Master's Mind: The Dagger of Dragon Rose: Book 1

by John M Leavitt

  When Nathan spoke Dareth's name; both Garz and Parel looked around, expecting to see the Lord of Night step out of the shadows at the sound of his name. Nothing happened, and they both turned their attention back to Nathan.

  "What are you going to do?" Parel repeated. "The bard expects your answer when we get back.

  "Well," Nathan said. "I have thought about it, and hiding from my birthright just feels wrong. It is time to shed the lie that has been my life for the last twelve years. I will reclaim my birth name and with it my birthright. From this moment forward I will be Taren Elloy, crown prince of the Elf Kingdom,” Nathan seemed to take on a royal air as he spoke. "Garz, I will ask one thing of you.”

  "Anything, your majesty,” Garz said, bowing.

  "I will ask you to please keep the knowledge of my wings to yourself,” Taren said. "The Elves are not very understanding of such things.”

  "My lips are sealed,” Garz said, bowing again. "Would you like me to keep your existence a secret as well?"

  "No, you can spread that,” Taren smiled. "It will bring hope to those that have none,” He stood, and held his hand out to Parel. "Come, it is time to go and inform the bard of my decision.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Quest

  “As the sun crested the mountain, and lighted the emblazoned flag, our hero looked skyward and exclaimed ‘It's a Quest!’” - The Ballad of Tamara the Brave.

  Taren was exhausted when he landed in the alley across from the Dragon Storm's Refuge Inn. He had decided that he would see if his wings were strong enough to hold the weight of another person, so he had carried Parel as he flew. She was not very heavy, but the added weight caused him to become tired quickly. It had only taken a few moments to fly from the park to the inn, and yet he was sweating profusely under the strain.

  "That was much more difficult than I thought it was going to be,” Nathan stretched, wincing slightly.

  Parel turned to face him with her hands on her hips. "Are you saying I'm fat?"

  Taren's face turned red as he raised his hands defensively. "N...no... That is not what I meant.”

  Parel giggled playfully. "I'm teasing, silly,” She suddenly grew serious. "Nath... Taren, are you sure that you want to go through with this? Your life will never be the same,”

  Taren smiled reassuringly. "Everything will be okay.”

  "How do you know? You don't know anything about this life that you had before. Your father was killed by dragons. It sounds dangerous,” She sounded really scared as she said this.

  "You know the stories. My father lived for just over twelve thousand years before he died. Don't you want to find out if the stories are true? This could be our only chance,” Taren said. "Not to mention, I may be the only one that can unite the Elven nation. They have been divided ever since the king died. I have a chance to make a real difference.”

  Parel was still nervous, but she did not raise further objections. She could see that the revelation of his identity was exciting to him, especially since Garz had recognized who he really was. She saw the danger that he was in, even if he did not. If the Elves ever found out about his wings, they would at least banish him, and at most kill him. Then there was the ambush in the old abandoned mansion. That had not been random chance. Someone was trying to kill him.

  The sun was a slit of pink light on the horizon as they entered the Inn. The common room was empty, save for the blond-haired Innkeeper that was tending to the fire. They hadn't realized how cold it was outside until the heat from the fire caused their cheeks and hands to burn as the blood returned to them.

  The innkeeper approached them. "Ahh, the young master and mistress Parel return to us, I see. I guess you would like to see the bard again?"

  "That would be lovely,” Parel said with no real conviction.

  Taren looked at her. "What's gotten into you?"

  She just shook her head and stared at the floor while they followed the innkeeper through the maze. She didn't say anything until they found themselves standing alone in front of the iron door; the innkeeper having left them.

  "Nathan... Taren... or whatever you choose to call yourself, how can you be so sure that this bard is right? How can you be sure that he's even the Dragon Bard?" She asked.

  "I have seen him, Parel. I know that he is genuine,” He explained.

  "I have seen him too, his shiny black skin and that horrid red scar, I am still not so sure;” A shiver ran through her at the memory.

  "You misunderstand me,” Taren replied. "I have seen him in his draconic form. I have seen him as the golden dragon,” She looked skeptical, so he continued. "It was this morning before we went to go save Garz. I had awoken and was looking around. I saw the mural that depicted my father. While I was looking at it I heard the bard tell me that I looked just like my dad. When I looked to see where he was I saw the dragon lying on the large pile of treasure. As he stepped off, I watched him change into the bard.”

  She was staring at him open-mouthed. "You actually saw the golden dragon?"

  He just nodded.

  "I have had dreams about the golden dragon,” She said, thoughtfully. "He is rescuing me from a cave in the top of a very tall mountain. I don't know how I got there or what I was doing there, but he was definitely rescuing me from something,” Her forehead wrinkled in concentration as she tried to remember more details of the dream. "The details are all fuzzy from there, but there is something very familiar, almost familial about him.”

  Taren didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. Parel seemed to be lost in a world of her own, so he just watched her until she came back to herself.

  "I'm sorry,” She said after a few minutes. "We should be going.”

  They turned towards the door, and it opened to admit them into the Dragon Bard's lair.

  "Welcome back, I trust your mission was a success?" Shantar said, his musical voice echoing through the room.

  Both Taren and Parel nodded.

  "Good... Good..,” The bard replied. "About the other matter we discussed?"

  "I have decided that I am going to reclaim my birth name, and my birthright,” Taren stood tall as he announced his decision.

  Shantar smiled an effect that was not altogether pleasant through his already demon-like appearance. "Excellent. Come, we have much to discuss.”

  Taren sat in the same chair that he had slept in the night before. Shantar sat in the chair on the other side of the desk. Parel climbed into the large bed and fell asleep.

  Shantar looked at Taren with a serious expression on his face. "Do you understand what it means to claim your birthright?" He asked.

  "Yes, it means that I must become king of the Elves and try to unite them as my father before me.”

  "That is part of it," Shantar admitted. "But it is not all of it. Are you familiar with the legend of the Dagger of Dragon Rose?"

  Taren nodded. "It was the weapon of the prophecy that Knoro gave in response to the doomsday prophecy that Perin gave,” Taren thought for a moment. "I have seen it. It is in the dreams that I have been having.”

  Shantar pursed his lips. "That is because the time to use it drawing near. "

  "What does that have to do with me?" Taren asked.

  "Do you remember what I told you last this morning when I asked you if you had figured out who you are yet? " Shantar asked.

  Taren just stared at the bard, not comprehending.

  Shantar waved his hand, and an image of four babies appeared. The three girls were identical to each other, with the singular exception of the mark that adorned their left breast. The one on the far left had a picture of a golden dagger. The one next to her had a mark of a golden dragon. The third had a red rose with a green stem. The last child, the only boy, had little wings protruding from his back.

  "These are your sisters, Morganna, Tarea, and Saria,” Shantar gestured to each in turn. "Your father believed that the marks that each of you bore were the marks of the prophecy.”

  "I don't hav
e a mark,” Taren protested. "There are only three parts of the dagger.”

  Shantar smiled. "There are four parts to the prophecy. The three parts of the dagger and the mark of the wielder.”

  "My wings are not fiery,” Taren objected.

  "You are starting to sound very much like Sareth Hope. She did not believe that your father was correct in his thinking,” Shantar explained. "I knew your father for a very long time. I have never met anyone with his intuition. It is my personal opinion that he was correct. As for your wings not being fiery, there are certain parts of most prophecies that are open to interpretation. It could be that in the vision that Knoro saw that the light hit the wielder's wings in such a way that they looked like they were on fire,” He paused for a moment. "We are getting off topic. We are not here to discuss the nuances of the prophecy; we are here to discuss the nuances of your birthright. You are to not only take your father's place as the king, but you are to take his place as the leader of the Guardians of the Balance.”

  "Wow, I have some pretty big shoes to fill,” Taren said as they were finishing up the chat.

  "You have no idea, Taren. Your father is mostly responsible for the creation of the Crystal Blades and is wholly responsible for the forming of the Guardians of the Balance. The fact that Cyan has chosen you to be his wielder shows that you are to head the next generation of the Guardians. In your travels, you will meet others that have been chosen by the special Crystal Blades. They will join you in the ranks, should you let them,” He smiled briefly. "You have already met the first that will join you.”

  Taren looked confused for a moment and then comprehension dawned. "No, not her,” He said pointing to the bed where Parel slept.

  "You have very little say in the matter. She has been chosen by Oran Shortblade. She is entitled to join you if she wishes, which she will. She has her own vested interest in helping you. In your journey she will learn who she is and where she comes from,” The bard had a strange look on his face as he spoke. It was almost as if he admired Parel.

  Taren looked over at the bed. "It's more than that. She absolutely loves me, she has told me this several times. I am not sure I can reciprocate the feeling.”

  "That is as it should be. You are not free to give your love to whomever you will. There are promises that must be kept,”

  "What do you mean?" Taren asked

  "Never mind, I have said more than I should have,” Shantar excused himself.

  "You can't jus..,” Taren tried to get more information, but Shantar cut him off.

  "There are certain pieces of information that I am not permitted to give you. I am sorry. Please leave this where it lies. If you find out too early, it could be disastrous, not only for you but for the world,” Shantar explained. "It would be best if you did not mention this to her just yet.”

  Taren just nodded.

  "Reclaiming your birthright is going to be very dangerous,” Shantar continued. "You will have many enemies, and it is imperative that you keep your wings a secret for as long as you can. The Elves are not ready to accept that part of you yet. It will take an act of great worth to help them overlook that.”

  Taren nodded, yawning as his tiredness broke through his defenses.

  Shantar waived his hand, and another bed appeared. "Go, get some sleep. If you are agreeable, I will present you to the world tonight.”

  Taren nodded his assent. He was weary as he climbed into the comfortable confines of the large bed. He nestled into the silk comforter and drifted off into a deep, dreamless, sleep.

  Taren did not know what time it was when he awoke. He was surprised to find that he was alone when he emerged from the hangings around his bed. There was a pair of clothes and a note on the bard's desk.

  Taren's nerves began to tingle as he read the note:

  Taren,

  These clothes belonged to your father. You should wear them when I present you. Put them on, I will gather you just before my usual story time.

  Shantar

  Taren lifted the clothes from the desk. They were very fine. The shirt was white silk and contrasted nicely against the dark brown pants. A pair of black shiny leather shoes and a purple sash rounded out the outfit nicely. Next to the clothes was a basin of warm water, a washcloth and a bar of soap.

  Tugging on the shirt, he found that he was not able to pull it off the way that he usually doffed his clothing. It turned out that it was actually much more difficult to get his wings out of the coverings than it had been to get them in. The bard had helped him get the shirt on. He had to remove the shirt from his torso, and then bend his wings in very uncomfortable positions to get them out of the coverings.

  After struggling out of his clothes, Taren picked up the washcloth and soap. He quickly washed his face and body. When he was clean, he donned the clothes that the bard had set out for him. The outfit fit him perfectly, as if they had been made for him, and not for his father. He shrugged briefly at the thought.

  "You will find a belt on the table, very near where the clothes were,” Cyan's mechanical voice sounded in his head. "You will want to wear it so I can be with you. It will be imperative that they see that you wield your father's sword. Otherwise, nobody, least of all the Elves, will believe that you are Paron's son.”

  Taren found the belt that Cyan had told him about. It was made out of silver leather and encrusted with several large sapphires. An ornate scabbard that looked like it would fit Cyan without difficulty.

  As Taren strapped the belt around his waist, Cyan floated up to him.

  "Did my dad ever get used to that?" He asked the sword.

  "I imagine that he was always used to it. He did create me, after all,” Cyan answered.

  Taren reached out and grabbed the sword. He was amazed at how cold the hilt was as his hand closed around it. The blue glow of the blade dimmed as he placed the sword into the scabbard. He felt the leather get cold, even through the thick cloth of his pants, and suddenly a memory returned to him.

  He had been in the top of a tall tree watching his father fight the Mother Dragon the last time he had seen this sword. It had been shooting streams of ice at her in an attempt to save the king, but it had failed. The king had died.

  "Cyan, do you ever regret knowing my father?" Taren asked.

  "He and I were very fond of each other. I was the second blade he had created - Maxx being the first - and we had claimed each other. I accompanied him on many a dangerous quest through the several millennia that we had known each other,” Cyan said. There was almost a note of sadness in the mechanical voice. "I miss him terribly.”

  "I am sorry. I hope I can be a good wielder for you.”

  "Prepare yourself, Parel and Shantar are returning,”

  Taren turned in time to see the bard and Parel enter the room. Parel stopped as soon as she saw him standing there in his father's clothes.

  "Wow, you look fantastic,” she was unable to hide the admiration in her voice.

  Shantar gave him an appraising look. "That will do. The sword belt is a nice touch, I didn't think of that.”

  "Honestly, neither did I,” Taren admitted. "It was Cyan's idea.”

  "I am going to tell a very special story tonight. You will sit among the crowd until I am finished, and then I will present you. There will be many that will be resistant to the idea that you are Paron's son. Cyan's presence will help, but it may not be enough. You will probably have to go on a quest to prove you are worthy to sit on the throne,” Shantar placed his arm around Taren’s shoulders.

  Taren smiled nervously. "So, what will the quest be?"

  "You will just have to wait and see,” Shantar brushed past him. "Follow me, we need to go.”

  Parel and Taren followed Shantar through the maze back to the Dragon Storm's Refuge Inn. He took a different way than the innkeeper had brought them, so it did not take as long to get back.The crowd quieted as they entered the room. Taren sat in a chair directly behind the bard, hidden from the view of most of the people. P
arel joined her mother on the human side of the room.

  The crowd was watching the bard expectantly.

  "Tonight, I have a special story to tell you,” As he spoke, colors began to detach themselves from all over the room forming a maelstrom of color in front of him, the colors swirling until a picture formed.

  A young elf was winding through a maze of tunnels as he searched for some goal that was within reach. He was a handsome young man with shoulder-length white hair, ice blue eyes, high cheekbones, and the telltale pointed ears of the Elfin kind. There was an oddity about this elf. The oddity didn't exist in his physical appearance. Nor did it appear in the wise eyes. The oddity was in the way he held himself. Young Paron Elloy held himself as a king.

  With the young king were the friends that he'd made during the war. Paron led, Sareth Hope was second, and Derek Fantis held the middle point. Close behind Derek walked Seth Silvermoon, and Griffith Wolftracker held the rear position.

  "What are we doing here again?" Sareth asked of her companions.

  Paron's face was expressionless as he answered the question. "We are here to trap the Mother Dragon under this Web of Eternal Slumber.”

  The five companions walked through the catacombs in grim silence as they searched for the lair of the dreaded dragon. They hadn't searched for long before they came to a large cavern that was overflowing with treasure beyond comprehension. They were starry-eyed at the gold, gems, and other precious materials that were piled in enormous stacks in the center of the cave.

  "That's enough!" Paron brought his friends out of their trance. "We're here to do a job.”

  The would-be king stepped into the cavern to ascertain how easy their plan was going to be. The layout was simple. There was only one entrance large enough to accommodate a dragon. There was a portion of the treasure pile that was welded together where the dragon must have slept.

  The quintet set to work. Sareth set the Web of Eternal Slumber across the dragon's entrance and the four men positioned themselves at the four main points of the compass with ropes of eternal strength. Then the wait began.