Whom Dragons Rule: Dragons, #2

By Candace Christine Little

An expedition. A curse. A countess. A noble cause. A princess. An alliance. A look. A betrayal. A sword. A dagger. A league. A brotherhood. A legacy. A queen. And...of course... Dragons. 

 

Whom Dragons Rule is the second book in a set of two, but either book can be read first. They are simultaneous stories—they are happening at the same time and involve different but related characters. Each story is complete—no cliffhanger endings, no need to read one to understand the other.

 

The books in this series are written to be enjoyed by a broad range of ages—from junior high through adult. Though the stories are family-friendly, they do involve battling dragons. Looking for thrilling rescues and noble knights? Experience the adventure and the hope in Whom Dragons Rule.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Candace Christine Little
• Release date: Jan 18, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224857999

Candace Christine Little

Candace Christine Little has a B.A. from Dallas Christian College and a J.D. from Regent University School of Law. She has written six novels. Four are part of one series: The Pursuit of a King (A Tale of Wisdom), The Heart of a King (A Tale of Faith), The Honor of a King (A Tale of Mercy), and The Son of a King (A Tale of Love). Two are part of another: Where Dragons Dwell and Whom Dragons Rule. Candace believes in the power of stories to nourish, to teach, and to inspire, and she is wholeheartedly committed to endings that are happy.

Book preview

Whom Dragons Rule

by

Candace Christine Little

Copyright 2014 Candace Christine Little. All rights reserved.

Cover Copyright 2014 Candace Christine Little. All rights reserved.

Dedication

Wishing you freedom from all of your curses and unequivocal, irreversible, and absolute triumph over the dragons.

Table of Contents

Part I

Chapter 1:  The Expedition

Chapter 2:  A Noble Cause

Chapter 3:  One Month

Chapter 4:  The Ship

Chapter 5:  The Alliance

Chapter 6:  Dancing

Chapter 7:  A Look

Chapter 8:  Suggestions

Chapter 9:  Jealousy

Chapter 10:  Advice

Chapter 11:  The Papers

Chapter 12:  A Solution

Chapter 13:  In the Garden

Chapter 14:  A Good Plan

Part II

Chapter 15:  A Visitor

Chapter 16:  Watching and Listening

Chapter 17:  The Far Hills

Chapter 18:  Lessons

Chapter 19:  The Most Sacred of Alliances

Chapter 20:  Caution and Stealth

Chapter 21:  The Weary Witnesses

Chapter 22:  A Brother

Chapter 23:  Family

Chapter 24:  The Throne of the Dead

Chapter 25:  Exquisite Hope

Chapter 26:  The Borderlands

Chapter 27:  Into Terresol

Chapter 28:  The Greatest Victory

Epilogue

Part I

Chapter 1:  The Expedition

Ryldalon took one slow , deliberate step—and then another—and then another, all the while listening for those who might be listening for him. The grand hallway, shrouded in darkness, stretched before him eerily and endlessly.

But that hallway did, in fact, have an end, and the moment eventually came when Ryldalon’s careful steps brought him to it. There he paused.

Not a sound interrupted the stillness of the night.

He crept on.

Methodically and with excruciating caution, Ryldalon wended his way down each silent, lifeless palace hall he encountered.

When he reached a point of intersection—one hallway led to a distant wing, the other toward the palace’s center—Ryldalon stopped. He peered as far up each path as the darkness and the strength of his eyes allowed. He strained to hear any small sound—a footstep, the creak of a door, a sigh, a sob, a scream—that might tell him how to proceed.

He heard nothing.

He started toward the distant wing. But then a faint echo set his heart racing and stilled his steps.

From the other hallway had come the faraway, faded sound. Ryldalon turned toward it. More alert than ever, he skulked from shadow to shadow.

He followed the bends and turns of the palace halls much farther than he expected and began to wonder if he had imagined the sound. But upon rounding one final corner, the feeble glow of candlelight announced he had not.

He studied the scene, considering how near he might dare to draw: the person to whom the candle belonged might chance to glance in his direction at any time, and this particular hall—a hall of portraits of the former kings and queens of Terresol—was bereft of hiding places.

Curiosity, excitement, the thrill of danger all called him forward—as they had much earlier that day when he first determined to discover where the dragon Menteur was taking the mysterious person he held in his cruel claw. Ryldalon flattened himself against the wall and eased forward, one painstaking step at a time.

When the indistinct figure beside whom the candlelight flickered came more clearly into view, Ryldalon forgot to take any more steps. The beauty of the woman before him was the sort that stole men’s breath away. Even disheveled and obviously distraught, her loveliness was undiminished—or perhaps it was diminished, he thought. Perhaps the tangled curls of gold, the smudges of dirt, and the tear-tracked cheeks were all that made the exquisite vision fit for his humble eyes.

Something noble stirred in his heart. Until that moment, he had always felt far removed from the ancestors of his whose portraits lined the hall—vastly inferior and entirely other. But in that moment, with true beauty so near to inspire him and with the call of honor impressing on him a duty to protect that beauty at all costs, he felt as valiant as any king who had ever lived.

The woman sat staring up at the last of the kings—King Aravalte. Now and then a fresh tear slid down her cheek. She made no move to wipe the tears away but let them fall.

Ryldalon longed to speak, but he thought his sudden appearance would likely frighten her—which might cause her to cry out—which the dragon or dragons guarding the palace might hear—which would put them both in great danger. So, silently he stood and watched and listened as the beauty before him stared and stared into the eyes of the painted king.

Some time later, the woman stood. She wiped her cheeks, even then her gaze lingering on the king’s face.

Ryldalon knew he could stay no longer: she would have to pass him to leave. Hastily but quietly he withdrew.

AWAY FROM SUCH ASTONISHING loveliness, Ryldalon could consider the situation a bit more clearly. He chose a room bathed in moonlight in which to do his thinking. A surreptitious examination of the views through the windows revealed no dragons were directly in sight. Thus reassured of his privacy, he began to pace.

That the woman was a prisoner of the dragons could not be doubted, but that she might be one of the survivors of Terresol, whom he had come to this forsaken land to find, seemed unlikely. For one thing, she was regally dressed—but the survivors of Terresol, according to the stories, had all been forced into slavery. Why would a slave be dressed in finery and imprisoned in a palace? It made no sense. For another thing, she was young—but the passing of so much time since their capture meant that the survivors of Terresol must all be very old—unless those captured had been allowed to form families and grow in number. Though it was possible, Ryldalon had never found convincing proof that was the case. Until now, he supposed. But—no. Her fine dress and presence in the palace still made no sense. She could not be part of the remnant.

But who was she? King Aravalte’s portrait had completely captivated her in a way that suggested familiarity or even fondness. But what ties to the former king could she possibly have if she was not one of the remnant? Perhaps her ties were to Ouvertcoeur—to the queen’s family. But—no. His own familiarity with the court of Ouvertcoeur convinced him that could not be the case.

And where—where!—were the survivors of Terresol—the precious remnant his many fruitless searches had failed to find?

He sighed and stole to a window for another careful glance at what lay beyond. No dragons were in view, but a glint of something metallic in a distant field arrested his attention.

Falnnor—it had to be Falnnor. He alone had shown any willingness to leave the ship. Ryldalon frowned and shook his head. The boy would be caught—dragons would be upon him in an instant—if he was not careful. But something very serious must have sent the boy so far toward the palace.

Ryldalon glanced in the direction of where he had last seen the mysterious prisoner, dismayed to realize that, in his haste to escape detection, he had given no thought to how he might find her again in the dark. He had planned to approach her in the morning, when daylight might lessen her alarm at his presence. But now—now she might have retreated to any of the palace’s rooms. Sleep or fear would likely prevent her from making any sounds he could follow, and the candle’s flame would be too dim to help him until he was already upon her hiding spot.

A rescue, then, was out of the question. There was no time to search for the woman, much less to introduce himself to her and convince her to flee with him through the scorched forests of Terresol. If he did not set out at once to stop Falnnor’s reckless approach, the boy would no doubt attract the eye of every dragon near. And if Falnnor had come to warn of some danger—well, the rescue might turn out not to be a rescue at all.

Only one course of action presented itself as imperative: seeing that Falnnor was not taken by the dragons. Then perhaps the mysterious prisoner could be attended to.

With a frustrated sigh, Ryldalon turned away from the window and began his stealthy exit from the palace.

WHY ARE YOU HERE? Ryldalon whispered to Falnnor, noting that the boy had at least taken some precautions—positioning his face far back in the hood of his cloak and dressing all in black.

The others—there is talk of mutiny, sir. I convinced the others to wait. We have enough time only if we return to the ship at once. Otherwise, they will leave without us.

Ryldalon glanced back toward the palace. How near he had come at last to discovering something about the survivors of Terresol—or about one of the dragons’ prisoners, anyway! Could he now leave such a vital clue behind? And what would become of the woman? Surely the honorable thing to do was to stay behind and defend her from the dragons—to the death, if need be.

But here was Falnnor. He could not be asked to make such a sacrifice. He was the darling brother of a devoted sister who would be left entirely alone in the world without him. But he could not be sent back alone. That he had managed to make his way to the palace without being caught was the sort of good fortune that could not be expected twice.

Ryldalon slowly nodded. Then I suppose we should get back.

The two began a hurried but careful trek across the burned fields of Terresol. Grass, flowers, trees—all were singed and blackened: the dragons would allow no marks of hope and healing to spring forth. The dismal landscape required travelers to be willing to move about only among the shadows of night and to hide themselves in dark disguises. All that could be seen in Terresol was wrapped in unbroken gloom.

Falnnor began to advance more quickly, his clumsy gait—awkward with the lankiness and insecurity of youth—no hindrance at all to his progress.

Ryldalon matched his pace. I thought you said we had time to reach the ship.

Perhaps a bit less than we need. But if we hurry and—

You did not turn back while you still had time? Your sister—

And leave you at the mercy of the dragons? Falnnor’s tone expressed genuine surprise at the suggestion. No, sir. There would have been no honor in such a course. I expect you would have chosen exactly as I did. In fact, that is how I decided what to do—I asked myself what you would do. Was I not right? Would you not have—

Indeed. You have chosen the way of honor, certainly. But— Ryldalon hesitated.

You would rather face the dragons than have my sister discover I risked my life for yours.

Unquestionably.

My sister need never know of this part of the journey. I am not fool enough to mention it. But now—we really should travel a bit faster. We have no time to stop.

Until morning, you mean?

At all. We shall have to travel by day, as well. Falnnor glanced at Ryldalon.

Travel by— Ryldalon cut short his exclamation of alarm and instead nodded grimly. Lead on, lad.

VINIMOOR, THE CAPTAIN of the ship that had borne Ryldalon to Terresol, eyed Ryldalon coldly and frowned. So you have returned.

I understand you wish to be on your way to Ouvertcoeur, said Ryldalon. Even if it means leaving members of the expedition behind.

The captain signaled to the men who stood waiting for orders. Immediately they went to work, readying the ship to sail. I am not ashamed to admit that is true. Our watchmen have seen the distant comings and goings of dragons. Surely you saw them, too. Your delay might have meant the deaths of us all.

Delay? My delay was the entire point of this expedition. And you are well supplied with seulespoir. You could defend yourselves against the dragons easily enough. Had all of you perished, it would have been because of your cowardice. I set out alone from this ship because the hearts of all aboard failed. Had we been able to divide the exploring among several parties, we could have covered more land in a shorter amount of time. And perhaps we would have found—

So you found nothing. I knew it. I knew it! Give up, Duke Ryldalon. To return to Ouvertcoeur alive, the ship unsinged and intact—that is the most we could ever hope for from this exercise in folly and wishful thinking—and even that may be a wildly optimistic hope.

Falnnor, who had been standing silently behind Ryldalon, propelled himself forward, his awkward limbs animated by defensive anger. But he did find someone!

Vinimoor turned a questioning look toward Ryldalon.

Yes, said Ryldalon. A prisoner of the dragons, though I do not believe she was a survivor of Terresol.

Vinimoor was quiet for a moment, seemingly befuddled by the news. Then he grunted. Hmmph. Enough talk. I have a ship to captain.

Yes, and you are failing mightily at it thus far. Sending a boy out to face the dangers no man aboard this ship was willing to...threatening to leave us behind...risking—

The rest of us would gladly have left you to the dragons, Duke Ryldalon. Make no mistake about that. But the boy protested quite emphatically, so I let him go. He needed not to waste time in his search, however, so I also gave him a powerful reason not to. And it worked.

And if his sister were to hear of it?

The captain winced. There is no need to make threats. But we are not away from this dreadful wasteland just yet, so let me be about my business. The ship will not captain itself. His tone was gruff, but he looked to Ryldalon for approbation before he turned to go.

Ryldalon nodded.

Falnnor’s sister—that such fury could be packaged in such a dainty bundle of ruffles and lace... Dirty trick, threatening a man with that. Captain Vinimoor ambled off.

Ryldalon turned to Falnnor. It appears I owe you a good deal more than I believed. Thank you, Falnnor. But why would you take such a risk for me? I am an outcast, despised by the greater part of Ouvertcoeur and scorned by the rest.

I know. But you are an outcast who has adventures and knows what the important things in life really are—honor and valor and courage and...well, how am I supposed to learn such things, having only my sister to see that I grow up right? She certainly means well, but she fights all my battles for me. Just look—she did not even have to be here to scare the captain into treating me as if I were a child to be guarded and—

But the captain sent you off, rather recklessly, I might add, to bring me back. He was not guarding you then.

Only because I threatened to throw myself overboard and swim back to Terresol if he set sail without you.

I see. Ryldalon paused, duly impressed by the boy’s boldness and tenacity and duly moved by the boy’s sense of honor. The debt I owe you cannot be repaid with mere words of thanks. Suppose I teach you the proper way to slay dragons and see that you are trained in the ways of the knights. Would you then release me from my debt?

Falnnor’s eyes brightened. You owe me nothing. But—

A man of honor repays kindnesses shown to him.

You see? That is exactly the sort of thing I knew you could teach me! Falnnor grinned. And in that case, it seems a fair trade. I accept.

Good. Then it is settled. Now—you should probably go find the cook. You will be wanted in the galley soon, I suspect.

It is not quite settled. A slight frown replaced Falnnor’s grin. How shall we explain such an arrangement to my sister?

How did you convince your sister to allow you to come on this journey?

Have you not heard? I thought surely the captain had told everyone.

The captain and crew speak to me as little as possible.

Oh. Right. Well...the thing is...my sister...she does not exactly know that I...that I...well, the thing is...I didn’t. I left my sister a letter telling her where I had gone.

Ah. Yes, I imagine that will make the situation a bit more challenging. But leave it to me. I shall think of something. But there—the cook has come to retrieve you, just as I expected.

Falnnor followed Ryldalon’s gaze. He does not look pleased. If you will excuse me, Duke Ryldalon...

Ryldalon nodded. Falnnor turned away and trotted clumsily across the deck toward the glowering cook.

For a moment, Ryldalon remained where he was, watching the crew scuttling all about and wondering whether his offer to train Falnnor had been the foolish result of misguided pity and overly sentimental gratitude. His thoughts turned to the dreaded sister, and he remained a moment longer to consider the difficulty of the task to which he had just committed himself. The longer he thought, the slimmer his hopes became that she might actually allow her brother to learn the ways of knights—especially from him.

But then Ryldalon happened to glance at the surly faced captain, who was staring at him from across the ship with unhidden contempt, and he recalled that Falnnor’s sister, likely frantic at that point and at least twice as prone to tongue-lashings and torment as usual, had not given the boy permission to sail. A wretched outcast I may be, Captain, said Ryldalon under his breath, but you have earned the full measure of my pity for the unforgettable reception that awaits you. The duke loosed a hearty laugh that he, despite his pity, did not feel inclined to restrain. Then, his momentary pessimism dispelled, Duke Ryldalon set off for his cabin to record all the important details of the expedition in preparation for his report to the king.

Chapter 2:  A Noble Cause

S o you did not find them—or any trace of them. King Trevill sighed. I do not know how much longer I can support you in this, Ryldalon. All my advisors and a good portion of the kingdom believe it to be folly. And that you could not persuade the crew of the ship to assist in the exploration...that all of them, to a man, were willing to forego the payment I offered and risk my wrath in order to stay aboard... He frowned and shook his head.

You know as well as I that I have few friends in Ouvertcoeur. I am an outcast, next in line for the throne or not, said Ryldalon.

But even that should tell you something. Why are you an outcast? Because your grandfather abandoned his wife and son to chase after these mythical survivors of Terresol and retake the land. And then your father abandoned your mother and you for the very same cause. I wish, for your sake, that the survivors might be found tomorrow and the dragons defeated and expelled from your ancestral homeland. But I fear this obsession your family has with Terresol is a form of madness to which you are in danger of succumbing.

But you have read the stories. And there was the woman who—

You said yourself that the woman was not of Terresol.

Yes, but that the dragons have one prisoner means that they may have more, and—

Enough. I did not say I was going to withdraw my support, just that I do not know how much longer I can offer it to you. Your father and grandfather are of royal blood. While there is a chance they might be found alive, I have a duty to encourage their rescue. But your zeal and determination have little persuasive power amidst a people already wearied and disappointed by the zeal and determination of your grandfather and your father. And now...now that tragedy and misfortune have left only the two of us out of all of our family, you cannot be spared for such reckless pursuits. The king, suddenly somber and haggard in appearance, paused. That I have outlived my father, all my brothers, all my aunts and uncles, all my other cousins of even the most distant degree—it is a devastating marvel. But I fear death is already whispering to me. I fear—

You are not going to die. You must not think such things.

How can I not? Am I to be the only descendant of King Pildinor not to meet an untimely end? That is why you must give up your foolish quest. The kingdom needs you. I am of an age when accident or illness had already claimed many of my kin.

"I am a descendant of King Pildinor, too. And we are very near the same age. Do you suppose my life is in the same danger as yours? Is that why you are so insistent that I give up this...obsession, as