The intermission came for the play and the actors whose characters had been killed in the first half came out to the courtyard of the theater to visit with the patrons. Despite Stephanie’s desire to speak with one of the actresses whose outfit she adored, Tristan directed their movements towards the actor with the dragon pendant. They approached to find he was surrounded by fawning women, who parted the way as the Duke come towards them.
Affecting a theatrical bow the man spoke to the Duke.
“Your Grace, what an honor.” He intoned in a silky voice that made the women around him sigh.
Tristan’s temper, still so close to the surface, threatened to rise up and overwhelm him again. He controlled his breathing, fighting off his irritation as he returned the bow with a nod of his head and motioned off to the side of the courtyard. The man followed the young Prince, smiling widely.
“Your performance was quite good.” Tristan began.
“Thank you my Lord.” He replied a little more stiffly than he had in front of his audience.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been so drawn into a character.”
“Your Grace is far too kind. It’s a role that suits my character well.” The actor admitted.
“Indeed?” Tristan prodded.
All three of the characters the actor had played had brief appearances, been part of a conspiracy and had died violently. Tristan was amused that this actor felt that connected to these characters, however if the young Prince was correct about this young man’s alliances it made much more sense.
“I find it infinitely more enjoyable to play characters that provide transitions in the plot lines.” He explained.
“I often find that art imitates life…” Tristan commented.
The actor’s posture changed slightly making Tristan wish he’d brought more than just his dagger with him tonight.
“Is that so?” The actor replied, his eyes narrowing.
“Of course, for instance, that pendant you wear….” Tristan began.
Out of a side hallway Knight-Captain Robertson grabbed a hold of the young actors’ tunic. He pulled him into a bear hug as Tristan looked around, making sure that the other members of the audience hadn’t witnessed what was taking place.
“Not here Captain.” Tristan said lowly.
The three of them quietly made their way out of the theater and into the waiting carriage that took them back to the keep at a much less leisurely rate than they had arrived. There was a tense moment as they loaded the actor into the carriage. The actor had wriggled free, only to find the old Knight-Captain’s fist connect with his head, rendering him unconscious for the quick trip back.
The carriage had barely come to a halt when Robertson rose from the bench, a handful of the actors’ hair in his hand. The Captain dragged him, kicking and screaming down the nearest staircase and into the lower bowels of the keep. While exploring the new keep Tristan had found that the dungeons here were built into the foundation of the walls surrounding the compound. Years of disuse had to be cleared out, but his soldiers had everything restored within days.
The Knight-Captain threw the actor into the solitary chair in the torturers room. Once again, Tristan watched in detached fascination as the man was bound to the chair. Robertson nodded to the Duke and left the room to get the man whose job it would be to forcibly take the information from this man. As he left the room, Tristan turned his gaze on the man;
“Who are you?” He asked.
The man swore at the young Prince in response. He persisted none the less.
“If you tell me what I need to know before my large friend comes back, I’ll see that your passing is painless. If not…” He let the words pass as he motioned to the tools scattered around the cell.
“You can’t scare me dragon spawn. Your time is at an end!” He shouted with a frantic crack in his voice.
Tristan rose, slowly walking around the room inspecting a rather sinister jagged scythe on the wall.
“Are you certain?” He asked, thumbing the blade of the scythe.
The Prince carefully removed it from its bracket and slowly walked towards the actor with as murderous a look as he could muster in his eyes. Inside though, his stomach was turning. The last time he’d witnessed the torture of the other man he’d been sick to his stomach afterwards. The situation was becoming more dangerous now though. This man clearly wasn’t a magician so if he was wearing the same pendant, Tristan reasoned that whatever organization they paid homage to, nothing good was going to come of it.
Both of their dispositions towards the young man could be called a lot of things, but flattering wasn’t one of them and Tristan was becoming desperate to find out why. He grabbed a handful of the actors’ hair and ripped his head back. Laying the scythe along his throat and applied pressure.
“Who are you?” Tristan asked again.
“I am…” He answered, his voice heavy with fear. “…a servant. I’ve sworn my life to the end of you and your kind.” He blurted.
Tristan let the pressure up slightly as he asked; “My kind?”
“Dragon scum.” He spat.
Tristan grabbed a hold of his pendant, pulled the chain tightly around his neck and increased the pressure with the scythe.
“What does this mean?” He asked indicating the pendant.
“Dra..con….is’…BANE!” The actor choked out.
“My Lord is quite skilled.” A black clad man commented from the door.
Tristan looked up to find a couple of guards, the torturer and Robertson standing just inside the doorway. He released the man, pulled the scythe away and walked towards the torturer.
“I want all he knows about this Draconis’ Bane, who he is and where we can find more of his friends.” He commanded as he handed over the scythe. The Knight-Captain patted him on the shoulder as the young Duke left the room. Tristan was feeling sick again and his pride wouldn’t allow him to show it in front of his men or the slime that was beginning to beg for his life even as the door closed.
~
Tristan quickly made his way back to his rooms, threw up in the toilet, had a hot bath and then passed out on his bed. He was woken up a few hours after dawn by a loud knock at his door. Groggily, he sat up wiping the sand from his eyes and croaking out for the person to enter.
“How are you feeling this morning my Lord?” Robertson asked as he walked in, twirling the Draconis’ Bane pendant around his finger on its silver chain.
The young Prince couldn’t even be irritated anymore, the old war dog could read him like a book and although it was annoying to have your emotions echoed in someone else’s voice, he found it oddly reassuring.
“I’m fine. What did you find out?” Tristan answered curtly.
“We’d best take a ride your Highness.” He informed him, catching the black roaring dragon gem in his scarred hand.
“Why?” The Prince blurted, his irritation clearly rising. “Just tell me.” Tristan commanded.
“Begging your pardon Highness, but this isn’t something for the gossipers to get a hold of.” Robertson insisted.
The plan had been for him to leave for Guis today, but with this unfolding situation here his excitement was being replaced with disappointment. Tristan had taken to his new post with all the enthusiasm shared by most young men, he truly felt as though Durshire was his city. Any concerns here or for his family needed his direct attention. He weighed these concerns against his duty to pay Vallius’ largest ally a long overdue political visit.
“You can’t put off your trip Your Grace. We need to leave this morning. I’ll fill you in as we travel.” The Knight-Captain informed him, as though reading his mind.
“Fine, fine.” Tristan dejectedly admitted. “You know, I liked you better when you hated me.” Tristan shot back at him sarcastically.
“Get your gear on, pup. We ride in less than an hour.” Robertson chuckled as he turned on his heel and left the room.
As the door clanged shut behind the older m
an, Tristan was forced again to laugh in spite of himself as he rose and dug out his armor. It had been hung up in the corner wardrobe after being cleaned by Rhonda, who fussed over his wounds and chastised him for his sloppiness. It hung there, a reminder of his soldiers’ duty for almost a month while he tried to wrap his mind around his political duties. It was still hard to distinguish the two because they had a shocking amount in common.
As Tristan began to packing for his trip, he began to day dream about his first few weeks in Durshire. After being locked away with the city council for hours, Tristan gave them a few days off and ventured out into the city to explore. He’d happened upon a very gifted leather worker completely by accident.
The man solicited a commission from Tristan, commenting that the suit of armor he’d worn upon arriving in Durshire looked heavy and far too thick to wear into the desert. Clearly rumors had reached everyone in his new duchy as to his eventual destination. The leather worker used his current suit of armor as a pattern to fashion him something thin yet strong. Something he said that Tristan could wear under some of his riding clothes. The leather worker explained that the thinner, lighter armor would fit much more comfortably for long rides from one safe post to another and would also serve as armor for state diners, affording Tristan some much needed protection while looking defenseless. Tristan reminded him that there’s likely no such thing as a safe post, nor was he entirely defenseless. The leatherworker replied by throwing a dagger across the room at the breastplate in the corner. The blade bounced off harmlessly leaving very little in the way of a blemish.
Tristan had been impressed and asked the leatherworker to make a suit up for him, which he now unpacked from its chest. It had been delivered a few days ago, though he hadn’t found the time to inspect it. The greaves were coated with comfortable cotton padding so he put those on first and slid his black leather trousers on over them. He turned to look in the full length mirror and noticed that he could barely see them. He put on an undershirt and slipped the breastplate over it. Then he strapped on his bracers and slipped on green short-sleeved shirt before slipping on his riding boots.
As he headed for the door he grabbed his family ring, sword belt and a matching full-length jacket for the chill in the morning air. He slipped on the ring and tightened his belt as walked down the hall towards the stables. Rhonda came around the corner and made a fuss over the state of his hair. She gave him a quick hug and disappeared back towards the kitchen covering her face.
Tristan smiled as he walked out into the central courtyard. Peter waited with Pava saddled and ready. He clapped the young man on the shoulder as he handed over the reins. Tristan swung up and mounted his horse as Captain Robertson called out for the honor guard to make ready. The young Duke was glad to see that the Captain had at least listened when Tristan had told him he didn’t want an entire company of men for a friendly visit.
Arrayed behind him were faces of men he recognized. Every one of them was similarly dressed in purple trimmed tabards marking them as the Princes’ guards. Two men carried a pole with the banner of the Vallius family crest, also trimmed in purple. Each of the men had the family crest sewn into the side of their saddle as well as helms with purple dyed hair coming out of them. Each of them had changed their black armor for a lightly stained leather tunic with a flowing purple cape. Their greaves were attached at the saddle and each man wore simple leather trousers which matched their tunics. Finally, each of them wore a pair of steel bracers and chin guards over their riding boots. Bucklers and swords hung from saddles and clanged as they trotted towards Tristan and Lance.
The effect was impressive to see, even though Tristan chaffed at the attention they were sure to attract riding into a country full of silken garbed people like Guis. The Knight-Captain was waiting for his approval at his side. Tristan turned to face him and nodded briefly. Robertson called out the order and the group was quickly underway. As they passed the gates Tristan saw the remainder of the 7th arrayed along the gate. Sergeant Frose looked unimpressed with having to stay behind and hid the irritation poorly.
“We’ll be back in no time old man.” Tristan chastised with a smile.
The Sergeant used his middle finger to scratch an imaginary itch on his cheek.
“You do that young Master.” He replied smiling.
Both the young Prince and the old Knight-Captain laughed at the remark and gesture as the delegation made their way through the gates and on the well traveled road to Delhi, the capital of the Guis Empire. The curiosity in Tristan kept building for the first hour on the road, until finally he turned to Robertson;
“Enough with the secrets Lance, what did you learn?” Tristan demanded.
“His real name was Harold.” He began.
“Was?” Tristan questioned.
“Aye my Lord, we couldn’t very well leave him alive to tell his masters about our growing knowledge.” Robertson explained.
“Very well, go on.” Tristan persuaded.
“He revealed quite a bit with a little encouragement.” He began as the sun rose in the east. “Firstly you’re just one of many targets; he was an observer, working for someone only known to him as the Spy Master.”
Robertson allowed Tristan a few moments and then continued. The Prince knew that Lance appreciated the thoughtfulness Tristan exhibited, especially when the situation was as dire as this was becoming.
“He was part of a large group of men and women who travel widely throughout many countries looking for word of dragons; their whereabouts, allies and nests.” The Knight-Captain explained. “Once every few months they send word of the rumors and gossip they’ve heard, but they’re under strict orders to report a run-in with any dragon-kin, which, one would assume…means you.”
Robertson had never been privy to the conversations involving Tristans’ heritage, so it was no surprise that he was completely in the dark as to why this man would want to do Tristan harm. The young man felt guilty for keeping this man he’d come to trust in the dark, which apparently was clearly showing in his expression.
“Fear not lad. I don’t mind being kept in the dark. I’ve a duty to perfo…”
“I’ve got dragon blood in my veins Captain.” Tristan cut across him quietly. He knew he could trust his men, but he wasn’t sure how they would react to this pronouncement.
“I don’t understand.” Robertson admitted.
“My mother is half-dragon. I’m sorry; I should have told you back in Irudin.” Tristan explained. “After we lost Halvorsen, I’ve been obsessed with finding out why that sorcerer was with Terum soldiers. It turns out that both he and the actor are members of this Draconis’ Bane cult.” He concluded.
“Well that makes more sense then.” Robertson replied.
“It makes sense?” Tristan asked his eyes wide with surprise.
“Not the reason or the cult my Lord, the rest of Harold’s rambling makes more sense now. I thought he was just saying things to make us kill him faster.” The Captain explained. “He was due to meet this Spy Master in Guis this month.”
“That’s interesting.” Tristan began. “I think it’s important we keep our eyes open for more of these cult members, while I’m not entirely sure what their plans are they definitely don’t have a fondness for me.”
“Bah. You needn’t worry about that group of grannies.” Robertson dismissed.
Tristan laughed, though inside he was still troubled by the events that had come to pass thus far. Since his attack he’d been constantly on guard for another strike and now it seemed that there was an entire group of men and women that not only sought to bring him harm, but to end dragon life altogether. Still, it was a much more fulfilling life than the nightmare that he’d been convinced was his life. Tristan moodily wondered if life would ever get dull, all the excitement was becoming something of a drug.
~
Far away in a dark room illuminated by the light of a single candle two figures stood talking rapidly with one another in hushed tones
. They were likewise attired in long black robes completely hiding their appearance from each other and anyone else in the room. The taller of the two had a low female raspy voice while the shorter thin man had an almost high pitched squeak to his voice.
“What have you to report?” The woman asked.
“We lost Odius my Lady.” The short man replied sheepishly.
“How?” The woman insisted, her voice clearly showing her growing anger.
“He was with a group of Terum soldiers near Irudin awaiting word of the Dragon Princes’ death, only it never came. A few weeks later his camp was overrun by Vallius soldiers and he was captured.”
“You said we lost him. If he’s merely captured, send word to Domiscus to rally the Mercenaries and take the keep.” She ordered.
“I would my Lady, but I know him to be dead.” He replied quietly.
“What?” The tall woman demanded.
“Y…yes my Lady. His body was sent to King Roger, each body part was wrapped in another piece of the large Terum banner that Samuel had hung in his audience chamber.” The little man explained. “There was also a note my Lady, warning Terum to stay out of Vallius lands if they want to keep out of war.”
“That fool.” The woman grumbled.
“King Roger is beside himself my Lady. He dares not invade. Already he sends gifts of the gold taken and diplomats.” The smaller man squeaked.
“Spineless fool, very well, dismissed.” She waved him away.
When the little man didn’t move, the seductive raspy voice cut out into the darkness again.
“There’s more?” She prodded.
“Indeed my Lady, there is.” The little man admitted.
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