Faith Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 2) (14 page)

If you wanted to find a man, seek swift action, begin a revolt, or have word spread quickly you went to
The Dragon’s Bane
. However, the pub was well tended, and if Elderec, the pub’s owner, didn’t know you or want your kind inside you didn’t get inside. It was that simple.

Even Ren, during his occasional escapes to the city, had been observed in the pub. Marva had questioned him about it once. He had just smiled and said, “Well, Marva, if you only had a short time, and wanted to learn as much as you could during that time, where would you go?”

And Ren was right.

The clinking became louder the closer they went, and soon the pub could be seen in the distance.
The Dragon’s Bane
was an imposing structure. With two floors taking up a good city block, the building looked more like a large stable than a pub. Marva had heard it could house hundreds of people without anyone brushing shoulders.

Marva stopped and let Renee walk up the steps that separated them from admittance. Renee knocked, softly at first, but when clinking glasses inundated her entreaty she rapped louder. A few patrons close to the door stopped their loud chatter and yelled for Elderec. Heartbeats later a large, wide shadow opened the door and peered down at them.

For the first time Marva really observed what she and the queen were wearing. She blinked in surprise. Her gown was filthy, and Renee’s gown was splattered with blood. It was a wonder the people they had passed hadn’t run away screaming. They looked worse than two beggareds.

The shadow moved its head. “Don’t take your kind here.” Without another word the door slammed in their faces.

Renee didn’t make a move to leave. She knocked again.

Muffled curses came from inside before the door swung open for the second time. Renee stepped forward before the shadow could speak.

“Elderec, if you don’t grant us entrance I’ll have you hung for treason.”

There could be no mistaking the queen’s voice. This time Marva saw the whites of the shadow’s eyes widen in shock. Elderec backed up, mumbling apologies under his breath.

When they stepped into the pub a hush fell over the crowd. The minstrel, oblivious to the sudden quiet, kept playing a lively tune on his flute. He was soon silenced as one of the patrons reached over and ripped the instrument from his grip. Blinking in shock, the minstrel opened his mouth to speak, but when his eyes fell on Renee no words followed.

Marva wished she had a talent for painting. The shock reverberating through the crowd was worth a thousand strokes of the brush. The crowd was just as Marva expected. A few wore coats of the finest make. Gold trimmings and silver brocades decorated their shoulders and armbands. Others wore less extravagant styles, the type wealthy merchants would don, with leather trimmings and brass buttons. Still others wore outlandish attire, the kind those of the lower ranks would wear to flaunt the little wealth they did acquire. The remainder wore shabby garments but their hair and teeth marked them as the upper of the lower class. Servants bustled about in all directions, filling orders with deft speed. Although there were a few women in the crowd they weren’t harlots, on the contrary, they were from the city’s underground, a few possibly from the black market.

A small boy with blond hair and eyes the color of almonds pushed his way to the front of the throng. He was young, no older than five, but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his intelligence, and the dirt coating his clothes suggested he could find trouble as well as a hound could hunt rabbits. One of the women grabbed him by the arm, silently ordering him to mind his manners.

Once Renee’s face was bathed in the soft light of the pub no one could mistake who she was. Her blue eyes swept the crowd with both regal authority and harsh judgment. A few faces held a touch of fear, but most held adoration. After the initial shock had passed a few reverent utterances of, “My queen” could be heard filtering through the throng.

For the first time in Marva’s life she held her tongue. Everything would be better coming from the queen.

Renee stepped forward and put the bundle on the bar. It hit the wood with a loud “thunk.” A few of the rougher crowd blinked in shock as they placed the package’s weight with its shape.

“I don’t know whose side you’re on, and I’m not here to sway you in either direction, but if any of you know Ren there should be no doubt who or what to believe.” A few whispers started but quickly silenced.

“I’m here for one purpose and one purpose only: to tell you Ista is controlling the Collective. She inserts needles inside their minds and controls them with magic. Once you’re one of the Collective you’re a pawn, nothing more.”

There were more whispers, now a few angry.

Renee motioned to Marva. “Marva and I were captured by one of her pawns. We killed him.”

Renee turned and opened the blanket. A few muffled gasps wafted through the air as one of Ickba’s eyes, now dark and murky, stared at the crowd. Elderec took a step back, his obesity shaking the floor. After running one hand through his greasy hair he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and took a long haul.

“I’m leaving this with you. You can examine it at your leisure. If you split open his skull you’ll find the needles. If any more proof is needed I’m sure one of you can arrange for a few of the Collective to have tragic accidents.”

After an awkward silence a tall, thin man stepped forward. He looked to be a lower class merchant. He wore a thick red coat with brass buttons, but adorned no other decoration. His boots were tall but they were well worn and a small hole was visible near the heel.

“My lady, I don’t think any of us doubt your words, but what do you propose we do? Ista has magic. We don’t. Mere swords will do nothing to her or her kind.”

Renee’s gaze swept the room once more. Even in tatters she commanded attention. When she spoke her voice was like an executioners. “I’m not asking you to fight magic; I’m asking you to spread the word. I’m not asking you to oppose Ista; I’m asking you to watch and wait, for when I return I’ll return with an army. And when I do, I don’t want you to fight openly but covertly. Take as many of the Collective down as you can before we enter the gates.”

The queen turned and walked to the door, expecting Marva to follow. Marva did so, thinking of the queen’s words. Now they would ride to Ketes, as Ren had first charged them to do, and entreat Bostic to attack.

Before the queen reached the door she spun and surveyed the room with an icy glare.

“And I warn you, if any of you side with Ista, be far, far away from here when I return.”

- - -

Aaron studied Manda as he sat before the dwindling fire. She was incredible to him. When he had first touched her he had felt the unbelievable pain and torment she had endured, but he had also felt the unbounded love she held for her brother. Although he had avenged more horrible stories, Manda had felt the most pain.

The amazing thing was the pain she had first felt was none of her own. It was the agony of seeing her brother suffer. Only after she had left to seek help did she give in to her own pain. And that, on top of her worry for Chris, was what sent her into what Aaron called, “The first death.” He hadn’t seen any survive the first death until Manda.

Aaron turned his gaze to Lazo. The familiarity of the triplet’s voice, his soothing words, and his pleadings were the only reason Manda lived. Aaron had witnessed it, but he hadn’t thought Manda would wake. The first death was strong. He had held many during their stupor, and each one had died in his arms. Manda’s pain was no less, and perhaps more. Yet she lived.

Manda amazed him. After her own anguish she had faced her memories days later. Lazo lived as well, without any sign of the Mar or its effects. In fact Lazo had emerged from the trees with his head held high, clutching Manda’s hand in tender affection and daring the Mar to claim him. And Manda had been reborn.

Now Aaron was witnessing the Manda Lazo had whispered of: the fiery eyed, witty, vivacious, winsome girl whose sole purpose in life was making people smile.

Manda and Lazo whirled past him as Fraul bellowed an out-of-tune jig on his hastily carved flute. Manda’s laughter sent rivers of happiness down Aaron’s spine, but a smile didn’t find his lips. He had almost forgotten how to smile. It had been so long since he had felt anything but pain.

Aaron watched Lazo and Manda dance around him, still enthralled by the pair. They had found strength and hope in each other, had cleansed each other’s wounds and shared a profound intimacy, yet it was clear they would never join to one. What had happened between them was sacred, Aaron could see it in their eyes, but their friendship was only enhanced, not in any way altered.

Lazo was now as protective of Manda as a mother was of a child. He insisted on helping her with everything, frowned when either Aaron or Fraul unintentionally caused her discomfort, and bit his lip in consternation when she put herself in harm’s way. Manda took his doting with stride but laughed at his mannerisms and never missed a chance to tease him about his care.

Despite all her banter, Manda was no less affectionate concerning Lazo, although her caring surfaced in different ways. She hugged Lazo repeatedly, touching his hand every so often in tender affection and fussed over his bedroll when he went to wash, pacing until he was back within her sights. When he did return, although she always teased him for taking too long her eyes sparkled up at him in a way Aaron yearned for someone to look at him. But Manda’s look wasn’t a romantic look, and Lazo’s grin wasn’t a romantic grin. The looks they gave each other were deeply affectionate but in no sense carnal. It was almost as if Lazo had superimposed Manda as his twin, and Manda had found someone else to worry about besides her brother.

Aaron still couldn’t believe it. He had seen the terror in Manda’s eyes before she had followed Lazo into the forest, and he remembered Lazo’s tremors beforehand. When Aaron had insinuated Manda’s sacrifice was Lazo’s only chance he hadn’t believed it would be enough.

Yes, Manda was truly the most beautiful creature he had met since Kyra.

Aaron looked into the fire, trying hard to banish Kyra from his thoughts and then feeling remorse for doing so. Kyra was his soul, but she would try to take it, as she had done so many times before. And it would be soon. She had waited longer than she had in years. He wouldn’t be surprised if she came in the next breath.

Manda’s laughter echoed around him. His lips formed a grin, a real grin, not one of irony or conquest but one of unfettered happiness. Aaron closed his eyes and relished the feeling. Manda’s laughter tickled his spine. It was contagious. He found himself chuckling for no other reason beyond the joy of being with her and hearing her obnoxious giggle.

His feelings shocked him. The last time he had felt joy was heartbeats before he had become the Avenger. With Kyra in his arms nothing but joy could be felt, and nothing could ever compare, not even the joy he was feeling now.

For him to be feeling anything but pain was a phenomenon. He was pain. By definition, the Avenger felt so much pain if his pain was given to another, even slowly, that person would die within heartbeats. It was too much for anyone else to bear.

The Avenger had been born through so much love and pain nothing could surpass the intensity of those feelings. So with each avenging, the love and pain of the betrayed just soaked into him, making his love and pain all the more strong; but because his last thoughts were saturated with pain, because those he avenged were experiencing love’s pain at its culmination, pain was his dominate element. He had to concentrate on the love to feel it. But when he did …

Aaron closed his eyes and blocked out the surrounding sounds. He dove inward and immersed himself in the pool of pain. It was much more than the surface pain he felt. It was complete, seeping into his every pore. He swam down to its icy depths, gritting his teeth, every fiber telling him he wasn’t going to make it this time. When he crashed through the bottom of the pool, love engulfed him.

He collapsed in its warmth and tried to calm his rapid heartbeat. The love oscillated over him, pulsed through him, cleansing every pore. As he lay there he felt Kyra, smelled her natural perfume and heard her whispers. He relished his thoughts, clung to them like a lover, knowing they would soon be gone. Kyra was always the first one he felt. Then the others came: the love of all the betrayeds in the order of his avenging. He awaited them, welcomed them, felt the love they held for the betrayer. Finally, Manda’s love tore threw him. It was unadulterated, unblemished, and shone like the morning star.

But the love quickly faded, which was why he rarely came to this place. Although he could find love he had to go through pain to reach it and to leave it. He looked above him at the pool of pain. When he reemerged he would remember little of the love. He was the Avenger. Love was second to the pain. The pain was his magic: love’s pain, the strongest emotion of all.

The distant flutter of laughter resonated through the pool, giving him the strength he needed to dive through once again. As the cold black sorrow ripped through him he repressed a scream. When he opened his eyes only a trace of the love still held firm. Despair rose inside him. He yearned to feel love again, love without the pain, but that was a tenuous dream. If he ever did feel love again it would fall far short of his love for Kyra, and that alone would cause him to turn away.

Manda and Lazo were still dancing. Manda’s giggle rolled through the air like a refreshing breeze. Aaron watched her. Or could he love again? When he heard Manda’s laugh his entire body tingled with pleasure. It excited him and frightened him at the same time. He was the Avenger. The Avenger came and went. But then he was supposed to live again, as Aaron, not as the Avenger. That was the very reason Kyra came to him after each avenging.

Aaron fingered the hilt of his sword and frowned. This was his last chance. Magic had been reborn. If he didn’t agree to Kyra’s demands he would never live again as the Avenger or as Aaron.

He had refused Kyra’s request for centuries. Why would this time be different? It wouldn’t. He could never do what she asked. How could he?