Dark Hope of the Dragons Page 21

  Rubbing at his aching jaw, Dephithus started out toward the stables where he could saddle Hydra and ride to the gate for duty.

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Dephithus was not more than a few minutes late for guard duty. Kota’s scowl when he rode up, however, was worthy of several hours’ tardiness. He directed Dephithus to his post with a curt gesture and said nothing, which was typical of Kota, though the big man’s eyes did linger a few telling seconds on the bruising swell along his jaw. Dephithus simply turned the tables, giving Kota a smile he did not feel and a nod of greeting as if nothing were amiss. The other two guards on duty at the gate avoided looking at either of them, pretending to be absorbed in other pursuits. One stared out over the rolling hills as if the gradual green slopes were truly the most exciting thing he had ever seen and the other studied a parchment that had far too few words upon it to be taking up that much of his time.

  Dephithus shook his head and walked over to where he would spend the next six hours. He was posted on the ground level of one tower. In good weather, the ground level guards tended to linger outside of the tower door where they could enjoy the sun and fresh air. The upper lever guards stood on the wall over the gate where they could also enjoy the sun and still have a good vantage to see anyone coming or going. Today, Kota sent the other two up top and stayed on the ground level with Dephithus.

  “Rider approaching fast from the palace side,” one of the upper guards shouted only a few minutes later.

  Dephithus cast a look of annoyance at the guard for the startling pitch he had achieved, the sound still bouncing painfully around his head with the fresh headache Suva’s punch had given him. Then he stepped away from the tower door to peer at the approaching figure. Whoever it was, they were coming up at a full gallop. It was only a few moments before he recognized the rider and his gut began to feel as though it had been weighted down with lead.

  Commander Vicor pulled up fast from a hard run, his mount locking its front legs and skidding a few feet to stop. Vicor’s face was flushed red with anger that he had obviously held on to for the full ride out. The twisted, enraged expression was quite showy and impressive combined with the dramatic entrance. When their eyes locked, there was no doubt for whom Vicor was here. Swinging down from the saddle, the commander dropped the reins, trusting his mount to ground tie, and walked up to Dephithus.

  “You couldn’t be bothered to come to practice again. You mock the entire Legion with your apathy and shame it with your temper. You’re a disgrace to the halls of Elysium.”

  Dephithus hated Vicor. He hated all of them. Bitterness rose up sour on his tongue. He threw up his hands in feigned dismay. “I feel quite contrite now. Thank you, Vicor.”

  The commander looked as if he might attack right then or risk bursting his skin with the rage that made his hands shake. He appeared taller somehow in that moment. Then he stepped in closer, so their faces were only a few inches apart, and lowered his voice. “Dephithus de NuTraven, I challenge you to a duel. You will not make a mockery of everything I have worked my whole life for. If you can defeat me, I will only suspend you from the Legion for a month or two. If not, you will be expelled permanently.”

  Kota took a step toward them, the disapproval on his face making it clear that he had overheard the challenge. Commander Vicor held up a hand to keep him back and watched Dephithus expectantly, his gaze burning with the fire that brought him out here.

  A flutter of panic spread in his chest. For him, to be expelled from the Legion was only a small step away from being denied the throne. Vicor meant to deny him his future, a future that he had probably already denied himself. He let his loathing come through in a cruel smirk. “I accept your challenge.”

  “Very well.” Vicor appeared to shrink back to his former height then. “Tonight, when your guard shift is over, we will meet in the outdoor training arena and settle this.”

  Dephithus leaned forward, now close enough to Vicor that his breath would be warm on the commander’s ear. “I will understand,” he said, his voice soft and a hint sensual as he caressed the hilt of the serpent dagger, “if you don’t show.”

  Vicor jerked away and stepped back, his eyes glaring death upon Dephithus. Without another word, he stalked back to his mount and swung up. He did not look at any of them before he spun the animal and galloped away. Next to Dephithus, Kota simply shook his head and returned to his post. It was not proper to accept such a duel. In fact, it was against the law to settle such matters outside of a regulated tournament. If Vicor was willing to risk his reputation and several months of his freedom for this, Dephithus was not going to worry about his own hide. His life was already going to ruin and Vicor deserved to be put in his place.

  Gate guard duty dragged on endlessly after Vicor left, the minutes creeping by like battle-weary soldiers marching to war. The only activity through the gate was the typical run of nobles and Legion soldiers wandering to and from the surrounding city and the farms beyond it. On a typical day, gate duty was almost as dull as the guard towers.

  Dephithus itched with impatience, finding it hard to stand still. Now that the challenge was offered and accepted, he was eager to test his sword against the commander. The man needed to be put in his place. Vicor had disrespected his status and insulted his skill one too many times.

  Don’t I deserve it? Haven’t I proven myself to be worthy of little more?

  Dephithus ground his teeth. Trying not to think of the many things he had done wrong in the last several months. Trying not to think of how it all started. His thoughts wandered to his encounter with Suva then and he pushed her away only to have Myara take her place in his mind. He tried to push those thoughts away as well, trying not to think of either of them and, most especially, not to think of both at the same time.

  As dusk began to settle, an excited tension filled him, and Hydra started to pace restlessly around his enclosure in response. Minutes before he was scheduled to depart, Kota walked over to him.

  “I encourage you to forgo this madness, Lord Dephithus. You and Vicor will both be punished severely. Remember, you are still heir to this throne.”

  Dephithus looked deep into Kota’s eyes and saw the lie there. “You know better than to believe that.” As he spoke he realized the truth of it and his own words fell heavy on his chest. A sense of remorse began spreading through him like some fast-acting poison. He swallowed hard. “Mythan is too good a leader to let Imperious fall into my hands.”

  Kota lowered his gaze and stepped back, making no further efforts to discourage him or deny his words.

  Dephithus sighed. Somewhere inside he realized that all the things that had gone wrong had finally taken him past the point of no return. This was not the way his life was supposed to go. He was supposed to take the throne with Myara by his side. He was supposed to be the next great ruler of Imperious. He was supposed to be happy. Fate had gotten confused.

  He could remember laughing and dreaming with Myara, before that night. He could remember how wonderful it was to race with her and spar with her and simply be with her. He could remember how good it felt when his mother and den-father were proud of him. What happened to the satisfaction he got out of making a stranger smile or helping a fellow Legion hopeful improve their skill? A thousand smiles and laughs he had been privileged enough to be a part of played through his mind. Parthak beaming at him for his accomplishments. Kathan grinning ear to ear as they made jokes and listened to music at his family’s inn. The love in his mother’s eyes when she mussed his hair.

  Something inside him recoiled from those memories and he shook them away. Dark anger swelled up in their place. He retrieved Hydra and mounted up. In the saddle, with Hydra prancing impatiently, he felt stronger again. Touching the serpent dagger once for the reassurance the habit gave him, Dephithus kicked his mount and they charged toward the training grounds in the rapidly falling dark.

  He could see the ring from some distance even with the darkness falling. The tall fire
poles circling the training arena had been lit and an eerie light flickered about, cutting strange shapes into the shadows around them. This was a small practice arena with no seating for observers and it was set a little closer to the forest than the others, away from most of the more crowded buildings. Still, the torches and the sounds of clashing steel would undoubtedly bring a crowd of some size if the fight lasted more than a few minutes. Vicor apparently had no intentions of keeping their confrontation private. He had issued a challenge and he was going to stand behind it.

  Dephithus tied Hydra and strode into the arena. He made his movement both predatory and bold, stopping a step out of reach of Vicor’s already drawn sword. They would waste no time on pointless formalities. This kind of dueling was forbidden, so there was no approved protocol for it.

  Dephithus drew his own weapons as Kota galloped up and dismounted outside of the arena along with one of the other two gate guards who had been there to witness the challenge. They had their first couple of observers even before their blades touched.

  Without a word to one another, they both attacked, neither hesitating to play for an early upper hand. Each swing of a sword was followed immediately by the jab of a dagger or another swing. The same hatred and self-loathing that had driven him when he was with Suva returned to him now, pushing him to fight fiercer. He would show them how terrible he was. How undeserving of the throne and of Myara’s love.

  Several indirect blows glanced off about his arms and he was not sure, with the speed of the fight, if he had made good contact on Vicor yet or not. In a short time, their audience expanded, growing with every loud clash of the blades, but there was no time to pay attention to such distractions. Lance Commander Vicor earned his rank with skill and experience. Even as one of the best in his age group, and with the extra physical abilities granted by his dragonkin blood, Dephithus soon began to feel the strain in his muscles.

  He was holding his own, but Vicor struck hard and fast, not missing a single opportunity. When Vicor’s sword cut into the still raw wound Suva had left in his side, Dephithus staggered, sloppily blocking the blade from cutting in any deeper. The commander took advantage of the falter and lunged in close, slamming their crossguards together and using his momentary advantage to twist the blade out of Dephithus’s grasp. Dephithus glanced after his sword only enough to spot and remember where it landed, then he turned to Vicor and growled. Red filled in the edges of his vision, the pain of his wound fueling his hatred.

  He had been disarmed, but he was far from finished. He managed to parry several sword swings with his dagger while he dodged Vicor’s dagger. Still, without a sword against someone with Vicor’s skill, he would not hold out long. It was strange, looking into his opponent’s snarling face, to realize that Vicor truly hated him. He was sure none of the onlookers were overflowing with love for him, but no one had ever hated him as openly as Vicor did. It was refreshing somehow.

  He deserved this.

  Cries of alarm rose up on one side of the arena. Dephithus, locked together in a match to the death with Vicor, tried to ignore them. A powerful sword strike caught upon the dagger and Dephithus staggered back, his wrist twisting painfully, his balance and focus suddenly broken. Vicor swept his blade back, the intensity of his glare making it clear he meant to strike a fatal blow. Several people screamed and the now sizeable crowd nearest them parted. Something burst from edge of his vision and slammed into the commander, barreling him over.

  For a moment, Dephithus thought it simply a dog that had attacked his opponent. Then, as they hit the ground with Vicor on the bottom, his struggles stopping within seconds of impact, Dephithus saw two rows of large spines down the animals back. They looked like overgrown porcupine quills. The animal’s body bulged with grossly oversized muscles. He did not have to see its eyes to know it was one of the third level of daemons he read of in the book.

  The daemon-dog growled, it’s strange spines growing more erect as it turned its gray-eyed gaze on Dephithus. Beneath the dog, Vicor lay still, his throat ripped open. Blood pumped forth in a gushing stream. Dephithus stepped toward the beast and growled. It cowered, its spines falling flat to its back, and snarled defensively. Another soldier, taking advantage of the beast’s distraction, rushed in and brought their sword down in a swift arch, severing the daemon-dog’s head. Dephithus looked up and a wave of shock turned him cold. Suva stepped back from the beast, her blade dripping blood. She gave him a slight nod; her hard gaze made him realize that he was lucky she had gone for the dog instead of him.

  Another figure entered the arena then. Mythan shoved Dephithus aside and looked down at the two bodies that lay there. A sharp intake of breath was the only evidence of his upset.

  When he spoke, his voice was commanding and steady. “Duels are illegal. You know that Dephithus, as did Commander Vicor. However, it’s clear that you did not strike the killing blow. I will need some time to figure out what happened here and determine an appropriate punishment.”

  Dephithus shrugged. He was numb. Being saved by the daemon-dog may have been a worse fate than the death that would have found him otherwise.

  “We will return to the palace. Someone summon the Silent Watch to take care of the Commander.” His eyes swept the crowd. “Someone also tend to their horses.”

  Dephithus started to lift his lip in a snarl of warning for whoever might be inclined to touch Hydra until he saw that Kovial had taken hold of the stallion. For whatever reason, Suva’s brother inspired trust in him. Kovial spotted him looking and nodded recognition before leading the restless stallion toward the stables. Dephithus followed Mythan out of the arena, adrift in the chaos of his cluttered thoughts until he saw her.

  Myara was walking away amongst the dispersing crowd, her shoulders hunched with her arms wrapped around herself. There was nothing more important than her. He loved her, and that love was the one good thing left in him. He sprinted after her.

  “Myara!”

  She stopped and turned to face him, though she took a step back when he got close, refusing to meet his eyes. Her avoidance pierced through him with a pain greater than any wound he had ever suffered.

  Behind him, Mythan was yelling at him to come back, but he had no interest in his den-father now.

  “Myara.” He started to raise a hand to her face then hesitated, warned off by the fear in her eyes. “I love you, Myara.”

  Tears started spilling down her cheeks and she took another step back from him, shaking her head. “Dephithus.” Her voice cracked and she swallowed hard before continuing. “I’m afraid to love you.”

  Anger and torment swirled up like a storm inside him, bringing back the hatred, the self-loathing, the red at the edges of his vision. He held his silence long enough to contain some of the anger, struggling against the powerful desire to strike out at her. “What do you mean?”

  “That…” she glanced in the direction of the arena, her gaze touching upon the bodies there and jumping quickly away again. “That thing was afraid of you. It tore Commander Vicor’s throat out. That’s not normal behavior for a timid creature, but it cowered when you stepped close to it. Why was it afraid of you? What’s happened to you?”

  Her voice fell to almost a whisper at the last. The anguish that twisted her features and the tears that spilled unchecked from her eyes tore at him like the claws of a wild animal. There was a violent twisting in his chest and his throat was painfully tight. So tight he was not sure he could speak.

  Myara was afraid of him. Without her, what was left for him to try for?

  Before he could come up with something to say, someone touched his arm. He prepared to unleash his rage on Darkin, but the other youth brushed aside his glare, disarming it with an unsettling frown and a discreet shake of his head.

  “Your father is sending a guard to escort you. Save face and go with him now.”

  Dephithus needed to speak to Myara, but he glanced over his shoulder and saw the grim expression on the three soldiers who were appr
oaching them. Darkin was right. He nodded his reluctant gratitude to Darkin then looked back at Myara. She quickly looked down, avoiding his gaze. Dephithus scowled, grabbing hold of his anger because it was the easiest to deal with of the many emotions raging through him, and turned to head out after Mythan. The three soldiers stopped to watch him pass, then followed a short distance back as he headed towards the palace.

  He dared one more glance back at Myara. She was turning away. One of the other soldiers slipped his arms around her shoulders and hugged her much too firmly to his chest. If she was afraid to love him then who would she love? Jealous rage scalded him, burning away the remorse. Now was not the time, however, for any more confrontations. He stayed to his course, etching the soldier’s face in his mind as he walked away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  The next evening a death celebration was held for Vicor, but Dephithus attended only briefly, vanishing at the first opportunity. His punishment for the duel was decided quickly and had been announced prior to the celebration. It was the final excuse Mythan needed in order to officially renounce Dephithus as his heir. On top of that, he suspended him indefinitely from the Legion. Dephithus was, of course, still part of the family and expected to stay in the palace as he always had, but this disgrace was not a title he could wear with pride. Once the announcement was made, Dephithus spent the next several nights outside of the palace in one tavern or another with some or all of Darkin’s band for company. He came back at dawn for a change of clothes and a quick nap in a comfortable bed.

  Another announcement was made the night of Vicor’s death celebration. Mythan informed the court that he had sent summons to several scholars around the region requesting their relocation to the palace. When they arrived, he would officially open the archives for study.