Imprisoned

 

The hours of silent darkness were marked by the rhythmic drip of water in the far corner of Conner’s cell while the dank, earthy smells of dampness chewed at his soul. Finally, he spoke. “I’m still not seeing what you find so alluring about dungeons and caves.”

“Did you spend the first ten years of your life in a place like this?” came the dragon’s deep voice from the next room.

“No.”

“I was eleven before my wings were strong enough to fly through the tall shafts to reach the upper surface of my home. And though I can still recall the first time my wings dried in the warm rays of Hemera, caves are the closest I have found to feeling at home.”

“Home.” Conner repeated the word, letting his head drop back against the cold stone. The smells and sounds of his parents’ farm and Creeg’s Point flooded back—the aroma of freshly cooked food, the warmth of summer on his face, the sounds of the town square market. He closed his eyes. How he would love to sleep in his bed again, waking to the smell of his mother’s breakfast. But he needed to focus on more urgent matters.

“I am sorry for what happened at Thanatos.” Conner waited, but when Skye did not reply, he pressed further. “I know how much you revered your god.” Conner sensed the slow shift of emotions through his bonding. Skye did not let go of his anger easily, but he could sense the dragon’s rage dissipating.

“Shazarack is only mentioned in the first few verses of our dragonsongs. Now that I think about it, nothing there describes why the Ancients flew away. Maybe there was some reason they did not wish to share it with the family.”

“Yeah. It’s hard to imagine anyone would be happy to discover their creator was a cold-hearted brute. And what kind of incantation was Shazarack trying to use on you?”

There was a long moment of silence before Skye answered. “I could feel him taking control of my body ... and my mind.”

Conner inhaled sharply. “That was what happened that day we went on Grimmley’s quest to recover the silver box, wasn’t it? He was taking control of you. That is why you wouldn’t tell me what happened.” Skye was uncharacteristically quiet. Conner turned his thoughts inward and sensed the same flow of emotions he had the last time he broached the topic—embarrassment and regret.

“What are you going to do about your queen?” Skye asked.

Skye clearly did not want to talk more about Shazarack, so Conner took the dragon’s cue, even though he did not want to talk about Veressa. “There’s not much I can do here ... or anywhere for that matter. Defying house arrest, even on the excuse of protecting the queen, would only get me in deeper trouble. I’m pretty useless as her protector.”

Conner heard Skye’s scales scraping across the stone floor. Sea-blue eyes appeared through the cell bars. “You are being especially hard on yourself.”

“Am I?” Conner rubbed his hands together. “The day I exposed the Anarchic plot at Graystone, Grimmley told me that without hard evidence it was foolhardy to accuse an orderman of being a spy. You should have seen him that morning, Skye. Grimmley handled the situation masterfully. And me? I pretty much made a mess of things up there in the reception hall. It seems I learned nothing from all his instruction.”

The dragon’s hard sniff reverberated off the thick walls. “You are angry because you are not like your Shaman guide? Angry for telling the truth? You told me not that long ago that you did not like playing Harmonic games of lies and deception.”

“Well, since you put it that way ...” Conner loved Grimmley dearly, but he had to admit that his preceptor had been a master at twisting the truth to fit his needs. Those skills may have helped them save the queen from Anarchic spies. But if everyone could be trusted to tell the truth, they would not have been necessary. He felt the value of Anarchic life strengthen inside of him.

“Did you ever consider the possibility that you were not created to be a Harmonic?” Skye offered.

Conner was stunned by Skye’s question. Was one created to be one or the other? Was it embedded in his makeup? Groegan had told him that Eastlanders had fought with the Anarchists during the Anarchic War. If that was true ...

Skye interrupted Conner from taking that thought further. “You did the right thing.”

Conner’s self-contempt slowly abated. “Thanks, Skye. I suggest you get some rest. We are late getting back to Wren and Valkere. No doubt, they are worried. First chance we get, we fly to Dragongarde.”

 

Conner woke from a fitful sleep and sat up. The cell was just as dark as it had been when he’d fallen asleep—by his best estimate, just a few hours before. He became aware of someone’s presence outside the cell. He had not heard any footsteps. No doubt due to Ranger prowess, masked by frequent snorts and grunts coming from a dragon sleeping in the next room. “This is not a place for you.”

“My place is where I wish it to be,” a commanding feminine voice spoke back.

Conner chuckled. He formed a fine weave of Fire and Air, and a small flame appeared before him. He pushed it away with his mind, and the flame floated to the middle of the cell like a raft cast out on a gentle lake. He squinted toward the rusty bars at the front of his cell. “Your father was right,” he said.

“This is not your fault,” came Veressa’s voice.

“Isn’t it?” Conner shivered in the dampness, rubbing his palms briskly across his cold arms. Whatever incantation he had used to transport back to Graystone had sucked most of the energy from his body. “The king warned me this might happen, and I did not listen. Grimmley warned me as well. Even that strange Wallis Arkman warned me.”

“Who?”

Conner started to answer, then bit the words back. He was not sure he knew himself. “It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t smart enough to see this coming.” He squinted toward the door. “Why didn’t you tell the duchess and War Council about my mission? Why let them believe I had some ... nefarious purpose? You can’t keep this second bonding a secret forever.”

“No. And I am sorry for putting you through this, but I will straighten it all out quickly enough. I will have to inform the council before I sign a proclamation of war. But the timing must be right. Despite their vows of silence, nothing will contain the revelation that there has been a dragon bonding in the Anarchic Lands. Once news escapes, it will spread quickly across the realms. Within days, everything will be thrown into turmoil. Can you imagine the fear and panic that will ensue? I need to control this so the orders don’t do something irrational, like running headlong into an ill-planned assault.”

Veressa reached to grip the bars. But the door gave way to her touch and groaned as it swung wide. “What ...?” she asked. Her hands hovered where the bars had been.

Conner snorted. “Mariette did not see the need to lock me in. I’m sure she would like me to try to escape—then she’d be rid of me.” A Champion’s duty to the queen was lifelong. Death was the only way out of that responsibility. A rat, flushed out by the noise, scurried across the cell floor. “Besides, where would I go?”

“She wants the war proclamation signed,” Veressa whispered, her vocal cords too constricted to speak louder. “She’s using you to get my attention. It is an approach mother often used.”

Conner could sense Veressa’s emotions shifting like sand, doubts swirling inside her. Whatever pressures Mariette was applying, they were having an effect. It was not like Veressa to succumb to pressure from her elders, yet what could he do? He held his hands before him. With just a thought, flames danced along his fingertips. “Finally, I have access to my powers, yet there is nothing I can do to protect you.” A mental vision of Grimmley appeared before him in the dark, and he heard the old Shaman’s voice in his head. Don’t rattle your brains over your inability to find your powers, boy. You’ll find the most formidable challenges you face in life can’t be beaten down or snuffed out. No matter how bleak the situation, his old mentor always had a way of finding a little humor. Conner felt a sharp twist of pain in his gut. How he missed Grimmley’s comforting, sometimes whimsical, sayings.

Veressa stepped into the cell, moving toward the light. “I assume you were successful in your mission to find this other dragon-bonded.”

“I was. She is at Dragongarde.”

Veressa jerked to a stop. “She?”

“Her name is Wren.” Conner sensed a sudden shift in Veressa’s emotions. She was ... Conner jerked to his feet. “You’re jealous?”

Veressa drew her body up taut. Her eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere except at Conner. “Well.”

Conner rubbed his head. “But you went to Elvenstein to meet a suitor.”

“No, Conner. I went to Charmwell to get away from the War Council and their incessant pressure. A parley for a marriage with the Elvenstein prince was a pretense, a ruse. The last thing I wanted was to go to war against the Anarchists while you were there.”

Conner felt a flush rising in his face. “Oh.”

Veressa stepping closer. “I talked to my father about your promise to him.”

Conner swallowed hard. “Was he angry that you knew?”

“No. In fact, he agreed with me. He relinquishes you from your vow.”

“Then I have a lot more I need to share with you.”

“Like your encounter with a long-dead Necromancer?” Veressa probed.

“It is the truth,” Conner said.

“I know it is. I told you before, no matter what, I trust you.” She took another step closer. “What else do you need to share?”

“I lived among a band of Anarchists for several days. Veressa, they are a peace-loving people. We should not be going to war with them. For some reason I do not understand, the Anarchic order councils are pushing the lands toward war.”

Veressa pressed her palm to his chest. “I wish I knew why. But I am running short on time to discover their reason.”

Just as it had in the queen’s reception hall before he’d departed on his mission, Conner’s heart raced. It was hard to focus on what he needed to say. “Shazarack is the greater threat. He is very powerful, the most powerful orderman I have ever encountered.”

Veressa gazed into Conner’s eyes. “So what can you do? Fly to Thanatos and singlehandedly take on an entire order along with an army of undead?”

“No,” Conner answered. “I know how that would turn out.” Me dead and Skye under his control, he thought. “It would only help ensure Shazarack’s success.”

“Then we will address Shazarack and his army if and when they arrive.”

Conner shook his head. “That will be too late. He’s not the type to rely on any Anarchic forces to come to his aid. So, whatever he’s scheming, he’s doing it on his own. He would not invade the realms if he wasn’t certain he could defeat whatever you send against him. And he won’t stop at toppled the Harmonic crowns. Once he has done that, he will return to the Anarchic Lands and subjugate those orders as well.”

“For what purpose?”

“To unify the peoples. He envisions creating one nation.” Conner saw the confusion in Veressa’s eyes and shrugged. “Shazarack believes that the separation of lands is artificial. He told me that there is no Harmonic or Anarchic Sight, that this belief in there being a difference is why the orders are so weak.”

“Do you think he can pull it off?”

“I do. He told me that Shan-Grail has some kind of incredible powers. If he gets there, he will use that force to call upon another, more powerful, army than the one he already has.”

Veressa pulled her shoulders in, drawing closer in the chill air. “An army more powerful than a thousand undead? What could that be?” She chewed on her lip for a moment, then offered, “I know very little about necromancy, but what if he knows a way to make undead invincible? Or to prolong their life in this plane?”

“Maybe. But that wouldn’t be another army. Though it is possible Meera and I misinterpreted his intent.” Then Conner had another thought, one more gruesome, more vile than even what Veressa suggested.

Veressa caught his expression of disgust. “What?”

“What if Shazarack can somehow create another army of undead? What if he is able to animate the dead right here in the realms from Shan-Grail?” Conner envisioned the dead digging their way up out of the slime and muck in graveyards all across the Harmonic Realms, and laying siege to castles, descending upon towns, villages, and farming communities. He imagined mothers cradling their babies, running, screaming in terror. “With sufficient power, it’s possible Shazarack could summon such a ghastly horde.”

“Oh, Conner,” Veressa said breathlessly. “I need to take this up with the council. I need to convince them this threat is real.”

“And if they don’t listen to you?” Conner asked. “I need to go find proof.”

Veressa shook her head. “Mariette has already cast suspicions about your mission. My Champion can’t just pop in, announce a threat upon my life, and then fly away again. I am sorry, Conner. Until I am certain the council ... the tribunal ... won’t panic when they learn of the true intent of your quest, you are going to have to wait here.”

It was well past when Conner had said he would return to Dragongarde. Wren was no doubt beginning to worry. “Every day we wait is a day lost. There has to be another way.”

“Let me talk to the council first.”

“All right. But if you cannot convince the council, then I must do something to stop him.”

Veressa lay her hand on the painted image of a dragon on Conner’s breastplate. “I understand how important this is. If I don’t make any headway, then we will come up with a way to break you out of here.” She exhaled hard. “Now, was there anything else you wished to tell me?”

Conner took a deep breath. He felt light-headed and giddy with Veressa so close to him. “That I love you.” He waited for what felt like eons, expecting some kind of reaction. But the moments ticked by, and fear seeped into his veins. Had he overstepped his bounds? Had he stirred things into yet a bigger mess?

When Veressa moved, it was sudden. Her hands clutched the hair at the back of his head, and she pulled his face to hers, pressing her mouth to his with a hard groan. The kiss was worlds different from anything Conner had ever imagined possible. There was an eagerness to Veressa’s arms, a soft warmth to her lips, a sweetness to the taste of her mouth on his.

Conner’s arms snaked around Veressa’s waist as the kiss lingered. He pressed his palms to the small of her back, his hunger for her rising as he felt her body respond. At last, Veressa pulled away, leaving him quivering with unspent energy. He recalled that night in Pennington Point, the moment he’d held her, protecting her from the Sorcerer’s spell. He’d had to force himself to let her go. He wanted to say something but feared any words would ruin the moment.

“Finally!” thundered a deep dragon voice in the next room.

Veressa jumped at Skye’s sudden bellow. Antilles at her side hissed at the dragon.

“It is time you two kissed,” Skye rumbled with delight.

Talk about ruining the moment! Conner thought. “Skye, shush and go away.” At least Veressa did not know what the dragon had said.

“Okay, but I told you she wants to be your mate.” Skye thudded off to a dark recess of the adjoining chamber.

Veressa pressed the back of her shaking hand to her forehead. “I should go. As it is, I won’t sleep tonight. And I need to be ready to confront Mariette at first light.”

Conner could not find his voice, so he just nodded. He goggled as Veressa floated through the iron portal and vanished into the darkness beyond.

 

Conner adjusted his armor and, in the morning light, wiped away bits of dirt and grime he had collected in the dungeon. He smelled of sweat, dirt, and worse, but there was nothing he could do about that. His eyes were red and swollen. He had not slept a wink. All he could think about was Veressa’s kiss, replaying the glorious moment over and over in his mind.

He had been summoned back to the queen’s reception hall, and he would present himself the best he could. The doors swung wide and he strode forward. Veressa was on the dais in a brilliant blue dress, looking as beautiful as he had ever seen her. Her arms were bare; her golden hair gleamed in Hemera’s light. Nothing about her presence matched the sense of discouragement he had sensed in her all morning. Conner braced himself for disappointing news.

To her right sat the Duchess Mariette, her hands clasped together before her, chin regally high. Duke Regiboldt, whom Conner recognized from Veressa’s coronation as the duchess’s husband, stood stiffly nearby. Most of the War Council was missing. In their stead, a number of elder men and women watched him parade in. Tara, the Shaman Don, glared at him from beneath furrowed brow. From their formal dress, Conner surmised they comprised members of the six orders’ councils. Now he felt like a man walking to the gallows.

“Majesty,” Conner bowed to Veressa after arriving before the dais.

“Highness,” Mariette snapped back.

Conner’s eyes shifted between Veressa and the duchess, unsure of her meaning.

Mariette moved to stand in front of the throne. “You will address Princess Veressa from now on as ‘Highness.’” Watching Conner smugly, the duchess sat on the edge of the great oak throne, her forearms on the edges of the armrests. “I am the new queen imminent.”

Conner glanced up at Veressa. His mouth fell open. “What—” What have you done, Veressa? He searched their connection. What he had interpreted as discouragement was something different: fortitude and resolve.

Veressa was unwilling to meet his gaze.

“Kneel before me,” Mariette commanded.

Conner took a knee, though his eyes remained on Veressa.

Mariette nodded with smug satisfaction. “Your services as the queen’s protector and Champion are no longer needed, young man.” She gestured to the female royal guardsman standing to the side.

The guardsman stepped closer and slipped the Champion’s amulet from Conner’s neck, then handed it to Mariette.

Mariette held the amulet high, letting the morning light sparkle off the ruby. Then she rose. “Gentlemen and ladies, the Tournament of the Realm will be held tomorrow morning. Your advocates must be ready by then.”

Grandmaster Ranger Lendfeather rose from his seat. “But Queen Imminent, some of our advocates are not at Graystone. My order will need time—”

“We cannot wait for those you have been training to travel here. Every day puts our realm in further peril. I cannot be crowned queen without a Champion. You have today to choose your advocates. Any order that does not present an advocate on the Field of Contest at Hemera’s rise will forfeit our consideration. I hope I have made myself clear on this matter.”

“Yes, Queen Imminent.” Lendfeather bowed low.

Mariette started to turn, but hesitated. “Grandmaster Lendfeather, it has come to our attention that a certain debt is owed to you regarding some support you provided to the crown. In recognition of your service, once I have signed the proclamation of war, I shall deed to you a hefty portion of the Eastlands.”

The Ranger looked as shocked as everyone else in the chamber. He bowed low before Mariette. “Thank you, Queen Imminent. Your recompense is most generous.”

Conner rose to his feet. “What?” he shouted. “Eastlanders have lived free of central realm laws for centuries. You cannot do this!”

“I can and I will!” Mariette shouted back, her hands clenched at her side. “The Eastlands have been doing as they please for far too long. In a time of war, they need our royal protection. And we surely don’t want a repeat of what happened during the Anarchic War. Grandmaster Ranger Lendfeather will be the region’s new baron.”

“This is insane!” Conner leered at the stunned faces in the hall. Veressa shook her head at him, and he felt waves of warnings coming through to him. But he was too incensed to heed them. “You cannot use my homeland as a bargaining chip to garner support for your war. The Anarchists are not your enemy! It is Shazarack you must prepare for.”

“That is enough!” Mariette was livid. “How dare you talk to me so? I will have no heresy in my court! Young man, you are hereby banished from Griffinrock!”

Veressa shifted forward. “What? Auntie, you promised—”

“I promised the boy would be released unharmed. I said nothing about him continuing to live within our lands. I will not have him speaking to me in that way!” Mariette turned to Conner. “If you are ever found within this realm, you will be summarily arrested. Is that clear?” She flicked her hands at the guards. “See that he leaves Graystone immediately!”

Conner glanced over at Veressa and saw her face filled with anguish. Before he could say anything more, two guards gripped him by his arms. He did not fight them. But he did twist his head to glance over his shoulder, unable to tear his eyes from Veressa until the doors slammed behind him.

As the guards shepherded him across the main yard, Conner caught a glimpse of Ballett heading toward the main gate. “Ballett!” he called out. With some effort, he convinced the guards to let him speak to the captain, though they refused to leave his side.

“Conner? What is this?” Ballett asked.

“Mariette has banished me from the realm.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Ballett said. “I too have been disgracefully removed from my duties and have been told to leave. I don’t know what to do. I have no way to care for my family.”

“Then maybe it is time you got away from Graystone and saw the realms. It is what you always wanted to do, right?” Conner leaned close so the guards could not hear him. “Go to my bedchamber. In the closet is an old medicine box. Inside, you’ll find a small sack of coins. It’s not much, but it’s enough to keep you and your family in good health for several years.”

“Conner, I could not.”

“Please, Ballett.” Conner gripped the man’s shoulder. “I have no need for coin where I am going.”

Ballett chewed on his lip, then nodded. “Thank you, Conner. I will never forget what you have done for me.”

“There is one thing. Have you seen Kriston?”

“I’ve been looking for the boy ever since I received news of your arrest. But no one has seen him.”

“If you do—” Conner started.

“I will look after him like he is my own,” Ballett promised. “He is a good lad. You have done right by him.”

“Conner.” One of the guards gripped his arm again. “I’m sorry, but we cannot lose our positions as well.”

Conner waved farewell to Ballett and let the guards march him to the stairwell that led to the castle dungeon.

“It’s time to go, Skye. I hope you’re ready,” Conner growled when he reached the dragon’s chamber.

“More than ready,” Skye snorted. “I sense a lot of anger in you. I take it your gathering of bipedal aristocrats did not go well.”

“You could say that.” The duchess had manipulated Conner into anger. Once again, he’d stepped into a steaming pile. Groegan was right—everything the Barbarian had said would happen was coming true.

But Conner had no time to consider what it meant for the Eastlands to be under baron rule. He needed to focus on stopping Shazarack from invading the realms. Like so many times before, he just needed to figure out how to make it happen.