“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 farmers‒”
“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 Purge‒” 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.
There was an uncomfortable silence when Fadan was unable to reply, a voice seizing the moment of silence.
“The Prince should clean himself up. Dinner will be served briefly.”
Fadan rolled his eyes. Sometimes he could swear Sagun spied his every move. He said goodbye to Aric and left, followed by his instructor who was stopped by a piercing stare from Sagun.
“Next time do not allow these conversations to last this long.” He pointed at Aric as if he was a shelf. “Grab the boy and force him away if you must.” He gave the instructor leave to go and turned to Aric. “It’s not proper for you to delay the Prince. The Emperor is most punctual.”
“It is also not proper to talk about someone as if he isn’t there when he is.”
The Castellan’s eyes narrowed. “Your dinner will be ready in the kitchens. You may go as soon as…” he looked down at Aric’s flag pole, “…you finish your weapons training.”
Sagun turned around, making his black braid twirl around him as he walked away.
Aric watched him leave, picturing a thousand ways to use his ‘weapons training’ on Sagun.
The sun was still refusing to set, so Aric wandered around the castle. He roamed through corridors and stairwells, visited empty halls, and peeked through the locks of immovable doors. It was a familiar ritual; one he did with most of his free time. Sometimes he would leave the Core Palace and visit one of the smaller palaces in the Citadel. The empty ones were his favorites.
He sat on a battlement, watching the sun disappear behind the countless towers of the city of Augusta. Then he considered visiting his mother, but she would be getting ready for dinner. The Emperor demanded that she was alway
s glamorous. Sometimes though she excused herself from dinner, claiming to be sick, then found a way to tell Aric, who would then sneak into her room so they could eat together.
But today wasn’t one of those days. He decided to go to the library. He enjoyed reading about the Empire’s expansion and the various wars that had led to the unification. His favorite book told of the second war of Akham and the conquest of Saggad, where one his ancestors, Geric Auron, had scaled the walls of the city alone and under the cover of darkness. The book ended with Geric opening the gate from the inside, with half a dozen spears sticking out of his chest. On that day, an Auron had been a hero of the Empire.
He walked along the book shelves but none caught his attention, and he ended up sitting on the floor in front of a massive tapestry covering an entire wall of the library. In it, a Dragon had been painted sleeping in a cave. On the lower left corner, hiding behind a rock, a group of Dragon Hunters prepared to spring an ambush. Something in that tapestry had always scared him. It wasn’t just that the Dragon was so gigantic that it covered an entire wall while the Hunters were no bigger than a book, it was that, for some reason, it gave him the feeling that the Dragon was not really asleep.
He heard a roar. The Dragon still slept, but not his stomach. He got up and headed to the kitchens, pushing open a service door and nearly bumping into a maid carrying a roasted duck.
“Hey! Damn kid….” The woman didn’t move an inch from her trajectory.
Aric laughed, watching her leave for the main hall. In there the Emperor, his mother, and Fadan would be starting dinner as well.
He sat down at a large table in the center of the kitchen between a pile of pastry dough and a bucket of potato peels. Around him a Legion of servants and cooks stirred, washed, rolled, and cut. One of them threw a plate with a roasted turkey leg in front of Aric. It smelled of rosemary.
“Thank you,” Aric said.
“Eat fast and clear my table,” the cook replied as he wiped his gravy covered fingers on his trousers.
Another cook, a middle aged woman with bouncing breasts, brought him some rye bread and a glass of red wine, then planted a kiss on his cheek.
“Good appetite, my sweet.” The woman turned around, heading back to her boiling pots, but stopped midway through. Luckily, there was nothing on her hands that she could have dropped.
“Ava mother! Your majesty!”
Aric’s head bolted towards the door in time to see Fadan passing through it.
“My Prince,” the woman continued, “you can’t be here. I mean… your majesty can do whatever he pleases. A thousand apologies, majesty.”
Aric laid a soothing hand on her shoulder, calming her down. The entire kitchen had stopped, staring at the Prince in frozen silence. They would not have been more shocked if a Dragon had just come in and started roasting a sardine. Fadan walked towards Aric with a smile, ignoring his audience, and sat in front of the potato peels. He looked around, seeing for the first time in his life the place where his food was prepared.
“Disappointed?” Aric asked.
“No. I actually thought your room was smaller.” Aric punched him in the shoulder, laughing. “And this smell of cheese… seriously, I was expecting much worse.”
The main hall of the Imperial Palace was so large you could easily fit a Dawnmother Temple inside, and Ava’s Priests weren’t exactly famous for their small Temples. The great table where Tarsus made a point of having dinner every day was filled with roasted ducks, grilled sea basses, stewed lambs, bowls of peeled fruit, jars brimming with wine, and breads of every shape, size, and color. A dozen courtesans occupied their seats, chit-chatting cheerfully. The Emperor came in from the main door, his steps ever worried. He glanced across the table but did not acknowledge any of the bows he received.
“Where are the Empress and the Prince?” he asked as he sat down at the head of the table.
“They should arrive momentarily, your majesty,” Vigild replied.
At that moment the Empress came in, her white dress, trimmed with green, sliding calmly through the hall. Her silhouette belonged in a tailor’s studio, her hair a mantle of night that poured down to the middle of her back, and her green eyes two emeralds stolen from a great Lady’s necklace. Cassia was the vision of a particularly talented poet.
The bows the Emperor had received were repeated for her. Tarsus laid a soft, reverent kiss on her hand. Even after fifteen years of marriage, the Emperor still needed a moment to catch his breath every time he saw her.
“Where is Fadan?” Cassia asked.
“I thought he was with you, my love,” Tarsus replied.
There was a brief pause while the Emperor decided whether to break his rigid protocol and authorize the beginning of the meal, but Sagun interrupted him before he could make a decision. He strode in through the door that led to the kitchens, neared the Emperor, and whispered something in his ear.
Tarsus’ face turned blood red. “You!” he pointed at a Legionary standing against a wall. “I want the Prince out of the kitchens and sitting here. Immediately!”
The Legionary slammed a fist against his heart and marched away at the sound of his armor’s clanking.
“Tarsus, they’re brothers,” Cassia said.
“To you, maybe. Not to me.”
“To them,” Cassia insisted.
Tarsus decreed the end of that conversation with a stare as the Legionary returned behind Fadan. The Prince sat down beside the Emperor with an irritated look.
“In the kitchens… like a servant,” Tarsus spat. “What are the rules on speaking to Aric?”
Fadan sighed onto his plate.
“Only hello and goodbye.”
Tarsus nodded, his eyes glaring.
“It won’t happen again, Fadan. Do you know how I can assure you of that?” The Emperor did not wait for an answer. “Because the next time this happens will be the last time he sleeps in this castle. Understood?”
A heavy silence fell on the table as those words sank into Fadan. Across the table, Cassia saw him tightening his lips, and after a very long, and very awkward silence, the Emperor decided to order the beginning of the meal. Everyone obeyed quietly.
“The Master-at-arms tells me the Prince has already mastered the compound attack,” Intila said, trying to break the awkwardness.
Fadan placed a hand on the bandages covering his head.
“Not well enough, apparently.”
That made the table laugh. Even Cassia made an effort to smile. The conversation continued on the subject of Fadan’s combat lessons, and Cassia was happy to see a smile return to her son’s face. Despite it, she couldn’t shake the thought that she had another son somewhere in the castle, all by himself. Aric would not hear compliments on his abilities or jokes. He wouldn’t feel the proud hand of his father rustling his hair as he told how he had knocked down the Master-at-arms for the first time in his life. In fact, Cassia thought, Aric would hardly even remember his father’s face.
At that moment, she saw a shadow slide across the arches on the rim of the hall. Aric appeared suddenly from behind a statue. Hidden by its shadow, her son peeked, looking for her.
Cassia’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces. She looked sideways to Fadan, who was now laughing at a joke Intila had told. Was it possible for a mother to love one son more than the other? No, surely not. But there were sons that needed more love than others, of that she had no doubt.
Aric stuck two fingers up his nostrils, then pulled his nose up in an antic. Cassia was unable to restrain herself and laughed out loud. She tried hiding her face, but not well enough. Tarsus saw her, looked towards Aric, and his teeth clenched. He closed a fist so hard that the blood disappeared from his hand, skin shining white. With a gesture, he called a Legionary and whispered something in his ear. An instant later Cassia saw a metal glove grab Aric’s arm and her son disappeared.
The Legionary dragged him through the corridors. The iron gauntlet around his arm hurt, but Aric trie
d his best to pretend like it didn’t. They got to his room and the Legionary threw him in as if he was a sack of flour, slamming the door behind him. Aric heard a padlock snap shut and realized that he was in the dark. Usually, someone lit some candles so he could get dressed, but apparently he wasn’t entitled to that this time. He opened a window, letting the moon shine in, then took a sleeping tunic out of a chest but simply threw it onto the bed. He wasn’t sleepy at all.
He was rarely locked in his room. Typically, he could escape and roam around the palace, maybe visit the library. But tonight it looked like even that wouldn’t be possible.
Sitting on his bed with a sigh he looked around, not that there was anything to see. His bedroom was kept empty by regular inspections from Sagun and his minions. In fact, the only thing adorning his walls was a dark mold stain shaped as a bearded old man, or a sinking ship if you tilted your head the right way. He sighed again and looked at the locked door, wishing he was a Wizard and had the power to open the lock, or simply pass through the wood. If he was a great Mage, Tarsus would not be able to treat him this way, but then again, maybe it was a good thing that he wasn’t a Wizard.
If he had the talent and knew how to use it Tarsus would finally have a reason to get rid of him, hang him for the crime of practicing magic. He had done it to all the Mages of the Academy when they numbered in the hundreds, what would keep him from doing the same thing to a fifteen-year-old boy?
A stone the size of an egg landed right beside him with a crack. It startled him, pulling him from his thoughts, but he immediately ran to the window.
“Fadan?!”
Down below in the courtyard, Fadan shushed him. Then he gestured for Aric to climb down. Aric struck his index against his forehead, asking if Fadan was crazy. Fadan simply crossed his arms.
Well, it was a way out….
Holding on to parapets, window shutters, and unleveled bricks, Aric climbed down the three stories separating him from the ground, finishing with a small jump that laid him at his half-brother’s feet.
The Dragon Hunter and the Mage Page 3