Quest Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 1) (37 page)

“How do you know where to go?” Fraul asked, dipping his water skin into the creek and glancing at Aaron. The Avenger stared westward, eyes glowing with an internal strength that could only be a blessing from the Maker.

They hadn’t been riding hard but they had been riding incessantly, starting in the early morning and continuing to well after dark. It suited Fraul fine. He had never been one to require a tremendous amount of sleep and it seemed he required even less of it with each passing year.

“I don’t know the way you know things,” Aaron said. “It’s hard to put to words. I know when I’m going toward the betrayed and I know when I’m not. We’re going toward the betrayed now. We’ll find her soon.”

Fraul shivered, not from the chill but from Aaron’s augury words. The way Aaron’s golden eyes flickered with divination sometimes made Fraul uncomfortable. He almost pitied those who fell on the wrong end of Aaron’s sword. Almost.

“It’s a woman then?”

“Yes, it’s a woman. She’s starting toward us, determined to find help. She’ll find us, or we’ll find her, but I don’t know the distance separating us.”

Fraul capped his water skin and looped it around one shoulder as they started back to camp. “Why aren’t you born where the betrayed is, so you don’t have to travel to find her?”

Aaron considered the question as he settled on his pallet. Fraul was now used to Aaron’s spans of silent thought and had come to revere those few heartbeats of anticipation. They gave Fraul a profound sense of dignity. It was only because Aaron had never put his experiences to words that forced his silent introspection. The fact Aaron honored Fraul’s questions at all gave Fraul a pride few possessed.

No breeze stirred, which was rare on the outskirts of the lush Zier region, but the stillness only accentuated Fraul’s contentment. The crackling of the fire and the faint sounds of the nightbirds settled into the evening as if they were permanent fixtures of the area. It was a rare experience Fraul knew he would always remember. He leaned back onto his pack to soak it all in.

Aaron’s face glowed in the firelight. His fingers absently brushed the hilt of his golden sword. When he spoke his eyes never focused on Fraul. They remained locked on some distant scene.

“To discover, to learn,” he said, reverence resonating with every word. “Each time I’m reborn I learn something invaluable on my journey, so when I live again I won’t die.”

Fraul took a few heartbeats to analyze Aaron’s words. “You mean when you’re able to live a full life?”

“Correct.”

Fraul rubbed his goatee as he studied the man across the fire, wondering if he was asking too many questions. Aaron didn’t seem to mind, but Fraul had an odd sensation he drew close to approaching the point where Aaron would not, or could not answer.

He could see the emotions in Aaron’s eyes: the pain, the love, but also Aaron’s doubt of his own existence. That shook Fraul more than he would have thought possible. How terrible it must be to exist, yet not to know.

But did anyone really know his or her own significance? Why did he exist? Was there some ultimate purpose he was supposed to fulfill? Had he stumbled off course or was he still in line with his personal fate? Fraul shivered. Fate had always given him pause. The notion that he was to do one thing scared him more than the afterlife. Although he was no fool, if there was one purpose for his life he knew he had already passed it by. He had always been good at passing things by, rationalizing them away.

No matter how much he knew of fate, life would always be a mystery to him, as would the Avenger. He supposed most things were intended to remain that way. Mystery kept humanity striving to achieve. If everything were known no one would have the desire to do anything more, and all would fall to ruin. At least that’s how he surmised human existence. Humans reached for reason and purpose behind everything. The more they reached the more they understood, but the more they understood the more they didn’t understand. Who said the Maker didn’t have a sense of humor?

“Tell me, Fraul, you aren’t married?”

It was the first question Aaron had ever asked him, and it took Fraul by surprise. Aaron regarded him with golden eyes that held a pensive affinity. For the first time, Fraul realized Aaron truly liked him.

A small smile stole across Fraul’s face as he fingered his goatee. “No, not with my life. I’m the leader of an army, like my father before me. There’s no tomorrow for a warrior, only today.”

“That’s admirable of you.” Aaron raised his eyebrows, lips lifting into a rare grin. “None you ever wanted to marry?”

Fraul chuckled at Aaron’s expression. “There was one. Her name was Leslia. She was the most perfect woman I’ve ever seen.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing at all happened.” Fraul shifted on his pallet, pausing to relish the story. “I was traveling to Yor, to try out for the army. She was a farmer’s daughter who gave me fresh fruit and bread to take with me. When I looked at her and she at me I knew she was the one. She asked me to stay for a few days, but I declined and walked away. I knew if I stayed I would eventually leave to join the army. I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her cry so I chose not to even know her. Our conversation was no longer than a sun’s click, but I remember her like I’ve known her for a lifetime.”

“You don’t regret it?”

Fraul stared into the fire, remembering Leslia as she handed him the parcel of food. “I regret it every day, but I don’t regret it for her. She’s better off without me.”

Aaron nodded as he threw another log on the fire. The fire flared, blinding Fraul for a few heartbeats and sending a torrent of heat in his direction. When the flames finally waned the night seemed even more still, as if their conversation warranted sanctity even from the nightbirds, whose incessant chatter continued until well past dawn. Fraul drank in the darkness so as to bring the memory back when he wanted.

“I sometimes wonder how we go on when there’s so much pain. I’ve seen the worst of it,” Aaron said. “I’ve held those dying because someone they trusted betrayed them. I’ve lived it. Every time I come back, love drives me to kill, but pain drives me to die. Love is pain, Fraul. I want to be through with pain. Therefore, I suppose, I want to be through with love.”

Fraul bent toward the Avenger, not wanting to miss anything the man said. The plaintive quality of Aaron’s tone, combined with the love in his eyes, reminded Fraul of the Maker looking down upon his beloved children who continually turned their backs on him. Fraul recognized the experience he now lived was far more than sacred – it was sanctity.

The silence continued. Fraul dared not speak. He had never been uncomfortable with silence, and he knew the Avenger was forming his thoughts into words that Fraul could better understand. A sudden warmth stole over him: a warmth for the man across the fire, and a warmth for the Maker who had sent the Avenger to him.

“Once I avenged a woman who had been pronounced an adulteress by her husband,” the Avenger said. “Her husband, an important man in society, said he’d caught her in the act and killed the man with her. It was believed by the masses but it wasn’t true. At that time the punishment for adultery was fire, and the woman was burned at the stake screaming out her love for her husband the entire time. But I knew the truth. The husband had committed the crime. He had taken a mistress and decided he wanted her over his wife.

“When I rode into town and heard the wife screaming for her husband’s love, it broke my heart. Her husband was burning her alive and she begged for his love, for forgiveness for whatever she had done. I tried to reach her but I was too late. She died before she knew I was there.”

The crackling fire suddenly sounded ominous. Without warning the wind gusted, blowing sparks into the night and throwing the flames higher. The still night was abruptly chaotic and the moaning breeze wailed in anguish. Fraul didn’t move, wondering if the very wind was reacting to Aaron’s mood.

“What did you learn on that mission?”

The Avenger slowly lifted his head from the flames. “I think the lesson was this: the woman would have chosen death rather than see me kill her husband. Love is pain, Fraul, but love is also stronger than death.”

Chapter 20

Korin was running out of time and he knew it.

He strode through the early morning light, deep in thought. Davis’ life was in danger. Korin was sure of it.

Nothing had been said, nothing even hinted at, but he had woken that morning bathed in a cold sweat, gut twisting like the Watcher himself had hold of him. He always had those feelings when something he dreaded was about to come to pass. It was almost as if he had the sight, but it could be he’d been among evil for so long he could smell it like the wolven smelled blood.

Korin stopped short and rubbed his forehead. Ista’s presence was a constant. He clawed at his skull, desperate to rid himself of the needles.

For days he had searched the books Lorlier had given him. He had barely slept since returning to the keep, desperately searching for a way to free his mind. He had found nothing, and he was out of time.

He didn’t know how Ista intended on taking Davis’ life, but Korin had to stop it.

Korin swallowed back his fear and started for the stables. He needed a ride to clear his thoughts.

Lorlier had taken Korin’s advice and announced his neutrality. Still, many in the Fest kingdom had journeyed to Zier, and many more were leaving. Unlike Ramie, Lorlier did nothing to stop them. Korin had convinced Lorlier that tolerating the departure of his citizens would pacify Ista.

Ista claimed the Collective would fight for all the Lands, but Korin knew the truth. Yes, the Collective would fight for the Lands, but within months the Collective would become the power. Kings would be helpless to resist such a force. Steel was nothing against magic. Kings would follow the Collective’s demands out of force or necessity. They would be puppets on a string.

Most kingdoms would be hungry for a magical weapon. Men who left their homes to join the Collective thought they would return to defend their homeland. Korin knew better. By the time the men returned they wouldn’t be loyal to their kingdom, but to the Collective.

Lorlier wanted Korin to teach the Fest guard the ways of magic. Lorlier wanted to build his own army with the Quy. He didn’t want to be vulnerable to anyone. Korin thanked the fates he had been assigned a fighter rather than a pacifist.

It was a truce: Ista was ignorant of Lorlier’s plans, satisfied with the men Lorlier allowed to leave Fest, and Lorlier was satisfied Korin would teach his soldiers.

Brice’s suspicions had surfaced when Lorlier demanded all soldiers remain in Fest, but after Korin explained Lorlier’s plans to replace his soldiers before those with the Quy were allowed to leave, Brice had been appeased. It was a good lie. It took months for men to complete the admission tests of the Fest guard and it had given Korin ample time to search for a counter to the needles. But today, his feeling of foreboding told him he was out of time.

Would Ista order Brice to take Davis’ life? Or would she order him? Korin shivered. If Ista ordered him to complete the task Korin would be tempted to take his own life, but that in itself would not help Lorlier. If Korin ended his own life, he would be unable to help Lorlier train his men. Magic was the weapon Lorlier needed to defeat Ista. It was up to Korin to destroy Ista’s plan.

Most people with the Quy were hungry to learn the power and had joined Ista with fiery enthusiasm. Korin could hear them in his mind: the Collective, their constant whispers. Soon it would be hard to hold onto sanity.

Before, the Collective were few, and Ista spoke with each individually. As they grew in number the stronger the web became and the less Ista relied on her individual hold. Now she could whisper her thoughts and they were conducted throughout the network like vibrations of raindrops on a spider’s web.

The whispers currently vindicated Ista as being the savior of the Lands. It made Korin want to scream. Memories from the camp exploded inside him. He shoved them away, unwilling to remember the atrocities he had committed for a life that would never be his.

Korin opened the stable door and blinked in the sudden dimness. The scent of sawdust, oats, and horses floated to him. Although the smells didn’t rejuvenate him, they lifted his spirits. Horses always made him feel more at peace. They symbolized salvation.

Ista had already begun building the New Alcazar in Zier. She would soon rule from its ramparts like the Calvet before her, but this time she would make the Alcazar the controlling influence in the Lands, not subservient to kings. In a matter of months Ista would be the controller of the Quy and the controller of lives.

Although Korin knew he couldn’t stop her, he could hopefully slow her enough to allow the Chosen to crush her. If only the Chosen would act soon, Korin may have a chance at a normal life, but that was a fatuous hope. It was neither rational nor feasible.

When he stopped in front of Salve’s stall the white steed nickered. Korin whispered a greeting and rubbed the untainted face. Salve pawed the ground, eager for a ride even though he had been ridden hard over the past few weeks.

“You don’t know how lucky you have it, my friend. If only I were as spotless as you the world would look all the more beautiful,” Korin whispered.

“Is father being hard on you, Korin?”

Korin knew who had spoken before he turned. Her voice always sent a warm chill down his spine. Marianne looked as if she hadn’t slept since returning to the castle. Her eyes were dull, her lips faded. The buttons on her blouse were off by one, making her appear a little disheveled.

He hadn’t spoken to her the rest of the trip, feigning to be busy discussing strategy with Gregory. Lorlier’s request to spend more time with Mari bothered him. Although Korin would have given his right arm to do so, the closer they became the worse he would hurt her when he left, and leave he would have to do. Even if he found a reprieve from the needles Ista would hunt him. He would have to flee, take on a new identity and always be on guard for one of the Collective.