Draconis' Bane (18 page)

Mother, I’m given
to plain speech.
He chuckled out loud.
Even in my mind.
He paused, taking a deep breath and organizing his thoughts.
Enough riddles. I get the impression that my life is at stake
and I want to know why people are trying to kill me.

Annadora also took a
deep breath; she turned her head to the east as she spoke to his
mind.

It all goes back to
when Dragon Magic began to fade. You have to understand that
Dragons have been around since before men came to this world. Our
ancestors used to roam freely, trading our magic with the dwarves
in exchange for them building our homes.

Some of our kind
lived in the forests, others in the mountains; still others had
enormous monuments built to house them and their caretakers. Our
ancestors were worshipped as Gods on this world. Our magic is
ancient; it helped us to control the elements, creating sprawling
grasslands for the nomadic tribes, dense woodlands for the elves,
rivers and lakes in the mountains for the dwarves.
She
explained patiently.

You go to visit
the last of the old races, in Guis you’ll find the descendants of
the nomadic tribes, though now mixed heavily now with humans. But
their ancient magic, given to them by the Dragons still serves
them. The people of Guis make the finest magical items, mostly
jewelry; they are respected for their craft all over the world. The
Guisians are unique in the world; you’re going to learn more in the
next few years than I could tell you for the rest of your life.
Annadora explained with delight.

Tristan was
enthralled by the story, whether he knew these things before the
attack or not, he didn’t know. He suspected though that he had
never been told any of this before. He had long since gotten over
the shock of being descended from dragon lines. He even understood
that the magic in their blood, and in his, afforded some traits
that others hadn’t known about, much to their dismay.

When you were
attacked I didn’t know what to expect. I hoped that you would
survive it; I never trained you myself because there just didn’t
appear to be any magic in you. Your skills always seemed to be
physical ones, your speed and flexibility for example. You have the
ability to sense movement and know what your opponent is likely to
do next. All of these things tend toward the physical and the
mundane. I never could have been prepared for your voice in my
head.
She explained.
It even caught your sister by surprise
and she’s long held that you’ve skills that haven’t made themselves
apparent yet.

Tristan couldn’t hold
the flood of questions any longer.
Wait. Euri knows? I don’t
understand. She’s a child.

His mother smiled at
him.
In her appearance and her emotions, yes, she is a child.
But her mind is old, as is her experience. Dragon Magic is
something unique Mykl. When a dragon baby is born they have all the
knowledge and experience of their parents. They are born knowing,
self-aware; some of our ancestors theorize that it’s an
evolutionary change in our species. There are always hunters, and
lesser kin who seek to kill dragons for trophies or as magical
aides.
She informed him.

Magical aides? I
don’t understand.
Tristan sent.

Dragon hide is
impervious to mortal weapons; your armor for example, is made from
the hide of my own father. He’s a magnificent greater dragon. One
day a group of hunters showed up and tried to sell your father his
scales for profit. Dion had them executed, after learning that they
had hunted down and slaughtered several dragons, apparently
including my father. We didn’t catch them all because the group had
been quite large and they had sorcerer help.
She said
sadly.

Why would a
sorcerer help them? Tristan
asked.

Sorcerers are
jealous of dragon magic. While magicians can manipulate what’s
already there, sorcerers can add to what’s there. Dragons, on the
other hand, can create with their magic, something that no other
magical sect can do.
She explained.

I still don’t
understand. Why would they want them dead?
Tristan
insisted.

If they can’t
possess the magic, they’ll destroy it.
She explained
darkly.

That doesn’t make
sense at all.
He sent.

That’s the price
of arrogance and ambition Mykl. Everything done for the ‘Greater
good’ rarely makes sense.
She observed.

So, they’re trying
to kill me because…?
He replied with his mind.

Well, there’s that
prophecy you overheard your first night awoke.
She explained.
They’re probably convinced you’ll fulfill it.

You don’t think I
will?
Tristan asked in surprise.

I hope you don’t
have to, but your father and brother have prepared you well.
She sent with a smile, placing her hand on his cheek.

He sat there, long
minutes passing in silence as the words sunk in. Tristan couldn’t
accept that he was just an easy target of some random prophecy.
Everything he’d experienced from the moment he woke up until now
pointed to something much more dangerous than a random lashing-out
based on some unconfirmed lore. There was no deceit in his mothers’
thoughts so he assumed she was telling him the truth of what she
knew, but there was still nagging doubt in his mind.

They spoke out loud
with each other about his coming duties and his building excitement
at traveling to Guis into the night.

When the street lamps
began to be extinguished by the constables marking midnight Tristan
escorted his mother back to his parents room. He went back to his
own room and lay in bed for what felt like hours, his thoughts
totally consumed with excitement, it wasn’t until the flames died
down in his fireplace that he began to nod off to sleep.

The road to Durshire
was heavily guarded. Vallius soldiers occupied the area and were in
the process of clearing out the Terum presence. More than once
Captain Robertson had to provide warrants and proof of citizenship
as he oversaw the 7
^th
riding escort for the young
Prince.

The Captain had been
something of a surprise. The morning Tristan was to leave he broke
fast with his family one last time. He was so excited to leave that
he came fully armored to the council chamber much to the amusement
of Dion and Gerald. The women found his attire inappropriate, he
could tell, but wouldn’t tarnish this time together over such
trivialities. After the meal everyone made their way out into the
courtyard to bid Tristan good journey.

The young Prince was
deep in conversation with his father as a familiar voice cut
through the silence of the morning.

“On your feet you
lazy dogs!” Sergeant Frose yelled.

The young Prince spun
around and locked his eyes on a burly old war veteran. Gathering in
front of him was the remainder of the 7
^th
Infantry,
along with some fresh reserves bringing them back up to an even
fifty. They all stood beside horses packed for a long ride. Captain
Robertson came forward, leaving a new young Lieutenant holding the
reins of his horse. He came to attention in front of the young
Prince and saluted.

Tristan returned the
salute.

“Captain. You’re a
little farther east than I would expect.” He observed.

“The 7
^th
had nothing better to do your Highness.” Robertson replied with a
smirk.

“I’m not sure if I
want your ragged band tagging along with me, but I assume I’m stuck
with you.” Tristan replied smiling widely.

“Seems fate is a
heartless bitch my liege.” He replied. Dion cleared his throat
darting his eyes at the women present.

“Pardon my candor
m’ladies. I’m used to less civilized company.” The Captain added
quickly.

Everyone laughed as
Tristan descended the steps to stand in front of the Captain. He
regarded the old warrior sideways as the two of them moved towards
their mounts.

“Well Captain we’d
best be off, we’re burning daylight.” Tristan commented as he
mounted his horse.

~

After four days in
the saddle Tristan was glad to have a large city in sight. He
enjoyed riding Pava and taking in the sights of his new countryside
but four long days in the saddle had his backside more sore than he
cared to admit.

A few hours later the
convoy approached the city gates, the guards made close inspection
of the wagons until Captain Robertson produced their warrant naming
Tristan the Duke of Durshire. The soldiers stammered their
apologies as the convoy was ushered through the gates and into the
city proper.

Everywhere Tristan
looked he was amazed. Metao, Irudin and Kenting had nothing on this
city in his opinion. There was nothing gaudy about the buildings;
they all seemed to be made of the most amazing polished wood. It
was as though the entire city was occupied with keeping itself
beautiful. Most of the buildings were a single story with a peaked
roof, with a window just below the peak. Tristan assumed this was a
room, or collection of rooms for the owners of the businesses below
them, or possibly rooms rented to tenants. The main street, which
ran east to west, was periodically broken up by large market areas
which crossed with other roads going north to south.

The city might not
have been as defendable as Kenting, but it was very organized.
Great thought and effort had gone into its planning and it made
Tristan feel at ease. Durshire Keep stood on a small mound in the
center of town and was surrounded by a wall and moat. The keep
itself wasn’t overly large; being smaller than the others he’d been
in. It was cleverly built though, instead of one building inside
the walls there were many buildings.

The group made their
way over the draw bridge as the sun set behind them. Tristan
noticed that there were buildings along the wall just as there was
in the other keeps. Instead of dismounting in front of the main
building they were directed forward through a large archway into
the central courtyard. Captain Robertson ordered his Lieutenant to
see to the men and baggage. The young man saluted and stopped,
turned his horse and motioned for the men and wagons to move along
the wall.

The path through the
archway and throughout the central courtyard was made up of bricks
similar to those used for the keep, large grey stones flecked with
color, as if the stones themselves were rich in gems. Tristan and
Robertson brought their horses to a halt in front of a delegation
of richly dressed men. The Captain made a disgusted sound causing
the young Prince to smile and cast him a warning look.

The most gaudily
dressed gentleman stepped forward offering a bow which was followed
by the others behind him as he welcomed the young Prince to
Durshire. Tristan was eager to be done with formalities and get
some rest in a real bed so he dismissed the delegation, asking them
to assemble the council in the morning when he was rested and
prepared. After they all had left Tristan turned to Robertson.

“Well Knight-Captain,
I’m for bed.” Tristan said with a dramatic yawn.

“Kni…? Oh fine.”
Robertson replied darkly. “But I’m not dressing up and marching
around like some peacock.” He accused, shaking his finger at the
young man.

Tristan raised his
hands in supplication. “I wouldn’t ask that of you. Besides, I
don’t think I could keep a straight face.” The young Prince laughed
as the old man mumbled a curse and walked away with his horse,
leaving Tristan to be ushered away to his rooms.

~

A few weeks after his
arrival, Tristan strolled through Durshire alone. He was dressed
comfortably in black leather trousers and a simple blue
short-sleeved shirt, his sword, as always, hung at his hip. He made
his way slowly down the street, enjoying the energy and comfort
that had become his city.

After meeting with
the business owners’ delegation Tristan assumed command of the
city. He hired a few administrators from among the citizens of
Durshire and started work. The city had collected no taxes in the
last few years so the first time he held court he made it clear to
the business owners that the free-lunch was at an end. The sewer
system was in a terrible state and the standing army was poorly
equipped.

When the Terum
soldiers had raided the countryside the city had simply locked
itself in and waited out the month long siege. Tristan re-organized
what was left of the Durshire military into four companies under
Knight-Captain Robertson. The older man quickly whittled out the
lazy soldiers, turned the older veterans into peace constables for
the city and named one of them Sherriff. Despite his harsh style,
the constables in particular took to Lance Robertson and were often
found within the keep walls sharing war stories and drinking ale
with the Knight-Captain.

After a week,
Tristan’s scribes had created a payment schedule for the local
businesses to collect over a year’s worth of taxes. Most of the
business owners were prepared and paid them in full; others now
supplemented their tax submissions with extra coin to offset the
arrears. Tristan had been shocked to find that there were two staff
members in the entire keep, a middle aged married couple who had
served a cousin of Tristans when he had been the last Duke years
ago.

Peter was a
powerfully built, but short man who oversaw most of the duties
outside as well as repairs to the keep, his wife, Rhonda, was an
avid gardener, took care of the inside of the keep and much to
Tristans pleasure, was an excellent cook. The new Duke immediately
hired more servants to take some of the growing number of tasks
from the older couple. Peter resumed his favorite post of horse
master, and Rhonda took over the kitchen.