Wind Rider

Wind Rider

(
Return of the Dragons
,
Book Two
)

TEDDY
JACOBS

Copyright
© 2012 Teddy Jacobs

Wicked
Evil Press

I

When I woke and found the room
around me finally completely white, without the slightest tint of red, nothing
even remotely pink, I got up and walked out and hoped never to enter the room
again. I’d been in bed for weeks, and spent my time staring at the ceiling,
dreaming, and daydreaming. None of it had been pleasant: not the endless
waiting, not the dreams that were always the same nightmare — my little four
year old feet cold on the stone corridor, the passageway dark and clammy and
unfriendly, and up ahead in the welcoming light my uncle and my mother standing
together, in their nightclothes, smiling at me. Then my uncle would call out to
me:
neffe
, nephew.

It had taken weeks for my eyes to clear. The dark
lord, my uncle, had burned red into my eyes, all three of them, when he had
killed
Marga
, the mother of my best (and only)
friend.

Once I had been just another sixteen year old,
although I can’t say I had a normal childhood – instead of school, I had a
tutor, and my parents locked me up in my room to study for long periods of
time. The only good thing back then was the time I spent with my
blademaster
, swinging a staff, and with his wife, Ana, a
witch who had taken care of me when I was little. Then I was sixteen, and
Giancarlo, the
blademaster
, had let me pick out a
wooden sword. And I’d picked a magical sword, and then everything had gone
crazy. First my sword sang to me, making me do this crazy dance, which helped
me
beat my
blademaster
in a
sparring match. Then later trying to concentrate in my locked room I formed a
gateway instead, and pulled Kara, a
kriek
princess,
out through a hole in the wall.

Kara had been at my bedside almost every day, and
my face got warm, thinking about her. We had escaped the castle with the help
of
Kalle
, another
kriek
,
escaped narrowly from a powerful wizard, Gerard, escaped only to be attacked by
giant wild boars,
keiler
, talking beasts who stood on
their hind legs when they wished and who served the dark lord. And they had
called me
herr
,
or master. And in the
battle against them I had killed, for the first time.

I didn’t like to remember what
that
was
like, but it still kept coming back to me, whether I liked it or not.

We had stumbled our way into the ancient city, and
somehow my blood had told me what runes to touch so we could enter …
And
the gates had opened, to more trouble.

I had been tested, and found to be the
three-blooded prince, born to unite the three bloodlines and to fight against
the dark lord. But if the dark lord was my uncle, where did that leave me?

We had forged my sword anew, burning the magical
wood, melting together the broken pieces of three great swords of old. It was
an amazing blade, and I had sung to it during its final forging. That had been
a test too. Today at last I was going to start training again. I hadn’t trained
since
Marga
was killed.

I would never forget feeling her die, her hand
clasped in mine. Even though I’d barely known her, her son,
Karsten
,
was my best friend.
And her nephew, Elias, what of him?
He was so young, but so powerful. Somehow he could suck the energy out the
walls around him. I’d been sure that
Karsten
and
Elias would blame me, but it seemed more like they blamed themselves. They too
had come to my bedside, and
Karsten
had told me to
come to the cafeteria and see him when I could leave the white room.

I wished sometimes I could bring her back. But I
couldn’t even wake up my parents from their eternal sleep. So I did what I
could. I strapped on my sword and walked out into the sunlight.

The morning was cool and the air was clean. The
cool air felt good on my bandaged skin.

Most of the damage had healed quickly, but I had
two cuts that were deeper and harder to heal, one on my left forearm, and
another on my temple.

I breathed in deeply, and felt alive for the first
time in weeks. I felt guilty about how good it felt — how could I be happy and
loving life when just a few weeks ago I had caused someone to die?

Not to mention that my parents lay unmoving, and
had to be turned every few hours so they didn’t develop sores, had to be washed
and cleaned and fed by others.

So much for my good mood.

I sighed. But I knew there was no point focusing
on my problems. I needed to breathe and exercise. Fresh air and exercise were
healthy, and the sooner I got my health back, the sooner I could prepare for
war, for battle. If the battle went well, maybe my parents could be made whole
again.

But
Marga
would never be
whole. And I wondered if her son and her nephew ever would be either. I walked
towards the cafeteria with a heavy heart.

The aromas that I’d missed during those two weeks
hit me with a wave of nostalgia: remembering those two happy weeks when I had
dined here, and made my first true friend… The smell of fresh baked rolls and
spices, of pancakes and fried potatoes…I walked into the cafeteria, nearly
empty in the early morning. I was still an early riser. And I felt a deep
hunger for something more filling than the fruit juices and gruel they had fed
me in the white room.

I went to the serving table and picked out a
banana, pancakes, two rolls and some fried potatoes. My tray was heavy as I
carried it back to an empty table. It felt like a guilty pleasure, to eat so
much, but I needed to gain back the weight and strength I’d lost the last
couple of weeks, if I was going to be any good to anyone. Training was grueling
work, and I’d need all the nourishment I could pack in. I had to train. Without
training, I’d have no hope of saving my parents and avenging my friend’s
mother.

I sat down and ate.

It had been two weeks since I’d tasted solid food.
The food filled me with life and warmth, driving away the cold emptiness and
sadness. I tried to eat slowly, to do honor to the food and to the cooks who
had been up even earlier than me, working in the kitchen.
Cooks
like
Karsten
.

I had seen his face from time to time in the early
days after the attack, when I had been half-blind and half-mad, and asleep much
of time, dreaming unpleasant dreams. Later, in the last few days,
Karsten
had only come around once that I could remember –
he’d made a pained smile when I looked at him, and then left, without saying a
word. I didn’t know what to say to him – could we ever just be friends again? A
war was coming, and the first battle loomed. Would anyone or anything ever be
simple again? It was tough for everyone.

I chewed a pecan cranberry roll, one of my
favorites. I remembered the nuts we had roasted and eaten just a few months
ago, and the power that came from them. Here, nuts grew everywhere on trees
between the houses, providing shade and food. The trees glowed with energy, and
I couldn’t tell if they took or gave energy to the city itself. Maybe the
energy went both ways. In any case I felt the energy now in my mouth, in my
throat, radiating out through my stomach. I chewed slowly, savoring the
flavors, and knowing that everything that went into this roll had come from
this walled city… the grain, the berries,
the
nuts…
Everything was grown here, in this ancient magical city that somehow had
escaped detection, until now.

Now even the dark lord knew where it was.

It was
all my
fault.

First there was my clumsy attempt to save my
parents, which had brought along spying demons, and two parents who were unable
to talk, or do anything except lie in bed, without help; then there was my
stupid idea to try to contact Giancarlo, as if the
blademaster
of my father, my own
blademaster
, would not have
fallen already into the hands of the dark lord…

But what exactly had happened, when we’d
scryed
Giancarlo? Giancarlo had been my father’s
blademaster
, my own, and also the
blademaster
of my uncle, who now called himself the dark lord. Why had we been attacked
when we’d
scryed
him, and who had attacked us? It
must have been the dark lord, or his minions, but why? Why kill
Marga
? What had we been about to discover?

It was frustrating.

If there was no way to empty my mind, at least I
could fill my stomach. I chewed on another roll.

When I had finished eating and my plate before me
was empty, I walked over to the kitchen, and left my plate soaking in a basin
of water. Two bakers were working, but not
Karsten
,
and that filled me with a bittersweet mix of disappointment and relief. I
walked out of the cafeteria and into the sunlight.

The sun warmed my skin just as the hot food warmed
my stomach. It was hard to worry in the early morning sun. Full of food I
walked towards
Woltan’s
apartment. The two weeks I’d
been away seemed like far longer, just as the short weeks I’d been
Woltan’s
student had seemed like months. All together I’d
been there for around a month. How long would it take my uncle, the dark lord,
to move an army?
To prepare a battle?
And I’d been on
my back for two weeks, doing nothing but trying to heal. I shook my head. It
was hard to stay positive. My sword knocked against my leg and I put my hand
down to the pommel, instinctively, to steady it, and then I froze.

A shock ran through my arm and through my body,
and then Carolina was there, in front of me, blocking my vision.

She wasn’t smiling. She seemed in a rage, her face
red with fury.

Why haven’t you contacted me in the last two
weeks?

I shrugged. Why hadn’t I contacted her? Had I been
too busy lying down in bed and feeling sorry for myself? It was a hard question
to answer, more so to someone in my mind, blocking off all my vision.

She stared down at me, imperious. I felt very
small, and had to remember that Carolina was just a tiny pixie housed in the
pommel of my sword.

You have not even learned to shield your mind
from me. I’m not trying to pry, and yet I hear everything. You think I’m tiny;
yet if you were in my world, you would find me as tall or taller than you; and
so it is right that I look down upon you. Anders
Tomason
,
you should have talked to me sooner!

You are right, of course.

There was no point in arguing with someone who had
full access to my mind.

I’m glad you’ve realized that at last, because
there are a lot of things I need to tell you. The first thing is that people
are staring at you.

I noticed, embarrassed, that the street was no
longer empty. I went and sat down on a bench, and people stopped looking at me.

You will want to know about your uncle now, I
think. I could have told you as much as
Marga
, and
spared you that death.

I felt like a fool, and it hurt too, what she
said. I wanted to be angry but instead I just felt ashamed. Why hadn’t I
thought to ask her?

We all make mistakes. I could have shocked you
into contacting me, too, and I should have. Please don’t be too hard on
yourself — you are young, although I’m sure you’re tired of hearing that. I am
much older and should have been more vigilant, and shielded both of you. My
attention was elsewhere, and I feel the same shame as you. We must work as a
team from now on.

I know I have a lot to learn.

Carolina smiled then.
It is hard for me to
remember what it was like to be so young. You are the youngest sword bearer I
have ever served. Accept my apologies for my harsh words; I am impatient trapped
in this fairy house, all the more so when you do not talk to me and I cannot
contact you, and help you in your trials.

I thought time passed more slowly for your
kind?

She smiled again.
They’ve always called me the
impatient one. My mother was afraid I was part human, once. Everything is
relative; for a human I am incredibly patient, for a pixie I am very impatient.
That is why I chose to serve in a sword, because I craved action.

What did you want to tell me?

Now that I have scolded you I will tell you. You
know that the sword and I have been passed down from generation to generation,
correct?

Yes.

What you may not know is that never has there
been a blade as strong as the one you wield; not even the first blade,
twenty-five generations back, although that sword at least was forged whole,
not of fragments.

Twenty-five generations?

You humans have short lives.

And you remember back my family’s lineage for
twenty-five generations?

I remember when the city you stand in now was
being built, stone by stone. And that was but twenty generations ago.

But that must make you enormously powerful.

Caroline smiled.
It is not just the Book of Id
that the so called Dark Lord seeks. He seeks your sword too, and had it not
been hidden from him with a trick by your blade master, he would have had me
too, and destroyed or imprisoned me, as he knew I would never serve him.

Giancarlo said you had refused him.

Luckily for us both your uncle was young and
inexperienced then, not nearly as evil, and not a hundredth as powerful as he
would become but a few years later. He did not realize what a powerful thing he
held when Giancarlo gave me into his hands and I refused to show myself to him.
I knew even then he would have stopped at nothing until I served him. And I
knew from just a touch of his hand how evil he was, how he was the split from
the blood line that had been foretold for centuries; that his nephew would be
the one would set things aright, and who would reunite the other two
bloodlines. Your mother was both
Kriek
and
Mer
, and I do not think even your father realized this; she
had been orphaned in a shipwreck, and raised by coastal peoples, done well in
school, and worked then at the court, where she met your father.