Draconis' Bane (14 page)

As supper began to
wind down Tristan noticed that Captain Robertson was beginning to
slur his words and his eyes seemed unwilling to focus. Talk around
the table turned to the mundane as a Lieutenant sitting next to him
inquired about their journey from Metao. Tristan began to account
minor details of their journey as Captain Robertson began to talk
louder and louder.

“Thirty-seven years
of service and I’m being put under a pup barely from the teat!” He
complained loudly to another Captain, who attempted to silence the
old war veteran to no avail.

By now the servants
had cleared the plates and refilled the wine pitchers. Council
members were scattered around the room, talking in low voices.
Tristan could see Captain Robertson standing along the back wall
talking with three other Captains, not bothering to keep his voice
down.

“…and if you please,
the boy walks around with the same blade his grandfather used. The
arrogance that he could compare himself…”

“That will do Lance.”
Kevin said as he approached the group, in hushed tones he berated
his Captain in privacy.

Tristan returned his
attention to his conversation with the young Lieutenant,
periodically voices would rise along the back wall and he did his
best to ignore the anger growing inside of him. As the night
progressed most of the young Lieutenants introduced themselves to
him. The Captains, however, kept a cold distance. Tristan found
himself standing in front of the fireplace alone with what was left
of his first glass of wine.

“I’ll not have it!”
Robertson yelled.

“You will and you’ll
damn well do your job!” Bellowed Tristans’ brother.

Feeling very
uncomfortable and angry, Tristan put his glass on the fireplace
mantel and made his way to the door. As his hand closed around the
smooth metal of the handle he could hear Robertson yelling at the
other end of the room.

“I tell you I won’t
put my men at risk! Look at him, he runs from talking! What will he
do in the field!?” Insisted the Captain.

Tristan paused, his
hand clenching the door handle so hard that his knuckles were
white; his temper, still inflamed from earlier, finally got the
better of him. The young Prince turned on the spot, crossed the
hall in even strides, wound up and punched the old war veteran
squarely in the mouth. Numerous glasses dropped around the room as
Captain Robertson shook his head. Everyone who was pretending not
to hear the argument was now transfixed. Robertson looked the young
Prince up and down, grinning a bloody smile as he slowly drew his
sword.

“Stand down Captain!”
Kevin shouted.

“You know the law my
Lord. If the boy wants a duel, by the Gods I’ll let him have one.”
The Captain replied as his sword cleared his scabbard.

“Well lad, let’s see
what you’re made of…” His eyes narrowed dangerously, “Draw your
sword.” He said and barely a whisper.

Before Tristans’
sword had even cleared his scabbard Robertson was launching a
powerful overhead strike. Tristan narrowly escaped it by turning
his blade, clearing himself a path to the left. The wily old
Captain had anticipated this as he let his blade swing down then
back up in an arc as he slashed at Tristan with the other sharp
edge of his long sword. Tristan had his blade up in time to take
the blow as the younger man stepped in and delivered a knee to the
Captains stomach giving him the respite he needed to ready
himself.

By the time Captain
Robertson had recovered he found his younger opponent ready. The
pounding of his heartbeat was like a drum in his ears. The two men
circled each other. Tristan forced himself to calmness as the
Captain tried to shake off the effects of too much wine. Tristan
feigned a sword trust, Robertson reacted more out of habit than
ability as he looped his sword around to knock Tristan’s blade
aside. The young Prince changed his movement though as he twitched
his wrist, sending his blade off at an angle and catching the
Captain in his left bicep.

Robertson reached up,
feeling the cut through his uniform. Pulling his hand away, he
looked down at the blood on his hand as his eyes flashed with
anger. He slashed his sword at Tristan’s neck causing the young
Prince to parry and block numerous fast and powerful attacks as the
Captain let his rage out on his younger opponent. The Prince caught
Robertson’s blade on his hilt, twisted and brought his dagger out
of its sheath to defend himself from the dagger Robertson
pulled.

The Captain yelled in
rage as he brought his dagger up over their locked blades, seeking
to drive it into the Princes chest. Tristan reversed his grip on
his dagger and brought it up and caught the Captains on his own,
pushing both blades away.

Tristan expected
Robertson to back off for a moment; instead the wily veteran
stepped forward and drove his foot into the young Prince’s stomach.
Winded, Tristan fought for breath as the Captain came in with
another slashing blow. The young Prince deflected the blow, but
didn’t see the dagger as Captain Robertson swung it low and
delivered a shallow slice through Tristan’s shirt and into his
abdomen.

The Prince stepped
forward with his right leg, pushing the Captain backwards.
Robertson did as Tristan predicted and moved his own right leg
forward to compensate for being pushed back. Tristan twisted his
leg behind his older opponents and kept the forward pressure on.
Both of their blades began lower as each sought to get the best
footing to push the other away. Tristan pulled his blades away,
dangerously exposing himself to both of Robertson’s weapons.

The older Captain was
in no position to strike though as the young Prince stepped forward
with his left leg and drove his head into Robertson’s face.
Tristan’s leg caught Robertson’s as he reeled back from the blow
and he clumsily lost his dagger as it clattered onto the floor.
Instinctively the Captain brought his blade up which Tristan batted
out of his hand and leveled his sword point on Robertson’s jugular.
Breathing heavily and still very angry Tristan kept his blade
trained there, his eyes burning as if on fire as the Captain could
only stare up at him in shock and defiance. A firm retraining hand
fell on his shoulder.

“Enough.” His brother
said calmly.

The remaining rage
bled out of Tristan as he lowered his sword and retrieved his
dagger. He turned towards Kevin, nodded once to his brother and his
wife, turned on his heel and left the shocked Captain staring after
him. Storming back to his room Tristan re-sheathed his sword,
kicked the door to his room open and slammed it shut. He removed
his belt and tossed it onto the bed and slumped down in front of
the fire, shaking with anger and still fuming about tonight’s
events.

The chill of the
night began to descend on him, but he was too filled with anger to
get up and grab a blanket off his bed. He sat, staring into the
flames for what seemed like hours. A quiet knock came at his door.
Tristan stood up, stormed over to the door, meaning to yell whoever
dared to disturb him; he jerked open the door taking a deep
breath.

“Can I get you
something my Lord?” Asked the same timid girl who had taken his
armor and clothes away for cleaning.

He exhaled, unable to
bring himself to yell at her. His shoulders slumped as he shook his
head no.

“Duke Kevin asked me
to come and see to you sir.” She prompted.

Tristan couldn’t even
speak; the shock of how badly he let his anger slip and very nearly
killed one of his brothers’ officers left him speechless. He simply
nodded at her turned and walked back and sat in front of the fire.
She motioned for him to lie on his stomach on the plush rug, he
complied as he was too full of anger and regrets to refuse.

As she kneaded his
muscles, the tension and anger began to subside. Her delicate yet
firm touch reassured him in a way that words couldn’t right now.
She hummed a little tune while she attended to his tense muscles,
which yielded to her touch. He began to nod off to sleep so he
tried to strike up a conversation to keep himself awake.

“What’s your name?”
He asked, half asleep.

“Maggie.” She softly
replied.

Whatever other forced
conversation he would have made was impossible as the relaxation
spreading down to his very soul took over and he fell asleep. A
short time later a calm quiet voice convinced him to rise and head
to his mattress. It seemed like it was made of some light cloud
rather than the feathers it had been filled with. Before she had
even left the room his snores began to echo off the walls.

The next morning
Tristan was politely roused at daybreak. He was led, still groggy,
down to the dining hall where his brother and his wife sat
chatting. He shut the door quietly behind himself and made his way
to the table.

“Feeling better?”
Alison inquired.

“Much.” Tristan
answered sheepishly.

Kevin indicated the
seat to his right again as Tristan made his way around the table
and sat down. A solitary servant came in moments later with
breakfast which was more or less eaten in silence. Finally, when
the remains had been collected and carted off by the servants,
Kevin turned to his brother.

“I know you’ve got
hesitations about his assignment little brother.” He began. “But
know that if I didn’t think you could handle the situation, I
wouldn’t even dream of putting you up to this.”

Tristan chose his
words carefully before speaking; “Look. I’m not sure what makes you
think I can do this, but Robertson obviously has issues with taking
orders from me. Why not just make me his squire or something? Why
do I have to lead them?!”

“You’re a Prince; at
worst you’re going to have a keep of your own someday. You need to
learn that career military personnel are going to have problems
with your leadership until you prove you’re worth your salt.” Kevin
explained. “Your subjects will follow you if you’re their Prince,
they’ll die for you if you show them you’re their commander.”

He considered these
words for a moment, and wasn’t sure if he truly believed them. Most
of this was still rather new and very strange to him. None of his
memories had resurfaced since they’d left Metao, causing the ever
present anger in him to constantly be on the verge of being
unleashed.

“Fine.” He snapped.
“I’ll do this, but if it fails and it wouldn’t surprise me if it
does, you and father need to put aside your grand plans for me.”
Tristan replied darkly.

“Deal.” Kevin said,
“Now, you have a command to assume. Good luck to you, but I have
this funny feeling that you won’t need it.” He laughed as he
ruffled Tristan’s hair.

Tristan shot him a
mock dark look and then he smiled crookedly at his brother and
sister-in-law and made his farewells. After a quick stop in his
room to put on his newly cleaned his armor, he rushed out to the
courtyard, tying his hair back with a strip of leather. As he
stepped out of the keep he was shocked to find far more than just
the men he was expected to lead, it looked like most of the keep
and her staff had turned up to see the troupe off. He was slightly
confused until he saw them all looking expectantly from the Prince
to Captain Robertson.

Apparently the story
had spread of his duel with the war veteran and everyone who hadn’t
witnessed the first even had shown up in hopes for a repeat
performance. Not wishing to give the crowd the satisfaction he
walked calmly over to Robertson.

“Captain.” Tristan
said evenly.

“Sir.” He replied as
he turned around to reveal the black eye caused by the young
Prince’s head butt.

“Is everything
ready?” The Prince asked.

“It is.” He replied
curtly.

“Take the men out
then.” Tristan ordered.

“Yes, sir.” He
nodded.

Whatever bitterness
the Captain had in the privacy of the council hall, he held it well
in check in public. This was a trait that Tristan appreciated. The
crowd began to break up with more than one servant poorly hiding
their disappointment. Maggie came running out of the keep,
clenching something in her hand as she rubbed at the stitch in her
side from running so quickly.

“My Lord!” She called
as she ran up to him, placing his family ring into his hand. She
hesitated a moment, rose up on her toes and kissed him lightly on
the cheek.

She turned and ran
back into the keep as Kevin and Alison came over to say their
goodbyes. Kevin annoyingly raised his eyebrows as he looked from
Tristan to Maggie chuckling. Alison dug her elbow into his side and
he laughed. As Tristan slipped his ring on, his brother offered his
advice.

“Remember now.
Lead
and they will follow.”

“I’ll try to keep
that in mind.” Tristan replied dryly as Alison hugged him.

Tristan approached
and nodded to the Captain. He had the men formed up into pairs and
marching through town in no time.

Three hours later,
fifty-four soldiers made their way on foot along the Western Road.
The entire unit, including officers, was likewise attired in full
sets of black leather armor. Kevin had explained the necessity of
going about this mission on foot. As evidenced, these bands of men
were eager to avoid large mounted companies. Most of the soldiers
had elected to bundle their swords and shields over their backs to
make light jogs easier and virtually silent.

Each of them carried
a pack containing jerked beef, two skins of water and thin blankets
to shelter them from the morning dew usually persistent during the
present season. Tristan had no clear idea of where to start. He
assumed though that Captain Robertson was eager to have his new
commander fail. Tristan wouldn’t give the old veteran the
satisfaction of seeming as clueless as he felt. He’d spent some
time since his arrival familiarizing himself with the local terrain
and likely hiding spots. He directed Robertson to take their men to
a nearby collection of rough hills he surmised was able to support
at least one set of caves and valleys used by bandits for
shelter.