In the Shadow of the Dragon King (41 page)

The ring and tattoo fell silent. The remnants of the shime’s woven jungle snapped and unfurled. A voice hurled in. A voice he didn’t want to hear ever again. Seyekrad. The mage had found David, and he was coming for him.

Eric tugged at him and shouted, “David, get up!”

Yes, David. Get up
, Seyekrad mumbled in David’s mind
. I see you. I’m coming for you.

“No!” David cried, his palms pressed to the sides of his head. “Leave me alone!”

“David!” Eric grabbed him by the shirt and sat him up. “Pull it together. We have to go!”

David draped his arm around Eric’s shoulder and stood. If only he could focus. If only the magic man inside his head would quit slicing up his brain.

A new group of men on horseback charged across the stone bridge. An army of at least two hundred stormed the field and clashed with the soldiers from Berg.

Swords hissed. Metal clanged.

David’s body shook as a horse raced toward them and circled round them twice before the rider dismounted. He was dressed in blue leather armor, a shield emblazoned with an eagle perched above a raised bull tacked to his horse. Stringy red hair hung over his eyes. A maelstrom of emotion flooded through David. A good guy, come to save them.

“Your Majesty!” the man shouted.

“Gowran! You’ve got to get him out of here!” Eric helped the king onto the horse. “He needs a surgeon.”

Eric stepped aside as the knight mounted the steed. “I’ll come back for you!” Gowran pulled a dagger from his calf. He hurled it through the air, catching a would-be assailant in the neck. The fighter dropped at David’s feet.

David stared at the blood pooling where he stood, blood that once sustained a life. The man’s eyes lay open, vacant. He swallowed the bile in his throat.

The king and his rescuer retreated at breakneck speed. Eric picked up a sword from the ground and ran it through a raging militant. He whipped around, his eyes dark and dangerous. “What are you waiting for? Put that bow to some use, will you?”

David willed his arms to move, but they couldn’t. Wouldn’t. There was so much blood. Death. War. More bodies fell around him.

Somewhere behind him a sword hissed from its scabbard. David looked over his shoulder into the eyes of the man who had tortured the king in the dungeons of Berg. David’s mind raced. What had Gildore called him?

Bainesworth.

“Well, well, look at you,” the man said. “So you’re what all the fuss is about. What a scrawny bag of bones.”

What? How did he know—

Bainesworth threw a punch, the fist hard against David’s left cheek.

Lights flashed before David’s eyes. His brain exploded. A kick to his back and he met the ground, face-first.

“It’s time for you to die, paladin.”

An invisible forced tugged David’s gut. He rolled out of the way, the sword plunging into the ground where he had just been. He heaved himself up to his knees, tightened his fingers around the shaft of an arrow, and stabbed it into Bainesworth’s calf.

The man growled in pain.

David scrambled to his feet and picked up his bow lying a few feet away.

All around him men fought with fists. Swords clanged. Arrows flew from above. A raven circled overhead, cawing, then landed among the chaos and morphed. Five more winged shifters followed.

Ravenhawk!

Overhead, Einar circled, his shadow turning the field into night. Fire scorched the forest. but failed to penetrate the membrane of magic protecting the field. The dragon whipped and roared and snatched at the protective shield with his talons. Electrical currents zigzagged through the air and sparked up his legs.

The beast arched his back and wailed. Everywhere around David soldiers shouted and screamed. Sweat, drenched in blood, dirt, and grime, clung to indistinguishable faces.

Eric’s voice rang out through the chaos. “Behind you! Look out!”

David spun as the blond gladiator swung his sword in a downward arc. A bull of a man rammed into the warmonger, knocking him to the ground. David’s breath hitched. Could it be?

The man whipped his head around, his piercing green eyes glaring from beneath a curtain of dark-brown hair.

Trog!

“David! Eric! Get out of here! Go!”. The injured knight lumbered to his feet, his face battered. Bruised. One eye was almost swollen shut. His nose smashed. He staggered as he walked. His right arm dangled at his side, the weight of his sword pulling his shoulder down.

And the shadowmorth wound was open. Again. David stared, his feet incapable of movement. “What happened to you?”

“I happened,” muttered the blond cretin.

Trog shoved David aside and brought his weapon up to meet Bainesworth’s.

The two blades glinted and clanged. Seyekrad’s voice edged into the recesses of David’s mind.
Ahh, there you are.

Pain, followed by bright lights, exploded like fireworks within him. David gasped for air but his lungs failed to fill.

Rasp.

Slurp.

Dizzy.

The sorcerer moved across the battlefield like a force of nature, wind swirling around him, the violence of it thrusting men aside like rag dolls. He drew back his hands, balling them into fists before thrusting blinding balls of silver flames into the membrane protecting the field.

Sparks flew across the magic skin exposing veins of electrical currents. A sizzling discharge collapsed the shield, leaving the air thick with an acrid odor of burning flesh

Einar circled, roared and breathed fire onto the field.

The world erupted into chaos.

Eric spun and dodged an onslaught, his moves choreographed with precision. Up. Down. Around. Thrust. His jaw was firm and tight, his eyes, steely. Sweat drowned his hair as well as his bruised and bleeding torso.

Trog plowed forward, slashing and hitting anything in his way. How he remained on his feet was a mystery.

David stumbled, Seyekrad’s voice far too loud in his head.

A wall of energy— silver black and pulsing—formed around David in a sweeping arc. Seyekrad appeared before him, his lips curled in a sneer. His eyes were creased with laughter. “You stupid boy. You thought you could outsmart me. You thought your friends could save you?”

David was suspended in the moment. His nerves shattered into a thousand pieces.

Seyekrad stepped closer.

David glanced at the bridge.
Accelero Silentium! Ibidem Evanescere!

Seyekrad laughed. “It didn’t work then, it won’t work now. Prepare to die.”

Tentacles of black magic streamed from Seyekrad’s open palms and lifted David high into the air. He dangled face-down like bait on a hook.

David’s stomach left his body. His heart stopped.

Einar screeched and dive-bombed him, his mouth open.

David twisted his head and stared wide-eyed at the raging inferno coming at him. Millions of images flickered and faded, a hurricane of memories swirled through his soul. He braced for the attack.

Spears of ice shot through the sky.

The beast bellowed and tumbled away; his body lit up like a firework on the Fourth of July.

David scanned the pandemonium for the source of the attack. It came from a little stout dragon with autumn-colored feathers for a mane.

“Mirith!”

From the thick of the battle emerged two women.

Tears swelled in David’s eyes. Emotion exploded from every pore.

“Charlotte,” he whispered. “You’re alive.”

Einar screeched, and came around again, his wings outstretched, his mouth wide open.

A courage David had never felt before surged in his chest. His best friend, the love of his life, was okay.

More ice bolts sailed past his head and pierced Einar’s left haunch. The dragon somersaulted backward, his protest like thunder reverberating in a tin can.

David struggled against the magical weave holding him in the air. He had to get down. He had to somehow put an end to the madness. Green mist appeared out of nowhere on the ground. Avida emerged from within the brume and cackled as she swung Charlotte by the hair, pitching her across the battlefield and raking her over dead bodies. Slathering her in blood and death.

Rage ignited like a furnace within David. He reached for his bow, but it was gone. He spotted it on the ground, not far from where the shifters were battling. Frantic, he shouted to Ravenhawk who was having too much fun ambushing the bad guys, and then pecking their eyes out. With a nod, Ravenhawk clasped the weapon in his talons, flew it to David and held it steady while he nocked an arrow. David shifted as much on his side as he could, and took aim at Avida.

His tethers swayed him from side to side, a willow in a hurricane.

“Come get him, Einar!” the sorcerer shouted. “Feast.”

Shadowmorths swarmed from the trees. From the flames of the forest, Einar emerged.

Blood rushed to David’s head. The world throbbed. His pulse tripped.

Three ravens landed in nearby trees and shape-shifted. Ravenhawk grinned. He held up a batch of darts and shouted at David, “We’ll stave off the minions. Kill the witch!”

The shifters loaded their dart guns and fired at the wispy creatures.

The sound of a thousand fingernails dragged across an invisible blackboard. Time slowed.

David re-nocked his arrow.

Aimed.

Released.

The shaft lodged in Avida’s back. The witch screamed and flailed, but held tight to Charlotte’s hair.

Seyekrad paused in his tormenting, his eyes on his precious pet.

In the lull, David took another shot. The shaft passed through the back of Avida’s neck and out the front. She hit the ground, still as a rock.

To Charlotte’s right, Bainesworth held a sword over Trog’s chest.

David let another arrow fly.

Bainesworth lurched back as the projectile found its mark. The goliath of a man fell to the ground.

The magic strands corded tight around David and whipped and battered him into the canopy with the force of a speeding train.

Loud cracks sounded around him. Pain singed up his legs, his arms, his back. Bone after bone snapped like bubble wrap in his fingers. A scream expelled from his lungs and into the air, the sound curdling the nerves in his own ears.

Einar swooped in, his mouth wide open. David stared into the inferno.

He tried to move his legs, his arms, but he might as well have attempted to move a mountain. He lay on his back, straddled over two limbs, as hot tears streamed down his cheeks.

I love you, Charlotte
.

Lightning bolts lit up the sky. Crackling blue threads helixed around Einar. More electrifying projectiles bombarded his body from nose to tail.

Seyekrad’s connection broke. A horn blew.

“Retreat!” bellowed a voice.

White, pulsating threads swirled around David, enveloping him in a comforting cloud of pale resplendence. He floated downward, as if one with the air, serenity taking root within him.

But black cords invaded, harnessing all the light. It battled for his soul, raising him upward in a cold, suffocating, ebony vapor.

“Let him go, Seyekrad!”

Slavandria’s voice drifted over him like a warm breeze. White energy pulsed downward, rolling and curling like clouds cascading over mountaintops. It wrapped David in a cocoon, binding him as he floated toward the Haldorian Bridge, over the Édes Falls.

Flashes of white, black, and blue light sparked everywhere.

Einar screeched like a freight train skidding off its tracks. He banked and flew back toward Berg, the shadowmorths in pursuit.

Seyekrad bellowed, “I will kill you for this, Slavandria!” He vanished in a glistening black fog.

David touched down on lush, green soil, his emotions as paralyzed as his body.

Horse-drawn wagons clattered across the bridge, making their way to the battlefield.

Slavandria knelt at David’s side and finger-combed his hair. “I’m sorry I took so long to get here.”

“It’s okay,” David said. Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, exhaustion settling in. “Where’s Charlotte?”

“She’s coming.” Slavandria stood as a wagon pulled up beside her. She raised her arms to the sky. Pale light shimmered from her palms and spread out in all directions, forming a shimmering dome. “I’ll be right back,” she said, looking down at him with a tender smile.

A group of wounded men limped toward the lorry. Eric shambled along the outer rim, his shoulder dislocated again. Blood and dirt covered his body. He wiped his arm across his face and collapsed on his back next to David.

“Hey,” he said.

David blinked. “Hey.” The inability to move forced another tear down his cheek.

An awkward silence passed between them.

“Thank you for what you did out there.” Sincerity choked Eric’s tone, turning his voice into something unrecognizable.

Confusion swarmed David’s battered mind. “What did I do?”

“You put an arrow into Bainesworth. You saved Trog’s life.”

David swallowed, his throat dry as cotton. Somehow being thanked for stealing another’s life did little to fill the growing emptiness in his soul. He was a murderer. No matter how he spun it, the truth remained. He was changed forever. The demons of war had seen to it.

Eric winced as he rolled onto his side and pushed himself up on one elbow. He fished the Eye of Kedge from around his neck, and placed it around David’s. “You saved us back there. In Einar’s castle. On the battlefield. None of us would be alive right now if it wasn’t for you. You deserve the glory, not me. You deserve to give this to Slavandria.”

Eric stood with the help of an attendant and made his way to the back of the cart.

David stared into the sky, watching the wispy clouds float along oblivious to the horrors on the ground beneath them. He’d come so close to dying, to being devoured by a raging inferno. To getting Charlotte killed.

As if hearing her name on his mind, his best friend, the love of his life, collapsed beside him, and sobbed. He wanted to hold her, comfort her. If only he could move his arms. If only he could say the words hovering on his lips. But there were four men swarming around him, getting instructions from Slavandria where to take him once inside the castle. And then Eric was back, speaking soothing words to Charlotte, and helping her to her feet.