The Villain Keeper (13 page)

Rath Dunn laughed. “It's amusing you think that.” He stepped back, grabbed an eraser, and wiped his whiteboard clean. “Hide within the city limits if you want, but while you cower, the monsters of the mountain will devour your Sir Horace. They run wild, but it doesn't take much effort to direct them to a kill.”

N
ight didn't bring darkness. The day-old snow glowed from the city lights, and as the trail moved into the woods, the snow reflected the softer silvery hues of moonlight. The icy trees shone like a crystal palace of trunk and branch. Under winter's weight, the hillside creaked. If Caden had been in Razzon, he'd have thought the mountain alive.

There were no signs of Sir Horace. He didn't come when Caden whistled. Caden didn't know who controlled Rath Dunn or what dark beasts roamed the hills, but he believed Sir Horace was in danger.

Brynne's breath clouded the frozen air. “We should have brought the peasant,” she said. “He could have helped. He knows this land.”

Caden's feet were chilled, his hands numb; and at the
rip in his coat, frosty air slipped inside. The only weapon he'd found in the house was a broken-off handle to a shovel. He gripped it tightly and looked to Brynne. “Tito needs to distract Rosa.”

She huffed and closed her eyes. “You fear for his safety. Have some faith in him.” Snow swirled down from the branches and drifted onto her eyelashes. She opened her eyes and they were the silver of the moon. “The horse is on the other side of the far peak.”

The trek would bring them even farther from the safety of the city limits. If summoned, though, Sir Horace would certainly come. Caden took a deep breath and the air chilled him from the inside. “Sir Horace!”

Brynne punched him, hard, in his wounded arm. She glanced at the shadows between the trees like she expected a winter wraith to barrel out. “Hush. This is a stealth mission.”

Caden tried to yell again. Nothing came out. Silently, he cursed the curse. When it broke, he would comply with no order. He glared and pointed to his mouth.

“Fine. Talk. But don't yell. Better we not draw the attention of the things that are going to kill that beast of yours, lest they attack us, too.”

“You didn't have to come.”

“Without my help, you'd get killed for sure.”

Caden bristled. “I've survived almost thirteen years without your help and not been killed.” He shifted and
his boots cracked the snow. “But I'll admit you are good at finding things.”

“Makes me a better thief.”

Caden would not dignify that with a response.

She laughed, grabbed his hand, and pulled him up the icy path. “You're hopeless, prince.”

Over the peak, the forest was darker. The trees were taller, the shadows starker. To the side of their path, hoofprints bit into the ground. Beside them, there were other, larger prints.

Caden crouched down. He ran his finger around the outline of the larger print—seven claws—and frowned at the broken shovel handle. Already, the wood had cracked from exposure to the snow and the cold. It was hardly a weapon for battle.

Brynne leaned over his shoulder. “What is it?”

He pointed his broken shovel handle at the hoof marks. His chest swelled. Hope was not lost. He wanted to jump toward the sky he felt such joy. “These are the tracks of a dragon.”

Brynne wrapped her arms around her chest and frowned. “There's no evidence that there are any dragons in this land at all.” With a sneer, she added, “There's hardly any magic.”

“Rath Dunn is here. A mysterious
she
controls him. Tito wears an amulet of protection, and the lunch witch glows. We can assume not all is as it seems. A dragon made these prints.”

Caden inhaled the chilled air. There was a dragon in Asheville. The fire dragon may have escaped him, but this Ashevillian one would not. Even in a foreign realm, he'd prove himself. He felt a slow smile spread across his lips.

Brynne looked at him and shook her head. “We should go back,” she said, though she didn't make it an order. “Dragons aren't simple beasts, Caden. They aren't creatures to fight with a broken shovel handle.”

Caden had studied dragons. Neither animal nor energy, they were something in between. Generated by dark magic, they embodied brutal chaos and destroyed all in their way. They were memories of the once mighty and fickle Elderdragons that taught the peoples of the Greater Realm magic and fear. “I know what they are. I'm on a quest to slay one.”

Brynne's breath ghosted in and out. “That story grows old. King Axel wouldn't send you to hunt dragons alone.” She was as unmovable as the mountain. “I don't believe you.”

He felt blood rush to his cheeks and his anger build. “I left at my father's request.” In the following quiet, the snow creaked. Caden peered at it. Beside the dragon's prints were smaller, more familiar prints. His hope became dampened with sickening worry. “These, beside the dragon's prints, are Sir Horace's marks.” This wasn't as good as he'd thought. Oh no. “A dragon hunts Sir Horace.” The tracks led down deep into the valley. He needed to be there
to fight with his friend. “Return to the house. Sir Horace needs me. I can track him from here.”

“I'm not walking back by myself.”

There wasn't time for this argument. He started downhill. “Then hide until I rescue Sir Horace.”

Behind him, he heard Brynne follow. “Hide?” She sounded offended—the same type of offended that had resulted in Caden being cursed. He glanced back. “What is your plan, prince?” she said. “Slay the dragon with the shovel handle?”

“My plan is to rescue Sir Horace and follow my quest. I don't wish to also worry about your safety while doing so.”

Caden was good at saying the right thing at the right time—if he concentrated. That was difficult when he kept picturing Sir Horace ripped from breast to tail. If Brynne's defiant expression was any indication, he had said the exact wrong thing.

“We will face the dragon together, ally,” she said.

She'd cursed Caden into following orders; she was forcing him to take her into battle. Being eaten would serve her right.

“Very well,” he said. As they hurried, he took off his coat and gave it to her. She was his ally. She looked cold. He certainly didn't want her drained again. She'd be unbearable. “Here,” he said. “It'll offer you some protection.”

She smiled, slyly, and took the coat. “I accept the Royal Coat of Warmth and Protection.”

“You can't keep it.”

“I don't know,” she said, keeping quick step beside him. “It seems like you just gave it to me.” She looked like she was going to say more, but her gaze fixed on his arm. “What happened—”

The quiet night was split by a mighty whinny—Sir Horace's battle cry. Caden readied the shovel handle and sprinted toward the noise. “This way!”

Jagged branches, freshly broken and green inside, stuck up from the snow like a field of rough-honed goblin blades. The smells of pine and cedar grew thick. Caden slid to a stop.

In a small clearing near the lower slope of the mountain, Caden made out Sir Horace whinnying and bucking. The ground around his hooves seemed slick with ice. He was watching something with great intent. Caden tracked his gaze and felt his breath hitch, his heart race.

Facing Sir Horace, near a patch of jagged trees, was a gleaming white ice dragon. Caden stood dumbstruck. He'd seen the prints, but now he was certain. There was a dragon to slay in Asheville. He could complete his quest.

A second later, Brynne careened into Caden. She pushed him into the snow, face-first, and he heard the powerful swish as the dragon's tail cut through the air above them, the same exact place where he had stood. When he looked up, the tree trunks around them were now broken.

“Careful, prince,” Brynne whispered. “That tail almost leveled
you.
”

At her voice, the dragon turned in their direction. Its ice-blue eyes raked over them. Beside it, Sir Horace had fallen. A gash darkened his flank. His side rose and fell with heavy breaths. Caden's great steed, however, was not so easily defeated. He wriggled to standing, his white coat smeared with blood and twigs, and pawed the ground. He put his head down, and his ears back.

Caden jumped up. Brynne was already in a fighting stance. The dragon's nostrils flared and it cocked its head like it was deciding who to eat first—Caden, Brynne, or Sir Horace.

The chance to devour someone of royal blood seemed one the dragon could not resist. With a loud scream, it rushed Caden.

He deflected the brunt of the attack with the broken shovel handle. The wood splintered. Air whizzed by his face, cold and dry, and he flew over the sloping ground like a poorly aimed arrow.

Caden rolled head over feet. Sharp rock and icy shards scraped his elbows and knees until he stopped, sprawled in the snow and facing the heavens.

Stunned, he lay still. Sir Horace was at his side in an instant. He nudged Caden's cheek with his soft muzzle. From uphill, the dragon screamed.

Brynne.

Caden scrambled to his feet. Sir Horace looked ready to charge, but his side twitched near the gash. Caden patted
Sir Horace's neck. “Stay back, friend,” he said, and grabbed what was left of his splintered shovel handle.

He ran back to the fray. Brynne stood in front of the dragon, wielding a large stick from the ground. The dragon's head was down. Its tail twitched left to right, left to right as it prepared to strike.

With broken shovel handle raised, Caden dashed behind it and jabbed the splintered wood into its tail. It did no damage, but the dragon loosed a terrible screech and spun around, its mouth a sword's length from Caden's head. Its breath was cold—colder than the mountain—and smelled of blood.

“Get back! Get back!” Brynne ordered.

Caden had no choice but to obey just as the dragon lunged for him, its jaw tearing part of his pink shirt, its teeth coming so close to ripping his flesh that he felt the cold of dragon's breath against the skin of his belly. He wished he hadn't given Brynne his enchanted coat.

Suddenly he heard a roar, and the silvery half-light around them turned warm orange. The trees erupted with flame. The forest was on fire.

The dragon thrashed. It screamed at the flames. Caden dodged its tail and then its claws as it spun in frantic circles.

Brynne ran to him. Her large stick was alight.

“What did you do?” Caden cried.

“Pyrokinesis,” she said proudly. “Fire magic of the mind.”

A burning tree crashed down, and the dragon jumped
farther away. It lifted its head, howled, and turned. With a flick of white scales and a spiked tail, it disappeared downhill into safety.

From the distance came an answering howl.

Caden felt his eyes grow wide, and he met Brynne's equally shocked look.
There were more of them.

Sir Horace whinnied, and Caden's boots squelched in the slush as he and Brynne sprinted to him. The fire burned hot at Caden's back and roared like a beast. “Stop the flames,” Caden yelled.

Brynne pursed her lips. She tightened her face in concentration. The large stick smoldered out, the tip dark with ash. She glanced to the red-flamed woods and jutted out her chin. “I put the stick out,” she said, like it was an accomplishment. “But I don't think . . .” Her voice wavered.

“What about the rest of it?”

“Look,” she said. “I can't do anything about the rest.”

Around them, the fire exploded. The smoke tasted acrid and thick. Sweat trickled down Caden's brow.

Sir Horace pawed the mud and snorted. Caden's horse was of the Galvanian Mountains, a stallion born to the snow, to the cold winters and ice of the Greater Realm. Fire upset him and now it surrounded them.

Neither Brynne nor Caden were gifted with speed and they needed to escape fast before the smoke overcame them. Caden patted Sir Horace's neck. “Can you take riders?”

“Just get on the horse—don't
ask
him,” Brynne said.

An order. Caden swung his leg over. Sir Horace stumbled but held strong. Brynne mounted behind Caden.

A second later, they galloped up the mountain. Sir Horace dodged and jumped burning branches, his hooves steady like a heartbeat on the slushy ground. They escaped the flames growing on the downward slope and rode toward the relative safety of higher ground. Above the smoke, the world returned to ice and snow. They stopped and turned back.

“The entire mountain's afire,” Caden said.

Behind him, he felt Brynne tense. “I got rid of the dragon,” she said, and let go of him to wave at the flames below. “This was an accident. I meant it to be contained.”

Sir Horace took the opportunity to rear up and knock her off. Brynne glared from where she was dumped on the snow. Caden also got down. Sir Horace had been injured. He need not carry Caden's weight now that they were beyond the fire.