Read The Villain Keeper Online
Authors: Laurie McKay
The Villain Keeper
For my mom, who read this fifty-one times, and my sister, who read it fifty, and my brother, who read it twice. For my family and friends, who've supported me. And especially for my dad, who we all loved and who we all wish could've read it, too.
17. THE FUTURE ELITE PALADIN OF ASHEVILLE
21. ONE IS SILVER AND THE OTHER BLUE
F
or the second time in Caden's life, King Axel hugged him. Caden's bed was unmade from when his father had roused him. The embers in the fireplace crackled. In the flickering light, his sword and staff collections cast odd shadows on the stone walls.
When his father let him go, he stood in shadow and spoke in whispers. “Gather your things quietly and leave. Slay your dragon. When you return, I'll name you an Elite Paladin like your brothers.”
Suddenly, Caden was fully awake. “You're sending me on my quest?”
“Yes. Now, hurry.”
Caden didn't hurry. He yearned for the honor that came with the title Elite Paladin more than all else, but such quests didn't start at night and in secret. When his seven
older brothers had left for their quests, it had been under the bright winter sun and to the cheering of crowds. They'd all been at least fifteen turns, not twelve. Now the kingdom was asleep. Until a moment ago, Caden had been asleep.
For such a large man, King Axel moved on silent feet. He kept glancing to Caden's door like he expected a crypt devil to snatch Caden and drag him to the catacombs. “By the final chime of the night bell, you are to be atop your horse and beyond the castle wall.”
Outside, the night was black and cold. Caden was supposed to leave like his brothers, under the blinding sun. His father's face was supposed to be bright with pride, not hidden in shadow.
“Why not wait until morning?” Caden said.
“Yours isn't the place to question your king.”
It was Caden's sworn obligation to serve his father, the king, and protect the people of Razzon. That didn't include following orders blindly. His father knew that. He was the one who had told Caden that. Caden did the proper thing, and reminded him.
King Axel kept his voice low, but Caden felt the iron in it. Like all royals, the king had been gifted at birth with an ability to help him through the challenging life ahead. His was resolution. His will was absolute. He never changed his mind once he'd made a decision. “Tonight, it's your duty to do as I say,” his father said as he strode toward the hall. “I'll free your horse. Leave through the Southern
Tower.” At the doorway, he turned. “Make me proud.”
Caden felt his words catch in his throat. Before he could say he would, the king was gone. For a moment, Caden stared at the doorway. Then he dressed and packed.
His coat was the color of the dimming sky, the color of Razzon's royal family. The imperial Winterbird was embroidered in silver and gold threads on the back. Strapped across his back, he felt the comfortable weight of his best sword. The blade was sharp enough to split gilded armor.
In the distance, he heard the low, soulful bellow of the night bell. He squared his shoulders and hurried to the far side of the castle and the upper entrance to the Southern Tower.
The Southern Tower held the quarters of the first queen, the mother of Caden's brothers. Fifteen years after her death, only the king ever entered. The door creaked as it opened, and Caden felt unease as he stepped through and onto the staircase.
The stairs were cut into the stone walls and carpeted with silk-trimmed blue wool. The banister was carved with reliefs of dragons and knights. He peered over it. On the ground floor, set in glittering gold and silver tiles, was a giant mosaic of the imperial Winterbirdâthe same symbol adorning Caden's coat.
The second chime of the night bell rang out, and Caden dashed down the steps. He paused at the bottom, his feet on the Winterbird's wing. A portrait hung
on the expanse of the wall. The first queen stood beside young versions of his brothers, lined up from first-born to seventh-born: Valon first, then Maden, Lucian, Martin, Landon, Chadwin, and, finally, Jasan. She looked kind and was smiling at them.
He felt out of place beside the painting. There were no portraits of Caden's mother, the second queen. No closed-off towers were dedicated to her memory. She'd been sent away soon after his birth and no one would speak of her, not the servants or guards, not his father or brothers. The portrait made him wonder if she ever smiled at Caden like the first queen smiled at them.
The third chime of the night bell bellowed. Caden left the portrait and ran.
Outside, the snow fell in soft chunks. Razzon was the land of winter. Always, it snowed. Caden whistled and his horse, Sir Horace, charged from the night. His coat was the color of dim-lit frost, but his mane was blinding and white. Breath fogged from his nostrils like smoke. He was the eighth finest horse in the realm, a Galvanian snow stallion trained by the Elite Guard, a horse befitting a prince.
The king might not share his burdens with Caden, but Caden could change that. He could make his father proud and show he could be trusted. He could slay a dragon. Then his seven older brothers would finally accept him as one of them. Caden reached up to pat Sir Horace's mane.
“We will prove ourselves,” he said.
In obvious agreement, Sir Horace raised his magnificent head and whinnied.
Caden glanced back at the castle. It was a tall shadow against a black sky. He swore that when he saw it next, a dragon would be slain by his hand, and he would be named an Elite Paladin like his father and brothers.
He rode through the night then for the next two days. He traveled up and down the great slopes of the Winterlands, through ice-covered forests that tinkled like green glass, stopping only for sleep and meals with Sir Horace. It was on the third day that he found hope. In a fishing village near Dark-Eye Lake, he saw a collapsed house and burned-out field. He heard rumors of a dragon.
Dragons were the side effects of bad magic. The villagers claimed one had formed from the anger and hate as a spellcaster and his rival fought. Unleashed, the dragon was ravenous. It devoured the spellcaster and his rival, destroyed the house, and then disappeared into the mountains.
Caden rode to a high slope to survey the area. In the distance, he saw the beginnings of the Springlands, home of the meadow gnomes and tree elves. Home, too, of his childhood playmate, and occasional tormentor, the thief and sorceress Brynne.
She was the daughter of the powerful spellcasters
Madrol and Lyn, and heir to the mind magic of the night mages. Often, Caden's father contracted her parents for jobs unfit for the honorable Elite Paladins, jobs requiring magic and questionable scruples. Always, she caused Caden trouble. He rubbed his back, remembering the time she'd spelled him to grow a snow fox's tail. Such was the dangers of spellcasters. When they weren't losing control and spawning dragons, they were causing mischief and fluffy white tails.
He shook off the memories. With luck, the dragon hadn't traveled beyond the snows yet. Better to fight a beast born of magic in the Winterlands, the lands of the Elite Paladins, than in the magic-infested Springlands. Caden scanned the border. Just before the soft snowgrass gave way to lush meadows of yellow and purple violets, he spotted a scorched trail in the snow.
“A fire dragon,” he told Sir Horace. “I was right.”
Sir Horace seemed unsurprised. Unlike Caden's brothers, Sir Horace knew Caden's judgment was sound. He trusted Caden.
They followed the singed trail along the border. It was night when Caden caught sight of the dragon. Its scales were smoldering embers, its teeth molten iron. Its eyes were cinder black and it smelled of smoke. Dragons were known to take on the qualities of the emotions from which they were born. Those born of anger often had the character of fire.
Caden felt his heart tingle and his breath hitch. His quest would be done in moments. Above, the moon shone brightly and illuminated a band of thick clouds and falling snow. He dismounted and drew his swordâthe sound of metal scratching metal sliced into the night.
The dragon turned. Its breath burned the green and white grasses. Nearby frosted tulips caught fire. The leaves of the blizzard oaks melted.
Before Caden and the dragon could battle, though, the frozen ground under Caden's boots cracked. The snow glowed the sickly red of bad magic. Beside him, Sir Horace reared up. Ten strides beyond, the fire dragon cocked its smoldering head and watched. Dragons were mere memories of beasts much greater than themselves. They might be the side effects of magic, but they couldn't
do
magic. The fire dragon looked as confused as Caden felt.
The sickly glow curled around Caden's legs and waist. He dropped his sword and grabbed for Sir Horace's reins, but it was too late. The ground broke as if there was no mountain beneath it, and the red magic tugged him down.