Red Dragon's Keep (The Dragon's Children Book 1) Page 5

  Lady Aeden laughed. “Not quite so vigorously, Lord Thomas. Gently.”

  He covered his laugh with a cough. He had actually done it right this time.

  Lady Aeden crossed her arms over her chest and turned toward the rows and racks of weapons. The smile left her face, and her lips thinned.

  Thomas glanced at her then turned to really look at the room and its contents for the first time.

  Narrow slit windows at the top of the armory walls allowed dim, dust-filtered light to relieve the gloom. A long wooden table, badly scarred with nicks, scrapes and cuts, but well cleaned, took up the center of the space. The smell of metal, polish and oil permeated the space. The faint coppery hint of old blood underlay it all. The walls were lined with racks holding swords, maces, claymores, falchions, battle axes, and every other weapon of war. Spears, halberds, swordstaffs and poleaxe weapons were leaned between pegs on floor racks standing along the back wall. The uneven floor of flagstone and walls made of huge stone block radiated the chill of death.

  “All of the Arach weapons - won, bought, found,and passed down for generations - are kept here,” she said. “Many have come from battle. Some have spells of health or healing, battle frenzy or strategy laid on them. Some are more powerful than that. It is your time to choose.” Her last words echoed around the room, gradually fading away.

  “How do I choose, Lady?” he asked. He very much feared he would make a mistake.

  “Use your eyes and listen to your gut. Feel.” she answered.

  Thomas’s gaze roamed along the walls, thinking about all of the lives that these weapons had taken over the years, the centuries. He pressed his own lips together in a thin line. As he waited, he began to quiver inside as the weight of time and agony and death wove their menace into his awareness.

  He shook his head, trying to dispel his disquiet. He centered himself again and stood quietly.

  Slowly, slowly, he recognized a pull toward the left side of the room. He moved toward the attraction with hesitant steps. He raised his arm and allowed his fingers to lightly touch each of the weapons as he moved carefully along the wall. Sword after sword passed under his fingertips.

  He’d almost reached the end of the room when he felt heat on his fingers. His mouth went dry and his stomach clenched with excitement and dread. His hand moved without his thinking to grasp the hilt of a sword at least eight hand spans long - longer and heavier than any he had ever used. The blade rested on a rack above its scabbard.

  Carefully he lifted it from its place among these weapons of war.

  A graceful extension of the guard curved from the left quillon to a Dragon’s eye stone mounted in the Dragon claw pommel. The grip was wrapped in finest deep brown deer hide. Steel gleamed in magelight. For a moment he thought he saw runes light along the fuller in that gleam. A shiver ran up his arm. Certainty filled his mind and heart. This is mine! He grinned fiercely and thrust the sword to full extension. Its balance was perfect. Recovering, he turned toward Lady Aeden, the sword raised in front of his face in salute.

  A deep thrumming sound filled the room. What is that? He grasped the sword tighter as he looked wildly at the windows and then the corners, trying to locate the source. It emanated from the stones themselves. His body vibrated with its resonance.

  Lady Aeden hummed deep in her throat, echoing the sound that filled the room. Magelight flashed a deeper blue from her eyes. “That is a powerful choice, my lord.” She smiled and nodded congratulations. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind. The noise was almost frightening in its intensity.

  What is that sound? Why is it happening now? Is this sword something special? Thomas glanced again at the blade and saw the runes glimmering along its length.

  He felt as if a missing piece of him-self had returned. He knew he was complete as he looked back at Aeden, grinned and nodded to her. He took the scabbard down from its rack and sheathed the sword. He removed his belt and threaded the scabbard onto it. As he belted it on, the volume of the thrumming increased. He shook his head again as he and Lady Aeden moved to the doors of the armory.

  The thrumming faded slowly away as Thomas, with his new sword, walked out the door.

  Chapter 9

  Mannan’s head jerked up in disbelief. The spell book he was reading fell from numb hands to the table with a thud. The fields of magic that bound him to this place flared with power. Power that he’d not felt for a very, very long time.

  The High Draiolc, the Dark’s own sorcerer, stood in shock and consternation. His anger began to grow. As it did, his face and body transformed from one visage and physique to another. For a moment, he was thin and old, with wispy hair and wrinkled face. Next, he was a handsome, robust young man. He shifted through four seemings as he struggled for mental balance.

  He turned from the table and strode to the three-legged wooden stand that dominated the north side of his workspace. He whipped the silk covering off of a giant crystal ball the size of a dinner plate. The covering drifted to the floor as he settled his fingertips on either side of the crystal. He closed his eyes and waited for his will to activate the energy within it.

  Slowly the crystal warmed. He opened his eyes and stared into the crystal. He pictured his minion whom he had corrupted in the town outside of Red Dragon’s Keep. With a snap of his mind like a whip, he sent his thoughts toward the man. He felt the connection grab and the man recoil in fear. He surrounded the man’s thoughts and took over his body. He looked out at the dimly lit tavern filled with villagers taking their mid-meal.

  Rising abruptly, he hurried the man’s body out of the tavern and turned toward the Tower. Villagers called greetings as he passed and he waved at them, but didn’t stop. He made his way through the Dragon Tower wall gate, turned left and continued into the stables. He grabbed the nearest stable-boy and shook him roughly.

  “Have you seen or heard anything strange from the Tower? I was told in the village there were mysterious things happening here.”

  “No. There was an odd noise a little while ago, but it went away. Let me go!” The stable-boy struggled to jerk his shirt out of the man’s hands. The man reached out and smacked his hand hard against the stable-boy’s ear. He gave him another good shake, and shoved him away.

  “Get back to work,” he ordered.

  The man strode out of the stable, and stopped, facing the Tower. He put his hands on his hips and slowly scanned the area in front of him. Dragon Tower, kitchen garden, weapons practice area. His eyes were drawn to the armory. He knew what was held there.

  Abruptly, Mannan withdrew from the man’s mind, taking all knowledge of his sorcery with him.

  A Sword of Light had awakened.

  Mannan stood frozen in thought before the crystal.

  No matter. The ambush set for the Duke will seal his fate. There is nothing they can do about it. The Sword of Light is only one, not many. Who holds it does not matter. The plan proceeds.

  He removed his hands from the crystal. He bent down and retrieved the silk covering and placed it gently over the orb.

  He walked back to the table, picked up the spell-book and returned to reading.

  Chapter 10

  The Duke’s cavalcade stopped for the night four days past the Lake of Wings, the largest lake between Red Dragon’s Keep and Cathair Ri. The Samphir River, much broader here because of tributary flows, surged against its banks, making it unsafe to approach except in sheltered coves carved out by running water. They were almost to Great Falls and the river crossing he planned to make there. Another five or six days would see them at Cathair Ri.

  “My Lord, the flour has spoiled and two of the water barrels are dry,” reported a lieutenant who had walked up behind him.

  Lord Tom Arach finished running the dandy brush over his horse’s coat. He turned toward the lieutenant shifting nervously from foot to foot. He rested his hand casually on the horse’s back.

  “How do you know?” he asked.

  “The cook told me. I’ve brou
ght it to you,” the lieutenant responded.

  “Let’s go talk to the cook,” the Duke said, with a final pat on his horse’s rump. He tossed the brush into the equipment bucket as they passed the end of the picket line.

  They made their way through the camp past the tents that the soldiers were setting up in ordered rows. The smoke from the cook fire rose lazily into the still air. Once out of the mountains that sheltered Red Dragon’s Keep, late summer still held the land in its grasp. Ripening grasses rippled in the breezes that wandered the valley. The trees along the river were starting their yearly change to red and orange and gold, signaling the coming of fall.

  “Tell me,” Lord Tom said, as he and the lieutenant reached the supply wagon where the cook stood waiting.

  “Lord, I don’t know how this happened. Well, yes I do. Mold was obviously put in with the flour when the barrels were filled. There are small holes drilled through the bottoms of the water barrels. Just big enough to allow small dribbles to escape, nothing that would be noticed,” the cook responded. “I have no idea who did it,” he said with a grimace, his eyes narrow, lips thin.

  “How much flour do we have left? Have you checked the other supplies?” Lord Tom asked, and then sighed.

  “Lieutenant, please go and ask Ladies Jenni and Anne, and Lord Jeremy to meet me here.” He shook his head in frustration. “I knew things were going too well.”

  He turned back to the cook. “Get some men and check all the rest of the supplies. There’s a village a day ahead where we might be able to replace what we’ve lost.”

  “Yes, my Lord. I’ll get right on it.” The cook walked back to the cook fire, gave the kettle filled with stew a quick stir and bellowed at his men to report to him.

  Lady Jenni walked toward him from the middle of the camp. As she reached him, she turned her head to watch the cook ordering his men to the supply wagons. “What’s happened?” she asked, her brows lowering over her eyes.

  “Sabotage,” he answered tersely. “It’s felt too easy. I’ve been waiting for something to happen.”

  “I know what you mean,” Lady Jenni answered with her own sigh. “What’s the damage?”

  “Spoiled flour and leaking water barrels. I suspect all of them have been drilled,” he answered. “The men are checking everything else. I won’t be surprised if there’s more.”

  Lady Anne and Lord Jeremy, parents to Cameron and Evan, walked toward them, followed the lieutenant from the opposite side of the camp.

  They’d joined the Duke’s caravan at the confluence of the Caladen and Banuisk rivers. The sisters nodded to each other.

  “Someone, or maybe more than one someone, has sabotaged our supplies. You might want to check yours to see if anything is amiss,” Lord Tom told them. “We’ve got moldy flour and leaking water barrels. The water barrels should be easy enough to repair and fill, and we might be able to replace the flour at the next village. Something just doesn’t feel right. We’d better put everyone on alert.”

  “I’ve been having this niggling feeling that someone is watching us,” Lady Anne told the three. Tall and slender, her dark brown hair pulled back in a tail that trailed down the back of her linen blouse, she looked at her sister with worry in her chocolate brown eyes. “What about you, Jenni? Anything?”

  The sisters were known for their ability to sense things.

  Lady Jenni shrugged. “Just a little itch, like someone is trying to read me,” she responded.

  “Well, we’ll do the best we can.” Jeremy spoke thoughtfully, his hands on his hips. “You’re right, Tom. We’ll alert our men, too.” As tall as Lord Tom, he towered over the two women, his wiry strength evident in his controlled movements. “Do you think there’s a traitor here now?” He rubbed a hand in distraction over his very short brown hair. “Any way to find out?” he asked, scanning the campsite with his deeply set blue eyes. His long face was twisted in a grimace of concern.

  “I think the only thing we can do is put a watch on the wagons. I’d lay odds that this happened back at the Tower, though,” Lord Tom responded. “Ladies, if either of you notice anything…”

  “We’ll make sure you’re the first to know,” they chorused in unison.

  Lord Tom grimaced. “I’m sure you will.”

  Lord Jeremy laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Anne, let’s get the watch set. It’s almost time for dinner.” The four scattered to prepare as best they could for whatever might come.

  Chapter 11

  “Eagan, you stand watch so we don’t get caught,” Calen ordered.

  Eagan darted his small squinty eyes furtively at the other squires and then along the walls, making sure that no one else was near enough to hear them. His hands nervously plucked at his dirty shirt and then at the growing hole in the seam of his trousers. Horse’s heads hung out of some of the stall windows to the left and right as they drowsed in the increasingly rare afternoon warmth.

  Calen, Eagan, Newlan and Tristan huddled behind the stables after mid-meal. Everyone shifted shoulders and feet uneasily. If they didn’t hurry they would be late for their afternoon chores and lessons. They’d earn punishment if they were tardy.

  “Ever since Garan was exiled, I’ve wanted to take out Thomas,” Calen spoke softly and viciously. “It’s all his fault that we can’t bully the other squires and skullies anymore.

  I’ve tried to hurt that brat every time we spar and nothing seems to get through. Oh, he gets bruises alright, but that’s all. Have any of you had any better luck?” Calen cursed savagely under his breath. His dark brown eyes shone with anger. His black hair, black shirt and trousers made him look older and more sinister than the others.

  A chorus of ‘No’s’ answered Calen’s question. He shook his head, lips tight, arms rigid at his sides, hands clenched into fists. He pounded one fist against his leg. “We have got to do something. We’re on a deadline here. Does anyone have any ideas at all?”

  Tristan cleared his throat nervously. He was tall and thin and looked like he hadn’t bathed in a week. “Why don’t we just ambush him in the Tower and stick a knife in him? That should be easy enough.”

  “Right,” said Newlan sarcastically. He slouched against the stable wall, arms crossed over his chest. “Just lure him into a dark corridor and kill him. Right. Do you know what would happen then? The Tower gets closed down tight and every single person in it is tortured until they find the killer. Good idea.” He snorted.

  “Well, do you have a better idea?” asked Calen sharply.

  “I’ve been thinking we could sabotage the training course. Maybe set up a deadfall on the running path. We could grease the balance log or fray the climb rope.” Newlan shrugged his shoulders.

  Calen looked at him speculatively. “Do you think we can do that?”

  “If all of you help, sure.”

  “Shhhh!” Eagan urgently gestured for all of them to be quiet. Voices echoed through the windows of the stable. Two guards patrolled the aisle between the horse stalls. They were comparing the use of a staff against a halberd.

  After the guards had passed, Calen bent forward and motioned all of them closer. “Let’s do this tomorrow, early. Each of us will take an obstacle and make sure it will fail. Thomas always goes first on the course, so one of them should get him. Eagan, you take the low jump. Newlan, the log walk. Tristan, the rope climb. I’ll take the roll-over log.” Each nodded sharply as Calen assigned them their targets.

  Calen smiled grimly and waved at the others to leave. He stood there, frowning in thought for a short time, imagining what would happen when their sabotage killed Thomas. He grinned wickedly as he walked out from behind the stables toward his next class.

  Chapter 12

  Granda stumbled and almost fell. Marta reached out and grabbed his arm to steady him. “Thank you, Marta. I’m sorry I’m so slow. Happens when you get old.” He shook his head in frustration. “Could you ask your da if we could stop for a rest? I’m awful tired.”

  Marta lean
ed over and kissed him on his sweaty cheek. “Of course I’ll ask. Here. Let’s get you settled on the grass.” She helped him wobble over to the side of the road where lush green grass had once stood. Now it was dead and dried. Fall was steadily advancing. Granda slowly lowered himself to the ground and gave a loud sigh. Marta swung the water-skin off of her shoulder and gave it to him. “I’ll be right back.”

  The column of holders and their families continued to trudge past her on the track that led to Red Dragon’s Keep. They had left the Steading the day after the Demon attack. For five days they had been walking toward what they hoped was safety. She felt like she had been walking forever.

  Sheep, goats, cattle and horses the Steading and holders owned raised a cloud of dust from the track. Babies cried, mothers soothed and children, now too tired to play, tramped morosely next to their parents. Wagons creaked and ungreased wheels squealed as they passed by, carrying as much food, fodder and possessions as they would hold.

  Marta trotted along the side of the track on the dead grass. She exchanged hellos with those she hurried past. Her mother put her in charge of helping her granda when they left the Steading and she had been caring for him the entire way. The refugees could only move as fast as he and the other elderlies could.

  Faolan, Marta’s father, strode along the track, his face set and stern. His long strides covered the ground, seemingly without effort. Marta slowed only a little as she reached his side. “Da, Granda needs to rest. Can we take a break?”

  Faolan looked at her with blank eyes for a few strides. His attention snapped to her and his light brown eyes looked at her instead of whatever he’d been thinking about. He looked around as he walked, then checked the sky for the time of day. They’d been traveling for several hours and the afternoon was well spent.

  “Yes, it’s time to find a defensible place to set up for the night. Run back along the line and tell everyone it’s time to rest. Send your brothers up here. We’ll scout for a place to camp.”