Draconis' Bane (20 page)

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 man, 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
7
^th
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.”