Dragon Bonds (Return of the Darkening Series Book 3) (7 page)

I let out a long breath.

It was a few days after we had escaped the city, but it felt as though we had only just managed to recover from the flight. We had to keep moving the camp every other day, hiding from the occasional wild dragons that were searching for us, and we had started to train the new recruits and the soldiers who’d never worked with dragons. We barely had time to eat and sleep.

But it was well past time to start the search for the one Dragon Stone that controlled all. However, the king was still talking about attacks and the need to secure his palace.

The one bit of good news was that Varla had managed to get a few scrolls from the Academy—the only ones not lost to fire. She and Merik had been studying them to try and read the old writing, which wasn’t always clear.

Thea, however, still seemed torn about the search.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in it,” she said. She stood at my side, leaning against the wooden sapling-pole that held up the small tent we shared. It was morning and she was nursing a bowl of porridge with a few wrinkled berries we’d managed to find. She grimaced at the sour taste of the berries, and I could have almost laughed, had it not been for our predicament.

Varla and Merik had already eaten and sat on the ground, pouring over the old scrolls. I liked maps, and even I had trouble reading these, but Varla and Merik were certain they could make sense of them. I hoped they were right.

Turning to me, Thea said, “It’s just that…I hate to leave Torvald as it is. It’s our city. We pledged as Dragon Riders to defend it.” She poked at the boiled oats with her spoon.

I gave a shrug. She wasn’t wrong, but I could see no other choice. “What have we got? Lord Vincent has control of others, healing for himself and armor. The Darkening now has wild dragons and an army. What do we have?” I waved at the tents scattered through the sparse forest where we camped right now.

We had almost two squadrons of Dragon Riders, a bunch of people who had never fought, and two troops from the King’s Army—foot soldiers and men-at-arms who had either fled the city or who had been stationed in watch towers and had found us. They were rough men and women who had been trained, but they had never been in a war. Years of peacetime and having Dragon Riders who could deal with bandits from the Southern Realm had left many of them lazy.

And they didn’t know how to work with dragons.

Maybe I was being too harsh, but in my experience, soldiers distrusted dragons. And dragons had to choose their riders. The king had troops that didn’t want to work together—so either the dragons had to be used for scouting missions, or the soldiers had to be used for that so they didn’t have to accompany a dragon or have anything to do with them at all.

Thea nodded and put down her bowl of porridge. She waved her arm at the men and women just now starting to take up staffs and swords for training. “They are good fighters; they’ll learn how to dig in and stand their ground. I can see that in them, I know that. But what I wouldn’t give for Reynalt and his Storm Claws right now.”

The sorrow in her words told me she wasn’t just talking militarily.

Thea’s brother hadn’t come back to camp yet. He, his squadron of Dragon Riders, and the rest of the Flamma family were still unaccounted for, along with four other Dragon Rider squadrons. No one talked about it, but everyone had to be wondering if Commander Reynalt had as little faith in King Justin as the rest of us.

I glanced at the royal pavilion. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust King Justin. I was just not sure I liked him. He had been proud and arrogant as a prince, but now he seemed uncertain and more interested in vengeance than anything. Even worse, he kept changing his mind about how he wanted to launch a counterattack. That was a poor trait in any leader.

I was hoping that at least Instructor Mordecai could make the king see sense and sway his plans. Judging from the shouting coming from the king’s tent, I wasn’t certain that would happen.

Rolling her eyes, Thea muttered under her breath, “That’s not going to help.” She pushed off the pole. “Sorry, Seb—I have to sort this out.” She left, making her way across camp, issuing a few sharp orders to the idlest gawkers and headed inside the king’s tent.

Ugh. Politics.
It had been much simpler to share a dragon’s world.

I headed over to get a second bowl of porridge—it wasn’t good, but it was hot and filling. When I came back, I saw Syl and Beris standing over Merik and Varla. I braced myself for some rude comments, but Syl was excitedly pointing to a symbol on one of the scrolls. “I’ve seen that one before—I know it.”

“Where?” Varla asked. “Where did you see it?” She tossed her long, red braid back over her shoulder. She no longer looked the freckled girl I’d first met.

Merik looked up at Syl with unabashed amazement. None of us had thought about Syl much—he was just Beris’ navigator. But now it seemed he was a little like Merik—he seemed to have a liking for scrolls and books and little bits of history.

Well, he wouldn’t have made navigator if he didn’t.

The thought left my stomach a little sour—and then shame washed through me. Truth was I wanted to think I was a better navigator than Syl was. I had the Dragon Affinity, after all. I could commune with dragons.

Ah, green for more—like a dragon,
Kalax thought to me with a slight mockery.

I sent her my feelings, letting her know that what bothered me more was just how easily she could read my mind.

What can I say, little Seb, human minds are easy for a dragon to learn.
When I tried to answer back, she had put her mind on fishing in a nearby stream.

“It was on an old scroll of Nord-Juhle, I think?” Syl said, bending down for a closer look.

Merik’s mouth fell open. He blinked and said,
“
You found mention of Nord-Juhle? That’s the oldest territory ever known. They didn’t have any written records back then. How do you know it wasn’t a fake?”

I harbored a secret, nasty little wish that perhaps it
had
been a fake.

Syl straightened and crossed his arms. “No—well, I think not. It was in a book compiled by Brother Rhymer, and that was real because it had his seal.”

“Brother Rhymer!” Merik grinned. “That monk is as famous in archivist terms as any of the old monks of the Draconis Order.” He turned to Varla. “Rhymer apparently traveled far and wide collecting stories, tales and bits of lore from the three kingdoms. He became one of the earliest navigators, maybe even the first.”

Beris rolled his eyes and sipped a cup of something steaming hot. Even Varla shook her head as Syl and Merik started to swap navigator stories—who was who and names of great mapmakers that left me wondering how they knew all this. But they were navigators—they were supposed to carry knowledge with them.

Suddenly, I felt like the blacksmith’s boy again—barely able to write my name, struggling with my letters, and chosen by a red dragon for reasons known only to her.

Maybe I’m not a real navigator?
What if this Dragon Affinity has made me into something else?

I waited for a moment, but Kalax did not rebuke that idea this time. Was she distracted—or was that the truth?

Kalax didn’t recognize different roles. To her, humans were humans, dragons were dragons, and castles were just a cave made to use.

She would probably tell me I’m just Seb.

The thought was oddly comforting. Still, a little regret curled up in my chest that I couldn’t join in with Seb and Merik. I had to be honest, too—I didn’t care that Syl, who had never liked me, had won over Merik’s respect. He was supposed to be my friend.

“Seb?” Merik asked, looking up at me from where he sat. His goggles made his dark eyes seem really big.

I straightened. “I was just wondering whether I should go check on the dragons.”

Merik cleared his throat and adjusted his special goggles. “Actually, Seb, you know the most about the Dragon Stones. Can you give us your advice on this? It’s a story from Brother Rhymer about something he was told. It says one of the old chieftains had a magician from the north fashion a jewel that could make him invincible. He never grew old or sick and a host of other things. Does that sound like you’re the king of all Dragon Stone to you?” He tapped the scroll.

I felt a rush of guilty pleasure. They did need me. When I looked at Syl, he offered back a small, nervous smile. I glanced at Beris. He stared back—he wasn’t being friendly, but he wasn’t being an ass either. He waved at the ground as if giving Syl permission to sit down. Syl did. And I did the same.

We were all Dragon Riders—and we had the king of Dragon Stones to find.

M
ordecai was
in the right to argue caution. But that wasn’t something King Justin wanted to hear.

I knew that Seb had little faith in King Justin. To Seb, the king had not proven himself a good or wise leader. I guess I had more trust because I had grown up with Justin. I didn’t know him as well as Ryan did, but I expected my brother would be blind to the king’s faults—Ryan always wanted to see the best in everyone. So I was the only one in the unenviable position of both knowing how strong and determined the king could be, as well as being able to see when he was acting like a stubborn brat who wanted his own way just because.

Right now, I was worried the latter might be true.

The problem was Instructor Mordecai had instantly assumed he could tell everyone what to do—he was the eldest here, and he had trained more Dragon Riders than anyone. He’d also once trained the prince—and Mordecai couldn’t seem to forget that. It wasn’t helping that Commander Hegarty still seemed a little foggy from the Memory Stone enchantment that had held him. So was King Justin. But Mordecai seemed fresh as a daisy mentally, although spiky nettle might have been a better comparison for the grumpy old man.

King Justin and Ryan were arguing for hit-and-run raids and creating chaos to free more people from the Memory Stone so they could join our side. And then we could attack Lord Vincent directly. Commander Hegarty stroked his mustache and agreed.

Instructor Mordecai insisted this would be a costly strategy—we would lose riders, dragons and soldiers with these raids. More than we ever gained. He argued we should send an envoy south to enlist their aid. Commander Hegarty stroked his mustache and said this was wise.

But the South had always wanted to keep out of any fight. Yes, they had tame dragons, but they weren’t Dragon Riders like we were. Commander Hegarty rallied enough to remember he had been working on finding dragons in the hot South, but he couldn’t remember where his map had gone or even if it had made it out of his study at the Academy.

Not a lot of help
.

When I even thought about bringing up the search for the one Dragon Stone that might give us a fighting chance, I worried that I would be yet another voice adding to the arguments and doing nothing more. I could see King Justin was growing impatient. His blue eyes had taken on a bright, hard glitter. I had to do something.

Stepping forward, I said, “Can we not decide anything, sire, until we have more trained troops? It would cost little to wait a few days, and then to decide based on what you see as you review those at your command.”

The king frowned, but I could see the idea pleased him—those at his command. He would enjoy a troop review. He gave a nod. “A few days. I’ll review the troops then and we will decide. See to their training.”

It was obvious Mordecai disliked this idea—he left the tent with a huff. The king turned to talk to Commander Hegarty and I bowed out. I needed to work out some of my frustration with a quarterstaff.

Heading into camp, I found some training going on. Mordecai wasn’t here, so I grabbed a staff and got the two dozen scruffy citizens paired off to spar. I showed them the basic moves and started them into bouts. Finding one—a tall, dark-skinned woman with some muscle on her—who lacked a partner, I squared off with her.

Her first blow met my quarterstaff. I blocked it and returned a sharp prod against her ribs, forcing her to duck back. She held her staff as if it was a sword.

Striking her staff, I gave a sudden twist and prod, sending the woman’s staff sailing through the air to strike a sapling and fall to the ground. “You must always spread your grip on the quarterstaff, spear or lance. Even when using it as a spear to run an enemy through, use a wide stance and a wide grip. It’s not a club.” It was hard to not be irritable. They would soon be fighting for their lives.

“Okay, wide grip—got it.” The woman massaged her wrist. Her mouth pulled down and she seemed annoyed, but I thought it was more with her own lack of skill. Heading over, she picked up her weapon and faced me again.

But a familiar voice called out, “Flamma?”

Turning, I faced Beris.

He and I had sparred and trained, and nine times out of ten I had bested him. It wasn’t that he was a bad fighter, but I was better. I gave him a nod. He swept up a staff and headed over to me, motioning to the woman to step back. “Let’s show these recruits how it’s done.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. I was weary of the bad blood between us. Was he trying to prove again that he was of nobler blood than I, or that he was better in all things?

He seemed to notice my hesitation for he said, “I would like the opportunity for a rematch. And I can’t stand over there listening to those navigators talk and talk about long-dead scholars and sages. I need to do something.” He gave a nod and hefted up his staff.

“Really, Beris?” I shook my head. We didn’t need any more dissent in the ranks. It was difficult enough with the king and Mordecai butting heads—what was going to happen if Beris started making trouble?

Beris nodded to the other recruits, who were now starting to watch us. “Show off what you’ve got, Flamma.”

“Fine. Usual rules—surrender, disarmed or knocked down,” I said, adding a little more snarl in my voice then was probably necessary. We took a few paces back from each other in the small clearing. I kept my trusty quarterstaff and noticed that Beris kept his.

“
Let’s make this quick,” I said and counted down, “Three, two…one.”

Beris narrowed his eyes, kept his grip on the staff, his feet wide and leaned in. I could tell that he was more than ready for this bout.

He struck first and the sound of wood against wood reverberated around our small clearing. Beris was better than I remembered him being—more controlled, assured and no longer prone to losing his temper. I countered his first jab and was pleased to see him wait for me to retaliate. He was trying to size me up and looking for weak spots.

I faked a clumsy swing. He batted it away with ease before striking back as I knew he would.

Reversing my staff, I twirled it and slid my quarterstaff down his staff, toward his hands, meaning to bash his knuckles. It was a simple move, but many experienced fighters forgot about it, trying to overcome their enemy rather than target their hands.

Beris managed to jump back just in time. I saw him lick his lips and nod.

I smiled.
I am not going to go easy on you.

It seemed he had no intention of going easy either. He spun around and lashed out with his staff in a blisteringly quick maneuver, which I ducked, only to realize that was half of the attack—the next was a sweep to my knees. He had hoped I would be so caught up in the speed of his initial attack I’d forget about the second part. I saw it coming just in time, jumped over the staff and let my momentum swing my staff around my body. Beris had to dodge the out-flung, whirling staff.

I twirled again, using the gathered momentum of the staff to spin me around so I’d be even faster. Jabbing my foot down, I stopped my movement. Sweat stuck my shirt to my back and a wave of dizziness from the spin swirled through me. Ignoring that, I jabbing out with my quarterstaff in a high blow that Beris would have to parry.

He swung up his staff. Using Beris’ strength, I let him swing me around. I pushed off from the ground, whirled around and hit the staff solidly against the back of his knee.

Beris pitched forward to one side of me, dropping his staff as he caught himself in the dirt, wincing. I hadn’t hit him that hard, but it was hard enough to teach him not to try to show me up again.

Turning, I started walking away. I heard Beris scrabble to his feet. My shoulders itched with the promise of violence. I spun around, certain I would see Beris’ furious face as he came after me. Instead, Beris had left his quarterstaff on the ground. He held out an open hand. I stared at him—what kind of trick was this?

“Uh—thank you,” Beris said and kept his hand outstretched.

Does he want to shake mine? Like real duelists?

Switching my staff to my other hand, I took his hand.

He nodded as if something had been settled. “I—I don’t know how you did that—the spinning around, adding speed. Will you teach me? And then I can show the others.”

I had to blink and glance around. Was Beris, my tormenter who had made my time as a cadent miserable, asking me for advice?

“Uh, well—it’s all about balance and timing,” I heard myself say, too stunned to stop myself.

Beris made a face and lifted a hand. “I’ve tried it. I just get dizzy and fall over.”

“The trick is in the shoulders and neck.” I mimed turning on my feet, but turning my head a fraction later than my body, almost like two different wheels rotating. “You don’t really spin. It just looks like you do. Your body and feet turn around, but your head just turns once and pauses, then turns again once and pauses.” I demonstrated it for him. It was an old trick I had learned from my dancing instructor that allowed you to spin and glide across a ballroom floor.

“But you go so fast,” Beris said, falling in to walk next to me. “Don’t you feel sick?”

I smiled and shook my head. “The speed is in the quarterstaff. It’s not just a weapon. It is also a prop—you can’t do this with swords, they aren’t the right shape. But that’s why I like short spears—you can use them like that.” I was glad to find someone who could enthuse with me about the wonder and elegance of fighting.

“Spears, lances, quarterstaffs—you can do all sorts of things with them that you just can’t do with bladed weapons. You can lean on them, use them to climb, pole vault. I just lash out with it as I spin to add speed to my movements. Like a counterbalance, see?”

Beris laughed. “Clever.”

It was strange, but I found myself almost liking Beris. Something had changed since he and Syl had been brought back by Seb, Kalax and the others. Had we done something to him? Changed his personality? Could the Dragon Affinity do that? A shiver chased down my back—I didn’t want Seb thinking he’d changed others with his Dragon Affinity.

Maybe this has nothing to do with us and everything to do with Beris realizing he needs other riders.

We made our way over to the weapons rack and started stacking weapons and talking with the recruits about their training.

Over the next two days, Beris started to help with the training. He was hard on the recruits, but they needed that.

Everyone had been through a lot—every person here had lost someone and had seen their homes destroyed. I started to think we had all changed. We couldn’t afford to be jealous or prideful.

With the city in ruins and almost no Dragon Riders left, I had to wonder. I hadn’t heard Beris mention his own family. Had he tried to get to them? Were they lost?

In the afternoon, after we had finished training and while Seb was with Varla, Merik and Syl, I asked Beris, “Your family—how is the House Veer?”

Beris turned away from me.

I put a hand on his shoulder. “If you need to get word to them, then I’m sure King Justin will send a rider or—”

“Don’t,” Beris said thickly. He kept his gaze averted as he headed back to the main area of the camp. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I didn’t know what had happened to Beris’ family, and I wondered if he even knew. I felt like such a fool. How would I feel if Beris started asking me where Commander Reynalt and my parents were? And why they weren’t here with the king?

I headed after him, hoping to catch up and talk about other things. Before I could, the short, shrill blast of the whistle we were using to send signals around the camp split the air.

I headed over to where Seb stood. I waved him to follow me. All senior Dragon Riders must attend—that included me and Seb. I glanced at Beris and Sly. “You and Syl might as well come. You’re as trained as any, and more than most. We needed the Dragon Riders to come together—we’re dangerously short on them.”

* * *

“
A
bsolutely not
!” Instructor Mordecai folded his arms and frowned at us. We sat or stood around the simple collection of rough-hewn camp tables in the king’s pavilion.

King Justin sat at the head of the table, a pitcher of water to one side of him and a large display of maps and charts held out in front of him. He had reviewed the troops this morning, and now we were to make a decision about action.

At the king’s far side sat Ryan, glaring at Instructor Mordecai. Commander Hegarty sat on the other side of the king, staring at the charts, a frown pulling his bushy eyebrows down low. Seb sat on the left of Hegarty, and he kept shooting Hegarty sideways looks. We both wanted the old Commander Hegarty back—the man who could influence a king.

Beris, Syl, Merik, Varla and a few captains of the foot soldiers stood near Instructor Mordecai. I had put myself between Syl and Merik. We had to look a rough, untidy bunch—patched uniforms that had been sponge washed, mismatched armor we had scavenged from others or made from what we could find. All of us were hungry—meals were small in camp. My mother would have fainted to see me like this, and Father would have barked out orders and slapped our disorganized group into better shape.