Kindle the Flame (Heart of a Dragon Book 1) (13 page)

S
ebastian pushed aside
the trencher that held his breakfast. “Take it away,” he ordered, and the page scurried into action, gripping the tray between two thin hands and edging out of the room. Sebastian eyed the candelabra that graced the center of his table, his mood growing darker and deeper.

“You don't wish me to test the boy, Rennis.” He turned to his court counselor, who sat at the end of the table, his wrinkled hands folded neatly on the wood, his white beard spilling over his fingers.

“I did not say that, Your Grace. I merely suggested that your time might be better spent preparing for the Tournament, which is forthcoming in a mere matter of months. Our spies have brought word of Nicholas Erlane's plans, and time is not your friend in this instance.”

Sebastian stood and moved to his window. “What think you, Lanier?”

His general stood at attention near the door of the suite. “Your Grace knows my thoughts on the matter.”

“And you
would
have me test the boy.”

“Aye, Your Grace. I believe it could be a valuable use of your time.”

Sebastian nodded. “In this case, I agree. Lanier, bring the boy to the Tournament fields. I wish to see what he can do.”

Lanier bowed and turned for the door.

Rennis stood and bowed as well. “I will retire from your chambers, Your Grace, if you no longer have need of me.”

Pricked pride rang in the man's voice. Sebastian nodded his dismissal. Rennis rarely agreed with him on many issues anymore. Perhaps it was time to dispense with him.

T
he air was
crisp and cool as Sebastian clamped his thighs firmly around his horse's back, urging the animal into a gallop as Lanier and his men rode beside him.

The fields stretched before him, each one separated by a thick hedge or a rock wall. When he'd had the Tournament fields built, he'd required his architects to arrange arenas with varied topography. Some of the fields were just that—a level square of land devoid of any interruptions such as trees, rocks, ditches. Other fields boasted all manner of layers—hedges, caves, trenches. The diverse creatures that competed in the Tournament each year needed an assortment of fields to show their truest talents. In the center of the many fields, like the cog of a massive machine, sprawled the biggest arena, covered with an arched roof and housing stands that had the capacity to seat thousands of guests. The structure competed with the palace for size.

Far down the row, a mass of armored men wrestled a Dragon leashed with at least thirty heavy ropes into the Dragon field. The beast was covered with spikes from head to toe, and even a brush from one of the spikes would cause a painful death as the quill's poison spread like liquid silver into the entire body. Absolute stillness delayed the end of life, but without the proper medication, death was a certainty for those punctured by a Dragon quill.

As soon as that Dragon disappeared behind the high stone wall that bordered the field, a second appeared from a tunnel, one of Sebastian's few prize Embers. He pulled his horse to a stop as the huge animal stalked toward the field at the end of several chains.

These Dragons had not achieved
psuche
with a Dimn yet, and ordinarily, they should still be with the Dragon Clan, but Sebastian kept a few of the wilder Dragons at the palace to test some of his soldiers—to give them practice for the battlefield. These were two of his fiercest.

He thought regretfully of the escaped Mirage from the Dragon Clan's keep. He should have had the Dragon brought directly to The Crossings. As it was, irritation at the Clan's incompetence filled him. He'd had the keep's overseer tossed from his position; a stand-in had been sent to replace him, but in the meantime, Sebastian had lost the only Mirage his Dragondimn had ever caught.

As soon as the Ember disappeared into the training field, Sebastian urged his horse to a gallop again, flanked by Lanier and five of his most trusted military advisers.

He dismounted at the viewing platform and hurried up the stairs. His men followed him.

“What outcome do you hope for, Your Grace?” Lanier asked as he rested his hand on the stone railing before them.

“It's obvious, isn't it?” Sebastian turned to the field, his biggest one aside from the covered arena, and his most challenging as far as topography. The Ember crouched against the stone wall at one end. The Poison-Quill roared on the opposite side, thrashing in the center of his ropes like a maypole gone mad. One long, loose chain anchored each Dragon to a wall on each side to discourage flight. The armored men had scattered, scurrying to the exit, and the Dragons were left alone to roar their outrage to the world. Their thunder filled the air, and Sebastian wished for a muff to bind his ears. He glanced at his general. “If there is one who can subdue such beasts, think of what we could do against Nicholas Erlane, and beyond, to the rest of the known world?”

The general's eyes glinted as he watched the Dragons. “Aye, very true, Your Grace.” He hesitated. “But are you convinced based on last night alone that the boy is such a one?”

“That's what we're here to find out, is it not?” Sebastian raised his arm to one of his guards at the entrance to the field. “Bring him.”

The man bowed and motioned to more guards who stood in the tunnel behind them. The doors opened again, and the youth, Cedric, appeared, raising his hand to block the glare of the blinding morning sunlight.

“Will Your Grace allow him any bodily protection?” Lanier asked.

Sebastian took in the boy's thin wool tunic and breeches tucked into knee-high boots. The clothing would offer him no protection against Dragonfire. Of course, if the boy were truly Dragondimn, he would resist the flames, at least for a time.

Sebastian raised his eyes to the boy's face, and the past stabbed him in the gut. “Why would I do that? It would ruin the point of this exercise.”

At Sebastian's signal the guards grasped Cedric by his upper arms and led him toward the training field. The boy's expression grew increasingly nervous as the Dragons shook the ground beneath them.

At the entrance the guards released Cedric's arms. One of them pointed into the arena, speaking with the boy. The auburn sheen of the boy's hair gleamed in the sun, reminding Sebastian, once again, of years past.

The guards turned away, and Cedric squared his shoulders, stepping into the field.

Sebastian leaned forward eagerly, but the boy seemed hesitant. A path led downward into a canyon stretching clear to the other side of the field, lined with steep rock walls and pocketed by divots deep enough to hide a man. A rocky ledge ran the field's edge from corner to corner. If the boy chose to follow that path, it would take him directly to one Dragon or the other.

“Do you think that he'll actually do anything?” Lanier asked as he leaned on the railing. “It appears the boy is stuck in mud.”

Indeed, Cedric hadn't moved. “He's transfixed by fear,” Sebastian growled. “Gustav!”

One of the guards at the entrance glanced up. Sebastian motioned to the boy. “Motivate him.”

Gustav bowed and reached for the whip that circled his shoulder like a long black snake. Cedric's attention was entirely on the two monsters, but he screamed when the tongue of the whip snapped across his shoulder, flaying his shirtsleeve and throwing him to the ground.

“Move, boy!” Gustav roared.

Cedric scrambled to his feet, stumbling down the path through the middle of the field. The Dragons hadn't noticed the boy yet, but it would only be a matter of time. And once they did, Sebastian wanted to see the boy's instincts.

Cedric reached the deep center of the field, his head upturned to track the Dragons above him. He looked around and found one of the divots in the wall.

“No, don't hide, boy,” Sebastian growled. “This is not meant to take all day.”

“He needs time to think, Your Grace. You did not warn him of what he faced today.”

“Aye, but there is no time to think on the battlefield. When a mace swings at your head, you duck. When a Centaur charges you with a broadsword, you clash your metal with his.”

Lanier nodded. “Very true, but he may come up with something yet.”

Just then the Ember spotted the boy. With a roar, the beast tried to fly, but the heavy chain inhibited the creature's progress. The Dragon compensated with a sideways roll off the shelf where he sat, leaving a burning, charred mass of grass behind him. He climbed down the steep ledges, face first, until he reached the far end of the field where he could see directly down the path that half hid Cedric.

The Ember opened his mouth and poured out a massive fire stream that swirled down the pathway and subsumed Cedric in its licking yellow-black plumage.

Sebastian leaned forward, his eyes straining through the roiling smoke. Something akin to relief bubbled in his stomach when he saw the boy clinging to the divot, his clothes smoking, but otherwise unscathed.

The Poison-Quill took offense at the nearness of the Ember, and his chains clanked loudly as he scrambled toward the other huge beast. The two Dragons met in a shattering roar. The Poison-Quill threw himself into the Ember. Quills and flames burst in a sky-high cloud.

Sebastian ducked as some of the quills tumbled through the air to land dangerously close to the observation landing where he stood.

The quilled Dragon lashed its long tail toward the Ember, but the tail got caught in the trenched pathway where Cedric hid. Cedric was trapped inside his cave, and the straining tail flopped perilously near the boy.

When the tail pulled upward, Cedric took his opportunity, springing from the divot and up the path in the opposite direction, away from the lashing tail as it bore down on him again. He cleared it in time and scrambled up the path to the wall's edge. Now both Dragons had caught sight of him.

They came at him from opposite sides, swiftly sliding over the landscape, their talons scrabbling against hard stone and turf. Their breath rippled heat waves from their mouths, and Sebastian could see the end.

“This is it,” Lanier murmured, echoing his thoughts. “If the boy makes it free from this, it will be no small feat.”

“Aye,” Sebastian breathed, intent on the boy's burnished auburn hair.

Both Dragons sucked in massive draughts, enough to wave the hair across Sebastian's forehead as he watched. They were coming—the flames that would roast the boy and bury the spark of hope he'd discovered this morning.

“STOP!” Cedric's arms flew straight out on either side of him, his palms facing both Dragons.

They stopped.

Sebastian's jaw dropped open; the guards who watched the astonishing tableau fell silent.

The boy had stopped two Dragons locked in full battle mode simply by telling them what to do.

The boy's back was to Sebastian, but his arms shook visibly. Cedric pulled in another breath. “Back to your corners.” His voice broke in adolescent terror. “Off with you now.”

The Dragons both lowered their heads, the rumbling of their growls much reduced. Slowly, gradually, they turned away. The Poison-Quill returned to his perch on the ledge in the far corner, but the Ember climbed the stone walls below Sebastian.

Cedric's head whipped back and forth between the two beasts. He seemed unsure of his next step.

“Shall we continue, Your Grace?”

Lanier's words jarred Sebastian from his mind-numbing amazement. Sebastian shook his head. “I've seen enough. Bring him back to my chambers in the palace. I wish to speak with him.”

“It shall be done.” Lanier bowed, and Sebastian glanced once more at the field where the two giant beasts of terror curled like mewling kittens in their corners. He hurried down the stairs to his waiting horse.

B
y the time
Cedric arrived accompanied by Sebastian's guards, Sebastian had bathed and dressed. He reclined on a couch, a cluster of grapes in his fingers, the very picture of opulence.

When the boy appeared, Sebastian tossed his remaining grapes to a nearby page and sat up. “Sit,” he commanded. He waved to a wooden chair opposite the couch.

“I prefer to stand, Your Grace.”

Sebastian stood and advanced closer to the boy. In Cedric's eyes he saw fear struggling with courage. Which would be the winner? Smothering an inward smile, he rested a fist on one hip, narrowing his eyes.

“Do as you're told, boy.”

“Your Grace ordered me here for a conference. I have no wish to be here in your presence. Should you prefer to send me to the headsman, you have every right to order it.”

Sebastian stood nose to nose with the boy, dismayed when he realized he had to look up to meet the boy's unflinching gaze.

“I said sit.” His voice remained even, and he wondered if the boy would obey, or even if he wanted the boy to obey. He found his admiration for Cedric's spirit at war with his own propensity to play on the boy's fears.

After a long, tense moment, Cedric turned to the chair and sat. Sebastian did not believe for one instant that the battle was won. He picked up the decanter in the middle of the table, filling a goblet. “Would you care for a drink?” he asked. “It is the finest mead you'll have anywhere.”

“Nay, Your Grace.” Rebellion boiled in the lad's eyes.

Sebastian shrugged and took a long gulp. “I have decided, for the present, to keep your head intact with your body.”

The boy's hazel eyes gleamed, but his face remained set in stone.

“Are you not glad of it, Cedric? Only last night you believed that you were to die today, and here I have graciously spared your life. Have you naught to say?”

Cedric's mouth opened at last. “I find it hard to show gratitude, Your Grace, when the person to whom I should be thankful is the same person who pitted me against two fiery beasts not two hours ago.”

“I see.” Sebastian raised the cup to his lips and drained it, setting it on the table again. His sword rested on the table, and he ran his finger across the gilded edge of the grip. Then he picked up the blade, handing the sword, hilt first, to Cedric.

The boy stared at him in astonishment.