Faith Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 2) (23 page)

The ship drug for a few heartbeats, as if the horse was an anchor trying to stop their progress, before breaking free. The Druids went back to their tasks in silence.

“What was that for?” Ren asked as he caught a glimpse of something large descending deeper into the water’s depths.

“The Protector.”

“You mean the creature that once lived in the sea to guard the Druids?” Ren asked. He had read about it a few times, but it wasn’t written about frequently. Not many had seen it.

“Yes.” Morrus spoke in a monotone. Ren could tell Morrus wanted the conversation to end there. Ren obliged, not wanting to anger the man he considered the last friend he would ever see.

“It’s time to retire,” Morrus said. “A bed is set up for you. Shall I show you where?”

“No, I want to stay awake.” Ren wanted to say he wouldn’t think of sleeping the night before his death, but he knew that would be cruel. He wasn’t going to be put to death. He was just meeting his fate.

“Good night,” Morrus said softly. “May the Maker smile upon you.”

“Morrus?”

The Druid paused. “Yes.”

“How many will close it?”

“For you? You’re very strong. If you’re willing, I would say no less than a few hundred.”

“Does someone lead it?”

“Yes.”

Ren nodded. Morrus turned away.

“Morrus?”

The Druid paused and looked back. Ren didn’t want to anger his friend, but he felt the need to say what he would. “It’s never too late for anyone’s soul.”

Morrus hesitated but finally retreated. Ren listened to the Druid’s fading footsteps. He felt empty, drained, but he wasn’t tired. Actually he was more awake than he had ever been. He thought he would feel bitter, but he only felt acceptance: kill his mother, destroy Aidan’s belief, and sacrifice his soul. He had already done the first two, now there was only the sacrifice of himself. He almost welcomed it. He had hurt the two people he loved most in the world.

He leaned against the railing, welcoming the cool breeze of the Old Sea and the spray of the chill water. Something rubbed against his rib cage. Ren pulled out the prophecy book. He had forgotten all about it.

Ren fingered the silver dragon on the cover. Its blue eyes bore into him, telling him he was missing the message, overlooking a crucial piece of the plan. He opened the cover to the first prophecy. He studied it briefly before turning the pages in search of a new prophecy. With each blank page his mood deepened. He realized he searched for words to assure him he would remain whole.

Then, without warning, the book disappeared from his hands.

- - -

Markum stared at the door in front of him and tried to remember the two prophecies in the prophecy book word for word. It was impossible. He knew he didn’t have the wording right, and one word could make a colossal difference in interpretation.

He wished for the book. When it appeared in his hands Markum gave a short, colorful exclamation and then cursed his stupidity. Of course he could dream the book! Why hadn’t he thought of it before!

But before he turned to the next page his hand stopped in midair. The book hadn’t come to him closed. It had come to him open. Markum stared at the blank pages, confused.

As the implications filled him, Markum drew a sharp breath. This was the real book. He was using the Quy. He couldn’t use magic in the real world but he could in the dream world. That was his power.

Holy Maker! The implications!

And Ren had the book open. Ren had been reading it when Markum had called it to him.

When the quill appeared in the air beside him, Markum took it and scrawled a hasty note in the margin, chuckling as he recalled his dream about the notes. It had been the second dream with the wolven. Words had appeared in the margins. Now he was the one writing them.

Placing the quill in the center pages he sent the book away with a mere thought and began to pace. If Ren could read it they could communicate, help each other, but if he could create magic only in his dreams his words may be unreadable in the real world.

There were too many possibilities. When a sufficient amount of time had passed Markum willed the book back. His writing was still there, and a new note was scribbled beside his own.

Ren had replied.

Yes, I can see this. Who am I writing to?

He replied:
It’s me, Markum. I’m in the dream world. Somehow I made it here before the adder’s poison took hold. There are thousands of doors in here: doors to dreams. I believe these doors are what the dreamweaver prophecy foreshadowed. I have to open your door, your dream. Any ideas?

He watched the book disappear and waited, excitement building. He had contact! He looked around him. Even though he had eliminated many doors there were still thousands left. He studied the door in front of him. No, it wasn’t the one. It disappeared with a wave of his hand.

When he thought he had given Ren enough time to reply, he brought the book back. What it said drained all color from his face.

Markum, praise the Maker you’re safe. I’m with the Druids. They’re closing my door. Maybe somehow …

The words “maybe somehow” had been scratched out.

Find it, Markum. Find it fast
.

The island of Dresden crept closer, both beautiful and terrifying. White spiny birch trees lined a lone walkway leading to the stark white structure of the Obelisk. The scene would have been serene had there been any sound coming from shore, but all was still.

Ren sucked in a breath and focused on the new hope he carried inside him like a shield. Markum was alive, and Markum could help him.

He remembered Fate’s words:
Believe in you
.

It was the last thing Fate had told him. He had been over and over those words, dissecting them, weighing them for their true meaning, and as the ship hit the shore Ren thought he understood.

Fate had told him everything had a divine purpose. Closing his door was a means to his divine purpose. If this was a means, it was not the end. He traced the lines on the hilt of the Quy’s sword – the symbol for victory. Ren’s resolve deepened in the pit of his stomach. He wouldn’t let the Druids take his memories. They could have his power, but not his memories.

If he believed, anything was possible.

And it was then Ren realized a profound truth.

He wasn’t a prisoner of fate but a prisoner of doubt.

As a flaw could mar a stone so a doubt could mar a soul. If he didn’t believe in the Maker’s ultimate purpose and in himself to rise victorious and see that purpose through he would hold something back, not give his all, and he would fail. Holding back was an excuse, a scapegoat for failures. Failures could be avoided by belief and giving all of one’s self to the task at hand.

The Maker had deemed him the Chosen. The Maker hadn’t put him here to die. The Maker had put him here to follow his path and rise victorious.

The ship lurched to sudden a halt. His constellation was no longer visible in the morning’s light, and the latter half of the night had been overcast. It would have been reassuring to see the white haze representing the One encompassing the center star, but so were the whims of chance.

The Obelisk sat beneath a blanket of clouds. Its top was barely visible, but Ren could faintly make out the lines of the temple. It was pyramid-shaped but slender. Then he saw the large flat base hidden among the mist, forming a second pyramid that anchored the prominent yet slender culmination.

“This is where I say farewell.”

Ren turned to his friend. There was a strange hopelessness in Morrus’ eyes, but something in Morrus’ voice told Ren the closing was the furthest thing from the Druid’s mind.

“May your Maker deliver you. The Lands wouldn’t be as fair without you in them. Courage to you, my prince.”

The Druid turned without giving Ren an opportunity to reply.

“Morrus?”

Morrus stopped, but didn’t turn to face him. Ren felt a ripple of warning. Something was wrong, and it had nothing to do with him. It had to do with Morrus. Ren glanced at Avalon. The younger Druid was watching them. Avalon’s emotionless mask confirmed Ren’s suspicions.

When Ren turned back Morrus was gone, and hundreds of Druids were waiting on the shore. Their gray robes swayed around them, and each one held his hands in the unanswered prayer pose with palms almost touching. All eyes were on him. He hadn’t even heard them coming.

He searched the shore. There was no sign of Morrus. There wasn’t one friendly face among a nest of vipers. Even the air seemed to radiate evil.

For one terrifying breath Ren doubted his interpretation of Fate’s words.

But then they echoed in his mind once more, quenching his doubt. This was his fate, his spiral. He was walking the path the Maker wanted him to walk. And the Maker wasn’t cruel. Although he didn’t understand the why, he would accept the how. Ren drew a deep breath, the fire deepening in his soul.

Strong hands grabbed him from behind and a sharp pain shot through his shoulder. Before he could react, Avalon and Welch were beside him, fettering his wrists. Another Druid stepped from his side, holding a dagger with a bloodied tip. A stream of blood ran down his arm from the deep scratch the Druid and inflicted. Ren stumbled for balance as his vision blurred. The dagger’s tip had been tainted with a drug.

He had come willingly. Why were they drugging him?

Before the thought was out, multiple feathers brushed his mind. The Druids were trying to close him before he had seen the One.

Rage surged through him. How dare they! He had made only one request. One!

The fire inside him heated in intensity. The Druids on the shore closed their eyes and raised their arms to the heavens.

The feathers became a whip screaming toward him, its spiked end seeking blood.

The wind from the whip brushed his cheek, but Ren felt no fear. He focused on his belief in the Maker, in goodness, and in his ultimate fate. He heated those beliefs higher.

As the whip touched his cheek his head came up with a hollow clap of thunder. The whip hit a barrier and bounced back. Ren was encased in a cylinder of internal power, heated by his belief and forming a shield nothing could penetrate.

The whip dissipated into distinct threads, surrounding him, pushing hard. Ren leaned into the thick wall and pushed back. He didn’t try to analyze his wall, he just kept his belief hot and pushed harder. He searched the shore for Morrus, feeling betrayed, but Morrus was gone.

Avalon leered beside him. “Your friend has been taken, Chosen. I’m the LoDrek now.”

Ren felt his barrier waver at Avalon’s words. With an anguished cry he reached inside and threw everything he had into the block, slamming into the wall he had created with full force.

The barrier strengthened. The threads dissipated. The corner of Avalon’s eye twitched violently. Ren smiled. He had won, and Avalon knew it.

“I told you to take me to the One.” Ren’s voice was calm, but it was laced with cold steel. “I intend for you to keep your end of the bargain.”

A small chortle escaped Avalon’s lips. The Druid leaned closer, foul breath full of fury. “This isn’t every Druid, Chosen. On the contrary, this is only some.” His eyes flickered to the Druids on the shore. Their drawn faces indicated their exertion. “If I really wanted to close you, you would be unable to resist.”

“The lowest realm is too good for you, Avalon,” Ren said. “Tell me, where does a soul go if it isn’t taken to the lowest realm?”

With a breathy curse Avalon jerked him forward, leading him down the plank. Ren felt the drug begin to claim him. His vision wavered. The horde of gray-robbed figures undulated from his path as if he were a disease that would soil their sanctity. Images formed doubles and the Druids’ pallid, emotionless faces twisted and jerked into shapes and horrors far worse than any nightmare.

The earth changed color and contour as he stumbled between Avalon and Welch, but Ren made sure to never lose contact with his interior wall.

The fog was lifting. The gleaming white moonstone finish of the Obelisk shivered with a blinding luminescence. The billowing mist swirled around his thighs and hips, sending a wet mizzle over his feverish forehead.

Ren’s head felt heavy but he managed to keep his eyes locked on the tower rising in front of him.

Where was the One? Where was Morrus?

He felt his mind slowing. His feet dragged behind him. His body went limp as shouts drifted past him like the wind. The drug was claiming him, calming him into complacency, but if he lost consciousness his wall would be there when he woke. It was a wall of belief, and his beliefs did not waver.

- - -

Fraul stopped his mount and chuckled.

Manda turned to Fraul in confusion. They had been riding hard since Crape, and during the day Fraul rarely paused to eat.

Manda took the opportunity to rub her weary shoulders. Even though Fraul pushed them hard in the day, he pushed them even harder at night, training both her and Lazo to be deft soldiers. Manda’s entire body ached from swinging the battle-ax, but Fraul was a good teacher. She felt more comfortable with it each night.

Fraul pointed ahead of them.

Men in Lorlier’s colors of maroon and silver were riding toward the Divi where two large ships were docked. The ships were the biggest Manda had ever seen. Five huge catapults donned each end and eight mounted ballistas lined each side. On the shore, two men on horseback were waiting to greet Lorlier’s brigade. One wore Yor’s colors of navy and white. The second was robed and cowled. Although the two were an odd pair, Manda recognized Fraul’s description of the first man: Ramie Augustus.

“It seems my king has planned a revolt without me. I’m crushed.” Although Fraul tried to put some hurt in his voice, his widening smile made it sounded more like elation.

“Come. The formalities of war will escape Ramie. He’ll usher Lorlier’s brigade onto the ship faster than a dragon spews fire.”

Without another word, Fraul clicked his reins and shot forward. Ever since their close encounter with Alezza Fraul had been hungry for a fight, and his passion had put a fire in Manda as well. Manda gave Lazo a wink before following Fraul to the bridge.