Faith Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 2) (11 page)

The emotions were frightening: love and pain, pain and love. But the pain was more than Sim could bear.

Foreign liquid oozed down his silver cheeks as Aidan’s emotions riveted through him. His love became more than he had ever dreamed. It was beautiful, hopeful, sensual, and wonderful. It felt like Mezuzah’s warm tongue, a dragon cub’s first step, a waterfall’s spray, and the sun on his back. But the pain was more than he had ever feared. It was without hope, fathomless, eternal, and black. He would much rather have every bone in his body broken, every dragon in the Lands slain, every sun in the universe dark than to feel Aidan’s pain.

He thought of Ren’s eyes. They were eyes that felt the same tearing pain Sim was now experiencing. They were eyes that revealed a tormented soul.

Before Sim lost his senses he tumbled to the ground, desperate to tell Aidan what he knew.

For he knew the truth. He knew.

Ren lied.

If only Aidan would realize that in time.

They had ridden hard, stopping only briefly in the night to rest their horses and catch a few moons’ clicks of sleep. They barely talked. They barely ate. They were on a mission.

When Bentzen had first relayed the story Quinton had jumped into action, thinking what men of war were trained to think - kill.

Now, after riding for days he had been through every emotion he could possibly feel: anger, hatred, pain, desperation, anxiety, worry, and fear. The fear came whenever he thought about the one possibility he didn’t want to consider. He may never see Marva again. The thought always left him off balance. He didn’t know what he would do without his wife: her smile, her bravery, her stubbornness, and her ice-blue fiery eyes. Those same passionate eyes now haunted his dreams.

Quinton felt like he was on the spiral of fate, descending to the point of no return. He knew this could be his last ride. He just wished he had been able to tell Ren goodbye.

But if this was his last ride he would take as many as he could down with him, especially the man who had taken Marva and Renee. He would suffer a thousand times over for what he had done. Quinton had no doubt he would recognize him. He had memorized Bentzen’s description of the man called Ickba. Marva’s captor also plagued his dreams, but in every dream Ickba died screaming.

They had just crossed the Sierras where they had ridden through a storm of dust and Quinton silently welcomed the dense forests of Zier. He steered his horse to a small cave he used to frequent as a child. It would be a perfect place to rest. Stardom was only a day’s ride away. They needed to gather their strength before they attacked.

As he broke through the small clearing containing the hidden hollow, he reined his horse to a skidding halt and waited for Michel.

Michel’s horse bolted through the clearing heartbeats later. Since leaving the others Quinton hadn’t seen Michel in the bright of day. Although they had stopped briefly every night to catch a little sleep, Michel appeared to have slept little, if at all. He looked years older. Quinton had fallen asleep immediately every night. He was trained to do so. Sleep was necessary for strength, and if he had no strength, Marva had no chance.

“In the midst of battle
,” his father used to say, “
you must rest
.” And it was true. The first night had been difficult but he had managed to do what his father had trained him to do: clear his mind and delve into a dream state.

As Quinton watched, Michel’s eyes fluctuated between sanity and insanity, and every few heartbeats he trembled with the force of the ten winds. Quinton stepped forward, concerned, but when Michel drew a breath the trembling stopped. Quinton relaxed, realizing Michel’s movements could have been from tears. Michel hit his horse’s flank and stepped aside as the horse trotted off to graze. Quinton marveled at how Michel could communicate with animals. The horses he rode were never fettered but were always there the next morning, nickering for his hand.

Over the past weeks Quinton had surprised himself by feeling the same loyalty toward Michel as he did his prince. Although he had many he called friends he had precious few he felt close to. He was, after all, the captain of Ren’s guard. He needed men to admire him, call him friend, but he also needed to remain objective and slightly distant from each. He didn’t mind. He had always been friend to many but close to few. There was something different about Michel, however, something special. Ren took after Michel more than he did his own father. Quinton supposed that could be the reason he felt an unexplainable bond toward Ren’s uncle. Michel and Ren were of the same mold, both in looks and in beliefs.

Michel stood in the clearing, back to him, gazing in the direction of Stardom. Quinton’s heart went out to him. He and Marva had years together, one in courting and two in marriage. Michel had only a fleeting heartbeat with Renee, and now, just as a door had opened and allowed him entrance, someone was threatening to take her away.

“Michel?”

When Michel turned Quinton had to force himself not to start. His copper eyes were almost inhuman. Their discoloration was far worse than Quinton had first realized. It appeared Michel hadn’t slept in weeks. Quinton was unsure if Michel even recognized him. Quinton took a step back, leery under Michel’s gaze.

“Michel, we rest here. We don’t move until high moons tonight. We need to be strong and have our wits about us.”

Michel’s eyes focused. A small amount of recognition crossed his features. Quinton was about to say more when Michel grabbed his bedroll and walked off. Quinton watched him go, the hackles on his neck rising. Michel had been slightly distant since Ista’s camp. Had something happened to him there? The thought was chilling. Just in case, Quinton walked in the opposite direction, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder.

- - -

Marva was seething. She was a blasted fool, accepting Ickba as just a lowly stable hand. How could she have been so blind!

Ickba was taking his time riding back. He was having too much fun during his frequent breaks. Marva was now ready to rip out his eyes and carve the rest of him up with slow precision. At first she had been worried about the queen, but Renee had surprised her. Renee hadn’t cried, called out or screamed as most women would. She did exactly what she should have done. She lay under the vile man like a sack of grain, not allowing his blows or his torture to break her. Marva was proud of her and had proceeded to put Renee on a higher level in her internal ranking of people.

Marva inched a little closer to the large boulder on her right, all the while keeping her eyes on Ickba, who was torturing Renee for the last time. His back was to her, and soon she left caution to the ten winds and began to roll, over and over, moving faster and faster. She was sure Ickba wouldn’t notice. The man was laughing in glee as he prodded Renee with a knife.

The boulder hit her back. It had a hooked protrusion that looked to be just the right size to pry the silver band off her head. Marva moved into position and forced the rock’s hooked edge under the band, allowing it to dig into her skin. She drew a deep breath, closed her eyes and flung her head forward. The edge tore into her skull, ripping her skin to the bone. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out. Blood seeped into her left eye, but the silver band was loose.

She leaned forward. The band slipped from her head and fell into her lap.

She didn’t know how to use the Quy, but she figured she was mad enough to learn. She peered at the ropes binding her ankles and concentrated on her rage. Ickba would be done with his torture soon, knowing that Renee would be valuable to Ista. Marva would be next. Marva’s torture always lasted far longer than the queen’s. Instead of panic claiming Marva, her resolve deepened. Marva leaned closer to her feet, eyes wide with conviction.

“Loosen, curse you.”

As if on their own accord, the ropes slackened and one of her feet dislodged. Marva jumped to her feet and ran toward Ickba. He never knew what hit him. Her foot impacted his backside so hard he rolled over Renee’s head. As soon as he hit the ground he looked up at her with malice so intense her temper flared even further. How dare the man look at her like she was the detestable one!

The force of her next kick flung him into a small tree. The impact slowed him, but only briefly. The trunk of the tree severed and he fell with it. His eyes registered surprise, and that spurred her even further. She reached for the sword Ickba had discarded before his games with the queen.

Before the rogue could stand the sword impaled him in the throat. He choked, face still in shock, and went limp. Marva went to Renee and cut the ropes on her hands and feet. No words were spoken. No words were needed. Each knew what she had to do.

Renee ripped a large piece of cloth from her gown. Marva turned to Ickba, but before she could raise the sword above her head Renee held out her hand. Marva handed her the blade and watched as the queen brought the weapon down on Ickba’s throat, severing his head.

Renee held out the cloth. Marva picked up Ickba’s head and placed it in the thin, white threads. Renee tied it closed. Blood seeped through the cloth, marring the white brilliance.

Marva looked up at the queen. Ickba’s blood was splattered on her face, but her blue eyes blazed with fire. She glanced toward Zier before turning back to Marva.

“Proof.”

Marva smiled. “Let’s go.”

- - -

Quinton woke during the night and stared into the eyes of a madman.

Michel stooped over him, face straining with tension, a dagger raised above his head. “Stop … me,” he said. Michel’s arm shook to control the dagger’s downward movement.

Quinton rolled to the side just as the dagger plummeted to the earth. Without a second thought, Quinton toppled Michel and knocked the dagger from his hand.

“Michel, what’s happening to you?” Quinton asked through gritted teeth.

Michel flailed back and forth, his strength uncanny. His eyes alternated between the man Quinton knew and a rabid animal.

“Something … Ista … kill the Chosen’s companions. I’m infected. Help me. Kill me, Quinton.”

The plea in Michel’s voice tore Quinton’s heart, but before he had time to respond Michel flipped him over and grabbed the dagger. Quinton cried out, dodging another blow, and darted away.

Michel crouched in an animalistic stance. His eyes became huge, the whites glowing in the night with mad intent. Holding the dagger in front of him, he grunted. His eyes suddenly cleared. He turned the dagger on himself, straining to plunge it into his heart.

“No, Michel!”

“Ren … Quinton. Don’t let him see me like this! Kill me!”

“Maker of Fates, Michel. I can’t. We’ll find help. Just put the dagger down.”

The fear in Michel’s eyes slowly turned to rage. Quinton backed up. If Michel lost control Quinton would be unable to stop him. The man was stronger than a dragon, and then some.

But as Quinton looked into Michel’s eyes they transformed into Ren’s own.

“Please, Quinton,” Michel said softly. “Before I can’t control it.”

“I can’t, Michel. I could never.”

And then Michel’s eyes began to glow a sickening green. He growled.

Quinton turned and ran. The last thing he knew was a sharp stabbing pain. He fell. Wolven howled in the distance. Quinton wondered if he would even be alive to feel them tearing his flesh.

Alezza blinked in surprise as the heir of Crape fell to his knees before her. She had ordered her men to clean him up. She could barely touch him, he stunk so. His soiled pants were rank and he had lost so much weight his clothes seemed to be hanging on a skeleton. The man placed before her now was nowhere near the horrendous figure she had been with a short time ago. The release from the pain and the wash had done wonders.

Chris’ blond hair shone like spun gold and his skin gleamed a golden bronze. Bowing his head, he heaved a heavy sigh as if he cared little about what happened to him. Ever since Manda’s escape he hadn’t fought her at all, and she hadn’t been kind. She had punished him day in and day out. Where before Chris had tried to control his screams, now he did not. Where before Chris had tried to control his convulsions, now he did not. Where before Chris had managed to hold his bowels, now he did not. If it was because of the excruciating pain she was sending she would have been pleased, but it was not. Chris had finally broken because of Manda’s departure. He hadn’t wanted his sister to bear the misery of his suffering.

Alezza had been careful not to take Chris too far with the pain. She couldn’t allow his death. He was the key to her future. If she rode into Crape with Chris she would be revered. A prince, now the crown prince, thought dead, would be found, and he would declare his love for the princess who had saved him. It was too perfect.

Only after the wedding could she allow him to give up on life.

Alezza glanced briefly at the tent flap as if she could see beyond to where two of her men still searched for Manda. She silently wished them a swift kill. She grew weary of the girl’s games. Apparently Manda knew how to cover her trail. Manda had traveled through every stream, followed every rocky path and had somehow managed to evade her. Alezza was surprised Manda had the heart to leave. Manda knew Chris would suffer for her deception.

Alezza was still furious. If Manda managed to convince someone of her story, Alezza would be hung, unless Chris negated Manda’s claim.

A slow smile stole across Alezza’s face. Chris was hers to command. When those green eyes looked her way they weren’t only filled with hate they were also filled with insanity. Now all she had to do was send him opposing feelings and he would do anything she wanted. During Manda’s rape Alezza had tested her theory. If she could stimulate the needles to send anguish, why not ecstasy?

She had been right. It had worked. Now came the true test. The pain she had sent him over the past few days was so intense sometimes his skin seeped blood. Now, if the pleasure could match that intensity, Chris of Crape would be hers.

Her thoughts circled back to the man who had been found with Chris the morning of Manda’s escape. Who was he? His clothes were gone, his sword generic, and he was dead before she could ask any questions. Was it one of Chris’ guards? She doubted it. A guard would have come with more support. No one would send one lone scout to look for two heirs believed dead. No, it could only be a farmer or some traveler who had heard the screams and taken pity on the bonded. But he could fight. The man had killed nine of her men before he was brought down.