The Dragon Hunter and the Mage

by V. R. Cardoso

  The pleasantries followed her the entire way and didn’t stop until she was in front of Tarsus by their thrones. The Emperor kneeled, grabbing her right hand while looking into her eyes, then laid on it a profound kiss. Cassia wanted to pull her hand back and slap him across his face right there, in front of all his vassals, but she wasn’t doing this for herself. Tarsus invited her to sit with a gesture, and the two of them sat on their thrones. Without a word, the music resumed.

  The band sat atop a podium taller than any man, right in the middle of the hall. Above them, the Imperial banners that usually dangled from the ceiling had been replaced by the arms of Cassia’s own House Ellara: A black eagle standing atop a black pine on a field of orange.

  Most guests were at the center of the hall, dancing in concentric circles around the band’s podium, while those not dancing mingled at the edges of the dance floor, eating and drinking from ten different counters where servants prepared their most peculiar requests.

  “You look exquisitely beautiful today,” Tarsus told her. “But when do you not?”

  Cassia did not reply, and simply kept staring at the crowd in front of her. There had to be at least a couple hundred people in there, celebrating her birthday as if they didn’t know what had just happened to her son and former husband. As if she didn’t know.

  “How long will you keep this up?” Tarsus asked. “You can’t just‒‒”

  “Back in my room,” she said, cutting him off, “you said something. Before you left. You said that I was your wife.” She finally looked him in the eyes. “You were mistaken. I was your wife. No more.”

  Tarsus opened an angry mouth, and was going to shout something back at her, but never had the time.

  “We had a deal, Tarsus,” Cassia continued. “And you broke it. So I no longer have to keep up my end.” She returned her gaze to the dancing crowd. “Our marriage is over.”

  The Emperor moved in his throne and squeezed its armrest so hard it was a miracle it didn’t break beneath his grip.

  “I did not break any deal,” Tarsus said. “It was that traitor who broke it. For fifteen years, I kept my word. Why would I break it now?”

  Cassia chuckled. “Why would Doric?” she asked.

  “Because he got tired of waiting for you to run back to him, of course,” Tarsus replied.

  “Let me get this straight,” Cassia said. “You’re saying Doric got tired of waiting for me, so he… joined the rebellion?”

  “There is no such thing as a rebellion,” Tarsus replied, disgusted. “Just a handful of traitors with delusions of grandeur. And yes, I’m saying your former husband was conspiring to kill me. Which is why he has been sentenced to die.”

  “Which, in turn, is why I am no longer your wife,” Cassia retorted. “In fact, I might announce that right now.”

  She was going to stand up, but Tarsus stopped her, grabbing her arm.

  “You didn’t let me finish,” Tarsus told her. He took a deep breath. “I understand your grief. The punishment to your other son, although deserved, was severe.” He removed his hand from Cassia’s arm. “Under the circumstances, I cannot blame you for being resentful. Having said that, your former husband isn’t dead yet, and I am nothing if not a reasonable man. So, if you are willing, I would be glad to meet you halfway.”

  “You’re saying you won’t kill Doric?” Cassia asked, frowning.

  “I’m saying that our marriage is more important to me than anything else,” Tarsus replied. “And for that reason, I’m willing to commute the sentence to life in prison.”

  Cassia weighed those words. “Why should I trust you now?” she asked. “The last time you made me a proposition like that, you used it to set Doric up and arrest him.”

  “I DID NOT!” Tarsus’ eyes nearly jumped out of their orbits. He tried to calm himself, looking around to make sure no one had noticed. “I did not,” he repeated lowly. “I admit the sequence of events might raise suspicions, but that is not what happened. Either way, the situation is what it is. I’m agreeing to spare the traitor’s life. Is that what you want, or not?”

  The Empress considered that for a moment. “Are you willing to do the same for the others, including my cousin Hagon?” she asked.

  The Emperor sighed. “Very well…”

  “And you will bring back Aric?”

  “Don’t push it!” Tarsus snapped, twitching in his chair. “I’m bending the rules far enough already. This is the deal. I will revoke the death sentence on all of those traitors. For you, Cassia.” He straightened himself in his throne. “Do you want it, or not?”

  Cassia did not reply right away. “Yes,” she ended up saying. “We have a deal.”

  “Good,” Tarsus said, smiling. “Good. As always, my love, you make me very happy.”

  “Yes,” Cassia replied, standing up. “I should mingle now.” She stepped forward. “Talk to the guests.”

  Without giving Tarsus a chance to say anything else, she stepped down from the dais and allowed the crowd to swallow her. There was another wave of bows, curtsies, and pleasant remarks, but Cassia didn’t even notice them. She felt dizzy. Dizzy and dirty. If there had been a lake in the hall she probably would have jumped right in.

  Three knocks on the floor woke her up.

  “His Imperial Majesty, Fadan Patros,” the herald announced. “Count of Capra, Prince-Duke of Fausta, and Crown-Prince of Arrel.”

  The ballroom’s doors opened and Cassia watched her son walk inside. As with her, the bows and curtsies piled on, but this time, there were some awkward glances and hushed whispers as well. Fadan looked like he had just jumped out of bed. His black hair was a mess, and instead of a gala uniform, he was donning a simple, brown tunic, as if this was just a regular day and he was on his way to a combat lesson.

  Cassia rushed to his side, ignoring the courtesans that had approached her in the hopes of striking up a conversation with the Empress.

  “Are you alright?” she asked, placing a hand on Fadan’s shoulder.

  He nodded. “I’m fine,” he said. “I tried to visit you, but there were‒‒”

  “I know,” she said. “They won’t be there anymore after today.”

  Fadan nodded and the two of them went quiet.

  “What is the meaning of this!?” the Emperor demanded as he stormed up next to them. “Dressed like a servant… You’re not even wearing a weapon. You’re the host of this ball!”

  “No,” Fadan replied, facing his father. “You are.”

  For a moment, Cassia almost expected steam to come out of Tarsus’ ears.

  “This is not the time, nor the moment,” the Emperor said. “We will have this discussion later!” He turned to Cassia. “Put some sense into your son’s head.” With that, he turned on his heel and left.

  The two of them stood there, watching Tarsus march away.

  “Aggravating your father won’t bring Aric back,” Cassia said.

  “No, but neither will pleasing him.”

  A Duchess with hair piled high above her head stepped next to them, pushing a young daughter towards Fadan. The girl was as thin as a reed and was shaking like one as well.

  “Not now!” Fadan barked at them.

  Mother and daughter grimaced, frightened, and scurried away without a word.

  Cassia sighed. “None of this is any of that girl’s fault,” she said.

  “I don’t care,” Fadan replied. “I don’t care about that girl. I don’t care about this ball. I don’t care about my father‒”

  “Fadan!” Cassia pleaded. “Please, don’t. You’re angry, I know. No one understands you better than me. But I already lost your brother. I need you to keep yourself together.”

  “We didn’t lose Aric,” Fadan corrected. He reached into a pocket. “I have something for you.”

  Cassia grabbed the small pouch. Inside, she found a necklace, where a Glowstone shard as thin as a needle dangled. The empress immediately closed her fingers around the jewel and tucked it against her s
tomach, her head swiveling around and looking in every direction.

  “Who gave this to you?” she asked urgently. “Where did you get this?”

  “Doric gave it to Aric,” Fadan replied. “When they met in the city. Aric was supposed to hand it to you that night, but… but then everything went to heck.” He looked into his mother’s eyes. “It was my idea, mother. Please forgive me.”

  “What was your idea?” Cassia asked, confused. “Wait, you mean… You were there? With Aric and Doric? You were there?"

  Fadan stared at the floor. “Aric was the only one who saw the soldiers, but he saw them too late. He only had time to save one person.” His lips pressed against each other tightly and his eyes welled. “He saved me.”

  Cassia sent her arms around her son. “Oh, my sweet,” she said, kissing his hair.

  They stood like that for a little while until Fadan stopped sniffing. Cassia looked him in the eyes.

  “Aric will survive the desert,” she said. “You know him. There’s no one stronger.”

  Fadan nodded. “I know,” he said, weakly. “He’s too stubborn, even for a Dragon.”

  The two of them chuckled.

  “He sacrificed himself for you,” Cassia said. “You can’t just start getting into all sorts of trouble now and let that sacrifice be a waste.”

  Fadan weighed those words for a moment. “I made him a promise,” he said. “I intend to keep it.”

  “What promise?” Cassia asked. “You have to let me handle these things. Please.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me,” Fadan told her. “I can take care of myself.”

  No, you can’t! Cassia wanted to scream at him. Instead, she stood there, helplessly watching her son flee back through the main door. “Merciful mother…” she muttered.

  The humming of music and chatter followed Fadan across several halls until it became just a distant whisper. He climbed to the top of the palace’s north wing. It was such a remote location that servants never even bothered lighting up the torches and lamps hanging on the walls.

  Fadan pushed against the attic’s door and it opened with a creak. Silver moonlight streamed diagonally from the windows on the slanted ceiling, lighting the dusty piles of old books, paintings, and tapestries within. He sighed before stepping in. The last time he had been there, Aric had been with him, that night they had decided to rescue Aric’s dad.

  In hindsight, it hadn’t been the most sophisticated of plans, but that did not explain why the Legionaries had been waiting for them outside of the sewers. The only explanation, in fact, was that someone had been listening to them that night.

  Sagun… Fadan thought.

  Did that mean the Akhami Castellan knew Fadan had the Talent? No, certainly not. There was no way he would have kept this information from the Emperor, and Tarsus clearly had no idea about it.

  Still, there was no question the attic was no longer safe. He had to find a new place to hide the book and, more importantly, to practice. How else could he hope to spring Doric out jail?

  He was alone, and there was no one he could trust enough to ask for help. He also didn’t have any of Aric’s skills like lock-picking or knowing his way around the sewers. No, all he had was his Talent. He would have to learn how to use magic. The book should be sufficient. It was an introductory manual, after all.

  Fadan walked over to the improvised secret stash he and Aric had created, a loose floor board in a corner under a broken chair. Both the book and what remained of the Runium they had stolen were still there. Fadan slipped the vial into a pocket, then shuffled the Magic book into the middle of a pile of dusty books. Swiping some of the dust off the pile of books, the Prince picked it up and left the attic, the old floor creaking beneath his boots.

  Hauling such a load across the Citadel was a risky idea, but there would be no better time than now to do so. Everyone was distracted down in the ballroom, and the dark of night would help to conceal him.

  Taking a peek around every corner, Fadan sped out of the main Palace and into the service courtyard. Crates of vegetables, fruit, and wine were still waiting to be hauled into the kitchens and cellars. Making sure none of the books tumbled from the pile, he lurched from crate to crate, checking that the way was clear of any sentinels.

  He followed into one of the streets that led out of the Core Palace, using the shadows of a file of cypresses as cover.

  The Imperial Citadel was an entire district, walled off from the rest of the city. The Core Palace, where Fadan and the Imperial family lived, was just one of the many Palaces inside, albeit by far the largest. The other Palaces were spread randomly around the Core, marble paved streets connecting their luscious gardens. Most of them were inhabited by the Augustan nobility, the descendants of those families who had been vassals of House Patros since Augusta was just another city-state. Other Palaces belonged to the major landed Houses of the Empire, like those holding Grand-Duchies or Principalities, although these were mere expressions of wealth and power, and rarely housed anyone. Then, there were the Palaces of the high offices, like the Imperial Council, the Legion’s Headquarters, and so on.

  Lastly, there were the abandoned Palaces, extravagant constructions harkening back to some of the most eccentric Emperors in history. There was the Palace Torrus II had built, right next to the Imperial Council, for his twenty-two concubines. There was the one known as the Countess’ Palace, built by Ambrosian Carva, a Chancellor that had served a total of four different Emperors, for his mistress, the Countess of Vastegat. There were also Fadan’s favorites, a set of seven Palaces built by Fastan III and his brother Marcius in a weird competition to determine who could achieve the most outrageous construction.

  The list of empty Palaces went on and on, some of which had been claimed by plant life after decades – in some cases centuries – of vacancy. It was precisely one of these that Fadan was after. What better place to perform his experiments? Fadan didn’t know the first thing about magic, but he had a feeling it was a loud, messy business.

  The long line of cypresses came to halt at a square guarded by a tall statue of one of Fadan’s ancestors, he couldn’t recall which. He heard something like a squeal and froze for an instant before checking over his shoulder. He looked in every possible direction, scrutinizing every shadow around him, but there was no one in sight.

  Steadying his breathing, Fadan tiptoed across the square, double checking over his shoulder to make sure no one was following him. Then, as he turned to look forward again, he nearly dropped the pile of books from the fright. How he managed to keep himself from screaming was a mystery to him.

  Leaning against the other side of the statue’s pedestal were a man and a woman. They were in each other’s arms, kissing, but they must have heard his footsteps because they turned to face him, startled. The man wore the elaborate garment of a noble, probably a Marquis or a Baron, considering the large, overcompensating hat. The woman, on the other hand, looked like one of the servants.

  “What are you staring at?” the man asked.

  The arrogant tone definitely belonged to that of a noble, but Fadan was certainly not used to being spoken to like that. He nearly told the man to watch his manners. Fortunately, he remembered his own choice of clothing earlier that day. He looked down at his chest and saw the simple, brown tunic he was wearing, then bowed.

  “Forgive me, Lord,” he said, speaking through his nose. Then, he spun on his heels and scurried away.

  Behind him, the woman whispered something and the couple giggled, resuming their kisses.

  Fadan turned a corner, leaving the noble and the servant out of sight, and followed through a narrower street, flanked by smaller palaces. Smaller by Citadel standards that is.

  These buildings were the rarest in the Imperial Citadel; mansions bought by extremely wealthy plebeians, like merchants and bankers, for the prestige alone. The area Fadan was looking for was just beyond this street, containing a block of nine Palaces where no one had lived for at l
east a century. After all, who in the Citadel wished to be neighbor with the plebs?

  The block of abandoned palaces seemed darker than the rest of the citadel. Oak trees, willows, and pines grew thick and unruly all over the entire block. Hedges had turned to tall, wild bushes that spewed into the once beautiful gardens. Vines and other climbing plants crawled along the walls and over the roofs as if the land itself wanted a palace of its own.

  Fadan travelled along the abandoned buildings until one of them caught his attention. The trees on its garden had been trimmed, and leftover branches and twigs carpeted its main gate. It was perfect. No one would be back there for years.

  He hurried inside, kicking the front door open, then pushing it shut again with his hip. The pile of books was starting to carve into his hands, so Fadan dropped them right in the middle of the lobby, keeping only the magic book in his hand. It wasn’t like anyone would complain. Moonlight shed everywhere through the broken windows. There was an earthy, moist smell, and the floor creaked loudly with every step.

  Good, an intruder alert, Fadan thought.

  He climbed upstairs, moss covered statues welcoming him. The first floor had several good candidates for a practice room. The areas were wide, and most of the furniture had been removed, although not all of it, which was handy. After all, he would need at least a place to sit, and he wouldn’t mind a table either.

  With the Magic book under his arm, Fadan paced along the different rooms.

  Well, this all started in an attic, he thought. Why not keep it that way?

  Climbing two steps at a time, he went to the topmost floor of the manor.

  It was perfect. The room was a wide rectangle that ran almost the entire width and length of the building, giving him more than enough room to work. The slanted ceiling was tall enough that he didn’t have to hunch. There was also enough light to allow him to read without lighting a candle, but it all fell through a couple of skylights in the ceiling, which was important because, without any windows, he would be free to cast the brightest spells he could without turning the place into a lighthouse. Finally, there were several chairs lined against a wall, two tables packed on top of each other, and even a porcelain dinner set.