The Dragon Hunter and the Mage (17 page)

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 least 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.

Perfect for some target practice,
he thought.

He could already picture himself conjuring bolts of energy, destroying plates and jars from across the room.

Fetching one of the tables and one of the chairs, he fashioned a desk for himself in one corner, placing his studying material on top of it – the manual on Magic and the Runium flask.

Sitting down, he grabbed the vial and inspected its content. The Runium looked like mercury, its streaks of red reminding him it had been made of Dragon blood. Fadan grimaced, picturing having to drink that thing.

Well, I suppose I should start with the theory, anyway,
he thought, placing the vial down and opening the book.

“By all accounts,” Fadan read from the first page. “Magic is as counter-intuitive as breathing underwater. Learning to do it consists of teaching your body that everything it knows is wrong. Up can be down, fire can freeze, air can be solid, and so on and so on. It becomes all the more difficult considering Wizards can’t permanently be under the effects of Runium – such experiments were made by numerous Wizards throughout history, always with gruesome results. This effectively means that everything you retrain your mind and body to believe under a dose of the potion will immediately resume its state of falsehood as soon as the effects wear off.”

Well… this should be easy then.

“While the detrimental effects on your learning of Magic, of not being under Runium, will diminish with experience, one thing will never change. No spell, charm, incantation, or other form of Magic can ever be learned without the influence of the Dragon blood concoction. It would be like trying to climb a ladder without having a ladder to climb. Attempting to learn Magic without first drinking Runium is thus, an exercise in futility.”

Alright, then…
Fadan thought.
Straight to practice it is.

Trying not to think too much about it, Fadan closed his eyes and tipped his head back, swallowing the Runium in one single gulp.

It tasted like iron. Or was it blood?

At first, all he felt was a freshness coating his throat. Then, it began to warm further and further until his mouth, throat, and stomach were on fire. Fadan had drunk strong liquor before, but this was much, much more powerful. The burning kept increasing until it became almost too painful to endure. Fadan regretted not having some water to sooth it with.