The Dragon Hunter and the Mage (8 page)

The carriage rattled down Mount Capitol. Through the slit between the curtain and the window, Aric saw a parade of annoyed faces. People were squeezing themselves against the houses to make room for the carriage and had no problem showing how much they were enjoying it. Some yelled insults, others spat. However, after five years without leaving the Citadel, it didn’t bother Aric one bit. He laughed when a flower saleswoman slapped a man who had taken the chance to put his hand on her bottom.

“That was probably worth it,” said the escort Captain sitting beside Aric.

“What?” Aric asked.

“The slap. It was probably worth it.”

Aric disagreed. Maybe it had been worth it for the man, but he thought the woman was too old. Not that he could brag on that regard. Aric didn’t even remember talking to a girl of his age. At least, not since he had started liking girls. The next chance he would have to meet one would be his mother’s birthday in a few days. Every great family would bring their daughters to the Empress’s Ball, but of course, they would all be hoping to get a dance with Fadan. Heck, he was the Crown Prince, a single glance from him would make any girl’s day. Aric, on the other hand, would be lucky if he could even get close to the main hall. In all likelihood, to him, the Ball would consist of eating a cake sent by his mother in secret, and he would have to eat it alone, locked away in his room.

He shook his head. Today was not one of those days. Today, Aric was a normal boy. A boy that could go out and be with his dad. Well, most normal boys probably remembered their father’s faces…. But besides that, today he was a normal boy.

The carriage stopped and the cabin door opened. They were at an old inn. The rotten wood tablet hanging over the door was shaped like a barrel, and if you tried really hard, you could still read – The Rusty Barrel – in washed out letters.

There were Legionaries everywhere, and several civilians were peeking, trying to figure out the reason for such a fuss. One of the soldiers opened the door to the inn and the Captain shoved Aric inside. They were immediately intercepted by a rather helpful, fat man, whom Aric assumed was the owner.

“It is an honor to welcome you, my Lords,” he said beneath a thick mustache. “If there is anything I can do to hel
p‒
”

“Get back to the kitchen,” the Captain told him. “And don’t you dare to climb these stairs.”

The man bowed quickly and left even quicker.

Aric climbed the stairs with the Captain’s hand on his back. Would he live his whole life with Legionaries following him?

No! Today was not one of those days. Today he was going to see his father. What would he be like?

Aric had always pictured him as a big soldier. Tall, dignified, brave. Almost every Auron had been a famous warrior. Aric had read in the library about Geric, the conqueror of Saggad, about Maric, terror of the Samehrians. His own grandfather had been the late Faric Auron, High Marshal and commander of the Legions during the Thepian miner’s revolt, and had won that war despite being severely outnumbered. Of course, Tarsus would never allow Aric’s father to serve in the Legions, but the warrior would be there, underneath all of the Emperor’s bans and impositions. Aric was sure of that.

They reached the top of the stairs and walked along a corridor until they got to a door guarded by three Legionaries and one Sergeant.

This is it….

“He’s alone?” the Captain asked.

“Yes,” the Sergeant replied.

“You left him alone?”

“I saw no need t
o‒
”

“Open the door, you idiot!”

Aric had the feeling he forgot to breathe.

Doric poured another glass of wine, finishing another jar. Today was a happy day. He was finally going to see his own son after so many years. So why was he feeling so damn miserable?

“I guess I’m just used to it,” he said to himself as he emptied the cup in his hand.

At that moment the door opened, revealing the sergeant that had brought him there, and a Captain holding a boy by his shoulders. It was Aric, there was no doubt.

The boy’s eyes opened wide and his mouth dropped. Doric felt his son examining him from head to toe and admonished himself for not having been more careful when he had dressed up that morning. His clothes were expensive, or at least, they had once been, but now they were in terrible shape. Raggedy, stained, even burned in some places.

Doric ran his fingers through his hair as if that could conceal his miserable look. He knew very well that his blond curls were so long, dirty, and entwined it was hard for anyone to believe they belonged to a nobleman.

“Son….” He stepped forward and hugged Aric, hoping he would not smell the wine. “Can you give us some privacy?” Doric asked the guards.

“Not a chance,” the Captain said, locking the door in its place.

“Captain, Lord Auron….”

“Sergeant, report outside the inn and wait for me there.”

Obediently, the sergeant smashed a closed fist on his heart and marched away. The Captain took an hourglass from his jacket and placed it on a chest of drawers.

“Time is running.”

Doric swallowed a protest. What else could he do?

He grabbed his son by the shoulders and studied him.

“I remembered you had your mother’s eyes, but I didn’t know you have my hair,” he said, ruffling Aric’s curls. “And apparently my nose and my mouth as well.” He looked at his son from various angles. “Sorry about that.”

Aric laughed. Doric was pleased with that.

“How is life in the Citadel?”

Aric shrugged. “Boring…” he replied.

Doric laughed.

“I stroll around the empty halls of the outer palaces. Alone, because the Emperor won’t let me see Fadan. But sometimes we escape at night and do stuff together.”

“So, you’re friends?”

Aric nodded affirmatively.

“Why won’t the Emperor let you see Fadan?”

“I don’t know. I mean, the Emperor doesn’t like me.” Aric paused. “He doesn’t like you either.”

Doric laughed again. The laughter of a condemned man.

“I bet your mother hates that rule.”

“Yeah. We used to sleep in the same room, besides mum’s. But when I turned ten, the Emperor sent me away to the servant’s wing and forbade Fadan from seeing me.”

“I see,” Doric said with a nod.

There was an awkward silence and Aric shifted his weight uncomfortably.

Doric felt like an idiot. He couldn’t waste their time together, he had to say something.

“What about lessons? Do you have lessons?”

Stupid question….

“Yes,” Aric replied. “I have lessons about everything. I share Fadan’s tutors. Except weapons. The Emperor doesn’t let me learn how to fight.”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Doric said. “I brought you something.” He smiled and walked to a chest.

The Captain unsheathed half of his sword.

“Easy…” Doric told him. He removed a small packet and a large parcel from the chest and showed it to the Captain.

“Half your time is up,” the Captain said after deciding the objects were harmless. Then sheathed his sword again.

Doric knelt in front of his son with the two packages in his hands.

“This is for you.” He untied the parcel and revealed a magnificent cuirass. “It’s made of Dragon scales and reinforced with Glowstone. You won’t find any Mage to enchant the Glowstone shards anymore, but still, no sword or spear can go through armor like this. It’s rarer and more valuable than a barrel of Runium.” He smiled, proudly. “But it’s not illegal, don’t worry.”

Aric’s eyes were glistening. The scales were dark, and each one was the size of Aric’s palm. Beneath them, where they overlapped each other, shone the teal hue of the Glowstone shards, as if an ice storm was brewing inside.

“It has been in the family for decades,” Doric said. “Do you like it?”

“Very much,” Aric replied without taking his eyes from the gift. “But, I can’t have any weapons training….”

Doric shrugged. “It’s armor. It works just the same with or without training.” He indicated the Captain watching them from the door. “Do you think Legionaries would carry so much of it if it was hard to use?”

Aric laughed. The Captain ignored them.

“Tell me,” Doric said, “do you usually see your mother?”

Aric told him, yes.

“Then please, give this to her.” He handed the small packet to his son. “The Emperor has nothing to worry about.” This time, he was addressing the Captain. “It’s not a gift. It’s something that used to belong to the Empress.”

Aric peeked inside. It was a small silver necklace with a very thin, oblong jewel that was almost as long as a finger.

“Tell her I still don’t remember asking her to take it off. She will understand.”

The Captain gave one step into the room. “Time is almost up. Say your goodbyes.”

Doric exhaled loudly.

Already?

“Do you want to ask any questions?” he asked Aric. “Is there anything you would like to know?”

“Do we have a house?”

Doric was not expecting that.

“Y
e‒
…Yes. We have a house in Fausta. It’s like a farm, but with a palace. It’s big and… and we have lots of animals. Horses, for example.”

The Captain grabbed the hourglass. “Time is up. Let’s go.”

“Can I go live with you one day?” Aric asked.

Doric felt tears growing in his eyes.

“I’ll be sixteen next year. Maybe the Emperor will let me.”

The Captain’s steel gauntlet closed around Aric’s arm.

“Yes, maybe he will.”

“Goodbye, dad.”

“Goodbye, son.”

The door slammed shut, just in time so Aric couldn’t see a tear run down his father’s face.

Only when the door opened did Doric realize he had heard someone knocking.

“Is everything alright, my Lord?” the Sergeant asked.

“He doesn’t remember our home…” Doric said, staring at the floor.

The Sergeant had a little trouble answering. “
I‒
It must be hard for you…” he concluded. “I will leave one man at your door. If there is anything you need….”

Doric nodded absent-mindedly.

“We leave for Fausta in the morning. Good night, Lord Auron.”

“Good night, Sergeant.”

The door closed and Doric looked out the window. It was getting dark. It had been many years since a day had gone by this quick. Mother Ava, how he needed a drink….

He thought about asking for some wine, but he wanted something stronger. Besides, judging from the jar he had drank before, they only served vinegar in this place. He remembered his silver pocket-bottle. He hadn’t touched it on his way to Augusta. Had he even brought it?

He searched his jacket from one end to the other. No sign of the pocket-bottle, but he did find something else. An apple. He had forgotten all about it.

“Just don’t open it until you’re alone,”
the woman had told him.  

Probably just some lunatic. But how had she known his name?