Draconis' Bane (2 page)

Jason rolled
backwards, using his right leg primarily to get back to a standing
position as Tristan stalked his prey with a cold grin. The Prince
slashed downwards at an angle and Jason caught the blade with an
upward block. Tristan snapped his wrist around, going for a lateral
strike across Jason’s chest. The lad was ready and ducked under the
blow and delivered an uppercut to the Prince’s face with his free
left hand.

Tristan was lifted
off the ground and landed hard on his back, knocking the wind out
of him and sending his sword sliding across the mat. Jason tossed
aside his blade and leapt on top his cousin. Primal rage had taken
hold and he wrapped his hands around the Princes’ neck. The shock
of the punch lasted only moments as Tristan gave Jason a right
cross which knocked him backwards onto his backside.

Fallon laughed and
nodded in the direction of the two soldiers who rushed in and
tackled each young man. Now that neither of them was armed, they
were more than willing to break up the fight. The older soldier
pulled Tristan back by the collar of his torn and tattered tunic as
the Prince cursed loudly.

“Get the hell off me!
I’ll have you hung for this! Treason!” The spoiled young man
shouted.

Fallon stepped
forward and backhanded his King’s son, rendering the lad
unconscious. Behind him, Jason was breathing heavily and when the
Swordmaster turned around he saw the young man smiling. Blood was
running down his chin from the corner of his mouth and it
completely covered some of his teeth. Otherwise he looked
remarkably unharmed. Fallon sighed before taking a step forward and
backhanded him as well.

He sighed again and
titled his head sharply to one side, cracking his neck. Fallon
loathed explaining his actions to people. The King would understand
the boys had a bout of the usual male posturing present in the
young, so he wouldn’t likely expect any explanations. His wife and
daughter though; would. Entertainment or not, these two were going
to cost him hours of interrogation by Queen Annadora and Princess
Eurydice. Fallon sighed yet again and motioned for the soldiers to
carry the boys back to their respective rooms. He absentmindedly
patted the instructor on the shoulder as he walked through the
doorway behind the soldiers.

“Damn kids.” Fallon
cursed.

His only hope was to
get the Prince back to his rooms without running into any of the
ruling women of the castle all the while hoping to run into the
King on the way. The older soldier had Tristan’s limp body over his
shoulder as the pair of them hurried through the castle, taking the
long way to avoid many of the Queen’s favorite rooms. Quietly they
crept through the halls until they came upon the Princes’
apartments. The Swordmaster motioned for the soldier to deposit the
young Lord inside his room. He then breathed a sigh of relief.

“Fallon?” A clear
female voice called.

Prematurely.

Swordmaster Fallon
swore under his breath and pushed the soldier into the room and
slammed the door. He spun around and greeted the Queen with a low
bow.

“Your Majesty?” He
greeted her.

When she didn’t
answer him, Fallon looked up to find the Queen fixing him with a
look reminiscent of his mother catching him taking cookies from the
jar. He ventured a wolfish grin.

“You know.” She began
in a tone also reminiscent of his mother. “When my husband informed
me that our son would take sword training in an effort to direct
his more aggressive tendencies, that wasn’t exactly what I’d
envisioned.”

The color
appropriately drained from Swordmaster Fallon’s face as he realized
the Queen must have been observing everything from the stands above
the training floor. He cursed himself for being so
narrow-minded.

“Your Highness, I
thought it better the lads work out their differences on the
training floor rather than the courtyard in front of everyone.” He
stammered a little too quickly.

“That was quite good
Mr. Hawkings, do remember that load of rubbish for my husband.” She
instructed humorlessly as she nodded towards the Prince’s chamber.
“Open the door.”

The Swordmaster
pushed the door open and bowed low before his Queen and followed
her into the room. As he passed the soldier he whispered
run
before proceeding into the Princes’ rooms.

Fallon stayed an
appropriate, respectful distance behind the Queen as she approached
her son’s bed. It was uncharacteristic of Fallon of course, though
his usual cheek wouldn’t earn him any bonuses at the moment, so he
tried his best to look compliant.

“Don’t do that
Fallon; you know how irritating I find all that pomp.” She said
calmly and slightly bemused at his act. “Is he harmed?”

The Swordmaster
chuckled darkly. “Only his pride.” He said with a shake of his
head.

“Humph.” She replied.
“He could use a little less of that anyway I suppose.”

“Indeed Ma’am.” He
replied.

The Queen looked her
son up and down, and finally sighed. “Wake him.”

Fallon smiled
sadistically and walked over to the washroom. He used the pump to
fill a small bucket of cold water. The iron rings and grommets
groaned slightly as he filled it to nearly overflowing, intending
to enjoy his duty. The Queen laughed in spite of her mood as the
Swordmaster walked back into the bedroom making a show of the
bucket being heavy.

Fallon wasn’t as
typical servant of the Crown. He’d once been a slave and the King
had purchased and freed him. King Dion had long held slavery as the
worst invention mankind had ever orchestrated. When he’d offered
the Swordmaster a post in his army, Fallon had quickly agreed. At
the time, it had been the best opportunity for a slave turned
freeman. Looking back, Fallon had wanted to earn Dion’s respect.
Still, old habits die hard and the old Swordmaster had never been
the placating servant some of his peers had been.

He hefted the bucket
high over his head and glanced mischievously at his Queen. She
nodded once, smiling despite her aggravation.

Tristan cursed loudly
as he sputtered and spit out water that had found its way into his
slack mouth. He flailed about on the bed, uttering threats as he
often did when forced to do or learn something he didn’t wish to.
He opened his eyes and became silent as the grave as he stared up
at his mother.

The Queen wasn’t a
very foreboding looking woman; she was of average height with a
slim build and long dark hair. Though her green eyes communicated
her anger clearly enough. Her voice hid the anger behind
disappointment.

“What in the Gods
names were you thinking, Mykl?” She asked calmly, invoking the pet
name she used for all of her children.

Tristan had the good
grace to avert his eyes from hers.

“You could have
killed him.” She continued. “My nephew.” She accused.

Tristan couldn’t make
eye contact with her. Fallon looked on, feeling sympathy for his
young charge despite his many faults.

“Just what were you
trying to prove?” She said with rising anger. “Your sister’s honor
is perfectly safe and even if it wasn’t, her virtue is mine to
protect. You, your overblown ego and your sense of entitlement are
going to get you killed and I’d rather not burn your body thank you
very
much.”

Fallon felt supremely
uncomfortable being in the room with them and doubly so due to his
mother having similar words with him as a youngster. He felt the
Queen was being a little harsh though. If Eurydice had been his
sister he couldn’t honestly claim he would have done any
differently. Be that as it may, he was a soldier and not a Prince.
For Tristan, the stakes were higher, which was probably why the
young man rebelled so regularly. Fallon knew that the
responsibilities of office were something the young Prince never
wanted. The young man tried his best to hide it, but the weight of
other men’s lives depending on his decision frightened him.

“Another stunt like
that and I’ll have you tossed into the bay!” She yelled, finally
allowing her anger to show. “Have his wounds cleaned and dressed
then bring him to afternoon court. I’ll let his father met out the
punishment.” The Queen ordered as she stormed out of the room in a
flurry of hair and dress.

Fallon had never seen
the Prince ashamed of himself before. The old Swordmaster wasn’t
sure he liked the sight to be perfectly honest.

In mere moments there
was a knock at the door and the nurse came in to dress the Princes
superficial wounds. She clicked her tongue impatiently as she
dressed the dozen or so small abrasions. Within the hour the Prince
was dressed and summoned for court.

Foreboding tension
was thick in the air as though the Prince knew he’d gone too far
one too many times. Fallon escorted him through the hallways
towards the main audience chamber where the Housecarl beat his
metal tipped staff on the floor to announce the entry of the King
and Queen thru their private entrance to the central room in the
Palace.

Fallon could hear the
Prince flexing his toes in his boots, clearly showing nervous
tension at the very public dressing down he was likely about to
receive. In retrospect, Swordmaster Fallon wondered if he should
have put a stop to the fight rather than let the childish scrap
play out. He felt nearly as responsible for what was about to
transpire as the Prince should.

“May I present,
Prince Tristan Vallious!” The Housecarl shouted from the front of
the room.

With a gentle nudge
from Fallon, the Prince walked forward. He made his way forward,
into the chamber with as much poise as he could muster. The
Swordmaster was sure that the Queen’s recriminations were still
ringing in the lads ears as he came to a halt in front of the
throne and respectfully bowed low.

“Well.” The King said
loudly enough for the whole room to hear.

“We understand you
took it upon yourself to instruct the Swordmaster’s lessons today.”
He accused, casting his eyes toward Fallon who had quietly taken
his place to the right of the throne between the King and
Housecarl.

King Dion Vallious
wasn’t an overtly serious person, though he had a quiet authority
that gave the impression that he was always deadly serious. In
reality the King was a good natured man and more often than not was
the mastermind behind pranks his children played on their teachers.
For Dion to adopt a serious expression, as well as his choice of
words, he betrayed his temper boiling under the surface of a calm
façade. Fallon decided that the King must be furious.

“Yes, father.”
Tristan admitted, lowering his eyes.

“Since you’ve clearly
gone from pupil to teacher, there is nothing our home can offer you
anymore.” The King announced.

Tristan’s head
snapped up, looking at his father in open shock.

“With that said,
we’ve decided it’s time for you to earn the reputation you seem to
think you deserve.” The King ordered.

Tristan looked back
down at his feet.

“You’ll be leaving at
the end of the week for Kenting. There you will assume the post of
Man-At-Arms under your brothers’ command until such time as he
thinks you’re ready.” Dion said in his most commanding voice.

“Ready for what,
father?” Tristan asked quietly, still keeping his eyes
downcast.

“Ready to grow up!”
The King shouted.

“Hold!”

The Prince looked
over at the Swordmaster, irritation clearly evident on his face.
Again Fallon was forced to admit that while the Prince was quite
gifted with the sword, he found the young man’s attitude
irritating.

Apparently the
chastising he’d received from his father yesterday afternoon had
long since been forgotten. The boy was a talent and his abilities
led him to impetuous moves that would likely earn him an early
death if he couldn’t reign in his arrogance. Even as a child, the
eldest son of his King and Queen had shown great promise. He lacked
the discipline or at the very least the desire to see it through
though.

It was very
disappointing. The best his teachers could expect was a competent
administrator, though Dukes had been made of far worse material he
grudgingly admitted to himself. Fallon would have liked to have
broken the Prince like one would a horse and reformed him into
someone much less arrogant and spoiled. Today he was conducting the
lessons as none of the other instructors wanted to be responsible
for a repeat performance of the previous day, unlikely though it
was. Jason had been chastised in a much less public way and quietly
sent home before the sun had set.

“My Prince. After the
riposte, you need to remember not to leave yourself open.” Fallon
instructed.

The Prince rolled his
eyes, a show of disrespect that would have earned one of the other
students a sound beating.

“My opponent is too
slow to take advantage of any opening I leave for him anyway.” He
shot, looking over the Swordmaster’s shoulder at his sparring
partner.

There, Fallon was
forced to agree. There were few other options though as many of the
more gifted students simply refused to spar with the spoiled
Prince. Even if they did best him, the Prince was full of excuses
and accusations that robbed them of any pride they felt at their
victory.

An ear ringing
explosion launched the Swordmaster across the room. He slammed
against the opposite wall and gasped as he felt ribs break with the
impact. Pain shot through his body and he felt his arm snap as he
spun through the air and collided with a support pillar. He cradled
his broken limb as he shakily pushed himself against the wall. He
struggled to breath, which only brought tears to his eyes as he
attempted to push himself up against the wall.

A robed man stood at
the doorway with his arms outstretched, his hands glowing with a
strange blue light. After a few moments, a beam shot from his hands
and hit the Prince, who was still dazed and laying on the floor a
short distance away from the robed man.