The Dragon Hunter and the Mage (3 page)

“What do you think you’re going to do with that?”

He was a big man, and his nose bore the marks of many tavern brawls. He advanced towards her, his hand ready to grab her wrist. At first, Eliran stepped back out of fear, then out of her own will. The man chased her until she was cornered against a wall. At the last moment, Eliran stepped forward instead of backward.

Caught off balance the man didn’t even see Eliran grab the knife with both hands and swing it up, clumsily, until the blade drove itself through the man’s chin, into his mouth. He howled in pain, grabbed the knife’s handle and pulled it off. A jet a blood gushed from it.

The Wizard apprentices panicked and screamed hysterically. Not even Eliran managed not to.

Scared from the pain and the streaming blood, confused by the screams, the man dashed off in a random direction, bumped into a window, and fell from it.

Eliran grabbed her satchel firmly, took Rissa by the hand and rushed out the door. The other girls didn’t require her to tell them to do the same.  

It wasn’t hard to understand why the Mages had told them they could only step out from their hideouts when the sun came up. The streets quickly filled with people and life. With the exception of the physical signs of violence from the previous days, everything seemed to have gone back to normal. A group of children strolling down the street looked completely commonplace. Still, though the city was covered with Legionaries and Eliran thought it best to leave the girls behind a fish stall that, apparently, had lost its owner during the riots.

Accompanied by Flara alone, Eliran looked for ways to leave the city. She talked to merchants planning to restock somewhere south and asked the price of hiding in the potato carts of a couple of farmers from a neighboring village. She discovered there were spice caravans headed for Saggad within two days, and eventually arrived at the Fyrian square from where people could climb the Mage Street, the one that led to the school of magic. Flara was scared out of her mind and stayed by the entrance to an inn, but Eliran walked right up to the center of the square.

At first, she pretended to examine the statue at its center, where five Dragon Hunters defeated a colossal Eastern Short-tail. Then she found the courage to approach the exit to Mage Street. Even at that distance, it was very obvious not much of the majestic building was left. Only one of its five towers was still standing, and even that one was missing a third of its original height. From the ruin columns of smoke still rose, and what had once been the main gate was now dust beneath the boots of a dozen Legionaries. They were formed rigidly, blocking the access to the smoldering building.

Eliran wanted to see it, to search the building for survivors. What if there were people trapped in the basement or the underground tunnels? She could go around the back, use some distraction spell, or maybe wait for night to fall….

Her planning was interrupted by a panicking Flara.

“Please, let’s get out of here,” the little girl begged.

Sighing, Eliran did as she asked. The two of them talked with a couple of other potential rides out of Niveh and finally decided to join the other girls. They were exactly as Eliran had left them, and it was as if they were even more scared than the night before. Eliran wondered if that wasn’t her case as well. After all, what was she was going to do? Where could she go? Was it safe to return to her family in Ragara? What if the Emperor had arrested them for being the parents of a girl with the Talent? What would she live off if she really was alone? How was she going to hide the fact that she was a Mage for the rest of her life?

“Where are we going?” Eliran asked the girls.

By the looks on their faces, the question hadn’t occurred to them yet. They had been all too happy to let Eliran make all the decisions for them. Shouldn’t she decide that as well?

“I can’t decide where each of us goes,” she explained.

“But… aren’t we going to stay together?” asked Rissa.

“We can’t,” said Flara. “I want to go home, to my parents. We should all find our families.”

Sarina agreed.

“My family was arrested,” said Tajiha, staring at the ground.

“We should head west,” said Lassira. “They say the school in Awam is still functioning.”

“That’s a lie,” Flara replied. “No school survived.”

The twelve apprentices broke into a discussion over whether there were any schools left or not until Eliran silenced them with a yell.

“We’re going north. To avoid the Legions, the best way out of the city is through the river, and the river goes either to the north or to the Shamissai Mountains, so we’re going north. After that, anyone who wants to go a different way can go. Anyone who wants to finds their parents can look for them. Anyone who wants to find the school in Awam can do that as well.”

Everyone agreed and shortly after they were headed for the docks. There was a boatman who intended to transport wine barrels to Augusta, and whose barge had more than enough room for all of them.

“Twenty-five golden crowns, here you are.”

The boatman took the coins and felt their weight.

“Yes, but now it’s fifty.”

“Fifty?” Eliran couldn’t believe it. “We agreed twenty-four, two for each person, and I’m offering you an extra coin.”

“Yes, but that was before I knew you were all children.”

Eliran felt her stomach turn and her face became as red as a pepper. “What difference does that make?”

“It makes all the difference,” the boatman replied. “I don’t know if, for some reason, you’re running from the authorities….” As if to prove his point, he stared ostensibly at two Legionaries leaning against a nearby wall.

Eliran wanted to shove the idiot in the water and watch him drown. Instead, she turned around and stuck a hand in her satchel.

“Let me see what money I still have,” she said with her back to him.

The boatman smiled.

Eliran searched for a little while and finally found the Runium flask she so desperately had wished for the night before. She opened it and took a generous sip from it. Confused, Rissa opened her mouth, but Flara covered it before she had time to blurt out anything.

Eliran turned back around to face the boatman.

“I have exactly what you need.”

She held out her hand and the boatman looked curiously at it. When Eliran opened her hand, all the man saw was a flash of light, quicker than a blink of an eye. The boatman was ecstatic.

“Oh, my lady! For that money I’ll take you to south Aletia, if I have to.” With a smile the size of the world, he indicated the way to his barge. “This way, please. Go right ahead, little mistresses. Careful with that step. That’s right. Feel right at home.”

They all embarked and sat down on the deck. All except Eliran, who remained on the dock.

“Eli?” Flara was confused.

“Good luck, girls. Hope to see you all one day.”

The boatman jumped to the barge, still smiling, and placed himself aft of the ship.

Rissa looked about to cry. “Eli, where are you going? What’s wrong?”

“Take care of them, Flara,” Eliran said, then she snapped her fingers and the boatman untied the ship and propelled it away from the dock.

“Eli, please!” Rissa begged. Flara had to hold her.

Eliran waved as the boat sailed away, but she was unable to hold the girls’ sad stares for very long.

She turned around and left.

Chapter 1

Aric could see the inner courtyard, five stories below him. Two men circled each other with swords held high, their bodies tense, ready to spring into action. Without warning, the shortest one struck directly at the other’s head. The rest was a mess of wooden swords smacking against each other until the fake blade of one of them hit the other’s wrist. Aric heard another series of smacks, but this time, they were right next to him.

“Your class is up here, my Prince.” Old Macael was probably the only person who called him that.

The professor pointed at a parchment filled with geometrical shapes and numbers. Aric followed his twig-like fingers and examined the values before him, adding some numbers in his head, moved a few pieces in his abacus, then ended up sighing, defeated. Macael gave him a look that demanded more than that, but Aric paid him no attention. Down below the inner courtyard witnessed a pirouette that finished with a sword smashing uselessly against a shield. What did he care about the height of that triangle? And if it was so important, why couldn’t he just measure it with a ruler?

“You can stand there sighing all afternoon, but I’ll still have to give you this lesson and my Prince will still have to hear it. Might as well pay attention and learn something.”

“Why can’t I learn how to fight instead?” Aric asked.

“I’m afraid that’s not something I can teach you,” Macael replied.

Aric sank in his chair, hugging his abacus.

“That’s not what I meant,” Aric said, staring down at the combat in the courtyard.

“I know…” Macael replied. “The Goddess gives us all a different role to play. It’s up to us to enjoy it as best we can. There’s no point in envying what other people do.”

At that moment a sword smacked squarely on the head of one of the warriors in the courtyard, knocking him down and making his helmet fly. Aric laughed.

“The Goddess should have given Fadan faster legs.”

This time, it was Macael who gave up, rolling the parchment with his circles, triangles, and hexagons.

“Well, I think I’ve had enough of trying to compete for your attention today. You may go.”

Aric’s face lit up. He threw his abacus onto the table and jumped towards the door.

“My Prince!” Macael called. Aric stopped halfway through the door. “It might be better if you don’t get too close to the courtyard.”

Aric’s face darkened again. He gave a dull nod and disappeared.

Intila, High Marshal of the Emperor’s Legions, watched the light pouring in through the stained glass window behind the massive oak table where the council met. The glasswork consisted of a very colorful depiction of the siege of Victory. Intila was sure that whoever had lived through the event would have witnessed no other color beside arid brown and blood red. Yet, on that three story window, the last great battle of the unification of the Empire looked more like a tribute to spring than a faithful representation of the historical siege.

As usual, Chancellor Vigild read an unending list of reports, missives, and related documents, so the Marshal took the opportunity to examine the fragments that made the stained glass, each one meticulously cut to achieve its particular form. He calculated that it was the millionth time he had done so.

Beside the Emperor, there were five other people attending the meeting. Fressia, the Emperor’s Secretary, was furiously scribbling down everything that happened. Scava, the Treasurer, slept in silence. Seneschal Daria was organizing several piles of documents in preparation for her own briefing of the council. And finally, there were Admiral Cassena and Constable Fervus, two creatures Intila considered most useful exactly as they were right now – blankly staring at nothing with their mouths open.

“Apparently, our agents in Imuria haven’t gone mad. There truly is a King, or Chieftain, or whatever they call him, who has gathered over fifteen tribes under his banner.” Vigild threw the piece of parchment onto the table as if he was about to yawn. “Naturally, the Aletines are in a panic.” He grabbed another document but was suddenly interrupted.

“Well, that sounds important…” Cassena said, unsurely. “Maybe I should put the Eastern Fleet on alert?” The Admiral faced Intila, looking for help, but didn’t get as much as a glance in return, so he found himself facing the piercing eyes of the Emperor instead.

Tarsus was a tall man whose flesh had been consumed by worries, leaving nothing but bone beneath his pale skin. His long hair, slightly below his shoulders, was no longer black, but streaked with grey, just like his beard.

“Alert?” Tarsus asked. “Because of half a dozen barbarians?”

The Admiral trembled and tried to mumble out, “Well… it is known that, I mean, historically speaking, these unifications… In fact, during your great-great grandfather’s… no, before that….”

It was Intila who put him out of his misery, placing a hand on his shoulder to quiet him down. The poor man simply let himself wilt.

“Moving on…” Vigild said. “We have the issue of the tax collection in South Ake.”

“Issue?” the Emperor asked.

“There have been problems with tax collection among the farmers in South Ake,” Vigild explained. “It’s nothing unusual. These situations tend to happen after a tax hike.”

“We increased taxes? When?”

“Two months ago, your Majesty,” Vigild replied.

“Where does that report come from?” Intila asked.

“It’s not a report. It’s a letter from the Duke of Ashan.” Vigild returned to the document and read out loud, “Upheavals across the plateau, yada yada yada… was forced to mobilize my guard etc. etc. Marching on the revolting farmer
s‒
”

“The Duke of Ashan with an army? Marching?” The Emperor suddenly lost his color.

“To pacify a revolt, your majesty,” Intila said.

“Excuses!” Tarsus slammed his fist against the table so hard Intila was sure the Emperor would have blood on his knuckles. “Duke Amrul is a traitor. He supported and protected Mages openly during the Purge. This is a display of strength.” He stopped for a moment, his eyes obsessing over the horizon. “The tax hike is nothing but an excuse. He probably intends to turn the population against me.”

The council members exchanged a few looks. Unsure about what to write on the minute, Fressia asked, “Majesty… what… how should I register that?”

Tarsus V, Emperor of Arrel, paused and studied the face of each of his councilors.

“It is unacceptable!” he said at last. “I cannot allow the Lord of some half a dozen acres of land the right to command his own military forces.”

The table was silent. Intila felt his spine freeze and saw Vigild raising his eyebrows.

“Majesty… it’s the distribution of powers. It has always been like this…” Intila said.

“Fire take the distribution of powers!” Tarsus exploded. “There can be only one power in the Empire.
The Emperor’s
. Distribution…” he sneered, “what do the Dukes and Counts want with an army? Are they planning to invade a foreign country?” Intila was going to explain but Tarsus didn’t allow it. “They want to challenge their Emperor! That’s the distribution they seek.”

No one was brave enough to reply, and Vigild didn’t even seem interested in doing so, but Intila could not hold himself back.

“Majesty… we’ve had this discussion dozens of times. They want to protect themselves. They want a guarantee that the Emperor won’t just take everything for himself.”

“They will have
my
personal guarantee it won’t happen,” Tarsus argued.

“With respect, my lord, but after the Purg
e‒
” Intila suddenly felt an urge to choose his words carefully. “After the prohibition of magic… they won’t understand.”

Tarsus punched the table once again. “It has been ten years! The Purge is nothing but a memory.”

“A memory of rebellion and insurrection, your majesty. Thousands of dead. Dozens of noble houses annihilated. Not to mention…” Intila paused a moment, but he was no coward. “Not to mention the hundreds of Wizards that were executed.”

“Traitors, all of them!” Tarsus turned to Vigild with a burning stare. “I want a law drafted within the month.”

The Chancellor nodded respectfully.

“I’m afraid I must protest, your majesty.” Intila took a deep breath and prepared himself to elaborate, but Vigild cut him off. 

“Worst case scenario, every Count and Duke raises his army against the Emperor.” Tarsus froze at the sound of that as Vigild continued. “Would the Legions not be able to contain them?”

If he wasn’t such a proud man, the Marshal would have been offended by that question.

“If the Legions march, no army will stop them,” the Marshal declared. “We will scale the Phermian mountains with our bare hands, cross them on foot, destroy the combined might of the Imurites and Aletines, and occupy the whole of Arkhemia if the Emperor so wishes. But this is….”

“Then we are fully prepared for the worst possible outcome.” Vigild smiled. He gave the Emperor a pleasant bow. “I shall have the law drafted as you ordered, your majesty.”

Tarsus looked relieved and Intila slumped in his chair with a sigh. He turned around to the stained glass window beside him, where the battle for Victory still raged colorfully. His mind was flooded with countless corpses hanging from the Emperor’s gallows, oceans of flames swallowing entire cities, and rivers of blood covering the streets.

Aric ran down the spiral staircase of the Green Tower. The Emperor’s Wizards had called the tower home for centuries, but only a dozen tutors lived there now, all of them non-magic. Once at the base of the tower, he ran towards the courtyard of the Core Palace, sneaking in through one of the corridors that fed the hundreds of rooms of the building. He climbed two stories and reached the outermost corridor of the west wing. The sun was so low it was almost impossible to stare directly at it through the windows, the walls lined with stone statues the size of real men.

Aric walked through them. He passed a General with the Imperial lion roaring in his chest, a Chancellor reading from a scroll, a Dragon Hunter with a spear over his shoulder, and finally, he stopped in front of a peasant, armed with a fork in one hand and the flag of Arrel in the other. He didn’t even bother checking to see if someone was watching him before he removed the flag from the peasant’s hand, untied the cloth with the Arreline arms, and ran back to the staircase with the flag pole in his hands.

He lunged down the stairs with impetuous pirouettes, swinging the pole from one side to the other. He slashed, parried, and thrust through the air, knocking down a dozen enemies, until he landed back in the great hall. At that moment, the gate creaked and Fadan, all dressed for war, stepped in followed by his combat instructor. His head was wrapped up in bloody bandages.

“Aric!” he called with a smile. “I took a real beating today.”

Aric smiled back. “Nah, you were great.”

“You saw?”

“I was having a class with old Macael.”

Fadan’s instructor moved uncomfortably but didn’t have the courage to interrupt them.

“Oh, then you must have seen my whole training.” The two laughed. Fadan motioned his chin towards the flag pole. “Were you practicing?”

Aric hid the pole behind his back. “No… of course not.” He blushed.