Red Dragon's Keep (The Dragon's Children Book 1) Page 3

  “Now, slowly release the energy and let it drain back into the earth. Feel the calmness of that release.”

  Thomas did as she instructed, feeling the energy drain away. He opened his eyes and looked at her with a little fear. “What can I do with that energy? I felt like I was buzzing with it.”

  “You can extend that energy to others, make objects move, hold things immobile as I did with Garan. There are many things you can do. The most important thing to learn is control; summoning and releasing and shielding.

  “You also need to pay attention when the power starts to fail. That is the signal to release it and rest. All magic demands a price. That price for us is death if we use the power to exhaustion. You must eat something soon after using it. Food helps replenish your power, both physically and mentally. Now, call the power and hold it steady.”

  Thomas did so. He could feel it wavering as he tried to do what she asked.

  “Think of a shield of air standing between you and the world.”

  Thomas concentrated and built a wall of air around him. It felt heavy and dense. He lost his concentration and the shield wavered and snapped away.

  Frustrated, he leaned forward in his chair and tried again. This time the shield didn’t even form. Bewildered, he looked at Aeden. She turned her head and looked at him steadily.

  “What am I doing wrong,” he asked in exasperation.

  “How calm are you?” she asked.

  Chagrined, he closed his eyes and calmed his mind and heartbeat.

  Again he formed a picture in his mind of a shield around him. As the shield grew, he began to feel like he couldn't breathe. He panicked and released the power all at once.

  It surged back into him. Pain racked his body as his back arched and he drew in a huge breath. The pain slowly subsided.

  “What was that?” he exclaimed.

  “You built a very tight shield,” Aeden smiled. “And, that's what happens when you release the power too quickly. Control is everything. Magic is very literal. You want to build a shield that is loose enough to allow air through but still dense enough to protect you.”

  “Let's try something else. Focus your energy into a ball of light on your hand. Like this.”

  Aeden held out her hand, centered herself and slowly allowed her energy to manifest as a ball of magelight on her hand so that Thomas could follow the steps. She gently sent it floating over their heads.

  “Could you feel what I did, Thomas?”

  “Yes, I did. I felt everything. Let me try.”

  Thomas centered himself, held out his hand and squinted his eyes, his lips pressed tight in concentration, as he attempted to create magelight. A small ball of fitfully flickering light appeared above his hand. He laughed in excitement. The light winked out of existence.

  Aeden smiled.

  “Very good. Now, let's create a shield that lets you breathe.”

  § § §

  Thomas’s eyes drooped as he shoved the needle through the material of his torn tunic. He jerked himself awake and yawned mightily, stretching his arms over his head until his spine cracked. He had plans for the night even though all he wanted to do was sleep. Using magic was hard work.

  He kept himself awake mending his ripped trousers. His mother had insisted he learn how to take care of his own clothing. As soon as that chore was done, he folded the mended clothes and placed them in his trunk at the foot of the bed. He walked to his door and quietly pulled it open, checking for any noise or movement. He heard only the sounds that night brought to the Keep; the last clatter from the kitchen echoing up the stairwell, the scuff of boots as the guards patrolled corridors.

  Closing the door, he dropped an iron pin through the lock hasp. He walked over to the wall next to the wardrobe that stood to the left of the fireplace facing his bed. The room was paneled with dark wood half way up the stone wall. Tapestries showing battles from Red Dragon’s Keep history hung from the ceiling to the paneling. They blocked out the chill radiating from the stone. Firelight flickered on the wall hangings, making the woven figures seem to move.

  He lifted the edge of the tapestry and tapped on the upper left corner of the first stone block above the paneling. He reached down and pushed on the lower right corner of the paneling next to the wardrobe. Finally he pushed down on the edge of the panel right at elbow height above the right corner.

  There was a click, and a crack appeared in the paneling and stone block. Thomas pushed on the crack and the stone wall swept into a passage that yawned into darkness to the left and the right.

  He’d found the opening by accident last Yule’s eve, pretending to be a thief looking for hidden treasure. He’d heard wild rumors all his life about secret passages in the Tower.

  Tapping, tugging, shoving and imagining had taken up hours of his time. He was shocked when the hidden door opened and he’d almost fallen through into the dusty passage. He’d felt along the edges of the door for the locking mechanism and jammed it with a scrap he tore from one of his worn tunics ready to be turned into rags.

  Figuring out the pattern to push again had taken many more hours. Once he’d found it by listening for the click of the released lock, he’d written down the combination on a scrap of paper and hidden it behind the lining in the trunk holding his clothes.

  Exploring the passages that connected to this one opened a whole new way to keep track of what was going on in his father’s duchy.

  He listened in at his father’s council meetings and to Captain Mathin and Gregory as they discussed the Keep and its defense and maintenance.

  He’d told no one about his discovery. It was his delicious secret.

  Thomas lit a small lantern. He put on his soft-soled boots and stepped into the darkness to the left. He walked into cobwebs that had grown there since he’d last gone exploring. He wiped them from his face in disgust. He raised his arm in front of his head to keep them away, and started down the passage again.

  Thomas had listened shamelessly to Gregory telling Captain Mathin about a meeting in his office with returning scouts after the Tower settled for the night. The scouts were returning from a mission to check on reports of Demon attacks. Thomas wanted desperately to hear that report.

  He hurried along the corridor, trying not to scuff his feet. He came to the set of narrow stairs that descended to the first floor and took them down two at a time.

  The passage passed to the left of Gregory’s office behind the fireplace. The fire heated the brick and kept the dark stone corridor pleasantly warm.

  He shuttered the lantern and set it on the floor after putting his hand on one of the bricks to the side of the fireplace. The passageway was plunged into darkness. Thomas slowly pulled the loose brick where his hand had rested out of its home. He carefully set it next to the lantern at his feet. He breathed through his mouth so as not to make a sound.

  He put his eyes to the gap left by the removal of the brick. He could see dimly through the tapestry hanging on the other side of the wall. More importantly, he could hear.

  Gregory sat behind his desk. Darkness pressed against the tall windows that reflected the room. Two scouts pushed through the door into the office. Dark brown tunics and trousers were covered by oilcloth capes beaded with moisture. Both slumped wearily.

  “Hang your capes behind the door.” Gregory gestured toward the back of the door into the room.

  The scouts pulled them off and hung them on the hooks mounted there.

  “Sit before you fall,” Gregory ordered.

  They gratefully walked over and collapsed into the two chairs sitting in front of his desk.

  “What did you see?” Gregory asked as he got up, came around to the corner of the desk closest to the fireplace and half sat on it.

  “The Steadings to the south and west are gone,” the first scout replied, shaking his head. “Everyone and everything is dead. Babes and mothers, fathers, children, oldsters, everyone. We watched as they slaughtered all of the farm animals and burned all o
f the buildings. There was nothing we could do.

  There is something traveling with the Demons that waits until all living things have been turned or killed and it releases a gas that ignites when it reaches one of the fires burning in the houses. The fires spread from there.”

  The second scout continued, “We were attacked on the way back to the Keep by humans that the Ciardha twisted somehow. I’ve never seen anything like them. They look vaguely like us but there is nothing human left in them. They ‘feel’ empty. Their eyes burn red, just as the Demon’s do. They attacked as soon as they saw us. They don’t die easy. They just keep attacking until their head is taken.” He began to shudder.

  Gregory stood quickly and moved to a table set against the wall between bookcases. It held a jug and glasses. Thomas could smell the mead that filled the jug. Gregory poured a glass for each scout and himself and carried them back to the exhausted men. They took the glasses gratefully and downed the drink in several gulps.

  Gregory waved toward the table. “Serve yourselves.” Neither man left his seat.

  “Could you tell how many had been ‘twisted’ from the Steadings you saw? Are they traveling with the Demons or are they being ‘twisted’ and then let loose on us?”

  “Sir, I couldn’t tell.” The first scout spoke slowly. The scouts glanced at each other then looked back at Gregory. “Truthfully, once they are changed it’s really difficult to know who they are. Their faces elongate and so do their teeth and nails. Their eyes turn red. They seem to gain strength too. They look like another form of Demon. I think most are turned loose by the ‘masters’ to hunt and kill. Some stayed with the Demon horde. Even weirder, not all of the humans are ‘twisted’.” The first scout shook his head in disbelief.

  “Is there anything else that you can recall?” asked Gregory.

  “I’m sure there’s more,” said the first scout. “I’m so tired I can hardly think. Maybe in the morning.”

  “Right,” said Gregory with a sigh. “Get some rest and then see me in the morning after breakfast. We’ll want to make a record of this.”

  The scouts left the room, grabbing their much drier capes from the back of the door on their way out.

  Gregory sat at his desk, his elbows on its cluttered surface and fingers steepled in front of his mouth. With another sigh and shake of his head he rose, took the candlestick on his desk in hand and left the room, pulling the door shut after him.

  Thomas unshuttered the lantern at his feet. He didn’t want to think about the scouts’ report. He carefully replaced the brick he had removed. He had a sneaking hunch that he wouldn’t be getting much sleep for the rest of the night.

  He soft-footed his way back along the passage to his room and made sure that the secret panel was closed and locked after he went through. He twitched the tapestry to make sure the line of the door was hidden.

  The fire snapped and sparked as he put another log on it. He walked over to unlock his door into the main corridor. It would never do to keep it locked and not let his chamberlain have access in the morning.

  Questions tumbled over thoughts as he changed into his nightclothes. Nothing he had read told of Demons turning humans into monsters.

  Why and how? How many had been twisted? Would they be facing an army of the ‘Twisted’? He’d already named them in his mind.

  He crawled into bed and tried to think about riding in battle maneuvers.

  Anything to shut off his questions.

  Chapter 4

  Deep purple shadows slowly lengthened across the cart path that Marta Haloran trudged along toward the Steading. The path followed the river as best it could, sometimes close, sometimes avoiding dense copses of trees or marshy areas filled with mud and cattails along the riverbanks.

  The back of her coarse brown skirt was drawn up between her legs and through her belt in the front, keeping it out of her way. The wooden yoke she carried across her shoulders was heavy. Baskets on either end of the yoke held the things she’d bought in the village. The treats, spices and notions that the Steading couldn’t produce had taken longer to buy than she’d allowed for.

  She wished she’d been able to ride one of the horses into the village, but they were all in use clearing the fields of hay for the coming winter. She tried to move at an even pace so that the baskets didn’t swing too hard, yet she also hurried as quickly as she could. Everyone knew there were Demons roaming from sunset to sunrise.

  The westering sun sank behind the mountain. It disappeared and the temperature dropped. A chill crept up Marta's spine. She was a half a mile from home. She hoped that she could reach it quickly.

  The grey river on her right swirled and gurgled against its bank. Dark woods on her left seemed to lean closer over the path, leafless branches trying to reach for her burden. Something rustled in the depths of the trees. Branches snapped as a heavy body pushed through them. She looked fearfully into the deepening gloom.

  She began to jog toward home. The path swung away from the river. The baskets swung wildly with each jarring step.

  Panting and grunting, snapping and breaking of brush and small trees on both sides of the path sounded behind her. She must not look. She gasped for breath. Her heart thundered in her chest. Fear-sweat streamed down her face. A grunting cough sounded right behind her. She dropped the yoke and took off running. Baskets shattered, releasing food and goods across the path.

  She burst out of the trees into the meadow that fronted her family's Steading. Fear gripped her muscles as she tried to run faster. Standing at the gate through the wooden walls of the Steading, her father and two brothers held lit torches against the gathering darkness. They gripped old swords and spears kept from the last war, other weapons standing sentinel behind them, thrust into the ground within easy reach.

  Marta heard grunting and heavy panting closing in behind her. The thud of many feet shook the ground.

  “Run, Marta! Run!” screamed her father.

  She shrieked voicelessly in fear as she hurtled toward the gate.

  Her brother drew back his arm and launched the spear that he held toward her. It flew over her right shoulder. A howl sounded almost in her ear. She ducked away and found a little extra speed.

  She raced toward her father. As she reached him, she grabbed his left arm. She used him as a pivot, swung around and grabbed the spear that stood upright behind her brother. Arrows rained down on the Demons from behind the palisade walls, loosed by the men and women on the rampart.

  The Demon horrors that they faced stopped to eat the thrashing, dying members of their horde. Course grey hair obscured loose black skin covering hunched bodies the size of ponies. Black claws sprouted from all four feet. Long muzzles filled with serrated teeth snapped and tore at the screaming, dying Demons. Upright ears projected from large round heads. Enormous deep red eyes glistened, pupils huge in the twilight. There were at least twelve left standing.

  Feeding done, the Demons turned toward Marta and her father and brothers. Her father hissed, “Back, back into the palisade. Quick, don't turn around, just step back.”

  The Demons milled in a hideous hissing growling mass, darting forward, trying to get behind them. The defenders backed through the partially open gate, stabbing at the Demons as they tried to slip under the spears and swords to get at the meat they craved.

  Marta's mother and brothers heaved the gate closed as her granda slammed the crossbar into its brackets. Bodies thudded again and again against the gate, making the wood flex and groan.

  “Up on the rampart. Start the fireballs,” her father barked. The holders desperately obeyed their Steader as quickly as they could.

  Everyone in the Steading still on the ground ran up on the rampart and grabbed the pitch-soaked balls mounted on arrows. The balls were touched to braziers kept lit for the purpose and burst into flame.

  Shooting down on the Demon beasts, the pitch-covered balls stuck to skin and burned into flesh. Once ignited, the Demons could not put out the fires.

/>   They broke off their attack and threw themselves to the ground, rolling and spinning, trying to dislodge the burning pitch. They fled shrieking, back into the woods, setting small brush fires as they ran. Rain would soon douse the fires.

  With a sob, Marta put her back to the palisade wall and slid down. How could they survive another attack? How could they survive?

  Marta's mother, Raina, dropped down beside her. She put her arms around Marta's shoulders and hugged her hard.

  “I thought we'd lost you. We can't stay here any longer. We're leaving tomorrow morning at sunrise. Put together your journey pack as quick as you can and help Granda with his. We need as much food as we can carry. We're going to Red Dragon’s Keep.”

  “Mama, what are those things? Have you ever seen anything like them before?”

  “I've never seen them, but I remember stories from the Great War.” Raina shuddered.

  Chapter 5

  Thomas lifted his heavy wooden practice sword into first position.

  “Remember, Thomas, you must move and move and move. Never stand still. Use the flat of your sword to set aside the blows from the other sword. Let the enemy's sword slide along the flat of your blade,” murmured Lady Aeden.

  “As his sword slides down your blade, twist it away from you and cut opposite to his strike.”

  She demonstrated the move. “Watch your opponent's chest. Tightening there tells you when and where he will attack. Do not block; attack.”

  Thomas swung his wooden sword up across his body and back down to his side.

  Lady Aeden started his training two days after his parents left for the capital. The staff sergeant in charge of the squires roused him out of bed before dawn. He’d set Thomas to training with the squires who served the officers of the Keep. At first, running for miles each morning along the roads that met at the Keep sent him to the baths in agony, his legs cramping and his body aching. As his body hardened, the pain grew less and he adjusted to the heavy work.

  Captain Mathin requested Thomas as his squire. Every day, as soon as training with the other squires was over, he hurried through his bath then trotted to Captain Mathin's quarters where he oiled the officer’s chain-mail armor, vambraces and chausses and sharpened his sword. He dreamed of his own armor as he labored.