by Mike Shelton
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Flying north, from Cassian to the Citadel, Bakari and Kharlia watched the grasslands below flash by in a blur. After food and sleep, Abylar was as strong as ever, and he flew faster than he ever had before. Time had been lost in Cassian, and Bakari hoped all would be well at the Citadel. Through Abylar, Bakari felt overly anxious to find the next dragon egg and dragon rider. His mind pulled him to the south, toward Quentis, and he knew he didn’t have long to gather another rider to him.
With Abylar in almost constant connection to Miriel, Bakari checked on Breelyn and Alair’s progress toward Lor’l. They would be there in the next day or two, and by then, hopefully Miriel would be strong enough to fly with Breelyn on her back.
Kharlia sat behind Bakari, holding on to him around his waist. It was hard for him to concentrate with her warm breath on the back of his neck. It reminded him of their last kiss.
“The land is so beautiful from up here.” Kharlia observed and Bakari smiled at her excitement.
Soon Bakari saw Whalen in the distance, and the Citadel wasn’t much farther than that. He wondered how Whalen fared, with the strife between Kanzar and the Chief Judge. Being so close to the Citadel, their destiny was usually tied up with that wizarding city.
As they flew, Bakari did nothing to hide the presence of his dragon. The people in this land needed to find hope in knowing there was a dragon rider again to protect them. News of their sightings in Corwan and then in Cassian would spread rapidly.
Bakari saw the farmers outside of Whalen gathered in their last harvesting of the fall, to begin preparing for winter, but he saw nothing to overly worry himself about. Some people ran for safety, while others stood around and pointed to the great blue beast flying in the autumn sky.
Soon the spires of the Citadel rose before them. And, once again, a longing filled Bakari’s breast. The Citadel had been his home from the time when Bakari was five up until two years ago. He knew the Citadel’s layout even more fully than the castle’s layout in Cassian.
The Citadel itself was a significant stone structure with beautiful balconies and ornamental spires rising high into the air. Many different gardens, courtyards, and practice yards surrounded it, with a small town, which had grown up around it, providing the short-term needs of the Citadel wizards. And the markets in Whalen provided the rest.
Unlike Whalen, the Citadel did look different now than it had before. Even in midday, the gates stood closed and more guards than usual stood in front of them. The only people that Bakari could see on the castle grounds were in the practice yards. Pairs of what looked to be battle wizards were standing there and fighting each other to practice their skills. But the ferocity with which they clashed surprised Bakari.
Once Abylar’s shadow fell over the Citadel, many wizards stopped fighting and pointed up into the sky. Some had seen Abylar before, just briefly after the barrier had fallen. But, if word was true, Roland had gathered dozens of more apprentices since then.
Lowering down, Abylar came to rest in one of the reception courtyards. I saw a nice herd of wild buffalo not too far back.
Hungry again, my friend?
Hearing the dragon’s stomach rumble made both Kharlia and Bakari laugh.
Based on what happened yesterday, Abylar, I would ask for you to stay on the ground until we find out what is going on. Bakari patted his dragon on the neck.
A puff of smoke came from the growing dragon’s mouth, but he assented to remain.
Bakari climbed down off the dragon, noticing he was farther off the ground than he had previously been. As he wondered how big Abylar would grow, Bakari helped Kharlia down off the dragon. She took a minute to smooth down her rumpled clothes, which Bakari now noticed were badly in need of cleaning and repair. He smiled at her, and she grinned back, grasping his hand in hers.
Bakari’s short braids blew against his face in the growing wind. And the sky was becoming gray with an approaching storm.
People began to gather around them, and Bakari noticed their mood was more somber than before. Coming out of the Citadel strode Roland, with guards on each side and a contingent of young apprentices, dressed for battle, following behind him. Something indeed had changed.
“Roland!” Bakari shouted out to his friend as he approached. “I received your message. It sounded dire.”
A flash of annoyance and possibly anger flew across Roland’s face but, in a flash, was replaced with a smooth smile. “Everything is fine here, Dragon Rider. No need to worry about us.”
Bakari frowned, alarms going off in his head. His friend Roland would never have referred to Bakari as Dragon Rider; it would have been too much for Roland to acknowledge that someone else could do something better than himself. Bakari glanced at the guards to Roland’s sides and recognized a few of them. As they nodded briefly to Bakari, one leaned in and whispered something to Roland.
“Bakari,” Roland said, nodding to his old friend.
Bakari was confused. But the leader of the Citadel stood in all his perfection before him. Roland’s blond hair still hung into his eyes, and his square chin carried his newfound authority well. And Bakari opened his eyes wider as he considered the golden cloak that now floated around Roland’s shoulders.
“Wizards are always welcomed here, at the Citadel,” Roland said. “You and this young woman may dine with me this afternoon as our special guests. The food will be ready soon, and my guards will escort you in.”
Bakari stiffened. Something was definitely wrong. Roland was never this formal. “You remember my friend Kharlia, don’t you?”
Roland’s eyes squinted, and he appeared deep in thought. Turning to one of the other wizards, he whispered something to the man, but the man just shook his head. Then Roland strode forward and lifted up Kharlia’s hand. “I didn’t recognize you, Kharlia. Your beauty has increased since we last met.”
Then Roland gawked appraisingly at Abylar and strode forward a few more steps, toward the dragon. “A beautiful creature,” he said, his eyes turning dreamy. “Oh, to be able to fly over the land and see everyone so small scampering around.” Turning back to Bakari, he continued, “Wizard Bakari, Dragon Rider, your dragon is a prize indeed.” As Roland reached his hand out toward Abylar, the dragon growled deeply, and Roland pulled his hand back.
That man is dangerous, Abylar said silently to Bakari.
Bakari nodded in silent agreement.
Soon they were escorted inside and seated around a long rectangular table at the south end of the dining room. Polished wooden floors and high ceilings with low hanging chandelier lamps ran the length of the room. The other wizards and apprentices in the room were quiet and looked only at the food on their plates. At the table where Bakari and Kharlia sat, there were no elderly wizards. The guards around Roland were in their twenties, and the other apprentices with Roland seemed to gaze at him with worshipful looks in their eyes.
Substantial platters of roasted pork, fresh bread, and fried vegetables were brought out, and the group began to eat.
“So, what news of the outside world, Bakari?” Roland said.
The voice seemed like his, but his speech patterns surely didn’t. Was Roland under someone’s spell? Bakari glanced around the room, trying to find someone powerful enough to put a spell on his friend.
“Kanzar is gathering his forces in Cassian, while the Chief Judge gathers his own in Orr,” Bakari answered vaguely.
“Has there been fighting yet?” Roland asked.
Bakari nodded. They would find out here eventually anyway. “In Corwan.”
Roland nodded then leaned in closer to Bakari. “You have a great gift in that dragon. It, of course, should be housed here, in the Citadel.”
“But Bakari is a dragon rider. He is needed all over Alaris to help establish peace,” Kharlia said to defend Bakari. “You can’t keep his dragon here.”
“He is still a young and weak wizard.” Roland waved his hand in the air and then pushed his hair back. “
I’m sure you both understand.”
Inwardly, Bakari jumped back. It wasn’t just the words coming out of Roland’s mouth that seemed wrong, it was his eyes. As Roland had pushed his hair back, Bakari had noticed two bright green eyes staring back at him.
Green! Roland’s eyes were supposed to be blue. Bright blue.
Bakari realized now that his suspicion that someone had put a spell on Roland was incorrect. Instead, someone had replaced Roland. While this Roland turned and spoke instructions to one of his guards, Bakari pushed his own thoughts deep into his memory. Were there spells that could do this? He sorted through all he could remember from reading on the subject of taking someone’s physical identity. He remembered a temporary spell that would give off an illusion but would not hold up if touched. So Bakari reached out his hand and touched Roland’s arm casually.
Roland turned, simultaneously with Bakari, pulling a knife from his waistband, and, before anyone could notice, stabbed it forward toward Bakari’s throat.
“Roland!” Bakari said, moving his head sideways to be missed by the knife. “I just touched your arm to get your attention.”
Everyone at the table froze. But most just stared at the food on their plates.
Roland’s eyes softened, and he seemed to regain control. “Sorry. Old habits, you know,” he said, trying to play it down as an overreaction based on prior experience.
But Bakari knew that Roland did not ever overreact. There were no old habits to overcome here.
Soon the awkward dinner was over, and then men and women started leaving the table.
“I have business to attend to, Dragon Rider,” the pretender Roland said. “I’m sure you must be tired.”
Bakari decided that he should try to placate the impostor. “Of course,” he said. “You run a tight Citadel here. It all looks very well cared for.”
The pretender smiled and seemed to relax. “We are trying to build the most powerful place in the world, Bakari. I hope you will join us. I would appoint you to care for our dragon.”
Our dragon! thought Bakari. He would never share Abylar with this impostor.
The false Roland excused himself, and Bakari sat, thinking for a few minutes.
Soon most of the others left the table, leaving only Kharlia, himself, and one lone young man, someone that Bakari remembered from his stay at the Citadel.
The young man was two years older than Bakari. Glancing around, he leaned in toward Bakari and spoke quietly over the table.
“Things are not right here, sir.” The young man, although older than Bakari, showed deference to him for his position as a dragon rider.
Bakari nodded his head and glanced around himself.
“Reese, isn’t it?” Bakari never did forget a name.
Reese nodded and continued, “They locked up the older wizards—Eryck and Titus.” He sat back when a serving boy came in and started to clean the dirty dishes off the table. Once the boy had left, with a pile stacked on his arms, Reese leaned in toward Bakari once again and said, “You must help us. Roland is not himself lately.”
“What do you mean?” Kharlia asked, looking from Reese to Bakari for confirmation. “Bak?”
Bakari held his lips tightly as he thought about what to do. He needed to go down to the dungeons and check on Eryck and Titus. Maybe they had seen the real Roland. That would also be the logical place for him to be held captive.
Getting up from the table, Bakari held Kharlia’s hand as they walked behind Reese. Then Bakari patted his shoulder with the assurance that something would be done.
He feigned tiredness and asked which rooms would be theirs. Soon a Citadel steward appeared and then directed them to the west wing, opposite of where Roland kept his own rooms and offices. Bakari smiled at their luck.
No one knew this castle like he did. As they walked to their rooms, Bakari ran his hand along the brown stone walls and recalled the escapades of a young boy—himself. His thirst for knowledge had not been limited to books but to a desire to know everything around him. That had included exploring to learn every inch of the Citadel. Bakari now ventured that, maybe only outside of Kanzar himself, Bakari knew the secrets of this castle as no other did.
When they reached their adjoining rooms, they were left there by the steward. Kharlia wanted to go into hers to freshen up, so Bakari asked a servant to bring her some new clothes and warm water for her to bathe in.
Before heading in, she turned to Bakari, “Everything all right? You’ve been awfully quiet since dinner."
“I’m fine.” Bakari waved a hand in the air, “Just tired.”
“What about all that talk about Roland? Is something wrong?” Kharlia put her hand on Bakari’s arm.
“I’m sure everything is fine.” Bakari said the words, but didn’t really believe what he said. He wanted to keep Kharlia safe.
“Bak!” Kharlia’s brown eyes flashed. “Don’t hide things from me.”
Just then a servant came back with some new clothes for Kharlia and ushered her inside her room. Before the door closed Bakari saw Kharlia’s stern look directed at him. He sighed and turned away. I have to keep her safe.
Bakari peered up and down the hall. Empty. He then continued walking toward the end of the west wing, where he could take a way down to the dungeon that would keep him from being seen. He was sure that was where the older wizards would be held, and if Roland was still here and held prisoner, that’s where Bakari would find his friend also.
Opening the barely used door there, he began to climb down the servants’ stairs. But, halfway down one flight, he stopped at a specific spot. Reaching across the wall, he touched a few particular blocks of stone in the right succession. A small, two-foot door swung open. The door had seemed much bigger when Bakari was seven years old and had discovered this entrance to the floors beneath the Citadel.
Crouching down now, he entered through it, scraping his back on the top of the opening. He stood up in the narrow passage on the other side, swung the door back into place, and then brought up a small flame in his hand to light the way. He didn’t need much light to see. The hidden hallways were narrow, touching his thin body on both sides, the top strands of his hair grazing the ceiling.
After a few turns, he came to a narrow set of stairs and descended down them, past the ground floor, and continued going deeper, into the passages under the Wizard Citadel.
The Citadel had been a home to wizards for over a thousand years. So it was built to last, the walls made thick and fused together with magic. The deeper Bakari went, the more power that came to him. He sent his mind out to Abylar to make sure he was being taken care of.
They brought me food, a happy Abylar almost purred. Three tasty cows.
The dragon seemed content for the time being, and Bakari marveled once again at his ability to communicate with a dragon. He shook his head in bewilderment at the luck of having a young scholar wizard be the one to find the first dragon egg.
The steps continued down even farther, but Bakari stopped descending for now to push on another set of stones, revealing another hidden door not much bigger than the previous one. Ducking through it, he entered a small closet and then shut the door behind him. Bakari stretched for a moment and then put his ear to the door as he heard sounds from someone on the other side of the door. A few bored guards were talking from not far away. Looking around the closet, he spotted a pair of old servant’s clothes, their coarse wool dirtied by time. He breathed deeply, pulled the clothes on, draping a cowl over his head, and then exited the closet quietly.
Coming upon two guards, Bakari pretended to trip. The commotion made the guards jump.
“Who are you?” asked one of the guards. “And what are you doing here?”
Bakari put on his dumbest face to act the part of an errand boy. “The master wants to see you.”
“Who?” asked the second guard, a man a few inches taller and wider than the first.
“Master Wizard Roland,” Bakari said.
&nbs
p; When the guards looked at each other nervously, Bakari saw he had guessed right. The false Roland had instilled fear in the men.
“You go see what he wants,” the first guard ordered the second.
“Me?” the larger one said. “Why?”
“Because I’m in charge.”
The two glared at each other, neither wanting to face whatever it was that Roland might have wanted. Finally, the larger man shuffled away, leaving the keys with the first guard. Once the second guard was a few turns away, Bakari turned to the remaining guard and grinned dumbly.
“Why are you still here?” the guard said, kicking Bakari in the shins. “Run along.”
“I also wanted to see the prisoners,” Bakari said, trying to sound like an excited apprentice. “The filthy traitors. I want to see them suffering.”
The guard smiled and laughed, clapping Bakari on the back. “Like to see them punished, huh? Maybe you’ll be a guard someday.”
The man led Bakari forward to the cell and held up a torch. In the back of the small cell sat two old men, their clothes tattered and soiled. An empty plate sat on the ground in front of them. Bakari held his nose at the stench.
“They don’t look so mighty, do they?” Bakari said, forcing a laugh and drawing the guard in closer to himself.
The guard laughed with him and, with a wicked gleam in his eye, turned to Bakari and asked, “Want to get closer, little man?”
“Oh no!” Bakari backed up, pretending to be afraid.
“Scared?” taunted the guard.
“No!” Bakari puffed out his chest and then felt amusement through the bond from Abylar. He pushed Abylar’s thoughts away because he didn’t want to get distracted.
The guard took his keys out and opened the metal door, its hinges creaking loudly in the lonely dungeon. The guard put his hand on Bakari’s back, pushing him forward, and then followed him inside.
“See,” the guard said. “They are chained. They can’t hurt you.”
As Bakari and the guard walked closer to the men, Bakari tried not to react to the poor conditions. Bakari felt sorry for them. The old wizards glanced up at Bakari, not recognizing him, and Eryck tried to kick his leg out at the guard. So Bakari knew that Eryck still had some fight left in him.