Lyric's Curse (Dragonblood Sagas Book 1) Read online

Lyric was confused, but he wanted to please the old witch. The last few weeks, staying with her had been wonderful. A warm bed and food every day. And she was teaching him to read. It was everything Lyric wanted. However, she insisted on additional training. She was trying to teach Lyric to fight. What a candle had to do with fighting was Lyric’s question. Lyric put his hand over the flame.

  “When you hand hurts, take it off the flame,” said Azina.

  Lyric wasted no time removing his hand from the flame.

  “Look at your hand. Is it hurt?” asked Azina.

  Lyric rubbed his palm. “It hurts but there is no burn.”

  “That is because your body responded to the danger. Your body knew that if your hand stayed over the candle too long you would be burned. Your body and mind wanted you to move your hand. Now do it again but leave your hand over the flame two seconds longer.”

  Lyric put his hand over the candle again. This time when it started to hurt he kept it over the flame for another two seconds as she had instructed. When the time was up, he hurriedly brought his back. Pain pulsed through his body and the skin on his palm had started to blister.

  “Two seconds, and you’re just starting to blister. Another couple of seconds and your skin would start to burn. Do you understand now?”

  Lyric shook his head. The only think he understood was that if you left your hand over a candle long enough, you’d get burnt.

  Azina sighed, the boy was thick. “Pain is not your enemy. Pain tells you when bad things are coming, but pain itself isn’t necessarily bad. You can survive pain. But without pain, you would still have your hand over the flame and your hand would be useless. Pain is important to a warrior. It reminds him he is still alive, and that he has a problem to fix. Without understanding pain, a warrior never knows his limits. Pain isn’t the end of one’s limits. It’s the beginning. Learn to push your body past the pain but not to the point of damage. That is when you are a warrior.”

  “How about we skip the warrior training. I’d rather learn to read.”

  “Balance, Dragonblood, you must train your mind and body. Now grab your staff.”

  “Why do we always train with a staff?” asked Lyric. “Perhaps a nice small sword or better yet a dagger. Something that wouldn’t require so much work to learn to use.”

  “I’m an old witch. Do you think the people of Winport would be comfortable with me walking around with a sword? No, a large walking stick is always handy and in the right hands as dangerous as any sword. And a staff can be a valuable weapon in the hands of a mage.”

  “You really think I can be a warrior mage? I can’t fight and I have no magic.”

  “You think these things happen overnight? You’ve been here two weeks. You have a lifetime of ignorance and hiding in shadows, it will take time to reshape your body and mind.”

  Lyric rubbed his tummy, “My body isn’t that bad.”

  Azina scoffed, “You’re softer than butter on a hot day. You have the muscle tone of an eighty-year-old woman. You can’t walk without hobbling and you can’t lift a bucket of water over your head for more than five minutes. Your body is pathetic.”

  Lyric hung his head. His body was that bad.

  “Now grab your staff, Dragonblood.”

  “Ready?” asked Azina. “Block, step, strike.”

  Lyric went through the motions and chanted along with her, “Block, step, strike.”

  “Block, pivot, stab.”

  “Block, pivot, stab,” said Lyric and he moved with the grace of a drunken bear.

  Azina worried. Lyric was enthusiastic about book learning; he was progressing nicely with his letters. But when it came to learning to defend himself, Lyric was surprisingly timid. Azina had thought a boy who had been beaten upon his entire life would relish the opportunity to learn to defend himself. Perhaps his soul had taken more beatings than his body. She would have to figure out a way to make Lyric more enthusiastic about training. Until then, they would just have to grind it out.

  “Block, pivot, strike.”

  8

  “YOU WILL WIN THE TOURNEYMENT and marry the girl,” said Lord Tyree Horne, a big brutish looking man with a heavy beard and thick strong forearms, as he stared out the window of the Horne castle, and gazed over the lands. The last few years had brought poor crops from his lands and he was feeling the pinch financially. A marriage between his son and the Lamar girl would help them immensely.

  “Why would I want to marry some northern bitch?” snarled Talon Horne.

  “Power. Lord Lamar is one of the king’s most trusted lords. He is not the richest lord on the isle but he is one of the most important. He is by far the most important man with a daughter of marriageable age.”

  “I’m perfectly content right now,” said Talon. “Marriage sounds boring.”

  “I said marry her. I don’t care if you sleep with her, or your little bartender friend. I just want our family connected to Lord Lamar’s. You don’t marry for love or sex. You marry for money or power. Grow up, Boy.”

  Talon fumed, his father was a tyrant. Someday, sooner than later the old goat would die, leaving Talon his meager lands. When the current king was only a prince, Lord Tyree had backed the wrong side in a family feud. Now The Horne family was one of the Isle’s lower names. Talon would bring his name back to prominence. Even if it meant marrying some snotty northern bitch.

  “Fine, I’ll enter the tournament. Who else is supposed to be entered?”

  “Lord Grant, Lord Hiron and Duke Pardieu, along with every young knight on the Isle without a wife.”

  Talon smiled, it was a talented field. Lords Grant and Hiron were fine warriors, Duke Pardieu was getting a little long in the tooth for such a young bride, but he was still a formidable opponent. Most of the knights involved would be skilled fighters, but they weren’t noteworthy. Talon knew he should win. “Tell me about Lord Lamar’s lands.”

  Lord Tyree grinned, once Talon started thinking about property and gold he was hard to stop. “Lord Lamar has thousands of acres and four villages that owe allegiance to him. His lands are only two days’ ride from the coast. A prime location.

  9

  “LIGHT THE CANDLE, DRAGONBLOOD,” said Azina Vastel.

  Lyric rubbed his hands together, closed his eyes and focused on the candle. He imagined it bursting into light. Opening his left eye, Lyric peeked at the candle. It was not lit. Lyric pushed away from the table in mild frustration.

  “It doesn’t matter if your eyes are open or not, so having one eye open is not going to make a difference,” said Azina. “Keep trying.”

  Lyric wanted the candle to light. He loved the idea that he could be a powerful mage, but every act of magic he tried failed, miserably. Lyric was as good at magic as he was fighting. Lyric wondered how long it would be before Azina realized she was wrong, that he wasn’t dragonblood or a’kil or any other thing special. He was simply Lyric, the orphan.

  Lyric knew Azina didn’t share his sense of pessimism. She’d told him several times that magic was different for everyone. Some magic blood could cast spells before they could walk. Others would go a lifetime without casting a spell. Sometimes the magic abilities would show up on their own, other times an intense event might trigger them, for others the magic lay dormant forever. Azina seemed confident that he’d eventually show his abilities and when it happened it would happen all at once. Dragonblood was not normal magic; it was drawn not from the earth or the elements but from the very magic of a dragon. Perhaps that was the problem, perhaps his dragon was too far away or asleep for too long. For whatever reason, Lyric had no ability to draw on his magical powers. Azina said she’d talk to a dragon mage, find out what she could. Talking to a dragon mage was dangerous. If they found out about him, they would want to take him away. Azina had been very blunt in telling Lyric he wasn’t ready for that. “You’re like a new born baby waking up and learning about the world around him, you don’t need a dragon mage teaching you. You need a diaper.” Lyric wasn’t
sure how much of the comparison was true and how much was simply an insult. Azina was very skilled in hurling insults.

  Azina watched as Lyric focused on the candle.

  Despite his absolute failure to light the candle, Lyric was determined to keep trying. That determination would serve him well.

  “Enough, you’re making my eyes bleed with your pathetic attempts. Grab your staff.”

  Lyric closed his eyes one last time and concentrated on the candle as hard as he could. Light, light, light! thought Lyric. He opened his eyes to see the candle unchanged. Lyric sighed and got up. Maybe next time he would get it.

  For an old woman, Azina moved impossibly fast. Lyric could not keep his eye on her staff, an old black chuck of gnarly wood that was as hard as stone and light as a feather. Every time Azina attacked him, Lyric might block one or two attempts before her staff struck him.

  Lyric watched as Azina circled. He tried to match her footwork but always seemed to trip over his own feet instead of crossing one over in front of the other. As he watched her feet, Azina smacked him upside the head with her staff.

  “If you’re watching my feet, you can’t see what’s coming,” said Azina.

  Lyric didn’t need to be told that, the ringing in his head had gotten the message across. “Sorry, footwork is difficult for me.” During one of the more vicious beatings he had taken at the orphanage his ankle had been broken. Since doctors cost money, the Orphanage Master set the leg himself. Lyric walked with a bit of a shuffle now as his ankle had not healed properly.

  “Don’t cross your feet like that. Just shuffle and slide,” said Azina. “Keep it simple.”

  Simple indeed, thought Lyric. Nothing was simple with Azina. From the magic lessons to the weapons training, everything made his head hurt. However, none of the beatings she gave him were as bad as the ones he received on the streets so no way in the seven hells would he complain.

  Azina smiled to herself as she beat on Lyric, gently smacking him with her staff when he failed to block her strikes. “You’re terrible. Slow as a goat and as stupid as a newborn!”

  While Azina liked to curse him and yell, Lyric knew she was just frustrated by his previous mistreatment. She’d explained how the years of malnutrition had left his body and mind in a bad place. She’d also explained it would take time for him to fix himself. But every day, Lyric did a little better. He now moved a little better. His speech improved, and once she’d said his ability to pick up symbols was fairly impressive for someone who had never been taught to read. Azina still called him a slow weak lunkhead the majority of the time, but occasionally a nod of approval came when he learned something new. Azina had told Lyric that they would have to do something about his leg, he didn’t care. He was already stronger and moving better. He was used to being crippled, it was something he accepted.

  “You are like a big lump of clay,” said Azina as she attacked Lyric with her staff. “I’m going to whip you into a work of art. Well, maybe not art, but something other than a pathetic runt afraid of his own shadow” Azina paused as she looked at Lyric as he stood there, sweating and cowering from her attack. “Okay, maybe that is too much to ask for. That’s enough for today. Got get your books and start reading.”

  Lyric nodded and a smile broke out on his face. Learning to read was the highlight of his day. He had mastered most of the three and four-letter words now and was able to put together simple sentences. Lyric wished they could read something more interesting than basic plant identification, but the majority of Azina’s books were too complicated.

  10

  “PACK YOUR BAGS. WE’RE GOING to the coast.”

  Sibylle was sitting at a table in the family library. She looked up from her reading to see her father standing in the doorway looking at her. What was he up to now? “Where exactly are we going?” asked Sibylle.

  “Winport. I have a shipment of goods coming in and I suspect the dock crews have been skimming our goods. But a little trip would do you good, you’ve been moping around for days.”

  Sibylle couldn’t disagree with that. Ever since she found out what was happening on her birthday she had been down. And her father was right, a trip could be fun. Might as well enjoy freedom while she still had some. Sibylle jumped up and headed to her room, she needed to pack.

  Lord Lamar smiled, “I thought you might like that.”

  Sibylle was not very ladylike, but that didn’t stop her from enjoying shopping. She would buy daggers and trinkets, training equipment and staves, perhaps she could include a few dresses in her shopping trip this time just to appease her father. She knew her father was being extra pleasant with her lately. He seemed worried about her. Well, that’s not her fault, her father could blame the stupid king for her foul moods. Sibylle could end up moving to some far desolate corner of the Isle depending on who won the tournament. She was happy here being left alone to do as she pleased, but those days would be ending soon. Sibylle would enjoy the time she had with her father, she’d help with his business in Winport and make an effort to appear lady-like, at least in public.

  The road to Winport was a well-beaten path through the forest. Sibylle loved the forest, the smell of pine and wild flowers, the way the breeze flowed through the tree tops, the abundant amounts of wild life. The forest was its own magical world. Of course the forest was also the most dangerous part of the journey. Bandits loved the forest and the copious amounts of cover the trees offered. An entire army could hide a hundred yards away and one would never know if they were quiet enough.

  Sibylle liked the idea of being held up by bandits. She had a dagger on her belt and another one under her traveling skirt. Anyone wanting to take her money would be in for a surprise. Of course with Robert Godefrey and her father’s knights riding alongside their carriage, the chance for being held up were minimal. Perhaps in the city she might find some adventure, but here in the forest, she had to settle for staring out the carriage window and enjoying the forest views. It wasn’t that bad.

  As Sibylle stared out into the forest, she thought about her father. During the trip he’d revealed that he was concerned about the family business. His shipments of goods weren’t just getting trimmed by the dock workers, they were being robbed along this very road. Bandits had cost him two shipments this month alone. This trip with his knights was going to be a test. Since the problems had started, her father had been getting smaller shipments sent to him. This one was the opposite. This one was the biggest shipment yet, double the size even the biggest one from before. It was risky but Sibylle knew her father was taking the right approach. This one they would supervise all the way from the docks to the warehouses at castle Lamar. With twenty knights as their side, Sibylle didn’t anticipate any bandits daring to attempt to stop them, but that didn’t stop her from worrying about it. Lord Lamar had seen his share of violence and Sibylle would be happy to make this trip to Winport an uneventful one so that he had one less thing to worry about

  11

  WHILE STAYING WITH THE WITCH, Azina Vastel, Lyric would often be sent to the local butcher for the meat for their meals. Lyric didn’t know what deal Azina had with the butcher, but every day Lyric would go and the butcher would give him meat.

  On the days where the butcher wasn’t busy with another customer, he would talk with Lyric. Show him the different cuts of meat he offered and let Lyric choose one for their supper.

  Lyric enjoyed the conversations and he enjoyed being in the butcher’s shop. The place was filled with exotic foods that made his mouth water. Also, it didn’t hurt that, besides Azina, the friendly butcher with his long ponytail and blood-stained apron, was the first person to be nice to Lyric.

  “What will it be today, Lyric?” asked the butcher. “Did you like the lamb?”

  “The lamb was delicious,” said Lyric. “Everything you have is delicious.”

  The butcher smiled. “Thank you, Lyric. If all my customers were as easily pleased I’d be a happy man. If you don’t know what you want, l
et me suggest smoked black-eye. It’s a favorite of Azina’s.”

  Smoked black-eye? thought Lyric, surely he isn’t serious? Black-eye was a large snake. Lyric had never eaten snake. “She really likes it?”

  “You’ve never had snake?” asked the Butcher. “It’s very tasty, almost like chicken, but when you smoke it, the flavor becomes more distinct. Azina will be very happy if you try it.”

  “Okay, I guess we’ll have the black-eye,” said Lyric. He was unconvinced that snake could taste good, but if Azina liked it, he would try it.

  The butcher gave Lyric the package of meat, “See you tomorrow, Lyric.”

  Lyric waved goodbye to the butcher and headed back to Azina’s hut. Her small house was in the woods a short distance from Winport. Only a short walk away, but hard to find. Azina said that most of the people of Winport thought the woods were haunted and stayed away. A perfect place for a witch to live.

  When Lyric arrived back at Azina’s house, he was surprised to find Azina was not alone. An old man with a long flame red hair and a long, bushy, grey and white-streaked red beard was sitting with her drinking tea.

  “What’s for dinner Lyric?” asked Azina.

  Lyric looked down at his package and then up at Azina. He hoped the butcher wasn’t playing a joke on him. “Smoked black-eye?”

  “My favorite. How nice of Archabald.”

  Archabald? Thought Lyric. Was Archabald the butcher? Lyric had never heard his name before.

  “Lyric, grab some yams, wild onions and burba beets. I’ll get a fire started.”

  Lyric hobbled over to the pantry and got the required vegetables.

  “Lyric, how long have has your ankle been like that?” asked the bearded man.

  “Oh, it’s been that way a few years. It happened when I was living at the orphanage. Maybe five years now.”

  “What doctor fixed your leg?” asked the man.