Desert Fire (Legend and Lore Book 3) (3 page)

Khatlah did not answer, just kept staring coldly at the Commander. Kamoor cast one last, lingering look on Brand, then he too stalked from the yard, going inside what Brand realized was a palace.

And quite the magnificent one at that. Made of stones he could not identify, but which held a golden colour in the bright light of the sun. It was easily four stories high, the towers several more. It spanned out to both sides and surrounded the courtyard they were currently standing it. The sheer beauty of it could leave a man breathless—and Brand had never seen anything like it before.

The Vortigern Castle was magnificent in its own way, but the palace was sheer beauty.

Lowering his head, Brand looked around to see that the Commander and the crown prince were really gone, then cast a curious glance at Khatlah, who was regarding him in silence.

Brand swallowed, the pain piercing into him even more without the threat to his life to distract him. Before he had only been aware that he hurt—every little cut, scrape and bruise was making itself known. Even those on his back, which were supposed to be healed, throbbed in pain.

He fell to his knees, knowing they got scraped on the hard, rough ground, but unable to care as all the other pains he felt hit him with full force. It was almost exactly like when he had been whipped, then thrown into the woods to die—only the pain then had been even worse. But the fact that he had experienced worse did not mean what he felt didn’t affect him.

He was barely aware, as he collapsed on the ground, of someone shouting in the distance. The only thing he wanted was the darkness—and it came willingly.

Chapter Two

Guest

Brand blinked his eyes open before quickly closing them again as the bright light seemed to pierce through him.
 

He lay quietly, eyes still closed as he tried to will away the hurt of the light. He could feel he was lying on something soft, which meant that he had definitely not been put back into the dungeon.
 

Easing his eyes open more carefully, he saw that he was in a room, decorated with light-coloured curtains and wall hangings.
 

Brand sat up slowly, feeling every ache in his body. But he did not hurt as much anymore, there were only the sore aches of healing. He realized that he was lying in a bed, not the kind of raised bed he was used to, but on a sleeping pad, surrounded by a myriad of pillows and blankets.
 

Looking down on himself he saw he was naked, save for the white fabric wrapped tightly around his torso, to keep his ribs in place, he guessed. He looked around, hoping to locate his clothes, but they were sadly absent. There was however, a neatly folded bundle at his side.
 

Shaking the various pieces of clothing out he started donning them, not wanting to be naked if someone were to come for him. It was exactly like the clothing both Khatlah and the Commander had worn the day before, except where theirs had been light and dark, Brand’s was a warm shade of brown, completed with an orange sash.
 

Brand left the headpiece folded on the floor, not comfortable with the thought of wearing it. The Commander had not worn a headpiece either, nor had that bastard that had tried to whip him, so Brand counted on it not being a necessity.
 

The room he was in was oddly bare, save for the wall hangings and the bed pallet, giving heed to the fact that it was a room for guests. Brand moved stiffly over to the window, which was the source of the bright light inside the room as the sun shone straight through it.
 

He looked down into a courtyard—not the one where he had been—but a bigger one. Servants hurried across in all directions, and directly ahead was a big building that could be nothing but the stable, judging from one man trying to wrestle a horse inside.
 

Brand heard footsteps outside, and he turned in time to watch as the door opened. Khatlah stepped into the room, holding a tray with what could only be food, by the smell of spices.
 

“Ah, you are finally awake.” Khatlah smiled slightly, closing the door behind him. He crossed over to the mat in the middle of the room, setting the tray down in front of him. “Come eat.”
 

Brand went over to him reluctantly and sat down, eyes only for the tray. It held quite the amount of food. He could not say what it all was but it looked and smelled delicious, so he started in on it, not asking in case he did not want to know the answer. The customs there were quite different than back home, of that he was certain.
 

“How long have I been asleep?” he asked curiously.
 

“A day straight,” Khatlah told him. “They really did a number on you, those idiots. They will be reprimanded when they are shown that you are no threat. Though Sakoptari tried to convince everyone otherwise, especially after you burned his hand.”
 

Brand bowed his head back over the food. “I did not mean to, but I could not let him use that whip on me.”
 

“I know.” Khatlah voice was strangely filled with emotion. “I saw those lacerations on your back, when I undressed you and treated you. I am sure there is quite the story behind them, but I can also see that they are quite fresh, so I shall not ask.”
 

“It is nothing much, really,” Brand murmured. “My father did not like me warning an old friend of what they had planned for him and had me first punished then banished for it.”
 

“That was quite cruel, for only telling your friend,” Khatlah commented.
 

Brand did not say anything, just continued to eat. He had told Garrick what the pack had planned for him and the witch staying with him... and for that he’d paid dearly. He had always wanted his father to acknowledge him, be proud of him. Had wanted it so much he had stopped speaking to Garrick altogether—after being beaten up for looking at him intently, that was.
 

Brand’s father would not allow his son to be starry-eyed over another male and for that Brand had been forced to cut out his only friend. His only friend, whom he had eventually saved from the wrath of the pack, then from a vicious lindworm.
 

Garrick had taken him with him to his new residence at Fort Vortigern, and there he had stayed until he had healed, but he did not belong. Garrick had his witch, and the two residents of the castle were too busy training the first two. The witch Lorcan had offered to teach Brand as well... but Brand could not stomach staying there.
 

So he had left in the dead of night, leaving only the letter for Garrick. Not that it would tell him much, but hopefully enough for Garrick not to worry. Perhaps he would see him again one day, and maybe when that day came it would not hurt anymore, but it was a long way ahead in the future yet.
 

Forcing those thoughts away, he focused on his current situation. “So what is to be done with me now?” he questioned.

“That is entirely up to you,” Khatlah told him. “I spoke to Father, told him your story and he cleared you. You are my guest, you are free to walk about as you wish, and your life is your own. No one here can tell you differently.”
 

Brand sighed. “Your people will not accept me,” he spoke up, but did not look at Khatlah as he did so. “Not after the way I arrived here, as a prisoner. Not after being accused of killing dragons. I do not understand much about your people but I do understand that slaying dragons is an extremely offensive crime in your realm.”
 

“It is.” Khatlah bent forward slightly, eyes intent upon Brand. Brand noticed then that Khatlah was still wearing a head-cloth, not one tuft of hair sticking out, and it was of the same light-coloured material as the last time he’d seen him, setting off his tanned, smooth skin and his dark, striking eyes. “But you did not commit that crime. You are innocent and the people who matter know that.”
 

“Your brother will not see it that way.” Brand met Khatlah’s gaze straight on.
 

“Sakoptari is in no position to argue it.” Khatlah’s voice spoke of finality. “Father has cleared you and now you are my personal guest. He will not like it, but it will keep him away. Because if he misbehaves too badly, Father can just as easily chose another heir, and I can promise you that that is something Sakoptari wants to avoid at all costs.”
 

Brand frowned. “The king can just chose another heir if he so sees fit?”
 

Khatlah nodded. “If he does not think his current heir can handle ruling the realm, he is in his full right to choose another, whom he thinks can. It is our custom. It has rarely been done, usually the first-born takes the throne, but it is not uncommon for it to happen either. No one would protest, or talk too much about it, if it were to happen.”
 

Brand subsided, thinking about how different the desert country was than back home. As far as he knew, the first-born always took the throne in Lore, no matter what—he had never heard otherwise. But then his old village was secluded, and he had never heard much of the outside world, but from the looks of the people, the dragons existing—dragons they rode... The desert was nothing like home. Nothing at all.
 

Khatlah sat back as well, his posture relaxing as he watched Brand eat the rest of the food on the tray. “I find I am still missing your name,” he spoke suddenly, as if it had just occurred to him.
 

“I am Brand,” Brand introduced himself, straightening up as he swallowed the last drops of wine in his cup. It had been good to have a proper meal for once, especially as he had been denied it in the dungeon.
 

“I am Khatlah, youngest prince of four.” He held out his hand, and Brand took it hesitantly, shaking. “That is the way of greeting in your realm, is it not?” Khatlah wondered.
 

Brand nodded slightly. “What is your way of greeting?”
 

Khatlah bent forward so fast Brand only managed to blink and placed one soft kiss on each of his cheeks. Sitting back down, Khatlah smiled softly. “That is our proper way of greeting.”
 

“You greet strangers like that?” Brand asked incredulously, taken aback by such an intimate gesture.
 

“You have experienced the greetings of a foe,” Khatlah replied, “but now you are a friend.”
 

Nodding, Brand looked everywhere but at Khatlah.
 

“I have duties to attend.” Khatlah stood, then bent down to pick up the tray. “But I will see you this evening. Meanwhile, feel free to roam the palace, make yourself familiar.”
 

Brand looked over at him then, catching the brief smile flitting over Khatlah’s lips, then he turned and left the room. Brand sat still on the mat, thoughts flitting from one thing to another to a third, never quite settling on anything to ponder more deeply. Sighing, he got up and strode over to the door. He might as well take Khatlah up on his words—to roam the castle. It wasn’t like he had much else to do.
 

Not really wanting to meet lots of people, Brand opted to go up the grand staircase, and not down, when he reached it. It was beautifully done, wide, set in gold and ascending the four stories of the palace. Brand followed it up to the fourth story, hoping that there would not be too many people on the top floor. There was only a small room, however, and right across him an ornate door.
 

Shrugging to himself, Brand went over and opened it, recoiling at the brightness of the sun as it was revealed. Blinking his way through the momentary blinding, Brand stepped outside. The palace proper was just three stories—the fourth was the roof. And on the roof there were... dragons.
 

Brand stared, eyes wide at the creatures in front of him. He stepped outside, letting the door shut behind him. The dragons had the whole roof of the main wing, except where buildings had been set up at the four corners, at the base of the towers. The wings that surrounded the main one were four stories high, creating a wall so that the dragons couldn’t possibly be seen from the ground. Thus why Brand had not seen them when he had been in the courtyard.
 

The dragons were too big to fit inside the buildings, so Brand guessed they housed food and gear. There weren’t many dragons on the roof, that would’ve been impossible no matter how big the roof was, but the few that were there were scattered, most of them asleep.
 

Brand’s eyes fell on a red dragon, which was the only one not lying down. It looked back, its yellow eyes cold and ruthless. It was a predator, a dangerous one, and it was the dragon of the Commander—Brand could not forget the sight of the magnificent beast. His eyes slid away and saw that several feet behind the red dragon lay the one that had been hurt by the three men with whom he had travelled.
 

Brand swallowed, and then slowly started making his way towards it. The red dragon followed his every move, poised as if to attack at the slightest motion. Brand looked at it from the corner of his eye. The dragon was full-grown—the hurt youngling was nothing compared to it.
 

Reaching the youngling, Brand crouched down. Its wounds were bound and it was breathing properly, so he hoped it would make a successful recovery. It was currently asleep, its head resting on the ground, eyes closed.
 

Movement from behind brought his head up and he groaned in pain as he was roughly dragged to his feet and pushed up against the wall surrounding the entire roof. Blinking to clear his sight, he stared right into the scowling face of the Commander.
 

“What are you doing on the roof?” he demanded.
 

“Khatlah said I could roam the palace,” Brand explained, his hand gripping Kamoor’s arms, hoping fervently he would not choke him because Brand was not strong enough to fight him. “I mean no harm. I am merely curious.”