by Sohan Ahmad
“Father, what happened? Did the Merchant Guild deny our request?” Marcus asked with a quiver in his throat.
“Far from it,” Ramses answered, gazing out the nearby window, unclenching his fists if only for a moment. “The guild master is a uniquely honorable man, conscious of history. Corbin knows the only reason our people suffer droughts and infertile soil is because of his ancestors. Even if Chronosian fields ran dry, he would ensure the fulfillment of his contract. Thanks to his efforts, we should be returning with enough seed, livestock, and grain to feed our people through winter.”
“That’s wonderful news, Father,” Marcus said. “Then why you are still upset?”
“Because we are not returning with enough seed, livestock, and grain to feed our people through winter.” Ramses clenched his fist once more, pointing to a young teen standing silently in the corner. “This slave cost me nearly a third of what I gained from the merchants.”
Cyrus could hardly believe it. Father would never give away so much for a slave, certainly not for Mother and me.
“I had planned to take advantage of his master’s ignorance, but instead I was made the fool.” Ramses continued.
“Who is this boy to make you so desperate?” the prince asked.
His father responded, “In one year, he will be blessed with the curse of crimson sight, and we will have one of the fabled Drakes that struck fear even in the vile heart of the Snake Eater.”
Cyrus had never heard of such a clan. “What is a Drake?” he whispered to the Paladin, who entered in silence behind him.
Archonis caressed the fine silver in his beard as he answered, “Our historians claim that they were once a small clan concealed within the thick mists of the Scaled Cliffs who abhorred violence. A rare product of ancient Isirian blood mixed with that of Silonica to the east. Their eyes drink of blood on their fifteenth year, supposedly granting strength well beyond those of an average man.”
The young slave asked the question that any Southerner would have. “Did they truly frighten the Snake Eater?”
Archonis professed, “The stories are unclear, but shortly after scorching the South, Huber Chrona was said to have journeyed east where he discovered their village. He demanded that their men travel north to bolster his legions, and when they declined, he returned to eradicate their people from the pages of history. Even in victory, however, the Prime lost nearly one thousand men against the mere fifty who chose to defend themselves.”
“And some Drakes survived?”
Archonis nodded. “Those who escaped the genocide scattered across Colossea, doing their best to avoid the sword. Hundreds of years later, most believe them to be ghosts from a bloody past, tales told to frighten children, but I believe there are more among us than we realize.”
Father’s stories were true. They do exist. The prince appraised the young Drake as a farmer would a cow. He is tall, but I honestly expected more. His body is so slender, and his eyes have the fire of a tamed dog. Could they truly have been such a menace? “Father, what will you do with him?” Marcus wondered.
“For now, he will be your sword and shield as Archonis is mine, but in time, I pray he will prove to be as frightening as his ancestors,” Ramses answered, breaking his gaze from the nearby window to look at his son. As the words slipped through his lips, his eye twitched to the throbbing veins along his forehead. “More importantly, why are you so filthy in my presence? Have you lost your pride already, living so briefly among the Hawks? You resemble your servants, clean yourself at once.”
The Cardinal’s tone was steady as a summer stream, but the words crashed upon his son like a wave. Marcus quickly grabbed a rag to wipe his face clean and quell his father’s disappointment. The prince looked to offer the same scrap of cloth to his brother, but Cyrus shook his head. “Your father is already upset, don’t make it worse,” his eyes warned within the silence of sealed lips.
“Forgive me, Your Holiness,” Archonis announced himself with lowered head, eyes fixed to his feet. “I should have been stricter with the prince, but youth can be impetuous. Judge my sins, and I shall carry out any penance you decree.”
“Your sacrifice would serve little purpose, old friend,” Ramses said, motioning for his shield to rise. “My son must learn for himself if he is to ever take my place.” He then turned back to the boy. “Marcus, we cannot afford a childish prince. Our people do not have that luxury. Do I make myself clear?”
Ashamed, the prince nodded, but the Cardinal’s lessons were not for him alone. “If you are to remain by my son’s side, you must be prepared to protect him from all things, including himself.”
Cyrus too bowed his head. Your only son? Ever reminded of his place. “Apologies, Master, it will not happen again.”
The lecture concluded, Marcus renewed his intrigue for the young Drake as if it had never left. “What is your name?” he asked. “You look young. How old are you?”
The chained Drake looked to his new master for approval. “Go on, answer him,” Ramses commanded, swatting away the young man’s hesitation. “You are his as much as mine.”
“I am named Geno, My Master,” the young Drake answered Marcus atop kneeling knees, his skin as pale as mist and hair that glowed violet like a flower in the bloom of spring. “Fourteen years, I have been, My Master.” Though slender, his physique rippled with muscle.
“Do all Drakes have eyes your color before they turn red?” The prince asked, noting the glimmer of pale moonlight.
“I have not seen many others or their eyes, My Master. Please forgive, My Master.”
“No need to apologize Geno.” Marcus said. “And you don’t have to call me Master either. My name is Marcus, and this is my bro—” Ramses’s ears twitched as Marcus caught his tongue. “This is my loyal servant, Cyrus.” Once his father’s attention waned, Marcus whispered, “Please treat him as you would me.”
"As you command, My Marcus,” the Drake slave replied, nodding towards Cyrus.
The prince burst out in laughter. “Just Marcus.” Once proper introductions had been made, the prince’s tone changed. “Father, Cyrus and I saw something amazing in the bazaar.”
The sparkle in his eye glistened as his father raised a brow. “Well, hurry up and spit it out. We don’t have all day.”
“I saw a duel between two swordsmen,” Marcus replied, grinning wide as the memory spilled from his lips like paint on a canvas, abstract and messy until it finally took form. “Well, I did not actually see the battle, only the end of it. It was over before I could blink, but none of the Northerners reacted. I would not have believed my eyes if Cyrus had not also seen it. To defeat a warrior and vanish before the body fell—it was as if he was a ghost. Please, Father, allow me to begin lessons in the sword. How else can I defend Isiris from our enemies?”
The Cardinal glanced over to his friend and commander with a suspicious eye. “At once, Your Holiness,” Archonis nodded, offering his salute before departing without another word.
Marcus thought it peculiar, but both he and Cyrus had grown accustomed to the speechless conversations between Ramses and Archonis. Besides, only one thing mattered at that moment. “Father, did you hear me?”
“There will be time for that later, Marcus,” Ramses answered. “You are not ready,” he continued, swatting the notion as if it were a gnat buzzing by his ear.
“I am tough and strong and willing,” the prince claimed, his pale cheeks growing flush with red. “I am ready, Father.”
“To take a man’s life is to rule his existence, yet you can hardly rule your own emotions,” the crowned snake advised. “Aggression without purpose is the mark of an animal. Demonstrate to me that you have what it takes to lead, and then I will grant what you seek.”
Marcus argued and begged his father to reconsider, but Ramses would indulge no further. “You dare disobey me, boy?” In an instant, the prince severed the connection between his heart and voice as Ramses rubbed the inner corners of his eyes between thumb and
forefinger, releasing strain before turning to Cyrus. “Make sure my son is well cleaned. Do not allow this to happen again. Now go prepare your things and take the Drake with you, we make for the port at dawn. I tire of this city and its perpetual greed.”
The two boys offered no arguments, bowing their humbled heads before moving toward the door. “Come, Geno, you can stay with Mother and me for the night,” Cyrus advised.
“Wait,” Ramses interrupted. “Speaking of Isa, tell her that I would have words before nightfall. Ensure that she is accompanied by two cups of our driest wine.”
“At once, Your Holiness.” Though he obeyed, his fingers dug deep into his palms while the sparkle within the green pearls of his eyes scattered into the breeze. Just outside the Cardinal’s chambers, the boys descended a flight of hardened clay steps to find the slave mother tending to a garden of sunflowers surrounded by a bed of white roses. She looks happy. Her smile always finds a way to soothe my mind, Cyrus reminded himself as they woke her from her daze. “Mother, His Holiness summons you. Master said to bring two cups of the winter wine purchased from the bazaar.”
“Thank you, my darling, I shall go at once,” she said, rising listless and heavy. “You three should go gather your things. We have a long journey ahead of us tomorrow.”
Marcus and Geno listened as if she too was their mother. Revitalized by the prospect of returning home, the prince waved good night, marching to his bed upon hurried feet. Cyrus remained behind a moment. “Mother, I know…” But the foreign expression on her face silenced his tongue. Where’s your real smile? That empty one belongs to your lifeless shadow.
“Is anything the matter, my love?” she asked, noticing his lingering gaze and paused speech.
“No, Mother.” Her skin glowed like polished ivory within the sun’s tender embrace, distracting Cyrus from his own suspicions. “It’s nothing.”
“Then you should hurry,” Isa advised, waving her boy onward, “before the prince leaves you behind.”
His feet listened even if his heart could not. That’s right. Racing towards Marcus, Cyrus recalled a moment that had lain dormant deep within his memory. Just like back then, there’s nothing I can do for you. His eyes glazed wet as his fists clenched. But you already know that, don’t you Mother? That’s why you wear that forced face in front of me.
They parted to such sweet sorrow as darkness befell the skies to bring about the morrow, chilling the air as inhabitants of the Timeless City turned to their beds. Within the nightly quilt of stars and black, a dim light flickered to reveal a shadow swallowing another inside the Cardinal’s bedchamber. Faint noises oozed from a slightly cracked window below a slanted roof of ivory gold where Cyrus sat in silence, gazing into the full moon. How much longer will he force himself upon Mother? Will it end once we return home, or will it go on forever? The night breeze did little to chill the boiling tear against his cheek as he stared at the painted brand atop his chest. Only for as long as we wear his mark.
Cyrus continued to stare into the sky, hoping to find relief in the freedom of dreams rather than sink under the weight of his reality. Just then, however, he heard voices singing merrily from below. When he peeked over the nearby ledge, he noticed a young boy, holding tight the hand of his mother as they walked alongside an elderly man dressed in the fine fabrics of Chronosian nobility. Cyrus watched closely as they crossed the street, digging his fingernails into his father’s mark. Will he ever free us so we can smile and laugh like them?
Chapter 2: Bound by Love
As the stray, northern family approached their home within the noble district, the child, still holding his mother’s hand, posed a question to the tall, elderly man dressed in fine fabrics. “Father, why did you help the southern Prime today?”
“Actually, Sebastian, southern rulers are called Cardinals, but why do you ask?” The man replied, his smile reflected within his blue eyes.
“Our neighbors say Isiris is full of savages who kill each other and steal from us,” the young boy answered. “If that’s true, shouldn’t we hate them?”
“Oh, Corbin.” Sebastian’s mother glanced toward his father with hands clasped as if in prayer.
The strips of white that polluted Corbin’s otherwise chestnut hair tingled as he nodded, grasping her hands to brace brittle knees before kneeling in front of their son. “Isirians are good, honest people that our beloved kingdom has mistreated for far too long. But you should not listen to me, Sebastian, and you certainly should not listen to our neighbors. One day, you will meet with our southern neighbors and then, you can decide for yourself.”
Just then, a stout old man emerged from their home. “Welcome home, Master Dantes, Lady Tara, and young Master Sebastian.” Soft eyes glowed from behind a mask of coarse, white wrinkles to greet the noble family of three. “The others await you in the main hall, sir.”
“Thomas, you are a sight for sore eyes, old friend,” Corbin stated. His feathered coat floating loose against the wind, trimmed in silvery blue along the seams, as he limped through the glistening maple door.
Then, without warning, Sebastian leaped forth from behind Corbin’s shadow, brushing dirty blond hair against the old man’s arms. “Mother, can I stay outside and play with Thomas?” No older than the Isirian prince, Sebastian’s eyes of sapphire blue glistened bright against his light olive skin.
Much younger than her husband, Tara chuckled as her mane of gold spun down her long swan neck to the blades of her back. “The hour is late, my little Hawk.”
Tall for his age, yet thin for a highborn child, Sebastian pleaded, “Please Mother, just for a little while.”
A long breath released from Tara’s chest, her eyes twinkling at the boy like the warmth of an afternoon sky. “Darling; Thomas is not as young as he used to be. You can play tomorrow. Now come along, your stepmother and stepbrother wait inside.”
Sebastian’s head sunk into his shoulders, the blue dimming within his eyes. “Yes, Mother,” he said before embracing the old servant once more. “Goodnight Thomas.”
Once the door closed behind them, Sebastian’s stepmother, swirling with an air of arrogance, confronted the trio with a snarling sneer. “Oh, thank the gods, you are finally home, Dear. Edward and I were quite worried. What were you thinking being out so late with only Tara and Sebastian at your side? What if something had happened to you?” she asked as a wicked grin hid beneath her frown. “More importantly, what would your patrons within the Keepers of Prime think?
Corbin responded with a frown of his own, “There is no need for concern, Elize. Clearly, we have returned no worse for wear. As for the Keepers. The Feathered Crown’s inner council has much more pressing matters than what I do with my loved ones. I do wish you would temper your theatrics.” He continued on, torturing her with their exploits. “Dazzling though the acrobats and fire dancers may have been, I fear you and Edward would have found them far too lively.”
Edward, the first son, older by six years, shrugged. “Chronosian law may not forbid you from keeping a second wife, Father, but please do remember that my mother was first.” But just like Elize, he was petty. Their cold and putrid natures masked only by expensive scents and layers of beauty powder.
The elder wife groaned further. “Honestly, Corbin, to be so close to all of those filthy people is sickening. Street performers are no better than alley rats. You are fortunate no harm came to you.” Or your possessions, she thought before turning to her younger rival. “Please act accordingly when trouncing around with my husband. He is far too soft when it comes to you commoners.”
“Elize,” Corbin snapped, “your petty jealousy is a disgusting trait, unworthy of one who shares my name. Apologize at…” Words cut short as hands grasped for chest. His breath chopped into ragged beats, sweat dripping atop his wrinkled skin.
Tara rushed to his aid, wiping off the wet with the loose satin of her blouse. “Are you all right, my love?” she asked. “Please do not push yourself for our sake. Her words mean nothi
ng as long as we are together.” Sebastian followed suit, swiping at his father’s sweat with the edges of his gold and satin sleeves.
Corbin turned to her once the agony subsided. “Apologies, my dear. Why don’t you take Sebastian upstairs? It is long past his bedtime.”
Tara could not agree more. Forcing an empty smile towards Elize, she bowed, motioning Sebastian toward his bedchambers. “Fine,” the boy grumbled, before offering his father a tight embrace. “I love you very much, Father. Good night.”
Corbin returned the gesture, “I love you with all my heart. Good night, my son,” he said, kissing the boy’s forehead as his mother started to follow him up the steps of polished oak. The first wife and son stewed with resentment, squeezing their anger through the sweat in their palms. Once the stench of their disdain no longer perfumed their noses, they too retired to their chambers, located in the opposite corner of the manor.
As Sebastian awoke the next morning, he heard his mother screaming like never before. “Wake up Corbin, wake up my love!”
Father! He ran as fast as he could to find his mother pounding on his father’s chest.
Tara’s fierce tears dried within seconds of seeing her son enter. “Sebastian, go downstairs quickly and find Thomas,” his mother ordered. “Have him send word for a healer. Your father is not well.”
“Mother, I don’t want to leave him like this.”
There was no time. “Sebastian, please do as I say. You have to be strong, or he may die.” Gentle words would have to wait.
Tears soaked his cheeks. “I will be strong and find someone to save him.” Good boys listen to their mother. He reminded before venturing out with Thomas to the Healers Guild and returned nearly an hour later with two of their finest members. Oddly enough, Elize and Edward were nowhere to be seen. I’m glad. All they ever do is say mean things about us and make Father unhappy.