by D K Drake
He hung his head and began making his way to an empty table in the back of the room. Halfway to his destination, though, one of the bearded men reached out and grabbed his elbow. “Who are you, and how did you get in here?”
Javan could feel the threat in the man’s tone as complete silence overtook the room. This was a protected city. Unfamiliar faces automatically drew suspicion. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before looking at the questioning man. “I’m--”
“Whoa!” The black haired bearded man with a short forehead and square cheekbones dropped his death grip on Javan’s elbow and scooted back in his chair. “For a second I thought you were Dartez, but his eyes were never that green. That must mean the rumors are true. That must mean you’re his son. That must mean you’re the answer to the prophecy!”
A tidal wave of gasps flooded the room. Once it washed away, Hannah spoke. “Afternoon, everyone. Radic is right. This is Javan, son of my son Dartez.”
“How can that be?” Another bearded man stood a few tables away from where Javan stood. His hair was brown, his shoulders were wide and his voice was filled with angry skepticism. “Esmeralda told me herself that her child died at birth. Even if he did survive, that was fifteen years ago. This boy can’t be younger than a hundred, but he looks to be at least 140 or 150 years old.”
“I can assure you that he is my grandson, Javan. Feigning his death was the only way to save his life. And he looks much older than he is. His growth was accelerated due to the climate where he grew up.”
The man didn’t look satisfied with her answers, but he sat down anyway. Hannah thus continued, “We’ve been keeping him a secret so he can focus on his training with Ravier, Hamilton and Astor.” She nudged Radic out of his seat, used the chair for a stepstool and climbed onto the table. All eyes were on her as she announced, “He will be leaving for Japheth in a few days to enter the Battle for the Throne—as a Collector!”
The place exploded in applause, but Javan was too stuck on the immediacy of his departure to enjoy the cheers. A few days seemed incredibly soon.
Radic cheered, slapped Javan on the back and practically pushed Javan onto the chair he had just vacated. “Here. Take my seat. It’s the least I can do for our future king!”
The other three men at the table got up as well, allowing Hannah to sit across from Javan. One by one, the men filed by. They shook his hand, wished him well and told him how grateful they were that someone was finally standing up to the Dark King.
Soon the faces and well wishings began to blur together, and Javan was starting to wonder if he was ever going to have a chance to eat. Just when he thought his stomach would never stop growling and the line of adoration would never end, both the scenery and conversation changed.
“What can I get for you?” A thin, unkempt girl with long, braided brown hair who looked to be about twelve in earth years set two glasses of water on the table. She did so quite gracefully considering her wide blue eyes were locked on Javan’s green ones.
Rather than squirm under the scrutiny, Javan drained his glass, wiped his mouth and said, “More water, please. A menu would also be helpful.”
That brought the waitress out of her daze. “I’m sorry,” she said. “A what?”
“A menu. It’s a piece of paper that lists what food you serve. You do have menus, don’t you?”
“Sweetie,” Hannah said, “we only serve two things here for lunch: potato soup with salad or meat sandwiches with chips.”
Javan scrunched his face. “Oh. Well, I’m not a big salad guy, but I do like meat. What’s on the sandwich?”
“The R & R sandwich is the special for today,” the waitress said.
Javan looked to Hannah for some interpretive help. Fortunately she understood his look of confusion and said, “Rabbit and raxen. The rabbit meat tends to be soft and sweet, but the tough, tart raxen meat compliments it well.”
The waitress tapped Javan on the shoulder and smiled. “The meat is fresh. I caught and killed the animals myself this morning.”
“That’s impressive.” Javan tried not to let the churning of his stomach show on his face. He couldn’t imagine eating a cute, cuddly bunny or one of those oversized rats he saw when tracking Mertzer. “I am in training, though, and don’t want to eat anything too filling right now. I think I’ll go with the soup and salad.”
“I’ll have the same, Gesha,” Hannah said.
“Great.” Gesha looked disappointed but nodded and disappeared with Javan’s empty cup. The fact that she didn’t ask what kind of dressing he wanted on his salad made him a touch nervous. That probably meant they only had one option, and he had no clue what that option could possibly be.
He looked around to see if anyone else was eating the salad, but apparently the people of Gri favored the R & R sandwich. And staring at visitors. From the people in the booths to the groups of people seated at the tables throughout the restaurant, all eyes were on him even after they had filed by to say hello.
Is this what it felt like to be popular? People staring in awe at you wherever you went?
He thought he would enjoy being the center of attention, but it unnerved him. He shuddered, leaned across the table and whispered, “Everybody is staring at me. I don’t like it.”
“Tough,” Hannah whispered back. “You’re going to have to get used to it.”
Nobody had trained him for this onslaught of attention. A grueling private session with Ravier was looking more and more appealing by the minute.
◊◊◊
The newness of his presence wore off by the time his salad arrived, so he was able to eat without feeling like he was being watched. The salad turned out to be quite tasty even if he still didn’t know what the white dressing that topped the lettuce was called.
The best part of the three-hour lunch, though, was listening to Hannah tell stories about his adventurous father Dartez. The man was fearless and lived to explore. He’d been to every Stalker territory within Zandador and every region in the Great Rift. He could survive anywhere from the jungles in Gibbet to the deserts of Varzak.
He had even collected both a Dawn Stalker and a Noon Stalker.
The more Hannah talked, the more convinced Javan became that his father had found a way to survive in the Land of No Return. Once Javan collected his Stalkers and became King, he was going lead a search for his banished father. In the meantime, he had a more pressing problem weighing on his mind.
“Grandma,” he said, taking advantage of a lull in the conversation, “why does Ravier hate me?”
Hannah pushed her plate aside, wiped her mouth with her napkin and looked around. The place had slowly cleared out, and she and Javan were the only two remaining patrons. Nevertheless, she leaned forward and spoke in a softer tone than usual. “You have to understand that your grandfather was raised by parents who were loyal to the Dark King.”
“You mean Ravier grew up wanting to be a part of the king’s evilness?”
“In a way. He grew up wanting to be part of the king’s army. He wanted to protect the king he was taught to honor and punish those who dared rebel against him.”
“He didn’t have a problem with that even though he was from the Collector Bloodline?”
“No. But that’s only because he didn’t know anything about being a Collector. You see, when Ravier’s father Vince was recruited by the king to work as a scalologist in the castle, he cut himself off from his father Kenton and the rest of the Kaesemeyer clan. Vince never spoke of his family to Ravier, never told him about their Collector heritage and never taught him to respect dragons rather than fear and enslave them.”
Javan finally felt connected to his grandfather in some way: they had both grown up knowing nothing of their heritage. Ravier knew they shared that connection, so why did he still treat Javan with such emotional disdain? Perhaps the answer was hidden in the rest of Hannah’s story. He had to keep her talking. “How did Ravier find out who he was? Did he join the army? And why didn’t h
e ever try to collect any dragons?”
“Slow down,” she said, smiling. “I’m getting to all that.” She scooted her chair in a little closer and continued. “They had a good life. Vince was a brilliant scalologist and developed many new uses for dragon scales. He was well-compensated for his work, and they lived in the most luxurious section of the capital city.”
“Ravier wasn’t a science nerd like his dad?”
“Far from it. He was a soldier through and through. Thanks to his father’s connections, Ravier was able to train with the best swordfighters in the country rather than serve in the internships prescribed by the king for the youth of Zandador. When he turned 100 and was officially old enough to join the army, he registered on his birthday.”
“He joined the army on his 100th birthday? That’s so weird.”
“What’s weird about it?”
“This age thing. You’re lucky to live to be 100 on earth. Here, life is just getting started.”
Hannah laughed. “Well, I think it’s weird that you have such short lifespans on earth. That’s hard for me at age 312 to comprehend.”
“Wow. Old sure takes on a whole new meaning here.”
“I guess it does.” After they shared a laugh, Hannah resumed her story. “Anyway, Ravier loved his life. He proved to be a natural leader with a knack for strategy as well as an excellent warrior who was great with any kind of weapon.”
“He is pretty good with his sword.”
“The Dark King noticed that as well. Within two years, he had Ravier transferred from the general Patrol Unit to a member of the specialized Justice Unit. A year later, he was promoted to captain of one of the teams. By the time he was 110, he became the Commander of the entire unit, making him the youngest Commander in history.”
The pride in Hannah’s voice was obvious, but the significance of such a rise within the Zandadorian army was lost on Javan. “That would probably impress me if I knew what the Justice Unit was.”
“It consists of four teams of twenty-four soldiers plus one captain per team. Each team is assigned to one of the King’s Dragon Stalkers. When the king sends one of his Stalkers to a city to execute justice for breaking the law, the team travels with the Stalker and fights the rebels who dare fight back.”
“I don’t get it.” Javan sat back and wrinkled his nose. “If the Justice Unit kills people who oppose the Dark King, how was Ravier being the Commander of these teams a good thing?”
“Because that’s how he met me.”
Now Javan leaned forward. “I’m listening.”
“He had just taken over as Commander and had been sent to my city with standing orders to kill me.”
“This is getting good. Why?”
“I was suspected of protecting a dragon.”
“You mean you’re a Dragon Protector?”
“Yes. And the suspicions were true; I was protecting a Dawn Stalker. So the King sent Ravier with his Midnight Stalker to kill me and my dragon, Kalek.”
“What happened?”
“I had taken refuge in the Dawn Stalker territory. It took Ravier a week to find me, but he finally cornered me under one of the waterfalls that territory is known for. I did a better job of hiding Kalek; Ravier never did find her.
“Rather than kill me right away, he marched me back to the capital city so I could be properly executed in public. Along the way, I learned he was an arrogant man who was completely loyal to the Dark King. But I also learned he had a weakness: me.”
“You changed his mind about his loyalty to the Dark King, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did.” Hannah beamed. “By the time we made it to the capital, I had managed to convince him that he was wrong, and I was right.”
“So you ran away together, and that’s how you ended up hiding here in Gri?”
“Not quite. We instead devised a plan that would allow Ravier to remain in his position while working for the underground rebel movement. Ravier convinced the king he deserved a token wife for his impeccable service even though he was far from ‘legal’ marrying age. The Dark King agreed and let him marry me, thinking marriage to a soldier loyal to a Hunter was a worse punishment than death for a Protector.”
“Slick.”
“We thought so. Dartez was born a year later, and I took him to visit Kenton in Gri as often as possible. There he learned of his Collector heritage, and we were all convinced he was the answer to the prophecy. He began training to collect dragons before he could walk and seemed to be a natural.
“We kept his training a secret and by all public accounts raised him according to the Dark King’s rules. Like a loyal Zandadorian, he joined the army at age 100. And like a loyal Collector, he began collecting Stalkers. He had just collected his Noon Stalker when Ravier told him of a city slated to be ravaged by the Justice Unit.
“He and his stalker swooped in and rescued many people that night, one of whom was your mother.”
“She told me that story on the day she was captured.”
“So you know he brought her to Gri, and they were married illegally.”
“Yeah. She told me that.”
“When she was pregnant with you a few years later, she and Dartez came to visit Ravier and me. Ravier’s father Vince learned of the visit, the illegal marriage and you, the illegal child on the way. So he turned your parents in. Esmeralda became a prisoner, and your father was banished.”
Hannah’s voice grew softer and softer as she spoke and eventually faded away. She took a few long sips of water before continuing. “On the night you were born, Ravier called off a planned Justice Unit attack and abandoned the team he was with to help Kenton rescue you. He couldn’t explain his actions without giving away the secret that you were still alive, so he and I went into hiding. He’s been branded a traitor ever since.”
“He helped save me?” Great. That meant Javan was indebted to him.
“Yes, he did. But in his eyes, it cost him his job, his purpose and his son. It was easy to blame you when you weren’t around. Now you are, and it’s taking him some time to realize how foolish he’s been to hold a grudge against the most innocent person in all this—you.”
“I guess I can understand why he doesn’t much like me.”
“He’ll come around.”
“I just hope he doesn’t kill me with his crazy intense training tactics first.”
They shared a smile, but it was interrupted a second later when Ravier burst into the restaurant with Hamilton right behind him. “Get up, Javan. It’s time to go.”
Hannah stood guard. “Ravier, I already told you he’s done training for the day.”
“We’re not training. We’re headed to Japheth. We just got word Esmeralda’s execution is scheduled for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Javan gulped, but it didn’t help alleviate the panic. “That’s too soon! I don’t think I’m ready.”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Hamilton tossed Javan his belt loaded with his Stalker swords and stun balls. “Game on, kid.”
Chapter 29
Keeping Watch
The stillness of the river water beneath the moonlit sky calmed Javan’s shattered nerves. Since the time they left the restaurant late that afternoon, everything had been a flurry of activity.
Changing into the appropriate brown, bland attire. Packing supplies. Choosing okties. Flying in zig-zag fashion across Zandador to avoid detection. Setting up camp. Sparring with Hamilton, then Ravier. Being quizzed by Astor. Memorizing the plan to stop Esmeralda’s execution and introduce him as a competitor for the throne.
They were tucked in a quiet spot half a mile from the road that led to Elieve, a tiny fishing town to the west. The capital city of Japheth was to their north, the River that Divides Zandador just below his feet. He was taking the first watch while his three older traveling companions were getting some rest.
He had volunteered to keep watch. With all he had learned about Ravier earlier in the day, the rushed trip and the impendi
ng execution of his mother, he was too wound up to sleep anyway. He also couldn’t help but wonder how different his life would be once people knew who he was and what he was attempting to accomplish by collecting dragons.
He had lived in anonymity his whole life. Now all eyes would be on him. He was going to have people to lead. And enemies to fight. Was he ready for such a life? Was he ready for the spotlight?
What worried him more was whether or not he was ready for power. Could he handle it without losing his sense of self? Or would he let the attention and control change him and turn into an obnoxious, cocky, power-hungry scumbag like the Dark King he was going up against?
“One thing at a time, Javan,” he told himself. “One thing at a time. First you have to survive the night.”
A few deep, cleansing breaths eased his worries as he gripped the handles of his stalker swords girded about his waist and tuned in to the sounds of the night around him. He was on duty and ready to attack if any man or animal dared disturb his watch.
◊◊◊
As midnight approached, Javan struggled to stay vigilant. He had caught himself dozing several times. Fortunately he snapped to attention again whenever he heard the slightest sound, such as the breeze rustling the leaves or a small animal snapping a twig. But the noise that brought him back to attention at the moment was the sound of voices.
The voices weren’t coming from behind him in the camp he was guarding; they were coming from the direction of the town down the river. Had some of the townspeople spotted the camp?
Without bothering to wake Hamilton, Ravier or Astor, Javan made his way through the woods alongside the road to investigate. In a matter of minutes, he found himself looking at the town of Elieve.
The dirt road he had been following snaked its way through a small cluster of log buildings situated along the riverbank. No light shone from any of the buildings, and Javan would have assumed the place was deserted if three men armed with swords weren’t lingering at the edge of town.
Two of them were sitting on rocks and leaning against the side of the outermost building. The third had his back to Javan. He was picking up rocks and tossing them into the river.
