by T M Miller
They passed into a huge cave. It seemed to be lit by daylight and Jaron craned his neck to find the source and possible escape route. There were a series of breaks in the ceiling, he saw, and light streamed in, lighting some parts of the room and leaving other areas in shadow.
The blue turned its head and dipped it, its front bobbing down. Curious, Jaron looked across – and into the flaming yellow eyes of a huge red. Half its body was in shadow but the head alone was half again the size of Madrag’s. One white, gleaming canine tooth grew outside of the mouth and was twisted at an odd angle.
Jaron shrank down as the yellow eyes pinned on him. Brane. This was the firedrake who had killed his stepfather, the villagers, his friends – and rendered him scarred for the rest of his life. He looked ahead to Torrit as he passed through another, smaller cave entrance and a wave of hate washed over him. As the blue followed its master Jaron could feel the weighted stare of those reptilian eyes burning holes in his back until they reached the opening.
As they passed into the next cave Jaron saw it was smaller, only three times the size of his cave back in Rakenar. There was a table and chairs here, and faded rugs adorned the floor. The room was lit by narrow windows carved into the thick rock, too narrow even for him to squeeze through. His gaze lifted to cracks in the ceiling through which more shards of light broke in. Too high for escape. He saw a fire burning softly in its grate against one wall. On the other he saw a curtain pulled aside and into the small room beyond Jaron could just see the corner of a bed.
‘Welcome.’ Torrit was standing in the centre of the room, his arm extended. A cold chill entered Jaron’s heart. He imagined spewing a channel of fire from the blue and slamming it into the man’s chest. He felt his mount shudder and suddenly there were channels of thin smoke rising from the firedrake’s nostrils. Torrit stepped forward, looking his prisoner directly in the eye. Jaron gulped and the smoke dissipated into the air.
The man smiled and came around to his knee and Jaron immediately threw his leg over the firedrake’s withers and slid down the other side, nearly falling when his boots hit the floor. Torrit waved a dismissive hand and the blue skittered over to the side of the cave to crouch in shadow. Boy and man now faced each other across the vacated space. Torrit took a step towards him and Jaron took one back in turn. The man’s smile was thin.
‘No matter, this is all so new and I expect you are still in shock.’ When Jaron didn’t answer he turned and indicated the small room Jaron had noticed earlier. ‘In there you will find a basin of water and fresh clothes while I arrange a meal for us.’
Jaron hesitated, but reasoned he could think his situation through if better prepared. He limped towards the smaller room and paused on the threshold. It was sparsely furnished. A bed and a cupboard, with a bowl of water set on top next to a folded cloth and a bar of soap. Jaron’s throat was parched but the water smelt a little stale and he dared not drink it. On the bed was a brown tunic with shirt and soft riding trousers. He stared at them, went over and lifted the shirt, then threw it aside to finger the trousers. They were his own clothes from Rakenar. Someone must have taken them from my room. With this sick realisation came the knowledge Carna’s elder brother must have his followers on the inside of the Raken city. Jaron let out a tortured breath; he couldn’t think about the implications of that fact just now – he had enough to deal with.
He pulled off his gloves and tossed them on the bed. Peeling off what was left of his ripped flying jacket and shirt Jaron looked down at the bruises blooming on his ribs that the blue’s claws had caused. Shivering, he washed his aching body then quickly dried himself with the cloth and got dressed. Feeling better for being clean at least, he sat on the bed and worried until the smell of cooked meat distracted him. Fear had kept the hunger away but now his body was begging him to get up and seek nourishment.
When he cautiously stuck his head out from behind the curtain, Torrit was standing with his back to the fire, facing the little room.
‘There you are at last. Now, come and eat.’
Jaron’s attention was caught by the mound of sliced meat on the table together with plates of bread and vegetables. Torrit walked round the table and pulled out a chair for him. He had changed out of his flying gear and had on a long black robe. Together with his white face, tall height and broad shoulders he was a pale image of Lord Carna. The man waited for him, a small smile playing on his thin lips. Jaron’s stomach was hollow from hunger but caution kept his feet planted. After a moment Torrit walked around to a high-backed chair at the far side of the table and sat down. With the table now between them, Jaron moved cautiously forward, registering the shadowy bulk of Skite still crouched in darkness on his right. He sat down on the edge of the chair and stared in surprise at the spread on offer.
‘There is a village nearby, the occupants supply me.’ The man was watching his face and now he spooned some vegetables onto a plate. ‘And the firedrake hunt for the meat.’ He added a large slice of venison and poured water from a pewter jug into his tankard.
They sat in silence while Torrit filled his own plate and picked up his knife. Jaron couldn’t hold back any longer and reached for the water first. Once he had quenched his dry throat he began to eat. The knife cut easily and the venison was tender in his mouth. He felt it was some sort of weakness to eat with this man, but the first taste set his hunger alight and he couldn’t help but gorge himself, his need unwinding his nervous stomach to receive the food. As Torrit tore off some bread for him it occurred to Jaron the villagers probably didn’t have much choice in the matter of feeding this man. Torrit took his drained cup and poured more water. He seemed content after that to sit silently and allow his guest to satisfy his hunger. Whenever Jaron looked up he was watching him, studying his face. As his eating slowed Jaron shifted uneasily and Torrit laughed, making him jump. ‘I apologise for my scrutiny, Jaron, but I cannot believe that at last you are here.’
‘Am I a prisoner?’
‘Strange choice of words for a son to ask of his father,’ Torrit’s smile played around his thin lips but it didn’t reach the silver eyes. ‘I would ask that you give me a chance, Jaron.’
‘A chance,’ Jaron repeated in disbelief. ‘You tried to kill me – and my mother.’
Torrit put down his knife and wiped his hands on a cloth, taking his time and infuriating the boy all the more. ‘I was not trying to kill you, Jaron. Remember, I did not even know of your existence back then.’
‘Then you tried to kill my mother.’
Torrit’s silver eyes were hooded. ‘Rella betrayed me.’
Jaron didn’t back down. ‘By leaving you? She had no choice.’
Torrit bunched his hand into a fist. ‘Of course she had a choice! To stay! She would have wanted for nothing, you would have wanted for nothing.’ He smacked his fist down on the table, making Jaron jump. ‘I am a lord!’ Torrit shouted. ‘The rightful lord of Rakenar and she dared to leave me,’ his voice sank to a harsh whisper. ‘She deserved to die for her betrayal.’
‘No!’ Now Jaron was on his feet and his chair crashed back. From against the wall, Skite squeaked. ‘You forced her to be with you!’
‘Oh, really?’ Torrit’s voice was deadly low and he too rose from the table, towering over Jaron who felt his heart pounding. With the man’s white face and dark robe, he looked like an evil wraith. ‘It was a good match,’ Torrit hissed, ‘a golden opportunity for a lowly kitchen girl. You speak of choice? She had none! Was entitled to none! My brother was a lovesick fool but I didn’t blame him, not back then. He was as helpless as a puppy in front of her, too young to know his own mind.’ He leaned over the table towards Jaron until they were nose to nose and his voice rasped. ‘I gave her the honour of being my mate.’ Torrit spread his arms. ‘Yet she chose to leave me, me! Who was to become high lord.’ His face twisted. ‘And I have water to drink when I should be dining on the finest wine!’
He suddenly swept an arm across the table and plates fell to the floor
with a crash. Jaron jumped back as the contents spewed across the rug. ‘My brother did this to me!’ He turned to glare at Jaron. ‘All because of her,’ he paused, breathing heavily. ‘Your mother lost her right to life when she left Rakenar.’
‘And you lost your right to me when you fired our village.’ Torrit went still at Jaron’s words, his eyes glinting. Jaron swallowed. ‘You killed a good man, Teel, my stepfather.’ It was important to Jaron this murderer knew his name. ‘The villagers, dead, they knew nothing of your feud with my mother,’ his words were grating. ‘They did not deserve to die, to have their homes fired to the ground.’
‘It was unfortunate, yes. However, Rella brought it down upon them, and you, her own son. Had she remained by my side, none of this would have happened.’ The man’s face showed no shame nor sorrow at all. ‘Yet still she lives,’ his lips twisted in disgust before he turned away and went to stand by the fire.
Cold hatred fired through Jaron’s heart. It turned into a white-hot strumming in his mind and almost before he knew what he was doing he had pivoted towards where the blue crouched in the shadows, watching them. ‘Fire him!’ Jaron’s words rippled the air between them and, just as had happened once before when he stopped Caliber attacking Brill, it seemed to shimmer in front of his eyes with the heat of his command. Skite shuddered as his mouth opened. A sudden burning stream of white fire erupted in a narrow channel and lasered towards where Torrit stood. The man dived to one side as the fire slammed into the fireplace, turning blue and sending flames up the wall above it. Jaron flinched, throwing up an arm for protection. The room was cut in half by the fire beam until it juddered, its intensity fading as Skite’s breath ran out.
Jaron, shocked, stared at the smoking, seared rock around the fireplace. He looked back at Skite; the blue had pressed himself back into the shadows but the end of its nose was still visible, smoke still coiling from the flared, trembling nostrils.
‘Well, now,’ Torrit was getting up from the floor, his eyes fixed on Jaron, who gulped and stepped back into a defensive crouch. He didn’t understand what had just happened but he was certain his time was now up; Torrit was going to kill him. A huge roar sounded from outside the cave and a moment later the big red’s face was at the entrance, his lips curled back in a snarl as he looked from his master to the boy. Jaron trembled, his eyes on the gleaming white tooth that stuck out, certain he was about to meet the same death as Teel.
Torrit chuckled and Jaron tore his eyes away from the red in surprise.
As the boy stared, incredulous, the lord clapped his hands together. ‘Oh my, all that I hoped for, dreamed of, has come true.’ He looked towards his firedrake. ‘Brane, I am unharmed, go back to sleep.’
The red blinked at his master and backed his head out. Torrit was no longer laughing but was staring now at Jaron, the thin bloodless lips stretched into a cold smile. He stooped and whipped up the fallen tray of meat, wiping his sleeve across it. In two strides, he was round the table. Jaron shrank back, his hands coming up to defend himself, for surely now Torrit would kill him. But the man grabbed his arm and shook him. Jaron thrashed in panic.
‘Look, boy!’ He thrust the tray in front of his face.
Jaron gaped at his smeared reflection. His face, drawn and white, terrified – and his eyes! What had happened to his eyes? They stared back at him and their pupils were shining orbs of light with silver rippling in their depths. Torrit’s face grinned behind him, his own silver eyes flaring bright, luminous. It was terrible to see.
‘You take after me, Jaron,’ Torrit’s voice rasped in his ear. ‘In more ways than I dared to hope. It runs in our veins, it sears our souls, the blood that binds us; the blood of the Rillion.’
24
Jaron sat on a hard bed in the little room. Torrit had left him to mull things over, he supposed. The exiled lord had gone through to his firedrake, ordering Skite ‘to guard’ and had not returned. It felt like the afternoon but there was no way of knowing in the windowless room. In his hand, he held the tray and for what must be the twentieth time he looked at his reflection in the light of the torch that burned on one wall. His eyes stared back at him with their normal silver-blue colour. What just happened? He needed answers and, much as he disliked the fact, it seemed only Torrit could provide them. Jaron didn’t want to even think about this madman as his father.
‘Some family reunion,’ he muttered and threw the tray away in disgust. It landed on the floor with a tinny clatter. He got up to walk across to the curtain and pulled it aside.
He stuck his head out and looked around cautiously. The cave was empty and the table still lay on its side, food strewn across the floor. Shards of daylight were hitting the faded rugs. Jaron stepped forward and looked up, limping slowly around the floor as he studied the gaps. There was no opening big enough for him to fit through. He looked down, his eyes searching the shadows, and noticed Skite watching him from a corner. As soon as Jaron looked at him the firedrake flattened its over-long ears and dipped its head. Jaron hesitated then went over to it. The blue shuddered as he neared.
Jaron stopped and gazed at the cringing beast. Shame washed through him at how he had forced the young firedrake to do something against its will. Yes, it had taken him against his will, but now Jaron knew it was under Torrit’s orders. How the man could get a firedrake to do his bidding after leaving his side, Jaron had no idea, but it didn’t change the fact he, Jaron, had forced the animal to attack its own master.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Sorry that I made you fire, I didn’t have the right to do that to you.’
The blue raised its head and stared at him. The silver shards in its purple eyes were glowing in the half-light. It studied him, the ears lifted a little and eventually it crept out of its corner towards him. Jaron almost made to step back but realised that after all that he had seen this young blue didn’t hold as many terrors for him, not now. Carefully, the boy half raised his arm, fist clenched. The firedrake kept its body low as it weaved its neck to one side then the other, almost snake-like, until it stood just a little way off, neck lowered and nostrils twitching.
Jaron eyed the small space left between them and after a moment’s hesitation he stepped forward and let the blue sniff his fist. Slowly, he opened his hand and when the firedrake didn’t move, stroked it down the narrow face. It keened and seemed to be enjoying the caress, its eyes half-lidded. Wonderingly, the boy ran both hands along the cheek ridges and the firedrake closed its eyes. This beast was as much a victim as he was, Jaron realised, and, unbidden, the boy’s eyes filled with tears.
‘Poor us,’ he murmured.
The blue didn’t move and they stayed like that for a while, the boy stroking the firedrake, until at last Jaron stepped back and wiped at his tears.
‘This won’t help, will it, Skite?’ He looked up at the blue and noticed its eyes were shining bright iridescent purple, brighter than he had ever noticed before. As Jaron stared, a strumming began to sound in his head, not unlike when he had ordered it to fire. Appalled, he stepped away and with an effort managed to push it back out.
The blue stepped forward at the same time, staying with him. The head came down and the eyes continued to look directly into his. It wanted something from him, Jaron realised, and he shook his head, perplexed as to what. He felt a sudden weird tug at his mind and immediately the strumming started again.
‘No, no, NO!’ Jaron stumbled back, raising his hands up to his head, trying to put some space between himself and the blue as he found the will to push the throbbing beat out of his head again. The beast followed him step for step and raised its wings, opening them out fully until they filled the room. Jaron put up his hands, palm out as he had seen the Raken riders do to still their beasts.
It didn’t work; the blue wasn’t trained the same way. ‘Get back.’ Jaron tried to sound firm, but his voice broke with fear and next moment his heel caught on the edge of a rug and over he went. The beast’s head dropped low, keeping close, and th
e muzzle with its two protruding white fangs travelled across the floor towards him. Jaron scrabbled back.
‘Get away from me,’ he whispered but the nose lifted until it nearly sat in his lap. Jaron whimpered and was forced back while the nose travelled up to his chest until his shoulders touched the floor. Its warm ash breath was on his face, lifting his fringe, and there was nowhere left to go. He turned his head away and saw the wings were coming forward, enclosing him in their blue membrane, trapping him further.
‘Leave me alone,’ he whispered. ‘Please leave me alone.’ He squeezed his eyes tight shut and opened them again to see silver pulsating through the veins on the wing membrane. As he stared, it followed the network of blood vessels along the wing and began to glow brighter and brighter. When he dared to move his head to look above him a strangled gasp escaped his lips; the whole beast was iridescent with silver ribbons flowing through the blue body as he had seen it do in the moonlight that awful night, only now the silver pulsated in a steady rhythm. As he stared into the purple eyes laced through with shards of bright silver above him, the strumming in his head started once again. Jaron tried to push it back once more, but now found he couldn’t stop it.
Was this what it felt like, when your firedrake chose you? But I don’t want a firedrake, I don’t. ‘I don’t want you,’ he whispered out loud. ‘I’m damaged. I couldn’t – you wouldn’t want me.’ The air between them shimmered and he was caught up in a humming. It was coming from the firedrake and slowly increased in pitch. Jaron’s head strummed louder in response but it felt good this time, pure, completely different from the white hate that had fuelled it when he had ordered Skite to attack. He became acutely aware of the beast’s breath, the sides rising and falling, the blood pumping through its veins, the huge heart thudding until it seemed his own heart slowed and matched it beat for beat. A wave of warmth stole over him, a feeling of wellbeing, of safety, like he had never felt these last two years since Brane had fired him. He stared wonderingly at the blue and watched as it blinked then huffed, a happy sound. The silver pulsating all over its body dimmed and died until the firedrake was back to its normal blue. It settled back, folded its wings, and cocked its head at him.