The Dragon Hunter and the Mage

by V. R. Cardoso

  Cassia made to respond, but heard someone else reply, “That’s alright, Barca.” She recognized Intilla’s voice. “I’m here.”

  The Legionary opened the door wider, making way for the High Marshal while slamming a fist against his heart.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, majesty,” Intila said to Cassia. Behind him, the door closed. “It’s been a… busy day.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Cassia replied.

  Intila acknowledged that with a nod and headed for the chair behind his desk. “What is it you wanted?”

  “To ask you about Doric,” she replied nonchalantly. “How is he doing? Is he being well treated?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Intila replied, sitting back in his chair. “I have handed control of those prisoners to Vigild weeks ago.”

  “I see. Has Vigild replaced you at everything else as well? He seems to have jurisdiction over the rebels now, maybe he will get the Legions too.”

  Intila frowned as his fingers played with the sharp end of a quill. “Vigild argued that since the Rebellion harbors most of the fugitive Mages, they should be under his Paladins’ jurisdiction. The Scriptorium has not lost its authority on this matter, but the Chancellor promised the Emperor some… eye-catching results. Despite my guarantees that the Scriptorium’s approach would provide a more definitive solution to the problem, my methods were considered too slow, and Vigild received the go-ahead.”

  “So this is what it’s been all about?” the Empress asked. “Is this why my husband… my former husband, is rotting in a dungeon while my eldest son is made into Dragon bait? So that Vigild can replace you as Tarsus’ favorite?”

  Intilla’s index finger tapped the dried tip of the quill. “It would appear so,” he replied after a while. “What was I supposed to do?”

  “Are you sure you want me to answer that question?”

  The quill flew from Intilla’s hands as he tossed it away. “Will you please stop beating around the bush already? What is it you want?”

  Cassia held Intilla’s stare for a while, then sighed, as if giving up. “Actually, I came to thank you. It’s true, I did. I know about Fabian,” she explained. “I assume you know about Venia?”

  “Of course I know about her. Who do you think chose her to be stationed with you?”

  “Then all the more reason for me to thank you,” Cassia said. “Fadan shut me out when Aric was sent away. Thank you for keeping an eye on him.”

  The High Marshal told her it was nothing with a wave of a hand. “It was as much Fabian’s idea as it was mine,” he said. “A Prince should not be alone.”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure he is not alone. I think he has found a different kind of friend outside the Citadel, Intilla. That’s what worries me.”

  “You have nothing to worry about. I am mobilizing every resource available to me. If the Prince is among the prisoners, we will find him and we will release him. The Emperor will be none the wiser. I guarantee that.”

  Cassia studied the High Marshal. Was that display of confidence simply for her benefit? It wouldn’t be besides Intila to do so. He had always thought of her as some fragile, helpless little girl.

  “I know you’ll do everything you can,” the Empress replied. “Just tell me one thing, and please be honest.”

  “I’m always honest with you, Cassia.”

  She nodded. “What will Tarsus do if he finds out about Fadan’s… abilities?”

  “He’s your husband,” Intila replied. “I would hope you, of all people, would know the answer to that.”

  “That’s the problem,” Cassia said, getting up. “I really don’t.”

  “Margeth, what the heck are you doing?” Alman demanded, struggling with his shackles. “He’s a friend!”

  The Arch-Duchess paced along the small basement, her eyes locked on Fadan. The Prince returned her stare, trying to look as calm as he could. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of wriggling uselessly against his restraints.

  “How many of my people do you think your father would be willing to trade for you?” Margeth asked, ignoring Alman’s pleas.

  “You’ll have to ask him,” Fadan replied. “I’m sure it’ll be an interesting conversation.”

  “Margeth! This is insane!” Alman insisted. “He came here with me out of his own will.”

  The Arch-Duchess raised a finger at him. “You will address me as my Lady or Arch-Duchess,” she warned him. “You may have lost your title, but I have not.”

  “Not yet, at least,” Fadan muttered.

  “Ah!” Margeth returned her attention to the Prince. “Spoken as a true Epulon. There’s just one problem. Without his Legionaries, even an Emperor is as harmless as steel to a Dragon. You’re not in your Citadel anymore, young Prince.”

  “If you really believe that,” Fadan replied, “why don’t you take this Syphon off of me?” He showed his hands and the Glowstone encrusted handcuffs binding them.

  Margeth chuckled. “Please…” She stepped towards the Prince, reached into his shirt, and pulled the Transmogaphon around his neck out from under his clothes. “You are a Novice. Theudis over here could probably take you on his own.”

  Fadan inspected the man. He was wearing a studded coat, much like the ones the weapons instructor always made him wear during practice. There was a long scar that split his face in two. It was evidence enough that this man knew how to use the sword hanging from his hip.

  “So, explain this me.” Margeth looked to Alman. “The Prince lands on your lap, tells you he’s a Mage, and you send him to your brother for some lessons. You even supply him with all the Runium he needs, but you never thought about mentioning this to us?”

  “I wanted him to join the Rebellion out of his own free will,” Alman explained. “It had to be his decision. He couldn’t be coerced.” His chin indicated Fadan’s shackles. “Don’t you see? It could change everything if he became one of us. Even some of the Legions could come to our side.”

  Margeth shook her head. “You’re a good man, Alman Larsa, but you are also naïve. Do you honestly believe he would betray his father? You think the Prince would join the losing side of a civil war? For what? The throne? It’s his anyway. All he has to do is wait.”

  “I might be naïve, Arch-Duchess,” Alman spat back at her as if the words tasted bitter. “But at least I know what I stand for. The Prince is a friend and this is not how the Rebellion should treat its friends. Do you want to know why the Prince came here?”

  “As a matter of fact,” Margeth said. “Yes, I do.”

  “To tell us how he plans on infiltrating the dungeons and help us release our friends.”

  Fadan caught Shayna and Lucilla exchanging a look.

  “Is that so?” the Arch-Duchess asked. “Well, you’ll have to forgive me if I’m skeptical. Besides, there’s so much we can achieve simply by threatening the Emperor that we’ll kill his precious heir. To me, that sounds a lot smarter than a suicide mission into the Citadel dungeons.”

  “Wait,” Lucilla said. Everyone turned to face her. “If the Prince truly has a plan, I want to hear it.”

  Margeth snorted. “You’re kidding, right?” she said. “I already made a decision.”

  “You’re not in charge here,” Lucilla replied. “You might be an Arch-Duchess in Pharyzah, but here, in Augusta, you are a guest.” She turned to the Prince. “What was the plan?”

  “There’s an access into the dungeons from the sewers,” Fadan explained. “Unfortunately, after my brother and I tried to release Doric from prison a few months back, that access was blocked. However, I can enter the dungeons from the Legion’s Headquarters using a spell. I’ve done it before. It shouldn’t be a problem. From there, I can open the sewer access and get your people into the dungeon.”

  “I am aware of your attempt to break Doric out of jail,” Lucilla said. “It was brave, a bit foolish too, and this plan of yours sounds awfully similar to your previous attempt. We all know how that turned out.”

&nb
sp; “We just have to make sure no one sounds the alarm,” Fadan replied. “But if it happens,” he looked at Alman, “we hide in one of the empty Palaces instead of going for the exits.”

  Alman smiled and gave the Prince a nod.

  “Hide about three hundred people inside the Citadel?” Lucilla asked. “I think not. Shayna, what do you think? Can it be done?”

  The woman in the blue bandana shrugged. “Hard to say. It’s as the Prince says. We’d need to neutralize every guard inside the dungeon before any of them sounded the alarm. The problem is, how many guards are we talking about? Our intel of the dungeon is good, but with today’s raid, I think it’s safe to say that they’ll have changed things up a bit. My guess is they’ll have at least tripled the guard.”

  Lucilla nodded thoughtfully. “And you?” she asked Fadan. “Are you truly willing to help do this?”

  “Yes,” Fadan replied. “I owe Sabium that much.”

  “Very well, then.”

  “You can’t be serious…” Margeth said. “This is a horrible plan!”

  “Margeth,” Lucilla sighed. “I’m sorry, my Lady. I’m sure your bureaucratic strategy to overthrow the Emperor is absolutely brilliant, but horrible plans are what we’ve been doing for the past ten years. Believe me, we’ve become rather good at it. Theudis, release Alman and the Prince. Shayna, gather a strike team. We’re hitting the Citadel dungeons.”

  The sloshing footsteps of the group echoed through the sewer. Fadan found it was remarkable how easy it had become for him to navigate the dark tunnels.

  Arch-Duchess Margeth had stayed behind. The strike team, as Lucilla called it, was comprised of seven men and five women, all wearing simple studded jackets. However, none had brought swords. Instead, they had favored knives. The logic seemed obvious to Fadan. They weren’t planning on actually fighting, just killing, because if any of the guards saw them coming, the mission was already over.

  “I have to apologize for Margeth,” Alman told Fadan. They were walking a few paces ahead of the group, and he was talking in a voice that was low enough that he wouldn’t be heard. “She was completely out of line.”

  “Well,” Fadan replied, “you did tell me you were afraid of what the Rebellion might do if they found out about me.”

  Alman sighed. “Yes, well… The truth is, we can’t afford to refuse anyone’s support. That has made the Rebellion into a… disparate group. For example, there are those, like Margeth, who envision the end of the Empire and a return to the city-states and kingdoms of old.”

  “Which would make Margeth a Queen,” Fadan said. “No wonder she didn’t like your idea.”

  “Exactly. But people like her are a minority. Unfortunately, that is because there are plenty of other factions.” He paused. “Which is why it would be so important for you to join us. You would give the Rebellion a purpose. A path. A leader for us to rally behind.”

  “Alman…”

  “I know, I know. I won’t insist, don’t worry. But I won’t lose hope either. Try not to hate me for that.”

  “Hate you?” the Prince echoed. “Alman, whatever happens today, I don’t think we’ll ever see each other again.”

  They exchanged a glance.

  “Well,” Alman said, “I sincerely hope not.”

  Fadan didn’t really have anything to reply to that, so instead he looked over his shoulder. “So, who’s she?” he asked, indicating Lucilla. The fire of her torch gleamed on her shaved head.

  Alman looked back to confirm who the Prince meant. “Lucilla? Well, she’s un-landed nobility,” he replied. “Well beneath your notice. She’s been with the Rebellion even longer than I. The soldiers respect her deeply, which is why she’s one of the people in charge of the Augusta cell.”

  “Soldiers?” Fadan asked. “You talk as if you have a standing army.”

  Alman smiled. “That’s because we do. We’ve been fighting a guerrilla war for all these years, but that will change sooner or later. When it does, we’ll be ready.”

  Fadan shook his head. “I don’t even need to ask to know you’ll be heavily outnumbered,” he said. “Even if you weren’t, it’s not any army that can defeat the Legions.”

  “You’re right,” Alman agreed. “Our men are well trained, but probably not as well as a professional Legion. Which is just one more reason why we need you so badly.”

  The Prince sent Alman an angry glare. “I thought you said you weren’t going to insist?”

  Alman raised his arms in an apology. “You’re right. I’ll shut up.”

  They arrived at a junction and Fadan stopped. When the rest of the group caught up with them, he said, “This is where we split. Keep going in this direction.” He aimed along the dark river of sludge. “Within a couple hundred feet, you will find a trap-door above your head in the upper wall. Wait there. I’ll open it from the other side.”

  The Prince received a few nods, and Lucilla even wished him luck.

  Hours had passed since Sabium had been arrested during their escape down at the Docks. Not only the morning but also the afternoon was long gone. At least it meant he would have the cover of night as he crawled out of the sewers, a maneuver he was now fairly experienced in.

  An empty garden met him as he emerged onto the surface, and whispers of conversation reached him as the Prince carefully closed the manhole behind him so as not to make a sound.

  A full moon glistened on the blocks of marble paving the streets. Around him, the silhouettes of towering estates displayed occasional lights shining from lonely windows. He caught the pleasant scent of burning pine coming from a nearby chimney. It reminded him of winter meals eaten in front of the warm fireplace in the great hall, and his stomach roared over the sound of the wind rustling through leaves.

  The Prince swung around, getting his bearing in the night, and quickly discovered the way to the Legion’s headquarters. If he was lucky, infiltrating the dungeons wouldn’t be any harder than the last time. Lucilla had given him a brand new vial of Runium, which he had downed shortly after entering the sewers. He didn’t exactly have a wide variety of spells to resort to, but at least, he didn’t have to worry about running out of magic.

  Squatting and keeping to the shadows, Fadan skirted the garden of the Strada estate. Beyond it, House Axia’s palace rose like a cliff. It was the only one in the Citadel without so much as a lawn around it. All the more shadow for Fadan to hide in – the shadow of the gigantic building itself.

  As a contrast, the relatively small mansion sitting right next to it, which the up and coming House Novara had recently acquired, was surrounded by what could only be described as a thick forest of cedar and pine trees. It was the perfect shortcut to the Legion’s Headquarters.

  Dead pine needles crunched beneath his feet, and Fadan slowed to almost a crawl, approaching the edge of the garden one careful foot after the other. As he did, his goal finally came into view.

  A pair of Legionaries stood guard at the main gate while another pair circled the building in a steady, but slow march.

  Fadan ran along the line of trees until he was at too much of an angle for the pair at the main gate to see him, then waited for the other two to circle behind the building.

  Come on, come on…

  The Legionaries disappeared behind the wall and Fadan raced out of his hiding place. Just as he cleared the tree line, one of his feet skidded on the slick surface of fallen leaves, sending him flat on his back with a thud.

  All air abandoned his lungs, and Fadan wasn’t sure if that was due to the fall, or the explosion in his heart as it began to pound on his chest.

  He sprang up like a frightened cat and squatted low. At the Legion’s Headquarters’ main gate, both guards still stood at attention, apparently oblivious of his presence.

  Fire take me!

  There was no point in hanging around. He jumped up and raced to the side wall of the blocky building. In his mind, he visualized the last time he had done this, remembering which door he had used to
enter the building. They all looked the same, especially in the dark.

  It was the third from left, he remembered. Yes, third from the left.

  Tapping his power, Fadan jumped through the door and landed inside. He was happy to be greeted by a familiar sight. This was definitely where he had come in the last time.

  Okay, almost there.

  He slid across the corridors, trying to keep to every shadowed nook he found. Surprisingly, he didn’t bump into any patrols inside. Every hallway was empty, and there wasn’t the slightest sound to be heard.

  His back to the wall, Fadan arrived at the corridor where the entrance to the dungeons stood. It was pitch black, with not a single light to guide him forward. It made no sense. Fadan remembered quite vividly the torch above the dungeon’s entrance. He had used it to trick the guard and slip past him.

  One thing was sure, Fadan was not going to make any light.

  His heart was pounded ever harder, and the Prince struggled to control and steady his breathing. For a moment, he considered checking his Transmogaphon. Was it malfunctioning?

  He slithered across the wall, his hands feeling the way ahead. With every step, he expected a guard waiting for him in the dark.

  The wall ended, and tapping his foot, Fadan felt the steps leading down to the dungeons. He turned the corner. Something glowed in the dark before him. Not a torch, not even an oil lamp, but moonlight, a sliver of it shining around the edge of the door. It was open. Just a tiny bit, but it was.

  Something’s not right…

  Fadan took a step back and considered running away. This felt too much like a trap.

  I’m the Prince, he thought, trying to shove the fear away. They can’t hurt me.

  He stepped towards the door, guided by the trim of moonlight, and pushed the other open. It creaked and Fadan jumped, but there was no one on the other side.

  What the heck is going on here?

  Everything in his body commanded him to turn back and flee, but he steeled himself and forced his feet to move ahead. It was too quiet. There was no sound at all. None of the wailing, coughing, or snoring he had heard the last time. It was almost as if…