The Dragon Hunter and the Mage

by V. R. Cardoso

  It was a thick, dark stew. Despite its smell, there wasn’t any meat in it, at least not that Fadan could see. In fact, there was nothing swimming in that bowl. It looked more like porridge than it did stew, but Fadan was too famished to care. He started slow, with just a taste, but ended up devouring the whole bowl in a few rushed mouthfuls.

  “It’s delicious,” Fadan said, gasping for air. He had been eating so fast he had lost his breath.

  “I doubt it,” the man said. “But thank you.”

  The man quietly watched Fadan finish his food. He was sitting by the fire, his fingers bursting through the tips of a tired pair of gloves, searching for the heat of the flames. His clothes reminded Fadan of Aric’s patchwork quilts, except these seemed to have been used to wipe soot off a chimney.

  “I’ll pay for all this,” Fadan said, scooping the last smudges of stew from the bowl. “I mean, not right now. My money was stolen.”

  “Not just your money,” the man said. “They also took your jacket and your cloak. Oh, and your boots.”

  Fadan looked at his black, woolen socks and cursed.

  “Don’t worry,” the man said. “I have an old pair of boots you can borrow. You look to be about my size.”

  “Thank you,” Fadan said. “I’ll pay for all of this, I promise.”

  The man did not reply, and instead just stared at Fadan intensely. It was a bit awkward.

  “I…” Fadan mumbled, avoiding the man’s stare. “I guess I should be going. I need to get home. My parents will worry.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” the stranger said as if waking up. He rushed to a worn looking chest and removed a pair of old boots. “Here.”

  Fadan thanked him once again and put the boots on. They were riddled with holes and carved at his feet with the slightest movement, but it was still better than having to walk back home in his bare feet.

  “I really am in your debt,” Fadan said. “I will be back to repay you. I promise.”

  The man nodded quickly, mumbling something. He was either very shy or very distracted, Fadan couldn’t decide. One moment he was staring awkwardly at Fadan, the next he was averting his eyes like a kid that had just been caught lying.

  “Alright, then…” Fadan said, not really sure how else to say goodbye to the strange man.

  He headed for the door and was about to open it when the man called, “My name is Alman.” It came out like a confession.

  “Oh, it was a pleasure to meet you, Alman,” Fadan said. “I am…” He hesitated. “My name is uh…”

  “I know who you are,” Alman said.

  Fadan smiled weakly. “I’m sure you have me confused with someone else,” he said.

  “My name is Alman Larsa.” This time, it sounded like an explanation.

  Larsa? That was vaguely familiar.

  “My father,” Alman continued, “was the Duke of Niveh.”

  Merciful Mother…

  There was a good reason Fadan had trouble remembering House Larsa. They had been wiped out, branded as traitors during the Purge for refusing to kill Niveh’s Mages. They had even gone as far as closing the gates of their city to the Legions, but their rebellion had been a short lived one.

  “I… I don’t…” Fadan mumbled.

  “It was your mother’s birthday the other day,” Alman said, his eyes on the ground. He was smiling as if lost in some fond memory. “Ten years ago I would actually have been invited.” His smile vanished and he shot Fadan a serious look. “I know what you were doing at the docks.”

  Fadan swallowed. “I… simply got lost, that’s all.”

  “No one finds himself with Durul’s gang in an alley unless they’re trying to do, or buy something illegal.” Alman stepped closer to Fadan. “You were looking for Runium, weren’t you?”

  “Listen, I already told you I’ll pay for your help and everything,” Fadan said. “My business in the Docks is none of your concern.”

  “You don’t understand,” Alman said. “I can help you.”

  “You already did,” Fadan replied. Then, as if putting an end to the conversation, he opened the door.

  “Please, wait!” Alman begged. “Do you realize what this would mean for people like me?”

  Fadan did, of course. If this man was telling the truth, he had once been rich and powerful. He should have gone on to inherit his father’s Duchy. Instead, he had become a fugitive, surviving in the slums.

  “Were you looking for Runium?” Alman asked, his eyes watery. “Please, I need to know.”

  Fadan sighed and closed the door. “Yes,” he said after an overlong pause.

  Alman covered his eyes and made a sound that was something between a giggle and a sob. Taking a deep breath, he returned his gaze to Fadan.

  “I knew it,” Alman said. There was wonder in his eyes. “The moment I recognized you, I knew it. I mean, if someone had told me I would have never believed it but… Do you have any idea what this means? For people like me? For everyone who survived the Purge?”

  “No one can know about this,” Fadan said abruptly.

  “Oh, I understand,” Alman assured him. “I completely understand, your majesty. But that’s exactly why you need my help. You can’t just roam around the Docks asking for Runium, it’s too dangerous. But I can get you all the Runium you need.”

  “So… You’re a Mage?”

  Alman shook his head. “No,” he said. “I was never blessed with the Talent.”

  Or cursed… Fadan thought. Although in your case it didn’t seem to make a difference.

  “But I work for a ship-owner,” Alman continued. “I know exactly who to talk to about these things. I will need some silver, of course…” He looked around. “Runium is expensive and, as you can see my… financial situation isn’t ‘ideal’.”

  “Silver will not be a problem,” Fadan said. “All I ask is discretion. If my father ever found out‒”

  “Of course,” Alman said, nodding. “You have nothing to worry about.” He paused, looking excited. “Oh, this is incredible! You have no idea.” The man looked so happy he seemed to be about to break into a dance. It was so contagious it made Fadan chuckle. “Could I ask a question?”

  “Sure,” Fadan replied.

  “How did you find out? About your talent, I mean.”

  Fadan shrugged. “Not much to tell. To be honest, I never planned on finding out. The only reason I did was because my brother is as stubborn as an ox.”

  Alman laughed. “I see,” he said. “So who is training you? I wonder if it’s someone I know.”

  “No one,” Fadan replied. “I’ve just been experimenting with Runium and this book I found, that’s all.”

  “You don’t have one?” Alman asked. “Your majesty, Runium is a very dangerous substance. You shouldn’t be experimenting on your own.”

  “Trust me, I know,” Fadan said. “But how am I going to find a Mage?”

  Alman smiled gleefully. “Well, you probably can’t, but I can.”

  Fadan frowned. “You know Mages?”

  “Do I know Mages? Your majesty, my brother is one.”

  Becoming High Marshal had always been Intila’s dream, but it had quickly turned into a nightmare. A long, thoroughly documented and properly filed, nightmare. Everything always felt to be on the verge of collapse unless he read, signed in triplicate, formally submitted a reply, and then wrote down a report on the matter. Producing parchment, he felt, had to be the most lucrative job in Arkhemia.

  He missed the field. Leading a campaign as soon as the snows melted, chasing the enemy across the hills until the time was right to do battle, crafting a victory out of the worst possible odds. That was a worthy life.

  Not that there was ever any shortage of conflict in the Citadel, but it was a very different kind of warfare. One of whispers and words not said. War had raged inside the gleaming hallways of the Core Palace for as long as it had been built.

  This past week, however, had been far bloodier than usual. Far too bloody for
Intila’s taste, in fact. This level of violence, he felt, should be reserved to the battlefield.

  “What is the point of an execution if the prisoners are killed beforehand?” Intila asked.

  Chancellor Vigild stood beside him, flowing black robes over his tall, lean body. He shrugged. “The emperor ordered them tortured for twelve hours a day. What else did you expect?”

  “I expected your people to pace themselves,” Intila replied. “Look at them.” He waved at the bloodied bodies in front of them. The pair dangled from the ceiling like old ragdolls. “The execution has been rescinded. They’re to be kept alive.”

  The Chancellor tilted his head, examining the hanging victims. “So this is the famous Doric. All this mess over… him?”

  “Will they survive the night?” Intila asked.

  Vigild shrugged. “They might. My guess is the Emperor won’t care, so long as he can’t be blamed.”

  “The Emperor will care,” Intila assured. “I have been told that‒”

  “High Marshal,” Vigild interrupted. “Do not presume to know what goes on inside the Emperor’s head. You would also do well not to show such concern for the throne’s enemies.”

  “What did you just say?” Intila asked.

  If the Chancellor was at all intimidated by Intila’s tone, he did not show it. “The Empress’ concern for these traitors derives from emotional and personal attachment, and thus is easily understood. Yours is not.”

  For a moment, Intila actually considered drawing his sword and slashing Vigild’s throat.

  “Chancellor, I will concern myself with whatever pleases me,” Intila said. “And since you are in a mood for exchanging advice, here is some for you. Do not ever question my loyalty again.”

  “Oh please,” Vigild sneered. “Spare me your displays of self-importance. They’re tedious and predictable. I do not care for your honor; I care for the throne. The Emperor might have made his promises to the Empress, but he has not changed his mind about what is to happen to these traitors. You, just like the rest of us, are expected to understand this.”

  A rat’s squeak echoed from some dark corner as Intila mulled over Vigild’s words. That the Emperor wanted Doric and the other prisoners dead was to be expected. That Vigild was so casual about it, not so much.

  “This is foolish,” Intila said after a while. “And it’s not just about the Empress. If these men die so soon, it will look like the Emperor was lying. Something else for the Great Houses to resent him for. I’ll have nothing to do with it.” Intila turned on his heel. “I am removing my Legionaries from this dungeon. If the traitors die, it’ll be your responsibility, not mine.”

  “As you prefer,” Vigild replied with a vestige of a smile. “I will fetch additional Paladins immediately.”

  The night was still dark when they left Alman’s shack, but the streets were much calmer. There wasn’t a single person in sight. Even the cats and dogs seemed to have quieted down.

  “My brother doesn’t live far,” Alman said, turning a corner.

  “Isn’t it a bit late?” Fadan asked. “I mean, he’s probably resting. I can come back tomorrow.”

  Fadan wasn’t truly sure he could. After two consecutive days of absence from the Palace, he was probably facing a severe punishment. However, if this man was going to be his Magic tutor, Fadan would much rather meet him in a good mood.

  “Don’t worry,” Alman replied. “Sabium is a nocturnal creature. Sometimes I think the moon is the brightest thing he can handle.”

  They turned into an alley that looked exactly like the one where the sailors had attacked Fadan, and Alman climbed the wooden staircase of a three story building.

  “This is it,” Alman said as he reached the top of the stairs. “I found this attic for him a few years ago. It won’t be much of a classroom, but the landlord doesn’t ask any questions.” He knocked twice on the door. “Oh, one more thing. Let me do the talking, alright? Sabium doesn’t really… approve of some of my ideas.”

  “Who is it?” someone asked from inside the house. The voice did not sound thrilled by the intrusion.

  “Sabium, it’s me,” Alman whispered.

  The door swung open, revealing a tall man wearing black robes. He inspected Fadan with a quick, disapproving glance.

  “What is this?” Sabium asked. “What do you want?”

  “Not out here,” Alman replied. “Let us in.”

  “I am busy,” Sabium said without moving an inch.

  “Well, you’re making a pause,” Alman said, rushing past him and dragging Fadan by the sleeve.

  Sabium grumbled something but closed the door behind him. The place was wide and spacious, but the slanted ceiling was so low you could only stand up in the middle of the room. Window shutters were closed, and the only light came from a couple of candles melting over a mess of parchment on a desk. There was a bed in one corner – actually, not a bed, just a straw mattress – and several cabinets filled with so many books its shelves arched downwards.

  “Who is that?” Sabium asked, waving towards Fadan. “Why would you bring someone here?”

  “Shut up and let me talk,” Alman said. “Do you recognize him?”

  “Of course I don’t recognize him,” Sabium said. “I just asked you who he is.”

  “How can you not… will you look at him?”

  Sabium glanced at Fadan, who was inspecting the piles of books with his mouth open, not paying the least bit of attention to the squabbling brothers.

  “Don’t tell me it’s another damned stowaway,” Sabium said. “I will not babysit some illiterate orphan for you.”

  “Stowaway?” Alman asked. “It’s the Prince, you numbskull.”

  “The what!?” Sabium said.

  Fadan turned to the old Mage. “My name is Fadan Patros. I’m the Crown-Prince of Arrel.”

  There was a moment of silence, then Sabium burst out laughing. “That’s amazing!” he said, then faced his brother. “He’s good. He’s really good.”

  Alman gave his brother a serious look but didn’t say anything. Fadan stepped forward.

  “This is not an act,” Fadan said. “I really am the Prince.”

  Sabium’s laughter quieted and turned into a weak smile before disappearing entirely. He looked from Fadan to his brother. “You’re serious?” he asked.

  Alman nodded.

  “Ava mother…” Sabium muttered. “What… why?”

  “I’m here because I need your help, Lord Sabium,” Fadan said, taking another step forward.

  “My help?” Sabium asked his brother.

  “That’s right,” Alman said, smiling. “His majesty possesses the Talent. He wants you to teach him. Discretely.”

  “You have the Talent?” Sabium asked Fadan. He was dumbfounded.

  “You can test me if you want,” the Prince replied.

  “You’re mad!” Sabium said. “You’re both mad. The Emperor will find out. We’ll be caught, all three of us. We’ll hang.”

  “You have nothing to worry about,” Fadan assured him. “I have my ways to enter and leave the Citadel unseen. No one will follow me.”

  “How could you possibly be sure?” Sabium asked. “The Emperor’s spies are everywhere.”

  “My father has many enemies, but I’m not one of them,” Fadan said calmly. “He always worried that my brother would be a bad influence on me, but Aric is gone.” He shrugged. “My father has nothing left to worry about.”

  “You’re not one of your father’s enemies?” Sabium laughed in disbelief. “You just walked into my house with a member of the rebellion!”

  “A what?” Fadan asked.

  Alman covered his eyes. “Goddess damn it, Sabium…”

  “Oh, you didn’t know?” Sabium asked. “My brother here colludes with rebels all the time, even though it will most likely end up leading the Paladins back to me. A Mage!”

  Fadan clenched his teeth. This was bad. Really bad. Releasing Doric from jail was one thing. Working with t
he people who wanted to murder his father was something else entirely.

  “You should have told me this,” Fadan said.

  “Will you both please calm down?” Alman pleaded. “All I do is help the rebellion with supplies. I’ve never even met any of them in person. They’re too cautious.”

  “And you’re not cautious enough,” Sabium said.

  “I agree,” Fadan said. “This was foolish. I need to leave.”

  The Prince started towards the door nervously, but Alman blocked his way.

  “Wait,” the old man said. “Please, just listen to me.”

  Fadan exhaled loudly, but he waited.

  “Fine, it’s true,” Alman said. “I’m with the rebels, but my brother isn’t. If you want, I’ll just disappear. You’ll never see me again. There will be fresh supplies of Runium in my brother’s cabinets, but you won’t even know how they got there. I promise.”

  “That’s all very fine,” Sabium said. “But I won’t risk it. I refuse to train him.”

  Alman turned away from Fadan and walked to his brother. “The boy sneaked out from the Citadel and found his way to the Docks in the middle of the night for a vial of Runium. You think he’ll just give up Magic because you said no?” He turned to Fadan. “Be honest, son. Are you going to forget about your Talent?”

  The Prince hesitated a little but ended up shaking his head. “No,” he replied.

  “Of course not,” Alman continued. “The last time he tried to buy Runium, I found him half-conscious in an alley. Next time he’ll probably get himself killed, but even if he does get lucky and manages to go back home with a bottle of Runium, what do you think will happen?”

  Sabium didn’t reply right away. He shot his deep frown at Fadan as if the Prince was guilty of all his misery.

  “Come on,” Alman insisted. “What do you think will happen?”

  “Stupid kid will probably misfire a spell and blow himself up,” Sabium finally replied. “If he doesn’t poison himself first.”

  Alman opened his arms, closing his argument while Sabium walked to a chair and sunk into it.

  There was a moment of silence as the three of them exchanged glances. Fadan considered leaving. He wanted to learn Magic, not join the rebellion against his father. But, then again, having a real Mage to teach him was too good of an opportunity to pass on.