“My name is Aric. Hey, get out of here, Geric.” The cat had frozen behind his legs, blocking him just as he was heaving a crate from his cart.”
“I don’t know you,” the old man said. “You’re not Guildsmen, none of you are.”
“We’re recruits,” Aric told him. “Saruk sent us to do the Blood run this time. Come on, Geric, get out.” The cat was still refusing to move.
“This is most unusual,” the old keeper said. “I wasn’t informed of any changes.”
“Geric!” The blood crate was starting to hurt in Aric’s hands, so he kicked the desert lynx away.
Like a spring, the cat dropped down to his paws, hissing and baring his fangs. But not at Aric. No, Geric was facing up, towards the sky.
He looked up in the same direction as the cat and every drop of blood in his body froze.
“Run!” he screamed, dropping the blood crate to the ground with a slam.
“Hey!” Leth protested, holding the other end of the blood crate. “You want to smash my legs or something?”
“Everybody run into the House!” Aric ordered. “NOW!”
A thundering growl burst from the sky, sending everyone reeling backwards into the nearest object. Right there, a mere few feet above the ceilings of Nish, a gargantuan Dragon swooped down, opening its mouth and gushing out a river of flames. The skies were bleeding.
Chapter 15
The Spies
“No, no, no!” Sabium said, his hands on his forehead. “For the tenth time, focus.”
Fadan grabbed a bandage and wrapped it around his bleeding fingers, gritting his teeth.
For the past couple of weeks, lessons with the old mage had grown increasingly frustrating. Fadan seemed to be making less progress every day. In fact, it actually felt like his abilities had decreased. A month ago, he had been able to easily light every candle in the apartment with a snap of his fingers, but just the other night he had nearly set his bedroom on fire trying to ignite an oil lamp.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” Sabium continued, helping Fadan clean his wound. “When I agreed to teach you, it was on the assumption that we would do it my way. This is far too advanced for you.”
“I thought you said becoming invisible was too advanced, but this was not,” Fadan retorted.
“No, I said that I refused to teach you invisibility because you were not ready.”
“Yes, and then you suggested traversing walls instead,” Fadan said.
“Because you wouldn’t shut up about it!” Sabium grabbed Fadan’s wounded hand. “Let me see that.” The old Mage carefully unfurled the blood stained bandage and inspected Fadan’s bleeding fingers. “You were lucky,” Sabium grumbled. “It missed the bone and the tendons. I think I can fix it.”
Muttering something beneath his breath, Sabium closed his eyes and placed the palm of his hand a couple of inches from Fadan’s gash. Then, something sparkled and the bleeding stopped.
Fadan felt a rush of relief as the pain subsided, replaced by itching.
“Grab me that jar of water,” Sabium said without taking his eyes off the wound.
Twisting, so not to take his wounded hand from Sabium’s healing touch, Fadan grabbed the jar with his other hand.
“Pour it over the wound,” Sabium instructed.
The Prince obeyed and watched as the blood was swept away. Somehow, the water’s freshness made the itching even worse, and then his jaw dropped. The V shaped carving where his fingers had nearly been severed from his hand began to close, filling in like a hole in the sand whose walls had collapsed.
“You need to drop this madness,” Sabium muttered as Fadan’s pink skin finished healing. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“You said I could learn this,” Fadan insisted.
“Obviously, I was wrong.” The old Mage took a deep breath, releasing Fadan’s now healed hand. “Listen, you’re still no more capable than a Novice. Traversing walls is something even an Initiate would struggle with. This is dangerous stuff. If the spell breaks, or you lose your concentration like you just did, you can find yourself materializing halfway through a door or something. Believe me, it wouldn’t be a pretty death.”
“At least, it would be a quick one,” Fadan said, smiling.
“This isn’t funny,” Sabium told him, looking not the least bit amused. “Just drop it and let’s resume your lessons. The regular ones.”
Fadan’s smile disappeared. “Master, I can’t just drop it. Not while Doric is still in the dungeons.”
Sabium exhaled loudly. “It’s because of my brother, isn’t it? He got into your head.”
“No, it’s because of mine,” Fadan said. “I made Aric a promise, and I intend to keep it.”
“Promise…” Sabium snorted. “You also promised your brother you would rescue him from Lamash, but I don’t see you rushing off to the desert.”
The Prince sank into a chair. “One promise at a time,” he said, looking down. “In fact, that’s precisely the point, Master. I’m already taking too long as it is. If I stick to your program, it’ll take me years of training before I’m ready to do anything. Doric will rot in jail and my brother will get eaten by a Dragon in some forgotten cave.”
“So you’ll just kill yourself instead?” Sabium asked. “Let me teach you the proper way. It’ll take a long time, but it’ll be worth it. You have potential, I’ve seen it, but you’ll waste it if you insist on learning without structure.”
Wind drafts seeping through the poorly built window shutters made the candle flames quiver. Winter had settled in Augusta for a couple of weeks now, and Fadan hugged himself against the chill.
“Maybe you’re right,” the Prince said. “I guess there is another way to save Doric.” He looked up to face his master. “I could ask the Rebels for help.”
“Oh dear…” Sabium said, turning around and heading for his bed before snapping back towards Fadan. “You do realize the Rebellion isn’t exactly a wine merchant, don’t you? You can’t just purchase their services when you need them and then forget about it. If you join the Rebellion, you don’t leave. And you do it on their terms.”
“You know, there’s something I never quite understood,” Fadan said. “I mean, you’re the Mage, not your brother. Why is he with the Rebels instead of you?”
Slowly, Sabium walked back away from his bed. “Alman is a fool,” he muttered. “Always was. Maybe the rebellion gives him a sense of purpose, I don’t know.” He stopped in front of his pupil, staring into the boy’s eyes. “What I do know is that the Purge cost me everything except my own life, and I’m not willing to sacrifice anything more for someone else’s political gain. Even if the Rebels are the Emperor’s enemies, that hardly makes them my friends.”
“I thought the saying said otherwise,” Fadan said.
“Well, the saying is wrong. Now, shall we learn something today or not?”
Fadan sighed. “I suppose you’re right. They might not be your friends, but they definitely are my father’s enemies. I’ll never have any business with them. I just want Aric and Doric to be safe, that’s all. Besides, the Academy believed in some really creepy stuff. If the Rebels share those beliefs, I really don’t want to join them.”
Sabium frowned. “What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Oh, right,” Fadan said. “I’m sorry. I know you were a member of the Academy, but I have to be honest. Some of the stuff in that book creeps me out. I fully intend to restore the Academy once I’m on the throne, but I will not accept those kinds of ideas.”
“What ideas?” Sabium’s frown had grown deeper. “Are you talking about your magic book? I thought it was all gibberish to you.”
“The sections that try to teach magic, yes. They’re gibberish,” Fadan replied. “But the philosophical passages are easy enough to understand, albeit very hard to agree with.”
“What are you talking about? There is no philosophy in any of the Academy’s manuals. I should know, I taught them.
All of them.”
Fadan shrugged. “Alright, call it whatever you want. It’s still creepy to me. What’s that phrase that keeps repeating? It sounds like a mantra… ‘If we keep the world from burning, all that will be left is darkness’. Do you agree with this? Cause to me, it just sounds like…”
Fadan cut himself off. Sabium had turned pale.
“Master, are you alright?”
“What did you just say?” the old man asked, his voice weak.
“What? About the book? The mantra?” Fadan took a step forward, readying his hands. Sabium looked about to faint or something.
“Where did you get that book?” Sabium asked.
“I told you,” Fadan replied. “It was in an attic in the Core Palace.”
Sabium exploded forward, grabbing Fadan’s collar. “How did you find it? Was it hidden?”
Fadan staggered backward. “It… it just fell from the ceiling.”
“Fell?” Sabium echoed. “How did it fall?”
“I… I don’t know. My brother and I had our backs to it when we heard it fall to the floor. It must have tumbled from the beams on the ceiling.”
Sabium released Fadan and began to pace the room as if he was looking for some way out of there. “Merciful Ava!” He stopped and turned to Fadan. “Listen to me very carefully. You are going to return to the Citadel, right now, and you are going to set that book on fire. Do you understand me?”
“I… yes, but why? What’s happening?”
“What’s happening is that you have found something you shouldn’t have,” Sabium said, his eyes wide. “Now go!”
Instead of obeying, Fadan stood still, looking defiantly at Sabium. “You sound like a madman,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere or burning anything unless you explain what the heck is wrong with that book.”
The old Mage swallowed visibly. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking tense. “I’m just not used to dealing with this sort of… thing.”
“What thing?” Fadan was losing his patience.
“Most people don’t know about this, but the Academy wasn’t the only place where Magic was taught. It was just the only place that did it legally. That phrase you mentioned, it’s not a mantra. It’s a prayer.”
“What?” Fadan asked. “There was no mention of Ava anywhere in the book, Master.”
“That’s because the people who wrote that book do not worship her,” Sabium replied.
“What do you mean? Who do they worship, then?”
“Fyr. The Dragon Goddess.”
Tarsus was a heavy sleeper, but, nonetheless, Cassia made sure she closed the door without a sound as she left his room. It was impossible to avoid his bed when the Emperor summoned her. It was what kept Doric alive, she kept telling herself. That didn’t make her feel any less dirty, any less nauseated.
Tiptoeing, the Empress returned to her room, opening and closing its door as silently as she had done in Tarsus’ room. A shadow awaited her by the bed, the glint of a blade sparkling in its hand.
“Easy, Venia,” Cassia whispered. “It’s me.”
The shadow sheathed its blade and sat on a chair besides the bed. “Will you be needing a bath, your majesty?”
“I will.” The Empress used a flint to light up an oil lamp. “But tell me of Fadan first.”
“He is out again, like every night,” Venia replied. “I am now sure someone is covering his comings and goings from Sagun’s men, but I’m not sure who it is.”
Cassia sighed and poured a jar of water into a basin. “I know I shouldn’t keep thinking about him as a child, but…” She leant forward and splashed some of the basin’s water on her face, scrubbing her cheeks, her mouth, and her neck. “I don’t know… it’s just strange that my son has his own spies, isn’t it?”
Venia shrugged. “If you say so.”
“Do you think I should confront him?” Cassia asked, a white towel softly muffling her words as she used it to dry herself. “Beg him not to do it?”
“Why would you do that?” Venia asked.
“Why?” The Empress tossed the towel besides the basin. “Because whatever he is doing is obviously very dangerous.”
“Whatever he is doing is requiring a tremendous amount of effort, your majesty,” Venia said. “He barely even sleeps. It obviously means a lot to him.”
“You’re right,” Cassia said, walking towards her bed. “I need to know what he is doing before making any decision. Can you follow him?”
“I have tried to,” Venia replied. “Three times. I always lose him in the sewers.”
“Interesting…”
“Not interesting, your majesty. Annoying.” Venia paused. “There is, however, a rumor.”
“Rumor?” Cassia asked.
Venia confirmed with a nod. “Some of the servants whisper about the Prince having an affair. With some girl. Either a Mantea or a Strada.”
“Oh…” Cassia was expecting a lot of things, but not that. “Well, that’s great.” She frowned. “I think‒‒”
“I wouldn’t get too excited,” Venia told her. “It’s too convenient. My guess is it’s a planted rumor. Something to fall back on in case the Prince is caught during one of his escapades.”
Cassia wilted slightly. “I see,” she said. “Will you keep trying to follow him?”
Venia nodded. “Of course, your majesty.”
With a huge sigh, Cassia let herself fall into her bed. “Oh, Venia… What would I do without you?”
“Not much,” Venia replied matter-of-factly.
The spy rarely had any problems speaking her mind. It amused Cassia to no end. The Empress chuckled, sitting back up.
“Don’t worry, your majesty,” Venia assured her. “Relying on spies seems to be a common trend among people of your station.”
Cassia snorted. “I had no need for spies when I lived in Fausta. When I was married to Doric.”
“Yes,” Venia said. “And that sure turned out great.”
Cassia chuckled once again. “I’ll be wanting that bath now, Venia.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Venia said, standing up. “A steaming bath coming up. Lots of soap.”
Sabium’s words still rang in his head. Fadan had left his master’s house immediately after the old mage’s breakdown, but he had not arrived at the Citadel in time to do as bidden. With the sun nearly up, all Fadan had been able to do was climb back into his room. Burning the book would have to wait until the next day.
That night, the Prince dreamt of a Dragon’s statue, its feet drowning in melted wax from a forest of candles burning around it. About twenty hooded figures encircled the statue, humming and chanting eerily, their shadows flickering behind them over a blood red floor.
In the dream, Fadan stood in a corner, making his best effort to keep quiet and invisible. Then, he had looked at his hand, realizing he still hadn’t mastered the invisibility spell. It had been as if his thoughts were heard by the hooded figures because their chants immediately died as they turned to face him.
He tried to look for some way out but found himself paralyzed. He tried using the spell to cross walls, but that didn’t work either. One of the hooded figures walked slowly towards Fadan, reaching out with his index finger until he touched the Prince’s forehead. It had felt like being touched by ice. When he woke up, Fadan could still feel the ice cold touch right between his eyes; a coldness that somehow spread to the rest of his body.
Fadan shook his head, pushing the dream’s memory away, and got out of bed. He dressed up in a blue uniform with his ducal insignia on the chest – Fadan had already inherited his mother’s Duchy – and the golden chevrons of a general on the shoulder. He had always felt ridiculous about having such a high military rank, considering he was still learning how to swing a sword, but the Emperor always insisted in obeying the formalities. All children of House Patros were the supreme commanders of the Legions. Their age was irrelevant.
Fadan rarely wore his uniforms, but it was something that pleased his
father, and ever since he had begun his magic lessons, Fadan wanted to make sure he stayed on the Emperor’s good side.
Today was a relatively light day for him, with very little on his schedule besides the usual official meals. Sagun would surely barge into the room momentarily to let him know just that, but these days Fadan always made sure he was aware of his daily program. It was a necessity now that he had less than two hours of sleep per night. Days like today were the only reason he had been able to maintain sanity during the last month. They were rare, but not too rare, and allowed him to catch up on his sleep at least once every other week.
Today, however, he had one little thing to care of before taking his nap – burning the magic book. Fadan had a hard time seeing how a simple book could be so dangerous, even if it did belong to a creepy group of people, but his Master had looked scared enough that he wasn’t about to take any chances.
There was a knock on the door.
“You may come in,” Fadan said.
Sagun, the Core Palace’s Castellan, walked in, his colorful Akhami robes fluttering behind him. “Ah, an extremely appropriate choice of attire, your majesty,” he said.
“Good morning to you as well, Sagun,” Fadan said as he finished buttoning his uniform’s jacket.
The Castellan reddened. “A thousand apologies, your majesty,” he said. “I was simply surprised that you were already wearing what I had come to suggest you would.”
“I know, I know,” Fadan said, heading for the glass cabinet containing his swords. “My father likes it when I dress like him.”
Sagun rose to the tip of his toes and peeked at the sword collection. “Might I suggest the Aparantan saber, your majesty? The silver bladed one.”
Fadan nodded and grabbed the suggested sword. It was a magnificent weapon, with a gilded sheath, a golden head of an Imperial lion on the pommel, and a filigree guard so exquisitely sculpted it made the High Priest’s cloths look mundane. It had been a gift from his Aparantan cousin on his father’s side and was a little too flamboyant for Fadan’s taste.
The Dragon Hunter and the Mage Page 29
