Dragon Legends (Return of the Darkening Book 2) (7 page)

“But…but, sir?”

“But what? This is a light punishment.” He waved his wooden cane. “Now out from here and come with me.” He turned and left.

My feet heavy, I followed him along the stone hallways. After a few twists and turns and stairs, he threw open a wooden door and waved me in with his cane. I stepped into a study room, this one lined with bookshelves, lamps, large leather-covered chairs and thick rugs. A fire burned in the hearth, making the room almost too warm. I started to sweat and my stomach lurched. Mordecai headed to a table and opened a book labeled
Disciplinarium.

He opened the book and under the last blank page wrote:

Sebastian Smith, Dragon Rider. Infraction. To spend three days and two nights solely with family, Monger’s Lane, Torvald.

Stepping to a shelf, he picked up two small bottles. One looked to be filled with dried herbs and the other with a clear, almost golden liquid. He pushed the bottles across the table to me. “Give your father a tea of the herbs for his, ah…indulgences and the tincture on his chest for his lungs. Now get out of my sight.”

I stared at the bottle and the mark against me, and finally got my words back. “Yes, sir.” Taking the bottles, I fled. I couldn’t quite work out if Mordecai had punished me or gifted me. Had he, another man with a chronic illness, taken pity on my father?

I had no idea, but I wasn’t about to argue just in case he decided to give yet another mark against me.

*

Seb was gone.

I wanted to punch him and hug him. How could he have let himself get caught like that? He had managed to send me a note, before he’d had to go. It was simple, but told me enough.

One, not two. Three days with family and a black mark.

That last had me ripping the note to shreds.

He’d gotten caught—which meant it was going to be even harder for us to prove we belonged in the Black Claw squadron. But at least he’d managed not to tell anyone why he was in the commander’s rooms. And that first sentence meant the Memory Stone wasn’t with Commander Hegarty.

Had he sent it somewhere? Or did Mordecai have the stone and he’d sent Seb away from the academy so he could continue with his plans? But if Mordecai really was working for the Darkening wouldn’t he just have killed Seb? Maybe Mordecai worried too much about being found out—realizing that making Seb disappear might cause too much talk, unless Mordecai worked hard to erase Seb’s memory. And I knew that it took a lot out of a person to use the Memory Stone.

We still had more questions than answers—and why were we being rushed through the squadron selection process?

The thought had crossed my mind when I started the fight with Beris that Mordecai knew something. It hadn’t been Mordecai—who usually broke up any fight—but Hegarty who’d stopped Beris and me. Somehow, Mordecai had seen that Seb was missing and had followed him. And now both Seb and I were in trouble.

Just what we needed.

Letting out a sigh, I stared at the yard. I’d been up since dawn, raking the grounds, then I had to clean the equipment shed as a part of my own punishment for brawling. Beris had gotten stable-cleaning duties.

“You obviously have too much energy, the pair of you, if you can fight in the keep after hours,” Commander Hegarty had told us. But I was thinking this was a way of keeping us apart.

But it also gave me too much time to think.

Like about the evaluation scores. I groaned and glanced at the boards that stood on the far end of the yard. Was part of the reason I’d been put here so that I’d spend more time thinking about my eventual place in the Dragon Riders?

At the moment, Seb, Kalax and I stood as Storm Blues, cursed with a lifetime of guard duty and highway patrol. It wouldn’t be nearly enough action, I knew. And today’s results weren’t up yet, so Seb’s mark against us and my punishment might push us into Green Flags. Well, at least Seb would be happy there. If he was happy, I guessed Kalax might be, so I’d have to put up with it.

Signals?

The thought swept over me, shocking me with its strength, knocking me on my butt. I stood, brushing the dust off my riding leathers. That had been Kalax. I’d heard her thoughts, even without Seb here! That was weird. Seb had always formed a bridge between me and Kalax—I’d gotten feelings from her, but I’d never heard her as clear as this.

Bridge?
I could feel her amusement—it sat inside my chest almost like my own, but not quite the same.
You too busy to hear, and Kalax not want signals.

Her scorn for flags and scrolls rose up in me. I knew now that she understood Seb was fascinated by them, and they were useful, but I could feel how silly she thought all these little markings on paper.
Hunt, nest…fight. Swim for fish. Dragons know best.

She didn’t want to be a messenger dragon, and I was glad of that. I don’t know if she could sense that from me. The brief, intense connection slipped away as if it had never been there. Was she going to sleep? Talking to Seb? Talking with other dragons?

Why had Kalax decided to share her thoughts with me this morning? Maybe Seb’s affinity was rubbing off on me somehow—or maybe it had something to do with my having been healed by one of the stones. I didn’t have time to think about it. The Dragon Horns blared. Another day of evaluation was beginning. I dragged the heavy rake behind me and headed for the equipment shed.

Without Seb here, I had no navigator. So no flying for me. But I was a protector—I could always fight. And I would show everyone I was no messenger.

*

“Well, that was all fairly disastrous,” I admitted to Merik and Varla. I dragged myself up the stone steps to the map tower after the day’s trials. My arms ached and I’d picked up a dozen new bruises.

“It wasn’t that bad. Just wait and see.” Varla at least tried to sound optimistic. By the end of the day, Merik and Varla had a solid place in the Green Flag, which Varla wanted. I hadn’t managed to move Seb and me up or down. I’d lost two bouts and won three. I’d also had to ride the dragon simulators.

I hated them. They were like barrels with saddles on and the instructors could move the barrels as if they were dragons. But it wasn’t anything like real flight.

Without Seb, the points I could earn were nothing compared to the ones that a full team of riders could make. I was sure we were going to slip down. Seb was gone for another two days. We might even end up in the Heavy Whites, where we’d be stuck hauling tents and supplies for the real fighters.

I felt a shudder of anger from Kalax—she wasn’t happy with that idea. I tried to think up some calming thoughts I could send toward her—something about how we’d do better when Seb came back. Or maybe I could tell the instructors that somehow I had managed to develop some of Seb’s affinity with dragons—that might impress them.

But if I told them about that, maybe they’d think we were too odd to be riders. Or that we were lying about that just to get ahead. With a sigh, I pushed open the heavy door to the map room. It was better to keep this between me, Seb and Kalax.

Brood never alone.

The powerful thought rumbled through me, making me grip the wooden doorframe.

Varla gave me a nudge. “Thea, are you feeling well?”

“Just tired from a long day, I guess.” I slid my gaze away, hoping she wouldn’t catch the lie. Sometimes, there was just too much going on to explain everything.

Merik yawned, stretching out his arms. “You’re telling me!” Stepping into the map room, he pulled forward one of the high-backed wooden chairs and slump into it. He and Varla had spent all day in the saddle. I just wished that my muscles were aching from flying—that was a good kind of tired.

Kicking the leg of the chair, Varla muttered, “No time for sleeping.”

I nodded and sat down across from Merik at the map table. “Varla’s right. We need to make new plans. The Memory Stone isn’t in the commander’s room…so where is it? Does Instructor Mordecai know something about it? And what about the monk?”

“Monk?” Merik frowned and sat up. “What monk?”

Varla sat down, too. “You really are tired. The wandering monk? The story about the Dragon Stone?”

Shaking my head, I looked at the table. All the maps we’d been using were under a layer of other maps. I started trying to sort them, pushing one set of maps aside to get to ours. Pulling out an older map, I recognized a curve of the Leviathan Mountains. Smaller maps were marked with odd symbols, and I didn’t know if they were they monasteries or armories? I wished Seb was here—he was much better at this navigation stuff. “Do you think the commander might have sent the Memory Stone to a monastery?” I glanced up.

Merik was staring at me, his forehead pulled into lines and his eyes big behind his optics. “What, by the First Dragon, are you talking about?”

I glanced at Varla and then back to Merik. Was this a joke? But Merik never could hold in his laughter. And he kept staring at me, his brown eyes tired and confused. “You really didn’t know what we’re talking about? The order of monks, the very same ones who set up a monastery here?”

Merik’s frown deepened. “That was before even Torvald was founded. What’s that got to do with the Darkening?”

I bit my lower lip and glanced at Varla. “This is like what had happened to Prince Justin.” I looked at Merik again.

Leaning forward, Varla patiently told Merik the same things he had told us just a few days ago—about the stones, how they’d been hidden after the final battle against the Darkening a long time ago, and how Merik had said he’d found a map from the time of the old monasteries.

Nodding, Merik said nothing and Varla glanced at me, her eyes dark with worry. “Do you think…?” She let the words trail off and glanced over her shoulder as if she feared someone might be listening to us.

I nodded. “Everyone knows Merik’s the best with maps. If someone took his memory, it was because of the stones.”

“Instructor Mordecai knows Seb’s friends with Merik,” Varla said. “And he caught Seb looking around the commander’s rooms.”

Knowing we were in for a long night, I let out a breath. “Or maybe someone saw the maps we’d been using here. Let’s try to find those old ones that showed the monasteries.” I glanced at Merik again—he didn’t even seem worried. It was like he didn’t know he’d lost some of his memories. “Do you have any idea where the oldest maps are, Merik?”

He sat up. Turning, he pointed to a set of shelves. “They are usually—no, wait.” He faced the other direction. “They were filed...I mean left…I mean I think they used to be on the top shelves?” Merik rubbed at his cheek.

It was going to be a very long night,
I thought and let out a low growl.
Seb, now I really wish you were here.

*

The streets of Torvald were wet, the cobbles slick from rain that had come and gone, leaving the air damp and cold. I hurried back to Monger’s Lane, more from a desire to get inside to a warm fire rather than wanting to get back home again. I’d gone out to buy a few things for my family—some meat and bread from the market, but I’d gone to the better part of town to get the food. Monger’s Lane usually offered stale food and there was only old mutton to be had.

I kept my cloak pulled tight around me, my basket under my arm where it wouldn’t temp any thieves, and my head down. Around me, shopkeepers and traders were shutting up their stalls or locking their doors and packing away the few goods they had to offer in the market just outside Monger’s land. They all looked tired and worn. Another day for them was done—another day of not making enough to feed their families here in the poor quarter.

I’d never before noticed the looks of mistrust cast my way. Was I a stranger now—an outsider? Or had the mood here changed while I’d been gone?

Even though Beris and Syl and a few of the others could be mean, I knew I was lucky to be at the academy. I got to do something I was good at—ride a dragon—and I had regular meals, a bed and warm clothes.

It was a different story for those who lived in or near Monger’s Lane.

The people here were looking not just at me but at each other with fear, as if they expected trouble. I wondered what Thea would think if she came here—
the Flammas probably had no idea how the city-folk had to manage on so little.

Turning a corner, I ran into another man’s elbow. The man shoved and I stumbled back, losing my grip on the basket. Margaret had given me some bread, fresh meat and a few pots of last summer’s fruits that she had bottled. One of the pots smashed and the bread fell into a rain-soaked gutter. That food was meant to help my family.

Fury flashed through me. I was a Dragon Rider, not some kid to be bullied. The smell of fruit mixed with the smell of dirty and sodden streets, leaving me even angrier.

Looking up, I saw the guild deacon who’d shoved me stop to pick up market taxes from the vendors. My training at the academy had made me bold, and I headed over to him, my mouth tight and my fists bunched.

“How dare you!” I shouted at him.

The guild deacon—a corpulent man wearing a velvet tunic under a heavy, brocade coat—turned to look at me. The man next to him stepped out from the crowd—a guard I realized. He reached to grab me, but I slipped past and stood in front of the deacon. “I demand that you pay me reparations. And apologize,” I snapped. I reached to my belt, but I wasn’t wearing a sword. I’d left it at the academy.

The deacon sneered at me. “They’re probably not even yours.” He waved a fat hand with a number of gold rings on it. “Get out of my way, boy.”

I’d worn my old cloak, but now I threw it back, revealing the tunic and pants of a Dragon Rider. The deacon’s eyes widened slightly.

Seb? Hunt?

Kalax’s thoughts roared through me. I could almost see her lifting her head and snorting a few wisps of smoke at the entrance to her nest, shifting as she got ready to come to my aid.

“I would teach you some manners if the largest crimson red since the old days flew over here to drag your fat carcass off to Dragon Mountain.”

The man’s face paled. I heard some muffled laughter, and a scuffle behind me, and a man’s curse.

Forgetting the deacon and Kalax, I turned and saw youngsters darting out to grab the food I’d spilled. A man in a gray cloak swung away from them. I headed back to grab a jar and meat wrapped in a cloth, and one loaf that hadn’t been soaked. The youngsters and the man vanished, and I swung around again and saw the guild deacon and his men also fleeing. I could only see their bright cloaks vanishing down the street.

I let out a long breath, and in my head, I felt Kalax relax, too.
Seb not hunt?

No, my friend. Not tonight.
Shoulders slumping, I glanced around. What would be the point now in my calling Kalax to scare a few self-important people along with some of the poorest people in Torvald?
Just get some sleep, my beautiful dragon.

I could tell she’d rather be hunting and flying. But she settled down and the tie to her winked out—she’d fallen asleep.

With a sigh, I headed back to my family. But I kept thinking about what had happened. The man in the gray cloak—the one who had cursed and drawn my attention away from the deacon—I was sure I’d seen him before. He’d had a beard—black but streaked with gray.

Stopping, I turning back, but now I could see only one drunken man and one woman, huddling under the eaves of the market and sharing a little of the soggy bread they’d pulled from the gutter. I shook my head. It couldn’t be, but I also kept thinking back to the man who’d been in the Troll’s Head—the one who’d seemed to take too great an interest in me. Was it the same fellow?

“Too late to find out now,” I mumbled, heading over the narrow bridge that led to Monger’s Lane. I strode past the old tavern. The sound of angry, harsh voices spilled out into the lane, making me shiver and remember darker days.

The lane still looked smaller to me than it once had, as did the house I’d once called home. It seemed cramped and small, and nothing like the wide, open air of being on a dragon’s back. I was already missing the academy—and Kalax and Thea—so much. And I still had another day before I could go back.

Before I could knock on the door, my step-mother pulled it opened and smiled. “Sebastian, I thought you’d got lost, you were so long.” She sighed, putting a hand to the small of her back as she walked ahead of me into the tiny, two-room house. Her hair seemed faded and wispy. She moved a little slower than she once had. But she sat down at her spinning wheel beside the kitchen table to start work again, one eye on a bubbling pot, the other on her work.

She’d taken up piece-work, fixing jackets and mending skirts and spinning yarn from wool. It had helped to pay the rent and make ends meet while Da had been ill and unable to work the smithy. My sister was out this night—she taken up work as a maid in a fine house and only came home on her day off. Now I wished I could somehow make life easier for them—but what could I do other than send them what money I could?

From the other end of the room, out of the light of the fire and a lantern, a shadow coughed and croaked. “Boy?”

“Go to your da, Seb, he’s been asking for you,” she whispered to me. I don’t know why she spoke so soft because he was getting as deaf as a stone.

After putting the food on the table, I went to stand before my da. This gaunt man in the chair—all sinew and knots of muscle that had pounded iron into swords, and me a number of times—was not the man I remembered. He’d been more of a task-master to me, expecting me to work faster, harder, and carry his work as well when he was too drunk or hung-over to manage. But he’d changed.

He seemed a quiet man now, and smaller. He still looked at me with displeasure in his eyes—but sometimes there seemed maybe just a touch of pride.

I guess that was enough.

“Where were you, boy?” he coughed. His eyes glittered as if he wanted to say more but hadn’t the breath for it.

“I was buying some food.” I nodded to where my step-mother had stood to pull out the little I’d managed to save. Turning back to my da, I asked, “Did you take the medicine?”

My father coughed and winced. “A drop—but that’s not what I need. Did you get a bottle, boy? Some of Old Dukes will chase this infernal fever away.”

Old Dukes.
Even the name of the sharp, bitter-smelling spirit that he’d once loved to guzzle made my stomach heave. “That’s not what you need, or what you have.” I turned to the table, preparing once again the tincture and potion that seemed to bring ease to the old man.

“Don’t want it. I know what I need, boy!”

I ignored him. Once, I’d have flinched at such an outburst, but I’d been through far worse. I’d seen death and war—and I would never again be a boy who could be bullied by a weak, old man. “Here.” I pushed the glass to his lips, and held it as he swallowed. His face twisted with a look of disgust, but after a moment his features relaxed and he gave satisfied sigh.

From the kitchen table, my step-mother called out, “Food will be ready soon.”

Da nodded, his eyes closing. “You’re a good boy. A good boy.” He started to snore.

I returned to the kitchen table, and my step-mother set out a bowl of stew. I traded bowls with her, giving her the one with more meat. “You need this more than me. I’ll be back at the academy soon enough.”

“You are a good boy, Seb.” She sat down to the meal. “And remember to thank your instructor for the medicine. The apothecary stopped by while you were out. He said your father might even be able to work again.”

I poked at my stew. “Have you and Da talked about—well, what’ll happen to the smithy?”

“Oh, Temple’s looking after it. You know Temple?”

I did. He was older than me by a few years, a big fellow with arm like tree-trunks. He was also a little simple. Da had once been fond of telling me that Temple was the son he should have had. I was glad enough Temple had the work I’d once hated.

“It’s not a lot he makes for us, once we take out his wages, but it pays the rent.”

I nodded. Perhaps this was right and how it should be. I’d been a poor blacksmith. My work had been weak and crooked—I’d never had my heart in it. But it still felt painful to realize I didn’t belong here anymore.

“I’m glad to hear that,” I said.

She looked up at me, her eyes bright—almost as if she could sense how strange I felt just being back here. “Sebastian Smith, all I want is for you to do well up there in the academy. You’ve a good life for yourself. Keep it, and keep doing us proud.”

Choked with tears, I stood and wrapped her in my arms.

*

Another day of helping my step-mother around the house, buying some supplies, such as flower and sugar, and tending to my da’s moods, and I was more than ready to return to the academy. My da was getting better, but it seemed that he would never be the same man he’d been. The local apothecary—a thin bird of a man with his mouth pulled down—took me aside to tell me my father might not be long for this world. I thanked him for his time, paying him with my last golden piece.

“Make sure he takes the medicine,” I called out as I left. It was a few hours before evening, and I wanted to get back to my life. I wanted to know what Thea had been doing, and if Merik and Varla had made any more progress toward finding the Dragon Stone—if it existed. I had an itch at the back of my head, as if we might be running out of time. And I could do more to protect my family from the back of a dragon than I could from Monger’s Lane.

Headed back up through the tiers of streets to the academy, I felt as if I was leaving one world for an entirely different one. The walk up had once left my legs shaking and had left me gasping for breath. Now I easily strode up the wide, stone steps as if they were nothing, swinging my walking stick along with me. My training had been good for one thing—I was fit.

The light was starting to fade as I passed through the better parts of the city. Here, people glimpsed my leather tunic with its red embroidered symbol for a Dragon Rider, and would give a nod of respect and smiles, as if they couldn’t believe someone so thin or so young could be a Dragon Rider. The houses on either side of the streets grew in size, with finely-decorated glass in the windows and iron gates. The streets widened and the stores had fine windows to display fine good. Some houses even flew the banners of a noble family, but I didn’t see the Flamma banner.

Heading up the street, my walking staff thumped against the cobbles, and I started to hear another echo—like a second staff. Many in the city used walking poles and staffs to help them go up and down the streets and stairs, but this thump seemed a little too regular—it was a steady rhythm behind me. I’d brought my staff because a Dragon Rider always carried a weapon of some kind. But who would be following me? Another rider?

The head of Dragon Mountain rose before me as I approached the last city gate—little more than a watch tower over an open bypass into the mountain path that led to the academy. That same, steady rhythm followed me.

I turned a corner and stopped. The lamplighters were out, setting alight the lanterns that lined this part of the city. The ruddy glow of sunset warmed the street where I’d stopped.

The sound from the other walking stick paused, too. I peered around the corner to see a large man in a tattered gray cloak, with a salt and pepper beard, holding a walking staff in one hand.

I leaped from my hiding place to face him and pushed my staff at his chest. “Why are you following me? Who are you?” I took another step toward him, my staff now held ready for a fight.

He looked at me with dark eyes. From what I could see of his face under the hood of the cloak, his skin looked tanned and his teeth gleamed white as he growled at me. “Do you want to be thrown in jail for attacking a harmless, old man?”

“You’ve been following me. I saw you at The Troll’s Head. It’s not me who’s going to be to be questioned—it’s you! Now drop your staff and come with me.”

“Hey, what’s going on there?” one of the lamplighters called out. He pulled out his guardsman’s whistle to alert the city guard.