The Last Dragon: Book One

CHAPTER ONE

The sharp nudge of my sister’s elbow to my ribs drew my attention. She was standing alert at my side, while Princess Elizabeth lay on a sofa in the shade of the camellia garden. The princess had raised an index finger slightly without turning to look my way. I’d missed her signal. Quickly and smoothly, I approached from behind and held my tray of sweets near her impatiently outstretched hand. She selected a tiny cake coated with powdered sugar without looking. I stepped back, ready to move closer again if she indicated she wanted another.

“Daydreaming, Damon?” My sister Kendra mouthed silently, scolding me.

I nodded, just the barest of moves with my chin. My full attention was again focused on Princess Elizabeth and her needs, as it should be.

Kendra clutched the carafe of wine tightly to her chest, ready to pour again at a moment’s notice, a combination of water, and red and white wine that Lady Elizabeth was partial to. The red wine gave it a pleasing body and color, the white sweetness, and the ample amount of pure water prevented the alcohol from speaking for her. However, I silently worried about the Lady Elizabeth’s penchant for sweets, although they had not yet swelled her hips. She lay on the sofa, slim, white skin and dress, and seductive in her pretended innocence.

Across from her, sunning himself in the royal garden, sat Lord Kent, a simpering boy of middle teens already intending to conquer the green world, the only civilized portion. The brown and tan worlds to the south needed no conquering, because who would want to live in them? The white world to the north was too cold to care about. They were all empty wastelands, endless expanses of nothingness with only a few pathetic hermits, so they say. Personally, I find it hard to believe anyone, even a hermit, would voluntarily exist in any of them.

Lord Kent squinted from the bright sunlight in the garden while speaking in his pompous, yet squeaky voice that continued to drone on and on. I resumed listening to the braggart’s ramblings as he said, “Of course to accomplish all that, there will be the need for me to command the best generals in the whole kingdom, those with the sharpest military minds. That will be my first task. Identify, train, and test them until I’m certain only the best surround me. Then my generals, with my direct supervision, of course, will train their armies to my satisfaction.”

“Interesting,” Elizabeth responded, sounding to me as if she was anything but interested.

“That’s not all,” Lord Kent continued eagerly as he leaned forward in his quest to impress her.

Elizabeth’s thumb, which was hidden from Lord Kent’s sight behind her hip, turned slightly downward. It indicated she was finished listening to the whimpers, baseless brags, and endless talk of the young fool. The downturned thumb was another signal. It was now my task to make the lord wish to leave the garden.

Young Lord Kent’s incessant boasts and youthful pride were the keys to his defeat and therefore what I’d use to tame him. Using my small magic powers, I mentally drew a tiny amount of moisture from nearby, mostly from the beads of sweat on the outside of the carafe of wine in Kendra’s hands. My magic then vaporized it. I reformed the water on the material at Lord Kent’s groin, in a circle no larger than a Corinthian Penny. As it appeared and spread, the pale blue material turned shades darker. A twinge of my mental energy informed him of the spreading wetness.

His eyes flashed from Elizabeth to the darkening circle on the rich material in near panic. He instantly leaped to his feet and turned a hip away before the princess could notice his disgrace. “I have to take my leave, Princess. I’ve forgotten an important task I must attend to right away.”

“So soon?” Elizabeth asked in a most disappointed-sounding voice. “Perhaps we can do this again.”

“Yes, I’ll have my manservant contact your handmaiden and make an appointment.”

“Yes, please do that.” Her tone indicated eagerness, but her eyes rolled as she relaxed after he hastily departed the garden.

When the young Lord Kent was out of sight and earshot, and only Kendra and I remained with her, Elizabeth said gently to me, “Really? You could have just made him itch or do something else that wouldn’t make me laugh out loud and embarrass the poor boy. He will someday grow up to be an important man, and we wouldn’t wish to make an enemy of him.”

“You noticed the wet spot?” My voice came out steady and recalcitrant, as intended. “I am sorry and will refrain from such poor attempts at humor in the future.”

She cast me a glare that faded into a sly grin. Her eyes moved to Kendra, “Control your brother. Please.”

Kendra shot me a look.

I grinned back. It’s the trivial things in life that really count, and Elizabeth always reminded us of that. The petty things that can change or sway a conversation or negotiation often determine the outcome. They say the king’s own mage can change the world with a single wave of his powerful hand and a few muttered words. That’s a feat hard to believe, but what do I know?

No, on second thought, there is something I know that few others are aware of. I know how to perform magic, too, in my own small manner. It’s not the intense, flashy sort of magic that mages or sorceresses perform in front of enormous crowds at coronations or royal celebrations. For me, there are no fierce sparkles, blinding flashes of blue-white light, or roars of thunder. Mine is soft, subtle and unnoticed, even to others present who possess the powers to detect magic.

At times, I perform my simple tricks in the very presence of powerful mages. None have ever been aware of them or caught me. Those actions, flood me with the secret power of a kind no others suspect, which makes my magic more potent in some ways than theirs. For instance, a few drops of ordinary water placed in the right location can make a young man flee from a beautiful young woman.

Besides, who would ever think to look to a lowly servant as an operative or a cause for magic? The very idea makes me grin.

Elizabeth, who is my owner and master, is the third daughter of a second son. What that means in practical terms, is that while unlikely, her father may one day rule our land, but she will never do so. Above her in the line of succession are two brothers and a pair of older sisters. The future sons of her siblings will push her position lower and lower as they assume rank above her, by virtue of their birth.

The Lady Elizabeth stood and swept invisible crumbs from her crisp white linen skirt. She turned back to me with her smile intact. “Follow him. See what he’s up to.”

Lord Kent had entered the main wing of the palace by the garden doorway, and I quickly moved after him. His apartment was on the second floor of the south-wing, near the old kitchen. It was an excellent location for an apartment and only a few steps from a kitchen that others in the palace envy. Many of us remember the kindly elderly royal couple that had lived in that same apartment until Lord Kent ordered them relocated so the apartment could become his, after a proper remodel of the interior, of course. The remodel had taken months and months, although I’d never seen it for myself, rumor said it was as opulent as any in Crestfallen.

A young boy like Lord Kent needs to eat at least six full meals a day, and there is a kitchen nearby. Some said that was an excuse for him seizing the apartment. Others say an independent royal son needed distance from his immediate family now that he caught the eyes of certain young women. However, most saw it as abuse by a selfish boy with too much power and idle time on his hands.

I rapidly caught up with him and discovered young Lord Kent, blocking the narrow passage, speaking confidentially to another young royal boy. His left hand held carelessly in front of his crotch as if placed there by accident. My initial reaction was to increase the size of the wet spot, but Princess Elizabeth had ordered me not to embarrass him.

In private and in thought, Kendra and I called her Elizabeth, more friends than servant-master. We’d been assigned to her, at her request, when we were all perhaps about ten years old. That had been years earlier, probably a dozen or more because we were all over twenty, the natural age of consent. Elizabeth now approached the age where she was considered an old maid for an influential and wealthy princess, but she certainly didn’t lack suitors.

Her intelligence, beauty, and rank had young men lined up to attempt to win her hand. Princes from other lands flocked to our kingdom to meet her. Her marriage would seal power and prosperity to another princedom for generations to come if they could convince her to wed. However, she deflected all of them, searching for something in a man unknown to me, and most likely to her as well.

Lord Kent continued speaking to the young royal who had his back turned to me. After retracing a few steps and rounding a corner, with my back pressed against the wall, I waited patiently and listened with my large ears. From there I could hear everything, and my presence would go unobserved. The conversation was about nothing but choosing which girls would receive personal invitations to an upcoming party—and which girls would be slighted.

“Spying again?” A friendly whisper asked in my other ear.

One of the older third-floor maids stood at my side, a gnarled old woman who had done me more than a few favors, and I’d returned them as often. Cooks and maids know all the best dirt. One of my rules is to treat them better than my master, and always arrange things, so they are indebted to me. Favors owed can be more valuable than gold. “Yes. Be quiet.”

“Anything good?” She leaned closer, trying to hear the conversation for herself.

“If you’re interested, Mary, the Earl of Brighton’s youngest, is going to be invited to the Spring Ball, but nobody is supposed to know. And her cousin, Susan will not.”

The maid’s eyes came alive. “Do you mind me passing that along to a few select friends?”

“Why would I prevent you? But thank you for asking.” My response was given with a conspiratorial grin. She would take it and trade that rumor for others, and hopefully, an interesting one would find its way back to me. She owed me for the information, and one day it would be there for me to collect.

She hurried off. The boys talked about more silly dance plans until they went their separate ways. After waiting a short time, I casually followed Lord Kent down the narrow passage, thinking the wet spot must be nearly dry by now. It really shouldn’t become wet again despite my dislike of the boy. I tried to talk myself out of it. He went directly to his apartment. A few steps past his door, down the hallway, stood the kitchen. Another doorway beckoned, and I settled myself to stand under an archway where people often stood and leaned on the wall. From there, anyone could keep an eye on his door.

“Damon, don’t even look like you’re going to try and snatch something.” The speaker was a grumpy fat woman who must have done a lot of snatching of food to put on all that weight. Another good rule in life is to never piss off a cook. I shrugged as if not caring as my eyes went to the nearby tray of small baked loaves. They were so fine they must have been baked with the king in mind, a little sprinkle of sugar coated the tops. “Those look good.”

“No, you don’t.” She placed the bulk of her rotund body in front of the tray to protect it from me. Not to be dissuaded, my mental powers nudged a pear resting on another table just enough, it rolled off the edge and hit the stone floor with a dull thud. Her eyes went to the pear as if the fall had hurt her instead of bruising the pear.

I waited. No magic powers were needed to prompt her.

She sighed heavily. “Want a pear?”

I leaped forward and grabbed it. She turned her back to me and snarled at a younger cook who had failed to meet her extraordinary culinary expectations in some trivial manner. I leaned a shoulder against the cold granite wall and ate my ill-gotten pear.

Elizabeth hadn’t assigned me to follow Lord Kent for nothing. The twerp of a lord was up to something, and he must have given her a hint, perhaps even by accident. Nobody is better at palace intrigue than her.

Heavy footsteps approaching behind warned me of another intrusion. An educated and pretentious voice snarled, “What are you doing here, Damon?”

I turned. As expected from the tone of the voice, it was a snotty, thin, well-dressed man of thirty named Avery. He was the personal servant of Timor, the firstborn son of the king, and therefore Heir Apparent. While we were technically equal in our positions of personal servants for high-ranking royals, his royal outranked mine—therefore he believed he did, too. His master would rule the kingdom one day, and probably sooner than later if other rumors were true.

He exuded both power and scorn—all aimed in my direction. And rightfully so. I’d embarrassed him in public more than once when younger and less savvy. He’d figured out my responsibility for a few of his ills, a stupid series of acts on my part. I could effortlessly forget those times and let bygones be bygones. He couldn’t.

“I’m just taking time to eat a pear that fell to the floor, Avery. Princess Elizabeth is keeping my sister and me so busy running her errands we don’t have time for proper meals.”

“Odd place for you to stand while eating. There are tables free to sit at for one who has been running so much and must have tired feet. They are right around this very corner—out of sight to those doors lining the hallway.”

He was on to something about Lord Kent. A warm glow filled me. I’d never seen Avery around this smaller kitchen before. The royal master he served lived near the elaborate central kitchens at the far end of the ground floor, a considerable distance away, nearer the king and his quarters where the most important people resided and ate. So, the question was not why was I here, but why was he?

I pointedly said, “It’s nice to see you visiting the shabby part of the palace where I live and eat.”

That stalled his sneer. He probably anticipated my next question would be to inquire about his presence, where he could also conveniently stand and observe Lord Kent’s door. I chewed another bite of the pear, then wiped the juice off my chin with the back of my sleeve basically to disgust him. He couldn’t help himself. If I remained quiet, he would talk again. It was the way his mind worked.

“Damon, my considerable duties take me everywhere in the palace at one time or another, even this far from the better residences. I do come to this dilapidated portion a few times a year and suggest to Timor, my master the Heir Apparent. He may soon wish to destroy it and replace this eyesore with a wing of the palace with one more fitting to his position.” His nose went higher into the air, and he crossed his arms over his chest as if he’d won our verbal sparring—but he hadn’t.

“Then it must be something unusual to bring someone as important as you to watch Lord Kent’s door like a common street urchin lurking to steal a loaf of bread from a bakery. I wonder what that might be since I’ve heard nothing about him these past few days. Care to share?”

I tossed him the last as a lifeline and as a gesture of good will, although he’d take it as a slip of my tongue. As expected, he grabbed hold of it. “Many significant things happen in this palace, and you’ll never know about most of them. Not you, nor your low-ranking slip of a princess.”

I tried to express both shock and anger, knowing it didn’t work as intended because of the smile trying to escape my lips. He probably thought I had made a face to scare him. However, Avery puffed himself up and departed with pride, looking the victor to any who watched. The fat cook waddled past me and muttered from the corner of her mouth, “I saw and heard part of that. You didn’t have to let him win.”

“I didn’t.”

“Good. We don’t like that man coming around here. Before you go, grab a loaf of that bread you were eyeing. Only one.”

“How long was he here?”

“Since shift change, with no intention of leaving until you showed up,” she said before hurrying to an oven where an inept cook had burned the edges of a few custard shells. She called over her shoulder, “And we’ll all thank you for running him off.” She turned her attention back to the other cook, and her outrage could be heard throughout the wing.

Knowing hers were not the only eyes watching me, and not wishing to encourage more whispers or interest in Lord Kent by my presence near his apartment, I headed back to report to Elizabeth. When I entered her doorway, I was prepared to bow and scrape as always, if others were present. If so, I’d choose my words carefully and act my part of a loyal and somewhat challenged servant, an easy task for me.

However, she sat alone on a stool while Kendra brushed her blonde hair and the two were whispering and giggling, as usual. Elizabeth glanced my way and said, “Do you need to slide the bolt, so we may speak in private?”

“No. But you were right. Lord Kent is up to something.”

She closed her eyes, probably reviewing in her mind what had tipped her off. She opened them and said, “What did you find out?”

“He went to his apartment, so I strolled down to the kitchen to steal a bite to eat.”

“As if there isn’t enough right here.” She motioned at the table laden with food.

“It gave me the excuse to eat a pear and watch his door.”

“What did you see?”

“Nothing of interest directly from Lord Kent, but Avery, the Heir Apparent’s servant came up behind me in the kitchen and wanted to know what I was doing there.”

Elizabeth reached out and took the brush from Kendra’s fingers, her expression intent upon me. “More to the point, what was he doing there?” she asked.

“Exactly. The fat cook that runs that kitchen said he’d been there since shift change. That is a long time for a servant of his stature to watch a closed door.”

“After he braced you, you had an excuse ready? A serviceable lie?” Elizabeth asked me as she pondered the hairbrush in her hand like she was wondering how it had gotten there.

“No. I explained this is my wing and wondered out loud why he would be watching Lord Kent’s door. I also wondered aloud if something was going on we didn’t know about, anything he might share with me.”

Elizabeth smiled her crafty expression. “To which he said something about there being a lot of things you know nothing about in the palace. Then he probably flounced away like a young girl wearing a pretty new dress.”

I hung my head. “Yes. He nearly destroyed me with his charm, wit, and public display of power.”

Kendra snickered.

Elizabeth roared with laughter. When she again composed herself, she said, “That is one stupid man.”

Kendra said, “But it confirms something important is happening, and we know nothing of it.”

“Yes. It also tells us his master does not know what it is, but he suspects Lord Kent is involved. Interesting.” Elizabeth started brushing her own hair, another indication of how engrossed in thought and intrigue she had become.

Kendra placed her index finger and middle finger together and pointed both at her foot like a crossbow ready to fire a bolt until she received my wink in response. She wanted to talk to me in private. The two-finger signal had been something our mother had taught us when we were toddlers. Not even Elizabeth recognized it.

That was one of the few things Elizabeth didn’t know about us. It didn’t hurt her, and it gave my sister and me a secret method to serve her better, at times. A few private words often saved Elizabeth from making a mistake or being publicly embarrassed. The correct small magic cast at the right time benefited all.

In return, only Elizabeth and my sister knew of my humble magic abilities. Elizabeth had figured them out when we were all around ten years old. I’d used one of my tricks to show off, as usual, and win a children’s game. She had watched from a window and figured it out. Right then she decided to make me her own. However, she never once threatened to expose my secret. Instead, she watched me and questioned my actions, and with her help, my powers increased, as well as becoming more benign. She thought of new and inventive ways for me to use simple magic. A year later her father offered her a pair of personal servants for her birthday present.

She refused the ones he offered, older servants with excellent reputations in the palace. She actually climbed into her father’s lap and placed her arms around his neck and asked for permission to choose her own servants as part of her education. He couldn’t resist. She was already well on her way to becoming a master manipulator.

While I would have been content to use my magic to win a child’s game or wheedle a sweet cake, she pushed me to higher goals. She couldn’t perform any magic herself, but she had an innate understanding of its uses, far beyond my own. She originated sneaky and unusual ways to put it to practical use.

Once, we watched the king’s archers practicing their craft. The best of them always struck the makeshift target chest high and centered. Elizabeth whispered to me, “Make him sneeze.”

I did.

She punched me on the shoulder. Hard. “Not now, silly. Wait until just before he lets the next arrow fly.”

The next arrow sailed off to one side and struck the stone wall, in response to his second sneeze. It missed the target completely, and we refrained from laughing. Elizabeth nodded in satisfaction. She had created another use for me. The archer never knew what had made him miss. I could repeat the spell at will, and that became the subject of endless conversations. She’s the one that came up with the term: It’s the simple things. Since I did not possess the extraordinary abilities of others, we called mine small magic.

When a Mage or Sorceress performs their magic, the entire population of Crestfallen usually watched. They drew attention to themselves with their long shimmering robes, peaked hats, sparkling wands, loud noises, and I don’t know what all. Most were little more than showmen when it comes to performing. They were treated as mini-gods and considered themselves on a par with royalty—without the onerous daily duties of having to rule.

With Elizabeth’s help, we kept my small manipulations of the physical world a secret and used them sparingly, in ways others wouldn’t detect a magic spell had even occurred. This gave us power nobody could anticipate or defend against.

Over the years, with the help of my magic, several people had imbibed too much wine and then spoke of things they should have kept to themselves. Others laughed at inappropriate times and made mortal enemies because of it, and more had spilled mugs, tripped clumsily, or felt the call of nature so they excused themselves when they should have remained.

It’s the small things, Elizabeth said again and again. The right thread pulled unravels an entire tapestry, and she searched for those threads. I drew my attention from the past and back to her.

Elizabeth mused, “Lord Kent is a blowhard boy who wants respect. But my question is, who would possibly trust him with an important state secret? Let alone an unfounded rumor of no importance? What is happening?”

Kendra said, “While I agree with you, Avery wouldn’t have been there watching his door if he or the Heir Apparent didn’t suspect he knew something.”

Elizabeth turned to her. “There is still most of the day left. Go to his manservant and tell him your princess will walk the paths of the East Gardens after the noon meal. She would greatly enjoy his company so she may hear more about his plans for the future.”

“I’ll be with you?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“It would be foolish for a princess to walk the gardens without her protector. Besides, they say the gardens are magic this time of the season.”

“You never know what sort of magical things might happen in the garden,” I agreed.