The Dragon Guard Read Online Free Page A
Author: Emily Drake
whenever they or the rogue sorcerers of the Dark Hand came near? Surely it hadnât meant it to be a warning to him, but it worked that way. Or did it? Sometimes it hurt so badly it made him cry out sharply, betraying his presence if he had been hidden. Did that make it a beacon to those evil things that searched for him? Had the wolfjackal bitten and chewed on him with a purpose, or just to savage him? He had no real answer. From what heâd seen of Magick, it could take a lifetime of study to answer this and other questions.
Jason dropped his hand down and nudged at a file folder of papers, neatly labeled by his stepmother, JASONâS HIGH SCHOOL FILE. He didnât know what studying to be a Magicker would make him. Gavan and the others said he was a Gatekeeper, but he really didnât know much about that either. Obviously, he found gateways to other realms of existence, but even that was a hit-and-miss occupation . . . and he had no idea what he did to find them. They were just sort of there when a moment came that he needed them. He knew there had to be more to it, and there was no one alive anymore among the elder Magickers who could train him. Their own lives had been torn apart in the war between Gregory and Brennard, and much had been lost.
He couldnât tell any of this to Joanna and William, of course. First, because heâd taken a Vow of Silence not to, but more importantly, it was because they wouldnât want to understand it. McIntire built real cities on solid ground, as heâd no doubt put it, and Joanna would be worried about the social and cultural implications. But is it wise, sheâd say, to be involved in something like that? And her nose would wrinkle in disapproval. It was the wisdom of things that bothered her. Left with a son by a man sheâd been married to all too briefly, she was worried about appearances. What if she neglected him or misguided him in any way? What would people think?
Jason sighed heavily. Actually, heâd never doubted Joannaâs desire to make sure he was presentable. He just wished he had his dad, and his mom, back. Thatâs all. Dirty floors and dishes would be fine with him, if he just had his family back. Love made up for the lack of many things, but things could never make up for the lack of love.
He nudged his folder again, halfheartedly. It fell open. There were pamphlets of core courses and pamphlets of electives. His core schedule had been arranged so completely that he had room for maybe one elective a semester, if that. And, that was if he got up and went to school early, taking the ever popular Zero Period for honor students, a whole hour before the rest of the school day started. Add after-school athletics to that . . . heâd be gone from six to six nearly every day. When would he have time to do what he really wanted to do . . . to become what he really wanted to be?
Jason flipped the folder shut, unable to look at the paperwork for the moment. Instead, he reached for his crystal, pulling it loose from its wire jewelry cage, and cradling it in his hands. Light flared through his room, cast from the clear part of the stone, its gold and dark streaks fracturing the pattern as if black lightning had struck. After long moments spent just meditating over its inner patterns, Jason reopened the jewelry cage and replaced it.
The room fell back into normal, everyday, electric lighting, and seemed much smaller and dimmer in comparison.
Then . . . something tapped at the porthole window.
3
AS A CROW FLIES
J ASON swung open the porthole window. Heâd taken the screen out months ago, and worked on oiling the hinges so it moved smoothlyâand quietly. His head followed the pathway of his hand, cautiously, into the dusk, as he peered out. Something brushed at his head as it winged past, swift and dark as the soon to fall night. He jerked back instinctively as the crow gave a laughing CAW at him, and circled around the
Jason dropped his hand down and nudged at a file folder of papers, neatly labeled by his stepmother, JASONâS HIGH SCHOOL FILE. He didnât know what studying to be a Magicker would make him. Gavan and the others said he was a Gatekeeper, but he really didnât know much about that either. Obviously, he found gateways to other realms of existence, but even that was a hit-and-miss occupation . . . and he had no idea what he did to find them. They were just sort of there when a moment came that he needed them. He knew there had to be more to it, and there was no one alive anymore among the elder Magickers who could train him. Their own lives had been torn apart in the war between Gregory and Brennard, and much had been lost.
He couldnât tell any of this to Joanna and William, of course. First, because heâd taken a Vow of Silence not to, but more importantly, it was because they wouldnât want to understand it. McIntire built real cities on solid ground, as heâd no doubt put it, and Joanna would be worried about the social and cultural implications. But is it wise, sheâd say, to be involved in something like that? And her nose would wrinkle in disapproval. It was the wisdom of things that bothered her. Left with a son by a man sheâd been married to all too briefly, she was worried about appearances. What if she neglected him or misguided him in any way? What would people think?
Jason sighed heavily. Actually, heâd never doubted Joannaâs desire to make sure he was presentable. He just wished he had his dad, and his mom, back. Thatâs all. Dirty floors and dishes would be fine with him, if he just had his family back. Love made up for the lack of many things, but things could never make up for the lack of love.
He nudged his folder again, halfheartedly. It fell open. There were pamphlets of core courses and pamphlets of electives. His core schedule had been arranged so completely that he had room for maybe one elective a semester, if that. And, that was if he got up and went to school early, taking the ever popular Zero Period for honor students, a whole hour before the rest of the school day started. Add after-school athletics to that . . . heâd be gone from six to six nearly every day. When would he have time to do what he really wanted to do . . . to become what he really wanted to be?
Jason flipped the folder shut, unable to look at the paperwork for the moment. Instead, he reached for his crystal, pulling it loose from its wire jewelry cage, and cradling it in his hands. Light flared through his room, cast from the clear part of the stone, its gold and dark streaks fracturing the pattern as if black lightning had struck. After long moments spent just meditating over its inner patterns, Jason reopened the jewelry cage and replaced it.
The room fell back into normal, everyday, electric lighting, and seemed much smaller and dimmer in comparison.
Then . . . something tapped at the porthole window.
3
AS A CROW FLIES
J ASON swung open the porthole window. Heâd taken the screen out months ago, and worked on oiling the hinges so it moved smoothlyâand quietly. His head followed the pathway of his hand, cautiously, into the dusk, as he peered out. Something brushed at his head as it winged past, swift and dark as the soon to fall night. He jerked back instinctively as the crow gave a laughing CAW at him, and circled around the
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