Faith Of The Dragon Tamer (Book 2) Read online

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  Map completed by Sherry Kitts. Thank you for believing.

  Chapter 1

  Ramie stood on his balcony, deep in thought. The third messenger had come that day, strongly encouraging him to send people to train under Ista.

  Ramie grunted. He wondered how long it would be before Ista attacked them all. Probably only long enough for her to build the Collective, and that wouldn’t be long, not with most of the kingdoms embracing her with open arms.

  Days after his homecoming, news had come from the border. Hundreds had been seen traveling to Zier, not only from the border regions of Fest and Quar but also the outer regions, many from his own kingdom of Yor.

  After days of little sleep and many orisons he had made a speech to the city of Yor, ordering none to travel to Zier. First, he said, Newlan must prove it truly opted for peace and not war. He thought it a fair concern, seeing Newlan had a new leader who insisted on training men to become soldiers of the Quy.

  The people hadn’t seen it that way. They had become angry and rumors had spread that Ramie was opposed to magic.

  Wouldn’t the people be surprised to learn if he opposed magic he also opposed himself and his children?

  Ramie’s heart sank at the thought of Ravi and Reese. They both had the power and were almost out of their minds to travel to Zier themselves. He had told them what had occurred while he had been away, and although Reese understood his concern Ravi was unconvinced. She was more rambunctious than any child he had ever seen. He wouldn’t be surprised if she hid in a cart to begin the pilgrimage herself.

  He had sent messengers to all the lesser Oldan kingdoms ordering them to cease letting their citizens pass. Ramie had never made such a demand, but it was in his jurisdiction. Although he couldn’t directly control how each ruler governed he could control the interrelationship between each kingdom, and this affected every nation. Every king had politely sent a messenger back indicating that even if they made the order their citizens would be impossible to contain.

  Ramie understood. He could barely control his own kingdom. It wasn’t the soldiers. They obeyed without question. It was the commoners. It seemed the less one had the more one wanted the Quy. Ista was building an army of hungry, greedy people.

  He had tripled the guards at the border but the patrol was still outnumbered. There had even been some deaths, both guards and citizens. One thing Ramie didn’t want was the blood of the people on his hands.

  He had to do something but he didn’t know what. He couldn’t sit back and allow his citizens to migrate to Zier, but he couldn’t go against magic with his army alone. He knew nothing about magic. Ista could very well be powerful enough to kill his entire army down to a man.

  His father had taught him to think quickly on his feet and his aptitude had surprised many on more than one occasion, but he feared he hadn’t reacted quickly enough this time.

  If only Ketes would answer his message! If he went after Ista alone he would be one army against an army with magic. If Bostic would answer his message and join him in the attack they had a chance, but the message he had sent to Ketes remained unanswered and news had come that Bostic had closed his borders.

  Ketes was the only kingdom in the Lands with a wall surrounding its boundary. It wasn’t an ordinary wall. It was the king of walls, rising over twenty paces in height. It stretched from the outlying cities to the deserted rice fields of its rolling country. If anyone could have closed its borders it was Ketes. The wall was broken in places and shattered in others, but if Bostic had wanted his citizens inside the wall there was no doubt he could have rebuilt the broken sections overnight and forced everyone to remain inside.

  The wall was one of the many mysteries of the lands. The first people were in Yor. As they migrated east, the wall was discovered. It was no manmade construction. The aid of magic was even discounted because of the slight imperfections in the wall’s design. If magic were the cause the wall would have held few, if any, flaws.

  If Yor had a wall around its borders Ramie could at least stop his own citizens from leaving, but Yor was surrounded by water, and water was a double-edged sword. On one hand it offered an excellent defense, but on the other if people wanted to leave it was next to impossible to stop them. Yor was filled with hundreds of canals that spilled into other canals and led to easy escape in the surrounding waters.

  Ramie turned his thoughts back to Ketes. He had been nervous about sending the message, but now he knew it had been right to do so. It surprised him that Bostic had yet to respond. It was clear Bostic was loyal to Ren and had somehow gotten wind of Zier’s takeover before word of Ista had spread, but why hadn’t he answered the message?

  It was perplexing. Although Bostic was known for his boisterous laugh and love of pleasantries he was also known for his loyalty and quick anger.

  Could Bostic be hiding behind his walls? Or could he be planning something on his own?

  Frustration coursed through Ramie’s veins. If only he knew one way or the other he would be able to act or react. He would know if he stood alone against Ista or if he was backed by another force of strength.

  Lorlier would have been an invaluable ally, but Ramie had received only a short message from the king of Fest. Lorlier wasn’t hindering his citizen’s from leaving, but he had ordered his soldiers to remain. Ramie didn’t know how to interpret that missive. Was Lorlier questioning Ista, or because he was a fighting man was he just loath to release his soldiers?

  Ramie heaved a weary sigh. If only Nigel were here to help him. Although Ramie was the natural leader Nigel had an eye for paths that evaded Ramie. Nigel went where no one dreamed there was a way. Ramie needed that instinct now.

  Ramie began to pace. He had to think as if he were the Lands only chance. He was the only one with the truth and the only one in a position to do something about that truth.

  He had waited too long. What was wrong with him? Just because Ista had magic didn’t give him an excuse to hide in a corner! He was a man of action. It was far past time for his reaction.

  It was time to attack.

  The problem was he needed a reason to attack. He had no proof of Ista’s deception. Ista rallied for peace. If he started a war it would only make her hold stronger. So what was the solution?

  He looked to the southeast, toward Zier, wondering what was happening. The people seemed content. There was no news of unrest from the spies he had left in the city. Ista hadn’t forced her way into command. The people had accepted her.

  Or had they?

  If the Zier people rebelled they would be accused of treason. Treason was punishable by death. What citizen would risk his life, his family, for a fight doomed to failure? But if there was a strong resistance they could join …

  Ramie rubbed his tired eyes. He desperately needed rest. He needed to clear his mind before he made a decision to send the Lands into a war involving magic. His people needed something to fight for, a clear evil to fight against.

  If only he had another to consult with, but he dare not trust any in his own keep for this kind of counsel. Ista was sure to have her pawns in his own kingdom. He couldn’t take any chances. He needed someone neutral in all respects, someone who had nothing to do with either power or country. He could confer with the Advisor Convent, where twins, triplets and those with intense knowledge were trained, but its leaders would only refer him back to his own advisors.

  Ramie heaved an exasp
erated sigh. It was late. He needed to call it a night. Maybe with sleep his mind would clear and he would have a solution in the morning.

  He glanced inside the room where Javi slept. Sometimes he wished he could be so easily pacified. Nothing worried Javi, which was why they made such a good pair. He was always busy trying to find solutions before a problem appeared. She only moved when there was need. He was the only thing she ever fussed over. He was lucky to have her. Without Javi he would probably forget to eat.

  The familiar scent of sandalwood wafted to him as Ramie stepped through the arched balcony door. Javi had left some candles lit like she always did when he stayed up late, which was almost every night. Ramie found himself wishing for the thousandth time he felt more than fondness for Javi. She deserved much more than what he gave her. Everyone thought her beauty and warmth could rival Chance herself, but the man she married only thought of her as a dear friend.

  Ramie frowned with self-loathing and walked to his bureau. He shuffled through the stacked documents but made no attempt to examine them. Normally every paper was read and responded to by nightfall, but since returning from Stardom he had been unable to concentrate. Everything seemed petty compared to what had happened in Zier. He was worried about his kingdom, his children, and most especially Ren and Nigel.

  The statue he kept on the corner of the desk caught his eye. It was a man, half-flawless, beautiful and pure and half-deformed, twisted, and ugly. It had been his father’s memento mori, or reminder of his failures. His father had used it on more than one occasion to teach Nigel, Megglan, and him a lesson. Their father had always said that with the dawn of each day they needed to strive to be the man of beauty and not the man of deformity.

  Jarek told them continuously to use their station for peace and prosperity, not for power or greed. Ramie could still remember the first time his father had shown him the statue. He had asked Jarek in childlike innocence if Presario was evil.

  His gasp sounded like a defining blast in the stillness of the room. Javi stirred but didn’t wake. She rolled over and tenderly drew a pillow toward her, where he should have been.

  The deformed face of the statue frowned at him, seemingly annoyed at his thoughts. Presario! Why hadn’t Ramie thought of him before?

  Ramie recalled all he had heard about the man, disregarding most to exaggerations of ignorant minds. Presario was portrayed as a legend and a monster. He had been a child prodigy, and at the age of seven he had proven himself among his peers and obtained entrance to the Advisor Convent. He far surpassed anyone’s expectations and was the most sought after advisor at the age of eighteen, when he had completed the training. Even triplets didn’t finish until they were in their early twenties, twins when they were slightly older.

  Before choosing which kingdom to serve, Presario had traveled back to his father’s lands. While he was there a fire broke out. No one knew the details of the event, but Presario was burned beyond recognition. Instead of seeking healers Presario went into hiding.

  Now Presario resided in the sections of his father’s home untouched by the flames. Only one servant stayed with him. The Advisor Convent had tried to meet with him after the accident, but Presario wouldn’t receive them. His teachers had sent messages imploring him not to waste his life, but Presario met them with silence. The man chose to stay closed to the world. He never ventured out of the castle walls and no one to Ramie’s knowledge had ever been allowed inside. The only accounts of Presario were from his servant, who sought books to keep the man occupied.

  Because Presario was trained as an advisor some people tried to gain an audience. For a time all accounts were refused, until one day the servant told a woman to write down her vexation. Presario replied in kind.

  If added together, Ramie recalled multiple accounts of Presario’s instructions. It seemed as long as the questions were sincere and heartfelt Presario replied.

  Ramie gazed at the statue with conviction. It was imperative he speak with Presario. There was no end to what the man must know. Presario could possibly know everything happening in the Lands. Those who obtained his replies raved about how much Presario knew about their own lives – secrets even.

  And books, Presario’s servant paid handsomely for rare books. If there was a book in the Lands about magic Presario was sure to have it.

  Ramie turned to Javi’s balled form. She wouldn’t approve if he left without telling her, but he didn’t want to hear her objections. Time was of the essence. If he waited until sunup, those who saw him leave would insist on an escort, and an escort was out of the question. Presario didn’t like people. If Ramie went with an escort even a note would be turned away.

  He shuffled through the parchments on his desk until he found one of little worth. After tearing off a small section he reached for his stylus, scrawled a short note to Javi, and propped it against her jewelry chest. She would find it when she woke.

  He donned his deep navy cloak and slipped out of the bedroom. Ramie nodded to the puzzled guard and walked down the marbled hall before he was questioned.

  The Crest castle was grandiose. He had always wished it was less so but it was built for beauty as well as defense. Ramie admitted it was beautiful, but he also thought it bordered on the verge of being obscene.

  The hall was alive with colors: pinkish gray marbled floors, burgundy walls decorated with golden accents, vessels of gold on gray marble tables, and painted ceilings exploding with hues of every tone imaginable. As boys he and Nigel used to peruse each scene and create monumental fabrications of the figures residing within the brushstrokes.

  His lone footfalls breached the sanctity of the hall, disturbing the slumber of the painted faces. When he reached the smaller corridor leading to the stables, he turned. Although the smaller hall still held extravagant decorations they were less frantic, with softer pastels, and longer, more soothing brush strokes. With the way he felt now the pastels clashed with his impassioned resolve.

  Underlying his focus he felt something he had little use for – desperation. Ramie Augustus felt desperate. He had never been desperate in his life. He suddenly realized he had felt desperate ever since leaving Zier. He didn’t like the feeling. As a matter of fact he was on a mission to be rid of it.

  When he arrived at the stables he released a breath and reached for the cold iron handle that separated him from the freedom of the ride. He knew he should take a minimum of ten men with him, but he didn’t know the extent of Presario’s knowledge or sight. He would take no one, humble himself before the man, and if he had to he would insist on an audience with Presario.

  Ramie took a quick surveillance of his clothing and scowled. He was a king and he looked the part. He would be a sure target for vandals if he went out as he was. It would be hard enough to conceal his face since his portrait was imprinted on every coin in Oldan. He had argued avidly against his facial imprint but his advisors had won the fight. After all, he was the youngest controlling ruler in history. His advisors insisted he follow tradition and have his portrait imprinted on all currency to assure loyalty to his visage.

  Ramie opened the door and went straight for the storage bins where the stable hands kept spare garments. After a short search he chose a well-worn brown buckskin shirt and baggy trousers. Shoving his father’s memento mori into one of his pockets, he pulled the disguise over his clothes. Although the fit was tight he didn’t want to leave his clothes behind. He wanted to appear the stable hand while traveling but he may very well need his royal attire when he demanded to see Presario.

  When the façade was in place he took one of the ropes hanging on the peg near the door and tied it around his waist, spitting invectives when he saw how much of the trousers remained bunched at his ankles. He found a blade in the storage area and cut the trousers to size.

  As he made his way to Mortar, his steed nickered a greeting and pawed the earth. Just as Ramie was about to open the stall, he paused. “My friend, you’re much too regal for a stable hand.”


  Ramie walked the length of the straw-filled stable, finally selecting one of the horses used to pull heavy cargo. The wooden sign on the stall christened the inhabitant as Foster, a rust-colored mare that looked fast if not well bred. Foster looked at him with disinterest but allowed him to stroke her muzzle. After a quick rubdown Ramie guided his chosen mount out of the stall and saddled her, feeling like a little boy trying to sneak out of the castle for an adventure.

  But it wasn’t so much an adventure as it was a crusade.

  Chapter 2

  Foster proved faster than Ramie expected. The horse could rival Mortar in the races. Although she wouldn’t win, she’d put up an incredibly good fight. He would reach Presario’s hometown of Mintree by dawn. Ramie praised the Maker Presario resided where he did. The man could have lived in some far off region, making him impossible to reach quickly.

  Foster hungered to move faster but Ramie held her back, fearing the rocky terrain would cause her harm if she went at full gait. As they cantered in the dark, sparse trees jutted out into the gloom like hands waiting to grab him. It was flat in Yor, extremely flat, contrasting with the hills and mountains he had been to of late. Although Yor was surrounded by water the internal sections appeared as if water never reached them. The soil was rocky and dry and if you didn’t know better you would have sworn water was the farthest thing away.

  The Crest castle had been built on the water’s edge, where canals, lily vines, and moss-covered trees dominated the landscape. It was as if you were in a paradise, but only paces away lurked the Abyss. Ramie loved the variety, and he especially loved nighttime excursions. The peaceful sounds of the echo bugs brought back memories of nighttime jaunts with Nigel. But as he rode toward Presario’s castle he had an ominous feeling. He felt watchful eyes on him. Every so often he would reach under his tunic and finger the hilt of his sword.

  When the sun started to peek through the clouds Ramie reined in Foster and reached for the map he had tucked into the saddlebag. Ramie swiveled in the saddle, cursing as the right bottom leg of his frayed breeches hung on one of the saddle’s brass ornaments. Mumbling invectives about his height, Ramie dismounted, tearing his breeches in the process.