In the Shadow of the Dragon King

by J. Keller Ford

  Eric looked around at all the faces plastered in smiles. The congratulatory hugs. The shouts of joy. It was only when that he saw what was in their eyes that he began to feel what was in his heart.

  Hope.

  It was all around him—in the cry of a new baby. In the first blade of grass after a winter’s thaw.

  And at the moment, it was the only thing keeping him from throwing himself off the Haldorian Bridge into the Cloverleaf River and floating away.

  ***

  Eric woke at sunrise to find himself on the gazebo bench in the queen’s private garden. His head pounded, and his stomach churned, a result of too much stress and not enough food.

  The air was crisp and tinged with wood smoke and the sickly-sweet stench of burning flesh. His tongue folded against the roof of his mouth to keep the rancid odor from settling in his nose and mouth, but it didn’t work. He leaned over the rail and vomited.

  Off in the distance, the sound of hoof beats, joined by the rattle of harnesses and the creak of iron wheels, clomped and clattered their way across the courtyard. He shuffled toward the cherub fountain and splashed his face before collapsing on the dew-drenched grass. The sun did little to ease his sorrow, not just for Sestian and Hirth, but also for himself. His home, his family, his way of life, was gone, destroyed. He desired nothing more than to ride to Avaleen and bring the war to the mages, make them pay for what they had allowed to happen, but he stood no chance against them. He was mortal, and he was alone, and alone was a terrible thing to be.

  Buck up and stop with the self-pity, Sestian bolstered from the recesses of Eric’s mind. You are the squire to the most revered knight in all of Fallhollow. Why, you’re practically royalty.

  Eric wiped his face. Shut up, Ses. You have no idea what I’m going through. If only I could clobber something to make it feel as terrible as I do.

  A maid entered the side garden, took one look at him, and then set about hanging the wash while humming a wistful tune. Somewhere nearby a baby cried. Children laughed and dogs barked. Moment by moment, the world returned to normal. Life continued, as it should. So why do I feel so miserable?

  “Ah, there you are.” Eric’s heart leaped as Farnsworth padded across the lawn. “I’ve been looking all over for you. What in the devil are you doing back here?”

  Eric stood and steadied himself against a weeping willow. “Hiding. What do you want?”

  Farnsworth fixed him with a steady, shadowed gaze. “We need your help in finding Trog and Their Majesties, or have you forgotten?”

  “I’ve forgotten nothing.” Eric strode passed the knight refusing to make eye contact. “Where do you wish me to start?”

  “We’ll discuss that in a moment. For now, I’d like you to stop and listen to me.”

  Eric stopped and exhaled.

  “I’m sorry about Sestian,” Farnsworth said. “I know the raw, hollow pain in your gut. I know the ache, the emptiness. I grieve for him, too, Eric. Please don’t mistake my silence for not caring. I don’t have the luxury of mourning right now. I have to concentrate on the living, to find our king and queen as well as my dearest friend.”

  Eric turned around and met the same expression in Farnsworth’s eyes he felt in his gut, the total sadness for what was, what should be, and what would never be again. There was also an expression of courage, hope, and compassion, sentiments out of Eric’s reach.

  Farnsworth approached and placed his hands reassuringly on Eric’s shoulders. “I wish I could turn back time and undo what has been done, but I can’t. Somehow you will find a way to cope with what has happened. You will never forget Sestian, but I can assure you this emptiness and sorrow will pass in time. Until then, I hope you know Gowran—”

  Eric pushed away. “Yes, I know. All of you will be there for me. May I go now?”

  Farnsworth paused, his eyes filled with an unreadable emotion, then nodded. “Of course. I want you to get something to eat, and clean your mouth. Your breath is horrid. Once done, search the passageway to Hammershire once more. See if you can find remnants of anything … clothes, buttons, the slightest hint they were there.”

  “As you wish.” Eric bowed and followed the pebbled walkway around the rear of the castle to the cloisters surrounding the cathedral gardens. Up ahead, hidden in a recess, several men conversed in hushed tones. Eric ducked into an alcove and listened.

  “My Lord, how can you be certain the paladin has arrived, especially since the Council has detected no signs of him?”

  Eric’s breath caught in his chest. Bainesworth von Stuegler! What’s that weasel doing in Gyllen?

  “Trust me, he’s here,” replied the all too familiar voice of Lord Seyekrad. “I sense his presence.”

  “Sensing him is not the same as knowing where he is,” said the third man. Eric recognized the voice as Master Camden’s, overseer of the High Council. “If we are to succeed in sequestering the kingdom, we must find him before Einar does.”

  Eric gulped.

  “Don’t presume to tell me what I already know, Camden.”

  “Then tell us how you intend to capture him,” said Bainesworth. “It’s obvious he’s cloaked by powerful magic that far exceeds either of your superior mage abilities.”

  “Hold your tongue,” Seyekrad countered, “unless you desire to witness firsthand just how superior my abilities are. And might I remind you of why you’re here. It would be rather difficult for you to play your part of a worried son if you’ve been reduced to nothing more than worm fodder.”

  “Enough,” Camden said. “Focus on what is important. We must ensure the prophecy does not come to pass. If the paladin joins forces with the heir, our plans will be ruined. We must find and eliminate them both immediately.”

  Eric fixed his gaze on the teary-eyed cherub plaque tacked to the limestone wall in front of him. What heir? Gildore and Mysterie don’t have children. Heart slamming against his ribs, Eric tried to slow his breathing enough to hear. A sudden coldness hit his core. The air became quiet and still as if all living things had been silenced by the heavens. Footsteps hurried along the walkway, stopping briefly at regular intervals before continuing toward him. Eric cursed beneath his breath. He tried the door to his left. Locked. The footsteps drew closer. He grasped the hilt of his sword as a hand reached around the corner, grasped his shirt, and flung him into the courtyard. Eric stumbled, somehow maintained his balance, and faced the blond man dressed in black-and-gold leathers.

  “Trogsdill’s runt!” Bainesworth said. “I should have known!”

  He clasped Eric’s chin, his fingers digging into Eric’s cheeks. “Are you spying for him? Where is he?”

  Eric glared at the huge, powerfully built Fauscherian knight and Trog’s lifelong enemy. Cold brown eyes stared back him.

  Bainesworth tightened his grip. “I asked you a question, boy!”

  Eric grunted and said, “Go crawl in a hole and die.”

  A backhanded blow sent Eric sprawling across the grounds. White lights burst in front of his eyes. He struggled to get on his hands and knees, but Bainesworth’s fingers entwined in his hair. Eric’s eyes watered with pain as he was drawn to his feet; the tip of a cold, silver blade jabbed into his throat.

  “Talk,” Bainesworth said, “or I’ll cut you down here and now.”

  Eric spat and said, “Go ahead. I dare you.”

  Lord Seyekrad appeared at Bainesworth’s side, his face grim. “Others are arriving. You must leave … now.”

  Bainesworth sheathed his dagger and glared at Eric. “I’m not done with you.”

  Seyekrad uttered an incantation and in an instant, Bainesworth was gone, vanished. To Eric’s left, Master Camden uttered a few words and disappeared as well.

  Cowards.

  Seyekrad’s lip curled into a sneer. He stepped forward and clasped one hand on Eric’s chest, the other on his back.

  Agonizing pain ripped through his throat, taking his breath and preventing hi
s screams. Intense waves of fire spread over Eric’s skin. His blood burned. His knees buckled. Seyekrad knelt over him, his face twisted in demonic pleasure, his eyes glowing amber, and his mouth twisted in a malevolent smile.

  A sword hissed as it left its scabbard. “Get away from him, Seyekrad!” Gowran warned. Seyekrad’s lips touched Eric’s ear. “I know you heard things you shouldn’t have. For that, your father will die. You will live only long enough to see his mangled body. Then I will come for you.”

  “You so much as look at my father and I’ll kill you,” Eric seethed.

  Seyekrad sneered. “With what? Your toy knife?”

  Two more swords hissed as they left their scabbards. The blades glistened in the morning light before coming to rest a hairsbreadth away from the sorcerer’s spine. “Move away, Seyekrad,” Gowran said. “Slow and easy.”

  Seyekrad raised his hands and stood, his gaze glued to Eric, his thin lips stretched into a satisfied grin.

  Farnsworth and Crohn inserted themselves between Seyekrad and Eric, their weapons trained on the mage.

  “You want to tell me what’s going on here, Eric?” Gowran asked, his eyes fixed on the swollen, throbbing side of Eric’s face.

  “It was nothing,” Eric said, licking his lips.

  “I don’t consider threatening me, nothing,” Seyekrad said. “He came after me with this.” He held up a small dagger.

  Eric rose to his feet. “That’s a lie.”

  Seyekrad handed the weapon to Farnsworth. “You really must keep this spoiled brat in check. It’s time he learned his rightful place. Why, the way he carries himself and walks about, one would think he believes himself to be Sir Trogsdill himself and not the lowly son of a farrier.”

  “I know my place, Lord Seyekrad,” Eric countered in a raised voice. “Perhaps you should learn yours and return to Avaleen, or better yet, your hovel in the Northern Forest. I’m sure there are one or two insects there that miss you.”

  Seyekrad glowered at Eric. “I’ll be back for you, pup.” He emitted a guttural growl, and with a two-word incantation, he was gone.

  The knights rallied around Eric, bombarding him with questions.

  “What did he want?”

  “Did he do that to your face?”

  “Was he alone?”

  “Let me look at that cut.”

  Rage swelled in Eric’s soul. “Stop it! All of you! I don’t need your coddling. Please. Find something else to do and leave me alone.”

  He snatched his weapon from Farnsworth’s hand and stormed off, praying they didn’t follow.

  Sestian’s voice erupted in his head. Wait. What are you doing? Go back. Tell them what you heard.

  Be quiet, Ses. I have another plan.

  Farnsworth shouted, “Eric, get back here, now! We’re not done speaking to you.”

  Eric ignored the demand and continued to the stables. After a great deal of effort, he climbed upon his saddled horse and rode to Hammershire.

  A chill colder than death crept over him as he made his way through the charred town. Burnt and crumbled A-frame roofs reared against a crisp blue sky. Shops, vibrant and alive the day before with laughter and music, stood scorched and empty. Dogs rummaged among the ruins, snarling over scraps of flesh. The unmistakable stench of death mingled with the smell of rotten eggs.

  Dragon’s breath.

  Eric dismounted and secured the horse outside the clothier’s shop. He slipped into the room still smoldering from the attack and exited the backdoor onto a narrow dusty road bordering several detached farmhouse dwellings.

  He hurried as fast as he could across the way and burst through a door, scattering a mess of chickens. “Father!”

  A burly man emerged from the kitchen. “Eric!”

  Eric hugged the man tight, ignoring the pain from Einar’s talon in his back. “Father. I was so scared. I was afraid the worst had happened to you.”

  The man held Eric at arm’s length and looked into his son’s eyes. “Ya sure are a sight for these ol’ eyes, my boy. Thank the heavens you’re alive.”

  Eric sat at a rustic wood table. “Are you okay? Do you need anything? Food? A doctor?” He clasped his hand around his father’s. “Better yet. Why don’t you come back to the castle with me? The grounds are a mess, but the palace stands intact. You can share my suites. You can sleep in a comfortable bed.”

  Eric’s father smiled and stood. “I don’t want no fancy suites, lad. I have my home. It’s all I need. I survived this long, why tempt my fate, eh?”

  Eric smiled. “I should know by now I can never drag you from this place.” He glanced around, taking in the scorched walls. “Have you ventured out since the attack? Is there anyone else left?”

  His father spooned some porridge in a bowl and gave it to Eric. “There are a few scattered here and there. Many of us sought refuge in the root cellar when it happened. Otherwise, ya might be speakin’ to me on the other side of the flowerbed right now.” He ripped a piece of bread from his bowl and shoved it in his mouth. “How bad is it out there?”

  “Bad. Too many are dead that shouldn’t be, including Sestian.” Eric stared at his food and swallowed the pain rushing to the surface. He closed his eyes, squashing the tears before they could fall. He cleared his throat and said, “Many more are trapped beneath Festival Hall. They’ve got teams of men trying to free them.”

  The man patted his son on the shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear ‘bout Sestian. He was a good friend to ya.”

  Eric dropped the spoon in his bowl and sat back. “What I don’t understand is how any of this happened. That beast was supposed to be under a spell. How did that break? And why,” Eric pounded his fist on the table, “when those stupid mages sensed the spell was broken, didn’t they do anything to stop him?”

  Eric’s father laughed. “Ya don’t think they have the means to stop that beast, do ya? They tried once before to kill him, and the best they could do was banish him beneath a stinkin’ lake. Nah, my boy. Them magic folk might like to think they’re mighty, but their magic ain’t anything against that beast. It’d take something more powerful, maybe even other-worldly, to take on that dragon and kill him.”

  Eric stared at his bowl, his father’s words sinking in. “Of course,” he whispered. The paladin. He pushed his chair away from the table and jumped up, a sense of urgency flooding his body. “I have to go, Father.”

  “What? Ya just got here.”

  “I have to find someone.” Eric kissed the top of his father’s head and ran out the door. “I’ll see you in a day or two.”

  Two hours later, after posting a guard near his father’s home, he rode to Avaleen, the horse’s hooves kicking up the dirt and ash behind him. All he had to do was get inside the heavily guarded city without drawing attention, and find Mangus Grythorn. Thank the stars he had a three-hour ride to figure out how to manage such a foolish deed.

  Chapter 12

  David tossed and turned. Slavandria spoke to a man on the far side of David’s dream. They sounded faint, distant. He strained to listen past the ethereal veil separating him from consciousness.

  “I told you this was not a good idea,” Slavandria said, “but you wouldn’t listen. Now look what’s happened. We have to send them back before any more harm comes to Fallhollow.”

  “No,” the man responded.

  “How can you be so callous and cruel? He doesn’t belong here. He’ll die if he remains here. He knows nothing of our ways or what waits for him.”

  “You underestimate him, Daughter. There is a great power within him. He has been protected for far too long. It is time for him to discover who and what he is. The heavens chose him for this task two centuries ago. It is written. He stays.”

  David flinched. Two centuries ago?

  “What about Charlotte?” Slavandria’s tone was as sharp as an ice pick. “The words mention nothing of her being a part of this journey. Why can’t you return her to Havendale?�
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  “The ancient magic took her on its own. Her purpose will unfold in due time. I suggest you stop worrying, my dear. All is as it should be.”

  “So you keep telling me.” The air grew quiet. Footsteps padded around the room. “How is Mangus?” The words slipped from Slavandria’s lips in a tremble.

  “Mangus’ brush with Einar was minimal. His burns are healing well. Thanks to his mage blood, there should be little scarring, if any. He is quite obstinate, like someone else I know.”

  “He has to be to survive you.”

  A new voice, a man’s, spoke. “Supreme Master Jared—”

  David’s subconscious jerked. Jared? I’ve heard that name before. Think.

  “The boy stirs within the weave. He can hear your every word.”

  Shut up, blabbermouth, David’s subconscious said. Go away.

  “Thank you,” Jared said. “It is just as well. I need to return to Felindil and ready the WindSong. It sets sail in two days. I trust you have everything under control, and you will behave while I’m gone? Master Camden, the High Council, and the Senate have enough to deal with without you running amok.”

  “I cannot promise you anything.”

  Jared chuckled. “That will have to suffice coming from you. Goodbye, Daughter.”

  The voices faded into a sizzle. Slavandria whispered in his ear, her breath like a summer breeze. “I’m so sorry. I’ll protect you as long as I can. For now, sleep.”

  Darkness swooped in, enveloping him beneath a protective wing. He curled on his side and slipped into another dream. This time, he found himself aboard a schooner at night. Pelting rain blew sideways. Sails flapped in the battering wind. He clung to a mast as huge ocean waves tossed the ship about. Water sprayed over the sides with each tilt and dip. From the stern, a human figure cloaked in shadow glided toward him, hovering above the deck, eyes gleaming silver in the dark. David clutched the mast tighter. He squinted, looking for recognizable features. Who are you? What do you want with me? A black gossamer veil fell around him, shielding him from the elements and his assassin. A roaring scream filled his ears.