Darius stood at the edge of the dark village. The streets were worn, the businesses bland. Not a speck of grass was to be seen except clinging tightly in tufts at the base of buildings, trying to hide from the ravages of unwelcome footsteps. The hoot of an owl drew Darius’s attention to a dying tree, and a black cat passed lazily by, pausing only a moment to stretch and express its boredom with the new visitor. Lanterns hung from doorways, lighting signs. Most informed Darius businesses were closed, and with the spiders and webs that found their homes among the crevices, he wondered if they’d ever been open.
Darius put on some gloves to conceal his curse and continued on. Exactly as Sira described, he spotted the inn on the left, midway down the dusty road. The two-story structure was covered with brown vines, and the windows stared down at him with their diamond shaped eyes. The wind blew the sign, The Dusty Lantern, and a soft squeak trickled into Darius’s ears. It was soon drowned out by the much louder creak as he opened the door.
In front of him stretched a long bar with double doors centered behind, from which a waitress came carrying two plates, steaming with hot meals. Tables were positioned all about, each one having a solitary lantern stationed in the middle. Most were empty. A staircase sat in a cove to the left, leading to the second floor. From the ceiling hung three candlelit chandeliers, spaced evenly throughout the establishment. The shadows they cast did nothing to improve the dreariness that enveloped the room. The few inhabitants in the inn busily chattered, but with Darius’s entrance, the hubbub came to an abrupt halt.
Darius forced a smile and tried to amble casually to the bar. Intense eyes followed him, many glancing from his face to the sword, which hung inconspicuously at his side. He avoided all gazes save the one that watched him from behind the bar. He was a large man with dark hair and a dingy apron tied sloppily around his midriff, which he was using to dry a glass. His work did not falter with Darius’s entrance, and his expression showed nothing.
Blood began pumping faster through his veins, and Darius asked, “Excuse me, sir, but would you have a room?”
“Yup.” The burly man spit a brownish liquid into a bin on the floor. “Nice sword.”
“Uh, yes.” Darius felt the heat of several eyes boring into the back of his head. “And how much would that room be?”
“I don’t know? Maybe that sword would cover it?”
The dried meat Darius ate earlier in the day began pushing upward on his throat. He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. This was a gift.”
Whispers floated about the room, and the man grinned. He paused his labors and leaned in toward Darius. One of his bushy brows raised in curiosity. “Must be some friend. Five gold then.”
“Five?” Darius fingered the gold in his bag, Mr. Athus’s life savings. It wasn’t much, and five pieces would diminish his supply more than he liked. “Would you consider three?”
The bar tender laughed boisterously and then leaned down on one elbow, cupping his chin. “Tell you what. I’ll let you have it for three if you tell me who gave you that gift.”
“My old boss. He…died. His name was…was James.”
The tender squinted and huffed. “James, huh? Common name. Very well.” He slammed a key from beneath the counter. “Room 14.”
Darius pulled the three pieces of gold from his bag, placed them on the bar, and took the key. “Thanks.”
The barkeep grinned and spit another stream of brownish liquid into the bin. “Sleep tight.”
Darius nodded. The room remained quiet as he headed for the small cove. He nonchalantly walked past the patrons, trying his best to appear as casual as possible. Climbing the steps to the second level, Darius heard the chatter of the inn return, and he leaned against the wall.
He was out of their sight, and with the release of a breath he was certain he’d been holding since entering the inn, relief washed over him. Following the narrow hallway, he turned two corners before reaching his room.
He inserted the key and opened the door. A simple bed lay in one corner, and a wash basin hung on the wall in another, supported by two wooden legs. Between them faded, yellow curtains decorated a plain wooden window. It was nothing like the more elaborate diamond shaped windows that looked down upon the entrance.
Against the wall next to the door sat a small chair and table that stood bare, except for a thick layer of filth and a small lit lantern. Darius removed his gloves and tossed them on the table. Dust stirred and he ran his finger along the dirt. He paused, wrote his name, and then wiped it clean, making sure to leave no trace of his identity. With dust-laden hands, he slapped his pant legs, transferring the powder to the cloth and the surrounding air; he coughed.
Darius slipped the thick strap from his shoulder and threw his bag down on the bed. A cloud mushroomed into the air, and Darius frowned. He picked up the pillow and went to the window. Opening it, he held the pillow outside and began to beat it with his fist. A shower of dust floated to the dead bushes below. When the haze diminished, he placed the pillow back on the bed. Moving his bag to the chair, he did the same with the blanket, popping it like a whip and holding his breath to avoid a lung full of dirt.
Satisfied that there was no more he could do, Darius pulled the blanket back inside but was jerked back to the window as something caught his attention. He squinted. The moon was high, the light shining brightly, but in the shadows indistinct forms remained hidden. Then he saw it; a flash of white color peeked through the bushes. In an instant it was gone, and Darius shot behind the edge of the window, peering around only enough to see the brush. After some time a stiffness invaded his neck, and still nothing revealed itself. Darius pulled the curtains closed and turned back to his room.
His stomach growled, and Darius thought of going back downstairs to procure a hot meal. Another thought of the patron’s watching him made his decision; Darius ate some dried meat, put out the lantern, and threw himself back onto his bed. In no time, he was asleep.
An unfamiliar squeak pried Darius’s eyelids open. A tiny sliver of light, originating in the hall, sliced across the bedroom floor through the small crack in the door. Darius held his breath; a hand slowly began inching its way inside. Panicked, Darius reached for his sword, and in a clumsy instant, as he drew it, the weapon slipped from his grip and shot across the room, lodging into the wood next to the arm that was now reaching for his bag.
With a sudden shriek, the figure was gone. Darius darted to the door and into the hall just as the heel of a boot disappeared around the corner. With his breath challenged, Darius returned to his room, slamming and then leaning heavily against the door. He slid to the floor where he sat in a daze. Looking up at the sword, he almost laughed at his own luck.
Darius tossed his bag next to the bed and wedged the chair underneath the handle of the door. And this time, he made sure the lock was latched. He walked to the window and peaked from behind the curtains. The moon had barely moved from its last position. The night was still young.
He lay back in the bed and stared at the ceiling. Surely it was only some common thief who noticed his bag when he came in. But he was sure he had locked the door. No problem. His blunder with the sword saved his belongings and possibly his life, and now the room was secure. What he needed most was a good night’s sleep.
The next morning, Darius washed his face, gathered his belongings, making sure to grab his gloves, and went back downstairs. The inn housed fewer patrons in this early hour, which was perfectly fine with him. Some of the faces he’d seen before seemed even less pleasant than Mrs. Keedle’s, if that were possible. Darius chuckled.
He returned the key to the bartender and plopped down at small table in the corner where he could have some privacy yet ample view of the establishment. He discreetly looked at the shoes beneath the tables, trying to recognize the heel, but it could have been any number of boots. His thoughts were distracted as the young lady, whom he had seen serving food the night before, approached him.
“What’ll it be?” she asked, pencil in hand.
“Uh…”
“We don’t have any.”
“I mean…” Darius again fingered the coins in his bag, thankful it had not been stolen.
The waitress peered up from her pad. “You want the special. One bronze.”
That Darius could manage. “Sure.”
The girl whisked around and in no time returned with a plate of bacon and eggs, toast and butter. It was a wondrous sight, and Darius relished each bite, fighting the urge to inhale the meal in one quick gulp. The awkwardness of wearing gloves helped him attain that goal. When he was done, he left a small tip and walked back to the bar.
“Need another room?” the tender asked.
“No, sir. But could you tell me what is farther up the mountains? I noticed an interesting light up that way.” Darius almost threw up at his inept attempt to sound relaxed.
At first, the bartender squinted his eyes until only the folds of skin were visible around them and leaned in close toward Darius. Darius forcefully swallowed a small bit of bacon he dislodged from one of his teeth and attempted a weak smile. To Darius’s surprise, the bartender threw himself upright and began to guffaw so loudly, he almost seemed to choke on his own laughter.
“Have a taste for adventure, do ya’?”
Darius feebly chuckled. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”
“Didn’t think you were from around here. How’d you get past the barrier?”
“Barrier?” Darius faked a boisterous laugh. “That was a barrier?”
“Really, now?” The bartender snorted and slapped Darius firmly on the shoulder. “Well, you don’t want to be going too far up into the mountains. That light you saw? You’d best stay clear of that. Our sorcerer doesn’t much care for visitors, and he wouldn’t take too kindly to a scrawny thing like yourself intruding on his personal space. I wouldn’t go past the first ridge if I was you.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. I was just curious. Thought I’d do some camping before I settle into a job somewhere.”
“Yeah…since your old boss is dead,” laughed the bartender.
Darius feigned an amused smile and said, “You wouldn’t happen to know if anything’s available, would you?”
The bartender eyed Darius, and Darius struggled to maintain his smile. But after a moment, the large man seemed more relaxed as Darius continued to lie.
“There’s a farm south of town a ways,” nodded the man to some direction over his shoulder. “Man recently lost his son to, uh, well let’s just say his son and the sorcerer had a bit of a disagreement. Anyways, he could use some help with his fields. ’Bout the only one left growin’ stuff around here.”
“South. Thanks.”
Darius collected his belongings and headed for the door when the innkeeper called from behind. “Campin’, huh? There’s a deer path just west of town. Leads to a nice flat spot midway up the mountain. Makes for gooood campin’…or huntin’.”
Darius turned. “Thanks. Sounds perfect.”
Closing the door behind him, Darius exhaled the anxiety that had steadily filled his lungs with each new lie. This he was not accustomed to. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d lied. All he could think of was the small fib he’d told when he was seven—something about cookies—but he’d received a stiff spanking for that. No. Lying was not in his nature, and he was glad to be rid of it.
He turned left and headed toward the mountains. He found the path the bartender suggested easily enough, and the clusters of trees that skirted the mountains proved no great obstacle to maneuver. Hours later, Darius reached the flat spot. The barkeep was right; this would be a great spot to camp, but that was not Darius’s intentions. Still early in the day, he would pass as much distance between himself and the small village as he could, each step bringing him closer and closer to his destination, each step binding him to the task to which he was committed.
Darius headed for the upper side of the clearing and was about to enter a slender path he assumed had been forged by wild animals when a large figure bounded in front of him, blocking his way.
“And just where do ya’ think you’re goin’, lad?” asked the unshaven man.
“I, uh—”
“Not so fast,” came another voice from behind. Darius turned to face a man who bore a striking resemblance to one he’d seen in the bar the night before.
As Darius inched his way to a midpoint between the two, other men emerged from numerous hiding places and into the clearing, surrounding him with a web of teethy grins and bulging muscles.
Darius reached for his sword and slowly unsheathed it. “Look. I have no beef with any of you. I’m just exploring a bit…before taking a job.”
“Likely story.”
Before Darius could negotiate any further, the men lunged forward. Darius swung with the sword, managing to keep a few at bay, but a hand from behind grabbed Darius around the neck and pummeled him to the hard ground, seizing the sword as he fell. Another man jerked the bag from Darius’s shoulder, flipping him face down.
With the side of his face planted in the dirt he could just make out a figure, hidden behind a thick bush at the edge of the clearing, with white hair!
His attackers released him and began throwing his bag from one to the other, toying with him.
Darius jumped up and stared at the bush. “Sira?”
“Sira? Who’s Sira?” asked one of the men as he held out Darius’s bag, taunting him.
“Please! You can’t do this!” Darius pleaded, and he squinted at the thick bush—the white flash was gone, or maybe it had never been there at all? He couldn’t decide, but he had no time to reflect.
“Oh, yes we can. And we did,” laughed the unshaven man.
Darius began chasing the men as if he were some child in a bully’s game of keep-away, zigzagging this way and that as the bullies tossed the wanted belongings to and fro. Shaken, he thought of the book on spells. He closed his eyes and remembered the words to cause a tremor that just might knock the thieves off their feet.
A hard slap on the ground caused the mountain itself to shake, and Darius and the others were upended.
“Did you do that?” asked one of the thieves, a nervous edge in his voice.
Darius grinned, and he stood a bit taller. His lip trembled in self-awe. “I did.”
“Actually, I did.”
A ring of fire instantly blazed above—all of them, even Darius, crouched low to the ground.
“And I believe the boy is right. You can’t do this. Return his belongings!” Prydon marched amid the fallen group as the men clambered for footing.
The unshaven man attempted to run away, carrying Darius’s sword, but Prydon tripped him easily with his tail. He roared and snapped at the man as he stood to run.
“I’ll take that, if you don’t mind.” Prydon picked up the sword and used his tail to aid the man in a quick descent down a not-so-clear path.
Another man who clenched Darius’s bag to his chest paused with wide eyes, staring at Prydon.
Prydon raised a brow. “Well? Would you prefer my aim be true? Of course, I have no desire to roast the bag…”
The man hastily dropped the bag and stumbled after his cohort in crime. Others scattered as Prydon breathed fire along the side of the clearing, setting several trees ablaze.
Soon only Darius and Prydon remained. Darius stood and, as he took back his things, could think of nothing to say. His ego was deflated as he realized his attempt at the spell had failed, that it was only the landing of Prydon which so violently shook the ground, and that had it not been for Prydon, he most likely would have been beaten and left for dead by the thieves.
“Climb on,” Prydon said, no patience shrouding his words.
Darius began to obey, but backed away as warmth again filled his head and unwanted pride took over. “No. I can’t! I have to find the book!”
Prydon let out a shrill cry, and he lunged at Darius. “Look, you fool. You are coming with me whether you like it or not!” With
that, Prydon scooped Darius up and threw him between the two ridges right above his shoulders. “And I suggest you hold on!”
Darius couldn’t even begin to protest. In the blink of an eye, he was in the air until the clearing below was nothing but a speck of red where the fire continued to burn. His body began to slip, and he grabbed Prydon’s ears…brows…. Darius wasn’t sure.
“Not there!” Prydon rasped. “My neck.”
Darius’s arms could not reach the full expanse of Prydon’s neck, but he leaned down, nestled between the ridges, and held on with all the strength he could muster.
Dipping up, down, and around, Darius lost all sense of direction, and when the flight finally stopped, Prydon unceremoniously deposited Darius on a rocky patch of bare ground overlooking a small valley.
“Ouch!” Darius screamed, but Prydon ignored him and began to walk solemnly toward the edge of the small shelf of land on which they stood.
“Hey! You! How dare you! Take me back this instant!” Darius yelled, almost immediately regretting his harsh words.
As quickly as Darius spoke, Prydon lunged and snorted angrily in Darius’s face, his dragon’s breath muggy against Darius’s skin. Darius halted and jumped back. Prydon’s eyes narrowed, his chest heaving as if he would release a wave of hot fire, but he said nothing. Prydon turned and continued on his way. For a short moment, Darius hesitated and then quickened his pace. He could do nothing but follow Prydon, avoiding the slow-swaying tail and the spikes that adorned it.
Prydon stopped, gazing forward as if staring at a distant time and place. Darius followed his eyes and settled on a village below, left in ruins. Many rains washed away the blackness of fires, yet wrinkles in dissolved wood echoed their violent past.
“What happened here?” Darius’s voice was quiet.
“This is your village.”
“What? Brandor?” Darius scoured the area but could find no signs of the gentle slopes or trickling stream with which he was so familiar. Puzzled, he looked up at Prydon. “No, it’s not.”
“Not Brandor. This was your father’s village…and yours.”
“But—”
Prydon’s ice blue eyes turned hauntingly toward Darius. “This is the destruction that Klavon left when, after killing your father, he could not find you and your mother. This is what Klavon is capable of. You cannot hope to defeat such strength, and it is why you must be trained.”
“But, I can’t. I have to get that book before Brandor vanishes,” said Darius.
“If you die, Brandor has no hope at all.”
“I won’t die!” Darius snapped, but his words were weak, and he felt no sincerity in them.
Prydon’s eyes flashed and he lunged toward Darius, lowering his snarled teeth directly in front of Darius’s face. “You couldn’t even stand up against a small band of thieves! You think you can handle Klavon?” Prydon’s chest heaved, and the rumble in his chests seemed as if at any moment, fire would end it all. Instead, Prydon growled, and the rumble subsided. With a glare, he forced Darius to the edge of the ridge with one of his clawed hands and held him fast. “Look at it! This is what Klavon did! This is his power! You are nothing compared to this!”
Darius lowered his head, his eyes shifting from the ground beneath him to the ruins below.
Prydon leaned his head in close to Darius. “If you die, you lose not only Brandor and your mother, but you destroy the whole reason your father died. To protect you.”
“But this curse…and more of Brandor is vanishing every moment.”
“There is nothing you can do about that…yet. You must learn to defeat Klavon. You have no choice.”
Darius stared at the ruins. Several minutes passed, and Prydon stood quietly by his side. He thought of Brandor, barren spaces hollowed out where structures once stood. He thought of the mire, and the strange presence that had saved him. He thought of the field of dead stalks and the young woman who came to his rescue. He thought of the inn and his blunder with the sword that had been the only reason he still retained his bag, that and Prydon. He thought of the thieves…and the spell that didn’t work.
Then he thought of the warmth that filled him with a desire to defy Prydon. It inched its way back into his mind. It seemed so…strange…as if it possessed some control over him—control he didn’t want it to have. Against his will and better judgment, he wanted to argue further.
Darius closed his eyes and shook his head, fighting the words that wanted to roll off of his tongue. They finally faded, and he sighed. “You’re right.”
Chapter Nine
The Foiled Plan