Quest Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 1) (11 page)

What other explanation could there be? It was the only one that made any sense, and Krov had agreed – until now.

Zorc stepped closer, hoping he had misunderstood. “Are dragons the thorn, Krov?”

“No.”

“Krov, you’ve agreed with me for almost four centuries. Now you tell me dragons aren’t the thorn?”

“Dragons aren’t the thorn.”

“How can you agree one day and not the next?” Zorc’s voice rose in a frenzy.

“Because I know differently now.”

Zorc had based all his theories on dragons being the thorn. From those theories he had decided what the darkness could be. Now all those theories were wrong and he was out of time. Panic swelled in his chest. He had been assigned the task of helping the Chosen and he may have failed before he had even begun. No. He couldn’t think that way. He was the Chosen’s only chance. Zorc studied the crystal. Krov said he knew differently now.

“Krov, do you mean you’ve been giving me your best guess all these years?”

“In a way.”

“In a way! That’s nonsense, Krov! You either did or you didn’t, one of the two.”

The crystal remained silent. Zorc began to pace, trying desperately to surmise a rational explanation. After a few heartbeats, he faced the silver glow once more.

“In your guesses you don’t know otherwise at the time?”

“Correct.”

“So, you think they’re fact but also know they could be a guess?”

“Correct.”

“Why don’t you tell me if it’s a fact that could be a guess and not a pure fact?”

“You don’t ask.”

Zorc sighed, frustration coursing through his old veins that had been frozen at forty-one. Zorc rubbed the bridge of his nose in order to calm the headache he knew would surely come. He didn’t know who or what the thorn was, and the Chosen had already rebirthed the power. He had no time for guesses. He had no time for games.

Zorc knew his next question but hesitated, not wanting to be disappointed when the crystal claimed ignorance. “Can you see this thorn now, Krov?”

“Yes, I can see her.”

Zorc’s stared at the crystal. Krov had said “her.” The thorn was human. Panic surged inside Zorc once again. All these centuries he had thought a creature would force the Chosen to reconnect the thread and in some way cause those with magic to begin a battle for power.

Now the thorn’s definition had become human. A human with magic could cause much more disruption than a creature. A human could have already begun to seize control of the Lands.

Zorc moved closer to the crystal, eyes narrowing. “Can you name her?”

“Yes.”

“What’s her name?”

“Ista.”

Zorc closed his eyes. “May the Maker’s fates be with us. May the Maker’s chance smile upon us. May Ista’s choices condemn her soul.”

Then the rage came. It emitted from him like smoke, taking him back in time. But this time he saw it clearly. He saw how Ista had survived.

- - -

Ista stared down at her kingdom. She drew in a breath, relishing the scent – magic. It was all around her. Multiple people were milling about the courtyard, talking in excited whispers. She heard her name recited repeatedly. If it wasn’t spoken with reverence, it was spoken with awe. At last her plans were beginning. Wouldn’t Zorc be surprised to see her again?

A throaty chuckle escaped her lips. Zorc should have killed her as soon as he discovered she was a spy for Barracus. Instead, Zorc played by the rules. He had chained her in the dungeon, allowing her a week to repent of her crimes, but then Barracus had attacked the keep. When magic was destroyed, the magical chains binding her had broken, and before Christa had cast the time weave Ista had conjured a summoning weave. It was strong enough to direct some of Christa’s life away from Zorc. Wouldn’t Zorc be pleased to discover part of his beloved Christa was now joined with the woman he had condemned?

Ista’s brow furrowed as she thought of her escape. Fire was everywhere. She had run through walls of molten flame before she had broken free. A low moan escaped her lips as she dipped her hand in the washbasin and brushed her face. The cool air in the Zier castle doused the reminiscent flames just like the Yor Lake had centuries before. She had stayed in the mud for days, allowing the lake’s water to soothe her skin.

But she had survived. Oh yes, she had survived.

She longed for the mist of her former home, the ever-present drizzle of water ensuring her no fire would ever touch her again. Although the Zier region had cool breezes it lacked the mist of the Cliffs.

Her eyes flickered to the lone torch lighting the room. She dipped her hand in the washbasin once again, cooling her brow. She felt her face. She had been beautiful once. Now she was condemned to live in a hideous body … all because of Zorc.

Years ago men had shaken with need as soon as she entered the room. Many in the keep had given their life to lay with her. From the couplings she took what she wanted. Each was different and unique. The one man who evaded her was Barracus.

But Barracus had whispered of his plans in the bedchamber. He knew she had evaded the tests and tricked the wizards into believing she was loyal to the Code. The metal plate in her head blocked the test’s validity. Barracus had taken that knowledge and begun to build the future of the Lands – the needles.

But where Barracus had failed, she would not. Soon, very soon, Zorc would bow before her, begging for mercy: Zorc, one of the most powerful wizards in centuries, not quite a mage, but close, so close. A small smile touched her deformed lips.

To think the very cause the wizards of the Alcazar had died for was the very cause they had allowed to escape – Barracus’ destruction. But this time Barracus would be under her control, not the other way around.

After her escape from the Alcazar, she had discovered she was carrying Barracus’ son. From Barracus’ line she had bred multiple children. Now she had a legion supporting her. And she had found the Red Eye hidden among the banished Maritium. As soon as she captured the Chosen he would be the first host for the Red Eye’s power. She would control the most powerful mage in history, not to mention the rest of the Lands.

Ista chuckled. “It’s funny only you and I are left, Zorc. Just think, my friend, I’ll be the one to destroy you and your world when you thought you were going to destroy mine.”

A knock on the door shattered her thoughts. She turned, not bothering to change into her beautiful guise. She knew whom the guards admitted. She placed her hand on the Red Eye. She could feel its power residing within, hungering for release. “Come.”

The door opened and Lazo entered. Although his eyes were hard she could sense his terror. The twins remained in the dungeon, far below. If he didn’t return soon the Mar would claim them. “Good evening, Lazo. I have a special request of you.”

- - -

The creatures’ howls were growing louder. Zorc gritted his teeth as the sound of the battering ram boomed in the stillness of the Orb, the centermost room in the keep.

All around him the wizards began to chant, softly at first, but soon their voices rose in intensity, drowning out the creatures’ howls. Zorc tried to search for Christa, but all were robed and cowled on the Calvet’s order. Krov knew it would be harder if Zorc saw his friends’ faces, but Zorc wished he could see his betrothed one last time.

A lone figure stepped forward for a final blessing. Krov brushed the shaded face before turning to Zorc, eyes filled with sorrowful compassion.

“Remember, Zorc, when you look though wizard’s eyes, he’ll be like an eclipse – so dark he’ll be blinding, so light he’ll be unseen. His hate will be noble, his pain will be deep, and his love will be immeasurable. If he realizes the second truth he will succeed.”

Zorc nodded. Krov had told him this before, but how was he to help a man seek a truth if he didn’t even know the truth himself?

“You won’t fail, Zorc. You don’t know how to fail. That’s why it must be you who remains behind.” Krov gripped his shoulder. “Be strong, my son.”

Zorc opened his mouth to speak, but Krov turned from him, body wavering like the summer heat, and faded from vision as he gave his body to dust and his mind to the Silver Eye.

An explosion echoed around them. The walls had fallen. In a few breaths Barracus’ creatures would be upon them. Almost on cue the wizards’ pitch began to rise, and soon their voices weren’t individual voices at all, but one shrill voice, rising higher, moving faster, until their words were lost in one piercing scream.

Zorc covered his ears and fell to his knees, willing his mind not to shatter. Just when he thought his mind would burst, there was silence.

The circle was gone. The shouts, the screams, the chanting, all had silenced. The wizards who had surrounded him were now dust, their lives wrapped up in the emotional weave they had woven. But there were no howls either. The only ones with magic remaining were himself and the cowled figure before him.

A gloved hand came out of the robe, holding the well-measured time weave. Zorc drew in a devastated breath. The time weave was the most painful magic to invoke. The one conducting the weave relinquished his life so another could live until a future time. Although the granter of life would die, their spirit would live inside the vessel and continue to suffer until the time weave was broken. He didn’t deserve the sacrifice the man was about to make.

Then he saw it. A tattered, red velvet pouch lay on the ground beside the cowled figure. His eyes went wide.

“Christa!”

He started to run, but it was too late. Christa flung her cowl back at the same time she hurled the dust into the air. A multitude of fiery-red hair cascaded over her shoulders as the dust fell upon her. Her eyes said it all. She wanted to be with him, and this was the only way.

Her body disintegrated as it joined the dust that fell around her. Zorc’s entire body shook as her lifeforce found a home, wrapping around his life matter and carefully protecting his years ahead. He sensed his blood and bones become something unexplainable, something that slowed to almost ceasing. Then Christa’s life took over, forming life as his own life was halted, but hers worked so slowly that for a precious heartbeats he thought he might not live.

He fell to the floor, desperate to reach inside and bring her back. Each time he drew a breath he felt her in every pore. When he felt a hand steady him, he looked up into Galor’s worried eyes.

“Hurry, Zorc, we don’t have much time.”

The seer had warned him the peasants would storm the keep, desperate to destroy anything remaining of magic. Zorc quickly bent to retrieve the tattered pouch. After brushing all of Christa’s ash inside, Zorc went to the crystal, shrunk its size and placed it in his robe.

Just before the door to the keep burst open Zorc and Galor plunged down the passage leading to freedom, turning over torches along the way. Almost immediately flames exploded skyward as the fire touched the black ashes of the wizards, ensuring complete destruction.

Zorc glanced to the side dungeon where Ista’s body lay. Fire had already enveloped her cell. The destructive weave had granted her an easy death, unlike the death she deserved.

When he heard a lone whimper he thought it was his imagination. Now he knew better. Ista had survived and she had received some of the time weave. Ista had taken part of Christa – his Christa.

Zorc’s vision blurred to a vehement red. His Christa was now part of that vile, corrupt woman he had condemned to death, a sentence that had never been carried out because of the war. Ista’s aim wasn’t control. It was revenge. He knew her mind. She wanted him to bow before her. She wouldn’t stop until he did.

“Try to make me do so, Ista,” Zorc said, as his widow’s peak quivered with rage. “If you do you’ll have a surprise waiting for you.” He turned to the Silver Eye. He had to begin his questions. But soon he would have to go in search of the Chosen.

Very soon.

Chapter 7

They had walked fifty dragon’s tails and had already passed the wall surrounding the keep where the first passage ended. It dipped under the thick stone layer and opened into a closet-like haven inside the wall itself, where a hollowed, hinged stone allowed access to the main road of the city. Ren had often used the first passage in order to escape to the city without fanfare. The second passage led to the wine cellar in the
Dragon’s Bane
, an old pub in the city’s center. Elderec, the pub’s owner, knew about the passageway and kept it well hidden.

They were almost at the end of the third passage, which careened through an abandoned silver mine to the wall surrounding the entire city of Ziera, the main city of Zier and home of the Stardom Castle. Years ago Michel had hidden weapons and provisions in the wall’s hollow in case quick escape was needed. Ren made sure to check the stash frequently, trading out rusted weapons with fresh and restocking the food supply. Now Ren was glad he had listened to Michel. The provisions would be invaluable in the days ahead.

The ground sloped down, signifying the passage’s end. The silver streaks in the earth became more prominent, and the torch Ren carried brought them to life, bathing the tunnel in beauty.

A slight movement caused Ren to stop in his tracks. Michel gripped Ren’s arm, forcing him back a step. The air filled with the sharp ringing of steel as the men drew their swords. Ren lifted the torch higher. Its rays cut the shadows. A sharp cry of delight lit the confusion of the group as Renee jumped to her feet and ran toward them.

Ren scooped his mother up in his arms. Renee clung to him. “Ren, I was so worried. Valor wouldn’t let me near you. I tried everything to reach you – ”

Ren chuckled. “You would have succeeded if both guards had liked raspberries. When the first passed out from your little trick the second warned the replacements you had slipped a sleeping herb into the tarts.”

Renee pulled away and grinned mischievously. “That wasn’t even my best attempt.”

Before Ren could reply, Renee’s eyes drifted to Michel. Ren found himself holding his breath. Everyone knew the rumors, and everyone knew why Michel had left Stardom. Although Renee had never voiced her sorrow, Ren sensed it. Wyrick was a king, and for years Renee had played the queen, but her heart was wild and her spirit free. Michel had called to those urgings. Wyrick had stifled them. As the men watched, the silence in the tunnel deepened, but it was a hopeful silence, one in which friendships grew and rekindled.