Were of the Drakon

by B Cameron Lee

  “I suggest you get down to the docks and wharves and question everyone on any boat you find moored there. Someone may have seen the brother’s boat in the last week. Dismissed.”

  The Captain gave a tiny, inaudible sigh of relief, saluted and turned to leave. As he did, chill, ominous words followed him.

  “Don’t fail me this time.”

  The Duke stood quietly for a moment, surveying those assembled in the Great Hall. Not one of the minor nobility there came anywhere near him as far as ability to rule went and none of them had their own drakon to call on if necessary. The Prince should be dead by now and if the serving wench was found, well she’d just have to die too, probably as she was trying to escape. That was always a good excuse. The Duke was still Regent and as such was the nominal leader of Melintana. In effect, his word was law. It was time for him to check up on yet more information, gleaned through other, less official channels. He left the Great Hall by a private door and made his way to the suite of rooms reserved for him and the Prince while they conducted the business of running the country. Coincidentally the same rooms he had poisoned the Prince in. He settled comfortably into a lounge chair and waited. He didn’t have long to wait. Shortly there was a light tapping on the door.

  “Enter.”

  The door hardly opened as a shadowy figure slipped through the gap and came over to sit in the chair opposite the Duke. He nodded toward the unmemorable, grey man, a mere shadow who no one would ever be able to remember.

  “Alesander, what news?”

  The spy, for that’s what he was, sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and spoke in a low voice.

  “Some of the nobility are speaking out against you but not many, they’re afraid of your relationship with Serkahn and know in their hearts you are still the best man for the job of ruling Melintana. The odd accident to one of the more vociferous of them may be beneficial to your position. It would further reduce any opposition posed by some of the minor nobility. As to the other matter. There’s no sign in Conurbal or the surrounding countryside of the ones you are after but my scrying shows them both to be alive still. They’re somewhere to the north but exactly where I cannot discover. They seem to be shielded by some form of magic.”

  The Duke cursed. He’d tried to rid Melintana of magic but still it hung on, passed on from one proficient in its use to any other who found they were able to perform minor magics without training. If the truth be known, jealousy was involved in the Duke’s dislike of the use of magic. He’d never been able to perform even the simplest spell.

  “Find them Alesander and you will be well rewarded. As to the other, arrange for a fatal accident. I don’t need to know about it. Full deniability never hurts.”

  The spy nodded silently and rose to sidle over to the door. It hardly seemed to open before the man was gone from sight. Magic, Duke Erkhart hated it but it did have its uses at times.

  A week passed. An eventful week as young Earl Blakund was thrown from his horse while hunting in his forests. His neck was broken in the fall and he seems to have died instantly. None saw the tumble, he was off pursuing a wounded deer when it happened but his retainers saw no one else that day and the incident was officially recorded as an accident. Death by misadventure. The fact that Blakund was a vocal opponent of Duke Erkhart’s Regency did not pass unnoticed by the other Dukes and Earls and lesser nobles of court and opposition to the Duke’s rule diminished still further as intimations of mortality were felt by all of them.

  It pleased the Duke.

  On another front, Alesander brought him the news he was hoping to hear.

  “The brother’s fishing boat has been spotted at last. It’s tied up in a bay way up the coast in South Boronia. The jetty belongs to Wiley Balfour, a local entity in the area.”

  The Duke’s brow furrowed in thought.

  “Where do I know that name from?”

  Alesander chuckled, the man’s knowledge and memory were phenomenal and something was amusing him now.

  “He was a minor noble in this court once, distantly related to the Queen. When the King and Queen died he left soon after the event. Sold his lands and effects and took his wife and young family north out of Melintana. He bought a run-down, old keep in southern Boronia. Named it Balfour’s Keep. He repaired it and built it up and now employs people to farm and fish. Does all right. Its rumoured he has magic.”

  The Duke was nodding agreement as Alesander spoke, the memories coming back to him now.

  “He was a close friend of Septican Mycindun if I recall rightly. The two were often seen together in Conurbal. Septican and his deformed grandson have been missing for nearly two years now since I proscribed magic and cripples. I wonder. Alesander, I think its time for a small incursion into Southern Boronia to search for a few rebels making forays over the border. I want to see if the Prince is at Balfour’s Keep. I smell a conspiracy.”

  “Who are you going to give the responsibility of leadership to, Duke?”

  “No one Alesander. I’m going to lead this expedition myself. There’s no one I know of in the army who is as well versed in diplomacy and cunning as I am. I can’t have someone under my command making a mess of this and causing a Diplomatic incident. I’ll take cavalry, it will be quicker that way and the supply wagons can travel faster. We can resupply in some of the towns along the way where necessary.”

  Alesander nodded as the Duke spoke then asked a pertinent question.

  “And who are you going to leave in charge here then?”

  “Why, the Chamberlain of course, with you to keep an eye on him. The old man is steady as a rock and has no interest in ruling. He’s been in the job so long he’s actually become good at it. I’ll let him know he’ll be under observation but not by who. That should keep him on his toes.”

  Alesander made a face that passed for a grin.

  “Especially if I leave the odd note on his pillow during the night.”

  The Duke smiled, amused at Alesander’s twisted sense of humour then went to pour himself a goblet of wine. When he turned to offer Alesander one, the man had disappeared as though he’d never been there. It was one of the attributes which made him such an excellent spy.

  That afternoon the Duke rounded up his Captain of the cavalry and together they planned the ride north. Taking a force into Southern Boronia was a bit of a gamble but the Duke didn’t expect to meet anyone of note and he was, after all, just chasing down some recalcitrant rebels. By the very next morning everything was readied and without much fanfare, Duke Erkhart and thirty cavalrymen set off. They only needed two light wagons for supplies and retainers and each was pulled by four horses. They made good time the first day and spent that night outside Thistleton which allowed the Duke to commandeer the best inn there for himself. He was going to try and camp near towns as often as was able, just because it was an expedition did not mean he had to rough it unnecessarily.

  It took them six days to reach Bardton. Duke Erkhart remembered it as the town where Septican Mycindun and his crippled grandson had lived and he asked to be shown their cottage. No one lived there now and indeed, the cottage had not even been broken into. It was a mark of respect from a village which the old man had kept healthy and assisted as much as possible. Maybe the villagers hoped against hope that Septican might return one day.

  The Duke had one of his men break the simple lock on the front door and when it swung inward, the Duke himself entered, sword drawn, just in case of predators. In the dim, dusty light he saw an aisle heading toward the rear of the cottage, bounded on both sides by a waist high stack of books. The dust on the floor was thick and there were no footprints to be seen in it. The place was uninhabited. The Duke picked up a random book or two to flick through and saw they were Healer’s books. He found himself holding a grudging respect for the man who had collected together such a storehouse of information on his calling. Septican must have been an excellent Healer.

  Following the aisle back through the room, the Duke push
ed the dusty curtain aside and entered a small kitchen. He spotted the odd chair with special handholds and remembered the crippled grandson. Its mother had handed the child to Septican before she was taken away to be later hanged as an insurrectionist alongside her husband. It all came tumbling back. The look on Septican’s face when he’d turned it toward the Duke just before he left. The Duke shivered. Not something to think about. As he moved through the kitchen to the rear where the bedrooms were, he stepped on the rug and his foot came down with a hollow sound. He stamped and the noise resounded hollowly. He bent and pulled the rug to one side and explored the floor, eventually finding the loose boards. He lifted them to uncover an empty hollow area beneath. So. This would have been where Septican kept his books on magic. The Duke replaced the boards and went out the back of the cottage to have a quick look in the barn. There was nothing of interest there.

  Once again at the front of the cottage he pointed to a couple of his men.

  “You and you. Get all the books out of there and have them sent to the palace then burn the building to the ground. Septican may have escaped me but I’m not leaving somewhere for him to come back to.”

  Without looking back, the Duke strode off down toward the only inn in Bardton, certain his commands would be carried out. They were and when the cavalry unit rode out of Bardton the following morning, all that remained of Septican’s cottage was the stone chimney and a pile of smoking ash and debris with the odd, still recognisable, blackened beam poking up out of it. The Duke’s cold, amused smile went unnoticed by those riding behind him.

  From Bardton to the border was a few days’ travel, even at the faster pace the cavalry made, although a couple of days of rain slowed them down somewhat. They traced the same route Septican had taken two years before and crossed the border into Boronia after four days. A few more days in the saddle saw them reach the top of the pass. On the far side of it the Duke halted the cavalry at an intersection. There was no signpost visible but ahead, to the north, the highway descended into a large, terraced valley while to the right, a rough little road, hardly travelled, led off through the hills toward the east. The Duke had consulted a few maps and had a passable knowledge of the area now so he turned down the lesser travelled road. They followed it for the remainder of the day until they turned a corner around a hill and found themselves looking out to the sea in the distance where the top of a Keep was just visible over the trees.

  “There it is men. Our destination. We’ll make camp soon and arrive at the gates in the morning, fresh as daisies with our armour polished looking spick and span.”

  At the first flat spot they came to which was large enough to accommodate them, a little hidden valley part way down the hills, his men dismounted, glad to be afoot for a while. They’d spent the last eleven days in the saddle and were tiring of riding. Camp was quickly set up, the horses picketed and sentries posted. They were in a foreign country now and it was possible there were vagabonds and thieves about or more to the point, rebels. Next morning they saddled up and followed the road downward again toward their destination.

  King Georgio of Boronia was very excited after his conversation with Vigano and Bromala Balfour regarding the drakons at Balfour’s Keep. He had difficulty sleeping. All his life he’d heard about drakons and how they kept Melintana safe from the Reavers. Once, when he’d sailed down the coast on a State visit to Conurbal in Melintana, he’d actually had the good fortune to see a drakon or two on patrol. He was captivated by them but his desire to have drakons in Boronia was stymied by the fact there was only one hive and that was in Melintana. Now it appeared there were two actual drakons living in the south of Boronia.

  The King’s impatience grew hourly and he decided he would have to go to Balfour’s Keep himself and talk to Wiley Balfour about the drakons. As King, he should be able to order his subjects to accede to his wishes and if he could get Wiley to part with his drakons, he would bring them back to Harrington. First though, he would need to plan the expedition. He summoned the Commander in Chief of his army.

  “Earl Bentson, I wish to lead a group of men to Balfour’s Keep near the southern border. There are supposed to be two drakons there. I want as many men as possible to take ship with us, as I might want to bring the drakons back to Harrington. We will need chains and fetters of course and whatever else you think might be necessary. See if there is anyone around with experience of drakons.”

  The Earl lifted one eyebrow. Was the King being rational? Drakons? In Boronia? Still, he was only the Commander in Chief and when the King ordered something you did it.

  “Sire. It will take a few days to get everything ready. I can have one of our warships emptied and chains anchored in the hold ready. Are we taking horse?”

  “Of course we’re taking horses. I’m not going to walk, although I suppose we should use mostly infantry and only take horses for the nobles who are coming. See to it Bentson. I want to leave as soon as possible.”

  The Earl bowed and strode off on his given task. He’d known Georgio’s father and he was just as impulsive.

  It took a week to get everything ready and at the last minute the King decided to take Vigano and Boronia with him. He sent word for them to meet the ship at Senmouth where it would wait for them before setting sail. Word had spread of the venture, as these things were wont to do and the city of Harrington turned out en masse, lining both sides of the River Sen cheering and waving as the King sailed off downstream with the tide in his biggest warship, Reaver’s Bane, with flags and pennants flying. It was pure spectacle but the population of Harrington truly loved their King.

  Next morning, bright and early, Devlin Balfour delivered Vigano and Bromala to Reaver’s Bane where she was tied up at the biggest wharf in Senmouth. The King greeted their Uncle warmly before turning to the two younger Balfours.

  “I apologise for the short warning but I only decided at the last minute that you should both come along with me.”

  If the King only knew thought Vigano. He’d had to put up with his sister whining and wailing at having to leave most of her new clothes behind but truth to tell, where was she going to wear dresses of that quality at home? As for himself, he’d had to beg leave of his Aunt and Uncle for a final visit with Marista. Under the watchful eyes of a servant, he’d informed Marista that she was just the sort of girl he was looking for and hoped the feeling was mutual. When she agreed it was, he’d asked her to wait for him as he was going to return as soon as possible and he’d use this opportunity to speak with his parents about a betrothal. Marista had leapt to her feet at these encouraging words from Vigano and rushed to hug and kiss him. The discrete cough from the servant had caused them to fall apart but he still felt her warm, moist, tender kisses on his lips.

  Vigano and Bromala bid farewell to their Uncle and were shown to their cabin where they stowed their bags before returning to the deck. This was the first time either of them had been on a ship this size, their previous time on the water being in a small merchant ship. Without much fanfare they were soon on their way and both stood up on the poop deck waving goodbye to their Uncle as the River Sen’s current took Reaver’s Bane out to sea.

  It was a good trip back to their home but they spent quite a bit of it dodging the King. Their liege was becoming more excited by the day and became more voluble and active as the voyage progressed, tiringly so in fact but apart from that everything went well. There wasn’t much room nor depth of water to tie the warship up at the jetty, which was really only suitable for fishing boats and small merchanters, so the Captain found a place where the bay was deep enough right up to the shore and ran lines out to sturdy trees to haul his ship close in and readied the huge gangplank, redesigned to take the weight of a drakon. The horses were unloaded and picketed, much to their delight, along with a couple of wagons which had to be craned out of the hold by winch and derrick. Although everyone was itching to get going, the tying up and unloading had taken quite a while and darkness would soon be upon them, so a de
cision was made to wait until morning. That night, under the light of two moons, the King was still pacing the deck before retiring when he heard a roar off in the distance. He turned to Vigano who was sitting quietly on a rope coil, thinking of Marista.

  “What was that sound we just heard Vigano?”

  “One of the drakons roaring Sire, I believe.”

  The King gave an involuntary shudder as a grin split his face.

  Tomorrow was going to be such fun.

  Bright and early next morning, the King was up and about, if he’d ever gone to sleep that is and was chivvying everyone, trying to get them to hurry but mainly only succeeding in getting in their way. It was midmorning before they set off on the short ride to Balfour’s Keep. The standard bearer led on his white horse, the cloth of gold standard he carried rippling brightly, closely followed by the King, mounted on his warhorse and flanked by a General and a Viscount both mounted. Close behind came Vigano and Bromala riding on ponies. They were followed by the infantry. Fifty armed soldiers they’d brought with them plus another fifty labourers to manhandle the drakons if need be. The two wagons brought up the rear, loaded with chain, ready to secure the drakons for transport.

  From the west, Duke Erkhart also approached Balfour’s Keep. He’d also roused his men early but as they were practiced in preparing their breakfast and getting ready to ride, they were soon under way. As they rode out from under the trees at the base of the hills, on the final stretch to the Keep, Duke Erkhart spotted the force approaching from the east and took note of the standard flapping in the breeze. King Georgio. What in Dramad’s name was he doing here.

  This could be interesting.