Dragonvein Book Four (11 page)

After pointing Martok to a chair, he crossed the room to retrieve a bottle and two glasses from an elegantly carved cabinet. “If you insist on a meal with your wine, I can have something brought,” he said.

“No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

He poured them each a glass and sat down in the facing chair. “What do you think of my home?”

Martok found this to be a strange question. “It’s magnificent, of course.”

Kytain cocked his head. “Do you really think so? I find it a bit too much at times. Too many halls and chambers.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But what can I do? It was built by my family long ago and is the ancestral home.”

“I understand.”

“I’m sure you do. You miss your own home, do you not?”

Martok nodded. “And my father.”

“Ah, yes. The mysterious Ralmar Dragonvein. Off living amongst the dragons. How long has he been away?”

“Three years.”

“And when do you anticipate his return?”

Martok shrugged. “I’m not sure. Soon, I hope.”

“And what do you plan on doing while he is away?”

“I suppose I’ll continue my studies and help my uncle take care of our lands and manor.”

“What if I told you that you would not be returning home?”

Martok froze. The look in Kytain’s eyes told him that his words were not spoken in jest. “I
am
going home,” he insisted.

“One day,” he agreed, sitting his wine glass on the side table. “But you are to remain here with me for a while.”

Martok shot from his chair. “My uncle would never allow that. And you have no right to keep me here.”

“I have
every
right,” he corrected coolly. “And believe me when I tell you it will be much to your benefit. So please, sit back down and allow me to explain what is happening.”

Martok hesitated, but in the end did as he was told. “I think my uncle should be here,” he said.

“Your uncle is preparing to leave as we speak.”

Martok started to rise again, but this time Kytain waved a hand, pinning him back down with an unseen force. After a brief struggle he realized it was useless. None of the spells he tried had any effect whatsoever. Kytain waited patiently until he'd given up before continuing.

“Your little spat with Desmond and his friends has given Evelyn Bronstar precisely what she wanted. A husband for her daughter and a powerful mage to teach her grandson.”

“But I thought the
caning
was the punishment?”

“For you, yes. But Sylas understands just how cunning and ruthless the Bronstar family can be. Particularly Evelyn. During the meeting she made sure Sylas understood very clearly that her intention was to bring down your house as retribution, regardless of what was done to you. And given the circumstances, along with the fact that the other houses fear her, no one would have objected. Some might have even helped. That meant Sylas had little choice but to go along with her wishes.”

All of Martok's worst fears were materializing. “If my uncle is to go with them, then I
must
return to Dragonvein manor.”

“No. I’m afraid you are too young to be left with that responsibility. Should I allow you to return home, the other great houses would seize the opportunity to take your lands away.”

“They could try,” Martok hissed.

Kytain laughed heartily before pouring more wine. “I know you are extremely powerful for one so young. I could feel that when you attempted to break free of my hold a moment ago. There's no doubt at all you could defend your home as well as most. But in this instance you would not be facing a single enemy – you'd be facing scores of them. And no one would come to your aid. They would justify their attack by hiding behind the law. You cannot legally possess lands until you reach sixteen. They will claim to be holding it in trust for you until you are old enough, or until your father returns. That would be a lie, of course. Once they have their greedy hands on your property, they will never relinquish it.”

“My uncle would not allow this to happen,” Martok shot back. “He would help me protect our home.”

“Don't you see? He
is
helping you. With an alliance through marriage with the Bronstar family, he will have instantly increased your family’s position.”

“Then who will take care of my home?”

“
I
will.”

Martok eyed the lord suspiciously. “You? You have no right to control our lands.”

“As your guardian, I most certainly do.”

“My uncle is my guardian while my father is away,” he retorted. “Not you. I demand to see him…right now.” He was barely able to contain his urge to attack the man, even though he knew this would be a disastrous mistake. Still, he would not allow Kytain Prustoni to take away his family home.

Raising a pacifying hand, Kytain allowed his tone to become soothing; almost fatherly. “Calm yourself, Martok. I have no intention of stealing what is rightfully yours. I will simply ensure that upon your father’s return, all will be as he left it. In the meantime, you will remain here with me.”

“Was this my uncle’s idea?” he asked, feeling very much betrayed.

“No, it was mine. And if it soothes your heart, it took no small measure of convincing for him to agree. He was planning to take you with him to live with the Bronstar family…and Desmond. However, I explained to him that it would be far better for you to stay here.”

“But why?” An uncomfortable sense of helplessness was bearing down on him. “Why do you want me here?”

“Because as wealthy as my house has become, and as powerful as I am personally, I need allies as well. And you, dear boy, will one day make a very powerful ally indeed. I foresee great things in you. You already possess more power than many adult mages. And though Sylas is strong, I am stronger. That is not a boast. It is a fact. Even without me as your teacher you will overcome most mages one day. But with my help, there is nothing you will not be able to accomplish.” He leaned forward to lock eyes with Martok. “If you want to protect your home and your family, what better way is there than this?”

Martok’s mind was racing. Something about this felt wrong – as if by staying here he was betraying his father's trust. At the same time, there was no denying that what Kytain had told him was correct. With the house of Prustoni guarding his home, no one would dare to attack it. But of course, Kytain could be lying. The lord may simply intend to use this guardianship as justification to seize possession of all Dragonvein holdings for himself. It was difficult to know the truth.

“I can see you are troubled by all this,” Kytain continued. “But there really is no other choice for you. You are staying here, and that is the end of the matter. You can either benefit from our time together, or not. That's entirely up to you. I cannot force you to take my instruction. Nor would I wish to.”

With a sinking feeling, Martok realized that he was right. There was nothing he could do to change things. He was powerless. Silently, he promised himself that one day it would not be like this. One day, no one would be able to hold power over him. He would be in full control of his own destiny. Kytain's instruction could be the key to that.

“Then I choose to learn,” he said, giving a curt nod.

Kytain smiled broadly. “Excellent. I must say that I am greatly excited by the prospect of discovering all that you are capable of achieving.”

“Will I see my uncle before he leaves?”

“No. He wanted to say goodbye, but Lady Bronstar was insistent that he did not.”

“So when do we begin?”

Kytain chuckled. “We already have.”

With heart pounding from the exhilaration of the hunt, Martok closed his eyes and focused fully on drawing in long steady breaths. The energy must not rule him. He must harness it.

              The bow he held - a gift from Kytain - felt like a perfectly natural extension of his arm; which was to be expected, seeing as how it had been made specifically for him by the finest craftsman in all of Lumnia. The same could be said of the deadly accurate arrows he carried. In fact, together with soft leather shoes helping him to creep silently through the leaf-covered forest floor and deerskin shirt and trousers making him practically invisible, he was the perfectly equipped hunter. The clothes had been a gift too, but from his father. He'd had them made for him solely for this particular type of hunt.

No matter how many times Kytain took him into the dense forests of the Prustoni Estate, Martok never felt quite the same contentment as when he was here, in the places where his father had taught him as a child to track and live off the land – without the aid of magic.

When Kytain had first discovered that his new charge not only possessed these skills, but enjoyed using them, he'd been elated.

“I thought I was the only mage who appreciated such simple tranquility,” he said. “I will insist your father join me on a hunt when he returns home.”

“My father hunts alone,” Martok told him. “He says I’m still too young.”

“Not in this household you are not. Here, you are as much an adult as any other.”

This had pleased Martok to no end. But he quickly found privilege came at a price.

“Such responsibility is freely given,” Kytain continued. “But you must work to keep it. And that will not be easy. This house is filled with temptations: delights that you will find almost irresistible. You must learn to govern your cravings. If you wish to be treated as a man, you must behave as one.”

It was Kytain who'd taught him to hunt. His favorite time was at night when the wild predators were about. It was thrilling, but he knew better than to do this alone. He would quickly find himself becoming the hunted. And though he could effortlessly vanquish any beast that the forest offered, he had no desire to kill them simply for doing what came naturally.

Creeping forward, he sniffed the air. The musk of a wild boar entered his nostrils. A dangerous prey. And his favorite. A smile crept upon his lips and his mouth watered as he thought of the meal to come. To him there was nothing better than enjoying a fresh kill. Let the wealthy houses feast on rare delicacies covered in spices if that was what pleased them. To Martok, no fare could match what he would soon be preparing on his campfire. His father said it was the influence of the dragons that made him feel this way. Maybe so. But he knew that Kytain felt exactly the same.

During the four years he'd lived in the Prustoni house, the man had become almost like a second father to him. He'd been completely open and forthcoming with all his knowledge, teaching Martok not only wondrous spells and incantations, but also much about the politics of the great houses and how to best manipulate the families into getting what he wanted from them. The principles of this were quite easy to understand. As Sylas had once told him:
'Self-interest governs all'.
And Kytain taught him how to use this simple truth to maneuver into positions of personal advantage.

Martok spotted the boar twenty yards ahead. Not an exceedingly large specimen, no more than a hundred and fifty pounds; it was little more than a piglet really. Easier to butcher and then carry back to camp, he thought. One never butchered meat where you slept. A night fighting off wolves had taught him that lesson well.

The boar was busy digging its snout into the turf, oblivious to his presence. Silently, he notched his bow and took aim. One shot. One kill. A good hunter didn’t wound an animal. He waited patiently for the opportunity to place an arrow straight into the animal's heart.  As the boar continued to forage, he slowed his breathing and focused. It had almost turned enough for the shot he wanted. Just a little bit more.

Clumsy approaching footfalls and the sound of a coarse voice ruined everything. “Move your ass, scum, or I’ll ram a dagger in it!”

Martok’s heart sank as his startled prey tore off into the brush. Cursing softly, he lowered his bow and returned the arrow to his quiver.

“Let’s just kill him and be done with it,” a second voice suggested.

The newcomers were a short way out of sight, over to his left. Already irritated that they had frightened away his prey, Martok stalked toward them.

“I don’t like this. Why not take his head? They’ll pay for that too.”

So far he had made out three distinct voices. And they were clearly not woodsmen or hunters. In a way he had been hoping to encounter other hunters on this trip. They nearly always had interesting stories to tell, not to mention a good supply of strong wine. Many mage houses totally forbade hunting on their lands and jealously guarded their wild game, even if none of them actually hunted themselves. But Martok’s father didn’t mind so long as people didn’t kill more than they needed. He understood very well that some families depended on hunting for survival. And he was not the type of man to stand in the way while poor people went hungry.

This lot, however, were bandits or sell-swords most likely. Riff-raff.  

“The dwarves pay triple if they're delivered alive,” the first voice insisted.

Even though he had heard only a little of their conversation, the mention of dwarves was enough for Martok to make a good guess at what was happening. He positioned himself so that he was able to follow the party unseen and continued to listen to what was mostly idle chatter for a time. There were three of them. That was certain. And from their accents they were from the south, probably near the coast. Though he was in no danger whatsoever from these men, he found stalking them to be rather enjoyable.

After half an hour, he finally decided to move in closer. The moment they came into view he could see that his guess had been correct. Three men in travel worn leathers and with unkempt appearance were dragging along an elf by a rope they'd fastened around his neck. He had been stripped naked and his hands were bound behind his back. Judging from the assortment of bruises and cuts over his face and body, his captors had already enjoyed quite a bit of cruel sport at his expense.

Martok's father had often warned him about getting involved in matters concerning elves. People detested them even more than the dwarves. But at least with the dwarves, humans were able to barter and trade. The elves offered nothing. And the tales of their brutality were widely told.

Despite all this, to see people abusing a helpless victim had always stoked Martok's anger. In any case, these lands belonged to
his
family. He would do as he pleased.

Stepping into the open, he shouted: “Halt!”

The three men spun, their hands instantly on the hilts of their swords.

One of them pushed his way to the fore. He was of average height and build, with close cropped black hair and a deeply tanned complexion.

“What’s your business?” he demanded.

His comrade holding the rope jerked it sharply back and kicked the elf’s feet from beneath him. “Don’t move, vermin,” he warned, remaining alongside his prisoner.

The last of the trio moved up to join the first man.

“I'd like to know what you are doing here,” Martok said, taking care to keep the anger from his voice. A lesson learned from Kytain. Never let other people know what's in your heart.

The first man, presumably the leader, gave a quick glance to the others before responding. “Our business doesn’t concern you, stranger. Move on.”

By now, the one standing at the back had placed his boot on the elf's neck and was leaning his weight down with intentional cruelty.

Martok forced a smile. “I'm afraid it is. You are trespassing. And I would know why.”

The leader sniffed. “This land belongs to the Dragonvein family. And I can tell by the look of you that you’re no mage. So move on before I give you a beating.”

Martok cocked his head. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want that, I suppose.” He rubbed his chin for a moment, as if in thought. “Then again, maybe I would. Yes. A beating. Why don’t the three of you try giving me one? You were able to do so to an elf. And from what I hear, they are fierce fighters. In that case, I should pose no challenge at all.”

Martok’s confidence was clearly unsettling them. “What is your name?” the leader asked. His hand had slipped away from his weapon.

“My name?” His smile suddenly took on a vicious quality. “My name is Martok. Martok…Dragonvein.” As if to drive his words home, his eyes began to glow a vivid red.

All three men stepped back, palms held out and terror stricken.

“M…My Lord,” stammered the leader. “Forgive my rudeness. I didn’t know…”

Martok’s hand flew up, silencing him. “You can be forgiven of ignorance. And if you go now, you can depart with your lives intact. But you will leave the elf with me.”

“But, My Lord,” he protested meekly. “The dwarves pay a rich bounty for a living elf.”

“Is it enough to raise you and your friends from the dead?”

“No. No, My Lord. Of course. He is yours. Thank you.”

Without further prompting, he gestured for his companions to leave. After making a clumsy bow and mumbling a few more words of apology, he set off after them at a fast walk. This quickly turned into a full pelt run. Within seconds, all three had vanished into the trees.

Martok waited until he could no longer hear them before approaching the injured elf, still lying on the ground.  Piercing green eyes glared back at him defiantly. Martok thought that even naked and beaten, the he still maintained an air of dignity and pride. He had never seen one of his kind so close before. Only a few glimpses from afar.

Martok knelt beside him. “Do not be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

The elf huffed. “Do what you will, human. I will not submit. Not even to a mage.”

“Didn’t you hear me? I said I wasn’t going to hurt you.”

“Your words mean nothing. All humans are liars.”

Martok laughed. “You are right about
that
. But not all lies are evil. For example: Should I be asked by anyone if I have seen you here today, I will lie and say no. If I did not, people would become afraid that elves were wandering around the forest close to their homes. They would then come to my family for protection. And that…well, let us just say that is not a situation I would want to see arise.”

“My people go where they please,” he shot back. “We do not fear the mages. We wander all lands.”

Martok flicked his wrist. “Wander all you want. I could not care less. And you may not fear the mages, but remember, we do not fear you either.” He rubbed his hands together briskly. “Now, I’ve never tried this before on anyone who wasn’t human, so I’m not sure if it will work.”

The elf shifted back in alarm as Martok reached out. Undeterred, he gave a reassuring smile and touched the elf’s battered face. But it was a fleeting contact. In an instant, Martok’s eyes shot wide and he pulled back.

“I’ve never…” His voice trailed off. “The magic. It’s a part of you.”

The elf eyed him curiously. “You attempted to heal me. Why?”

Martok was at a loss. He had never experienced magic in such a way. Though it was well known that elves could not actually conjure spells, it was also said that they were able to connect with the very essence of Lumnia herself. And that it was this ability that gave them their superior speed, agility and unnatural stealth. Now Martok knew this to be true…and why.

“Answer me, human,” the elf pressed. “Why are you trying to heal me?”

Ignoring the question, he once again placed his hands on the elf’s wounds. This time he was better prepared and did not withdraw. Though not especially skilled in healing magic, he knew enough to mend superficial cuts and bruises, and even a broken bone if necessary.

              The elf’s body was much the same as any human, so it took only a few seconds for Martok to adjust. In less than a minute, the bruises were fading and the cuts closing.

On finishing, he sat back, dazed from the experience. Healing could be a very personal process. Though he had only used this skill a few times, he was aware that the healer would often catch glimpses into the heart of the one they were treating. Such was the case with this elf. He had seen the freedom and love his people shared with one another. And in spite of brave words, they
were
afraid of the mages.

The elf pushed himself into a seated position. “You told the humans that your name is Martok Dragonvein. Is this true?”

He shook himself back into the moment. “Yes, it is.”

A little shakily, the elf stood and then bowed. “I am Shelraya.”

Martok took a moment to stare into his eyes. He could still see trepidation and mistrust. But it was definitely less than before. He rose and returned the bow. Only then did it fully occur to him that Shelraya was standing there as naked as the day he was born. Most humans would have been embarrassed by this. But the elf either did not notice, or did not care.