Martok took a moment to gauge the situation. Though he recognized Desmond, the rest were unfamiliar. The spells they were casting at present were reasonably harmless. But things might easily get out of hand if they moved on to more damaging magic.
He thought about what his uncle would want him to do. Go and get someone; that was the obvious answer. He would not want him to become directly involved. Then his thoughts turned to how his father would see the situation. In a flash, the decision was made.
“Leave her alone, Desmond!” he shouted.
All four boys swung around to face him. Seizing her opportunity, the girl jumped to her feet and began to scamper away. But Desmond saw this and his hand shot out and a coil of green energy snaked around her frail form, holding her in place.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said, grinning wickedly. He then returned his attention to Martok. “Look, lads. The lizard boy has come to play with us.”
“Watch out, Des,” said one of his companions. “He might breathe fire at you.”
“Or rip you to pieces with his talons,” said another.
Desmond laughed scornfully. “Is that right, lizard? Are you going to breathe fire?” He took a menacing step forward. “You know, I hear the men in his family have scales on their cocks. Is that true? I bet it is.”
“Just leave her alone and we’ll be going,” Martok responded, holding his ground. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Then you should have kept your stupid mouth shut,” Desmond told him. “This is our sport. And it’s none of your business.”
Martok glared at all four of them in turn. “You think torturing a helpless little girl is sport? It sounds cowardly to me.”
Desmond clenched his jaw tight. “Watch your mouth, Dragonvein. Or I just might forget that my grandmother is fond of your uncle.”
“And if you don’t want her to find out what you’ve been up to, you'll leave the girl alone and let us go in peace.”
The boy's top lip curled into a sneer. “Do you really think she’ll take the word of Ralmar Dragonvein's son? She’ll think you’re as insane as your low bred father.” He looked over his shoulder to his companions. “I hear he killed his wife; ripped her apart with his bare hands.”
“That’s a lie!” Martok snapped back, eyes blazing. “Say one more word about him and I'll…”
“You’ll do what? Teach me a lesson? How? I bet you’re no more powerful than your useless father. A child could best him, from what I hear.”
Martok had reached his limit. Before the mocking Desmond could utter another word, he let loose a ray of blinding white light. But it was directed at the captive girl, not his tormentor. The spell binding her was instantly broken.
“Get out of here,” Martok told her in a remarkably commanding voice for one so young.
She hesitated only for a moment before making a dash toward the gate. Desmond’s hand flew out again in an attempt to recapture her, but Martok easily countered this by deflecting the spell back onto one of his comrades.
The boy let out a grunt as he struggled against the spell. Desmond spat in disgust and released his friend. “You’ll pay for that, lizard.”
Martok widened his stance. Instinctively, he had already placed his wards around himself. Now he would have to be careful not to hurt this lot. From the look of them, they wouldn’t be much of a challenge.
Desmond raised his arms. “Alevi Muul.”
Martok braced himself as a ball of blue flames appeared and shot forth. This was a powerful spell. One easily powerful enough to kill. Even though Martok’s wards were strong, the impact still drove him back several paces.
“What are you doing, Desmond?” exclaimed one of the boys, alarm all over his face. “Are you trying to kill him?”
“Either help me or you’re next,” he snapped back. “We can all stick together and say that he attacked us first. That we were only defending ourselves. Let's make him pay. Then there'll be one less Dragonvein in Lumnia stinking up the place.”
Never had Martok expected Desmond to act so aggressively. And he certainly hadn’t reckoned on facing an enemy who wanted to kill him. Strengthening his wards, he readied himself for another assault.
The other three looked at one another with fear and uncertainty. But a threatening look from Desmond soon had them falling into line. In unison, they each let loose another ball of blue flames. This time, the far more powerful triple impact knocked Martok completely off his feet.
Desmond smiled, his sinister intent clearly showing. “Just as I thought. Weak like his crazy father.”
This was now a fight for survival. Concerns about causing his opponents a measure of harm faded. Martok rose to his knees, thrusting out his right hand. The ground a few feet in front of the boys instantly erupted, throwing a mass of rock and dirt skyward. All four of them jumped back, but on realizing that the attack had fallen short, quickly began laughing. In response, Martok merely locked eyes with Desmond, his mouth set tightly. Then he winked. A moment later the hovering debris burst into a million tiny balls of flame that began raining down on the unsuspecting quartet.
For a few seconds it was chaos as all four boys began screaming and beating frantically at their heads and clothes. After a flurry of this activity, three of them ran headlong toward the pond, leaving Desmond all on his own. With a wave of his hand he summoned a gust of wind to blow away the remaining embers clear of where he was standing.
“You think you’re so damn clever, don’t you?” he hissed at Martok. His clothes were riddled with holes and his bare arms covered with small burns. “You like dragons? Let's see what you think of this one.” Shutting his eyes and lowering his head, he called out: “Alevi Drago!”
Were it not for the deadly serious nature of the duel, Martok might have smiled. He was still trying not to seriously harm the boys – which by now he could have easily done so if he wished. None of them were remotely a match for him.
In response to Desmond's command, a white hot flame appeared overhead. He opened his eyes again and threw his arms wide. The fire rushed forward at amazing speed. When it had traveled only a few feet it transformed itself into the shape of a fiery dragon, though not anywhere near the size of a real one.
Martok waited until it was directly over him before raising his left hand and snapping his fingers. A sharp crack was followed by a loud rush of air. The ground around where he stood was badly charred, but Martok himself was completely unharmed. Of the dragon, there was no sign.
“Who has been teaching you magic, Desmond?” he mocked. “Your cook?”
Desmond was visibly shaken. But he quickly recovered. “I’ll kill you, lizard.”
By now, the three other boys had reached the pond and were sitting on the bank, dripping wet and seemingly unwilling to rejoin the fight. After glancing over at them, Martok returned his attention to Desmond. “My name is not lizard, you son of a toad. It’s Martok Dragonvein.”
He clasped his hands together and took a breath. “Desolto.”
A scream of terror came from Desmond as the earth beneath him began to dissolve into a black ooze. Slowly but inexorably, he started to sink. More cries, increasingly desperate, flew from his mouth as he clawed and pulled desperately to free himself. But there was nothing solid for him to hold onto. By the time he was up to his neck, his screams had turned into great sobs.
“Please don’t kill me,” he begged. “Please, I’ll –”
Martok clapped his hands sharply together just once. In a flash, the ooze hardened, leaving Desmond encased right up to the bottom of his nose. His muffled moans of anguish sounded clearly as Martok casually walked over and sat down in front of his vanquished foe.
“That’s better,” he said, leaning back on his elbows. “Now before I let you go, I wanted to say that should you ever insult my father again, I will bury you and your friends so deep in the ground that they will never find you. Please blink if you understand me.”
Without hesitation, Desmond's
eyelids flickered up and down several times like a flag fluttering in a high wind.
“Good.”
Martok got to his feet and looked over to the other boys who were staring on with fear-stricken expressions. “I take it you all heard that as well,” he called to them.
As they all nodded, a man's voice boomed out from over by the gate. “Martok!”
He spun to see his uncle, along with Evelyn Bronstar and three other mages he didn’t recognize, glaring at him. The girl the boys had been bullying was a short distance back, a confused and frightened look on her face.
“What have you done to my grandson, you beast?” shouted Evelyn, rushing forward.
“He attacked me first,” Martok replied. “Him and the other three boys. I was just trying to stop them from picking on that little girl.”
“You’re a liar,” she hissed. Shoving Martok aside, she bent down beside Desmond. A few seconds later the ground bubbled up and with a loud burp spat him out, almost as if the boy had left a bad taste in the very mouth of Lumnia itself.
He landed flat on his back, covered in dirt apart from the top half of his head. Evelyn began trying to brush him clean with her handkerchief to little effect. As Desmond began spitting up chunks of soil, Martok could not stop himself from grinning.
“You think this is funny?” snapped Sylas. “You could have killed him. What the hell were you thinking?”
“It’s those dragons, I tell you!” shouted Evelyn. “They’ve made him feral. He should be locked away.”
Martok opened his mouth to speak, but his uncle's hard stare silenced him. “I’ll see to it that he receives proper punishment, Lady Bronstar. You can be assured of that.”
Martok stepped back and squared his shoulders. “But I did nothing wrong.” He pointed to the little girl who was holding the hand of a tall, elegantly dressed woman, presumably her mother. “Ask her. She’ll tell you what happened.”
“Leave my daughter out of this,” the woman came back quickly. “All she said was that you boys were fighting. She made no mention of anything else. Don't you dare try to use her as an excuse for your disgusting behavior.”
He looked pleadingly at the girl, but she simply buried her head in her mother’s dress. He then looked to his uncle and was met only by a furious stare.
At this point, the other three boys ran up from the pond and began insisting that Martok had attacked them for no reason. He could only listen to these lies while his uncle fumed.
By the time Desmond was back on his feet, it was clear to Martok that he was not going to be believed, whatever he said. What was worse, his uncle appeared to think him a liar as well. Glancing over at the gate leading to the main garden, he saw that a small crowd had now gathered to watch the spectacle.
Sylas groaned as he also spotted the onlookers. “And unless I miss my guess…” he muttered despairingly.
As if on cue, a man with thick, shoulder-length blond hair and piercing blue eyes pushed his way through. The blue and silver robe he wore was hanging open and fluttered behind him as he approached with deliberate strides.
“What is all this about, Dragonvein?” demanded Lord Kytain Prustoni.
Before Sylas could respond, Evelyn jumped in to give him her grandson's version of the incident. Martok hoped that Sylas would cut in at some point and come to his defense, but he did not do so. When the woman was done with her incriminating story, Kytain looked down at Martok with a heavy frown. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and an intimidating disposition. Most people withered in front of him. But Martok stood proudly, with head high and shoulders squared.
“Do you have anything to say, young man?” Kytain asked in a commanding tone.
A warning look from his uncle stopped him just before a heated denial came forth. “No, My Lord. I have nothing to say.”
He regarded Martok for an uncomfortable few seconds before speaking again. “I see. This is, of course, a very serious matter. I hope you understand this.”
“I do.”
The lord looked to Sylas. “Take the boy to your chambers. Then I want to see the guardians of everyone involved in my study within the hour.” With a final glance at Martok, he turned and strode briskly away.
Lady Evelyn followed closely behind him, her arm wrapped protectively around Desmond. By now, the parents of the other boys had arrived, and after a few insults directed not only toward Martok, but the entire Dragonvein family, they too ushered their children away.
Sylas waited until they were completely alone before starting back. He scarcely looked at Martok as they walked.
“Do you really think I’m lying?” he asked, unable to mask the pain in his voice.
“No, I do not. But you should not have gotten involved. You should have simply gone for help. But you couldn't do that. You are too much like your father; he was always sticking his nose in where it didn't belong. Never thinking before he acted.”
“I did the right thing,” Martok insisted stubbornly. “They were tormenting that girl for no reason other than they thought it was good sport.”
“And see how she came to your aid when you needed it?” Sylas chided. “Aren’t you happy you helped?”
“My father says that it doesn’t matter what other people do. You should always do the right thing, just because it’s right.”
Sylas sniffed. “It's that sort of…wisdom that has nearly caused the collapse of our house. Let me tell you something about how the world really works. Doing the right thing will get you nothing but pain. You have to look to your own interests if you want to survive. The great houses think us weak. And the fact is, thanks to your father, we are.”
Martok bristled at this. Seeing his reaction, Sylas stopped and grabbed him roughly by the shoulders. “Listen to me, Martok. I love my brother, but he has done nothing to help this family. It's because of his negligence that we are now in danger of losing everything. And if you don’t learn the way things really are very quickly, you’ll end up with nothing. You hear me? Nothing at all.”
All of his inherent stubbornness rose up sharply in Martok. He lifted his chin. “Better that than to live like a dog – scraping and begging to people who talk behind our backs and look at us as if we are somehow lesser than they are.”
“You don’t want to live like a dog? Then behave like a man. Ideals are wonderful things…in stories. But this is real life, boy. And the consequences mean life or death. You think you can fight the world? You think you can stand alone? Go right ahead and try. But I promise you, the only thing louder than your fall will be your screams as you are tortured to death by your enemies.”
Not receiving any reply, he shook his head. “I'm wasting my breath. I can see it in your eyes. That same defiance your father had at your age. You think that just because you have a talent for magic that you are invulnerable. Well let me tell you, besting four novices is a hell of a lot different than battling a fully trained mage. You keep up this attitude of yours and you'll learn that the hard way.”
As angry as his uncle was, Martok was determined not to yield. And though he still said nothing, he refused to avert his eyes or back away.
After a few seconds, Sylas’ face gradually softened. “Look, I know you think what you did is right. And in truth, it was. I cannot deny that.” He placed a hand on Martok's shoulder. “Perhaps one day you will even become powerful enough to change things. But for now, I am faced with the task of keeping you safe. If you have any respect for me, you will not make that any harder than it already is.”
It was at that moment Martok saw something in his uncle he had never seen before. Fear. He was truly afraid of what might happen. Suddenly, guilt over what he had done washed over him. “I’m sorry, uncle,” he said. “I won’t cause you any more trouble. You have my word.”
Sylas forced a weak smile. “Good. Then let us see what Lord Prustoni has to say about all this.”
They made their way back to the room allocated to them within the manor. By now, news of the
incident had obviously spread. From the looks and whispers, tongues were wagging furiously. As they walked by, the words, 'animal' and 'exile' could be heard floating on the air.
“Pay no attention to it,” Sylas told Martok. “Kytain is a reasonable man. And the fact is, no one was seriously injured. All will be well.”
As soon as his uncle had left for the meeting, Martok took a shower and then decided to pass the time reading a book about the Dragonvein family history that his father had given him before he left. Though he had already read it many times before, he always seemed to find some interesting new passages that he'd somehow overlooked on previous readings.
At first the time passed quickly, but after spending more than an hour with the book, he began to worry. Sylas had still not returned, so perhaps things were not going as well as he suggested they might. With all kinds of possible outcomes running through his head, he paced the room for a while and then stretched out on the bed, trying to relax.
The sound of his door squeaking slowly open broke into his thoughts. At once he sat bolt upright, ready to defend himself. But the person standing in the doorway was no foe out for retribution. It was the little girl he had saved from the bullies.
“What are you doing here,” he demanded sourly. “Haven’t you caused me enough trouble already?”
Her eyes were downcast and she was shifting nervously. “I just wanted to thank you,” she said in a very small voice.
Martok huffed. “You can thank me by telling everyone the truth about what happened.”
“I…I can’t. My mother won’t let me. She says we’ll get into a lot of trouble if I say anything. I’m sorry. I really am.”
Martok sighed. She couldn’t be more than eight or nine years old. And if her mother had forbidden her from talking, he certainly couldn’t blame the child for doing as she'd been told.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I understand.”
She looked up shyly. “Thank you.”
“What is your name?”
“Miriam Goldsong.” She curtsied politely.
Martok smiled. “Well, Miriam Goldsong, my name is Martok Dragonvein. And it is very nice to meet you.”
Dragonvein Book Four Page 8