“Ok. You were in the training area; Mom won’t let me go you know, she doesn’t think swordplay is very lady like and….”
“Ahem.” Their father cleared his throat and Eurydice blushed.
“…right. So you were at lessons, learning how to use a sword. One of the servants walked into the room to bring you water with a slice of lemon in it. He walked out and when another servant brought lunch a few minutes later…you, your fencing partner and everyone else in the room was unconscious. No one knows what happened, the water wasn’t poisoned or anything, it just looked like everyone had passed out, like a spell.” She explained.
“Wait…hold on…a spell? Like magic? You mean like card tricks and sleight of hand?” Tristan laughed.
No Mykl, like magic….
He wiped his head around as flame erupted from his mothers palm, she gently blew on it and it floated in between Tristan and Eurydice. He sat there, shocked and not wanting to believe; he reached out and held his hand above it….it was hot!
“Th…that’s impossible.” He muttered.
Eurydice looked shocked at that announcement as his mother and father exchanged meaningful glances, but it was his brother who spoke first.
“Tristan, don’t you remember us?”
“All I remember is being beaten, abused, ignored and punished…Ok?” He snapped needlessly.
This time his father stepped forward, he knelt down in front of Tristan. Concern clearly evident on his face he reached into the night table and pulled out a mirror. He held surrendered it to Tristan.
“You’re not eight Tristan. Look at yourself.”
Tristan took the offered mirror, doubt clearly evident on his face, and looked into it. The face looking back at him was wasn’t his own. It wasn’t the reflection he was used to seeing. What he’d expected to see was a skinny dark haired boy. The man looking back at him had long shoulder length hair, a few days worth of stubble and a faded scar running down the left side of his face.
The only thing he could recognize were his eyes, the same three colors of grey, green and brown looking back at him. It was at this point that he noticed he wasn’t wearing his hand me down suit, he was clothed in a comfortable short sleeved shirt and trousers made of a soft material he’d never felt before.
“You’ll be celebrating your twentieth Midsummer in a few months.” His father explained with a confounded look on his face.
“I thought I was telling the story!” She pouted theatrically and everyone in the room laughed, including Tristan.
Alright Mykl, tell your brother the story.
“Wait. What’s that word? Mykl? You call me that too.” He asked.
“I can tell you that.” His sister replied eagerly. “It’s what Mom calls all her children. It’s really funny when she calls Kevin it though, especially in front of his men.” She giggled.
“He’s so serious around them.” She whispered as though it was a grand conspiracy.
Everyone laughed again and Tristan looked over at his older brother and saw that he was genuinely amused at her observations.
“You would be too, little one, if you were their General.” He replied.
“Do they know I can beat you at chess too?” She said through a crooked smile.
It seemed like Tristans’ recovery had definitely brightened the room because everyone was once again laughing at her byplay with the family. She was clearly the baby that everyone doted on, but there wasn’t anything “spoiled” about her. She didn’t look pampered and didn’t give off the impression that everyone should bend to her will. It was very much outside of Tristan’s experience. His mind seemed to be stuck in the nightmare and all of his anger and resentment came back with him.
“So, anyway.” Eurydice cut off his dark musing. “When the servants found you unconscious they sent for a healing priest. When she arrived she looked over you and tried to heal you, only the spell that hit you had some sort of trap for anyone attempting to force it out.” She continued. “The spell rebounded on her and she died.”
Tristan ran his hand through his hair and tried to make sense of this information. Why had it killed a trained healing priest but spared him? As if to answer his question his mother began to speak.
“Mykl, no one knows why you survived. That particular spell normally kills people, only a handful of others in the course of our history have survived it. The spell is designed to render you unconscious and plunge you into some sort of alternate life. It was designed to steal your will to live.” His mother explained.
“Being our son has given you something of an interesting education to say the very least.” She continued with a chuckle. “Learning how to control your thoughts and strengthen your mind must have been what helped to save you.”
“Unfortunately it seems to have created a block in your memory though Tristan.” His father chimed in. “You still feel like the eight year old wretch and you don’t seem to be able to remember anything of your former life.”
Clearly this was the topic that had everyone in the room on edge. Kevin shifted uncomfortably, Eurydice’s eyes filled with tears again and his mother wouldn’t break eye contact with him. His father’s shoulders sagged visibly as he forced himself to continue.
“The healers are shocked you made it out at all. For the last few days you were unconscious it was clear that the spell was starting to eat your will to live.”
“That is why we had to force our way into your mind, Mykl. I’m sorry. I know it must have been terrifying.” His mother apologized.
“It didn’t really frighten me.” Tristan admitted. “I couldn’t feel any malice behind it, but it did make me think I was starting to lose my mind. Father Downing…or…well father I guess, taught me how to meditate and keep calm.” Tristan continued to explain. “I still feel like I’m grasping at something beyond me though. I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this, I guess it’s just nice not to have people screaming at you…”
At this his sister lost all her composure and flung herself around his waist again. The pain in his body must have subsided because this time it didn’t hurt, even though the wind was knocked out of him again by her over-zealous launch. He chuckled and put his arms around her, absent-mindedly playing with her hair. His brother grinned widely as his mothers eyes filled with tears again.
“You always do that.” Kevin chuckled. “It’s no wonder she likes you best.”
“That’s only because your thigh is bigger than she is.” Tristan shot back.
Everyone laughed again as he heard his mothers’ voice inside his head again.
That’s more like the Tristan I know.
I’m working on it. He sent back.
His mother gasped as everyone looked at her.
“What?” His father asked.
“He spoke inside my mind.” His mother replied with shock.
“He…can do that?” Kevin asked.
“Apparently…” She said uncertainly.
“Why, is that strange?” Tristan asked.
“Son, you were our first born…” His father began.
When Tristan glanced at his older brother, his father chuckled as he continued.
“…your older brother was from my first wife, she died years ago and then I married your mother.” He explained. “As I was saying, you were our first born and the priests didn’t think we would be able to produce children, your mother being a unique half breed. When we had you, there were…complications. Complications we didn’t experience with your sister. You were born fully mortal; there shouldn’t be any magic in you at all.”
“Maybe the priests were wrong, father. Maybe he does have some dragon blood in him after all.” Suggested his brother.
“I’m sorry, um…dragon blood?”
“Mom’s part-dragon and I am too. We can talk to each other through our minds, talk to animals, and do a little magic….nothing too big though. Dragon Magic isn’t what it used to be.” Eurydice explained eagerly.
“
How in the hell can you be part dragon? You both look human to me.”
Eurydice giggled as she explained. “Tristan, Dragon Magic is ancient, older than the priests and sorcerers. When a dragon wanted to visit a human town they would transform themselves into human form. Some dragons, who hated being hunted and shunned by most mortal races, would chose to live their lives as humans. They couldn’t breed properly and often the children were born deformed or dead.”
She looked at her mother as she continued. “Mom was different. There must have been some really powerful magic at play because she was born whole and with a dragon’s command of magic. Her mother was mortal, but her father was a greater silver dragon. Later, when Dragon Magic began to fade, she had you and then years later I was born. Now that the Dragon Magic is completely lost she can’t have any more children…just like the dragons who haven’t been able to have offspring for decades.” Eurydice explained with her eyes alight.
“Ten years apart to the day Tristan. You, then your sister, are the last children I’ll be able to have.” His mother explained sadly.
“Your sister has quite a bit of magic in her, no one is really sure why. But up until now, everyone just assumed you were completely mortal. Very interesting, I wonder if that’s how he survived. Annadora?” His father asked.
“It’s possible, having that spell cast on him might have awakened something already there….I’ll have to talk to father about it.” She continued.
“You get some rest now Mykl. Eurydice, let him go sweetie he needs some sleep.”
The stress of the day and still being exhausted from his ordeal, Tristan grudgingly agreed to get some rest as the family began to slowly leave his room. His brother came over to him, towering above his bed as he put a reassuring hand on Tristans shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
“You’ll be fine little brother. Get yourself some sleep and tomorrow I’ll have some drills for you, get you back in shape in no time.”
“Great…” Tristan replied with a sarcastic smirk. “Thanks Kevin.” He replied sarcastically.
Kevin laughed as he ruffled Tristans’ hair.
“You know I hate it when you do that.” Tristan commented.
Kevin stopped, staring down at him he said; “You’ll make it back. You’re tougher than you look.” With that pronouncement he grunted and walked out of the room. Eurydice gave him a parting hug around the neck, and then his father patted him on the shoulder as they left. The servants came in a removed the food and left a fresh pitcher of water.
Good night Mykl.
His mother stood up, hesitating as she was unsure of whether to come towards him and hug him or let him come to her. He knew this because he could feel her thoughts. He felt her affection for him and it burned like an iron inside him, knowing that his memories had been forever tarnished because of the damage he had to endure in what had felt like an eight year nightmare. She turned to leave and he leapt out of bed, flinching slightly as he was still in a little pain.
Mother? He sent to her.
“Yes?” She replied as she turned around to face him.
In four strides he had crossed the room, reached out to her and pulled her into an embrace. Tristan was surprised that he was taller than she was. He felt so small and helpless; clearly his memories still betrayed him as an eight year old boy. They stood there, mother and son, finally reunited as it always should have been. Then she began to cry.
His father came back into the room and put a reassuring hand on Tristans’ shoulder as if to communicate ‘this is what she wanted’. Annadora allowed her husband to usher her from the room as Tristan turned around and began to explore his room.
As much as his emotions had been drained in the space of a few hours, he felt a renewed spirit and his curiosity took over as he began to explore his room. The four post bed up against the outer wall was made of black stained mahogany and upon closer inspection; the other furniture was made in the same fashion. There was a dresser against the opposite wall from the fire and a wardrobe in the corner to the right of the dresser at an angle.
On either side of the bed was a pair of windows, each one opened in the middle and had a clever latch that kept them together and shut. Opening one of them he noticed there were storm windows on the exterior that could be pushed out and locked with a sturdy hook and bobbin made of cast iron. He took a deep breath, noticing a faint humidity in the air. The window sill felt damp, hinting at a light rain.
Looking out from his window he could see the town below as it extended out a hundred yards to the massive assembly of docks. In the setting sun Tristan could make out dozens of sails on the horizon coming in and leaving the docks. The roofs of businesses and houses in town were all similarly tiled; the rain troughs were made of the same material and emptied into little barrels at the back of the buildings he could make out in the dusk.
The wooden barrels must have had no bottoms in them because none of the barrels seemed to have any water in them and it appeared to have just rained, perhaps the water was used to flush away the towns’ sewage into the bay? How Tristan knew this was a mystery but he assumed that some of his more mundane memories were beginning to surface. Simple things seemed to come quite easily, but complex emotions like the ones he felt for his mother and sister seemed to be very alien to his experience.
The roads in town seemed to be made of crushed rock packed down and sturdy as wagons, filled to overflowing with produce, meat, construction materials and cloth, rolled along being pulled by up to four draft horses. The teamsters hauling the cargo wore what seemed to be a kind of uniform with blue short sleeved shirts, grey trousers and wide brimmed matching grey hats. Some wore sandals and boots while others went barefoot, presumably retired sailors who were so used to working barefoot that they were more comfortable that way.
Poverty didn’t seem to be an issue, all the people Tristan could see from his third floor window looked well fed and happy, not much of a surprise given his father’s character seemed to be that of a man that cared deeply for those he was charged with protecting. As Tristan hung his head out farther to get a better view of the town, he noticed that it extended farther to the right and left of the harbor than he originally thought. He decided that there must be a hundred thousand people living in this city if the town extended the same way to the south. The sun was setting off to his right and as it dipped below the surface of the water he swore he could make out what must have been a huge dragon flying south.
He shook his head with a smile and turned his attention back inside the room. Tristan noticed a desk, made of the same black stained wood, to the right of his wardrobe. He approached it began looking through the books that littered its surface. There was also an ink well in a circular cutout closest to the wall with a few quills in a metal cup next to it. He looked up at the wall in front of the desk found a map of the continent and overlapping the ocean to the south of the map was an enlarged map of the country of Vallius, which he took to be a confirmation of where he was.
Tristan studied the map closely, trying to memorize names of places, though after the stress of the day he quickly abandoned the pursuit and sat down. Some of the books that littered the desktop were bound in leather while others in some form of cloth. He picked up a book with several dog-eared corners and began to skim through it.
He was quickly interrupted by a small knock at the door. Tristan closed the book he’d been reading, a historical text on the surrounding countries, and walked over to the door. He was still very unsure of what to expect and his distrust of people in general caused him to barely open the door and peek outside.
“Good evening my Lord.” The man said happily.
The servant, Tristan assumed, wore the typical blue shirt and grey trousers that appeared to pass as a uniform here. This servant though had a gold band around his right arm and wore knee high black leather boots. His mustache was trimmed and well kept as was his hair, though it was thinning. His hair was brushed back, shoulder length and was the shade
of autumn wheat. He smiled warmly as Tristan open the door wider and stepped back to allow him entry.
“Does my Lord require the fire built?” The servant inquired politely.
“What? Oh! Yes please.” Tristan stammered.
“Very well my Lord.” He answered with a smile.
Tristan sat back down on the chair and thumbed the books anxiously as the servant busied himself in front of the fireplace. The servant pulled out a taper from a metal cup on the mantle of the fireplace and knelt in front of the fireplace. He neatly organized the pieces of wood into a rough house style construction and then lit the taper from a nearby candle and started the fire.
“Why do you call me Lord?” Tristan asked as he continued to stare at the books.
“You are a Prince of the Realm my Lord….” He replied as he busied himself in front of the fireplace. “Is there another title you would prefer?”
“Just Tristan actually, I’m not very comfortable with this...royal thing.” He admitted.
“Very well, young Master Tristan.” He replied as he stood up, looking slightly confused.
Behind him a merry little blaze was growing, spreading hypnotically across the wooden construction he’d built.
“Would you like help getting dressed for bed sir?” The servant asked.
“No, I can dress myself thanks.”
“Very well Master Tristan. Goodnight to you.” He said with a smile.
“Goodnight.” Tristan replied as the door closed. “Wait!”
“Yes sir?” He replied, sticking his head back into the room.
“What’s your name?” The young Prince asked.
“Carl sir, I’m the senior servant, if you require anything just ask for me.” He replied jovially.
“Thanks Carl.” Tristan said quietly.
Smiling, Carl closed the door as he called out again; “Goodnight young Master.”
Draconis' Bane Page 5
