Draconis' Bane (21 page)

“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.

“Out with it!” The
woman impatiently ordered.

“Master Paul reports
that Harold the Bard hasn’t been seen in days. One of his contacts
admits that he was last seen talking to the eldest dragon-spawn.”
He admitted.

“Two of our agents
have gone missing in that dragon-kin marrying bastards realm and
you’re just telling me about it
now!?
” She shouted.

A bright ball of fire
erupted from the candle and turned bright purple as it hurled
through the hall. It illuminated large marble pillars as it sought
the little man who had run away as soon as his last words had left
his mouth. As the doors at the end of the hall burst open the
purple ball of flame caught up to the little man engulfing him in
front of the crowd of men and women gathered at the bottom of the
stairs leading from the hall.

The robed woman
appeared at the doorway as the last cinders of the little man blew
away on the morning breeze.

“Such is the price of
failure!” She bellowed as the gathered men and women ran for their
lives.

Everywhere Tristan
looked his senses were overwhelmed with colors and shapes that he’d
never seen before. Dry words on paper couldn’t communicate the
beauty of the ancient Guisian cities. Their colorful spires rose up
into the clouds; the walls surrounding their cities seemed less
war-like for all the murals painted across them.

Each vast metropolis
sprawled all over the countryside and made it impossible to pass
around without adding days to their journey. Tristan had been very
surprised to see that elephants were used to move large pieces of
stone and timber while men followed behind moving circular logs
from the back to the front.

When he asked about
this from a local city guide, the man pointed out that the sheer
size of the stones and wood would carve up their countryside far
too much, so the workers used logs to make the journey faster and
less damaging. Robertson commented that the elephants wouldn’t die
from exhaustion either, which amused the guide. Each progressively
larger city they approached was more impressive than the last. They
were now on the last road to Delhi and Tristan’s anticipation was
reaching a fever pitch.

His head snapped back
as a burning sensation spread along his left cheek. In seconds
Robertson barked an order and a circular formation rose up around
the Prince. Another crossbow bolt narrowly missed Tristan who had
been pulled from the saddle by the old Captain. Several shields
appeared over his head as Robertson unceremoniously dragged him
behind a large rock.

His guards dismounted
in unison as another bolt sped overhead. Vallius soldiers returned
fire with their short bows at a nearby tree. A small body tumbled
out of the tree, one arrow protruding from his shoulder and another
from his hip. Sounds of shouting echoed through the valley as a
swarm of at least fifty armed men and women crested a nearby hill
and charged their position.

Robertson shouted
orders over the battle cries of the attacking forces. The guards
lined up to receive the attack as the assassins slammed into a wall
of hardened warriors. The battle was joined in earnest, each of the
Vallius soldiers squaring off against easily twice their number.
The Knight-Captain kept pushing Tristan backwards, trying to keep
him away from the fight. One of the attackers leapt over his guards
and ran towards them.

The Captain engaged
the man, raising his blade to take the first strike high before
slamming his fist into his face. Another man and woman made their
way through the line and came rushing towards Tristan. They
brandished their long curved falchions as they bore down on the
young Prince who drew his sword and dagger and prepared for them.
Tristan crouched low as the man swung high and blocked a slash from
the woman. His foot shot out and caught her in the stomach forcing
her back as that male assassin swung wildly at Tristan’s neck.

The Prince caught the
blade with his dagger, forced it down and head butted the man in
the nose. Not wasting any time, Tristan spun around to find the
woman ready to engage him properly. He feigned forward and her
blade lashed out. He caught the blade on his sword, spun around her
and drove his dagger down to the hilt through the middle of her
surprisingly soft back.

The female assassin
coughed up blood as she dropped to her knees wrenching the dagger
out of Tristan’s hand. The male assassin leapt over her fallen body
and brought his sword crashing down on Tristan who barely got his
blade up in time to parry it. The man followed through with a
painful punch to the side of Tristan’s face causing both men to
land hard on the ground.

Tristan rolled out of
the way as the male assassin’s blade hit the ground, barely missing
him. The wind was knocked out of him as the assassin kicked him in
the stomach and sent him reeling. Tristan rolled again and jumped
to his feet in time to block and parry a furious series of lunges
and slashes. He was being forced back into a group of trees, but he
was concentrating so hard on defending himself he couldn’t stop the
backwards momentum.

The assassin slashed
wildly attempting to decapitate Tristan, who ducked under the
strike and drove his sword up under his rib cage and into his
heart. Shocked, the assassin looked down at Tristan. The attacker’s
eyes rolled up into his head as he fell backwards pulling Tristan’s
sword along with him.

The Prince heard
another crossbow fire as a bolt hit him in the shoulder, spinning
him around. The force of the blow threw him backwards where he hit
his head on a rock at the foot of a tree. As Tristan’s vision began
to collapse was another female assassin pulling a blade from her
belt and bearing down on him like a lioness closing in on her prey.
Then the world went dark.

~

“How long has he been
like this?” Asked a familiar voice.

“Only a couple
hours.” Replied a strange female voice. “He has a cut on the back
of his head and a small wound just inside his shoulder, but
otherwise he is unharmed.”

“Has he got a
concussion?”

“No.” Tristan
croaked. “He’s just milking it for all it’s worth.” He
chuckled.

Tristan slowly opened
his eyes to find the face of his Knight-Captain looming over his;
he made a show of shutting his eyes tightly immediately.

“Urgh. That’s not a
face I want to wake up to again…” He complained.

“You insolent pup! If
your head wasn’t already cracked open I’d do it for you.” The
Captain shot back.

The young Prince
opened his eyes again to find a beautiful young woman standing over
him checking the dressings on his chest.

“Now that’s much
better.” He commented as a few men laughed nearby.

He groaned
theatrically as he sat up, his head swimming a little and looked
around the room. He noticed there were only ten men in the room
with them and his heart sank. More lives lost, for what? A boy?
What a waste Tristan thought darkly. He reached up and pulled his
hair out of the irritating bun it had been tied in, presumably to
stitch up the back of his head.

“Where are we
Captain?” he asked.

“In Delhi my Lord, a
patrol was running their usual route when they heard the commotion
we were making. They made quick work of the rest of those bastards”
He explained. “…er beggin’ your pardon lass.” He added quickly.

She waved off the
apology as unnecessary and left the room. Tristan stood as all eyes
were on him and moved towards a window looking out on the largest
city he’d ever seen. Colors ran riot everywhere, twisting spires
rose out from various places around the vista. In front of the
palace were dozens of ponds, some teaming with life, others kept
clean by some unknown method to reveal the mosaic of tiles on the
bottom glowing in the sunlight.

“What happened?”
Tristan asked.

“A few of those
murderous bastards got past the line, my Lord.” Began
Robertson.

“You killed a man and
woman, but a second woman, some crossbow firing whore, caught you
in the shoulder.” He explained.

“By the time those
Delhian horsemen showed up and drove off the rest of them you’d
been hit.” Volunteered Corporal Kincade.

“Aye. We rushed over
and could feel a heartbeat. So we made all haste for the city. It
was something of a shock to find out you were armored my Lord.” He
accused.

Tristan’s hand felt
the dressing on his shoulder; applying pressure he felt a wave of
pain course through him. “Didn’t seem to stop the bolt though.” He
commented.

“Bah!” Robertson
dismissed. “It took the surgeon more time to get all the fuzz from
your under-tunic out of the wound than it did to treat it and
stitch it up.”

“…and the women do
love a man with scars.” Tristan laughed.

“Works wonders for
me, my Lord.” Joked Kincade.

With the mood in the
room noticeably lighter, Tristan walked over to what was left of
his breastplate. He could put his finger into the puncture hole
where the bolt had penetrated. All things considered he was very
lucky to still be alive, though at the moment he didn’t feel
particularly lucky at all.

A knock at the door
interrupted his musing. The beautiful woman came back into the
room, accompanied by two men. The first of which introduced himself
as the weapon smith. He returned to Tristan his sword and dagger
commending him on their excellent craftsmanship.

The second man
stepped forward as Tristan sheathed both weapons and hung them from
the bed post. “Prince Tristan, a joy to see you up and about. I am
Akbar, chief aide to His Honor and Imperial Highness, the most holy
Raj Julpinu.” He announced, bowing slightly.

The man was dressed
head to toe in a lurid orange robe with a purple sash over his
right shoulder. Tristan looked over to see that his travel pack had
been brought in with him, momentarily concerned that he would have
to attire himself in such a fashion here. He returned his gaze to
Akbar, offering him a short bow.

“Would His Highness
like to dine with The Raj this evening, or was today’s excitement
too draining?” Akbar asked politely.

“It would honor me to
dine with the Raj tonight.” Tristan replied diplomatically.

“I will make the
arrangements sir. Someone will fetch you when it is time.” He
explained. “Please rest yourself and if you feel the need for some
fresh air feel free to wander the palace gardens. Please remain
inside the palace walls though.” Akbar instructed, bowing out of
the room.

“I’ll see that the
men are billeted, Your Highness.” Robertson offered from his
side.

“Don’t bother; this
apartment is big enough for all of us.” Tristan began. “Besides, an
attack that close to their capital makes me anxious. I would rather
have our men close at hand.”

“The men will enjoy
that.” The Captain replied sarcastically.

“If that was a nurse,
I’m sure they will.” Tristan replied laughing. He turned to the
remaining members of his guard.

“Show a little
decorum you barracks’ rats; we’re on a diplomatic mission after
all.” He spoke loudly. “If you must tumble a serving girl, at least
try and be quiet about it, eh?” Tristan added laughing.