The Dragon Hunter and the Mage (4 page)

There was an uncomfortable silence when Fadan was unable to reply, a voice seizing the moment of silence.

“The Prince should clean himself up. Dinner will be served briefly.”

Fadan rolled his eyes. Sometimes he could swear Sagun spied his every move. He said goodbye to Aric and left, followed by his instructor who was stopped by a piercing stare from Sagun.

“Next time do not allow these conversations to last this long.” He pointed at Aric as if he was a shelf. “Grab the boy and force him away if you must.” He gave the instructor leave to go and turned to Aric. “It’s not proper for you to delay the Prince. The Emperor is most punctual.”

“It is also not proper to talk about someone as if he isn’t there when he is.”

The Castellan’s eyes narrowed. “Your dinner will be ready in the kitchens. You may go as soon as…” he looked down at Aric’s flag pole, “…you finish your weapons training.”

Sagun turned around, making his black braid twirl around him as he walked away.

Aric watched him leave, picturing a thousand ways to use his ‘weapons training’ on Sagun.

The sun was still refusing to set, so Aric wandered around the castle. He roamed through corridors and stairwells, visited empty halls, and peeked through the locks of immovable doors. It was a familiar ritual; one he did with most of his free time. Sometimes he would leave the Core Palace and visit one of the smaller palaces in the Citadel. The empty ones were his favorites.

He sat on a battlement, watching the sun disappear behind the countless towers of the city of Augusta. Then he considered visiting his mother, but she would be getting ready for dinner. The Emperor demanded that she was always glamorous. Sometimes though she excused herself from dinner, claiming to be sick, then found a way to tell Aric, who would then sneak into her room so they could eat together.

But today wasn’t one of those days. He decided to go to the library. He enjoyed reading about the Empire’s expansion and the various wars that had led to the unification. His favorite book told of the second war of Akham and the conquest of Saggad, where one his ancestors, Geric Auron, had scaled the walls of the city alone and under the cover of darkness. The book ended with Geric opening the gate from the inside, with half a dozen spears sticking out of his chest. On that day, an Auron had been a hero of the Empire.

He walked along the book shelves but none caught his attention, and he ended up sitting on the floor in front of a massive tapestry covering an entire wall of the library. In it, a Dragon had been painted sleeping in a cave. On the lower left corner, hiding behind a rock, a group of Dragon Hunters prepared to spring an ambush. Something in that tapestry had always scared him. It wasn’t just that the Dragon was so gigantic that it covered an entire wall while the Hunters were no bigger than a book, it was that, for some reason, it gave him the feeling that the Dragon was not really asleep.

He heard a roar. The Dragon still slept, but not his stomach. He got up and headed to the kitchens, pushing open a service door and nearly bumping into a maid carrying a roasted duck.

“Hey! Damn kid….” The woman didn’t move an inch from her trajectory.

Aric laughed, watching her leave for the main hall. In there the Emperor, his mother, and Fadan would be starting dinner as well.

He sat down at a large table in the center of the kitchen between a pile of pastry dough and a bucket of potato peels. Around him a Legion of servants and cooks stirred, washed, rolled, and cut. One of them threw a plate with a roasted turkey leg in front of Aric. It smelled of rosemary.

“Thank you,” Aric said.

“Eat fast and clear my table,” the cook replied as he wiped his gravy covered fingers on his trousers.

Another cook, a middle aged woman with bouncing breasts, brought him some rye bread and a glass of red wine, then planted a kiss on his cheek.

“Good appetite, my sweet.” The woman turned around, heading back to her boiling pots, but stopped midway through. Luckily, there was nothing on her hands that she could have dropped.

“Ava mother! Your majesty!”

Aric’s head bolted towards the door in time to see Fadan passing through it.

“My Prince,” the woman continued, “you can’t be here. I mean… your majesty can do whatever he pleases. A thousand apologies, majesty.”

Aric laid a soothing hand on her shoulder, calming her down. The entire kitchen had stopped, staring at the Prince in frozen silence. They would not have been more shocked if a Dragon had just come in and started roasting a sardine. Fadan walked towards Aric with a smile, ignoring his audience, and sat in front of the potato peels. He looked around, seeing for the first time in his life the place where his food was prepared.

“Disappointed?” Aric asked.

“No. I actually thought your room was smaller.” Aric punched him in the shoulder, laughing. “And this smell of cheese… seriously, I was expecting much worse.”

The main hall of the Imperial Palace was so large you could easily fit a Dawnmother Temple inside, and Ava’s Priests weren’t exactly famous for their small Temples. The great table where Tarsus made a point of having dinner every day was filled with roasted ducks, grilled sea basses, stewed lambs, bowls of peeled fruit, jars brimming with wine, and breads of every shape, size, and color. A dozen courtesans occupied their seats, chit-chatting cheerfully. The Emperor came in from the main door, his steps ever worried. He glanced across the table but did not acknowledge any of the bows he received.

“Where are the Empress and the Prince?” he asked as he sat down at the head of the table.

“They should arrive momentarily, your majesty,” Vigild replied.

At that moment the Empress came in, her white dress, trimmed with green, sliding calmly through the hall. Her silhouette belonged in a tailor’s studio, her hair a mantle of night that poured down to the middle of her back, and her green eyes two emeralds stolen from a great Lady’s necklace. Cassia was the vision of a particularly talented poet.

The bows the Emperor had received were repeated for her. Tarsus laid a soft, reverent kiss on her hand. Even after fifteen years of marriage, the Emperor still needed a moment to catch his breath every time he saw her.

“Where is Fadan?” Cassia asked.

“I thought he was with you, my love,” Tarsus replied.

There was a brief pause while the Emperor decided whether to break his rigid protocol and authorize the beginning of the meal, but Sagun interrupted him before he could make a decision. He strode in through the door that led to the kitchens, neared the Emperor, and whispered something in his ear.

Tarsus’ face turned blood red. “You!” he pointed at a Legionary standing against a wall. “I want the Prince out of the kitchens and sitting here. Immediately!”

The Legionary slammed a fist against his heart and marched away at the sound of his armor’s clanking.

“Tarsus, they’re brothers,” Cassia said.

“To you, maybe. Not to me.”

“To them,” Cassia insisted.

Tarsus decreed the end of that conversation with a stare as the Legionary returned behind Fadan. The Prince sat down beside the Emperor with an irritated look.

“In the kitchens… like a servant,” Tarsus spat. “What are the rules on speaking to Aric?”

Fadan sighed onto his plate.

“Only hello and goodbye.”

Tarsus nodded, his eyes glaring.

“It won’t happen again, Fadan. Do you know how I can assure you of that?” The Emperor did not wait for an answer. “Because the next time this happens will be the last time he sleeps in this castle. Understood?”

A heavy silence fell on the table as those words sank into Fadan. Across the table, Cassia saw him tightening his lips, and after a very long, and very awkward silence, the Emperor decided to order the beginning of the meal. Everyone obeyed quietly.  

“The Master-at-arms tells me the Prince has already mastered the compound attack,” Intila said, trying to break the awkwardness.

Fadan placed a hand on the bandages covering his head.

“Not well enough, apparently.”

That made the table laugh. Even Cassia made an effort to smile. The conversation continued on the subject of Fadan’s combat lessons, and Cassia was happy to see a smile return to her son’s face. Despite it, she couldn’t shake the thought that she had another son somewhere in the castle, all by himself. Aric would not hear compliments on his abilities or jokes. He wouldn’t feel the proud hand of his father rustling his hair as he told how he had knocked down the Master-at-arms for the first time in his life. In fact, Cassia thought, Aric would hardly even remember his father’s face.

At that moment, she saw a shadow slide across the arches on the rim of the hall. Aric appeared suddenly from behind a statue. Hidden by its shadow, her son peeked, looking for her.

Cassia’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces. She looked sideways to Fadan, who was now laughing at a joke Intila had told. Was it possible for a mother to love one son more than the other? No, surely not. But there were sons that needed more love than others, of that she had no doubt.

Aric stuck two fingers up his nostrils, then pulled his nose up in an antic. Cassia was unable to restrain herself and laughed out loud. She tried hiding her face, but not well enough. Tarsus saw her, looked towards Aric, and his teeth clenched. He closed a fist so hard that the blood disappeared from his hand, skin shining white. With a gesture, he called a Legionary and whispered something in his ear. An instant later Cassia saw a metal glove grab Aric’s arm and her son disappeared.

The Legionary dragged him through the corridors. The iron gauntlet around his arm hurt, but Aric tried his best to pretend like it didn’t. They got to his room and the Legionary threw him in as if he was a sack of flour, slamming the door behind him. Aric heard a padlock snap shut and realized that he was in the dark. Usually, someone lit some candles so he could get dressed, but apparently he wasn’t entitled to that this time. He opened a window, letting the moon shine in, then took a sleeping tunic out of a chest but simply threw it onto the bed. He wasn’t sleepy at all.

He was rarely locked in his room. Typically, he could escape and roam around the palace, maybe visit the library. But tonight it looked like even that wouldn’t be possible.

Sitting on his bed with a sigh he looked around, not that there was anything to see. His bedroom was kept empty by regular inspections from Sagun and his minions. In fact, the only thing adorning his walls was a dark mold stain shaped as a bearded old man, or a sinking ship if you tilted your head the right way. He sighed again and looked at the locked door, wishing he was a Wizard and had the power to open the lock, or simply pass through the wood. If he was a great Mage, Tarsus would not be able to treat him this way, but then again, maybe it was a good thing that he wasn’t a Wizard.

If he had the talent and knew how to use it Tarsus would finally have a reason to get rid of him, hang him for the crime of practicing magic. He had done it to all the Mages of the Academy when they numbered in the hundreds, what would keep him from doing the same thing to a fifteen-year-old boy?

A stone the size of an egg landed right beside him with a crack. It startled him, pulling him from his thoughts, but he immediately ran to the window.

“Fadan?!”

Down below in the courtyard, Fadan shushed him. Then he gestured for Aric to climb down. Aric struck his index against his forehead, asking if Fadan was crazy. Fadan simply crossed his arms.