Stone Dragon (The Painter Mage Book 5) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  About the Author

  Also by D.K. Holmberg

  Stone Dragon

  The Painter Mage

  D.K. Holmberg

  ASH Publishing

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  About the Author

  Also by D.K. Holmberg

  Copyright © 2017 by D.K. Holmberg

  Cover by Damonza

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  If you want to be notified when D.K. Holmberg’s next novel is released and get free stories and occasional other goodies, please sign up for his mailing list by going here . Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.

  www.dkholmberg.com

  1

  The tiny figurine moved across the lawn, stepping through the grass, the dew making parts of him darker, as he began what looked like a little dance. I grinned and waited while little Nik made his way around the barrier that Devan had put up so that we could practice.

  “Are you about done?” I asked.

  He paused and peered up at me, the tiny snarl on his face hard to make out. “Must you continue to do this on the lawn? What if some animal peed here?”

  “Animal? Hell, you’re lucky if I haven’t peed there,” I said. I’d been through enough with Nik to know that he deserved it. “Devan has sealed this pretty tightly, so if you think you’re going to make it out, then we’re bound to have a disagreement.”

  “At least put me on something solid.”

  I waved a red-stained finger at him. I knew better than to leave inks coating my finger but since I was only working in red this morning, it shouldn’t matter. “Don’t think so. Anything more solid and you’re likely to use it against me again.” The time I’d made the mistake of setting him on the slab of cement in the garage, he’d nearly completed a faint pattern on the ground before I caught him. Working on the lawn wouldn’t eliminate it, but at least it made it harder for him. And besides, I kind of enjoyed torturing him, if only a little.

  I’d been working with Nik the last three weeks. Three weeks since we’d lost Taylor, the hunter draining her of her magic and leaving her dead. She rested in my father’s shed, left as something like Nik, frozen as a tiny figurine on the off chance that I might someday learn a way to revive her. It was possible that my father knew of some way to help, but that required finding him first, and the Elder had been lost for the last ten years. Now I’d made the mistake of agreeing to serve as protector of Conlin, whatever that meant.

  Nik leaned against one of the smooth walls of the octagonal metal frame I’d set him in. He couldn’t see the circle of red ink on the other side of the walls, but likely he felt it. “At least let me see her,” he said, almost as if sensing my thoughts.

  I knew Nik and Taylor had been close. He’d been the reason she managed to successfully mod herself, staining her hair with permanent streaks of blue that gave her enhanced abilities that were much like what Devan possessed. Only, Devan is one of the Te’alan, gifted with a different sort of magic than anything any painter could draw. What I hadn’t known was how close they were. Taylor had been hurt when Nik betrayed her, when he used her to reach for items of my father’s, risking bringing the attention of the Nizashi to Conlin.

  “Will it matter?” I asked. I’d already let Nik see her once. There wasn’t anything he could do. He’d stared at her, tiny eyes unreadable. When the hunters attacked a painter like Taylor or myself, there wasn’t much that could be done for them. Life left them as much as the magic did.

  Nik sucked in a sharp breath. “Fine,” he said, shaking off the hint of emotion he’d nearly shown. “Let’s begin where we left off the last time. We’re working with basic patterns. From these, it will only become more complicated. It’s good that you’ve shown skill with arcane patterns—that will help with what we must do—but these are different.”

  I shifted the glass overtop the box, increasing the magnification so I could watch him more closely. Another of Devan’s creations. Without it, I’d have to risk increasing his size. For every slight increase in his size, I chanced the possibility that he’d gain enough control to escape. I didn’t dare loose someone with magi abilities on the city again, even if Nik claimed he wasn’t a mage. Not after how much we’d sacrificed to capture him in the first place. With the glass, I could see the small movements of his hands. They worked in an exaggerated pattern, made clearer by the glass.

  “That’s basic?” I muttered.

  Nik paused and stared at me. His hard eyes were so different from the painter I had once known, the friend I once had. His time working with the Druist Mage had changed him, turned him into something he should never have been, much like my time working with the Trelking had changed me. Maybe I wasn’t so different.

  “Be thankful you don’t have the threat of death hanging over you as you practice, the fear that any misstep will lead to your master choosing to discard you.” He snorted. “And yes, this is basic.”

  He repeated the motion with his hands again, twisting his fingers in a steady swirling, repeating the pattern over and over. Power built from him as he worked, but Devan’s construct kept him confined, at least for now. Finally, I thought I saw what he did. The damn thing was a pattern, only one that moved in multiple dimensions. As I realized that, I understood the key to copying it. Patterns I could do, arcane patterns where they were meant to trick the eye. This hand waving Nik did was much like an arcane pattern.

  I moved my hands in the pattern like Nik used, going through the steady motion. As it completed, the power built faster than I could control and slammed into the metal box surrounding Nik.

  He’d been waiting for it. Power struck, and he jumped, scurrying over the metal and racing across the grass faster than a tiny figurine like him should have any right to move. The wide grin on his face told me this was what he’d been hoping for.

  When he slammed into my barrier, he bounced back. He grabbed his nose and then jerked his hands back and around, twisting in another complex pattern.

  I didn’t let him finish. Using the cylinder of my father’s resting on my lap, I triggered the patterns along the side, freezing him into place once more. He remained with hands outstretched, almost like he intended to finish his pattern.

  Would he be able to complete it when I animated him again? I’d have to be careful the next time in case he could. I didn’t want to risk Nik attacking me as soon as he was freed.

  Then I sat back, stretching my legs in front of me, pushing the metal box off to the side. A smile crossed my face. Nik might have nearly managed to escape, but I’d worked
a mage pattern. I played it over in my head, memorizing it, then I leaned forward and performed it again. This time, I was ready for the power as it surged from me and slammed into the ground.

  “Finally figure something out?” Devan called from the garage.

  I twisted to look at her. She was short, and her shoulder length black hair hung in her face as she leaned over the propane tank burning with a soft hiss from inside the garage. “Could you feel that?” Devan could sense magic being used around her—well, most of the time—it was one of the gifts of her people.

  “Yeah. And the first time, too.”

  “Thanks for helping,” I grunted, sweeping the sculpture of Nik off the ground and stuffing him into my pocket. Then I grabbed the metal box and carried it over to Devan, holding it out to her.

  She nodded to the metal figurine she heated over the fire, this in the shape of some massive winged creature. “Gonna have to wait a minute, Ollie. I’m a bit busy here.”

  I studied the creature, noting the detail in the wings and the massive forelegs. It looked something like a bird, but no bird I’d ever seen had claws that sharp. I had particular interest in what the figurine could do, especially knowing how Devan’s little carvings had the potential to be so much more than sculptures. They’d saved us more than once.

  “What is it?”

  She glanced at me over the flame and blew the strands of hair out of her face. Sweat dripped down her forehead. The top of her t-shirt hung loose around her neck. I took a quick peak, noting the sweat rolling down her chest too.

  “Ollie!” she snapped.

  I smirked and met her eyes. “Hey, if you don’t want me looking, don’t go being so damn sexy.”

  She pulled the figurine away from the fire and carried it to the bench where she started stroking it with a long, pointed rod in steady strokes, working the shape of the face into the figurine. Not so much a bird, I decided, but more like some sort of dragon.

  “Really,” she said as she worked, “you’d think I deprived you or something.”

  “Well, there is this little part about the last ten years,” I said.

  Her hand paused, and she twisted so that one eye looked at me. “That was your choice, not mine.”

  I stood behind her and leaned against her as she continued to work. “What can I say? I’m an idiot.”

  She laughed and shook her head, not missing a beat as she managed to pull shape out of the figurine. Now it seemed to have deep set eyes that almost saw through me. The powerful jaw was filled with a row of sharp teeth. What the hell was she making?

  I pushed against her again, and she slapped the rod down on the bench, lowering her still cooling dragon figure next to it. “Why that shape?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know whether it will work, but if it does…”

  “What?”

  “Dragons are immune to magical energy.”

  I eyed the figurine. Something like that might be helpful.

  She turned to me, her head barely up to my chin, and looked up at me with her deep green eyes. “You manage to ruin another of my perfectly good cages?”

  I kissed her forehead, not wanting to move, not wanting her to move. “Yeah, you know how Nik can be.”

  Devan tossed her dark hair and twisted to stare at the metal box sitting on her bench. “You did that?” she asked.

  “There’s this pattern he was showing me,” I said. I stepped away from her and waved my hands in the pattern, stopping as I felt the power surging through it. It was different than any sort of painting I’d ever done, but it pulled energy and strength, almost like a painter pattern. “I didn’t think I’d get it right.”

  “So you just copied him?”

  I shrugged.

  “You are an idiot, Ollie.” She pushed on my chest and shook her head. “At least I can fix this one.”

  “He still wants to see her,” I said.

  The slight smile on Devan’s face faded slightly. “Why won’t you show him? It’s not like there’s much he’s going to be able to do. If he releases her from the pattern, then she’s dead. If he knows some way of helping her, then she’s not.” Devan shot me a glare at my frown. “Don’t look at me like that, Ollie. She knew the risks. She nearly released the same thing before. The way I see it, she was living on borrowed time.”

  It was harsh, but not completely untrue. “Well, maybe I can use her as some sort of reward if he continues to show me the mage patterns,” I said.

  “That’s sick. Using a dead statue as a reward?”

  I stared at her, incredulous. “Wait, weren’t you just telling me to do the same thing?”

  “Not as a reward. Just let the guy see his girl. Maybe he’ll help you if you do.”

  I shook my head and turned away, my eyes catching on Big Red, the old faded red Ford F150 parked in the garage. The hood was up telling me Devan was tinkering again. “I don’t know that I’ll ever understand you, De’avan,” I said, choosing to use her formal name.

  She snorted and turned back to her newest creation. “Because I’m mysterious. That’s why you love me.”

  It was for so many more reasons than that, but neither of us needed to say them. After what we’d been through together over the last ten years, we shared something deeper than friendship, deep enough I hadn’t wanted to risk it with romance before recently. But after nearly losing her, I couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to her without her knowing how I felt.

  “Mystery only carries a girl so far,” I said, peering into the hood of the truck. Devan carried her figurine over to me and made a point of punching me in the side. “Ow!”

  “Why don’t you get back to your practicing and leave me so I can work,” she said.

  “I was kinda hoping to not leave you alone if you know what I mean.”

  She shook her head at my smirk. “I always know what you mean, Ollie, but I’ve got to finish this before it hardens—” she punched me again as my grin widened “—and you said you wanted to see if the compass was set back into place the right way.”

  The compass Devan’s brother had attempted to steal, the one that obscured Conlin from the Trelking, had been set back into place after the attacks, but I was still working on how to make certain it couldn’t be hijacked again. There had to be some patterns I could place around it would keep it safer than what it was. Unlike most of the magical items in town, the compass wasn’t even a creation of my father’s, so I didn’t have to compete with his patterns to keep it safe.

  “Ah, fine,” I grumbled. “Put me to work.”

  She shot me a look and pointed at me with the long metal tongs she used to hold her carvings. “If I’ve got to work, then you should too. And since you’re now the protector of Conlin, you might want to do a little protecting.”

  Neither of us knew what me agreeing to serve as the protector of Conlin would mean. It was how I’d managed to shake the Trelking from the city, though I’m not certain he had any interest in Conlin. His interest had been more about his son and Devan. Jakes made a point of asking if I’d serve as the city’s protector, but I think was only because my father had served in that role. I wasn’t anything like my father. I might be a painter, but I wasn’t an artist like him. Hell, if Jakes was right, my father might have been something more than a painter.

  Thankfully, since shutting the Trelking out of Conlin, there hadn’t been much for me to do. I wasn’t so sure I was all that ready to do anything anyway. It had taken a while to come to grips with the fact that Taylor had died because she’d been trying to help us. She’d come looking for help, hoping to find her father. When it became clear there wasn’t much that could be done for him, she’d stayed, thinking to learn from the Elder, from everything of his that remained throughout the city. Instead, she’d ended up dead. Not much of a protector.

  In the time since we survived what the Trelking intended, I’d been working to learn as much as I could. Not just with Nik, though that was a part—and maybe the biggest part of
it—but also with the book of patterns my father had left me. Taylor had taught me how to work through it, how to use it to practice the patterns my father seemingly had intended for me to learn. I’d even surprised myself, managing to nearly finish the entire damn book in the last few weeks.

  Not like Taylor. She whipped through those patterns in days, quicker than anything I had managed, but then again, I wasn’t an artist like her. These days, I didn’t know what I was anymore. Not just a tagger, someone with minimal painting ability, but still not at artist level. Maybe I was somewhere in between. I’d never reach Taylor’s level, but then, I wasn’t dead like she was either.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Ollie,” Devan started. She turned to me and planted her hands on her hips. “There wasn’t much you could’ve done. She came here willingly, and she fought alongside us willingly. Besides, she might have been a better painter than you, so do you think there was anything you could’ve done that would have stopped her from trying to help?”

  “What do you mean she might have been a better painter than me? There’s no question she was.”

  Devan arched a brow at me. “Only for you.”

  I inhaled deeply and climbed into Big Red. Old tears in the cloth seats were sewn together, and even the new seams Devan sewed in place created a repeating pattern. I slapped the steering wheel, running my hands around the massive wheel, and twisted the keys still stuck in the ignition. The truck roared to life, the throaty rumble a little steadier than it had been even the day before. Every day, it seemed Devan managed to do something new to the truck. Eventually, I figure she had to be done. Otherwise, if she was going to continue tinkering, then we might as well just buy a new truck.

  Devan dropped the hood of the truck and shook her head at me. “See you at lunch?” she called over the rumble.

  I nodded and backed out of the garage, making my way up the driveway and out onto the street. The truck had a new rumbled to it that hadn’t been there before, a throaty sound I attributed to whatever Devan had done to tune the engine.