy chains clanged in the silence. He fumbled to sit up. The drug still made him queasy. Although the effects weren’t as mind numbing as they had been before, his head pounded horribly. It felt as if he had been hit with a mace.

  As his vision cleared he found himself on a straw bed in a small moonstone chamber. Three Druids peered down at him. Avalon wore a scowl that could shatter mountains.

  The man standing beside Avalon had to be the Drek, the Druid leader. Along with the black lock of hair falling from his otherwise bald scalp he donned a long black beard. Ren’s eyes flickered back to Avalon. The LoDrek wore the beginnings of a mustache, as had Morrus. The third man was bald, with waxen white skin and murky yellow eyes.

  The Drek gave an imperceptible nod. His jet-black beard caused him to appear young until he inched into the flickering torchlight. The Druid was old
, very old, but he stood tall, and his eyes sparkled with profound curiosity.

  “I’m Marinus, Drek of the Mohemiun line of the thirty third schism of the two hundred forty scions of Dreks before. I take it you’re the Chosen?”

  Ren didn’t bother to reply.

  The Drek’s brows drew together at Ren’s silence. After a brief pause he motioned to the others. “This is the High Priest of Dresden, Feher. You have already had the honor of meeting my son, Avalon. Thanks to you he now holds the status of LoDrek.”

  Ren raised an eyebrow. Honor indeed. “Where’s Morrus?”

  “It’s none of your affair, Chosen,” Feher stated, his oily voice sending a dagger of warning.

  Ren forced himself to look into Feher’s repellent yellow eyes. “My name is Ren. I expect you to use it.”

  Feher’s eyes narrowed. Ren felt a smart flog against his interior wall. He hurled himself against the block, sure Feher alone would be able to tear it down, but after a few heartbeats his hold steadied.

  Feher’s jolt had been more powerful than the whip-like combination of hundreds of Druids, but instead of frightening Ren into submission his rage took on a new dimension. How dare the Druids threaten him when he had come willingly! How dare they treat him as little more than dirt under their fingernails!

  Ren stepped forward. The chains fettering his ankles sounded shrill in the moonstone chamber. Marinus held up his hand in an effort to avoid conflict, but his frown deepened.

  “Yes, Feher, please address him by name,” Marinus said. He nodded to Ren. “But you are to address us with respect, not with brashness.”

  Ren lowered his voice. “I’d be more than happy to do so, but I’ve come on my own accord and you chain me without respect or humanitarianism. I consent to my own closing, requesting only to speak to the One before you begin, and you have yet to honor that request. I ask you a simple question and you strike down my importance. Yes, Marinus, if you begin to show me I’m not a prisoner of my own choosing I’ll treat you with the utmost respect. I thought we were determined to achieve the same objective. Now I’m not so sure.”