“Really?” Lyrad asked. His voice was tinged with joy. He would get to live both lives and give up neither. It was like a dream come true. He turned around and looked at the Head Priest, who had an air of displeasure about him. “I mean, is that really the path I must follow?” he asked, this time more circumspect.
The Head Priest pulled on the loose skin around his eyes. “I am not sure why the gods would have given any man two such competing paths in life, but I am sure the reason will come soon enough,” he said. “Now leave us. We must pray for guidance.”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” Lyrad and John said in unison.
“Once you have completed your training as a Dragon, we shall send you to Coontan. There lives the only other man who could possibly train you further. The fabled Shadow-Warrior, General Talon. Hopefully he will know what to do with you,” the Head Priest added as the pair started to walk away.
“Thank you so much, your Excellency!” Lyrad exclaimed.
“Please, call me Donovan,” the Head Priest begged. “Too many are formal with me as it is.”
“Thank you, Donovan,” Lyrad said, the name feeling odd and thick on his tongue.
“Now go, my children,” Donovan said at once. “You have a busy night ahead of you.”
The moment they left the Head Priest’s room behind, John burst into action. “I can't believe you get to go to Coontan! It's gonna be so much fun! Let me help you pack!” John kept going on and on about how much fun it would be as they went along.
* * * * * * * * * *
In the dimly lit private room of the Head Priest, Donovan rocked back and forth in his chair. A hint of sage smoke wafted in the air, filling his nostrils with its calming scent.
That boy Lyrad had been an odd one, he mused. I’ve never seen a priest be called on to do combat before. I wonder what this will do to the rest of the order.
Off in the corner, he heard Tim’s raspy, uneven breathing.
Tim furrowed his brow and stared at him. “What’s eating at you, Head Priest?”
Donovan shook his head, not realizing that he’d been wearing his thoughts on his sleeve like that. “It’s nothing,” he spat. Though he knew that wasn’t true.
What am I to do about that boy? Will Talon know? He shrugged. It wouldn’t be his problem soon enough. None of this would be. He let the waves of sage smoke waft over him and his nerves calm down again as he thought about the coming storm. Would any of them survive its onslaught? Not even he knew that answer.
Yet the corners of his lips curled into a half-smile. Lyrad had been happy enough. The boy would get just what he wanted.
And that was enough to make him happy for a time.
Chapter NineWar Stories
“A war may not be deemed just
Lest both the initiator
And the cause be deemed just.
Only then may one be assured
That the gods will be with them.”
Book of Gallian, 2:13-14.
Year 4982 (Seventeen years ago)
King Christopher awoke slowly to a dull pain in his arm, not quite sure where he was anymore. He gathered the courage to open his eyes, and upon doing so he saw that he was in a large white room devoid of furniture save for a bed and several metal tools off to his side.
I must be in the operating room. How did I end up here?
He spent a few moments trying to remember what chain of events had brought him to the operating table without much success.
Did I get some strange illness? He shook his head and a slight wave of nausea threatened to overtake him, but it passed quickly. No, that can’t be it. Maybe I suffered a bad injury while I was training? No, I don’t think that was it, either.
Oh yeah. The color drained from his face as everything came rushing back to him. It was that would-be assassin.
The young king took another look around the room to see if anyone had stayed to watch him wake up, but no one was there. Evidently, they had all left to let him get some sleep. He was no longer tired, however, and he thought of calling someone.
With great effort he sat up, and in so doing, a sharp pain shot up his right arm. Christopher hissed at the pain, but it passed as well, and he was sitting upright.
His eyes glazed over the room for a com link, and, fortunately for him, he found one just a little off to the left. He reached over with his good left arm and picked it up, placing it on his head. He turned the small activation dial to on and waited for a signal.
“Coontan com link at your service. May I help you, sir?” A muffled and hard to understand female voice said over the com link.
Recently, it seemed that there had been more interference on the com waves, or so he thought. Not that he cared much, just so long as he could still understand everyone. “Ah, yes, can you please get me a Ms. Mary Wallace on the link, ma’am?” he asked.
“Certainly, Your Highness. Please hold.”
“No, not the stupid music again!” he protested, but he was too late. The operator had put him on hold and the music everyone seemed to hate spilled out over the com waves, practically taunting him with its tinny sound. He waited impatiently for the disgrace to everything decent to end and for Mary to pick up on the other end, tapping the fingers of his good hand on the table.
“This is Mary Wallace,” a pretty voice said over the com link after what must have been the worst torture the young king had ever sat through.
“Mary! It’s so good to hear your voice again. Where have you been?”
“Chris! I’m so happy to hear from you, too. You see, I went to your birthday
