The Dragon Hunter and the Mage

by V. R. Cardoso

  Aric said yes with a nod and started to walk away.

  “Hey!” the Sergeant called. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Behind a bush. Or should I piss on your boots?”

  The other Paladin, the one with the huge mole, grabbed Aric’s arm.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  Holding his arm, the Paladin took Aric to a small clearing seven paces behind the fire. Aric tried going further into the woods but the Paladin’s fingers dug into his arm.

  “This is far enough,” the Paladin said, motioning towards a small bush.

  Aric didn’t move, and instead danced from the Paladin to the bush.

  “What?” the guard asked.

  “It’s that…” he replied, embarrassed. “I actually wanted to… do everything.”

  The Paladin cursed his luck and told him to hurry with a gesture. Aric began to drop his pants but stopped midway through the movement, staring at the Paladin.

  “Do you mind?” he asked.

  The Paladin groaned but turned around. With the guard looking away from him, Aric crouched and combed the ground. The moon was mostly covered by clouds, so he couldn’t tell a mushroom from a tree branch. Fumbling around, he found three pebbles, a twig, and several leaves, until he finally felt the polished surface of a large rock, but it was partially buried.

  “Are you going to take all night?” the Paladin asked.

  Aric made a sound as if he was pushing with all his strength, making the Paladin cover his eyes and twist his face in disgust. Trying not to laugh at his own theatre, he dug his fingers into the dirt around the rock, exposing its side. Then, he buried his nails as deep as he could and pulled hard until the rock gave and climbed into his hands. He pulled his arm back, taking aim.

  The Sergeant appeared out of nowhere. “Why is this taking so long?”

  Aric hid the rock behind his back.

  “He wanted to take a dump,” the other one replied.

  Urin looked at Aric suspiciously. In one fluid movement, Aric put the rock inside his pants and rose as he pulled them up, praying that the rock would not roll down his leg.

  “All done,” he said.

  The Paladins took him back to the cell, and when they got to the door Aric showed them his handcuffed hands.

  “You can keep those,” Urin told him.

  The cell door slammed behind Aric and the lock clicked into place.

  Disappointed for having lost the mobility of his hands, he watched the guards walk away from the cell window. He tried to take the stone from the back of his pants. Obviously, the cuffs didn’t exactly help, and he almost dislocated his shoulder trying to reach around his back but using the wall as a lever, he eventually managed to release the rock. It fell and he grabbed it, feeling its weight. A hit over the head with that would cause a lot of damage, even to someone wearing a helmet.

  He smiled happily. The following night would be very different.

  As they entered the heart of Samehria, the temperature became hotter, and the cell became a dark oven. Sweat had been dripping down his body like a fountain for the last couple of hours.

  “Can you please give me something to drink?” he asked.

  There were two Paladins riding near the back of the carriage. One of them was the one with the big black mole, but it was the other one who replied.

  “We can’t open the cell while we’re moving.” As he said this, he opened a wine bag he was carrying on his belt. “You can drink when we stop.” He made a motion as if he was toasting with someone and drank two long gulps, then smiled.

  Aric swallowed a curse. He didn’t, wouldn’t, give that jerk the satisfaction.

  “Speaking of stopping,” the Paladin with the mole said. “How much further until we get there?”

  “I don’t know,” the other replied. “These Samehrian roads are always the same.” He scanned the landscape. “I’ll ask Urin.” He spurred his horse and disappeared towards the front.

  The Paladin with the black mole watched his comrade depart, then got near Aric’s window and gave him his own wine bag. Aric promptly accepted and drank greedily. It was without question the worst wine he had ever tasted, but it quenched his thirst.

  “My name is Corca,” the man said.

  Aric thanked him and returned the wine bag.

  “I assume you know who I am?” Aric replied.

  Corca nodded and backed away, still looking surly.

  For the first time since entering Samehria, Aric saw houses appear by the road. They became more and more frequent and all looked the same, their round rooftops made of the same brown stone as the rest of the walls. It was as if their builders had wanted them to be indistinguishable from the ground. At the same time, the road became busier, with carriages coming and going in both ways. Eventually, they crossed the gates of an enormous city wall and then crossed a series of clogged streets until the carriage stopped.

  The cell door opened and he was told to step outside, his gaze immediately drawn to a gigantic fortress commanding the whole city. It possessed only one tower, around which the rest of the building cradled. If it wasn’t for its white color, it would have been hard to tell the fortress from the hill where it was standing, but Aric recognized it from the illustrations of several books in the library. He was in Victory, the capital of Samehria.

  That was the perfect place to stage an escape. Victory was almost as large as Augusta. If he could manage to get away from his guards, it would be impossible for them to find him in the middle of the crowd. All he needed was a chance like the one he had had the previous night.

  One of the Paladins pushed him. “Move!”

  They crossed the door into a stone building the size of a hut. Once inside, all Aric could see was a stairway that seemed to go down forever. The polished steps and mossy walls looked far more ancient than any structure he had ever seen.

  “What is this place?” he asked as they landed at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Welcome to the Bloodhouse of Victory,” the Sergeant told him.

  Aric’s eyebrows moved up, puzzled.

  “You rich people call these places Rune Temples,” Corca told him.

  Aric had never been inside one, especially because no one was allowed inside, except for Paladins, of course. He had read as many books about them as he had found. The accounts of the explorers who had first found them, the tales of the Alchemists who had deciphered its mysteries. He had even read the ramblings of the Historians who had spent their lives studying them, each with his own wild theory about the origins of the sacred places.

  It was very different from what he had imagined. He had only ever seen illustrations of the Brewing Chambers, where Dragon blood was transformed into Runium. But he had expected something wider, more spacious and dignified, not these dark, cramped tunnels that were covered in moss. After all, this was supposed to be the work of gods, not men.

  This place was far more interesting than any forgotten section of the Citadel. It was a shame to be inside such a building and not be allowed to freely explore it. With his head spinning in every direction, he tried to collect as much information as he could. The torches lighting the way were sparse, but around them, where the fire made the walls golden, Aric saw the famous Runes etched upon the stone. The entire structure of the Temple was supposed to be covered in them. Unfortunately, and without better lighting, there was no way he could confirm it.

  After a few turns and a couple of massive wooden doors, the Paladins locked him in a dark cell and Aric cursed his luck. He had never been in such a remarkable place. It was as if he had just jumped into one of the stories of the ancient Surface Runners, but was not allowed to turn the page. Not to mention it would be impossible to attempt an escape that night.

  He leant against the bars, looking miserable.

  Maybe tomorrow.

  He studied his prison. Even the walls of his cubicle were laden with the ancient, mysterious Runes. There was another cell i
n front of his. He peered inside and saw a shape.

  “Good night,” he said. He got no answer. “Smuggler?” he insisted.

  Whoever it was finally decided to reply.

  “No.”

  “Mage, then.” Aric had never met one.

  The man responded in a sour voice. “What about you? You’re too young to be either.”

  “I’m just unlucky.”

  The prisoner chuckled and decided to approach his bars. A thin stream of light revealed his features. He was old, a long scruffy beard hiding his face. Wrinkles crossed his dark face like scars, brightened only by liquid, blue eyes. Aric was certain he had never seen such a solemn face.

  “If you had Runium, there would be no way they could keep you in here,” Aric said. “How did they catch you?”

  “You’re full of questions,” the man said. “Shouldn’t you be crying over your fate?”

  Aric shrugged. “I will escape. I still have several days of travel between here and Lamash. An opportunity will come up.”

  “Lamash?” The man studied him. “A skinny kid like you? You won’t last a month.”

  Aric looked down his own body. “I’m not skinny.”

  Was he?

  “You better escape, little boy.” The prisoner turned around and returned to his darkness. “The desert will finish you before you even see a Dragon.”

  Somewhere inside his cell, the man laid down and seemed to forget about Aric, who kept analyzing his own body.

  Steps echoed outside his cell and Corca, the Paladin with the mole on his nose, appeared on the other side of the bars. He just stood there, holding a bunch of keys.

  What did he want?

  Corca slid one of the keys into the cell door, unlocked it, and stepped in.

  “Have you eaten?”

  Aric said no with a shake of his head, but his stare was stuck on the now opened door. The Paladin had not locked it behind him. It was the chance he had been waiting for.

  “That stone you have behind your back,” Corca said. “Hand it over.”

  Of course….

  Fuming, Aric gave the Paladin his stone. The man felt its weight.

  “You could have killed me with this.” His voice was unsettling.

  “I didn’t want to kill anyone,” Aric said, avoiding Corca’s look. “The plan was to put you to sleep, at best.”

  “Even if you did, there are a dozen guards between this corridor and the exit. They would slice you to bits.”

  Aric squeezed his mouth shut.

  “Just the excuse they needed,” Corca continued. “They would get to go home earlier that way.”

  “They wouldn’t!” Aric screamed. “My mother would know. They would hang for it.”

  The Paladin stepped up to Aric.

  “Yes, you mother…” he said. “She really likes you, doesn’t she?”

  What kind of question is that?

  Aric said yes with a nod.

  “Enough to pay good money if someone helped you escape, am I right?” Corca asked.

  Aric couldn’t believe his ears. He said yes once again but this time, he meant it.

  The Paladin smiled. “Stay quiet. Don’t try anything stupid. I’ll take care of everything.”

  Is he serious?

  “As soon as we deliver you in Nish, you’ll no longer be the Paladin’s responsibility. After that, I’ll find you and release you, that way no one will suspect me. Then, I’ll take you back to Augusta and your mother will reward me.”

  Aric stared at him with bulging eyes and muttered another yes.

  The Paladin gave a satisfied nod, then left, locking the cell behind him. “I’ll get something for you to eat,” he said as he walked away.

  When Aric finally remembered to thank him, Corca was already gone. On the cell across from him, the old man laughed.

  “I guess you’re not that unlucky after all.”

  The days went by, as monotonous as the red landscape around him. He tried his best to do everything as they told him, to be as discreet as possible just as Corca had instructed him. For more than once, though, he had the feeling that the Paladins were trying to provoke him. It was as if they were looking for an excuse to unload their frustrations on him. In the beginning, he had no idea why a defenseless prisoner bothered them so much, but he quickly realized he wasn’t just any prisoner. He was a member of the Imperial House. What did they care if he wasn’t a son of the Emperor, or that Tarsus hated his guts? To the Paladins, Aric was nothing but a spoiled brat who had had the gall to throw it all away by defying the Emperor.

  No wonder they felt jealous. A little brat had been braver than they ever could.

  Cowards….

  In Samehria, cities and villages were few and far between, so they were able to sleep under a roof only a couple of nights. The remaining five nights, they camped by the side of the road, but Aric refrained from any other escape attempt. The trip would last only a week or so. Nish was way down south in the Cyrinian March, a thin strip of land stretching from the Western Sea to the Eastern Sea, that separated the Mahari desert from the rest of Samehria.

  They arrived after the sun had set on their ninth day of travel, but not even darkness could explain how empty the city felt. Through his carriage window, Aric did not see a soul, and most buildings looked abandoned, with broken windows and doors sealed with wooden boards. The carriage finally stopped in front of an enormous white building where they were greeted by an old man wearing a Samehrian tunic. The Paladins marched inside with Aric in front and were visibly upset when the old man told them the Hunter who was supposed to pick him up hadn’t arrived yet.

  “What does that mean?” Urin, the escort’s Sergeant, asked. “He arrives tomorrow? After that?”

  The old man shrugged, not looking very concerned with that matter. The Paladins cursed and complained loudly about the time it would take to get back home. Ignoring them, the old man signaled Aric to follow him to a staircase.

  They were on the last step when they heard, “Where do you think you’re taking him?” Urin asked.

  “To his room,” the fragile old Samehrian said.

  His skin was the color of wheat. He had lost most of his teeth, so his lips curved inward, slightly disfiguring his tender expression.

  “He can’t leave our side,” the Sergeant said.

  “The boy belongs to the Guild, now. He’s no longer your prisoner,” the old man informed them.

  “He’ll belong to the Guild when the Hunter picking him up arrives. Until then, he’s my prisoner, so get him down here.”

  “This Bloodhouse belongs to the Guild.” The old man motioned towards Aric. “So, if the boy is here, he’s not your prisoner. He’s our Conscript.”

  He might have looked fragile, but he showed no sign of fear.

  “Every Bloodhouse belongs to the Emperor, old fool. Now get him down here unless you want me to get him myself!”

  The old man did not even flinch. He frowned challengingly.

  “Admirably brave, threatening a toothless old man. I might not hunt Dragons any more, or be young enough to teach you a lesson, but you can’t leave here before my fellow Guildsman arrives and takes the boy from you.” He held onto the railing and bent towards the Paladins. “I can assure you, he does not possess my limitations.” He turned his back to them and continued climbing the stairs.

  Aric was unable to suppress a smile on his face. He might not have any intention of joining the Guild, but he couldn’t picture anything better than those jerks being humiliated by an elderly man that could barely walk.

  The Samehrian opened the door to one room and showed Aric inside. He walked in but stopped midway through.

  “I don’t mean to abuse your generosity, but….” Aric showed his cuffed hands.

  “Don’t worry,” the old man said. “As soon as they fall asleep, I’ll steal the key.” He winked, then left.

  The man kept his promise. One hour later, he showed up carrying a tray of food. There was goat
cheese, slices of grilled ostrich meat, dried dates, bread, a large mug brimming with beer, and a small key. He helped Aric get rid of his cuffs, then stood watching him devour his dinner.

  “Are you scared?” the old man asked as Aric licked some fat from his fingers.

  He wasn’t anymore. Not since Corca had promised he would help him escape. But before that he had been, a lot, so he decided to say yes.

  “That’s natural. You would be a fool not to. In the desert, everything conspires to kill us. Hunger, thirst, the sun, dune lions, scorpions. Dragons, of course. Even Eliran.”

  “Who?” Aric asked with a mouthful of cheese.

  “Eliran, the desert Witch,” the old man replied as if everyone knew that.

  “There’s a Witch in the desert?”

  “Wherever there are Dragons, there are Wizards.”

  “But… why would she want to kill me?” Aric had never harmed any Mage. He actually wished he was one.

  “Ten years ago the Empire killed everyone like her. Can you imagine surviving that? What would you do if you were in her place? Would you have any friends among the non-magical folk?”

  Aric did not know how to answer that.

  “The Guild will teach you to survive in the Mahar,” the old man continued. “Where to find water, how to protect yourself from sandstorms, even how to kill a Dragon. But they can’t teach you how to protect yourself from Eliran.” He paused and there was a small silence. “Oh, many will tell you she doesn’t exist. They’ll tell you she’s just a story to frighten young children. But she’s real, and she’s out there. So if you see her… run, boy. Run. Or you won’t live to tell the story.”

  Aric felt a chill drum down his spine but told himself it probably was just a story to frighten young children. Besides, he wasn’t really going to Lamash. Corca would help him escape.

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” the Samehrian asked.

  Aric replied with a shrug. “I have no reason to believe or doubt you. I just got to Nish. I know nothing about the desert, or Witches, or about what a Witch might want in the desert.”

  “Ah!” the old man said. His eyes shone. “That is the question, is it not?”