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

Before choosing which kingdom to serve, Presario had traveled back to his father’s lands. While he was there a fire broke out. No one knew the details of the event, but Presario was burned beyond recognition. Instead of seeking healers Presario went into hiding.

Now Presario resided in the sections of his father’s home untouched by the flames. Only one servant stayed with him. The Advisor Convent had tried to meet with him after the accident, but Presario wouldn’t receive them. His teachers had sent messages imploring him not to waste his life, but Presario met them with silence. The man chose to stay closed to the world. He never ventured out of the castle walls and no one to Ramie’s knowledge had ever been allowed inside. The only accounts of Presario were from his servant, who sought books to keep the man occupied.

Because Presario was trained as an advisor some people tried to gain an audience. For a time all accounts were refused, until one day the servant told a woman to write down her vexation. Presario replied in kind.

If added together, Ramie recalled multiple accounts of Presario’s instructions. It seemed as long as the questions were sincere and heartfelt Presario replied.

Ramie gazed at the statue with conviction. It was imperative he speak with Presario. There was no end to what the man must know. Presario could possibly know everything happening in the Lands. Those who obtained his replies raved about how much Presario knew about their own lives – secrets even.

And books, Presario’s servant paid handsomely for rare books. If there was a book in the Lands about magic Presario was sure to have it.

Ramie turned to Javi’s balled form. She wouldn’t approve if he left without telling her, but he didn’t want to hear her objections. Time was of the essence. If he waited until sunup, those who saw him leave would insist on an escort, and an escort was out of the question. Presario didn’t like people. If Ramie went with an escort even a note would be turned away.

He shuffled through the parchments on his desk until he found one of little worth. After tearing off a small section he reached for his stylus, scrawled a short note to Javi, and propped it against her jewelry chest. She would find it when she woke.

He donned his deep navy cloak and slipped out of the bedroom. Ramie nodded to the puzzled guard and walked down the marbled hall before he was questioned.

The Crest castle was grandiose. He had always wished it was less so but it was built for beauty as well as defense. Ramie admitted it was beautiful, but he also thought it bordered on the verge of being obscene.

The hall was alive with colors: pinkish gray marbled floors, burgundy walls decorated with golden accents, vessels of gold on gray marble tables, and painted ceilings exploding with hues of every tone imaginable. As boys he and Nigel used to peruse each scene and create monumental fabrications of the figures residing within the brushstrokes.

His lone footfalls breached the sanctity of the hall, disturbing the slumber of the painted faces. When he reached the smaller corridor leading to the stables, he turned. Although the smaller hall still held extravagant decorations they were less frantic, with softer pastels, and longer, more soothing brush strokes. With the way he felt now the pastels clashed with his impassioned resolve.

Underlying his focus he felt something he had little use for – desperation. Ramie Augustus felt desperate. He had never been desperate in his life. He suddenly realized he had felt desperate ever since leaving Zier. He didn’t like the feeling. As a matter of fact he was on a mission to be rid of it.

When he arrived at the stables he released a breath and reached for the cold iron handle that separated him from the freedom of the ride. He knew he should take a minimum of ten men with him, but he didn’t know the extent of Presario’s knowledge or sight. He would take no one, humble himself before the man, and if he had to he would insist on an audience with Presario.

Ramie took a quick surveillance of his clothing and scowled. He was a king and he looked the part. He would be a sure target for vandals if he went out as he was. It would be hard enough to conceal his face since his portrait was imprinted on every coin in Oldan. He had argued avidly against his facial imprint but his advisors had won the fight. After all, he was the youngest controlling ruler in history. His advisors insisted he follow tradition and have his portrait imprinted on all currency to assure loyalty to his visage.

Ramie opened the door and went straight for the storage bins where the stable hands kept spare garments. After a short search he chose a well-worn brown buckskin shirt and baggy trousers. Shoving his father’s memento mori into one of his pockets, he pulled the disguise over his clothes. Although the fit was tight he didn’t want to leave his clothes behind. He wanted to appear the stable hand while traveling but he may very well need his royal attire when he demanded to see Presario.

When the façade was in place he took one of the ropes hanging on the peg near the door and tied it around his waist, spitting invectives when he saw how much of the trousers remained bunched at his ankles. He found a blade in the storage area and cut the trousers to size.

As he made his way to Mortar, his steed nickered a greeting and pawed the earth. Just as Ramie was about to open the stall, he paused. “My friend, you’re much too regal for a stable hand.”

Ramie walked the length of the straw-filled stable, finally selecting one of the horses used to pull heavy cargo. The wooden sign on the stall christened the inhabitant as Foster, a rust-colored mare that looked fast if not well bred. Foster looked at him with disinterest but allowed him to stroke her muzzle. After a quick rubdown Ramie guided his chosen mount out of the stall and saddled her, feeling like a little boy trying to sneak out of the castle for an adventure.

But it wasn’t so much an adventure as it was a crusade.

Foster proved faster than Ramie expected. The horse could rival Mortar in the races. Although she wouldn’t win, she’d put up an incredibly good fight. He would reach Presario’s hometown of Mintree by dawn. Ramie praised the Maker Presario resided where he did. The man could have lived in some far off region, making him impossible to reach quickly.

Foster hungered to move faster but Ramie held her back, fearing the rocky terrain would cause her harm if she went at full gait. As they cantered in the dark, sparse trees jutted out into the gloom like hands waiting to grab him. It was flat in Yor, extremely flat, contrasting with the hills and mountains he had been to of late. Although Yor was surrounded by water the internal sections appeared as if water never reached them. The soil was rocky and dry and if you didn’t know better you would have sworn water was the farthest thing away.

The Crest castle had been built on the water’s edge, where canals, lily vines, and moss-covered trees dominated the landscape. It was as if you were in a paradise, but only paces away lurked the Abyss. Ramie loved the variety, and he especially loved nighttime excursions. The peaceful sounds of the echo bugs brought back memories of nighttime jaunts with Nigel. But as he rode toward Presario’s castle he had an ominous feeling. He felt watchful eyes on him. Every so often he would reach under his tunic and finger the hilt of his sword.

When the sun started to peek through the clouds Ramie reined in Foster and reached for the map he had tucked into the saddlebag. Ramie swiveled in the saddle, cursing as the right bottom leg of his frayed breeches hung on one of the saddle’s brass ornaments. Mumbling invectives about his height, Ramie dismounted, tearing his breeches in the process.

Ramie detached the satchel and pulled the map from its contents. He knew the roads leading to Mintree, but he wanted to be sure he took the one leading directly to the center of town. As he remembered, Presario’s castle sat at the end of the main road and he couldn’t afford to waste time coming at it from odd angles.

He was about to unroll the scrolled parchment when Foster screeched. Ramie bounded back just as Foster toppled to the ground.

Ramie stared, dumbfounded and incredulous, as a weasel-like creature attached itself to the fallen mare. Blood spurted from the sides of the creature’s gaping jaws before it settled into a comfortable position and relaxed to feed.

The creature’s beady eyes swiveled to him. Ramie felt their power just as he remembered the childhood stories.

It was a nesbit, and nesbits attacked things standing still.

Ramie started running. He didn’t know if there were any more nesbits in the area but he didn’t care to find out. As a child he had never thought to ask if nesbits hunted in packs or alone, but he hadn’t known he would ever need the knowledge. All he knew was that Foster was dead as soon as the nesbit had bitten. He had to run and he had to run fast.

He kept fit by continuous swordplay and occasional forays in the summer games, but he knew he would soon tire. Slowing to a jog, Ramie set a steady rhythm. He kept a leery eye on the barren landscape, but all he saw was scattered trees, rocky terrain, and occasional patches of night flowers, reminding those passing that life could grow in a barren land. He kept jogging anyway.

With the full light of dawn Ramie slowed to a quick walk, but his eyes darted to each side, continuously watching for more magical creatures.

The sun rose in the distance, outlining of buildings of Mintree. At one time Mintree had been one of the most populated inner cities of Yor. Although water was scarce, Presario’s father had produced a large livestock trade. Mintree thrived and many craftsmen moved in, increasing the population even further. When Presario’s estate had burned the city ceased to have the inflow of capital it once had, and most townsfolk were forced to leave.

As Ramie strode down the center street he felt ridiculous in his tattered clothes but refrained from taking them off. No one would believe a king would walk into Mintree on foot, especially without an escort. If he voiced his true identity most would only think him a fair look alike.

It appeared Mintree hadn’t seen a visitor in some time. The structures on either side of the wide street were in their last stages of life. Rotten boards hung over doors and windows, roofs were sunken and decayed, and soiled rags fluttered in the breeze, waving farewell to the city they once knew. The structures squeaked every so often in response to either a slight breeze or their own aging.

Presario’s castle stood at the end of the street, a herald of the city’s ruin. It loomed over the rest of the city in blackened shards, its hollow windows smiling at the disparaged scene below. Only the top left-hand corner of the castle remained untouched, and though it was beautiful, with cream turrets and gold trim, it looked appalling attached to the rest of the mansion, as if the black, festering wound would seep into its purity and mar any chance of salvation.

Ramie shook off his foreboding thoughts and started for the keep, but stopped short as a few noises drifted to him. The city looked deserted but the sounds were unmistakable. Perusing the street Ramie noted a few of the buildings looked less rickety than the others. One of the sounds came from a building a few paces up and to his right. The sign had long since faded but the horseshoe nailed to its surface betrayed its purpose.

On careful examination, Ramie could see the blacksmith through the open window, long gray beard wavering as he pounded on something he would soon fire into shape. Thinking the man may have a horse for sale, Ramie approached. His soft leather shoes made no sound on the dusty street.

“Excuse me, do you happen to have a horse for sale?” Ramie asked in the most respectable tone he had. He wasn’t used to asking for things so he hardly knew how to go about doing it.

The blacksmith jumped, dropping what would soon become an ornate sword, and looked at Ramie with a mixture of startlement and ire. The clanging of the dropped weapon rang through the morning’s air like thunder. Ramie couldn’t help but chuckle as he apologized for his sudden appearance.

The blacksmith shook a blackened finger at him. “Don’t ever do that to another being again! I could have dropped that iron on my foot! Then where would that leave me, hum?” The blacksmith leaned out the open window and peered at Ramie with wide eyes. “I would be blind and crippled now, wouldn’t I?”

It was only then Ramie noticed the man’s blank stare. The way his eyes wavered in the sunlight should have given him away, but Ramie hadn’t been looking for anything out of the ordinary.

“I’m sorry,” Ramie said. “I meant no harm. I just thought you might have a horse I could purchase. Mine gave out on the ride over.”

The man grinned. “Here to see Presario?” His teeth were rotten, a few gone. The man’s fetid breath caused Ramie to take a step back.

“Yes, I am,” he said, glancing at the castle. It towered above him, grinning in mockery.

The blacksmith picked up the unfinished sword. “Only Presario can tell you if I have a horse for sale,” he said, dismissing Ramie as if he were a fly on a horse’s ass.

Ramie raised his eyebrows. “Presario isn’t a king or a god. He has no power to tell you what you can and cannot do.”

The blacksmith’s blank stare and crooked grin reminded Ramie of something from a child’s nightmare.

“Oh yes he does, my friend.” The sightless eyes sparkled. “Oh yes he does!”

- - -

Ramie was furious. He had been trying to purchase a horse from the blacksmith for a degree of the sun, but all the man could do was point to the castle.

“What if I told you I was Ramie Augustus?”

“I would tell you to talk to Presario. Ramie is nothing in this town; Presario is all.”

Ramie’s blood boiled. He spun from the man and marched toward the castle. His sense of foreboding evaporated with his anger like steam from a kettle.

The blacksmith’s raspy voice called after him. “I wouldn’t try if I were you. Presario doesn’t take kindly to visitors.”

Ramie spun to ask how he was supposed to request a horse from Presario without visiting, but the blacksmith’s window slammed in his face. Ramie resisted the urge to take a broken board from the street and shatter the hazy glass.