Pseudo-Dragon (The Blue Dragon's Geas Book 4)

by Matthynssens, Cheryl

  “It is time I rested with my ancestors and the gods. I am weary and this torch is no longer mine to bear,” he spat out. He realized it was true. He was tired and felt strangely empty. “The boy will have a better chance in mortal form than as a dragon.” Renamaum reminded with a toothy grin. “Mortals tend to shoot first and ask questions later.”

  Henrick frowned and rubbed his throat absently. “So do some dragons,” he added.

  “Yes, well then they end up with some upstart mortals demanding recompense.” Renamaum laughed. “I still find amusement at the boy’s demand. I think I truly decided he was the one when he stood behind that throne demanding a choice from a dragon that could have roasted him to bone.”

  “Yes, a tale worth telling when all is said and done. I will have to make sure the bards hear of it when it will cause no harm to the boy’s path.” Henrick grumbled.

  A silence fell between them, cut only by the whipping winds. “Let us do this, before I change my mind.” Renamaum finally growled out.

  Henrick re-entered his little magical hut which he had created and soon came out with a few items. It took him a bit of time to draw a casting circle around so great a beast. Renamaum just sat still, eyes closed. He did not make a sound.

  Renamaum in truth was working hard to hold the mage within him. Alador had broken through enough to realize what the older mage and dragon were up to and was attempting to thwart them. A war raged within the magical beast as two minds combated for supremacy. Fortunately, Renamaum had enough power and centuries of practice to keep the young mage contained.

  “Renamaum, do not do this. Keep your form. Raise your fledglings. You can start over where you left off.” Alador insisted as he managed to thin the shields enough to call through.

  “My life has been lived as it should have been. I was given respite by the gods to help all mortals, but I am tired boy. It is time I rested in the great fields of the gods.” The mage had leached enough of him away now that he wanted to sleep.

  “I don’t know how to do this without you. There is the involvement of Dethara, a god herself. There is the fact that my friend may have to choose her over the dragons and myself. I have lost Mesiande.” The dragon felt Alador’s panic raising. “I would rather live out my life in the sky and water.”

  “You will wish this more when we are done, it is the becoming of a pseudo-dragon that inspires that desire.” Renamaum’s touch was as soothing as he could make it. “You have my kin, you have Henrick, you have Keensight, and you have a trench lord.” He swirled feelings of calm and comfort around the boy. “You have many allies and soon the knowledge of all that I have. Find the other flight leaders. Become the dragonsworn you were meant to be… They will in turn, slowly share all that you need to win the day over Dethara.”

  “Renamaum, listen to me. Please!” Alador pushed against the barriers that held him beneath Renamaum’s will. “Let it be the other way, you absorb me. If I can give you wings, then you can walk in my form as well. You could still use the mortal advantages that I have gained.”

  Renamaum could sense that Henrick was almost ready and the dragon continued to work hard to keep the boy’s attention. He was not sure if the boy had the power to break through during the actual transformation and did not want to give him the time to prepare.

  “Please, stay. You said it could be either way. You could stay and advise, or give me all that you have. I have changed my mind,” Alador insisted. “...Stay with me and help me do what must be done.”

  “It is too late for that, boy!” Renamaum snarled out, he was getting tired of Alador’s whining. “You have taken too much. Do you think you could cast such spells as a half-blooded fledgling if I had not been giving to you?”

  “I am ready,” Henrick called out.

  Renamaum nodded at him to proceed. He formed the spell in his own mind at the same time as he heard Henrick begin. He would have to let the transformation spell dissipate at exactly the right moment to prevent Alador from stopping Henrick. The dragon carefully rehearsed the timing, and when he heard Henrick hit the word he was waiting for, he let all the shields down. He let all his power fade from the transformation spell he had been holding in place. Renamaum gave it all away. He felt his form begin to shrink and contort back to mortal form. He knew Alador could do nothing until the transformation completed. If he had timed it right, Henrick would cast the final words of the absorption spell only a second or so after Alador regained his mortal form.

  He slowly changed places with Alador giving the boy back control. He formed one final thought before Henrick’s spell fired the runes around Alador. “I am proud to have you bear my geas, and if we could have met in my time, I would have called you a friend.”

  Alador had risen up onto his hands and knees with the intent to tackle Henrick and stop the spell. The absorption spell hit him hard, knocking him over onto his side as he curled up in pain. His hands went to his head as swirling clouds manifested over them, it felt as if large hands held him to the ground.

  Separate from the thunderstorm, a maelstrom funneled down to just above the runes. Henrick’s eyes were still closed as he chanted the words to the spell again. His hair whipped about him wildly as he stood arms outstretched. Fire rose up on the most outside lines, blurring Alador from sight. The smell of ozone and sulfur filled the air and in the distance, the mourning cry of the dragon song began to echo across the hills.

  Henrick’s last words fell away. He could do nothing but watch the boy’s faint form through the flames. The fire still burned the outside lines and Alador was screaming within as he rolled about clutching his head. The sound of a dragon’s wings drew Henrick's attention and a large form settled beside the worried mortal mage.

  “Will he live?” Rena asked worriedly, she moved close to the runes, her wings fluttered with agitation.

  “I do not know, Rena.” Henrick admitted. “He is strong, but he was unprepared. I didn’t get the chance to even tell him what he might expect. I don’t know if a mortal’s mind can take such expansion so suddenly.” Henrick took a deep centering breath.

  “I want him to live,” Rena demanded. Her tone was almost as if she could will it to be so.

  Henrick looked over at her. “We all do, Rena,” he answered loudly enough that she could hear over the wind and fire. “Your sire would not have suggested this if Alador could not withstand it.”

  “It will change him,” she sounded unhappy. She looked over at Henrick with clear accusation.

  “It will.” Henrick agreed. “Renamaum was noble and kind. I can hardly think it will be for the worse. Maybe he can even learn to control that tongue of his.” Henrick forced a smile as the attempt at humor fell flat between them.

  “Can it be undone?” she asked worriedly. “You know, so if it is not working out or he is not the man we know, can you take it back away?” Her youthful angst was clear in her eyes as she looked at Henrick. Some things were universal, and the moodiness of young dragons was no exception. “I don’t want to lose who he is,” she whimpered out.

  Henrick watched as the maelstrom began to rise back up into the skies. “No,” he admitted. “Right now, what is happening is beyond my control. I cannot undo it.” He paused. “To be honest, if I could - I would not.” He turned to face the agitated female. “Your father gave his life for this peace. Your race and Alador’s people will all cease to be as you know them if Alador fails.”

  She winced as another piercing scream cut through the air over the sounds of wind and fire. “How can you put that on your son? It is such a great burden.” She pushed Henrick back with her muzzle angrily.

  Henrick smacked the dragoness’ muzzle away from him, forced to give ground due to her size. “I did not give him your father’s stone, Rena.” He glanced at the circle. The fires were slowly dying down and the screaming had ceased. “Rather fate, accident, or by the gods’ will, this fell upon him without intervention from me.” He crossed his arms seemingly undeterred by the young dragon’s
ire.

  “It is still too much for one,” she growled out.

  Henrick nodded, “Aye, and that is why we will stand with him. He will not be alone, Rena. He has all of us in this fight.”

  The fires were now barely burning; Alador lay on his back in the center of the burned outline. Henrick let out a sigh of relief to see that the boy still was breathing. Only when the runes completely died out did he and Rena dare to approach Alador. Alador lay staring into the sky, much as Henrick had found him when he had been ill at Sordith’s.

  “Alador…" Rena called softly. She nuzzled him worriedly. She gave a snort of relief when he stirred.

  Alador’s hand came up to her muzzle and stroked it in answer though he still stared up into the clouds. The swirling mass that had formed was slowly abating. Rena just pressed into his hand happily.

  Henrick waited. He knew that Alador had to be experiencing a great deal of internal turmoil, and sorting it all out would be hard for anyone — even another dragon.

  “Henrick.” Alador called softly, still not moving. His voice held a sense of awe.

  Henrick moved to him and knelt beside him. He offered the boy a hand to sit up. Alador took it and once sitting, turned his head to look at Henrick. The wide-eyed wonder in his gaze had not abated.

  “You truly are a bastard.” Alador stared at Henrick for a long moment then began to laugh. “Why did I not see that, all the signs were there? Every step and I did not see.” Slowly the laughter turned to an almost hysterical sound. Alador’s eyes slowly rolled up and the laughter ceased as the mage passed out.

  Chapter Ten

  Henrick caught Alador before he hit his head, then pulled the boy up and over his shoulder. “I fear we must part for now, Rena. I must get Alador home. Go and tell Pruatra that it is done,” he commanded. His glance to her was hard, and his voice held the firm coldness of authority. “How come you cannot go tell her so I be the one to take him home?” Rena asked with an answering growl. She drew up over the mage slightly.

  “Yes, you are just going to fly into Silverport and by doing so, announce to all that Alador is aligned with dragons. When they are done shooting you…”Henrick said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “If he lived ... Luthian would turn him into a flaming sigil in his anger.” Henrick looked up at the young dragoness with a scowl. “You are being a silly hatchling; now off with you.” Henrick shifted Alador onto his shoulder.

  Rena’s face fins flared forward, their quivering a sign of her anger. “I am not a hatchling.” Steam boiled from her nostrils as anger filled her eyes. “I could end your mortal existence with a mere breath," she reminded him with a hiss. Her wings came in tight to her body, and her tail swept the ground.

  “You … Could … Try,” Henrick answered with a harshness not typical of the easy going mage. He took a breath to center himself. “Rena, I do not want to have to tell your mother why I had to strike her fledgling.” There was a pause as they stared at each other. “Stop this nonsense and let me see to Alador.” Henrick could see she was not relenting, and when he continued it was with desperate exasperation. “Otherwise, as you and I have a match of wits and magic, he might wake up and wander off some cliff.” Henrick sounded impatient as he pulled the travel talisman from his tunic.

  His words brought the dragoness’ eyes back to Alador. Her gaze softened as she stared at the now helpless man. With a huff, she turned and leaped into the air. Henrick watched her go, letting out a sigh of tension. A love struck dragon was just adding to the list of problems surrounding Alador. He whispered the spell to take them home.

  They appeared in Henrick’s room. The whispering of magic had reawakened Alador, so Henrick lowered the dazed mageling into a chair. He moved across the room and rang for a servant. He eyed Alador with a bit of concern for a moment. Had the spell been too much for a mortal man’s mind? He sincerely hoped that both Renamaum and he had not overestimated the boy’s abilities.

  He returned to Alador’s side. Henrick knelt and took the boy’s cold hands into his own rubbing them to give them warmth. “You know, don’t you?” Henrick whispered solemnly. “You can sense what I have kept from you.”

  Alador nodded. His eyes still looked a bit dazed, but at least he had responded. He focused on Henrick, and his stare held both wonder and accusation. Before Henrick could inquire further, the servant appeared. It was the shadow that alerted him, forcing Henrick to snap his mouth shut. Sometimes his servants were just too damn efficient.

  “You have a need, Lord Henrick?” The man’s formal tones forced Henrick back to his feet.

  “Take Lord Alador to his room and help him into bed. He has had rather too much to drink tonight. Pay his words no mind, he has been babbling on about the oddest things.” Henrick ordered firmly. He looked around and realized there was not a drink in sight. He panicked for a brief moment; he fixed the man with his hardest gaze. “Check my stocks once you have seen to the boy… I have no idea where he got such elixirs.”

  “Yes, Milord.” The servant moved to Alador and helped him up. Thankfully, Alador was still rather silent. The only clue to his stability was the strange gaze that he kept on his father as he was led from the room. His weakness from the spells had Alador swaying, lending credence to Henrick’s lie.

  Henrick moved swiftly. As he ran up the stairs, Henrick was in a state of panic. If the boy knew, what would happen now? He glanced around the casting room, before he retrieved the spell book. The mage was relieved to see it lying as they had left it. He did not believe any would dare to enter once the door was secured, but he did not want it to lay about for very long. The mage returned it to the small alcove. He glanced out the window at the front of the manor to reassure himself that Luthian’s guards were still stoically standing outside his door.

  He hurried up the stairs taking two at a time. So much was at stake, and he did not want Alador alone until he could assess the situation. He barged into the room bringing a startled sound from the servant. Alador slowly looked up when Henrick entered, his eyes returned to the gaze of accusation despite their glassy state. At least the servant had managed to get him undressed and into the bed.

  The man bowed low. “Will there be anything else, Lord Henrick?” he asked respectfully.

  “Yes, bring enough food for three men. A variety.” Henrick absently ordered. “I don’t care if it is a cold meal, but rather the swiftness of it.” Henrick again attempted to settle himself. He had kept this secret for so long. Only Renamaum and Pruatra had discerned the truth. He had worked hard to keep it from Alador. He feared what changes this would bring: he greatly needed a drink. “One more thing, a pitcher of hard cider as well.” Father and son’s eyes were tightly locked.

  The servant glanced between them swallowing at the tension in the room. “Yes, Milord.” He scurried off to fetch this latest request. It was only when the man was gone and the latch clicked into place leaving them alone, that Henrick dropped his gaze away from Alador.

  Alador was lost in a sea of memories that felt as if they were his, yet he knew they were not. He remembered standing before the gods. One by one memories drifted like flotsam through his mind.

  He knew what each of them had said to Renamaum including Dethara. Her gift had been more curse than a beneficial boon. No wonder Renamaum had hated her so much. The words echoed in his head.

  “I gift to you a swift death when your time comes, that you may not suffer.” She had leaned in closer and whispered, “By the mortal hand you will seek to save, you will be given death.”

  Alador was still amazed that, after receiving the knowledge that Lerdenians would kill him, Renamaum had still sought to unite them and find peace. The second realization was that the arrow had not really sent the great blue dragon to the gods, he had. Either way the dragon had died at mortal hands.

  There were other things swirling in the currents of his mind as well. Things that Renamaum had seen that Alador had not even known existed. Dragons so large and ancient that their size wa
s incomprehensible to him even after seeking out Keensight. He watched as a large memory drifted pass on the currents. A name floated up, almost tangible to the touch. Rheagos, the great golden beast had a name. One that few spoke for fear of the offense it might bring, the ancient beast was the oldest of all that lived on the lands of Vesta.

  His thoughts continued and somewhere beyond them he heard the gentle instruction of the servant. He followed the bidding to sit or lift his arms as sodden clothing was removed from him. It did not interfere with the amazement of the tides floating within him.

  He knew the moment Henrick entered. He felt him before he looked up to fix his gaze on the older mage. Alador did not know whether to be angry with Henrick right now, or happy: was he best friend, father, not father, advisor, mentor… liar? Emotions swirled up and he fought them back with a swallow.

  He had many questions, but they could wait till there was an assurance of no interruptions. He clasped his hands before him as the emotion dove beneath the stream of memories. Though his gaze was on Henrick, his thoughts were far more internal. The young mage swiftly sorted through his mind for all the facts that he wanted to clarify. It was like fishing with a net that had a large hole in it. He would find one thought only to have it slip through that hole, yet another he had managed to entangle and grasp completely.

  He put a hand to his head, it ached with a strange overall throbbing, as if the contents of his mind were trying to escape his pounding skull. His eyes felt pushed forward and every sense in his body was flooding him. He was more aware of the smells in the room, even on Henrick. He could feel the sheets, every thread of them beneath him. All this swirled with the new knowledge that had been forced upon him.

  “Are you in pain, my boy?” Henrick asked with low tones. The man took a wary step closer.