Faith Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 2) (28 page)

Ren concentrated on Morrus, the only Druid not singing the haunting tune. The white of his robe blended so well with the white of the floor Ren had to concentrate to find the outline of his friend’s body. Then Morrus’ eyes cleared and locked on Ren. It was a friend’s farewell. Then the look was gone. But it was all Ren needed.

He released his hold on the wall. It faded into oblivion.

Ren forced himself to concentrate on his memories. Releasing the stone he let it fall against his chest and burn his skin. He let the memories crash over him with maddening speed.

The memories went on and on: falling, tumbling, screaming, and burning. He reveled in each wonderful heartbeat, relived each painful experience, and recalled each raging emotion. The love, the hate, and the pain flowed through him, sending fire through his blood. It caused the Quy to ignite within him.

With sudden intensity all the feelings he had ever known merged into one, shattering his vision and forcing him higher until he thought his heart and mind were going to explode with pain, hate, and love.

He screamed as his entire body was racked with the extremities of the internal elements. Then with sudden fury, they were gone.

Cold stone hit his shoulder. A sensation he knew he should recognize lingered in his arm. But, for the fates, he couldn’t place the feeling.

A rill of crimson liquid seeped from beneath him and trickled across the white floor. He watched in fascination as the crimson froth soaked through the cracks and crevices in the stone, creating a web of powdery pink lace.

Color, he thought. It made him feel better, yet he couldn’t remember why it should. His eyes focused on a man standing below the platform. The man had an odd look on his face.

He was tired. He closed his eyes, not wanting to think about all the new images. He knew he should know them, but he did not.

A humming echoed around him. Something tickled his mind. He batted the air with a limp hand, annoyed. All he wanted to do was sleep. The humming grew louder.

Then it seeped inside him, buzzing incessantly, rumbling his vitals. He didn’t like it. He wanted it out. He managed to push a few of the whip-like currents away, but there were far too many to fight.

The whips continued to come. He could see them now. They were a dark gray, a very dark gray, so dark he could barley make them out in the darkness. There were hundreds of them. A door rose in the darkness. He lay in front of the door, facing the long, gray whips. When he managed to roll his head to the side he saw a rune on the door: an inverted triangle inside a larger triangle inside a circle.

It was the symbol of something powerful.

He turned back to the approaching gray whips. They swam through him, insistent, hungry, and then he felt them pulling something out, tearing something from him.

The last of the whips left him. He rolled over just as the door shut. He heard a sharp slap and knew the door had been locked.

His insides welled with desperation. He had to open the door. He propped himself up and pushed with all his strength. It wouldn’t give way.

The air became very thin. He heaved for a breath. He shook the door.

Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t right. A part of him had been taken. It was a part that kept him alive.

He tried to unsheathe his sword, but it was too heavy. The raised emblems on its hilt burned his palm. He struggled to remember what they meant. He couldn’t.

Losing his grip, he fell.

- - -

Morrus stumbled to Ren and gathered him in his arms, not caring if he stained his white ceremonial robe with the blood of the man who had given him the chance to live another day. He felt a tear trickle down his cheek. He hadn’t cried in a long time, not even when he walked to his death that morning.

He couldn’t believe what he had seen or what he had felt. When Ren had released his guard the collective force of the Druids surged forward, but instead of entering Ren’s mind they had been shattered in a thousand directions.

A blinding hot light emitted from Ren’s chest. It encased his entire body with a soft blue hue, forming a shield around him. But the touch of that light was like lying naked in soft grass, allowing the morning’s mist to tickle your skin as the sun caressed your limbs and warmed your soul. It was exhilaration, radiance, and felicity. Morrus wasn’t surprised he cried. That feeling, that faith!

But when the light had congealed back to Ren’s core and Ren had fallen from the pedestal Avalon had crashed past Morrus, leading the Druids in the closing Morrus should have led.

Morrus tried to overtake the new LoDrek, but he had been whisked away by the others, wrapped up in the Druid power that had been lying dormant since the ride of the Black Knight. They had invaded Ren’s mind, locked his power away and left him as quickly as they had entered. Morrus tried to stay behind and touch Ren with his own mien, but the power of the conglomerate was too strong.

Now Ren was stark white, near death.

“Does he live?”

Morrus looked up into Feher’s yellow eyes. He had always despised those eyes. They had haunted his dreams since he was a boy. They were so impure their pupils were almost imperceptible. Morrus shivered, acknowledging the corruption he had denied his entire life.

The High Priest hovered over him. He licked his lips. “I asked you a question, Morrus. Does he live?”

Yellow eyes lit with salient carnality. The High Priest of Dresden, the true Druid leader, was depraved. Morrus’ breath quickened. He drew Ren closer. His denial may have caused Ren’s death. May the High Order save him. If, Morrus reminded himself, there was a High Order.

The rock on which he had built his foundation crumbled. All his life he had tried to obey their laws. Although they told him he would never become the High Order, if he were pure enough he may be born again to the Druid race and granted a second chance. If he were impure at death he would fall back to the lowest realm to wallow and pine until he paid for his sins and reached a new understanding. If he fell, Morrus knew, he would never become the High Order. Only a few were taken, only a few became, only a few.

“Barely,” Morrus said, realizing he had done something grave and dangerous. Although Ren had agreed to go behind the door, something was wrong, and there was absolutely nothing Morrus could do about it.

Feher grinned. He actually grinned. Morrus couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. “If you want to achieve the High Order you shouldn’t be laughing at a man near death.”

Yellow eyes darkened. “What do you know of the High Order? Contrary to what your father believed, no one can rise to Druid status again, even if he continually walks in moonstone halls. In short order you’ll be sent to your rightful place. So don’t speak to me, or else – ”

“You’ll kill me again?” Morrus was suddenly thankful his father had passed on. Now he could leave the Obelisk and discover if the High Order truly existed. “Nothing matters to me anymore, Feher. Don’t think it does.”

Feher’s yellow eyes narrowed, but Marinus stepped between them, the ceremonial drug still laden in his eyes. “You’ll have to be purified again, Morrus.”

Morrus followed the Drek’s gaze to his white ceremonial robe. Blood from Ren’s torn shoulder saturated the front. He nodded, studying Marinus. Was the Drek corrupt as well? But no satisfaction glistened in the Drek’s gaze, only a duty of station. For the first time in Morrus’ life Marinus appeared old. Avalon would soon be Drek. The thought repulsed him. The New Order would once again rise above the Old. Morrus wondered if the Black Knight would appear when the destruction began again.

In a way, Morrus hoped he would.

“Morrus, you must hurry. Go to the purification chamber. We must make haste. The ship will sail as soon as you’re ready,” Marinus said, shattering his thoughts.

Morrus motioned to Ren. “Let me help him first.”

“They’ll tend to him in the purification.”

Morrus blinked, confused. Why would they purify Ren? Were they sending Ren to his death as well? Marinus saw the shocked look on Morrus’ face and put a hand on his shoulder. “Ren is being purified because he must travel among our kind until the One gives him to whom he should.”

Morrus felt sick. Something wasn’t right. The story didn’t make sense. Ren was in trouble and he had helped get him there.

- - -

Neki sat on the docks, trying to decide if he was nervous, furious, or just plain bored. He had watched the Seawitch fade into the distant horizon with increasing frustration. He knew the wizard was right, but burning cinders he wanted to go.

When he could no longer see the sails he tried to decide on his next course of action. He had always loved exploring cities, the labyrinth of streets and alleys, the bustle of bars and inns, the intrigue of shops and trades, but after what he had just experienced city exploration held little appeal, and he had already scoured the countryside waiting for the blasted ship to sail. Finally, he plopped down beside the kota and started to brood.

He was good at brooding. Grauss hadn’t been the finest of companions. Yes, Neki was a champion at brooding. A lot of favorable things came from it, in his opinion. If no one brooded nothing would be discovered. Grauss was also good at brooding, but he brooded with his hands. Neki brooded with his mind.

He stroked Keena’s neck. She didn’t purr. That bothered him. Keena always purred. Neki studied her. She had grown so fast she looked half starved, but he had nothing to worry about. He had seen her eat. Grauss had fretted over him for a time as well, but that had been unnecessary. He ate like a horse, or a kota.

Neki stretched and tried not to think about being left behind. He was beginning to feel unneeded again. He knew his feelings were irrational, but his childhood had left him with a fear of inadequacy.

Grauss was a good man, but a blasted horrible grandfather. Neki could count on two hands how many times Grauss had engaged him in games of chance or carried on a conversation without mentioning his inventions. Neki’s life had consisted of running errands for Grauss, learning on his own, or brooding.

If his parents had lived he would have had a pedagogue, but Grauss had taken him into hiding and let him learn on his own. Grauss’ first rule was: you don’t have a last name, you’re not related to me, and you don’t know where you live. To a young boy it had seemed deliciously adventurous. He was a shadow with no name, a creature free to roam, a spirit without a role. But the older he grew his lack of identity and friends became tiresome.

Since he was a young boy he had dreamed of joining Ren’s guard. He had managed to do so, by the Maker’s fates good fortune, and had begun to make a name for himself. But now he was feeling insignificant again.

Neki heaved a sigh. Ren had given him a chance, and Neki wanted to give something back. He had been, in his mind, practically useless up to this point. He thought the Druids would give him an opportunity to fight for Ren, but that thought went up like a livery under flame. He was beginning to think his life would amount to a hill of beans.

The clouds were dissipating, granting a clear night to view the stars. Star-study was the one interest both he and Grauss had in common. Neki loved to sit with his grandfather and decipher the stars’ hidden messages.

When Neki found the synergy constellation his breath faltered. The three stars around the synergy were almost in complete alignment, but the synergy, the center star had begun to move! The hazy light representing the One, though veering toward the center triangular region, was moving parallel to the center star. Hence the two would never meet. They would be two ships passing in the night.

Ren wasn’t on Dresden anymore.

Zorc was going to miss him.

Neki jumped to his feet, Keena right beside him as if she had anticipated his panic.

What could he do? He was on the mainland, and he was no wizard. Although he could blow a pretty mean dust storm no one would heed him like they heeded Zorc. Besides, he couldn’t waste time bargaining for a ship. He had to find one immediately.

He glanced back at the constellation. Ren was veering east, toward Zier. Maker of Fates!

Neki grabbed Markum’s pallet and began dragging him toward the nearby trees. “Maker curse it, Markum! I can’t take you with me. You wouldn’t be good in a fight, and if I lose my skin I wouldn’t want you to lose yours too.”

As soon as Markum and the horses were sufficiently concealed in the thicket, Neki ran toward the dock. If he didn’t steal a ship the world would suffer for it. There was no other way.

There were three ships in the harbor. Unfortunately all were large, huge even. Neki stopped beside the first only for a few heartbeats before dashing off to the next.

May the Maker be with him! Let there be a raft. Just a raft! He could handle a raft. But the others? He would either die trying to reach Dresden or arrive as gray as Grauss.

For the love of the Maker he had never so much as been on a raft before. Damn Grauss for his reclusive life! Every man should have been on a raft. Although Grauss studied ship navigation that wouldn’t help Neki operate any one of the large ships, much less a raft.

Neki scurried up the third ship. It was the smallest of the three, though no less impossible, and glanced back at the stars. Thank the Maker it was going to be a clear night. He needed all the help he could get.

When he dropped to the deck his heart sank. Ropes and pulleys were everywhere, and the sail was so big it seemed to reach the stars. It would be foolish for him to try to overtake the Seawitch. He needed more men.

Neki studied the sky. The synergy star moved with slow precision. Although most would be unable to observe its slight movement, Neki had been trained by the best. It was moving. Grauss would say that if the synergy star broke through the triangle hope would be lost and the union would never be joined. Neki felt panic building inside him again.

A light shot through the darkness. Neki fell to the deck, hoping those approached wouldn’t board the ship. Sailors thought of their ships as women, and if Neki had “touched” her he would have a fight on his hands.