The Dragon Hunter and the Mage

by V. R. Cardoso

  THE

  DRAGON HUNTER

  AND THE

  MAGE

  By

  V.R. Cardoso

  The Dragon Hunter and the Mage

  Copyright © 2016 by V. R. Cardoso

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  www.vrcardoso.com

  CREDITS

  Jack Lartin – Editor

  Cate Courtright – Editor

  Yin Yumming – Cover Illustrator

  Tad Davis – Map Illustrator

  Alexandre Rito – Cover Graphic Design

  To my parents, for all the support.

  THE ARRELINE EMPIRE

  Prologue

  The Purge

  Three knocks at the gate.

  “Pherlam, open the gates!”

  Three more knocks; quick, dry, demanding.

  “Pherlam, this is madness. Open the gates.”

  From a neighborhood not very far away came screams, first of surprise, then of fear and pain.

  “Pherlam, if you surrender yourselves now, you will be treated fairly.”

  “Fairly?! Like they treated the Mages of Augusta? Of Victory?”

  Inside the courtyard, Pherlam stormed from one side to the other as if he was trying to carve a path on the cobblestone. Outside the school’s walls, three smoke columns rose up from the city.

  “How they treated everyone in the school of Saggad?” he continued. “Huh, Tigern? Every member of the school. Even apprentices, Tigern. Children!”

  “That was in the beginning. The Emperor was nervous, fearful. Things are much calmer now.”

  “Calmer?!” Pherlam exploded. “Look around you, Tigern. The whole city is in a riot.”

  “Yes, it is. And it is about to turn against you, you old fool! Open the gates. I can’t promise you everyone will be saved, but at least the youngest, the uninitiated will be.”

  Pherlam slowed down to a halt and took a deep breath as he looked around. The courtyard was peaceful. There were no nervous stares glaring out the window, no movement besides that of the curtains shook by the wind, no sounds except those that came from outside, from the city.

  Tersia stepped forward and placed a hand on Pherlam’s shoulder. She had the hood of her gray mantle over her head as if it could somehow protect her from what was coming.

  “We should prepare,” she said.

  Pherlam felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Tersia was a vain woman and the enchantments covering her were easily felt.

  There were three more knocks at the gate.

  “Pherlam, open the gates. Pherlam… are you there?”

  “I’m here, old friend….” He paused. “And here I will remain.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “I see… I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.”

  This time, there was no silence because somewhere in the city a crowd broke into screaming. Tigern turned around and looked over his shoulder at those stubborn gates, but could not bring himself to say goodbye.

  From her window at the top of the student’s tower, the city looked almost beautiful. Eliran knew that everything she saw was the fruit of violence, that there were pain and suffering in every street. But still, it was like looking at a moving version of the paintings of the main hall. The fires made columns of black smoke dance upwards until they dissolved into the sky. Destruction had splashed the empty squares with colors that didn’t belong there. On the riot clogged streets, the mounted guards and the crowd danced back and forth in hypnotizing movements while, outside the city walls, the Emperor’s Legionaries marched into a tight formation, like blocks of iron self-assembling bit by bit. Behind them, catapults hurled fire balls that left arching trails of smoke until they crashed down, splashing somewhere in the city like buckets of red and orange paint. Eliran wondered if that was also what it looked like when a Dragon spat fire.

  Inside her dormitory, none of the other students made a single sound or movement. They were all nestled in their beds, just as they had been told, their eyes wide and their arms tightly around themselves. Eliran wasn’t any less scared or anxious, but she couldn’t just lay on her bed. Not with a window only a few feet away, because after two weeks locked inside the school it had become the only way to go outside.

  The dormitory door swung open and every girl turned towards it as a Grand-Wizardess’ dark green tunic glided in.

  “You are all to report immediately to the courtyard. Dress in your own clothes. Leave school tunics and accessories here.”

  The Grand-Wizardess disappeared back through the door. For a moment all the apprentices could do was exchange nervous glances, until Eliran dove into her personal chest. She opened it and rummaged inside, looking for clothes. Her colleagues did the same. There were a few sighs and a couple of sobs, but no one said a word. Eliran saw several hands shaking and even a tear sliding down the pale cheek of a novice girl.

  When the floor was covered in white and light blue tunics, Eliran headed towards the door, the other girls following her out to the corridor. They turned the first corner and a group of ten Initiates came through the male corridor. The dormitory delegate leading them looked so pale Eliran was sure he would faint before reaching the stairwell.

  He didn’t. Instead, he trotted down with the quick, apathetic, and consistent step of someone who had done it thousands of times.

  The apprentices from the twenty dormitories – novices and initiates – arrived at the courtyard almost at the same time, arranging themselves into formation just like they did every week for evaluation. Eliran, however, did not remember them ever doing it so efficiently.

  At the center of the courtyard, Arch-Mage Tersia faced them, arms crossed, as tall as one of the pillars holding the school building. One other Wizard stood beside her. Behind the two of them, as if it were perfectly normal, Arch-Mages and Grand-Wizards carried barrels, chairs, and closets, placing them against the school's main gate. Eliran was sure she had never seen them carry anything heavier than a fork.

  “What is happening is no secret to any of you.” Tersia’s voice thundered all over the yard as she spoke. “You’ve heard the news, heard the rumors. They are all true. There is no point in pretending….”

  Somewhere among the apprentices, a cry burst out.

  “Guira, stop that!” Tersia commanded. “I will not listen to one single weep.” She waited for the girl to swallow her sobbing. “It has been decided that until sunrise, all apprentices will abandon the school. Hide. Don’t show yourselves. Don’t even try to mingle with the crowd. The Legions should leave the camp around the city within days. Only after that should you try to escape Niveh.”

  Tersia stopped for a moment, examining her audience. Over two hundred young Wizards, frightened and confused. What would happen to them? How many would survive, and of those who did, what sort of life could they hope to have?

  “Each dormitory must stay together and follow their delegate’s instructions. However, if you see another dormitory leave them. Don’t band together. They will be looking for large groups of young boys and girls.”

  The Wizard beside Tersia unfolded his arms and spoke.

  “Delegates, step forward to collect some equipment and receive your final instructions.”

  Eliran and the other ninet
een dormitory delegates advanced. Behind Tersia was a pile of satchels and they gathered around it, each taking one at random.

  “Pay attention. You can search the satchels after this. Obviously, we can’t remove you from the school through any of the gates. However, there is a tunnel that goes under the school. A sanitation tunnel….”

  “You mean a sewer?” Eliran asked.

  “A sewer,” the Wizard confirmed. “The tunnel flows out to the river, between Fruit Square and Iron Street. Each dormitory will depart in half hour intervals. You must pay special attention when leaving the tunnel. If any of you is detected everyone coming behind you is doomed. Find a place to spend the night quickly, and whatever happens, do not leave until the sun rises. Understood?”

  The Wizard waited for a collective nod and wished them all good luck. Each delegate returned to their group. Eliran stuck an arm into her satchel and tried to make a mental list of its contents. She was happy to find a flask of Runium. There were also some cookies, coins, and a dagger. Eliran removed it and inspected its blade.

  “What is that?”

  Rissa was a novice and hadn’t even completed ten years of age yet. She had been surprisingly calm up until this moment, but now she was staring at the dagger with her eyes so wide open they seemed about to pop out.

  “We may need it to unlock a door.”

  The little girl seemed happy with the answer, and even though Eliran knew that was a lie the truth was that she couldn’t picture herself using it in any other way.

  Tigern walked down the cobbled street, ignoring the wreckage around his feet. What little sunlight still peered over the walls of Niveh was disappearing, making the alleyways even darker. He could still hear the occasional screams and, at least, two fires were close enough that he could smell the smoke.

  The figure waiting for him was standing beside a horse, holding it by the reins. Behind him was a smashed barricade and half a dozen stinking corpses, two of them wearing city guard uniforms.

  “I did what I could,” Tigern said. “The school’s gates will remain closed.”

  “No. No, they won’t.”

  “No, they won’t,” Tigern agreed. “There are a dozen Arch-Mages in that school. Plus thirty Grand-Wizards and a hundred and something initiated Wizards. A lot of blood will flow before this is over.”

  “Intila has more soldiers than he can waste. All he needs is to get into the city.”

  “Intila is here?”

  “He arrived this afternoon.”

  “The Emperor must be truly confident that it is all over if he is letting his guard dog come play this far from the capital,” Tigern said. He looked back at the spy and tried not to stare at the hideous scar that disfigured the corner of his mouth. He removed a rolled piece of parchment from his jacket and handed it to him. “When the temple strikes midnight, every banner along the city wall will be removed. At that moment, the city guard will leave the walls and open the gates.”

  “And the Duke?”

  “No one knows.”

  The spy grabbed the rolled parchment Tigern handed him, mounting his horse as a satisfied smile twisted his scar even further.

  “Have a good night, treasurer. After an incident such as this, it’s safe to assume the Emperor will declare the end of the Niveh Duchy. After all, the entire Ducal family is missing…” he trailed off as the horse danced beneath the spy impatiently. “If I had to bet, I would say he will transform Niveh into an Imperial province. These hereditary lands have no place in a modern Empire.” Then, as if he suddenly remembered something, he added, “Is there any prominent citizen in Niveh you can think of for the position of Governor?”

  Tigern did not answer.

  “No? Well… in my opinion, it should be someone experienced, who knows the city’s issues.”

  “Hamur….” Tigern said. “Men like me pay men like you to not have an opinion.”

  The moon was so full and bright that no one had remembered to light up the torches in the courtyard. Eliran was happy for that, at least. She had no idea what she would do, or where to go, but at least, they wouldn’t have to feel their way across the alleys. Dormitory number eighteen was sitting in a circle, singing softly. She looked at her own dormitory girls and wondered if they should do the same, if maybe singing could distract them. They were looking around, eyes lost as if they were waiting for someone to arrive. Maybe they still believed someone would come and tell them that it had all been a big mistake, that everything was going back to normal.

  A Wizard in a dark blue tunic came through the door that led to the kitchens, baths, and latrines.

  “Dormitory number eighteen, come with me.”

  The chant of the twelve boys died awkwardly and they stood up. Allard, their delegate, glanced at Eliran. There was fear in his big blue eyes, but still the boy found the courage to smile at her.

  “IN THE NAME OF TARSUS V, OPEN THE GATES!”

  Tersia pushed the boys from dormitory eighteen into the corridor, and a dozen Wizards hurried to the main gate. They heard the crash of a battering ram pounding against the wood and Eliran watched Pherlam approach the apprentices that were still left. She had always thought that he looked too young for a Headmaster, but the school of Niveh was famous for its illusion spells, and she suspected that his looks were probably not entirely his.

  The voice from outside spoke with the authority of someone reading instructions. “Open the gates, surrender, and you will be treated in accordance with the law!”

  “What are these apprentices still doing here!?” Pherlam asked.

  “We can’t make them leave all at once,” Tersia replied.

  “Well, we can’t have them in here for much longer, so get them out. Now.”

  Once again, the thundering sound of the battering ram echoed across the courtyard and Pherlam returned to his post. Tersia called the remaining two dormitories, glancing anxiously at the Wizards gathering in front of the main gate and the apprentices surrounded her.

  “We can’t wait another half hour,” she said.

  Eliran’s heart suddenly became much heavier.

  “We will have to get you all out at the same time. Try to separate as soon as you reach the river. Dormitory nineteen goes one way, dormitory twenty goes another.”

  As she finished her sentence a burning projectile crashed in the courtyard, breaking and spreading its fuel everywhere. Some Wizards put the small fires out with a hand wave as if dismissing them, and while they did the furniture blocking the gate jumped with another blast from the battering ram.

  Tersia put a soft hand on Eliran’s face and every hair on her body stood up.

  “Now, go.”

  The Wizard with the blue tunic signaled them to follow him, and Eliran felt Tersia’s hand pull her back. The Arch-Mage dropped a scroll of parchment in her hand.

  “This is for you, and only you,” Tersia told her.

  Eliran didn’t even have time to ask a question before Tersia turned her around and pushed her after the rest of her dormitory girls. At that moment, she was sure her heart forgot to beat, but she stepped forwards nonetheless.

  The dark corridor swallowed them, and suddenly several tiny blue lights flickered into existence. Low ranking Wizards were lining the walls, each holding a sphere of light. Eliran knew that spell.

  “Go on, little ones,” encouraged one of the Wizards.

  They went through two hallways, past the access to the cantina, and once they arrived at the latrines, the corridor officially became a sewer. They stepped down a ladder and landed on a tunnel whose floor was a knee deep river, the noxious smell rising around them. There was one last Wizard down there, and he pointed in one direction.

  “Go that way,” he said. “The exit to the river is right beneath a bridge, so you will have to dive in the water and swim to the other side. There you will find a small dock.”

  The delegate of dormitory twenty stepped forward determinedly and his boys followed him, but Eliran hesitated. She looked bac
k at the Wizard and realized that he couldn’t be much older than her. Two, three years at maximum. Eliran herself should graduate within a year.

  “I should stay and fight beside you.”

  The Wizard took a little while to reply. There was no despair in his eyes, but there was no hope either.

  “You can’t help us… but you can help them.”

  Flara, a nine-year-old novice, grabbed Eliran’s sleeve and pulled, somewhat brutishly.

  “Eli, please….”

  “Eli, come with us,” Rissa sobbed.

  Eliran sighed. She smiled at them and told them not to worry. She took Flara and Rissa by the hand and took them away, looking back over her shoulder to see the Wizard climb the ladder back to the school. There was no one up there to force him to come back. No one to stop him from following her, from saving himself.

  The Duke’s palace had been looted. Almost everything worth anything was gone. Tapestries and paintings had been ripped, broken, or somehow deformed. The few doors still standing had had their locks broken, and most of the furniture was either cracked or missing. Tigern walked through several corridors beneath the inexpressive eyes of Legionaries until he found the door to the Duke’s study. Inside, he saw the Imperial Marshal rolling a chair over with a kick, revealing a forgotten silver jar.

  “Ah, Tigern, at last.”

  Marshal Intila was a tall and powerful man. His golden armor had the Imperial lion sculpted in his chest, and the cape flowing down his back had the light blue of Augusta’s Legion’s.

  “I need names, Tigern.”

  “Names? Of what?”

  Intila sighed and walked over to the Duke’s secretary – a bloc of ebony too robust and heavy to suffer at the hands of the mob that had pillaged the palace.

  “The Emperor’s orders were refused. Then Imperial agents were arrested, just for trying to uphold those orders. And finally, when my Legions arrived, the city was closed. I had to mount a siege.”