Faith Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 2) (13 page)

Ren let the cool rain wash the dirt and sweat from him, not really caring if he ever sought the shelter. The rain wasn’t the pelting rain of the prior storm. It was a cleansing rain, soft and cool. The intermingled clay soil didn’t absorb the water quickly but it didn’t repel it like the lower Rancor. Ren stood in silence, watching the two shallow graves fill with water. The rain continued to ping down, making the pools dance and sway with ripples of pain.

Neki stepped beside him. All humor had drained from his face. Dark hair clung to his neck, accentuating his thin frame. Ren could see a resemblance to Grauss as rivulets of water careened down Neki’s face. They had the same slender nose, the same high cheekbones, the same curve of the mouth and the same deep-set eyes. Although Neki was taller, his build was the same as the sage, broad shouldered and lean.

Neki’s lips twisted into a worried frown as he searched Ren’s face. When he didn’t find the answers he sought he turned back to the graves. Where before the rain was soothing, now the droplets sounded ominous as they splashed into the shallow pools.

“What did you give her?”

The question took Ren off guard. He had already forgotten he had agreed to anything. Bentzen and Markum’s death had shadowed all other consequences.

“I gave her my fire.”

Neki’s face twisted in confusion. The look caused him to appear comical despite his urgent tone. “Your fire? What do you mean your fire?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did. That’s what she asked for. When I hesitated she killed Bentzen. I didn’t hesitate again.”

Neki nodded as he turned back to the graves, but a heartbeat later he turned back and grabbed Ren’s arm. “If you don’t know what it is it could be important. She may have taken something you need to defeat Ista. Do you feel any different?”

“No, no different, but I did use fire on the wolven. The Quy said I was the first to conjure fire. The Adderiss could want that ability for some reason.”

“So you can’t burn anything?”

“I don’t know, Neki. I can’t use the Quy as you do. I can’t find the power on a whim. Even if I wanted to try to ignite something I wouldn’t know how. I call the Quy by instinct and only in dire need.”

Neki didn’t appear satisfied. Water dripped in a steady rhythm from his nose. “Is that the only fire you have? Think about it symbolically. What about dragons? Could she have meant dragons?”

“Dragons are free creatures. They aren’t mine to give. Even if Aidan,” Ren paused to draw a breath, “even if Aidan is whole I couldn’t give the Adderiss the silver dragon.”

Neki shifted and put his hand on his hip. Lowering his eyebrows, he grunted. “Burning cinders, I don’t like it. She would only want something with profound significance. I don’t like it at all.”

Chris looked at the beautiful woman, tired and confused. She had been giving him pleasure and pain all day, but he couldn’t comprehend why he was given pleasure for doing the things he did and why he received pain for asking questions. He supposed he shouldn’t ask questions, but he had just drawn her a glass of water. Now she was asking him to draw her another glass of water and she had yet to take a sip from the first glass. Why shouldn’t he question that?

“Chris, I want you to draw me a glass of water,” the lady asked again, this time with a slight edge to her voice

He was so tired. All he wanted to do was rest. Surely, if he told her she already had a glass of water she would see the foolishness of her request. “But you already have water.”

The pain wasn’t pain – it was martyrdom. He doubled over, waiting for his life to end. The wait was maddening. After the pleasure she had just given him, the pain shot higher than it ever had before.

With the same abruptness the pain started, it ceased. He found himself face down in the dirt, inhaling dust. She kicked him. He clutched his ribs, trying to rationalize why a beautiful woman who could give such pleasure would relish such anguish. But she loved it. The more violently he reacted, the more intense his screams, the more intense the pleasure, the more intense the pain.

And then came the instructions: draw some water, take a bath, and comb her hair. Do this and that, not strenuous things, but things. During those times he tried hard to obey her, but his mind wandered. The red uniforms of the soldiers called to him, spoke to him in ways he didn’t understand. He decided red must be his favorite color, but as the days passed he began to envision a more subtle red. In his mind he saw a lock of red hair, bleached blonde from the sun.

He focused on that image when the pleasure was rising too fast and he felt himself about to drown in its depths. When he focused on the red image it always pulled him out, helped him survive. He really didn’t know why he fought to survive. Maybe it was the pleasure. Yes, the pleasure, surely that was it.

Sometimes he fought hard to remember why he clung to the red image. That was when he reached for the second image.

It was a stone, a black stone, pure and without blemish. It wasn’t as comforting as the red but he clung to it when he wanted to deny the beautiful woman. A powerful force radiated from its midnight depths. Chris clung to it, welcoming the strength of the stone. He had put his memories inside it, he knew, tucked them away from the beautiful woman. He had formed the stone to keep himself alive. For some reason if he had the memories he would deny the woman each time, and if he denied her his mind would rupture. And he wanted to live. He desperately wanted to live. He needed to do something. He didn’t know what, but when he was able to claim his memories he would know – hence the stone.

He hungered to remember. There were times when he held the stone, ready to take the memories that would end the mystery. Each time something stopped him: the snickers from the soldiers, the woman’s laughter, the erotic longings, or the stabbing pain. It wasn’t time to remember. He hoped one day he would be able to draw from the stone. Now was the time to hold onto sanity.

“Don’t question me, my sweet. How many times must I make you understand that all I do is in your best interest?” The woman bent forward. Her long locks tickled the side of his face. She smiled but the smile seemed as breakable as glass. “I won’t make it a point to explain, but this time I’ll make an exception. You need to learn that I can be trusted. I want you to draw another glass of water for you, my dearest. As you said, I already have a glass. You see,” she said, lifting an eyebrow. “I only think of you.”

He blinked, unsure. But he knew not to question a second time. If she sent the pain now neither the red nor the stone would be enough. His mind would be gone. At times he wondered if it was already. Was it insanity that formed those images? Were his memories something he had created in his imagination? Was this who he truly was?

Clutching his ribcage he rose and went to the water. He continued to hold an anguished look, feigning that the kick had injured him more than it really had. If she didn’t think it hurt he might very well get another clout.

Careful not to spill any of the liquid he trotted back. She didn’t like dawdling. He had learned to be swift. As he handed the cup to her he felt an expected wave of pleasure pass though him. The woman smiled and ran a finger down his cheek.

She guided the cup to his lips. “It’s yours, didn’t I tell you?” The water tasted wonderful. Normally he was only allowed one glass a day, at mealtime. It seemed she was telling the truth. His brow furrowed. She said she did everything for him. If that were true then why did she hurt him?

She smiled again. All he could do was stare. She was beautiful. He wanted to reach out and touch her long, dark hair, but something held him back. His mind couldn’t understand why he felt repulsion when he touched her, but the feeling wouldn’t leave him. It wasn’t because she hurt him. He had gotten used to that. It had to do with the red image he carried.

Just as he was about to reach for the red image the pleasure swept him away. He rode the waves as they swept him under. Soon they were too much for him to withstand. He released himself and plummeted into their depths, swallowing the galvanizing pulse, letting the shock flow through his entire essence.

He twined through the sea, releasing every muscle, not even bothering to breathe. The pleasure was so enveloping he couldn’t move. His mind was black, like the stone.

The top of the water was too far out of reach. Soon he would drown. He struggled, but his arms moved only a fraction.

Too much. Too much. Too much. The pleasure started to hurt. Desperate, he flailed in the water, but he only managed to shiver as he continued to plummet to the painful bottom of pleasure.

With anguished force he reached for the red image. It came immediately. He clung to it, fighting the pleasurable pain. The red formed a rope, a saving rope that floated to the surface of the pool of pleasure. His lungs burned from lack of air but he began to climb, higher and higher, until he reached the surface. When he broke free he screamed, releasing water from his lungs, but he didn’t stop there. He continued to climb until he reached the place the rope had started. It was a landing, a pure black landing. He collapsed on its smooth, ebony surface to regain his breath. The strength of the stone seeped inside him, caressing him with emotions he couldn’t place.

He crawled to the edge of the landing and looked down at the pleasurable water below. He knew he couldn’t do without the pleasure for long, but he didn’t want to go back. He wanted to remain on the smooth stone.

Something touched his cheek. Something else lifted his hand. He wanted to brush it away but he was too weak. It wouldn’t go away.

He opened his eyes and looked into her face. For a fleeting heartbeat he saw her brows wither in concern, but as soon as the worried expression came it evaporated, leaving nothing but a stoic smile. The woman dropped to her knees and cradled his head in her lap. His entire body ached, but he was accustomed to the feeling. He was so tired. He just wanted to rest.

He closed his eyes. A shade of a huge, burly man flashed before him. He heard a woman’s laughter, another’s scream. His heart raced. An intense loathing filled him. When he looked at the woman again he wanted to recoil, but he was too tired. All he could do was deny her on the inside.

“Do you know who you are, Chris?”

Chris. The name sounded familiar. He thought about trying to reach for the stone but decided against it. He was too tired to care, far too tired to care.

He managed to shake his head.

“Chris is your name, my sweet – Christopher Eric Kahn to be exact. You’re a prince, my love. Your people believe you dead. Thankfully, I’ve found you and will restore you to your people. They’ll be exuberant. When we arrive at your home I want you to marry me. Would you do that for me?”

A soft lap of the pleasurable water found its way over his black stone, sending an oscillating pulse inside him. As he forced the stone higher the waves followed. It was a losing battle. His feelings were out of his control.

He looked into her eyes. He didn’t want to marry her. He hated the feelings of pleasure, and he abhorred the intensity of the pain.

“Never,” he managed to whisper.

As soon as the word was spoken he was racked with a stabbing anguish. It was so intense he felt himself falling from the stone, mind exploding from the change in emotion. He began to pray he would forget his loathing, the red, the stone, and just agree to the woman’s demands. If he agreed he was sure to be left alone. That was all he wanted, wasn’t it?

Yes, that was what he wanted. He would agree. He had to agree.

He began to mumble pleas of forgiveness to names he didn’t remember, surprised his ignorance was what hurt him most of all.

- - -

It was well past midnight but Marva wasn’t tired. She walked beside the queen down the well-lit streets of Ziera to the most populated bar in the city,
The Dragon’s Bane
. Even from their distance she could hear the night’s activities commencing, but although loud chatter and the clinking of glasses seemed normal, Marva could sense the undercurrent of tension.

The few people they had passed jumped at their own shadows. Marva had a good mind to clout every one of them. People who shrunk inside themselves instead of fighting for their beliefs infuriated her. She knew good and well the people in the city still believed in Ren, despite the evidence against him. Marva shook her head and mumbled under her breath. Beside her, Renee remained silent.

Renee hadn’t spoken since their escape. At first Marva thought Renee had gone slightly mad due to the desecration of her body, but she soon realized Renee was healing in her own way, rationalizing the injustice of the Lands in her own mind.

Marva knew there was no rationalizing their torture, but she was also trying to come to grips with what had happened. She had lost her unborn because of Ickba’s dalliances. Why? What did the Maker want her to learn from the experience? How could the death of her unborn serve to benefit the Lands?

Placing her hand on her stomach Marva was surprised to find she had to stifle tears, but beneath those tears her fury took on a new dimension. She was almost blinded by the intensity of it. Maybe the Maker wanted her to be furious. Maybe fury would help her fight. Currently, she felt furious enough to demolish Ista’s entire army with a mere thought.

Marva shifted her gaze to the tall shadow dwarfing Stardom. The left side of the structure had yet to be completed, but with the speed it had been built the New Alcazar would be finished in days. The feat was almost unfathomable until she thought about what Ren had done with magic.

The laden bag still swung at Renee’s side. Blood had long since saturated the white cloth, so at the outskirts of the city Marva had rewrapped the prize in one of their traveling blankets. Renee hadn’t refuted her actions, but before Marva had finished Renee had taken it from her once again.

The burden hadn’t left the queen’s side since their escape. The fire in her eyes told Marva that if anyone doubted Renee, the queen wouldn’t hesitate to use the sword again.

They knew where they needed to go.
The Dragon’s Bane
was well known for it patrons. They were both rich and poor, merchants and ruffians, but all of them had one thing in common: they had connections.