In the Shadow of the Dragon King

by J. Keller Ford

  He couldn’t stop gasping for air.

  “It was a dream,” Trog said. “You’re all right now.”

  “No. Not a dream.” He grasped Trog’s shirtsleeves. “H-he tried to kill me. Kill Slavandria. Lily saved us.” He released his grip. Stared at the ground.

  “Who tried to kill you?” Charlotte pressed a wet cloth to his head.

  He closed his eyes and counted.

  Breathe.

  One.

  Breathe.

  Two.

  Breathe.

  Three.

  The room steadied. His heartbeat slowed to a normal rate. He smacked his dry lips. “Sey—Seyekrad.” He leaned forward and found Charlotte’s hands. “He’s Mr. Loudermilk.”

  “What are you talking about?” Charlotte dabbed his head again. Worry lines broke out across her brow.

  David tilted back his head and closed his eyes. “This crazy evil wizard dude. Said his name was Seyekrad.” The word floated from his lips in a whisper. “He pretended to be Mr. Loudermilk so he could watch me.” He squeezed her hand. “Mrs. Fenton was there, too, except he called her Avada.”

  “Avida,” Trog snapped, his voice unexpectedly sharp.

  David nodded. “Yeah, that.” He met Trog’s angry, flashing eyes. “Do you know them?”

  Trog hauled himself up, his body rigid. “I’ve had a few run-ins with them. Seyekrad is a defender of the realm, or at least he was.” His jaw twitched. Rage settled in his eyes. “I take it by the bruises on your face and neck his allegiance has changed.”

  David nodded. “He’s pissed at Slavandria because she dumped him, and he wants me dead because he thinks I have the power to destroy the Dragon King, but I don’t. Right? Isn’t that what Slavandria said? I’m here to find a stone, right?” He coughed, his throat as dry and scratchy as a sandbox.

  Someone knocked on the door.

  David’s heart jumped. Charlotte froze.

  “Who is it?” Trog said.

  “Garret and Gertie, sir. We need to speak with you. It’s urgent.”

  Trog crossed the room and opened the door.

  The two G’s rushed inside followed by the ever-silent Agimesh and Taccar. The two warriors shut and blocked the door, their faces stoic. Charlotte clasped David’s hand tighter.

  Trog eyed Garret and Gertie, his arms crossed over his chest, his hands stuck in his pits. “Go on. I’m listening.”

  “You need to leave Gable right away,” Garret said, his eyes dark, serious.

  Trog’s brow creased in a frown. “Why is that?”

  “We know who you are—Sir Trogsdill. Every moppet our age does. And I’d wager every Dalvarian out there knows who you are, too.”

  “So?”

  “They’re looking for the person who murdered two of their men yesterday and dumped them in the river,” Gertie said. Her hair hung around her straight and narrow shoulders. “If they find you, you and your friends will die.”

  Anxiety curled its way into David’s chest. Charlotte bit her bottom lip. A faint wind blew in through the balcony doors, blanketing the room in a chill.

  Their words rendered Trog momentarily speechless.

  Heated shouts from the tavern filtered up through the balcony doors. Booted footsteps stomped up the stairs.

  Panic soared through Eric.

  Garret stepped closer to Trog. “Sir, if you want our help, we need to leave now.”

  David took a deep breath, and another, his pulse thudding a thousand miles a second. He spun his ring over and over again. Heavy footsteps pounded the floor below.

  Trog pointed at Charlotte and David, his eyes too wide, making him look crazy. “Get your things.”

  They jammed their belongings into their bags and hurried into the hall.

  “Agimesh,” Trog said, “a little shime magic would be appreciated.”

  An ethereal mist floated from the ceiling and swaddled them. Beneath them, a swirling vapor cloud rose from the floor, lifting them a few inches and moving them down the hall as if on a conveyor belt. David’s stomach tickled. He suppressed the urge to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

  Ahead, two Dalvarians topped the stairs, their swords drawn. Charlotte slapped her hand to her mouth. David’s limbs went stiff. One by one the goons broke down doors and yanked guests from their rooms. David held his breath. The soldiers stormed past, paying no attention. It was if they were—

  Invisible! We’re invisible!

  David sighed.

  Then laughed.

  It came out of nowhere, without warning. A release of jitters. He covered his mouth in horror. How could he jeopardize them like that? You imbecile!

  The Dalvarians turned, their mouths set in straight lines. They moved toward the sound, their weapons poised.

  The swirling, floating floor moved faster, carrying David and the others down the stairwell to the first floor. Bearing right, they moved down a slender hall, past the kitchen, and into the washroom. Inside the room, the magic faded. Their sudden appearance startled a young girl with long blond hair and brown eyes. Upon seeing Garret and Gertie, she wiped her hands on her smock, scurried across the room and shoved a chest across the wood floor. Garret opened a hatch. David descended the steps last, entering an earthen room lined with wooden shelves and crates. Overhead, the hatch closed and the chest moved into place. Dust floated from the ceiling.

  Charlotte smacked him on the arm. “What was that up there? Were you trying to get us killed?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. It just came out.”

  Trog thumped David on the head. “Next time put a plug in it!”

  “I’m sorry, okay! I don’t know what else you want me to say!”

  “Your sorry is going to get us killed!” Trog said.

  “Oh, and I suppose you’ve never made a mistake.” David’s words flew out before he could stop them. He didn’t care. Let Trog thump him again. It was impossible to feel any more guilt and anger than he already did.

  Trog turned around, his teeth gritted. Charlotte stepped between them, both arms stretched out.

  “Stop. We’re safe, and that’s all that matters.”

  Trog growled before he plodded through a wooden door behind Gertie and Garret.

  David and Charlotte followed and stepped into a tunnel so wide and tall a fighter jet could fit inside with room to spare.

  “Whoa!” David traced his fingers over the blue streaks buried within the polished white walls glistening in a fiery pastel color. “This is sick.” With every step, the walls illuminated from within, setting the passageway aglow in brilliant white light. “This is crazy. What is this place?”

  “The Opal Caverns,” Garret said. “Mage tunnels. I’d heard rumors of them as a boy, but never thought I’d ever see them.”

  “Nor, I,” Trog said, his eyes wide and curious. “How did you find them?”

  “Foraging for truffles near Brindle Greens. We stepped on a soft patch of earth. It gave way. We fell. We’ve been mapping them ever since, but I have a feeling it would take a lifetime to discover them all.”

  “A giant ant hill,” Charlotte said, gaping.

  David frowned. “Why would mages need tunnels if they can ferry?”

  “To hide their traces and shave time when they travel,” Trog said.

  “Shave time?” Charlotte’s eyes narrowed.

  Trog nodded. “It’s said there is great magic within the Opal Caverns which allows the mages to travel within seconds to anywhere within Fallhollow. But they need key-activated crystals to energize them.” Trog’s eyes remained steady.

  Gertie snorted. “Too bad the mages lost the crystals and the key after the Great War. Some powerful gurus they are.”

  David stared at a crack in the floor. Realization donkey kicked him in the brain.

  Of course. The Eye of Kedge. It’s the key.

  His pulse raced.

  The crystals are at Hirth. Slavandria
said so. If he found the stone, then Slavandria could gather the crystals, activate the tunnels and her father would never know a thing. She could form alliances and travel anywhere within Fallhollow. She could work her magic anywhere she wanted, even where forbidden. David grinned, excitement rippling through his veins like mild electrical currents. His eyes met with Trog’s. “We have to get to the Doomideen Pass.”

  Trog nodded, his eyes twinkling. “Yes, we do.”

  “Why?” Charlotte asked, looking between the two of them. “What’s going on?”

  “Later,” David said.

  “Do you have payment for the creature that guards the Pass?” Garret asked. His shoulders seemed stiffer, his jaw tighter.

  “Creature?” David asked, flashing a sideways glance at Trog. “What creature? What’s he talking about?”

  Trog raised an eyebrow at David and then refocused on Garret. “Yes, I have payment. Now, if we could get going, please?”

  Garret nodded. “Sure. Let’s go.”

  From a juncture up ahead came laughter and footsteps.

  David swallowed.

  Moments later, six boys emerged, and from the looks of it, they were primed for a fight.

  David guessed them to be around his age, give or take a year or two, all dressed in leather trousers and earth-toned tunics with knives, rapiers, or swords as their accessories of choice.

  A lanky, red-headed boy with sharp features and nervous eyes stepped forward.

  “What’s the news, Rusty?” Garret asked.

  “A-all c-clear from here t-to Windybrooke.”

  Trog stepped forward, his profile strong and steady. “Did you notice if there were scouts from Hirth in the area?”

  Rusty’s eyes widened to twice their size. His mouth fell open. “S-Sir T-Trogsdill!” He dropped to one knee, his head bowed. The other five boys gaped as well, awe and disbelief written in their expressions. They, too, dropped to their knees and pledged everything from swords to lives.

  David snorted and whispered to Charlotte, “What’s up with that? Does he poop golden eggs or something?”

  Charlotte shrugged, the cutest look of bafflement on her face.

  Trog gestured to the boys to stand. “Good heavens, get up. I am not your king or your God.”

  Rusty stood and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “S-sorry, s-sir. W-we m-meant nothing by it.”

  “I don’t care for your apology, boy. I want to know if you’ve seen scouts.”

  The boy opened his mouth to speak.

  A warning caw of a raven echoed in the hollowness of the passage. David and Charlotte covered their ears against the shrill sound. From another passageway flew a blackbird, its body the size of a hawk, its wings as dark and shiny as oil on a sunny day. It hovered for a moment before morphing into a tall, dark-skinned boy with shaggy, black hair, loose-fitting black clothes, and a scar connecting his lip to his ear.

  “Whoa!” David said, his knees almost buckling beneath him. His heart thudded like a scared rabbit. “He just—how did he—”

  Garret laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a shapeshifter before?” He turned to the newcomer and embraced him. “This is Ravenhawk. He watches the Northern Forest for us and keeps us posted on what’s happening out there.”

  “Us?” David’s mind spun. “You mean you’re all shapeshifters?”

  Garret laughed. “No. Ravenhawk and Rusty are the only two shifters in our group. We’re simply a group of orphans, made that way by the Dragon King or his minions, and we’re looking for payback. Upstairs, we’re gutless and weak. We have to be to survive. Down here, we’re warriors waiting for the chance to burn the beast in his fire.”

  Charlotte chuckled and shook her head. “Wow, did I have you pegged all wrong.”

  “I guess you have to be careful who you reveal yourselves to, huh?” David asked.

  Garret scratched the back of his head. “Let me put it this way. If it wasn’t for him,” he looked up at Trog, “you wouldn’t be here right now.”

  Trog turned to Ravenhawk, his eyes narrowed. “We haven’t heard much news of the realm. Do you know anything of importance?”

  “My fellow shifters tell me there are armies en route from the north and east by way of the Brindle Sea and the Antylles River. They think it might be a fortnight before they arrive. As for Hirth, almost everything north of Avaleen is burnt, thanks to the Dragon King. Gyllen still stands, but the king and queen are missing. We’ve got posts set up all near Berg Castle, but the place is swarming with shadowmorths.”

  Trog rubbed his chin. “That’s a bit problematic. We have to make our way north to Gyllen. What are our best routes?”

  “Why the dense paths just east of the Domengarts, west of the Elastine Forest. Not much happening there. Not yet anyway. I’m sure that will change once the giant lizard knows you’re there.”

  “And if we need your help?”

  Ravenhawk flashed a huge smile. “To fight alongside you and the knights of Hirth? Are you kidding? That would be the most impressive thing ever.”

  “Do we have your promise on that?” David asked. The realization that he may not have to fight this battle on his own spurred his confidence. A feeling of power rushed through him, and it felt warm, intense. Good.

  “Right, you do,” Ravenhawk said.

  “Then I’m sure we’ll make your acquaintance again in the near future,” Trog said.

  Ravenhawk folded into a deep bow. “I look forward to it.”

  “Where are you off to, now?” Garret asked the shifter.

  “Off to find a roost and a bit of food suitable for this hungry belly. I’m a bit tired of rats and berries.”

  David’s stomach turned.

  “You won’t find much better upstairs,” Gertie said.

  Ravenhawk picked her up and spun her around. “Thank you for the warning, lass.” He set her down and waved to everyone. “Parting is always inevitable. Until we meet again.”

  David snorted as the shifter ran toward the secret entrance to the Inn of the Nesting Owls, leaving them to forage on. “Is he always that screwy?”

  “You have no idea,” Gertie said with a smile.

  ***

  The tunnels grew steeper, colder, as the hours sloughed away.

  Charlotte slipped on some gloves she found in her rucksack and huddled under her cloak. “Brrr, who turned off the heat?” Her teeth chattered.

  David pulled his cloak tighter around his body. “I know, right? I wish I had some decent socks and my sneakers. My feet are freezing.”

  A gust of freezing wind dotted with snow whipped and whistled through the tunnel.

  “Stay close,” Trog said, flakes of the white stuff clinging to his eyebrows and beard. “It won’t be long before we’re out of the cold.”

  Almost thirty hours later they emerged from a hole in the ground, beneath dead brush, leaves, and fallen trees, and onto a rocky ledge. The land dropped away to their right and formed a deep gully. To the north, small towns nestled into the terraced landscape before being overcome by thick, green forest. To the south, the forest opened to rolling hills, meadows, and lakes. Tulipakar and the Southern Forest.

  To the left, an icy path rose to a cliff where few scraggly trees grew from crevices.

  “Where are we?” David asked. He sat on a rock, shivering, doing his best to ignore the hunger growling in his gut.

  “We are at the top of the Domengart Mountains,” Trog said. He reached into his bag and tossed David and Charlotte a couple of bruised apples.

  David bit into his right away. Charlotte, however, sat on a log huddled beneath her cloak and tore off the skin with her teeth before spitting it to the ground.

  “The entrance to the Doomideen Pass is up ahead beyond the tree line,” Trog said.

  David followed Trog’s gaze through a clump of trees that grew skyward. A gust of wind blew thickening snow into his face. David shivered and stood.
He stamped the numbness from his feet and coaxed Charlotte to stand.

  “I’m so cold,” she said, shivering in his arms.

  “I know. We’ll get out of the wind and cold soon enough, right, Trog?” David shouted the last two words at the knight standing a few feet away.

  Trog’s cloak flapped in the wind. Snow swirled at his feet. “Stay close to me. Step where I step.”

  David clutched Charlotte to him.

  A sharp, stabbing pain plunged into his brain like a hot poker. He crumpled to the ground.

  “Trog! Help!” Charlotte screamed.

  Images of Lily and him as a child flashed with uncanny speed in David’s mind, like a slide carousel set to hyper-speed. He pressed his palms to his head. “Oh, God! Make it stop!”

  “David!” Trog’s voice sounded far away, muffled.

  The pain pushed deeper, burning.

  Four palms pressed to his head. Images of Agimesh and Taccar appeared in his mind. Soothing, mint-cool winds rushed past the pain, breaking it apart, dissolving the ache into smaller pieces. David counted, sucking deep breaths into his nose and out through his mouth.

  But the reprieve was short-lived.

  It was back, worse than before, burning, searing, plunging deeper and deeper. A high-pitched whine like a jet engine shrieked through his brain. Threads of black and silver light unraveled like threads of lightning. A man’s face appeared. Seyekrad.

  No. Go away! David thought. There was no controlling his thrashing body.

  Green threads spiraled in his brain like fast-growing ivy, thickening, weaving, and wrapping his mind in cool ribbons of wet moss.

  Seyekrad yelled. His face disappeared in a sea of green.

  The images faded. The pain dissipated. Hands lifted from his head.

  David curled into a fetal position and sobbed.

  Charlotte cradled him in her arms, her tears mixing with his. “Shh, it’ll be okay. You’re all right.” Her fingers combed his hair as she rocked him back and forth. “Shh.”

  “David,” Trog said. “Open your eyes and look at me.”