Quest Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 1)

by Cole Pain

  - - -

  Renee leaned back against the chill earth, her squire asleep at her feet. The outside wall of Zier stood cubits from her. It amazed her how much she didn’t know about the Stardom Castle. She had lived here over twenty years and each year she discovered a new secret. Thank the Maker Lazo had told her about the tunnels.

  Renee stroked her squire’s feverish forehead. Tol wasn’t well. Ever since he had arrived at Stardom he had complained of head pains. When a fit overcame him he would shriek in anguish and clutch his head like it was about to explode. Time and again she had taken him to the healer, but the healer only gave him tanga roots to chew. Even tanga, an intense medicine that numbed the subject into feeling almost nothing, hadn’t helped.

  His last fit had come just after Ren’s escape. Tol’s screams were harrowing, shriller than they had ever been before, and without another thought she had scooped him up and fled, desperate to reach the tunnels that could take them to safety.

  When she entered the tunnels Tol had passed out in her arms.

  It was cold, so it had to be approaching late afternoon. Silver striations decorated the walls and ceiling. An old iron pike lay abandoned across from her, its wooden handle rotten and its iron rusty. Although the Stardom mines had once been the largest silver deposits in Zier, they had been dormant for over half a century.

  Renee touched the silver band of rule encircling her head. Wyrick always wanted her to wear the band when other lands came to Stardom. She thought the tradition foolish, but when Valor had gained control of Zier she had worn it out of defiance. She didn’t have to worry about that anymore. She tossed the band on the ground.

  Tol’s blue eyes slowly fluttered open and filled with fear. Before she could ask how he felt he scampered out of her arms and swung his slight form in all directions, chest heaving. Renee stood, a little uneasy.

  “Tol,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

  Tol blinked and lowered his arms. “I’m not dead?”

  He said it with such apathy she started. She knew Tol had been abused. He was skin and bones when she had first found him abandoned outside the city walls. The boy jumped at every movement, but responded like a flower in the morning’s dew to any type of affection.

  She stepped forward, wanting to comfort him, but unsure how. His eyes vacillated between boy and animal. When his lower lip quivered and his shoulders sagged, she quickly closed the distance and scooped him up in her arms. He clung to her as if he had been absolved a great debt.

  She rocked him, smoothing his blond hair and whispering reassurances. Tol wiped his tear-streaked face with the back of his hand. Tears still clung to his eyelashes, but as he surveyed the abandoned mine his blue eyes flashed with the curiosity of a child.

  “The fit was bad this time, wasn’t it?” Renee asked, needing reassurance the pain had dissipated. She knew it had been deadly. Maybe Tol knew that too.

  “Yes,” he said, squirming out of her arms and trotting over to examine the abandoned pike.

  “Careful. It’s rusty.”

  Tol stepped back. Renee marveled. She had never met a child who obeyed as well as Tol.

  “Where are we?” Tol asked as he climbed into her lap.

  “We’re in a tunnel at the edge of the castle that was once a shaft in an old silver mine. Now it acts as an escape passage.”

  Tol looked around. “I like it here. I feel safe.”

  Renee relaxed. “I feel a lot better myself. I’m just worried about my friends back at Stardom.”

  Tol turned in her arms. “Don’t go back.”

  “I won’t. Valor would only use me to harm those I love. I can’t go back.”

  The fervor went out of Tol’s eyes as he snuggled against her. “Good. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Renee opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. Was his comment just his way of showing her he didn’t want her to leave? Surely that was it. Tol would never do anything to harm her.

  Renee closed her eyes and pulled Tol closer, condemning her apprehension as foolishness. Tol had been abused and neglected, and he feared she would abandon him too. She kissed his head, eyes welling with tears.

  It was approaching dusk. The only light crept through a small crack in the outer wall. The silver streaks surrounding them reminded her of thin trails of slugs, careening this way and that, transforming the dreary tunnel into a marvel of beauty.

  Renee closed her eyes and silently prayed to the Maker Ren was safe, but not even thoughts of Ren could stop images of Michel creeping into her head. When Lazo had first told her about Michel’s presence her knees had almost given way. Had Michel come to hate her over the years? Although they had both betrayed Wyrick, in a way, she had also betrayed Michel. She thought it had been the right thing to do at the time, the only answer to a love that had been stifled, but now she wasn’t so sure. Michel had suffered far more than she. Soon now she may be facing her past. She could only pray Ren would forgive her.

  Chapter 6

  Zorc looked up from the book he had read many times before. The binding was so old some of its leather hung in shreds. There was something in the air he hadn’t sensed a breath ago, something familiar …

  He heaved a sigh, chastising himself. It was his imagination … only imagination. Turning the page he focused on the words. The air tingled. Zorc straightened. Did he really feel it? Closing his eyes, he breathed in the damp air.

  Magic.

  Zorc swallowed his excitement and hurried to the mirror propped against the far side of the cavern. He bent forward to inspect himself. Still the same, nothing had changed: the same dark eyes, the same widow’s peak, the same ebony hair. Zorc frowned, silently cursing his foolishness. He was too eager, much too eager. Zorc drew a disappointed breath, but before he turned he noticed something glimmering in the torchlight.

  “I’ll be staggered,” Zorc said as he gently touched the gray hair above his right temple. He was beginning to age!

  Zorc spun with arms wide, waist-long dark hair twirling around him like a war banner. He felt so good he drew up his robes and began to dance the way he had in the Alcazar. For three hundred ninety-eight years he had been waiting. That was far longer than any of the great ones had expected and far longer then he thought he could bear. Waiting wasn’t bad when you had someone to wait with, but only two of those years had been spent with another. Zorc wondered for the thousandth time what had happened to Galor. He could almost imagine the seer’s excitement at the thought of his foretelling coming to life. Zorc felt a pang of sadness as he thought of his friend but brightened at the thought of seeing the sun, feeling the breeze in his hair, smelling a flower, and feeling the gentle ache of hunger.

  After almost four centuries in a lonely, dismal cave he would have contact with the outside world, with people, and with the Chosen.

  His smile withered. His time in isolation may be over but now he would be faced with challenges too terrifying to dwell on. He needed to consult the crystal again. He needed to be sure.

  Zorc glanced back at his reflection. “You’re here because the world is at risk once more, but this time the threat can’t be stopped in the same way. Never forget that. You can’t be the way you were. You must be the way you are, the way you need to be. You’re here for the Chosen.”

  He turned and hurried down the dark expanse that led to the crystal cavern. It had been a long time since he had made the trip, years even. He looked down at the impressions in the gray stone. His own footfalls had made them from his frequent pacing and many trips to the crystal in his early years of isolation.

  When he reached the darker section of the passage he slowed to appreciate the beauty of the nightmoss glowing an illustrious yellow. Nightmoss had been his only indication of the passage of time. In the summer months the moss was yellow; in the spring, green; in the fall, orange; and in the winter without color.

  His mind turned to the issue at hand, the Chosen and the prophecy. Zorc hoped he hadn’t overlooked any interpre
tation of the prophecy. He had analyzed every contingency he could imagine, and there had been ample time to think. What else was there to do? After Galor had left the silence had almost driven him mad, but he had slowly grown accustomed to the quiet. It amazed him how much he had adapted to being alone. At times he thought he could remain alone forever, and that frightened him more than the quest he had been assigned. Now with magic’s rebirth he yearned to leave the confines of the cave and experience life again. He was determined not to fail.

  He entered the chamber where the crystal resided. Large stalactites and stalagmites glistened in the gloom. The Silver Eye sat in the middle of the cavern, glowing a soft silvery-blue, casting shadows over the cave and causing the white formations to glow with a haunting sheen. The crystal had an aura about it, an awareness that caused Zorc’s skin to prickle. Even the base seemed real. Three silver dragons formed it, their sapphire eyes shinning with a rage befitting the silver dragon. Everywhere you walked those blue eyes watched you. Zorc often wondered if those eyes were guarding you from the secrets in the Eye or guarding the secrets in the Eye from you.

  The crystal, formed at the beginning of magical times, had been passed down to each Calvet, the wizard director, as a stark reminder of how powerful the Quy could be. Until the Wizard War the Silver Eye was just one more mystery of the Alcazar. Now he knew its purpose. The Silver Eye held the goodness of the Quy. Zorc liked to think of it as holding part of magic’s soul, but although the Eye contained goodness that goodness could be fatal and needed to be feared.

  To his knowledge he was the only wizard who had ever seen the Silver Eye in use, even if that use was superficial. Zorc only used the crystal to speak with the mind inside. He would never unlock the Silver Eye’s true power.

  As Zorc approached the Eye, he opened his mind and whispered Krov’s name. The crystal immediately began to glow with a bright silver light, transforming the cryptic cave into a crystal palace.

  “It’s time, Krov.”

  “Yes, it’s time,” his old master’s voice echoed from the ball. Although it was Krov’s voice it contained none of Krov’s emotion. The voice was monotone, dull and lifeless. It had disturbed Zorc when he had first heard it, but he had grown numb to it years ago.

  Zorc paused, trying to phrase his question carefully. The crystal didn’t offer any information on its own accord. You had to ask the right questions for it to answer, and if you asked the right questions in the wrong way it could lead you off on a divergent path. Zorc had learned to think before he spoke. It saved time.

  “The Chosen has rebirthed the power?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did he rebirth it?”

  “His love had great need.”

  “I see,” Zorc replied, contemplating his next question. The crystal pulsated with life, patiently waiting for Zorc to continue.

  “The dragon awakened his need?”

  “Yes.”

  Zorc replayed the prophecy in his mind. “Was Barracus the traitor?”

  “You know that, Zorc.”

  Zorc waved his hands in frustration at the crystal’s reprimand. “Yes, I know. I’m the One?”

  “You know that as well.”

  “We were the ones?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dragons are the thorn?”

  “No.”

  Zorc froze with mouth agape. Dragons weren’t the thorn? After three hundred ninety-eight years the thorn had changed? Zorc stared at the Silver Eye, mind racing. On multiple occasions Galor had dreamed of a silver dragon crashing through the Eye of the Dragon, bellowing a warning and bringing the darkness. They had discussed it amongst themselves and with the crystal. Silver dragons had been destroyed years ago. When Galor had seen the rebirth of silver dragons they were sure to be the prophecy’s thorn. Although silver dragons didn’t use magic they possessed magical traits that could create magic, powerful magic, and if silver dragons were to come back into existence…

  What other explanation could there be? It was the only one that made any sense, and Krov had agreed – until now.

  Zorc stepped closer, hoping he had misunderstood. “Are dragons the thorn, Krov?”

  “No.”

  “Krov, you’ve agreed with me for almost four centuries. Now you tell me dragons aren’t the thorn?”

  “Dragons aren’t the thorn.”

  “How can you agree one day and not the next?” Zorc’s voice rose in a frenzy.

  “Because I know differently now.”

  Zorc had based all his theories on dragons being the thorn. From those theories he had decided what the darkness could be. Now all those theories were wrong and he was out of time. Panic swelled in his chest. He had been assigned the task of helping the Chosen and he may have failed before he had even begun. No. He couldn’t think that way. He was the Chosen’s only chance. Zorc studied the crystal. Krov said he knew differently now.

  “Krov, do you mean you’ve been giving me your best guess all these years?”

  “In a way.”

  “In a way! That’s nonsense, Krov! You either did or you didn’t, one of the two.”

  The crystal remained silent. Zorc began to pace, trying desperately to surmise a rational explanation. After a few heartbeats, he faced the silver glow once more.

  “In your guesses you don’t know otherwise at the time?”

  “Correct.”

  “So, you think they’re fact but also know they could be a guess?”

  “Correct.”

  “Why don’t you tell me if it’s a fact that could be a guess and not a pure fact?”

  “You don’t ask.”

  Zorc sighed, frustration coursing through his old veins that had been frozen at forty-one. Zorc rubbed the bridge of his nose in order to calm the headache he knew would surely come. He didn’t know who or what the thorn was, and the Chosen had already rebirthed the power. He had no time for guesses. He had no time for games.

  Zorc knew his next question but hesitated, not wanting to be disappointed when the crystal claimed ignorance. “Can you see this thorn now, Krov?”

  “Yes, I can see her.”

  Zorc’s stared at the crystal. Krov had said “her.” The thorn was human. Panic surged inside Zorc once again. All these centuries he had thought a creature would force the Chosen to reconnect the thread and in some way cause those with magic to begin a battle for power.

  Now the thorn’s definition had become human. A human with magic could cause much more disruption than a creature. A human could have already begun to seize control of the Lands.

  Zorc moved closer to the crystal, eyes narrowing. “Can you name her?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Ista.”

  Zorc closed his eyes. “May the Maker’s fates be with us. May the Maker’s chance smile upon us. May Ista’s choices condemn her soul.”

  Then the rage came. It emitted from him like smoke, taking him back in time. But this time he saw it clearly. He saw how Ista had survived.

  - - -

  Ista stared down at her kingdom. She drew in a breath, relishing the scent – magic. It was all around her. Multiple people were milling about the courtyard, talking in excited whispers. She heard her name recited repeatedly. If it wasn’t spoken with reverence, it was spoken with awe. At last her plans were beginning. Wouldn’t Zorc be surprised to see her again?

  A throaty chuckle escaped her lips. Zorc should have killed her as soon as he discovered she was a spy for Barracus. Instead, Zorc played by the rules. He had chained her in the dungeon, allowing her a week to repent of her crimes, but then Barracus had attacked the keep. When magic was destroyed, the magical chains binding her had broken, and before Christa had cast the time weave Ista had conjured a summoning weave. It was strong enough to direct some of Christa’s life away from Zorc. Wouldn’t Zorc be pleased to discover part of his beloved Christa was now joined with the woman he had condemned?

  Ista’s brow furrowed as she tho
ught of her escape. Fire was everywhere. She had run through walls of molten flame before she had broken free. A low moan escaped her lips as she dipped her hand in the washbasin and brushed her face. The cool air in the Zier castle doused the reminiscent flames just like the Yor Lake had centuries before. She had stayed in the mud for days, allowing the lake’s water to soothe her skin.

  But she had survived. Oh yes, she had survived.

  She longed for the mist of her former home, the ever-present drizzle of water ensuring her no fire would ever touch her again. Although the Zier region had cool breezes it lacked the mist of the Cliffs.

  Her eyes flickered to the lone torch lighting the room. She dipped her hand in the washbasin once again, cooling her brow. She felt her face. She had been beautiful once. Now she was condemned to live in a hideous body … all because of Zorc.

  Years ago men had shaken with need as soon as she entered the room. Many in the keep had given their life to lay with her. From the couplings she took what she wanted. Each was different and unique. The one man who evaded her was Barracus.

  But Barracus had whispered of his plans in the bedchamber. He knew she had evaded the tests and tricked the wizards into believing she was loyal to the Code. The metal plate in her head blocked the test’s validity. Barracus had taken that knowledge and begun to build the future of the Lands – the needles.

  But where Barracus had failed, she would not. Soon, very soon, Zorc would bow before her, begging for mercy: Zorc, one of the most powerful wizards in centuries, not quite a mage, but close, so close. A small smile touched her deformed lips.

  To think the very cause the wizards of the Alcazar had died for was the very cause they had allowed to escape – Barracus’ destruction. But this time Barracus would be under her control, not the other way around.

  After her escape from the Alcazar, she had discovered she was carrying Barracus’ son. From Barracus’ line she had bred multiple children. Now she had a legion supporting her. And she had found the Red Eye hidden among the banished Maritium. As soon as she captured the Chosen he would be the first host for the Red Eye’s power. She would control the most powerful mage in history, not to mention the rest of the Lands.