“What do you think this is? It’s a library, of course.”
“Where are the books, then?”
Leth crossed his arms, looking disappointed.
“I told you this was the Mage’s Tower. The books are gone, obviously.”
“Right, sorry.” Aric paced along the empty shelves. It would have been nice to have a library in Lamash. “What’s so interesting about it, then?”
“That,” Leth said, pointing at one wall.
Aric wondered if the Akhami had lost his mind. There was an archway protruding from the wall where Leth was pointing to, but nothing else. No object hanging there, no painting, carving, or sculpture of any kind. Just the same stone brick as everywhere else.
“Hum…” Aric mumbled. “I don’t think I follow…. It’s a wall. What’s so interesting about a wall?”
Leth threw his arms in the air.
“A wall?!” he yelped. “Are you blind? That’s a passageway. And someone blocked it. Don’t you see? It’s a blocked passageway in the middle of a forbidden library! How much more interesting does it get?”
“I see,” Aric said, tilting his head sideways. “So, you assume there’s a cache of hidden books on the other side?”
“I don’t know what is on the other side. That’s the whole point. What I do know is the Mages who lived here really didn’t want whatever it was to fall into the hands of the Paladins.”
“On the other hand,” Aric said, “it might be just a wall.”
Leth exhaled loudly.
“Look at the floor painting,” he said, gesturing down. “The water trickle turns into a flame and then just….”
And then the flame was interrupted by the stone bricks.
“So the painting wasn’t finished properly,” Aric said. “The painter must have miscalculated the distances. I’ve seen sloppier work.”
“Come over here and place your hand there,” Leth said, indicating the inner edge of the archway.
Aric obeyed. There was a clear interval between the arch and the stone bricks beneath it. Aric tried to slide his fingers through it, but they didn’t fit.
“Wow!” he said. “I can feel air blowing through it.”
“Exactly,” Leth said. “Now look at it. Closer.”
Aric removed his hand and inspected the tight gap. He got close enough to the bricks that he could feel the cold air blowing between them. What astonished him, however, was what he saw.
It was faint, but from within the crevice came a blueish hue.
“Fire take me!” he said. “There’s Glowstone in there.”
“Yep,” Leth agreed, smiling. “It’s a Glowstone lock.”
“A what?”
“A Glowstone lock. A door lock made of Glowstone.”
Aric looked at the archway, and the stone bricks under it.
“If there is a locking mechanism in there, where is the key hole?” he asked.
“The only key that can open a Glowstone lock is the exact counter-spell,” Leth explained.
“Well,” Aric said. “I can lock-pick almost any door, but not something like this….”
“You know how to pick a lock?” Leth asked.
“It’s easier than it looks,” Aric replied, “but this is hopeless. Even if we knew what the counter-spell was, we’re not Mages. We wouldn’t be able to cast it.” He paused and frowned. “You’re not a Mage… are you?”
Leth chuckled. “Merciful Ava,” he said. “No. I’m not that unlucky. But you’re wrong, it’s not hopeless. Glowstone locks might be unbreakable, but there has to be a way around it. I actually have a plan.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.” He aimed a finger at the ceiling. “We dig from the upper floor.”
Sylene’s quill ran dry midway through the sentence. She dipped the pen into the ink bottle and rewrote the half-written word. Again, the word remained incomplete. With a snort, the Grand Master looked at the ink bottle. It was empty.
“Edcar,” she called, and immediately felt stupid.
It had been two weeks since she had released her former assistant. Edcar was an excellent right hand, and he was also leadership material. Sylene had been grooming him for years. Until the day Tyrek, the Captain of the twelfth Company, had gotten himself squashed by a Dragon’s tail. Edcar had been Sylene’s only choice to replace him. She had always possessed the smallest staff of any Grand Master in the history of the Guild, but now she was running the mountain fortress all by herself.
She sighed.
I suppose getting the ink myself is no tragedy.
She was getting up when someone knocked on the door.
“Yes?” she said.
The door creaked and Saruk appeared.
“You summoned, Grand Master?” the instructor asked.
“Ah, Saruk, come in.” She stepped from behind her desk and walked to the large map table at the center of the study. “I have good news for you.” She crossed her arms. “You won’t like it, however.”
Saruk gave her a puzzled look.
“I imagine you saw the boy and the girl standing outside,” Sylene said.
“New recruits?”
The Grand Master confirmed that with a nod. “Conscripts, of course. They’re siblings. Orphans since the Purge, and have been living on the streets ever since.” She strolled around the map. “The boy stole from a fruit merchant because he didn’t want his sister to starve. So they ended up down here.” She exhaled loudly. “You know, the usual.”
“Are they for me?” Saruk asked. Sylene nodded. “It is good news, then.”
“Yes.” The Grand Master stopped and turned to face Saruk. “The twenty third is finally at full strength. I want them in the Frostbound within the week.”
“What?!”
“You heard me, Saruk. Within the week.”
“They’re not prepared.”
“Prepare them then. I need the twenty third fully trained and ready to hunt, understood?”
“Prepare them…? Half of them haven’t been here for more than a week. Most of them are bakers and fishermen. One of them is a priest, for Goddess’ sake! I need more time.”
“Look at this map,” the Grand Master snapped. “Look at it!” She punched the table and the small wooden hunters jumped. One of them nearly tumbled. “It’s practically empty. As we stand we’re barely able to maintain minimum patrols.” She stretched her finger towards a portion of the map to her left. “Look at the eastern corridor. We haven’t had a single patrol in Derrick’s Pass for two months. If we keep this up for much longer a Dragon will seep through. I need the twenty third in the field, Saruk.”
“What would you prefer? Getting your new Company a few more months down the road, or never at all? Because if they are not ready, they won’t survive the training. It’s too dangerous.”
Sylene turned around and headed back to her desk.
“This is the Dragon Hunters Guild, Saruk,” she said, sitting back down. “Danger is not optional.”
After his little adventure in the Mage’s Tower with Leth, Aric had no trouble finally falling asleep.
He dreamt of the desert Witch again. She was opening the door Leth had shown him, except in the dream the library was much, much bigger and was completely frozen, with icy stalactites hanging from the ceiling. The witch waved her arms and green sparkles shot out from her hands. The Glowstone lock clicked and hissed, and the door swung. As it did, Aric tried to hide, fearful that the witch realized he was watching her. But as soon as he took a step her head snapped in his direction and everything went black.
He woke up with his heart pounding, sweaty, and gasping. For a moment, it was very confusing not to wake up in his own bedroom. He saw Leth, sitting on his bed tying his boots, and suddenly remembered where he was.
A smiling Tharius greeted him. “Good morning,” he said. “You should hurry. Instructor Saruk doesn’t like it when we’re late for muster.”
The Company broke fast at the dining hall. Each recruit grabbed a
couple of flatbreads from a counter and sat at one of the long tables. Besides plates and mugs, each table was littered with jars, pots, and deep plates holding a myriad of dipping sauces. Red and yellow jams, a green, oily sauce that smelled of thyme, a black, sweet paste with pine nuts and sesame seeds, and even a white, creamy cheese. The lack of a good hot sausage and some eggs made it look like a strange breakfast, and the flavors weren’t exactly familiar, but Aric was too famished to care. Apparently, so was everyone else. All thirteen members of the Company were eating in silence with slow, sleepy movements.
Around the dining hall, the crowd of senior Hunters gathering for breakfast was as colorful as the dipping sauces on the tables. There were men with green braids and purple beards, and women with hair locks painted in every color of the rainbow. A thirty something black girl, probably from Cyrinia, walked by their table, and Aric counted twenty knives strapped to her leather armor.
“Half-Prince,” a girl’s voice said. Aric looked towards the sound and found a red-haired girl sitting to his left. “How does it feel to sleep and eat among the plebs?”
Is she talking to me?
“What did you call me?” Aric asked.
“Half-Prince,” she replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“I’m sorry, what is your name?” Aric asked.
“Dothea,” the red-haired girl replied.
“Dothea.” Aric swallowed a piece of bread. “Why would you call me something like that?”
“Aric,” one other girl called. “Leth already told us. All of us. We know who you are.” She smiled. “I’m Clea, by the way.”
She had olive skin and almond shaped eyes. Her wavy black hair was cut just above her shoulders. Aric had the feeling he had never seen anyone so beautiful.
“He did?” Aric looked at Leth. “You did?”
“They were going to find out sooner or later,” Leth replied. He was reading from his book and didn’t even raise his head. “I figured it was better to get it over with.”
Aric rehearsed a protest but it died out in his throat.
“So,” Dothea said, “is it very different?”
“What?” Aric asked.
“To eat with the plebs,” Dothea replied.
“Oh, uh….” Aric shrugged. “Back in the Citadel, I slept in the servant’s wing and ate in the kitchens....”
“Better than sleeping in the mud and eating with the rats,” a boy missing two teeth said.
“Or eating rats,” Dothea agreed.
“Charming…” Leth said beneath his breath.
“Shut up, Leth,” Dothea told him.
The boy missing two teeth piled on it. “Yeah, you rich kids are all the same. You should learn to respect people like us.”
“Yeah, yeah…” Leth sneered. “You’re poor, we get it. Someone should make you a statue.”
For a moment, Aric feared there would be a fight, but both Dothea and the other boy simply ignored Leth with a snort. Aric decided to defuse the awkward silence hanging over the table.
“So, hum… have any of you ever seen a Dragon?”
“I have!” Tharius said, raising a hand.
Dothea shook her head. “Sure you have…” she said.
“It’s true. It was my first week, before any of you got here. Saruk had me running across the dunes to test my endurance and then I saw it. It was flying north, several miles away. I ducked behind a dune and took a peek. It had turned west, putting me behind it, so I watched it glide off into the distance.”
Dothea dropped a piece of bread onto her plate.
“Please…” she said. “It was probably an eagle or something.”
“I can tell an eagle from a Dragon,” Tharius replied. “It had a long tail, just like a lizard. It was no bird.”
“It had to be,” Dothea insisted. “Dragons don’t come this far north.”
“That’s not true,” Tharius replied. “If you paid any attention to Saruk, you would know there have been several sightings over the last few years.”
“It’s true,” said a tall, black boy. “Honor guards like me are sent on regular tours through the desert before joining the Guild. Last year an honor guard younger than me spotted a Dragon only a few miles south of Radir.”
“What’s an honor guard?” Aric asked.
“The Cyrinian version of volunteers,” Leth replied. He had finally decided to close his book.
“In Cyrinia,” the black boy told Aric, “all villages must provide the Dragon Hunter’s Guild with one volunteer per generation. They are called honor guards.”
“Because it is considered a great honor,” Tharius explained.
Dothea looked at him in utter disbelief. “I’m pretty sure the half-prince understood that part,” she said.
Tharius was going to bark something back at her, but Aric interrupted, “Please, call me Aric.”
“Ok…” Dothea said, then shrugged. “But I’m still going to call you half-prince behind your back.”
Aric sighed, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing.
Then a thundering clap made them jump off their seat. Saruk had shown up from nowhere and was yammering like an alarm bell.
“Let’s go people! Time’s up. This is no downtown tavern. We have work to do. Pick your asses up.”
It felt like he was waking up from a bad dream for the second time that morning.
The instructor led them out of the dining hall and through the main gates. Silently, they marched down the Mountain into the desert. As soon as the red rock of Lamash turned into the golden sand that surrounded it, Saruk chose a dune and spread the trainees along its slope as if it was an amphitheater. Only then did Aric realize he had a boy and a girl with him.
“This is Ergon and Lyra,” he said before ordering the pair to join the rest of the Company. “Your new fellow recruits.”
The boy was blond and as skinny as a lizard, while the girl had short, chestnut hair and big, watery eyes.
“I imagine you all know what this means,” Saruk continued. “The twenty third Company is officially complete, and your Dragon Hunting training is about to begin. For those of you who have been here for a while, if you think you have any idea what training at Lamash is let me elucidate you. You haven’t got the first clue. From today forward you will train day and night. You will run across the desert and learn to survive in it for weeks. You will practice with every weapon invented by man until you have mastered their every secret. You will scale mountains with your bare hands, and you will track Dragons across the skies. But most of all, you will become a single, cohesive, and perfectly coordinated fighting unit. And by the Goddess, you will learn to slay the world’s most terrifying beasts and become one of the select few known as the Dragon Hunters of Lamash.”
Chapter 7
The Empress’ Ball
Tarsus walked quietly into the room. One of the Legionaries standing guard outside closed the door behind him. Cassia was standing by her window, watching the sun rise over the eastern hills beyond the city. There was another woman inside, thin and tall like a dagger. She jumped up from her seat and gave a deep curtsy.
“Imperial Majesty,” the girl said, her voice shaking slightly.
“You’re excused, Venia,” Cassia said. “You may leave us.”
“Yes, my Lady,” Venia said, then turned to the Emperor. “Your Majesty.” She scuttled past Tarsus, her eyes low, and left the room after covering her platinum hair with an even paler hood.
“Who was that?” Tarsus asked as soon as the door closed behind him again.
“Someone beneath your notice,” Cassia replied. She still had her back to Tarsus.
Tarsus cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I… may have overreacted by placing guards at your door. I’ll see that they are removed immediately.”
“I don’t see why,” Cassia said. “We both know I’m your prisoner. Makes sense that they’re out there.”
The Emperor frowned. “You are my wife,
” he said. “The guards will leave.”
Cassia followed a bird’s flight across the sky. “Have it your way,” she said. “It’s not like it makes a difference.”
Tarsus sighed, and there was a small pause before he said, “Sagun complained that you have not yet chosen the main courses for the ball. He says he must know by tonight if there is to be any food on the table tomorrow.”
“He can serve his own liver for all I care,” Cassia replied. “I won’t be attending the ball. You already gave me my birthday gift, Tarsus. I require no more.”
The Emperor stepped further into the room. “You will attend the ball,” he said, his eyes burning. “Unless you want that traitor to die tomorrow, you will be there, and you will act accordingly. You are my wife!” Tarsus turned on his heels and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
The room became absolutely still, and Cassia looked down to the letter in her hands. The Paladin’s handwriting was clumsy, and there were, at least, three misspelled words per sentence, but the message was clear enough. Her boy had reached the desert and was beyond her help.
She crunched the parchment with her hands and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. The air trapped in her chest came out in a sob and two tears rolled down her cheeks.
Keep calm, she thought. Doric still needs you. Fadan still needs you.
Beyond the great wooden doors, Cassia could hear the music. It went suddenly quiet and was replaced with the buzz of chatter until three loud knocks on the stone floor silenced everyone.
“Her Imperial Majesty, Cassia Ellara,” the voice of the herald announced from behind the door. “Queen of Augusta and Samehria, Ultrarchess of Akham, and Empress of Arrel.”
The wooden doors parted, and Cassia glided into the ballroom. A forest of nobles bowed and curtsied so deeply some of them nearly kissed the floor. With gentle nods to one side, then the other, she walked towards the blue dais at the other end of the ballroom.
“Your Majesty looks beautiful,” a fat Duchess told her, curtsying.
“A most happiest of birthdays, your Majesty,” a Cyrinian Count sang, doing such a flamboyant bow it was almost a pirouette.
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